The Absence of Alternatives » this i believe

Let’s make it official

Absence Alternatives — Thu, 10 May 2012 04:42:33 +0000

Today, on May 9, 2012, for the first time in history, the President of United States publicly announced that he supports same-sex marriage. [Let's not overlook the fact though that he also said each state gets to decide whether to legalize same-sex marriage or not... But still...]

What makes it such a groundbreaking moment in history is that right after the news got out, Senate Majority Leader Harry Reid, a devout Mormon, also made a statement supporting same-sex marriage:

My personal belief is that marriage is between a man and a woman. But in a civil society, I believe that people should be able to marry whomever they want, and it’s no business of mine if two men or two women want to get married. The idea that allowing two loving, committed people to marry would have any impact on my life, or on my family’s life, always struck me as absurd

What he said. Exactly.

What amuses me though is the fact that in addition to issuing a carefully worded statement containing the paragraph quoted above, Senator Reid also tweeted his stance. I smiled when I saw those tweets. “Now it’s official: He’s tweeted those exact same sentiment. There is no going back now, Senator Reid, because screenshots, like diamonds, are forever.”

Finally. Someone said it.

Jumping on the Kony 2012 wagon, no, off, no, on, no…

Absence Alternatives — Thu, 08 Mar 2012 05:45:24 +0000

Unless you live under a rock, or you are my husband, by now you must have seen (or chosen to skip) this video, KONY 2012 (video at the bottom of this post for all you under-the-rock-dwellers), and it is possible you are already tired of “hearing” about it on your Facebook or Twitter (or even, dare I say, Google+?) stream.

Here is what the non-profit organization, Invisible Children, the people behind one of the most brilliant marketing campaigns I have ever witnessed (and by calling it a “marketing campaign” I do not mean to trivialize the issue to which it aims to raise awareness of), says to be the objective of this well-executed video:

KONY 2012 is a film and campaign by Invisible Children that aims to make Joseph Kony famous, not to celebrate him, but to raise support for his arrest and set a precedent for international justice.

It is possible that you, like me, thought to yourself, “Who the f is Joseph Kony? And why should I care? And what the f is going on?”

Well, making you aware and thus making you care IS the objective of this video that is the talk of the town today. It had 100,000 views on YouTube last night when I shared it on all the social media channels; as of now, there are more than 15 million views. In 24 hours. It is a trending topic on Twitter and Facebook. Of course, detractors and critics have come out of the woods; it seems that nowadays rocketing fame and popularity cannot evade the fate of soon becoming notoriety. Invisible Children‘s charity score and financial practices have since come under severe scrutiny.

[Update on March 8, 11:30 am: The video now has almost 37 million views on YouTube, i.e. the view count has more than doubled overnight]

But Joseph Kony and the atrocity he and his army has been committing is being talked about. I’d say Objective Achieved.

As I said, this is one of the most brilliant campaigns. As I scroll through the slick website and all its social-media-optimizing graphic designs and html code (TWEET the celebrities and politicians directly from the website to make them aware, because, sad yet true, when George Clooney is pissed off by something, people that matter actually listen), I could not stop being amazed at how this was not a brainchild by some corner suite on Madison Avenue. I will let the pundits and scholars and all the commenters out there do the debating for me/you. Read this one if you must: Taking ‘Kony 2012′ Down A Notch, and this one, Stop Kony, yes. But don’t stop asking questions. But by god, do not read the comments on YouTube; they really make you lose faith in humanity: one glowing example accuses this video/campaign as an Obama conspiracy.

Here is my Facebook status at 10:28 pm last night:

My boys insisted that I watch a video today. I thought, Not another stupid YouTube video (Yes, Charlie the Unicorn I am looking at you!) I am glad I “obliged” and watched this very well done, call for action, film created by Invisible Children. It astounds me that Joseph Kony is number 1 on the war criminal list and yet I didn’t know about him and the atrocity he has committed

IF THE WORLD KNOWS WHO JOSEPH KONY IS, IT WILL UNITE TO STOP HIM. IT STARTS HERE.
KONY 2012 IS A FILM AND CAMPAIGN BY INVISIBLE CHILDREN THAT AIMS TO MAKE JOSEPH KONY FAMOUS, NOT TO CELEBRATE HIM, BUT TO RAISE SUPPORT FOR HIS ARREST AND SET A PRECEDENT FOR INTERNATIONAL JUSTICE.

