世界末日－The Day I Learned to Write "The End of the World" in Chinese

I have worked in a Chinese restaurant for more than one year, and yet do not speak Chinese. I think this is kind of disappointing on my part. I have made too little effort to get to know the kitchen staff. I am not personally responsible for them at all, but it bothers me to know that because they don't speak much English, it is easy to forget them, to not think of them (and how much more true is this of multi-ethnic societies?) This is something I can't ignore. Since the beginning of college when I worked in another restaurant that employed immigrants, it's important that I try to talk to people who speak English as a foreign language - no matter how basic. Still, it hasn't been enough of a priority for me to learn their own languages. But I try to reflect on the lives of these people, and that's one drive to keep writing.

The cook I communicate with most is Bin, who's English is probably at a low beginner level, from what I can say as an ESL tutor. It's because Bin himself tries to communicate with me that our friendship grows word by word.

A few days ago Bin communicated to me online that he wanted to get a State ID. I went through the state website and tried to communicate what he needed to collect (a finished application, passport, Social Security Number, and 2 proofs of residence). I filled out the application for him, and I asked the bilingual restaurant manager to interpret what's meant by two proofs of residence. The next day we went to the DMV, but we were soon thwarted when the old man in the red sweater at the counter told us that Bin had not brought proof of his immigration status. It hadn't occurred to me to bring that, though it should have been obvious. I couldn't even interpret for Bin. The old man laughed at us. I called the manager, who explained quickly over the phone to him and to me that the paperwork we needed wasn't yet available. The old man gave us an index of requirements for immigrant applicants, chortling, "I'm not an expert on these [immigration] matters.." Thinking suddenly of my friend's deportation, I said, "I'm learning."

"Well, now what are we going to do?" I asked. Bin shrugged, "I don't know. I follow you." This was his 休息- day off. I had four hours before work. We began wandering through Downtown. We first went to a library and played with a Chinese phrase book, which I really should have checked out. Then we spent the most time visiting two culture shops. I could spend all day in such places with Japanese, Chinese, and Indian art decor, icons, and collectibles - tapestries of Chinese art, Japanese fans, paintings of Hindu gods, several tiny statues of Buddha... Bin tried to explain Chinese characters wherever we saw them in the artworks. We then made a brief visit to the Downtown square before it started to rain. By then it was late in the afternoon anyway, and we sat in a restaurant, and we began a true session of language exchange.

With a notebook, pen, and an online Chinese-English dictionary, we tried to talk and teach. We started with the broken English chatter, our own limited lingua franca. Then we started teaching each other random English and Chinese words, and the notebook became littered with vocabulary and phrases. "Always (总是)", "never" (从来没有), "every day" (每天), "soon" (不久), and "F$@# you!" (I have to double check, I *cough* can't make out the handwriting in my notes) .

I wanted to teach English at that moment, but I felt that I couldn't try to teach Bin English unless he expressly solicited it. And yet I also wanted to know some Chinese, and it feels somewhat imperative that I at least know a little bit about someone else's language before I impose my own. In any case, if he would trust me as a teacher, I would make myself his own student. However insecure he might feel about English, I can't allow that insecurity. I can also show him that I know even less about Chinese.

I asked Bin to teach me the four tones, this most basic concept in the Chinese language. Bin drew: ˉ ´ˇ`

Ok, so: mā, má, mă, mà  (ma1, ma2, ma3, ma4) - high level, rising, rising falling, falling

Can you please read the second one again? The fourth? What word uses the second tone? Máfan -麻烦 - trouble. We repeated the Chinese word and the English word several times each, and then example sentences.

Taking inspiration from the lunch we were eating, I asked Bin to translate, "I like onions" and "I don't like mushrooms" (These sentences are true for me, but opposite for him). From there, how do I say that I like or dislike something?

我喜欢..... Wŏ xǐhuan ....
我不喜欢... Wŏ bu xǐhuan ....

Just these basic sentences would take practice.. 

After nodding to the rain outside, Bin pointed to my backpack and asked, "You no umbrella?"

From that sentence the ESL tutor in me pounced:
"You no umbrella  --> "You don't have an umbrella?"

I / you / we / they - have               I / you / we / they  - don't have
he/ she / it            - has                 he/ she / it             - doesn't have

Bin and I made example sentences with friends as subjects for he/she, and common, recognizable objects like iPhones, cars, cats, and siblings.

After studying a moment, Bin asked "Any name - Annie, Laura,... doesn't have?" "Exactly!"

Bin pointed to "a" and "an" and asked "Why?"

an +  a____                          a  + b, c, d, e, f, g, h, i, ......
         e___      (vowels)
         i ___
         o ___
         u ___

Then I drew a sentence making quiz. To my delight and relief, Bin complied:

As an aspiring English as a Foreign Language Teacher, I was thrilled to try to teach. I am always learning to perform on this amateur level, and I am always realizing how I could have done better, and what mistakes I made ( A+ probably didn't translate - I could have simply drawn a ^_^ ).

More importantly, as Bin and I try to communicate on basic levels, it's an interesting journey to see what we can and can't share. Without fluency in each other's language, we can't really share our pasts or our future hopes. We can't really argue either. But It also makes me wonder how people of different languages first began to interact. Bin and I were mostly locked in our own thoughts in our own languages as we walked together through the city streets. We communicate somewhat less than children, but certainly more than animals. I realize that friendship is based on trust, and trust is not based on communication, it's based on the attempts to communicate. It grows with each attempt.

You might notice at the top of the paper is where Bin taught me to write "the end of the world". Funny - because he forgot one stroke in a character, the first translation he showed me on his phone read "World Wood Day" (世界木日). But on December 22, the end of the mysterious Mayan calender, we laughed at the thought of the day's predicted apocalypse. Our own worlds were expanding. We were newly exploring.



Also, a belated

               Merry Christmas - 圣诞快乐 Shèngdàn kuàilè! 



Online Chinese resources: 

http://www.chineseonthego.com

http://mandarin.about.com/

http://www.standardmandarin.com/

My First Visit to the Sri Venkateswara Hindu Temple

The following is an excerpt from a short memoir I drafted about my early cross-cultural exchanges during college. Here I talk about my first visit to the Sri Venkateswara Temple in Pittsburgh.

My personal photo of the temple was accidentally erased, and it's quite a pilgrimmage to get there without a car (though I've done it once), so for now I am shamelessly borrowing this picture, and with a citation

"Bharath... first brought me to the Sri Venkateswara Hindu temple in Pittsburgh, and I followed him like a shadow through the rituals.

