Saturday, April 18, 2009

The Things I Love

- The fresh green of green tea when it is steeped for the first few minutes

- Home-made bread and butter

- Cherry blossoms after a spring rain

- Rolling green hills after a spring rain

- A cup of cappuccino and a scrumptious piece of cake

- A thought-invoking book

- Fresh flowers in my room

- The aroma of citrus blossoms in my patio

- Waking up early on my own will

- Making love to my sweetie.

Tuesday, April 7, 2009

What Happens After Life?

After dying, you will end up outdoors, at a dining room table. Seated is every single one of your ancestors (back to the primordial ooze). They haven't eaten since the last person joined them and as you might suspect, they are ravenous and irritable. Forget the pleasantries, they beg you to get them food. Everyone notices your bewildered look. To help, somebody points to a few large trees with fruit hanging from upper level branches. There is no way for you or anyone else to reach them. After your growing frustration becomes apparent, another family member explains the situation. It ends up that you didn't arrive alone. On the ground is a satchel. Depending on what sort of sexual escapades you had during your brief time on earth, inside the satchel is a collection of penises, vaginas, or both. This is the kicker. The amount of genitalia in your satchel relates to how many people you slept with in your lifetime. Your job is to reach into that satchel and sling those penises and vaginas at the fruit in the tree. Whatever you knock down is what your family gets to eat. If you decided to be celibate, expect an angry mob. If you were, shall we say, generous with your body, your dead ancestors are going to feast like royalty and love you even more in the process.

If you think I'm making this up, you overestimate my imagination. This is straight from Mayan lore. The elders transcribed information straight from the Gods, wrote it down, and so it is written in their ancient texts.

Thursday, April 2, 2009

Existential Angst

This is my reality of life:

This is my perception of life:


Everything is only what you perceive it to be.

Will it ever change?

Friday, March 27, 2009

For That Someone...

Light and sweet, whipped up in 30 minutes – just like my muffins:

Mama, I must tell you –
I am in love with a brown boy
I met him out of the blue
No, Mama, he is not a toy...

Because his hazel eyes
They pierce through my soul
And they drive it wild
No, I can’t help it at all!

Because from him, one kiss
Warms my heart from within
Something is gone amiss
When it’s not on my skin.

Mama, you might be upset
But I will not be coy
And I will never regret
That I am in love with a brown boy.

Monday, March 16, 2009

Aw, Snap!

God Damn Yahoo...

All I want to do is to post one God Damn blog onto 360.

It's been an hour, and I still can't get the damn post to display. The sign in/sign out feature makes sure that it hides very well from its owner (I still can't find it). The post keeps appearing, then disappearing. In the real world, that would be magic. In the software world, that's just f*cked up, as in what a non-functional piece of crap! Note: I am not asking for much here...

Finally, from an attempt to reload, I got this from the Chrome:


It's no wonder they are falling behind to Google.

Why can't my God Damn friends in Vietnam switch to something a little less retarded than 360?

Saturday, March 14, 2009

Invisible Fear

Ever since I was little, up until about 18, I had a perverse fear for ghosts.

I was always afraid that they would sneak up on me whenever I closed my eyes, whenever I was alone.

When I was 9 years old, I ran out of my house while reading my grandfather’s poems about my father’s death and locked myself out, consequently getting a very good yelling from him.

By the time I was 18, I still had to occasionaly open my eyes while showering, for fear of some invisible being next to me. Ridiculous, indeed...

Funny that now, for those lonely nights that I cry my heart out, I wish for an invisible being next to me just to hold my hands and hear my cries.

It is when you realize that there are worse things to fear while living that you no longer fear death.

Tuesday, March 10, 2009

The Fourth Dimension

In a three-dimension world, the fourth dimension exists, but is rigid, finite, and difficult. In my three-dimension world, that fourth dimension is time. All is subjected to the forward motion of time. All begins, grows, matures, and dies on a running clock.

Everything takes time, but there is a timeline for everything, because one does not have all the time in the world. Perhaps if this fourth dimension were a bit more flexible, living would be easier. Or would it?

So there always comes that point in time when you have to ask yourself, “Do I take the next step, or do I need more time? If I am not ready now, then when? Will I ever be ready?” If you can’t answer these questions, the profiling becomes, “What am I really doing? Should I keep going, or just give up?”

Sometimes, it is much easier to just give up. By giving up, you can avoid all these damn questions that need answers, thus avoiding lunacy. But if you give up, then you are just a coward.

Saturday, March 7, 2009

Google's Quotes Of The Day

It is a rare instance that all 3 quotes of the day on iGoogle are so true and relevant:

Love is the difficult realization that something other than oneself is real.
- Iris Murdoch

I find that a great part of the information I have was acquired by looking up something and finding something else on the way.
- Franklin P. Adams

Everyone thinks of changing the world, but no one thinks of changing himself.
- Leo Tolstoy

Tuesday, March 3, 2009

My Loving Grandmother

You have passed away for 2 weeks now. I did not see you 2 weeks ago. I did not see you yesterday. I haven’t seen you today. And I can’t imagine that I won’t see you tomorrow, or ever.

Sometimes my mind acknowledges that you are gone, and I cry. Most of the times, it refuses to.

I want to tell the world how great you are, but I am too small and my voice too quiet. But I must at least tell myself because I don’t want to ever forget about you and what you meant to me.

My grandmother lived through 2 wars, the French war and the American war. If one counts the 1978’s conflict between Vietnam and China as a war, she lived through 3 wars. As my grandmother and grandfather fought the French and the American, her son fought the Chinese.

My grandmother gave birth to 4 sons; one died at 1 month old, and the other, my father, died at 26.



My name is what my grandmother would have named her daughter.

My grandmother was a pharmacist. She once gave me a tiger tooth traced of dry blood. It is the most exotic and coolest gift I have ever received.

My grandmother sewed my diapers. She knitted my sweaters and taught me how to knit a scarf for my cat. She made toys for me from scrap fabrics. She sewed my first version of Barbie and Ken, their costumes, and even their mosquito net.

My grandmother took me to school and picked me up every day. She taught me math after school, helped me with drawing assignments, and sometimes even did my alphabet writing homework when I begged her.

My grandmother worked Sundays so that we could have meat to eat.

My grandmother went through a massive stroke when I was 8 years old, ending the era of Thuy – the princess. She survived it and promised to take me to the ocean when she was well enough. “In 3 years,” she said. 3 years became 5 years; 5 years became never. The first time I ever saw the ocean was at 13 years old, with my mother.

My grandmother told me that she would live to see me married. That never came true either.

I love you so much, grandma. I don’t understand why we keep on living when most of it is to get hurt, to cry, to feel pain, or to be numb and feel nothing... Grandpa said it’s ok, because you lived a full life. It’s just time for you to go, “to return to the universe”, like you used to say. But how can I accept that I might never see you again?

Thursday, February 26, 2009

I Miss My Man...

Monday, February 9, 2009

Why I HATE DOCTORS Is Justified

A Hidden Cost of Health Care: Patient Time
By Alan B. Krueger
Alan B. Krueger is an economics professor at Princeton.

After waiting more than an hour in a doctor’s waiting room, a friend of mine once presented his doctor with a bill for his time.

My friend’s frustration probably sounds familiar to anyone who has been kept waiting at a physician’s office. And while his response may seem a little extreme, perhaps he was on to something. After all, time is money. So, although it doesn’t currently enter into our national statistics, the time that patients spend getting health care services should be reflected in the way we calculate America’s national health care expenditures.

Any student of Econ 101 knows that economists measure costs by opportunity costs, meaning everything that is given up to get something else. Time spent interacting with the medical system could be used for other activities, such as work and leisure. Moreover, spending time getting medical care is not fun. This time should be counted as part of the cost of health care.

Using the American Time Use Survey, I calculate that Americans age 15 and older collectively spent 847 million hours waiting for medical services to be provided in 2007. That’s a lot of bills to be delivered to health care providers.

Three percent of Americans traveled from their home to receive health care on any given day in 2007. The corresponding figures are 5 percent for women and 2 percent for men.

If you count health care-related activities writ large – including time traveling to a doctor, waiting to see a doctor, being examined and treated, taking medication, obtaining medical care for others, and paying bills – the average American spent 1.1 hours per week obtaining health care in 2007.

Not surprisingly, those over age 60 spent twice as much time obtaining medical care, on average, than did those age 15 to 60. Women spent about 70 percent more time on health care activities than men.

If we value all people’s time at the average hourly wage of production and nonsupervisory workers ($17.43 in 2007), Americans spent the equivalent of $240 billion on health care in 2007.

Put another way, omitting patients’ time caused national health care expenditures to be undercounted by 11 percent in 2007.

From earlier time-use surveys, it appears that the amount of time Americans spend getting health care services has grown with national health care expenditures.

Patient time is an important input in the health care system. Failing to take account of patient time leads us to exaggerate the productivity of the health care sector, and to understate the cost of health care.

The time that patients spend seeking, receiving and paying for health care services is just as real as the dollars they spend for medical services. Health care providers and insurers should be mindful of the opportunity cost of patients’ time. Perhaps patients should be asked to report the amount of time they spend obtaining health care services as part of the effort to modernize medical record keeping.

Thursday, February 5, 2009

A Note For My Dad

Daddy, you probably miss grandma and want to see her. You haven’t seen her for almost 28 years now.

But perhaps you should take grandpa with you too.

Because what would he do without grandma?

Daddy, I would miss them so much...

Thursday, January 22, 2009

Prayer

I prayed to God - please grant me peace
Rid my life from that stupid crease
And I got my peace –
A blissful pool of calmness and boredom
For everyday was a repeated idiom.

So I asked God for thrills
For I could no more indulge the peace frills!
And she gave me thrills –
I’d ride high to cloud nine, heavenly,
then fall down faster than gravity.

Weary from insipidness
Fatigued of emotion sickness
I left the mountains behind
Pleaded for a new chance at life
And God sighed, “My dear child,
Wherever you are, you shall find
this prison of your mind...”

So I asked God for happiness
No waking moment with crisis
And she said to me, “You imbecile,
Will you ever know bliss
if you have not felt ill?"

I prayed to God – spare me the honor,
in my next life, to be her gifted creature
Free me from happiness and pain
Let me be vain
Let me be the low-life animal
Let all my wishes be carnal.

Wednesday, December 31, 2008

Last Note For The Year

As I walked into Wal-Mart today, an old man, about 80 years of age, one hand hanging on to his supporting cane, the other to the shopping cart, greeted me.

My stomach hurt. I have seen a lot of elders at Wal-Mart before, but none as old and frail as he. As I walked through the isles infested with commodities and humans, and perhaps animals as well, I felt so very sad. Instinctively, or perhaps morally, it feels wrong to have someone of my grandfather’s age to hand me my shopping cart. It feels wrong to see someone so old and weak to be working at Wal-Mart.

But who do I have to blame? I am aware that our population is only getting older by living longer and giving fewer births, and it is taking a toll on our social security and health care system. I am aware that we are amidst one of the worst economic recessions, and it has depleted many retirement funds and forcing elders back into the work force. I am aware that many Americans burn money they don’t have throughout their youth, leaving nothing for rainy days and days when they should not work any more. He can very well be one of them.

Perhaps it is appropriate to blame the American system as a whole. For its political structure is too much of a capitalist system to provide adequate care for elders. For its economic structure is too “free” that it is vulnerable to the irresponsibility of the market. For its societal structure is too individualistic to place enough importance on saving, or to cultivate the moral obligation to help family members during hard times. However, I have seen worse things happening to the elders in other societies. And you should not condemn something until you at least have seen others better than it.

It would seem that there is nothing directly to blame, and only one thing to thank – that I should thank Wal-Mart for opening its doors to the elders, even if it is only to stand by them to greet customers.

