I didn't attend CYC this year.
When I realized that for the first time in 11 years, I was missing camp, I was upset. I thought I'd be ok with it; I was starting a new chapter in my life now - summers were for internships, job hunting, summer school. And all last week, even while I was at work knowing CYC 2004 was happening at the same time, I wasn’t as sad as I thought I would be. I missed it, but I was ok.
When I left work early to go to talent show on Friday Night, I was excited. I couldn’t wait to see the performances everyone had worked all week on, see my old campers grow yet another 6 inches, see the counselors and ac’s and friends. I was in a great mood all day.
When I watched the talent show, I was delighted.
There were so many funny and original talent shows, not to mention a great soundtrack this year. Some things about CYC talent shows will always stay the same: the younger groups were freaking adorable, the middle groups pre-teen awkward but funny in their own way, and the counselors just plain enjoyable.
When I went downstairs to embarrass and hug my 10 year cousin Angeline and half a dozen of her fellow campers asked if I was her mom, I was indignant. I may be too old for camp, but I am most certainty not old enough to have a child! It amazes me. Adults think I’m 13 and kids think I’m 30.
When returning counselors Sam, Jeff, and I were locked out of Old Ranch for the yearbook signing, I was disappointed.
The entire drive up I was looking forward to seeing my ‘kids’ again, and now it was 9 o’clock on a Friday in the Louisiana boonies with nowhere to go and nothing to do. We ended up going to Wal-Mart with the intention of buying poker chips and cards, but ended up with Monopoly and high sodium snacks instead. But the entire night wasn’t the same – I was angry and hurt beyond reason that I wasn’t allowed ‘back’ into camp. It was like after 5 years of being an AC, counselor and head counselor now meant jack shit. I was now just another person with no connection to camp at all. A person who stupidly arrived a day too early.
When the ‘adults’ were finally allowed to see the kids on Saturday morning, I was nonchalant. I no longer really cared, and just wanted the day to end so I could go home. I half-heartedly followed my family into the cafeteria for constipation/diarrhea inducing camp food before the closing ceremony started.
When 4 years of campers of different ages and heights (too many of them taller than me) yelled my name across the cafeteria and ran over for hugs, I was exultant. Every other feeling just faded away. Face after familiar face faded in and out for the rest of the afternoon, but that warm feeling never went away. I would’ve driven 10 hours for 10 minutes of those smiles and hugs.
Up until that point, I had felt so physically and emotionally left out of camp that I regretted every minute I was still up in stinky ‘ol Louisiana. Now I know that not literally being at camp this year didn’t make me any less of a part of it. I had done my job the past few years– and the kids remembered. That’s all I can ask for.
People who have never been to CYC will never understand.
But those who have – those that stay up late the night after CYC ends in chatrooms on aim with people you’ve seen 24-7 for the past 7 days, those who’s profiles say ‘CYC is over’ and ‘I miss camp’ for months after, those who count the days until the same time next year, will always understand - long after attending - that wistful feeling leaving camp invokes in all of us, be it permanently or just for the year.
As I was watching the closing ceremony yesterday, it hit me how much camp means to us. Every year people cry while they’re leaving, and the parents watching and friends back home you try to explain it to wonder why. What the heck is so special about a one week Chinese youth camp? Yes, we learn our culture and meet lifelong friends and all, but it’s more. More than what you learn about your heritage and whom you gain as friends, it’s what you learn about yourself at camp that impacted me most of all.
In a society where Asians basically fit into the nerd or ghetto category in school, camp held so many more choices of personalities for all of us. I don’t know what it was like for anyone else, but for me, going to predominantly all white schools, meant you rarely ever saw an Asian class clown, an Asian prom queen, an Asian star athlete, an Asian cheerleader, or an Asian musician (unless you were in orchestra). If you were Asian, you were either smart and in honors class, or you had spiky hair and chain-smoked.
But camp provided a milieu for you to break out of those stereotypes and become whoever you were or wanted to be. At camp we had more of a chance to express, define and shape ourselves. The graceful shine in dance class, the comical during talent show, the athletic in dodge ball, the artistic in arts and crafts, and so on. For one week out of the year, we late-to-bloom Asians could go to dances, bond and gossip, flirt and get rejected, learn, grow and experience. Yes, it sounds all very similar to what you could get from school, but it’s not the same thing. At camp, race was not a factor. There were still cliques and all, but at least you all had something in common.
There's still so much about CYC that I will never be able to explain, but in short; CYC has given me memories, friends, lessons, and most importantly, a sense of belonging in a very confusing world. I will always be grateful.