The entrance inside the temple. You're not allowed to take pictures beyond this hall.

We removed our shoes at the entrance, we bowed first to a murti statue of Ganesh, the elephant-headed god for overcoming obstacles, whose invocation precedes all other worship. Then we thrice circumnavigated the heart of the temple before we joined the lines of worshippers and approached the shrines of Sri Venkateswara, Lord Balaji, and shrines of two others, one at each side, each of them surrounded by wreaths of flowers, gold-colored bowls, and food offerings of fruit. Bharath bowed with his hands and knees on the ground. He took the red powder from the dish and dabbed it on his forehead. After a moment’s hesitation I did the same. We sat before the main shrine. Sri Venkateswara is embodied in an ebony black statue whose eyes were covered with paper, metaphorically sparing us the intensity of his gaze. We sat as yellow-robed priests chanted long verses in Sanskrit. I could only discern a recitation of his incarnations. The priests blessed the people, even me, asking each of us for names of family members, and then placing a bowl over our heads. I left pondering what I had seen, a red bindi on my own brow.

This was the painting I saw in the entrance hall - Krishna and his mother, Yashoda. Here I realized how amazingly beautiful Hindu art is - the combination of realism, mysticism, and fantastic beauty astounds me.

 I was enamored of all the rituals, and I tried to compare them to what I knew of Christian Lutheran worship, my own religious foundation, close to Catholicism. Just inside the temple there was a painting on the wall of baby Krishna in the arms of his mother, both of them painted angelically like Madonna and the Christ child. The priests were robed too, but in yellow, and their Sanskrit chanting was like the Latin Kyrie. The priests gave blessings, the people gave offerings. Instead of God the Father, Son, and Spirit, the Trinity here is Brahma, Vishnu, and Shiva. And yet the infinity of differences between Hinduism and Christianity are more profound than I could have realized or understood. Although the stories of gods and rituals of worship are more complicated, I think Hinduism is arguably more free. One need not take the straight and narrow path that leads to Heaven as in Christianity, but any path toward enlightenment. Hinduism for Hindus is more literally understood as philosophical experience – darshana. Divinity also embraces a wider meaning - why, Advait challenged, should God have one specific, human form? A Hindu "idol" is not an idol in the biblical sense, but it is a representation made to form a connection between a deity and one’s self.  Later, further challenging ideas of divinity, eternity, and the self, Buddhism, literally and ostensibly, emerged as an "awakening", partly a reaction to Hinduism (also, as with the development of other religions, as a political challenge, taking a stance against things including the caste system). According to some forms of Buddhism, maybe there is no god, no eternity, and no self, and thus one finds enlightenment. Although I do not pray to Christ, Krishna, Buddha, or Allah, I hope someday to realize in myself a universal sense of spirituality that transcends the specifics of East and West. I want to understand how these different stories and values complement each faith and culture.

Religion, like language, is a vehicle for communication and understanding. I felt marked by the temple experience in a way that was much more permanent than the spot of powder. I entered the temple afraid of being out of place, but I have been brought there with enthusiasm, and the Indians there were so quietly welcoming. When I later brought an Indian friend to a church, he joked about being worried of catching fire. But in the Hindu temple, I was just welcome as anyone else. Bharath said I looked good with a bindi. 

 I knew that even besides the temple visit, I would always be in debt to him. He introduced me to India, by sharing his food, his music, and some of his stories. I used to sit with him in the restaurant while he talked about his family, his life, and the lives of other Indians like himself. Like Bharath, many Indians were raised to be engineers or doctors, and then many come to the United States for graduate school, and then to find a job for supporting their families back in India. Coincidentally somewhat near to New York’s Chinatown, the highest concentration of an Indian population is in Edison, New Jersey, through which most of Bharath’s own friends passed through at some point. Bharath introduced me to Kiran, Raghu, Kiran P., and Nikhil, who all became my friends. I broke bread with Kiran (literally, Subway bread) and we talked about each other’s families as we worked the quiet summer night shifts. He was nicer than anyone I'd ever met. Nikhil showed me his silver Sikh bracelet that a North Indian friend had given him, and I noticed, on the other wrist, a scar. He explained with a sad smile that it was from an attempted suicide, after his girlfriend of six years was forced into an arranged marriage. I was speechless. And yet such tragedy blurs when I remember watching him sing and dance to songs in Telugu and American hip hop, and how he yelled at me playfully in his fast-talking South Indian accent, and then taught me to counter with “Angle chupistunnavu kaddha!?” – “Are you showing me an angle (literally: Are you making fun of me)!? 
And one by one they moved on with their lives. Bharath moved to New Jersey, and then left his search on the job market to go back to Hyderabad, India. Kiran found a job in New York City shortly after his graduation, which Maria and I attended wearing his gifts of colorful, Punjabi Indian dresses. Raghu is in Florida. Nikhil and Kiran P. are in Michigan. And I've been such a poor friend at keeping in touch..    

And though my Indian friends from Subway had moved away by the time of the crisis of failing the Japanese program, I was still given by hope by my new Indian friend Advait, the only one who could tell me that I wasn’t a failure. Advait came to the United States as an engineer who decided instead to study Physics. It might seem like the quintessential American sense of independence, and yet his own philosophy is quintessentially Hindu. His name A-dvait means “non-dual” representing a school of thought that divinity of deity and self are manifestations of one entity. Such a manifestation, he realized, is similar to that of mass and energy. When I first asked him what his name meant, he wrote E=mc². Once while he was studying the laws of the universe, I had approached him admitting I couldn’t grasp a second language. Advait, who speaks Hindi, English, Marathi, and some Telugu and Sanskrit, answered gently, “I know that pain.”

For these friendships and these experiences, I wanted to forever honor my Indian friends. I owe them so much, and I wanted to speak their language, write with their letters, and appreciate their sense of aesthetic. I first wanted revenge, and now I wanted my own redemption. My college didn’t have a class teaching their language of Telugu, but there was a class for Hindi, India’s national language. And so I had changed sides again. To switch from Japanese to Hindi was to switch from short grain rice to long grain rice, and from anime to Bollywood. Even my ideal of feminine beauty and mystique portrayed by traditional courtesans flowed from the kimono-robed and white-faced geisha to the bejeweled and sari-swathed tawaif. I went from austere Shinto shrines to decorous Hindu temples – and to the source of Buddhism."