The least we could do is to pass this movie on on the Internet.

When I was watching it, my 9-year-old (Mr. Monk) came to watch it again with me. He was alternating between being sad, outraged, incredulous, and agitated. He was doing those jumping without moving his feet thing that people do when they are excited about something but don’t know what to do with it, or where to start. His eyes were red, and yet shimmering with hope. Yes, hope.

And that’s what I think Kony 2012 did the most brilliantly. It breaks down a complicated political/social/historical/economical/national/global/humanitarian situation into simple, forceful messages that people of any background, age, education, intellect can easily grasp. Sort of like a call for action for the drive-through generation. Of course, that is also one of the shortcomings picked out by its critics, that Kony 2012 does not provide the whole political/etc. context. Because if it did, most people would not even click PLAY. Sad but true. Even well-intentioned, compassionate young people, the target audience of this video (complete with t-shirts, bracelets, posters and pins!), would have been too overwhelmed by the hopelessness in the situation, “So, there is nothing nobody can do about it?” What would they have done? Probably go back to mindless YouTube videos that show the myriad ways a guy can get his crotch hit by some foreign object.

Yes, it’s a First World Problem, that our young people have to be spoon-fed easily digestible messages, but this may be a start, their first engagement in social activism, no matter how whitewashed it is. (Why don’t people criticize all the walkthons and fundraising that I have been forced to donate to because I do not like my children to hit up relatives/friends for money? Don’t even get me started on how the retailers donate $1 stinkig dollar per crap to our school. I will just give you the money directly, Mr. Principle. School fundraising is, IMFHO, MOST. STUPID. IDEA. EVER. How about youse don’t vote down property tax increase so we don’t have to send our children out to be extortioners?! And why do we need to buy more balls for the playground??!!)

Even more impressively, people behind Invisible Children understand that in order to get the masses to do something, you have to tell them what and how, and keep it simple. We are all Homer Simpsons. Or in the case of its actual target audience, you have to make sure the actions you are calling for are well within the capability of teenagers and young adults: Camp outside an embassy in protest. No. Tweet Lady Gaga. Yes. This is not said in jest. They’ve smartly figured out that in order for there to be a cause, you need a celebrity + a political figure to carry the torch. How do you get a celebrity to carry the torch for the said cause? The power of fans, most of them young and passionate. How do you get a political figure to care? When Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt come-a-calling.

The actionable instructions at the end of the video are so concise and simplistic that even Mr. Monk was excited and convinced that he, a 3rd grader, could do something about it. He’s been brooding since last night. The story of Jacob really struck a cord and he could not stop thinking about Kony 2012 the whole day today. Finally he asked, “Mom, is it ok if I buy a kit from Kony 2012? And also, I would like to donate. What do you think? Do you think $3 a month will be ok?”

I said, “Of course, honey. I am very proud of you.” And then I went, SHIT, and started reading all the comments on all the posts.

I am a cynical curmudgeon. Yes, I was emotional for about half an hour after I watched the video despite the gnawing discomfort I had, and started bombarding the Internet with “OMG. You’ve got to watch this video to find out who Joseph Kony is!” In my defense, people do need to know who Joseph Kony is, and need to be reminded that child slavery/abduction/abuse/etc. is still going on even though CNN stopped reporting it.

The shit moment came because I had not vetted Invisible Children as a charity. Unlike my kids, I have heard/read/been disgusted by how some charities turned out to be the front for people to line their own pockets. Sharing the video and getting the word out is one thing; putting money where it deserves to go is something else. I would be very very upset if Mr. Monk’s money went towards some shady charity taking advantage of young people for their innocence and compassion. And I worried because… this campaign has been too well executed. What can I say? I am a cynical curmudgeon.