When I left work early to go to talent show on Friday Night, I was excited. I couldn’t wait to see the performances everyone had worked all week on, see my old campers grow yet another 6 inches, see the counselors and ac’s and friends. I was in a great mood all day.
When I watched the talent show, I was delighted.
There were so many funny and original talent shows, not to mention a great soundtrack this year. Some things about CYC talent shows will always stay the same: the younger groups were freaking adorable, the middle groups pre-teen awkward but funny in their own way, and the counselors just plain enjoyable.
When I went downstairs to embarrass and hug my 10 year cousin Angeline and half a dozen of her fellow campers asked if I was her mom, I was indignant. I may be too old for camp, but I am most certainty not old enough to have a child! It amazes me. Adults think I’m 13 and kids think I’m 30.
When returning counselors Sam, Jeff, and I were locked out of Old Ranch for the yearbook signing, I was disappointed.
The entire drive up I was looking forward to seeing my ‘kids’ again, and now it was 9 o’clock on a Friday in the Louisiana boonies with nowhere to go and nothing to do. We ended up going to Wal-Mart with the intention of buying poker chips and cards, but ended up with Monopoly and high sodium snacks instead. But the entire night wasn’t the same – I was angry and hurt beyond reason that I wasn’t allowed ‘back’ into camp. It was like after 5 years of being an AC, counselor and head counselor now meant jack shit. I was now just another person with no connection to camp at all. A person who stupidly arrived a day too early.
When the ‘adults’ were finally allowed to see the kids on Saturday morning, I was nonchalant. I no longer really cared, and just wanted the day to end so I could go home. I half-heartedly followed my family into the cafeteria for constipation/diarrhea inducing camp food before the closing ceremony started.
When 4 years of campers of different ages and heights (too many of them taller than me) yelled my name across the cafeteria and ran over for hugs, I was exultant. Every other feeling just faded away. Face after familiar face faded in and out for the rest of the afternoon, but that warm feeling never went away. I would’ve driven 10 hours for 10 minutes of those smiles and hugs.
Up until that point, I had felt so physically and emotionally left out of camp that I regretted every minute I was still up in stinky ‘ol Louisiana. Now I know that not literally being at camp this year didn’t make me any less of a part of it. I had done my job the past few years– and the kids remembered. That’s all I can ask for.
People who have never been to CYC will never understand.
But those who have – those that stay up late the night after CYC ends in chatrooms on aim with people you’ve seen 24-7 for the past 7 days, those who’s profiles say ‘CYC is over’ and ‘I miss camp’ for months after, those who count the days until the same time next year, will always understand - long after attending - that wistful feeling leaving camp invokes in all of us, be it permanently or just for the year.
As I was watching the closing ceremony yesterday, it hit me how much camp means to us. Every year people cry while they’re leaving, and the parents watching and friends back home you try to explain it to wonder why. What the heck is so special about a one week Chinese youth camp? Yes, we learn our culture and meet lifelong friends and all, but it’s more. More than what you learn about your heritage and whom you gain as friends, it’s what you learn about yourself at camp that impacted me most of all.
In a society where Asians basically fit into the nerd or ghetto category in school, camp held so many more choices of personalities for all of us. I don’t know what it was like for anyone else, but for me, going to predominantly all white schools, meant you rarely ever saw an Asian class clown, an Asian prom queen, an Asian star athlete, an Asian cheerleader, or an Asian musician (unless you were in orchestra). If you were Asian, you were either smart and in honors class, or you had spiky hair and chain-smoked.
But camp provided a milieu for you to break out of those stereotypes and become whoever you were or wanted to be. At camp we had more of a chance to express, define and shape ourselves. The graceful shine in dance class, the comical during talent show, the athletic in dodge ball, the artistic in arts and crafts, and so on. For one week out of the year, we late-to-bloom Asians could go to dances, bond and gossip, flirt and get rejected, learn, grow and experience. Yes, it sounds all very similar to what you could get from school, but it’s not the same thing. At camp, race was not a factor. There were still cliques and all, but at least you all had something in common.
There's still so much about CYC that I will never be able to explain, but in short; CYC has given me memories, friends, lessons, and most importantly, a sense of belonging in a very confusing world. I will always be grateful.
posted by Steph at 1:50 PM
4 Comments:
i love you stephanie
T.T
growing up means having to give up the things that you've grown out of, not-so-little one.
well-spoken
i hope i could accept it as well as u did -.-
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