\Since this draft of writing, I have become further indebted to and inspired by Indian friends and Indian culture. The relationships and experiences have been invaluable. Throughout college, a small group of Indians have been my close friends when I otherwise have had very few, and they gave so much. My Hindi professor and my former partner are among the most personally inspiring people in my life, and I will never forget my other friends, nor the others I have looked up to more distantly, such as Harish Saluja and Azam Ali (Ok, she's Iranian, but she introduced me to Urdu poetry). 

Lately, I have been watching more Indian movies, reading more Indian-based novels, and studying more of the language - as if I am afraid of losing that small part of India in my heart. I really hope to make it there someday, somehow.

Selected Poems from "Gitanjali" by Rabindranath Tagore

After another long absence, I am again going to try to resurrect this blog. I think, though, that I will spare you, dear reader, certain personal details of my life for now, and simply promote this bit of literature. I will decline commentary so that the poems will speak for themselves and to you. These were just my favorites for this time of my life.

This week I read Gitanjali ("Song Offerings") by Rabindranath Tagore. For this work Tagore won the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1913 (the first non-European winner). I had read a little bit about the famous Bengali author and playwright Tagore in my Hindi class, and I finally got around to reading this famous work over Thanksgiving break. It's actually a rather short book of poetry - shorter than I expected - but each poem is profound, with an epiphany of life, and death. I couldn't help thinking that they sounded like biblical Psalms. There is so much spirituality, so much gratitude and devotion to God. I would have asked what was the name of the God he worshiped, but the question is irrelevant. This man was truly spiritual, very enlightened. I think it was rather apt to have read this book over the Thanksgiving holiday. Even though Tagore had apparently written this book during an awful period in his life - in a few successive years he had lost his father, wife, a daughter, and a son - there is so much hope, faith, and love.

These were my favorite poems of Gitanjali:

13

The song that I came to sing remains unsung to this day.
I have spent my days in stringing and in unstringing my instrument.

The time has not come true, the words have not been rightly set; only there is the agony of wishing in my heart.
The blossom has not opened; only the wind is sighing by.
I have not seen his face, nor have I listened to his voice; only I have heard his gentle footsteps from the road before my house.
The livelong day has passed in spreading his seat on the floor; but the lamp has not been lit and I cannot ask him into my house.

I live in the hope of meeting with him; but this meeting is not yet.

18
Clouds heap upon clouds and it darkens. Ah, love, why dost thou let me wait outside at the door all alone?
In the busy moments of the noontide work I am with the crowd, but on this dark lonely day it is only for thee that I hope.
If thou showest me not thy face, if thou leavest me wholly aside, I know not how I am to pass these long, rainy hours.
I keep gazing on the far away gloom of the sky, and my heart wanders wailing with the restless wind

19
If thou speakest not I will fill my heart with thy silence and endure it. I will keep still and wait like the night with starry vigil and its head bent low with patience.
The morning will surely come, the darkness will vanish, and thy voice pour down in golden streams breaking through the sky.
Then thy words will take wing in songs from every one of my birds’ nests, and thy melodies will break forth in flowers in all my forest groves.

20
On the day when the lotus bloomed, alas, my mind was straying, and I knew it not. My basket was empty and the flower remained unheeded.
Only now and again a sadness fell upon me, and I started up from my dream and felt a sweet trace of a strange fragrance in the south wind.
That vague sweetness made my heart ache with longing and it seemed to me that it was the eager breath of the summer seeking for its completion.
I knew not then that it was so near, that it was mine, and that this perfect sweetness had blossomed in the depth of my own heart.

28
Obstinate are the trammels, but my heart aches when I try to break them.
Freedom is all I want, but to hope for it I feel ashamed.
I am certain that priceless wealth is in thee, and that thou art my best friend, but I have not the heart to sweep away the tinsel that fills my room.
The shroud that covers me is a shroud of dust and death; I hate it, yet hug it in love.
My debts are large, my failures great, my shame secret and heavy, yet when I come to ask for my good, I quake in fear lest my prayer be granted.

29
He whom I enclose with my name is weeping in this dungeon. I am ever busy building this wall all around; and as this wall goes up into the sky day by day I lose sight of my true being in its dark shadow.
I take pride in this great wall, and I plaster it with dust and sand lest a least hole should be left in this name; and for all the care I take I lose sight of my true being.

35
Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high;
Where knowledge is free;
Where the world has not been broken up into fragments by narrow domestic walls;
Where words come out from the depth of truth;
Where tireless striving stretches its arms towards perfection;
Where the clear stream of reason has not lost its way into the dreary desert sand of dead habit;
Where the mind is led forward by thee into ever-widening thought and action -
Into that heaven of freedom, my Father, let my country awake.

37
I thought that my voyage had come to its end at the last limit of my power, - that the path before me was closed, that provisions were exhausted and the time come to take shelter in a silent obscurity.
But I find that thy will knows no end in me. And when old words die out on the tongue, new melodies break forth from the heart; and where the old tracks are lost, new country is revealed with its wonders.

85
When the warriors came out first from their master’s hall, where had they hid their power? Where were their armour and their arms?
They looked poor and helpless, and the arrows were showered upon them on the day they came out from their master’s hall.
When the warriors marched back again to their master’s hall where did they hide their power?
They had dropped the sword and dropped the bow and the arrow; peace was on their foreheads, and they had left the fruits of their life behind them on the day they marched back again to their master’s hall.

91
O thou the last fulfillment of life, Death, my death, come and whisper to me!
Day after day have I kept watch for thee; for thee have I borne the joys and pangs of life.
All that I am, that I have, that I hope and all my love have ever flowed towards thee in depth of secrecy. One final glance from thine eyes and my life will be ever thine own.
The flowers have been woven and the garland is ready for the bridegroom. After the wedding the bride shall leave her home and meet her lord alone in the solitude of night.

Source:
Tagore, Rabindranath. Gitanjali. London: Macmillan and Co., Ltd. 1913. Print.

Superheroes in Asia and America: Clawmarks made by Shivaji, X-Men's Wolverine, and Japanese Ninjas

First, an apology. I abandoned my blog. Honestly, when I was working on this post two months ago, I became insecure, and I have since fallen into doubt over being a writer, language learner, Asian culture enthusiast (not even a graduate student..), while starting on these first confused steps after my bachelor's degree. But I began an internship at Silk Screen Asian Arts and Culture Organization, and I realized that I still want to write.

