Teen Writer's Haven

New Blog!!

2012-02-02T20:45:00.003-05:00

New blog documents my travels abroad! Currently studying abroad in England. Check it out!

www.lillian-wu.com

One Stroke At A Time

2010-10-26T00:08:00.003-04:00

By Lillian Wu

Grandfather stopped in front of the picnic table, his feet barely touching the ground. The table seemed to bow down in his presence. He lifted his bag off his shoulder and onto the seat before unpacking. He took out a silk cloth to cover the face of the table. With a craftsman's mastery, he removed his calligraphy set and began to arrange them. He placed brushes of assorted sizes gently onto the brush rest. His hands moved dexterously but the focus was never on them; it was as if his hands ceased to exist and the ink stone levitated on its own accord onto the cloth. Following it came a stack of Xuan paper of the highest quality, a stick of ink to be ground, a porcelain water dish, and a meticulously carved paper weight. There was no stone seal because Grandfather did not believe in claiming art. To him, everything he created belonged to his mentors.

He motioned for me to start grinding the ink. My hands started obeying even before the command from my brain. Pouring just enough water, my palm caressed the stick of ink and ground it against the ink stone in a circular motion. I forgot to breathe as the water became a thicker bold shade of sesame. When I was young, Grandfather made me practice with chalk because I would snap the ink in half with movements too grand. Becoming frustrated, I threw the chalk onto the ground. Grandfather said nothing but retrieved the stick. He placed it in the heart of my palm and covered my hand with his. He ground the chalk as if my hand was no longer there. As one, we ground it into a translucent powder. I never broke another slab of ink again. He stood erect now, not a muscle twitched – no longer human; his wrist suspended in the air. He studied the milky white of the paper before him, imagining the stark contrast of ink on it, counting each stroke of the character that was to be made alive. The dappled moonlight illuminated Grandfather's face into a youthful serenity. The aquiline slope of his nose belonged to a commander. Something alerted the brown of his eyes to glow into a dark amber. He swiftly reached for the largest brush and dipped the goat hair in ink.

Each brilliant stroke of the Kai style was branded with the utmost precision. There was an order to each stroke: from left to right and from top to bottom. His wrist was fluid in the angles it bent to give shape to the character. No motion was wasted, each deliberate and inevitable. The ink seemed to flow from his fingers, almost as if it had fused with his blood. No longer present, he had become the heartbeat of his art. He did not take one glance at me, but I knew he would not have remembered my face. Standing beside him, I felt as if we were maintaining the yin and yang of the world. We could not have been greater opposites.

With a final angular swipe, he released a breath of suppressed air and collapsed onto the seat. His eyes eagerly fed on the finished character that glistened in the moonlight: the word for wisdom. The character was made of many folds, each a layer dedicated to the depths of Grandfather's thoughts. Grandfather never explained why he chose the characters he did; he believed silence was the highest form of interaction. When I was young, not yet capable of comprehending the unspoken language, he told me why he practiced calligraphy. There was not a mirror more honest. The written symbols displayed one's every flaw and virtue, telling one's story more articulately than one ever could. It was the same reason why I avoided calligraphy in his presence, pretending to be content as his ink grinder. The sense of being naked, so easily read and analyzed was frightening. I wondered if Grandfather knew of my uneasiness, but I knew he must have; for he never asked to teach me.

Only when I was alone in the refuge of my house did I practice calligraphy. I borrowed Grandfather's calligraphy set but could not manipulate the equipment as he did. I mimicked the manner in which Grandfather held the brush, knuckles bulging from the skin, but the characters I drew hung limply on the page. It was not that I lacked inspiration. There was always a story playing in my mind, a mood I tried desperately to convey through the movement of the brush. With each finished stroke, I savored the ecstasy of blood simmering in my veins. What I saw in the character reflected the opposite: a mocking indifference.

Before my lips parted in the form of a plea, Grandfather handed me a brush. “Show me what you have been practicing.”

“But how did you know?” I felt as if my skin had been bared.

Grandfather smiled calmly but did not respond. “Think about why the art of calligraphy is sacred, what the characters mean to you personally. Each character tells a story. Try exploring the past for an image that strikes you. When you start creating, hold on to that feeling.”

“I've tried that. It doesn't work for me.”

“But have you? There is a dichotomy between thought and action. Which have you attempted to achieve?” There was no mockery in his tone, only genuine curiosity.

I searched his face for an answer, but found nothing. I surrendered to the weight of my eyelids and felt the earth move from under my feet. I thought of the roaring ocean, the tide lusting after the sibilance of the wind. I did not think about why I had chosen the ocean, it was instinctive. It occurred to me that I had been born from its waves. I was standing on the cliff, my hair salt licked and braided by the wind. The dimensions of sky, ocean and granite created a sense of harmony. The desire to jump in, to fling my heated body against the strength of the current, only to get swallowed up, consumed me. I threw myself at the wind and the impact of the fall crushed my face. I gasped for breath as my eyes jutted open.

Jai Ho (Based on Slumdog Millionaire)

2010-05-11T23:04:00.002-04:00

By Lillian Wu

In the beginning, the Juhu slums brought us together

so our hands could find their way,

fingers interlocked for a melting moment.

We did not know this then,

but fate had made you my Mumbai bride.

Imagine, the sharp angles of your body softened

by gold threaded saris,

and the night in your skin complemented by

eloquent mehndi designs that told stories

we never could.

Perhaps if we had stayed strangers,

I could forget your cry that pierced my dreams

and your lyrical face illuminated by death,

as our fingers merely grazed

when your legs failed to keep up with a train on tracks.

I heard my heart stop,

like the friction seconds declaring a thunderstorm,

when your legs gave way and

I was certain the earth had consumed you.

Since I have left,

your face must have remained angelic,

the onion folds of your forgiving eyes

shielding you from devastation.

I wait unremitting until destiny

brings us back together, to make my world full

with the presence of your mango scented hair.

The Last Sunset

2010-05-11T23:01:00.000-04:00

By Lillian Wu

The indigo patches in the bloody sea above

mask the fears of the future,

as the setting globe of fire

dissolves memories past into a sweet serenity.

With the earth anchored at their feet,

their eyes transfixed at the miracle before them,

the couple vowed an eternal love,

their avoidant eyes indicating otherwise.

