Stay

I feel the holiday season coming around, and it's something I feel deeply, a kind of eager anticipation, but also a little ache as well. Eager because I can't wait for break and not having the weight of projects and tests and meeting expectations. Ache-y because Christmas always brings a little bit of nostalgia, but for what I'm not sure. Maybe for things that have changed since last Christmas--changes in relationships and locations and growing up. Christmas is kind of like a dependable marker for time passing. There have been wonderful Christmas' in the past, but there have also been bittersweet ones. It's kind of a bummer when you give and don't feel anything in return. I know Christmas is not about that, but I feel like it's so pounded in my head by ads and media and just, the way things are, that it's hard to dissociate the two. I wish I could just make it about Christ and his birth and be completely joyous and content with that.


I just finished reading the book "Some Things That Stay" by Sarah Willis, and it struck a chord in me. It asks some serious questions about what home means, death, life, and faith. I don't really agree with how the author chose to portray all the Christians in the novel, but it brought up some really good questions/thoughts about God and fear and grace from the viewpoint of the protagonist Tamara, who is not a Christian. It made me a little sad by the end of it, but it was a wonderfully written book, full of interesting descriptions and nuances weaved throughout. I wish I could write like this. Also, take a look at that cover! Tamara's father is a landscape painter and their family never lives anywhere longer than a year because her father needs new inspiration for his paintings. Tamara and her family long for a place, a home to call their own. I think the cover does such a good job of speaking about this yearning found within the book. The brush strokes paint over the title, almost completely covering "That Stay" to show that for Tamara's family, "staying" is only transient with an expiration date.

And speaking of things that stay, I'm amazed at the capacity of memories that stay even as the years stretch on. I'm equally amazed and a little disappointed at the ones that don't. This weekend my cousin, who is now thirty, came to stay with us for the weekend. The last time he stayed at our house was fifteen years ago in West Virginia, when he stayed with us for the holidays. He was only fourteen then, and I was five. I remember that he often had indigestion, that he loved nerds and he stole them from his stocking over the fireplace long before Christmas came. He could spin a pillow on his index finger, and I would stare, fascinated, as that silk red pillow spun. He gave our family a Pocahontas cup for Christmas, which we still use now. It has survived while others have died, shattered in a moment of carelessness while washing the dishes, or the jab of an elbow on unsuspecting glass. Fifteen years later, he still has indigestion. Some things just stay the same. Haha.

Our entire family had Thanksgiving together for the first time since 2002. I didn't realize this until my sister pointed it out. In 2002 my dad had moved to New Jersey while we were still in California, waiting for the year to end. To save money he didn't come for Thanksgiving but came instead for Christmas. In 2003 my sister stayed in California for college and the rest of us were in Jersey. Then she stayed there after college too, when she worked. So eight thanksgivings have passed where all of us weren't together. That's a lot of Thanksgivings. Boy, does time fly. But anyways, I was and am thankful that God brought us all together again. It's such a simple thanks, but it's enough.

Bookworm, Artist, and the Strings Between

I am a bookworm. Yes, it's true. But it's not something I advertise because I'm not an avid reader of the great classics or deep philosophical novels. I read a lot of YA literature, which makes me feel a little ashamed for some reason. Some of it is honestly crappy writing, and I'll get through 1/4 and then decide not to finish, but there's some really good stuff out there too: fantasy, science fiction, historical fiction and the such. Actually I wouldn't say that I favor YA books over others. A good book is a good book, no matter the genre. See the thing about good young adult literature is that some of them are pretty easy reads, but challenging in that they do make you think about life and what it means while still having fun with the characters and sparking the imagination. And if it's a fantasy or science fiction novel, magic thrown into the mix always makes it exciting. I guess I'm a little bit ashamed of my choice of books because sometimes I feel childish and that I should be moving onto the great classics that are "honor worthy" of Jeopardy questions and have deep hidden layers of meaning, but I read to be entertained as well as to think, and struggling through a book is not my idea of fun. Given it's all subjective and what I think is a bore might be beyond fascinating to someone else. I am also well aware that I miss out on some really great books simply because I don't have the patience to sit and read enough to get into them. There are a lot of books I wouldn't have read if it weren't for high school language arts classes, and I'm grateful because they were great books. Among them? Native Son, Huckleberry Finn, Crime and Punishment. The latter two were resonating for very different reasons, and it's true that the underlying meanings behind their actions were interesting and incredibly telling of humanity. I must admit though, that I like to read books with female protagonists because I find them more relatable, but I think I should probably broaden my scope more. Here are a couple favorites that stick out.