A few months ago my partner introduced me to the story of Shivaji, a famous and legendary Maharashtrian hero and king in the seventeenth century. Shivaji was a warrior leader for Hindu people who rose against Muslim Mughal emperors and Bijapur sultans and ultimately became the sovereign ruler of a new and independent Hindu kingdom of Maratha. He has been romanticized as emblematic of the struggle between Muslim and Hindu powers - when in fact politics and cultures were more intertwined, and there was a political necessity to mark the new kindgom's independence - but more importantly, as a patriot for all of India, even an example of a leader in religious tolerance.

His life was full of action and adventure that's widely known and celebrated today,  full of raids and battles defying his more powerful enemies, escaping house arrest by deception and disguise, and other deeds done with great cunning.

In his first great act of defiance and heroism - which became the first known ballad of Marathi literature -and under the pretense of submission, Shivaji killed a Mughal general Afzal Khan - by stabbing him to death with metal claws.

Click for larger image

Shivaji met with Afzal Khan in a tent to agree to begrudgingly cease fighting and accept service as a vassal to the Muslim sultan Adil Shah. Afzal Khan purportedly moves to embrace him, then stabs him with his own concealed knife. But Shivaji, who had secretly worn chain mail, stabs Afzal Khan, and then beheads him with a sword. Shivaji's hidden men swarm in and overtake the army. It seems unclear which weapon killed Afzal Khan, but death or wounding by claws is widely accepted. My guess is that this is at least the most famous story of the bagh nakh, whether Khan died by the claws or the sword. It's still wicked awesome.

When my partner told me this story, I was naturally reminded of X-Men's Wolverine. But 300 years earlier, this was the first legendary and recorded use of the bagh nakh (बाघ नख / वाघ नख ' wagh nakh' in Marathi), "tiger claw" weapon. Unlike Wolverine, this weapon was worn with claws coming from under the palm, with two fingers through rings at the end, and sometimes with another blade attached on the side, according to the blog of a weapons enthusiast. It's easier to wield that way unless claws are part of your mutant skeletal structure enhanced by lab experiments.

Of course, Shivaji was not the inspiration for Wolverine. Wolverine was commissioned by the editors to writer Len Wein and art director John Romita Sr., together they were to create a character that makes a brief appearance in The Hulk series as a Canadian hero to be named after the native woodland wolverine - of which artist John Romita Sr. read described as a small, ferocious and catlike creature with claws - to create the basic inspiration. Wolverine wasn't intended to become so famous, but he evolved to be an icon for the concept of the dark, violent, and brooding Western antihero, independent of everyone and everything.

Coincidentally, Shivaji also had animal nicknames - "mountain rat" and "hell dog" to the enemy leaders he marauded, battled, and defeated (Laine 26). And although I haven't read of Shivaji being short in stature like Wolverine, the legends portrayed Afzal Khan as big and imposing in comparison. Shivaji's defeat of Khan was likened to the battle of Ram and Ravanna, the Hindu epic battle between god incarnate against a demon king.

I find it intriguing that people have thought of metallic animal claws as a sinister idea for a weapon in 17th century India, 20th century United States, and again in  for Japanese ninjas, who used them in a wider range of designs and purposes - small shuko claws and footspikes for climbing, nekode like metal fingernails for female ninjas, and larger tekagi-shuko for slashing and disarming.

 Yuriko Oyama - Lady Deathstryke

More than any Indian warrior type, samurai and ninja have crossed over to American popular culture. Wolverine himself takes ninja training in Japan (so does Batman), and there encounters Lady Deathstryke, who also has claws. And then there's Kill Bill, and America's anime subculture.

Also, Wolverine's time in Japan is going to be the plot for the upcoming X-Men movie! Fingers crossed that it's better than the other Wolverine movie... Fingers crossed really, really tight..




I find it ironic, though, that Japan and India today present themselves less as warrior cultures and more as peace-loving countries. They both wield great soft power (appealing political standing through cultural presentation) such as in romantic Bollywood and in more lighthearted anime. India has waded through centuries of bloodshed, having resisted and defeated oppression of the Mughal empire, the British empire.. As my charming Hindi professor put it, "India has been invaded for ... kind of forever." Even today India faces threats and acts of terrorism.

But it seems that India currently presents itself as a nation of peace, and Americans follow that idea a little more blindly. Popularly, when Americans think of India, they might think of Gandhi, yoga exclusively as a means of stress relief, and India itself as a place of expected spiritual renewal. Consider that even in this year's comic book-based film The Avengers, Bruce Banner, the Hulk, traveled to India not for warrior training, but to learn to find peace. The twist is that Bruce Banner "is angry all the time." (Yet, perhaps ironically, a lot of Indians also have an inner rage against their own national injustices, especially against the current threats of terrorism, and against political corruption.) I don't mean to say that there is a peaceful India or a violent India, but that it's important to recognize that there is a history full of exciting legends and true stories that we sometimes fail to recognize.

Many Indians were also miffed that Hollywood once again presents their country exclusively as a place of slums.

Japan has also waded through centuries of bloodshed, historically. Since World War II, Japan also presents itself as a nation of peace. Today Japan advertises cute kawaii culture - Pikachu and pop stars - and world peace devoid of nuclear warfare. Japan and India want to be seen as peaceful countries, but there's also pride in the fact that both have had inspiring tales in history and classical literature that are really just as intense, violent, and heroic as comic books and movies today, and we can always take inspiration from these. And these countries have their own comic book cultures: Indians have comics with stories of Hindu gods and heroes, and Japan has produced an incredible wealth of  manga and anime. These rich histories and literatures, and the subsequent crossculturalism of comics and films will fuel imagination for the future of crosscultural entertainment - and maybe to ask differently what it means to be a hero, and what it means to save the world.

Sources:

Laine, James W. Shivaji: Hindu King in Islamic India. New York: Oxford University Press, Inc., 2003. Print.

LoCicero, Donald. Superheroes and Gods: A Comparative Study from Babylonia to Batman. McFarland & Co., 2008. Print.

Lovece, Frank. "Wolverine Origins: Marvel artists recall the creation of an icon." Film Journal International. Film Journal International, 24/04/2009. Web. Jun. 2012.

Misiroglu, Gina, and David A. Roach. The Superhero Book: The Ultimate Encyclopedia of Comic Book Icons and Hollywood Heroes. Visible Ink Press, 2004. 624-626. Web. Jun. 2012.

"Shivaji." Encyclopaedia Britannica. Encyclopaedia Britannica Online Academic Edition. Encyclopaedia Britannica Inc. 2012. Web 21 Jun. 2012.<http://www.britannica.com/EBchecked/topic/546953/Shivaji>.

