J-Term 2010-11

Damn, what a day it was in Southern California. These past couple weeks, the weather has delivered on the classic combination of warm and breezy but not exactly lived up to its name. That's because SoCal weather is more about the vibe and tableau than the temperature or humidity levels, and a perfect day needs a lot of moving parts to line up. And every perfect day brings a slightly different flavor, like Kobe's greatness on the basketball floor. It was 72 degrees in the late afternoon today but felt two or three degrees hotter because a bunch of folks were grilling outdoors. In fact, I could smell some frankfurters through my window, but only because the smell of frankfurters has some odd magnetic attraction to stinky kimchi, and I always smell the kimchi first. Later, the setting sun left puddles of outrageous orange across the sky like some scene out of a dystopia. When the darkness crept in, the color slowly seeped into flowers in our garden so they looked extra sassy. Oh, and the breeze. Breeze was cool but somehow a little stagnant like it had rolled one too many joint. All in all, a fantastic day to be alive and cuddle. Also a fantastic day to blog, apparently, because I'm just not in the mood to work on summer program applications. Every time I try to explain my interest in a program, I find myself palavering about why Latinas are awesome and feelings are important. In other words, my blog beckons.

I can't believe five weeks of winter break are over already. It will probably go down in my memory as the most uneventful and dormant period of my life in the post-puberty era. Except for a couple occasions, I went through the daily routine of survival and did little else. I would sleep to my heart's content and then take naps in the afternoon, just to make sure I was not tired. And half the time I was awake, I was probably not even conscious. This kind of extreme sedentary lifestyle takes a toll, of course, and my face now bears a striking resemblance to that of a chubby capybara. I'll be counting on the Harvard cafeteria diet to slim me back down. But aside from doing a whole lot of nothing, this break was about appreciating the simple pleasures of life. Like having my private bathroom with a mirror so I can secretly practice pick-up lines after taking a shower. My super warm blanket stuffed with duck feathers. The smell of bonfires at night when I drive near the beaches.

A major one I hadn't fully appreciated before was my parents' sense of humor. My mom wasted no time zinging in the new year, claiming that she actually had more rings than LeBron James based on her matrimonial bling. Then later, I heard her explain to my barber that despite my young-ish appearance - which was news to me - I am actually very old. She made the observation the way a myrmecologist may yank off the antennae of an ant specimen. My dad has been equally hilarious in ways I hadn't noticed prior to my extended stay home. He has a habit of emphasizing important statements by saying them once in Korean and then a second time in English, even though I understood the first time. This paroxysm of translationitis keeps me guessing when the next one will occur rather than focus on what he's saying. But he also achieves comic effect by sharing certain insights about the truth of things that are, well, quite strongly established already. While reminding me of the importance of maintaining a good relationship with my brother, for example, he boldly declared that "as far as he knows," my brother is my only sibling. I appreciate his insistence on leaving room for reasonable doubt here, but I have to say I made that leap of faith a while ago.

When not conversing with my parents, I had a chance to catch up on things I had been wanting to do for a while. Nothing extremely exciting, but pleasant nonetheless. I've been finally reading up on health reform, particularly the changes under PPACA, and given the enormous complexity of the thing, I'm surprised so many people have made up their minds about it. I took an American health policy class this past semester, went over many of the proposed regulations in detail, and have found myself agreeing with some things and disagreeing with others. But mostly I am unsure, unsure as to how we can improve our health care system while cutting costs and whether PPACA is best suited for getting us there. Frankly, reviewing the available literature tells me most reasonably thinking folks are unsure. Just try searching for a consensus opinion on the waiving of cost-sharing for prostate cancer screening.

And with the rest of my time? I've been listening to a lot of music by female artists. The reason is that after listening to hip hop for so long, I've completely lost touch with what women are feeling these days. Perhaps the disconnect has been allowed to fester for too long because I can now hardly understand what women are singing about. Don't get me wrong, I will still put my hands up if Alicia Keys or Beyonce tells me to. It's just that when Alicia says she's thinking about doing the unthinkable but doesn't say what that unthinkable thing is, I don't know what to think. Maybe she is referring to pursuing a serious long-term relationship with a boy. Or maybe she is alluding to letting Swizz Beatz impregnate her. Then there's Kelly Clarkson who is just fucking confusing. In "Already Gone," she talks about leaving a guy on her own accord even though 1) they shared a perfect kiss 2) he couldn't have loved her better 3) she loves him. WHY KELLY, WHY?!

But frustrating moments like these were rare during the past month, and I couldn't have asked for a better break. Now I'm excited to return to school, especially because I've made it my goal to spend more meaningful time with friends this semester. And I'm turning 21 in a month. Jesus Christ.

