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It’s Over(Sort of)

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Ain’t no party like an end of semester party because end of semester party involves alot of stress relief.

The last day of classes was Wednesday and with it came a feeling of elation(did I use that word correctly?) as I submitted my research paper on Moodle. My planner, though still looking disorganized, had alot more blank spaces (see what I did there?) to be filled with a study schedule.

To be honest I had completely forgotten that Mistletoast (one of the end of the semester festivities) was happening. So, as I was leaving the SUB (that one food place) with my drunken noodles in hand I got swept into a winter wonderland. A bit like The Nutcracker if you put in acapella groups, a glorious chocolate fountain, and swing dancing. And minus the rats and the handsome Nutcracker doll. This tends to happen to me alot; I forget an event is happening and end up attending or participating in it.

After all the bonding I have done with my textbooks and BlueJ(the code compiler we use in computer science) it was nice to talk to people. Sometimes I forget how nice it is just to get out and socialize.

Then after I had my fill of the chocolate fountain I went for a celebration breakfast with a friend on Thursday morning (wow, I am such a party animal). After much deliberation we had decided on Knapp’s since we hadn’t eaten there before and it felt closer to us than the diners on 6th ave. There’s no better way to celebrate than with food after all.

Then that evening I went to my first holiday party ever. The thing is my family doesn’t celebrate the holidays. To us it’s just winter with alot of sales. I was talking to one of the new sociology professors, who is also Vietnamese, about how awkward this can be when considering to give family members a gift or not. The party was the International Political Economy , Economics, and Sociology office party. After getting lost and finding the wrong house, I finally ended up where I was supposed to be.

It was honestly strange and awkward since I was the first work-study student to arrive. So, I wasn’t sure how to mingle. Which resulted in me eating some delicious baked goods until I struck conversation with one of my old professors. I think my favorite part of this whole holiday experiencing was talking to my professors and hearing their thoughts and opinions on classwork, tests, reading period, etc. It’s always interesting to me because before you go to college it seems as though there are two types of professors; the eccentric ones who slept in their offices and go on rants. And the ones that are strict and cold-hearted. And, the concept of a normal professor does exist. What I’m trying to say is that it’s just fun to pick their brains.

Now that all the celebrations are over, it’s time to bingewatch Supernatural and spend some quality time with my flashcards.

It’s THAT Time of Year Again

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No not the holiday season, not those all-nighters and all-dayers in the library but…..

the mass consumption and buying of food with all our dining dollars before the semester is over!

For some reason although we have the option to chose how big or small we want our meal plan and adjust our dining dollars spending there are still hoards of people with so much money at the end of the semester they buy drinks in bulk, buy everyone in Diversions a muffin or 10 pizzas in one night! Now I need to admit, I too have a bunch of extra dining dollars at the end of the semester, but I’m on the lightest meal plan and I still reasonably did not use up all my dining dollars. I ate my three meals a day, 7 days a week but I did consistently use my Cellar staff points to buy food as well (hey I worked for it, why not!) To get rid of some of them I asked some family to come in and eat on me, and I’ve bought meals for some of my male teammates. Let me to you, no matter what male athletes usually on the mega meal-plan have already refilled their dining dollars multiple times AND they never have enough dining dollars at the end of the semester!

However a little known tidbit is that all students can carry over 25 DINING DOLLARS to the next semester from the fall! That’s great! Except most people have way more than that so they need to buy a bunch of items anyway. It makes working at the Cellar during this time of year a little crazy. Yesterday was the first day of reading period and as a student-run operation we were only open 6-midnight to give us workers study time too! But when we opened at 6, the floodgates opened! There was always for the entire time until the end of my shift at 8:30 at LEAST five people in line, and the phone was ringing off the hook so often! I was in the back with my friend Mel and we just made pizza all the way through that shift, no breaks, refilling topics, grabbing more dough, don’t stop can’t stop!

Reflections: On Ferguson… and My History

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Since the Ferguson decision, I have been reflecting on how deeply systemic racism has affected my own life, and it’s been a mourning process.

This might sound silly to some,  but I’ve woken up on early mornings angry and sick to my stomach asking myself, what are the forces that led me to come to the United States, to learn the white man’s ways, and think in my colonizer’s language? Why did I have to come here to gain the skills and knowledge that I need, in order to try to make some small social change in the Philippines in the future? I didn’t have to come back to the land of my birth, but I’m glad that I decided to. 

