It’s a question that all expats ask themselves sometime or another:
Am I in a foreign country because I really like it here, or am I using this culture as a form of escape from a deep-rooted problem at home?
I kept asking myself this after reading “Six Foot Bonsai,” an autobiography I read for a book club. It’s the story of a white woman from Michigan who is, to an unhealthy degree, utterly Japan obsessed. After marrying an abusive Japanese man and giving birth to two half-children (who are subsequently abused), she explains how her fixation on Japan essentially ruined her life.
“Japan was my drug of choice,” she wrote. “And I couldn’t get enough of it.”
This line had me thinking:
Were My Years in China and Japan a Form of Escapism? Was Japan My Drug of Choice?
I grew up half-Asian in a small coal mining town in Utah, so to say I was isolated and outcasted is an understatement. One medium that got me through the pain of adolescence was –yes, I must admit–Japanese anime and manga. This is the usual ‘gateway drug’ that gets most young tweens and teens sucked into the world of Japan.
Unlike my peers, however, I fell deep for Japan. Although I found out about Japan through anime and manga, learning the language and getting a minor in Japanese studies made me realize that I loved much more than anime–I loved Japan’s literature, art, culture and people. After my first exchange trip to Japan, I had fallen off the deep end and there was no going back.
And when I first moved to Japan, the “high” was amazing. The bullet trains, the clean streets, the polite locals, the untouched nature, samurai castles and sliding doors and kimonos–oh man, it was everything I wanted and more.
But Pretty Soon, the High Wore Off
I’m half-Asian, but most people think I’m 100% white. As most expats like to point out, being white (or non-Asian) anywhere in Asia elicits unwanted attention. People stare. They point. They treat you special. Shower you with praise. Immediately approach you to be their new, foreign friend.
Some expats relish in the attention. Others find it uncomfortable.
I was the latter.
Unlike other foreigners who got a ‘high’ from being the gaijin-center-of-attention, I loathed it. I just wanted to fit in.
But no matter how hard I studied Japanese and perfectly executed their customs, the Japanese never let me in. In their eyes, I would forever be a gaijin. An outsider. A foreigner.
I was distraught.
On top of that, I saw cracks in my perfect world that was Japan. I noticed people around me suffering from extreme bouts of loneliness. I saw emotional suppression brought on by a repressive society. My coworkers and friends were overworked and exhausted. My Japanese girlfriends turned a blind eye to their cheating husbands.
I wanted to be Japanese and fit in, but my core Western values found it hard to accept the above. I would never be able to tolerate a cheating husband. I found it hard to do staged overtime work for the sake of it. No matter how hard I tried to convince myself that this was Japan and I had to adapt to their ways, I could in no way persuade myself that I should change my core values for the sake of living in Japan.
After two years in Japan I realized that I couldn’t stay there for the rest of my life–so I went to China.
Again, Was I Running Away From the Real World? Did China Mask My Problems?
From the moment I stepped foot in China, I knew this place was better suited for me than Japan. It may sound odd, but after living in Japan it was utterly refreshing to be chewed out by someone on the street. To see such open display of emotion–even anger or frustration–was liberating. People screamed at me and I could scream back. The openness of Chinese society felt like a reassuring hug. I melted into Shanghai and it became the metropolitan life this small-town-Utah girl always dreamed of.
As I lived in China, switching between studying Chinese and working in various companies, I would talk to my friends in the US and hear about their mundane, yet stressful lives. Going to pharmacy school. Working the same job for four years and trying to get a promotion. Trying to pass the LSAT (law certification in US).
In my own way I was moving on with my life, but a part of me also thought:
Am I hiding in China while the real world goes on?
Long-time readers of my blog will know that when I returned to the USA after living in Asia, I had it rough. I had to play catch-up. It wasn’t easy, and there were times I wanted to hop on a plane and go straight back to China.
Yet despite all the ‘pain’ living abroad brought me, I often asked myself if I would do it all over again. Would I get on that plane to Japan at 22 years old again if I knew what I know now? Or would I stay in the US to build up my career?
Without hesitation, I always choose to get on that plane.
And it’s because China and Japan were not my drug–they are an integral part of who I amread more
I recently read an article about a tea specialist and her new tea franchise in an airline magazine. While these kind of articles are a dime-a-dozen nowadays, there was one comment from the tea-master that jumped out of the page at me:
“Every cup of tea evokes a memory, a feeling, a connection to something from your past.”
I couldn’t help but think just how true this statement was, as I reflected on my favorite types of tea and how they are linked to a particular moment in my past:
Whenever I drink Genmai-cha, all I can think about is Japan. The flavor is unique and difficult to describe–it’s earthy, but has a flowery and light finishing taste–like buckwheat, hay and dandelions combined. After steeped, the tea turns the water a light yellow color, almost like a chrysanthemum flower. It feels like the working man’s tea, the commoner’s tea, a tea that refreshes in both the summer and winter.