Homeless Man With Golden Voice

First off, a grave error was made in my previous post: the woman whose voice halts violent struggles of men and angry storms in the sea is named Celine, not Celion, Dion. Of course she deserves some blame for my mistake, given how her voice makes me question what is real anymore.



Within the last 72 hours, we have witnessed our generation's social media showcase its touted ability to drive and organize social change, catapulting a homeless man with a buttery radio voice in Columbus, OH named Ted Williams to instant stardom - and as we found out yesterday - most likely a well-paid commentator position. A Youtube user uploaded Ted's interview with a reporter from Columbus Dispatch and it spread like wildfire, prompting calls from folks eager to connect him with job offers. News stations have been all over the story and report he's even fielding offers from the Cleveland Cavaliers, who, I suspect, will also ask about his interest in moonlighting as a backup point guard. Anyway it's a feel-good story, and I couldn't be happier for the guy getting a second chance. But beyond that? In the past, I would look out the window with a pensive expression (same as my sad or titillated expression), listen to some Celine Dion, maybe share the story with family members, and think to myself that the world is now a better place than before. But this particular story reminded me of something else: many of us still don't know how to feel about homelessness.

Truth be told, I can recall only one instance from recent memory in which I gave money to a homeless person. I don't feel too ashamed when I say that because my parents have worked too damn hard to support our family, and as much as I recognize the tremendous blessing and privilege I have been bestowed through no fault or merit of my own, I'm just not ready to be generous with the money obtained through such sacrifice. What I do feel ashamed about, though, is that time I did decide to help a homeless person. He was a subway performer at Harvard Square station. Frankly, I don't even know if he was homeless. His hair was disheveled and his clothes slightly grimy but the speakers booming behind him didn't look too bad. Why did I give him my two Washington's? Because I love Usher's "You Remind Me," and the man's rendition was better than anything I had heard from Usher. In most cases, even that might not have reached the threshold to trigger a generous act but I had just finished a chicken fajita burrito from Chipotle, which means I was romantically inclined at the moment. So I gave him money because he sang well. Too well to keep sleeping on the streets and entertaining passerbys. He belonged on the big stage, and I hoped he could get there.

I can't speak for the folks who reached out to Ted Williams, but I think at least some of them shared my sentiment. And though I think it's quite natural and indicative of our desire to see others succeed, we must approach it with some caution when we set out to confront homelessness and poverty. Looking through coverage of the Ted Williams story, the common theme I see tossed around is that Williams deserved and got a second chance. The senior vice president of marketing for the Cavaliers said, "We believe in second chances and second opportunities. The gentleman deserves an opportunity to explain certain situations." Kevin McLoughlin, the director of NFL films who also offered Williams a job, agreed that the "man deserves a second chance." But why exactly does Ted deserve a second chance? Many people would accept the idea that falling into hard times is a threat we all face. Life is unpredictable, and even in an economic climate better than the current, our fortune is at the whim of fate. Others would also believe that even when the misfortune brought upon a person can be, to some degree, attributed to his or her decisions and behavior that society frowns upon, the person should be presented with an opportunity to make amends - a fresh start. So they would look admiringly of Ted's triumph over alcohol and drug addiction, and point to it as evidence that the man has made efforts to get back on track.

But is Ted more deserving than other homeless people on the street? Homeless people who have not conquered alcohol or drug addiction? Homeless people who sing terribly? What about those who stand outside CVS, shake their cups around, and curse at you when you don't pay up? My answer would be no, for the same reasons we embraced Ted. Because I believe that any argument for Ted deserving a second chance must be grounded in the premise that our capacity to understand and thus judge lives other than our own as well as the people who live them is inherently limited. If we as a society agree that Ted deserves another shot, it should be because we acknowledge the generous portions of injustice and inequality that life haphazardly throws at us. Not because what we see in him - his marvelous voice and now drug-free lifestyle - leads us to conclude he is deserving. I make this distinction because our outpouring support for Ted does not crystallize our attitude toward homelessness. It only partially defeats the lingering stereotype of the homeless as a homogeneous group of lazy, incapable people, tempting us with the dramatic contrast between Ted and the more well-known, typical faces of poverty. Here is a man who actually has a talent and persevered to overcome his moral failings, unlike those other bums on the street, one may say. It is too easy for us to demand the kind of extraordinary gift and resilience we see in Ted from others, who have faced life conditions altogether different from Ted's and who, more often than not, do possess talent and gift, just of less salient forms. It is too easy for us to attach a person's worth and character to the observable reality we perceive using our simple faculties, conveniently ignoring the interplay of life's elements that lie much deeper.

