titmt – when i was a child…

…I used to daydream. I used to dream, and dream, and dream. From the time I woke up in the morning until the time I went to bed at night. I immersed myself in books because reading is like dreaming. When I sat in class at school and learned cursive and multiplication tables and the capital of California, I daydreamed.

I remember a particularly luscious one about sunflowers in the second grade.
sunflower_risingBut I don’t remember the long division I was supposed to have been paying attention to.

I had to stay after school with the teacher so she could show me long division. She couldn’t understand why I got some things so quickly and others not at all. If I could see her again, I would say, “I’m sorry, Mrs. Greene, but it was because there were some things I just never heard.” My husband’s stepmom said this might have been a coping mechanism. I suspect she might be right.

I’d like to say the daydreaming stopped when I was a kid, but actually I’m kind of glad it didn’t. Now I daydream stories and characters and have entire conversations in my head. But this time I write them down, and enter them in contests, and submit them for publication. Maybe I still don’t pay attention when I should, though how can I when I’m constructing war and sadness, love and little bits of truth?

(And…I’ve decided to share them. Soon (very soon!), I will have a page up on my blog where I will post my short stories. I hope you all will like them.)

Is it strange one of the things I loved most about childhood was something that…wasn’t exactly real? Hmm.

What about you? How would you complete the phrase: “When I was a child…”?

The Rules
I think there is real power in the human voice, as flawed as it may be. And when the voices speak together, when you have a multitude of voices speaking, patterns begin to emerge and there you can begin to understand truth. So in the spirit of the personal narrative, I am hosting a weekly challenge every Tuesday morning, where I will post a topic (ranging from the banal to the intimate) and ask readers to respond. I would love to see everyone’s answers and how similar and different they all are.

You can respond in any way you choose. You can give a fictional response or a true one. You can use words, sentences, and/or photographs. If you have a blog, you can link it with Mr. Linky below. Please be sure to include “Tell It To Me Tuesdays” in the title, and link back to this post. Feel free to use the “Tell It To Me Tuesday” button available to the right. If you don’t have a blog, but want to join in, you can just leave a comment. Please follow the rules. I don’t want to have to delete links. I like links! Don’t make me delete them.

TITMT
Next week’s challenge:
“I’ve learned…” (or: “I’ve discovered…”)

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on the nature of being human

banner_social_policyThe story we are told about human nature is that man is inherently self-interested, pleasure-seeking, sinning and utilitarian – doing the minimum to get the maximum benefits for oneself, and that this nature is driven by a life that is nasty, brutish and short. Indeed, all we have to do is take a cursory glance over history, and we’ll see the world stricken with crime, wars, genocide, power games, and greedy, greedy people taking advantage for themselves, to the detriment of everyone else (*cough* Bernie Madoff *cough*).

But maybe we are overlooking something. I heard an interview with Jeremy Rifkin, which you can listen to here, in which he discusses his new book The Empathic Civilization: The Race to Global Consciousness in a World in Crisis. You can read the first chapter of it here. I haven’t read the book yet, but the interview alone blew me away. Rifkin talks about evolutionary biology and a wealth of science coming out now that suggests that human beings may not naturally be so self-interested. In fact, what really drives humans is our need for social contact. We are social beings and we engage with others through our ability to empathize. (This makes sense right? Why else would we love literature and movies so much except by our ability to empathize with the main characters for example? Why else would we need love and affection, friends and family in our lives if that weren’t so? But that is not our view of ourselves, especially not where politics or religion is concerned.) What we see when we look at history is not actually the norm of human behavior, but rather the product of historians who are interested in power games and struggles, in wars and who has power and who doesn’t. In short, historians are interested not in the norm of human nature, but in the aberrations. People helping each other with their daily survival needs, people talking kindly to each other, people working together…none of this is interesting.