I had just arrived in Japan the day before. My senses were in overdrive as I took in the foreign surroundings. I kneeled on a tatami floor and looked around my host-grandparent’s old, wooden home: paper sliding doors (shoji) opened up to a Japanese garden outside. A wind-chime sang in the breeze. The humidity was oppressive, and I could feel sweat rolling down my neck. The grandma turned on a nearby fan that whizzed back and forth in an effort to cool the room. My host grandma and grandpa sat across from me and smiled, speaking quickly and fluently, forgetting that I wasn’t Japanese. My head was dizzy with culture shock and language comprehension, but I did my best and did what any guest would do: nod and smile.
Like a Japanese person, I picked up the small Japanese tea cup from the saucer with both hands, blew on it softly and sipped it gently without noise. I had green and black tea in America–but I immediately knew this tea was something else.
“What name is this tea?” I asked in broken Japanese.
The grandma giggled, “genmai-cha. Do you like it? Hold on.”
She stood up, ran to the kitchen and returned with a pouch of tea for me. I insisted it was unnecessary to give me a bag of tea, but she shoved the tea pouch in my hand with a smile.
Pu-Er Cha 普洱茶
Pu-Er Cha is a high-end tea grown exclusively in China’s Yunnan region. Although it’s somewhat easy to find low-quality pu-er tea in the states, wheels of high-grade pu-er tea are only available in China and sell for hundreds of dollars. Among all teas, pu-er is extremely unique in taste and almost resembles coffee in its bitterness and color. When I crumble pu-er tea in my hands, I feel like I’m crumbling soil of the Earth. It smells like trees, soil, dirt. It’s an Earthy tea with a rich, bitter flavor.
I had a sanctuary in Shanghai, and it was a teahouse called Da Ke Tang. The building is from the roaring 20s of Shanghai’s heyday and is a mix of French architecture with Chinese decorations. The teahouse is incredibly high-end, with a chandelier in the reception room and the sitting room itself covered in gold mirrors and finely crafted wooden tables. Old Shanghai jazz music plays here, and women in qipaos (slim Chinese dresses) stand at the bar mixing and serving tea.
Booths lined the floor-to-ceiling windows that opened out into the teahouse’s gardens. After being seated, the qipao server would place nuts, an ashtray and a menu for the customers. Although the menu was 10 pages long, there was only one item served:
Even writing this hurts, cause I miss that damn place so much. My Shanghai friends and I would simply sit, drink pu-er, and talk for hours. There were times we would sit in silence, hold our teacups, and stare around the room in amazement. It was a place that could only be in Shanghai–a memory I could only make in that city. I sometimes spent $30 on high-end pu-er there, but it was worth it. The server would add pot after pot of water and we would talk the hours away until our tea became too diluted to continue.
Oolong Tea 乌龙茶
I think we all know what Oolong tea tastes like. To me, it’s the quintessential tea of Asia. No matter where you go in Asia, it’s fairly easy to find a cup of Oolong somewhere, somehow.
I often drank Oolong tea in Japan, and it tasted just as it looked: slightly bitter with a strong barley taste. I wasn’t a huge fan of the tea in Japan (I much preferred Genmai-Cha), but in China that changed. For some reason, Oolong tasted different no matter where I went in China–although the smell stayed the same.
We had dinner at a Cantonese restaurant only a few feet away from my new apartment. Jenny squealed in delight when she saw that they had gong-fu-cha (kung fu tea).
“That’s like… a real thing?” I questioned with a raised eyebrow. “I thought it was only made for those cheesy Hong Kong kung fu flicks.”
“Of course it is!” she laughed. “It’s quite a show. Do you want to order it?”
The server came out with a tray that held three extremely small cups of tea (no larger than my thumb) and a matching clay teapot. As soon as he set the tray down, he began to flip the teapot around his hand, flip the tea cups up and down below at lightning speed—and all while pouring tea. I wouldn’t call it an amazing show; but rather, a waste of perfectly good tea (he literally spilled it everywhere).
“The tea spilled everywhere!” I exclaimed. “What a waste!”
Z laughed, “that’s how we pour tea in China, Mary. It goes all over the place.”
With the smell of oolong all around us, I took one of those tiny teacups and took a shot. “Well, douse me with another shot of Oolong!”
Irish & English Breakfast
I was never a fan of English Breakfast tea. It’s too bitter, and putting milk and sugar in my tea weirded me out (call me an Asian tea traditionalist).
Yet when I went to Ireland, I drank the stuff like crazy. Every morning our bed and breakfast hostess would ask if we wanted coffee or tea, and I would copy the locals and order tea. There was something satisfying and comfortable about drinking a cup of slightly sweetened Irish Breakfast tea on a cold and crisp Irish morning. The locals often served us ‘Barry’s Irish Tea’ and, as a result, I bought a few boxes to take home to America.
