Yesterday night, my mom called me, telling me that she saw my former best friend at my dad\’s company party, after much time of separation. She was working there in the QA department.

My former best friend Julie and I met in middle school in the advanced math class. She and I were one of the top students–competitors. We became friends out of…a purpose. Both being outcasts, we bonded. Both first generation Cantonese kids in the states. Over time though, I am not sure why but I began to dislike her. She was constantly afraid of being kidnapped–a fear that should have disappeared when we were 9 years old. Julie gave me best friend necklaces–both halves–I never wore them. She worried a lot about grades while I drifted along in school trying my best but never my hardest. I was a slacker. She was secretive about her past. Her family, perhaps she encouraged it, was incredibly protective of her. When I invited her to my house, she would always come with her entire family. I saw her as weak and insecure, perhaps a reflection of myself at the time.

We both got into Berkeley, both spring admits. Somehow, unofficially we were no longer friends. She was in the molecular science biology program, trying to go into med school. I was drifting along (again) on the computer science track, thinking that I could get a whiff of the dot-com era. I sporadically saw her, occasionally saying hi but never exchanging much information. Julie lived at home with her parents, afraid to move out. I last saw her when I was going to a class during my third year. She looked optimistic as usual and gave a cheery hi. I returned the greeting and that was it.

My mom told me that Julie didn\’t make it med school. She tried several times, but failed. At the company party, Julie had brought her mom along. I felt sorry for her, growing past my misgivings of my younger self. Best friends are like that, aren\’t they?

Glass walls.

A few days ago, I fantastically developed a stye near my eye. Horrible and annoyingly irritating. Unfortunately, it was before my first day of work as an interaction designer. That night after I suddenly woke up at 3 am (after sleeping at 11 pm), I called my sister and asking what I should do. She had this issue many times. And after some steps of advice, she gave her final piece of advice: You probably should not wear contacts.

When I first got my glasses in the fourth grade, I hated them. I didn\’t want to be a nerd and approval of me by my classmates was very important then. I would take them off as much as I could. Yet as I grew older, I started liking them. This sort of describes the love of the festering wound. We start liking what used to irritate us. We adapt.

My sister got her glasses around the same time, but due to demands, she got contacts in the 6th grade. I finally acquiesed to contacts junior year in high school, because I was tired of having my glasses steam up during eating and also I didn\’t like how my glasses got in the way when doing any physical activities.

But I missed having the obligated look of intelligence.

Ever since then, I have rarely wore glasses outside of the house. I always take off my contacts a few hours before sleeping and put them on when I go out. But during those…times of infected eyes or illnesses, I would be forced to wear those…glass walls. I felt that after wearing contacts for so long, wearing glasses again, I was building a glass wall between me and everyone else.

Ben noted this when I wore glasses early this week. That I seemed a different person. That I seemed to habor a different personality. To myself, the world was the same. I acted the same. Usually forgetting that I was wearing glasses. But I could occasionally feel how people reacted differently toward me. People could tell I was very nearsighted–I have a prescription of -9.0 with my eyes incredibly magnified behind the lenses. Some people couldn\’t recognize me. Ultimately, they weren\’t used to it. Sort of it a different haircut.

Is this proof that what we wear on the outside truly affects how people perceive us?

I got a three-pack of Dentyne ice recently, because I wanted to find out what the fuss about the gum was about. I had noticed that a lot of people carried this in their pockets, their wallets, their bags.

What was so special about anything like this? Besides keeping the breath fresh of course. Sugarless? Keeping the teeth plaque-free?

I found myself chewing through packs, only because I enjoyed the act of gum-chewing. And I got frustrated with the small amount of gum I got from one piece. And so on. Still don\’t understand the fascination of these packets.

A random quiz that I ran across:

It\’s interesting to me how I ended up in something scientific, yet not even though all my goals and aspirations are bent toward examining human relationships and showing them. When I was in high school, just because I was naturally good at math, I thought I was destined for an engineering field. An Asian family thing, of course. So I did just that. I applied to most colleges for computer science/electrical engineering. When I was at Berkeley, halfway through my education, I suddenly realized that computer science wasn\’t for me. At that time, I had a pseudo-near-quarter-life crisis. What if I wasn\’t meant to be a computer scientist? What if I was supposed to be a psychologist? A writer–my dream?

I suddenly began thinking about how I could become an English major. Or perhaps how I could drop out of school and head to a creative writing program. Something toward a bfa? How about movie production? My dream of studying film. But I stuck with it.

I ended up doing cognitive science, at least satisfying my desire for human input. And I ended up in human computer interaction, addressing my needs to create, design, and reach out and change the world.