If you are unconvinced, think for a moment about our news. Our news is filled with the Iraq War, Afghanistan, political scandals, intrigues, anything that involves sex, blood or mayhem. Saying hello to your neighbor and giving money to the homeless is not newsworthy. So if you consider what is deemed “interesting”, you see it is the stuff that is different, outside the norm of accepted behavior. Thus what we have of recorded history is what was “news” of the time. In the historical research I’ve done, (looking into ancient Greece and ancient Persia for example) it is far easier to find records of warfare, technology, and kings and their courts than it is to find out the social ceremonies when people invited guests into their homes. We might have records of what they ate and how they worked, but it’s harder to find out how they greeted each other and how often they had time to socialize. As it was put in the interview, “history is made by the pathological”. It’s not normal human behavior that gets recorded, nor is it normal people who usually lead nations. That turn of phrase really made me think just how much of human history might have been lost to the fascination with the pathological.

The interview goes on to discuss how young babies are not inherently scheming, self-interested utilitarians. What they want most is social connectedness. They yearn for the connection with their mothers, and when they do not get it, that’s when we begin to see narcissism, selfishness, and a very slow erosion of the ability to connect. This insight really caught me because I recall earlier parenting advice often advocated letting babies cry themselves out, instead of going to pick them up every time they cried. But, if I understand correctly, there has been a shift in thinking (for example, with advocates of babywearing) that suggests babies should in fact be picked up when they need attention because that need is very real and very important for their development.

Towards the end of the interview, Rifkin discusses the different ages man has gone through and how technological development has shifted man’s consciousness and ability to empathize with others, moving from blood kin through religious associations, national affiliation…to where we are now on the precipice of a global age, aided by digital technology that puts us in touch with people all over the globe. He warns we must be clear about what we want from this technology and how we apply it, in our ability to empathize with others.

If it is true that humans are naturally social, empathetic beings, that has powerful implications for the possibilities of our entire world order, how we engage in politics, and how we understand ourselves. I’m sure Rifkin’s book explores this angle much more fully. But what I find fascinating is the possibility that we assume man to be self-interested utilitarians and that this frame of reference actually shapes how we interact with each other. If we can take empathy as the status quo, how differently would we behave? If we assumed others merely wanted our love, how would we treat them?

It also strikes me that this view of human nature has a decidedly feminine bent. By feminine, I don’t mean female in the sense that only women have this trait. Rather, I mean, if humans have both masculine and feminine traits, with each individual (and maybe each society) falling somewhere along a spectrum between extreme masculinity and extreme femininity…this worldview has a feminine quality to it, with its emphasis on social connectivity and emotive needs and desires. And the view we have had before has had more of a masculine quality to it, as it has been written primarily by men and about men. Now I want to be careful here. I’m not saying masculinity is pathological. Obviously not. Both sides of the spectrum have important and valuable contributions to a functioning society. But I’m suggesting that our view of mankind might have been skewed by a suppression of the feminine voice. And what I find most interesting is that so much of scientific, psychological, sociological, and literary pursuits (among a wealth of others) are starting to reflect the feminine voice more – and this coincides with research that suggests women are beginning to move more into positions of power. They are graduating at greater rates than men, they are scoring higher on exams and getting higher degrees and beginning to take up greater proportions of typically “male” fields. Now it is no where near parity and equality has not been achieved in a lot of areas. But it is happening at a rate that educators are beginning to fear there is a gender gap crisis – with boys being the ones who are falling behind.

I know I’m connected in meaningful ways with people with whom I’d never have been able to in any other time before this. And all of that is due to the wonders of the digital age. But can the digital age really fuel greater connectivity? And can it really provide a means for helping us change our basic assumptions about those with whom we connect?

