Does Race Make People Different?

We are different.

If you look at the big picture above, you will probably see that the people in each picture look different from each other. Some of them have black hairs while some of them have blonds. The clothes they are wearing are also different. They are different.

Why are they different? I think that to answer this question, I will have to look back at my history textbook, but I am not going to answer this question in this post.

I would like to focus on HOW people are different.

Appearance is often the easiest difference that you can tell.

For example, you can see the difference from picture such as color of hair, skins, beard, face shape, special accessories and etc. Americans, Asians, Hispanics, and other human race are very different from each other. We look different, speak different languages, and eat different kinds of food. Although these differences can be classified as cultural diversity and they are significantly important, they are not made by ourselves. These culture exists far before we are born, and it can't be easily changed by an individual. But, is that it? Are we only different on the surface or by the culture? Of course not.

Is way of thinking of individuals within a human race all the same? Are all American people thinking about a same thing? I would say that the answer is no. I agree that some of them like sports. But only some of them. You know what? There are also many Japanese people who love playing and watching baseball in Japan. I also know many people who are practicing Kendo, one of Japanese martial art. Do they practice Kendo because they are from Japan, or are somewhat related to Japan? Not necessarily. Everybody has his/her own interest.

Some of my Japanese friend is very friendly to everyone, and some of my American friend is quite, but really kind.I believe these personalities are not influenced by certain human races, but by a person's own experience.

Different culture does make difference in how certain people behave, but I believe that our thinking and faith belong to ourselves. Difference is beautiful. It makes the cultural study more and more interesting! I am very glad to be here in University of Minnesota where I can see large cultural diversity.

Surging waves

This is a photo taken just before our dance competition in the Singapore Youth Festival. Although I only appear on the corner of the photo (the 1/4 person on the extreme right hand side), it was still the most valuable photo for my secondary school life. The photo was taken right outside the auditorium in which the Chinese Dance competition was held in the year of 2007. We were the dance troupe of our secondary school and we won gold prizes in almost all dance competitions among the secondary schools. We had strong choreographers and devoted dancers. That year, the topic we chosen for the dance piece was "surging waves", which depicted the energetic waves surging towards the beach. You could see this theme from our blue costumes. The right sleeve of the costume was made of white silk and purposefully elongated ("water sleeve") so as to create a fluttering scene when we dance with the long sleeve. Those silk sleeves were made to order in a famous silk workshop in China and shipped to Singapore. We were told to treat them as the most precious things we have and do not leave any marks or stains on them. It sounded quite easy, but proved difficult since it was inevitable that the sleeve accidentally sweep past another girl's lipstick and leave a pink stain on the white silk. 

OK, I think you're now all boring with the details of my costume so I'll stop talking about it. There we were, sitting in a circle just outside the auditorium and trying to calm our minds through slow breathing. We prepared for almost six months for the dance piece and we must show our best to the judges and audiences. As our instructors have told us, we have already put all our best into practice and it's now God's blessing for a good score. He played soft meditation music for us, let us close our eyes and relax every cells in the body. This method was indeed helpful as we all felt relaxed and vigorous after the small meditation time. We really showed our brightest smiling face and most elegant movements. In the end we defeated hundreds of other schools to receive a "gold with honors" prize. 

I wish to say my experience in the dance troupe is the most precious memory of my secondary school because dancing not only developed my aesthetic skills, but also help me become a resilient person. Training was hard for all of us, with hours of floor exercises, bar works and hours of extra stamina training (2.4 kilometers' running every two days). But we went through those all together, like a family. We comforted each other when we were down after hours of sweating; we shared our joys when one of us suddenly came up with a brilliant idea of choreography. We felt like brothers and sisters after the six months of training and preparation. That was a feeling I've never experienced previously. I still smile when I see this photo in my wallet, and think of the joy and sorrow I had four years ago.

The Leap

This photo was taken on my first trip to the United States. In here, you see my sister, mother and father. I guess my story really starts with my father, he began from the lower end of the working class, hardly had enough to eat, the oldest of 6 children and had a father who gambled at the race track anyway (I love my grandpa just in case my sarcasm was misread). He distinctly recalls having two eggs for each birthday and eating vegetables grown from a small patch of grass that they called a garden (oh yes that’s how bad it was) and being of a minority group in multiracial culture, most benefits wasn’t given to him(yes its slightly different in Malaysia). My father worked hard in school and is now a charted accounted with the title Controller in the Malaysian region at a global Aerospace manufacturer (Hamilton Sunstrand)

My mother on the other hand, was formerly upper class until her father acted as a guarantor for some of his relatives and when their business failed, they disappeared. My grandfather (the honorable man he was), stayed and payed every last penny he owed which relegated the family to a middle class (maybe lower) standing. My mother now works as the company secretary in one of Malaysia’s largest newspaper company.

They are both the first Christians in their families (which is nightmarish if you understand the dynamics of a typical/traditional Chinese family) and in that itself gave them a purpose for life. It also probably played a huge part in bringing them together.

I narrate the lives of my parents in such detail not to brag (though I am very proud of my parents) but to illustrate the gap of opportunity that I have today that they never had. I grew up middle class, I had everything I needed and could have everything I wanted (if not for parental discretion) and I get to study a subject of my choice in a university thousands of miles away from home. In short, I don’t understand what it’s like to have it tough and I’m given the opportunity to have “in a sense” freedom.

Hence I stand here today, a Psychology student in a world renowned institute, speaking clear English (almost no Chinese) and having an experience my parents would never have dreamed of having. I realized that my whole post was merely one dimensional and principally based on class economics. But the mere fact of me being here is a product of my parents (primarily my father) resilience to what was presented to them early on in life and I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to give credit where it was due.

Oh yeah and I love my sister too ( just so no one is left out).

Rocket Power!

Righteous! Wicked! SHOOBIES! Oh My! Growing up, I knew I wanted to have a 'gang' of friends that would consistenly be doing one of three things: shredding, swimming, or playing street sports. Helping my cause, I grew up in a cul de sac, met three of my best friends, and the rest is history.

