Embracing Diversity

 

This morning was a rough morning. I am generally not a morning person, but today was particularly troubling. On my drive into work, it seemed like every radio station had decided to run ads instead of playing music. Pulling into the office, I finally found a music station. As the bass hit the final eight counts, the DJs started their morning jabber. 

 

“We’re here with the newest member of our morning show. Why don’t you introduce yourself?”

 

“Hi. I’m Tim.”

 

“Tim?” asked the second DJ.

 

“Yeah, Tim.”

 

“What’s wrong with the name Tim?” asked the primary DJ.

 

“It’s just weird. I would have expected his name to be something else.”

 

“Like what? George?” 

 

“Yeah, George or Jorge. Aren’t you guys usually named something like that?”

 

It was only at this point I realized that the newcomer was Latino. He had no discernible accent and his diction was Americanized. As the second DJ continued his rant on common Latino names, I felt very uncomfortable. Here was a prime example of racial stereotyping and outright ignorance.

[Photo from The Chicago School]

Flash backwards one week. My boss and I were driving back from a site visit. She had just had a baby and was pondering the pros and cons of exposing her child to multiple languages.

“One of my nephews goes to a Montessori school, and he’s already learning Spanish. It makes me feel so stupid. I mean, I took German in college, but that’s all gone now. I basically speak only English. But by the time my nephew is my age, he’ll probably be fluent in at least two languages!”

I tried to console her. “Well intelligence is not measured only by how many languages you speak.”

“Do you speak Chinese with your parents?”

“Yeah. I speak Chinese to everyone in my family. It’s just how we were brought up.” 

There was a pause. “You’re going to think I’m a terrible person for saying this, but when I’m in line or at a restaurant, it really bothers me when people speak a different language. You’re in America. Learn to speak English!”

First of all, if you have to precede with “you’re going to think I’m a terrible person,” chances are, I will think you are a terrible person. Ironic processing 101. Secondly, the language I speak with my family and friends, be it in a public or private setting, is my own business. I am not imposing my language onto you, and when it is my turn I am fully capable of communicating in the national language. Third, the United States was founded by immigrants. Are we not a country that prides itself as a “melting pot?” Fourth, did you not just admit that multilingualism is directly proportional to intelligence? Should we not then, for the sake of increasing our collective intelligence, encourage lingual diversity? Even Starbucks uses foreign languages to describe their premium drinks. Furthermore, this is the Information Age–an age of globalization. Companies like Google and Twitter are making it easier for people around the world to share their ideas and experiences. And the perfection of airplanes and bullet trains is making travel easier by the minute.  The world is moving towards cultural exchange, not ethnic segregation. Yet despite all the emotions I was feeling inside, I kept silent. This was my boss after all. Perhaps I could have confronted her. But at what cost?

These two experiences have shown me that while this is the 21st Century, there are many places in this world where racial diversity is just “tolerated.” Tragedies like the murder of British off-duty soldier Lee Rigby, have made it easy for us to forget that extremists are singularities. They are not representative samples of the general ethnic or religious group. And while I may speak fluent English, I shudder to think of those in this country for whom English is a second language. What acts of intolerance or discrimination have they faced? How can we advocate for them? If children can make friends regardless of race, gender, and ethnicity, why do we as adults become more discriminating? I do not know the answer to these questions, but what I do know is that complacent “tolerance” cannot continue. While I cannot control what others think, I have the power to influence others through intellectual exchange. Only then can we start a conversation and maybe even arrive at a solution. For silence is but passive acquiescence.

A Mother’s Unconditional Love

Is it better to have loved and lost than never to have loved before?

My mother has been visiting me for the past two weeks. Out of the sweetness of her heart she offered to cook for me, clean for me, and even do my laundry so that I could focus on passing my professional certification exam. At first I was hesitant. I had become accustomed to a certain solitary rhythm that would be disturbed by her presence. And yet, I felt guilty for being so selfish. It had been far too long since I last saw my mother, and what right did I have to prevent her from visiting her own daughter?

