A week and a half after I got back from Beijing, some of us jetted off to Taipei for a three-night weekend trip. It was honestly a spur-of-the-moment trip, as we planned and booked the trip all of about four days before we left. Leaving on Thursday night, we picked up our itinerary on Wednesday morning and checked in for the flight on Wednesday night via the very convenient Airport Express Station in Central.
The reason why we had to check in so early was that I needed to make it to my last class on Thursday (Cantonese) to make a presentation. It ended at 5:00 p.m., and with the flight leaving at 8:55 p.m., I felt pressed for time. Back home, the main international flights leave Los Angeles International Airport. You leave super early because there is no subway/light rail system to get you there efficiently from my suburb, so you have to drive—and since everyone drives, you get stuck in traffic. Depending on your route there, you either go along the Pacific Coast Highway and hit traffic lights or you go on the 101 and 405 (which happens to be “at capacity” a.k.a. congested for fifteen hours of the day). On top of that, with such high security at airports, it’s not uncommon to wait for an hour to get into the terminal.
It’s different at Hong Kong. First off, there are airport buses going everywhere in the territory. The one from my dorm takes about an hour and costs half of what the Airport Express does ($48 HKD vs. $100), and after you take a bus to get to Central, which is where you’d pick up the Airport Express from, you’ve already lost half an hour, which is followed by the much-advertised 24-minuted train ride to the airport that would take 24 minutes if you didn’t have to wait so long for it to depart. So thinking time was in a crunch, since I had four hours to get to the airport, go through immigration, customs, and security, I opted for the Airport Express. It took me about an hour total to get there, and forgetting how efficient Hong Kong International Airport is in comparison to Los Angeles International Airport, I got through security in five minutes and immigration in four, not to mention that I forgot that Hong Kong doesn’t have exit customs (because I remembered China does). Basically, I ended up rushing to the airport, and after everything was all said and done, I waited two and a half hours for the airplane to leave. But enough about that…
Honestly, when I came to Hong Kong I never thought I would visit Taiwan. I remember looking out the airplane window when we flew over a corner of the island, never thinking for a second that I’d get my way over there before the semester was out. Lo and behold I did.
Taiwan holds a funny place in my mind. Partially because of my upbringing, I’m of the One China mentality—that is that there is one China (which includes Taiwan), which is the standpoint for any state that hopes to have relations with the big China. Before I get in trouble with some of my separatist friends back home, just read this post out. So in off-the-record contexts, I would likely suggest that Taiwan is a part of China, though I realize that in practice it is not.
After landing in Taipei Taoyuan International Airport after a one-and-a-half hour flight, we stepped of the plane. Officially the Republic of China (with China being the People’s Republic of China), immigration put a nice ROC stamp on our passports. The entry card was carbon-copied to a departure card, the latter of which was stapled into our passports. One of my friends drew political swords when his passport was stapled right through his Chinese visa.
Walking through their capital’s international airport, it seemed dark and dingy, which, while not speaking to the vibrancy of their city, did not bode well for first impressions. It seemed like this airport, which was built in the 1960s, was thought of as a temporary venue until the Nationalist government could return to Beijing. This sense of temporary placement seemed to follow me through Taipei. Having been mostly developed in the 1960s, it seems like everything was a little too new and that things weren’t built to last. Chiang Kai-shek, leader of the Nationalist when they were exiled, is not even interred; his body is in an above-ground casket, ready to be transported back to his proper burial space in Mainland China “when” the Nationalists capture back all of China.
Another thing that I reminded myself of was that more than a handful of my friends back home are on the Taiwan side of the cross-strait relations, which, while having warmed up lately, are still unstable at the core and in principle, which either party claiming the entirety of the other’s controlled territory. Many of my friends spend their summers there in Taipei and say that they are not (ethnically) Chinese but Taiwanese because they aren’t communist. Fine, but when I told them about Taiwanese aboriginals, they said that they weren’t that either. It seems they’ve lost the fact that Taipei looks very similar to Mainland China and that they speak the same “national” language, not to mention Taiwanese is mutually intelligible with the Fujian dialect of Chinese on the mainland.
That’s fine and all. We weren’t there anyways to talk politics.
Like my serial about Beijing, I have two more text posts about Taipei and two photograph posts. As for now, I need to call the United States consulate and see about getting refill pages in my passport.
More to come.
Copyright © 2009 James Philip Jee
This work may not be reproduced by any means without express permission of the author.
Showing posts with label Los Angeles. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Los Angeles. Show all posts
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
Friday, October 2, 2009
Couture and Lamma
Like most public transportation systems, the MTR subway system here in Hong Kong has its fair share of advertisements. One advertisement was for the Couture exhibition at the Hong Kong Heritage Museum up in New Territories. It interested one of my friends, so we went up there to check out the exhibition as well as the permanent exhibits of the museum.
With public transportation, it took half an hour by bus to get to the MTR station and about 45 minutes on four lines of the MTR to get to the museum. From the Che Kung Temple station though, it was an easy walk from there.
When we got there, I knew I was hungry, and that at many American museums, they put decent restaurants on the premises to squeeze more money out of their patrons, but there, there was just a 7-Eleven style convenience store with a sitting area, along with a ritzy tea shop which didn’t serve food.
Going into the museum itself, I didn’t know what to expect. In the advertisement in the subway, it explained that the Couture exhibition was a fashion display specifically of London and Paris in the 1940s and ‘50s. It featured several models—all Asian, dressed up in clothing like that on display.
At the museum itself, which cost HK$10 as a student to get into, the exhibition took up several “thematic rooms” spanning the first floor (which would be the second floor in the United States) included rows and rows of dresses, along with original sketches. There was nothing more than what was to be expected, though one question remained on my mind.
Why is this about fashion on the other side of the globe? Why not have some sort of exhibition about contemporary culture in Hong Kong? This brings me to something that exchange students learn about Hong Kong—there is a deficiency of culture here—and I mean that in the nicest possible way.