Tharoor, Shashi. 2009, November. Shashi Tharoor: Why nations should pursue soft power. [Video file] Retrieved from http://www.ted.com/talks/shashi_tharoor.html

http://thedarkblade.wordpress.com/2007/08/02/the-truth-about-cats-and-tigers/

Disney's Mulan: Reflection, after 14 years

June 18 marks the 14th anniversary of the release date of Disney's Mulan - and this was actually my favorite classic Disney movie. Although Mulan has been criticized for being an inauthentic depiction of Chinese culture and even of feminism, she did make a popular address to these subjects, albeit for the intended American audience. It's a good story, and it combines (or clashes) values of American and Chinese culture. You could argue that the story is a little mixed-up, or you could argue that the mix of Eastern and Western values makes an interesting interplay as produced by a country that shares American and Asian heritage. (This is even representative in the fact that Mulan also had an impressive cast of Asian-American actors, including Pat Morita, George Takei, B.D. Wong, Ming-Na Wen, and others.)

And so I admit that I'm biased in favor of Mulan, even after 14 years, and with a little more awareness of its criticisms. Still, I can't change the fact that I was touched by the sympathetic story about a girl desperate to prove herself, and that I was inspired by the animation and, yes, the Chinese setting. Nevertheless, it is important to recognize that, as someone put it, Mulan is "an American story in a Chinese context".

American Humor:

If nothing else, you can tell it's an American movie just by the humor. Eddie Murphy does a wonderful job as Mushu - he's very funny - but he's very funny in an African American way, with jokes that Americans would get. Mushu is about as Chinese as Aladdin's Genie is Arab - which is to say not at all. I'm sure his jokes were probably difficult for translators and for foreign audiences, especially Chinese ones. But Mushu wasn't really intended to be a Chinese character other than in the simple fact that he's a little dragon.

Although humor is universal in a few ways, it's actually often very cultural specific, especially if it relies on cultural stereotypes and pop cultural references. And in Mulan there are quite a few "inside jokes" for Americans. When the Emperor's assistant Chi Fu asks for "order" one character shouts "Moo Goo Gai Pan!", a Chinese-American restaurant dish (Incidentally, a Chinese restaurant owner informed me that Moo Goo Gai Pan is the only common dish that translates literally - "Mushrooms and Chicken Slices"). In the movie there are only a few subtle jokes for Chinese speakers - the names of certain characters are puns. Chi Fu apparently means "to bully."

And, for instance, how many non-Americans would catch this reference? Perhaps not even all Americans. But the subtle twist is part of what makes it funny and enjoyable.

Chinese Reception:

Mulan did not perform that well in China at all, and for several reasons. First of all, the Chinese government  deliberately discouraged it from being popularly received, preferring not to market so many foreign movies, among other diplomatic reasons (many people watched pirated versions anyway). In China, Mulan was released in February, after the Chinese New Year, after their holiday movie season. Second of all, even besides the humor, Mulan frankly doesn't translate very well as a Chinese story. Mulan had been criticized by Chinese critics as "too individualistic" (Langfitt).

What Americans might call the value of personal achievement, self-actualization, Chinese might see as "self-aggrandizing". Chinese also value cultivating one's self through discipline, hard work, and ingenuity, but also in keeping with modesty. Mulan admits to proving herself more than helping her family. Inasmuch as Mulan claims to be working for her family, to serve China through the military, she really does things in a kind of Western individualist spirit. She's trying to "fit in" with the other soldiers, but she goes about it in her own way, whether surpassing them or bypassing them.

And, only in a Western movie is it heartwarming to see a great crowd bowing before you for your humble service.

I suspect this looks weird to an Eastern audience..

Chinese Values:

I was impressed, however, with the Eastern notes of filial piety, family honor, and self-discipline. Mulan's family lives with the maternal grandmother, as is traditional and somewhat typical even today for Chinese families in the United States. Furthermore, Mulan is acting for the sake of her family in a more Eastern way, and I think there is a lesson in that for a Western audience. She considers her military service to be for the sake of her father, and that her military achievements are a credit to her family.

As for Mulan's father praying to the ancestors, and their ghostly roles in the movie, I'm not sure prayer is done so literally (ancestors are not "worshipped", but rather honored), but ancestor veneration is also a Chinese value, and one's ancestors may have an influence on your own course of life. In China and Japan it really is not uncommon to have a family shrine dedicated to one's ancestors.

It is true that in Eastern culture, your honor and your shame are reflected upon one's group, whether it's your family, your co-workers, or whoever is considered your team. In Western culture, pride and shame weighs mostly on the individual. As a simple example, in individualist Western thinking, someone losing a contest makes the loser look bad. In collectivist Eastern thinking, someone losing a contest makes his coach look bad. Of course, a Western loser will also feel guilty about his coach and an Eastern loser will also feel bad about himself, but there is a distinctly Eastern sense of collective responsibility. "Losing face" is an expression that arrived in English from a direct translation of Chinese (and Japanese). And, in these cultures, your failure causes your family/supervisor/co-worker/colleague to also lose face.

Sentimental Values: 

Personally, I was struck by the story of a girl trying to prove herself, and to find identity, even if she goes about it in her own way. I do appreciate the feminist themes (which seem to be more closely tied to the feminist movements of the United States - I get the impression that the Chinese legend wasn't intended so much to make a case for female empowerment, but I could be mistaken.), but to me the story is more about wrestling with one's own identity. Mulan doesn't explicitly challenge the patriarchal system because it wasn't her intention. In the beginning of the movie she is trying to present herself as the feminine ideal, and at the end of the movie she forsakes political power and opts to quietly go home. I think Mulan is an empowering female character because she works to prove her ability regardless of how many times she is suppressed. But more importantly, to me Mulan represents the struggle to find our own identity. And now I think that Mulan is also an attempt to reconcile Western and Eastern identities.

In college, when I was studying Japanese, and later failing Japanese, I again thought of Mulan, trying to perform as something beautiful when I was really just pretending. I learned that trying to relate to another culture sometimes makes one feel very self-conscious, and involves its own questions with identity.

Even though Mulan has its contradictions between Chinese and American values, I think it speaks to what Americans do know and do not know of Chinese culture. For Mulan, it seems the makers genuinely wanted to respect Chinese ideals of filial piety, ancestor veneration, honor and shame, and to give credit to Chinese art. Even so, it was a product of Western perspectives. Americans still sometimes present Chinese culture in odd ways, but I think the story of Mulan has its own integrity, and it was made with good intentions. Perhaps Mulan doesn't reach out to China very well, but the film continues to offer introspection into the presence and awareness of China in America.




