// JOURNAL | Healed, resealed.

In America, I am still an outsider. My exterior gives me away—the black hair, the olive skin, the almond-shaped eyes. Though I was born here and act American a girl as any, I am only what I appear.

But for years, I claimed—clung to, even—my American identity. I didn’t want to be the girl, 5’4″ with the thick, toneless American accent, the one relatives called gwai lo (鬼佬)—ghost person, white. I didn’t want to be the lost cause, the girl too American, a walking symbolic gesture of the Chinese culture that was to be lost with my generation.

I couldn’t handle that burden.

I remembered all too well that, in my sixth grade year, I bunked with three Chinese girls for science camp in the Santa Cruz mountains. We ate spaghetti in the mess hall, and while brushing our teeth and peering into the bathroom mirror to check our complexion, I confessed that I had never once used chopsticks; the fork was my tool of choice. Through the mirror, I saw their faces contort and I witnessed my own alienation. “How can you be so white-washed?” said one girl with braided pigtails and wire-framed glasses.

Later that year, my mom handed me a book, with a missing cover and pages bound together by a single strip of yellow masking tape: a Cantonese how-to book in blocky serif. For weeks, I pored over characters, repeated phrases in my room, said I would be Chinese, wished so hard I once yelled at parents over dinner, “Why couldn’t you teach me?” Faces blank, they stared across the dinner table, before speaking softly, “But then you wouldn’t know English so well.” I folded my arms, and sunk into my seat.

Somehow, I got to thinking that if I couldn’t be Asian, I could be American. I could be what I had always been—the girl in jeans and a tshirt, listening to rock music, dreaming of someday being a songwriter or an author.

I thought these things, but when I was 21 and in Nevada, seven white boys looking no older than 12 biked by and yelled, “Asian domination! Go back to your own country!” There were folks around—all white, all older—but no one looked, didn’t even say a thing. I’ve never even been across the Pacific Ocean.

Still, there were other reminders indicating that I did not conform to the traditional expectations of America—in magazine racks at the supermarket or while window-shopping in the City. A flip through a beauty magazine usually meant more years spent toying with makeup, uninstructed. Shopping at large retailers only meant needing to special order my petite-sized jeans.

I once knew a girl who went card shopping for Father’s Day, looking specifically for a card featuring an Asian father. Having finally found a greeting card with an Asian baby on the cover, she flipped it open to find the words, “Congratulations on your adoption.”

Thus, still stands the definition of American that is left unspoken: one converging on white America. We amend the term to Asian American, Latin American, African American, because American alone doesn’t seem to describe our plight. It seems to betray the struggles before us and omit the fact that America isn’t always made for us minorities, that we still are very much confined by the skin from which we have tried to escape through our American identity. The American nationality is not the great melting pot of lore, but rather one that hinges on the idea that the “true American” belongs to the white culture of which we, the minorities, are not necessarily a part.

Though there is no easy answer to who is American and who isn’t, I suggest that these are titles—Asian American, Latin American, African American—that are more than categories for surveys or censuses. They are forms of identification and, as such, comprise a person at some basic level. The term Asian American specifically is necessary because it represents who we are, and to call us only American or only Asian is to deny the complications that make these demarcations difficult.

On a slightly related note, happy 4th! Check out that Jump 5 performance—it’s a favorite of mine. Makes you feel patriotic, doesn’t it?

Gee, golly, I really like dresses. When I confess this, the responses are usually mixed: a smile or polite nod and the occasional, “Wow, that is cute.” (And maybe the opposite depending on how bad your taste in fashion is.)

But every now and then, someone will say: “Why?”

And all I have to say to that is: Really now? You’re asking me why?

After all, since when do I need a reason to like dresses? I don’t know what these people expect me to say. Perhaps some contrived semblance of logic like, “Oh, I don’t know, I just like the breeze between my half-bare legs,” or “I just like the way the skirt flounces while I’m doing jumping jacks getting ready to kick your ass for asking such a ridiculous question.”

Can’t a girl just like wearing dresses?

I think this seems like the appropriate moment to remind everyone that this month is National Women’s Month. And that “why?” is never an appropriate response to “I like dresses.” Never.

And, hey, that really is a cute dress. I need more places to be. And more money. But that was a given.