Watching Rocket Power everyday instilled a way for me to live my life; carefree. Otto, Reggie, Sam, and Squid have no worries, no problems (apart from the occassional show down between rivals), and they do what they want when they want. Therefore, every day after school we would get together and play street hockey, skateboard, swim, wiffle ball, football, basketball, skate, and they were the most carefree days of my life. Money, school, and my future wasnt important, because I had no reason to think about it! We were too busy living the best days of our lives!

Although my eyes are now open to the world of negativity seen on tv and read on the news, and I do think about my future/finances/school, life is still good. Sure class stresses me out sometimes, but thanks to the 'live free' lifestlye I learned as a child, its easy to take my mind off things for a while and kick it with my friends and family.

Tiny mini history of Alex Wong

I was born as the first male child in a Chinese/Cambodian American immigrant family. Needless to say, I was the family favorite, as is customary for the male child who ensures longevity of the family name. Baby sister Katie was born exactly one year afterwards (the brat interrupted my birthday party at Chuck E' Cheeses), and baby brother Covey four years after that. Mother worked at one minimum wage job after another to support father through a four year nursing degree at NDSU, and consequently the Wong's lived frugally. We lived in a low income apartment unit for the majority of my childhood, and relied on the kindness of the sponsors that brought my parents to the country to get by. Pennies were pinched wherever they could be pinched. Clothes were bought secondhand and horribly unfashionable, allowances and personal spending money were a thing of fantasy, and everyday conveniences like cable, internet, and cell phones remained out of reach. Classic Asian parenting dominated my upbringing, to a point that during a stretch of time throughout elementary school I was required to recite all 109 recognized elements of the periodic table and identify hundreds of human anatomical structures before being allowed to go out and play. By the time I reached middle school and high school, I had successfully (or so I thought) rebelled against my upbringing and was living the life of a vagrant (still kind of am). Although I was fully capable of maintaining perfect grades, I let them slip habitually to the point where my academic imperfection was accepted. I avoided math and science classes like the plague. Breaking rules, escaping punishment, and breaking more rules became my favorite past time. All of my roguish tendencies came to a head when I was expelled from a summer gym course on the last day for giving my instructor the finger and several accompanying suggestive pelvic gyrations. Way to end freshman year in true fashion. I went through high school much better behaved. I took up the guitar and devoted hundreds of hours practicing (this marginal talent is my only cultural vice, I swear). I played soccer and was heavily involved in extra curricular activities. I remember now how badly I wanted to be well liked, popular. I craved attention but now sought it in a way that didn't involve being deviant. In the end I did alright. I met my hot, white, tall girlfriend that I see to this day. I was elected junior and senior class president as well as homecoming king in a class of over 500 (probably the only Asian in North Dakota's history who can claim that). I've developed a taste for finer things, probably some sort of reactionary response to never having them as a child. I'm doing my best not to become a doctor or scientist or mathematician and thus am diverging from the grand narrative that unfailingly prescribes itself on people like me.

Catholic School: The Fastest Way to Make Someone Not Catholic

The Catholic faith was always the center of my world, until I went to high school. There were so many things that formed what I believe in the world each day I learned more about the Catholic faith. I learned that my judgments about the world were originally made by the Catholic middle and elementary schools I attended as a child. I had a religion teacher who defined the word Jihad as "holy war" simply showing that she had not done her homework on the Muslim faith and that she simply believed what someone else had told her like Rush Limbaugh or Glenn Beck. Ms. Murphy was a turtle like woman who wore thick glasses and turtle necks. She was painfully Irish and was simply ignorant. When I got to high school I took a comparative religions class where we had a Muslim speaker who simply told us that Jihad is defined as "struggle." This changed my view of Islam drastically because before I had learned that all Muslims were crazy terrorists who were fighting for "Allah" but now I know that those are extremists just like the Christian faith has extremists and terrorists are not all middle eastern people. The fact that somehow I acquired this knowledge as a child does worry me and the fact that I assume that at the same time people are truly believing these things and passing them down through family and other communities.

The other thing that happened to me in Catholic high school is that I lost my belief in Catholicism. Everything that I was taught about the faith had an almost direct contradiction to other things that I had been taught. The fact that the Catholic church went out on crusades to kill Muslims just proves that each religion has to develop and make their own mistakes before they come to equilibrium and are mostly not crazy.

seaweed

Many of my fears, expectations, ideas , and tastes are shaped by what my family and people around me have taught me. The things i have been exposed to and the manner in which i was introduced to them was directly influenced by the tastes and feelings of many people in my life. This first became apparent to me when i think of foods which i havent tried or eat regularly since my mom would cook foods she liked i was regularily exposed to them, but never to ones she didnt like.

The most dramatic example of my homegrown fears/tastes is that of seaweed. When I was young my mother described it to me as menacing and almost dangerous, as if you could be engulfed in it. I took this to heart and would refuse to swim through it, tube over it, or clean it off the beach throughout my child hood. I was so fearful of it but there was no reason for the fear. I was being shaped to dislike it through my mom and i truely started to fear it. I think that this shows the power of what a trusted person can plant in your head to shape your perception. This really reflected the ability of Spiegelman to shape our view of the Nazis as evil through the pictures of them. The pictures reflect their appetite to destroy the Jewish race just as a cat does to a mouse.

Through Spiegelman's art he is able to shape our opinion of them without even using words or having any prior knowledge. Unlike the seaweed this is a much more accurate description because the Nazi regime was truely evil unlike the benign seaweed i feared for so many years. I think both of these are good examples of how are perceptions can easily be shaped through many forms of communication whether it be verbal or visual powerful. This is the true genius of Spiegelman i think, he was able to portray the cruel Nazis and innocent Jews through well known images such as the mouse and cat. We all know the story of the cat and mouse; predator and prey and it makes the message very clear and easily read. This ability of Spiegelman to use familiar images is just like the power my mom had in shaping my perception of seaweed. We all develop opinions and they come in many different forms but that is what defines our culture and perceptions of the world around us.

seaweed

Hometown Culture

Looking back on my first 19 years, I don't feel that there are any exact instances that I can pinpoint as factors that shaped me into the person I am today. For the most part, I feel I've lived a fairly average life with not very many experiences that separate me from any other average person. I lived in a 4 bedroom home in Little Canada, Minnesota with my mom, dad, and sister. We would eat dinner together every night as a family and always had our normal basketball or dance practice to attend to. The schedule went wake up, school, homework, dinner, practice, bed. Everyday, with little variation. It seems routine to think about now, but never seemed to get old back then.