She steals a glance in his direction,

studying his rigid lips,

his perfectly symmetrical smile.

Too blatant was his masquerade to be genuine,

his speech never fluid as his movements.

She chuckled silently to herself,

the words never spoken lingered in the thick summer air;

but mimes never tell.

She recalled their first encounter,

then seemingly the proof of serendipity,

now, twisted fate.

The sun set behind the mountains,

the end becoming ever so clear

as night settled in and

the orchestra of crickets prepared for its debut.

As the couple got up to leave

with the promise of tomorrow's sunset,

she followed the faint light in the distance,

leaving him to choose his path.

I Do

2010-05-11T22:58:00.003-04:00

By Lillian Wu

Gulls in the air cry their blessings
as the roaring sea subsides gently to wash
their naked feet of the hot sand.
Everlasting is the promise embedded
in the blossom of his eyes,
with a scintillating personality of their own.
Within her jewels is an ancient history,
the remedy for love and lust.
The couples' faces are puzzle pieces
that fit together as their interlocked fingers do,
seeking comfort in the symphony of their pulses.

The scythe of sun strikes from the gap
between their nearly molded bodies,
so he pulls her closer until their curves collide.
Her veil is weaved by patches of memories,
casting a purity that belies wrongs of the past;
she is waiting for a voice in the wind.
As he leaves lemon drop kisses on her forehead,
she closes her eyes to find truth in the alignment of stars.
The moment they pledge their eternal love
with two simple words,
and seal it with the meeting of their lips,
(he is oblivious to the taste of tongue
that is not her's)
the couple cease to be separate beings,
but become a single entity of one bonded soul.

A Mother's Goodbye

2010-05-11T22:55:00.003-04:00

By Lillian Wu

It starts with an eclipse.

When light is consumed by agony,

gradually,

agony dissolves into sheer oblivion.

The transformation from sane to

hovering helicopter requires little,

a mother being no different with her child

than a hypochondriac with health.

Her child's existence becomes her soul,

his breath her heartbeat

the moment she holds him,

their pulses in perfect synchrony,

the eloquence of his movements a mystery to all

but to his proud mother,

who wipes tears from her welling eyes.

A moment meant to be eternal

inhibits the shadow of her memory,

like the moon fades into the night,

waiting for the passing presence of the red sun.

Once, looking up at the night sky,

she thought she saw her ghost.

She looks at him now, her eyes translucent,

and he stares back at her,

with the brilliant globes she gave him.

With delight dancing on his pupils,

he is going to embark on a new chapter of his life.

She turns to the side,

silently craving the cigarette

she put down for him nineteen years ago.

As she watches his back

disappear over the horizon,

a part of her leaves with him.

Poseidon's Tears (A Sestina)

2010-05-11T22:51:00.002-04:00

By Lillian Wu

No wonder you lust after the whisper of the wind,
its sibilance like song from the golden lyre. Your soul,
an anomaly in a sea of the hopeless, wipes at the tears
that Poseidon has shed, and you listen
attentively to the tales of the ghost
of centuries past, but hear instead, your death.

Never have you been afraid of the abyss of death,
for secretly you need to be one with the wind,
to caress the tide with the ghost
of your fleeting soul,
but you plead for the maiden who hovers on the cliff to listen,
as you never did, to the rumble of Poseidon's tears.

The last grain of doubt dissolves like tears
evaporating after staining your face; death
is calling, and you listen,
answering the invitation carried by the wind.
Making the jump, first to go is your soul.
But you no longer need it, for in its place is your ghost.

Dappled sunlight breathes life into your ghost,
and fleetingly, you recall the days as human. Crystalline tears
form to mourn your soul,
its allusion of death
epitomizes the wrath of the wind,
calm only to those who never listen.

Beneath the realm of the living and the dead, you listen
to the eerie euphony of the trident striking the ghost
of the sky. Resentment builds in the wind,
commanding the high tides of Poseidon's tears.
The awakened waves are ravenous for death,
for the gem of mortal souls

to add to its collection of lost souls.
The waves collide with the rocks, listening
but failing to imitate the eloquence of the wind. The waves smell death
in the salt licked ghosts'
tears,
but wait for the wind.

The deity of death appears as an illusion and takes hold of the ghost,
thrusting the soul you used to listen
to the secrets of Poseidon's tears, to the wind.

Annabelle Reborn (A Short Story)

2010-05-11T22:47:00.002-04:00

By LillianW

There was something foreign about Adam, whose gaze was achingly hollow. Somehow, without my noticing, his emerald eyes had faded into a lackluster shade of gray. He resembled a corpse as he sat there motionless. I saw him wasting away in his tireless slumber, and I shivered from the utter tranquility that enveloped him. As we sat together, my hand in his, I felt his spirit trickle slowly from my fingers. A sense of urgency overcame me, and I searched desperately for the words that would patch his soul. Done in vain, I knew nothing could ease the pain when God suddenly decides to strip you of everything you knew. It was then that I resented my perception of the world. There was too much clarity, everything was too real, making the ugly that much more difficult to turn a blind eye to. In the void of the silence, I could hear the devils tempting him to leave.

Adam rested his wrist on the arm of the bench after another puff of his cigarette. I watched as the rings of smoke, as flawless as the Milky Way, trailed into the night sky. His exhaled smoke was the color of his skin, a sickly shade of death. He closed his bloodshot eyes and rested the nape of his neck against the arch of the bench. His soft face appeared tired but complacent, finally recognizable. While careful not to rouse him, I removed his burning cigarette. The trauma of losing his younger sister, Annabelle, had left him brutally scarred, but the only traces of misery on his face now laid in his thin wrinkles. My fingers lightly traced the map of his suffering, my heart burning at the recollection of moments long gone. It was as if I had departed this world and had wandered into a labyrinth of wishful fantasies. There, Annabelle was still alive and smiling; she was always smiling.

