Don't ever regret anything. Live life with no regrets.
Ever heard of that before? If you know me well enough, you'll always hear me either say that to myself or preach that to others. I'd like to give a public apology if I've ever preached those words to you because I'm being a hypocrite and going back on my word. There are some things you just can't regret, like grades or not working hard enough or doing drugs.
I know what I regret. Where have I been this whole summer? Not helping out my mom at the house. Not catching up with my sister and asking her about her life-changing experience in Madrid, Italy, France, and all those crazy places. Not hanging out with the homies back home, who I've been through almost everything with in high school. Not playing basketball with my nephew who has looked forward to playing ball with his uncle in the summer ALL school year. Not taking my other little cousin out to get ice cream. What the hell have I been doing?
Taking summer school classes at UCLA. Not only have I messed up so badly this summer in terms of classes, I messed up because I missed out on something so important that I will never be able to get back. I will never be able to get back the time I missed with my family and friends in San Jose.
I will be going home tomorrow, for what I thought was going to be 6 days long. I was planning on coming back to LA before Thursday for training at my job. Instead, I just got an email from my supervisor telling me that training starts Tuesday, 2 days earlier. I wasn't planning on making everything right in 6 days, but how the hell am I supposed to even attempt to do any of those things in just 4 days? I'm not blaming this on anyone but myself. I've dug myself this hole, trying to do everything. Trying to get ahead. Trying to get all this experience to make me look good for medical school. But where is this getting me?
Is this what I really want? I know I want to be a doctor, but do I really want to lose San Jose?
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
Friday, May 13, 2011
Kids do the darnest things
I've been working at a preschool (Early Care and Education Krieger Center) ever since I started college. Of course, this must have an impact on me somehow. Turns out, this experience has been one of my most memorable thus far. I've learned so much from these kids, who are only 2-5 years of age.
This 4-year-old, Liam, read me a Dr. Seuss book. Where he learned to read? I haven't got a clue. When did I learn how to read? I didn't learn how to speak English until I was 5, let alone read.
I was playing dinosaurs with Chloe, another 4-year-old, and I said, "Hey Chloe, here's a T-Rex for you to play with." She answered, "Silly John, that's a brachiocephalosaurus!" I was speechless. I got schooled by a preschooler.
It was week 7. I had just bombed a physics midterm. I was missing out on Sungod Festival, where all my friends were. I had an interview the next day, and an 11-hour training day for a volunteer program the day after. I was a mess. I was moping around the yard, when Nico, a 3-year-old, asks me, "John, why do you look so sad? We can be sad together cause I miss my mommy too." Cheered me up in a heartbeat. We, as teachers, aim to teach the children, but we never take a step back to learn from them. We may know more than they do, but they know things that we've forgotten.
Then, there're the few who are simply, just kids being kids.
Mateo is lactose-intolerant, and he knows it too. I had no clue, so I gave him milk during lunch, in which he downed 3 cups in a minute. Half an hour later, he pooped his pants. The amount of stool he had (all watery and extremely smelly) could have filled up half a gallon. No lie. When I was changing his diaper, I was gagging and coughing, and there he was, just saying, "Poo-poooooo. Poo-poooooo," over and over again.
Grant is an interesting kid. Every time I tell him to do something, he gives me a dirty look, and mutters God knows what under his breath while walking away. Literally sounds like he's casting a spell on me or something like that.
After two years of working at the Krieger Center, I realized that it's time to move on. Looking back, I'll never forget these kids. I can't stress enough how much I've learned from them. They've taught me to attack the world with no fear. They see a cockroach for the first time. Such a nasty creature. They devise ways among themselves to capture it and put it in their insect farm.
After living in this world for 19 years, I've learned to keep a small circle and not to ask for help, even when I need it. These kids are not afraid to ask for help when they need it. I've learned that I'll stunt my growth as a person if I remain bigoted. I needn't be scared when asking others for help.
Kids will fall, and they will cry. Maybe pout a bit, but they will ALWAYS get back up. I, on the other hand, will fall, get discouraged, and go straight to plan B. Thank you, children of Krieger Center. Because of you, I will not let any scrape or cut, no matter how big, stop me from getting back up.
Love,
John
Penguin Student Teacher
This 4-year-old, Liam, read me a Dr. Seuss book. Where he learned to read? I haven't got a clue. When did I learn how to read? I didn't learn how to speak English until I was 5, let alone read.
I was playing dinosaurs with Chloe, another 4-year-old, and I said, "Hey Chloe, here's a T-Rex for you to play with." She answered, "Silly John, that's a brachiocephalosaurus!" I was speechless. I got schooled by a preschooler.
