So It Goes.

I've been tempted to write many, many times but it's been difficult. Lack of time, for one, but the caution, too, that comes with writing for an audience. I've started praying again, which I haven't done since my days of marching around the mountains of Korea with a straw hat, bugcatcher net, and five to six wristwatches. I address the Man above, who, upon pondering His existence, must have figured that the possibility of life could be a good thing, as God. God is probably right about that, though life can also be incredibly weary like bumbling through a slightly overheated shower before a 9 a.m. Spanish class. And when we are forced to observe this fact, it's probably best if we vehemently avoid it and forget we ever thought of it. Try to do something nice for yourself, folks. And thus the Madlib instrumental provided above.

I might not update again for quite some time but I hope we stay in touch. Keep your steez, my friends.

21st Birthday

No photo needed for this one, boys and girls.

Long before I picked up my first Vonnegut novel, I had become accustomed to appreciating the simple things in life. The way streetlamps illuminate billowing swaths of raindrops on a windy night, the way your tongue's first contact with Sriracha sends waves of excitement down the taste buds like the first inkling of a wonderful idea, the way a newly washed pillowcase feels so soft under your touch that it instantly triggers associations of other things soft and gentle. These are among the many pleasures in my life, and this blog, in part, is an ode to those moments and the maker who made them possible. I tend to think my penchant for seeing beauty in a lot of things has really defined who I am today, in largely positive ways. It has bestowed me with the kind of leisure and peace that make it easier to care about others before worrying about my well-being. Yet I've always thought I've had to pay a price for this equilibrium state where much of my existence lies. Because accompanying my contentment has been the complacent expectation of the unexpected, a compromise in my ability to distinguish between smaller and greater pleasures. And thus my self-proclaimed label of old. I thought there were few remaining things in life that could truly surprise me, truly shake me to the core.

Then two days ago, for lack of a better expression, my mind was blown. I've been trying to conjure a scenario of equivalent awesomeness and impressiveness to describe what transpired on my 21st birthday, but the only one that comes close is witnessing the delivery of baby Jesus live. And only if it's above 50 degrees in the barn and baby Jesus utters each of his first ten words in a different language.

Without further delay, here's a succinct AP News summary of the Hadouken of Love that was served to me:

Knowing that it was one of my favorite foods, my friend, of no ostensible Asian heritage, prepared for me a cauldron of jjambbong, a Korean seafood soup, with assistance from her friends. The ingredients included noodles, green onion, Shiitake mushrooms, zucchini, mussels, squid, shrimp, carrots, and cabbage. Flavoring was achieved with chicken broth, crushed red pepper, soy sauce, salt, olive oil, hot chili oil, and garlic.

I'm not going to elaborate on how it tasted because aside from recognizing it was really good, I was absolutely stunned. Stunned by the magnitude of ridiculous fantasticosity that is delicious jjambbong containing 50% of the world's flora and fauna. But mindblown by the dawning realization that I had the privilege of calling this possesser of culinary virtuosity and heart of gold, my friend. Think about the sheer amount of effort and time needed to make this meal happen: watch videos of annoying Korean midwives tell you which obscure herbs and spices to add first and why their version of jjambbong is "bettuh", compile a feasible yet comprehensive ingredient list, go to a market in Chinatown to find these ingredients, which is equivalent to looking for a fugitive in China, purchase enough ingredients to fill up a cauldron the size of Earl Boykins, come back and prepare each separate ingredient for insertion into the soup, and oh yeah, make it taste good. My mom is a fine cook but even she hasn't embarked on a project this grand, this intensive. And for someone of no ostensible Asian heritage to pull this off de novo as a present for a friend? Hasn't been done, folks. No way.

If it is indeed true as they say that our lives flash before our eyes during our final seconds on Earth, the jjambbong will make the slideshow. As will my friend, because so many people in this world go through their entire lives without having met anyone like her.

Love and Basketball

I have not watched the movie, but I'm going to take a wild guess that the character Omar Epps plays is a big fan of both love and basketball. And which fella in the universe isn't? Love and basketball go together like goby and shrimp, chambray shirts and raw denim, Shin ramen and rainy days. Most fellas in the world, though, don't have enough game to excel at both. Unless your name is Lamar Odom.

Lamar Odom has always been one of my favorite athletes to watch, even before he came to the Lakers. He glides on the court with that lanky 6'10'' frame, and despite his decision to completely ignore the existence of his right arm on the basketball court, he has made a name and career for himself as a versatile passer and efficient scorer around the basket. If you've been paying attention, though, Odom has improved his game by leaps and bounds this season. He's averaging 15 and 9 in just over 33 minutes a game while shooting at a career-best 54.7% clip from the field. He has dramatically reduced his TO ratio, helped stabilize bench play with both smart passing and aggressive drives, and come up with big rebounds in at least a few 4th quarters. In any other year, Odom would have been named to the All-Star Team.

Analysts and players have taken notice, but much of the discussion regarding the source of his improved play has focused on his participation in the 2010 FIBA World Championships this past summer. Which probably did play a major role in getting him ready for the season. Training with some of NBA's most talented players will do that for you. But why the sudden focus and motivation at this point in his career, with 11 NBA seasons and 2 championship wins under his belt, and the most lucrative contracts behind him? What has convinced Odom to show up to play each game, when years of criticism about his tendency to float through the regular season couldn't? I believe the answer lies in this quote Odom supplied NBA.com in an interview last month:

"Right now, there isn't anything that's distracting me from the game, and a lot of that is because of the love that my wife has for me. There aren't any stresses."

There would've been a time in the past when I wouldn't have understood what Odom meant. And I still couldn't explain to you what it means to have that life companion and partner-in-crime by your side, why it matters to love and be loved in return. But I know that as much as I have grown as a person and strived to cultivate the kind of genuine respect and compassion that once felt artificial to me, I can be better, once I take care of this love thing. I'm ready for the pick and roll, baby.

Discourse on Whales with Dr. Berry

It is a well documented fact of life that women derive great comfort, if not cathartic relief, from openly sharing their feelings with each other. But men also engage in heart-to-heart connections, especially concerning matters that perhaps transcend the ordinary routine of existence. Today Prof. Andrew Berry and I shared such a moment while discussing my interest in the intersection of biodiversity and human health:

Dr. Berry: Speaking of conservation, there is an environmental science class focusing on marine conservation. You may find it interesting. It uses case studies on saving the large whales.

Me: Cool.

Dr. Berry: Do you like whales?

Me: Umm. I'm not sure. I'm a bit ambivalent.

Dr. Berry: Why are you ambivalent about whales?

Me: I don't know. They seem a little too big.

Dr. Berry: Hm you are right. They are a little too big.

-Silence-

Prof Berry: Well, let me know how everything goes..

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.