Geisha School Dropout

Talking to Isaac about Sandy Hook

I talked to Isaac about the school shooting at Sandy Hook Elementary on Friday evening.  I was in the middle of dropping the kids off at my parents' house so Tim and I could attend his office Christmas party, and my parents had the news blaring on the television.

I saw Isaac read the headline on the bottom of the screen, and his brow furrowed.  "What does this mean, 20 children are dead from school shooting?"

I sat on the ground and pulled him into my lap.  "Isaac, a crazy man with a bunch of guns went into an elementary school this morning and shot people.  He shot students and teachers, and they think about 27 people are dead.  20 of them are kids."

"Did they catch him?  Is he in jail?"

"He is dead too.  The police found him and he's dead.  He won't hurt anybody else."

"Okay, that's pretty good I guess."

"Emily, come over here now.  Isaac and  Emi, I'm going to tell you something that you have to promise never to forget.  If something terrible happens at school, if there is a fire or an earthquake or a burglar or a person who wants to hurt people, you need to listen to your teacher, okay?  If it's an intruder, your teacher will probably tell you to stay quiet and to hide somewhere, and if she tells you to hide somewhere, you stay hidden until the police come get you, okay?  Even if things are quiet."

They nodded.  And then I hugged them way too hard for their liking.

That night, Isaac had a pretty cool dream:

Last night I dreamed that in the future, when babies are still in the mama’s belly, that creatures that look like ticks and spiders try to attack the baby inside. But then in my dreams I invented a tiny machine, a tiny robot, that stood at the opening and attacked the ticks and spiders.

Also I wanted to make the babies safer even more, so I tried to make pills that would make a hole or ditch that the baby could hide in inside the mama’s belly, and the pills would put a cream on the baby so that anything that touched it until it was born would get a bruise and limp away. But at first the baby just fell into the hole and cried as it fell in because it was too deep. So I went back and fixed some things and tried again.  It took me four times to perfect it. Then when the baby *was* safe, I woke up.

Here are some of my more immediate thoughts during the weekend:

I understand that the US will remain a gun-toting nation for the conceivable future, and apparently yesterday's tragedy is the price the rest of us have to pay for other people's obsessions with them. I get it, and that is why I am choosing not to try to convince any pro-second-amendment folks to reconsider things. If they slept well yesterday, then they won't be convinced ever.

Perhaps I am stuck in the anger phase of mourning, but right now, if I see any of you talking about YOUR precious rights after 20 babies were taken from their families...I sneeze in your general direction and will make sure you have no influence on the minds and souls of my own children.

...

It's the tone that I object to most, I think. The pro-more-gun-control people are hand-wringing and navel-gazing and wondering about how we as a society can prevent another tragedy like this from occurring again. Meanwhile, some pro-NRA types are making jokes, being sarcastic, toting slogans. I fucking hate that. You are doing nothing for your cause.

Yes, still in anger stage of mourning.

It is now Tuesday, and not a half-hour goes by without thinking about those babies and the adults who tried to protect them.  These beautiful souls, whom I never met, yet love and miss as if they were friends, did not deserve to die that day, especially in such a violent way.  And I don't know if I handled things well with Isaac and Emi, although they do seem to be acting normally.  All tolled, I'm a mess.

My friend, WSJ columnist Jeff Yang, came up with this brilliant comic with his 9-year-old son Hudson, which got published on the NY Daily:

A Huge Boost for Same-Sex Marriage

Did you hear?  The day after North Carolina became the 30th state to vote against gay marriage, President Obama, MY president, just became the first president in American history to publicly support same-sex marriage.

YES HE DID.

I've said it before, but I'll say it again: this man has singlehandedly raised our national pride and international esteem back up from the Bush years with his poise, intelligence, wit, and RAW BALLSINESS.  Needless to say, he has my vote again this November.  

