The Rice Bowl

Learn To Sing.

This place seems to have run away from me.  I once had a very clear vision of what The Rice Bowl should be; a place for me to write what I write.  The problem quickly became that I was not comfortable sharing what I write.  My writing often feels entirely personal, yet at other times completely foreign.  In both cases, I seem to come face to face with the perpetual fear of sharing it.

It's time to grow up now.

As someone who wants to become a writer (published or not), I need to come to blows with the fact that my writing is there to be read.  A fact that I realised with sudden clarity when I was sitting in my Creative Non Fiction class and I suddenly found my pen-name staring back at me on the roster.  The possessed ink in my pen some how made its way out in the form of a name, foreign to my own, yet familiar to my head.

It's time for me to take my rightful place as writer.

So this is what it will be.  It will be me writing the things that write in a moment on the bus, in the cafeteria, in the middle of class, in the middle of my room, on the park bench in the middle of the city.  This is me, rough and raw.  Ready to meet the uncensored me?

I'm nervous.

Took the time to write down all my thoughts.

Yesterday, I pulled a college student day.  I've been known to be a ridiculous procrastinator on so many things in my life--school work very much included.  However, since moving to Portland and starting fresh, I've been very focused and really good with my school work, until recently.

I hate research papers.  Let me explain this.  I hate the research part of research papers.  I have so many high school flashbacks of breaking down in tears in front of the computer at 3 am because the Great Firewall of China had struck once again.  To this day, I have nightmares about my internet connection shutting down because of the wrong phrase typed into Google all for a school assignment.  Yes, yes, I know that I am free of those restrictions, but I still hate it.  Research papers tend to leave me with the overwhelming feeling that I could have written so much more because there was so much more information I could have used but never got around to.  Research papers are daunting.

Don't get me wrong, I can write an amazing research paper, and given the right topic, I can somewhat enjoy the topic.  But there's a reason I decided to drop the science major, and there it is.

My writing class was assigned a research paper a few weeks ago.  The catch?  The topic we chose had to be a current international issue...and we were allowed only ONE internet source.  Sure, I understand the stipulations of this.  This is a lesson in using resources out side of Wikipedia and that third grade web report on George Washington.  But, of course, I chose a topic I wouldn't be bored to tears with and had no chance of being duplicated by any of my fellow classmates.  I chose to write on the effects that blogging has had on the media industry.  Of course, this topic limited my offline resources severely, and I knew this.

So, I avoided it like the plague.

While avoiding this paper like SARS, I contracted my own illness.  Irony, awesome.  I spent the last couple weeks running into the doctors with my mystery illness and the rest was spent paying more attention to what was wrong with me, rather than what was due.  On Monday my mystery pain was finally diagnosed, and the sudden realization that I hadn't even looked at this paper let alone started it hit me and I scrambled to find my original proposal for the essay.

In a move filled with awesomeness, I entered the library 7 hours before the research paper was due, emptied the bookshelves dealing with blogging, the internet, ethics, and journalistic media forms.  And there I sat for 7 hours, reading, highlighting, copying, typing, sourcing, and contmeplating taking a nap on floor.  But I got it done without completely wanting to kill myself or shred the books infront of me.  Success.

But I noticed something during my time spent scouring the bookshelves and flipping through pages; I miss libraries.  I've always found comfort in sitting between the stacks and flipping through some volume from the past.  I love the smell of books.  I love the delapedated covers from the 60's that stare back at me.  I love the idea that someone else read the same book I posess and that they were standing in the same place I am when taking it from the shelf.  I love searching for a book from the call number on the spine; it's like detective's work.

When I was at school in Hawaii, the library was massive, but it was also...unwelcoming.  The library was being remodled while was at school and it was never truly and completely peaceful.  The books were being placed in boxes and everything in the place felt incomplete and missing.  Not to mention, the school was small and when you live on campus, you know everyone.  People constantly came over to talk to you in the library, to say 'hi'.  It wasn't a place where you could lose yourself.  You couldn't sit in the stacks because someone would come by for a chat or the spines of the books you ran your fingers over were screaming for their missing counterparts, burried somewhere within a box, remembered only by their barcodes.  The windows were tinted, the flouresent lights were blinding and the air conditioner was set far too low.  The place was cold and dark, and not in a welcoming way.

When I sat in the confines of the Rock Creek library yesterday, I wan't affected by the atmosphere in a negative way.  I fell in love with the library's book collection last term when I found myself reading Dostoyevsky infront of Shakespeare (there's something brilliantly beautiful about that moment).  The library is open and bright, inviting, warm, beautiful.  The frustrated kids frantically flipping through their books, don't look that frustrated after all.  The library has couches, and ample outlets for laptops in the desks.

But here's my favourite part.  Lamps.  The library contains personal lamps at every desk, rather than depending upon the harsh, loud light of flourecents.  They're primary light source are the 180 degree floor to ceiling windows and sky lights.  Beautiful.

Plus, it helps that I don't know anyone on campus well enough to hold a conversation with.

I think I've found my new inspirational sanctuary, and that makes me giddy inside

Brandy Alexander

There's something about red wine that makes you feel like a jazz singer.  I'm sitting here, half a bottle into some delicious Merlot and I can't help but sing and sway to the sounds of Feist. 

