quelquefois

Cabbie: Men should have two women in their lives. One to be by their side, and one in their heart (he meant in his pants).
Me: Do you have two women in your life?
Cabbie: Yes, of course.
Me: What about women? Can they have two men in their lives?
Cabbie: I haven’t thought about it. 我对这没有研究.

Cabbie: How old are you?
Me: 23.
Cabbie: And you’re not married yet?
Me: I don’t even have a boyfriend.
Cabbie: You don’t even have a boyfriend?!? I think it’s time you put less focus on your work life and focus on finding a husband and settling down. You should let the man take care of everything, then you can stay home and relax. How great would that be?
Me: Actually….
Cabbie: [continues to ramble on about men being breadwinners, women being homemakers]

Cabbie: You know why women would be bad doctors? Because they’re too emotional. Let me give you an example. A woman has breast cancer, goes into a woman doctor. This woman doctor may think to herself, “I want to let this woman keep as much of her womanly features as she can, because I know it is important to her identity as a woman. Thus, I’ll try to remove as little breast tissue as I can.” Men? They’re pragmatic. They think, “Cancer is bad, I will remove any remnant of cancer, regardless of what it takes.” Then just slice off everything. See? Then you never know, cancer may just come right back if a women operated.

Actually, I should have titled it “Being Lectured by a Misogynist Nanjing Cabbie,” because I didn’t really converse with him. It was more him talking at me than with me.

Why, all of a sudden, are so many of you interested in me? In the many times I’ve come to China, I had not spent as much time with Chinese men at all until this fall. But through various interactions with various types of men in the past few months, I think I learned a lot about you.

I understand what the words that come out of your mouths mean. Want to watch a movie? It means you want to make out. Want to drink tea? It means you want to have sex. Want to come see my house? It means you want to have sex. It’s okay for you to cheat on your wife (and your child), because you have money and status symbols such an Audi and a vrooooom gas-guzzling Land Rover. It’s also okay to do anything you want, because you are a man.

You don’t have to get incite a physical fight with another man over me. Don’t bring baristas who work at your cafe along with you for a night of drinking to show your power over other people. And don’t let them do the fighting for you.

Stop being so clingy. You don’t have to call me 40 times a day (literally) and send me text after text. Much less to confirm whether I got your previous text. It does not work when you cry and tell me you love me, you love me, you really really love me. Showing your desperation really just makes me want to play with your emotions (forgive me). And seriously, if you really wanted to see me, you’d find some other way than through the phone.

I’ve had enough of you, kthxbi!

Sincerely,
Girl who needs her space. Really.

One of my classes here in Harbin focuses on Chinese national security strategies and diplomacy. I have read article after article written by Chinese scholars who have criticized the way the United States has conducted international affairs in the 21st century. At first I was defensive. The words, although not directly addressing me, hit a soft spot. I argued, “No, there is no way that we would actively pursue hegemony at the expense of other countries.” But when I take a step back I realise how other countries must perceive our actions.

I felt cheated that people perceived America and Americans by the way George W. Bush and his administration conducted themselves in Washington and abroad. It is hard to convince people otherwise that not all of us are like (or even like) Bush given all they see and hear in the news, on television, and even in scholarly articles.

But, today, I couldn’t be prouder to be an American citizen. I will have a President who represents what I stand for. I am ready for change, as the past eight years of my life–my entire youth–have been tainted by the shadow of an inept leader and a conniving administration.

Obama’s presence and speeches often move me to tears. His words are so invigorating, selfless but responsible, uniting.

We may have different stories, but we hold common hopes; that we may not look the same and we may not have come from the same place, but we all want to move in the same direction — towards a better future. (18 March 2008)

His political vision of a united and progressive America moves me, and he speaks candidly about the problems we as a nation face. He understands the difficulty and magnitude of these challenges, and accepts that he may not be able to solve them all. His personal history also inspires me. That an African-American with a humble past but an extraordinary passion can really change the world cannot epitomize the American Dream any more perfectly.

