The Chronicles of "Bithiah" (Part I)

Growing up with a name as strange and unique as mine has, I think, significantly affected much of my childhood and many of my experiences growing up. I dealt with the strangest name-related things as a child, and remained unaware of their eccentricity for a long time.

For instance, here is a brief list of things that happened to me only because my name is Bithiah:

1) Whenever there was a substitute teacher in class for the day, attendance always sounded like this-- "Andrew, Ryan, Kelly, Amanda, (long pause)... (brings attendance sheet very close to face, narrows eyes).. Hmm.. uh.. I apologize in advance if I'm about to totally butcher this... (totally butchers it)"

2) Whenever I met someone for the first time, regardless of the situation or surrounding or time of day, the introduction would always be the same--
Me: Hi, I'm Bithiah.
Stranger: What?

Me: Bithiah

Stranger: ... how do you spell that?

Me: B-I-T-H-I-A-H

Stranger: What?

3) Whenever I tell the barista at Starbucks what my name is so they can write it on my grande cup (grande. Always a grande!), I stand off to the side near the counter waiting for this exact scenario to happen--

Barista: Latte for Jennifer! Sam, I have your coffee right here! I have a tall iced passion tea for Greg! Two hot chocolates for Andrea! I have a grande decaf hazelnut latte with soy, light whip!

Me: Is that... mine? Maybe someone else who didn't bother to tell the cashier their name ordered the exact same thing as me just now. I'll just wait a few minutes to see if someone else goes up to get it... Okay, it's mine. It's probably mine. Definitely is. I've waited 4 minutes. The latte is probably cold by now. I guess there's a pretty high chance that it's mine. Should I just take it? Oh my goodness, I hope I didn't accidentally take someone else's grande decaf hazelnut latte with soy and light whip.. I'd feel so awful!

4) Whenever I met someone just one time, and then we separated for years and years, and then we reunited somewhere else, I would have to prepare to feel like an inconsiderate, selfish ass with a bad memory.
Me: Hey, my name is Bithiah Lee.

Stranger: Oh! Bithiah! Your name sounds so familiar! We must have met before! 

Me: Oh yeah? 

Stranger: Yeah, I'm sure of it! I recognize your name!

Me: Haha

Stranger: I'm JOHN. Do you remember meeting me?!

Me: ... I'm an ass.

5) Various situations might bring about this conversation--
Me: Sorry, how do you pronounce your name?
Jackie: Jack- E.
Me: Okay, Jack-E! 
Jackie: Your name?
Me: Bith- EYE- ah.
Jackie: Okay, Bith-E-Ah!
Me: It's actually, Bith-EYE-ah
Jackie: Yeah, Bith-eeee-ah. That's what I said!

6) Whenever I am involved in an e-mail exchange, this will definitely, always happen-- 

Me: Hey everyone, wedged sneakers will never be cool. Kindly, Bithiah

Recipient 1: Dear Bithia,

Recipient 2: Yeah, Bithia..

Me: Because they're a stupid idea. Love, Bithiah

Recipient 3: Hey Bithra..

Me: Yes, I do think you could get hurt walking in them. Sincerely, Bithiah

Recipient 2: Oh, Bithyana!

Recipient 3: Hey Papaya, 

Recipient 2: Messiah? 

Recipient 4: Yo Mathia..

Me: I will not buy them for you. Patiently, BithiaH

Recipient 1: Ok, Bithia

Now, in the name of progress and making improvements based on lessons learned, I am pretty happy to announce that I no longer live in shame in the classroom or in Starbucks! Daily I am making changes. After several years of trial and error, I have come up with my current, most recent, up-to-date list of ways that I have achieved victory over the brief list of things that happened to me only because my name is Bithiah (see list above):

1) Sub: Andrew.. 

Andrew: Here!

Sub: Ryan.. 

Ryan: Here!

Sub: Kelly..

Kelly: Here!

Sub: Amanda..

Amanda: Here!

Sub: (short pause)

Me: Here!

2) Now, whenever I meet someone for the first time--

Me: Hi, I'm Bithiah.

