How a Mother and Her Little Daughter Broke My Heart

My family and I went to McDonald's in Downtown L.A. over the weekend, right across the street from the Indonesian Consulate. As I was waiting in line to order breakfast, I overheard a Caucasian woman begging the man behind me for any spare change he could give her so that she could feed her child. Everyone knows McDonald's is cheap--cheaper than cheap. The $1 menu speaks for itself. So how can this mother not have enough money to afford McDonald's? There is something wrong with this picture.

I was beside my mother and asked her if we could help the lady behind us. She was more than happy to help. The truth is, something stirred in me, telling me to help this woman. But even more, her own dire situation reminded me of when I first immigrated to the United States as a four-year-old child. My family and I didn't have much and we relied heavily on the kindness of strangers. Yet God took care of my family and me, providing for us, to the point of where we are today.

I asked the woman, who looked quite frail and skinny, if she wanted anything to eat. And she looked at me with tears in her eyes and said, "Yes. Thank you. My name is Lynette." Then I asked the little girl for her name and what she wanted to eat. She said, "I'm Angel. I'd like a sausage biscuit please." And I asked Lynette what she wanted. Then, as I ordered my own food, I talked to Angel, asking her how old she is. I discovered that she is four-years-old.

As we got our order, I gave them their meal, and they decided to sit next to us. When they got their food, they prayed to God thanking him for the food he provided. My family prayed as well, and after, we started to talk to them. I learned that Lynette and Angel were from North Carolina and Lynette's husband had them move away to L.A. where he cheated on her with several woman. She now has HIV. She's been living with a friend all this time, but she and her daughter has been sleeping on the floor. Unfortunately, the bugs on the floor weren't too friendly, and her daughter has several bug bites. Then, Lynette thanked us for the food, saying that for her, it's been two days since she last ate, because she has been giving food to her daughter. 

I examined her daughter, who has the most beautiful brown curly hair, and a missing front tooth. You can tell that she is a mix of African American descent. And to anyone, she looks incredibly healthy, and her mom did a great job in making her look presentable--no one would have known that she and her daughter were poor. My dad and my aunt gave her some extra money. She immediately used the money to buy food and told us that she will be buying an air mattress for her daughter at Big 5 Sporting Goods with the rest of the money because her daughter deserved to sleep on a bed. She asked us to stay at McDonalds while she and her daughter go buy one. Minutes later she returned to McDonalds with the air mattress and showed us the receipt.

I told her that she didn't have to do that--that we believed her. But she said that it was her principle to prove to the people that give to her that she is an honest woman, and that she was using the money we gave her for good and for her daughter. She said that there were a lot of people that get money and end up using it to buy alcohol or cigarettes. I admired that aspect of her. She wasn't trying to fool us; she wasn't using her daughter to get money from strangers. No, she was different!

What inspired me the most about Lynette was that despite every thing that has happened to her, all the pain she had gone through, she still has great faith in God, having faith that God will always provide for her. And in many ways, He has. Many people would say that she was a crazy woman to believe in such a false hope. But if you were there, seeing this, and hearing this, you'll be inspired to examine your own lives. Lynette told me that without her faith, she probably would not have had the will to live. She and her daughter made me take a look at my faith--if I had everything taken away from me, everything I had ever loved, will I still have such a faith? Do I only praise God when He blesses me, and will I still praise God when I experience such adversity and obstacles? Have I become so materialistic in America, that I really don't serve God, but have made idols of the materials I own?

There at McDonalds, my heart broke for Lynette and Angel. But God showed me that He does provide for His children, and more importantly, He uses people like you and me to provide for our brothers and sisters. If we are people who have the ability to give, then we should give. And the blessings will come pouring back at us. It certainly did for me. 

As I said goodbye, I prayed that God would continue to provide for them, and I thanked God for always providing for me.

