On Turning 30

I have been 30 years old for exactly one month now. I was never under any impression that being officially in my thirties would feel any different than being in my late-twenties, though I was preparing myself for the possibility of an emotional crisis. A google search for "30 year old women" pulls up pages on how 30 year old women feel about being single, 30 year old women and fertility, how 30 year old women should dress for their age, what kinds of beauty products 30 year old women should invest in. It's as if the world has somehow set 30 as the threshold for when a woman should start feeling anxious about getting old and undesirable.

Upon turning 30, I decided to jump into the dating pool and start online dating. And indeed, some of my experiences browsing profiles and chatting with men in the network have confirmed the kinds of anxieties that, as a 30-year-old woman, I'm made to feel. Time and again I see men my age who want to date younger women. One 30-old-dude specifically listed 18-19 as his preferred age range. (Gross.) And time and again men my age and older will list their preferred age range as 21-29: old enough to drink, but not as old as 30! Thinking about how search engines work, I figure that I must not even pop up in some men's search results, now that I belong to an entirely different age bracket. One guy I talked to even asked me point-blank, "So, why is a 30-year-old woman such as yourself still single?" (What I should have said: "Because 30-year-old men like you have not learned to appreciate a woman like me.")

I suppose I could just adopt a dozen cats, start taking Boniva and resign myself to my spinsterhood, but I've discovered one beauty in being 30: I am now the age when I really don't give a shit anymore.

The last time I tried online dating, I was 22, and, like now, just started a new phase of my life in a new place. Still informed by the absurdity of college dating-- hooking up with gross dudes at frat parties, falling into "friends with benefits" mode with a dormmate, being the prey of older men as the youngest girl at the bar-- I didn't know what the hell I was supposed to do whenever a guy asked me out. I was nervous about what to write for my profile, what photo to select for my profile pic. I felt the need to be nice and answer every message I received. I went on many bad dates and didn't always recognize soon enough when a guy was a douchebag. The whole experience got so overwhelming that I quit before finding anyone special on the network.

I can't say that I like online dating any more now than I did then, or that I don't feel somewhat self-conscious about how I interact with the men I meet. But I am definitely better at not taking anything guys say or don't say too personally, at not trying so hard to be attractive, at not tolerating bullshit. Because the fact of the matter is, now that I'm 30, I am in such a good place right now. I have a PhD. I have a great job. I've had a couple of real relationships under my belt and have learned from heartbreak. I know what I believe in and what I want out of life and what kind of man I want to be part of the picture. My self-worth does not rest on the idea of a man sweeping me off my feet, because I enjoy the fact that my feet are firmly planted on the ground.

As a romantic at heart, I would like to fall head over heels in love with a man who thinks that I'm amazing. But I can now say that I am excited about the prospect of looking for him, precisely because I know that I'll be just fine should I never find him. When you've had the chance to build your life on your own, letting someone else into it becomes a lovely bonus rather than the condition of your happiness.

So bring on the 30s, I say! And good riddance to my 20s. What I have to look forward to in my 30s: getting tenure, making a name for myself, and knowing how to pick the men out of the boys. It's going to be awesome.

On Being a 30-Year-Old Child

My mom flew out with me to Boston about a month ago. Two weeks ago, my dad joined us to both check out my living arrangements and make sure that my brother was getting settled in smoothly. Today, both mom and dad flew back to California. Upon dropping them off at the airport, I was immediately struck with a feeling of loss. I don't know who started crying first, but I totally lost all composure when I saw my father, whom I've never once seen cry, get teary-eyed and speechless. I was in tears driving back home, and cried for about an hour after. I thankfully had plans to meet up with a friend tonight, so I didn't let myself sit in sadness all evening. But even now, I'm writing with a lump in my throat.

I feel slightly embarrassed at myself for feeling so emotional about saying bye to mom and dad. This is worse than when they dropped me off for college. Actually, even worse than when they first sent me to pre-school, because according to them, I skipped off to school without so much a glance backwards. Obviously, this is different. I'm now on the opposite side of the country, and will be living here indefinitely. For now, while I'm only starting my career, I can't assume that this move is only a temporary stopover. I really am setting out on my own for the first time in my life.

