A year ago, back at UIAH, there was this exhange student, a girl from Peru. Having traded her talkative, open, community-centered social environment to the faceless autumn crowds of Helsinki, she struggled on, anguished, for two weeks, but, in the end, was forced to surrender. And so she retreated back to her home country, defeated by the
true winter of Finland.
She couldn't take it. She couldn't bear it. Some might see her as puny, weak. She didn't have what it takes to engage in the adventure of immense cultural shift and pushing through it on one's own.
Still, somehow, there is glory in her failure. She now knows where her home is, that she now needs no more. She knows its worth. She knows that battles can be lost without the continuity of life suffering the least bit.
I have been defeated by a hostess who makes sick people wash the dishes and accuses them from having lack of willpower, who systematically sustains from saying anything positive from other people, and who systematically makes remarks I cannot but interpret as malevolent.
I know why I wasn't happy at Teena's. It wasn't home. It was far from it; it was anything but. It was like staying as a guest in a house. I was basically that. It wasn't just having the TV on at all times at ludicrous volumes and a 5-year-old doing everything in her power to just get attention. It was an experience of injustice.
The Bliss of Responsibility
They told me I could eat anything I'd manage to find. This, however, didn't appear to include anything that was meant for Jasmine (no way to tell that, of course). I was also told I drink too much milk and I'd have to buy my own. I also ended up having to pay for my own food and preparing it all by myself. The contract said (among other things I won't complain about here) I'd be supplied with three meals a day prepared by the family. During the last week she made me a salad.
When I was sick with a chest infection they barely reacted. (I lived there for 7 weeks and was sick altogether for 2 weeks. They asked me how I felt once.) When I went to see the nurse that told me to get exhuberant, Teena politely refused to fetch some for me from the pharmacy. She also told me to turn off the heater for the night "because it isn't good for you" (or to save in the electric bill?). Secretly I kept it on—and saw nightmares of how she'd burst into the room to turn it off. And like in the dream I was so utterly, so thoroughly defenseless before her.
Will I miss any of that? No. There is no way to survive that sort of humiliation other than submissiveness, and that I was uncapable of. There were days during which I was ready and willing, no, more than that, to hop into an airplane at once and get out, get away. If this had continued, I certainly would have ended up like the Peruvian girl.
There is glory in our failure. Without my stay at Teena's I probably would fail to see how perfect this student flat is, how the walls suffocate most of the noise, how soothing the street sounds can be. How wonderful it is to wake up and watch the morning clouds do Tai Chi with the delicate curtains. To have a room of one's own at the third floor (even if a gigantic McDonald's logo defiles the view). How inspiring it is to live with designers instead of a real estate businesswoman. To buy organic honey and all the other groceries on one's own (I now understand shopping a bit better; there's a notion of freedom). To be enthusiastic about keeping the household tidy together. To do the dishes and melt the fridge not because I'm told to but because I
want to.
Having responsibility, not
having to take it.The Inner Circle
Now I'm living with Robin, Michael and Patric. And practically Meghan too, we say—she lives next door but spends lots of time in our living room and is still planning on moving here.
Robin's a really nice honours student from Taiwan, he's doing a thesis on emotional responses on experimental new media audioscapes or something like that. Wild stuff eh. He's been in NZ for ten years (Hamilton, his girlfriend's there, as is he too for the vacation) and though he says he had lots of difficulties learning English at first he now masters it and has a true kiwi accent Meghan and I consciously try to copy. Oh no! = Ör nör!. I know = I nör.
Patric's a Malesian third-year. Really cute and rrreally gay with a sense of humour I mostly don't get. Most of the time I have to repeat myself to him (I should probably learn to talk more clearly). (S)he's the heart of the house, always cleaning, decorating and cooking marvellous dishes (or so I'm told—I wouldn't know, they have all been animal corpse inclusive thus far). He was thoroughly surprised to hear I'm not too much into older men. He says I'm too cute and delicate and non-masculine to have a boyfriend younger than me, that I seem like one who needs a real man to take care of me.