Today's cadre of social activists and researchers, more than ever, are embarking on projects with an appreciation for complexity of poverty and unconditional respect for its victims. Conditional cash transfer programs, which entrust poor families with the power of spending subsidy money as they see fit (as long as they fulfill certain requirements such as keeping children in school), have gained support worldwide and achieved spectacular results. In the U.S., Common Ground and partner organizations are finally targeting the chronically homeless, a population neglected for years, by committing to provide housing for 100,000 chronically homeless through the 100,000 Homes Campaign. And as for us? We should hold close the virtues of humility, gratitude, respect, and love. We can't live alone, boys and girls. More on that next time.

Thank You

Before I start, I thought two pieces of information would be worth sharing:

1) Remember my 40-year old Korean roommate from the summer sublet? Mr. Stoic Eyes and Grimly Set Lips? Mr. Threesome with Teddy Bears? Well he recently e-mailed me offering to share his place for the winter if I should happen to stay in Boston. In other words, he misses me. Did I tell you this guy was married? If I am able to complete the life of a married man who is halfway through his expiration date, imagine what I can do for girls my age. Eazy.

2) There is a Youtube video of Celion Dion's single "My Heart Will Go On" accompanied by footage from Titanic. It's 4 minutes and 26 seconds, and quite frankly, the most stirring, poignant 4 minutes and 26 seconds I have been a part of. Do you want to know whether love is real? Listen to my girl Celion testify. She says her heart will go on wherever you are. That's right - both near and far, boys and girls. Anyway I mention this because I recently found out that Titanic was actually a passenger steamboat and not some fancy cruise ship. So that means if Leonardo and Kate had made it, they might've actually started a family together in the U.S. I don't know, that really broke my heart.

Ok, now back to the present. I've been thinking hard the last couple days trying to sum up 2010 in some eloquent, bigger-than-myself commentary on our generation's zeitgeist, the kind of discourse about our identities, beliefs, and behavior set in the background of a supremely satisfying hope for progress that is at once sobering and uplifting. I wanted to deliver that deep, ethereal shit about our challenges and successes as a civilization that shakes you to the core, the ornate expressions and the vibe of interconnectedness (immigrants and black people, you too!) that make you think as you drive home, "Goddamn, the world is in good hands and I fucking love life." But I started thinking about 2010, and the first and only things that came to my head were people I should thank. And people I kind of love, to the extent that Min Lee can love. Which, in retrospect, got a serious upgrade for a reason I can't explain. I will remember 2010 as the year I really cared about people who deserved that from me a while ago, as well as the strangers who didn't. Because when I think about all people, good and bad, I can only wonder about the thoughts and emotions that cross their minds, the minds of which I know nothing about, and marvel at the seconds which turn into minutes which turn into hours which turn into days and years during which they grew, learned, and interacted, unbeknownst to me, to arrive at the moment of our encounter. Oddly, that fact strikes me as very beautiful.

So aside from thanking my awesome family and friends who have made this year and my life in general a pleasure to live, I am grateful for the following special people/entities, knowing I am making flagrant omissions:

-Harvard security guards and police department: There have been times, I admit, when I have seriously questioned your intimidation factor and physical ability to chase down younger scoundrels with fresher legs. And the litany of unsavory accident reports this year is certainly not encouraging. But I know you're always concerned about our safety and doing your best, and I appreciate the extra vigilance sent my way when I'm walking outside with my hamper at 3 a.m.

-Harvard dining/cafeteria staff: I still don't understand how pad thai can taste sour, and why General Gao's chicken and General Gao's sauce are served on separate days. But I know there is a method to your madness, and I certainly appreciate your sincere efforts to cater to the tastes of us Asian folks. Thank you for delivering the most nutritious and culturally sensitive menu possible. I love your tater tots and fried calamari. Cafeteria staff, thank you for always being courteous and friendly and asking us how our days are going - it's a great pleasure.

-Boston weather: Cloudy and rainy days here and there, lots of wind, and capricious as always, but a lot milder than the end of last year, me thinks. Also, you were beautiful in the spring and summer.

-Quad Life: Living in the Quad has been a terrible inconvenience at times, especially waiting for the shuttle in the winter. But I love my giant single where I can blast The Next Episode, and the unobstructed view of night sky from the Cabot yard. I am also thankful for the sense of community and removal from hubbub of Harvard Square, unique to the Quad.

-Drunk girls: I hate to say this but I absolutely love how I seem way more fucking awesome when you are intoxicated out of your minds. You always laugh even when I am not trying to be funny and give me hugs over and over, as if you are continually meeting me for the first time. I try to keep an eye out, though, because yes, bad things happen when you are drunk enough to mistake me for your dad.

-Server at Chipotle: I still haven't learned your name after all these visits but I am thankful for the generous portions of lime-cilantro rice, fajita vegetables, and marinated chicken, the deftness of your hands that leave them safely nestled in the embrace of mother tortilla, the casual inquiry about my interest in obtaining a cup of water, and the cheerful "How is your day going?" within the 10 seconds of wrapping the burrito in foil, placing it in the red basket, and processing my debit card payment. If you were a chick, I would've asked you out already.