* Photo courtesy of: http://thenewwriters.wordpress.com/2009/07/02/a-possible-vision-social-harmony/

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tell it to me tuesday – another life for a day

If you could have a different life for just one day, what would it be like? Would you be a mountaineer? A rockstar? A musician? Someone else you know, whose life you wish you had?
corsica1

I have two answers for this one. If I were a slightly different person, I’d want a life where I traveled the world for a living, perhaps working for National Geographic or The Lonely Planet, writing exposes on different peoples and cultures. There’s a part of me that always wished I had the cajones to live a life like that. But you have to have more than the average gusto to not only negotiate a viable career out of that, but also to live like that. As much as I love travel, I don’t love to be a woman traveling in foreign countries on my own. I have done it and can do it, but I prefer a traveling companion for both the security and the company. I know some women, even friends of mine, who have scampered through dangerous parts of Afghanistan all by their onesies. I give mad props to them. But I’d need to be a different person for a day for that.

But assuming I’m the same old me, I would love to live somewhere along the Mediterranean coast, perhaps even on Sicily or Corsica. I’d live in a little flat where I could soak up the sun and plant a little herb garden. I’d write all day long on my terrace or in a cafe, and be blissfully secluded from the hubbub of cities unless I felt the urge to visit one. My little life would be sanctuary.

What life would you live for a day?

The Rules
I think there is real power in the human voice, as flawed as it may be. And when the voices speak together, when you have a multitude of voices speaking, patterns begin to emerge and there you can begin to understand truth. So in the spirit of the personal narrative, I am hosting a weekly challenge every Tuesday morning, where I will post a topic (ranging from the banal to the intimate) and ask readers to respond. I would love to see everyone’s answers and how similar and different they all are.

You can respond in any way you choose. You can give a fictional response or a true one. You can use words, sentences, and/or photographs. If you have a blog, you can link it with Mr. Linky below. Please be sure to include “Tell It To Me Tuesdays” in the title, and link back to this post. If you don’t have a blog, but want to join in, you can just leave a comment. Please follow the rules. I don’t want to have to delete links. I like links! Don’t make me delete them.

Next week’s challenge: Favorite house items
What household items could you not live without? Do you have a go-to brand of cleaner? A cooking utensil you’d grab if the house were on fire? What household good helps you turn your house into your home?

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tell it to me tuesdays – the smell of a memory

smells_lavenderI don’t remember being particularly sensitive to smells when I was younger. But somehow – overnight it seems – my sense of smell became a sense I couldn’t do without. I’ve learned to use it when I cook, instead of taste tests, to see if a dish is just right. I know when cookies are done baking when I can smell the cinnamon and sugar emanating from the oven. I love the smell of rain in the air, but I hate the smell of raw meat and gasoline. I bathe in lavender and lather in coconut. I bury my nose in my husband’s pillow when he is gone on a business trip and I am missing him. I’ve been reduced to tears just catching a whiff of a scent that reminded me of my grandmother.

smells_jasmineBut there is one smell in particular that I love, that always makes me feel like I just caught the scent of a wonderful secret: the smell of night-blooming jasmine. When I was growing up, there was a jasmine bush just outside my bedroom window. And on summer nights, when my window was open, its perfume would waft in and hover over my bed where I usually lay with a book and a flashlight, reading when I should have been asleep. For me, jasmine was the scent of stolen moments, escape and escapades into the inky black recesses of summer nights. Now, whenever I smell it, I smell night-time in summer.

smells_flowersWhat scents evoke memories in you?

The Rules
I think there is real power in the human voice, as flawed as it may be. And when the voices speak together, when you have a multitude of voices speaking, patterns begin to emerge and there you can begin to understand truth. So in the spirit of the personal narrative, I am hosting a weekly challenge every Tuesday morning, where I will post a topic (ranging from the banal to the intimate) and ask readers to respond. I would love to see everyone’s answers and how similar and different they all are. (Last week was great! I especially loved reading the comments on my and other people’s blogs in response to the topic!)

You can respond in any way you choose. You can give a fictional response or a true one. You can use words, sentences, and/or photographs. If you have a blog, you can link it with Mr. Linky below. Please be sure to include “Tell It To Me Tuesdays” in the title, and link back to this post. If you don’t have a blog, but want to join in, you can just leave a comment. Please follow the rules. I don’t want to have to delete links. I like links! Don’t make me delete them.