Mr. President, here is what I have to say to you:

Some Reactions to "Paper Tigers"

Wesley Yang's recent essay, "Paper Tigers," was published as the cover story of New York Magazine yesterday.  Have you read it yet?  I just did, and my head is reeling.  Much like Manny Pacquiao delivering blow after blow in the ring, Wesley Yang overloads the senses with vivid imagery, damning statistics, compelling interviews and profiles, and the occasional "fuck you" thrown in for good measure.  It is a long article, and I write short blog posts, so I'm only going to talk about a couple points here, but please bring up other points of discussion in the comments if you wish.

Okay, first assertion by the author I wish to talk about: Asian Americans, although we have fantastic college acceptance and graduation rates, meet a "Bamboo Ceiling" in the corporate world, evidenced by some anecdotes and the fact that only 1.8% of Fortune 500 companies have Asian CEOs.  Therefore, all the math drills and cram schools we force our kids to attend do not guarantee success in life after school.

First off, I agree that this Bamboo Ceiling phenomenon exists; I just don't think the statistics he has chosen to use even begin to prove his point.  If we go by the Fortune 500 measure, everyone in America besides these 500 CEOs hasn't succeeded, and I'm sure many of them beg to differ.  And I'm not talking from the "money doesn't guarantee happiness" point of view either...fine, you want to judge success by Benjamins, I can talk Benjamins.  

How about the thousands of Asian Americans who can say: "I may not have made $37 million dollars last year as CEO of PepsiCo (ironically CEOed by a woman of South Asian descent), but as a boring-ass middle-tier lawyer I did make $300,000."  I dunno about you, but that still seems like success to me.  And don't forget all the Asian Americans who knowingly opt out of the rat race either by becoming public servants, activists, artists and designers, church leaders (I wonder what the combined net worth of all the Korean churches in America is...I bet it's not too shabby), and self-employed.

It's tough to become a Fortune 500 CEO, or any kind of CEO that necessitates moving up the corporate ladder.  The reason why so many of them are tall white men is because their predecessors were tall white men.  The Old Boy Network has been around for what, 12 generations now, and that club is hard to get into, and it usually involves multiple generations of inherited money, power, and connections to people like governors and board members, so they're not bound to look kindly on some fresh-faced 2nd generation ethnic-American whose family's net worth cannot buy a congressional district.  I think it's amazing that even 9 Asian Americans managed to pierce through that veil.  Go them!

Which brings me to my second point: you think Asian Americans have it bad?  Talk to a Latino or African American.  Their "success" numbers drop off in high school, let alone college.  Or how about women of all races?  Injustice comes in many flavors.

My second cause of dismay was the uncomfortably long portion dedicated to learning pick up artist tricks in order to bone white girls.  After all this compelling talk about real Asian American issues, with no segue at all, suddenly I'm thrust into a world I don't think I'm meant to witness with a motley crew of alpha-males-in-training.  Their mission statement: "What is good in life?"  “To crush my enemies, see them driven before me, and to hear the lamentation of their women—in my bed!”

Work and life success equated with contrived sexual conquests?  Really?  Who invited me to the sausage fest?

However, this bombastic tone screeches to a halt near the end when he starts talking about Amy Chua's Tiger Mom book.  In fact, his review is the most nuanced and intriguing I've read on the topic, and it actually made me want to finally read the book.  Which brings me to my final reaction: despite the gut-wrenching, angry ways he describes his own and the world's shortcomings, Wesley Yang strikes me a pinnacle of his definition of success.  He has a semi-naked picture of himself published in his barely-edited cover story for New York Magazine, for goodness' sake!  And dare I say, despite his first few paragraphs, he accomplished this as an Asian American.

PS: While I was writing this, Ask a Korean's response came into my feed reader.  It's some good shit.

Cross-posted on Kimchi Mamas!

 

Mixed Feelings

I first heard about the death of Osama bin Laden through Facebook.  I was able to live-stream President Obama's remarks and hear some of the analysis immediately afterwards.  I thought about my friends who lost loved ones on 9/11 and hoped that the news brought them some peace or closure.  I was awe-struck at the realization that while President Obama was pwning Donald Trump at the White House Correspondents Dinner the previous night, he knew all this was going on.  Man, our POTUS has a thing or two to teach us about zen mastery.