Now when I’m home and brew a cup of Barry’s, I add some sugar and cream and take a deep breath of the tea’s rich, black aroma. When I close my eyes I instantly recall the rolling hills of Ireland and those peaceful Irish mornings.
What kind of memories do tea evoke for you?
Is a Flexible and Remote Work Environment Really Better for us?
This post has nothing to do with China, Japan, or even travel. It’s just about the monster that has taken over my life and kept me from writing in this blog: my job.
Despite relocating to Dallas for this job, the nature of my role allows me to have a mostly flexible and remote working environment. I haven’t visited the Dallas office in over a month. In fact, I work from home and on the road almost all the time. Many envy me when I tell them I work from home, but whenever I hear their words of longing, I can’t help but think…
Is a flexible, or remote, working environment really better for us?
The Line Between Work and Personal Space Begin to Blur
I used to tell people that I loved work more than school because, unlike school, work didn’t give us ‘homework.’ As a graduate student, the worry of papers and homework always loomed over my head even after class ended. I thought back to my work days when work ended at 5pm and didn’t follow me around. It was great to clock out, go home, and not worry about the monster that was my job until the next day.
I’ll tell you now:
a flexible work schedule destroys that clear barrier between work and personal space.read more
Whenever I travel somewhere new, especially a city, I always find myself asking the same question:
Could I actually live here–or better yet–settle down here?
In Utah’s middle schools, I was brainwashed–erm, I mean, taught, that when the Mormon Pioneers hauled their wagons to Salt Lake City and first set their sights on the blue skies and the Great Salt Lake, they cried:
“This is the Place.”
Thus, Utah became the home of the Mormon Pioneers…. and Salt Lake now has a (ridiculously) named “This is the Place” museum.
But that slogan–tagline–whatever you want to call it, really stuck with me. I thought that someday, somewhere, just like those Mormon Pioneers supposedly did, I would finally end up somewhere and say:
“This is the Place.”
When I was younger I thought that, after traveling the world and living in a handful of cities, I would eventually find out where that certain somewhere was. I had a guess it would be Japan. Maybe somewhere in Asia. Being from a small town, I thought living in an exciting, metropolitan city like New York or Paris would suit me.
But Even After Traveling the World, I Still Can’t Figure Out Where to Settle Down
It seemed like that, no matter where I went, I was able to pick out some quirk or cultural aspect of the location that just didn’t fit my future needs.
Minnesota was nice, but insular and…. flat. Not to mention it gets -20 F (-6 C) in winter.
Dallas is not a bad place at all; but again, the sprawl and reliance on a car is something I would like to avoid. Traffic here is also gnarly. And the lack of nature and greenery gets me down.
Portland is by far my favorite pick of the bunch in terms of US cities, but the job market is flat. It’s housewife or nothing in Portland.
Salt Lake City, my home, would be great because my family and friends still live there–but again, the job market is nil for me. Plus, the car thing. Ugh.
And this is where you’re probably thinking:
Jeez Mary, nitpicky enough?
When I was mentally analyzing why I could never settle down in Dallas and all the above locations, it dawned on me:
Maybe the Problem Isn’t the Place–Maybe it’s Me?
I once asked my classmate, a 55 year old lawyer turned grad student and mother of two teenagers, when she knew that she wanted to become a mother.
“Did you wake up one day and think: Wow. I feel it. I really want a baby.”
“What? Really?? Doesn’t that urge for motherhood kick in eventually?”
“I was 35 and it didn’t kick in Mary,” she told me with a smile. “You just gotta make it happen.”
…. which made me think….
….maybe that same logic applies to settling down as well.
Maybe instead of over-analyze what is the best place and why, perhaps it’s just better to put your foot down and adapt. Maybe no one knows where they’re actually going to settle down, but sooner or later they end up making a conscious choice.
Stay here, or keep moving.
My husband and I are agonizing over where we should settle down. Where we put our bags down and say “this is the place.” Because after all of our moving, we’re exhausted.
After traveling the world for years upon years, I’m ready to put some roots down (for a while, at least). I want to decorate a home. I want to enjoy my neighborhood. I want some familiar faces and stability in my life.
I’m still hoping that someway, somehow, I’ll arrive to that special place one day–look around–and think:
This is the place.
How did you decide where you were going to settle down? Or have you thought about where you’ll settle down?read more
My husband and I went to see Black Panther last weekend. Although my husband has had enough Marvel movies for one lifetime, I was quite stoked to see this one in particular. It wasn’t just the all-black (and beautiful!) cast, but I was also excited to see a unique marvel world crafted out of African culture.
The movie was great—until a group of young teenagers a few seats behind us began to provide loud and offensive commentary on the film. I won’t repeat what was said, but let’s just say they said the ‘n’ word twice, among other things. From start to finish this group of teenagers just kept at it—and no one said anything.
I thought about standing up and telling them to shut up, but I must be honest.
I was afraid.
In America, it is very possible that a group of young, aggressive teenagers could turn hostile.
