Wait, He Doesn't Sound White?!

I was watching the local news tonight, and I heard a new voice from one of the reporter. This was different, because usually news people have the same ol' sounding voice. Like they learned this in their Master's Television Communication Diction Course 401. Basically, many of them I think sound "white," which is a whole 'nother blog entry. Anyway...

This guy was definitely not white and yes, he turns out to be of Hispanic descent. His last name is Romo. I wondered what other people watching and hearing him for the first time thought. To me, he was refreshing. He reminded me of the diversity I love in Chicago. He reminded me that no, we all don't sound the same.

Then, I wondered if someone of Asian descent would have the same luxury of sounding a little bit "Asian" on the air. I could hear the producers now... okay, you can sound a little Asian, but you have to be able to say your "l's."

What does it mean to not sound "white" in this world? How we sound is part of our identity. It goes hand in hand with the language we choose to verbally say. I thought about trying a test where I would go and visit another major, diverse metropolitan city and tune into the local news, but with a blindfold on. I would then try and guess the person's gender, race, and ethnicity.

Sure, as long as I get "the news" (and I use that term loosely), I am satisfied. But we all know that it makes a difference who is writing the story or reporting it. Our background, culture, knowledge, and experience affects everything.

I hope Mr. Romo gets to continue. I hope he develops as a top notch reporter no matter how he sounds.

The Courage of Love

Why is so difficult to tell someone you love the person? It should be a "good thing," right?! How can someone not like to hear that? But this idea of love and hurt is probably the number one topic in movies and books. It resonates with anyone. Across borders, countries, cultures, and languages.

A love story is a love story. And what if the person in love is in love with someone who cannot return the love in the manner s/he wants. That's another movie. That's an epic movie.

I want to tell my love that she can be safe with me. That I committed to her years ago when I first met her. That I love my current spouse in a totally different way, and it wouldn't be her fault if I separated. It's all on me.

Can I open this door even if I am 99% sure this is not what she wants. That I will be vulnerable and hurt, but at least I will know how she feels.

It's a gloomy day and she'll return home soon. We've gone the entire weekend visit without bringing it up. But I came to visit for this reason and even if I go home a bit tear-eyed I'll have done what I needed to do.

I need courage today. While I don't face weapons or the enemy (to say the least), I face hurt and wounds with no medic on hand.

To Be Cool or Not To Be Cool

By the end of June everyone has their A/C units in the window. Even if they don't get used, people arm themselves for the heat of the summer. For a couple of years I never had one. I would just tough it out with some fans. However, I finally broke down and got one unit after my partner wouldn't tolerate it as I did. Looking back, I don't know how I tolerated it.

I remember thinking the electric bill would be threw the roof, but it wasn't that bad.

This summer (now mid-August) we have two units and some days they have gone all day and almost into the night.

Now, I typically run cool, so in the A/C I have on a long-sleeved t-shirt and sweat pants. The comforter is on the bed from this winter. In the A/C it is so artificially cool. It's kind of weird. I think my comfort temp is 72 or 74, which is usually too warm for my partner's--- 66 or 68. However, back in the rest of the apartment is warm and humid. There's just not a good middle ground.

Sometimes I wonder what it will be like in the future (unless, of course, global warming is the end of us anyways). But in the summer, we all walk around in our individual cooling bubbles that could go on or off like a force field. We'll all be able to be "comfortable" without inconveniencing anyone else. Whoever invents this is going to make mega-bucks.

Shaving My Head

I can hardly remember why and exactly when I first shaved my head. Now, it just seems so natural and ordinary. Now, many of the people I know have never knew me without a shaved head. But here and there, I am reminded that society doesn't know what to do with an Asian American woman with a shaved head.

If you're a white woman with a shaved head... you must be lesbian.
If you're a black woman with a shaved head... you must be going back to your African roots and culture.
If you're an Asian American woman with a shaved head... you must be Buddhist or just plain weird.

Sometimes when strangers ask me why I shave my head, I play it off that it's less hassle, less hair product consumerism, and something that both Jeff and I like. But the real reason was because I think I get a kick out of being different and also it makes me feel closer to the LGBT communities. Like, I need/want this physical identity marker.

Recently, Ma advised me to start growing my hair out in prep for my Vietnam trip. She said people with shaved heads are either Buddhist or mourning a loss of a loved one. She was worried how they would see me. I said, "Maybe I'd take a scarf or two. But, I'm not growing it out." I hate that in between stage. I think I look more like a boy then, than ever. If I'm going to gender bend, I'll do it in the way I feel good and comfortable.

Usually, Jeff cuts my hair. I stand in the bathroom almost naked and he methodically takes the clippers without a guard and goes line by line on my head. It feels good. I think we both like the intimacy. Then, I hop in the shower to wash off the little hairs.

Lately, I've shaved it myself. I can do it pretty well I think. It's nothing like the movie G.I. Jane... especially if you have really long hair.

Black Guards in White Museums

Sometimes seeing through the "race lens" is extremely frustrating, but I can't help it. I always have my glasses on.

This summer, I've had a lot of extra time and have tried to go to as much free stuff in Chicago as possible. So far, I've gone to the free days of the Chicago History Museum, Museum of Contemporary Art, Art Institute of Chicago, Freedom Museum, and concerts at Millennium Park and Movies in the Park. It's been a blast.

However, while touring the various galleries at the Art Institute, race was overwhelmingly powerful. Every gallery security guard was African American. Now, I don't know what the museum would say it's racial/ethnic stats would be, but I would say predominantly white.