Personally, I cannot even bear the thought of seeing my grandpa at a Wal-Mart door, handing out shopping carts.

Happy new year, and remember that many many times, ignorance is bliss.

Saturday, December 27, 2008

A Letter To My Mom

Hi mom,

I am laying here at 4 AM, not sleeping, and thinking of you.

I woke up, feeling extremely thirsty. I must have just dreamt of you, because you were the first thought on my mind. I wonder what you are doing, whether you are thinking of me.

I miss you, mom. I remember that time I was quite ill, but you had to be gone for the night because you were on call. The night felt long and lonely, and I wanted so badly to be in your arms, so that all my sickness would go away. I drifted into sleep, and the next morning, you were there next to me, your hand on my forehead to check my temperature, asking me if I wanted to eat anything. How happy I was that you were there!

Your job was hectic, but I was so proud of you, because my mom was a doctor. Every Monday morning, you took me to the hospital with you before you could drop me off at my grandparents. I met your patients, and they were always talking to you as if you were their savior – with so much respect, admiration, and even fear. I knew somehow that your job was important.

It was never fun being the only kid to stand outside the locked gate of kindergarten. Even the gate guard had left for the day, and you were still not there to pick me up. I always wanted to save a few bits of my afternoon snack to share with you, but it never lasted. For a little kid, an hour seemed like eternity.

I remember those late nights that you were studying English, while I was on the floor playing next to you. I wanted you to play with me, but you always told me to play on my own, so that you could study. I didn’t mind playing on my own. Being next to you was enough.

I understood somehow that you had to work hard – perhaps sacrificing our time together for those people at the hospital, depending on you; perhaps so that I could grow up to be who I am today.

And how excited I was every Saturday afternoon when you picked me up from my grandparents! I loved the ride to your house, sitting behind your bicycle, telling you about my school and my friends, watching you bargain for meat and vegetables. We always stopped by the same Pho restaurant along the way. You always finished your bowl first, then you took my spoon over and fed me while telling me to hurry up. Sometimes I wanted to eat faster than you, I filled my spoon heaping with noodles, but I never succeeded. And before we got home, you never forgot to remind me to not let him know that we stopped at Pho. It was our little secret, and our little pleasure...

I don’t know why I can’t pick up the damn phone to call you. I haven’t talked to you for so long. But I am afraid – that when I hear your voice, these memories of you would vanish.

I love you, mom.

Friday, December 19, 2008

Being Too Nice

Is there such thing as being too nice to people? I am not talking about being borderline push-over, or being taken advantage of. I am talking about the situation where you actually receive a negative response from those you are being nice too – where it would have been better if you weren’t that nice to them to begin with.

According to social psychology, we human are ultra-social animals, and reciprocity is the fabric of our social currency. We have come to adopt this behavior for the sake of our survival and proliferation. Through reciprocity, human can exchange resources, thus are safer and survive longer. Reciprocity allows us to reap the benefit of extensive labor division.

So what is the basic concept of reciprocity? It is essentially playing tit for tat – You scratch my back, I scratch yours; you stab my back, I stab yours.

Being nice to your friends and families is easy. They will either reciprocate at a later time, or just take advantage of your niceness, depending on your and their personalities. In essence, they know what to expect from you, because they are familiar with you. And you know what to expect from them. Both parties are therefore in sync.

Being nice to strangers is relatively easy as well. Since they don’t know you at all, they can easily accept your hospitality and walk away, not expecting to give anything in return ever. They can also refuse your offer to be nice. You in exchange, expect nothing from them. Hence, both parties are in sync.

But there is such thing as being too nice to those who aren’t your friends, but not exactly strangers either. When you are nice to these guys, you probably expect something from them. Mainly for me, it’s just to create a greater bond between us, hopefully to go from acquaintance to friendship. However, the problem is these guys don’t know what to expect from you. So they take your niceness with great caution. What is it that you want from them in return? Why are you being nice to them? Consequently, they might just walk away, refusing your hospitality, so that they don’t have to think about how to return the favor later.

This is probably why the world of adults is so damn cold, as it is so damn hard to make any friend.

As the ability to survive is no longer of concern, what once bridged us together is succeeding at keeping us apart.

Monday, December 8, 2008

Finally - ST to Justify My Apathy

By Satoshi Kanazawa

Positive psychology is all the rage these days, and everybody wants the secret key to happiness. Go figure; everybody wants to be happy. What can evolutionary psychology say about how to be happy?

As usual, I feel compelled to begin with a disclaimer that, as a scientist – as the scientific fundamentalist – I am not in the business of giving advice to people and telling people how to live their lives. That’s the job of counselors and therapists, and, as Jesse Bering explains very clearly in his first post as a PT blogger, these two types of psychologists are entirely different. Just like Jesse, I am a research psychologist, not a clinician. As a scientist, I don’t care if people are happy or not. I just want to know why.

Having said that, however, from my perspective as an evolutionary psychologist, I would say that the best thing for people to do to become happier is to get in touch with their animal nature, if not necessarily their inner fish then at the very least their inner ape. Recognize and accept that we are animals. We are all designed by evolution to be certain way, and no amount of denial or fighting will change our evolutionary legacy and its implications.

One of the things that evolution has done is to make men and women very different. In some ways (though not in others), males of one species are often more similar to males of other species than to females of their own species, and vice versa. In some ways, in many ways, men are more similar to male chimpanzees or gorillas than to women. One of the ways that men and women are different is in what makes them happy.

Forget what feminists, hippies, and liberals have told you in the last half century. They are all lies based on political ideology and conviction, not on science. Contrary to what they may have told you, it is very unlikely that money, promotions, the corner office, social status, and political power will make women happy. Similarly, it is very unlikely that quitting their jobs, dropping out of the rat race, and becoming stay-at-home dads to spend all their times with their children will make men happy.

Money, promotions, the corner office, social status, and political power are what make men happy (as long as they win, of course, but then dropping out is by definition a defeat). Spending time with their children is what makes women happy. As Danielle Crittenden very eloquently argues in her book What Our Mothers Didn’t Tell Us: Why Happiness Eludes the Modern Women, it is very unlikely that women will be truly happy without having children, but, as Crittenden points out, there are ways to combine careers with motherhood. It’s not the way that the feminists have told us.

More recently, Gretchen Rubin’s superb “one-minute movie” The Years Are Short captures this dramatically and perfectly. It’s a fantastic film, and I highly recommend it to everyone. I cry every time I watch it.

Men and women are very different, because they are designed by millions of years of evolution to be very different. Women cannot become happy by pretending to be men, and men cannot become happy by pretending to be women. Swedes have already tried that, and they have failed massively and spectacularly.

What can evolutionary psychology tell us about what we as a society can do so as not to repeat the Swedish mistake and make our citizens happy? The best thing to do is to kill all the feminists and hippies and liberals. Destroy political correctness completely once and for all. Teach boys and girls that they are different, not the same, and that it’s okay (nay, wonderful) to be different. One is not right and the other is not wrong. Stop telling girls that they are inferior versions of boys, as feminists have done for the last half century, or, as has more recently been the case, stop telling boys that they are inferior versions of girls.

Live as you feel like, not as you think you should live like. Your feelings are seldom wrong, because you are designed to feel certain way by millions of years of evolution. Decades of feminism can’t stop that. You are seldom wrong if you follow your feelings; you are seldom right if you follow feminism or any other political ideology.

Wednesday, December 3, 2008

Random Thoughts

Pen without caps must be among the most annoying things on earth...

You don’t want to throw them away, because they still write. You feel like you are throwing away a *perfectly* functional tool, being wasteful, and being environmentally unfriendly. And there's that certain guilt of disregarding something only for its cover. You don't want to judge a book just by its cover, do you?

But since they have no caps, you can’t organize them away because the ink would bleed into the container and other pen with caps. So you let them lying around, hoping that one day you will use up the ink so that you can throw them away without feeling guilty.

And since they are just lying around, the ink finds its way onto your shirts, your hands, the pristine Christmas card that you were going to mail out for brown-nosing purpose, etc.

And the ink never seems to run out!

Monday, November 24, 2008

Entropy!

There is one thing that I have always prided myself upon - the ability to control my own life. It can spawn from the simplest matters such as what I want to eat, what I want to wear to choosing who to date and the type of grades to attain for school to what I wish to do with my life generally.

The seed for this pride is probably due to the fact that too often, I am given responsibility without any authority to shoulder it. To avoid the insanity and frustration, I have learned to cope by opting out when I realize the impossible and assuring myself that, while I cannot influence others’ lives, at the least I can control mine. There is a great sense of relief knowing that one can still control one’s destiny.

Though lately, that too has seemed to slip away...

Wednesday, November 19, 2008

Corn - The Magical "Fruit"

"When I started trying to follow the industrial food chain — the one that now feeds most of us most of the time and typically culminates either in a supermarket or fast-food meal—I expected that my investigations would lead me to a wide variety of places. And though my journeys did take me to a great many states, and covered a great many miles, at the very end of these food chains (which is to say, at the very beginning), I invariably found myself in almost exactly the same place: a farm field in the American Corn Belt. The great edifice of variety and choice that is an American supermarket turns out to rest on a remarkably narrow biological foundation comprised of a tiny group of plants that is dominated by a single species: Zea mays, the giant tropical grass most Americans know as corn.

Corn is what feeds the steer that becomes the steak. Corn feeds the chicken and the pig, the turkey and the lamb, the catfish and the tilapia and, increasingly, even the salmon, a carnivore by nature that the fish farmers are reengineering to tolerate corn. The eggs are made of corn. The milk and cheese and yogurt, which once came from dairy cows that grazed on grass, now typically come from Holsteins that spend their working lives indoors tethered to machines, eating corn.

Head over to the processed foods and you find ever more intricate manifestations of corn. A chicken nugget, for example, piles corn upon corn: what chicken it contains consists of corn, of course, but so do most of a nugget’s other constituents, including the modified corn starch that glues the thing together, the corn flour in the batter that coats it, and the corn oil in which it gets fried. Much less obviously, the leavenings and lecithin, the mono-, di-, and triglycerides, the attractive golden coloring, and even the citric acid that keeps the nugget “fresh” can all be derived from corn.

To wash down your chicken nuggets with virtually any soft drink in the supermarket is to have some corn with your corn. Since the 1980s virtually all the sodas and most of the fruit drinks sold in the supermarket have been sweetened with high-fructose corn syrup (HFCS)—after water, corn sweetener is their principal ingredient. Grab a beer for your beverage instead and you’d still be drinking corn, in the form of alcohol fermented from glucose refined from corn. Read the ingredients on the label of any processed food and, provided you know the chemical names it travels under, corn is what you will find. For modified or unmodified starch, for glucose syrup and maltodextrin, for crystalline fructose and ascorbic acid, for lecithin and dextrose, lactic acid and lysine, for maltose and HFCS, for MSG and polyols, for the caramel color and xanthan gum, read: corn. Corn is in the coffee whitener and Cheez Whiz, the frozen yogurt and TV dinner, the canned fruit and ketchup and candies, the soups and snacks and cake mixes, the frosting and gravy and frozen waffles, the syrups and hot sauces, the mayonnaise and mustard, the hot dogs and the bologna, the margarine and shortening,the salad dressings and the relishes and even the vitamins. (Yes,it’s in the Twinkie, too.) There are some forty-five thousand items in the average American supermarket and more than a quarter of them now contain corn.This goes for the nonfood items as well: Everything from the toothpaste and cosmetics to the disposable diapers, trash bags, cleansers,charcoal briquettes, matches, and batteries, right down to the shine on the cover of the magazine that catches your eye by the checkout: corn.

Even in Produce on a day when there’s ostensibly no corn for sale you’ll nevertheless find plenty of corn: in the vegetable wax that gives the cucumbers their sheen, in the pesticide responsible for the produce’s perfection,even in the coating on the cardboard it was shipped in. Indeed,the supermarket itself—the wallboard and joint compound, the linoleum and fiberglass and adhesives out of which the building itself has been built—is in no small measure a manifestation of corn.

