Confessions of a Cat-holic (150)

Even though I never seemed to be lack of sleep and usually went to bed by 12 midnight, I was always working as long as I was awake. It was either cracking equations, doing community service, working on essays, prepping for SATs and Toefl, studying for exams and midterms, conducting experiments, doing research, reading science magazines, learning Chinese classics or brushing up my English grammar, which left me no time for things that I truly enjoyed, such as watching TV, shopping or video games. My original plan was to stay in academia, since I seemed to be a good student anyways with good credentials and grades from a family of Ivy League professors (Benjamin Kuo and Michael Reed), vet (Felicia Leung), models (my mother and Linda Kuo Reed), wife of Ned Graham (Tina Kuo Graham), branch manager of BMO (Kent Lam), Microsoft programmer (Ben Lam), accountant and CFO for Tai Po Industrial Estate (Francis Leung), translator for the diplomats (my grandpa), masters in engineering (my dad) and architecture (Ada Leung), I figured that a teaching position at a local university could be something I would do for the rest of my life.

I was glad to have found Kelly as my lifelong companion and partner through ups and downs, highs and lows, thick and thin. She was always there for me, providing me with solutions not problems. We were both virgins before we met our husbands. She never had a boyfriend before college. She confessed to me that she also had problems having sexual intercourse with Lawrence, her boyfriend for the first two years of college, because his penis shrank in seconds as soon as they took out the condom.

I still wouldn't say I liked New York, but I could never forget its enchanted charm. Rather than saying I chose New York, it was more like New York had chosen me. I had definitely had my tears shed from breakups, sexual assaults at Yale, gossips, betrayals, backstabbing and all that you could imagine. I had been date raped by my very own boyfriend, and peed a few times in my pants, and in public too, (involuntarily at the fitting room of Guess at South Street Sea Port, sorry) from urinary tract infections. I had had a breakout of cold sores around my mouth which I suspected was a result of sharing utensils with my roommate Kelly. I had had shingles on my upper body in my most stressful times when I was living in a double with Kelly. I had been invited to get a pedicure and manicure in Harlem by Kelly's rival, Emily Zhu. I had been persuaded to not use a condom for contraception by the same Emily as well. I had been almost pricked by a needle when I was trying a dress at my designer's dorm room, and pretended to have drunk her cup of water, after which she confessed to me that she had mono. I was encouraged to take a biking class in upper Manhattan, amidst the city and it’s busiest roads. Luckily, I had already been there and gone through all these treacherous schemes from as early as kindergarten and elementary school. There was nothing new under the sun.

Looking back, I had gone through embarrassments, humiliation, temptations, despair, stress, doubts, challenges, depressions, anxieties, disappointments, fears, panics, and more throughout my four year college life. But I still had to say that I had gained more than I had lost, because Columbia had stood behind me like a best friend. Columbia understood my weaknesses and strengths, my fears and unease, my worries and post trauma stress disorders, shared with many others who had the same emotions and sentiments in common.

The things I gained from studying at Columbia were subtle, and not in material terms. It was the lifelong friendships and scenery along the way, where I was pleasantly surprised to find most of my "schoolmates", "classmates", "rivals" gradually all fading out until no longer existing on planet earth. Columbia had opened up my perspectives, broadened my horizons, tested my limits, stretched my boundaries, eliminated some of my previous biases and prejudice, changed my trajectory and landed me on a better though not necessarily more desirable career track that was more suitable to my true needs, not wishes.

Many people saw New York as the worldly capital of fashion, arts, designs, theatre, finance, business, where money came easy. The glam and bling bling of many of those who resided there could blind you from the undercurrents and shadiness of Meatpacking, Tribeca, and Chelsea the gay districts. We had the Statue of Liberty, Fifth Avenue, Upper East Side, Parsons, and Central Park. But we also had LGBT hub, Harlem, Washington Heights, Bronx, the subway and its graffiti. I saw something else. It was not Paris 2.0, not a city of love. It was not the London of America either. It was the Philadelphia next to New Jersey.