Do not mistake me. I love my mother very much, almost to a fault. In fact, I love my entire family so much it hurts just to know we live over a thousand miles apart. Whether it was because we did everything together or because we had several life affirming moments, moving across the country was, and still continues to be, one of the most difficult transitions of my life. Thus, out of self preservation, I have found it easier to simply know that my family loves me without being constantly reminded of how far apart we are. The overwhelming sadness of a single goodbye is more bearable than perpetual sadness of recurring farewells. But as my mother missed me, I too missed having my mother close.

Indeed these past two weeks have been some of the happiest fourteen days of my life. Since graduating from college and entering the workforce, has been much darkness. Yet having my mother near I now feel strong enough to overcome these shadows. Because we have traveled the town together, I now feel I can endure this isolation a bit longer. Light has been restored to this gloomy existence.

We have shared some wonderful memories these past few days. On the eve of her departure, I remember sitting in the ice cream shop, sharing a bowl of coffee delight, and just being incandescently happy. The whole world could have been laughing at us and I would not have noticed for I was sitting with my mother, sharing a moment of unconditional love as though enveloped in a patronus charm. So when I dropped her off at the airport today, I did not want to let her go. I wanted this zen-like happiness to last forever. I wanted to stop time and live in this moment for all eternity. But alas this is reality. Needless to say the tears would not stop flowing. With my eyes visually impaired and my nose perpetually stuffed, it’s a wonder I made it through the drive home. Thank God for Emeli Sande. All the feels! The lyrics do truly make sense when you feel sad.

So, to all the mothers out there, Happy Mother’s Day! Thank you for being the guiding light in our lives; teaching us to be strong in the face of adversity. <3

Have a little faith

This week, Pope Benedict XVI shocked the world when he announced his retirement from papal service. Although I am a Catholic born and raised, I could not help feeling smug when I heard the news. The only Pope I ever really knew was Pope John Paul II. And while I may not have agreed with all of his political views, he definitely was a spiritual leader. As the global leader for the Catholic Church, he checked all of the boxes. He worked for peace in the Middle East. He emphasized the Universal Call to Holiness. He travelled to countries that heretofore had never been visited by a Pope. He apologized on behalf of the Church to those it had hurt. He survived two assassination attempts. And to top it all off, he served to his death despite his battle with Parkinson’s.  To me, Pope John Paul II was a leader by example. He showed us that when you take pride out of the picture, we can live together in harmony despite our faith, gender, age, or political views. So when Pope Benedict XVI was announced as Pope John Paul II’s successor, I was skeptical.

I do not know if my doubt in Church leadership began with Pope Benedict XVI’s inauguration or when I went to college, but for the last eight years I have found it easier to practice my faith out of the privacy of my own home. Do not get me wrong, I still identify myself as Catholic and I still follow its religious teachings. But when my hometown priest thought it appropriate to promote his own political agenda through his homily, I had to press pause. Say what? At least in the United States of America, we believe in the separation of church and state. Even the priest at my university had the common sense not force his political beliefs down our throats. It is all about the wording: academic discussion versus carrot and stick. And if we are to engage in a discussion regarding where I should place my ballot, at least show me some concrete evidence. Do not expect me to blindly follow you into the forest with an allegorical text as the compass. Legislation and politics exist in reality, in a physical world where my vote as a Catholic may physically affect the life of my atheist neighbor.

Faith, in my opinion, is about believing in something that will give you strength. Whether you are Catholic, Muslim, Buddhist, or atheist, believe in whatever works for you. Religion should be a very private and personal thing. And while it may help to share your religious journey with others, religious communities should not be intolerant cliques. Like fashion or hobbies, we should see our differences as an opportunity for discussion. Or, if you have nothing nice or respectful to say, then just acknowledge their presence and move on. So as news of the Vatican’s scandals surface, I find myself doing just that—acknowledging the fact that the Vatican is broken, and asking God to grant me the strength to live a more tolerant and humble life.