In Chile I studied the history of Spanish colonization and pre-colombian art and culture in Latin America, from which I gained an appreciation of Andean indigenous cultures and learned how European invasion has not allowed these cultures to fully express themselves, and still continues with the marginalization and exploitation of these indigenous groups.  For the first time I have imagined somewhere down the line, my own indigenous ancestors from the archipelago the Spaniards named ‘Las islas Filipinas’ in honor of King Felipe II  and how the Spaniards upon seeing them saw them as savages to “civilize.” I have thought about my great grandfather, a campesino from Asturias in Northern Spain who arrived in the Philippines in 1898, the connections between this and how growing up “mestiza” and comparably lighter-skinned in the Philippines, I benefited and still continue to benefit from a form of “white privilege” when I return. I have reflected on memories of my experiences with racism, traveling in Europe, living in Spain and being mistaken for a prostitute one time, how I came to be born in the United States and live here to receive what is considered a world-class education, only to put my trust under the nation that colonized “where I’m really from” for years and turned us into “Brown Americans” who continue to be a part of this system and this cycle of migration to the global hegemon that this country is. 

Race is just a social construct and being perceived as ‘ethnically ambiguous’ to many, I have come to understand how it is so fluid but feels so real. It’s crazy to think that since European expansion, this global white supremacist patriarchal system (excluding was originally designed to oppress me,  a ‘mixed-race’, filipino, woman of color of ‘American” citizenship (hahahahas). Regardless of this, I must say that I am so, so very privileged. There are so many great things about being an American.

I have hope that, and know that here, we are very gradually decolonizing our minds and our environments. There are movements to undo this  ’empire’ mentality of the past. This week, through the events I described in my previous post and my conversations with others, I have been able to envision the dream of an “America” that is truly multicultural. Where diversity is not only tolerated but celebrated. Where we speak Spanish and aren’t afraid to invade peoples’ personal space bubbles with hugs and besitos (jajaj!).  We should look forward to a ‘Brown America,’  – on an individual and on an institutional level. It’s difficult. We’re still figuring it out and I it isn’t easy, and it’s much more complicated than that (but I won’t go into detail). I am proud to be an ‘American,’ but I hope that one day I will genuinely be able to call myself an American. I hope that day comes before 2042.

In the process of reconciling with one’s ancestors while ending the semester, one should just refocus and enjoy a funny youtube music video about how the indigenous chief of the island where you grew up on killed  Ferdinand Magellan.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jO5SsP_f7iA

Humanity has a long way to go.

 

 

The Last (Poetry) Hurrah at a Very Hipster Coffee Shop

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I blinked. The lights, compared to the rest of the dimly lit café, were blinding. The microphone hovered a good seven-eight-maybe-nine inches above my head. I tugged it down, and it fell off the stand.

“Oh boy,” I said, into the microphone. My voice echoed throughout the café. The laughter, though, was encouraging and I smiled.

“Hello,” I said, “I’m Rachel, and this poem is called ‘the butterfly effect’.”

If you have been following along with my life, or if you have read my bio at the bottom of this page, you may be wondering about now just what a politics major and a French minor is doing at a poetry reading. The answer: I wanted to. I dabble in poetry and creative writing, and I have been taking advantage of the classes offered at the school. The reading in question was the capstone, the last hurrah, etc. of my introduction to poetry class. After weeks of poem-writing and poem-reading and poem-teaching, we all piled into cars and drove to B Sharp Coffee House, in downtown Tacoma.

What followed next is hard to explain. I have issues with things like “reading poems dramatically” and “bearing my heart and soul to anyone, let alone a bunch of classmates and my professor and some servers.” My hands were literally shaking for most of the evening.

But as I listened to my classmates read poems entitled “Good Morning!” and “Fireworks” and “Hypnagogic” and, my personal favorite, “Is This What Growing Up Feels Like?”—which incidentally made me be like “I feel that” on every line—something my professor said returned to haunt me. He said that our class had been one of the most enthusiastic and hard-working classes he had had the privilege of teaching.

He also said "I'm in a silly mood tonight" and "Stop laughing at my grandmother" tonight.

He also said “I’m in a silly mood tonight” and “Stop laughing at my grandmother” while reading his own poetry.

I heard and saw that enthusiasm and work in each poem. There is something incredibly amazing that happens when words work together—and I half-closed my eyes and listened.