…. And since we’re in Texas, the likelihood they have a gun is very real. I was afraid to risk it.
Although I was seething in my seat, I was also surprised that no one else spoke up. These teenagers were so loud I’m sure people from across the theater could hear their offensive remarks in stereo. What about the people sitting right next to them? How could they keep quiet?
“I liked the movie, but didn’t appreciate the commentary,” my husband told me when we were driving back from the movie. “I was going to say something, but since we’re in Texas, I held back—I mean, what if he had a gun?”
“Oh my god!” I cried. “I THOUGHT THE SAME THING!”
“I don’t think I can live in Texas,” my husband said, shaking his head. “Maybe I was spoiled in California.”
I nodded in agreement.
And believe it or not, that’s not the most alarming part of this story.
When the lights came on at the end of the film, the group of teenagers in the back of the theater weren’t the racist rednecks I imagined.
They were black.
But that’s a different post entirely.
A few years back I wrote about how America sometimes isn’t the paradise we think it is—especially when it comes to physical safety. The biggest culture shock I had when moving abroad was how many East Asian countries—even those third-world ones we look down on so much—are much safer than almost all urban megacities in the USA. It’s much safer to walk around Hanoi at 2AM than it is to wander the streets of downtown San Francisco. Trust me on this one.
There is a wealth of arguments as to why this is. It could be socioeconomic circumstances. Culture. Religion. Hegemony.
Me? Well, I blame the availability, and proliferation, of guns. Especially those used by the Las Vegas and Florida shooter—the type of weapons used for mass killings in war zones.
Basically, because it is so damn hard to get a gun in Asia, the worst thing that could happen to anyone is getting stabbed. And yes, getting stabbed would really suck, but we can all admit it’s definitely harder to enact a mass stabbing than a mass shooting. Stabbings, while lethal, keep the kill count down to a minimum.
Even then, stabbings rarely happen in Asia. Pickpocketing is probably the worst thing that will happen to any tourist in Asia.
When people in Asia told me to watch out for pickpockets, I laughed. I don’t care if they take my purse, I told my friends, at least I can walk the streets and not fear for my life.
At least I can walk around and know no one will shoot me.
In the USA, the fear of guns—and mass shootings—is very real.
At my previous job, we had to undergo specific training about how to hide from an active shooter in the building. Those training videos were traumatizing. How to attack an active shooter (yes, they told us not to run from him/her!). Where to hide. What numbers to call. How to help students/co-workers/victims. How to tend a gunshot wound.
Lo and behold, a few weeks later, there was a school shooting only five miles away from the University I worked at.
One survivor of the most recent Florida mass-shooting told reporters that he had undergone survival drills to prepare for mass-shootings since elementary school.
In other words, if I someday have a child in the USA, they will have to undergo mandatory drills on how to run away from a maniac with a gun running rampant in their school.
As my husband so poignantly stated after the Las Vegas incident:
“If a mass shooting at an elementary school (Sandy Hook) won’t put a halt to gun proliferation, then nothing will.”
When I told new friends in China and Japan that I was from the USA, they often followed up with a question.
“Do you have a gun?”
And if they didn’t ask me about a gun, then they often assumed I had one. When I told them that my family never possessed a firearm, many of them were shocked.
“You’re American and you don’t have a gun? I thought everyone in America had a gun. Don’t you guys always shoot stuff up?”
I even had some friends from Asia come to my home and ask me where I keep my gun.
I’m sad, because my friends from Asia assume I’m a trigger-happy, gun-toting aggressor just because I’m American.
I’m sad, because I can’t walk around late at night in fear of either being shot or held up at gun point.
I’m sad, because when people flip me off or curse at me on the highway, I don’t do anything in response because there have been incidents where retaliation has led to gun violence and death.
I’m sad, because I can’t go to the movies and tell someone to be quiet—in fear of guns.
I’m sad because guns negatively influence the American image.
I’m sad, because even subconsciously, guns dictate even the most simple and menial actions in my everyday life in the USA.
I know America will never fully rid itself of guns or the assumed power of the second amendment.
But here’s to hoping that America can, at the very least, pass some simple reforms to ensure tighter gun control (like Australia or Switzerland). I personally hope someday the US can better control guns in our lives, instead of guns controlling how we live.
In the last year alone, I’ve managed to live in almost every single region of the United States. West, Pacific Northwest, Rockies, Midwest, South–you name it, and I’ve probably lived there for a month or two.
The experience was eye-opening and made me realize an extremely important fact: not all Americans are the same. In fact, the US does not feel like one country at all. Each region is so culturally and geographically different that, when I travel from coast to coast, I have to remind myself that I’m still in the same country.
So… how are these regions different, exactly? How is a west coaster different from an east coaster? What else makes these regions so vastly contrasting?
