Trapped in the Land of the Free

Lately I've been thinking a lot about my future--about success and happiness. I have really been wondering whether I want to make it in a conventional way, or whether to go off the beaten track to make my mark on the world. I've always known that I have a special potential--but what have I been doing with it? Is it just naivete? Everyone thinks they're special and that they're going to do something big to change the world. Then, they live out their lives to find that they've been trapped within the confines of societal convention.

I don't want to be that way.

I came to college because that's what I thought you need to do in order to be successful. But that's not always true. If I found my success in another way, school (which I hate anyway) would be more of an option than an obvious step. So after college, then what? Start from the bottom and reach my peak of success at 35, then plateau for the rest of my life? That sounds really terrible. I want to get to a position where I have power and influence early in life, so I can spend the rest of my life making productive changes. You need both power and influence--in other words, money--to make a real difference in the capitalist society of individualism that we work within.

There's a certain pull to the entertainment industry, because the audience is so large and widespread. And most of all, impressionable. Even the uneducated, the specialized, and the so-called isolated are affected by the messages from advertisements and the mainstream media. I want to be recognizable--famous by name (face isn't so important) so that I can give a voice to the unfortunate victims of circumstance. To make a change--a real noticeable difference and not just live a mediocre life and be forgotten when you die--you have to play by the rules to succeed in the world that we live in now--a world controlled by big companies, large banks and government officials. And if I don't get there, how can I live a life under the circumstances I exist within that I find worthwhile? What can I do for a long time that I enjoy, and can make money from?

Somehow, I don't think continuing along the conventional path will satisfy me. Too much build up and due-payment to end up somewhere that may not be worth it. Our generation's visionaries didn't do what the world told them--most dropped out of school to pursue their ideas. My problem is I don't have an idea or talent to run away with, and I spend all my time distracted by useless school to be able to come up with it. At the end of the day, I've always seen myself to become a name the world recognizes.

So, the question is...how do I get there?

The Two Way Window

Her small hands bathe in a waterfall coming from a silver tube, gently caressing the bubbles between them. She ties the baby blue ribbon of a yellow half-skirt with embroidered crimson butterflies around her waist, her favorite apron that she calls, “a dress without the back.” Jennifer Shih, amateur pastry chef and teenage cook extraordinaire, is ready to bake a pumpkin pie.

Shih pulls a silver and black instrument from a drawer next to the oven, an IKEA can opener and hikes the jaws of the device on the curvature of Libby’s 100% Pure Pumpkin, quickly glancing at the side of the can as she does so. Slowly, she turns the knob on the can opener and the smell of aluminum yields to a strong scent of Thanksgiving. Then, Shih removes the package of frozen piecrust from the refrigerator. She takes another look at the recipe on the Libby’s can for instructions. “I don’t usually use frozen pie crust, but it’s so convenient. And delicious,” she says.

A small spot of gray mystery mars the edge of the ghostly tan frozen piecrust. “Mold?” Shih wonders aloud. “Maybe an oil stain,” she says, and chooses the second piecrust hiding beneath the imperfect one.

Her swift fingers, as if on keys of a piano, touch the oven screen buttons to preheat the oven to 425 degrees Fahrenheit. Shih’s eyes search the counter and glisten as she reaches for Libby’s pumpkin. She removes the half-separated metal circle as she reads the label on the side. 15 ounces of Libby’s pumpkin, “close to one pound!” she says excitedly, plop into Shih’s companion: the Artisan 5 Quart Kitchen Aid Mixer. Shih glides around the small kitchen as if ice-skating on a wintertime rink. “Where is the granulated sugar?!” she exclaims, followed by a comical, “Oh,” spotting the sugar right at eye level on the counter. She carefully measures and then heaps 1½ cups into the mixer’s bowl.

The hungry silver jaws of the can opener prey on the aluminum of a can of evaporated milk. Why not regular milk? “I don’t know,” Shih says, “It’s Libby’s Famous Pumpkin Pie recipe,” and after a pause, “from the pumpkin can.” Shih’s eyes twinkle in the light again as she peruses the can’s label and pours in the thick milk.

Next, she pulls out a small container of McCormick’s pumpkin spice mix, only a second choice to Trader Joe’s Pumpkin Spice she says, because it has real lemon peel and the cinnamon isn’t as finely ground.

Like an artist evaluating a fresh piece, Shih considers the mixing bowl and a glint emerges in her eyes. Shih’s idea leads her to the cabinet, pulling out a navy Morton container with the infamous logo of girl in the rain, and measures out one teaspoon of salt. With a laugh, Shih says most may think it’s weird to add salt to a dessert, but it helps to bring out the sweet flavors.

Like an expert, she cracks three eggs on the counter with one hand, to avoid inverting the shell. The air is heavy with the smell of cinnamon and anticipation.

Suddenly, the twinkle in her eyes vanishes—then, a squeal of panic. Shih intended to bake only half of what the recipe would yield, and forgot to adjust the portion of eggs. Her eyes dart from the mixing bowl, a milky mystery with three blank suns floating on top, to the label on the can, to a mug on the counter. To avoid an extra custardy pie because of the excess eggs, within seconds Shih has scooped out the extra eggs before they mixed in with the batter, a rich orange the color of a sultry sunset. She exhales deeply and meditates for a moment on her quick rescue.

Shih places the mixing bowl on her Artisan Kitchen Aid mixer and activates it, and her eyes cloud with memory as she recounts the history of the cooking tool. Her mother bought it for her onher 16^th birthday, she says. The mixer is a vibrant, pastel orange to rival the pumpkin mixture. Her mother picked Clementine orange to match her personality at the time—bright and lively, ready to take on the challenges of the kitchen. For Shih, it’s not just a mixer—it’s a time machine. She says that her mother’s gift symbolizes a faith in her as a baker, a passing down of a family tradition that Shih hopes to bestow to her children in the future.

Once more, Shih washes her hands in the sink and fondly looks over at the Kitchen Aid. When it breaks down, she says, she tells everyone that it’s sick. At the sound of the word, the sink begins regurgitating her discarded raw eggs, making a loud suction sound as if the eggs are begging for a second chance. Sylvia, Kitchen Aid connoisseur and Shih’s mother activates the garbage disposal, putting the persistent eggs to sleep. Again, Shih studies the side of the Libby’s pumpkin can to make sure she didn’t forget anything. Satisfied, she pours the smooth and runny golden brown pumpkin pie filling into the piecrust, asking Sylvia to supervise. After observing quite a bit of extra filling in the bowl, Shih’s older sister Juliet takes a look at the seemingly defective second piecrust and removes the strange gray circle. With a shrug and a wide smile, Shih pours the rest of the batter into the other piecrust, filling about three-quarters of it. The eggs need not have died in vain after all.

After she places both pies inside the warm oven and sets the timer for 40 minutes, Shih crouches in front of the closed oven door and peers through the window. She looks at the pies as if seeing them for the first time. Before standing, she notices her own reflection in the oven door window, recognizing herself along the way.