Reading Pictures

Photography cannot show true pictures viewed from the naked eye. Fish eye lens distort our perspectives into funky, wide angles while filters add shadows and colors that are not only inaccurate, also deceitful. Though photography has twisted itself into a medium for propaganda, it is still useful through its ability to relay ideas stimulate emotion. In our fast-moving world, it is often difficult to get our message across through just words since people hardly have the time to sit still and process what they just read. Thus, a photo not only relays the message clearer--it is also easier to remember and associate feelings with pictures. Furthermore, a stronger emotional connection with a picture leads to an increased motivation to take action. Photographs are credited as "eye openers" with its ability to convince the public that just because its not happening here doesn't mean it's not happening. This video is extremely powerful in demonstrating how visuals have the power to stimulate otherwise dormant emotions in an effort to generate public awareness and action.

A Modest Proposal

For Preventing the People Diagnosed with HIV/AIDS 

from Being a Burden to their Country

and for Making Them Beneficial to the Public

It is a wretched object to those who prowl through night clubs looking for a few hours of fun, who are virgins in Africa, or who have been bitten by vampires and are in desperate need to refill their blood supply, when they walk out dumbfounded from a doctor's office weeks later after discovering that they are HIV positive with no aid or cure in sight. These people, instead of being able to work for their honest livelihood, are forced to employ all their time in depression and desperately mull over how to relay the unfortunate news of their discriminated virus to unsuspecting parents and their soon to be ex-girlfriend and boyfriends.

I think it is agreed by all parties, that this prodigious number of infected people who unfortunately took their lovemaking too far or picked the wrong needle to poke into their arms is, in the present discriminating state of the world, a very great additional grievance; and therefore whoever could find out a fair and easy method of making the unlucky infected sound and useful members of the common-wealth, would deserve so well of the public, as to have her statue set up for a preserver of the nation.

As to my own part, having turned my thoughts for many years, upon this important subject, and maturely weighed the several schemes of our projectors, I have always found them grossly mistaken in their computation. It is true, reverse transcriptase is the culprit in the AIDS virus that causes such embarrassment and shame, so spending millions of our hard-earned money to research the virus is perfectly sound. However, once infected, those who are HIV positive are perceived as precarious time bombs as they await the next opportunistic infection that may end their uncertain lives--they play their odds against the fatal game of infection roulette and lose. Researching this virus does nothing to improve our lives now. We must help those who have been discriminated for ironically being a positive by advocating their acceptance in society: this requires a powerful mass medium. Thus, I propose that the government help protect the lives of both the superior and the inferior. Yet know that for what I am about to propose, I am not clinically deranged; I am assured by others, such as my good friend David Sedaris, who is a "very worthy person, a true lover of his country, and whose virtues I highly esteem" (678), that "Having protection suggests that you are important. Having that protection paid for by the government is even better, as it suggests your safety is of interest to someone other than yourself" (252). 

The number of souls in the world infected with HIV is approximately 35 million. I subtract an extremely large number from that and thus the number of souls in this country ages 13 years and older infected by the HIV virus is around 1.1 million, about 1 in every 6 people. Of these 1.1 million people living with HIV/AIDS, more than 20% were woman, which leads to the logical conclusion that more than 70% of the 1.1 million are men. Evidently, these men are unrestrained in their control of suppressing hormones, and accordingly the millions of dollars we so generously contribute to HIV research should be used to stop these wild impulses.

I shall now therefore propose my own thoughts, which I hope will not be liable to the least objection. I have been assured by two companions I have acquainted in America, by the names of Chet Raymo and Jessica Cohen, that a new era is abound, a time filled with discoveries of genetic manipulation at breakneck speeds. Soon, I have been guaranteed, our children will be produced via in vitro fertilization. Baby making will happen right in our own underground laboratories, and thus, the unruly desire to have too much fun will be eradicated completely. For mothers who unknowingly transmit HIV to their infant children, I refer thee to a piece my good friend Jonathan Swift has written, in which he describes the lavish feasting of children to benefit his country. I employ the similar tactic of feast to rid our country of HIV positive children who probably do not even make it past the age of five. Finally, for those who are in dire need of blood transfusions and in their panic use a dirty needle, I reassure them that it is ok, for lack of a better word. I humbly propose that everyone in this country also use dirty needles, transforming HIV positives from minorities to the majority, abolishing any sort of discrimination to the infected population.

