East or West
I just read this on one of the blogs I check into now and then, (Zany Mama):
"whining doesn’t suit me (not to mention the fact that it’s off-putting), and I am not a “naked” blogger – one who shares every feeling that comes to mind, no matter how morose or self-pitying."
Hmmm. Something to think about, there.
Certainly, the world doesn't need more whining or moroseness. It does seem that if I sit down with more than a few minutes to myself, what wells up into my mind is not the pleasant Saturday morning surprise birthday canoe trip I set up for a friend who is turning 50, rather the knotty, problems to be unsnarled, the things that aren't going well.
Things I need to think about before I can move on them.
Right now, for example, I'm thinking that it is time to get my gear on and get my daily walk out of the way. Therefore I blog.
Anyway, not to be coy, I will address the "almond-eyed life."
Hmmm.
On one level it's just a phrase that popped into my head during the set-up of this blog. I forget the question that prompted it, but the first couple of answers were rejected, so I picked something that I was pretty sure no one else would. A private joke, if you will. I had no idea it would be publicly displayed, and I feel a little foolish when I see it now.
As for what it was doing in my head in the first place, that's a little harder to explain. In brief, because I grew up in Hawaii, one of my first jobs was as a sales clerk at Tutu's Grass Shack in the Ala Moana Shopping Center, just off of Waikiki. There I learned to speak a very rudimentary Japanese. In those days, everyone more or less had to take Japanese as a second language in High School, except the dummies, who took Spanish, and the stuck-up Haoles, who took French (that would be me). Whether one studied it formally or not, Japanese was the language of tourist sales in those days, and probably still is.
Later in life, I found myself working for an import/export company in Central California, working on market development in Japan. When my grim, jean-clad, agragian co-workers discovered my abilty to translate faxes from the East, they were both surprised and unduly impressed. One day, as I was being hypnotised by the monotonous tedium of running mass copies, the Packing Shed Foreman bent down to murmer in my ear something about "a certain almond-eyed exotic traveler something something something." I was startled, not only be the fact that I hadn't seen him coming, but he was kind of a little too far into my personal space. Plus, I had no idea what he was talking about. I also noticed peripherally, that a couple of secretaries nearby had stopped to look at what was "going on." After a minute or two, I realized with a click that the Shed Forman was talking about a recent shipment of promotional products I had requested. There was something a little insinuating about his manner, though, that made me ponder that strange choice of words. I wondered if he might have been talking about me, in some way. I did feel then, during my first years on the Mainland, like an outsider. Here I was in America, but I felt as foreign as ever. Where in Hawaii I had actually made an effort to cultivate a European persona, here, among "my people," I felt more Asian than anything else.
As for my physical appearance, my eyes do not have epicanthic folds, and do not appear particularly oriental to anyone except those who have never really seen any actual people from Asia. I am caucasoid. My mother emigrated from Ireland in 1950. That said, we are not the blue-eyed, freckly, blond kind of Irish people. It turns out that 2 generations back, her great-great grandfather was himself an immigrant to Ireland from Portugal. Furthermore, he was from a part of Portugal called the Azore Islands, which were once Phoenician colonies. So we do have a kind of Spanish-y Mediterranean look to us. We have high cheekbones and actually, from certain angles, my mother's eyes do look slanted, as I suppose do mine as well.
I don't want to talk too much about my personal appearance, or post pictures of myself, because the great thing about blogging, and the internet in general, is that I don't have to. Women, especially, are so judged by their appearance, and it is freeing to be able to sidestep all that. At the end of the day, I have a fairly generic look, -- I blend. I do look more or less Iranian, and Jewish, and Mexican. In France I was asked several times if I was Lebanese. Even as I shook my head I would think "Well, maybe!"
"whining doesn’t suit me (not to mention the fact that it’s off-putting), and I am not a “naked” blogger – one who shares every feeling that comes to mind, no matter how morose or self-pitying."
Hmmm. Something to think about, there.
Certainly, the world doesn't need more whining or moroseness. It does seem that if I sit down with more than a few minutes to myself, what wells up into my mind is not the pleasant Saturday morning surprise birthday canoe trip I set up for a friend who is turning 50, rather the knotty, problems to be unsnarled, the things that aren't going well.
Things I need to think about before I can move on them.
Right now, for example, I'm thinking that it is time to get my gear on and get my daily walk out of the way. Therefore I blog.
Anyway, not to be coy, I will address the "almond-eyed life."
Hmmm.
On one level it's just a phrase that popped into my head during the set-up of this blog. I forget the question that prompted it, but the first couple of answers were rejected, so I picked something that I was pretty sure no one else would. A private joke, if you will. I had no idea it would be publicly displayed, and I feel a little foolish when I see it now.