Michael's a hot kiwi sports student who's into all sorts of silly stuff like action movies and American Pie. My second night at the flat we watched Van Helsing (I got to choose from his movie selection). Whereas Mike was immersing and praising the special effects on every turn I had to make efforts to stifle my laughter (I tried to appear to be coughing). As the movie progressed I came up with this Van Helsing drinking game that would ensure every participant being more wasted than they ever knew was possible halfway to the movie. So take a drink whenever
- a new character speaking in a pseudo foreign accent is introduced
- dracula dances gaily
- someone bares their teeth to attack
- there's a scene with flashing lights good for getting epileptic seizures
- Van Helsing acquires a new weapon
- the camera shows a weapon that has fallen to the ground during a battle.
Oh and I'm alright. It's the first week into the mid-semester break. I've been just working on my assignments though. So that things wouldn't get too boring I also promised to redesign
HyVi's website. First I was supposed to go to
Auckland for the weekend but decided against it since I just have too much stuff left. I might check out
Palmerston North if I get things done by the end of next week.
Up until now, me being here hasn't felt like a phase of life. I'm happy here. More than that, I'm in love with graphic design. Completely obsessed and passionate over it. I'll probably have to make the switch from industrial design. It's emotion, communication and identity combined. It's what I want to do, always.
Anecdote Section
Pascal, a postgrad student and a friend, saw it necessary to point out to me that he's "as straight as this [metal] ruler here" and that he isn't trying to hit on me even though he's being friendly.
It just dawned on me that the sun rotates counter-clockwise.
At Pak'n Save, the local supercheap grocery store ("Everything we do is for you having to pay less") I had this magnificent conversation with a clerk. It went something along these lines:
"Sorry do you have any Fair Trade products?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"Fair Trade? You know.. Fair Trade?"
"No. What's that?"
"Ok so maybe you don't have any. It's this system in which you pay a fair price for the—"
"No. We don't have that here."
"Ook. Thanks."
On an animation class a tutor, all pep, energetic and extrovert, interrupted the class. He needed some tables moved into the class so he said that all the beautiful and gorgeous males should come and help where all the ladies may sit and continue with whatever they were doing. On my way to help the lot I asked him whether he had any idea how sovinistic a comment that was, he went totally cold, held out his hand and said, "The name's Rick, nice to meet you too mate," as if saying that's not a way to introduce yourself / speak to a tutor / something. So next time I'll know to introduce myself by throwing around discriminating jokes.
I went to the record store in search of posters for my room (it never even occurred to me to furnish my room at Teena's). There was this black and white and red poster that said, Thom Yorke The Eraser. Five seconds from reading that (and realising he had actually released a solo album without me knowing any of it) I held the record in my hand and had made the decision to buy it. Since then I've been
listening to it non-stop. I'm coming home, I'm coming home to make it alright so dry your eyes.
Margaret Thatcher posing for my environmental poster.
Elephant rugby. Illustration class.
Illustration for an article on the human computer Kim Peek. 
Calendar pages. Production class.
Cover art for a paper stock promoting brochure. Production class.
Jasmine, my 5-year old "little sister" drew these three. She'll be an artist for sure.
They told me I could eat anything I'd manage to find. This, however, didn't appear to include anything that was meant for Jasmine (no way to tell that, of course). I was also told I drink too much milk and I'd have to buy my own. I also ended up having to pay for my own food and preparing it all by myself. The contract said (among other things I won't complain about here) I'd be supplied with three meals a day prepared by the family. During the last week she made me a salad.
Patric's a Malesian third-year. Really cute and rrreally gay with a sense of humour I mostly don't get. Most of the time I have to repeat myself to him (I should probably learn to talk more clearly). (S)he's the heart of the house, always cleaning, decorating and cooking marvellous dishes (or so I'm told—I wouldn't know, they have all been animal corpse inclusive thus far). He was thoroughly surprised to hear I'm not too much into older men. He says I'm too cute and delicate and non-masculine to have a boyfriend younger than me, that I seem like one who needs a real man to take care of me.