By the time it was my turn, I had lost track of the order of the evening. I munched on pizza/flatbread Greek-inspired food and stared blankly at a doppio, which, despite sounding like a normal double shot of espresso, is a coffee that really should come with an instruction manual.

“Oh,” I said, “It’s my turn.”

I read two poems. One, “the butterfly effect,” I will reprint in its entirety here. It’s because I love you (and also because my other poem, “Let Me Tell You What I Know of Love,” is much much longer).

the butterfly effect

wings like an egg’s yolk

tremble, and under the rain,

your skin melts.

i read once that when

you stroke the wing

of a butterfly,

the delicate crescents of

your fingers shivering,

it cannot fly again. i lean

close to your silver warmth.

my eyelashes brush

against your cheek, and i

wonder if this kiss,

like the rain clouds drowning

the sun, will ruin you.

[pause for raucous applause and/or snaps]

When I got back to my seat, I was smiling. Flushed with success. Mostly, I was proud of myself. I had done something that I had never done before, something that scared me, and I had succeeded.

Snowshoeing Is Actually Work

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Snowshoeing is hard work. You do not just magically glide over the snow; that would be downhill skiing. I learned this as I was hiking up Mount Rainier, looking out at the smooth white mountains and wondering if my lungs were about to deflate like balloons. I had gone into it thinking it would be fairly easy; I’d sweat a little but I wouldn’t pant or anything. Turns out I did plenty of panting.

This was my first time snowshoeing and I went with Puget Sound Outdoors. We’d spent the morning driving through the kind of towns that were mainly gas stations with maybe a couple of trailers thrown in. The radio stations had a disproportionate amount of Spanish and Jesus rock. It was hazy but the sun was sort of shinning. In Washington in December, a sort of shinning sun counts as a clear blue sky. So it was a gorgeous day.

We stopped at the visitor center and ate some soup, bread, and some “ruggedly mature” cheese; that label got made fun of a lot. Originally, we had some of our soup in wine bottles to transport it better. Also, we were pulling it on a sled and sledding wasn’t allowed. Combine that with about ten college kids who may or may not be twenty one, and we got a visit from the ranger. She walked over, asked us a few questions, and looked at us semi-sternly. To her we probably seemed like paper work waiting to happen.

When we finally ended our hike my lungs were about to mutiny, but it was worth it. There was that rush of endorphins that comes after a workout. The view was spectacular. The sky was dark gray and sunset came early. The trees looked like they came from a holiday post card. Also, those of us who brought Gatorade poured it on the snow and made snow cones with it. I just ate a lot of snow. It’s surprisingly good, cool and clear with just the right amount of crunch. You should try it sometime.

 

Intersectionality: On Ferguson, Immigration, Activism, and Poetry

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Since the Ferguson decision came out, there has been an endless series of events occurring that have made me more and more cynical by the day…

  • The 150th anniversary of the Sand Creek Massacre, gone unacknowledged by our government
  • Important but insufficient executive action on immigration reform
  • The 43 disappeared students of Iguala, Mexico
  • Michael Brown, Tamir Rice, Eric Garner, Darrien Hunt, and countless others unjustly murdered by the police with lack of accountability
  • Police brutality and incarceration of protestors

We can’t breathe.

The intersectionality…discrimination, systemic institutional racism, lack of government accountability, the silencing of history, the militarization of the police, how some people profit off of other people’s misery, and how we’re all a part of this system, ayyyy diosssss!  And how every day it is perpetuated and deeply affects lives…. Though we are outraged by a corrupt system and the miscarriage of justice, we are inspired by the protest and solidarity from around the world to bring and end to this madness.

Last week at Puget Sound was an exciting time of celebrating diversity and bringing marginalized voices to the forefront on campus. Through these events I’ve been able to articulate feelings and thoughts I have always had but never knew how to express:

Undocumented Hondureño poet Fernando Fortín’s inspiring poetics on the social dynamics of being a dishwasher, black/brown relations, cynicism, racial discrimination, but also with a vision of hope.

A group of students including myself organized a panel called “Our Own Backyard: Tacoma’s Role in Perpetuating Injustice Against Immigrants” with Professor Oriel Siu’s talk about the ongoing history of racialized deportation and the disposability of lives of people of color, and undocumented activist Maru Mora Villalpando’s talk on social organizing inside and around the Northwest Detention Center (located just 15 minutes from this school). We lit candles to remember the connections among the tragic occurrences listed above. We will continue to work with Maru to bring attention to the issue of immigration and the Northwest Detention Center.