And us?

Descendents of the Maya living in Mexico still sometimes refer to themselves as “the corn people.” The phrase is not intended as metaphor. Rather, it’s meant to acknowledge their abiding dependence on this miraculous grass, the staple of their diet for almost nine thousand years. Forty percent of the calories a Mexican eats in a day comes directly from corn, most of it in the form of tortillas. So when a Mexican says “I am maize” it is simply a statement of fact: The very substance of the Mexican’s body is to a considerable extent a manifestation of this plant. For an American like me, growing up linked to a very different food chain, yet one that is also rooted in a field of corn, not to think of himself as a corn person suggests either a failure of imagination or a triumph of capitalism. Or perhaps a little of both. It does take some imagination to recognize the ear of corn in the Coke bottle or the Big Mac. At the same time, the food industry has done a good job of persuading us that the forty-five thousand different items or SKUs (stock keeping units) in the supermarket—seventeen thousand new ones every year—represent genuine variety rather than so many clever rearrangements of molecules extracted from the same plant.

You are what you eat, it’s often said, and if this is true, then what we mostly are is corn—or,more precisely, processed corn. This proposition is susceptible to scientific proof: The same scientists who glean the composition of ancient diets from mummified human remains can do the same for you or me, using a snip of hair or fingernail. The science works by identifying stable isotopes of carbon in human tissue that bear the signatures, in effect, of the different types of plants that originally took them from the air and introduced them into the food chain. The intricacies of this process are worth following, since they go some distance toward explaining how corn could have conquered our diet and, in turn, more of the earth’s surface than any other domesticated species, our own included.

Carbon is the most common element in our bodies—indeed, in all living things on earth. We earthlings are, as they say, a carbon life form. (As one scientist put it, carbon supplies life’s quantity, since it is the main structural element in living matter, while much scarcer nitrogen supplies its quality—but more on that later.) Originally, the atoms of carbon from which we’re made were floating in the air, part of a carbon dioxide molecule. The only way to recruit these carbon atoms for the molecules necessary to support life—organic compounds such as carbohydrates, amino acids, proteins—is by means of photosynthesis. Using sunlight as a catalyst the green cells of plants combine carbon atoms taken from the air with water and elements drawn from the soil to form the simple organic compounds that stand at the base of every food chain. It is more than a figure of speech to say that plants create life out of thin air.

But corn goes about this procedure a little differently than most other plants, a difference that not only renders the plant more efficient than most, but happens also to preserve the identity of the carbon atoms it recruits, even after they’ve been transformed into things like Gatorade and Ring Dings and hamburgers, not to mention the human bodies nourished on those things. Where most plants during photosynthesis create compounds that have three carbon atoms, corn (along with a small handful of other species) make compounds that have four: hence “C-4,” the botanical nickname for this gifted group of plants, which wasn’t identified until the 1970s. The C-4 trick represents an important economy for a plant, giving it an advantage, especially in areas where water is scarce and temperatures high. In order to gather carbon atoms from the air, a plant has to open its stomata, the microscopic orifices in the leaves through which plants both take in and exhaust gases. Every time a stoma opens to admit carbon dioxide precious molecules of water escape. It’s as though every time you opened your mouth to eat you lost a quantity of blood. Ideally, you would open your mouth as seldom as possible, ingesting as much food as you could with every bite. This is essentially what a C-4 plant does. By recruiting extra atoms of carbon during each instance of photosynthesis, the corn plant is able to limit its loss of water and “fix”—that is, take from the atmosphere and link in a useful molecule - significantly more carbon than other plants. At its most basic, the story of life on earth is the competition among species to capture and store as much energy as possible—either directly from the sun, in the case of plants, or, in the case of animals, by eating plants and plant eaters. The energy is stored in the form of carbon molecules and measured in calories: The calories we eat, whether in an ear of corn or a steak, represent packets of energy once captured by a plant. The C-4 trick helps explain the corn plant’s success in this competition: Few plants can manufacture quite as much organic matter (and calories) from the same quantities of sunlight and water and basic elements as corn. (Ninety-seven percent of what a corn plant is comes from the air, three percent from the ground.)

The trick doesn’t yet, however, explain how a scientist could tell that a given carbon atom in a human bone owes its presence there to a photosynthetic event that occurred in the leaf of one kind of plant and not another—in corn, say, instead of lettuce or wheat. That’s because all carbon is not created equal. Some carbon atoms called isotopes, have more than the usual complement of six protons and six neutrons, giving them a slightly different atomic weight. C-13, for examples, has six protons and seven neutrons. (Hence “C-13.”) For whatever reason, when a C-4 plant goes scavenging for its four-packs of carbon, it takes in more carbon 13 than ordinary—C-3—plants, which exhibit a marked preference for the more common carbon 12. Greedy for carbon, C-4 plants can’t afford to discriminate among isotopes, and so end up with relatively more carbon 13.The higher the ratio of carbon 13 to carbon 12 in a person’s flesh, the more corn has been in his diet—or in the diet of the animals he or she ate. (As far as we’re concerned, it makes little difference whether we consume relatively more or less carbon 13.)

One would expect to find a comparatively great deal of carbon 13 in the flesh of people whose staple food of choice is corn—Mexicans, most famously. Americans eat much more wheat than corn—114 pounds of wheat flour per person per year, compared to 11 pounds of corn flour. The Europeans who colonized America regarded themselves as wheat people, in contrast to the native corn people they encountered; wheat in the West has always been considered the more refined, or civilized, grain. If asked to choose, most of us would probably still consider ourselves wheat people (except perhaps the proud corn-fed Midwesterners, and they don’t know the half of it), though by now the whole idea of identifying with a plant at all strikes us as a little old-fashioned. Beef people sounds more like it, though nowadays chicken people, which sounds not nearly so good, is probably closer to the truth of the matter. But carbon 13 doesn’t lie, and researchers who have compared the isotopes in the flesh or hair of North Americans to those in the same tissues of Mexicans report that it is now we in the North who are the true people of corn. “When you look at the isotope ratios,” Todd Dawson, a Berkeley biologist who’s done this sort of research, told me, “we North Americans look like corn chips with legs.” Compared to us, Mexicans today consume a far more varied diet: the animals they eat still eat grass (until recently, Mexicans regarded feeding corn to livestock as a sacrilege); much of their protein comes from legumes; and they still sweeten their beverages with cane sugar.

So that’s us: processed corn, walking."

-Michael Pollan

Wednesday, November 5, 2008

Obama And The Challenges Ahead

By George Friedman

Barack Obama has been elected president of the United States by a large majority in the Electoral College. The Democrats have dramatically increased their control of Congress, increasing the number of seats they hold in the House of Representatives and moving close to the point where — with a few Republican defections — they can have veto-proof control of the Senate. Given the age of some Supreme Court justices, Obama might well have the opportunity to appoint at least one and possibly two new justices. He will begin as one of the most powerful presidents in a long while.

Truly extraordinary were the celebrations held around the world upon Obama’s victory. They affirm the global expectations Obama has raised — and reveal that the United States must be more important to Europeans than the latter like to admit. (We can’t imagine late-night vigils in the United States over a French election.)

Obama is an extraordinary rhetorician, and as Aristotle pointed out, rhetoric is one of the foundations of political power. Rhetoric has raised him to the presidency, along with the tremendous unpopularity of his predecessor and a financial crisis that took a tied campaign and gave Obama a lead he carefully nurtured to victory. So, as with all politicians, his victory was a matter of rhetoric and, according to Machiavelli, luck. Obama had both, but now the question is whether he has Machiavelli’s virtue in full by possessing the ability to exercise power. This last element is what governing is about, and it is what will determine if his presidency succeeds.

Embedded in his tremendous victory is a single weakness: Obama won the popular vote by a fairly narrow margin, about 52 percent of the vote. That means that almost as many people voted against him as voted for him.

Obama’s Agenda vs. Expanding His Base
U.S. President George W. Bush demonstrated that the inability to understand the uses and limits of power can crush a presidency very quickly. The enormous enthusiasm of Obama’s followers could conceal how he — like Bush — is governing a deeply, and nearly evenly, divided country. Obama’s first test will be simple: Can he maintain the devotion of his followers while increasing his political base? Or will he believe, as Bush and Cheney did, that he can govern without concern for the other half of the country because he controls the presidency and Congress, as Bush and Cheney did in 2001? Presidents are elected by electoral votes, but they govern through public support.

Obama and his supporters will say there is no danger of a repeat of Bush — who believed he could carry out his agenda and build his political base at the same time, but couldn’t. Building a political base requires modifying one’s agenda. But when you start modifying your agenda, when you become pragmatic, you start to lose your supporters. If Obama had won with 60 percent of the popular vote, this would not be as pressing a question. But he barely won by more than Bush in 2004. Now, we will find out if Obama is as skillful a president as he was a candidate.

Obama will soon face the problem of beginning to disappoint people all over the world, a problem built into his job. The first disappointments will be minor. There are thousands of people hoping for appointments, some to Cabinet positions, others to the White House, others to federal agencies. Many will get something, but few will get as much as they hoped for. Some will feel betrayed and become bitter. During the transition process, the disappointed office seeker — an institution in American politics — will start leaking on background to whatever reporters are available. This will strike a small, discordant note; creating no serious problems, but serving as a harbinger of things to come.

Later, Obama will be sworn in. He will give a memorable, perhaps historic speech at his inauguration. There will be great expectations about him in the country and around the world. He will enjoy the traditional presidential honeymoon, during which all but his bitterest enemies will give him the benefit of the doubt. The press initially will adore him, but will begin writing stories about all the positions he hasn’t filled, the mistakes he made in the vetting process and so on. And then, sometime in March or April, things will get interesting.

Iran and a U.S. Withdrawal From Iraq
Obama has promised to withdraw U.S. forces from Iraq, where he does not intend to leave any residual force. If he follows that course, he will open the door for the Iranians. Iran’s primary national security interest is containing or dominating Iraq, with which Iran fought a long war. If the United States remains in Iraq, the Iranians will be forced to accept a neutral government in Iraq. A U.S. withdrawal will pave the way for the Iranians to use Iraqi proxies to create, at a minimum, an Iraqi government more heavily influenced by Iran.

Apart from upsetting Sunni and Kurdish allies of the United States in Iraq, the Iranian ascendancy in Iraq will disturb some major American allies — particularly the Saudis, who fear Iranian power. The United States can’t afford a scenario under which Iranian power is projected into the Saudi oil fields. While that might be an unlikely scenario, it carries catastrophic consequences. The Jordanians and possibly the Turks, also American allies, will pressure Obama not simply to withdraw. And, of course, the Israelis will want the United States to remain in place to block Iranian expansion. Resisting a coalition of Saudis and Israelis will not be easy.

This will be the point where Obama’s pledge to talk to the Iranians will become crucial. If he simply withdraws from Iraq without a solid understanding with Iran, the entire American coalition in the region will come apart. Obama has pledged to build coalitions, something that will be difficult in the Middle East if he withdraws from Iraq without ironclad Iranian guarantees. He therefore will talk to the Iranians. But what can Obama offer the Iranians that would induce them to forego their primary national security interest? It is difficult to imagine a U.S.-Iranian deal that is both mutually beneficial and enforceable.

Obama will then be forced to make a decision. He can withdraw from Iraq and suffer the geopolitical consequences while coming under fire from the substantial political right in the United States that he needs at least in part to bring into his coalition. Or, he can retain some force in Iraq, thereby disappointing his supporters. If he is clumsy, he could wind up under attack from the right for negotiating with the Iranians and from his own supporters for not withdrawing all U.S. forces from Iraq. His skills in foreign policy and domestic politics will be tested on this core question, and he undoubtedly will disappoint many.

