Let’s start by saying that this is not for you. Nothing here is meant to convince you that your convictions are wrong, and nothing here is meant to provide validation for your beliefs. I don’t know if this will be used by anyone in the future, and I can’t control how this gets used. Parts of my thoughts and experiences won’t match the predominant Asian-American voices, and any differences between other peoples’ stories and mine shouldn’t discredit or undermine any of our experiences altogether. All I can do is put down my own intent:
This is for me; this is my attempt to make sense of what I’ve been experiencing since I arrived in England. This is for my own personal growth.
This post comes to you fairly late because last week was my first experience of having a set of bigger coding assignments due in about 3 years. Phew. I’d forgotten how exhausting bug hunting can be. More than typical this week, I am thankful for the experience I’ve had working on specifying, designing, and executing a planned solution response to a posed problem.
But that’s seriously a whole another topic. First, we need to talk about the magnificent experience that is the National Glass Centre’s One-to-One Glass Blowing Experience.
Yesterday, M., myself, and our downstairs neighbors/flatmates took the metro to our nearest Toby Carvery to experience the cultural phenomenon that is The English Sunday Roast.
All photo credits in this post go to K. and her phone camera!
Never heard of it before? Think a miniature US-style Thanksgiving, but every Sunday. Personally, I’m quite surprised that with a food culture like this, the average person here isn’t as rotund as the stereotypical American…
I’ve been to Seattle, Los Angeles, Washington D.C., New York, Chicago, Taipei, London, Paris, and Edinburgh. Today was my first time back to Edinburgh since my trip a little over three years ago, and I have to say…
Last night I finally met my downstairs neighbors. Suffice it to say, I am no longer smooth as fuck when I talk to strangers. It only took 13 days of mental isolation to bring me back to the awkward, bumbling, forgetful girl I was as a teenager. Social grace is a muscle: mine needs a ton of upkeep and I have not been flexing.