West Coast (aka California)
People from the west coast are friendly. They smile. They take life at a leisurely place. They stop to enjoy the roses. West coasters like to keep it casual, and can usually be found in a coffee shop or at a bar wearing a t-shirt, shorts, and some flip-flops. Sunglasses are a must.
The west coast is, compared to other regions of the US, also quite diverse. With the Mexico border nearby and the Pacific ocean connecting the west to the Asia Pacific, it’s easy to find great Mexican and Asian food just about anywhere. The diversity (particular in California) is refreshing.
Drawbacks can be found in the rampant growth of materialism popping up in the big cities in California (lookin’ at you, LA and SF). Also, people on the west coast, in their efforts to be friendly, may actually appear fake. They may converse with you in a bubbly voice and ask you out to dinner or an event, but in truth they really want nothing to do with you. It can also get tiring pretending to be friendly and happy all the time.
Cons: Crazy California drivers, fake people who are nice to your face but hate your guts, high cost of living
Mountain Region (aka Rockies)
My home. I usually like to lump Utah/Colorado/Idaho with the West Coast, but when I do this Californians usually laugh at me. Plus, these states are in another time zone, so I guess the Rockies are ‘officially’ a separate region.
The people in the rockies are quite similar to the west coasters. Compared to Californians, however, locals in the rocky mountain range are more down to Earth. We don’t have fancy Hollywood or Bay Area tech jobs, which has helped us keep income inequality at a reasonable level. We’re not as materialistic as the big city Californians, either.
Plus, thanks to the rocky mountain range, the natural beauty here is–no other way to say it–quite epic.
Pros: Laid-back vibe, majestic nature, friendly folk, low cost of living, not as fake as the Californians
Cons: No diversity, pace is a little too slow (shit needs to get done!), snow sucks
The Midwest was HUGE CULTURE SHOCK FOR ME. As someone from the West Coast, I have experienced more culture shock in the Midwest than any other region in the USA.
First, there are no mountains. Midwest is super flat. Second, Midwesterners have a great sense of family and community, which is great if you’re from there–but really sucks if you’re new to the area. Midwesterners are skeptical of those who fall outside of their ‘in’ group, thus making it quite difficult for a new transplant to fit in.
People in the Midwest are also EXTREMELY friendly. You know how I said west coasters are friendly? Well amplify that by 10, and you have the Midwest. Everyone says hi to you on the street, in the elevator, or at the store. Someone is always willing to outstretch a helping hand. People are smiling. The kindness here is not bubbly and overdone like California–it feels wholesome.
Pros: Friendly people
Cons: Can be insular, crazy cold weather, no mountains, lack of diversity
Ok. I’ll admit that I have never really lived in the South until moving to Texas (which may not even be part of the south–it might be a region all its own–but for convenience sake we’ll lump it into the South). Before moving to Texas a quick visit to Tennessee was the only experience I’ve had in the south.
People in the south are friendly without the California fake. They’re charming and straightforward. Texas in particular is a no BS kind of place. They give it to you straight, but in a friendly sort of way. I’m totally charmed by the accent.
I’m blown away by southern manners. Addressing people by ‘sir’ and ‘ma’am’ are the norm here. My coworkers all sit with impeccable posture. Table manners are top notch.
Pros: Friendliest Americans I’ve ever met, love the frankness, culture here is vibrant, manners
Cons: Lack of diversity, CRAZY drivers, too many guns, humidity
New York, D.C., Boston metro areas of the Northeast
I probably have no right even attempting to write about the East coast because I’ve never lived there. I can’t speak for all the states on the East coast (and it’s rude to lump them all together, considering Florida and Rhode Island are vastly different), but based on my limited time in these big East coast cities, I want to throw in my two cents.
Those from the East Coast will run you over to get to a meeting. Pace of life is fast. Go-go-go. No time for pleasantries, no time to say hello, no time to talk about the weather. It’s not a smiley place and, for the most part, you feel like no one gives it a shit about you. Deal with it. Friendly doesn’t exist here.
But wow. Great nature. Culture is vibrant and alive. Diversity is everywhere. You can smell the ambition in the air. Shit gets done here–and it gets done fast.
Pros: Great for the ambitious, don’t need a car, diversity, architecture, great nature, fast pace of life, strong sense of culture..
Cons: Cutthroat, inequality, people are aggressive, fast pace of life, cold winters, humid summers
So What Area is the Best?
Really depends on your personal preference. If you’re a go-getter who wants to make something of yourself, maybe the East Coast is right for you. If you want a slower pace of life with a good tech or media job, perhaps California fits the bill. If you want a nice community to raise your family, maybe the Midwest is where you want to be.
I’m still not a huge fan of US cities (especially after my stints in Japan and China), but I have to admit the diverse regions of the USA create a wealth of options for those looking to move here. We have epic mountains in the West, metropolitan powerhouses in the East, beaches on each coast and a unique sense of culture in each particular region.
Personally, I’m a Rockies girl through and through. I love me some mountains. However, the slow pace of life and lack of opportunities has drawn me to other areas of the USA.
