Khan Academy

Not only does this tutorial web database instruct and cover a myriad of topics, it also keeps at bay any boredom I may have whilst at home before school.

Here's a link to the site:
http://www.khanacademy.org/

I highly recommend it. Thus far I've watched a lot of the algebra videos and a few of the biology ones because I'm taking both of those this year. I just think it's genius that this guy can teach in four minuets what classroom teachers teach in a week of classes. Learning does not need to be painful or daunting. It all depends on how you get the information. A lot of young people assume that because they don't get math the first time every time, that they're stupid or bad at math. They write themselves off as math haters and rightbrainers. I divulge, I used to be the epitome of a math hater. I claimed it just didn't settle with me and that my brain didn't work like that. Of course, a lot of my eighth grade math was spent by me writing my novel under the desk, but that's a different story.

Anyways, I've always thought I "sucked" at math. That is, until I was homeschooled and was able to take math at my own speed on a one to one level. I excelled. As soon as I went back to school, I went headfirst into a math class and came out at the top of the class with straight A's. It's not because I took a math pill, or went to a gazillion summer camps or highered a tutor. It was because I allowed myself to think about math at my own pace and ask as many questions as I needed. Now, as I watch these videos on algebra at the Kahn Academy site, I find myself understanding most everything with ease and eagerness.

If you let yourself be good at something, then you will be good at it. And you will surprise yourself. Well, that's my soapbox session for this morning.

Let's give her something to blog about...

...because, quite honestly, I have nothing. I suppose it's a tribute to the peace and sanctimony of my life that extreme things don't happen every day. Anything I blog about today would be very similar to what I blogged yesterday. Still am I excited about school (4 DAYS!). Still will I miss home. It is raining. And today is my last day of ballet at TAS.

Maybe I'll just go write.

Cinque Jours.

The countdown is on, folks. There are currently five days standing between my departure and me. On one end of the spectrum, that is a very long time. On the other, it is a heartbeat. We'll see which perspective holds over when Friday gets here.

'Twas a joyous morning of hugs, kisses, and stories as my dad returned from San Diego! He got home earlier than expected so he got to spend time with my mom and I before she went to work. He looks great, sounds great, and smells like an airplane. The conference went well, and I expect that we'll have a very long, amusing story session one of these nights. Although, he said in one of his emails that it would take more than one evening to tell them all. He brought us bars of soap made en Francais. Alors, c'est bien!

My good friend here in Taiwan told me that she has a friend at my school in the ballet program. Being the skilled facebook stalker that I am, I looked her up and befriended her. She is incredibly nice, sweet, and eager to be friends and help out. If everyone is half as nice as she is, I am in for an amazing three years at boarding school! This weekend my mom bought me a new green suitcase for my travels. I've heard horror stories about people bringing six to eight bags to college and high school, so I am going relatively lightly with a green suitcase and a duffle. I don't think the gravity of my leaving has really settled on me yet. Of course it has about my parents. We've had our teary moments. I'm just glad that both my parents are as excited as I am. It would really put a damper on things if one or both of them didn't want me to go or had reservations. Not these two. They are as spasmodically excited as I am and I thank my lucky stars every day.
And I promise my posts will get more interesting once I'm acually at school. At the moment it's all about the lead up. Once the journey commences things are going to get interesting.

But I know the heart of life is good...

'Tis photo time! Yesterday my dear mother and I had a wonderous night on the town. We dined out at an Italian restaurant nearby that was surprisingly delicious. We split a large bowl of smoked salmon linguine and later had Coldstones. It's nights like these I'll miss with fervor. My dad comes home tomorrow morning from his conference! He's been emailing my mom and I diligently and he's been having a wonderful time. Totally worth it. In other news, I leave for school in SIX DAYS! And that's counting today. So if you're really picky, five days. Ohdearlordohmygodboofreakingyah. Oh yes, the pictures.

Poetry from my past.

I've always been a bit of a poetry nut. Here are a few fun ones from two or three years ago I just dug out of my stack of notebooks:

If ever you find a sea of blue,
In golden valleys laid of light,
Look to the left and you'll find two,
to hold your gaze and watch all night.

A ligneous seat below your frame,
Less comfortable than mother's embrace,
Engulfing joy you try not tame,
But garlanded all with wooden lace.