But the thing is, I'm actually really excited about starting my new job and living in my own place. As much as I enjoyed having mom and dad stay with me these last weeks, I was thinking how nice it would be to claim all of my space and determine my own routine. As if hosting my parents in my modest apartment were like an extended family road trip, I even found myself getting testy with my parents and welcoming functions at school just so I could get some me-time.

So the sadness I'm feeling isn't really about fear of being on my own. It's actually about just the opposite. I'm realizing that my being able to be on my own is largely because of all that my parents have given me. I could not buy my new home if it weren't for my father, who helped me with the downpayment. I could not settle into my new home if it weren't for my mother, who helped me paint my walls, assemble my furniture, and kept me company while I tried to figure out the city. And it is because of both of their patience and unconditional support that I was able to make it through my graduate program and allow myself the freedom to search nation-wide for my first tenure-track position. There are parents who, either consciously or not, prevent their children from fully pursuing their aspirations. I am exceedingly lucky to have parents who work every minute of their lives to ensure that my brother and I are able to pursue ours, even if that means that we won't be nearby enough to take care of them.

But it's not a sense of filial guilt that's making me weepy. I very simply like being near my parents. I love them as my parents and like them as people. I credit them for instilling in me attributes that I take the most pride in. So when I say that I will miss them, it really means simply that.

I suppose I should just remind myself that my family has always been superb at keeping in touch. Tonight, when I stepped out of South Station, I got a brilliant view of fireworks from downtown. I have no idea what the occasion was, but I can't wait to tell mom and dad about it.

Things I've Learned While Getting Settled Into the Northeast

1.) Moving companies can deliver your stuff whenever the hell they want. In spite of my checking in with Mayflower, the company I hired, about the status of my cargo, they ended up delivering my belongings an entire week later than I had requested. And there's absolutely nothing wrong with this practice, so long as they deliver within the time range they give themselves. When I complained to the moving agent about the costs and inconveniences of being stranded in an empty condo, she simply said, "Well, technically we could have delivered your things as late as August 6." My advice to those who are doing a big move: Pack or immediately buy upon your arrival an air mattress, toiletries, plenty of underwear, and something to boil water in.

2.) As much as I fancy myself a cosmopolitan person who supports small business and resists the homogenization of American society, I unapologetically admit to loving superstores. I was never so relieved to drive (thankfully the moving company delivered my car on time) outside of Boston to a town that had a Costco, Home Depot, and IKEA all in one place. One stop shopping, FTW.

3.) My mother is a powerhouse. While helping me get settled in, she has done heavy lifting, assembled furniture, navigated unknown roads, and with more energy than I'm able to muster. And she's twice my age. Either she's incredibly strong or I'm incredibly out of shape.

4.) New York City is crazy. I went there with my brother to look for his apartment. The process of finding a rental is absurd. Most landlords will only talk to a broker. No-fee apartments are usually more expensive anyway, so you'd might as well go through a broker who demands 15% of the price of rent. Place get snatched up right away, so you're pressured to sign on the first thing that looks remotely livable. And god, the prices. $1600/month is the standard for a tiny, run-down studio in Manhattan. The subway system is a puzzle. The weather during the summer is wretched. And people are cranky. But there's also always something magical about the city, about seeing in front of you landmarks that you've seen over and over again in movies, art, and television. That my brother gets to live in a city where he can go shopping in Times Square at 1 am and catch a Broadway show any night of the week does make me a bit envious. But still, New York City is crazy.

5.) People in the northeast don't wait for walk signals. Pedestrians just walk when they feel like it.

6.) There's a surprisingly large Chinese community in Boston and its surrounding areas. My mom and I drove out to Quincy, which feels like a small, very white, beach town. And yet, tucked within the historical sites and Irish pubs is a cluster of Chinese-run businesses. We found a huge Chinese supermarket and were able to get all the necessary ingredients for my mom's signature dishes, which I'm trying to learn to make.

7.) Shopping on Newbury Street will be my new temptation and weakness.

8.) Food is definitely more superior in California.

9.) The MBTA is great. And I like that I see people reading while riding it.