The Afghan Dilemma
Obama will need to address Afghanistan next. He has said that this is the real war, and that he will ask U.S. allies to join him in the effort. This means he will go to the Europeans and NATO, as he has said he will do. The Europeans are delighted with Obama’s victory because they feel Obama will consult them and stop making demands of them. But demands are precisely what he will bring the Europeans. In particular, he will want the Europeans to provide more forces for Afghanistan.

Many European countries will be inclined to provide some support, if for no other reason than to show that they are prepared to work with Obama. But European public opinion is not about to support a major deployment in Afghanistan, and the Europeans don’t have the force to deploy there anyway. In fact, as the global financial crisis begins to have a more dire impact in Europe than in the United States, many European countries are actively reducing their deployments in Afghanistan to save money. Expanding operations is the last thing on European minds.

Obama’s Afghan solution of building a coalition centered on the Europeans will thus meet a divided Europe with little inclination to send troops and with few troops to send in any event. That will force him into a confrontation with the Europeans in spring 2009, and then into a decision. The United States and its allies collectively lack the force to stabilize Afghanistan and defeat the Taliban. They certainly lack the force to make a significant move into Pakistan — something Obama has floated on several occasions that might be a good idea if force were in fact available.

He will have to make a hard decision on Afghanistan. Obama can continue the war as it is currently being fought, without hope of anything but a long holding action, but this risks defining his presidency around a hopeless war. He can choose to withdraw, in effect reinstating the Taliban, going back on his commitment and drawing heavy fire from the right. Or he can do what we have suggested is the inevitable outcome, namely, negotiate — and reach a political accord — with the Taliban. Unlike Bush, however, withdrawal or negotiation with the Taliban will increase the pressure on Obama from the right. And if this is coupled with a decision to delay withdrawal from Iraq, Obama’s own supporters will become restive. His 52 percent Election Day support could deteriorate with remarkable speed.

The Russian Question
At the same time, Obama will face the Russian question. The morning after Obama’s election, Russian President Dmitri Medvedev announced that Russia was deploying missiles in its European exclave of Kaliningrad in response to the U.S. deployment of ballistic missile defense systems in Poland. Obama opposed the Russians on their August intervention in Georgia, but he has never enunciated a clear Russia policy. We expect Ukraine will have shifted its political alignment toward Russia, and Moscow will be rapidly moving to create a sphere of influence before Obama can bring his attention — and U.S. power — to bear.

Obama will again turn to the Europeans to create a coalition to resist the Russians. But the Europeans will again be divided. The Germans can’t afford to alienate the Russians because of German energy dependence on Russia and because Germany does not want to fight another Cold War. The British and French may be more inclined to address the question, but certainly not to the point of resurrecting NATO as a major military force. The Russians will be prepared to talk, and will want to talk a great deal, all the while pursuing their own national interest of increasing their power in what they call their “near abroad.”

Obama will have many options on domestic policy given his majorities in Congress. But his Achilles’ heel, as it was for Bush and for many presidents, will be foreign policy. He has made what appear to be three guarantees. First, he will withdraw from Iraq. Second, he will focus on Afghanistan. Third, he will oppose Russian expansionism. To deliver on the first promise, he must deal with the Iranians. To deliver on the second, he must deal with the Taliban. To deliver on the third, he must deal with the Europeans.

Global Finance and the European Problem
The Europeans will pose another critical problem, as they want a second Bretton Woods agreement. Some European states appear to desire a set of international regulations for the financial system. There are three problems with this.

First, unless Obama wants to change course dramatically, the U.S. and European positions differ over the degree to which governments will regulate interbank transactions. The Europeans want much more intrusion than the Americans. They are far less averse to direct government controls than the Americans have been. Obama has the power to shift American policy, but doing that will make it harder to expand his base.

Second, the creation of an international regulatory body that has authority over American banks would create a system where U.S. financial management was subordinated to European financial management.

And third, the Europeans themselves have no common understanding of things. Obama could thus quickly be drawn into complex EU policy issues that could tie his hands in the United States. These could quickly turn into painful negotiations, in which Obama’s allure to the Europeans will evaporate.

One of the foundations of Obama’s foreign policy — and one of the reasons the Europeans have celebrated his election — was the perception that Obama is prepared to work closely with the Europeans. He is in fact prepared to do so, but his problem will be the same one Bush had: The Europeans are in no position to give the things that Obama will need from them — namely, troops, a revived NATO to confront the Russians and a global financial system that doesn’t subordinate American financial authority to an international bureaucracy.

The Hard Road Ahead
Like any politician, Obama will face the challenge of having made a set of promises that are not mutually supportive. Much of his challenge boils down to problems that he needs to solve and that he wants European help on, but the Europeans are not prepared to provide the type and amount of help he needs. This, plus the fact that a U.S. withdrawal from Iraq requires an agreement with Iran — something hard to imagine without a continued U.S. presence in Iraq — gives Obama a difficult road to move on.

As with all American presidents (who face midterm elections with astonishing speed), Obama’s foreign policy moves will be framed by his political support. Institutionally, he will be powerful. In terms of popular support, he begins knowing that almost half the country voted against him, and that he must increase his base. He must exploit the honeymoon period, when his support will expand, to bring another 5 percent or 10 percent of the public into his coalition. These people voted against him; now he needs to convince them to support him. But these are precisely the people who would regard talks with the Taliban or Iran with deep distrust. And if negotiations with the Iranians cause him to keep forces in Iraq, he will alienate his base without necessarily winning over his opponents.

And there is always the unknown. There could be a terrorist attack, the Russians could start pressuring the Baltic states, the Mexican situation could deteriorate. The unknown by definition cannot be anticipated. And many foreign leaders know it takes an administration months to settle in, something some will try to take advantage of. On top of that, there is now nearly a three-month window in which the old president is not yet out and the new president not yet in.

Obama must deal with extraordinarily difficult foreign policy issues in the context of an alliance failing not because of rough behavior among friends but because the allies’ interests have diverged. He must deal with this in the context of foreign policy positions difficult to sustain and reconcile, all against the backdrop of almost half an electorate that voted against him versus supporters who have enormous hopes vested in him. Obama knows all of this, of course, as he indicated in his victory speech.

We will now find out if Obama understands the exercise of political power as well as he understands the pursuit of that power. You really can’t know that until after the fact. There is no reason to think he can’t finesse these problems. Doing so will take cunning, trickery and the ability to make his supporters forget the promises he made while keeping their support. It will also require the ability to make some of his opponents embrace him despite the path he will have to take. In other words, he will have to be cunning and ruthless without appearing to be cunning and ruthless. That’s what successful presidents do.

In the meantime, he should enjoy the transition. It’s frequently the best part of a presidency.

Thursday, October 23, 2008

Passion vs. Wisdom

In his famous novel Lost Horizon, James Hilton wrote, “The exhaustion of the passions is the beginning of wisdom."

Passion, in its rawest form, is the excess of emotions. To be passionate is to fill the heart with so much love that it can be broken. To be passionate is to believe so much that the mind becomes clouded and the eyes become blind. To be passionate is to be stupid, to make mistakes, and to feel pain, lots of it. Passion necessitates an enormous amount of energy, and it shall exhaust you one day.

When passion has sufficiently drained you, emotionally and physically, you will enter a new era of intellect – the era of wisdom.

Wisdom, in its rawest form, is the absence of emotions. To be wise is to see the world in the most accurate version of reality. To be wise is to be logical and realistic. To be wise is to never love too much or believe too much.

When you are completely detached from emotions, you have reached the true state of indifference.

Many, including I, will say that there is no purpose in living if there is no passion in it. Passion provides you with goals to reach and motivations to get there. And what is life but a long sequence of ambitions and the actual doing in order to obtain them? When you have accomplished all that you care to accomplish, you are ready to leave this world.

Perhaps the journey of life is the transitioning process from passion toward wisdom. One shall die when there is not an ounce of passion left in one’s body and mind.

Perhaps I shall die early.

Thursday, October 9, 2008

Debt

Another day, another dollar, they said
Yet this debt keeps growing in me
Is it not enough what I am paid?
Shall it bother me eternally?

Saturday, February 9, 2008

News

I just read that you are getting married...

I am not exactly sure of my feelings. I am not jealous. I am not sad or angry. Yet, I can't say that I am happy for you. A clump slowly travels from my stomach up to my throat, something that I can't describe...

After all, it has been 6 years. It is only reasonable that you are at last “blessed by the touch of an angel.” There is nothing left between us, not even a fake friendship.

I look at your picture with her. I can't even make out your face, because the picture is so small. I wonder if she is as light-skinned, pretty, and tall as your father demands for you.

The clump that I can't describe won't leave my throat. I would have preferred for it to turn into something else, such as tears or laughs. I sigh, staring into a room full of boxes. You are now settled down, and here I am, moving once again.

Perhaps that is what my life is destined for, the life of a wild thing, always looking for new challenges, for excitement - for a new life.

Here goes another Valentine...

Saturday, November 24, 2007

Dreaming Of Việt Nam

Some nights I dream of a land
that I have left for so long
Memories rush back to me and
they compose for me a song

Dream of endless fields of green
beneath stork’s stretching wings,
caressed by gentle cool wind
Harmoniously they sing

Dream of patches of bamboo
next to dunes of golden straws,
where the cows calmly moo
and puppies licking their paws

Dream of a peaceful pond
with blooming water lilies
And the thousand-year-old temple
resonates thousand-year-old melodies

Dream of midday’s scorching heat
that bakes my skin and hair
Sometimes I can’t bear to breath
amidst the damp and stuffy air

Dream of rushing thunder and rain
that linger nights and days,
flooding the houses and roads
then violently drag them away

Dream of February’s chill
The anticipation of Tết
immersed in peach blossoms
and a reading of this year’s fate

Dream of familiar faces
at the market, bargaining busily
for flowers, for vegetables, for meat
on the streets of Hà Nội hurriedly

Seems like only yesterday
I belonged in this dream, this place
Now they are tucked away
in a corner, for my mind to trace.

Friday, September 28, 2007

Autumn Blue

I bury myself in thoughts
Autumn greets me hurriedly
She won't let my mind get lost,
Calls me back to her beauty.

She puts on her crimson gown
Embellished with gold jewels
“Look at me and stop your frown
Your world is not at all cruel!”

Her perfume – sweet and dewy
Floats about calm and cool
“Wake up and smell the lilies
Stop being a miserable fool!”

But her beauty saddens my heart
Her serenity dampens my soul
They tell me of a distant past
that time hasn’t forgotten at all.

Wednesday, September 12, 2007

Eating Alone

I will not sit myself in a restaurant on any of my ugly, fat, or ragged-feeling day. Any glance would make me feel inadequate and embarrassed. I could see others feeling pity at me, “that poor ugly thing, that’s why she’s out eating on her own…” Oh no, I will have none of that. Now if I absolutely must, I would buy myself a newspaper before I enter the restaurant. I would order my food quickly in a wither tone and avoid eye contact with the waiter. And I would read my newspaper while I wait for my food and even while I eat, so that I can avoid the stares squirming down my spines and crackling my nerves.

On my good days, when I am dolled up and feel sufficiently attractive, I might entertain the idea of eating out alone. But I would need plenty of excuses. The reason I am eating alone is because I am on business travel – doesn’t that sound eligible? And I would make sure that I don’t eat in the same restaurant frequently. Those waiters might remember my face, start connecting the dots, and feel sorry for me.

I’ve tried to explain the reason why I am so afraid of eating alone? Ah, it must be because of how I was brought up. After all, I came from a family-oriented culture, where eating is considered a group activity. Eating equates to events celebration, paying tributes, hanging out with friends, etc. All these activities involve more than one person. That must be the reason why I am so afraid of eating alone!