So I sat in front of my computer and followed along the multiple threads of debates raging on the Internet, gritting my teeth, seeing all sides of stories and finding no solace. For some reason I had the false flashback of pulling petals off of a flower, “He loves me. He loves me not.”

They are legit. They are a sham. They mean well. They are doing this wrong. You did the right thing. You have been taken for a fool.

Watching Mr. Monk cautiously calculating how much all these will add up and figuring out whether he’s saved enough money to pay for it, I had not the heart to explain to him the cold, hard reality of the world. Not about how sometimes people that mean to do well are actually doing more harm. Not yet.

A supposedly simple, straightforward lesson of compassion and “let’s do something to help someone else” is in reality far from being that.

Or, did Kony 2012′s meteor rise to fame cause the complexity? If we ignore its notoriety and the speed in which it reached that notoriety, could this still be a simple straightforward opportunity for sheltered young people in the first world to be inspired to care, and to care enough to take actions no matter how simplistic they are?

Sadly, after reading 1000+ impassioned comments, I have no answers.

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How to show your kid what the 80s is about. The hard way.

Absence Alternatives — Sun, 04 Mar 2012 21:28:48 +0000

By taking them to the exhibit dedicated to the 1980s at Museum of Contemporary Art in Chicago, of course!

I am kidding on the square, seeing how this is a hard glance back at the 1980s with a critical eye: feminism, gender politics, race politics, AIDES, political upheavals in the Latin America, Disappeared, Reaganism, NEA, Robert Mapplethorpe. How do you explain to a young child what happened in the 1980s when all they heard nowadays was how in the 1980s everybody was happy because the economy was great?

It’s kind of scary how little the kids know about what really happened in the 1980s.

It’s also kind of difficult, as a parent, to gauge “how young is old enough” and “how much is too much”. I don’t like to shelter my children but I also want to make sure what I share with them is “age appropriate”…

Race politics. Passing. Stereotypes. Racism. Gender politics.

I believe I screamed, just a little, when I saw Adrian Piper’s My Calling (Cards) on display since I’ve used this often as an example of how one performance artist has chosen to deal with racism in mundane, daily life. MCA has them on display, in multiple copies, free for the taking.

Coming off from my high, I was immediately put on “high alert” when next we walked into the wing dedicated to “Gender Trouble”. Because of the in-your-face shock value of the protest art, I felt I had to prepare Mr. Monk, who’s in 3rd grade, even though he’s a mature 3rd grader, for the images on display. Here’s what I came up with in a panic:

The rise of feminism means that women artists started questioning the social orders in the society: why are men given more power and authority than women? What makes a man a man? What makes a woman a woman? And that’s why they show the anatomy of human being to confront the man-made meanings and differences between men and women, and that’s why you are going to see a lot of penises.

He dutifully nodded, and laughed to mask his discomfort. Nobody wants to hear their mother utter the word “penis” in public even at a whisper.

As I went through the internal struggle of whether to impose “censorship” on the fly, I instinctively shielded him from an open, video screen room [Later, The Husband told me that the room came with a warning sign outside so I guess my instinct was correct]. Then across the room were these:

Robert Mapplethorpe. The artist that embodied two main Reaganism in the 1980s: the government’s willful negligence towards the Aides epidemic and its fight to censor what it deemed as “obscene” art. Without thinking, I had strategically positioned myself between these photos and Mr. Monk’s sight line. To this moment, I am still questioning myself whether I had done the right thing: If I disagree with the conservative’s accusation, why did I shield Mr. Monk’s gaze from these pictures, esp. the leather-encased penis? [In my defense, I was not worried about my 13-year old; he roamed through the exhibit without a chaperon]

Lots of questions were asked: Why was Reagan’s portrait there? Was it for sarcastic reasons? Why? What did he do? Why were people upset?

What is AIDS?

I think Mr. Monk understands this picture or at least walked away with his own interpretation.

Photo Courtesy of The Husband

[After all, he got it when Jack Donaghy said, about Kenneth the Intern, "He's a white male with hair, Lemon. The sky's the limit."]