By the way, the sequel, unfortunately, was made for a much younger and smaller audience, and had much less to do with China.

Sources:

Bancroft, Tony, dir. Mulan. Dir. Barry Cook, Writ. Rita Hsiao, Robert D. San Souci., Perf. Ming-Na Wen, B.D. Wong, Pat Morita, George Takei, and Eddie Murphy. Buena Vista, 1998. Film.

Langfitt, Frank. "Disney Magic 'Fails' Mulan in China." Baltimore Sun [Baltimore] 03/05/1999, n. pag. Web. 16 Jun. 2012.

Morgan, Diane. The Best Guide to Eastern Philosophy and Religion. 1st. New York: Renaissance Books, 2001. Print.

Price, Kathie. "Disney's "Mulan" - A China Parent's Viewpoint." FWCC. Families with Children from China, 06/25/98. Web. 16 Jun 2012.

Gengcheng, Zhao. "Mulan: Powerful and Powerless." US-China Education Trust. n. page. Web. 16 Jun. 2012.

..and Wikipedia.

A Glimpse of Life in a Chinese Restaurant

The following is an excerpt from a larger essay.
Lin's Asian Fusion features an incredible menu with high quality Chinese-American, Thai, and some Japanese cuisine (up next for business consideration is to have a sushi bar). The business is owned by Hiu and Annie Lam (pronounced “Lahm”), both originally from the southeastern Fujian province of China. Noting my confusion at the name discrepancy, Hiu leaned against the wall with his hands folded behind the backwards yellow Steelers baseball cap on his head and began to explain, looking faraway through his glasses.

His last name (林) is commonly read as “Lin” (three other Chinese workers at the time could also be recognized as “Mr. Lin”). But Hiu was born as a third child after the Chinese Communist revolution. Hiu couldn’t be officially recognized as “Lin” because he wasn’t officially allowed to be born. After his family moved to Hong Kong the name was read in Cantonese as “Lam.” And so by establishing his own restaurant, he concluded, “I won back my name.” Hiu had moved to the United States when he was 11 years old and has worked in Chinese restaurants his entire life. He met his wife through an arranged marriage that has since resulted in a happy family with two daughters – and they share boarding with the cooks.

Hiu’s wife is known to the waitresses as Annie. Sai Hua is her Chinese name, but Hiu most often calls her “Annie-ah”, just as her two daughters call her “Mommy-ah”). She is tall and rail thin, similarly bespectacled, with a long ponytail and bangs, and looks half her age. She laughs about her own broken English, but sometimes wishes that it were better even after all her years of study. But whichever language, Annie rarely shuts up, and is almost constantly attached to her iPhone, laughing, rambling, or muttering quietly in Chinese. And for the waitresses she is full of enthusiasm and encouraging advice. “You look tired,” she remarked to a waitress, then cried, “You need energy. I will fill you with the Kung Fu Power!” completing it with arms outstretched and hands cupped in an action pose. When she learns a new English word in conversation, she looks it up on her iPhone, having double-checked the spelling with an American waitress. “P-S-Y-C-H-I-C” I spelled once, because I had teased her about her prediction of a delivery order. “I like that word!” she exclaimed, and dashed off to the cooks to teach them. “Psychic! Psychic!” they chorused. Hiu walked out a few minutes later, shaking his head, commenting dryly, “It sounds like they’re saying ‘Suck it'.

Annie first came to Canada with her family when she was in high school, with just the human resources tutor and no Chinese classmates to help her learn English. But at her graduation she gave a speech that inspired her audience to tears, and she still keeps in touch with that tutor, who even attended her wedding. Annie married Hiu after high school and continued in restaurant business because she felt that English would be too difficult for her at a college level. Remembering her first English classes in the United States she mused, “Annie always try to be per-fect.” I asked her if it was because she liked languages. “No,” she laughed. “I knew that I wanted a better life here than my mother. She didn’t know any English.” In Canada Annie had lived with her aunt and uncle, apart from her parents who were working days and nights in a restaurant. It’s a job many Chinese immigrants make take up not because it was their first ambition, but because it was the only opportunity.

Men at a ticket booth for the Chinatown bus line 

  
According to the work of American born Chinese (ABC) journalist Jennifer 8. Lee, in 2007 there were 40,000 Chinese restaurants in the United States, and this was more than the combined total of McDonald’s, Burger Kings, and KFCs (Lee, 9).  It almost goes without saying that American Chinese takeout is almost completely unrecognizable to native Chinese. General Tso is a famous war hero who never conceived the fried chicken dish, and the concept of fortune cookies actually originated from Japan (“Jennifer 8. Lee Hunts for General Tso”). But many of the workers still come straight from China, and most of them, including those from Lin’s Asian Fusion, find their jobs through the Chinatown in New York City. These workers may continue to travel and commute through Chinatown bus services, which run in major cities in both the eastern and western United States (the men at Lin’s have recently switched to using Megabus for the sake of cost). Cooks, dishwashers, and delivery drivers may work in several restaurants throughout their life, perhaps over 12 hours each day, 6-7 days a week (Lin’s Asian Fusion only closes on Thanksgiving Day). They are isolated from most of society except for co-workers and family, which might be scattered between China and different cities in the United States. Finally, some might hope for a better future for their children who will grow up speaking a language they never had time to learn ("Chinese Restaurant Workers in U.S. Face Hurdles"). “I tell [my daughter] Michelle, I don’t work for me. I work for you.” said Annie. 

Sources:


"Chinatown Bus" Chinatown-Bus.org. Chinatown-Bus.org, 2012. Web. 19 Apr 2012. <http://www.chinatown-bus.org/>.

Inskeep, Steve, host. "Chinese Restaurant Workers in U.S. Face Hurdles." Writ. Margot Alder, and Ken Guest. Morning Edition. National Public Radio: 08/05/2007. Radio.
<http://www.npr.org/templates/transcript/transcript.php?storyId=10069448>.

Lee, Jennifer, writ. Jennifer 8. Lee Hunts for General Tso. TED Conferences, LLC, 2008. Web. 19 Apr 2012. < http://www.ted.com/talks/jennifer_8_lee_looks_for_general_tso.html >.