Kwanza, where we celebrated African heritage, shared delicious food, and honored the black men whose lives were ruthlessly taken away from us by police brutality.

“Slam Night for Social Justice, Identity, and Power”, where brave minority students performed their poetry and prose. I read a poem written by Fernando about Central American children who cross the border, a prose piece by a Native American on the isolation of ‘American’ society that I found on a Facebook page called ‘Ancestral Pride’, and a poem that I wrote myself inspired by the documentary “The Color of Fear.”

The trans south Asian art and activist collaboration ‘Dark Matter’ did a show on campus. Comprised of Janani Balasubramanian and Alok Vaid-Menon, they use poetry and art for “gender self(ie) determination, racial justice, and movement building” They are AMAZING!  Watch them on youtube!

These events were so inspiring, enlightening, enriching, and have come at a time when ‘America’ has woken up to where our country is at with regards to achieving ‘liberty and justice’ for ALL . I hope that as a community we continue to work together and not allow the energy to die out. We won’t. To let that happen would be a tragedy.

I have been trying to be understand why others make no effort to engage and learn about the world they are a part of, and much more about something that is happening right under their noses and affects the lives of people they may know and may care about. Maybe they just don’t understand it.  I can understand why people choose to ignore these things. It is easy to live within one’s privilege and be content with the status quo. Caring about these things can be emotionally consuming, time-consuming…and can get in the way of your progress over finals week… We all have priorities and responsibilities. 

But apathy and silencing are political tactics. There’s no way we can make a change unless we gather, in numbers.

 

Realization

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I’m walking down the pathway to Collins Memorial Library. The sun is shining down on the obelisk before me, causing its marble to glisten. The trees ruffle their leaves; a wind sends them to and fro. It’s quiet out. People walk in various directions, off to Todd field or to North Quad. They go their solitary ways. And I am alone.

Suddenly, the court awakens into life. I hear the chirping of the birds from deep in the trees. Their song barely reaches me, but once I hear it, it doesn’t leave me.

The trees, too, come alive, slow dancing to the ballad of the birds. They throw leaves into the air, which float to the ground, sweeping back and forth like kites on the wind. The light and the shadows of their lush caps dance among themselves. The one seems to say to the other, “I wouldn’t be here without you.”

I look down to the ground, where, lining the path I walk along, countless blades of grass rise and bow. I watch them bend forward and straighten, only to kiss the ground with their tips again. Beads of dew crown some of them.

I reach the steps of the library. But before I open the large wooden doors, I turn around and look back at the world through which I have come. The court is empty, as it was when I entered. But where I thought I was alone, I see that I am not. The court is teeming with life of all kinds.

I realize then that people, despite what their circumstances might tell them, are never alone. There is as much life in the empty places as in a crowded room. All I needed was to be alone to see all the things that I had missed. I saw the revelry of the trees to a song of love sung by the birds. I saw the communion between light and shadow, and the religious bowing of the spears. I saw what many who have walked that path missed or have taken for granted.

I walked through the double doors into the library, and wondered how much of life I had missed.

Cycle mania!

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From the parking lot next to Weyerhaeuser to the shed behind the Expeditionary, from sunny afternoons in Wright Park to muddy fields in the town of Everett, U of Puget Sound bicycling enthusiasts have been on the prowl this semester.  It’s no surprise that there would be bike-lovers among the student body, but of course most of them are still doing their own thing, not yet drawn under the cradling wing of the sinister BIKE COLLECTIVE.

I’ve seen a little of what goes on behind the closed doors and makes the group rides, race outings, and bike polo nights come to be.  You see, I’ve lived with enthusiasts of the two-wheeled trade since my sophomore year here, and been privy to many a conversation about “oh hey we really need to get a bike club/cycling team/riding together club up and going.”  There have been a few variations on these clubs, but wrangling cyclists into organized activity is harder than it looks.

Luckily, there is more to this story than just bicycles and clubs and pipe dreams.  It’s also my little chance to step up to this little podium and spout out some love for someone I admire on campus, my friend and housemate Graham Robinson.  This is a person who was living in a house with a bunch of flighty traveler types, who all individually decided to study abroad in the spring of our junior year.  Graham was going to go abroad as well, and when that fell through for him, I was disappointed and sad on his behalf because hey, what a missed opportunity.  I’m sure he was disappointed as well, but he shrugged and said he’d have the chance to work on some projects back here in Tacoma.