Even though this is a child who is extremely mature for his age, sensitive and observant of the world around him, has watched possibly all episodes of The Simpsons, and Weekend Update on SNL with me, I left the museum still questioning myself: Was is it too much? What is too much? Have I shown my child “age appropriate” material?

Photo Courtesy of The Husband

This is such a difficult picture to look at straight on. But it is not difficult to grasp the messages. Should I have shielded him from the ugliness of the world?

So… 1980s. I almost forgot. It’s not just about the cheesy music, leg warmers and big hairs.

More pictures from our visit to MCA that day here:

Old Soul

Absence Alternatives — Thu, 13 Oct 2011 03:18:00 +0000

My 8 year old, Mr. Monk, is on a “Back to the Future” kind of mission lately.

He’s acquired two rotary phones earlier this year for a buck each at a garage sale. Probably my fault for I might have explained to him, with too much excitement, how we used to hate folks’ phone numbers with too many zeros and nines.

Click click click click. As you dialed that dial all the way around. Impatience grew. Why can’t they have a number that’s 111-1111? You know what I am talking about. If you don’t, ask your grandma about it.

I have also told him that it would be a great idea to have a rotary phone in the house as it does not require electricity to work and will come in handy one day when we lose power yet the phone line still works. (And what do you know? We did lose power for a whole day and his rotary phone did save the day)

After the rotary phones, he’s been obsessed with what he calls “things from the olden days”. The other day he came home from the neighbor’s house with an gigantic outdated cordless phone. “They gave it to me for free even though I offered to pay for it!” I wonder why. This one is truly a big chunk of lead weight.

You may have seen this photo floating around the Book of Face:

First of all, Mr. Monk totally knew the answer because I have told him the story one too many times. (Huh. I am seeing a pattern here…) It was almost like a sign because on the same night when I first LOL at this picture, we acquired a Sony double decker complete with high speed dubbing action from Craigslist for $20. After I casually mentioned how much it would mean for Mr. Monk to have a good ol’ boombox that can also RECORD, the man offered to drive 20 miles on the same night to bring it to us. Mr. Monk was beyond excited. He stood by the window waiting for his new old toy the way other kids waited for a new puppy. It was fascinating to watch his fascination as I explained to him, and my 13 year old, how each of the buttons worked and how to prevent from taping over the cassette tapes by accident. (Many a tears were shed for such accidents…)

Here’s him posing a la Say Anything at my coercion…

We have been listening to the 80s music in this household, and this time it is NOT playing inside my head. Mr. Monk seems to have taken a liking to Pet Shop Boys… I notice repeat plays of “Left to My Own Devices” almost every day… Oh what have I done?

The Husband asked, “Do you think we should tell him about record players?” I gave him The Look. But it is probably just a matter of time since at our Goodwill store, there is an entire table stashed with records for $1 each. I will keep you all updated.

Although I managed to not come home from Goodwill with any records, we did come home with this:

For two bucks? A good deal. That is, until I found out that films cost about $3 each and hard to find. This is a great contrast to how we snap away when we take pictures with digital cameras. Since the marginal cost is zero, we tend to ignore the pictures once they are taken. Somehow though, the old photos without digital copies seem to occupy a more special place in our hearts. I think Mr. Monk is right in wanting to bring ~~back~~ forth that sliver of magic that comes with pre-digital technology. There is something to be said to be able to hold something in your hand.

Tangible.

That is one of the new words he’s learned.

p.s. This post has been approved by Mr. Monk himself on the condition that I tell you he is not just an old soul. “Just tell them. I am of the past, present and future.”

A Beautiful Mind

Absence Alternatives — Thu, 06 Oct 2011 04:25:08 +0000

Don’t let the noise of others’ opinions drown out your own inner voice.

Remembering that I’ll be dead soon is the most important tool I’ve ever encountered to help me make the big choices in life. Because almost everything — all external expectations, all pride, all fear of embarrassment or failure — these things just fall away in the face of death, leaving only what is truly important. Remembering that you are going to die is the best way I know to avoid the trap of thinking you have something to lose. You are already naked. There is no reason not to follow your heart.

