Introducing: Viola

In response to the common question, "What do you want to be when you grow up?," the savvy little girl that I was would provide the approved answer of, "Pediatrician," or "Teacher," or "Veterinarian." Secretly, though, I only wanted to be one thing:

Julie Andrews.

Why? Because Julie Andrews fucking rocks. Especially in The Sound of Music. She would sport that boyish haircut with finesse, showing me how I could take every wretched mop my mother would sculpt on my head and just work it. As a child whose head was bursting with thoughts but could never quite find the words or the guts to speak them, I loved how Fraulein Maria would blurt ridiculous things in front of the Reverend Mother and rip the Captain a new one when he was being an ass. And, of course, there was her impressive ability to turn old drapes into lederhosen-- I had to wear a uniform in Catholic school (pleated skirt, sailor tie, knee-socks, guilt and shame, the whole bit), and thus truly empathized with the Von Trapp's children need for "play clothes." Julie Andrews inspired in me a need to boldly turn the mundane into the fabulous.

One of my favorite ways to break up the mundane-ness that is childhood in the suburbs was to subject my younger cousins to my directorial projects. We would almost always reenact The Sound of Music. I was Fraulein Maria, of course, and I would decide which of my cousins got to play which parts. Since there were usually only three or four of us at one time, we had to double-up on parts in order to play all seven of the Von Trapp kids. Sometimes I was Liesl (since she was the oldest and got a solo), and sometimes I was Brigitta (since she was the smart one with her nose in a book). I had no qualms about playing Kurt or Friedrich, either (since a true thespian has to be able to play cross-gender). This game of pretend extended beyond the privacy of my parents' living room. On Sundays we would accentuate our usual bike rides through the neighborhood with our vocal renditions of "Do-Re-Mi." My dad and mom would ride alongside on their tandem Schwinn (with baby brother, whom I often adorned with "white dresses with blue satin sashes," in tote on the back), and my dad would videotape our performance while my mom would lead the way. As if being the only Chinese family on our street didn't already brand us as oddities, this Rodgers and Hammerstein extravaganza must have only given the neighbors more to gawk at on their way back from church. (That must be why they all eventually moved out of the neighborhood.)

In order to understand me, Viola, one must understand this childhood obsession. I am a performer and a pro, and have always been drawn to people with a flair for the dramatic. When it comes to my ideal man, I seek someone who can "play" with me, who will react to my cues, throw cues back at me, and improvise with ease as I change roles time and again. Not too long ago, I thought I found a suitable partner. He was exciting and took me on surprising excursions. He knew how to say the right things at the right time, and I didn't mind when the script was less than original. He knew how to command a room; and with a certain look in his eye, a devilish "come here" motion with his finger, or playful tug at my hair, he knew how to command me in a way that I welcomed. I soon realized, however, that underneath this confident persona was an amateur who could not take direction or share the limelight. As soon as he lost control, his only impulse was to retreat. Resign. End Scene.

Perhaps he realized that I am more of a woman than he could ever have.

I realized that I could easily be more of a man than he could ever hope to be.