Anne of Green Gables by LM Montgomery
If you haven't read this series yet, please do. Anne is such a wonderful character, brimming with imagination, personality, passion, and woeful humor that endears her to everyone. I know she certainly won me over. It's such a classic. Read the rest too, they're great, especially Anne of the Island because Gilbert makes many appearances :) hehe. Also check out her "Emily of New Moon" series as well as "The Blue Castle"





Ender's Game by Orson Scott Card
I haven't read this one in years but it's an excellent book. The details of this other world Ender is in are carefully crafted, and Ender is so...human. He's still just a boy but is thrown into extraordinary circumstances. A book about survival, perseverance, and war both externally and within oneself. Also read "Ender's Shadow" for Bean's story/perspective for a different take.






Daughter of the Forest by Juliette Marillier
I saw a lot of people recommend this on amazon, so I gave it shot, and I'm so glad I did. It is a retelling of the childhood story of the seven swans with a darker plot of greed, betrayal, loyalties, love, and the bond between family. Marillier tells the story beautifully, with developed, believable settings and characters that startle resonate with you in their combined fragility and strength. It was moving and I loved the main character Sorcha. One of my favorites. The other books in the Sevenwaters series are beautiful as well, but I think this one is the best.



MEMOIRS/AUTOBIOGRAPHIES

I love memoirs and autobiographies, and regret that I have not read more. Besides "Memoirs of a Geisha," which everyone pretty much knows, here are some other good ones.



Open by Andre Agassi
Agassi had always seemed kind of a jerk on the court, at least from what I read about in his younger days. I tended to have more respect for players like Pete Sampras or Michael Chang, the former because he was always consistent and had an awesome serve, and the latter because he was well, Chinese, but also the underdog. And who doesn't like rooting for the underdog? Anyways, this memoir was honest, real, and refreshing. I still found myself a little skeptical of some things he wrote, but Agassi honestly reflects on his life thus far, the goods and bads, and his love hate relationship with tennis. A good read.



Falling Leaves: The Memoir of an Unwanted Chinese Daughter by Adeline Yen Mah
I read this one a long long time ago and still remember it because I really felt the author's pain and desire for approval and love as she told her story. Her story becomes your story as you empathize with her and everything she has been through.





So there are a ton of other books, and I'll occasionally make other book recommendations in future posts. I know this is a long blog entry so far, but stick with me here. I rarely talk about art and what graphic design means to me personally, but I'm making an attempt. I never considered art as a profession in high school. I took one art class (sculpture and ceramics) freshman year, and that was the only one I took in high school. I liked it, but wasn't super passionate about it. It was only when I came to college and figured out I didn't want to be a journalism major, that I decided to give graphic design a go. At first I was pretty bad. My typography was a mess, composition not too great, and drawing on the computer seemed pretty impossible. I think I've improved a lot since sophomore year, and I've grown to like and really appreciate what good graphic design can do. It's not just about visual appeal but about practicality as well. It must speak directly to the audience, and in that way serve a function. I also love words, I love stories, I love a good book. Those were in my life before art ever made a serious appearance. Good design and a good book are parallels in that each should tell some kind of story. Design through the typeface chosen, colors, composition, image, and words. A book through the characters, plot line, climax, diction, conflict, and words. Ultimately words. Because words have the power to move hearts and convict and bring joy and sadness and tears. And these words are only words written by man. I praise God for words.

I know this last paragraph was kind of disorganized and maybe didn't seem to have a point, but I'm still trying to figure it out too. To draw connections between design, words, culture, and to figure out what exactly it is I'm passionate about. I'm still learning, and this, I think, is a very good thing.

My mom sent me the cutest text. She almost never texts, so it was a nice surprise.

hi tiff,
i had spare rib tonight. it stuffed me. i exercised in the hotel. i'll call you when i get on the train the time i'll arrive. tks for picking me up.
-mom

Wow look at mama hsieh using slang "tks." haha I don't even do that.

So I feel like recently I've been in a little bit of a slump, both spiritually and academically. Sometimes it's just hard to stay motivated and I slack off like crazy. I can honestly say the only thing I have ever been super disciplined in is running. It made me a little sad because life is so much more significant than a running race, yet I spent so much more time and effort to train for a measley 5K, mile, or half mile which is over within the span of a couple minutes, or at most half an hour. It was over so quick, but I knew to make that time count. Relative to a lifetime, those few minutes spent running the race pass in a blink of an eye. Relative to eternity, life on earth is just a split second in comparison. What will I do to make it count? Am I treating it like a race, training with diligence, encouraging other people on my team, and being aware of the opponents that try to take me down from behind? Am I feeding myself with food that will make me stronger rather than weaker, am I working on my form to make it more efficient, breathing in through my nose, out through my mouth, steady, so my stomach doesn't cramp? And most importantly, am I relying on all these things I do to take me to the finish this race of life, or is it all in perspective? The perspective that it is all meaningless if I'm not looking to my Maker as the center of it all, holding everything together.

So it's something to think about.