I could hear the chiming of our laughter as kids, racing towards the cliff of the rocks to jump into the expansive sea. Adam was ten feet ahead of Annabelle and me, but Annabelle only stayed behind to keep me company. I was nervous because it was my first time cliff diving, but Annabelle and Adam assured me that the water was harmless. I recalled the terror that struck me, ten years old at the time, as I peered down at the waves crashing boldly against the rocks. The wind braided my hair into salt-kissed knots and felt like little daggers against my cheeks. The howling sounded as if the sea was mourning for something that was lost in its depths. The distance to the bottom stunned me motionless. Annabelle fearlessly jumped in first, her bloodcurdling scream confirming my decision to stand where I was. Adam gave my back a light shove, his anticipation for the rush dancing on his rosy cheeks. I refused to budge and stepped aside for him to go. His eyebrows furrowed, debating whether to leave me behind for his moment of ecstasy. I prayed that he would. Annabelle screamed for us to hurry up and right as I saw the twinkle of mischief in Adam's eyes, I knew what he was thinking. Before I could move outside of his reach, he lunged at me and dragged me down with him into the pit of Hell. I clung onto him and shut my eyes tightly. I started humming Mother's lullaby to drown out the roar of the waves. Adam tightened his arms around me and told me not to be such a wimp. After mustering every ounce of courage I did not know was in me, I took a peek. To my surprise, I forgot why I was so scared; it was as if I had opened my eyes for the very first time. The sterile formation of the world I was accustomed to was altered into a kaleidoscopic stream of colors. The taste of freedom lingered in my mouth as did the taste of salt entangled in dirt. As we were dangling over the ocean and under the blanket of clouds, my individuality had taken flight and I was no longer a victim of fear. Safe in his warm embrace, I knew he would always be there.

Now it was my turn to be the warrior. Every muscle in my arm tensed as I bit down on the inside of my lower lip to restrain from crying aloud. I wrapped my arms around myself like a straitjacket to cease the rapid quivering. He was so beautiful, too young to have witnessed the wrath of death, and too precious to disappear forever. He was not much older than I was, but he was already fading from reality. Adam no longer inhabited his body, but instead, had become a prisoner of his thoughts. Jaded and becoming oblivious to passion, his perception was skewed. I dearly wished to remove the blinding veil that shielded his eyes from the warmth and goodness that existed. Shedding silent tears, I wished to remind him of the way things used to be, to play him the memories I treasured and wondered if he still possessed.

Adam's mind was a portal which even he did not have full access to. He was always wandering aimlessly in his forest of thoughts, hoping to stumble upon something brilliant. Adam took a creative approach at comprehending the world around him. He strung together words out of numbers, saw books as colors dissolving, and described playing music as finally living. We were of clashing personalities. While I enjoyed the structure of rules, Adam took every opportunity to create his own. We would debate for hours over our conflicting philosophies, where in the end, neither one was capable of changing the opinion of the other. When we were bored, we would start fighting over nothing in particular, both of us playing the devil's advocate. The only time I had ever won an argument was when he complained that nothing good ever lasted. I retorted that he had it wrong; it was the misery that never did. He looked at me, transfixed, his pupils perfectly dilated, as if I had said something that had never crossed his mind. I assumed that he had not actually heard me, but was plagued by another one of his bizarre theories. He justified his notions by claiming that he vocalized what others were afraid to and knew what others would eventually understand. Almost suffocating under his arrogance, I resorted to violence by throwing a punch at his arm. He would always surrender when I got hostile for there was no way he could win. I smirked; it was almost too easy.

I resisted the urge to punch him now, to tear his hair out, although I was dying to get a reaction out of him. Subconsciously, the thought of him not responding, his body stationary in eternal slumber, frightened me more. I yearned for wings that would carry me far from the despair, but at the same time, craved for strength to be strong for us both. If only Annabelle had never gotten into that car; she would know how to mend his heart. I gritted my teeth at the thought of Annabelle, who recently frequented my dreams since I refused to think of her during my waking hours. Like a couple’s initials, framed by a heart, etched in the bark of a Willow, my memory was a cursed branding on my spirit. I could hear the soft whisking of the Willow’s branches, struggling to remove the carvings from its tender trunk. While the Willow will rid of the carvings one day, I will forever carry the burden of sorrow with me everywhere. Annabelle's role in my life had been so significant, now that she was gone; she had left all but a gaping hole behind. Since I constantly felt her presence with me, her scent always finding a way up my nostrils, it was impossible to dub her a memory of the past. In fact, I struggled with the reality that she was really, truly dead. Gone forever was the angel of a girl I adored, never to be heard again was the glorious laughter she let sound. Annabelle had always been so vivacious and full of life that it was too much to envision her lying still beneath the earth for an eternity.

There was no use dismissing her now. Annabelle, the friend I collected a thousand memories of and had a hundred names for, had always been out of place except in the shelter of her home. There she had Adam, the only one who understood her obsession with deciphering the temperament of the angels by reading signs from the sky. She spent hours of the day staring into the deep blue of the sky, becoming familiar with its mood by its changing shades. Annabelle wished that she could fall into the sky, to wrap the luscious bed of clouds around her, to join the chorus of cherubs in their singsong. Most of all, she wanted to become the heartbeat of the sky.

Annabelle could tell the time of day by the position of the sun, sensed the coming of a storm by the chill that tickled the round of her nose, and heard secrets in the sound of the wind. Sometimes she would respond back in her quiet whisper. I remembered at nineteen, when she told me she was dying and was going to be reborn as the breath of Christ. I told her not to worry, that all she had was a minor cold. Then she told me that she was not going to resist the holy process, that she was more than honored to do Christ's bidding. She spoke of the freedom of becoming one with wind as if she had already been transformed. Annabelle resembled a metaphor in our sensible world, a place with too much emphasis on the logical. She saw the world not as it was, but how it could be. Sometimes, in the darkest of nights, we would escape to our refuge by the river. It was a moment when words became a distraction; our love is confirmed by the warm embrace of our hands. We leaned our weight against our favorite willow tree, staring out over the water, marveling at the sight of the river as the moon glistened off the surface of the water. When I looked at Annabelle with her eyes shut, her face became the moon.

I closed my eyes and envisioned our shelter by the river. “Hmm, yes, exactly how I remembered it. There's that familiar scent. I am here alone this time, but this paradise belongs to the two of us.” My tears mixed with my silent laughter, my voice barely a whisper. It was the aroma of evergreen entangled in hard dirt. The sweet reminder of Annabelle's presence.

