Pictured above: Adam, Daniel Caesar, Tamar, Kaley and myself.
Friday, February 24, 2017
Wednesday, February 22, 2017
Personal Essay
Last Monday, I had to write a personal essay for a school application. The question asked who I was, what my story was, and why did it bring me here to this program. The essay was to be graded based on comprehension of task and storytelling ability as well as basic spelling and grammar.
The essay was handwritten in about 30 minutes. It was to be a page and a half, single-spaced.
Here is roughly what I wrote about:
On February 15th, I was emailed my offer. Starting September 2017, I will be going back to school.
The essay was handwritten in about 30 minutes. It was to be a page and a half, single-spaced.
Here is roughly what I wrote about:
- My name is Annie Chen and I am applying to the Copywriting program.
- For so much of my life, I have written. It is my personal and academic life. It is the stack of black Moleskine journals sitting on my shelf. It is the countless hours sitting in plain, uninspiring old gymnasiums writing 3-hour exams for my political studies degree.
- Writing is describing everything since I was 16. It is my first degree, my first heartbreak, my first time having sex, my first time living on my own. It is all the moments of joy but also wrinkled with tears. Some of my Moleskine journals are bursting at the seams, filled with personal anecdotes and movie stubs.
- Writing is my political studies degree that I cannot even call a science. It is countless hours of writing in exam rooms, and watching the sun rise as I try to finish my next paper that does not include much bias. Political studies is arguing for a point, but it is not to show too much bias. It is to convince someone, but to do so without too harsh of an opinion.
- I have struggled for almost two years since I graduated in June of 2015. I have struggled trying to rediscover my bias, my opinions, my passion. My political studies degree has stripped me of my bias. It has stripped me of the indignation and fire of the 16-year-old. I want my bias back.
- What better way is there than advertising, where bias and persuasion is set and undeniable?
This is some of the points of my personal essay. I compared my personal writing to my academic writing. I talked about the bias present in my own writing and the bias that is supposed to be hidden in my academic writing. I talked about bias as a sense of direction, and one that I have since lost after being told that it cannot be shown. I say that I enjoy writing, and I want to rediscover it. I want to go to the Copywriting program.
On February 15th, I was emailed my offer. Starting September 2017, I will be going back to school.
Saturday, February 18, 2017
First Date Experience: Bobby
Time: 18:23 the next day
Situation: He's a math professor visiting the City for a conference
Feeling: Good
What happened?: We spend about two days texting back and forth. Through text messages, we learn about each other and our situations. I tell him things that I normally wouldn't. I am more honest and vulnerable with this stranger than I am with most people in my life. The key here is that I am vulnerable. I'm not hiding between lies or half-truths. Here is someone who I'm not afraid of. He cannot hurt me.
He's staying at a hostel close by. I go over after a hot yoga class. By the time I get there, I realize how long my day has already been. I had work at 5:15am. I had an important doctor's appointment, and I went to a hot yoga class. My body didn't feel like it could be held upright anymore. Yet I am standing at his door.
We both comment immediately on how strange the situation is. It's a weird first date, if it can be called that because both of us have already expressed our own precarious positions. We both know that there's no future or any kind of relationship to develop. It is seeking company and companionship for the night. We spend the next maybe two hours sharing life facts and sex stories. We don't have sex. We lay on the bottom bunk bed, and as I'm laying there, it feels like I'm in first year again. It feels like I'm back in my room in Kingston and I'm listening to my guy friends describe their last date or the girl they're seeing. We share fun sex stories. He tells me about his life back home. He's a 32-year old math professor with a 3-year old child and a soon-to-be ex-wife. He had been with his wife since they were both 18. I listen to this stranger's life experiences, and I wonder how typical or abnormal my own is. I wonder how different lives can be, and how similar they can be as well. Understanding people is a strange experience.
