America, I love you.

What better way to celebrate freedom than to get pumped up about "Captain America: The First Avenger"?

I love America, yes I do. I love America, how about you?

I love America because it embodies one principle that my family has held important in our all lives: freedom.

Last night, my parents and I started talking seriously about our family history. We usually spoke of random parts and such now and then, but this particular evening led me to take extensive notes about a couple of my relatives.

My maternal grandparents acted courageously on, I believe, one of the most crucial decisions of theirs and their descendants’ lives. Here is the story of their escape to Hong Kong.

--------

Family Stories: Part I, or Who Knew That My Frail, Newspaper-Reading, Ever-Ranting Grandmother Had To Go Through This?

Grandpa and grandma were living in Mainland China at the time when the Communist Party took over. Grandpa had heard rumors of what the Communists could do, would do, should someone cross their path. Someone told him of the freedom-less regime that the Communists' would consequently bring with them. He was worried, but felt like he needed to stay because he couldn’t find work in Hong Kong. One day, his son, my uncle, who was four-years-old at the time, came home from school singing, Not for father, not for mother, love only for China. Generations of filial piety were forced out of children's minds and doses of indoctrination were injected. Grandpa made a plan. He would flee to Hong Kong and find a home for his family, who was instructed to stay in China till he sent for them. 

Grandma did all she could to pack up their essentials. When she, her mother-in-law, and her son reached the train station, they were stopped by hoards of Chinese waiting to board the same train to Hong Kong, to freedom. It was as if all of China was waiting to board. The train was already pulled up but its doors were shut and locked. And all of China waited.

And waited. 

And waited.

A police officer nearby noticed Grandma and asked her if she was okay, to which she replied negatively; she was getting dizzy from all the commotion and from the lack of oxygen (or perhaps she felt freedom escaping her). Here, the officer said, I’ll take you to the other side; there’s no one there. They walked over to the next platform, which was empty and my grandma was finally getting fresh air. She looked at the train and saw that one of the doors was ajar. She walked closer.

It was open.

Grandma’s heart started beating three times faster. Was this a sign? As calmly as she could, she walked back towards the crowd and found her mother and son. Come, come quick, she whispered. Her family followed her and they stood in front of the open door. One...two...three. They threw open the door and jumped inside. Grandma dragged her son and her mother-in-law was on their heels. They made it to the middle of the car and they stayed there.

Suddenly, people began to flood the platform. Someone had heard the door sliding open. Punches were thrown, faces were elbowed, groins were kneed: everyone was trying to get on. Afraid that she would be asked to give up her seat, grandma clutched her sweaty son even closer to her heart.

Hours passed, or were they just minutes? The train started to move. Grandma brushed aside her son’s hair, which was plastered with sweat to her chin, and peeked out the window. The train was full, but it seemed that the station was packed still. Fists pounded the outside of the train as if they hoped someone would reach out and grab them, save them from an army marching in from hell. Grandma avoided eye contact.

The train left the station, but Grandma still didn’t feel safe. It wasn’t until they crossed the border into Hong Kong did she take a reassured breath. Grandpa was at the station and Grandma collapsed into his arms. They were safe.

Two days later, trains stopped running and the border between China and Hong Kong closed. Had she try to leave two days later, only God knows for sure how different her life would be. We can only assume that she would have been faced with oppression, violence, and betrayal. She would have faced mankind's worst leaders who promised to lead China to immense prosperity, but instead led her to slaughter and intense poverty. 

She would have faced what my Great Aunt faced. 

That is another story.

End of my non-fiction short story.

And that is why I love freedom. All my siblings and I were born in America because our parents wanted us to be born in a free country. When Hong Kong was given back to China (they were under British rule since the Opium Wars till 1997), my parents flew to America. I remember helping them learn the Pledge of Allegiance and review the Bill of Rights for their citizenship tests. They became citizens when I was in fifth grade. 

Happy Independence Day, America. Keep on fighting for freedom.

Now if you excuse me, I will now spend the rest of the night utilizing one particular gift China gave to western countries: fireworks.

Glassblowing.

First, happy birthday to my beautiful mother! I love you very much mommy!

Second, a random note: I am currently watching "Kiki's Delivery Service" for the fourth or fifth time within two weeks. It's my favorite Miyazaki film and I'm making my niece watch it. I'm only hoping that it will become her favorite that way we can watch it ALL the time. All day erryday. Not that I'm not already doing that. She can now say Kiki. 

Onto my post.

Would you believe me if I told you I made these?

Illia's paperweight. I accidentally uploaded hers instead of mine.

Cup.