Little Canada has a population of around 10,000. Its not too big, and there is a good chance that you will run into at least one person you know in town every day. It doesn't seem to be have the culture of your cliche small town until you leave the scene for a while and observe from an outside perspective. Growing up in Little Canada never seemed to be any different than growing up in any other small suburb until I left for college. It is expected that when you go to college you will make many new friends and move on from others. This holds true for most, however, if you grew up in the Little Canada area or attended the local high school, there is a very good chance that you will never fully escape the scene that you came from.
The fact that LC has a very distinct culture of its own became very apparent after my first year of college. There is a lingo that would be mistaken for a foreign language to any outsider and the same group of people every weekend at the small, local bar. The "culture" of it in itself is hard to explain, but if it's a part of you it is clear to see that it exists with quite a distinction from others. All outsiders are welcome but not all feel comfortable because they don't quite understand the culture of this town.

It took one year living away from my home town (which is a whole 20 minutes from campus) to realize that no matter how much time I spend away, the Little Canada culture has shaped who I am and will always be a part of me. The families that make up this community will always be considered family to me, and the ways of this town that make it different from all others will always be the ways that I know.

Old memory

This is a picture that i took in my high school in 2006. This is the only picture that contains our four together.

This picture is in my badroom and accompany with me for a long time. From the left: Xiaodong Fu, Qingying Li, Kangda Wu, me and Haiyang Pan and these three are my best friend during my high school time. Qingying and Kangda (Kangda is Qingying's boyfriend) went to Australia and studied there. Haiyang's parents ran business in Canada, So Haiyang(the tallest guy) went to Canada with his parents after graduated from our high school and took up residence there. I'm the only one came to United State.

Kangda is the smartest one in our four but he did not study hard. He supposed to get higher score and went to better university (he got low grade during high school period). I felt that it is very regrettable for him to use shrewdness on troublemaking and play all today. He always got good ideas for Christmas parties, hiking and other activities. He was dismissed by our high school when it was just three months before graduation. School thought he made bad examples to other students and his undisciplined action always made teachers upset. I was very worried about him and I hoped he can become better when study in Australia at that time. Now he has graduated and learning marketing with his father in Shanghai. Haiyang was in school basketball team and he was very good at playing it. I always play basketball with him after school and I felt that he teach me skills and made me play better (because he is much taller than me?). I was told that he was not playing basketball anymore because he got seriously injured during a match just after he left high school. Qingying also graduated from a college which teaching how to make good tea and pastries. She has already come back to China and she is running a idiomatical cake shop. I remembered that Qingying likes cakes very much and she was good at cooking. She always makes delicious cookies when we had parties. The most left one is Xiaodong Fu but he did not give a face (he was studying hard for coming exams and maybe ignored us). He was always the top students in my class and he was a super hardworking student in my momery. I did not contack him after graduation from high school but i guess he must do well right now.

I hope that they are all good and they all have a great time during the rest of lives. I have not met them for more than three years and I miss them very much. This picture is actually the most interesting one that I find in my computer (three boys was pretending they were sleeping and the girl was laughing at them).

Don't worry. Be happy!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5bNE-5TVAmg

Throughout my elementary school year’s I had a bed time of 10:00 p.m. so I would always have plenty of sleep for the next day. In the morning, I would get ready and my mom would drive me to school. I didn’t watch the news morning, day, or night. Once I was in junior high school I was able to stay up later and usually caught the news with my parents being I didn’t have much influence of the television station because it was always two against one! It was a depressing way to end each day to think of all the negative things that happened. These biased stations would hype up the details for dramatic effect and tug on the heart strings for emotional reactions. These news shows would make my parents and other friends upset most of the time because of an opinionated story that challenged their principles or more simply their positive attitude toward life. Maybe it was political candidates, maybe it was job risks, or maybe it was a crime close to home; no matter what it was it initiated feelings of anger, sadness, or fear.

By the time I was high school, and I still practice this now, I don’t watch the news. Instead of mindlessly watching the news with my parents, I decide to leave and avoid it. I would prefer a lack of opinion on current events to avoid unhealthy or unnecessary feelings toward biased media. I realized that this may be a dramatic reaction, because it is important to know what is going on in the world to interact with other people and understand how our world is changing, but I am still a productive member of society without the thirty minutes of depressing news each day.

Is it possible to avoid everything negative? No, I don’t think so. So, should I just suck it up and watch the news so I know what is going on in the world? Not going to happen.

I believe opinions are created through multiple incidences and people throughout your history. My grandma is my other historical influence. Every time I was with her, she had a radiant positive attitude about life. She loved learning new things and traveling to different places; most of all she loved learning about what was happening with me! She had such a carefree outlook and taught me how to be the same way.

My opinions and goals in life are to have a positive attitude, love life, and enjoy this world! If avoiding the news is one way I can enhance my positive image of this world and defeat my negative thoughts, I am all in. I might be a little more naive living in this world, but in my opinion I am a little happier too.

For your personal enjoyment...

Don't Worry, Be Happy
Performed by Bobby McFerrin

Here is a little song I wrote
You might want to sing it note for note
Don't worry be happy
In every life we have some trouble
When you worry you make it double
Don't worry, be happy......

Ain't got no place to lay your head
Somebody came and took your bed
Don't worry, be happy
The land lord say your rent is late
He may have to litigate
Don't worry, be happy
Lood at me I am happy
Don't worry, be happy
Here I give you my phone number
When you worry call me
I make you happy
Don't worry, be happy
Ain't got no cash, ain't got no style
Ain't got not girl to make you smile
But don't worry be happy
Cause when you worry
Your face will frown
And that will bring everybody down
So don't worry, be happy (now).....