Next week’s challenge: Life for a day
If you could live a different life for a day, what would it be?

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tell it to me tuesdays

youcapture_stillcoffeeOne of the effects of becoming a blogger and of reading books from a deliberate perspective is that I am beginning to really believe in the power of the personal narrative. As humans we once carried knowledge, traditions, sense of family and honor through oral history. We told each other stories, and I think stories have the ability to convey really deep truths. Of course, we like hard data: facts, figures, statistics…and they help us understand reality and get a handle on complexity. At least in a certain way. But that is only one way to get at truth. I think there is real power in the human voice, as flawed as it may be. And when the voices speak together, when you have a multitude of voices speaking, patterns begin to emerge and there you can begin to understand truth.

So in the spirit of the personal narrative, I want to try hosting a weekly challenge every Tuesday morning, where I will post a topic (ranging from the banal to the intimate) and ask readers to respond. I would love to see everyone’s answers and how similar and different they all are.

The Rules
You can respond in any way you choose. You can give a fictional response or a true one. You can use words, sentences, and/or photographs. If you have a blog, you can link it with Mr. Linky below. Please be sure to include “Tell It To Me Tuesdays” in the title, and link back to this post. If you don’t have a blog, but want to join in, you can just leave a comment. Please follow the rules. I don’t want to have to delete links. I like links! Don’t make me delete them.

This week’s challenge: What’s in a name?
What does your name mean to you and do you think it shapes who you are?

This idea has been floating around in my head since I read The Poisonwood Bible (as I mentioned in yesterday’s post). But then my hubby passed this article on to me and I was astounded by the coincidence – and the researchers’ findings.

As an author, I select character names very deliberately – the names have meanings appropriate to the character’s personality or role. But it’s interesting to wonder whether causation works in the reverse: do we behave in certain ways because of our names?

For me, Jade calls to mind something unique, feminine but not overly girly, and strong. I’m not sure if I’m any of those things, but that is part of how I’d like to see myself. Even if I’m not, I think there is an underlying part of me that strives to be.

Next week’s challenge: The smell of a memory
What scents evoke strong memories in you?

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10 years…don’t they go by in a blink?

It’s ironic. I recently posted about being addicted to technology. Yet, even though I packed my ball and chain, the minute I left home for the holidays, I became suddenly physically incapable of going anywhere near my laptop. I thought about blog posts. I glanced in the direction of Facebook. But I just. could. not. bring. myself. to get anywhere near the vicinity of any of it. (And I had all these lovely plans of sending holiday greetings too…)

But then, as I was scanning through the 80 million unread blog posts in my Google reader, I came across one that hit me over the head. When we celebrate a New Year this year, it’s not just a year…it’s a DECADE. Crap. I still remember Y2K like it was a week ago! So I just could not NOT post about it.
decade

A decade…what has happened in a decade?

In a decade, I have graduated from college, found a career path that interested me – until it didn’t once I’d figured it out. I went back to school, got my Master’s, passed two grueling exams and a prospectus defense and started writing a dissertation. I’ve written a 400-page novel. Or at least the first draft of one. I’ve started a second career path that has challenged me, then stumbled across one that grabbed me by the throat and consumed me until I couldn’t breathe except for when I’m in it.

In a decade, I ended a relationship with a man I cared for SO MUCH…but just didn’t love. I fell in love with a man I had no intention of ever falling in love with. I found THE ONE, then we lost each other. And after traversing a whirlwind abyss, we found each other again. I married the man of my heart and together, we created a home of our own. A sanctuary. A place where we both are safe – and a foundation of strength for dealing with whatever else comes our way.

In a decade, I’ve found myself. Repeatedly. I’ve been an artist, a dancer, a yogi, a teacher, a writer…maybe even a photographer? I’m always a student. Even when I’m not in school, I’m a student of life. And more and more I begin to think the really important things you learn aren’t always in classrooms.

