Part of a Set

I’m the oldest of four girls, and we’re all Asian. Have you ever heard the phrase that all Asians look alike? By the way, it goes both ways. There are times when I think all white people look the same.

But I’m digressing…

We do look pretty similar. When I was getting my senior pictures taken, I ended up borrowing clothes from my sister and wearing my hair a little bit differently than normal. When my mom excitedly showed me the final, framed copy, I was confused. I asked her why she framed a picture of my sister.

So if I have a hard time telling us apart, I guess it makes sense that other people can’t see a difference either.

The Sisters, ready for a performance

One of my neighbors once told us: “If you were all the same height and width, you’d be twins!”

We’ve joked about that for a long time, mostly because he couldn’t even remember how many of us there were, and also because we wanted to know why he mentioned the widths.

I’m used to being one of a set. Growing up, I was just one of the sisters. No one really bothered to know our names unless they were close friends. People would call my mom and ask if one of us could babysit. No specific girl, really, we’re interchangeable, just as long as it’s one of the sisters.

When I left home and struck out on my own, it was a little disconcerting to be the only Asian. I wasn’t part of the set anymore, I was a unique individual. I wasn’t quite sure what to do with that.

Over time, I changed my appearance, finding my own look. I cut bangs and reverted back to glasses. It took me several years, but I finally feel like Krista Quintana. I’m me, and I’m unique, no longer one of a set.

Why I Became a Nurse

When I was seven-years-old, my mom was driving me somewhere. I don’t remember where we were going, but I remember the exact spot. We were at a stoplight on Drake and Lemay, and another car pulled up beside us. An older man, probably sixty or sixty-five drove the car and he turned, smiled, and waved to me.

It was at that moment the epiphany hit.

I turned to my mom and announced: “Mom, I know what I’m going to be. I’m going to be a nurse for old people.”

There were only two times I ever questioned that decision.

The first time was when I was about nine-years-old. My dad took us to see a production of Oliver! During intermission, my younger sister was swinging around my dad’s legs and fell, splitting her chin open. We were rushed backstage, where the only first aid kit was, and when they couldn’t stop the bleeding, we rushed to the ER.

I was terrified the entire time, and it made me think maybe I was afraid of blood. It was a reasonable conclusion. She was bleeding, and I was scared. It wasn’t until years later I realized it wasn’t the blood that terrified me. It was not knowing what to do. I felt helpless and useless, and I hated the feeling. In emergency situations, I was afraid of making it worse. It took years of training to get over that.

(Now, I draw blood almost every day I work, and it doesn’t bother me, just for those wondering.)

The second time was when I was in nursing school. During the summer, I worked as a CAN at an assisted living. I absolutely loved it. I was finally achieving my dream of working with old people. However, the longer I worked there, the more I noticed that the nurse never did anything. At least, not that I could see on a day to day basis. I wanted to be a nurse to help my patients, but if a nurse doesn’t do that, I figured I might as well stay a CNA.

One of my patients changed my mind. I disagreed with the way his family planned his care. I wanted to do something for him, but as a CNA, I couldn’t. Not really. If I was a nurse, I realized I could advocate for him, because that’s part of the job. It made me want to be a nurse even more, because I could make a bigger difference in the lives of my patients than I could have as a CNA.

Finding My People

Last month, I attended a conference for writers called LTUE: Life the Universe and Everything. It’s a very well-attended symposium for writers of all stages.

I’m not a social persona, and large groups of people terrify me. So the first day, I stayed with my friends, listened to panelists, and most importantly, I didn’t talk to strangers! Day two, I slowly started stepping out of my bubble, but it was painful and terrifying.

At LTUE

Day three, I had a breakthrough.

I went to a panel all on my own, and I sat next to a complete stranger. After some serious inner debating, I decided to start a conversation.

I asked her where she was from. Something simple and nonthreatening. After we chatted a little bit, I took a breath and asked her what she writes. When she told me, I found I was genuinely interested, and we talked about it for a while before she asked what I write.