There is this little song I wrote
I hope you learn it note for note
Like good little children
Don't worry, be happy
Listen to what I say
In your life expect some trouble
But when you worry
You make it double
Don't worry, be happy......
Don't worry don't do it, be happy
Put a smile on your face
Don't bring everybody down like this
Don't worry, it will soon past
Whatever it is
Don't worry, be happy

My Memories

I grew up in an average American household. I was born and raised in the same house in Saint Paul and can’t imagine growing up anywhere else. I have an older sister who is very free-spirited and my parents are divorced. The problem with my history is that I can’t remember a lot of it. I started realizing this last year during a 9/11 memorial. Everyone was remembering where they were on 9/11, and I realized I had no idea. I started thinking about other events, such as my parents telling me and my sister about their divorce, and realized I couldn’t remember that either.

I started getting really weirded out. Is there something I was repressing, like in all the television shows? Was there something wrong with my brain? After talking it over with my parents, I think I was just a distracted kid. I always seemed to be “out of it” and in my own world. Even events that directly affected me like my parents' divorce didn’t seem to make much of an impact in my mind. So is this a good thing or bad thing? I’m still trying to decide. It could be a good thing because negative events didn’t “scar” me or anything, and I was a really happy kid. I was always entertained and independent, and found it easy to move on from mistakes in life. However, it is also extremely frustrating. I would like to know about more of these major events that I lived through, and have an accurate point of view of those events. Lately, I have been talking to friends and family, and learning more about my unknown history. I have also been able to gain information from pictures and diaries, but I feel like that information can be seriously biased. So can young memories, however.

So what do I remember? I remember watching a lot of television. For years I lived through television sitcoms and cartoons. They comforted me, taught me, and connected me to the world. I remember riding my bike up the block with my sister, and eating ice cream bars once we got there. I remember learning and singing Spanish songs at my Spanish Immersion elementary school. I remember the excruciating (and possibly enhanced) details of when I broke my finger at age 6 while roller skating. I remember dancing at my mother and stepfather’s wedding, and then later playing hide and seek upstairs from the party. These things are crystal clear in my memory, because they were things my young, distracted mind could comprehend.

While I still find it bizarre that I can’t remember major events of my childhood, I find it comforting to think about the memories I do still have. I was a very happy child, and that has shaped me to become a very happy young adult. Now I am focusing on creating new memories, and making sure these ones are not forgotten.

ManVille

The two goof balls to the left are my Brother and Father and me on the right on my graduation day. Any of you have a clue on what’s missing from this picture? And if your thinking it might be the person who is behind the camera taking the picture, then you’re wrong.

Since I was 14 years old I have lived with just my Father and Brother, as you can imagine for a 14 year old girl who is just experimenting with makeup, clothes, and her future Identity this was a confusing time for me. I can confidently say that I grew up in Manville population 3, I was the outlier. This was a huge barrier that I had to get over in my life, although my father and brother did try their best it was a very difficult time for me.

My father had a great job, a computer engineer at a hospital in the twin cities, not much to say other than he is the typical all American guy, runs at least 10 miles a day, can fix practically anything and loves to grill. My brother is a huge sports fan and is very athletic, he was involved in wrestling and also very involved in soccer to this day. He now plays on a men’s league and coaches our high school soccer team. Our house to him and his friends was a hang out place, as you can imagine living with two guys there was a lot to do at our place. Pool, air hockey, ping pong, darts, Movie Theater, bar…etc…a bachelors pad. This was the place to be on the weekends and game day. Not only was I surrounded by my father and brother, but also their friends. Considering my brother and his friends were in wrestling I got quiet the moves put on me….I guess you could say I know a few wrestling tricks or two…..

Although I was living with men I took on an opposite role then what many would think. Many people assume that I am more of tom boy…really into sports, watching them, playing them…basically anything involved with sports…And although they are correct in some ways I mostly took on a role as a mother/housewife. Many of you are probably confused now, why would I take on a mother role when I have a dad and older brother. Well the answer lies here; can you imagine living with two men? I’m pretty sure we can all agree that most men are not very organized; they don’t care about messes, can’t decorate and are not that great at cooking unless it involves a grill. Well, that was my life and I could not STAND IT. I was a teenage girl, dreaming of having a similar life to those of my friends. A Nuclear family as they call it, a cute white picket fence with a perfect little house inside that contained a mother, father and two children. I dreamed of coming home to bake goods, a homemade dinner, and a clean beautifully decorated house. So you could presume that I took on a motherly role… I became the cook, the cleaner and I decorated the house from top to bottom.

Regardless of my environment I suppose I am a little bit of everything, sports fanatic and future house wife. Even though I lived with two men, I would say I am a huge girly girl. Basically whatever I was surrounded by, I wanted to be the opposite. I am not for sure how you would evaluate this. Most would say that your surroundings shape you, and in very big way they did. They shaped me into a caring, clean freak, future housewife. I have such a mothering nature to me it even bothers me at times. While most people in this situation would become more tom boyish I did quite the opposite. So how would you say my surroundings shaped me? No one forced me into cleaning, cooking or decorating. It was the life around me, what I thought women should be like from friends, TV and books. I made myself into what I had dreamed of having….the perfect household.

Don’t get me wrong, I am so appreciative of the life that I was given. I absolutely adore me father and brother and would not have traded lives for anything. I am shown continuously how blessed I am by my experience. I get along with most people; I can talk about sports, play sports but yet have a very girly care giving side about me. This has helped me in numerous ways, adapting too many different situations and meeting many different people throughout my life. Regardless of how we are suppose to grow up, or what our lives should be like, this is my life, it shaped me into what I am now, whether that be good or bad, I am thankful for my confusing/difficult history!

Broken Bond- Family History

Boom! Boom! I hear as I am showering. Curious to what and where the sounds of gun shots were coming from, I quickly turn the shower off and again I hear another. Boom! This time it’s coming from outside my house. I quickly clothe myself, panicking and fearing for my safety. My heart races as I turn the doorknob. I make my way out of the shower room and towards the adjacent living room. I take a quick glimpse around the room; the clock finally strikes ten and the sun had fallen deep below the earth.

“GET DOWN!” The strangers command.

“I’m scared, please don’t kill me!” I reply back.

“SHUT UP! On the ground with your hands on your back, or I will shoot.” The strangers command.

