A far-stretched excuse for my lack of cooking skills...

Our increasingly progressive thinking has raised our “tolerance” level of many things that were unthinkable just mere years ago. Issues such as female ministers, legal gay marriages, and medicinal use of marijuana aren’t the hot topics they used to be. As liberal as we try to be, however, we’re still prudish about househusbands and successful businesswomen.

It is puzzling to me how male and female stereotypes can last as long as they have without being continuously fundamentally questioned at a large scale [I say continuously because there were movements to promote and establish presence in the workforce and female voting]. Children are taught at an early age that racial profiling is not an acceptable practice since people are equals. What they really mean is that all races are equals because there is certainly a large population of people who doesn't think this applies to sexes.

How can accepting the idea of stay at home dads and female heads of the family be so difficult? It’s unfortunate that strong and competitive women are considered butch and paternal and caring men are considered weak. Isn’t it a good sign that people are so much more balanced now?

Brain Fart

Arrogance is bad enough, but not nearly as bad as insincere modesty. It’s a demeaning and thinly disguised case of patronizing arrogance.

Let me tell you about the birds and the bees

Following tradition, I started to write a poem when I felt electrifying flashes of inspiration during my trip out to Vancouver this past weekend. Even though my blog entries are normally left for incoherent rants, my meager vocabulary and limited exposure to real poetry stunted my ability to do the poem any justice [my “Inspiration: An Ode to Capilano and Whistler” was not even close to cutting it]. So into the crapper it goes as I relieve myself yet again of a case of verbal diarrhea.

Toronto is my beloved home. I had absolutely no desire to live in any other city [San Francisco was a distant second with London close behind]. After spending a short few days touristing the Vancouver area, I fell in love with the city. I was in constant admiration at how beautiful it is. Its mountain backdrops and ocean views were breathtaking. Plentiful trees, fresh air, and superior infrastructure added to its allure. For the first time in my life, I can imagine living in a city other than Toronto. Although this wasn’t a life-changing experience, it was significant. With my company’s plan to relocate last fall [although it didn’t affect me], I adamantly confirmed with myself that I will forever be a Toronto girl. Now, I’m willing to open myself up to a whole slew of possibilities.

Vancouver is indeed the most beautiful city I’ve visited [so much so that I thought it deserved an ode]. It’s hard for a Torontonian to comprehend how easily you can escape from the city and scurry along to Mother Nature with a short drive. Walking around the top of Whistler and walking among treetops in Capilano were serene experiences. Never before have I been inspired by nature. Its beauty was overwhelming and there was nothing you can do but allow yourself to be enveloped. While I was at Capilano, I wanted badly to sit against a tree and write to my heart’s content [I was much too underdressed to want to do that at Whistler]. That would be a delightful pleasure in life that I hope I would one day have the chance to indulge in.

Before this trip, my inspiration came solely from the strength of people and our ability to overcome arduous obstacles. Interestingly, I’ve learned to be inspired by nature because it shows how utterly helpless and inferior we are.

Everyone needs to get slapped around now and then

Half the time, we’re not even aware that life is happening. We mindlessly go through the daily motions and routines, letting our dreams and ambitions ooze down the drain. But once in a while, life gives us a b*tch-slap. Sometimes they feel good. Other times...not so much. Either way, it wakes us up.

So I got slapped yesterday during the Rotman welcome advising session. Talking to my future classmates and watching the presentation made me realize that what has always been “something I’m going to do” is fast becoming “something that’s happening now”. It was surreal for me to acknowledge the fact that I am going to start my MBA in three months. I have to apply for loans, shop for a laptop, but worst of all – get myself mentally ready to accept the next phase of my life. This is not just goofy undergraduate classes and tutorials anymore. This is real life [it's also something that will put me unbelievably deep in debt - enough to buy a new Inifiniti M series]. After the two short years, I’ll be launched into the real world – one full of trials, bills, and stress [with what I hope to be at least intermittent periods of happiness].

Needless to say, that was not an enjoyable slap but one that I badly needed. It reminded me to take advantage of my last three months of freedom before I enter quasi-adulthood [I don't think I'm ready for the real thing yet]. Now that I think about it, I’m glad I stretched myself so thinly with all the activities and going-on's this summer. It may be my last chance to do so.

My tossed salad is melting in the pot

I'm not exactly a cultural cornucopia...more of a dipped vanilla cone really. Damn that sounds boring.

There was a specific time early in my teenage years when I defiantly turned my back on my culture. Back then, I was already fairly well integrated in the Canadian environment after having moved here for a few years. It seemed as though I couldn’t shake the stereotypes of the Chinese culture – not that others applied them to me, but that I applied them to others. I could not stand being associated to the loud, obnoxious, and rude Chinese population.

Since then, I’ve remained stubbornly conformed to the North American culture. The only thing I do regret is losing the Cantonese language. The tattered remnants of my familiarity with the Chinese culture will suffice for the time being. I am actually more interested in learning, through travel, about cultures other than my own. Perhaps 24 years from now [assuming I’ll still be blogging], I may write about how much I regret not keeping in touch with my roots. Until then, I want to see the world, eh.