10.) I'm really loving owning my own place. And I'm really excited about building my life in this city.

No Goodbyes

I've spent the last eight years of my life in a town that I had always said would never be my home. Not only is it just a little too small and suburban for my taste, but I had always kept in mind that this town was just a stopover to something more permanent, that everyone I would meet during my time in graduate school would be dispersing eventually. But the problem with spending nearly a decade in one place is that you can't help but make a home out of it. If home is where the heart is, then my heart is definitely with the truly special people I've come to know in graduate school.

I've always known that I'm surrounded by really good people here, and these last couple of weeks have especially reminded me of that fact. I never gave much thought on how saying goodbyes would be, figuring that I would just sort of see people in the midst of packing for my move and then just flitter away. My friends, though, made sure that my departure was an event, not only for me, but also for them. My roommate of four years, who's also one of my closest friends, organized a bon voyage party. And because I love costume parties, she came up with the perfect theme for me: FOSSE. Given that Bob Fosse was a director/choreographer known for a style of dance emblematic in shows like Chicago and Cabaret and not a style of dress, I really didn't expect people to come in costume. But these friends of mine were totally game. In spite of having to first ask, "What the hell is Fosse?" they went out and purchased their bowler hats, corsets, fishnet stockings and bow ties. I'm sure dressing up was just fun for them anyway, but I also saw their effort as a gesture of camaraderie. They took the time and energy to make my last party here something memorable. I couldn't have asked for a better send-off.

And then in smaller, more intimate gatherings, I was able to enjoy what I love the most, which is dinner at home with my best friends. This year, we started calling it the "writing cave," because we would all gather at my place for a group writing session and then end the work day with a meal that we prepared together. In spite of the fact that all of my friends are busy writing their dissertations, teaching summer school, dealing with things like deaths in the family, they freed up their evenings just to spend time with me during my last days here. I felt really loved and supported all week (all year, really), which is exactly what I needed to get me through the harshness of this transition.

When it comes to goodbyes I've never been one for tears or even very many heartfelt words, which isn't to say that departing from people with whom I've come to admire, love and depend on isn't deeply sad for me. It is. But perhaps the rush of getting the job, finishing the degree, and buying the home has allowed me treat this big move as an adventure to look forward to rather than to fear. And that's another reason why I love my friends so much. I know these goodbyes are really sad for them (not because I'm egoistic enough to assume that I'll be missed, but because saying goodbye to friends last year was a lot harder than I had anticipated), but they've been so generous about making my departure a happy one. They've encouraged me to be excited about this move, and allowed me to treat it as a personal triumph. I think that's true selflessness-- Being available for a friend, helping her out by simply doing tasks that make her life easier, and creating the emotional atmosphere that she needs. I needed fanfare, not a funeral. My friends gave me that, and I am endlessly grateful.

I hope, though, that even with my stiff upper lip, my friends know how much I love them and how much I'll miss them. I hope they understand that when I say that I don't believe in goodbyes and that they should come visit and stay with me anytime, I mean to keep them close and make my new home theirs as well. After all, I intend to carry my friends with me wherever I go.

We Did It!

My commencement ceremony was last Thursday, which was then followed by my brother's commencement on Friday. And if graduations were typically celebrated with the kind of hoopla that weddings are, my family would certainly know how to play up the pomp and circumstance. It doesn't matter that graduation ceremonies are tedious and boring, and that attending two of them in different states within a span of 24 hours was going to be one big pain in the ass. My family makes recognizing educational achievement a top priority. I'm pretty sure my mom would be more upset if I were to ditch my PhD commencement than if I were to get hitched via elopement.

If it weren't for the fact that both my brother and I are planning big moves to the east coast this summer, and if it weren't for the fact that I just purchased a condo (with my parents facilitating the down payment), and if it weren't for the fact that my generally frugal family isn't loaded, we would have hosted a banquet in honor of my and my brother's joint commencements. And why not? As it is, I was already ordering announcements and spending a lot of dough on my dress (aka super expensive regalia). Might as well make the whole event official, complete with gift registry and everything. In fact, before we had anticipated that we would graduate on the same year, my brother (the king of party-throwers) had my PhD party all planned out. It would take place in the fabulous backyard of my aunt and uncle's house. (In fact, their house would be great for an intimate wedding.) The theme would be "In Her Shoes"-- In honor of my shoe addiction, but also because, duh, who wouldn't want to be in my shoes? Guests would be required to wear black and/or white, unless they were a holder of a PhD, in which case they can come in color. (I would probably wear magenta.) And, of course, all in attendance have to come wearing their best pair of shoes. For sure, there would be dancing and lots of booze. Had we had the time or money to throw it, that party would have been more fun than most weddings I've been to.