When there was too much quiet so that it was almost a ghostly silence, I imagined how Annabelle had died. The autopsy revealed that it took one quick blow to the head to end her twenty two years of life. It consoled me somewhat to know that she left painlessly, quickly, to become one with the wind. I wondered if she was with us now. I could almost see the look on Annabelle's face as she faced the end, one of peaceful surrender, soft and childlike, her eyes squinting from the bright light. I knew she would have welcomed it with open arms. To her it was only a natural process, one we were all going to experience sooner or later. Agony clouded my mind as I thought about what her last thoughts might have been. Being as selfless as she was, Annabelle was probably asking for forgiveness for the pain she would bring forth to everyone who loved her. There was no need since no one could ever stay mad at Annabelle; she was all too angelic, innocent, and brought out the nurturing nature in all. It was not that she ever needed someone to protect her. Drunkenly, I thought I heard Annabelle's voice calling me, calling me to join her in her flight. As a part of me was ready to leave, longed to join Annabelle in the heavens, Adam tightened his grasp on my hand. It had a numbing effect on my senses, and foggily, as if I had stumbled into an intricate maze, I became truly lost. Nothing was what it seemed. Between my weeping and waterfall tears, I felt Annabelle's presence weaken.

Suddenly, lightning stroke the bed of clouds above and rain swept the cold earth. As the water cleansed his face, he stirred; his eyes fluttered open and he exhaled a long withheld breath, “Annabelle!”

How to Get Girls for Asian Guys

2009-12-27T19:33:00.004-05:00

By LillianW

While Asian girls may be extremely desirable, Asian guys are the opposite. Let's face it, white guys are taking all the Asian girls. Your options seem to be further diminishing still when white guys who have difficulty differentiating the attractive Asian girls from the cute ones are picking up the less appealing girls. You sit there and wonder what it is you have done wrong and why no girls of any race find you desirable. Don't fret. This guide will help you turn it all around and eventually include Asian guys in the yellow fever fad.

Battle the Stereotypes

Know your qualities and your less appealing traits that could stand in the way of you and your possibility of scoring a date. Start by looking in the mirror. Are you physically appealing or a little harsh on the eyes? Take into consideration how many ladies check you out but disregard the opinions of close female friends and your own ego. The general image that comes to mind when one thinks of an Asian guy is a scrawny, undesirable nerd. Unfortunately, this stereotype may contain some truth. Asian girls often complain that there are so few cute ones of their own race. The reality is that if you are an attractive Asian male, you have almost defeated the rest of the pack. You should really have no trouble with Asian girls but you might not be scoring with exotic gals. The rumor that Asian guys are bad in bed does not help. The negative stereotypes will continue to be an obstacle, especially the ones that carry truth. Work towards portraying your true personality without concealing parts of your individuality.

Set Realistic Goals

Asian guys are idealistic and dream obsessively of the perfect girl. This becomes detrimental when the goddess is way beyond his league. The worst part is the inability for Asian guys to comprehend this fact. The ugliest Asian guy will have skyscraper expectations for his future girlfriend when he has nothing to offer himself. Back to the mirror. Be realistic. Pursue girls that are around your own hotness level and you will eventually get a date. You are expected to ook stellar on paper, which is a basic criteria for Asian guys. Work on showing off that aspect to girls that you have a chance at getting. Dating really is a battlefield when every other guy is a competitor. Being an Asian guy, you are at the bottom rung. Change this by defeating the stereotypes and targetting easier prey that are a perfect fit.

Emulate the White Guys

Nice guys do finish last, and Asian guys are most always the nice guys. These guys end up crushing on their girl best friends for years and watching her go through guys like shoes. They are the guys who girls go to when they need a favor. The sweet Asian guy is never boyfriend material. Asian guys need to pick up their game by emulating the white guys who easily score dates with girls. The drastic difference between white guys and Asian guys is state of mind. White guys score dates because they act like men and take command. Asian guys possess fragile egos and act like babies when chasing a girl. Get a back bone. You are going to need to seem confident to turn heads. No one wants to go out with someone who is not comfortable around her. If you are shy by nature, like most Asian guys, work on building your confidence.

Avoid Being A Tool

Stop being the nice guy if you want to be the one who takes her home. There is a fine line between being compassionate and being whipped. Most Asian guys are blind to this and often overstep it. You will not get her to like you by tending to her every need. She will continue to use you shamelessly if you let her. Avoid being overly sentimental, romantic, and available. If she is straight, she will not be into a man who is more feminine than she is. Asian guys tend to come on too strong even when they are assertive, so remember to give her space. All in all, act against your natural instincts to mother your potential girlfriend.

Go get your girls back by taking heed of these rules.

How to Date An Asian Girl (For White Guys)

2009-12-27T19:26:00.003-05:00

By LillianW

Are you suffering from yellow fever and would like to finally pursue an Asian goddess...successfully? This is most understandable for Asian girls are sweet, attractive and insanely appealing. This guide will help you land an Asian girl so you can turn your dream into a reality.

There is only one remedy for yellow fever, and that is to date an Asian girl. Like with all dating, the secret to winning an Asian girl's heart is doing the research. Pursuing an Asian girl may seem like a daunting task when it is obvious that she is the star of ninety percent of other white guys' fantasies. Rest assured. With the aid of this guide, you will soon be scoring dates with that Asian girl you have been interested in.

Get the Facts Straight

The most crucial thing before asking an Asian girl out is to be able to differentiate the facts within the stereotypes. Some stereotypes are completely accurate while others are total lies. Beware, it would be dangerous to assume that all Asian girls were submissive and wanted to be “set straight” by a tough, domineering man. In fact, although they are advertised as such, this is the single greatest lie about Asian girls. I'll let you in on a little secret: Asian girls are always in control. They may let you think otherwise, but they know how to manipulate their images to get everything they want. Do not treat her like you are superior or she will unleash her kungfu moves on you. Do not say you have not been warned. A stereotype with some truth is that when you are dating an Asian girl, her whole family is part of the deal. Be prepared for large Chinese New Year dinners.

Have the Credentials

This may sound extremely shallow, (but so is being attracted to a girl because of the color of her skin) but looking good on paper is the one trait that can compete with an equally attractive appearance. By being white, you do not look any better to an Asian girl. If you are ugly to a white girl, you are just as ugly to an Asian girl. It only works one way, for some white guys are blind and cannot separate attractive Asian girls from butt ugly ones. If you are loaded, go to a prestigious university, or at least possess qualities of ambition and drive, you will not be overlooked by Asian girls and her lovely family members. You need to have the potential to succeed. The girl needs her designer handbags and Jimmy Choo heels. Recession is not in her English dictionary.