Elsewhere in the museum there were exhibits about operas and theater in Hong Kong, as well as a permanent exhibit about the history of land reclamation here.
Land reclamation—Hong Kong is famous for it. The most visible and architecturally beautiful landmarks here are arguably on reclaimed land. Because they are on reclaimed land, they are relatively new, as land reclamation didn’t start until after the British arrived. This means that much of Hong Kong’s pre-colonial history is not cherished, including the many Tin Hau temples (dedicated to the Daoist goddess Mazu who overlooks seafarers) dotting the territory.
The result? Locals think they are more British than they really are. Because of Hong Kong’s history as a colony separate of China and its continuing high level of autonomy, it has been a haven for businesses of all sorts to make their way into East Asia.
This competitive advantage, though still visible in such aspects as freedom of press and free flow of information, is gradually but surely diminishing. Soon, I feel it will become nothing more than other large Chinese city.
Many locals think that the use of English in Hong Kong, having been a British colony, is an advantage that they have a monopoly on. However, the Mainland Chinese students coming over speak better English than the local Hong Kong students. With such a large business and finance presence here, in combination with the wide array of human capital here, why wouldn’t we get more business? However, why wouldn’t business skip Hong Kong and go straight to somewhere like Shanghai, where there is more usable land, cheaper human capital, and a rapidly expanding infrastructure.
With many of the locals that I meet being business majors hoping to go into finance, I can’t help but realize how true this veil really is. If diversification of industries is the key, then Hong Kong is behind a double-bolted door, in a room furnished with attractive furniture that is, unfortunately, of poor material, ready to break.
And I don’t mean the furniture is the people—it’s the attitude here. Many locals feel that Hong Kong is ultimately a financial center, feeling it wouldn’t be plausible, much less desirable, to introduce other economic sectors, such as creative industries, into the mix.
For a while, Hong Kong used to be second only to Hollywood (meaning Southern California) in film production in the world. Regarding local music, I’ve heard of Cantopop but I’ve never heard Cantopop. Sports?—what are sports?
So where do I feel Hong Kong stands in the world? I think it’s a declining city. Though not having reached its economic peak yet, life here seems hallow, and the culture seems conceited. Maybe Hong Kong should accept that it’s part of China and go from there in terms of long-term planning.
I don’t hate Hong Kong. I just think it’s misguided.
On a brighter note, the next day we went on a daytrip to Lamma Island. Still located within the SAR, it sits just southwest of Hong Kong island itself and contains a few large power plants and a lot of pristine, undeveloped land.
I can actually see Lamma Island from my window, but from Central it takes about a half-hour ferry ride to get to. While both of the towns on Lamma Island are noticeably touristy, there is a sense of relaxation and enjoyment there not present in the more crowded areas of Hong Kong.
My friends and I took the two-hour hike from one town to the other. On one hand, the weather was thoroughly unenjoyable. It was hot and really humid. My shirt was so soaked with sweat that instead of being able to spot sweat stains, my whole bright green shirt turned a shade darker.
It was totally worth it though. I feel like that was the most fun I’ve had since coming here. Walking through the first little town named Yung Shue Wan, we felt relatively crowded. We visited a temple and lit incense there. After getting out of the town, the island was overwhelmingly wooded with plenty of tropical-looking trees and pleasant houses pushed into the hillsides.
It was great until we spotted a huge spider up in the tree in front of us. Legs included, it was likely six-inches long. Then a friend of mine pointed one out that was but a few feet away from my head. It had noticeable stripes of color on it, and, long story short, I don’t like spiders.
In total we saw about six of those big spiders by the time we were halfway through the hike. Along the way, we saw a large beach named Hung Shing Yeh, complete with shark nets and expats and tourists. Halfway through, we bought water from a guy who raised prices to make an extra buck. Instead of buying water himself, one of my friends refused to pay the slightly higher prices and instead drank out of another friends bottle.
At the other town named Sok Kwu Wan we ate good seafood family style. We definitely paid tourist prices, but as part of eating there at Rainbow Seafood Restaurant we were given a ride back to Central on a charter boat.
With public transportation, it took half an hour by bus to get to the MTR station and about 45 minutes on four lines of the MTR to get to the museum. From the Che Kung Temple station though, it was an easy walk from there.
When we got there, I knew I was hungry, and that at many American museums, they put decent restaurants on the premises to squeeze more money out of their patrons, but there, there was just a 7-Eleven style convenience store with a sitting area, along with a ritzy tea shop which didn’t serve food.
Going into the museum itself, I didn’t know what to expect. In the advertisement in the subway, it explained that the Couture exhibition was a fashion display specifically of London and Paris in the 1940s and ‘50s. It featured several models—all Asian, dressed up in clothing like that on display.
At the museum itself, which cost HK$10 as a student to get into, the exhibition took up several “thematic rooms” spanning the first floor (which would be the second floor in the United States) included rows and rows of dresses, along with original sketches. There was nothing more than what was to be expected, though one question remained on my mind.
Why is this about fashion on the other side of the globe? Why not have some sort of exhibition about contemporary culture in Hong Kong? This brings me to something that exchange students learn about Hong Kong—there is a deficiency of culture here—and I mean that in the nicest possible way.
Elsewhere in the museum there were exhibits about operas and theater in Hong Kong, as well as a permanent exhibit about the history of land reclamation here.
Land reclamation—Hong Kong is famous for it. The most visible and architecturally beautiful landmarks here are arguably on reclaimed land. Because they are on reclaimed land, they are relatively new, as land reclamation didn’t start until after the British arrived. This means that much of Hong Kong’s pre-colonial history is not cherished, including the many Tin Hau temples (dedicated to the Daoist goddess Mazu who overlooks seafarers) dotting the territory.