“I’m down,” I say, falling down on the living room carpet, blocking my face.

As one of the stranger proceed to fasten my hands together, I close my eyes. In the dark, I could hear so much rackets; my own deep breathing, mix in with rapid heart beats, sounds of tables being flip, and walls rip apart.

After quickly tying my hands with handcuffs, I opened my eyes. I quickly realize that these people were not intruders, but trusted men and women of the S.W.A.T. Team and St. Paul Police. One by one, the intruders proceed to bring the family together in the living room. By this time, I have realize the reason why they are here and I have the excruciating feeling of guilt and shame. Tears rushing down my eyes, and the image of doors busted open with guns runs through my sacred thoughts. In these moment, I can only hear faint thunders and the lonely cries of my family members.

One of the officers tells me to get up and walk into the living room. As I walk through the debris, the officers standing around with their guns and extra handcuffs, their faces grew with angry glares and disgusted looks upon me as if I was a criminal. Shameful and Anger were the only terminology in my mind. Men and women running pass me, knocking me over to the left side of the wall. I again take a quick glimpse around the house and once I saw the dogs, four fir trimmed adult canines, I knew that the main purpose of raiding my home.

My six brothers, parents, and blind grandmother are already seated in the living room by the time I arrive inside the living room. I was order to sit in one of the corners, keeping a three feet distant between each of my siblings, especially my older brother Matt; soon realizing that Matt was the main cause to these many pains. As I sit down and wipe my tears with my shoe marked t-shirt, my sister and her boyfriend are also escorted into the living room, my sister's eye are filled with tear and her boyfriends' are the same. Finally at the end, we were together and guarded as untamed beasts.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

This happened to me on my 18th birthday in reality, and for a moment, it shook me into million of pieces. I often wondered at times whether or not I deserved this type of treatment. How is it that in a couple of years, I am here in Minnesota, attending the University of Minnesota learning about philosophy and law. Quite interesting to see the story from both side of the fence and in retrospect, I can easily understand how the SWAT team felt as they went into my family's home and shut down my entire house.

Most shockingly, it occurred to me years after this tragic event that no matter how "intelligent" I was, in comparison to my siblings who in others areas have faltered and fallen into the abyss of rejection and absolution, I was treated as a criminal just as they were. Didn't matter how great my school reports or my attendance sheet were, I was still pushed around like a puppy dog from one potential buyer to another. And it slammed to me that as the SWAT team entered my home, it wasn't just raiding potentially a drug bust, but a home of ASIAN AMERICAN druggies who were selling drugs. AND IN ALL TRUTH, no drugs were FOUND. Nothing was ever found. It's ridiculous to see and wonder why and how they had a warrant. NO DRUGS whatsoever but damage costing in THOUSANDS and THOUSANDS of dollars. Now, life is much better but that night made me realize that racial biases and racial degradation are still active around life here. And no matter how much more assimilated an individual (particularly minorities) may be, or how great his grades may be, there are those who are constant reminders to you that you are somehow in lower value than "others."

Sisters

I approached this article from the opposite direction: if some things weren't in my life, how would I be different? The answer is easy, I would have a ton of piercings, probably be a "hipster" speeding across Wash. Ave. bridge, tats, I would not be very social, and probably a little more towards the self-centered side. Thats when I realized that all of the factors which created my mini history came directly from my sisters. (Twin-middle, Oldest-Right, Me-Left)

Sisters have taught me EVERYTHING about communication, sports, school, hard work, persistence, fighting, not fighting...the list could go to the moon and back. I was the odd one out growing up in our sisterhood. Twin and oldest ALWAYS did things together, which made me tough and independent. Toughness is a key word in our situation, when I'm dying at the end of a half-marathon, I think about how hard both of my sisters work at their colligate level volleyball AND school at the same time. It's almost turning into a competition because neither of us wants to be the "kid that just coasted through college without doing something extra challenging"; Makes for a good conversation when we all get home.

Communication, obviously doesn't come naturally between three girls living under the same roof for 18+ years, let alone when you're the exact same age as one of them...I am a strong communicator now because after all the time I've spent waiting for the twin to finally put enough make up on, or waiting for the oldest to finally finish her sentence, I realized that I have plenty of time to listen to my friends, wait for my turn to speak, understand that not everyone is just like me.

The take home point here, is that they "keep me in check", There isn't any BS in our relationships, I know that if I ever mess up, according to our family's standards, that I have two VERY "open" sisters who will swoop in and take me right back to reality and out of my own little 'weep-a-thon', or what ever the situation may be.

This is very inconclusive as to "who I am" But I can't agree that I have a history without looking at it in terms of a GRAND NARRATIVE. I've lived my life according to the Catholic Church (to the best of my abilities,right now); did the whole sunday school thing, confirmation, hopefully a wedding by a priest in a catholic church. That part of my life has been pre-determined, and honestly, I'm afraid to think of my life differently. It's almost fateful that we have to be born into families/cultures, because NOBODY has a completely independent life, although we'd like to think so. Another example- I grew up in a suburb in MN, graduated K-12, got my license, shop at target, love my family, will graduate from the UofM, and hopefully have a family one day for them to write their own histories. But, I can't help but to notice that this is just as much a grand narrative, in my eyes as living as a Catholic girl is. It's all a part of that american dream, manifest destiny narrative and I think that until something which really shakes things up happens, that I'm willing to keep trudging along this pre-determined path - I could almost write my WHOLE life history right now.. Grow up, Have a family, Get grandkids, die. Exciting.

Do I really have a history?

I don't really think I can deem my life up to now as something worth calling a "history". Not that my life hasn't been interesting, but it's been so short. It's similar to the many other stories you and I have heard; reporting it might just belittle it into a cliche...

I am the daughter of Indian immigrants, born in England, raised in America. I grew up in suburban Minnesota with my family of two loving parents, a little brother, and (now) a puppy. My brother and I have a nine year age difference, so there was little sibling rivalry. In fact, I would say that my brother's birth made me even more family oriented. I moved through school with a little effort and a handful of friends. I studied hard and never rebelled. I had 'phases' like so many other kids growing up. I wanted to be unique. I wanted to fit in. I dotted my 'i's with hearts. I wrote in cursive. I wrote like Poe. I wrote like Sedaris. Even now I can't define what I was...confused maybe? My parents raised my in a traditional fashion, and I was all for 'freedom' so you can imagine the rift. However, I always acted with my family in mind and what was best for them.