It was week 7. I had just bombed a physics midterm. I was missing out on Sungod Festival, where all my friends were. I had an interview the next day, and an 11-hour training day for a volunteer program the day after. I was a mess. I was moping around the yard, when Nico, a 3-year-old, asks me, "John, why do you look so sad? We can be sad together cause I miss my mommy too." Cheered me up in a heartbeat. We, as teachers, aim to teach the children, but we never take a step back to learn from them. We may know more than they do, but they know things that we've forgotten.
Then, there're the few who are simply, just kids being kids.
Mateo is lactose-intolerant, and he knows it too. I had no clue, so I gave him milk during lunch, in which he downed 3 cups in a minute. Half an hour later, he pooped his pants. The amount of stool he had (all watery and extremely smelly) could have filled up half a gallon. No lie. When I was changing his diaper, I was gagging and coughing, and there he was, just saying, "Poo-poooooo. Poo-poooooo," over and over again.
Grant is an interesting kid. Every time I tell him to do something, he gives me a dirty look, and mutters God knows what under his breath while walking away. Literally sounds like he's casting a spell on me or something like that.
After two years of working at the Krieger Center, I realized that it's time to move on. Looking back, I'll never forget these kids. I can't stress enough how much I've learned from them. They've taught me to attack the world with no fear. They see a cockroach for the first time. Such a nasty creature. They devise ways among themselves to capture it and put it in their insect farm.
After living in this world for 19 years, I've learned to keep a small circle and not to ask for help, even when I need it. These kids are not afraid to ask for help when they need it. I've learned that I'll stunt my growth as a person if I remain bigoted. I needn't be scared when asking others for help.
Kids will fall, and they will cry. Maybe pout a bit, but they will ALWAYS get back up. I, on the other hand, will fall, get discouraged, and go straight to plan B. Thank you, children of Krieger Center. Because of you, I will not let any scrape or cut, no matter how big, stop me from getting back up.
Love,
John
Penguin Student Teacher
Saturday, April 23, 2011
Change
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Home in the Making
Dear home,The one and only. With the constant aroma of my mother's tofu. The home where my sister paints her stinky toes. The home where my best friends reside, where it's fun to do nothing. To "just chill." The home of my 2001 Acura Integra that has taken nearly everywhere. I miss you all.
In college, nothing's ever certain. You never know what's going to happen next. Of course, it doesn't have to be such a horrible thing. Sometimes, it's great to have change. You meet new people. Experience new places. Explore. Other times, it sucks. You have to live in a different place every 12 months. You take different classes every 3 months. Your major changes every other month. Your career choice changes every month. Your future remains uncertain.
Going home, I've come back to a place where "nothing's ever changed." It's nice to come back to see that your friends are still your friends. It seems that I've taken them for granted. I don't have to keep in touch with these guys. As close as we are, I don't need to talk to them even once while I'm gone, but when I come back, man...I can't even explain it. It's kind of like the movie, Grown Ups (the one with Adam Sandler). These guys are childhood friends. After getting married and settling down, they each have their own problems to take care of. With the death of their childhood basketball coach, they are finally reunited after not seeing each other for ages. Suddenly, all their problems are gone and they're able to just chill.It took me a while, but after 19 years, I finally know what "home" is. It's not where you stay or what kind of house you live in. It doesn't matter how bad the weather is. What defines home are the people, which I am very blessed to have.
Sincerely,
Average JT
Monday, March 7, 2011
Texting 101
Text messaging. What a wonderful creation. As soon as the full keyboard was invented, this text messaging thing skyrocketed. Mobile phone companies made so much money off this.
Text messaging has revolutionized communication in our world, replacing AIM and at times, talking on the phone.
What's the point of texting? What's with the craze over sending instant messages over the phone? Why do people even bother doing it? Well, I think I've got it somewhat figured out.
Reason#1: To inform via "The Informative Text."
You are texting with a purpose. You're being instructive. You give them a "What?" and a "Why?" No questions asked.
"aye brah." - Don't be rude. Hit 'em up with a salutation. Don't disrespect.
"get out of the house." - the What?
"cops!" - the Why?
There's no need to text back. This text says it all. But sometimes you get Dopey Dudley here who texts back,
I hope Dopey Dudley learns his lesson, which is to always listen to your boy's "Informative Text." Think with your head, not with the one located in your pants.
Reason#2: To Spit Some Game via "The Flirty Text."
