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.