Eventually I grew up, grew out of trying to find an identity and naturally fell into one. I love my family deeply. I try to the fullest of my ability to make those around me happy. I am deeply affected by others opinions of me. I hate unhappiness, and hate being the cause of that unhappiness. In a sense, my own 'history' or identity is formed by those around me. I will probably always be affected by the world around me; maybe that is a weakness, maybe it is a strength. However, I realize I am what I am because of my past and will continue to act on my upbringing.

The Band

When I was in fifth grade I decided to join the band. At the time it was the cool thing to do. All the kids got to go to the gym and try each instrument. I picked the clarinet and was pumped. Fifth, sixth, seventh, eight grade it was normal and it was cool. Come ninth grade everyone quit. Girls decided to join the choir or they had the option of a study hall. Again, I desperately wanted to follow the crowd and quit but there was a problem. My parents encouraged me to stay in the band and I knew they'd be disappointed if I quit. I told my parents I'd try it for one more year and then I'd reevaluate if I wanted to quit or not. Well turns out I never quit the band. I marched, played, and stayed in band for my entire high school career and I can confidently say it was my best decision.

Turns out band was legit awesome. I never thought I'd love it so much. I believe it truly shaped me into who I am today. I had preconceived ideas about the people in band. Coming in I thought I was going to meet a bunch of nerds and weirdos but turns out my classmates were the best. I met my two best friends in band. The kids I met in band were smart, funny, witty, talented, dedicated, and hardworking. I guarantee they will all rule the world one day. I look up to the kids in my class because of their values and personality traits. I couldn't have asked for a better group to hang out with throughout high school. Band led me to make better decisions outside of class as well. The kids I hung out with were always a solid group of individuals and we had tons of fun on the weekends without getting into any trouble. We made smart decisions. They were also great students and they encouraged me to always do well in school.

Band also helped me discover my love for music. The clarinet was a huge part of my life in high school and my passion for music carries on into college. Playing an instrument allowed me to learn how to read music, express my self through an art, and learn about various genres. Even though I do not play the clarinet anymore it caused me to learn more instruments. Because I learned how to read music I picked up the piano and guitar really fast and now I love to play those instruments. I also participated in solofest. This meant I practiced a solo for months and then preformed in front of a judge. I practiced my heart out for months before each of my solos and I won second out of thirty to forty people for three years in a row. Through solofest I stepped out of my comfort zone, learned dedication, and gained confidence.

Band made me a better person overall. I met literally the coolest kids, I learned an awesome instrument, and formed my core values and morals that I stick to today. I am more confident, loyal, dedicated, hardworking, and willing to step out of my comfort zone to try new things. I literally LOVE band and still so happy and thankful that I stayed with it throughout high school.

My Family Story

My parents met in the 8th grade in a small town in Iowa. Her father was a corn farmer, while his father was the town veterinarian. They started dating their senior year of high school and attended the Senior Prom together. They then both attended Iowa State and continued dating. After they both graduated (and had been dating for 5+ years) they got married. They started out with barely anything, but worked hard to live the life and have the family that they both dreamed of.



Thirty years and three kids later they are still going strong and love to tell stories about their early dates. For their first date they went to a movie, but it ended up being a really scary Halloween-type film that my mom did not like at all. Luckily - she says - she gave him a second chance, and he made sure to read the reviews of the movie before buying the next movie tickets!


The story of my parents is a Grand Narrative that has definitely defined who I am today. From my work ethic, to my expectations, to how I want to live my life, it is easy to see how their story is echoed within all of those.




I always thought that my life would mirror theirs (and I wanted it to). When those things didn't start to happen, I started to worry if there was something wrong with me. But obviously time and rational led me to realize that my life is my own and the timing and choices that they made were right for them, not necessarily me. I always thought that I would be in and out of college in four years ready to get a job, house and family just like they did, but I'm realizing that that is not necessarily the right path for me. I am finding myself wanting to pursue a Master's Degree, potentially even a PhD which will definitely keep me in school a bit longer!

Their work ethic is strongly part of me as well. I have always liked to keep busy, have been earning and saving money as long as I can remember, and work very hard to stay ahead in all of my classes. At the same time, they have kept me grounded and raised me with the small-Iowa-town mindset. I am very family-oriented, and I can't imagine my life with out the close relationships that I have with my extended family. My parents always went out of their way to make sure that we were able to spend time with our grandparents, cousins, second cousins, aunts and uncles, great-aunts and uncle (etc). I also love the simple things in life, and would rather spend an entire day outside on a tractor or with the dogs than indoors in front of a computer or TV screen.

These are all things that I look forward to passing on to my children as well. My parent's unwavering love and devotion to one another despite the difficult times, definitely gives me hope that there is a person for me out there to share my life with - and though divorce rates seem to continuously increase, they are proof to me that marriage can be a wonderful thing.

Though I am getting a Mechanical Engineering degree from the big state school (just like my father) and am studious and conscientious (just like my mom) - my life will certainly have different timing and take a different course - but the greatest thing is that I know my parents will support me no matter what. I can only hope that my life turns out to be a Grand Narrative as well - one that is right for me.