This is by far the more complicated of the two. You're trying to get at some girl, but you're too scared to talk to her in class. Understandable. Hit 'em up with the flirty text.
Rules and Regulation with "The Flirty Text:"
Confident Conner. Please stop. You're not fooling anyone.
Plus, you look overtly happy and downright desperate.
Special Scenarios I've Yet to Decipher:
I interpret this as the girl doesn't want to have anything to do with you. Girls, how the hell do you expect guys to reply to this?! Guys, feel free to give me your take on this.
Remember
Text how you want to text. Be yourself. You don't have to listen to a single thing I say. Maybe I've got it figured out. Maybe I don't. What do I know, right? I still haven't "gotten some," but that's a story for another day.
Until Then,
John
(Blog was inspired by late night talks with Daniel, Alex, and Eric and by 10-second lessons from Steve.)
Text messaging has revolutionized communication in our world, replacing AIM and at times, talking on the phone.
What's the point of texting? What's with the craze over sending instant messages over the phone? Why do people even bother doing it? Well, I think I've got it somewhat figured out.
Reason#1: To inform via "The Informative Text."
You are texting with a purpose. You're being instructive. You give them a "What?" and a "Why?" No questions asked.
"aye brah." - Don't be rude. Hit 'em up with a salutation. Don't disrespect."get out of the house." - the What?
"cops!" - the Why?
There's no need to text back. This text says it all. But sometimes you get Dopey Dudley here who texts back,
I hope Dopey Dudley learns his lesson, which is to always listen to your boy's "Informative Text." Think with your head, not with the one located in your pants.Reason#2: To Spit Some Game via "The Flirty Text."
This is by far the more complicated of the two. You're trying to get at some girl, but you're too scared to talk to her in class. Understandable. Hit 'em up with the flirty text.
Rules and Regulation with "The Flirty Text:"
- Be yourself. If you're a nice guy, don't put on the "bad guy" persona. 'Cause first of all, that's lame. Secondly, that's not you.
- Don't text anything you can't say in front of the girl. No "nice cakes ;)" nor "wherje atre youi imn hellza drunkl."
Confident Conner. Please stop. You're not fooling anyone.
- Easy on the emoticons. Save the :) and the =)'s until the girl deserves it. They start to lose meaning if you overuse them.
Plus, you look overtly happy and downright desperate.Special Scenarios I've Yet to Decipher:
- How to respond to these texts
I interpret this as the girl doesn't want to have anything to do with you. Girls, how the hell do you expect guys to reply to this?! Guys, feel free to give me your take on this.
Remember
Text how you want to text. Be yourself. You don't have to listen to a single thing I say. Maybe I've got it figured out. Maybe I don't. What do I know, right? I still haven't "gotten some," but that's a story for another day.
Until Then,
John
(Blog was inspired by late night talks with Daniel, Alex, and Eric and by 10-second lessons from Steve.)
Saturday, February 26, 2011
New Perspective
Hi y'all,
I'm breaking out of the usual "average [insert]" template to talk about something deeper. I started this blog to talk about how much I'm trying not to be average. I realized now, during my second year at UCLA, that it is okay to be who I am. I am John Tran. I am defining myself, and only me. Not all the other John Trans in this world. I am an individual. I am freaking Vietnamese. My mother's from 'Nam. I respect her. I just wrote an 8-page essay about my mother. She's a refugee. I feel so bad for complaining about how hard my classes are, and how stressed out I am about my future. But why? My mother was worried about whether or not she'd ever be free. I should be thankful that I even get this opportunity to be where I am. You may be asking, why am I rambling? I just drank right now. Yes, I admit it. I used to be scared admitting it, caring about what other people think about. I just went out with my friends. When I drink, I think about life, which I am too scared to think about when I'm sober. I am as determined as anyone else.I don't fall under any category or clique. I am hard-working as hell. Believe it. I take pride in my 5'5" stature. I have as much testosterone as a body-builder taking steroids. One day, when my buttons are pushed, I will go ape-shit on you. You don't want to see that. I HATE letting people down. I am eager to please. I don't hang out with only Asian people. After hanging out with ONLY Asian people my first 17 years of life, I realized that I've been living in a bubble. I've met so many people, but yet, I've only met a handle of the people out there. I've met Koreans, Ethiopians, Pakistanis, Italians, whites, Africans, Hmong, ALL types of people. Here at UCLA, I've learned so much from these people. Even though I feel at peace hanging out with my kind, I realized that I can learn so much more breaking out of my shell and talking to all these different types of people. Not everyone has the same perspective as me. I need to understand. Why do I want to be a doctor? I don't know. I'm trying to find out myself. Honestly, I do want to help people. Don't think I'm in this for the money. Don't be surprised if I go to Africa/Honduras/Panama and volunteer and help out those who are actually in NEED of help. But then again, I am quite tipsy. I'll probably think what I just wrote is stupid. I know I don't make sense right now. It's okay. I don't expect anyone to read this. I'm doing this for myself. As John Tran, I will not be average. I will not be amazed, I will be amazing.