I profess, in the sincerity of my heart, that I have not the least personal interest in endeavoring to promote this necessary work, having no other motive than the public good of my country, by purifying our nation and its wild desires, alleviating mental trauma associated with the virus, relieving the poor infants from years of pain, and giving some pleasure to the rich. I unfortunately will be unable to join the festivities of this grand proposal for I will soon be considered a minority, the HIV negative.

Raymo's Friends: Back From The Dead

Over 99% of all species have gone extinct. In the 19th century, the population of Pyrenean ibex, also known as a bucardo, began to decline precipitously. These mountain goats became the victims of human hunting and competition and in 1999, the last bucardo, named Ceila died when a tree fell on her. However, before Celia perished, scientists preserved tissue samples to clone her living twin in 2003. Similarily, in 2013, the Lazurus Project of Australia successfully created a living embryo of the extinct gastric-brooding frog from non-living preserved genetic material. These experiments mark the beginning of the "fruitful promise of genetic engineering" (215).  Through backbreeding [scientists using a living species genetically similar to the extinct species and selectively breed for old traits], genetic engineering and cloning, scientists plan to reassurect extinct species straight from their evolutionary graves. Some of the most vouched revivals include the wooly mammoth, Tasmanian tigers, passenger pigeons and  Steller's sea cows. In fact, http://longnow.org/revive/species/ provides a checklist for which species may be able to make it back to life. In addition, scientists of the website have already developed a response to those who oppose de-extinction: "We're not playing. We're coming to terms with our own powers, as well as the unexpected results of our actions." However, as Raymo argues, how do we know when we have crossed the line? When Janus turns to reveal his other face, full of "potential danger", it will be far too late to reverse the effects of genetic manipulation.  Furthermore, these scientists declare that they will deal with the "unexpected results" when the time comes; yet it is the unknown that engenders the source of "uneasiness" Raymo feels. If genetic engineers are able to dethaw "purloined genes" and revive ancient animals, let us all take a moment to imagine the look on Raymo's face as he embraces his new friends.

A Migration of Ideas: From Thinking to Doing

Speaking at the National American Woman Suffrage Association, Florence Kelley uses the inhumanity of child labor to recruit and incite women into a call for action. She elicits a revolutionary response for enfranchisement by using emotional appeals, vigorous repetition and an inclusive tone to enhance her rhetoric and strengthen her argument. Kelley does not dawdle with a dolled-up fairy tale; there is no "Once upon a time" for "two million children", for the word time would suggest that there is both day and night. Instead, these dehumanized "little beasts of burden" live forever in the night "while we sleep". Even in our drunkest hallucinations, we see "blue mice and pink elephants" or little elves riding on donkeys--never our children slaving away. Kelley uses vivid imagery to sarcastically illustrate the "pitiful privilege" children are granted and lists the common objects they "spin,..weave,..braid..[and] carry" each night. This commonality links everyone in the audience together: mothers, wives, daughters. Thus, she ends her speech comprehensively and advocates the goal everyone can work towards: for the sake of the "children" of today and the "Republic" of tomorrow. Only praying will not write the laws, free the children or permit female voting. No, it is the responsibility of the adults (like Jesus) to sacrifice their time, minds and body "in this task of freeing the children from toil": only then will an advance in equality be noticeable.

The Fear Before Paranoia

On February 27th, the same day that I read Black Men and Public Space by Brent Staples, the TSD released an email regarding a suspicious vehicle in the area of Square Lake and John R. Road. The email reported that a TSD parent had seen an older white full-sized station wagon sitting on the street for several consecutive days. A black male in his 20's was sitting in the driver's seat and wearing sunglasses even though it was dark out. He reportedly drove up to the parent's daughter as she was walking to school and demanded her to "Come here." Reading this email sparked tension and a queasiness that fluttered in my stomach, for I walk home alone after school. This incident will permanently alter the public space in that neighborhood, as parents set up higher precautions for safety. Yet this news is also enough to alter my own public space. As I walked home that day, I unconsciously "picked up my pace" (205) and "forge[d] ahead" (206) as I wished to reach the safe perimeter of my house as soon as possible. The description of the black male reminded me of Staples' observation, that the "fearsomeness mistakenly attributed to [him] in public places" (207) was because "young black males are drastically overrepresented among the perpetrators of that violence" (206). My natural "fight or flight" response is usually triggered when I perceive suspicious looking strangers on my walk home. Yet the description of the man and his white car increased my alertness as I glimpsed at the passing white cars, determined to "screen out troublesome individuals before there is any nastiness" (206). Staples' piece, though, convinced me through his misunderstood anecdotes that he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Yet how am I to know if the strangers that I encounter are to be feared or not? There are too many if's and maybe's when meeting strangers in public spaces, since it's difficult to view their true personalities. Here, Staples' provides a solution. Body language. The "excellent tension-reducing measure" of whistling classical melodies is something "virtually everybody" relaxes too because music is a universal language (207).