Here’s to the crazy ones, the misfits, the rebels, the troublemakers, the round pegs in the square holes… the ones who see things differently — they’re not fond of rules… You can quote them, disagree with them, glorify or vilify them, but the only thing you can’t do is ignore them because they change things… they push the human race forward, and while some may see them as the crazy ones, we see genius, because the ones who are crazy enough to think that they can change the world, are the ones who do.

I’ve never been to me*

Absence Alternatives — Wed, 21 Sep 2011 06:03:56 +0000

This post is inspired by The Bloggess‘ latest post I have no fucking idea what I am doing which has inspired 500 (and counting) comments so far, including the three comments I’ve left there… *cough cough* yes, I am a comment hog…

I have been grappling with this question: Who am I? since high school, and it has induced a lot of angst and crazy shit, including reading and misreading existentialist novels, and a suicide attempt because it felt exhausting and pointless to go on living.

I remember one of my teachers was particularly asinine. For example, this being an all girls’ school, she would interfere in people’s friendships whenever she thought the young women were too close to each other emotionally. (More about that, and my life in all girls high school some time later…) Anyway, one day she decided to talk about our mottos in life. So she wrote a bunch of standard, expected, nice things, e.g. the Golden Rule, be grateful, Karma, etc. Then she asked us to vote. I did not raise my hand, thinking it would not matter. That bitch went and added up the vote, and got pissed when she realized she was one person short. “Who did not raise their hand?!” she hissed. She had that look on her face that made me defiant (otherwise I’m usually quite easy going) and so I raised my hand.

“Why didn’t you vote?”

“Because none of them are my motto in life.”

She smirked. “Well, what is it then?”

I got up and walked to the blackboard, picked up a piece of chalk and wrote my name. True (or truth). Then I sat back down.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She hissed again, taunting.

“It means one should be true to themselves and be who they are.”

She rolled her eyes. “Ok then. Let’s vote again.”

Nobody raised their hand for the first choice. Nor for the second one. Nor for the third one… … When she got to the last one, the one I added, every single person in my class raised her hand.

This youthful obsession with finding oneself and staying true to it came hand in hand with my obsession of Hermann Hesse’s Demian. I was hooked by the very first line from the book:

I wanted only to try to live my life in accord with the promptings which came from my true self. Why was that so very difficult?

This being one of the classic Bildungsroman, the protagonist’s main objective was to find himself, on a path to enlightenment and self realization.

Each man’s life represents the road toward himself, and attempt at such a road, the intimation of a path. No man has ever been entirely and completely himself. Yet each one strives to become that — one in an awkward, the other in a more intelligent way, each as best he can.

This sounds great and vaguely romantic on paper, unfortunately, it caused a lot of heartaches and confusion because try as I might, as pretentious as I wanted to be, I could not seem to embark on that journey. I did not even know where the Yellow Brick Road started.

During my “self searching” formative years, I wrote the only short story of mine that was ever published. Don’t get too excited, it was published by the school magazine. I don’t even have a copy of the magazine and I can only barely remember what I wrote. It was narrated in first person (of course!) fashioned after Notes from the Underground. The Narrator complained about having trouble recognizing her own face in the shop windows when she walked by, in the mirrors, and in group photos. What she saw was a young woman with an unnatural smile that made her look as if the corners of her mouth were pinned to the sides of her cheeks. She could not recognize her. Blah blah blah. She ended up carving herself a smile. (WAY before The Dark Knight with Heath Ledger as The Joker…)

Now that I am (much much) older and (debatable) wiser, I think I’ve got it figured out. The problem is that most people still subscribe to the idea of a true self being somewhere to be found, that there is this essence of oneself to be discovered. (I think this has something to do with Plato and Aristotle from the very beginning but I have given all my knowledge about Greek philosophers back to the teacher as soon as I received my diploma…) It is somehow our job, as we grow, to discover what that essence, that core, i.e. our true self, is.

