On the Shoulders of Those Who Came Before and Why I Know I Can

I've been looking for a part-time/summer job, and have been on two interviews so far. Neither interview has made me nervous. In fact, I've gone into both with confidence and at ease. Now part of this I chalk up to confidence in myself. I'm smart, talented, and capable. I work well with others and I can follow directions. Also, I've come to realize that I'm all these things and whatever self-doubt I might have about any position I apply for stems from my ignorance of things I couldn't possibly know ahead of time, like company policies and procedures, discipline-specific terminology, and interpersonal/interdepartmental politics. And the confidence I have has been nurtured by so many different people, so I feel all of their support behind me almost in a literal sense, as if I'm standing on shoulders.

This morning, for example, I arrived early to my interview, so I went into Walmart to kill time and cool off. I found myself standing in front of the local/Hawaiian books, and was confronted with some powerful (if not obvious) insight.

These are my people. This is my blood. The people who wrote these stories, who navigated, danced, endured, and sacrificed are my ancestors. I descend from these people. Their blood flows through my body. Their knowledge is my knowledge, their strength is mine, too. This is where I come from, this is my heritage, this is the well from which I draw. And that's powerful and humbling, and also a reminder that I am strong and capable of great things. Which, I kind of have to point out, doesn't make me special necessarily, it's just recognizing that the potential for greatness that lies in all of us is also within me.

Another thing that brings me confidence is my experiences at UHM. I was lucky to have studied under some really great professors that I hold in high esteem. In fact, these professors/scholars are well-respected by people all over the fricken WORLD, okay? And these professors not only know my name, they've nurtured my skills, invested in my work, and have told me repeatedly, "You are absolutely capable of doing these things, you just have to have faith in your writing." These men and women who are respected around the world in various circles BELIEVE IN ME.

Now, if you know me, you know how riddled with doubts I can be. It isn't modesty I'm feigning, it really is this idea that what I have is nothing special. That, as my conversation with one of these professors revealed, I know what good writing can look like, and I don't write like that. But that's not something I can keep telling myself because it just isn't true. I don't write like Brandon Sanderson or Dean Koontz-- authors who make a lot of money doing what they do. I also happen to have personal friends who are fucking kick-ass novelists, poets, and playwrights. And I don't write like any of them. I think so many of them are "better" writers than I, but what the fuck does that really mean? Better?

Anyway, my point is that this line of thinking disrespects the investment of not just my professors, but my friends and family as well. It dishonors my heritage, whether it be my Hawaiian or Chinese or Japanese ancestors. The time my teachers have put into my work, the sacrifices my family has made so that I can pursue my interests and dreams, the flexibility of my bosses and coworkers at Kahala, all for nothing if I keep hiding behind a shroud of denial and fear. It's easy to lose that self-awareness and confidence.

So, while I've been writing this blog, I was offered and accepted a part-time job. I start tomorrow, actually, and the wonderful thing is that it should fit nicely with my gig at Kahala, assuming they have me back. Cuz now that I don't have classes and I've got all this training, I'm excited to apply all of that in my real life. I'm excited to focus on exactly what's in front of me, the moment it's in front of me. I'm excited to learn new things and meet new people and try to see the world a little differently.

Wish me luck.

Scars (or On Being Beautiful)

There's this pop song by Alessia Cara called "Scars to Your Beautiful," and just about every time I hear it I get teary eyed. I guess if you're jaded enough, the lyrics seem at first glance trite. She talks about how beautiful "you" are and how you don't have to change anything, so maybe it's a good message even if it's hard to take seriously in a pop song. After all, there are so many of these out in the world-- from the self-acceptance in Christina Aguilera's "Beautiful" to Daya's song of self-empowerment, "Sit Still, Look Pretty." Why does "Scars to Your Beautiful" do me in?

First, if this song appeals to teeny boppers, then it also appeals to the teeny bopper in me. Or at least the teenager that I once was with all my insecurities and social pinings. If only I could be thinner, prettier, more talented, less awkward then I wouldn't feel so lonely. But being an insecure and somewhat outgoing young woman meant that I had to hide those self-doubts behind a wall of carefree attitude.

In the second verse of Cara's song, she sings:

She has dreams to be an envy, so she's starving
You know, covergirls eat nothing
She says beauty is pain and there's beauty in everything
What's a little bit of hunger?
I can go a little while longer
She fades away

And that's about where I start to get all choked up. Because while I don't remember consciously thinking these things, I did this post-high school. I starved myself. I remember telling my brother this was my weight-loss method, and he scolded me and I shrugged him off because of course he was right and I didn't care.