Big Brothers

Whenever I think of factors that have affected my development as a person, my "story", the first things that cross my mind are my three older brothers. Being affected by one's siblings is not a unique concept, but I believe that because I have three older brothers, not just one or two, the effect was multiplied.
As long as I can remember, I've been surrounded by sports. This part of the stereotypical male culture is the most visible example of my brothers' impact on me. I have played soccer, football, basketball, and baseball competitively and have watched countless hours of sports on television. When I was y0ung I would play hours of sports with my brothers in the yard or the street or the driveway. These games created a love of competition in me, which still drives me today. Without this competitive fire, I don't think I would have had as much athletic, or even academic, success. For example, I retook the ACT because I wanted to have the highest score in the family.
Because there were four boys in the house, I grew up in a very masculine environment. Liking things that were not manly was not an option for me. That really narrowed my interests, which explains why my only hobbies now are sports and video games. Another effect of the masculine environment was the blanketing of emotions. Crying was forbidden. Any sign of sensitivity was greeted with ridicule. This caused me to become a fairly detached person. Without my older brothers, I may be a person of great emotional depth. It is impossible for me to know.
Our country has a highly developed social construction on what it means to be male. We are all affected by it, but it is much harder to deviate from it if you have several older males around to mock and harass you whenever you break the man code. Without this social construction, the whole dynamic of my family would have been much different. Also, if I had been female, it would have greatly altered the effect that my brothers have had on me. I would not have tried to fit in with them, but I would have had to struggle to keep my feminine identity. That is what I have seen in my younger sister Mary-Clare, and she has not always enjoyed it. Therefore, I can generalize that it is easier to have three older brothers if you are a male.
Through this analysis, I have come to realize that people's identities are shaped more by their surroundings than their own internal thoughts or feelings. Therefore, a person's personality may be more reflective of that person's friends and family rather than the actual person's mental makeup. So what I'm really trying to say is: If you dislike me, it's not my fault; it's my brothers'.

My history creates me

Gowing up, I was always the quiet, shy girl who doesn't say much to people she doesn't know. My preschool teacher used to throw foam frisbees at me in order to get me to say something, anything. The only people I was really comfortable talking to was my family members. Then I finally found something that I was good at. At the age of five I stepped timidly onto the ice for the first time in a beginner skating class. I loved it and for some reason I was good at it. I begged mom and dad to let me continue doing lessons.

I excelled all the way through the basic learn to skate levels and was asked by a coach to take private lessons because I showed dedication and skill. After school starting around second grade, I would go to the rink for a couple hours to practice. This began as a few days a week and turned into to six days a week. I had dedication. I had passion. And I had a very strong love for a sport. I began competing and loved every minute of it.

Today, as I look back on my history I can see a lot of who I was than in who I am now. I know longer skate, but I'm still most comfortable when I'm on the ice, doing what I know I'm good at. I teach lessons and I'm dedicated to it.

I am also still a very passionate person with strong emotions. I'm never one who is just kind of sad or kind of happy. Its either extremely happy or extremely upset (this can be both bad and good). Things that I love bring out the best of these strong emotions. This is just one major part of my history that has shaped me.

Another thing that has shaped me is my upbringing in the Catholic religion. From grades K-6 I was in a Catholic school. We went to church on Fridays and than with our family every Sunday. I learned how to pray and be a good Catholic. Today I don't follow these rules like I did as a little girl, but I have the foundation and basic knowledge to go back to my faith and make my own decisions about it. This has built a lot of my foundations for what I see as right or wrong.

Posting Assignment #5 (due Sunday 10/23, 11:59 P.M.; comment by 11:59 Monday, 10/24: Make History

Early in our work, we listened to Gang of Four ask 'Why theory?'  They sing 'We've all got opinions.  Where do they come from?'  This project asks us to explore where opinions come from—actually our whole views of the world—by examining bits of our personal and public histories.  Where, exactly DID some of our 'opinions' come from?

Robin does his homework: Mom put this picture in my babybook on the page for 'Baby's Fourth Birthday.' Apparently I didn't have a good time because I was worried that the other kids' balloons would break and they wouldn't have a good time.  From the left: Guy Huntley, Phillip Moreland, Donny Peterson, and me (what was Mom thinking with the flowered matching outfit?).  Guy became an insurance salesman. Phillip (the goofy looking one) became a Catholic priest.  Donny's father was a coal miner, and Donny followed him into the mines.  He died there in an explosion (Consolidated Coal) at 52. And me—well, you know me.  Somehow—even at four—we all knew that Donny was a 'working class kid' (though we didn't have the words for it).  The other three of us were supposed to do better in school (and we did). It's almost a GRAND NARRATIVE of what a good boy does with his life.  But I always thought Donny was smarter than the other two.  He knew how to wire up the electric trains.  He could track animals.  He was a lot more fun.  Maybe biology matters (I still worry about whether the other kids will have a good time). But class really matters. Class determined a lot of my history, and if I were writing this blogpost, I'd take that topic, and use this baby book and picture as my 'historical archive.'

Write a tiny mini-history in which you show how particular events, people, forces, spaces, objects and so on have contributed to your 'story' of who you are.  Remember that we're suspicious of Grand Narratives, and that we know that every story will be shot through with ideology—can't not be. In fact, it' this critical look at the 'stories' that ordered our lives that can be the most interesting part of this project. Got images?  Put 'em in. Find things that mattered (songs, movies, soccer, Girl Scouts, school, 4H)? Talk about it. Is it important who you (the writer) are, too?  Talk about that.  Need models?  Well, that's tough, because all of us are so different and so are our stories.  But no stupid Yearbook-ish generalities.  No pious 'moral lessons learned.'  Think Spiegelman—right, you maybe can't draw like him, but we can all try to THINK like him….

Look hard, talk with your family and friends, share your ideas with your group.  Show us how a life took shape, and how you shape the story.

Does this one need 'theory'?  Not so much, but it really does need to do our kind of work: to show us how big historical operations play out in our very intimate lives.

Fast car -Tracy Chapman

Siguru's rioting African and Tracy Chapman's breakout single both serve to reinforce our view of the world in the respective spheres of race and class, however the latter does so in a very different manner, through a primary approach that argues its subject matter through a caricature that isn't entirely inaccurate.

The political and cultural contribution that Chapman's performance lends to the composite formation of our worldly perception is multi-faceted and just as powerful as our aforementioned rioter. In juxtaposition with the neolithic portraiture of an African caught in mad throes of protest, Chapman, clad in dark skin, nondescript garb, and impressive dreadlocks looks more befitting of a street corner than a stage. The guitar strapped to her shoulder has no inlay at the headstock proclaiming its make, and although it resembles a vintage Martin, it certainly looks the part of street equipment: vernacular, antiquated, a paintbrush for the art of survival. In every aspect of her appearance, she reinforces the inner city aesthetic that we have thus far ingrained. Everything seems to fit.