Vase.

Glass flower.

Well, you better believe it, buddy. This weekend, my family and I vacationed in Vermont, which, in my opinion, is one of the more beautiful states in America.

Isn't it magnificent?

My dad offered me two choices: learn how to blow glass or be pampered at a spa. I was seriously conflicted. I love a good massage...but I absolutely love learning new things, even if it internally scars me (skateboarding, summer of 2009: I still don't have feeling in a small part of my right thigh), or sets off an expensive journey to master many instruments (violin, piano, trumpet, guitar, ukulele, drums, bass guitar...and now banjo? mandolin?). Obviously, I chose to blow glass. My older sister and my mom went to the spa and Illia accompanied me. My wonderful dad stayed at the motel and watched my niece. Thank you daddy-o!

I stepped into the building from a humid environment into a overheated workshop. There were two blazing furnaces. Needless to say, the excess heat got to me.

But it was awesome. And I want to make more. Our teacher, Andrew, described it as legal crack. You have the power to create at your fingertips and it's so satisfying to see the results. At first, Andrew asked me if I ever did pottery.

"Yes, I have," I said.

"Were you any good?"

"No." And I really wasn't. I had added too much water so my clay practically slipped off the wheel. 

"Oh. Then you'll probably suck at this."

But I proved him wrong. It turns out I'm a pro.

The start of my vase.

The molten glass pulled like laffy-taffy. I was super tempted to touch it half the time. I know, I know..."Are you crazy Eden? That's like a bajillion degrees!" I know. I am crazy. Confession: I am also tempted to step straight into a biker's path everytime I hear one creeping up behind me. 

Could you just imagine the collision? 

My current life; 6/20

An update on my life. Stimulating, I know.

From June 10th to the 12th, I was in New York...
...attending a Bible conference for young single adults;
...bumping into my visiting teacher from BYU;
...living in an apartment for two nights belonging to a family who I never met before, but were extremely hospitable and generous to me;
...watching half of "She's All That" and "True Grit";
...perfecting my skills in riding/figuring out subway;

It's confusing, but doable. (What a weird-looking word...doable, doable...)

...and listening to the testimonies of L. Tom Perry, Quentin L. Cook, and Senator Harry Reid.

On June 14th, I wrote a song with my guitar teacher about shooting a cow. Lyrics will change. Eventually.

On June 18th, I was...
...in Flushing, Queens getting a hair cut;

Before: pixel-y and confused.

After: short hair and confused.

...attending a wedding reception, where there was a square dance, and where I realized that I like the banjo--meaning, I will probably end up playing it by the end of this summer. (But, dilemma...this summer, should I perfect the trumpet or take up the banjo? I can do one or the other, but I can't decide what I want to do more...help me decide!)

Today, I will partake of my first chili cheese dog, which, according to friends, is "quite the experience." Wish me luck as I embark on this new adventure.

And from June 12th till now: I've been hanging out with my sisters and my niece, who calls me Eddy (and dubbed my laptop "Elmo," since we frequently watch "Elmo's World" on it). Today, she added two new words to her vocabulary: "Come" and "What?" I'm probably more enthralled than you are, but if for the last couple days you've been hearing "No way! No way No way!" from a tiny little toddler, you'd find new words are exciting too.

And here's a song to end this post:

Have a wonderful week, my beautiful friends.

Meryl Streep and tuna fish sandwiches.

I walked up and down the aisles. There was no sound except for the noise coming from the rusting cogs of the assembly belts . The women working the line reminded me of my elementary school lunch ladies: old and perpetually grumpy (and understandably so). They were machines, moving only to grab their part for the ensemble. My Humanities lecture on Charlie Chaplin's "Modern Times"suddenly became very real to me.

The shelter stunk of tuna fish. No surprise there, though. They were assembling tuna fish sandwiches.

"And here is where we end our tour," Meryl Streep informed me. She then proceeded to top off the last sandwich on the belt with another slice of bread. Out of all the homeless shelters and soup kitchens in Connecticut, I chose the one Meryl runs.

One bajillion points for Eden.

Two supervisors barged through the door and stopped in front of Meryl, who motioned to the incinerator in the corner. Suddenly, as if Meryl had flipped a switched, all the women in the shelter lunged for the sandwiches that were in front of them and ran to feed the fiery furnace.

"Wha--what's going on?" I stuttered. I quickly glanced out the window. The hungry were there waiting to be fed...

...but their meal had just been delivered to the devil.

"They don't deserve food." Meryl muttered.

"But you're a soup kitchen. You're supposed to give them food."

"They stole my child."