Cute, little clips with all sorts of facts zinging across the screen are hard to hate. You somehow stumble upon them while “doing homework,” probably because of YouTube or Tumblr or Facebook or StumbleUpon (and wow, I have more ways to procrastinate than classes I need to study for). And they’re impressive. They catch you off guard, with their fancy type and flashy colors. If you’re anything like me, colorful moving type on a bright screen all too easily and distressingly attracts your attention. Suddenly, I understand why I find shiny, silver objects so distracting. (Macbook pro. It’s so pretty.)

But then I stumbled upon this. At first, it was cool. I’m thinking, I love social media! Gen Y? That’s me! And okay, an attempt (well, fail) at typography, I’ll keep watching. But then, at some point, two thoughts entered:

1.) Uh, how long is this thing?

2.) Wait a minute. Did they just– oh, they just did.

As if they didn’t have enough facts to point out the obvious (that social media is quite convincingly the trend), they had to make the unforgivable mistake of pulling facts and implying–oh no–causation. At one point, they cite a 2009 study indicating that, on average, online students outperform students with face-to-face instruction. Because it’s totally cool to ignore lurking variables, such as, oh, I don’t know, the possibility that students who choose to take online classes generally don’t need as much face-to-face instruction (hence electing to take an online course) as other students. In all fairness, though, it’s an awesome purposeful exclusion to support the clip’s main assertion–that social media is more the future, less the fad.

But that got me thinking. All those cute clips with facts zinging across the screen–that’s the problem with them. They lack context. It’s like saying: FACT–More people fly kites than the entire population of Denmark. Fad? No, FUTURE. And that is a very terrible, terrible thing indeed.

Not all clips are like that though. Some, like The Girl Effect, are legit and have well-designed websites to follow. I can deal with that.

But this social media one? On a topic I so dearly love? Sorry, it’s a no go. And p.s. your choice of typeface sucks.

I won’t lie. When it comes to the protests for public education in California, I’m in an ethical double bind.

It’s a lofty idea, romantic even, defending public education. How can you, in good conscience, be against that? You can’t really. We’re students; presumably, education is important, otherwise we wouldn’t be here slaving away at papers and studying for exams into the early hours of the morning. But the problem here doesn’t lie with the goal. It lies with the cause–the battered about, beaten down cause that, when it comes down to it, lacks direction.

The cause comes down to an easy oversimplification: we want money, but there isn’t money. Why do we deserve it more than anyone else?

But let’s suggest this: The cause rests more with a lack of transparency. A budget’s been produced that mandates fee hikes, cuts and layoffs; no one’s happy; but there hasn’t been a tradition of public discourse, involving students and faculty, accompanying it. Perhaps there are alternate sources of funding, but there’s no real way to be sure. No one is saying why it is, just that it is, and we’re expected to respect that.

There arises a second problem: the symbolic value of the UC and what this means for the value of our education. As the best professors get swept away with better offers from schools with more money/less financial difficulties, the value of our degree means less–and we’re well aware of the impending permanent damage.

This is, at least, the cause that I’ve come to understand.

But here’s where the ethical dilemma enters: there’s something remarkably unattractive about the protests. The protests turned violent (last Friday morning’s was grossly distasteful to most students) and the outrageous claims profusely being tossed about (“Free housing for everyone!” – ridiculous) give me every reason to want to distance myself from the the demonstrations. And then there’s the history–the feeling that that you’re participating in something monumental, historic, something that gave Berkeley (and other schools) its reputation in the first place–that regretfully produces the radical activists wanting a small taste of rebellion; maybe these are the ones that promote those outrageous claims, but it makes you hesitant about Berkeley’s reputation for protest and demonstration just the same. Further salting our tastes for the protests is the inherent irony to (many of) the protests: locking students, who actually want to attend class, out of buildings, disrupting in-session classes with fire alarms. Not cool.

In the end, the cause is a noble one, but it’s confused. It isn’t possible for everyone to be happy. I want to support public education, but I don’t agree (or don’t know if I agree) with a lot of the claims thrown out there or even the tactics used. I support a cause that rests with transparency and promoting value and investment in public education, but I can’t say whether fee hikes are the right path or whether the cause I’m supporting is the cause even 40% of the students out there are protesting. Participating in the demonstration feels like an automatic association with the certain crowds of radicalism I don’t support–the vandalism and violence, the unjustified and impractical claims and solutions being offered. This isn’t at all an indication of what I’ll do, or what I think people should do, or what I think the solutions are, but rather undigested thoughts on the double bind I feel, have heard others hint at in some form or another.

I guess we’ll see today.

Usually, I’m pretty sympathetic to the plight of journalists, having worked for a couple of papers myself.   But I also think that Google is the shiz — aka a gift from God.   And well, here comes the trouble.