Topaz throws an amber glow,
The halo rests upon the crown,
By diamond's alabaster show,
To breath and free your blood, you know,
She pulls you up so you don't drown.

And...

The moons are through, the sun's gone down
the wind and snow are gone,
with every minute spent and logged,
from twilight's haze to dawn

all rivers flown, and mountains topped,
most dales and valleys worn,
quiet garden lost of roses,
petal, stem, and thorn.

Since all's been used, and used again,
o'er years of day and night,
I wonder now, and wonder long
of what else I could write.

Still more...

Have a day. Take two, they're small.
Remember though, they're followed by two nights.
Ao have a night, or four!
They're small too.
You take because you need,
like air and mild and bread.
You grow with these, small but plentiful
essentials. But they're small.
And you are told to be, want, give, work,
lie, lay, see
Big.
Take another, take some more.
And give.
Big.
Not so long your days outnumber your needs.
Big
you are crushed and flattened in the assembly
line of big.
But you don't dare to be, want, give, work, lie, lay, see small.
Because you are Big. Big. Big.

One more...

Dare you fathom?
Fathom what?
That what is it!
What is indeed.
Indeed...what?
My point, you see.
I see what point?
Exactly.
What?
Dare you fathom?
Fathom what?
That.
I see.

The Novelists Nouveaux Society

In a week's time, I will be departing for the U.S of A. In seven sleeps, I will be off to boarding school. That is both incredibly invigorating and utterly daunting. As long as I have my iPod and my books, I will be alright. Note to self: Try not to bawl too loudly at the airport.

To explain my title...My school has a relatively open policy regarding student clubs. Their website says that any student can start an organization, as long as there is no hazing involved. That will not be a problem. I've never been much of a club starter, rather the one that shied away from any institution led by people of my own age. Again, I'm not saying that young people can't lead successful clubs and such, I've just never been turned on by any of them. Sorry to digress. Since I am going to my school for the amazing writing program it offers, I think it would be fitting that I start a young writers society. Thanks to my friend Emma, I realized that the name of said group should involve society. With my mom last night, we came up with the Novelists Nouveaux Society. It's a play on The Dead Poet's Society and Art Nouveaux.It would be for young writers and aspiring novelists to get together once or twice a month over coffee (or any other beverage) and discuss their writing. I'll let the blogosphere know if I can get it started up and if it goes anywhere. I doubt I'll start it right away. First I'll get settled, then I'll put up fliers.

A word on teenagerdom.

I am aware that I am a teenager, so by writing this post I am essentially throwing my kind under the bus. But, I highly doubt many, if any, teenagers read this blog. So, here it goes:

We take ourselves too seriously. My writing of this blog is probably taking myself and my writing too seriously, but at least I do it with good vocabulary. The teenage ego is a monumental, impetuous thing that grows and grows and grows until it can't grow anymore, and then, around twenty two, I think it deflates. When we turn thirteen, we leave the human race and become some oddly evolved sub-species of crazy. Adults refer to us as hormonal, when what they really should be saying, is off our rockers. I'm not exactly sure when we return to the race of humans. If I'm still blogging by the time I figure it out I'll be sure to write about it. I would love to shout worldwide to all my fellow teenagers and tell them that no, not everyone is watching them. If they want to do well in school if it means missing this or that social get-together, then so be it. If they want to write a book and not care what their friends quip about it, by all means, go for it! This is not to say I haven't my own insecurities. Though I have a nice singing voice, I hate singing around my friends for fear of judgment. Singing around adults? No problem. Adults have developed that foreign attribute called empathy. Teenagers are, most of the time, apathetic or brutal.

Teenage girls, for example, assume that everyone, and I mean everyone is constantly critiquing them. We wander around like little adults, except, I'm pretty sure most adults don't live in constant fear of peer-critique. Granted, not all teens are like this, and I will have to be most careful over the next few days in case a teenager did read this and is now hunting my head.

And there you have it. My vent on teenagers is over, and I can more comfortably walk among my kind and accept my fate for the next five odd years.

So many, so great.

Lying in my bed last night, my laptop open beside me and a book on my chest, I realized just how many wonderful writers there are and have been. I knew this before, but reading Annie Dillard's The Writing Life, the made the fact even more clear to me. Annie Dillard, my current favorite authoria, is a prime example. My mother actually turned me onto her books, and my dad agreed that I should read them. Being young and dead set on filling my brain with "young adult literature" (namely the Twilight Saga, Harry Potter 1-7, and various other series). So I held off on Annie for a long while. In the mean time I started develpoing a taste for classics and better writers (John Steinbeck, William Faulkner, Homer, Stephen King). To my happiness, my writing improved. I strayed farther away from contrived plots and dry characters. Writing became a practice more so than a hobby.