Although I am oceans away from where I wish I was last night, I could still hear the shouts of elation, see the smiles of relief and euphoria, feel the warmth of tears of so many Americans. I’m so completely drenched with optimism and hope that things will, indeed, change.

Tonight we proved once more that the true strength of our nation comes not from our the might of our arms or the scale of our wealth, but from the enduring power of our ideals: democracy, liberty, opportunity, and unyielding hope.

We are, and always will be, the United States of America.

Fifi would be 12-years-old today! I miss her! I can’t express enough how much I love dogs. I have been so close to buying a dog in China (seriously, like, almost pulling out the cash to purchase one), to accompany me during my year here.  Although I am more than ready to take on the responsibility of taking care of an animal, I have to think about vaccinations, general care, transportation, whether I can take dogs on planes with me (for domestic flights to conduct field research), and whether I could take it back with me to the States. Okay, given all that, I know I shouldn’t get a dog here. So I will just have to 硬着头皮 (ying4zhe tou2pi2, brace myself) for the next dog-less year or and a half!

Woof woof!

Prolactin, aside from bringing milk to the jugs, also (according to Wikipedia*):

Provide[s] the body with sexual gratification after sexual acts: The hormone counteracts the effect of dopamine, which is responsible for sexual arousal. This is thought to cause the sexual refractory period. The amount of prolactin can be an indicator for the amount of sexual satisfaction and relaxation.

But…

Unusually high amounts are suspected to be responsible for impotence and loss of libido (see hyperprolactinemia Symptoms).

Fail? “Unusually high” is pretty vague.

*I hate that Wikipedia has become some beacon of “truth” for netizens.

I had been working on this entry for close to a year. Things just kept changing and other things kept coming up, but I feel like now is the right time to write about this.

In 2006, I gave all of my tampons and pads away to girlfriends. I didn’t need them. It certainly wasn’t menopause, and pregnancy was out of the question. I had hyperprolactinemia. In English, that means I have high prolactin levels in my blood. Prolactin is a hormone produced in the pituitary gland and is primarily responsible for milk production during lactation. 

Milk production during lactation? What the fuck does that mean? Was I lactating (the answer has consistently been: no)?  I spoke to doctor after doctor, from family practitioners to endocrinologists, to no avail. There have been endless MRIs, blood tests, acupuncture sessions, and explanations, over and over again. And, here’s the catch: of all the blood tests that I have done in the past two years, my prolactin levels are in normal range. 

I think know the root cause, but I do not know how to cure it. Junior year of high school, I swayed under the pressure of my then boyfriend who told me that I should just get on birth control so he didn’t have to slip on a condom every time we did it. My horny ex-boyfriend couldn’t cope any longer with the fact that he had to actually obtain condoms before he sticks it in.

My naïveté drove me to make an appointment with my doctor. I told her I wanted birth control for its beneficial side effects on skin. She prescribed Ortho Tri-cyclen Lo, which resulted in a month long period disaster. Ironic that the opposite effect happened, and I did not end up having sex once that month. Nevertheless, months went by, and everything was fine. (On a side note: if the quality of sex could have been a determinant of whether or not you’d get pregnant (with good meaning preggers, and bad meaning infertile), I would have been calling up adoption agencies and ask for every unadopted child available. It was the worst sex EVER.) Well…that commentary was not needed.

Even though I broke up with him by the end of my freshman year in college, I continued to take birth control pills for the convenience of predictable and lighter periods. By the middle of my sophomore year at Brown in 2005, the periods continued to get lighter, and I decided to give up the pills in hopes that things would go back to normal.

It didn’t.

In 2008, I still face the consequences of actions I made in 2003. Every time I came home from college or abroad I would be bombarded with blood tests, MRI scans, acupuncture, therapy, and consulting sessions with doctors. After three lousy years of that, I became dependent on 2.5 mg of bromocriptine every night. Did I mention that if I missed one dose by a few hours, I’m doomed to have a week-long period?

I took hormone pills, worried about how I’d never be able to bear children, and just generally felt like a menopausal woman. What was weird was that it would make brief re-appearances whenever I hooked up with someone. Soon, after my affairs ended, my period also disappeared. At least I knew then that I wasn’t completely broken.