Spoil Her

Asian girls may not be timid, but they sure are sensitive. Give it time; she has grown up obsessing over Korean soap dramas and fantasizing over the perfect guy, which you will no doubt be far from. Do your best. You must consistently remind her that she is important to you by spoiling her with attention, gifts, and romantic surprises. Contrary to popular belief, Asian girls are not treated poorly by their parents. The ones that are not dumped at birth, are spoiled rotten by their parents. They are the definition of Daddy's princess. Asian girls learn early on how to get things from their dads so it makes working their magic on suitors much more fool-proof. She will not bother going through your texts and call records as long as the money continues pouring. Do not be upset about spending on her. Rather, get used to it.

Confidence is Key

This can not be stressed enough. This may be a little cliché, but confidence is your best weapon when dealing with Asian girls. You will have what the Asian guys lack. Be assertive and know what you are doing. No matter how into her you are, feign an air of detachedness. These queens will not appreciate what is kissing their feet. Do not be suffocatingly arrogant, but balance charm with an edge of coolness, and you have hit the jackpot. Keep her on her toes and you will keep her hooked. She is so used to getting what she wants that she will not be able to get you out of her head.

Dating Asian girls is really an art form and takes persistence and ability. Master these skills and you will get the Asian goddess of your dreams.

A Woman's Guide to Sending A Guy Packing

2009-12-27T19:22:00.004-05:00

By LillianW

There are two types of women who can efficiently utilize this guide. The first group of women, the intended readers, are soft and incapable of breaking things off with their boyfriends. They can use these tips to get their boyfriends to dump them instead. The second pack of ladies can use this as a helpful guide to keep their men by avoiding these dating mistakes. Ironically, the latter females have it easier since guys tend to use a similar passive strategy to avoid dumping their girlfriends. Relax, you just need to know how to push his buttons.

Do Not Sleep With Him

Nothing will send a guy out the door faster than a woman who is not putting out. This will work best if you guys are accustomed to having orgasmic sex. When you suddenly, without reason, decide to stop playing out his fantasies, it will drive him insane. Guys work differently than women because of their hormones. Being deprieved of sexual pleasure is the worst punishment to a guy, especially since they have no clue as to why they are being tortured. Without the physical intimacy, there seems to be little that will keep the guy from leaving if everything in the relationship has already deteriorated. However, if the guy is still determined to make it work and will stay around without sex, reevaluate your situation. Unless he is a criminal or lives in a box, he is most certainly a keeper.

Pull A Disappearing Act

Ignore all his calls and texts without ever responding. Avoid bumping into him in person and steer clear from his friends. After a week with absolutely no contact, send him a one word text saying hi. When he attacks you with questions, do not respond. Let him iniate the break up speech and you will have gotten rid of him. This strategy is cruel but if there is no way of you approaching the subject, you will just have to get him to do it. If he is relatively rational, he will know what it is you are doing. If he is still clueless, resort to using your ex. Get a friend to tell your boyfriend that you have been hanging out with your ex and it will fuel his jealousy. If you refuse to talk to him about it, he will break up with you. Score.

Be His Worst Nightmare

Depending on how long you have known him, at the very least you should know what makes him tick. Use this knowledge to your advantage by becoming his worst nightmare. If he can not stand people who gossip, do just that. Rant constantly about celebrities, your friends and coworkers. To top it off, criticize his friends. You want to make all the dating mistakes that most women wish to avoid. Be insecure and clingy by checking his phone and emails. Tell him all the things your ex used to do that he does not. Force him to watch chick flicks over and over again with you. Step all over his ego and whip him in front of the people he cares about. If none of this is working yet, tell him that he cannot satisfy you and criticize his package. You should never hear from him again at this rate.

Ask Him For Money

Shamelessly make him pay for your everything. Make him take you to fancy restaurants and order only the most expensive dishes. Then after the dinner, complain about the food, service, and how dull everything was. Ask him to give you money to buy something and cry when he refuses. When he thinks you are a golddigger, he will disappear before you know it.

A note of caution, do not be overly cruel when putting these strategies to the test. He is only human and it is flattering enough that he will take so much of your crap. Also, make sure that you will not regret breaking up with him. The best solution is simply to end things off with him in an adult manner.

Mastering the College Essay

2009-12-16T07:30:00.000-05:00

By LillianW

Contrary to popular belief, the secret to a dazzling college essay is not the topic. In fact, this theory could not be farther from the truth. I know of currently ivy-league students who wrote their college essays on peculiar topics. One guy wrote about his nipples and he is now studying happily at Columbia University. Another guy wrote a sentence defining courage and got into Cornell. That is not to say that an extreme approach with the essay will get you in. I have heard stories of the opposite occuring also. Assuming that you have everything else it takes to get into the college, the college essay might be the push you need to get the big acceptance package coming April.

Play It Safe

I am not saying to write another generic essay that the adcoms have read a million times over. The aim is to turn a seemingly common experience into something uniquely personal. Spice it up with a creative edge that reveals something about you, preferably a quality, but remember to show and not tell.

The honest truth is that taking it to an extreme will probably be too risky, and unless you want to use your future as a gamble, stray from strange topics. Here's a quick test: if you are hesitant to read it to a teacher, it is most likely not a safe topic.

Topics to Avoid

suicide/drugs/crime/a murder you committed (no matter how guilty you feel)
cliche topics (your room, your mother, sport) unless you can give it an original twist that's unique
body parts
too personal experiences you are not comfortable sharing with a teacher
books
anything that paints you in a bad light/ makes them doubt your sanity
anything unsettling or gory

The Writing

More obviously, the writing of your essay should be sophisticated but not make the adcoms doubt that a high school senior wrote it. Show, don't tell, but avoid an abundance of descriptions. You only have so many words, choose wisely. Every word should count. Have a unique writing style that is easily distinguishable and allow your voice to shine through. That is ultimately the purpose of the essay and the essence of the paper. Do not fake sounding like someone you are not. Do not come off as a lame comedian just to impress them.

No pressure, Bill Gates dropped out of college and I hear he is doing fine. If you get rejected from every school you apply to, relax, there's always Hogwarts.