Where Have You Visited in the USA? Do you have a favorite?
Why 2017 Was the Craziest Year of My Life… With a 2018 Surprise
Planning a wedding while going to graduate school, on the other hand, really sucked. I not only had a strict budget to stick to, but I also had to coordinate a Utah wedding from California. Yet thanks to my friends, family, husband and the best maid of honor a woman could ever ask for (shout out to you, H!), I survived my wedding.
I had my perfect dream wedding. I got married in the mountains of my home state with the man I love. I couldn’t ask for more.
In addition to marriage and grad school, in 2017 I moved a total of ten times. From Socal, to Norcal, back to Socal, to Salt Lake City, then Minnesota, San Francisco, and now Portland–I’ve been goddamn everywhere. Honestly, looking at my suitcase makes me feel physically ill.
My husband thought taking short-term contracts around the country would give me flexibility to look for a job anywhere in the USA. I thought it was a great idea, but in the end, our nomadic lifestyle put an immense amount of strain on our well-being.
In 2017, I realized just how important it is to have a home and some sense of stability. I never thought I’d say this (especially since my blog is called the Ruby Ronin ((wanderer)) but; dear, god, I just want to settle down.
I thought I would have few opportunities to travel after leaving Asia.
Oh, how wrong I was.
This year alone I went to Ireland, Japan, Vietnam and China–with the last three vacations happening in the span of one month! I’ve already written up some posts about my journey through Northern Ireland and Northwest Ireland, but more posts will follow chronicling our trips to Kyushu, Hanoi and Saigon.
…as well as many interviews on the road…
As I moved and traveled around the USA and world, I was also looking for a job.
I conducted an interview over Skype in a hotel in Fukuoka City, Japan. I completed another interview in Ho Chi Minh, City, Vietnam. Another interview was done mere hours after my landing in the USA from Vietnam. Two interviews were done in hotel rooms on the road.
If I have advice to anyone job hunting, it’s this:
Don’t travel (too much) while you’re job hunting
It was REALLY stressful to coordinate across different time zones, find a stable connection, and most of all secure a quiet place to conduct the interview. There were at least three instances where I spent money in Japan and Vietnam to book my own private hotel room to execute a Skype interview.
Don’t do what I did. Stay in one place when you’re job hunting. It helps… a lot.
Which, Finally, Leads to My Big Surprise of 2018
Just kidding! But believe me, this news is almost as shock inducing…
….I’m moving to Texas.
You know that platitude about “you never know where life will take you”?
Well, holy hell, coming back from China I could not even imagine that I would move halfway around the USA and end up in Texas. None. At. All.
Although I experienced some inner turmoil with the decision to take the Texas job, I went with it. I won’t go into details, but I will be working for a huge private firm in their Japanese business department.
Texas was definitely not high on my ‘places to live’ list, but I’m trying to be positive with the move. I think Texas will pleasantly surprise me and give me a kick start to a new beginning in 2018.
More than anything–after all these months of being a nomad–I’m particularly looking forward to one life change in particular:
Having a permanent home.
Happy New Year Everyone! 明けましておめでとうございます！新年快乐！read more
Graduating, Leaving California, Traveling to Ireland and Getting Married
I apologize for the long, silent hiatus on this blog. I usually try to update once a month, but since May ’17 my life has been absolutely crazy.
I honestly thought going back to school would be a nice break from “real, work life,” but it was actually more demanding and taxing both mentally and physically than my previous 8-5 office job. In graduate school I literally spent 10 hours a day in the library reading (and comprehending) the 500+ pages of literature, as well as write an average of 2-3 essays per week. Graduate school was a repetitive schedule of sleep-study-eat-study-sleep. That was my life for ten months.
Although it was honest-to-god painful to do so much studying in such a short time frame, it was refreshing. Instead of the repetitive, administrative tasks I was assigned during my previous job, I was pushed to think critically and write my thoughts clearly and with conviction. I was given so much homework that unless I worked smarter and more efficiently, I wouldn’t finish. The amount of knowledge I took in from graduate school is simply immeasurable. Despite my initial hesitation and anxiety about going to graduate school, I can now say it was probably the best life decision I ever made.
Not only was I slated to graduate in June, but I also had four 20-page papers due for finals; my family was visiting from Utah, I had three days to pack up all my things and leave San Diego forever; and somehow I also had to make time to say farewell to the friends I made there. It was really intense. There were many, many, many sleepless nights.
And then, somehow, I graduated. Unlike undergrad, I felt proud. Like, holy-shit-I-can’t-believe-I-finished-this-hard-as-hell-program proud. Myself and fellow classmates were beaming, smiling, giddy—we all were—because we all suffered together and somehow, someway, we made it. Personally, it was a huge achievement and one of the proudest moments of my life.