And he really did.  By the time his housemates returned from the far corners of the earth, without the words to do our experiences justice but flowing with stories anyway, he had started up group rides, gotten into collegiate racing, taken over as the coordinator (read: master and commander) of the bike shop on campus, and now even has a sweet little email interface at his disposal to spread the word about all things bicycle-related, from Casual Cruisers rides to mountain bike rack availability.  He even got me hitting a miniature soccer ball around a parking lot with a homemade mallet.

To top off this guy’s bike and organizational skills, he’s got an iphone with some filters he knows how to slap on, so here are a few shots he took of one of the first polo sessions, to remind us all of the joys of summertime and making dreams come true.

image(2) photo-3 image-2 Polo 1

Post-Thanksgiving Pep Talk

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There are two weeks left until finals week.

I discovered this lying face down on my couch at home, my stomach extended several feet beyond and many pounds beyond its normal capacity, bloated on turkey and cranberry sauce and pie.

It was not a particularly pleasant revelation—only because I felt like where did that time go, and is this the effect of marathoning Parks and Recreation and Criminal Minds at the same time, and oh dear that is a lot of 5000 word essays in not a lot of time, and what the heck am I buying people for the non-denominational winter holidays, and the hobbit movie comes out really really soon and everyone will die, and maybe I should pick my poems for that poetry reading I’m going to. In other words, I felt a little bit shocked by the sudden rush of everything I have left to do.

But it also has a sense of a deep breath, right before one jumps into the very icy waters of Puget Sound, or outside into the iced-over grounds of the University of Puget Sound—I know it is going to hurt, but I also know that, on some level, it will be worth it.

And it is not like I am not prepared, either—these two (ish) weeks are what I have been working towards for most of the semester, and I know what I am doing, and I am capable of dealing with it. Like I know what policy options are available in the Middle East-North Africa region, and I can write a grand strategy paper on that, and I can tell you the themes of Amélie and Mon meilleur ami for my French film class, and I already have half of my paper on governance and state-building written. It’s all up in my head, and I know how to work it.

Basically, this here is my pep talk to myself. I have been alternating between stress, anger, and emotional repression for the better part of three months, due to myriad personal and political issues including but not limited to a very nasty break-up, the new Exodus movie, the dehumanization of black lives in Ferguson and throughout the United States, and the recurrence of depression, anxiety, and PTSD among everyone I know. I’m definitely not saying that any of these situations have improved, but at this point, at least I am capable of dealing with it.

(I am not, however, capable of dealing with the next hobbit movie and the farewell to Middle Earth without falling apart, but that is because I am a giant nerd.)

Blackout

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Disclaimer: This article conveys the thoughts and observations of myself, the writer, and does not reflect the views of the Communications Department or University of Puget Sound.

When the news broke last Monday that the grand jury decided that there was NOT probable cause to indict someone, Darren Wilson, for a crime (of shooting and killing of Michael Brown), our campus was not silent. As many of the nation, our students spoke out on social media about our confusion, sadness, anger, and wealth of emotions we felt. And the welcoming and interest in the ethics of justice, equality, safety and security arose from this incident in our community is so good to see. UPS students care and we want to make it known our feelings and are taking steps to help each other be educated and act on our beliefs.

While I know that the grand jury did not and cannot judge if Michael Brown deserves justice and could only sift through all the evidence and testimonies to determine if there is probably cause to to indict someone to a crime, which the grand jury decided there was not. This doesn’t mean that other actions can’t be taken, another grand jury could be called to reconvene or a federal criminal trial could be brought on the charges of Darren Wilson violating Michael Brown’s constitutional rights. I think it’s hard to know what actually happened on that fateful day but one thing I think is clear, all people matter. Every American deserves the opportunity towards their American Dream to be treated with respect and prove their worth before being judged based on their appearance alone, and for that reason I #wishforjustice and believe #blacklivesmatter.

On December 1, 2014 one week after the grand jury announced there will be no indictment of Darren Wilson for the shooting of Michael Brown, the students, faculty and staff of the University of Puget Sound wore black to signify our commitment to dismantling institutional racism in our country. We stand together in solidarity as we mourn the death of Michael Brown and demonstrate our frustration with the recent grand jury decision. The UPS Black Student Union has committed to a series of peaceful protests to ensure that we continue the conversation on the implications that this tragedy has on our campus, community, and country. Please join this act of solidarity wherever you are located and whoever you are.

-Black Student Union, Black Out Event description shared on Facebook

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