Tazo Hindi is Not My Cup of Tea

This box of Tazo Chai drives me crazy. I do like Tazo's "Zen" green tea, and this "Chai" isn't bad either. But in some aspects, this brand is not as authentic as it advertises itself to be. The writing on this box was written by someone or some people who didn't know Hindi (that's OK, only about 180 million do), but, what's worse, didn't check the homework. I appreciate the outreach towards Eastern cultures, but the mistakes on this box are kind of silly.

First of all, chai is the Hindi word for "tea" (चाय), which makes "chai tea" sound kind of funny to its speakers. However, Chai does seem to have distinctive core ingredients such as ginger, cinnamon, and cardamom, among others. So it is a kind of specialty, special tea.

That being said, what irks me is in this description on the side of the box:

"DID YOU KNOW?
Chai has long been served by tea wallahs to travelers along the trade routes of the Himalayas..." 

TAZO, DID YOU KNOW "wallah" is just a suffix?

Yes, a man who sells tea is a "chayawala"* (चायवाला). This literally means, this only means "the one with the tea". "-Wala"( or "-vala", as v and w are the same letter in Hindi) is a suffix that roughly means "the one that (has)". In the same way "konewala" (कोनेवाला) means "the one in the corner", and "aanevala" (आनेवाला) means "the one coming". It can be attached to nouns, adjectives, adverbs, or verbs. It's not a specific title - it's what you add to a word to make something more specific.

And yet this TAZO box advertises "wallah" as a specific title! They even use this in a second description on another side of the box:

"TAZO CHAI is nothing if not wondrous in its ability to gather flavors of Asia, Africa and Central America to be served in a tradition born of chai wallahs in the shadow of Mt. Everest. Who knew? (Most likely the wallahs did. They always do.)"
Again. "-Wala" is not specific enough by itself. "Kaunsa vala?" - "What kind of one?" Even "chayavala" sounds more generic than mystical.

The problem is that mistakes in translation used like this might echo that ignorant Western attribution of mysticism and exoticism towards Indian culture - "Orientalism". It's good to inspire Western consumers with curiosity and an interest in Eastern cultures. It's good to appreciate that something you bought came from a very different place. I think Tazo means to inspire that appreciation, which is commendable. But I feel that there is a potential bad joke in the mistakes. This could have been corrected if only someone was considerate enough to consult someone who actually spoke the language, before they sold it in the mass market.

And as if to add insult to injury, there's Hindi letters on the box lid that also don't make sense. There is a vertical list (Hindi's Devanagari script is not usually read vertically anyway..) of vowels which literally reads as: "ii, -ii, u, -u, uu, ru".  These are only a few of the vowels (why not add "a", "e", or "o"?) and has no apparent meaning except to "look exotic". I find this frustrating, enough to rant about it on Blogger.

My father says we live in a world where you can't get away with mistakes in translation so easily anymore - there are so many people around the world who speak multiple languages, and we are more able to easily contact each other across the world. My partner also made a point that perhaps in the days of the East and West India Companies, earlier times of global trade, merchants were more responsible to have direct and personal relationships with their providers and consumers - after all, there was no Google Translate. And yet aren't we more responsible now than ever before to understand each others' languages - or at least to find someone else who does?


*I am not spelling these romanized Hindi words with textbook accuracy, but for basic understanding. My textbook would tell you that the words are spelled "chaayavaalaa", "konevaalaa, and aanevaalaa" (that vertical line you see signifies a long "a" sound), but I think it's distracting from my argument. What's more, my Indian friends probably wouldn't casually spell it "chaayavaalaa" either. I learned from them to be more relaxed about romanized Hindi.

Letter to Azam Ali

I wish I could write a letter to Azam Ali. She has been my favorite singer, though I'm the only one I know who has ever heard of her. But she's an internationally famous world music singer who was born in Iran, grew up in India, moved to the United States, and has dedicated her life to performing music that represents a variety of traditional music of Eastern (and sometimes Western) cultures. She has been performing in bands such as Vas and Niyaz, in projects by other artists, and she also does her own solo work. What she says unites her music is a theme of introspection. Her voice is devastating, haunting, and absolutely beautiful.

Perhaps ironically, I first heard her from the soundtrack of the film 300, which was criticized for its comic book portrayal of the "evil Persians" (arguably, it is a comic book movie, it wasn't intended to be culturally accurate or sensitive anyway). But this is how I first heard my favorite Persian singer, and she has since then given me, an American white girl, a gateway to Eastern cultures and music.

When I first heard her voice in the credits, at  1:32 of this track, I absolutely had to find her.

Since then I bought an album from Niyaz and I listened to it throughout college. At first I appreciated it as an introduction to foreign music, her lovely voice, and the ideas of the culture as expressed through the lyrics taken from old poems of famous poets, like Rumi. I was listening to Urdu before I had any idea what Urdu was! And then I showed off this CD to my first Indian friend (I wanted to surprise him) and he told me he knew the song (he thought the music, however, was simply "ok"). And then I realized how close Hindi and Urdu were - once considered together as the language Hindustani. Over the past two years the song "Allah hi Allah" to me sounded at first as syllables, then as words, and now I have the lyrics practically memorized, and they make sense to me.



Still though, my personal favorite song by her is the moody, introspective ballad "Endless Reverie"



"Would that love were something than a false slavery to a god I don't know, and to all the things that tempt me/Then in the light of reason where truth is empty, the alchemy of sin would be revealed.. Waiting by the wayside of an endless reverie, where all the things I run from are sure enough to find me."

I did actually draft a letter to Azam Ali, but I have no idea how to reach her

I really hope someday I can meet her.

If anyone out there is reading, I at least hope I introduced you to a wonderful singer, or shared an appreciation of her that I haven't been able to express so well yet.

Cross-Race Relationships in Indian Cinema

I was thinking of posting this in a forum, but I realized that it was turning into material more fit for a future essay, maybe.

What do you guys think about the examples of cross-race relationships in Bollywood, or Tollywood, or any other Indian cinema? Do you have couples that you really like, do you think some are disappointing? In any case, it's fun to discuss characters and ideas in movies.

Overall, I'm afraid that I felt a little disappointed. For me, the few cross-race relationships I have seen somehow failed, and I can't help but take it a little personally. I know this is the wrong way to take it, and even an immature way to take it. But that's why I hope to discuss it openly sometime.


These cross-race relationships I've seen so far:

Source

In Lagaan (2001), the British woman Elizabeth (sister of the villain) falls in love with Amir Khan's character Bhuvan, and she sings in English a verse in the love song "O Re Chhori", but her lines are sung while Bhuvan and his destined Indian bride Gauri proclaim their love in the same song. The movie doesn't dwell on Elizabeth's broken heart. The movie ends saying that Elizabeth and Bhuvan may have been like Radha and Krishna, but Elizabeth never married - while Bhuvan has his happily ever after with Gauri.