I really thought the tone of Obama's announcement to the world was spot-on.  It was appropriately sober and direct, the words were obviously carefully chosen to show deep respect for the victims of 9/11, our military, and the other nations who have lost so many of their own people in this war.  I was also amazed that the mission lasted just a couple hours and resulted in no American casualties.  My favorite part of the speech:

As we do, we must also reaffirm that the United States is not –- and never will be -– at war with Islam.  I’ve made clear, just as President Bush did shortly after 9/11, that our war is not against Islam.  Bin Laden was not a Muslim leader; he was a mass murderer of Muslims.  Indeed, al Qaeda has slaughtered scores of Muslims in many countries, including our own.  So his demise should be welcomed by all who believe in peace and human dignity.

But after I saw images of my own countrymen basically holding a frat party outside of the White House, hanging off of trees and singing "Nah nah nah nah, hey hey hey, goodbye," I didn't feel so good anymore.  I felt strangely panicky, in fact, and wanted to announce to the world that I was also an American and didn't feel celebratory at all, that we are not a hateful people.  After the initial shock, I now just feel empty by how quickly this has turned into a bit of a farce, our real world version of "1984," complete with the Two Minutes of Hate.

This morning, I read this statement from the Council on American Islamic Relations (this and other Muslim reactions can be found on Goat Milk):

We join our fellow citizens in welcoming the announcement that Osama bin Laden has been eliminated as a threat to our nation and the world through the actions of American military personnel. As we have stated repeatedly since the 9/11 terror attacks, bin Laden never represented Muslims or Islam. In fact, in addition to the killing of thousands of Americans, he and Al Qaeda caused the deaths of countless Muslims worldwide. We also reiterate President Obama’s clear statement tonight that the United States is not at war with Islam.

Although very tactfully worded, it reminded me of who was actually conducting the majority of the Muslim deaths worldwide: we are.   9/11 did not just kill over 3,000 people over the course of one day; over a million people died in Iraq alone, and those people had as much to do with the 9/11 terrorist attacks as I did.  Does the death of Osama bin Laden justify or bring closure to their deaths as well?  Does the fact that "he started it" make him the only person responsible for the millions of lives lost or displaced in these 10 years?  I'm not sure, and I don't know what to do about it.

Returning hate for hate multiplies hate, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars. Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that. Hate multiplies hate, violence multiplies violence, and toughness multiplies toughness in a descending spiral of destruction. So when Jesus says "Love your enemies," he is setting forth a profound and ultimately inescapable admonition. ... The chain reaction of evil — hate begetting hate, wars producing more wars — must be broken, or we shall be plunged into the dark abyss of annihilation.

- Martin Luther King, Jr.

Debating the Niqab, with Additional Commentary by Isaac

A friend of mine recently posted the following clip of two Muslim women discussing the niqab ban in France:

Both sides were very well-debated, which is a rarity on TV these days.  On one hand, Mona Eltahawy (right), although she considers the reasoning behind the French ban to be racist, would like to do away with all facial covering.  She calls it "the pinnacle of objectification" of a woman, to have one's primary source of communication and  identity virtually erased.  Definitely a valid point, of course, especially since many, many Muslim women are required to cover their faces, but that doesn't necessarily apply to women who choose to wear the niqab in countries where it is optional.  Hebah Ahmed (left), a blogger for Muslim Matters, actually covers herself to avoid a different kind of objectification, the kind any woman living amongst men knows all too well:

Basically, I want people to know that when I choose to cover this way it’s because I am fighting against a systematic oppression against women in which women’s bodies are being sexualized and objectified. This is a different perspective and a different form of empowerment in which I think when I’m in public, my sexuality is in my control and people have to deal with my brain and who I really am and not judge me by my body. And if we want to really talk about the oppressive situation of women, let’s talk about all the eating disorders, all of the plastic surgery, all of the unhealthy diets that are being done, all in the name of having the perfect body. To me, this is liberating and this is empowering. 

WOW, right?  I can't really describe this as anything other than punk rock.  In fact, it already has gotten me thinking on the image I present to the greater world.  

