A Horseshoe Up My Butt

Went for a walk with a friend today, and the topic was around how we dealt with life's obstacles and what we've learnt from them. I've been very lucky my whole life. My family may be broken, but I was always taken care of. And I seemed to meet people who could help me at the time I needed help.

I wanted to become a news anchor in primary school and junior high school. Then I decided it would be boring to just sit in front of the cameras reading what other people have uncovered, so I thought it would be better to be a field reporter. As time went on, my goals also changed. I wanted to be a model, a flight attendant, a writer, a teacher, a researcher, and a mother.

And I wasn't just dreaming, I worked my butt off toward achieving these goals. I studied hard trying to get into a journalist school, but the way the exam system worked back then somehow put me -- a person who consistently flunked math -- in Electronic Engineering. Needless to say, I never got to study journalism.

I paid for modeling lessons at what is now the No. 1 model agency in Taiwan, but soon got bored with the whole "you're nothing more than a pretty face" feeling in the world of gorgeous people. Modeling just wasn't for me.

I passed the language proficiency tests and interviews when United Airlines recruited in Taiwan. Unfortunately, just when I was overjoyed by the acceptance letter, we learnt about the labor dispute that had taken place in the airline and all foreign recruits were all told to wait for further notice, which never came.

The goal to be a writer started in primary school. My grandfather was a poet and columnist, so I grew up watching him write and create. As a way to train my penmanship and improve literacy, my grandfather had me copy his hand-written drafts onto good paper in traditional Chinese calligraphy with the thinnest brush. Each Chinese character had to be perfectly written in 1cm x 1cm squares on the paper. It was tedious work for a kid in elementary school, but it paid off in all the A's I got in Chinese literature and writing classes throughout my education. And I've always been told I have really good handwriting, which is something one takes pride in because it's an indication of sophistication in Chinese culture.

After my grandfather passed away, I started creating my own writing. In the beginning, it was mostly a teenager's melodramatic rant and unrealistic views of the world. With a Chinese Lit teacher's help and encouragement, my work was published in a youth newspaper. The joy I felt from the validation ignited my desire to write more. I pretty much devoted all my time and energy into writing when I was supposed to be learning about AC/DC (obviously not the band, which, incidentally, was a big part of my music collection) and how to fix a broken rice cooker. I was the school paper editor, I started the school-wide writing contest, and I continued sending my work to different magazines and newspapers. When I was in doubt, I sent my work to my favorite writers and asked them to critique my work. A few replied. That's why I nearly fainted when a friend introduced me to her former professor whom she eventually married who was (and still is) one of the most famous and influential writers in Taiwan (and China apparently). For about 3 years, I was fully immersed in "the Taiwanese Renaissance" and considering myself a member of "the intellects". Barely 20 years old, I drank cocktails and smoked cigarettes with writers, poets, and film makers almost twice my age. I did a massive amount of reading just so I could keep up. I never became the best-selling author I dreamt to be, but I pretended not to care. After all, true artists do not seek fame; neither do they crave recognition from laymen. Yes, I was that arrogant and ignorant.

But soon reality kicked me in the butt, so I had to find a job-job. When I stumbled into the English-teaching world, I knew it was theee career I wanted (Incidentally, and I didn't know this at the time, I actually came from a line of teachers. Both paternal grandparents were teachers before the war broke out, and my uncle is a professor in New Hampshire). I went from a substitute teacher to a part-time contract teacher in just a few months. Once I knew I could get bigger and better offers, I quit and applied for a full-time teaching position at a bigger school. I taught for a month and was offer the coordinator position just because the Program Manager thought, with lots of training and hands-on experience, she could mold me into her. And she did!! In the 2 years at that job, I grew with the company and was, at one point, managing the staff and teachers of all 5 branches. I was working at a different brach every day of the week until I was finally given authority to hire new coordinators so that I didn't have to travel as much. It was 1992, and I was making almost $1,500 a month. It sounds almost ridiculous now, but every Monday morning the company sent a cab to pick me up at my apartment to go to the weekly meeting with the President of the company and senior managers at the headquarters in a skyscraper in downtown Taipei.