But here is the right question to ask, imo: What if there is no core? What if we are more like onions? What if we are made up of all the layers? If so and you still believe in finding that core, no wonder you feel lost: as you peel away each layer of the onion, you are like, FUCK! There is another door behind this door! What if we shift the paradigm of how “selves” are defined, and that every single layer is YOU? The real you. Everything you do, everything you say, every decision you make, ~~every breath you take,~~ is what makes you you.

To steal Sartre’s famous line: “Existence precedes essence. ” Your essence, who you are, is defined by the way you live your life, the actions you take, the decisions you make. This also means one’s true self is constantly changing, because our actions are constantly changing.

The person you encounter each time, even though she may be slightly different from one moment to the next, is you.

~~Ergo, even when I am pretending, I am being myself because in some sense, when I become so sure of myself, I cease being myself. Ouch my head hurts! I need to stop right now!~~

Before I end this rambling, I just want to quote e.e.cummings, yes, again, because the quotient of pretentiousness in this post has not gone through the roof just yet!

* I am not endorsing the message from the one-hit wonder I’ve Never Been to Me. Just borrowing the title. Although I’ll admit, the song is a sweet sweet gem for a good old drunken Karaoke session.

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Remember to say I Love You

Absence Alternatives — Wed, 14 Sep 2011 01:03:19 +0000

This is an updated post from two years ago. I am bringing it up because 1) I had only one reader at that time, 2) StoryCorps recently posted an animated video to accompany a father’s recollection of 911 that I think everybody should listen to… So here it is…

One thing about being a parent is that it is probably one of the most universal experiences to relate to people around you. Complete strangers in the street. Writers speaking through printed words. Bloggers on the interweb. Folks you see on the news.

Everybody is somebody else’s child.

Every year, around this fateful day, we heard the stories from parents who lost their children on that day, and I couldn’t stop crying the entire day. I would pull myself together. And then the thought “what would I do if it happened to my children?” would trigger another fit. I don’t presume that I understand the heartaches these parents go through every moment. Judging by the pain in my chest as I type this, I don’t think I will ever be able to imagine the intensity of it.

I left the house at 7:44 on September 11, 2009, 2 minutes before it was 8:46 am on the East Coast…

NPR played the interview of a fire fighter who lost both of his sons at the World Trade Center. I steeled myself against the impact.

Mr. John Vigiano Sr. is a retired firefighter. One of his boys was a policeman, and the other, a firefighter. When John became a firefight, he received his grandfather’s badge number, 3436.

“We had the boys for — John for 36 years, Joe for 34 years, ironically. Badge number 3436.”

This was when my tears started and they have not been completely stopped yet. I had to pull my car off to the side of the road after what Mr. Vigiano said about their unimaginable loss:

“I don’t have any could’ve, should’ve or would’ves. I wouldn’t have changed anything. It’s not many people that the last words they said to their son or daughter was ‘I love you.’”

You can read the NPR Story here. Or listen to the StoryCorps recording: Firefighter Father Recalls Losing Sons On 9/11. Or watch the StoryCorps video below.

John and Joe from StoryCorps on Vimeo.

p.s. I learned of this video from It Is Monday… which I subscribe to.

Remembering

Absence Alternatives — Sat, 10 Sep 2011 11:56:34 +0000

It’s always a bitter sweet experience now when flying into New York City. I catch my breath as Manhattan comes into view, New York! New York! I sing to my self, but immediately recognize the void and the memories from ten years ago come flashing back.

Filmmaker Dan Meth compiled all (or at least most) of the cameos made by the Twin Towers in the movies from 1969 (when it was literally being born) to 2001…

Twin Tower Cameos from Dan Meth on Vimeo.

Whenever I catch the scene being replayed, I cannot avert my eyes from the surreal images. My oldest is now 13. It’s been ten years yet I still cannot believe the horror.

Remember where you were when you saw it? For the first time? (The following was originally written and posted a year ago)

I am sure all of us (those old enough) do.

I was in Boise, Idaho then. I was working as a management consultant, traveling Monday through Thursday. By then, I have been on the project for almost half a year. I wanted to get ahead, to have a career. I was an over-achiever wannabe and, like everybody else on my team, I was almost ready to head over to the client’s office before 7 am.