And yet, journalism. Always a dream of mine. I did try once. Once in high school, but was rejected from the school paper. At the time, I thought it was just my inability to write. But perhaps, it was politics. I don\’t know. My friend\’s boyfriend is applying to the school of journalism for a graduate degree. I only wish I had the same ambition without a belief that being a writer…is just not that practical.

\”So I heard that you\’re working for Ellen\’s firm. Congrats.\” a classmated imed me.

I knew I didn\’t tell him directly, so I asked him where he heard it from.

\”Your blog.\”

I immediately looked through all my latest blog entries to see if I had talked anything about the start of a recent part-time interaction designer. Nothing. He must have heard it from someone else.

But that brought up a thought.

In comparision to my earlier days (back in 2001), I now often censor what I write. I don\’t share my emotions on this blog as much as I used to. I don\’t write about angst (besides those vague entries). It\’s a shame in some way to be afraid that people will judge me on the basis of what I write. That they will assume things about me. It\’s not that I care so much about what people think, but I would rather not encourage the development of the wrong assumptions.

Awhile ago, I had a journal where I wrote only during my depressing moments. I shared that with some close friends–or people I thought I could trust. One person however started avoiding me, thinking that I was constantly unhappy on the inside, but happy on the outside.

I am more the written word. I am so much more. I am more than that photographer who took the above picture.

Game Design. Tomorrow. The class I have been waiting for my entire HCI program.

Even though I am no gamer.

I intend to help all sore losers like me. Nobody shall ever be picked last or always be IT.

Unlike last year, I couldn\’t watch the 24 season premiere yesterday in its great happening glory. One of my housemates was taping (aka DVRing) the West Wing at the same time. Thank you to Alex for boasting more than 3000 miles away.

So today, I tried to watch the 3rd and 4th hour, but sadly to no avail could it keep my interest. Another hostage situation? Another main character killed off? Another of Jack Bauer\’s love interest caught in turmoil? Another country charged with terrorism? Another magical five-key combination that unlocks all cellphones to control something remotely?

By the way, why do we always have Chloe around for…I suppose, comic relief?

This year, I probably will sit it out. Last year, I learned a lot. This year, perhaps I\’ll only remember how great Jack Bauer once used to be.

Jennifer,

Assistant Directors
Enrollment Services
The HUB

WINNAR. Through my great argumentative skills and a 8 paragraph e-mail with an attachment of a screenshot of how horrible the SIO is.

EDIT: I did not know that the due date for my tuition was this Monday. Thus, I incurred a late fee. But I had a few reasons. (1) They sent the only bill with the due date to a Pittsburgh address, my campus address. (2) I could not view the pages using Safari because it showed the source code rather than an interactive interface. In the e-mail, I included a screenshot of it, but did not mention that I could have used firefox. (3) I wasn\’t sure if I was going to take 24 units, 12 units or 0 units. There was no clear way for me to know whether they knew that I was going part-time and why they had charged me the full tuition. I thought they weren\’t going to bill me until the tuition adjustment period since I was under units. (4) I am new to CMU. A weak reason, I know, since this would be my fifth (and final) semester. But I also mentioned that I was confused because Berkeley didn\’t pay tuition the same way. I claimed ignorance saying that I had expected a bill to arrive via both e-mail and postal mail. (5) I didn\’t know it was going to take 24 hours for my bank account to be electronically verified. Other places where it directly debited my bank account didn\’t take this long.

JENN 4TW.

Some of the most interesting people I know are the ones who don\’t sense the awkwardness and keep bubbling on as if nothing has happened. Even if they seem oblivious, they invite comfort that is lacking with most people I meet for the first time.

\”Were you quiet at Berkeley?\” she asked, my friend\’s high school friend.

I nodded.

\”That\’s probably why.\”

In random talk at a party, I had asked her why my friend and I never talked until we came to CMU. He and I were in the same research group, lived around from the corner from each other, and had one class together. Yet, we never connected until we happened to be in the same masters program more than 3000 miles away in Pittsburgh, PA.

It\’s strange how the world works that way. Lately, I have been noticing how I get to know people only because of circumstance. Circumstances and that one connection–not always a mutual shared interest–brings people together. It\’s not that I was extremely quiet at Berkeley, but circumstances just never led me to connect with people.

At Berkeley, for instance, I remember having the same class as a classmate from my hometown. She and I barely talked during middle school and high school. We went to Chinese school in Oakland, took the same BART train there. But then suddenly when we were in the same class, that small shared experience just allowed us to make small talk to made us friends.

Friendships. Post hoc.