The result? Locals think they are more British than they really are. Because of Hong Kong’s history as a colony separate of China and its continuing high level of autonomy, it has been a haven for businesses of all sorts to make their way into East Asia.
This competitive advantage, though still visible in such aspects as freedom of press and free flow of information, is gradually but surely diminishing. Soon, I feel it will become nothing more than other large Chinese city.
Many locals think that the use of English in Hong Kong, having been a British colony, is an advantage that they have a monopoly on. However, the Mainland Chinese students coming over speak better English than the local Hong Kong students. With such a large business and finance presence here, in combination with the wide array of human capital here, why wouldn’t we get more business? However, why wouldn’t business skip Hong Kong and go straight to somewhere like Shanghai, where there is more usable land, cheaper human capital, and a rapidly expanding infrastructure.
With many of the locals that I meet being business majors hoping to go into finance, I can’t help but realize how true this veil really is. If diversification of industries is the key, then Hong Kong is behind a double-bolted door, in a room furnished with attractive furniture that is, unfortunately, of poor material, ready to break.
And I don’t mean the furniture is the people—it’s the attitude here. Many locals feel that Hong Kong is ultimately a financial center, feeling it wouldn’t be plausible, much less desirable, to introduce other economic sectors, such as creative industries, into the mix.
For a while, Hong Kong used to be second only to Hollywood (meaning Southern California) in film production in the world. Regarding local music, I’ve heard of Cantopop but I’ve never heard Cantopop. Sports?—what are sports?
So where do I feel Hong Kong stands in the world? I think it’s a declining city. Though not having reached its economic peak yet, life here seems hallow, and the culture seems conceited. Maybe Hong Kong should accept that it’s part of China and go from there in terms of long-term planning.
I don’t hate Hong Kong. I just think it’s misguided.
On a brighter note, the next day we went on a daytrip to Lamma Island. Still located within the SAR, it sits just southwest of Hong Kong island itself and contains a few large power plants and a lot of pristine, undeveloped land.
I can actually see Lamma Island from my window, but from Central it takes about a half-hour ferry ride to get to. While both of the towns on Lamma Island are noticeably touristy, there is a sense of relaxation and enjoyment there not present in the more crowded areas of Hong Kong.
My friends and I took the two-hour hike from one town to the other. On one hand, the weather was thoroughly unenjoyable. It was hot and really humid. My shirt was so soaked with sweat that instead of being able to spot sweat stains, my whole bright green shirt turned a shade darker.
It was totally worth it though. I feel like that was the most fun I’ve had since coming here. Walking through the first little town named Yung Shue Wan, we felt relatively crowded. We visited a temple and lit incense there. After getting out of the town, the island was overwhelmingly wooded with plenty of tropical-looking trees and pleasant houses pushed into the hillsides.
It was great until we spotted a huge spider up in the tree in front of us. Legs included, it was likely six-inches long. Then a friend of mine pointed one out that was but a few feet away from my head. It had noticeable stripes of color on it, and, long story short, I don’t like spiders.
In total we saw about six of those big spiders by the time we were halfway through the hike. Along the way, we saw a large beach named Hung Shing Yeh, complete with shark nets and expats and tourists. Halfway through, we bought water from a guy who raised prices to make an extra buck. Instead of buying water himself, one of my friends refused to pay the slightly higher prices and instead drank out of another friends bottle.
At the other town named Sok Kwu Wan we ate good seafood family style. We definitely paid tourist prices, but as part of eating there at Rainbow Seafood Restaurant we were given a ride back to Central on a charter boat.
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Welcome to Hong Kong
I am so utterly confused.
When I landed on Friday, August 21, I just wanted to get to my dorm as quickly as possible. From the airplane Hong Kong looked beautiful, and from the ground it still does. I took the airplane express train to Central Hong Kong, where the taxi pick up area was located underground.
I waited there for half an hour as the taxis slowly came and went. In the meantime, I began sweating up a storm as I realized how humid it really was. Even inside the stations, which I believe were somewhat air-conditioned, I was a precipitating mess carrying around my bags. I just wanted to get to my hall.
Just about 20 hours before then, my parents dropped me off in the airport. We didn’t weigh my one suitcase, so my dad brought an extra duffle bag in case I needed to repack to avoid the $150 over-weight fee. I could bring up to two pieces of luggage weighing less than 50 pounds each, but not one weighing up to 100 pounds. It turned out that my suitcase weighed almost eighty pounds, so it was good my dad brought the extra bag.
Security was on high alert that day, so I had to wait through winding Disneyland-style lines with the other travelers trying to get into the terminal. Before then I said my goodbyes to my parents, and then I was alone and off on my way. The next time I would see home or my immediate family would be in December.
Finally my taxi came up to the gate. I entered after my bags were in the trunk and we were off. He asked where I was headed in Cantonese. I replied “6 Sasoon Road, the University of Hong Kong.” Unfortunately, I mispronounced “Sasoon,” which I said with an “oo” like “moon” as I was taught. However, as Anglicization is an aid more than a solution, the way the “oo” of “Sasoon” is pronounced is closer to the French “u” as in “tu.”
So he misunderstood me. I ended up showing him the cheat card that the university provided me with that explicitly said, “Please take me to the following hall at the University of Hong Kong at 6 Sasoon Road: Lee Hysan.”
Then he was like, “Oh Sas[French “u”]n Road!” As we emerged from the underground pick-up place, I couldn’t help but notice the roads sprawling upwards, the streets visibly twisting back and forth among themselves—and it wasn’t even a freeway. These flights of roads gave me the impression that most of Hong Kong Island was like that, and I quickly became hesitant to go exploring the city by myself. Now most people tell me I have a good sense of direction, but this sight just intimidated the hell out of me and at that point I just wanted to sleep.
We drove from the downtown district up and around the west side of the island, into Pok Fu Lam District where I couldn’t help but noticing the propensity of Hong Kongers to finish their buildings in tile. While not really noticeable in pictures, most residential buildings are covered in small ceramic tile squares of varying colors.