Yes, indeed, it is Valentines evening.  I've never had an issue with Valentine's day, until I moved back to the States.  Never have I seen another grossly capitalized non-holiday, save Halloween.  Oh, you may argue St. Paddy's, but honestly, that is a holiday that all can enjoy.  However, Valentines.  Hmm.  I remember being in the 9th grade, walking down the halls of the prison in which I spent 7 hours Monday thru Friday with my fellow cell mates whom I never truly got along with, save a few.  Where was I?  Oh.  Countless lockers and giggly girls were found up and down the halls, covered in hearts and sparkles, balloons and red.  Why?  What was it about this day?  To this day, I still don't understand.

Rather than contemplate my loneliness on this night, which I do so well on all other nights, I've embraced the holiday.  I go out, and I give in.  I buy flowers, ice cream, wine.  The cashier gives me a wry smile as I check out with my goods, believing that I have some grandious plans for this night.  And, yes, I do.  My plans include having flowers by my side to greet me in the morning, drinking all the wine, eating all the ice cream and passing out watching some sort of ridiculousness on television.  Or, blogging, half a bottle into my red.

This isn't every night.  I don't get to do this every day.  This day, this day is special because I get to.  Because everyone else is acting like fools, I feel that I get to have a piece of the pie by singing into my phone and pretending for a moment that I am singing away everyone's blues in some slinky jazz club, called my kitchen.  Yes, I'm singing off key, but my audience doesn't know that, so shh.  And in the morning, I will wake up and wonder why I have a bruise on my hip and why my head hurts so much and why I have The OC theme song stuck in my head.

There's a song that's been in my head and it's been pretty.  He's my Brandy Alexander, always gets me into trouble, but that's another matter.  Brandy Alexander.  Tonight, I'm pretending that Brandy Alexander and I are getting into trouble, singing up a storm in the kitchen and forgetting where the corkscrew went.

I've found that it's okay to feel sexy with a bottle of wine, and no one else around.

Happy Valentine's day.

FlyRice and All Its Meaning

I've been asked a few times what exactly 'The Rice Bowl' means, how I came up with it.  The same question has been asked about my comment name, 'FlyRice'.  I comment under a different name than my own, even though I use my own name on this blog, I think its part of habit.  When I'm asked about my bizarre names I guess I answer with a tinge of surprise.  I don't think I've actually ever gone into detail as to why those names were chosen.

My first blog was called 'The 8th Comment'.  I started the blog a few years back, when I was in my early years of High School.  I was searching for my voice.  Blogging was still new, however growing rapidly, and I had no idea what I should write.  I was interested in politics at the time.  I lived off of current affairs and would die if I didn't watch the news for at least 3 hours a day.  But at the same time, I used the blog to do my normal blitching about my life as a high school student in a place that I didn't fit in and didn't want to be.  Yes, it was used as a diary/blog.  I would rant about everything in my life and it really had no real grounding.  It was the '8th' because at the time I was playing Water-polo and that was my number.  Number 8.  It was lame...basically, I couldn't think of anything else and it just sounded good.

'The 8th Comment' disappeared after a while.  I forgot about it for a while and then my account disappeared.  After joining MySpace, and abusing the blogging feature, I decided to give blogging another try.  I used Blogger and started 'The Rice Bowl'.  At that point I had already invented the name 'FlyRice' which was originally, 'FlyRice817', combining my two favourite numbers for sports reasons and sentimental reasons as well.  Eventually, it was simplified.  I chose the name after I saw a shirt with a bowl of rice with wings.  I identified with it and made up my own little story about it.

I identify with Chinese culture since I've lived there most of my life.  I feel like an outsider when I'm not in an Asian atmosphere.  But at the same time, I love the thrill of being in new places and experiencing new things.  Sometimes I feel like I am one grain of rice in bowl, and that idea can terrify me and excite me all at once.  I like to stand out sometimes and I like to do things on my own a lot.  I'm not the most social creature and I've always liked working independently.  So, sometimes, I feel like that one piece of rice that gets stuck on the side of the bowl or manages to fly away from the rest of the grains.  With that I created 'FlyRice', my cyber identity.

What better place to live in than 'The Rice Bowl'.  I think the whole story suits my current situation and the situation that I've been anticipating my whole life.  I'm breaking away from the rest of the grains and finding my own way.  I'm making my own story and I'm finding my wings, but I'll always keep a part of my past with me.  I'll always be from 'The Rice Bowl' (China/Asia/Home) and I'll always be able to fly back to that and know that I'm welcomed somewhere.

As for the drawing, its a design that I've jotted down several times.  I'm not a great artist, I admit, but I stole my friend's drawing tablet for a couple hours and abused her Photo-Shop pretty good.  Its not the greatest thing in the world, but it's my expression...and now my mascot.  So if you look close, I have my Rice Bowl, and above it, there's me.  The one flying grain of rice, off to make her way through the world.  There's my philosophical answer to the history of 'Rice'.

'The Rice Bowl' has slowly started to find its feet.  Yes, I still use it as a diary, sometimes.  But its more of a way to let people look in on what's happening with me and my life.  I spew thoughts, events, stories and even song lyrics when I get bored.  'The Rice Bowl' moved to TypePad sometime in 2005 when my father (GZExpat) started his own tinkering in the art of blogging.  We both went 'corporate' and bought domains for our blogs as we both used them frequently.

So with the face-lift that the 'Bowl' has endured (and there might be more tinkering to come) I feel like I'm ready to fly on to my next adventure, whatever life may bring.

Slight Rennovation

I'm currently trying to rennovate The Rice Bowl.  I'm looking for a new look...something a little less dark.  Yes, this is a big step for me.  So bear with me while these changes occur.  I will keep posting during my rennovations, but I think they are long-awaited.

Thanks!