We go out and get ramen at my favourite ramen place, Kinton, around 10pm. We talk about the current American political situation. I ask him whether it is Joe or Justin Trudeau. I tell him that I would want to date someone like him - who will make pillow forts to have sex in. But also talking to him, it is like talking to an old friend, sharing stories like we haven't seen each other in a while. It is not anything more than that, not really. There is intimacy found in sharing vulnerability with strangers.
After eating, we walk back to his hostel. He buys two Kinder Eggs for his son, tells me they're not available in the US.
It was a strange breed of intimacy. I wonder how to learn vulnerability, how to practice vulnerability. At some point, we are in his hostel room and I am crying. I hate that I am crying, because I am me and I do not cry in front of people. Something he says triggers the fear that has been a part of me. I am afraid of being alone. I am afraid of being unloved. I am afraid of being abandoned. I am afraid I do not know how to be honest, or truthful.
Is there salvation in crying to strangers? Is there freedom in being vulnerable and intimate with strangers? I don't know. Yesterday night was a good night. It was interesting to give myself away like that. So often, we give little parts of ourselves away. Our names, our verbal resume, our excuses, our delays. It is different to give someone our truths, our fears and insecurities, our history - unfiltered and without shame or guilt. I would consider doing it again. Bobby was nice and he was not unkind. It was strange to see or hear or share somethng beyond the initial outer layer.
Situation: He's a math professor visiting the City for a conference
Feeling: Good
What happened?: We spend about two days texting back and forth. Through text messages, we learn about each other and our situations. I tell him things that I normally wouldn't. I am more honest and vulnerable with this stranger than I am with most people in my life. The key here is that I am vulnerable. I'm not hiding between lies or half-truths. Here is someone who I'm not afraid of. He cannot hurt me.
He's staying at a hostel close by. I go over after a hot yoga class. By the time I get there, I realize how long my day has already been. I had work at 5:15am. I had an important doctor's appointment, and I went to a hot yoga class. My body didn't feel like it could be held upright anymore. Yet I am standing at his door.
We both comment immediately on how strange the situation is. It's a weird first date, if it can be called that because both of us have already expressed our own precarious positions. We both know that there's no future or any kind of relationship to develop. It is seeking company and companionship for the night. We spend the next maybe two hours sharing life facts and sex stories. We don't have sex. We lay on the bottom bunk bed, and as I'm laying there, it feels like I'm in first year again. It feels like I'm back in my room in Kingston and I'm listening to my guy friends describe their last date or the girl they're seeing. We share fun sex stories. He tells me about his life back home. He's a 32-year old math professor with a 3-year old child and a soon-to-be ex-wife. He had been with his wife since they were both 18. I listen to this stranger's life experiences, and I wonder how typical or abnormal my own is. I wonder how different lives can be, and how similar they can be as well. Understanding people is a strange experience.
We go out and get ramen at my favourite ramen place, Kinton, around 10pm. We talk about the current American political situation. I ask him whether it is Joe or Justin Trudeau. I tell him that I would want to date someone like him - who will make pillow forts to have sex in. But also talking to him, it is like talking to an old friend, sharing stories like we haven't seen each other in a while. It is not anything more than that, not really. There is intimacy found in sharing vulnerability with strangers.
After eating, we walk back to his hostel. He buys two Kinder Eggs for his son, tells me they're not available in the US.
It was a strange breed of intimacy. I wonder how to learn vulnerability, how to practice vulnerability. At some point, we are in his hostel room and I am crying. I hate that I am crying, because I am me and I do not cry in front of people. Something he says triggers the fear that has been a part of me. I am afraid of being alone. I am afraid of being unloved. I am afraid of being abandoned. I am afraid I do not know how to be honest, or truthful.
Is there salvation in crying to strangers? Is there freedom in being vulnerable and intimate with strangers? I don't know. Yesterday night was a good night. It was interesting to give myself away like that. So often, we give little parts of ourselves away. Our names, our verbal resume, our excuses, our delays. It is different to give someone our truths, our fears and insecurities, our history - unfiltered and without shame or guilt. I would consider doing it again. Bobby was nice and he was not unkind. It was strange to see or hear or share somethng beyond the initial outer layer.