If only I had known what gems lie in Annie Dillards prose. I would have read her much sooner. I feel like I should be writing down every other sentence, posting her quips and sayings on my facebook status, and memorizing for later use. I have a feeling that as I age I will develop profligacy with literature. I can see myself as an old woman taking long morning walks in the brisk New England fall and then returning to a surfeit of books. But no cats. I'm allergic.

ambivalent at best

is my latest working title. Granted, I start and abandon many projects, poem, would-be novels. This time, however, I am taking a more planned out approach. I have been working on an outline and I've started writing a few "practice" scenes. I'll keep you updated. Whoever you are.

Hopefully they will let us work on our own projects at my new school. Anyways, I'm not feeling much like posting today. I am chomping at the bit to write, and while the blog is usually a good warm up, I am lacking patience as of this morning. Oh yes, and the black hair is still going well.

Les Cheveux Noirs

Before:

Apres:

I couldn't be happier.

Slumming with my Mother.

I have most amazing parents. Since my dear dad is having a blast in San Diego (body surfing, attending a cool seminar, leaning how to play Sudoku from random people on the plane), my mom and I are toiling away the hours in a most enjoyable manner. She's the kind of mom who is perfectly happy just sitting and reading with me. She watches all my favorite movies that I get from blockbuster, even though she has a) seen them or b) hasn't seen them and has better things to do.

Yeterday we went to the world cup volleyball tournament with her fellow coach and some of her team. I am not one to go out of my way to watch sports, but it was very fun. The players (all women) were absurdley tall and gorgeous. Think modelesque amazon women. We watched for a couple of hours in mesmerized happiness, and then went out for Mexican food. And my guts seemed to have settled nicely with the paella dish I had, so I am pleased. Today I think mom and I are going to brunch/coffee (we are quite the enabling pair of caffiene addicts, and then go for a run. All and all a great day to be had, provided we don't melt into slushy puddles of human when the Taiwan sun beats down on us for too long.

Also...FEED THE MODELS!

This is sort of a sub-post having nothing to do with the initial title or purpose of today's blog. I opened up my web browser this morning and saw a story on Tyra Banks condoning alarmingly thin models in the newest cycle of America's Next Top Model. Now, I watch the show, and Tyra seems very supportive of plus sized models and happy to promote health and wellness. She doesn't outrightly say that models that strive to unhealthy lengths to be thin are bad, but she seems to be health oriented enough. Furthermore, she is a big name in a swim-or-sink industry. She has to be diplomatic, even if it is to the eating disorder promoting modeling agents.

I myself have experienced the brutal expectations of the modeling industry. When I was about fifteen, I got a call from my agent for a casting. Happily, I went. To my slight dismay, the clients and casting agents were snappy and impatient, and barked at all the models, then rebuked me for not having the right shoes ('tis always good to have heels for runway castings!), and so on and so forth. So, I was in a small, narrow room with three tired, crotchety agents, three tall, emaciated Russian models, and two male models who would not speak to me (though they were American). We were asked to do our runway walks. They called me up first (of course) and I walked. Upon completing my walk I heard the woman casting agent say rathed loudly to her companions that I was Tai ai, tai pang. Keep in mind, we are in Taiwan. I know Chinese, so I was shocked to hear her say that I was Too short, too fat. Granted, I am thin, even thinner then. So, I got the pleasure of sitting and waiting for all the death bed models to slump down the 'aisle' with their hungry shuffles while I conte,plated being "tai ai, tai pang". All and all, not a very wholesome industry. Fortunately, I pulled out of it not long after the runway incident. At least writers have more liberty with their looks.

Adventures with Emma.

Emma and I make quite an odd pair. In fact, we are the two oddest people I know.

Exhibit A: We both have a fascination with medicine and odd maladies.