I had approximately five days to move all of my belongings, fix my damaged car, return the car to the dealer (since it was a lease), fly to Northern California to help my man move, then say farewell to family and friends and leave California forever and ever. It sucked. I was almost too busy to be sad.
But for some reason me, the girl who hates driving with a passion, became an emotional wreck when I handed the keys of my red Prius to the dealer and said farewell to my very first car forever.
All things said and done, my Prius was “just a car.” Yet to me, it symbolized my life in Southern California. The first thing I did when I decided to stay in Southern California was go to the dealer and get the Prius. It was almost like making a three-year contract with the state itself, because it’s impossible to cancel a car lease. I remember feeling like a true adult filling out the papers for the lease agreement as my aunt and uncle stood by my side to help guide me through the process. That Prius took me all over Southern California and was always by my side. Fom LA, to the inland empire, to San Diego, and beyond.
And now it came full circle. With my aunt and uncle by my side once more, I took the keys and gave it back to the dealer. The return of one’s car in California can only mean one thing: Your time here is up.
California was a weird stage of my life. It probably wasn’t the smartest place to move as someone who was trying to re-acclimate to US life (moving to the city with the world’s worst traffic? Brilliant idea, Mary!); but despite the initial pain, there was also a wealth of happiness and pleasure. I met the man of my dreams, my socal coworkers became life-long friends, I spent more time with and got to better know my family in LA, and I went to one of the best graduate schools in the country.
California, despite my complaints, you’ve done a lot for me.
I don’t know if my life path will bring me to California again, but those three years not only matured me—they also blessed me with a wealth of fond memories.
Immediately following our move from California, my man and I were on a flight to Dublin. We spent two weeks touring the north and west of Ireland.
And man, Ireland does not disappoint. Like Japan, it fulfills all your expectations. Ireland is now one of my favorite places in the world and will definitely become a repeat destination.
I’ll write a separate post on Ireland later, but all I can say is: just do it. Just go to Ireland. You’ll love it.
….And Getting Married
You know when people say weddings are stressful?
OMG THEY ARE SO STRESSFUL. IT’S ALL TRUE.
Especially for the bride. I mean, let’s be real, the bride usually plans the whole wedding. It’s a long story, but neither my parents or in-laws really helped with the wedding planning, so I had to rely on my man and my maid of honor for all sorts of wedding advice. Throw in a bridesmaid who threw out her back and canceled a few days before the wedding, along with a groomsmen who is—well, no other way to put this—an asshole and also canceled mere days before the wedding, and I had a complete stress fest on my hands. Getting 20 Vietnamese relatives, 10 friends from China and Japan and a whole lot of out-of-towners to a venue in the Utah mountains was no easy logistical feat.
But we did it.
Thanks to an awesome groom, a stellar maid of honor, my aunt and her daughter, helpful friends, some good vendors, an amazing venue and dumb luck—the wedding was perfect. Our wedding was a smash success and almost everyone who attended said it was the most enjoyable wedding they have ever been to.
And of course, I’m happy to marry my companion, my soul mate, my best friend and my one and only. He was so patient, understanding and helpful during the whole chaos of the wedding, and we were a happy, giddy couple on our special day. Now that we’re married nothing really feels different—and honestly, I think that’s what leads to happy and long marriages.
Post-wedding my now-husband returned to work and I took my friends from China and Japan on a one-week road trip to Yellowstone.
I returned from Yellowstone, dropped off my rental car keys, went back to my parent’s home and crashed. After almost three months of nonstop life events, I can finally give a sigh of relief. It’s over. It’s all done. I’m free.
Will the Ruby Ronin Keep Writing?
Uh, duh. Of course. I have a slew of posts ready that range from Ireland, to Yellowstone, to wedding mishaps and more. I promise to never leave the blog silent this long ever again! I apologize dear readers—and trust me, I do miss writing—and you!
Job Hunting, The United Incident, and The Girl Who Escaped ISIS
I know, the title of this blog post seems strangely unrelated–and actually, it probably is. The only common link between job hunting, the controversial United incident of this week and the Girl Who Escaped ISIS is my mental state of being.
So let’s delve right into that:
The United Incident
Unless you’ve been living under a rock, you should know about the United incident. A United flight from Chicago O’Hare to Louisville was overbooked and, despite offering an $800 voucher, no one volunteered to leave the plane and make room for four crew members who needed to staff a connecting flight. United felt that the only remaining option was to “randomly” select four people to forcibly vacate the plane.
I imagine most people who have watched the video are horrified. I could barely stomach one view of it. It’s really inhumane.
What I wasn’t expecting was half of my friends on Facebook running to defend United.
I spent almost all day yesterday arguing with Facebook “friends” about the inhumane actions of United and how the situation was grossly mishandled. They told me that it was the passenger’s fault for his inability to comply with United regulation and the law enforcement officer. Others said this 69-year-old man shouldn’t have ‘lashed out’ against the police.
I say bullshit.