As we approached my hall I was shocked. I was still in a surreal mind state, but the hall was nothing like what I expected. The turn-around driveway was partially under construction and all the buildings surrounded it had bamboo-constructed scaffolding and green covering.
I walked in and found an unexpected language barrier with the woman who was helping me check in. I was under the impression that since classes were held in English, most of the staff would be competent as well. Well there’s an expectation thrown out the window.
I went up to my room on the fourteenth floor, which has great views (albeit covered by green mesh netting) of the west entrance to Victoria Harbor. I also found a couple hall mates to introduce myself to. One was really nice and one was really not so nice (like students elsewhere).
That night, I finished up by calling my mother (at 6 a.m. pacific daylight time) and my HKU exchange buddy, who offered me a tour of campus the day after I arrived. The first picked up, relieved that I had gotten there on time and safely (as there is only one SFO-HKG flight a day and my flight to SFO from LAX was delayed by almost two hours). The latter didn’t pick up, but as I will explain, I still got my tour later.
That night—no air conditioning, fully humid with just a fan and five open windows—I went to sleep, apprehensive about what was to come. My thoughts drifted on, as always.
Lesson learned—pronouncing Anglicized Hong Kong names and places with an American accent won’t get me very far.
Welcome to Hong Kong, James.
When I landed on Friday, August 21, I just wanted to get to my dorm as quickly as possible. From the airplane Hong Kong looked beautiful, and from the ground it still does. I took the airplane express train to Central Hong Kong, where the taxi pick up area was located underground.
I waited there for half an hour as the taxis slowly came and went. In the meantime, I began sweating up a storm as I realized how humid it really was. Even inside the stations, which I believe were somewhat air-conditioned, I was a precipitating mess carrying around my bags. I just wanted to get to my hall.
Just about 20 hours before then, my parents dropped me off in the airport. We didn’t weigh my one suitcase, so my dad brought an extra duffle bag in case I needed to repack to avoid the $150 over-weight fee. I could bring up to two pieces of luggage weighing less than 50 pounds each, but not one weighing up to 100 pounds. It turned out that my suitcase weighed almost eighty pounds, so it was good my dad brought the extra bag.
Security was on high alert that day, so I had to wait through winding Disneyland-style lines with the other travelers trying to get into the terminal. Before then I said my goodbyes to my parents, and then I was alone and off on my way. The next time I would see home or my immediate family would be in December.
Finally my taxi came up to the gate. I entered after my bags were in the trunk and we were off. He asked where I was headed in Cantonese. I replied “6 Sasoon Road, the University of Hong Kong.” Unfortunately, I mispronounced “Sasoon,” which I said with an “oo” like “moon” as I was taught. However, as Anglicization is an aid more than a solution, the way the “oo” of “Sasoon” is pronounced is closer to the French “u” as in “tu.”
So he misunderstood me. I ended up showing him the cheat card that the university provided me with that explicitly said, “Please take me to the following hall at the University of Hong Kong at 6 Sasoon Road: Lee Hysan.”
Then he was like, “Oh Sas[French “u”]n Road!” As we emerged from the underground pick-up place, I couldn’t help but notice the roads sprawling upwards, the streets visibly twisting back and forth among themselves—and it wasn’t even a freeway. These flights of roads gave me the impression that most of Hong Kong Island was like that, and I quickly became hesitant to go exploring the city by myself. Now most people tell me I have a good sense of direction, but this sight just intimidated the hell out of me and at that point I just wanted to sleep.
We drove from the downtown district up and around the west side of the island, into Pok Fu Lam District where I couldn’t help but noticing the propensity of Hong Kongers to finish their buildings in tile. While not really noticeable in pictures, most residential buildings are covered in small ceramic tile squares of varying colors.
As we approached my hall I was shocked. I was still in a surreal mind state, but the hall was nothing like what I expected. The turn-around driveway was partially under construction and all the buildings surrounded it had bamboo-constructed scaffolding and green covering.
I walked in and found an unexpected language barrier with the woman who was helping me check in. I was under the impression that since classes were held in English, most of the staff would be competent as well. Well there’s an expectation thrown out the window.
I went up to my room on the fourteenth floor, which has great views (albeit covered by green mesh netting) of the west entrance to Victoria Harbor. I also found a couple hall mates to introduce myself to. One was really nice and one was really not so nice (like students elsewhere).
That night, I finished up by calling my mother (at 6 a.m. pacific daylight time) and my HKU exchange buddy, who offered me a tour of campus the day after I arrived. The first picked up, relieved that I had gotten there on time and safely (as there is only one SFO-HKG flight a day and my flight to SFO from LAX was delayed by almost two hours). The latter didn’t pick up, but as I will explain, I still got my tour later.
That night—no air conditioning, fully humid with just a fan and five open windows—I went to sleep, apprehensive about what was to come. My thoughts drifted on, as always.
Lesson learned—pronouncing Anglicized Hong Kong names and places with an American accent won’t get me very far.
Welcome to Hong Kong, James.
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Some Notes Before I Go
Tomorrow, I leave for Hong Kong and the University of Hong Kong, where I will spend the next four months studying and sightseeing. I’ll leave for Los Angeles International Airport at 6 a.m. for my first leg to San Francisco. From there I have a thirteen-and-half hour flight direct to Hong Kong. I’m all packed but not necessarily ready to go.
I’m still nervous as ever as I anticipate my long journey and longer transition. But already I am confident that I will quickly make Hong Kong my home away from home. At UCSD I served as an American student to help orient international students and in the same manner, HKU has set me up with a Hong Kong student to help me, now the international student, find my way. While I’ll mosey my way to the university from the airport, she has graciously offered to show me the campus the day after.
I arrive on August 21 and have orientation the following Friday, August 28. Class begins on September 1. Maybe by then I’ll get used to British English orthography and the metric system. Surely by then I’ll have bought blankets and a pillow.