From there, the conversation became natural, and I didn’t even have to think of what to say. In fact, the conversation was so interesting, the guy on the other side of me joined in. When we started debating plotting vs. pantsing (outlining or writing ‘by the seat of your pants’), two people in front of us turned around to participate.

When the panel started, and we all sat back in our seats, the realization hit me.

These are my people.

When I started to talk about writing, their eyes didn’t glaze over. They didn’t give the timid ‘uh-huh’ while they waited for me to stop talking so they could run away. These people actually cared about what I was saying, and they understood what I was talking about.

When I got home, I excitedly told my husband all about it, asking, “Why didn’t anyone tell me it was that easy?”

I’ve gone my whole life terrified of speaking to strangers. Of being boring. But it’s not as hard as it looks. All I have to do is say something. Then say something else.

That simple.

The Art of Being Invisible

I’m very good at being invisible. It’s an art I’ve practiced since I was a young girl, and it’s only recently I’ve realized why I’m so good.

No one pays attention to me because I’m not one of ‘them.’

Let me give you an example:

Traveling through Japan, most people knew I wasn’t Japanese. There was something about me that wasn’t quite right. When I was in Spain, most of the Spaniards could tell I wasn’t one of them. I was too Asian looking. I could walk down the street or in the metro without them even noticing me, and they would say whatever they wanted, assuming I couldn’t understand them. Americans did the same. They assumed I wasn’t American, and couldn’t possibly speak English.

(By the way, if you’re in a different country and in a crowded area, there’s going to be at least one person who speaks English. Even if they don’t speak it, there’s enough video games, music and movies that they can understand a large percent.)

Madrid!

I used to have a lot of fun with it. Most of the missionaries for our church were from the United States, and we would often pull pranks on new ones because they wouldn’t speak to me, thinking their Spanish wasn’t good enough or because they were afraid I would go off in Spanish, leaving them stumbling to keep up.

One time, before a regional conference, I was asked to play the piano minutes before the meeting started. I panicked, running out of the main room, searching for a piano to practice on. I passed two missionaries, one I’d never seen before, and one I’d spent several months with previously. As I passed, he asked,

“How’s it going Krista?”

I responded with a rushed vent about how I had just been asked to play the piano, and I didn’t even know if I knew the songs, and the meeting was going to start in ten minutes. When I finished, I kept running, and as I left, I heard the other missionary say,

“Wow, she speaks perfect English.”

To which his companion responded: “Duh. She’s American.”

Technically, it’s true. I’m a Japanese American. My mom was born in Japan and adopted by a Dutch American Family. My maiden name is French. My married name is Hispanic. My husband is Bolivian. I speak both English and Spanish fluently. At home, we speak Spanglish.

It’s true, I’m not one of any specific race or culture. I may not quite fit in, but I think it gives me a greater chance to see and experience cultures in ways that might not be possible if I was just one thing.

I like being different.

Short Hiatus

Hey Guys!

I've been thinking a lot lately about this blog and about what I want to say. I think it's time that I take a short break, collect my thoughts and rearrange a few things. Don't worry, I'll be back soon!

Virtual Love Letter

Last week, I attended a seminar through SCWBI, where the presenter talked about the Ladder of Abstraction. It was an interesting class, where we talked about dropping down the rungs of the ladder down to the concrete, rather than the abstract. Afterward, he gave us different words and challenged us to find a way to make it concrete in 5-10 minutes.

One of the words he used was love. As I worked on making the abstract idea of love more concrete, I realized I was writing about my wonderful hubby. He’s displayed so many random acts of love, and he’s my primary example. We aren’t going to be seeing each other until Sunday, so I thought I’d send him a virtual love note, describing love in the concrete, and showing the ways he’s made love real for me.

Love

When she curls up against him in sleep, no matter what time of night, he wakes up long enough to cover her with a second blanket. Usually, she doesn’t even know until the next morning, when he’s already risen and left his pillow for her to hug while she sleeps.