My conflict arises because as so many journalists are (incorrectly) pointing out (hello, Joel Brinkley!), these two opinions are mutually exclusive.  These journalists have convinced themselves that Google is behind the sorry state of the newspaper industry — mostly because it “exploits” news by, you know, providing it for free.  (Seriously, right?  For free?  Blasphemy!)  And now they’re set on convincing everyone else — and pushing for a check from Google for all their hard work.

NY Times Op-Ed columnist Maureen Dowd recently lashed out on Google for this wrongdoing, casting it as an evil, invasive, anti-privacy, Hitler-esque company plotting to take over the world.

Now, I haven’t Googled the news for about an hour now, but really, Maureen, world domination?  I’m sure Google has a lot better things to do with its time, like getting Gmail out of beta.  (It’s been years, dude.)

Dowd spends most of her article trying to breed fear into the reader, win them over, convince them that Google is an evil corporation immorally touting the contrary (“Don’t be evil.”) as their slogan.  It probably only slipped her mind to actually discuss the facts, let alone the issue.

Google familiarly does what newspapers have always aimed to do: connect users and readers with information they want.  Google finds what information a user wants and provides it — it’s a simple concept, one that should be familiar to Dowd if she spent less time engaging in fear mongering and more time understanding her own industry.  If Google is in any way “stealing” the information to which it links, wouldn’t by association newspapers be “stealing” from the events they report?  They are both connecting the general public with information that is already out there; even my dead fish Elphaba noticed the parallels, and she’s a fish!

Dowd also confuses the decline of newspapers with the decline of journalism.  Sure, print publications are suffering, especially in these times of economic crisis — but as long as things are happening — and they always will — there will always be news, and as long as there’s news, there will always be a need for someone to report it.

Oh, and Dowd writes:

But there is a vaguely ominous Big Brother wall in the lobby of the headquarters here that scrolls real-time Google searches — porn queries are edited out — from people around the world. You could probably see your own name if you stayed long enough. In one minute of watching, I saw the Washington association where my sister works, the Delaware beach town where my brother vacations, some Dave Matthews lyrics, calories Panera, females feet, soaps in depth and Douglas Mangum, whoever he is.

She saw places where her brother and sister go?  Maureen has clearly never looked at a map.

Found this & re-posting.  The hilarity is too good.

People Who Don’t Believe in Evolution but Love Antibiotics

Seriously? Either you believe in science or you don’t. If you want to say sentences to me like “God made the earth 29 years ago out of Billy Graham’s stool” or “Every time you take the morning-after pill, Satan has two orgasms,” then go ahead and stay away from Dr. Syringey O’Medicine, MD, from here on out. Because you know that pill that made your strep throat go away? Science invented that. For you. Hey, why don’t you just pray for God to take care of that root canal? I’ll tell you why: Because God didn’t go to dental school, because dental schools don’t admit people who DON’T EXIST.

I like lists. But I don’t like Thanksgiving lists. Maybe I’m not an appreciative person. Maybe I’m too remarkably lazy to care. Or maybe I think they’re shitty excuses for people to spit out the first 10 names that come to mind and publicly broadcast “sorry, you weren’t important enough to make the list – loser” to everyone else.

It’s really hard to say.

Thanksgiving lists can be sort of superficial, if you think about it – but I could be terribly wrong, and everyone who writes them genuinely thinks long and hard about who they’re selecting and why. There are no ulterior motives, no political or social criteria, no grudges held or secrets kept. And it’s not that everything and everyone else isn’t important enough to make the list – there are simply others who deserve a spot more than others (does that even make any sense?).

And if you’re anything like me, my “What I’m Thankful” lists are constantly changing. Take exhibit A – last year’s list – for example. Last year, circa May, I created a “Thanks” list partly out of boredom and partly because I’m weak and succumb to the little antics on Vox. Of the parties mentioned on that list, the only ones I would place on a list this year would be 1. my parents; and 2. my brothers. Then-boyfriend, now ex-boyfriend? Friends I’ve now fallen out of touch with? Creepy guy who ended up stalking me? …Probably not. No, it’s not that I don’t appreciate them in whatever measurable way there can be. I do. I’m thankful. They’ve changed me in a lot of ways, either making me stronger, more bitter, more likely to carry pepper spray around with me, some way – believe me. The point is, these lists change with days, weeks, months, undoubtedly a year. And if that’s the case, how much can a 10-person-long list once a year really mean? Are you really that great of a friend? And likewise, just because you made that person’s list, is that person really a good friend to you?