Next time, I’ll be writing from Hong Kong.
I’m still nervous as ever as I anticipate my long journey and longer transition. But already I am confident that I will quickly make Hong Kong my home away from home. At UCSD I served as an American student to help orient international students and in the same manner, HKU has set me up with a Hong Kong student to help me, now the international student, find my way. While I’ll mosey my way to the university from the airport, she has graciously offered to show me the campus the day after.
I arrive on August 21 and have orientation the following Friday, August 28. Class begins on September 1. Maybe by then I’ll get used to British English orthography and the metric system. Surely by then I’ll have bought blankets and a pillow.
Next time, I’ll be writing from Hong Kong.
Monday, July 27, 2009
After Acceptance:
Visas, Passports, and $290 later
I was accepted to study abroad at the University of Hong Kong on January 26, 2009. I guess I was walking on Cloud 9 the rest of that day.
A couple weeks before, I was anything but.
I had submitted my application on the day it was due and I was not informed that I had to get a letter of recommendation, as there were already 25 applicants for the eight available spots with the 4:00 pm deadline eight hours on the horizon. I was not happy. In a previous post, I explained how I managed to get two positive letters of recommendation within the week and turn them in.
I had done more than was instructed, actually. As I have found out, that can be a really good thing or a really bad thing; and honestly I have no idea which it was for me. I didn’t turn in the letters on time; however, I got them in relatively quickly. I was asked specifically for one letter of recommendation, but I submitted two just for good luck.
I was not told when I would be informed of the decision. I assumed that it would be late February or early March because of the preliminary deadlines involved (visa application, preliminary fees, etc.). Great, I thought, two months to wait.
I surely did not get it, or did I? I wondered. On the positive side, I would have senior standing when I departed and I did submit a 3.925 GPA (which I later had adjusted to a 4.0 due to clerical errors). Against me, I did not submit my application on time. I did not follow instructions to the “t.” There were probably over 30 applicants for the eight available spots. I only could study abroad for half a year to graduate (early) on time. On the positive side, my application was now on the top of the pile due to its late completeness.
I worried a lot. I told my friends who had known what I was doing that if I don’t get in, I don’t think I would be going abroad at all. I thought about applying in advance for spring semester, seeing as many deadlines had not come up yet. In the end, I decided to just bear it out. I thought that maybe if they saw that I had other applications pending, they would not be so inclined to accept me to such a selective option.
I was accepted to study abroad at the University of Hong Kong on January 26, 2009. I guess I was walking on Cloud 9 the rest of that day.
I called my father during the day and told him not to tell my mother, whom I called later in the day. I let out a shrill bit of excitement for which I am now ashamed. My friend and I went to this hole-in-the-wall coffee shop in downtown La Jolla, where they began rolling out the bongs for hookah.
Now what did I tell you about drugs? Yep, I’m still clean.
The next day I sat down to follow through on my paperwork pursuant to the acceptance of my application.
Now I have a habit that has now proven itself to be an Achilles’ heel of sorts. I plan way far in advance. As my first roommate knows, I have a very hard time dealing with flaky people—those who don’t show up for meetings, miss planned on events frequently, etc. I plan so far in advance that often the party that I am coordinating with tells me to call back in a month (or two). My medical provider told me, “We just don’t have the calendar up that far in advance.” I’ll get back to my Achilles’ heel later.
I had about seven things to accomplish by March 10 (to get it in the Goleta (Santa Barbara) office by March 20). There was a list to check off on. I ordered transcripts from UCSD immediately. I faxed my written request to Moorpark Community College that afternoon.
After that day, it took me about another week to get everything done.
The next day, I completed my application to HKU, which was required of me under the auspices of the University of California. I got more passport photographs taken. EAP provided medical insurance under the tuition fee. So I had to read over the terms and benefits, sign and sign some waivers.
Then came the big part: my student visa.
In short, I had it easy applying for my student visa. According to my Spanish teacher in high school, her daughter studying abroad for a year in Spain had to get two medical doctors to certify her mental competency, stability, and sanity. My mainland China exchange friends had to appear at the consulate in Los Angeles. I, on the other hand, only had to fill out the forms and submit payment. HKU was to do the rest for me—an they did.
Now about that visa application: first off, I needed to have a passport with validity beyond six months from anticipated date of departure from the host country (check).
The application for a student visa was daunting. At over 10 pages long with fine print and Hong Kong English (similar to British English) I was overwhelmed. Fortunately I only needed to fill out four pages of it. In the end, it wasn’t too bad. Looking at the clock, it took me about four hours for the application and a good amount of time checking it over. Shipping it to central California cost almost $3.00 first class. That was all said and done.
Then I bought my airplane ticket. United (though not my favorite) had decent rates and decent times—leaving August 20 for arrival at Hong Kong August 21; departing December 21 for arrival at Los Angeles same day. Not bad.
I was all set. I had finished preparation for my trip several months beforehand. I was all set and ready to go.
And then it hit. Dates were posted. EAP said I couldn’t check in until August 26—a full five days after I was to arrive. Being the great planner that I am, I immediately called United and rescheduled at the cost of $290 (including the $250 penalty for the rescheduling). The next morning HKU emailed me and informed me that I could check in August 21—my originally scheduled flight.
Upset that I had just paid $290 unnecessarily, I called United and asked them if they could reverse the whole thing to how it was a mere 12 hours earlier. They did and without fee too. Unfortunately they wouldn’t refund my $290. I pleaded with everyone in the company and they refused to refund even part of it—because it was a necessary charge.
Now I know. I should wait a day or two before making such a drastic change. Oh well. I just flushed $290 down the toilet and it landed below the water table on an undeserving United Airlines.
Thanks for reading. And now back to my summer reading!
A couple weeks before, I was anything but.