Stranger: (shakes hand)

Me: Bithiah. B-I-T-H-I-A-H.. Bithiah. Bithiah! I can write it down somewhere for you if you want.

3) Now, when I'm in Starbucks-- 

Barista: Can I get something started for you?

Me: Yes, can I please get a grande decaf hazelnut latte with soy milk and light whip?

Barista: Certainly! And your name?

Me: Sara.

4) Now, whenever someone looks kind of familiar, but also like they probably wouldn't remember me unless I told him my name--

Stranger: Hey, I'm John. What's your--

Me: Hi John! Nice to meet you. I'm so sorry to cut this short, but I have to go! I'm late for work! 

And then I run away.

5) Now, whenever someone asks me to explain the proper pronunciation of my name more than twice, I am prepared--
Jackie: So, how do you pronounce Bithiah?
Me: Bith-EYE-ah.
Jackie: Bith-eee-ah?
Me: You can call me B.

6) This item is unfortunately, one that I have not yet found a solution to. I may just have to prepare to admit defeat and accept the less-than-ideal hypothesis that the combination of the letters B, I, T, H, and A in the particular number and order in which they appear in my name causes instant dyslexia and loss of hearing. It's unavoidable. 

But in all honesty, I am not without grace. I am very understanding of the difficulties that my name causes on the everyday, and the havoc that Bithiah wreaks on the average conversation. Bithiah is tough, and a little bit rude. Storming into a crowded room jam-packed with Dan's and Ann's, she announces her arrival with three hideously awkward, blundering and unsubtle syllables. And people do stare. The Dan's, especially. The Muriel's and Henrietta's in the room tend to recover quicker and sometimes they even manage to pick up their jaws, though slightly bruised from when they first hit the ground, before I can catch them.

Bithiah sucks in other ways too! Like, whenever someone sees my name before they see me, it really is unfair to him or her, because my name poses a major obstacle in their normally very sharp deduction skills. They stare and stare at my name that is scrawled on the small place setting card sitting on the table next to them in the auditorium. They wonder to themselves, Is Bithiah a boy or a girl? Is she.. white, Asian, or Armenian? Oh my god. Bithiah has to be a guy. A German one. Probably huge. He sounds like a bully. And I'm going to have to sit next to him for this whole semester? Worst.

And then, when I finally arrive, this individual watches as I approach my assigned seat. Closer and closer I walk, and my new seatmate's face begins to change. It's hard to describe the exact change that takes place on his face. Maybe it's relief. Relief as he realizes that I can't actually destroy him using nothing but the stench of my manly armpits, which I'm sure he imagined would be both hairy and sweaty. And when I finally arrive to my seat, I often get a response somewhere along the lines of  "Oh wow! You look nothing like what I imagined you to look like," and I'm all like, "What did you expect me to look like!" 

Because, when I see your name, I don't just immediately think, "Oh, this person probably looks like a milk maid or cricket player from Greece. She sounds just like she should have auburn hair and probably definitely brown eyes." (Except for people with the names Precious or Stu. I do have images of you). But by this point in the conversation, my new seatmate's relief and surprise has pretty much reached the point of hysteria as he sputters out-- between gasps of laughter-- "You're a Chinese girl and you're so small." 

I know he would not have laughed at me for being Chinese or for being small if my name card had read Grace or MiMi or Wen-Chi instead.

But don't worry. If you were one of those people who admits that you saw the same hairy German man in your head at the first sight of Bithiah, I have grace enough to forgive you as well. I so get it. When the average person who has only ever been surrounded by Dan's and Ann's sees Bithiah for the first time, it is very common to also think of such names as Goliath and Bohemith and Bunyan and, if you're Chinese, a nickname, "Big Thigh Ah!" I am a realist. 

This concludes the first chapter of the Chronicles of "Bithiah." However, I find that this is the appropriate place to add these last two bullet points. 

• The Chronicles of "Bithiah" actually begins in the Bible. 1 Chronicles 4:18! You have no idea who Bithiah is, but you kind of do. She is Pharoah's daughter who found Moses in the basket in the river. She is his adopted Egyptian mom! WHO KNEW, EH?
• The name Bithiah actually means "Daughter of God" in Hebrew. Not quite "Goliath," eh?