To look at this excuse in depth, that’s just refuse! People do the same thing in this country…

Why am I so afraid of eating alone then? Perhaps it is the situation where I am forced to directly face the fear of being lonely. It is not so much about the fact that I am eating alone, but the psychological events that go along with it – the stares, the thoughts of what people are thinking about me – whether they feel sorry for me, whether they wonder why I am eating alone…

To look at this excuse in depth, it is a combination of the fear of being lonely and people’s opinions of me. That’s just refuse! Because you can spend your life time worrying about what people think of you!

In addition, never confuse being alone with being lonely.

Tuesday, August 21, 2007

Peace


Sometimes I sit silently in the night.
Upon me – peace patiently falls.
And I, like the stricken bird who’s frightened -
is it peace that I want at all?

What is peace, but to mask the pain
of life’s everyday’s mundane?
What is peace, but to mask the boredom
of life’s everyday’s repeated idiom?

If I were to live only once –
why couldn’t life be filled with dismays?
For when my fate is done,
my peace shall come to me either way.

Monday, June 4, 2007

America the Great

On my last post, I stated that the United States of America is one of the best places, if not THE best place, to live on earth. Thus, I now feel compelled to explain why I made such statement.

One might assume that I made such statement because America is clearly one of the countries with highest living standards. In this country, you have the opportunity to live in the biggest homes, drive the nicest automobiles, and receive world-class education.

However, if these are the only measurements for the best place to live, one does not need to live in America to receive such “special” opportunities. I have friends in Vietnam who are living just as comfortably, if not better, than I am. While I might earn more money than they do, they don’t have to put 15% of their salary into retirement funds, 30% into their monthly rent, and miscellaneous such as automobile insurance, renter insurance, and health insurance, like I do. While they can afford to purchase a $50,000 car, I cannot. I have no doubt that if I return to Vietnam right now, I will be able to find a job that enable myself to live as comfortably, if not better, than my current living condition in the United States.

No – though these aspects definitely make a nice touch, they are not essential to what make the United States so great. What makes this country the best place to live on earth is a culture that encourages freedom - the freedom to express oneself and to be whoever one chooses to be. What makes this country the best place to live on earth is a culture where diversity flourishes – a culture that allows incredible tolerance and acceptance that people have for each other.

Look at the front pages of today’s most popular U.S. magazines and you will see not only Britney Spears, but also Beyonce Knowles, Jennifer Lopez, Lucy Liu, and countless other non-white celebrities. At first thought as an American, you would think of this observation as being trivial. Who in this day and age would think that only Britney Spears defines beauty any more?

...until you have lived in a country where prettiness means being at least 5’4’’, weighing around 110 lbs, and a white skin complexion, and a woman's potentials – whether it be career or a family life – are limited to those narrow beauty standards – as I have.

As an American citizen, you might not think twice about an African-descendant female Secretary of State, a Hispanic-descendant Attorney General, and countless Asian-descendant CEOs, until you have lived in a country where African immigrants are looked down upon, and Asians being cursed at in the bus for speaking Asian language to each other – as I have.

I know for sure that I want to plant my root in this place, not for the money or a comfortable life, but knowing that my children will have the opportunity to be all that they can be, regardless of their height, ethnicity, or skin color.

Sunday, June 3, 2007

They Hate Us; They Need Us;

I have read a few books written by Thomas Friedman, and “Longitudes and Attitudes” so far is my favorite. This book is a collection of columns that Friedman published about September 11th, as well as a diary of his private experiences and reflections as he traveled across the continents, reporting on the post-September 11th world.

Despite the possibility of copyright infringement, I am citing an article written on June 15th, 2001. It truly speaks to me, and I would like to share it.

I would recommend this book to everyone, but especially those who are citizens of the United States. The book speaks of what it is to live in America – in my opinion – one of the best places, if not THE best place, on earth. It does an excellent job of portraying the privileges as well as the duties of an American citizen in today’s world.

“Reading about all the anti-Americanism President Bush has encountered on his trip to Europe, I was reminded of the 1970s Randy Newman song “Political Science.” In its main verse he wryly laments that no matter how much we do for the world, nobody likes us. What to do about it? Newman proposes we just nuke the whole rest of the world – allies and all – so we’ll be left without any complainers: “Drop the big one and see what happens.”Mr. Newman’s ditty is a reminder that anti-Americanism didn’t start with George Dubya. The key question is whether there is anything new in today’s anti-Americanism and whether it has any strategic consequences.

Actually, there are a couple of things new. You can taste it in Greece. In his upcoming book “Unholly Alliance: Greece and Milosevic’s Serbia,” the Greek journalist Takis Michas explains that during the cold war anti-Americanism in Greece and Europe tended to be driven by the left and focused on “what America did” – and how it wasn’t living up to its own ideals when it backed dictators in Greece and elsewhere.

Today’s version of anti-Americanism in Europe is more focused on “what America is,” says Mr. Michas, and it brings together the far left, the far right, and the Orthodox Church. The old left hates America for its free-market capitalism, the death penalty, and globalization. The far right hates it for promoting its multiculturalism in the Balkans, which threatens Greek nationalism. And the Orthodox Archbishop hates America for enticing Greek youths away from their heritage and religion.

Fine: so now the Europeans don’t like us for who we are. Does it matter? Is it producing an alliance of countries against America that threatens our vital interests? That’s the real question.

Not yet, says the German foreign policy analyst Josef Joffe, in a smart essay in the journal The National Interest titled “Who’s afraid of Mr. Big?” Mr. Joffe argues that one reason no alliance has formed against America yet is that, while resentment of America is rife, particularly among European elites, the attraction of America – its culture, universities, movies, food, clothing, and technologies – is just as strong, and today no power in the world can balance it. For every European elitist who resents America for what it is, there are ten Euro-kids who want what America is. “America is both menace and seducer, both monster and model,” says Mr. Joffe.

While America’s soft power can’t be balanced – there’s no Disney World in Moscow, no Harvard in Beijing – America’s hard power doesn’t need to be balanced. “Why is there no real ganging up against the United States?” ask Mr. Joffe. “[Because] American annoys and antagonizes, but it does not conquer. He who does not conquer does not provoke counteralliances and war.” Mr. Joffe refers to today’s European anti-Americanism as “neo-ganging up” – noisy but not serious.

Another reason we have not provoked an alliance against us is that American continues to be willing to provide “public goods” to the global system, says Mr. Joffe. Public goods are things that everyone can benefit from – keeping the sea-lanes open, stabilizing the free-trade system, or beating back bad guys in Iraq. This gives lesser powers an incentive to cooperate with us even as they criticize us; otherwise who else would uphold global security and financial stability?

This is hugely important. History teaches that periods of relative peace occurs when you have a benign power that is ready to provide public services to maintain an orderly global system – even if it means paying a disproportionate share of the costs.

That’s why the greatest danger today is not European anti-Americanism, but American anti-Americanism. The greatest danger is if America is no longer ready to play America – the benign superpower that pays a disproportionate price to maintain the system of which it’s the biggest beneficiary. This could happen because Congress becomes too cheap or stupid, or because our economy becomes too enfeebled, or because we have an administration dominated by people unwilling to put any limits on U.S. behavior, from energy consumption to missile defense. That sort of America, if taken too extremes, could nullify our attractiveness and generate an alliance against us. Surely the Bushies know that – don’t they?”

Tuesday, May 22, 2007

The Beauty of Living


11:00 AM – I suddenly felt the urge to set out for my favorite bottle of Sauvignon Blanc (that is the Sauvignon Blanc of Casa Lapostolle Winery, Rapel Valley, Chile). Well, what is one to do but surrender to such irresistible idea?

So I left my office, realizing that it was raining again. It has been raining almost everyday. The cloud usually pulls in from the mountain from the West in mid-morning, pour buckets for an hour or two over noon, and then clear away toward the East. This year, so far, has been a very wet year, full of snow and now, full of rain.

As I drove toward Interstate I-25, I passed by curvy meadows of trees and green grass, now looking even more luxuriant and fresh. Behind me, the blue mountains – draped in a mystic layer of fog and capped with touches of white snow. It seemed that I was moving through a place which can only be described in fairytales. Such speechless beauty!

It all reminded me of the time that I was in Britain, touring its countryside in the pouring rain. Normally, people would think that I am crazy for comparing Colorado to Britain. These two places cannot be any more different. Where Colorado is dry, rocky, and mountainous, Britain is green and hilly. Where Colorado generates 300 days of sunshine in a year, Britain harbors 300 days of rain. But this year is different – this year, Colorado is just as green and lush as Britain, and even more beautiful.

Such is a magic of living in a place like Denver, with such unpredictable weather. The winter can be mild one year, yet rushing snow storm after snow storm in the following year. The spring can be dry one year, yet full of water the next. It can be sunny one moment, then pouring buckets at the blink of an eye. Hence the classic expression about Colorado weather – “If you don’t like the weather, wait 5 minutes because it’ll change!”

Such is a magic of living in a place like Denver, with each season well defined and full of prominent characters. Nothing says winter more than after the first snow storm, draping every tree and every house roof with thick and purely white snow. Nothing says spring more than the blooming of the apple blossoms along the roadside to your home. Nothing says summer more than sitting on the front porch with a glass of Sauvignon Blanc, enjoying the 9-PM sunset over the beautiful mountains. Nothing says autumn more than the gentle cracking noise as you walk barefoot among piles of fallen leaves, bright yellow and golden, on your backyard. Nothing can compare to the indescribable feeling rushing through your body as you witness each changing in season.

Many love cities such as San Francisco, with year-round “perfect” weather. Most days are sunny, averaging around 60 to 70 degrees Fahrenheit. City visitors are bound to see posters at bus stops, showing a place cast in misery in effect of a snow storm (a lot like Denver this past winter), telling their citizens to feel lucky that they don't live there [hence, protect your city]. Yet, how can one truly enjoy the full bloom of spring if one hasn’t experienced the bitter cold of winter? How can one fully appreciate the pleasantness of autumn if one hasn’t endured the scorching heat of summer?

Such is the beauty of living.

Saturday, May 19, 2007

Today, I am happy.

Today, I am happy.

Last night, I had a delightful date with a rather charming gentleman. He was witty, tall, had pretty blue eyes, and only a slightly but adorable Texan accent. We went to Sushi Tazu, where my little sister worked. The restaurant happened to be one of his favorites, and I had never been there, so it was a natural choice. It was really good to see my sister, because I haven’t seen her for so long. She had reduced her long locks to a rather short bob. It was rather cute though, and she was still very pretty as usual.

My sister must have liked him too, because while I was taking my bathroom break, she yelled at me over the closed door, “OMG Thuy, he’s so cute and he seems so nice! He’s a keeper!” It is difficult to pass my sister’s standards, so I take that as good sign. Oh, and did I say we went for Sushi, one of my favorite food in the world?

I think there might be a possibility that he liked me too :0)

Today is a gorgeous Saturday. The sky casts the sweetest blue. The sun beams outside my balcony, where the trees have grown green and lush. Even Table Mountain has changed its coat into a pretty green color. Everything is full of life.

Today, I have lost most of the weight that I gained while in California :0) (I was on a business assignment to San Francisco for 2 months. The weather was gorgeous, the food was delicious, but the consequence was definitely weight gain!)

Tonight, my good good friend Travis is having a potluck party. I am going to make a flourless chocolate cake for the party. I have never tried this recipe, but today is a perfect day to do it. After all, how can one possibly not love the combination of dark chocolate, lots of butter, eggs, and sugar? And if all fail, we shall resort to the classically loved store-bought chips and dips :0)

At this moment, I am playing my favorite songs, and I can’t help the urge to get up and sway my body with the music :0)

Today, I am happy.