I was puzzled.

"These people, these homeless, hungry people, took my child."

Infuriated, I tackled the nearest woman and stopped her from throwing her tuna fish sandwich away. I was going to feed the hungry, even if I was to do it alone.

I awoke in a sweat, my heart racing. I knew what I had to do this summer.

End of my strange short story.
Yes, this was a dream I had last night (hence Meryl Streep and her grudge against homeless people). I think it was triggered by the fact that I was called to be a Day of Service specialist (along with Linea...Linea, how do we always end up having the same calling?) and, automatically, my super ambitiousness took over as I concocted ideas. What if I ended world hunger?

If only I could.

New and old music obsessions: Dia Frampton and Coldplay

First, the new. Dia Frampton.

I've listened to and liked her stuff before in Meg & Dia, but her blind audition and her battle round didn't blow me away (I also personally felt everyone in the battle rounds did not do well overall). Tuesday night on "The Voice" changed everything and I jumped on the bandwagon. I love Dia Frampton.

(the video I had embedded didn't end up embedding...but this video is worth watching for sure.)

Second, the old. Coldplay.

I had no other reason to put up this picture except for the fact that it is very aesthetically pleasing to the eye.
In other words, they're really attractive.

Coldplay, who I love with great passion and have an undying loyalty to, came out with a new single last week.

Coldplay is definitely evolving, but even in Viva la Vida, they hearkened back to their own unique style, to the style that I found in Parachutes, their first and my favorite album. It was this album that made me love them.

I continued to find more and more favorites, but I've finally settled on one:

But then I heard "Reign of Love" (note that I also love "Lovers in Japan") and I am still torn between these two songs.

I think it's Chris Martin's distinguishable voice, beautiful falsetto, and movingly expressive lyrics that has me listening to him for hours and waiting anxiously for the day Coldplay's new album is released.

Road rage.

I find that I become a completely different driver driving from Connecticut...

Grandma.

into New York.

Asian Invasion, Speed Racer.

I live about ten minutes from the Connecticut/New York border. The second I cross it, I start speeding up, the cars start honking, and everyone's road rage starts kicking in. (The speed limits I have up in my pictures are accurate. It almost doubles just by passing the "Welcome to New York" road sign.)

If you've been in my car with me, you'll notice that my road rage is rather polite.

"Excuse me, um, sir or madam. Um, I don't think you should be doing that. Oh, okay, I guess I'll let you through even though it's my right-of-way."

Illia, on the other hand, has heard different things. At different volumes.

"SLOW DOWN CRAZY! THERE'S A STOP SIGN IN FRONT OF YOU! AND YOU! GET OFF THE ROAD MORON! YOU ALMOST KILLED ME!"

I can only imagine what me yelling looks like to other people. I mean, I am confined by pounds of metal and glass so anything that happens within the walls of my car becomes a game of charades to drivers.

I'm no good at charades.

Illia has also been with me when I was in weird moods in the car.

Left: Illia; Right: Eden
Parks and Recreation

On a completely different note, I've developed an addiction to these ice cream bars. My mom got these WeightWatchers "GIANT Cookies & Cream Bar" and I've been eating them like crazy. (It defeats the purpose, I know, but hey, I was never on a diet in the first place. My mom thought they looked good and got them.) The ice cream just melts in your mouth.

It's manna from heaven.

You're funny. Wait, no you're not. But actually, you are...not.

First, what do you think of my new background? I feel like it might be too much. That could also be due to the fact that I was staring at my faces for so long as I was trying to get the collage together.

Second, I saw "Kung-Fu Panda 2." If you're looking for a feel good movie, go for "Kung-Fu Panda." Best line from the film? "My son saved China and you can save too! Buy one dumpling, get one free."

The Furious Five and the Dragon Warrior.

I love the whole Ancient China setting. I've always been proud of my heritage. In fact, I've lately felt homesick for Hong Kong (even before Kung-Fu Panda). It's weird. I want to be in that environment again: the constant movement, the food, the language, the buildings, the harbor. I suddenly miss everything about Hong Kong.

Me looking up:
I think this is in the same apartment complex my grandma and aunts live in.

Me looking out onto Hong Kong Island.

Taken on Victoria Peak.

It's absolutely gorgeous. 

Moving onto the topic of my post, I had a weird encounter with what I call the "I'm serious, but not really, but actually I am" sense of humor. If you do this, I have to tell you up front: I cannot tell if you're serious or not. I admit that I am sometimes guilty of such puzzling humor. To anyone I may have offended or confused with this brand of humor, I apologize.

My weird encounter: I was delivering some food.