Sincerely,

bcl. 

The travel bug

I've been bitten hard.

I think that it might be this time of year, because around this time every year (since 2008), I seem to find myself suffering from the same itch to travel. To take a break from the cold weather and the cycle that has settled into my everyday. The drain of a repetitive schedule is boring me-- aging me, really-- and is less than inspiring.

I think I need a nice, focused vacation time. To Australia. Or, just mayhaps, I could be convinced to go back to the Bahamas for a week.

Lusting for Adventure,
bcl.

*Open casting call for the role of "travel mate" begins today!

The Perks

I just finished Stephen Chbosky's the perks of being a wallflower.. 

And it put me in quite a funk. I really, really enjoyed this book, and I am amazed at Chbosky's words. Not even his thoughts, because that's what's so cool about this book-- the thoughts he described are ones that we've all had ourselves, but he's somehow managed to put them into words.

"He looked like all old pictures look. Old pictures look very rugged and young, and the people in the photographs always seem a lot happier than you are...

I just hope I remember to tell my kids that they are as happy as I look in my old photographs. And I hope that they believe me."

"Dear friend, Wow. Wow. I can paint the picture for you if you like... it was like we were somewhere else. Like we were someplace better."

"And in that moment, I swear we were infinite." 

He's such a genius.

I can't wait to watch:

Love,
bcl.

The plan

- bcl.

Merry Christmas!

11:00 Wake up

11:15 Put in first of many Christmas CD's

11:30 Spend some time with my Moleskin

11:45 Hot tea, cake, & conversation with mom, brother, and the fours

14:00 Market Village for "Wonton Time"

15:00 Almond flavoured bubble tea, Chinese waffles, and new fingerless mittens

18:00 Errbody at hot pot!

 20:00 Errbody's back at Auntie Amy & Uncle Stephen's

20:01 T.V. is turned on. Boys yell at basketball game. Aaron Li loses bet.

21:00 Ian insists that we go to the basement to play games. Concentration, to be exact

21:15 Concentration instructions are looked up. "Slap slap clap clap."

21:16 Aaron Li: "This is stupid. Who is gonna mess this up?"

21:18 Ian: "see doa bel-lay, faan keh".. Aaron Li: "..."

21:30 Stars and Smiley Faces play team charades

24:00 Aaron Li watches fish tank

00:30 Stairway photos

Merry Christmas, world. Happy Birthday, Jesus <3

- bcl.

Lafayette

Dear Blogosphere,

I recently adventured IKEA, which you know is always a good time for me. As I was walking through the showroom, I saw a display labeled "Our 375 Square Feet Home." I was skeptical as I walked into the makeshift home because with only 375 square feet, I wouldn't even be able to do my daily work out of jumping jacks and lunges. Let's be honest.

But as I walked through this small home, I was both surprised and impressed-- mostly impressed-- that somehow, this chic couple from New York City was able to create such a home, sweet home in such a small space. With lavish textiles, cozy furniture, and clever wall mounts, I found myself in a very happy 375 square feet.

Here in Detroit, right in the heart of Lafayette Park, there's another label. It reads, "My 800 Square Feet Home."

Here's that story: A single, 22-year old working professional living downtown in a free-spirited big city. Her building is a historical Ludwig Mies van der Rohe, and she's living it up on the 18th floor. From her floor-to-ceiling windows, she enjoys a view of both the Detroit River on one side, and the city lights of downtown Detroit from the other. The quaint one-bedroom has been filled in with furniture, and a large area rug. Lantern lamps and a string of white Christmas lights have been strung from the ceiling over the piano keyboard and guitar stand. Its white walls have been colored in with posters, wall clocks, cork boards, photos, and drawings. Its cupboards are filled with assorted mugs and mason jars, and in its closets hang several jackets. There is plenty of room for both lunges and jumping jacks.

Living in Detroit has been incredible. Lafayette Park is such a gem, and aside from enjoying the actual building, I'm finding myself to be fully submerged in the heart of the hustle and bustle city life. From Lafayette Towers, I'm a 10-minute walk in every direction to some of the city's greatest attractions. Ten minutes in one direction will take me to Eastern Market, the largest farmers market in America; ten minutes in another direction will take me right into the exciting, high-energy Greek Town. I'm ten minutes away from the Riverwalk, and a short 30-second walk from the Dequindre Cut.