-Atdhe.net: Thanks to your courageous defense of every human being's right to enjoy Laker games, I have not missed the fourth quarter of a single game this season. This also means I fail to get any work done from about 12 to 1 a.m. but hey, life is about setting priorities.

-Kobe Bryant: You nearly shot the Lakers out of their 2009 NBA Title and are sucking right now. But you are the reason I've been watching the Lakers for the last eleven years. As I've watched those pull-ups and fadeaways clink off the rim this season, I am realizing I took you for granted when those used to be automatic.

-LeBron James: Your unique brand of douchebaggery has made Kobe look like a saint. Thank you.

-And last but not least, my blog readers: "I don't care who you are, where you're from, what you did, as long as you love me."

Thanks y'all for a great 2010.

Being a Good Person

I know this isn't news to anyone, but I'm really an old man stuck in a 20-year old's body. Some of you know that I've been alive since 4000 B.C., when I had the all-important task of blessing the Nile and ancient people of Egypt with the vital force contained within my balls. But even if you don't, you are already familiar with my sluggish gait and weary gaze. For those of you who had the unenviable challenge of planning my surprise birthday party, you are well aware of the versatility of my blank face expression. And the last time I dreamed about touching boobies, Stephon Marbury was a decent basketball player and Pluto was still a planet. Good times.

So given my knack for finding stability in life, what happened this semester came as bit of a surprise. I thought I was done with this whole self-discovery business but boy, was I wrong. First came the realization that despite never having heard the word "spooning" prior to my trip to the Dominican Republic, I had been spooning a pillow for the past 15 years. This is convergent evolution at work, folks. Then came the discovery that auditory stimulus, particularly the voice of Mandy Moore, could enhance my ramen experience. I allowed myself to completely succumb to the two-pronged attack mounted by the sweetness of her disposition and the spiciness of Shin bowl, a combination so good it bordered on sexual. But perhaps the most significant change was gaining new insights into my lifelong goal of becoming a good person. I'm glad it happened because there is nothing that matters more to me.

Like most good things in life, morality is complex stuff. Many say it's a useful societal tool for human coexistence and may have been selected evolutionarily because social behavior in which personal desires and interests are held in check for the benefit of the group promotes survival and reproduction. Our collective moral consciousness, manifested in laws and social functions, thus helps ensure the well-being and equal treatment of individuals. Yet most of us would also agree that our identities - what makes us us - are entrenched in our unique sense of right and wrong. So even though we may be exposed to the same societal moral standards, we develop differing sets of values and can argue about them. And our behavior is motivated by the discerning power of our moral perspective, not the societal one. I think one can also talk about moral beliefs as those grounded in logical constructions or emotional appeal. For instance, I believe in government providing welfare programs because I know that human beings are born into positions of life that are inherently unequal, through no fault of their own. That would be primarily a logical stance. If I were given a knife and told to kill either a moving animal or a plant, I would choose the plant not because I believe the plant's life is worth more than the animal's, but because I would be less squeamish about killing the plant. That's a decision driven by emotion. Though the distinctions I have made - societal, individual, logical, emotional - are not mutually exclusive or set in stone, I mention them because I've forgotten one or quite a few in the past.

Back in high school, I really enjoyed volunteering, as I do now, even though I didn't think much about the societal impact of my work. There were teens at the Braille Institute, kids at the Boys and Girls Club, and elders at the nursing home who expressed their gratitude to me, and that was all the validation I needed to keep going. But if you had asked me about my future career then or even last year? Doctor, I would have said with some unease. The truth was, I was on the bandwagon without really thinking it through. I've always gravitated toward a career in medicine for no really good reason at all, except that I kind of like biology, doctors do some form of helping people while making good money. So in summary, I was confusing myself on multiple fronts. I had neglected to objectively and critically assess the impact of my service, complacent with the idea that I genuinely cared about the folks I was helping, and they genuinely cared back. And as for my career choice, I was basing the decision not on where my humanitarian contribution to the world can be the greatest - a logical approach that places the interests of others above mine - but on which career can bestow me comfortable living as well as the assurance that I was making a positive impact on the lives of others - a selfish delusion to grant myself just enough emotional satisfaction to evade the truth that I don't care as much about the world as I should. I needed to stop fooling myself.