When walking on the sidewalk, or down a parking lot, he takes the spot next to the road, to shield her from oncoming traffic.

He doesn’t make fun of her irrational fear of dogs (very much), and he always steps between her and the dog, to protect her, even if it’s only in her mind.

When she needs to go grocery shopping and wants the company, he goes without complaint, making the trip a chance to rekindle their friendship and to make sure she remembers to buy Oreos.

On the nights when she’s working, and they’re apart, he remembers to text her before he goes to bed, so that she knows she’s the last thing on his mind, and that he misses her, even when they'll see each other in just a few hours.

I love you, and thank you for showing me the real, and concrete aspect of love.

My Top 5 Romance Pet Peeves

Hey all! It’s the week before February 14^th, which means love is in the air, right? Unfortunately, hubby and I are both pretty bad at celebrating holidays, and Valentine’s Day tends to be the forgotten one of the bunch. But that doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy love.

Or love stories.

Recently, I’ve been on quite a Hallmark kick, which means I’ve been binging a lot of really bad romantic movies. Every time I watch one, I think about what I like, don’t like, so really… it’s research. The more I watch, the more trends I tend to see, and many of them irk me nonstop. Since we haven’t quite gotten to Valentine’s Day yet, I thought I’d list the top five annoying romance cliché’s I'm tired of.

1.       Instalove.

Seriously. I don’t know how else to say this. Whether it be by magic, or by true love or soul mates, for some reason, it’s acceptable to fall in love with someone, know you’re destined to be together forever (because said magic, soul mates, etc told you) and never really get to know the person. Hey, I’m all for love at first sight, and I’m not saying it doesn’t happen. But it doesn’t mean that you don’t have to get to know the person either. Everyone has a different background, different beliefs, and if you don’t talk about them, then your romance isn’t going to end up with that happily ever after.

2.       Lying.

This one irks me beyond belief. I know that during the third act, there needs to be something that keeps the lovers from being together, but when it’s a small matter of not communicating, it makes me want to scream. That’s what a good relationship is built on, communication. If you start lying to each other, no matter how ‘noble’ the reason, it’s still going to hurt the relationship. It’s one of the biggest reasons why I actually liked the movie version of Insurgent over the book version. They got rid of most of the lying and secret keeping between Four and Tris.

3.       Love for the sake of love.

I’m all for romance. Actually, I prefer having some sort of romance in a story, but to throw two characters together and tell the audience they’re in love because it moves the plot along doesn’t do it for me. Where’ the chemistry? There are so many stories where I honestly don’t understand why the characters are attracted to one another. Or why they want to be in a same room together. There’s no buildup, and it feels contrived. I’m looking at you, Black Widow and Hulk!

4.       Indecisiveness

This one kind of goes in with the love triangles. Obviously, we aren’t always aware of our feelings, but to be wishy washy for long periods of time makes me frustrated. Or leading someone on that you’re obviously not in love with because – drama! I think this is one of the reason why love triangles are so hated. Because they never last that long in real life. The reader, and the third character are going to feel cheated. Don’t drag it out for so long that your readers stop caring.

5.       The boring, no-good boyfriend.

Okay, where did this guy come from? For some reason, there are so many stories where the girl is stuck in a dead-end relationship with some guy who is either boring, doesn’t care about her interests and hobbies, or is too stuck in his own work to notice her. Of course, this leads to the main love interest to swoop in and save the day, showing her what real love is. How is it that it’s okay for a girl to settle for guys like this? Shouldn’t we be teaching younger girls not to settle? Maybe that’s what the romance is trying to tell us? Also, for some reason, it’s perfectly acceptable for the girl to choose the new guy. There was one movie in particular I’d been watching, where I was rooting for the boring guy to just dump her because she wasn’t being faithful to him, in any sense of the word.

So there you have it! My top five pet peeves with romance. What drives you insane? What trends do you wish would just stop?