What Every Mother Needs to Hear

2009-12-16T04:02:00.003-05:00

By LillianW

I love you
I don't mean the hurtful things I say when we fight
I'm sorry
I miss you
I will never outgrow you
Thank you
I think of you before I sleep too
I am proud of you
When you hug me, I forget the pain
I want to be like you
It's obvious that Daddy's crazy about you
I can tell you everything
I tried my best
I don't forget the things you do for me
I hate seeing you sad
Let me take care of it this time
Don't worry about me, I can take care of myself now
I appreciate you
I miss your nagging when my dorm room is silent
You are the best cook ever
You're the best mother in the world
You're always right
I need your advice
How do you do it?
You're Beautiful
The Truth

Spirit of the Fireflies

2009-12-16T03:20:00.006-05:00

By LillianW

I was finally finished. The long train of a thousand paper cranes draped like a canopy over my mother's hospital bed. Mother had complained that being cooped up in the hospital was the reason she was still sick. Even as she coughed blood and wheezed to finish her sentences, she denied that anything was the matter with her. Between spasms, she forced a hollow laugh to relieve the tension between my quivering sister's eyebrows. Little Annabelle resembled a volcano as she held her breath to suppress the eruptions. Slowly, Mother drifted off into a peaceful slumber, her serene face becoming familiar again. Yes, this was the same woman who danced with fireflies.

“Come Annabelle, don't wake her. I'm taking you to the secret place Mommy always took me when I was sad.”

“Has Mommy gone to join Daddy in the stars?”

I pointed at the colorful assortment of paper cranes. “No silly, Mother's just tired. The crane spirits will protect her.” Annabelle's little fingers fit the spaces between mine perfectly. She made me pinky promise never to abandon her. It became a ritual we practiced every time we left the hospital.

The sun had set when we arrived at the riverbank. Nothing had changed, but this time, it was Annabelle at my side. A fleeting breeze created a dusting of white petals. We soaked our legs into the river and the moon stroked our bare skin. I closed my eyes instinctively and we rested on the bed of earth. I did not know the hours from the minutes; I was in a hurry only for the blackest of nighttime, to dance with fireflies as my company. I hummed Mother’s lullaby softly, careful not to disturb the melody of the river. I remembered the last time Mother took me here.

It was two years ago, right before Mother fell ill. Mother's hands clutched the tie Daddy had forgotten in his rush to pack for his flight. Mother had promised she would do it, but she was no where to be found that day. Mother resembled an imp whose thoughts were always in the clouds. Even her walk was more of an airy floating. All she was missing was a pair of wings. I recalled, fondly, the look on Daddy's face when Annabelle popped out of his suitcase, begging him to take her to Paris. He chuckled and tousled her hair gently. Silently from behind, Mother appeared carrying a sleeping kitten. It was the fifth homeless animal she wanted to take in that week. If a stranger was in dire need, Mother would offer him the clothing on her back.

Before Daddy could object, she gave the kitten to Annabelle and wrapped her arms around his neck. Mother pouted her lips and whispered all the tragedies that would happen to the kitten if they turned it away. Daddy sighed and nodded his head. I saw him melt in Mother's gaze. They danced slowly to Michael Buble, Mother's favorite. Daddy would pretend to drop Mommy, who closed her eyes and tilted her head back, for she knew he would always catch her. It was a moment when words became a distraction, their love confirmed by their embrace.

Mother and Daddy were high school sweethearts. When she became pregnant with me, her parents disowned her and Daddy's parents took her in. Mother assured me that she never regretted my existence, but there was not one moment she did not feel guilty for disappointing her parents. The day I was born, Mother was going to surprise Daddy at work. Her water broke when she was rescuing a pup from kids that were throwing pebbles at it. Luckily, Daddy was a doctor. He was popular at the hospital and everyone had come to celebrate my birth. They joked that I would grow up to follow in his footsteps.

I never saw Mother shed a tear after news of Daddy's death. I asked her why and she said that it was her turn to be the strong one. She tied Daddy's tie around the arm of an ancient willow tree. She thought it would guide Daddy's spirit home. As she looked out over the river, I could sense her soul slipping away. I kissed her goodbye, because I knew that day, I had lost them both.

I opened my eyes to Annabelle's urgent tugging. She breathed a sigh of relief and held me tightly. I smiled consolingly and kissed her dimpled cheek.

“You're beautiful, Annabelle.”

“No, you are. You look just like Mommy!”

I glanced down on the river's surface and Mother's brilliant face smiled back at me.

The Perfect College is Like the Perfect Guy

2009-12-16T03:15:00.002-05:00

By LillianW

There are so many factors that go into picking a college that is the perfect fit for you. Especially in this recession, it seems that financial reasons are a huge component. Unless you are one of the blessed, your parents fall into two categories: unwilling or incapable of paying for your expensive college tuition.

This is understandable for the educational institutions today are extremely pricy and it is debatable whether or not you get the bang for the buck. All this aside, going off to college is a huge milestone in one's life. It will be an important period for your growth as an individual and you will make life-long friends. As you are narrowing down your list of potential colleges, keep a few things in mind.

I like to think of the perfect college as being similar to the perfect guy. Both are nonexistent, for just as you will find many guys you are completely compatible with, there isn't one college that you have to be at to enjoy the college experience. Of course, everyone has a dream college that will be a great fit for them, but the key is to look past that. There are plenty of choices out there, and many that will surpass your expectations. This is true because a college's greatest asset is its students. Don't fret, you will meet great people everywhere.

Visit the potential colleges before deciding. Unless you plan on transferring, you are going to be spending four years there. It is not like high school where if you had a bad day, you had a home to find refuge in. You will be alone, but the upside is the newfound freedom of being away from the hovering parents. Be in the environment to see for yourself whether or not you would mind being there for four years. I found out the hard way that I will never be able to settle down in a rural setting. Feel the vibe of the people around you. It is best if you can spend the night and attend classes to really imagine yourself there in a year. If it is Hell now, it won't turn any better when you move in in the fall.

Make a list of the pros and cons of the college and compare. However, if one disadvantage of the college is that big of a flaw, you should take it off your college list immediately. Do not decide which colleges to apply to solely based on the rankings of the colleges. If you can't find anything else you love about it besides the prestige, don't bother with the extra college essays. You'll just end up offending the adcoms, who will be able to pick up on your lack of enthusiasm immediately, and toss out your application.