I had submitted my application on the day it was due and I was not informed that I had to get a letter of recommendation, as there were already 25 applicants for the eight available spots with the 4:00 pm deadline eight hours on the horizon. I was not happy. In a previous post, I explained how I managed to get two positive letters of recommendation within the week and turn them in.
I had done more than was instructed, actually. As I have found out, that can be a really good thing or a really bad thing; and honestly I have no idea which it was for me. I didn’t turn in the letters on time; however, I got them in relatively quickly. I was asked specifically for one letter of recommendation, but I submitted two just for good luck.
I was not told when I would be informed of the decision. I assumed that it would be late February or early March because of the preliminary deadlines involved (visa application, preliminary fees, etc.). Great, I thought, two months to wait.
I surely did not get it, or did I? I wondered. On the positive side, I would have senior standing when I departed and I did submit a 3.925 GPA (which I later had adjusted to a 4.0 due to clerical errors). Against me, I did not submit my application on time. I did not follow instructions to the “t.” There were probably over 30 applicants for the eight available spots. I only could study abroad for half a year to graduate (early) on time. On the positive side, my application was now on the top of the pile due to its late completeness.
I worried a lot. I told my friends who had known what I was doing that if I don’t get in, I don’t think I would be going abroad at all. I thought about applying in advance for spring semester, seeing as many deadlines had not come up yet. In the end, I decided to just bear it out. I thought that maybe if they saw that I had other applications pending, they would not be so inclined to accept me to such a selective option.
I was accepted to study abroad at the University of Hong Kong on January 26, 2009. I guess I was walking on Cloud 9 the rest of that day.
I called my father during the day and told him not to tell my mother, whom I called later in the day. I let out a shrill bit of excitement for which I am now ashamed. My friend and I went to this hole-in-the-wall coffee shop in downtown La Jolla, where they began rolling out the bongs for hookah.
Now what did I tell you about drugs? Yep, I’m still clean.
The next day I sat down to follow through on my paperwork pursuant to the acceptance of my application.
Now I have a habit that has now proven itself to be an Achilles’ heel of sorts. I plan way far in advance. As my first roommate knows, I have a very hard time dealing with flaky people—those who don’t show up for meetings, miss planned on events frequently, etc. I plan so far in advance that often the party that I am coordinating with tells me to call back in a month (or two). My medical provider told me, “We just don’t have the calendar up that far in advance.” I’ll get back to my Achilles’ heel later.
I had about seven things to accomplish by March 10 (to get it in the Goleta (Santa Barbara) office by March 20). There was a list to check off on. I ordered transcripts from UCSD immediately. I faxed my written request to Moorpark Community College that afternoon.
After that day, it took me about another week to get everything done.
The next day, I completed my application to HKU, which was required of me under the auspices of the University of California. I got more passport photographs taken. EAP provided medical insurance under the tuition fee. So I had to read over the terms and benefits, sign and sign some waivers.
Then came the big part: my student visa.
In short, I had it easy applying for my student visa. According to my Spanish teacher in high school, her daughter studying abroad for a year in Spain had to get two medical doctors to certify her mental competency, stability, and sanity. My mainland China exchange friends had to appear at the consulate in Los Angeles. I, on the other hand, only had to fill out the forms and submit payment. HKU was to do the rest for me—an they did.
Now about that visa application: first off, I needed to have a passport with validity beyond six months from anticipated date of departure from the host country (check).
The application for a student visa was daunting. At over 10 pages long with fine print and Hong Kong English (similar to British English) I was overwhelmed. Fortunately I only needed to fill out four pages of it. In the end, it wasn’t too bad. Looking at the clock, it took me about four hours for the application and a good amount of time checking it over. Shipping it to central California cost almost $3.00 first class. That was all said and done.
Then I bought my airplane ticket. United (though not my favorite) had decent rates and decent times—leaving August 20 for arrival at Hong Kong August 21; departing December 21 for arrival at Los Angeles same day. Not bad.
I was all set. I had finished preparation for my trip several months beforehand. I was all set and ready to go.
And then it hit. Dates were posted. EAP said I couldn’t check in until August 26—a full five days after I was to arrive. Being the great planner that I am, I immediately called United and rescheduled at the cost of $290 (including the $250 penalty for the rescheduling). The next morning HKU emailed me and informed me that I could check in August 21—my originally scheduled flight.
Upset that I had just paid $290 unnecessarily, I called United and asked them if they could reverse the whole thing to how it was a mere 12 hours earlier. They did and without fee too. Unfortunately they wouldn’t refund my $290. I pleaded with everyone in the company and they refused to refund even part of it—because it was a necessary charge.
Now I know. I should wait a day or two before making such a drastic change. Oh well. I just flushed $290 down the toilet and it landed below the water table on an undeserving United Airlines.
Thanks for reading. And now back to my summer reading!
Saturday, May 9, 2009
My Nervousness
Recently, I hypothetically asked my mother what she thought of me driving down to San Diego from Thousand Oaks, some one hundred fifty miles, by myself. I will be turning 19 in less than two months and like to feel as though my maturity exceeds my years. She told me that she was unsure, and still felt that it was still too early. While I understand that she’s just being a protective mother, inconsistencies arise, such as the fact that she knows that I take rides back to UCSD with other students around my age with less driving experience than me. I suppose this exception is to make sure I get to school, seeing as the alternatives would be either a three-and-a-half-hour train ride (costing $27) coupled with a half-hour bus ride to campus, or they drive me to school (two-and-a-half hours optimistically) and then back. Anyway, I help pay for my friends’ gas and carpooling is good for the environment, right?