Confronting these questions, though, didn't turn out to be easy. The beginning of my freshman spring semester, I fully immersed myself in volunteer activities eager to make solid, tangible contributions. The range of opportunities to do meaningful work available to undergraduates, I thought to myself, would far exceed anything I had seen in high school. To some extent, this was true. I've had the privilege of being a part of some amazing organizations that meet important social needs in a sustainable way. Yet the immediate gratification I had been seeking, that unequivocal desirable outcome arising from my efforts which would quickly feedback onto my conscience, was often missing. Keeping the homeless company at the shelter wasn't enough for me. Despite my share of small successes at LIFT, an organization offering one-on-one client service to residents in the Boston area who need services in employment, housing, and public benefits, I STILL have not helped a client find a job. And in my short stint as a suicide hotline volunteer, I have already caught myself wishing that someone who is acutely suicidal would call.

And as for my career choice? The insidious voice of "logic" mocked my decision to abandon a career in medicine.' If you could make a lot of money, you could put it to good use by donating to NGOs and charities,' the voice would whisper to me. 'How are you going to do good in this world if you don't have money? The world doesn't need your compassion or your unconditional respect; it needs your money. If you want to really help people, be a doctor. Doctors can actually save lives. Only doctors can actually save those malaria, HIV, and TB patients in developing countries. You can't even do CPR. But you know what, you have no reason to try to pick a career that helps people. You do realize that there are no careers designated for people helpers. You can become a rapper, businessman, basketball player, barber, singer, or writer, and you can still do good for other people. Are you saying these people are not as morally good or important to the world as your doctors and humanitarians?' Of course not, I would say. The voice is absolutely right.

The only way I can reconcile these competing voices inside my head - and I'm going to borrow the playbook of Confucius here - is to remember that the world is more than words and actions. A doctor's successful performance of a life-saving surgery, a wealthy investor's generous donation to international development agency, an undergraduate student's success in helping a client find a job - none of these is sufficient to claim that the individual is morally good. What matters more than observable accomplishments is one's character and inner condition. A truly realized person always makes genuine efforts to treat others the way he/she wants to be treated, always channels the sense of right and wrong in all things, small and big. A truly benevolent person never forgets the urgency of the struggle for a more just world. And when life doesn't yield the desired outcomes, one just has to keep going. A moral life is a daily and never-ending one, and I am fortunate to have many teachers along this journey. So here is a toast to an enlightening 2010, and a better Min Lee and a better you in 2011. Cheers!

Dear College Girls - Dec 2010

Dear College Girls,

Well, another semester has gone by since I last wrote, and as promised, I am writing again. For those of you who are done with finals, congratulations on surviving what seemed to be a mentally and emotionally exhausting semester for many of us. For those of you who are done with finals and took organic chemistry, congratulations on making it back to Earth safely. And the rest of you who still have shit to do, you are almost liberated so keep your head up. Whether you are heading home for the break or not, I hope you all take the time to sleep in, be titillated, and cuddle with animate or inanimate objects. I leave the order up to you.

For me, I will always remember this semester as a particularly laborious and tiring one, much more so than it looks on paper, and for a number of reasons I may or may not explain later. But let's talk about you, girls. I know we didn't get to talk a whole lot, and with some of you, I spent the whole semester trying to come up with a time we could meet for a meal. I apologize for my elusiveness, and the headache, coughing, and fever that some of you subsequently experienced as a result of the Min Withdrawal Syndrome. But even though we may have not talked much or seen each other often, don't think for a second that I was not concerned about you. I mentioned last time that I want all of you to be confident and proud females who understand the dynamics of college relationships and make sound decisions that sit well with you. For the most part, I saw this happening but there was one area of concern.

According to Wikipedia, the first evidence of leggings dates back to 14th century Europe. Both men and women wore them at the time, and because of their "warmth and protection", they were later adopted by French fur trappers, mountain men, and even Native Americans. I tend to believe that Native Americans probably were the first to craft these delicious skin huggers, perhaps using the fur of woolly mammoths, but you get the general idea. Leggings have been around for a while. So the apparent resurgence of gossamer goody in your closets doesn't surprise me too much, although I can't help but think that leggings nowadays confer more than just warmth and protection from the frigid Boston winds. Yes, they also look extremely velvety and probably offer a sensation superior to the one I had when I slept without a shirt on for the first time. That was about two weeks ago.

But I just want to say that you should not at all feel pressured to fit into a semi-translucent tube if you don't gain pleasure from the soft, warm fabric. Everyone wants to look good in public, but some of you put extra undue burden on yourself to look good in front of a particular male appendage. While this may achieve short-term gains (see: club floor), it really obfuscates your search for a genuine and loving partner, if you care about such a thing. All you are doing is selecting for a partner who loves your body and the way it fits into those leggings. Yes, the penis power only grows stronger as a result.

If you are still interested in putting together a provocative appearance, though, I humbly put forth the recommendation of hoop earrings. Let me first dispel a common myth: hoop earrings are not the exclusive cultural property of dwellers of Central and South America. It has merely been well observed that absolute sexiness is achieved when they don these aural treasures. Any patent that may have existed has now expired, and you are free to add hoop earrings to your apparel as well. The beauty of hoop earrings is that they single-handedly proffer a nuanced presentation of your character, projecting both elegance and sordidness, radiance of innocence and shadows of desire. When done right, they manage to convey a dignified, unassuming beauty while hinting at darker corridors that open to your soul. Kind of like yin and yang, really.