When I was younger, I was very image-conscious, not in the traditional way of staying on-trend, but more like making sure I  portrayed a small amount of rebellion and counterculture in everything I put on my body, and it gave people a little clue into what I was about.  Nowadays, I just wear my mom uniform of t-shirt and jeans, and I do see people having difficulty sussing me out.  The good part is people don't pigeonhole me into some simplistic caricature, but the bad part is when given nothing to go on (except for my obvious race and body shape), most people don't want to take the energy to get to know me even a little bit.  There must be some happier medium.

--------------------------

One funny story: while I was engrossed in this debate, I didn't realize Isaac was also watching it behind my shoulder.  When it ended, he was indignant on Hebah's behalf, saying, "But Mom, how can she do her job if she can't cover her face?"  

I didn't recall them discussing her job at all.  "Huh?  What do you think she does, Bu?"

"Well, she's a ninja, right?"  

O_o

I will never look at a niqabi the same way again!

Mommy Dearest

 

A strange combination of events triggered the deep, dark, Joan Crawford part of me yesterday.  So dark, in fact, that at 8:30 pm I text-messaged Tim calling the kids "douchebags" and "fuckers."  The exact quotes are:

The kids are being douchebags, they don't understand the danger out there!

I told them to hurry up, so we can turn all the lights out, fucking dillydallying.

They don't know what fear is, the Fuckers.

I know, that sounds totally crazy, but let me tell you the context!

First of all, Tim's workplace is having a team-building retreat in Vegas.  I'm guessing in lieu of the traditional Trust Falls (I forget the real term, when you close your eyes and toss yourself backwards and your teammate has to catch you), they get really drunk and try to top each other on Guitar Hero and start betting at the Roulette table with stock options.

Anyway, Tim is away until Saturday.  Then around noon, all hell breaks loose in my neighborhood.  It started out as four armed and dangerous robbery suspects scattering and hiding themselves in my exact part of Long Beach.  Neighborhood schools (all except for Isaac's, strangely) were being placed on lockdown, people were warned to stay inside their homes with the doors locked, etc.  I am usually not one to panic, but being alone in the house, separated from my kids (who were in much better positions than I was, which is why I didn't go out to get them immediately), with nothing to defend myself with other than a hammer and some hella halitosis, I will admit now that I got scared.

They ended up catching one guy, who didn't run far, just into some brush by the side of the freeway.  And then they downgraded the number of suspects to three.  But a couple houses in the neighborhood had some sightings and/or break-ins, so two people were still on the run.  They're still out there, in fact.

We ate dinner at an eerily empty Denny's, then shopped at the most depressing K-Mart in existence, also frighteningly devoid of both products and patrons.  I have a strange relationship with K-Mart that I will save describing for a later post, but even with that in mind, the experience was unsettling to say the least.  It was like shopping along Cormac McCarthy's The Road.  Gangs of marauders could have jumped us at every aisle.

Night fell and the paranoia really started kicking in.  At 7:45 I tell the kids to hurry up, get dressed, brush their teeth, etc. and congregate in the master bedroom so I can turn all the lights off.  Commence rebellion.  Isaac was whining, even pretending to forget how to put pajamas on, and Emi was actually scream-crying, to which I hissed "Do you want the robbers to hear you?  Do you want them to find us?"  Which of course had no impact at all, because how the hell do they know what bank robbers are capable of?  So I told them.  "If they find us and decide to come into our house, they will KILL US.  We will be DEAD."  Isaac actually giggled, the jerk, and Emi didn't care and said as much.

This went on for more than half an hour.  Me running around hissing while the kids complained and procrastinated, me compulsively turning off the lights and the kids turning them back on, saying they need the light, etc. etc.  That's when I texted Tim.  It makes sense now, right?  No?  Fuck you!  I eventually cracked and roared at them to get into my bed right now, or else I would leave them outside for the robbers to take them, if they even would take such naughty children.  Isaac eyed me up and down to see if I was serious, and at a snail's pace, obeyed.  I locked everything, closed all the curtains, grabbed all the phones, the flashlight, and the hammer, and finally was able to lock the bedroom down, propping 2 weeks' worth of dirty laundry and a broken chair against the door for good measure.