There is one big hurdle that one needs to get over when studying abroad—leaving home. I guess it is a fairly straightforward process that everyone goes through when they leave the nest. Unfortunately for me, I, as well as most of my suitemates (whom I dorm with), have not really left home. We all go home for breaks, most of us have gone home more than once during each of our three quarters (each quarter consisting of eleven weeks), and first and foremost, we refer to our former domiciles as “home,” and refer to the act of visiting as “going back [home].” Last quarter, my roommate went back to Glendale six or seven weekends out of the ten, and another suitemate went home every weekend until just a month ago and still goes back frequently. I really am no different. Fall quarter, my family visited me once, and I went home once. Winter quarter, I went home twice and my family visited me once. This current spring quarter, my mother has visited me once, and my family plans to visit me the weekend after next, both occasions regarding orientation for study abroad.
My home is in Thousand Oaks, where I was born and raised. I can point to minute landmarks and show whoever cares to where I reached milestones in my life, just the way my parents intended. Don’t get me wrong—I love La Jolla. The weather’s great and insects are few; there is much more diversity here than the suburban community close to my heart, and I can see the blue Pacific from by window. In fact, the similarities between La Jolla and Thousand Oaks, particularly around Westlake High School (where I graduated), are plenty. In a sentence—it’s full of old rich people. There are many nice cars, crime is low, and drivers are bad. It reminds me of home in my own personal way and I’m glad to have it. So in a different way, I have not yet left home. My new town is reminiscent of the old and I have yet to start seeing my family any more than three times a year. Therein lies my stage in life.
Well, I purchased my round-trip ticket from Los Angeles International Airport (LAX) to Hong Kong International Airport (HKG) a couple weeks ago, and ever since my nervousness has been building steadily. I told my mother of this increase when she was here the other weekend. I received the response, “Why?” Simple and succinct, her one word said a thousand. Did you do something wrong? Did you miss a deadline…oh no, did you miss a housing deadline? It would have been a good thing she didn’t say it out loud, but her intonation gave her utterance meaning, possibly including meaning she didn’t mean to give.
My mother used to live in Hong Kong during her early childhood back in the day, so I’m not sure she understands the full gravity behind my nervousness. Previously, my family visited China for two weeks with a tour group. We visited Beijing, Xian, Shanghai, Hangzhou, and Suzhou, all of which in central and northern China. Hong Kong, on the other hand, is in southern China (along with the good food, my mother tells me!). It was a good experience in every sense. Not only did we experience a slice of culture, we also got too see the developing country in development. There were construction cranes everywhere, and unfortunately the cities were masked in pollution. My brother and I realized the extent of our language barriers (my brother’s more than mine).
Will Hong Kong be enshrined in smog? Will it be hot and humid like the rest of China during most of the year? I already know I will have to give up my California weather—but to what extent? I suppose I will find out soon enough. How will the people be? Will the people spit all over the ground like they did in Beijing? Will the people lift their shirts halfway up their chests so as to mitigate the heat as the men did in Xian? Only time will tell I guess.
And back to my family—I will not likely see them during the four-month semester, nor will they likely see me. Whereas I do not think this is going to be a problem on my end, I know my mother has different feelings, to which I answer, “Well at least I’m not leaving for the whole year.” Little consolation, I know.
Recall that she is currently against the idea of me driving to San Diego myself—a distance of one hundred fifty miles. Hong Kong is seven thousand, two hundred miles away (or forty-eight times the distance), on a journey I will be taking by myself, crowded onto a Boeing 747 “Jumbo-Jet” with some four hundred fifty other people. I know that she will be worrying about me and my safety, and while I tell her that I’ll be okay and there’s nothing to worry about because I’ll watch myself, I know that she will remain worried until the whole episode is over and done with.
This is evidenced by the first time I came home by train. I had a 6:35 p.m. train from Oceanside going north to Los Angeles Union Station; and from there I had a bus leaving at 9:30 p.m. for arrival in Simi Valley at 10:40 p.m. Now, I am confident in my directional bearings more than the average bear, and my parents know of my keen abilities (such as being nocturnal). Nevertheless at 6:15 p.m. my father called me to see if I was at the train station yet. On a side note, I realize this whole time I’ve been focusing on my mother. That’s not to say that my father doesn’t care, I just don’t know if in his silent ways he worries about me in the same way. Because of this, I do not know whether he called me on his own accord or whether my mother had him call me. My parents claim to put up a unified front, so I’ll treat this matter as such.
Anyways, I told him yes, that I am at the train station, on the proper platform, and I will call him when I board the train. The train was late by five minutes. At 6:40 p.m., as I was entering the train, my father called me worried because I did not call him shortly after 6:35 p.m. I cleared things up, but before we hung up, he made sure I was on the correct train (keep in mind that trains don’t come any more often than three or four in any given hour on one of two platforms) and that I had my ticket still.
At Union Station in Los Angeles, I boarded the bus and called my parents again to update them. My father wanted to make sure I was on the correct bus again. I told him I was sure because it had the correct number on it as well as the destination Santa Barbara, along which was Simi Valley, the driver accepted my ticket without a problem, and the bus-loading lot was populated with one bus—the one I got on.
In Chatsworth (one stop before Simi Valley), I texted him to tell him of my whereabouts. I didn’t call because there were people on the bus sleeping.
“I’m in chatsworth. I should be in simi by 1045”
I was texting my brother’s phone, which my parents borrowed to pick me up. My parents, having never owned a cell phone personally except for a short stint in 1994, much less one with texting abilities, made an attempt to reply.
“O 2 n i k 2 m m m” I read it and lol-ed.
Anyways, I got there and saw my parents a couple hundred feet away. I began walking to them when I saw my mother flaring her hands about to get my attention, for fear that I may go the wrong direction, though I was clearly going towards them. It was like a corny movie, a scene that was bound to happen. In the car during the ride home they told me how they were so worried because the bus was fifteen minutes late and that it was night, to which I smiled.
Multiply that by 48 for the difference in distance and 4 for the difference in time gone without seeing each other, and we’ll see where we are then.