I’ve changed my mind about women’s issues and race. I’ve stopped seeking friends because I needed their approval, and I’ve started choosing and keeping friends because they are special people I feel lucky to have in my life. I’ve been illuminated and disillusioned. I’ve flown to foreign and distant lands, and seen things that are not of this world. And yet I’ve also become more connected to home, family, roots, and heritage.

In just one decade, I have seen the best of mankind – and the worst. And still, there is more to come.

“The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.”
- Robert Frost, Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

I have a bevy of blog posts saved up, including: one covering my holidays which I’ll post just as soon as we return home and (long story short) I can get pictures of it uploaded, one showcasing a new addition to my blog for the new year, and a new entry for Women Unbound. In the meantime, I wish everyone a fabulous New Year and Decade!

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hotel on the corner of bitter & sweet

This book is gorgeous.
hotel_book

It is the story of a young Chinese-American growing up near Seattle in the aftermath of Pearl Harbor. The perspective shifts in time between the boy as an older man and his memories from when he was younger. As an adolescent, he falls in love with a Japanese-American girl and watches as his family and hers become torn by the internment of the Japanese here in America. As an adult, he struggles with his memories of the past and his relationship with his father echoed in the relationship he now shares with his own son.

It is a beautiful tale of the conflicts between father and son, of duty, loyalty, sacrifice and dishonor mirrored in the relationship between citizen and state writ large. It’s subtle and mesmerizing, heartwarming and evocative. It delicately and precisely navigates the thin line of identity Asian-Americans tread between their Asian history and culture and their new home.

It gently reminds us what we have done here to our own citizens, evidence of which still exists around the U.S. My husband rode past Manzanar, California a few weeks ago and found the remains of one of the internment camps, and a monument to those who had been torn from their homes and families to await the long end of the war.

manzanar_flag

manzanar_monument

Racism in the name of patriotism.

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blue

iheartfaces_blue

The trouble with escape is that it is only a lie you tell yourself
when you cannot face the bitter taste of truth.
Escape taunts you, it calls you, it pleads with you,
desperate with its sexy tantalizing allure.
Chasing it, you traverse ancient deserts, climb frigid mountains,
roam foreign lands, or drown in seas
of whiskey and gin.

But as far as you run, as deep as you hide,
the truth will always find you.
And sometimes, only loneliness, guilt and shame
can give you the strength to face it.

The irony of courage is that sometimes
it is when we are at our weakest
that we finally have the strength to face
ourselves.


Click here to check out and join the I Heart Faces photography challenge!

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on being part other

multicultural-me“Your daughter is beautiful.”

“A little chubby.”

“But her face is pretty. She looks like her mom.”

“She looks like a person from India.”

“True. She’s got good skin too.”

This conversation about me takes place as I look directly at the smiling faces of those discussing me. They talk as if I’m not in the room, as if I don’t understand, as if being part-white means I don’t understand Thai. My mother hadn’t made a concerted effort to teach me her native tongue, but I was around it enough to pick up a lot of the everyday language. I might not speak it perfectly fluently, but my comprehension works well enough. Thanks, guys, I think, as I smile innocently back at them.

In America, I am half-Asian. In Thailand, I am fahrung – foreigner (always said with a smile and laugh, so that makes it better, right?). I am classified by my otherness, defined by my whiteness. I am proud of my Asian heritage, but amongst Asian relatives, I feel I am always trying to prove my authenticity. I mimic the accent flawlessly when speaking. Most of my jokes about flatulence and genitalia are expressed in Thai because it’s just funnier that way. I know what to do with lemongrass and how to combine chili, shallot, and lime. I grab a mortar and pestle before I’d use a grater. I have a layer of cool reserve towards non-family, whilst full of conscious gratitude for my family cohesion and deep roots. I take off my shoes before entering the home, and I kind of take pleasure in the fact that my house is the one with the funny food smells that reduce you to coughing, sneezy fits when grandmother is roasting the chillies. I wai (bow) gracefully, sit properly, show deference to elders, and I cook and eat spicy food – because they always ask: “gin ben?” “Do you know how to eat spicy food?”