Beyond her physical adherence to our western view of poverty, the musical elements and lyrics of "Fast Car" also contribute to the construction of our stance on class by eliciting an emotional response in its audience and consequently reinforcing an ugly awareness that usually lies dormant and unacknowledged. The arrangement of accompaniment is sparse and repetitive, in fact the guitar's main phrase is one that permeates the entire song, mimicking the cyclical nature of poverty. Chapman's voice is husky, vernacular, lacking the classical frivolity of vibrato or other embellishment. She sounds like a heavy smoker, and through the words she sings, one can infer that she also drinks. Her lyrics paint a picture of the wishful hope that is so characteristic of the poor in America and the vicious entanglement of poverty and all of the ills that it entails. It makes perfect sense, if she looks poor and sings about being poor then she must represent the poor.

Upon hearing the song and witnessing her performance, my own personal reaction is one of sympathy. The song makes me sad and I can't help but feel bad for those stuck in situations similar to the one Chapman croons about. I listen to it over and over again, and I bring the ugly awareness I possess in the back of my mind to the forefront, which is perhaps exactly the kind of work that Chapman intended her music to make.

Intel's Advertising Mistake

I have always been interested in how advertisements decide what image to attach to their product, especially when it is an intangible product such as a computer processor. While surfing the internet last week, I came upon this advertisement for Intel Core 2 processor that was released in 2007.

The focal point of the advertisement is the white male, most likely the manager. He is standing in the center of the office wearing high quality white clothing, in a casual yet all-powerful pose. Surrounding him are two symmetrical lines of black males, who are dressed as athletes. These men are all bowing down to the white manager, in a way of saying they are not worthy of his presence. The black men are very athletic and muscular, yet their faces remain mostly hidden, as they are only anonymous members of the office place.

My body’s reaction to this image is very negative. The first time I saw the advertisement, I stared at it for less than five seconds, then muttered “geez” to myself and moved on to another advertisement. The racism is overwhelming throughout the image, and it is very upsetting to look at. My thoughts immediately went to slavery in the past, where the muscular yet anonymous black slaves were forced to bow down to their white master, and work tirelessly for his comfort. This image has very negative connotations attached to it, and I am surprised no one at the Intel company realized it until after the image was released.

Unfortunately, the politics of representation in this image are very negative. The image is basically telling the viewer that black men should all bow down and submit to the white man. While the advertisement may have meant to relate to the employee-manager relationship, the techniques used dove into a deeper, subconsciously unsettling commentary on race relationships.

Chinese people = Kung Fu Heroes ?

What is the first word that come to your head when you are prompted with topic "Chinese films"? Kung Fu? I guess most people would give me this answer. I was also surprised at the consensus of the titles Americans gave me as examples of films that are good exemplars of Chinese culture and Chinese people: Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon; Shaolin Soccer; Kung Fu panda, just to name a few. It is easily observed that these titles all fell into the same genre -- Kung Fu, aka martial arts. A Chinese Kung Fu master would always save the world using his/its adept martial art skills. Apart from this, there seems to be no other virtue in those Kung Fu heroes.

The image above is a still of the movie "Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon", which tells the story of "Two warriors in pursuit of a stolen sword and a notorious fugitive are led to an impetuous, physically-skilled, teenage nobleman's daughter, who is at a crossroads in her life." As I read the movie entry in the Internet Movie Database (IMDb), I found several interesting things. The movie, which was released in 2000 received an average rating of 8.0, which is quite a high score. The top 250 list movies have a rating range of 9.2 - 8.0, so this kung fu movie was ranked pretty high among all the other different genres and classics. On the contrary, a movie that tells authentic Chinese culture in the 19th century -- with absolutely no kung fu element in it -- Snow Flower and the Secret Fan, received a mere 5.4. It is possible that this movie was only played in a small number of cinemas, so that not many Americans have seen it. But 5.4 is still considered a bad score, even with a low number or rates. I then proceeded to search the ratings of other kung fu movies. Shaolin Soccer got a rating of 7.3, Fearless a 7.6, Hero a 8.0 and Kung Fu Panda a 7.6. Surprisingly, kung fu movies all did quite well in terms of ratings. This phenomenon kind of agrees with my little survey results that most Americans think that Kung Fu movies are the only "Chinese" genre. And only Kung Fu movies are worth seeing among all the movies in which Chinese actors/actresses/characters play the leading role. This is a prevalent stereotype the Western people placed on the Chinese "bodies". Kung Fu is widely recognized as a cultural symbol of the Chinese "bodies".

The Ravens mugged the Jets

-IMAGE-

This image was the front page of ESPN.com on October 2^nd, 2011. Two large African-American football players are violently grabbing a white football player while the text under the image states “The Ravens mugged the Jets...”. The white football player is in distress and attempting to get the black football players off of him, but he is surrounded by big black tattooed arms. The black football players are clearly stronger and bigger than the white football player and are pushing and pulling him however they want. Number 54 is in control, even leaning into the white player. Furthermore, though it is just a reflection of the team they are playing, it is interesting to notice that the two black athletes are in uniforms that are predominately black, while the white athlete is in a white uniform – which just further points out their skin color differences.

-REACTION-

When I first saw the image, I thought that this was just another sports photo; a couple of athletes rough housing during the game. But after reading the caption, I was immediately shocked at the obvious message it was sending out to all those that viewed the front page of ESPN that day: that black people ‘mug’ white people. The white body is definitely portrayed as “neutral” while the black body is violent, aggressive and instigating the altercation. These all build and add to the viewer’s perception of “raced” black bodies.

-ANALYSIS-

What is most startling to me is how recent and current this blatant racist image and text is in our media. It is sending out a message loud and clear about African Americans and their stereotyped role in society. It is displaying the scenario of a “black body” being violent towards an innocent “white body”. By using the term “mugging” – it only makes the argument of the photo even more transparent. It communicating and ultimately associating the illegal and violent act of mugging a person to African Americans. It is establishing society’s perception of how black and white bodies interact. It exemplifies the stereotype that mugging and assaults are committed by African Americans.