Friday, April 27, 2007

A Story from Morocco


Watching "Babel" The Movie last night prompts me to tell you one of my favorite stories:

This all happened in the spring of 2003. I was studying abroad in Italy. In February of 2003, we started the war in Iraq. Even though Italy was one among the 9 countries that supported our war, the Italian people didn’t seem to agree with their government. There were war protests, and Americans were quite unpopular. If you were really unlucky, you could run into passionate Italians who would scream at your face about the war or your president.

I desired to visit an Islam country to give myself a better understanding of the Islamic culture and Islamic people. Most of my friends then wanted to visit Egypt or Turkey. However, Egypt at the time was too volatile and Turkey was neighboring to Iraq, so there was certainly travel restriction to these 2 places. I picked Morocco because the flight was cheap, and as far as I knew, it was one of the most liberal Islam countries. My friends didn't want to travel to Morocco, and so I decided to visit Morocco by myself.

I was rather ill-prepared, traveling to Morocco on my own. For example, I should have known to wear a scarf over my head. I dressed quite conservatively, but was still teased. I also didn’t speak any French, while most Moroccans spoke French as their second language. I got the typical foreigner treatment, having to pay twice the price every where I went. My sunglasses and my cell phone were stolen. It was a typical developing country, where locals probably thought I was a rich foreigner. I was far, far away from being rich.

Morocco occupies part of Western Sahara, thus there were tours offered to ride camels into the Sahara dessert. The tour cost around $150, which was over my budget, but I took it anyway. I mean, come on - how could I not? It might be my only chance ever to ride the camels into the Sahara! We rode into the dessert, spent the night, and rode the camels back out the next day. It was a beautiful tour that deserves another story telling, but I had only around $10 left after that, which was enough to cover for my bus tickets from Marrakesh to Casablanca, and from Casablanca to the airport. Yes - I was poor, and thus a tight-ass. I would scrutinize my budget so that I could do the most with the little amount of money that I had. It was no surprise that somehow I had calculated so that I had just enough money to get myself back to Italy. Of course I was also stupid enough to never plan for rainy days, such as that day.

It’s about 200 km from Marrakesh to Casablanca, and my bus was at 7 AM. My flight was at 2:30 PM. I figured I had plenty of time. Here is where my stupidity came back to bite me in the ass - I didn’t anticipate that the bus would stop every 5 minutes to pick up and drop off passengers. By 1 PM, the bus was only on the outskirt of Casablanca. I knew I wasn’t going to make it if I didn’t do something. But nobody spoke English, and I didn't speak any French or Arabic. It was one of those perfect moments to scream, "Sh*t! I am f*cked!" I mean - nobody would understand me anyway, right? However, I believe it was also one of those perfect moments for me to learn about true appreciation. A middle-aged man sitting behind me in the bus saw the panic on my eyes. He barely spoke any English, but managed to understand my situation. He advised me to take the taxi, which would cost around $20 to the airport. I asked him to please just tell the bus driver to drop me off at the train station because I didn't have $20. The man then got off the bus with me, called a taxi and paid the taxi driver Dh200 to take me to the airport.

I made it back to Italy, feeling so so thankful and grateful. A stranger, in a country where most people were probably angry toward Americans, spent a relatively valuable $20 to help me. Imagine if somebody would be willing to spend around $100 to help a stranger with a taxi drive in Washington DC. However, in Washington DC, I would certainly never have gotten myself into the situation that I was in. The trains or buses would have been far more efficient. The taxi driver would be well equipped to charge my credit card. And there would be ATM machines at every block, ready for me to spend my money...;0)

Thursday, March 15, 2007

Tofurky

It’s another boring workday, and there I was, reading “What Scares a Man?” by David Zinczenko. As I scrolled down the list of the Scary Fifteen, number 3 jumped at me with one single bolded phrase – Tofurky.

I was a little puzzled at the term. Obviously, it had something to do with tofu, but “what the hell is that?” I thought to myself. So I turned over to the co-worker and was explained that tofurky was tofu made into imitation meat products, such as sausages, deli slices, jerky, and franks…

People, this is why tofu receives such a bad rap that it doesn’t deserve! Why can’t tofu just be enjoyed for what it is? It is SOY BEAN. It is not chicken, or pork, or beef! If you have to eat a piece of chicken and pretend that it is beef, wouldn’t that propel you to hate chicken? Why? Because it is not beef, and it will never be beef. It will not smell like beef; it will not taste like beef, EVER!

I recall that at some point in the past, I was engaged in a conversation about food and whether I ate tofu.
“Of course I eat tofu…(silly)…
Really? Do you have a good recipe?
Hm…. Oh, here’s a good one - I first deep-fry the tofu, then…
Well, that defeats the purpose then!

What purpose? Tofu is not the answer if you are looking to slim down. It is not a low-calorie food. If you are a vegetarian, then for the love of God (or animal), eat tofu for the sake of it being tofu. If you have to pretend that it is meat in order to eat it, then perhaps you are not meant to be a vegetarian!

Please, let chicken be chicken, pork be pork, beef be beef, and tofu be tofu. Let you be you, and I be Thuy!

P.S. The illustrated label above makes me want to puke, instead of eating it...

Here’s a yummy recipe for tofu:
Ingredients – Tofu, Butter, Crushed Garlic, Chopped Olives, Sliced Mushroom, Red Wine, Chopped Red Onion, Chopped Scallions.

Instructions – Slice tofu into 1/2-inch thick blocks. Sprinkle tofu blocks with salt and pepper. On a pan, melt the butter in medium heat and add garlic. Sear the tofu in butter and garlic until tofu is golden brown. Place tofu blocks on a pretty dish.
Add more butter to pan, add onion and stir until fragrant, then olives and mushroom. Stir for about 2 minutes, and then add red wine. Cook for a few minutes so that the liquid reduces to the amount of your liking. Salt and pepper to taste.
Pour mixture on top of the tofu. Garnish with chopped scallions. Enjoy with steamed white rice, or not if you’re on a diet ;0)

Thursday, March 1, 2007

Fucked Up


I am not a lesbian. So, this is not my writing, but it's funny...

"At some point during this catalogue of fucked-up misery, I mentioned that I was pre-disposed to sluts rather than saints. In so doing, perhaps I've accidentally segmented myself into that oafish group of people that rank girls solely on how well-up-for-it they are for taking it up the ass.

Now, although that is an important factor to me, it's not a 'deal-breaker' by any means. In fact, most psychological facets of a girl aren't deal-breakers. They are too complex to measure out and define. To think you can categorise a set which you're looking for is folly. No, the psychological match game is best left by the wayside - if I gel with her mentally, that's all I need for a green light.

However, one day a psychologist asked me what I looked for in a girl. I immediately answered 'well, she has to take it up the ass', which he quickly brushed off, saying that he was more interested in the physical features I would look for. Interesting that a shrink would ask me that, but that's what happened.

So I told him,

"I have a hair fetish."
"What do you mean, a hair fetish?"
"A fetish, you know. I like nice hair. I really, really like good hair. Like, I turn my head at girls who have long, straight, shiny hair. I turn my head at blokes that have long, straight, shiny hair thinking they're a girl and am totally repulsed by myself when I realise they're a bloke. I literally drool over quality hair, I don't know why - my friends think I'm strange. In bed with a girl, I like to rub it on my-"
"Right, right... What else do you look for?"
"Apart from hair, everything else is quite minor really... Her eyes could be important, then her skin. I also like a pretty face. Her coat..."
"What?"
"Uhh, her coat is quite important to me."
"I see... Why's that?"
"I'm not sure, I just like girls that have nice coats."
"And then?"
"Well, you know, they've gotta have firm, round-"
"Okaaaay... This is interesting."
"What is, for Hades' sake?"
"I can explain the mystery behind why you like these things."
"Can you stop poncing on and tell me then?"
"You are a lot more interested in a girl's psychological make-up, than her physical appearance."
"Oh, for pity's sake..."
"No, it's true. You are more attracted to where they are mentally, than actual looks. Take your hair fetish, for instance. Girls aren't born with a certain type of hair. They can style it, change it, look after it, abuse it. When you take a fancy to a girl's hair, you are actually taking a fancy to what she thinks of herself, how much she cares about herself. Her 'inner beauty' as it were."
"Sounds like cobblers, but do go on..."
"The rest are pretty usual. The hair was the most interesting part."
"YO what about the coat?"
"Ah yes, the coat. I was a bit disturbed by the coat."
"Well, can you explain it or not?"
"Yes, yes I can."
"Then hit me with that crazy shit!"
"The coat is to do with the same things. Her inner feelings. Girls will try out lots of different clothes, different shoes, jewellery, make-up, whatever. But coats, generally, they only have a few of - owing to expense. So generally, when you see a girl's coat, they are wearing something they picked to go with most things they own. They spent more time picking it out than other things. More thought went into it. It's more to do with their true nature."
"Dude... It's just a coat!"
"Well, I am a shrink, and it's my job to see stupidly deep meanings in everything."

That actually happened and I honestly do rank physical traits in that order. Personally, I'm not sure whether to believe the shrink or not. Personally, I think I'm fucking insane.

And if I did believe him, then I'm back to square one. Psychological matching, based on physical manifestations of a girl's mind. Why can't I just like massive tits?

Peace out."

Monday, February 19, 2007

New Year's Blues

There are 2 days in a year that I must remember to call my grandparents – Lunar New Year and my father’s memorial day. In Vietnam, we do not celebrate birthday by tradition. Instead we honor a person’s death day. It is even difficult for me to understand because why would there survives a custom where one’s existence is not honored, yet one’s death is? I can only guess that it is because our culture emphasizes the importance of life after death, since it is believed to be eternal and spiritual, while life in the flesh is only definite and physically limited.

February 18th is Lunar New Year of 2007. My grandparents seemed happy to talk to me. My grandfather asked me the usual question of when I would visit home again. This question has arisen more and more often as the years have passed by. I remember when they used to advise me to not come home so often. They would tell me that I needed to take care of myself and save money, since I was living in the United States alone. Because of the substantial difference between the American Dollar and the Vietnamese Dong, they knew that they could not help me out if I ever needed help, and thus I would have to fence for myself. Those were the days when they were still rather healthy and sensible. They could still worry about my well-being.

Each time they ask of me the question, I itch to come home. I always fear that the next opportunity would be the last time I get to see them. Last year, I visited home twice. Each time I saw them is each time I was overcome with sadness. For the last 5 years, they seem to have aged dramatically with each of my visit. Their mind gradually turns childlike - simple and egocentric. Their highest priorities include their daily exercise, their daily meals, and their daily intake of the over-the-counter drugs that I send them from America. My grandfather has been taking Glucosamine to help with his arthritis, and my grandma has been taking the One-Source-brand multivitamins. Apparently, she does not like the Centrum-brand ones, which I thought were supposed to be the most prestigious multivitamin brand that one can buy over the counter. I seriously doubt of any profound effect these pills have on my grandparents’ rapidly declining health. However, at their age, I figure that anything to help them make believe is worth the effort

In reality, the rest of my family does not share my pain. They are there with my grandparents every step of the way. They grow with my grandparents. They gradually accept the sad fact that my grandparents are getting weaker and weaker, and will one day leave this earth for good. It is only I who has to deal. In my mind forever remains the image of my grandparents of 11 years ago. Yet each time I come home, they seem a world different. They are not my grandparents that I remember them to be, or want them to be. It is only reasonable that they have changed, because it has been 11 years. It is just that I have not been there to embrace that change. It is thus extremely difficult and painful for me to accept it.

My grandparents did not tell me, but I found out from my uncle that my grandma has just endured another mild stroke again, only a week before Lunar New Year. When I was 8 years old, my grandma under went a massive stroke. Everybody thought she was meant to die that day. Yet, she has managed to stay alive, 18 years later.

Last summer, she experienced the first return of a mild stroke. This is the second time, only 6 months after it.

I itch to come home again...