As for what it was doing in my head in the first place, that's a little harder to explain. In brief, because I grew up in Hawaii, one of my first jobs was as a sales clerk at Tutu's Grass Shack in the Ala Moana Shopping Center, just off of Waikiki. There I learned to speak a very rudimentary Japanese. In those days, everyone more or less had to take Japanese as a second language in High School, except the dummies, who took Spanish, and the stuck-up Haoles, who took French (that would be me). Whether one studied it formally or not, Japanese was the language of tourist sales in those days, and probably still is.
Later in life, I found myself working for an import/export company in Central California, working on market development in Japan. When my grim, jean-clad, agragian co-workers discovered my abilty to translate faxes from the East, they were both surprised and unduly impressed. One day, as I was being hypnotised by the monotonous tedium of running mass copies, the Packing Shed Foreman bent down to murmer in my ear something about "a certain almond-eyed exotic traveler something something something." I was startled, not only be the fact that I hadn't seen him coming, but he was kind of a little too far into my personal space. Plus, I had no idea what he was talking about. I also noticed peripherally, that a couple of secretaries nearby had stopped to look at what was "going on." After a minute or two, I realized with a click that the Shed Forman was talking about a recent shipment of promotional products I had requested. There was something a little insinuating about his manner, though, that made me ponder that strange choice of words. I wondered if he might have been talking about me, in some way. I did feel then, during my first years on the Mainland, like an outsider. Here I was in America, but I felt as foreign as ever. Where in Hawaii I had actually made an effort to cultivate a European persona, here, among "my people," I felt more Asian than anything else.
As for my physical appearance, my eyes do not have epicanthic folds, and do not appear particularly oriental to anyone except those who have never really seen any actual people from Asia. I am caucasoid. My mother emigrated from Ireland in 1950. That said, we are not the blue-eyed, freckly, blond kind of Irish people. It turns out that 2 generations back, her great-great grandfather was himself an immigrant to Ireland from Portugal. Furthermore, he was from a part of Portugal called the Azore Islands, which were once Phoenician colonies. So we do have a kind of Spanish-y Mediterranean look to us. We have high cheekbones and actually, from certain angles, my mother's eyes do look slanted, as I suppose do mine as well.
I don't want to talk too much about my personal appearance, or post pictures of myself, because the great thing about blogging, and the internet in general, is that I don't have to. Women, especially, are so judged by their appearance, and it is freeing to be able to sidestep all that. At the end of the day, I have a fairly generic look, -- I blend. I do look more or less Iranian, and Jewish, and Mexican. In France I was asked several times if I was Lebanese. Even as I shook my head I would think "Well, maybe!"
posted by zulhai | 6:20 AM
6 Comments:
Thanks for the link!
Although I hope my thoughts don't discourage you from being as real as you need to be on your blog.
Due to my own recent health issues and other life stresses, I have almost hated to blog as I worry that simply stating what is happening in my life will feel like whining or self-pity. It's been a hard Fall/Winter for us in my household!
But that doesn't mean at all that I don't want to hear other people whine or be morose. It may make me a small, small person but sometimes others' problems make me feel a wee bit better. :)
Now, I'm going to totally switch gears and tell you that I'm totally feeling you on the whole "I may look a little ambiguous" thing. I am Black-White biracial, but that seems to be just too boring for most folks to want to hear. They want me to add something else to the mix, as it were.
So, now I've totally taken over your blog with a comment, when my intention was simply to thank you for stopping over to my space.
Thank you, ZM!
It is an honour and a delight to welcome you here, and your words of encouragement are very much appreciated.
BTW, your blog is NEVER morose. Even when frustrated, you manage to be upbeat and humourously self-deprecating.
As for me, I almost always think I have nothing of interest to say. Certainly nothing worth writing about. That mentality feels a little too much like laziness, though, so I will soldier on for a while.
Wasn't Phoenecia pretty much centered around present day Lebanon? There is a very strong chance indeed.
Most caucazoidal Americans have no ability to determine any ethnicity beyond White 'Merican. It is a tragedy really.
Hello dear Almond Eye,
This was a very nice post. What a coincident! Your beautiful post reminded me of how I had made a stop at Azores Island, in the middle of Atlantic Ocean, of all places, many years ago. It turned out to be long comment, so I decided to turn it into a blog. I will post it in a couple of days.
It’s March 8, 2007 today. I feel terrible, because not only I forgot, I can't remember what I was thinking about writing in the first place. I don't want to be a liar so I’m squeezing my temples hard to have the thought(s) pop out to remember what I was planning to blog about. Emm! Azores… It’s not that I don’t remember spending a night or two at Azores, it’s just that I can think what was special about it.
it would be a horrible expedient in the interest of some people who scarcity to start their own resource. it is my diversion to be one of those people who commented on your article . . thank you for the sake of give a opportunities... more power and god adore ..
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