Space: the next frontier

I recently read an article (check it out here!) asking a very important question: is our work at the Large Hadron Collider (LHC) important? For a $10 billion dollar machine, is it really worth the investment? The global economy is still on the recovery. Should we still fund the research of particle physicists when we can’t even solve the global energy crisis? I say yes. And for the same reason I think science is important.

On a large scale, our work at the LHC will define the human race for the next hundred years. This week, Earth had two close calls with extraterrestrial objects. Scientists gave us fare warning regarding DA14. As promised, the asteroid passed through our atmosphere with a harmless streak across our sky. But as we braced ourselves for the approach of this innocuous asteroid, the world watched in horror as a surprise meteor exploded over the Chelyabinsk region in Russia.  These recent events are a testament as to why work CERN’s work is so important.

The fact of the matter is that our universe is expanding. This means that the geographical relationship between objects in space is constantly changing. For all we know, events like the meteor explosion in Russia may become commonplace a thousand years from now. The culprit for this accelerated expansion? Dark energy. And that is exactly what scientists at the LHC are studying. The universe is 71% dark energy and 24% dark matter. This leaves only 5% of the universe to be made of atoms, the building blocks matter. By proportionality, it would be extremely irresponsible for us as citizens of the universe if we neglected our work at the LHC. That would be like ignoring seismology even though you live in California.

And what about the technology that may spring out of CERN? We wouldn’t have blogs or the interwebs if it weren’t for scientists at CERN like Sir. Timothy Berners-Lee. Maybe we will discover elements that will be the key to perpetual energy systems. If CERN holds the key to teleportation and phaser beams, I say do it! The fact of the matter is that CERN’s research will be the key to our survival in this universe. From pure statistics, we cannot ignore the fact that we have yet to understand 95% of the universe’s composition. If survival is of the fittest, then by golly we need to be scientifically equipped to face the challenges of the future, be they from outer space or here at home. Just because we cannot see it does not mean it’s not there.

A Trip to the Bike Shop

Mechanical rendition of Snoopy at the Swetsville Zoo.

It is a cool summer day. The anticipated thunderstorm is rolling in, but the sky is only overcast. A few rays of sunlight peek out from the clouds, reminding us that the storm might just pass us over for another town.

I am inside studying for the LSAT. It is summer vacation, and I would rather be hiking in the mountains or taking a stroll along the mall. Nonetheless, I must meet my daily quota if I want to get into law school. At least I can take comfort knowing that my brother is studying as well.

I am in the middle of a frustrating logic game. I have misread some of the clues, so my diagram is wrong. From outside recesses of my own mind, I hear my brother open the door to the garage. Unknowingly I glance at him to acknowledge his presence. He is wearing his biking suit.

“I’m heading out for a quick ride. Gonna go to the local bike shop to pick up that spare part. A friend helped me locate it.”

I hadn’t ridden a bike since elementary school, but my brother convinced me to take up biking again. Whenever we ride, he lends me his bike while he rides our father’s old Italian racing bike. At first I literally could not keep my balance on the bike, especially since his bike is a tad too tall for me, but I eventually got the hang of it.

Like him, I am now an avid cyclist. We ride almost everywhere together. Whilst cleaning the garage to make space for our accumulating biking gear, we had found our mother’s old bike. It is the exact same model as our father’s but shorter in stature. The bike, red in color, is quite a sight to behold. It looks untouched, as though it has never been ridden. Unfortunately, years in storage next to old pieces of furniture and various boxes of tools have bent the break pads out of alignment. In an attempt to realign the brakes, my brother accidentally snapped a part connecting the brakes to the bike frame, so there was now no way I could ride the bike. We tried looking for the part in local superstores, but unfortunately no one sells it. The bike is an antique. But now, lucky for us, my brother has found a local bike shop carrying the part!