For 2 years, I was living the dream. I was a young and successful professional whose comfortable income also allowed her to wine and dine with her artist friends. Then the Program Manager whom I looked up to tremendously decided to leave the company. I also resigned out of loyalty. Needing a break and some time to plan my next move, I went back to only teaching at a well-established children's English school. Loved my job; loved the kids, but I felt hollow inside. I wanted a change. So when Don suggested getting married and moving to Canada, I said yes.

Long story short, my once-very-healthy self esteem was completely crushed in the new country because nothing I had done before was recognized or credited. Boredom and my desperate attempts to seek attention basically killed our marriage. The day Don walked out of the apartment without telling me specifically when he'd return was when I hit rock bottom for the first time in my life. I couldn't return to Taiwan because my passport was taken away while my application for landed immigrant statue was being processed. I couldn't do anything, and  I was also so depressed that one day I thought I would just poison myself with the bottle of Tequila we had from some party long ago. Fortunately, half a bottle later, a friend of Don's happened to call that day. With his help, I was put on suicide watch and had to report to a shrink in the provincial suicide prevention program 3 days a week (Praise the Canadian socialistic policies! Immigrants aren't allowed to get jobs or attend schools, but they can always get help from public funded programs if they ever wish or need to do so).

The good thing about hitting rock bottom is that you have nowhere else to go but UP! The shrink I was seeing pissed me off one day with his super supportive "you-did-nothing-wrong" approach (one can only hope he knew what he was doing and was doing it intentionally). I blew up in his office and stormed out shouting, "You're useless! I'm never coming back. I'll show you and everyone else what I can do." On the bus ride back to my apartment, I decided I was gonna "make it" in Canada, and everything is in the rear view mirrors now.

After university, I worked at a few local adult ESL schools and became friends with some truly amazing people. Because of them, I had the opportunity to compete in a Dragon Boat race, had the guts to jump off a bridge and out of an airplane with harnesses on, and had futons and couches to sleep on when I traveled to Japan, France, and Switzerland.

Traveling brought me to Bill, who held my hand through the scariest time of my life. We had only been together for a little over a year, and it was a very rocky year. And here we are -- 1 triumphant battle with cancer, 4 surgeries, and 2 miracle kids later. My life may not be picture perfect all the time, but it fits my friend's 80/20 ratio (80% happiness with 20% crap from life that we have to deal with). Bill is a very supportive husband and a fantastic father. My two children are very cute and already so independent-minded (okay, opinionated) they are a pain in the butt sometimes. I have a good job and some awesome colleagues/friends. And I have a pretty solid support system here -- my friends understand my need to vent but have no problem smacking me on the head and tell me to quit bitchin' and get movin'.

I've been very lucky, and I have a lot to be thankful for.

"Is all this really just luck though, Kate?" my Newfie friend asked me today. "You know you can make things happen just with sheer determination cuz you, my friend, are one of the most determined bitches I know. You said you were gonna make it in Canada, you went and got a university degree, made yourself a contributing member of the society, and waited 10 years to get the citizenship because you felt like you knew enough about Canada to call yourself a citizen of this country. How many immigrants do that? You said you were gonna have kids and hell with what the so-called fertility experts said. Your mind was made and, with one goddamn ovary, you defied the odds and did it. Twice!!" She got excited and her Newfie accent became more prominent as she went on.

"Okay, let's settle this," I concluded. "I did work hard to get what I really wanted. But luckily, I also have a horseshoe up my butt... Hahaha, get it? "luckily" and "have a horseshoe up my butt"? You see how I played with the language there?" I was cracking myself up.

She kissed me on the cheek and said, "Let's move on to somethin' else, nerd."