Do not be too stuck on the superficial aspects of the college. This is a process that resembles scouting for a mate. Pick wrong and you will not only waste your time, but end up suffering. Choose wisely and I wish you luck on your college searching!

The World Isn't Going to Wait For Kids Like You

2009-12-16T01:57:00.002-05:00

By LillianW

You are never too young to be ambitious in your endeavors. Age really is merely a number. Instead, it is a matter of maturity and having the correct mentality. There is surely direct correlation between age and maturity, putting the young ones at a disadvantage, but I am talking about the promising youth who are ready to bear the burden of responsibility. These are the ones that stand out from the rest of the pack. For the other kids, the world isn't going to wait.

As a young adult, your greatest power is derived from your youth. You are almost at the peak of your lifetime in terms of enjoyment. You seem to have all the time in the world and passion for life. Your greatest test is how you put the resources at your fingertips to use, and what you use your motivation for. This is the best time to build the foundation for your legacy. The precocious ones will seek to establish connections and research all there is to know about pursuing their objectives. They acquire the wisdom of the ages through early trial-and-error and are daringly creative. They have an agenda and know that there isn't time to spare.

The majority of youth waste their greatest weapon. They think it is too early to step out of their comfort zones into the real world. They doubt their abilities as individuals, and yet press their parents for freedom. If you want to be treated as an adult, act like one. It comes time to stop asking kids what they want to be when they grow up, for most of them will never see their dreams play out. Instead, ask what they are willing to sacrifice to get there.

Look at those who have made it big. The world's second richest billionaire, Warren Buffet, possessed an innate business prowess that helped him at an early age. At eleven, he made his first profit in the stock market. He is now acclaimed to be the most successful investor of all time. The teen millionaires didn't get there by sitting around watching television. Mary Shelley wrote the classic, Frankenstein, at the age of twenty one. Susan Eloise Hinton published the popular work, The Outsiders, at the impressive age of sixteen.

I am not promoting the strict training of children to become geniuses. I only seek to encourage the gifted youth, waiting around for opportunities, to be more assertive. Go at the pace of your competence. Running before you can crawl is as detrimental as not moving at all.

What have you done with your life?

A Helping Hand

2009-12-14T17:40:00.006-05:00

By Lillian W

Stories like these warm my heart. Back to studying for finals and Happy Holidays everyone!

http://www.nbcphiladelphia.com/news/local-beat/Mystery-Couple-Pay-It-Forward-79179347.html?yhp=1

http://www.modbee.com/local/story/972126.html

The End of the World

2009-12-07T16:48:00.002-05:00

By LillianW

It seems to you that the end of the world draws nearer. A bitter chill envelops your heart, a heart that is divided between temptations. Indecisive and insecure, you are unsure of which gamble is worth the risk. The problem is that you won't know until you have given in. By then, it will be too late.

Temptation is a toxic poison. The thrill of mystery seduces the mind to ignore all judgment and intuition. The dangerous taste lingers in the mouth of the victim, teasing him to comply. The irresistible flavor of lust is difficult to deny. It requires tremendous will power and sound justification to hold back. Determine if the possibility of defeat outweighs the ecstasy of temporary satisfaction. It's a simple formula. If the latter is greater, I say go for it. You have nothing to lose.

The fearless and assertive daredevil makes for the best example. He indulges in every temptation and leaves every escapade with experience that supplements his appeal. Take a risk. Become the daredevil for a change. Be spontaneous once in a while and try not to calculate the consequences. The thrill of the chase will be worth it.

Going With the Flow

2009-12-04T17:10:00.000-05:00

By LillianW

You Are Ordinary...

when you follow the rules. Those that stand out draw their own lines.
when you obey commands. Those that stand out have a mind of their own.
when you try to please everyone. Those that stand out only care about those that matter.
when you sulk about being alone. Those that stand out naturally draw crowds to them.
when you accept failure. Those that stand out don't take no for an answer.
when you think the world revolves around you. Those that stand out put the world before themselves.
when you complain. Those that stand out go out and change things they don't like.
when you wait for opportunities to knock on your door. Those that stand out actively pursue their goals... and succeed.
when you are content working under someone. Those that stand out are their own bosses.
when you play it safe. Those that stand out know when to take risks.
when you act brashly based on your feelings. Those that stand out think it through rationally.
when you are one of the majority. Those that stand out lead the pack.
when you care about what others think of you. Those that stand out know that others should be trying to impress them.
when you speak like no one is listening. Those that stand out speak so you feel like you are the only one there.
when you judge other people. Those that stand out compete with only themselves.
when you pity someone for a tragedy. Those that stand out can relate and knows how it hurts.
when you borrow someone else's words. Those that stand out come up with their own thoughts.
when you ask others for help. Those that stand out give advice.
when you don't have a destination. Those that stand out are already there.
when you lack motivation. Those that stand out have too many passions.
when you are suspicious of those around you. Those that stand out have faith and let the privileged in.
when you are afraid to be different. Those that stand out embrace their individuality.
when you spend time wishing. Those that stand out are living their dreams.
when you fall under a category. Those that stand out create the labels.

The Man Every Woman Needs in Her Life

2009-12-04T01:00:00.002-05:00

By LillianW

The perfect man is a myth. The Hollywood creation comes in different syles and personalities to serve the variety of audiences, but he does not exist outside of the movie screen.

The closest thing is the one type of men that all women need. The very first thing about this guy is that he loves you for you. Also, the relationship must start as a platonic one. Every woman needs a man who genuinely cares about her and isn't doing it for other reasons.

This is a man who cares enough about you to put your needs before his own comfort. He will do things simply because it makes your eyes light up. Nothing kills him more than seeing you hurt. He is your protector, buddy, and mentor all-in-one. This man may not remember what your favorite color is or notice your new outfit, but he knows what is important to you and what you cannot stand.

He will defend you if the world decides to turn its back on you. He is the first one you turn to when you need help because you know you can count on him. He wouldn't change a thing about you, particularly the flaws he loves. He knows that you are special and helps you shine. He knows exactly when to encourage you and when to help you see the light. He never lectures you but rather guides you through it patiently. Although he loves to please you, he is not a pushover. He tells you that you are amazing and means it.