A few months ago, I was still taking hormones. Now I have my period every other week. You heard right. EVERY. OTHER. WEEK. As if my uterus was trying to make up for lost time. And lord is it letting me know. I’m even considering going back ON the pill just to regulate this shit.

Fortunately, this summer I saw a wonderful doctor who helped me figure out what was going on. Yes, I did more lab tests and even got an ultrasound, but he deemed me perfectly healthy. Seeing no use for it, he told me to stop taking the hormone. I’ve been feeling more optimistic, even though my body is still figuring out that a period once every 28 days is fine. I still worry about the long term (i.e., children?), but I can’t dwell on that now. I have too much going for me.

I hope that I can be hormonally normal again soon. I’ve learned never to fuck around with nature using artificial hormones. And I suggest you think twice before listening to what those bitches say about “Yaz” on TV and getting only .560283 periods a year. 

1. Must have clean and cut nails. This includes both fingers and toes. It’s unquestionably one of the first things I look for.

Wow. Can we talk about this? I just had an out-of-this-world, surreal experience. I just saw some of the best performances in my life (sorry, Spice Girls, you really don’t compare, even on your reunion tour) by John Legend and Estelle. I’ve never felt so much raw emotion (different from the screaming fan kind of way) from both the performers and the crowd. Oh yeah, they were talented, too. Too talented.

I had always thought that their music (especially JL), although unique and transcendental in composition, still reverberated with situations and circumstances in everyday life. But it was tonight when I really felt that they connected with the audience members. They sing of the joys, the struggles that women and men face in relationships, both romantic and platonic. The way they sang their songs live nailed the emotions they tried to convey.

The crowd was amazing, too. I was seriously one of about ten or fifteen other Asians/non-black people in a 14,000 person crowd. Yet, I didn’t feel any different from anyone else. I joined other women in bemoaning how men got to basically cut the line because a) men and women were segregated for security checks. Since there were less men at the concert, it took much less time for them to get through security check. At other times, I sang and danced with everyone around me during our favorite songs (for me, it was all of them).

Even more importantly, I went to the concert with two good friends who are just as fun-loving and wonderful as everyone else! 

In short, it was an unforgettable evening and I couldn’t be happier.

I try not to let the small things get me down. Well, let me be specific. I try not to let people I become emotionally involved with (and/or attached to) get me down when whatever we had disintegrates (often quick and hard). To say the least, it’s been quite a year for me in that field. In fact, I believe I advocated for the idea of women to act more like stereotypical men. Isn’t it ironic that I failed at the whole emotionally attached part?

Nevertheless, despite my ambitions, I still think about the complexities, paradoxes, and contradictions of my most recent escapade. How can you tell me we were moving too fast when twenty-four hours ago you were asking, “Are you on birth control?” Then, you advocate for taking a step back. Sure, sounds great, I agree, let’s do it. Then come the rules: no kissing, no touching, no this, no that. The next time we saw each other, we didn’t even hug. How’s that for toying with your emotions? Thoughts like these continue to bog me down, right when I least need this emotional burden.

Unfortunately, when I’m upset, I also shut down. I never get to voice my concerns because I don’t say what I feel when I feel it. I’m one of those “I-just-hung-up-after-an-important-interview-and-remembered-everything-I-was-supposed-to-say” types of people. Prying words out of me can be compared to pulling the sword out of the stone, except without that magic asshole named Arthur who pulls it out. Maybe one day when a magic asshole can pull the sword from the stone with me, I’ll know he’s the one. Unless he’s like 12-years-old and/or the future King of England (what can I say, the royal life just isn’t for me, though it’d make a great reality TV show).

I know the world won’t end. Maybe I used this situation as an excuse both justify a good cry and tell myself that I am ready to graduate and move on. While many others in this emotional state vow to never let a man take advantage of them again, shun all men as pigs, blah blah blah, I won’t. Does your swearing off men do anything to change their behavior? No, it just means they’re going to be fucking someone else.

Here’s to letting go and smiling again.