(”Do you know how to eat spicy food?” is reduced to “Know how to eat?”, as if eating only non-spicy food is, in fact, not eating at all. “Yes,” I say, “I know how to eat.” See chubbiness for detail.)

And still, I am not fully integrated among them. Do others feel this too: within your own family, even though you are loved, do you feel you sometimes do not belong? Isn’t it funny sometimes, how within family, the one place you are loved unconditionally, you feel the strongest need to prove yourself? And for all your effort, pretty much no one notices because 1) they expect it, and 2) they love you anyway. Talk about an exercise in futility. I try to prove my sameness, but what they see is difference. I am one step removed from that part of my heritage. While my cousins just grow up knowing certain things, I must make the extra effort to acquire them: the language, the history, the idioms. I feel sorry I never learned to speak fluently as a child, for now, as an adult, language acquisition is much harder. The sayings, the myths, the ways words are strung together, it all shapes and communicates a unique worldview. And really, most importantly, some of the humor just does not transcend cultural lines. You have to belong to understand. (Meanwhile, what I do come by naturally is the bone-deep need for deep-fried coconut snacks. Again, see chubbiness. Thank you, God, for your lovely sense of humor.)

Whatever distance I have now from this part of my identity, I wonder what my own children will feel. I will strive to pass on the tradition of cooking and enjoying food and conversation together. I will pass on whatever ability to speak Thai I have. And I will teach them the value of respect towards elders and responsibility to family and community. But they will never know my grandmother and the depth of her presence. Tales of their great-grandfather will be muted and second- or even third-hand. And I wonder what words of the blood line will I pass on to them? What stories will make up their identities? Where will they feel rooted? Will they find comfort in garlic and noodle soup, or will they turn instead to burgers and spaetzle?

I am proud of my multicultural heritage. I feel it adds color and dimension to an otherwise ordinary life. But I suspect passing it on and keeping it alive will be a challenge. What should be as natural as breathing will be a struggle for us, as a multicultural family: part Thai, part American, part Norwegian, part German, and part South African. As the varied strands of genealogical influence compete for dominance, I wonder what will persist? And what part of the heritage will fall by the wayside?

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Tasting Grace is on vacation

My gift to the playa

My gift to the playa

Time That Wasn’t Lost

One doesn’t count illusions
or bitter realizations,
no measure exists to count
what couldn’t happen for us,
what circled like a bumblebee,
without our not noticing
what we were losing.

To lose until we lose our life
is to live our life and our death,
and nothing that passes on exists
that doesn’t give constant proof
of the continuous emptiness of all,
the silence into which everything falls
and, finally, we fall.

Oh! what came so close
that we were never able to know.
Oh! what was never able to be
that maybe could have been.

So many wings flew around
the mountains of sorrow
and so many wheels beat
the highway of our destiny,
we had nothing left to lose.

And our weeping ended.

- Pablo Neruda

I am off to meet the multiple million-eyed monster. I am off to the land of transcendent energy, the land that beats with the unrestrained rhythm that is the heart of collective intentions. I am off to be thrilled, to be overwhelmed, to be awed, to be humbled, and to be unabashedly, irrevocably, unequivocally, irrepressibly, unfailingly, unencumbered me.

No cell phones.

No internet.

I will think of you. And come the 8th of September, I shall return.

In the meantime, a gift for you:

“Surrendering completely to love, be it human or divine, means giving up everything, including our own well-being or our ability to make decisions. It means loving in the deepest sense of the word. The truth is that we don’t want to be saved in the way God has chosen; we want to keep absolute control over our every step, to be fully conscious of our decisions, to be capable of choosing the object of our devotion.”
- from Paolo Coelho, The Witch of Portobello

Well, my loves, I ask you to find a beautiful moment…and surrender.

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