I was not giving what’s on the TV news my full attention until all of a sudden, it turned into a special report and the image of a skyscraper with ridiculous amount of smoke coming out of it came on the screen.

What’s that? It must be from a movie. They are doing a preview of some disaster movie.

I turned up the volume and it took me awhile to understand the words that were being said. But they did not make any sense at all.

How could it happen? What do they mean it’s a plane? No, it cannot be a plane. You can’t see anything. Just the smoke. How big is Word Trade Center anyway? Can an entire plane fit into it without us seeing a wing? What is going on? Something wrong with the plane? The engine stopped? The pilot had a heart attack? A hijacker? What exactly has happened?

We still did NOT know at this moment that this was still BEFORE, that a few minutes later most of us would catch one of the most horrifying images live on television. All the news cameras were pointing at the burning building as the reporters on TV and on the phone trying to carry on with a news story with little information coming through. And then we saw it…

This cannot be happening. It did not just happen. Oh my god.

With utter disbelief, while I was calling my husband to wake him up, “Go turn on the TV, now!” I watched the second plane fly into view of the news video camera… We watched the news together connected by phone until our three-year-old son woke up and came to find my husband in front of the television.

“I am not sure I know how to explain to him. But I think I am going to keep him at home with me today.”

Nobody was in the office when I walked in. We all gathered in the cafeteria where there were several television monitors. The entire day was filled with confusion, rumors, information and misinformation, news, more news, news that later was proven to be just rumors, and our efforts to make sense of what’s going on, and more immediately, when it was certain that the US airspace was closed indefinitely, to get ourselves home.

All of us wanted to be home. Everything else just seemed… trivial. Airports all over the country were closed. Unable to just sit and wait, several people , including one person who lived in New York City, rented cars and simply started driving. When all the rental cars were gone the next day, a fellow Chicagoan jumped on a Greyhound bus, similarly unable to just sit and wait, and started (as we found out later) a three-day journey home.

It was a surreal experience getting on a plane again on that Friday. I was of course excited to finally head home and yet, like every other air traveler in those weeks immediately afterwards, I was apprehensive, the images permanently seared in my mind. It felt like such a victory when I stepped into the house. I am finally home! I hugged my then three-year-old boy even tighter when he told me that he had been watching “the movie with a burning building and an airplane flying into another building” with daddy.

Like everybody else, we looked at our lives and looked them again really hard, felt grateful that we were able to hold each other in our arms, and saw and recognized for a brief moment what was truly important.

Pride

Absence Alternatives — Tue, 28 Jun 2011 06:05:44 +0000

I had to travel to San Francisco this weekend, and therefore I had the good fortune of participating in the 41st San Francisco Pride Parade. My lucky star shone on me for I was able to drag Brilliant Sulk to walk in the pride with me.

Yes you heard that right. WE. WALKED. IN. THE. PARADE.

(Apparently it was not that hard at all to just WALK in a parade… When there’s a will, there is a way)

Yes there were “protesters”. Some preacher guy was on a soap box, literally, with a mike yelling something about sinners, and Jesus, and The Lord, and Wrong. A woman yelled back, “Jesus would fuck a man!” Laughter broke out. The preacher guy shot back, “You are a wicked wicked young woman. The Lord would wash your mouth with soap.”

Of course, I sure hope The Lord worries about more important things other than washing somebody’s mouth with soap.

For several hours, I basked in the gorgeousness of people. The joy of life. The wonders of possibilities.

I hesitate in taking pictures of people without their permission. I want people to know that I take pictures of them because I find them beautiful, that I can see their spirits shining through and not because I am gawking at them. I caught their attention and they posed for me. Afterwards, we blew kisses at each other. I had the urge to run across the street to tell them, “Stay fabulous.” I wish they could see this post. Stay fabulous.

When I pointed my camera at him, again I felt awkward. Despite the flamboyant make-up, he exuded quiet dignity. I lowered my camera, paused, and mouthed, “Could I take your picture?” He smiled in return. Then again, we blew kisses at each other.