Just deliverin'.

The guy who opened the door was very friendly and greeted me. Then, with a smirk on his face, he asked, "You have change for one hundred dollars, right?" The weird grin threw me off and I, thinking he was joking, laughed and said, "Yeah, I always have change for Mr. Benjamin Franklin." 

"Fantastic!" He slipped me a one hundred-dollar bill.

He wasn't joking.

"Um, I only have twenty dollars in change." The smirk quickly disappeared. He stared at me. 

"Okay, what's wrong with this picture?" he asked. I hesitated. His brows furrowed. 

"How much was my order?" 

I mumbled his expense.

"And how much did I give you?" 

I sheepishly answered.

"And how much are you giving back?" 

I looked at the crumbled twenty in my hand. He grabbed the hundred dollar-bill from my hand.

"Don't come back till you have the change." The door shuts and I was left on his porch befuddled by the whole situation.

Befuddled by the whole situation.

I returned later with exact change. When he opened the door, he had that smirk again. "So, you brought more food with you, right?"

I wanted to punch him.

p.s. Sorry for such a lousy post. I was trying to meet a deadline. You see, I've posted on Mondays for quite a while now (and if it wasn't on Monday, it was on Sunday). Seeing how it was getting late and I haven't posted yet, I just whipped up the first thing that came to mind. Hence, this post.

p.p.s. Happy Memorial Day! Thank you to all the soldiers who have died for our country and for those who are now fighting for our country.

Good day sunshine.

I awoke yesterday morning to a war within my body. White blood cells rushed to my lungs and my throat as the enemy virus began its second wave upon my immune system. I felt heat from the conflict and I laid still in hopes that the sedentary state of my being would aid my white blood cells in the battle. My room was dark and I listened for the familiar sound of rain.

Nothing.

I turned towards my window and saw light seeping through the blinds, yearning to be released into my cold, gloomy room. A surge of anger raced through my veins: here I was, laying sick in bed, and it was finally a beautiful day.

My dad advised me to go out in the sun. "It will do you some good," he promised.
I dragged myself out of bed and walked straight outside.

Sick and getting some sunshine.

I felt weird. No, not because I was wearing a Grover T-shirt and pajama bottoms out in the middle of my front yard; that was normal. It was because I sensed something within me change. The sun illuminated my soul as its rays cleansed my body.
I felt weird. I was...happy? The corners of my mouth began to twitch into a smile.

Happiness. (Discovered through some sunlight and a shower.)

I was happy.

End of my strange short story.
Moral of the story: the sun has magical healing powers.
Also, me sick = weird posts.

A couple realizations.

First realization: Rapture does not mean a zombie apocalypse, even though I have had recurring nightmares about such an event. I have to admit, when the news stated that Rapture was to be on May 21, 2011, all I could think of was "AHHH ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE!" Apparently, the CDC thought the same.

And no, the recurring nightmares were not because I played Plants vs. Zombies for two hours straight before going to bed.

Best game ever.

My second realization happened on my way to a babysitting job. I pulled up to the gated driveway and found that the darn gates won't open. I looked to my right and saw the Hollywood sign (sorry, I had the urge to quote my on-and-off guilty pleasure); I looked to my left and found the keypad with a "Call" button underneath. I rolled down my window, reached out, and came to an awful realization--my arm was too short.

Quick fact: "Meet the Robinsons" is one of my favorite films.
It's also my comfort movie.

No matter how I positioned myself, I was always an inch away from the call button. I even unbuckled myself, kneeled on the seat, and had half my body dangling out the window. I was STILL off by a quarter of an inch.

Fairly accurate reenactment in my driveway and edited with the help of Mac Paintbrush.

On a completely different note (I feel like I change topics often in my posts...), I attempted art again. This time, instead of melting candles, I melted crayons.

Untitled...for now.

It's a bird. Can you see it? To the left of the big white blob, which I kind of regret including, is its top beak and the blob is covering the bottom beak. I hope you can see it. I saw it...but only after my dad pointed out that it looked like a rooster. Is that how abstract artists do things? Do they just create a mumble-jumble of something and show it to their closest buddies and the first thing that pops into their heads, that's what it is? (Was that sentence even grammatically correct?) It's like a weird twist off the Rorschach test.

It's untitled for now, but like my last art pieces, I'll have other people name it. So leave a comment below and help me name my bird/whatever-you-see and why you named it that. I really enjoy reading other people's insights on my work.

