I Heart The Decemberists

As my first act of Spring Break, I went with Lawrence to the two Decemberists concerts at Avalon Friday and Saturday. I absolutely love this band. Their "hyperliterate prog-rock" tugs at my hipster-wannabe heart stings. They are also wonderful performers. Each band member is a character and collectively they have this great dynamic and energy that transcends the crowd. Plus I have a little crush on lead singer Colin Meloy, which Lawrence is ok with since he has a crush on Jenny Conlee.

Originally, Lawrence and I were only supposed to attend the Friday night performance, but I unfortunately fell ill during the concert- I nearly fainted. We had to leave our third row standing spots to step to the side so I could get water and air. This caused us to miss the last two songs of the night, one of which is "The Mariner's Revenge"- one of Lawrence's most favorite songs, ever. We looked for the tickets for the next night's performance, which were surprisingly easy to do given that it was sold out, and we got to see the band perform a new set in addition to Lawrence's favorite song, with whale costumes and "dead" Decemberists band members and all. (Scroll of the bottom of Lawrence's post for the video.) It was amazing. :)

Being American

While at work a couple of weeks ago, I was introduced to one of our study participants as the new clinical research assistant.

Nurse: "This is our new research assistant, Christina."
Participant: "Hi, Chris. Is it ok if I call you Chris? We shorten things here in America."

Unbelievable! As our 4 hour visit proceeded, I got to know the participant better and realized the she probably was just trying to make conversation and didn't mean to be derogatory. Nonetheless, she clearly labeled me a foreigner, and ironically she is not Caucasian. I couldn't help but be offended. I was born in this country just as she was, and to be honest, I speak English more eloquently than she does (which, if you read my blog, is really a feat to speak more poorly than I do :) ) and am more educated than she is. I should be just as American as she is, but she clearly didn't see me that way.

Lawrence and I have encountered this quite a bit throughout our young lives. Although this is very offensive to me, I still find that people in this country are much more aware and tolerant of diversity than in other countries. During our World Cup adventure, we encountered many people who couldn't believe that Lawrence and I are American. They would always assume we were supporting Korea. Additionally, we got to talking with a Dutch fellow who thought he was so tolerant since he "knew black people". And he was among the more aware and tolerant of those we met at the World Cup.

Still, racist stereotypes still clearly exist here and abroad. I find that they are least obvious in NY, where no one takes a second look at you- partially out of a fear of being jumped for giving a second look, but more importantly because everyone is used to the diversity.

I think this has contributed to my lack of a real national pride. In this country, I don't feel American- if anything I'm a New Yorker (can you tell from this blog? :) ). Outside of this country, I like to think of myself as American, but no one else seems to believe it. And in the Philippines, I still stick out because I'm considered American.

I believe I'm experiencing what most 1st/2nd generation kids go through when coming to this country. It's an interesting generation-wide phenomenon. It honestly doesn't affect my day to day living all that much, but every once in a while it comes up, like with our participant, and makes me a feel a little lost, like I don't really belong anywhere.

Being Sick

I woke up this morning with a sore throat and currently feel light-headed and achy all at once. Yuck.

This reminds me of the first time I ever got sick away from home. I was a freshman at Penn, and I thought I was going to die. I just lay in bed with a high fever and wanting my mom. I was miserable. My mom is a pediatrician, so she always took care of my sisters and me when we got sick. Being sick away from home was my first real rude awakening that I had become an adult, that I needed to take care of myself, and that being sick was no longer a day off from life.

Funny how being sick as a kid got me out of my responsibilities. I didn't have to study or attend school or go to soccer practice or go to tennis lessons. It was a mini-vacation, and I LOVED getting sick. Even in college, I had to take care of myself and any case studies or tests that were coming up, but I still had the option of staying in bed all day and vegging. Now, as a pseudo-student/adult, I can't shun my daily responsibilities anymore. I went to work this morning, went grocery shopping (since we haven't gone food shopping in over two weeks!) during the bizzaro blizzard in the middle of March, and am about to start studying soon after I finish this blogpost. Being sick is now just something to work through instead of something to embrace and almost celebrate.

Getting older stinks. I can add this to my long list of reasons why I don't want to grow up. :)

Sitting on the Eurostar

As I've been cleaning out my old backpacks and bags, I've come across a lot of junk I manage to horde- receipts, clear gum wrappers, pens galore. While most of it is disposable, I did stumble upon a note I wrote to myself as Lawrence and I were ending our World Cup adventure last summer. I thought it worth posting, albeit quite tardy, since it's something I would have written about on my blog if I had access to a computer at that moment.


June 20, 2006

It's funny how easily I've forgotten what it's like to work. Currently sitting on the Eurostar from Brussels to London, I've been reflecting on the past year I spent as a consultant and how my life is about to change drastically with all the schooling I've just committed myself to. I'm excited to go back to school and follow a dream I've had since I was young.

Thoughts on Poetry

My friend Sonia and I attended a poetry reading this week in Cambridge. We went to listen to Mala, a candidate for a PhD in Chemistry from MIT who writes chemistry poems. She anthropomorphizes atoms, telling of the dramas of nuclear decay and nucleophilic backside attacks. The nerd that I am finds her poems hysterical.

Sonia and I didn't know what we were getting ourselves into with this poetry reading. Mala was hosted by a poetry group, all the members of which are amateur poets who were getting on in age and aspiring to be published. We had to sit through some very serious and not so impressive poetry. We were beginning to wonder if most poetry in general is mediocre and written by people who take themselves too seriously.

Then a published poet, also featured in addition to Mala by the group that evening, presented his poems. His poetry was leaps and bounds beyond those of the amateurs. His descriptions, his word play, and the way in which he was able to invoke emotion among members of the audience was unparalleled that evening, with the exception of Mala of course! Mala read last, after the other featured poet. Her poems seemed to be lost on this writer-type crowd, but Sonia and I managed to laugh out loud.

The man who introduced Mala said that only through her poetry he actually found chemistry fun; after Mala's reading, Sonia commented to Mala and me that only through Mala's use of chemistry in poetry did she actually find poetry fun. :)

After we it was over, Sonia and I both agreed that attending the reading was another interesting life experience that we weren't ready to experience again any time soon. We also discussed how, as the poetry reading proceeded, neither of us were sure if we could tell amateur poets from professional ones. After we heard the published poet, however, we both agreed that there was a big difference between amateurs and professionals. He restored my faith in good writers.

This poetry reading made me realize that true talent does exist (and can do so in many forms) and those who possess it can create beautiful things, whether it be poetry or the perfect football pass. It also made me realize, however, that those who have true talent are few and far between. Though a lot of people have passion, most of what is produced isn't close to noteworthy. As my friend Kristin, who used to work in an art gallery in Southern California, succinctly put it, "there's a lot of crap out there."