It has been days since our last bike ride. With no desire to continue my studies, I offer to ride with him. I quickly change into my gear and grab a bag. It is a nuisance to ride with a bag, but bring it along anyways. I fill it with my phone, identification, and some cash–better safe than sorry.

Outside, the sky has darkened. It is going to rain any minute now. But until then, this weather will be perfect for a bike ride. We quickly begin our journey to beat the rain. The ride is just what I need to clear my mind. With each peddle, I feel all my frustration fade into the dust. I am so captivated by the simple act of peddling that I almost miss the turn into the shop.

“Don’t worry about locking up the bikes,” says my brother as I park my bike next to his. “This should only take a minute. But if it starts to rain, you can lock ‘em up and come inside.” I consider staying outside, but the rumbling clouds make me think twice. I lock up the bikes and head inside.

The store is quaint. It must have started out as a ma-and-pa shop before growing into the business it is now. I spot my brother towards the back of the shop and head towards him. A man a little too old to be his friend hands my brother the part. “That’ll be thirteen-fifty. Just bring this slip of paper up to the front and we’ll ring ya up.”

My brother turns around and almost bumps into me. “You came inside.”

“Yeah. How much is it?”

“Thirteen-fifty.” He rolls the part around in his hand. The part is barely comparable to the size of his pinky finger. “I figured that since it’s such a small part, they would just give it to me for free.”

A vacuum of silence passes between us as we stare at the overpriced piece of metal. Finally, he breaks the silence. “Do you have thirteen-fifty on you?” From the look in his eyes and the hunch of his shoulders, I can tell that his ego is shot.

“Yeah. I can get it.” I quickly pay for the part, and we walk out of the store in silence.

We barely speak on the ride back. It has begun to drizzle, so we pick up the pace to out-ride the storm. I want to say ‘you owe me,’ but the comment seems inappropriate.

Finally, we arrive home. It is officially raining. We swiftly put away our gear and jog to the house. Inside, I can no longer keep my frustration to myself.

“You owe me thirteen bucks.”  I immediately wish I could take the comment back. In all fairness, the part is for a bike that I’m going to ride. Furthermore, since I am not mechanically inclined, he would be the one to fix it. On the other hand, the part did cost thirteen bucks. I’m still a student. I’d have to work an entire hour at my side job to pay for this part. Nonetheless, I still feel guilty. I should have waited to see if he would pay me back on his own accord. And even if he didn’t, I could just consider the money as an emotional investment in our relationship. Who knows? Maybe I might need a favor from him in the future.

Outside, the rain has stopped. My brother heads outside to fix the bike. On his way out, he silently slaps the thirteen dollars on the table. I can’t tell if he is angry with me. He is not one to verbalize his emotions unless he is telling you off. I consider going outside to return the money, but instead I go back to my desk to continue my studies.

Half focused on the questions, a brilliant solution dawns on me. We could split the cost! Since he’s fixing the bike, I could give him seven bucks and just keep six for myself. In the joy of my epiphany, I consider bringing the money out to him, but decide against it. Maybe he needs some time to cool off. Instead, I grab a sticky note and wrap it around the money.

Thanks for fixing the bike! I write, followed by a very toothy smiley face.

Review: State of Fear

Michael Crichton’s State of Fear is the perfect ‘first book of the summer.’ With just the right amount of scientific theory drizzled amidst a suspenseful plot, State of Fear is any student’s ideal fantastical transition from spring semester to summer vacation. The novel follows a lawyer, Peter Evans, who is suddenly drawn into a conspiracy surrounding the murder of his longtime client and good friend, George Morton. Upon his death, Morton was investigating the legitimacy of an environmental advocacy group. After his passing, Evans is recruited by one of Morton’s secret associates to challenge the group and prevent it from sacrificing millions of lives for the sake of publicity and profit. Through its diverse sample of characters and the obstacles they face, State of Fear challenges the concept of individual thought in the Information Age.