A Petri Dish Dystopia

The idea of manipulating life is not news to the public. Our imaginations have expanded with stories of Prometheus, Golem, Frankenstein, Dolly, and the most successful, in vitro fertilization. This process combines DNA from an egg and sperm, both isolated from the human body, and incubates the fetus into a human womb. IVF revives the dream for couples who desire children yet are unable to conceive. In their hands, in vitro fertilization becomes an appreciated miracle, an end to the wave of disappointments. Yet what happens when this unnatural process falls into greedy hands? Parents who scroll through Surrogate Mothers Online, "an eBay for genetic material" (Cohen 117) and fix upon the sole purpose of creating a"chef d'oeuvre" (Cohen 119) are no better than picky readers who meander through libraries, a massive pool of knowledge, and only gravitate towards one perspective of books. In both cases, this limited perspective may snowball into detrimental effects, such as eugenics or a prejudiced, intolerant individual. A perfect child is strikingly similar to Frankenstein's monster: both are created by independently chosen body parts to construct an ideal human. However, the success rate of a perfect child is far greater than Victor Frankenstein's monster. Technology, developing at a fiery rate, enables parents to choose which DNA samples to use through a process called genetic mapping. Essentially, we can create humans by selecting desired characteristics and even prevent genetic disorders "if [we] can afford it" (Cohen 119). Perhaps the best representation of the dire ends parents will go to to create a masterpiece is Graham's Repository for Germinal Choice, better known as the Nobel Prize sperm bank. In vitro fertilization is not criticized for its unnatural production of life; rather, people argue against its "$2-billion-a-year infertility industry" (Cohen 116). If left unchecked, there may come a day where no child is born naturally, but is instead chosen based on his traits, perhaps creating an in vivo Brave New World.

Pierre-Auguste Cot's Springtime, 1873

They swing on the polished wooden swing for hours, 

drifting back and forth through the lush green flowers.

She has been waiting for quite some time.

A sunlit young maiden with no speck of grime,

Her rippling gown, diaphanous and white,

swirls 'round her sensual body, half following the light.

Her feathery golden hair flutters through the breeze,

the tangles here and there loosen with ease,

The radiant sun, intercepted by the trees,

provide enough warmth to dissipate her unease.

He must come, he is bound to come!

Her heartbeat whispers like a distant drum.

A fleeting flashback to their past year,

full of happiness and joy and bliss and cheer.

But her stringent father, in his icy-rimmed crescent glasses,

had discerned the relationship through his own daughter's passes.

She sprints to the forest, to the veiled paradise they found,

her feet ruffle upon the earth, barely touching the ground.

Cool, refreshing water frothes upon her toes,

washes away the clinging dirt and fear that rose.

She reaches the clearing, and slows down her pace.

As she gulps down the fragrant air, tears stream down her face.

Mutely, she waits next to the old wooden swing,

Hoping and praying he'd walk down the path with a spring.

Around her feet, serpentine vines cling.

He had been dozing on a bough when he heard her silent cry,

and nearly tumbled down when he heard her rush by.

There drummed a soft pitter-patter of her delicate, cream feet,

and he knew the confrontation had not been so sweet.

He, in his favorite copper tunic,

swings down from the branches but slips in his panic.

He flies down briskly, his heels colliding with the dirt,

he skips like the wind, with a mission to reassert,

that their love still rings true,

with no reason for adieu.

He sprints swiftly, ducking the occasional slap of the leaves.

No groves would hinder his movement, those pesky time thieves.

The thickets blur into a green mass--

Where is she? Where is the fair lass?

His heart pounds wildly against his heaving chest,

threatening to burst if he did not rest.

Sweat coats his tan skin, his hands and his feet,

Down to the dirt he slips, tired and beat.

He looks up, his blood pounding against the veins of his head,

His dizzying world sharpens, his angel with her wings spread.

He reaches for her, in the middle of the spring,

She reaches for him, pulls him close to her in a sling

her arms had formed, and together they twirl

united, head to toe, in a colorful new world,

in that timeless lavish forest, forever young.

