Shakespeare in Love

Yesterday was our company’s annual golf day. Every single year, I opt to pass on golfing because I’ve never touched a golf club before and I was always afraid to make a fool of myself in front of all my coworkers. This year, I thought…you know, I’ve tried so damned many new things this year that making a fool out of myself is like an old familiar friend…not to mention despite the fact that I look like an idiot, I’ve always had fun.

So I tried golfing…touched a “real” golf club (no, putt-putt golf does not count) for the first time. Yes, I most certainly did make a fool out of myself many times. Like a bad comedy movie, I stepped up to the ball and swung and hit the air, about 657 times before actually managing to hit the damned ball. I had a very good time. The day was simply beautiful. There were random moments when the day felt magical in this weird, “Holy cats, I’m not working on a Tuesday and I get to be outside in the beautiful weather learning how to golf.” It’s definitely worth making a fool out of yourself. Our company rented golf carts for ALL of us, so driving around recklessly trying to flip over the cart was fun too (really what else would a bunch of people that make video games for a living do?).

Being racially Chinese, I’ve been taught since a very young age to be very aware of others. Everything that I do…what will other people say? As I’m aging, I’m caring less. I still care about what certain people think of me. I care if my friends think I’m good friend. I care if my siblings think I’m a good friend and sibling to them.

I’ve been staring at the climbing wall on my gym for over a year and a half…wanting to climb but always afraid to because NO ONE else has climbed it…ever. I’m climbing the damned thing now. Yeah, I don’t care that the wall takes up an entire side of one wall and everyone stares at that wall. So everyone gets to see my ass hanging at strange angles and I fall off the damned thing shouting curses at it once in a while…big deal.

Most of all, I care a lot about what my mom thinks. I worry about worrying her. I try to not cause her random undue stress in her life – but I still have to live my life. I finally got off my cowardly ass and told my mom I wanted to cut my hair really really short. No, I did not use the word “shave” because tact is always a good thing when it comes to moms. She was…surprisingly understanding. I told her I was planning to cut my hair super short and I didn’t want her to freak out. She asked how short…I said, short like shorter than some boys’ cut short. She didn’t say anything so, I told her I really wanted to cut off all the red parts of my hair and just grow it back black, I’m just tired of having to bleach and dye my hair, it doesn’t even feel like hair anymore. She actually thought it was a great idea, she never liked us dying our hair in the first place. Why did I dye my hair when my mom didn’t approve of that? Well, I was in a different place in my life back then, I was in a screw-what-my-mom-thinks phase. She asked if I was worried about whether or not I could wear a boy’s hair style well…I told her I’m not worried, because my hair grows quick anyhow. She asked if my sister was cutting my hair for me, I told her no, because my sister felt like it was a waste of my longish hair to chop it all off. My mom didn’t seem to mind too much.

I know as an adult I should be able to live my life as I like, but mothers are precious beings that deserve some amount of respect. I simply feel like a better person when I don’t completely disregard my mother’s feelings.

I know this shaving my head thing is not going to help reverse my morphing to a man image…but I figured maybe I could milk it. Like I could enter drag queen contests…and outdo Gwyneth in playing a "girl who, who plays a boy who plays a girls" (quote from some radio commercial).