Basically, I think anyone that supports United in this particular situation condones violence. Period.
I understand that the passenger was at fault for not complying with United’s supposed regulation. I can also see how some people might be upset with this passenger’s refusal to vacate the plane when the other three passengers begrudgingly did so.
What I don’t understand is what happened next. The passenger hit his head on an armrest and begins to bleed profusely from a head injury. Instead of call for immediate medical attention, the law enforcement officers humiliatingly drag him off the plane. Oh, and they also let him back on the plane (with blood running down his face) in a final attempt to plea for passage.
Ok. I truly believe that no human being deserves this kind of treatment–especially an elderly customer who has rightly paid for his seat. And in the world’s wealthiest country to boot.
I understand the argument made from the side of the United supporters; but let’s be real: It was United’s fault for overbooking the flight in the first place (and for not offering more money). Ultimately it was United’s duty to bring PAYING CUSTOMERS to their final destination instead of drag them off a flight bloody, beaten, and humiliated.
In the end, I feel like United did not exhaust all of its available options to solve the situation–instead, they escalated the situation by calling law enforcement to forcibly remove an elderly man. Jesus Christ.
I feel like this incident has brought out a side of people I never even knew. Friends I thought who were sympathetic and open-minded were condoning violence against an elderly, Asian man on a flight he paid to be on. It’s mind blowing. It’s offensive.
It makes me jaded. Tired. Exhausted.
The Girl Who Escaped ISIS
I’m in a humanitarian intervention class this quarter. The professor is making us read a novel per week to get a ‘first-hand account’ of violence on the ground and the role of intervention. Our first read was “The Girl Who Escaped ISIS,” a first-person narrative of Farida and her heart-wrenching story of how she was kidnapped by ISIS, sold into slavery and was repeatedly beaten and raped. Her entire village was ethnically cleansed and she was so full of grief and shame she tried to kill herself multiple times throughout the book.
I read the book in one sitting. I was nearly in tears after finishing the book. Mostly because the book had a “happy” ending thanks to countries like Germany.
“How did you like the book?” I ask Kris, a fellow classmate.
“Honestly,” she rolled her eyes at me. “I didn’t see the point. Yeah, I get it. It’s sad. I feel bad for this girl who is raped and beaten and it’s tragic–but what’s the point? I didn’t really get anything out of the book and I don’t think it teaches us anything.”
First thought: You ice-cold bitch.
Second thought: You are a very smart, intellectual woman. I respect you. You just presented a student project to a panel of diplomats. Am I a sucker? Did I drink the kool aid? Was I not analytical enough about this narrative? Is this some kind of ploy by the journalist who interviewed this particular survivor? Was I a sucker sold by the story?
In international relations we study grandiose theories about war, state-building, negotiated settlements and ethnic violence. The research papers and data collected on the subject are fascinating; and honestly, there are times all of this data and research makes me feel like Varys or Littlefinger in Game of Thrones. Learning the tools and methods to gain political power, win the upper hand of war, politicize the ethnic minority to your cause, control the flow of information and appeasing warlords to support your coalition is a power trip. Honestly, studying all of this stuff is a trip for the ego Can you imagine how it feels to think that you–yes, you–can stop wars with data and technology? Isn’t that a boost to your intellect?
Yet sometimes I can’t help but think all of these academics studying theory and computing data in their ivory tower still feel grossly disconnected from the real world. Can data analysis and generalized theory really improve security and help people suffering on the ground? To Kris, perhaps the world is like a giant chess board and the ISIS girl is a useless pawn who can easily be cast aside.
Where do we draw the line between humanity and strategy? Is this one woman’s story so trivial that it’s not worth putting on a syllabus in graduate school? Is she just a necessary sacrifice for the greater good?
In my honest opinion, I think the more we forget the human side of international relations, the closer we get to extremist ideology and start convincing ourselves that we have some god-given righteous cause (like Hitler). Everything becomes collateral damage. Everything is for “the greater good.” Some situations, like with this young woman, just “don’t matter.”
Thinking about the above topic made me feel very conflicted. Am I a liberal, humanitarian sucker? I don’t want to think so. I know I can’t save everyone, and I know that I can’t spend a year in every war torn country on this Earth to get “the real story” for a fair assessment. However, I do know that I can’t continue to numb myself with news of terrorist attacks and the spread of violence while ignoring the human story of these victims and while also simultaneously studying conflict resolution. It’s stories like The Girl Who Escaped ISIS who help us dive deeper–and really, just give a shit–about what’s going on in the-middle-of-nowhere Middle East.
I don’t know who is right or wrong, but I know one thing for sure:
I don’t want to lose my humanitarian side.
I have been eating an unhealthy amount of sweets and drinking alcohol profusely. I am extremely stressed about finding a job. It’s nerve wracking.
The amalgamation of the above events really triggered my stress. I’m just a walking body of irritation this week. Hopefully next week will see some improvement–or even better–I get a job.