Sunday, February 5, 2017
First Date Experience: Stewart
I'm starting a new series about the first dates I go on. The goal is to do a quick assessment of how the date went, as quickly as possible after the date. What happened, how I felt after, what we talked about, details about him. How we actually met, etc. It is in hopes of better understanding the people I meet, the patterns I fall into. A better log of my dating life.
Time: 00:09
Situation: Tinder date
Feeling: Insecure
What happened?: We meet around 8:40pm. He is ten minutes late. We switch from our original bar arcade idea to a quieter bar where I know the bouncer. We order two pitchers. The first pitcher is Creemore ("Creamore") and the second, Mill St. Tankhouse. We talk about our siblings. I tell him about my precarious relationship with my sister. He tells me he's the middle of three brothers, with their age defined by the numbers of tattoos each has. His birthday is March 10th. His parents got real busy in July. I tell him about past Chinese political history and he tells me more about Brexit. We discuss our parents. His are Scottish immigrants. Mine are Chinese. We talk about Humber College, where he went, where I recently applied. I tell him about my tattoo experience and how sick I got. He says he owns a tattoo gun, and does some tattoo work himself. He talks about his roommates and his friends.
I think we have a good date, but around 10pm, he suddenly tells me his roommate with the nearly dead grandmother, now has a dead grandmother and he has to go console his roommate. I don't know if I should be hurt. He settles the bill. He mentions that I can get it next time. We walk out. I can't remember if there's a hug or not. He says he had a nice time. I can't remember if he suggests another date. He walks off. I go back inside because I ran into a friend while I was in the toilet.
It's the next day. At 00:30, I text him telling him I came home safely. He never responds. I spend Sunday more or less unsure of the date. Unsure whether I will ever see him again.
I think I'm nice during the date. I talk about the things I'm passionate about. I am honest and I am myself. I let parts of my vulnerability and insecurity slip through, but I don't think it's overbearing. I describe the experience to my best friend as meeting and talking to someone at a friend's party. There are pockets where it's a little awkward, but not unbearably so. At least, I don't think so. Maybe he does. I'm not sure if I'll ever hear from him again.
Time: 00:09
Situation: Tinder date
Feeling: Insecure
What happened?: We meet around 8:40pm. He is ten minutes late. We switch from our original bar arcade idea to a quieter bar where I know the bouncer. We order two pitchers. The first pitcher is Creemore ("Creamore") and the second, Mill St. Tankhouse. We talk about our siblings. I tell him about my precarious relationship with my sister. He tells me he's the middle of three brothers, with their age defined by the numbers of tattoos each has. His birthday is March 10th. His parents got real busy in July. I tell him about past Chinese political history and he tells me more about Brexit. We discuss our parents. His are Scottish immigrants. Mine are Chinese. We talk about Humber College, where he went, where I recently applied. I tell him about my tattoo experience and how sick I got. He says he owns a tattoo gun, and does some tattoo work himself. He talks about his roommates and his friends.
I think we have a good date, but around 10pm, he suddenly tells me his roommate with the nearly dead grandmother, now has a dead grandmother and he has to go console his roommate. I don't know if I should be hurt. He settles the bill. He mentions that I can get it next time. We walk out. I can't remember if there's a hug or not. He says he had a nice time. I can't remember if he suggests another date. He walks off. I go back inside because I ran into a friend while I was in the toilet.
It's the next day. At 00:30, I text him telling him I came home safely. He never responds. I spend Sunday more or less unsure of the date. Unsure whether I will ever see him again.
I think I'm nice during the date. I talk about the things I'm passionate about. I am honest and I am myself. I let parts of my vulnerability and insecurity slip through, but I don't think it's overbearing. I describe the experience to my best friend as meeting and talking to someone at a friend's party. There are pockets where it's a little awkward, but not unbearably so. At least, I don't think so. Maybe he does. I'm not sure if I'll ever hear from him again.
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