Now here's a nice video for you to enjoy at the close of this post: ("I Hope This Gets To You," The Daylights)

On a quick, more serious note, pray for Joplin, Missouri and those affected by the tornado. 

p.s. I finally put up a picture of my lamingtons. They'll be waiting for you (ahem, Kristen) in my last post.

p.p.s. August 10, 2011 UPDATE: my then guilty pleasure is no more. I saw a picture of her participating in one of my biggest pet peeves as an Asian. So goodbye Miley. Though I still like "The Climb," I now officially disowned you. 

Rain, rain, math, lamingtons

For the next week, Connecticut is expecting rain. And lots of it. I sat in front of the television trying to find a weather channel that had sunnier forecasts, but each disappointed me. And being a delivery girl for a local Asian restaurant means I have to drive in the rain. This will not end well. I know. I've done the math.

Driving = blah
Driving + Asian driver = Look out!
Driving + Asian driver + rain = DANGER!
Driving + Asian driver + rain + windy roads = AHHH STAY ON YOUR SIDE OF THE ROAD!
Driving + Asian driver + rain + windy roads + after sunset = intense search party sent out by the restaurant in hopes to find the delivery girl that never returned

This is my future.

Also, If driving = -gas and gas = $$$, then driving = -$$$
Gas is now $4.30/gal. It's ridiculous. In fact, the day I came home, gas was $4.13/gal and the very next morning, it jumped up to $4.17/gal. It's really ridiculous.

On another note, I made lamingtons again. This time, they came out better. We (Illia and I) had a more powerful mixer and we had more measuring spoons to work with. Last time, I only had one one-cup and one one-tablespoon. I had to be creative, which resulted in the cake base collapsing. It was still delicious.

(Finished product photo to go here...in a couple hours...)
(Update: May 23, 2011--Finally, my lamingtons pictures)

So much deliciousness in one little square. 

Chocolatey and coconut-y...mmmm

I bring this up yet again because my favorite YouTube vlogger Natalie Tran, more universally known as communitychannel, had once promised lamingtons to her viewers. She never delivered. Now, you may think I'm insane for following a vlogger with the intensity I have, but watch some of her videos (these are some of my favorites...probably because I relate to them the most: JUST KEEP IT, BAD LOSER, Embrace The Position, OMG you look SO hot, Cooking in a hotel room with Natalie Tran).

Segway...

Coming soon to theaters, I believe. Anyway, I love movies like this. They make me want to be a teacher, to be an inspiration to someone and help them find who they are. I want to help people realize their potential and help them to overcome moments of self-doubt. (I realize I also have self-doubts and have to overcome my own faults, but I have been working on fixing many since I've been home and unemployed.) I want people to be happy because if there is one thing in this world that I believe all of the human race is entitled to is true happiness.

Also,

Holy cow, I love this song (which made my Favorite Songs for the Time Being (to the right of my posts under About Me)). I bought Elbow's The Seldom Seen Kid (2008) and it's absolutely wonderful. I listened to the album all the way through for the first time when I was caravaning with a friend. (She was dropping off her car and I was to drive her back home.) The only qualm I had with the album was its first song "Starlings": I was driving and trying to find my exit when "Starlings" was playing. At various points of the song, there were horns, as in brass instruments, blaring from my car's six speakers for a good two measures each. I became disoriented and deaf and I had missed my exit. But, when "One Day Like This" filled my Honda with wonderful strings and beautiful lyrics, the next six minutes and fifty-one seconds were just pure happiness. I couldn't help but smile when Guy Garvey confessed that he loved my eyes. Oh goodness.

I have a weakness for strings and accents.

What I've been doing: reviews of my current life; 5/9

Like the post title suggests, I have a couple of reviews to write. I'll keep them short and sweet.

In this last week, I watched...
...two movies:
1. "The King's Speech"--(2010) It was exceptional: wonderful acting, beautiful cinematography, and incredibly inspiring
2. "Inception"--(2010) Despite this being my third or fourth time watching this film, I still found it amazing.
...countless episodes of television shows:
"Community"--(2009- ) "Community" is incredibly witty and hilarious. It's hard to pick a favorite character, though I am tied between Chang and TroyandAbed. Yes, I do have an affinity towards Chang because he is Asian. But he's funny and odd at the same time. TroyandAbed: Troy is funny, Abed is the best, but them together is magic.
"Friends"--(1994-2004) "Friends" is filling the "friend void" that I've developed since I came home. Enough said.
"The Voice"--(2011- ) I've always been a fan of singing shows. I've watched American Idol for a huge part of my life, but I feel this show may take it a step further. The not-as-good artists are already sifted out and so we end up with talent like this. Absolutely beautiful.

You can tell I'm doing a lot with my life.