His long sturdy fingers grip the coarse-grained rope,

her small, nimble fingers grip his sun-kissed body in hope

All around them, the lush scenery gushes with life,

Everything melts into harmony--no strife

Silky, saffron butterflies hum through the air,

A soft, vibrant breeze ripples through her hair.

A sliver of sunlight peeks through the leaves,

Dances playfully around their bodies, fuses and weaves.

Birds tweeted cheerful tunes, dedicated to the cherubic lovers,

a sweet aroma of refreshing bluebells wafted from the flowers.

In that eternal paradise, they embraced with cherished joy,

He would fight through wars to keep her, his Helen of Troy.

The young maiden, she lingers by the spring,

The protective lad, he came bouncing with a spring,

Their clear eyes reveal they are beyond the summer flings,

for out of the tender, budding forest, their love springs.

Comfortable In My Own Skin

Six years ago, on the bus to school, I began the usual chatter with a friend. As she turned her head to greet me, the highlights of her face sharpened into view. Thin lips, flat nose, almond-shaped eyes....tape on her eyelids?

Double eyelids, along with a sharp nose, big eyes, and curly brown hair, are one of the most sought after physical highlights for an Asian face.  Apparently they give Asians a Western appeal.

***I ran into Ms. Valentino at Costco as I was writing the top half of this post. Big eyes, sharp features, brown hair. The "Western appeal".*** 

Seeing the efforts and hopes my friend placed into her quest for the double eyelid engendered a self consciousness I had never felt before. Looking into the mirror, I saw contortions of my eyes, so different from those around me. Thus, I curiously gave the tape a try.  However, such a forced tactic did not bring much success. The tape was still in plain sight, no matter how small I made it, and it felt itchy and uncomfortable, prompting furious eye twitching and scratching.

From that year on, middle school seemed to be a place to criticize, comment and laud others for their looks. I especially paid attention to Americans, with their sharp cheekbones, big puppy dog eyes, pointy nose bridges, and of course, the deep creases above their eyes. Being the naive child that I am, I made it a goal to mold myself into one of them. My father used to pinch my nose, chuckling that if I pinched hard enough, my nose would grow sharper. I took his words to heart. Contracting some sort of a squeezing device out of a chip clip and some tissues (so the clip wouldn't imprint a funky design), I left the clip stuck on my nose for an hour. As they say, beauty is pain.

In 2013, I read an interesting article on the faces of Miss Korea 2013.

At first, I thought that it was the same woman with a myriad of hairstyles. Yet they are all different people, with different lives and personalities. Looking at the similarities in noses, cheekbones and eyes, I realized my foolish hope of creating a face that fit in, for such an act creates a crowd, not an individual.

Who I was before, a naive girl who just wanted to look like others to be accepted, is not who I am today. Looking in the mirror, I realize that I could never imagine myself any different. My one double eyelid, my round nose, my faint lips. Though I still attempt numerous tactics to curl my hair, I don't feel like me unless I'm back to the usual silky, black, straight hair. The picture proves that why would anyone ever want to look like anyone else, when the price to pay is her individuality, a face that defines who she is? My face is a testament to my pride, my culture, and the acceptance that my unique, Chinese look is how others identify me as Karen brings much more satisfaction than any modification to my features.

The Making of a Champion

   Champion: a person who has defeated all opponents in a competition

             In the story Champion of the World, Maya Angelou defines Joe Louis as a champion because he was "the strongest man in the world" (90). Considered to be one of the greatest heavyweights of all time, Louis was the World Heavyweight Champion from 1937 to 1949. Furthermore, he endured only three defeats out of 72 fights. Although portrayed with limited English such as "winnah" and "champeen", Louis was still capable of defeating Carnera (90). He was living proof that African Americans could overcome white supremacy and stand on equal or even higher ground. By adding allusions to foster a sense of verisimilitude, Angelou reveals that Louis is a symbol of pride for the African American race. Each time he penetrates his opponent, the black race reassures themselves of their equal worth to whites. Each time he retreats and falls to the ground, another Black man is lynched, or a boy whipped and maimed. Thus, Louis represents the entire black community and their aspirations, and his fight in the boxing ring is analogous to blacks' fight for equality and respect. In this sense, Louis is a champion because he has "proved that we were the strongest people in the world" (90). In the ring, Louis argues that his skin color does not make him inferior to whites; the decades of pain and tragedy that the black race has endured only fortifies his fighting spirit as he "[penetrates] every block" (90). Joe Louis is the champion of the world, not only because he wins, but because he fights for equality on behalf of the entire black race.

Champion: a person who fights or argues for a cause on behalf of someone else