Thursday, February 15, 2007

Thursday Rant


What is it with men who turn me down for a date, then stay extra-nice to me afterward?

I asked you out. You rejected me. I am over it. Now GET OUT OF MY HAIR!

No, you don’t need to touch any part of my body when you talk to me.

No, you don’t need to tell me that I am sweet.

No, you don’t need to buy me coffee.

No, you don’t need to acknowledge my birthday and gather everybody to dinner for it.

Seriously, what do you want from me? I still talk to you. I still keep my professional ethics when working with you. I still help you whenever you need help.

If you think you might like me after all, then let’s talk. Else, LEAVE ME ALONE!

Frankly, I would rather if you are just an asshole to me, so that I can forget you that much faster.

P.S.

It is now 2300. It truly doesn't help that I have had to work with you for the last 3 days until 2 AM either. I find myself still caring about what I say in front of you, still trying to impress you, still going smitten over your beautiful eyes...(sigh)...

May Lord have mercy and help me get over this f*cker!!!

Tuesday, January 9, 2007

America and Tipping

I have lived in the United States for almost 11 years, and yet I still can’t remember all the rules for tipping here. If you don’t live in the United States, I can almost bet that you will be thrown off by the tipping “laws” of this country.

My new furniture was to be delivered to my new apartment today. Hurriedly leaving work so that I could wait for them for 2 hours (the deliver time frame was 2.5 hours), I forgot to bring my money with me. I could see the confused – like something-is-missing-here - from the eyes of the furniture deliverer. I was actually thankful that he didn’t give me the nasty glance. Yup, if anything is delivered to your house, expect to tip those guys on top of what you pay for the delivering charge. The tip depends on the price and size of your goods, and the delivery fee. In my case, it would have been around $10. It took them about 10 minutes to carry the furniture from the truck to my apartment. Heck, if I make $10 in 10 minutes, I would be a lot richer than I am now.

Whatever happened to the original idea of tipping – when and only when the service rises above your expectation? Nowadays, tipping in America is almost a must. If you don’t spare a few, or tens of dollars, look forward to the nasty looks and being cursed at.

You want to dine out? If your waiter does not even fill your water, expect to tip 10% of your total bill. If he does a decent job of serving you, expect to tip 20% of your total bill. Don’t get me wrong, you can walk away and not tip a penny. However if you ever toy with the idea of coming back to the restaurant, that would be a very dangerous idea. Why, you ask... How about the possibility of having your food being spit on the next time around? I am not saying that this is legal, and the restaurant might get shutdown if it’s discovered. But just the possibility, the thought – wouldn’t you want to fork out the money anyway?

You want to get a hair cut or a facial? Expect to tip 20% of your total bill too.

You want to take a taxi? Expect to tip 3% to 5% of your total bill. Don’t you think this is absurd? The taxi driver drives whether you are his passenger or not. That is his job! Perhaps you can tip him if he entertains you or does something extra at your request. However, it is rarely the case. I have run into a situation where the taxi driver wouldn’t leave because my friend didn’t tip him. Instead, he nagged and nagged until she reached into her pocket.

You want to take the shuttle from your hotel to the airport? Don’t even bother trying to carry your suitcases onto or off the bus. The driver will “volunteer” to help you. In fact, he will get to them so fast that you won’t even have a chance to carry your own suitcases, even if you want to. Expect to tip $1 per suitcase.

Your car gets stuck and you call a tow truck. Expect to tip $5 to $10. In snowy condition, expect to tip $10 to $20.

You visit a city and decide to take a guided tour? Plan to bring $5 to $10 with you for tipping.

Recently, I have also seen tipping jars popping up in fast food and drink shops, such as ice-cream shops, coffee shops, and sandwich shops. You know it – you want to tip them for making you coffee and mixing your ice-cream too.

If you don’t live in this country, you are probably in awe by now. You never imagine such thing is possible. Yup, the tipping industry in the United States is just as lucrative as any other industry. Plenty of people make a living on it. You probably wonder what’s next. Let me help you by poking into some future business opportunities. How about tipping a salesman for helping you selecting a purchase? How about tipping your mail men? your cashiers? your janitors? Heck, how about tipping your children’s teachers? They don’t earn that much more money than these guys. After all, they are providing you a service, aren’t they?

Frankly, I am sick of this overloaded, blatant, and shameless tipping culture. Yet I felt just as guilty as I let those guys drive off my apartment without giving them any extra money...

Sunday, January 7, 2007

Perhaps It's The Right Decision After All


While sorting through my emails, I found a letter I wrote to my best friend.


Colorado Springs
July 7th 2005

Dear Hong

I am still at the same weight. Perhaps I look a little skinnier because I got a good tan. The trip cost around $1500 per person for everything, including airfares. We did a lot of activities, including a 2-day rafting trip, jungle zip lining, horseback riding, kayaking, dolphin watching, and snorkeling. We stayed in cheaper hotels though, and we didn't eat too fancy either. The beach guys are sooo good looking. Did you notice the picture I took of the guy holding a surf board in Tamarindo? Yah, guys over there pretty much all look like that - toned, dark, and exotic. However Daniel certainly tops them all.

Daniel is God-forbidden gorgeous. I don't think nature can craft anything more perfect. He's got a hard-rock body, but it's not artificial like the gym production. It's just naturally toned and dark, and ridiculously good looking. He's got a really nice smile too. It's a very sexy smile. And the way he speaks English and Spanish is just soooo cute. I was definitely infatuated with him. He asked if [Name] and I were brother and sister, and of course I had to say no… In summary, he was stunning, and I could have gotten my hands on him (because he seemed to like me too), but I couldn't because I was with my boyfriend. I sound horrible, don't I?

After the rafting trip, I felt insecure about everything. I couldn't understand why I felt so strongly about Daniel, somebody that I didn't even know. I thought maybe [Name] was not the right one because why would I feel that way if he were the one... And then I just felt depressed, because my life is so boring and so settle-down, you know. All I do is working a boring job everyday, and paying bills, and worry about pensions, and health insurance, and all the shit that I don't care about. Now, marriage is on the table too. I just felt like I wasn't ready for all of that. I wanted to be free again, like when I was in Europe - traveling and no string attached.

But if I decide to do that, I would have to give up everything I already have here. After much thought, I decided that I didn’t want to give up all that, because I was scared that 10 years from now, I would be alone, regretting my decisions. So I will just continue to be here, and pay my bills, and do my boring job everyday, and save up money for retirement...which I know to a lot of people is a pretty good life.

So now, I just deal with it. Every time I look at Daniel's pictures, it still puts a smile on my face. Gosh he's so good looking, it's absurd... Of course he’s beautiful in my eyes; nobody else has to agree with me. And he has inspired me to pick up on my Spanish again. I plan to take Spanish again when I move back to Denver. I don't know when I can move back to Denver, but it will happen.

[Name] is talking about marriage... What do you think? He wants me to go to [Place] to meet his grandparents next year. It's more like his grandparents want to meet me because his grandpa is very old. They don't know how long he will last. I don't know what to think about marriage. It seems so soon, but everybody tells me it's the right time. And what about all these feelings I have for somebody I don't even know? I don't feel like I'm grown up yet.... Part of my brain is saying "Do it! Do it! He’ll make a good husband, and he loves you. It's time. Everybody else will be happy." The other part of my brain wants to rebel, "So what? Why won't you ever take risk? Why do you care what's going to happen in 10 years? Why are you so afraid? Why do you care so much about what others think about you and your life? You will always live a boring life… "

Right now the first part of my brain is winning. However I am worried that I will get married and the other part of my brain might one day take over, and I will hurt [Name].

By the way, my camera is an Olympus with 4-MegaPixel picture capability. I don't recommend it because the capture time is very slow. Notice on one picture, it was supposed to capture the dolphins, but it couldn't. Instead it captured half of a woman's fat ass. [Name] took the picture by the way.”

Sunday, November 5, 2006

I HATE DOCTORS


I pay health insurance every week. I haven’t been to the doctor for years. I hate seeing them. There has never been a pleasant experience. On my last visit, after having to wear a ridiculous paper outfit, pee in a cup, and be poked at, my doctor did not have anything special to tell me, which I guess is supposed to be a good thing. However when I asked him about my only known sickness, which was my unexplained and unexpected allergies, all he could tell me was to buy Flonase for my seasonal allergies. Pretty lame right? – The exact reason why I hate seeing doctors.

Well, I finally decided to get a physical checkup, telling myself that if I did not go, the insurance company would just eat away my money for no good reason. In addition, I’ve been dying to remove a wart on my hand, which no amount of over-the-counter wart-freeze could get rid of. Guess what? They canceled my appointment because I was 10 minutes late. The nurse told me that since I was already half-way through my appointment, they wouldn’t admit me anymore, which pretty much pissed me off to no end.

Have you ever wondered why you almost always have to wait at least 30 minutes, even if you are on time, for a 20-minute appointment?

Have you ever wondered why you are paying the doctor a ridiculous amount of money for a 20-minute appointment, which includes 15 minutes with the nurse, and 5 minutes with the doctor himself?

Have you ever wondered why they can cancel your appointment if you are 10 minutes late, and yet it’s OK for them to keep you waiting for 30 minutes?

Have you ever wondered why you can never make a doctor appointment on the weekend?

Have you ever wondered why you have to take all this crap from them AND pay a fortune for it? I certainly have. After all you are their customers, aren’t you?

What is this piece-of-crap, bureaucratic system that doctors operate in? I mean who do they think they are? PLEASE don’t tell me that it is because they are smart, since they have to go through 8 years of schooling. There are plenty of people I know who have enough schooling to earn them 2 PhDs and they are not pricks like these doctors. At least the specialized doctors - I respect. These general doctors do nothing. They send their nurses in to poke your body a few times to see if there is any lump or bump, take your blood and pee samples, and measure your blood pressure (which I could learn to do since I was 10 years old). Finally they show their face, look at your chart, say hello, and your appointment is over. If they find something wrong, they send you to a specialist. It’s not like they are responsible for your life-and-death or anything.

I know, I know, you are going to tell me that it’s because they are operating on a basis of need. You are their customers, but you NEED them. That’s why they get to be arrogant pricks and you get to be on your hands and knees as their customers. You are going to tell me that it is because a human live is precious and need to be protected at all cost! I say what a bunch of crap!!! There are 8 BILLION people on this planet – do you truly believe that ALL human lives are precious? We are the cause of acid rain, air pollution, global warming, hazardous waste, ozone depletion, smog, water pollution, rain forest destruction, and distinction of other species on this earth. Don’t you think that Mother Nature would desperately want to get rid of probably more than half of us by now? Yet she can’t. If she comes up with a stronger virus in hope to kill some of us off, we come up with the vaccine to beat it. Everyday we find ways to live longer and healthier. We breed and breed, consume and consume. Doctors are direct contribution to the destruction of earth caused by human. Without them, problems stated above perhaps would cease to exist.

With all that said, and now that I get to express my anger, doctors can do good thing. They can help make your pain go away. After all, what’s the point of living if you are to live in pain? However, a doctor’s office is a for-profit business and the patient is the customer. They need to treat their patient as their CUSTOMER and stop this bureaucracy crap.

Saturday, October 28, 2006

When Sally Meets Stanley

Sally likes Stanley….for reasons she’s not even sure of. He’s quite older than her, plain looking, and rather quiet. Maybe that is why she likes him - because he is so dull. Stanley’s world appears so simple. Sally’s world is ostentatious and complex…and just like that, he steals her attention.

Stanley likes to help Sally. Maybe Stanley really has a thing or two for Sally, because he is always there when she needs him. At first Sally feels guilty because it seems like she’s taking advantage of his kindness. Then something weird happens - Sally starts feeling different about Stanley. She is happy to have him around, and needing his help is almost an excuse to see Stanley. It makes Sally feel just as guilty, because she knows Stanley is married. She is too married.