"Mom, can we read a book?"

"SHHHHHH!!!!"

"Mommy, I want Clifford juice."

"Shush!  No juice!  Mommy has to listen for robbers."

"I want JUUUUUUUUUUUUICE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

"Be quiet!  Don't you know what happens to the crying baby in The Diary of Anne Frank?"

"Diawy?  No, juice."

"Ssssh!  Go to sleep!"

And miraculously, they did.  I did not, however.  I was filled with waves of self-hatred and shame, but mostly shame.  What the hell happened to me, invoking the freaking Holocaust?  I let my irrational side get to me.  I decided to calm myself down by reading a book.  Big mistake.

The book I read was The Surrendered by Chang-Rae Lee.  By the end of it, I was filled with such disgust, despair, and hopelessness that it was a good thing I only had a hammer.  Anything more lethal, I wouldn't be here to write this blog post.  Oh my god, the horribleness of humanity, all of us capable of every atrocity given the right set of circumstances and motives.  I lay awake for hours, thinking about war, famine, the oil spilling into the Gulf, Arizona, whale-hunters, the impending fight for water rights, nuclear proliferation, the assassination of John Lennon, and the debauchery that must have still been unfolding in Las Vegas.

I eventually fell asleep, and woke up to a lovely morning, feeling mostly silly.  The kids greeted me with smiles, all forgiven.  I think I'm going to take them out somewhere delicious today, unless of course there's another news blast, this time that zombies have taken over East Long Beach.  Then I will spend the evening barking at the kids to keep sharpening the stakes.

A Message from the Greatest Generation

 

Hey Maine!  You raised a fine man in Philip Spooner.  He is an 86-year-old WWII veteran, and he's showing us how it's done.  And by "it" I mean "how to make your point so your opponents seem like gnats."

The woman at my polling place asked me do I believe in equality for gay and lesbian people. I was pretty surprised to be asked a question like that. It made no sense to me. Finally I asked her: what do you think I fought for in Omaha Beach?

No on 1, Maine!

Day 1 of the New America

Words cannot describe my elation today. But I am also ready to do my part to help rebuild this country. Julie Kang reporting for duty, Mr. President!

President Obama! Can you believe it??? Eek!!!

The Sanctity of Human Life (warning: graphic)

My is-he-still-President just announced that this Sunday, January 18, will be a holiday!  It's called National Sanctity of Human Life Day!  You can throw parties and hand out little plastic fetuses as favors.  Here are some prize snippets from his official declaration:

All human life is a gift from our creator that is sacred, unique and worthy of protection. On National Sanctity of Human Life Day, our country recognizes that each person, including every person waiting to be born, has a special place and purpose in this world....

The most basic duty of government is to protect the life of the innocent. My administration has been committed to building a culture of life by vigorously promoting adoption and parental notification laws, opposing federal funding for abortions overseas, encouraging teen abstinence and funding crisis pregnancy programs....

The sanctity of life is written in the hearts of all men and women. On this day and throughout the year, we aspire to build a society in which every child is welcome in life and protected in law. We also encourage more of our fellow Americans to join our just and noble cause. History tells us that with a cause rooted in our deepest principles and appealing to the best instincts of our citizens, we will prevail.

So I can take this little steaming pile of bullshit and analyze it line-by-line (you know, how teen pregnancy is actually on the rise, etc.), but hey, the poor guy's leaving office.  Instead, I will bite my tongue.  Hard.  Then I will have an excuse for the tears in my eyes.

Oh No

Madelyn Dunham, Barack Obama's grandmother, passed away today, one day before her grandson is expected to be elected president.  She was quite an extraordinary lady, who worked her way from being a typing assistant to becoming one of the first female vice presidents of a bank ever.  More information on this amazing lady can be found here.

I can't imagine how Sen. Obama feels right now, but my thoughts are with him and his family.  It is so tragic.