And I'm not saying that this is how every young woman feels or that my experience is representative of everyone's. I'm not even saying that only women go through this. This is me working through the lyrics. Because Cara goes on in that second verse:

"She don't see her perfect, she don't understand she's worth it
Or that beauty goes deeper than the surface"

I've got tears in my eyes at this point, and it's also the tricky part. Even as a teenager, I knew that "beauty goes deeper," but it did't mean much because no one else seemed to care. I knew I was unique and a great person to know. I was a lot of fun. I was down for adventure and meeting new people. I was a good person, and yet I still felt so ugly all the time, which also meant (and this is the really embarrassing part to admit) that I cared a lot (too much) about what boys thought. Laughably, I thought that any boy who liked me HAD to be special to see through all this external ugliness.

Anyway, I was lucky enough to realize what a crock it all was. And honestly the growth didn't come from a song like "Scars to Your Beautiful," though music did play a huge role. Everclear's Sparkle and Fade album kicked my butt (which is kind of shameful in its own way), as did the Judybats' Pain Makes You Beautiful. But I credit Green Day's "She" for really breaking me out of my own mind with their lyric, "She's figured out all her doubts were someone else's point of view." <enter mind blowing explosion sounds here>

So if you see me getting simultaneously teary eyed and stoic when Alessia Cara's "Scars to Your Beautiful" comes on, now you know why.

My tenth grade self

The Pain and Pleasure

Even though I've been laboring to get through a book I'd chosen to read for pleasure, I'm just happy to be doing fun reading at all. The main characters so far aren't really likable, nor do I feel any kind of connection to them, so if they die or get hurt, I don't really care. The author occasionally writes in dialect, which I normally don't care for, but is surprisingly not entirely offensive to my senses in this particular case. And so while this isn't my ideal first splash into leisure reading this summer, it's my decision to begin, continue, and finish this mediocre book. But it got me thinking about why I haven't just tossed this book into the Did Not Finish pile and start another because certainly no one's forcing me to finish it. What makes this book different from those that were assigned to me in class?

1. I don't have to take notes. If the margins of the book are large enough, I'll write directly on its pages, but more often, I have to keep a sheet of paper folded inside to write down page numbers and phrases or ideas. It's kind of a lousy way to read a novel. It takes time and effort, which sucks even more because you kind of have no choice. You know you're going to write an essay, and you know you're going to need this type of close reading, and when you're done with this book, it'll be on to the next. Yay!

As much as my book sucks, I don't have to later explain character or plot development, I don't have to compare it to another book I've already read, and I don't have to look for related scholarly articles. All I have to do is read one word after the next until the book is pau, and not even that is mandatory.

2. Because I don't have to read each and every word and examine diction for meaning. I learned fairly early on-- most distinctly when reading The Old Man and the Sea in Mr. Martin's 10th grade English class-- that authors make deliberate choices. Check out Chekhov's Gun if you're interested (and that link takes you to a Wikipedia page. Snarf you, academia!). What this translates into when reading to learn is that you must pay attention to details. There are seven characters involved in events that span seven days? Well, what's significant about the number seven? Why does the story take place in Seattle, Washington? Why is this character blind? How are walls and bridges used in this novel? Ugh!

You know what I do when reading a book for fun? I sometimes skip entire paragraphs! *Gasp* I sometimes scan whole pages because they're filled with setting description! Sometimes, I can go through an entire book without knowing who a specific, usually minor, character is because I don't go back to find out. Because to me, the pleasure of reading is in the reading itself. It's in my decision to read over watching a movie or doing a puzzle, and I can do it which ever way I choose.

3. I have no third point, but it's a good number in essay writing. It's generally enough support for a thesis, but not an overwhelming number. Oh! I know. There's no deadline when reading for fun. The only reason for any pressure to read fifty pages a day is to get to the next exciting book on your list or because the book is just THAT GOOD or because the book you're currently reading is a 400-page hardcover and the next is a 200-page paperback and much easier to tote in your beach bag. Of course, that's irrelevant if you're reading on an electronic device (but more and more I've found myself reaching for actual books than e-copies).

Anyhow, now that I've gotten this off my chest, I'm going to try to make a dent in this haphazardly-written and edited book. Happy reading to you!