This man cares significantly about you, but he leads his own separate life and it does not revolve around you. He does not smother you with his affection and allows you to grow on your own. He is his own separate being and possesses the qualities of maturity and wisdom. He is not only confident and competent, but also modest about his capabilities. Your relationship with him is built on solid trust and respect.

Most women have at least one of these men in their lives: her father. He will be there for you every time and there is no other man who will love you more than he does. The hard part is finding a man who didn't contribute to your existence.

Mastering People Watching

2009-12-03T18:31:00.007-05:00

By LillianW

I have a peculiar hobby. I make a sport out of people watching. It is when you analyze the lives of strangers through observation. This is not the same as judging.

This is an art that requires years of practice to master. I never know when my interpretation is accurate, but there are instances when I am almost completely positive that I am dead-on. Once this skill is mastered, it will feel as if you are looking through a peephole into a fraction of a stranger's life. This becomes a personal experience where you are capable of empathizing with the stranger's emotions. Eventually, you become a mind reader and this skill can really come in handy.

My designated seat at Starbucks is across from the glass window and behind the wall that neatly conceals me but allows me full view of the people walking by. Beginners should not start by observing people in motion. You are only given quick glimpses of their clothing style and expressions, which is not enough to work off of when first starting. Rookies should position themselves in a secluded corner and choose one person as a case study. Have a notebook and pen out to jot down your observations.

Try not to be too quick to analyze; just the facts first. Put on your headphones but don't play anything. This is a good cover so no one will suspect you of eavesdropping. A common mistake made by beginners is jumping to conclusions. If a scruffy man, furrowing his eye brows, is glaring down at the table, do not immediately assume he is a serial killer. Keep in mind that a rapist can look like completely harmless. His appearance can only tell you so much. Work off his tone of voice, mannerisms, and attitude. Pay especially close attention to his body language, which is difficult to cover up.

The objective here is to put yourself in someone else's shoes, to live as that person for a moment to become a better person with your mind reading tactics. Do not use your fate to manipulate others. Beware of analyzing people close to you. They would happily offer the information themselves. No one wants to be around people who constantly analyze his actions and thoughts. Also, please avoid obsessing over your subjects. Do not become so absorbed with getting know them that you turn into a psycho stalker.

Spirit of the Ageless

2009-12-02T17:52:00.004-05:00

By LillianW

I am forever a child. I will always embark on new adventures and embrace fresh ideologies. The flame of innovation in my heart will never flicker. They say that as you age, a part of you dies inside. You become aware of societal pressures to conform. Instead of being a single entity, you blend into a cult of the whole.

This should not be the case. I refuse to let age call forth the end of my career to live life to the fullest. Even when my body has betrayed the youth of my soul, my spirit will continue to dance to the drums of passion. My heart hears nothing but the call of destiny. It is not fate that controls me but my own desires. My presence will exist for all of eternity in the form of a lasting legacy.

There are those who wish to conquer gravity. I just want to stop time. My mother tells me that I am a diamond in the rough. I think I'm just different. I say what others are afraid to and think what others will eventually understand. As I grow older, I will use wisdom to propel my escapades instead of putting an end to them. Responsibilities will not tie me down but make me a better juggler. Maturity will not make me more realistic. I will continue to dream big and keep faith for progress. Fighting against time is an upward battle, but I have nothing to lose and all to gain.

I am glowing and it is a shine that cannot be dulled. I am at nothing's mercy for I am invincible. Try me. I am only going to grow stronger. I don't need anyone's approval but for someone to join my efforts. I don't need anyone to find me, but someone to guide me when I get caught up in things. The future I envision will soon become a reality. I have time...

I am just getting started.

Procrastinate the Right Way

2009-12-02T14:18:00.004-05:00

By LillianW

Procrastination is a student's middle name. Everyone cringes at the thought of sitting down for hours on end to finish homework. Doing homework is a tedious process that requires motivation and discipline. Most students put it off until the last possible minute. Instead, they procrastinate by watching favorite shows, stalking friends on facebook, or texting on their keyboard phones. This is also known as wasting time. There are not enough hours in the day to waste. Why not procrastinate the right way?

The greatest decision in life is subconsciously chosen. It is the dichotomy between practicality and spirituality. These two are on opposite ends of the spectrum so that one can never truly achieve both. These are drastically parallel lifestyles that grant different pleasures after calling upon opposing sacrifices. Practicality provides material comforts and hopes of a luxurious lifestlyle among society's elite. On this path, wealth is the central focus and everything else merely details. While glamour and fame can be obtained, substance and values are compromised. The opposite is true with striving for spirituality. Objects of the material world weigh one down so they are to be stripped before one can achieve enlightenment. Here, the goal is to become one with the natural world. You give up all your physical possessions to come into terms with your soul. Most people never reach the extremes of both, but rather dwell in the middle. In the capitalist economy, consumers chase material goods while trying to maintain a sense of purity in their values and morals. The benefits of practicality are just too great to resist.

Where do you stand?

What's Your Motive?

2009-12-01T20:58:00.002-05:00

By LillianW

People are inclined to act in a manner that benefits them. It is human nature to be cautious of what is behind one's back. This mentality is so programmed into our minds that we become suspicious of those who do things without obvious gain. As proven in an episode of Friends, there is no deed one can do that is truly selfless.

Everyone has an objective, whether it is sex, money, or personal desire. We all know what a college boy is thinking when he is helping out a girl. The salesman with the flawless grin has a very clear agenda. Your waiter is praying for a big tip. Even those who donate huge sums of money to charities either want to make up for their sins or are after the recognition. Your parents raise you either because they want you to be younger versions of themselves or so you don't end up like them. The bottom line is that everyone wants something from you. This gives you all the power, because you control who gets what.

Everyone is fighting with competitors to impress you. At the end of the day, you determine who stays in the running by the brands you are loyal to. The tables have turned. Realize your value and don't undermine your signicance. Learn from how others market themselves to seem appealing to you. Are their strategies working on you? Now, determine your own motives. Who do you want to listen to you? In other words, who is your target audience? Reform your “I” voice so that it is loud and clear. Sell your image properly and you will get what you want, whether it is the boy you have a crush on or your future boss. Your supporters can't flock to you if they can't hear you.