This morning, when any normal pair of teenage girls would have been shopping, or watching movies, or discussing boys and bodies, Emma and I explored a hospital. I am aware that this is a questionable activity, seeing as hospitals are places of illness, vulnerability, and healing. The idea sprung upon us last night, whilst eating Thai food. We agreed that we both have a slightly morbid fascination with sick people. Emma is very interested in being a specialist doctor, while I am interested in psychology. But I digress. So, seeing as it was a nice Saturday morning,w e decided to visit the hospital in our neighborhood. Now, here comes the slightly controversial part. Emma had a pair of dark sunglasses with her, and not wanting to look like two brainless teens trolling the hospital hallways, we decided that she would feign blindness, and I would be her guide. I must say, as awful as some people might see this, it worked. Emma is a very convincing blind person. We walked the halls and wards, from Nephrology, to pediatric surgery, to OBGYN, to the NICU. We even had a run in with the infectious disease ward, though we didn't linger long. And it smelled awful on that floor. The elevators were slightly creepy, and the hallways were most silent, save for the occsaional passing orderly or patient.

It rather reminded me of the scene from SPEAK, when Melinda Sordino camps out in a hospital bed to have a "rest". We didn't find any hospital beds. After spending about an hour walking around, we decided it was best not to push our luck, and we left without incidence. I was pleased, because we got to visit the psychology department, though it was down a long twisting, creepy corridor. We didn't spend much time there.

I realize there are many "Exhibits", likr our late night tendencies, and much more, though I have limited time to post today. To close, I think that this is what friendship is about. It's about having adventures, trusting each other (she even let me lead her down a neverending stairwell when we tired of waiting for rickety hospital elevators, with her eyes closed!), and celebrating those mutual quirks that make us who we are. Love you Emma, you made my weekend!

Fantastical Friday.

I here by declare all Fridays, Fantastical. They truly are. All the prior days of the semaine drip by with no inkling of letting up, and then all of a sudden, it's Friday. Not only is it reprieve from school and/or work, it breaks the cyclical monotony of the seven day cycle we meander through. And quite honestly, I'm glad there is only one such day. 'Tis special because of it.

My Friday has consisted thus far of plenty of magical happenings. For one, Louise (my chihuahua) pooped quite promptly of leaving the house for her morning walk. Second, the pimples irksomely adorning my face have somewhat faded away! Thirdly, I have managed to make it without coffee since nine o'clock this morning. It is presently ten o'clock. I am holding off because I am going to brunch with my mom, where coffee will undoubtedly be consumed.

Also, I have been very strange and vivid dreams. Last night, par example, I was a supernatural being of sorts caught up in a life or death game. I was trying to get past an ice covered pond, but when I stepped out to cross it, a jumble of people slid out before me, cracking the already thin ice. Lo and behold, the ice crumbled beneath us and we fell into the water. And it wouldn't be a dream pond without sharks. For what felt like the next hour, I was ripping apart massive tiger sharks as they made to bite me. Very exhausting. There was much more, but I have a sneaking suspicion that I am the only one who acually thinks the dreams are that cool.

Well, a bientot for now, readers, I must go brunch. And have some coffee.

Inventory.

Just to get a picture of where I'm at on this day, August 19:

Days before I leave for school: 15

Books read over summer: 9 1/2

Days my dad is in San Diego: 11

Days my mom and I will miss him: 11

40 lb bottles of water I must carry up five stories: 3

Hours of sleep last night: 9 1/2

Suitcases I'm bringing to boarding school: 2

Miles to go before I sleep: Unknown

Well, there you have it folks. My life in numbers.

We take our art VERY seriously.

Most of the time...

Ils me manquent.

I will miss them. Them, who?

My hilarious awesome OCD sweet supportive parents:

The weather and beautiful walking places:

The hiking trails in abundance(though I hear there are a lot of trails where I'm going):
My friends (of course):
REAL Chinese food (No, Panda Express does not constitute as Chinese Food):And now, perhaps the thing I will miss most...the cause of my most bitter tears...
Uli's Mashed Potatoes:

In retrospect, I realize how much of the 12 years I've been in Taiwan I spent bemoaning it. For some reason, I felt unfortunate to have missed out growing up in the States. Don't get me wrong, I've always loved it here. It is my second home to Alaska. My first and most dear home, in some ways. In the past couple months, on the brink of my departure, I realize how very lucky I am. Taiwan is a wonderful, safe, cultural, crazy, crazy-hot country. I love it. Mayhap I've just matured that last iota to make me see the truth in my fortune. Go figure it would happen in my last few months here. There are many more things I hold dear and will miss dearly, but I'd better give my blog a break for the night. Until next post.