Sincerely,
John
I'm breaking out of the usual "average [insert]" template to talk about something deeper. I started this blog to talk about how much I'm trying not to be average. I realized now, during my second year at UCLA, that it is okay to be who I am. I am John Tran. I am defining myself, and only me. Not all the other John Trans in this world. I am an individual. I am freaking Vietnamese. My mother's from 'Nam. I respect her. I just wrote an 8-page essay about my mother. She's a refugee. I feel so bad for complaining about how hard my classes are, and how stressed out I am about my future. But why? My mother was worried about whether or not she'd ever be free. I should be thankful that I even get this opportunity to be where I am. You may be asking, why am I rambling? I just drank right now. Yes, I admit it. I used to be scared admitting it, caring about what other people think about. I just went out with my friends. When I drink, I think about life, which I am too scared to think about when I'm sober. I am as determined as anyone else.I don't fall under any category or clique. I am hard-working as hell. Believe it. I take pride in my 5'5" stature. I have as much testosterone as a body-builder taking steroids. One day, when my buttons are pushed, I will go ape-shit on you. You don't want to see that. I HATE letting people down. I am eager to please. I don't hang out with only Asian people. After hanging out with ONLY Asian people my first 17 years of life, I realized that I've been living in a bubble. I've met so many people, but yet, I've only met a handle of the people out there. I've met Koreans, Ethiopians, Pakistanis, Italians, whites, Africans, Hmong, ALL types of people. Here at UCLA, I've learned so much from these people. Even though I feel at peace hanging out with my kind, I realized that I can learn so much more breaking out of my shell and talking to all these different types of people. Not everyone has the same perspective as me. I need to understand. Why do I want to be a doctor? I don't know. I'm trying to find out myself. Honestly, I do want to help people. Don't think I'm in this for the money. Don't be surprised if I go to Africa/Honduras/Panama and volunteer and help out those who are actually in NEED of help. But then again, I am quite tipsy. I'll probably think what I just wrote is stupid. I know I don't make sense right now. It's okay. I don't expect anyone to read this. I'm doing this for myself. As John Tran, I will not be average. I will not be amazed, I will be amazing.
Sincerely,
John
Saturday, January 1, 2011
Average Pet Peeves
Hey y'all,
It's been a while, but I suddenly felt this urge to rant about a pet peeve of mine. Everybody has pet peeves. I'm no different. What is a pet peeve? I would define it as something that irritates the heck out of you. Something so annoying that it tickles your pickle in a non-sexual manner. Yes, it's that bad.
I've become somewhat of a ranter as of late so here's Average John's rant. My pet peeve is when people tell me how I should eat,
"John! Chew with your mouth closed. That's so gross!"
AAHHHHHHH! Who are you to tell me how I should chew my food? You don't hear me telling you,
"Hey, stop that! Ew, chew with your mouth open, please! I want to see what kind of food you're chewing. Share the wealth, you selfish jerk!"
Can you say
Just because the majority of people chew with their mouth closed doesn't mean that what I'm doing is "incorrect." So what if people with asthma breathe more heavily than others? So what if people pick their nose in public? So what if my roommate farts all the time?
Every time he-who-must-not-be-named would fart, my other roommate, Bryan, would spray his butt with Febreeze until it's wet.
I used to be on Bryan's side, but I now realize that this classifies as cruel and unusual punishment. Kyle, here's my public apology for chastising you in doing something people aren't used to. I'm sorry. Fart all you want. Be free like a butterfly. Expand that hole as you please. You have my permission.
Every time he-who-must-not-be-named would fart, my other roommate, Bryan, would spray his butt with Febreeze until it's wet.
I used to be on Bryan's side, but I now realize that this classifies as cruel and unusual punishment. Kyle, here's my public apology for chastising you in doing something people aren't used to. I'm sorry. Fart all you want. Be free like a butterfly. Expand that hole as you please. You have my permission.So here's my public announcement to those who have told me to chew with my mouth closed: I'm going to smack my lips and chew flamboyantly as I please, and I won't give a hoot what you say. So that ends my random ranting about pet peeves.
Happy New Year!
-Average John
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