A Global UCLA, Masculinity through Man-bags, and How I Forgot To Be Asian

During the summer time, UCLA undergoes a unique transformation. When most of its regular academic year students and faculty take a break or study abroad in Europe or Asia, a balance is completed when European and Asian students flock towards the warm Southern Californian sun and enroll in summer school. Instantly, the campus turns from a "diverse" community boasting of 45% Asian/Pacific Islander, 33% White/Non-Hispanic, 14% Hispanic, 2% Black/Non-Hispanic, and less than 1% American Indian/Alaskan Native, into a more global one.

One example can be seen in Bruin Walk, notorious for its backpack-to-backpack traffic around lunch time. This time, walking up and down Bruin Walk is like taking a quick tour of the world. German, Dutch, and Italian conversations could be heard, as well as an assortment of Asian languages (although Asian languages are common in my area). Perhaps a more noticeable indicator of foreign presence, although not an accurate one, is through observations of the fashion around campus.

During the usual school year, students tend to wear the typical Californian fashion, complete with Abercrombie and Fitch, Hollister, and American Eagle for the preppies, while NIke and Adidas rule the sporty and gangster types, and Quicksilver, Billabong, and Roxy are adorn byt the OC types. Now, I'm not trying to start stereotypes or divide people by class (as clothes, though not accurate, tend to indicate class because one must afford a particular brand). I am, however, trying to note that these purely American fashions that were once typical during the UCLA academic year, are now the most rare. Sure, the sporty brands survive since sports dominate worldwide, but observing the campus, one can still notice a difference.

I'm so used to seeing guys wear baggy jeans and caps worn to the side. But now, they've been replaced with European men who wear Chinos and also what we Americans call "short shorts," as well as donning man-bags.  You don't see very heterosexual American males with that, which is probably why we've created the category "the metrosexual male." The Europeans wear their man-bags with pride.

Now, Asian fashion is something I'm quite familiar with because I tend to see it in my area. I'm not sure how to describe it, but we in the Asian American community cal it the "Fob" look. It's an unfortunate derogatory term--unfortunate because it indicates that one is "fresh off the boat," that one just recently immigrated and doesn't understand American cues and culture. 

This got me thinking about myself. Yes, I was a "Fob" once. But what happened to me? How did I change? And these questions were reinforced when I was waiting in line at Panda Express, America's answer to Chinese cuisine. There were a couple of Indonesians conversing in their native language. Having Indonesian being spoken makes me feel happy, because deep down inside of me, although I've been quite Americanized and America is all I know, a part of me still longs to retain part of my Indonesian identity, or at least to get in touch with my roots. As they were talking, I interrupted in Indonesian, which is translated for you.

Me: Hello, sorry to interrupt. Are you guys Indonesian?

Guy 1: Yes, we are. We're international students to be exact.

Me: Oh cool. Have you had the chance to check out LA? It's a pretty big city.

Guy 2: Not yet. We were thinking of going. Do I detect an American accent?

Me: Um...yah. (Laughs). I was raised here.

Guy 1: Great, maybe you could show us around.

Somewhat along my development in the United States, I think I've forgotten how to be Asian, but more specifically, Indonesian. But I realize when I say I forget, I'm not exactly sure what I mean. Is being Asian something you do? If so, what is it? Is being Asian something you wear or something you eat? Yet what you eat is a futile question because of California's multicultural variety. Heck, you can eat sushi on Monday, tacos on Tuesday, pasta on Wednesday, and so forth. Perhaps these are questions that are asked from immigrant children or children of immigrants. Aren't we the ones who tend to suffer from a dual identity crisis--that we aren't American enough for Americans, yet at the same time we aren't Asian enough for Asians.

Oohh...definitely something to write about for my Personal Statement.

Being Brother Bear

It was a good thing I didn't go to Disneyland yesterday. When the 5.8 earthquake hit, I would've been on The Indiana Jones Ride and thought it was all part of the ride. Don't worry, Disneyland is still standing! 

Instead of going to Disneyland, Jenn, her younger cousin Henry, and I went to Downtown Disney.

It was a bit refreshing to be away from the UCLA scene, away from research, as well as away from home to get lost in the outskirts of the Magical Kingdom. But spending a couple hours with Jenn and Henry, I realized how much I missed being a big brother.