So why should you try hoop earrings? There is profuse evidence to suggest that organisms are hard-wired with sexual preferences for certain morphological traits. Female platyfishes, for example, are inherently more attracted to male platyfishes with long sword tails whether these tails are natural or not. Although lack of funding opportunities has prevented me from exploring the appeal of symmetric circular jewelry in humans, aside from consulting my own opinions, I strongly believe it is universal. More importantly, all of you have access to this advantageous trait. But because it can be difficult to navigate the tremendous variety of colors, sizes, and styles of hoop earrings, I have included videos that may help.

Rest up over this winter break, and I wish all of you a merry and safe holiday season. Until January, farewell my lovely boos.

Sincerely,

Min

Dear College Girls

Dear College Girls,

It's been a long three months since I've seen you. I hope you all had wonderful summers. Why, mine was fabulous, thank you for asking. As much as I dread returning to a world where I have to think critically and produce coherent thoughts, I do look forward to our reunion. And yes, that includes you tall sassy things who reach for those Annenberg ranger cookies above my shoulder when I'm standing in front of you in line. I foresee another memorable and fun-filled year ahead of us, whether or not you decide to invite me into your lives. Because my idea of memorable and fun is often at odds with the mainstream college culture. And that's ok. This isn't about me. This is about you.

You see, I am no meteorologist but I do possess an acumen about a very similar topic - the tempest of emotions. And I am forecasting a very active dating season coming up. For those of you lucky enough to be committed in long-term relationships already (who considers the situation lucky is anyone's guess), chances are that you haven't had the chance to see him regularly over the summer. And if you have, most of your girlfriends didn't see you guys making out so what's the fun in that? For you, the number one priority upon arriving on campus is to evaluate the status of your current relationship. Is he still worth your time when other guys have added ten more pounds of muscle and new swag? If yes, does he think you are still worth his time? And all the single ladies out there, you are just about dying to get your hands up to some dirty Weezy shit. Maybe some of you got a quick summer fix from hitting the clubs and your homeboy's house parties a couple times but you know you can do better in fall 2010. In the offseason, you made some key acquisitions like new mascara and flatter stomach. You are ready to wake up from the estivation of passion and make a splash in the dating scene in a big, big way.

Ok, I am exaggerating. Not all of you are starved for lovin'. Some of you will be just fine with those ranger cookies. But we really are due for a flurry of activity. And what saddens me is that chivalry will have little to do with it. Dave Chapelle is right. Chivalry is dead. I don't know how long college dating has been this way, or who killed it, but the fact of the matter is, hooking up is currently the customary way to meet desirable partners however long they fulfill that role. To be honest, girls, I don't know how I feel about it. On one hand, it seems incredibly shallow and inane. I could never bring myself to share moments of intimacy with people I hardly know. The idea of drinking until one loses control and awareness, in full anticipation of a higher susceptibility to this behavior, seems particularly pathetic. On the other hand, it is a very effective system in theory. You meet a lot of people, fast. There is no established friendship to salvage, no difficult emotions to confront. And there is very little misunderstanding to be had. Everyone's pretty much on the same page. Like molecules, you collide frequently enough and you'll get some chemistry going.

I like chivalry, but I'm not about to tell you girls whether or not to be shallow. That's deep personal shit you have to ponder for yourself. But I do want to give a piece of grandfatherly advice. Do yourself a favor and remember that you are all special and beautiful people with wonderful things to contribute to the world and your future lover. Don't let anyone take that away from you. As human beings, we are naturally prone to feeling self-conscious, unloved, and just not good enough. I am here to tell you that there are at least two people in the world who think you are good enough. That's Jesus and me. I think that just about sums up the people whose opinions matter. So the next time a guy makes you feel insecure, please don't go around offering your vagina to whoever wants it. And please don't retaliate against the male race by becoming mean, conniving, and irrational lovers. It's natural to act out when you don't feel loved, but it's not worth your dignity. Talk it out with your girlfriends and get some fried chicken. As long as you are relatively nice and sane, you will meet that special person.

This will most likely be my last post until January and I hope the next time I write, you will write back telling me how happy and confident you are, committed or single. Here's to a fun and generous dating season.

