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