Suddenly, Stanley stops showing up. Sally is even sad. She misses him. She misses his shyness. She misses his whispery voice. She thinks to herself, “I’m such an idiot! Why would he like me?” As time passes by, Sally starts forgetting about Stanley. Life goes on…

Then one day, Sally walks in, and there sits Stanley. Sally’s heart jumps with joy.
“Hi Stan!”
“Hey there you are!”
“Yes, I am on a different assignment now.”
“Will you be here forever?” asks Stanley.
“Probably not”, answers Sally, wondering why he said “forever.”

“What if Stanley actually likes me?...No, Who am I kidding?”, Sally convinces herself. She feels sad. It really doesn’t matter whether Stanley likes her or not. She can’t and won’t allow herself to do anything about it. Stanley is married, and so is she. But it doesn’t hurt to dream or to imagine, is it? Would that be considered cheating?

Friday, June 16, 2006

Who Am I?

The other day, I received an email from an old friend. We used to be roommate when I was studying abroad in Rome in 2003. Most friends I knew in Italy had social-science majors. Many were in Art History. Some even had majors that I only knew of when I met them, such as Musical Therapy and Party/Event Planning. We were the black cats among the crowd because I majored in Engineering, and she was in Accounting. Late-night talks making fun of the other majors were bonding sessions for us. Kim was lighthearted and adventurous. Her fun and loving personalities were contagious. We traveled many places together, got drunk together, and kissed strange Italian men together. There were many happy memories that I had with her.

After the semester ended, we parted. I came back to Colorado to finish my bachelor degree, and Kim returned to Michigan. It has been 3 years, and hearing from her again was delightful. Kim moved to New York to work for PricewaterhouseCooper after she received her CPA. She still travels frequently, and even got on Elimidate and won. But then she complained that she actually lost because “the guy was a dweeb with a huge zit on his forehead that she was dying to pop”. Kim is still the same person that I knew of, and certainly is still single and loving it.

I was envious of Kim for being so carefree and just doing whatever she wants. After college, I took a job, got engaged, made mortgage payments, and started living the “normal” life like everybody else around me. But many times, I question and doubt my decisions. Why did I take this safe route? Is it really what I want? I have come up with a zillion excuses for the decisions I make. It is the way I was brought up. It is the pressure from loved ones. It is that I owe too much to walk away. It is what God wants for me. And I have finally found the real answer. It is fear – fear that I will fail, fear that I will regret. It is fear that drives my life. It is fear that prevents me from finding myself, finding out who I am. Yet funny enough, I have already defined myself. Who I am is a product of my own fear…

"I dreamt I was a butterfly; now I am not sure if I am a man dreaming I was a butterfly or a butterfly dreaming I am a man."
- Chuang Tzu

Sunday, April 16, 2006

Vietnamese Americans

Though I am identified as a Vietnamese American, my situation is a little bit different from the rest of the Vietnamese community in the United States. Most Vietnamese migrated to the United States following the end of the Vietnam War after 1975. They are usually Southerners, thus speak Southern Vietnamese accent. Many are also Northern Vietnamese who moved to the South in 1954, the beginning of the civil war. They thus speak a Northern accent with a Southern influence. This is called the “54 Northern” accent.

I however migrated to the United States under a completely different circumstance from other Vietnamese Americans. I have lived in Hanoi for 15 years before moving to the United States. Certainly I speak perfect Northern Vietnamese accent, also called the “75 Northern” or the “Vietcong Northern” accent. Most Vietnamese who first meet me are amazed at my accent, cannot understand how a Northern person like me could have migrated to America. Many of them haven’t heard this accent for 30 years, because for that long, they have not once returned to their homeland. In their mind live on the vivid images of war and their hatred for the Communist government. 30 years have passed by, and many of them still think of Vietnam as a poor and uneducated country. On my first job as a waitress in a Vietnamese restaurant, the owner used to correct my language to use the Southern terms instead. She would tell me that Southerners were smarter and more educated; because the North was poor and Northern people could not afford a decent education. Tales such as all Northerners have black teeth because they smoke cheap cigarettes are circulated and told to the younger generation.

It seems that Vietnamese Americans refuse to believe that it has been 30 years, and things have changed, dramatically. They like to think of Vietnamese people who live in Vietnam as inferior to the Vietnamese who live in the United States. One of my friends’ professors, in a Vietnamese language course, told his students that Vietnamese who live in Vietnam only use simple words because the Communist government standardized the language in order to spread propaganda to all classes of citizens, including the uneducated peasants. She didn’t believe me when I told her that primary education in Vietnam does not only contain literature from the Communist period. We’re proud of our 4000-thousand-year history and learn literature from all periods, from the legend of the harmonious union of Lac Long Quan, King of the Sea, with Au Co, Princess of the Mountain, to “Truyen Kieu” from Nguyen Du, to the controversial-but-full-of-life poems from Ho Xuan Huong. I laugh at the idea that the 1 million Vietnamese here think that they speak better Vietnamese than the other 80 million in their own homeland. When the Vietnamese singers traveled to the United States to perform, Vietnamese in LosAngeles staged protests, reasoning that they brought to the United States communist propagandas and inferior language contained in their songs. They seem to fail to realize that Vietnamese artists, who live in Vietnam, write many of the songs that they sing. When Vietnamese Prime Minister, Phan Van Khai, visited the United States, they protested against human and religious right abuses in Vietnam. These same people also waved their Southern Vietnamese government flags on their roofs. Perhaps they forgot about the pro-Catholic Ngo Dinh Diem’s regime and his violations and abuses against the Buddhist religion. On June 11, 1963, Thich Quang Duc, a Buddhist monk from the Linh-Mu Pagoda in Hue, burned himself to death at a busy intersection in downtown Saigon to protest Diem’s policies toward Buddhist followers. Diem called it the “daily barbeque” in response to the self-immolation of the monks. These protesters are nothing but herd followers without knowledge to form their own opinions. They are hypocrites.

It is time to mend the wound that was created 30 years in the past. It is time to recognize that though there is still a lot of improvement to be made, Vietnam has changed for the better, and the government is taking steps to improve the lives of its citizens. It should not be a surprise when a job of a Vietnamese living in the United States is outsourced to a Vietnamese living in Vietnam, and it is happening sooner than many Vietnamese Americans realize – it is NOW.

Thursday, August 7, 2003

Depression

I have been back home for over 2 weeks now – and I have not accomplished anything. I have not found a job, nor have I found a place to stay. Dad doesn’t want me in their house. He doesn’t think it’s a good idea because they are used to the house being quiet. It’s hard calling him a father these days - what are the kind of parents who would not let their kid stay with them? It seems that he doesn’t want to have anything to do with me anymore. People enter your life with a purpose, and leave once it is accomplished. I guess his purpose with me is finished at this point. It’s only me who’s disillusioned because I expected more – I thought I would have a father for much longer than 7 years. The wise advice comes true - Don’t expect too much from life and you will never be disappointed.

So I am sticking around Jeff, doing nothing but sleeping, eating, and getting out to look for a job occasionally. It’s discouraging trying to look for a job only to get by. Even being a sale associate requires experience. I have never worked as a cashier…why would they want to hire me? Last night I was mad at Jeff, for he pointed out the fact that he was skeptical whether I can attain good grades in university this year. I know I was angry because he was telling the truth, which I myself have to battle. I am so uncertain about my ability to accomplish anything. I speak to others with confidence, showing that I am a tough woman who can do anything. But inside, my heart crumbles with fear and self-doubt.

Wednesday, July 23, 2003

Home. Finally.

I arrived at Denver last night. I was happy, because I was ready to return home. I never thought I would get sick of Europe and wanted to come home, but I did! I miss the little things about America, like how everything is so convenient all the time (i.e. supermarket opens 24/7). I actually do miss America, after being away for one year.

So I am home now, at my father's house. Things are going OK. I am a bit sad and depressed because I stay in my sister’s old room, and memories sprung back into life...how everything has changed so fast just for the last 2 years. The house's arrangement and furniture have changed totally. Every step reminds me of my mom and how it used to be. I felt like the house was a foreign land because I could not get comfortable with the new settings. I am afraid if I take something out of order, Camille would get irritated and uncomfortable. I didn't sleep last night because night in Colorado means morning in Europe. So I did things - listen to music, eating... and the noise and food flavors kept Camille awake all night. I didn't know that she was such a light sleeper. My sister and I used to create a catastrophe in the house during the night, and we never heard any complaint. So I was just led on to believe that the house was sound proof within walls.

There are my sister’s pictures and her belongings everywhere in the room. They all remind me of how she used to be here as well. I remember how dad used to be so good to us, because we were like his real kids. The purple painted wall, the furniture, her extensive collections of dolls, her stuffed animals – all reminded me of how he used to spoil her. How we used to be part of his life... But he got his new life now, and of course I better learn to get used to it.

As I started going through my things, my own memories came back. My diaries about him, still here, the chocolate he sent me for Valentine, the computerized pictures he emailed me, all the little things... They reminded me of how much I loved him and was crazy about him only to find out a year later that I had been so deluded and naive.

I guessed I have really escaped everything by being in Europe. Nothing could remind me of any sad memories that I had. I was alone in a new place. Now it's time to return and face the real music...

I plan to stay with dad and Camille for my last year in university because I don't know if I will make enough money to pay for a car, housing, and food at the same time. That means commuting to school everyday, but I thought it's achievable. I haven't told dad my plan yet. I will see how he reacts to it. If it makes him uncomfortable, then I won't live in his house. I do understand that he now is occupied with his new life and his new plans. It's hard to have to include me in it again.

This is the moment when I am so weak emotionally, because I feel total loneliness, with nobody by my side. But no worry - I am a strong woman. I can be on my own. I will be all right. It only takes time.

Friday, February 14, 2003

The First Month In Rome


John Cabot University is where I study abroad in Rome, Italy. It is an interesting stroll from my apartment to the school. Walk a few hundred meters and I pass by my favorite little coffee shop for breakfast. I always get the chocolate or crème croissant and a cappuccino. The owner already recognizes my face and usually greets me with a smile, “Buon Giorno! Come stai?” After breakfast, I meander through a few small streets, and arrive at the Piazza San Piedro. I always stop for a moment in front of the Basilica di San Piedro. Its magnificence makes me feel small and helpless. I swallow my tears and keep on walking. I stream along the Fiume Tevere, drenched with pain, like somebody has just punched my stomach. I miss him...

I have thought of nothing but him since I’ve been here. I remember my last moment with him at the airport. He asked me if I thought we would last. My sad eyes looked at him, “I don’t know.” I knew this would be the last time we were together as a couple. I brought with me my journal and my letter to give to him, as a closure of our relationship. I had kept this journal since the day I fell in love with him. Every moment that I missed him for we were thousands of miles apart, all the times that he made me laugh and cry... I had second thoughts, “Should I give him the letter? Maybe I should give us a second try... No, I need to be strong! This has to be the end!” It was my perfect love, but it wasn’t his. I wasn’t the right person for him; I was too ugly for his friends and not good enough for his family. He had abandoned me before, and I could not let that happen to me again. I whispered in my head the song of Leann Rimes, “Shame on you if you fool me once, shame on me if you fool me twice...Life goes on...” I kissed him and walked toward the security checkpoint. Tears streamed down my face.

It was the longest flight of my life. From Sydney I flew to Tokyo and spent the night in Tokyo. I checked into my hotel in Narita International Airport and turned on the TV all night. I couldn’t let myself alone with my thoughts... The second flight finally got me from Tokyo to Rome. The university’s chauffeur took me and some other students to our apartments. I was the first one to check into my apartment. Exhausted, I fell into bed and passed out. I woke up at 4 AM, and my first thought was him. I cried again... Whoever said it's better to have loved and lost must had never loved at all.

I finally reach the Trastevere district, where the university is located. Another day has begun...