But we managed to do it up right anyway. My parents, along with my closest aunts, uncles and cousins, drove up to Davis the day of my commencement. We did a banquet style lunch at a favorite Chinese restaurant, to which I was able to invite a table of my best friends from graduate school. After lunch, we headed over to an uncle's house and had champagne. My family was an awesome cheering section as they saw me get hooded. Lots of pictures, chit-chat with my dissertation chair, who served as my faculty escort. My cousin made me a lei with fifty carefully origamied $1 bills. I then had to drive home with my family that night, because we all had to catch a plane to Seattle first thing in the morning. Upon arriving in Seattle, we basically only had enough time to get a quick lunch before heading over to my brother's undergraduate commencement ceremony. As tired as we were, we were really excited to hear his name being called. He had already set the tone by decorating his robe with glitter. We're not necessarily noisy people, but we know how to make ourselves stand out. After his ceremony, we went to a fantastic restaurant called Etta's. After that, the older folks went back to the hotel as my brother, cousin and I went out clubbing to the wee hours of the morning. We spent the rest of the weekend helping my brother pack, treating his roommates to dinner, and meeting their families.

So our celebrations were fairly modest, but no small deal, given that so many people I know seem to forgo graduation celebrations altogether. Even my dad, who's typically a tightwad when it comes to unnecessary expenses and doesn't really believe in rituals and traditions, happily footed the bill for one big dinner after another. Relatives who couldn't make it to the celebrations have been sending me generous red envelopes congratulating me on my achievement. Which makes the complete lack of congrats from some friends for whom I shelled out a lot of money and energy for their bachelorette parties, weddings, baby showers, etc., all the more meaningful (and sad).

I know that I can only say this because we're privileged enough to afford any kind of celebration, but I'm really glad that my family is willing to make a big deal out of graduations. Weddings are still a bigger deal, as they are for basically the whole world, but we do a pretty good job honoring graduations as the once-in-a-lifetime milestones and truly admirable achievements that they are. After all, any idiot can get married. Not everyone can complete a degree.

Big Step

So I haven't blogged in a couple of weeks, largely because I've been consumed with the best kind of busy: I just became a homeowner! After several weeks of applying for home loan pre-approvals, talking with realtors, figuring out how real estate works in Massachusetts, and scouring MLS listings, I went out to Cambridge with my parents to scout for a condo. And after looking at many properties that were either too small to be livable, in less-than-convenient locations, or in crap condition (for, after all, I was working with a limited budget), I managed to find a place that is quite perfect for my needs. I made an offer on a modest 2-bedroom condo located very near a major T station. After some counteroffering from the seller, I got my bid accepted. I've secured a fantastic interest rate (30 years, 4.8%). The home inspection has been conducted. Should no big hiccup come up, I will officially close and own the place mid-July.

So now to plan for my cross-country move! There's certainly something scary about moving so far away from my family, living on my own, and having mortgage payments. But I'm also very excited about starting this new phase of my life.

Asian Girl Prof, PhD

I haven't been updating this blog lately because I've been very busy and important. After several days of scrambling with revisions, bureaucratic nonsense and scouting affordable printing options, I have now officially...

(drum roll)

... filed my dissertation!

Yup, I have my PhD in hand. On Tuesday, I had my filing appointment with the Graduate Studies office, in which a friendly administrator checks that I've properly formatted and printed my dissertation and filled out all of my exit paperwork. She then hands me my interim diploma, rings a bell and announces my congrats. The entire office then applauds.

Afterwards, I celebrated with some of my closest friends from graduate school. Naturally we got very drunk and played a lot of Rock Band. Because that's what doctors do.