I ended up taking more pictures of the spectators. The exuberance was uncontainable and I soaked it in through the camera lens. I found beauty in all.

Maybe it is because I am was a “theatre person”, I always pay more attention to what happens when the show is over. You see a side of the performers that are undeniably human and I find the untold stories fascinating.

The ironic thing was, at the end of day, the one picture I hastily snapped with my phone while we were waiting to start was probably my favorite of them all…

Amidst the droning of idiocy that we hear and read about every day, esp. that propagated by the network with an animal name, for one day, I was proud to be part of the human race, part of the American fabric.

Pride.

You can see all the photos on Flickr.

No related posts.

The Real American Idols

Absence Alternatives — Mon, 30 May 2011 16:35:36 +0000

Source: I saw this cartoon via Paul Rieckhoff today.

My 13-year-old is working on a debate project for school. His topic? Support for Death Penalty. (He has turned in a written article against death penalty last week. The teacher wants them to be able to argue from both sides for the topic they are each assigned to)

He was telling me all about the horrible cases he has read on the Internet, including some high profile cases of brutal assault and murder on young children. I cringed. My first instinct was to tell him to stop. Aren’t there some things in the world simply to horrifying to learn about? Isn’t it sometimes better if one simply does not know such evil existed and still exists?

I don’t remember how we went from death penalty, to Amendment to the U.S. Constitution (from women’s right to vote, to the right to bear arms, to the freedom of speech), but all of a sudden I found myself telling them about Westboro “Church” (Church is in quotation mark for obvious reasons…) Naturally the boys were astounded to find such ridiculousness is being practiced by a bunch of grownups. I went on to tell them about the Supreme Court ruling earlier this year that even Westboro “Church” is protected under the First Amendment.

“Can you just imagine these stupid people protesting at the funerals of soldiers who died just so these stupid people could have their stupid freedom of speech?” (Just substitute Stupid with Fucking)

“Can you imagine their parents who just lost their children having to see these stupid people at the funeral??!!”

I started tearing up.

I am trying to explain via my rambling above why I woke up this morning and decided to google “Memorial Day + Westboro” without even knowing that Westboro “Church” had planned to picket the memorial service in Joplin, MO because President Obama was going to be there. (According to tweets and the latest news I could find: POTUS was there; Westboro was not. Several unconfirmed reports said that Westboro crazies were in town but their presence at the memorial service was thwarted due to citizen actions…)

Then I saw the tweets from Paul Rieckhoff, founder of Iraq & Afghanistan Veterans of America (IAVA) who is there right now at the Arlington National Cemetery:

I will just stop here because, wow, I don’t know what to say…

Footnote: Although I self-process to be a bleeding heart liberal, I often wonder what the official definition of that label is. Does it include an unexamined stance against war? Coming from a different country, different culture, different hemisphere, I am not completely anti-war. *gasp* War becomes inevitable when your country is being invaded and your people is being physically attacked on your physical territory. China went through the pillaging and ravaging by the Western world in the beginning of the 20th century; the whole people suffered humiliation under the greedy and power-hungry paws of the colonial forces. (How do you think Hong Kong ended up being “leased” to the British Empire for 99 years?) China fought against Japan in the brutal Sino-Japanese war two years before the so-called World War II started in Europe when Poland was invaded. And Taiwan? Taiwan was a Japanese colony for 50 years. When the KMT first retreated to Taiwan, in order to consolidate and ensure their power, the KMT government massacred the majority of the intellectual leaders. And now? Taiwan is constantly living with the threat that China may decide to invade one day. (Or from their perspective, simply “take back what is rightfully part of China”…) All the male children are required to serve in the army for 12 months (it used to be 2 years).

What I am trying to explain by way of the above rambling is that I have an instinctual respect and admiration for people who serve(d) their countries because I have learned the horror from Chinese histories of when a country was not able to defend itself and the brutality of war itself.

Instinctual the same way I feel about teachers. (Confucius is really quite influential despite my grumblings against all the stereotypes and stupid Confucius quotes on Twitter)