When we were at the Disney Store, I saw a stuffed animal of Brother Bear, and I just nearly cried. It reminded me so much of the role I once had, and in a way, it reminds me of a role I will continue to have by being a big brother to others. If you haven't already watched Disney's "Brother Bear," you should be prepared to bring tissues. There's something deep within that movie that often gets to me. Now, I'm not trying to be a male shovenist pig and saying that man's role is a type of guardian, a type that takes care of the people he loves, but that's the way man has been culturally socialized since ancient times. I don't think there's anything wrong with that, but "Brother Bear" certainly has these ideas centered within the storyline.

So as it was, Henry drank Coca Cola a little too fast after he ate, and went to the bathroom to throw up. I went in there to check up on him. And then he went back to the stall to throw up again. So I told him that a neat trick to stop throwing up is raising both hands up in the air because the action expands your stomach. He does it the entire time he's in the bathroom, as well as when we walk back to the table. 

And it just reminds me of when I was younger, and when Rode was younger, and how we had a similar experience.

Earlier in the day, we also went to Build A Bear, every kid's favorite store. Henry ended up making a Husky Dog. Well, the experience reminded me a lot

 of my sister's gift to me when I got back from Colorado. Being the most selfless person that she was, she made me a Bear and bought clothes to matched clothes I already have. And when I came back, she surprised me with the Bear, even though it was supposed to be for her. I still have it, and it reminds me of the day.

After my sister's death, Jenn and I made a Cheetah in honor of my sister. I named it "Kimba," because my sister's middle name is "Kim," as well as the fact that it's a play on "Simba" the Lion King. I chose a Cheetah because I remember talking to my sister about what we would do to help Africa (Cheetahs are from Africa). Rode wanted to be a doctor and help people with the body, while I wanted to be a psychologist and help people with the mind. One great team, huh?

When I was at the Build a Bear store, I ended up buying a Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim set for my Cheetah. Not only are the "Halos" a great team, but it also reminds me that there are angels watching over us.

When Superheroes Attack

Is it just me or has the superhero film genre exploded during the last 10 years, with more films to come within the next 3 years?

Here's a list:

• Batman Begins (2005) *****
  
• Batman: The Dark Knight (2008) *****
  
• Blade (1998) 
  
• Blade II (2002)
  
• Blade: Trinity (2004)
• Catwoman (2004) *
  
• Daredevil (2003) **
  
• Elektra (2005) **
  
• Fantastic Four (2005) ***
  
• Fantastic Four: Rise of the Silver Surfer (2007) ****
  
• Ghost Rider (2007)
  
• Green Lantern (2010)
  
• Hellboy (2004) ****
  
• Hellboy 2 (2008) ****
  
• The Hulk (2003) *
  
• Iron Man (2008) *****
  
• Iron Man 2 (2010)
  
• Justice League (2011)
  
• Superman Returns (2006) ****
  
• Spider-Man (2002) *****
  
• Spider-Man 2 (2004) *****
  
• Spider-Man 3 (2007) **
  
• Spider-Man 4 (2011)
  
• The Avengers (2011)
  
• The First Avenger: Captain America (2011)
• The Flash (2010)
  
• The Green Hornet (2010)
• The Incredible Hulk (2004) *****
  
• The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen (2003) *
  
• The Man of Steel (2011)
  
• The Punisher (2004) ***
  
• The Punisher: War Zone  (2008)
  
• The Spirit (2008)
  
• The Watchmen (2009)
  
• Thor (2010)
  
• Wonderwoman (2011)
  
• X-Men *****
  
• X2: X-Men United (2003) *****
  
• X-Men: The Last Stand (2006) *****
  
• X-Men Origins: Wolverine (2009)

*skip it

**could be better

***it was "okay" and bearable

****it was good--just good, but there was still some thing missing

*****it was amazing! 

What is it with our obsession with superheroes? Is it their powers, their origins, their costumes that we are attracted to? Maybe it's because their stories is really about the classic battle between Good and Evil. Maybe it's our hope that Good will always win, and as a result, we invent these stories to settle our fears. What ever the case, our comic book heroes are our modern mythologies. You can learn a lot about a society by the mythologies people pass down from generation to generation. Mythologies reveal a society's sense of culture, and more importantly it's sense of morality. 