To be fair, I did expect Bhuvan to choose Gauri - she was with him longer, and I didn't doubt her feelings for him. Gauri's jealousy of Bhuvan's friendship with Elizabeth is a continuing frustration and subject of sympathy. More importantly, the relationship between Bhuvan and Elizabeth represents kinship between East and West, India and Britain. Otherwise, all the white guys would be bad guys, and that's not kosher for 2001. It doesn't bother me that Bhuvan didn't choose Elizabeth, but I seem to think that somewhere there's an apology missing.

Source

In Rang de Basanti (2006), British woman Sue falls in love with Amir Khan's character (haha..) DJ/Daljeet, and she never sings, and there is no love song for their relationship. However there are shots of them together in the love song meant for the DJ's friends Ajay and Sonia. It seems that the audience is simply meant to accept that Sue and DJ are together after becoming close, even possibly living together, and that closeness is plain in the film. But the film ends with DJ's sudden death, and Sue left crying bitterly. I suppose their relationship is particularly subtle and quiet, but positive.

Source

In Aaja Nachle (2007) Dia falls in love with Steve, a white photographer, to the tune of the incredibly romantic song "O Re Piya" - which seems to also be the theme music, and more wholly about Dia's love for the theater and her teacher as a father figure. Steve declares his love for her by quoting marriage vows, and even her beloved teacher urges her to follow her heart even if it means leaving her family, who was devastated by her relationship. It's a very Bollywood-esque sweeping romance until less than 10 minutes later, when Dia tells us that her marriage ended in divorce one year later because, simply, they weren't meant for each other. Dia's ABCD (American Born Confused Desi) daughter Radha is a little bratty, but she's about 10, which is kind of a bratty age anyway.

I'm not sure where I'm going with this. I'll let you (or just myself) know when I've found something more on the subject. Or perhaps I should pursue this idea of star-crossed and cross-race relationships in other films and TV.

If anyone is out there reading, I'd love to hear your thoughts. Meanwhile, this blog will continue to function as my humble thoughts on interculturalism, globalism, etc.

EDIT:

I spoke with my best Indian friend and partner about this, and his opinion was much more fair.

First of all, I apologize for my own unfairness. I realize I started overanalyzing these stories because I was getting rather frustrated as I realized how difficult it can be for Indians to acknowledge their own cross-race relationships. You see, my partner admitted guilt and shame regarding his own relationship with me.

Anyway, let's take his points about these movies: 

1. Elizabeth IS a sympathetic and tragic character when her heart is broken. My friend recalled feeling great pity for her when she is crying in the movie. She's just as genuine as anyone else. Maybe there is no missing apology.

2. My friend LIKES the fact that DJ and Sue's relationship is quietly accepted. It is actually inspiring and forward-thinking that their relationship isn't addressed as controversial. And perhaps they don't get a romantic song number because their relationship isn't the focus of the movie anyway.

3. As for Aaja Nachle - well, he never saw it.

So there you go. I was being unfair, and I'm sorry. I was just upset when I started, and hopefully I'll be able to achieve better resolutions to my arguments in the light of reason - this time provided by my partner. 

First Hindi Song I Heard

This was the first Indian song I ever heard. It was actually performed at Calvin College's Rangeela event when I was in middle school. At that time I tried to burn the song into my memory, because I liked it and I was afraid I would never be able to find the foreign song again. But memory faded quickly, and for at least 7 years all I could remember was a chorus of "dola re dola re dola re dola.." Who could have predicted that since then I would not only find the song, but through Indian friends and classes I would come to understand the Hindi lyrics? And who could have guessed that two Michigan friends would be dancing in future Rangeela events? If none of this could be predicted in those years, then who can say how much further we'll go in the future experiencing what we never thought we'd find..

Beginning Again

Henceforth this blog is going to be my personal project to build sources of writing, and to try to make myself into more of a writer.

I've been a fairly decent failure of the English Writing major at the University of Pittsburgh (professors seemed to like my writings..), a fairly decent failure of a student of foreign language (Japanese and Hindi, neither of which I can speak fluently), a fairly decent failure of a volunteer English as a Second Language tutor, a fairly decent failure of an intern at www.sampsoniaway.org, an online magazine that promotes freedom of speech and press around the world. Through all of this, I've been interested in telling about other cultures, languages, and experiences, and I have been trying to confess things very carefully.

Maybe I could make a fairly decent failure of a writer, but one can't really know unless one really tries, and keeps trying.

Obviously, I can't really esteem myself, but I feel better by articulating myself in writing.

So, to make this regular, I'm going to try to push myself to write for this blog. I don't really have a forgiving schedule, I screw around too much, but I need to figure out how to write without feeling so intimidated by the act. As of now I'm writing after class at 3pm, and stopping at 4pm so that I can catch the bus to my part-time job at Lin's Asian Fusion, a Chinese Restaurant.

My blog was originally titled "alien nation". I chose this because it's my personal creed that we are all alone together in this alien nation. Everyone on this planet is an alien to each other, but we're all connected in this fractured collective of humanity around the world. Everyone has felt isolated and estranged, and we all reach out to each other tentatively, and touch each other powerfully, no matter where we're from. These words might seem melodramatic, but it's an idea I live with. I realized though, that this idea was more personally relevant to me because of my Asian co-workers, students, and friends, who inspired me to study foreign languages, and to understand their cultures.

As for feeling alien myself, I never really grew out that concentrated sense of being 'out-of-place' and estranged. In junior high school and high school I disliked physical and eye-to-eye contact. That, and my childhood interest in geography inspired by my father may have incited my interests and concerns for those who are aliens, and those who feel alienated.

I want to write about other people around the world, or maybe just as I'd imagine it, if I can. I'm acutely interested in foreign cultures, I've had some friends from different places, and my studies gravitated toward an interest in parts of Asia. Initially, I was a Japanese student, but now I'm a Hindi student, my best friends in Pittsburgh are Syrian, Indian, and Kazakh. I used to work with a lot of Russians and Uzbeks also. For the past year I've tutored English to women from Japan, Korea, and Turkey. Currently, I work at a Chinese restaurant. All their stories fascinate me, and I'm trying to learn more about the world.

If all else fails and I'm not much of a writer after all, I started an application for the Peace Corps today while typing this.

I have to run now.