Although not the main protagonist of the novel, Dr. John Kenner is the epitome of the modern philosopher. He is both an environmental think tank and a secret agent to the U.S. government–the perfect mix of brains and brawn. Quick on his feet, in both the mental and physical sense, Kenner is a witty know-it-all who is always willing to correct the misinformed or challenge the misguided bigots. Although his photographic memory allows him to win battles with scientific proof, Kenner also uses psychology to defeat his challengers. For example, when recruiting Evans to his cause, Kenner counters Evans’s media-fueled understanding of global warming with scientific evidence presented in a point-by-point legal rebuttal. However, when correcting an environmentally passionate but ill-informed movie director, Kenner uses a more hypothetical and personal attack to strip away her argument. Kenner clearly has a strong understanding of the human psyche. He is the perfect scientist, soldier, and lawyer– the three major players in State of Fear.

In contrast, Peter Evans is an average lawyer. In the business of gathering information and formulating a case, Evans considers himself a well-informed member of society. Yet upon meeting Dr. Kenner, Evans is confronted with a terrifying reality. What society understands as the recent climb in global warming is actually not recent at all. Although global warming is the central topic of the novel, State of Fear does not seek to prove or disprove the theory. Instead, it challenges the reader to open their eyes to the way society retrieves information.

Regardless of your passion or profession, I highly-recommend State of Fear. A rich blend of action, conspiracy, and romance, this novel will satisfy any reader’s craving. Upon opening the book, I, like Evans, considered myself a ‘well-informed’ member of society. However, once I finished the novel, I realized that my understanding of the world is mostly a product of corporate media. Like Evans, I want to be as truly well-informed as Kenner, to be able to gather raw data and form my own conclusions about the world. But without a photographic memory or the academic resources of a world- renowned professor, I have settled for simply being a more critical reader of the paper. After all, the first step to solving a problem is acknowledging that there is a problem.

Boulder != Ithaca

Picturesque view of the Rocky Mountains on brighter days.

It has been raining for almost an entire week. The rain literally looks like the heavens have decided to dump buckets of water on us. Even the news has reported flooding in nearby towns. Watching the report of a man canoeing down the main road, I wonder if I too should buy a canoe.

Through the open windows, I hear a tumultuous Boom followed crisp Snap. Lightning has struck a nearby tree. Since it was so hot earlier in the day, I had opened all of the windows in the house. I now clamor over furniture to close all those windows. Only the sliding door leading to the backyard remains. I can feel the humidity building in the house. Perhaps I could leave this door open just a crack. As I fiddle with the door, droplets of rain bombard my face. Has the rain turned to hail? No. Instead, the wind has picked up, causing the water droplets to accelerate towards the patio. I slam the door shut, almost derailing it in my haste. On the other side of the glass, it looks like Armageddon, only the fire and brimstone has been replaced with howling wind and supersonic rain. I can no longer make out individual droplets. Terrific, just terrific. What a great way to spend the summer.

In my lifetime, I have had the opportunity to live in both Boulder and Ithaca. Upon moving to Ithaca, people remarked that my move was no move at all. Ithaca is just like Boulder. Unfortunately, I have found quite the opposite. Ithaca is nothing like Boulder. For one thing, Ithaca is much lower in elevation. Located in upstate New York, Ithaca is much greener and wetter than Boulder. What Ithaca lacks in elevation, it makes up for in precipitation.

With my great lack of foresight, I decided to spend this summer in Boulder. I had imagined myself enjoying the beautiful Colorado sunshine and hiking the glorious Flatirons. There really is nothing more awesome than giant sheets of sandstone jutting out of a snow-capped mountain range. Instead I am locked up in my house, wondering if my insurance covers lightning strikes, mortified that Ithaca has blue skies and sunshine. Come on, Nature. Can’t you tell the difference between Ithaca and Boulder?

In Ithaca’s defense, I will say that while there are no Flatirons, Ithaca is home to some of the most picturesque gorges I have ever seen. It’s just that with what will soon become a gorge formation in my backyard and the promise of more precipitation to come, I am very disappointed in the direction my summer vacation is headed.