Sincerely,

Min

Trip to the Dominican Republic

Making a positive impact on the lives of others is like making a good sandwich in two major ways: 1) some women are great at it 2) it's really hard to do. In fact, it's difficult enough not to fuck up another person's life while we inhabit this planet. I'm not just referring to flagrant moral offenses like killing a man while driving drunk, cheating on your loved one, and breaking the hearts of your hometown fans in a one-hour ESPN special. As human beings, we constantly make poor decisions, hurt people's feelings, and fail at altruism. When flying cupids bring me before God for the final judgment, I'm sure he will have an accounting notebook with all this shit written down.

Because it's so hard to do good in this world, even on a microcosmic scale, I have become intrigued by international development and global health. People working in these fields aim to benefit entire families, communities, populations, and countries. If successful, projects can alleviate the burden of disease, poverty, and conflict on a whole lot of people. But as Beyonce will tell you, things in life can be sweet dreams or beautiful nightmares. Working with the best of intentions is never enough to guarantee that theories and plans for helping people will unfold as they should, if not horribly backfire. Still, this hasn't stopped much of the world from voicing the belief that development can, and should be, done well. I've been curious to learn how.

This is why the opportunity to travel to the Dominican Republic to work with Children of the Border this summer really appealed to me. Children of the Border is a locally run NGO directed by Harvard Ph.D candidate and resident tutor Sebastian Velez that provides a wide range of services to rural underserved communities in the border region between Dominican Republic and Haiti. It runs a clinic for pregnant women who cannot be admitted into hospitals, works with a local doctor to monitor children's nutrition and distribute supplements, and provides contraception programs. Last winter, it teamed with a group of Harvard undergraduates with experience in water chlorination to address the community's dire need for clean water. Children of the Border hires both Dominican and Haitian employees and serves both populations with its projects, part of an effort to tackle the ethnic tensions that trace their roots to colonial times.

After spending quite a bit of time this past school year doing necessary research and making detailed preparations, our team of 10 undergraduates and Sebastian set off on a two-week trip to the community of Las Mercedes hoping to accomplish two main objectives: 1) install a manual well pump to provide a stable water source to the community 2) design and implement a census of the community that identifies its needs and yields useful indicators of individuals' state of health. The importance of both is clear. Ever since the solar panels powering the electrical submersible pump in the community's lone well were stolen, villagers have been hard pressed to obtain enough water for daily living. They collect rainwater in polluted containers or walk two to three hours to a canal with water containing E. coli. A manual well pump, combined with continuation of the chlorination program, would provide easier access to cleaner water. The census would be first of its kind and crucial for understanding the people we are serving as well as communicating to them about the work of Children of the Border. There are no records of exactly how many people live in Las Mercedes, or what defines Las Mercedes. The more isolated communities deeper in the mountains are even less known.

To sum up how I feel the trip went, it was successful, rewarding, and loads of fun. I am a bit disappointed in myself because I was really scatterbrained at times and allowed the heat, mosquitoes, and sickness to hinder my full engagement with the project. But I had a fabulous time - the main highlights are outlined below:

Well Pump




This may be hard to believe, but actual installation of the manual Simplepump we had purchased in the U.S. turned out to be one of the simpler tasks of the project. Before we even had a shot at putting 300 feet of PVC pipe into the well, we had several hurdles to climb, such as designing a well cap that could accommodate both the existing submersible pump in the well and our new manual one. Like a lot of things, it could not have happened without the help of the community's extremely capable welder, Jortkey. Another challenge was using an electric probe to determine the water level of the well and see whether there are any obstacles inside the casing to prevent entry of our pump. The electric probe is essentially 500 feet of wire attached to a sounder that beeps when one end of the wire hits water. I can't count how many hours we spent tangling and untangling that thing.

To make a long story short, we installed the pump and got it working. I was actually MIA with sickness when the first water spouted from the pump head, which is a shame, but the team that stuck around until 11 p.m. to finish troubleshooting the pump had extra fun for me at the village afterparty where members of the community celebrated with killing of a pig. One of the coolest things I did see, though, was farmers from the fields coming to the well site during installation and singing for us as we worked.



You know that inexplicable tenderness that sweeps over you when you look into the eyes of a newborn baby? Well, me neither. But I imagine it's something akin to what I felt when I saw families trickling in to fill their water containers at the well after the pump had been installed. Kids in particular really enjoyed themselves.

Census



I was not directly involved with the survey team, but I did have a chance to follow them around for a day as they sought out residents living in the higher mountain regions. In these deeper rural areas, houses are spread far apart and families even more distant from proper medical care and dependable water sources. It was really awesome to see the survey team communicate with them fluently in Spanish and Creole and to see the villagers receptive to their questions. The team ended up surveying over 80 households, a ridiculous number considering the distance they had to walk throughout the day. They also dealt with harrowing challenges including giant tarantulas and infants eager to urinate.