The story continues with true cultural immersion, incredible neighbors, and a renewed love for exploring and adventuring a new city.

Want to see? Want to hear about it? Want to do jumping jacks with me?

I'll meet you in Detroit.

- bcl.

Ugly babies & thieving grandmas

Dear Blogosphere,

Look, here's the situation. I'm going to be straight with you. This blog post is the result of a Meijer outing that inspired such a brilliant blog title, that I had no choice but to write the blog post to go with it.

This past Thursday, on my lunch break, I decided to go to Meijer to take a break from my desk, walk around a little bit, and maybe pick up a couple grocery items. I parked the car near the non-grocery entrance, and hurried in, with my scarf and jacket wrapped tightly around me. I began browsing the greeting card section first, then made my way over to the Christmas decorations and ornaments. Suddenly, I heard a loud, whiny child's voice. And then I heard the voice of a distressed sounding mom-- the kind of mom who you know bribes her children. Weird.

The child's voice got louder and whinier over the next minute or so, and the mom's "Stop crying, what do you want? I will buy you candy. What do you want? Stop this. Do you want more candy? How about this kind of chocolate? What do you want? Stop now. I will buy you this. And this? Stop. What do you--" grew increasingly desperate.

I have encountered whiny babies before. It's pretty unfortunate when you run into them in public spaces. You know, the kind of children that stomp their feet and cry real tears and scream bloody murder and thrash around on the floor. Worst.

BUT THIS TIME. For some reason, I was feeling extra annoyed and irritable. I think it's because usually, when babies start to freak the freak out, their parents will make some sort of attempt to end the nonsense. They might yell at them, threaten them, pick them up, or at the very least, attempt to hurry up with picking through all the tomatoes so that they can pay and get out of the store as soon as possible before they start getting dirty, judgmental looks from other customers. This mother did none of those things. She just kept muttering to them and then proceeded to slowly-- so slowly-- push her shopping cart up and down every aisle, stopping to examine jewelry, and books, and flower pots, and candles, and oh yeah-- candy bars. I tried to walk away from the crying children, but they.. followed me. Everywhere I went, I could hear that this lady was pushing her cart not far behind me. Finally, we intersected. I looked into the cart, and there were two babies! Twins, actually. Twin girls. And they were kind of ugly. I thought to myself, "Oh, please. You two aren't nearly cute enough to get away with this."

I called my mom at this point to ask her if Felix and I were like those nasty kids when we were in public places when we were young. She assured me that we were not. I felt better.

Then, I walked over to the bakery section of the store to pick out some bread. Next to the bread baskets, I saw an old grandma buying bagels. She was standing in front of the bagel display, propping the glass door open with her back. She had a paper bag in her left hand, and an insufficiently small piece of wax paper in her right. I watched her run her wrinkly hand over every single bagel in that glass case. Every single one. Gross. And then, when she reached the bottom shelf, she stroked the last bagel, and then she took it and slipped it into her coat pocket.

I guess she didn't realize that the glass door she was hiding behind was transparent.

I felt so strange after seeing that! I felt kind of annoyed and angry and confused, but also really, really found it hilarious. What do I do? What do you do? What does anybody do? I thought about tapping her on the shoulder and being all, "Excuse me, I see what you did there," but I was afraid I'd give her a heart attack. And since my CPR/First Aid certification hasn't been renewed for this year, I decided against it.

Thieving grandma tried to steal some cookies afterwards too, but I deterred her by going up to the same cookie table she was inspecting and standing really really close to her. Right next to her, actually. Close enough to smell the stolen bagel. Sick. When I had approached the cookie table, she was trying to pry one of the container lids off; I so startled her that she dropped the container, and knocked a few other containers off the table, too. Her guilt betrayed her. I helped her pick up the containers, and then I just stood reading cookie labels until she left. I was a hero that day. Or at least half of a hero. And Meijer will never know.

- bcl.