As I went from gallery to gallery, I observed the guards having to do their job, which was enforce rules. Rules like- no flash photography or you can't take photos here in this gallery [because it's not a permanent gallery by AIC]. Don't stand that close. Don't touch the sculpture. You need to use your cell phone in the hall. And many more. For some- these rules are natural and standard. For others, they think they are the guests and should be able to do whatever they want. They have that privilege.

I believe by the guards being mostly African American, the museum institution is positioning them to be perceived by the guests/visitors negatively. I mean, who likes to be corrected... especially in public?! Many of guards are African American women, and I can't help but fantasize that after standing on their feet all day during their two, split, part-time shifts (so not to be eligible for health insurance), they have to go home and continue to be the "law enforcers."

I wanted to ask them how they felt about their jobs. The stories they had.

I acknowledge in my own privileged position, who am I to judge the jobs they have? I'm not one. They have those jobs because they need them. Maybe they are short term? Maybe not. Am I saying that the museum should be more racially diverse? I don't know. I don't want the current folks to lose their jobs. The basic truth is- anyone of any race could do this job. But would they? Would anyone for part-time, low paying dollars and no upward potential do this work?

I'm reminded of the recent movie Night in the Museum where Ben Stiller plays a night guardsman at history museum. His other three colleagues- two white old men and one African American old man. So, Ben is white, but "down on his luck, divorced, and just needs the money." In the end, his character, of course, saves the day, and I believe his position at the museum looks promising [to be promoted]. This is the movies.

I'm going to look into some other articles if others have written about this. I don't see how they couldn't. So, the next time you go to a museum, sure... take a look at the items or pictures/paintings, but also look around you at who is guarding them.

E.T. More than Just My Initials

So, I went to see a "Movie in the Park" with a friend tonight. We watched E.T. the Extra-terrestrial by Stephen Spielberg and music by John Williams. It was great. I hadn't seen it since I was 8 or 9 years old. I remembered most of the scenes, but definitely not the entire movie.

I expected a lot of kids and families to be around, but I also saw some 30-somethings, too without kids. What began as a hot and humid summer day in Chicago quickly turned cool and windy. I was chilled even though I had brought a long-sleeve and a sweater.

The film is definitely a kid-centered film with adult issues. I had forgotten how looming the "adult scientists" were- save for the mom. When seen in the beginning, they were always backlit and shadowed. We knew they were there, and that they had power. We never got to see their faces until they thought E.T. was dead and they took off their spaceman helmets.

The movie reminded me how cute little kid Drew Barrymore was... even though after watching E True Hollywood Stories she was doing drugs and alcohol all that time. There was also a glimpse of a boyish C. Thomas Howell.

As E.T. levitated Elliott's bike into the sky, I wished it would be that easy to go "home." I'm going to Vietnam in December. This will be my journey home, since I was adopted as a baby. If possible, would I let E.T. fly me over?!

This was a great movie to see--- again, and outdoors with popcorn and Reeses Pieces. As someone who grew up in the 80s, I laughed fondly at the fashion, the Star Wars toys, and the verbiage.

Untitled [My First Entry]

I've always kept a diary of sorts. When I was little I would use those cute ones with flowers, bright colors, and the lock with keys. They were usually given to me for Christmas or birthdays. So I didn't have any control in what they looked like, but I did have control on what I wrote in them. My diaries from 3-5th grade were filled with pre-teen angst and depression. I wrote about death and despair. My parents (as they tell me now) were concerned, but let it go. Although I kept them fairly private, I remember sometime in middle school sharing my thoughts with my best friend at the time- Jennifer. I remember letting her read them in my bedroom of my parents' suburban, two-story, carpeted house. It made me feel closer to her. I look back now, and I think she was my first love.



Why glasses_girl and Different Lenses?



I've had glasses since I was four years old. In the hallway, we have all of our school pictures from pre-school to 12th grade. There's only two photos of me without glasses: one from pre-school and one year in middle school when I tried contacts (which I never tried again- hard lenses suck). One of my first identities was being an Asian girl with glasses in a predominantly white area in Indiana. Being an Asian girl with glasses was a triple whammy for sterotypes.



"You look so smart." "I bet you're good at math." "Did you place in the science fair?"

To these questions, I respond, "Yes, I not only look smart, but I am." "No, I suck at math." "And yes, I usually do place in the science fair, but I don't really like science."



Every year, I would get to pick out my new pair of glasses. This was a HUGE deal to me. I'd go to the mall with Ma. She'd say she'd pay for the "basics," but anything else I would have to pay for with my own money. These extras included monograms, pictures, wire frames, or thinner lenses. Some of my past choices were my initials, a unicorn, wire frames, and thinner lenses.



I had astigmatism, which until adulthood I thought was actually called a stigmatism, which growing up I never really knew what it meant, except that my lenses were typically thick- no matter how "thin" I paid extra for. The thickness of the lenses also made my selection of frames more limited. I had to pick from plastic frames, which could hold the thicker lenses better. Boy how things have changed now.



Without my glasses, I was almost blind (and I say that with no disrespect towards actual blind people). I always had my glasses within arms reach. One time in college, I had to ask someone else to find them, because I had left them somewhere in my room. I could be entirely physically naked, but if I still had my glasses on... I felt clothed.



Different Lenses... I have studied sociology and women and gender studies. I feel like I'm constantly looking, watching, and observing (all three different things, I contend). In Women and Gender Studies we talk/learn about "lenses." Maybe my glasses were my pre-cursor?! They (and other academic subjects) use this whole metaphor of glasses when they talk about lenses and framing. Only in academics could one take opthomology and turn it into something else.



I hope my blog can be a space for expression. This is for me, but this is also for the others who read it, which I am acutely aware of. I hope my blog can help "get out" some of the thoughts I typically carry close to me, which sometimes make me think I'm going insane. For now, I will try and commit to daily blogging.