Community Meetings



We held a series of community meetings at a kind of gazebo hall in Las Mercedes, informing villagers about developments in installation of the pump and discussing with them plans for maintenance and upkeep after we leave. Our goal has always been to get them involved and invested at multiple steps in our project so that they have control over its direction and make it sustainable; we are only there to facilitate and provide resources. In the second meeting, the villagers voted in a four-person well committee to look after the pump and the rest of the community water system. Our only conditions were that it would be split evenly in ethnicity and gender (two Dominicans, two Haitians, and two men, two women). Because my Spanish is absolutely horrible, I was generally clueless about what transpired at the meetings until the Spanish speakers in our team debriefed me later. Many times, for instance, I thought the villagers who spoke at the meetings were angry with us but it turns out they were showing us a lot of lovin'.

People



Interacting with members of local communities was definitely one of the major highlights of my trip. I was constantly surrounded by incredibly nice and welcoming people who had the patience to put up with my shitty Spanish. Even people I didn't know very well would offer me handshakes and hugs. What also struck me about people of Las Mercedes was their level of excitement and engagement with our projects. There were always people watching our work at the well site and offering their assistance. In one instance, a man named Manuel took his entire afternoon off to help a team member and me investigate the community's system of water pipes and tanks. We hadn't brought a fluent Spanish speaker with us so the poor guy had to repeat everything he said about five times.

Food

Lilila, the mother of one of Children of the Border's field staff, did most of the cooking for us, and it was fabulous. Rice and beans with chicken, fried plantain chips, guacamole, and eggplant were some of my favorites. Fried chicken has to taste good when the chicken was alive just 30 minutes ago. All natural fruit juices helped us beat the heat, especially the lemonade. My favorite, though, was the papaya or a cocktail of fruits including the papaya, which managed to taste like beef jerky.

Tanning

The Dominican sun pretty much charbroiled my pale Korean skin. Toward the end of the trip, my face, neck, and forearms were darker than those of some Dominicans. It was really cool because when I looked into the mirror, the whites of my eyes and my teeth shone out a bit, which was kind of sexy. Unfortunately, only two days since my arrival in Boston, my tan has already faded.

Creatures



The insects in Dominican Republic are fucking gangsters. If there were an insect prison, they would make inmates from everywhere else their bitches. Web-weaving spiders over there turn telephone poles and entire trees into giant saran wraps of death. The cockroaches are not only huge and have extra long antennaes but can also fly. That's like giving Sarah Palin supporters two votes in an election. Also, the lizards, aside from avoiding the shade because they think shade is for pussies, do push-ups in their spare time. Absolutely ridiculous. Other creatures I saw include tarantulas, land crabs, fire ants, and giant, giant moths.

Karate



What happens when a community really really loves Jet Li, Bruce Lee, and Jackie Chan movies and rarely encounters Asian people in real life? They think all Asians are karate masters. Nearly every kid I met in Dominican Republic asked if I knew karate. For God sakes, even the community's equivalent of a mayor believed it. After fruitlessly fighting the stereotype for a week and a half, I finally gave in. When kids in the community invaded our van and became a nuisance, I offered to teach them karate and we all stormed out for an impromptu lesson from Master Lee. Among the moves I imparted to the kids was the Muy Thai knees to the head. Here's hoping the kids don't practice on each other.

Beach



Admittedly, I haven't seen a lot of top-tier beaches in my lifetime but the beach I visited in the Dominican Republic was pretty damn amazing. Clear turquoise waters and white sand, just like the ones in Corona commercials, and it was virtually unoccupied too. I usually dread swimming and water volumes exceeding 500 ml in general, but the water was too inviting for me to contemplate life meanings from the shore.

My second beach outing, in which I was with a group of three girls, took an unexpected turn when two of them decided to uh, celebrate the freedom of their bodies in a bold fashion even in my presence. After allowing the gentle breeze to caress their torsos with no hindrances during their tanning episode, they thought it would be suitable to wade out and allow the cool waters uninhibited access to their legs and all adjacent areas as well. Once this escapade had finished, they entrusted me with the all-important role of retrieving the items which would signal their return to civilization. Until this last bit, I didn't bother opening my eyes as I lay stretched out on the sands even though I knew what was happening. I'm so old the prospect of seeing areolas doesn't even excite me anymore.

Spooning

One of the major advantages and delights of traveling with a group of peers to do work like this is that members come from different walks of life with different sets of skills and knowledge to contribute to the group. A significant way in which my team members enriched my experience on the trip was their knowledge of spooning. I had never heard of the term before. I generally fail when it comes to understanding gestures of human intimacy and even more so if asked to perform them so I appreciated my peers' patience on this matter. Together we delved into the unique advantages offered by this alignment of bodies and even participated in a tutorial intended just for me. I definitely like being the big spoon. It's almost as if I am shielding my lover from the dangers of life. I'm not sure if I will get a chance to try it out within the next three years of college but here's hoping I do, and do it sober.