This year, I’m thankful for the many friends and family I have – the friend you see every break and can’t wait to share every last detail with; the boyfriend who’s always willing to pocket your fears; the family that accepts you no matter how much you struggle, kick or scream; etc. But I’m also thankful for bus driver that said hi to me when I was tired and the streets were quiet; the girl who held the door open when I had an armful of packages; the guy who helped me up when I fell backwards walking through the doors of Latimer (embarrassing, trust me!). I’m thankful for complete strangers because gestures – however small, however isolated, however completely ordinary they are – can be important too. Why eliminate these people from a list of thanks?

Anyway, I’m all for giving thanks. Seems like a pretty good deal to me – I love the free publicity. But if we’re really only restricting these lists to one day a year, I think next year I’ll be on especially good behavior starting Nov. 1 and hope my name appears on several lists. Someone’s bound to notice (Santa??), and they’ll think I’m a super person! Go Thanksgiving! Go me!

I have to say – I am disappointed.

I’ve been checking the poll numbers all night, and it’s the first thing I checked this morning. With 95% of precincts now showing and an estimated 3 million absentee ballots left to be counted, ‘yes’ on Prop 8 – the proposition that will repeal last summer’s ruling and ban same-sex marriage throughout the state – is leading 52% to 48%. Still.

While people are entitled to their own thoughts, I can’t help but feel the severe disappointment in these results and the sour ending this adds to last night’s many victories. This is a huge step backwards for California and for equal rights.

I’ll have to admit: I don’t entirely understand the arguments against gay marriage and against Prop 8. More precisely, it’s not that I haven’t heard the opposing arguments or know what the large commotion over gay marriage is about – I have heard and I do know. But what I don’t understand is how they are logical, how they are reasonable, how so many Americans could possibly choose to end same-sex marriage in California and rescind a fundamental right that should belong to all citizens. This isn’t about the protection of marriage as an institution and it has nothing to do with infiltration into schools and infection of the youth – I don’t see the validity in any of these arguments. These are scare tactics and outrageous propaganda thrown around to mask what’s actually at stake here: equality for a significantly large group of individuals who have been thus far denied it.

What Californians are failing to recognize is that we are dealing with something so much larger here, so much more powerful than we alone can possibly grasp. This is about more than the allowance of an event. This is about equal rights. This is about saying no to oppression. Separate is not equal. This has been determined time and time again throughout U.S. history, so why now is there still lingering doubt?

It shames me to know that I live in a country where such forms of oppression – however subtle they may be – can go unnoticed. It disheartens me to know that even in a state as progressive as sunny California, a large margin of voters would elect to perpetuate the denial of rights, inequality and injustice.

This is about choice: people should have the choice to marry when they want and who they want. The happiness and love shared between a couple, even if they are homosexual, does not nullify any preexisting institution, does not threaten the education of our youth.

This is about eliminating inequality and unbalanced privilege. To those who may argue that this does not exist, I dare you to reconsider, because it surely does.

Unbalanced privilege is being pregnant at 17 (much like Bristol Palin) and having a whole country insist that your life is yours, that your pregnancy is a personal matter, and that no one has the right to judge. Were this to happen to any African American or Latino woman, surely this reaction would not be the same – but they face the same “everyday struggles” that any white family faces, do they not? And once more, this echoes the very same values Prop 8 and gay rights activists have been trying to advocate: this is America, your life should be yours, and no one has the right to judge the validity or moral uprightness of your personal lifestyle.

The struggle is close, and the fact that this proposition was number one on everyone’s watch list this election year is a testament to the growing awareness of this divide. The loss was much greater in 2000 – this year’s polls have shown a closing gap. It’s going to happen, and I want to live in a era where it does. Change is coming.

There’s still hope yet.

As I am waiting to catch the next ride home, this is what happens: Two girls sporting UC Davis sweatshirts walk by. The shorter of the two girls holds a coin up to air, examining it closely in the sunlight–her most recent addition to her collection of pocket change and lint–and profoundly announces, “I haven’t seen these in a while. This one’s James Madison.”

Her eyes narrow. She struggles to read the fine print on the coin.

“The  46th president.”

“Really?” perks the second girl.

“Oh wait. I mean the 40th.”

“Oh okay.”

“Er. Wait, I think that says 4th.”

The girls giggle, humored by the easy mistake.

“Yeah, I think that sounds right.”

“Wow, you have a good memory! I hardly remember the presidents now.”

Apparently.