Commited Hitherto.

I woke up, ate my breakfast, made some coffee, turned on the computer, and found myself at my blog. Thus far, I am committed!

Ballet last night was good. I wasn't as wretched as I thought I was going to be, though a summer of non-ballet related activities made for some pretty sore hammies. I'm still hobbling around. And to make things all the better, my dear friend who just moved back to Taiwan is doing the class as well! It is rather awkward walking around the halls of the school. I attended it from the first grade to the eighth, and then quit. I was homeschooled for a year and a half (3 semesters) only to reenter the second semester of my tenth grade year (though they put me in ninth grade for whatever reason!). So, you can maybe see how that would make for some awkward hall wanderings. And then you get the people who think I'm still going there, and I must explain that I'm leaving (again), though boarding school is easier on their ears than homeschooling. I don't blame anyone. I am hard to keep track of.

On a lighter note, my parents will most certainly be visiting me in the states over Christmas break. That way they can see the school, the snow, and we can all have a low-key vacation with just the three of us. My mom and I were talking last night about the school. We're both extremely excited (as is my dad), but we are all going to have to adjust to missing one another. I said that if the school was in Taiwan I would be happy to just stay. But my mom pointed out that part of the draw is the school's east coast location and beautiful weather. 'Tis true. Maybe I'm more ready for semi-independence than I think. Maybe I just don't want to think about it too much.

Today's front holds another ballet class, updated my mother's sadly outdated iPod, and reading reading reading my last required reading book. I think I have selective literary attention problems. If I like the book, no problem, give me fourteen hours. If I'm not so excited, well, pitch a tent. This one is called The Golden Gate by Vikram Seth. Quite well written. Endearing characters. I have about 100 pages left. Wish me luck, dear readers.

Get up and blog.

I am a person of routine.

In order to best support the vitality of this blog, I think I shall blog at least three times a week, if not every morning. Not that I have something enlightening or worth blogging about every day, but I am a person of routine. At least I'll have some sort of internal incentive. If the posting gets a bit incessant, I'll back off. You can only read so much about a person, right?

For now, I am heading off to ballet class. My amazing dance teachers said that I am welcome to take ballet until I leave for school. I'll get about six or so classes in before September. Ballet is my yoga. I relax, let go, and float off into dance. And it doesn't hurt that it is a killer workout. Because I have not been dancing for...well...all summer, my form should be-erm-interesting tonight. Oh well, at least I'll get some practice before I start taking ballet at my new school. Even though I'm not in the ballet tract, there are open-division dance classes available for any student wishing to torture their feet. I mean express themselves through dance.

Bienvenue to my blog!

Hello. This is not my first blog. I just had to get that out there.

If all goes well, and I can exercise some sort of commitment, it will be my last. I intend to update this regularly, since a lot in my life is about to happen that is worth blogging about. At least, in my humble opinion. In less than a month's time, I will be moving from Taiwan (my current home) to Boston.

No, I am not going to college. No, I am not being sent to military school. I will be attending a boarding school for the arts. The school offers five tracts in the arts: Musical theater, music, visual art, ballet, and writing. I shall enter into the writing tract to read, write, and hopefully increase my brain power by some meaningful amount.

It truly amazes me the reactions my family and I get from the news. My parents have always been amazingly supportive of my endeavors. They were excited when I wanted to be a doctor (age 6-11), they were very gung-ho show business for the four odd years I was convinced I was going to be an actress (11-15), and now, at 16, I want to write. Maybe I won't just be a novelist, but definitely something that involves a large amount of writing. Screen-writer, novelist, journalist, psychologist...I feel like I have a lot of options. But I digress.

So, about 4 out of 10 of the people we inform about my "leaving the nest" gasp in horror. Their faces contort and they wrinkle their noses up. Charming. Apparently they are afraid of independence. Though it makes more sense not to care what people think, I wish more people would see this as an amazing opportunity. Of course I'll miss my parents. Of course they'll miss me. We've accepted that. Anyways, the majority of people are excited for me. Maybe I'm just investing too much thought into this. If I put energy into it being awesome, IT WILL BE AWESOME!

Sorry for the inherent roundaboutness of this first post. I hope to use this blog as an outlet for writing energy, as well as to update the blogosphere of my soon-to-be new life at Boarding school.

Peace and love,
Kaiyuh