Girl and City

Sometimes when I read my entries, I feel like they’re about someone else. Surely, the girl that’s authoring those entries can’t be me. Surely, that isn’t my life. The voice, my voice, doesn’t feel like a genuine reflection of me at all. And yet, perhaps it’s the most genuine one.

I have a tone in my entries, a tone of someone older, someone wiser, someone who can make mistakes and learn from them, someone who can face the music, someone who’s not afraid to experience life for all its ups and downs, and someone who, at the end of the day, can write sincerely about her experiences. Maybe that’s why you’re reading my blog, because you sense that tone too. It’s comforting, therapeutic almost, to know that there is someone else out there, struggling through life’s tribulations like you do, and making the most of it. Maybe it’s even motivating. Maybe it’s what gives you the strength to take a deep breath and walk into a room full of people with expectations of you. Maybe it’s what gives you the motivation to get out of bed promptly when the rest of the world is still asleep.

That would be nice, wouldn’t it?

There’s always been a lot of truth in my entries – truth that I don’t even recognize or admit to until I start putting pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard in this case) more often than not. And while I like to think of my blog, my life, as a combination of a tragedy, a comedy, and a romance (hence the tagline “notes of a tragic romance-comedy”), it is, at its heart, a coming of age story.

When I read my own blog entries, I can’t help but realize: I have grown so much in the last six years. From the bitter arguments with my parents to the heart-wrenching story of my first love to the betrayals of my close friends, my blog has a record of it all – whether I like it or not. And although my entries may be infused with wisdom and lack the chaos of the moment, they echo my thoughts in hindsight.

They say that your experiences are what shape you, and indeed, this has been true for me. Even though I yearn to fly away from my home nest and go chasing after whatever is at the end of the rainbow, I know I’ve already lived. This blog is evidence of it. The person I am today is evidence of it.

So although these words sound like they’re coming from someone else – someone more wise and more composed than I’ve ever felt – they’re mine. These are my words.

I haven’t been doing much these days other than studying for LSAT, watching TV, and cooking. I’ve been doing lots and lots of cooking. It’s my current obsession. All the shows I watch, the books I read, and my shopping trips – they all have something to do with what I end up doing in the kitchen.

Which is all fine and dandy except… I am on a diet. Yes, I know, it’s the five most common words in today’s society, but it’s true. I’ve finally resolved to lose the weight I gained in first year university. So my cooking obsession is really quite untimely. But then again, I’ve always been queen of doing the right things at the wrong time.

So instead, I’m making my parents eat my elaborate culinary triumphs while I sit across from them salivating and firing questions like “How is it? Is it too salty? Too sweet? Is it tender? DO YOU LOVE IT?”

My parents, of course, have always been the harshest critics in all aspects of my life, so I can always count on them to give me their most honest opinon. “No, it is not tender enough. No, you did not put enough salt in. We like things flavourful, honey. What is this bland shit (well, of course they did not say “shit” – god forbid they ever learn to say anything remotely degrading in English – but that was the gist of it) you’re serving us. And why is everything so damn (see previous note) healthy? Where are the big plates of meat? What’s with all these vegetables? What’s the matter with you?”

Of course, they would say that since they are 1) anal as all hell, 2) the founders of the soy-sauce-and-salt cult, 3) unwilling to shower praise for anything ever period (which kind of explains how I turned out – dedicating my life to eliciting praise while appearing to be modest). Not to mention that they believe diets are the work of the devil and a healthy dinner is always a balance of 3:1 meats to vegetables and always twice as large as lunch and breakfast combined. In other words, no, they are not supportive of my diet. They are, however, supportive of my goal to lose weight, but how they fathom I’ll do that if I’m living by their eating habits is beyond me. My mom is always telling me I have no figure and I have “lumps in all the wrong places.” Look it woman, I am not mashed potatoes so please don’t ever describe me with the word “lumps”!

It’s a wonder I have any self-esteem at all.
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