*
There is one big hurdle that one needs to get over when studying abroad—leaving home. I guess it is a fairly straightforward process that everyone goes through when they leave the nest. Unfortunately for me, I, as well as most of my suitemates (whom I dorm with), have not really left home. We all go home for breaks, most of us have gone home more than once during each of our three quarters (each quarter consisting of eleven weeks), and first and foremost, we refer to our former domiciles as “home,” and refer to the act of visiting as “going back [home].” Last quarter, my roommate went back to Glendale six or seven weekends out of the ten, and another suitemate went home every weekend until just a month ago and still goes back frequently. I really am no different. Fall quarter, my family visited me once, and I went home once. Winter quarter, I went home twice and my family visited me once. This current spring quarter, my mother has visited me once, and my family plans to visit me the weekend after next, both occasions regarding orientation for study abroad.
My home is in Thousand Oaks, where I was born and raised. I can point to minute landmarks and show whoever cares to where I reached milestones in my life, just the way my parents intended. Don’t get me wrong—I love La Jolla. The weather’s great and insects are few; there is much more diversity here than the suburban community close to my heart, and I can see the blue Pacific from by window. In fact, the similarities between La Jolla and Thousand Oaks, particularly around Westlake High School (where I graduated), are plenty. In a sentence—it’s full of old rich people. There are many nice cars, crime is low, and drivers are bad. It reminds me of home in my own personal way and I’m glad to have it. So in a different way, I have not yet left home. My new town is reminiscent of the old and I have yet to start seeing my family any more than three times a year. Therein lies my stage in life.
Well, I purchased my round-trip ticket from Los Angeles International Airport (LAX) to Hong Kong International Airport (HKG) a couple weeks ago, and ever since my nervousness has been building steadily. I told my mother of this increase when she was here the other weekend. I received the response, “Why?” Simple and succinct, her one word said a thousand. Did you do something wrong? Did you miss a deadline…oh no, did you miss a housing deadline? It would have been a good thing she didn’t say it out loud, but her intonation gave her utterance meaning, possibly including meaning she didn’t mean to give.
My mother used to live in Hong Kong during her early childhood back in the day, so I’m not sure she understands the full gravity behind my nervousness. Previously, my family visited China for two weeks with a tour group. We visited Beijing, Xian, Shanghai, Hangzhou, and Suzhou, all of which in central and northern China. Hong Kong, on the other hand, is in southern China (along with the good food, my mother tells me!). It was a good experience in every sense. Not only did we experience a slice of culture, we also got too see the developing country in development. There were construction cranes everywhere, and unfortunately the cities were masked in pollution. My brother and I realized the extent of our language barriers (my brother’s more than mine).
Will Hong Kong be enshrined in smog? Will it be hot and humid like the rest of China during most of the year? I already know I will have to give up my California weather—but to what extent? I suppose I will find out soon enough. How will the people be? Will the people spit all over the ground like they did in Beijing? Will the people lift their shirts halfway up their chests so as to mitigate the heat as the men did in Xian? Only time will tell I guess.
And back to my family—I will not likely see them during the four-month semester, nor will they likely see me. Whereas I do not think this is going to be a problem on my end, I know my mother has different feelings, to which I answer, “Well at least I’m not leaving for the whole year.” Little consolation, I know.
Recall that she is currently against the idea of me driving to San Diego myself—a distance of one hundred fifty miles. Hong Kong is seven thousand, two hundred miles away (or forty-eight times the distance), on a journey I will be taking by myself, crowded onto a Boeing 747 “Jumbo-Jet” with some four hundred fifty other people. I know that she will be worrying about me and my safety, and while I tell her that I’ll be okay and there’s nothing to worry about because I’ll watch myself, I know that she will remain worried until the whole episode is over and done with.
This is evidenced by the first time I came home by train. I had a 6:35 p.m. train from Oceanside going north to Los Angeles Union Station; and from there I had a bus leaving at 9:30 p.m. for arrival in Simi Valley at 10:40 p.m. Now, I am confident in my directional bearings more than the average bear, and my parents know of my keen abilities (such as being nocturnal). Nevertheless at 6:15 p.m. my father called me to see if I was at the train station yet. On a side note, I realize this whole time I’ve been focusing on my mother. That’s not to say that my father doesn’t care, I just don’t know if in his silent ways he worries about me in the same way. Because of this, I do not know whether he called me on his own accord or whether my mother had him call me. My parents claim to put up a unified front, so I’ll treat this matter as such.
Anyways, I told him yes, that I am at the train station, on the proper platform, and I will call him when I board the train. The train was late by five minutes. At 6:40 p.m., as I was entering the train, my father called me worried because I did not call him shortly after 6:35 p.m. I cleared things up, but before we hung up, he made sure I was on the correct train (keep in mind that trains don’t come any more often than three or four in any given hour on one of two platforms) and that I had my ticket still.
At Union Station in Los Angeles, I boarded the bus and called my parents again to update them. My father wanted to make sure I was on the correct bus again. I told him I was sure because it had the correct number on it as well as the destination Santa Barbara, along which was Simi Valley, the driver accepted my ticket without a problem, and the bus-loading lot was populated with one bus—the one I got on.
In Chatsworth (one stop before Simi Valley), I texted him to tell him of my whereabouts. I didn’t call because there were people on the bus sleeping.
“I’m in chatsworth. I should be in simi by 1045”
I was texting my brother’s phone, which my parents borrowed to pick me up. My parents, having never owned a cell phone personally except for a short stint in 1994, much less one with texting abilities, made an attempt to reply.
“O 2 n i k 2 m m m” I read it and lol-ed.
Anyways, I got there and saw my parents a couple hundred feet away. I began walking to them when I saw my mother flaring her hands about to get my attention, for fear that I may go the wrong direction, though I was clearly going towards them. It was like a corny movie, a scene that was bound to happen. In the car during the ride home they told me how they were so worried because the bus was fifteen minutes late and that it was night, to which I smiled.
Multiply that by 48 for the difference in distance and 4 for the difference in time gone without seeing each other, and we’ll see where we are then.
*
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