In ancient days, mythologies like The Odyssey, in which the hero Oedipus must endure several years of torture by the gods teaches the next generation about determination and strength. The story of Theseus  highlights the importance of being cunning. And in modern time, the Spiderman series teaches us that "with great power comes great responsibility. 

All I know is that since September 11, the world has become scared. It needs heroes more than ever. And perhaps our response is by creating fictional ones--more powerful than we can ever be. But these fictional heroes are just that--fiction. 

There are real heroes out there in the world. They may not don masks or wear skin tight outfits. They may not have superheroes or fanciful gadgets. But they're heroes nonetheless because they strive to do what is right. They strive for justice where there is evil.

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

For now, I'm liking this superhero explosion, mainly because I'm a comic book geek. With Captain America being my favorite Marvel superhero, I hope they will announce who they've chosen to become the new Captain America in the 2011 film. I mean, I'm already cringing over who they casted for the new Justice League Movie.

 As for the Cap, I vote for this guy.

He looks like him, doesn't he? Hopefully he has great acting abilities as well.  Marvel, please get this guy to play Captain America and we'll forgive you for killing this beloved character in the comics.

Unmasking

Masks. It's not just superheroes who fashionably wear them to hide their alter egos, nor just an opera ghost to hide his badly disfigured face. Average people like you and me wear masks all the time--they may not physically cover our faces, but they certainly cover something that lies deep within all of us: our true nature. To borrow the musical lyrics of Andrew Lloyd Webber's The Phantom of the Opera, we actively participate in a "masquerade/ paper faces on parade/ masquerade/ hide your face/ so the world will never find you." Our daily interactions (what we say and how we act) with people is often a glorified masquerade. We choose to hide because, like superheroes, we don't want people to know the "real" us. We choose to hide because, like the Phantom, we are afraid that if people get a glimpse of our disfigurement, they would hate, fear, and reject us. How can we ever be "real" to ourselves? We've imprisoned ourselves with masks.

In the 1843 book, Either/Or, Danish philosopher and theologian, Soren Kierkegaard, wrote:

Do you not know that there comes a midnight hour when every one has to throw off his mask?...In every man there is something which to a certain degree prevents him from becoming perfectly transparent to himself; and this may be the case in so high a degree, he may be so inexplicably woven into relationships of life which extend far beyond himself that he almost cannot reveal himself. But he who cannot reveal himself cannot love, and he who cannot love is the most unhappy man of all.

And when the masks have all been thrown off, what is left is authenticity and most importantly, vulnerability. It's a frightening thing to be vulnerable, to be exposed for what one truly is because in our society, it is seen as a weakness. But perhaps it can really be our strength because that level of transparency requires all the defenses that you've spent so long to built, to come crashing right back down. In obtaining genuine intimate relationships with people, perhaps vulnerability is the key. 

Exposing one's weaknesses? Who in their right mind would want to do such a thing? Maybe, just maybe it the sanest thing any person can do because to be true of yourself--to be true of your likes and dislikes, your strengths and weaknesses, your triumphs and struggles, your hopes and fears--all that is freeing. Jim Morrison of The Doors contemplated of such freedoms when he wrote:

The most important kind of freedom is to be what you really are. You trade in your reality for a role. You trade in your sense for an act. You give up your ability to feel, and in exchange, put on a mask. There can't be any large-scale revolution until there's a personal revolution, on an individual level. It's got to happen inside first. You can take away a man's political freedom and you won't hurt him--unless you take away his freedom to feel. That can destroy him. That kind of freedom can't be granted. Nobody can win it for you.

My mask is red. It is a mask symbolizing boldness and strength. It is the mask of confidence and toughness. I must now unmask myself. I must now write so that I can be free. I must write, so that I can understand my mortality. This is my identity revealed.

What kind of masks do you wear? Are you prepared to take them off?