Veganised Happiness Risotto (adapted from Nigella's Happiness Soup)

This is my favourite easy winter meal. I had it for dinner tonight, and there is more than enough leftover for tomorrow. I think it would serve 3 people, or 2 people like me. It is warm and delicious and the yellow cheers me up on rainy days. This recipe was adapted from a soup recipe with chicken stock, but it is delicious this way. A little less vegetable stock makes a lovely vegan risotto instead, that is also a one-pot-meal.

1 cup short grain rice - or whatever, I think risotto rice works best
2 zucchini - yellow ones, if you have, but green ones will do
stock -  I used one cube of Oxo vegetarian stock, or use equivalent
1 lemon - zest and juice
pepper
olive oil

Chop zucchini into whatever shape you fancy. Gently fry in olive oil until soft. Add generous amount of water. Add stock and lemon zest.

When the mixture has boiled, add rice. Stir and cook until soft (~20 min). Add water as needed.

When a good consistency is reached, add lemon juice to taste.

Serve with freshly ground pepper, a drizzle of olive oil and a lemon wedge.

Does anyone else have a easy wintery recipe for me to try? I am always scouring the internet for good ones.

Snuggling up with risotto and Firefly,

KK.

Saturday Morning Media Watch: the North Korean Edition

Like the freaking Titanic.

The Weekend Herald, whose bones I pick the most because it is a Saturday tradition of mine, has an article in the World section: Grimness in the details of life in North Korea. Pictures by AP and written by David McNeil from the Independent.

The article itself points to “soldiers [who look] shrunken in their oversized hats” and concludes that the “country’s best-fed men seem to be the two who dominate”. These are the only gendered reference in the article about the people in North Korea.

I do not even bat an eye at these things normally. Gendered pronouns are a battlefield, and I am a veteran. There was a study (citation forthcoming) that showed that when people read male pronouns, even if they mean it as a universal one, they imagine male people with their mind’s eye.

Perhaps the soldiers were the most poignant to the said journo, which I understand. They are the arms of the state, especially for states like North Korea. But the conclusion about “men” was annoying.

What made it so conspicuous for me were the photographs. Whilst the article did not mention women and children, the pictures did. In fact, it was only women and children in the pictures. It was a mixture of a cool, rational appeal mano-a-mano in words, with emotive appeal to “save the women and children” in pictures.

Men are the subjects, women are objects.

So what I want to know now is: who chooses these pictures? I imagine some poor person in deep dungeons under the Herald building choosing pictures from a massive AP database. Or the dungeons of the Independent building. Whatever.

And they want to help. Why else go into journalism? These are honourable people, who want to change the world. They choose pictures that will appeal to us. They imagine that when we see the pictures of women and children, we will rise up in our rage and demand change. And we do.

Poverty and war affects women and children differently to how they affect men. They suffer the consequences of actions initiated and perpetuated by men.

But we know better. A solution will never be good enough if it is only thought of by men. Women are not just the problem, we are part of the solution.  And we are powerful.

Rawr,
KK.

Space Politics

I wish I was writing about gender politics of Alpha Centauri too. Alas. (Read Contact by Carl Sagan. Or The Sparrow by Mary Doria Russel. Or watch Firefly.)

Instead, I am hailing from Womenspace! It is totally a rad place, with a microwave and a kettle and Kalashnikovs. What? For the revolution, of course! It is really a not-so-secret terrorist cell. We do all the things that some boys fantasize that we do here. We have pillow fights and naked mud wrestling, which we actually secretly like. We talk about the inadequacies of the penis. We say penis a lot. We have wild lesbian sex, and some of our best biologistas are working on how to procreate without the penis. After we sate ourselves with our Sapphic love, we oil our Kalashnikovs and organise the revolution, which, by the way, is immanent. We may keep Ryan Gosling as a pet.

Not really. It is so sad that that is what some people think we do here. Mostly we go about our lives, reading or eating lunch, feeling just a little bit safer. There are no Schrodinger’s Rapists here. I know that men are actually in more mortal danger in public spaces, but women are more likely to imprison ourselves. We have been warned over and over again how we are always, always in danger. But our brave sisters venture out into the world every day to do what needs doing. But some of us need respite.

For now, we need Womenspace. We freaking need it.

There is no Menspace. People grumble about this. I personally do not think that there should be one, and here is why.

We already have Menspace. Actually, we are up to our necks in it. Really, everywhere is Menspace. Everywhere, sexist messages pervade our very pores. In public and private spaces. In schools and in our homes. In our brains and our hearts.

I have a Doctor friend, and she is such an awesome woman. She told me that when she started her training, there were only two changing rooms: the doctors’ and the nurses’. Because, you know, all doctors were male and all nurses were female. She said that this made for some awkward moments, but overall she was glad. She too could partake in the jocular bonding rituals, however gross they may have been. Women desperately need this kind of “relationship capital” for their careers.

I miss Allie MacBeal, and the unisex bathroom where everything important on the show actually happened. This is my vision of Utopia.

One day, women and men will both utilise the same space, and feel completely safe doing so. Actually and within their hearts. And we will all be friends, laa laa laa.

Laaing again (Do you really want me to stop?),

KK.

The Ivory Tower

at boundmaus.wordpress.com
My other home! With the amazing, lovely people who I can't remember whether they want to remain anonymous or not.

Kill All Men

Er, no thank you. As they say, some of my best friends are men. Nevertheless, this seems to be the imagery that some people associate with when it comes to feminism. I read an article in the Business Herald today (OMG, why?) about compulsory quotas in boardrooms. As I understand it, there are some countries, Norway for one, that enforce by law that a certain proportion of executives be female. None of these laws dictate that this proportion should be over 50%. But the picture that the Herald put in with the article…

A woman trampling men. To death. Excuse moi? What is happening here?

Just so we are clear, I do NOT want to kill all men, nor do I want to kill any man. Yes, feminist sci-fi writers have dabbled with this idea, but only as a thought experiment: What would the world look like if there were no men? Tragically, fantastically beautiful, according to some. Most interesting read, but hardly a political polemic, and certainly not a reality.

The article argued that it had been proven that quotas do not benefit the economy – some study had shown 18% decrease in worth, which I cannot begin to decipher. It does go on to show barriers that keep women from fulfilling their potential, such as their lack of confidence and shy use of “relationship capital”. But I cannot help but think that this is a ruthlessly economic view of the world. Certainly, economic interests are of the same tapestry as social interests. But what of the humanitarian interests? Surely, this should weigh as much as, or even more than, the economic ones.

I like to think of men and women coming together in boardrooms all over the world to co-operate. Is this not what they are meant to do anyway? Work together to earn profit for the companies and shareholders? What is their job if it is not this?

What it is not is a war of the sexes. What it is certainly not is a war of the sexes that women are winning. Women still get paid less than men, men still far outnumber women in executive positions. So why the hate? Make love, not war, people. We have been through this already.

Reading is Fun,

KK.

What I did in the last five years since my last major depressive episode

Made myself and everyone else around me miserable. Failed lots of papers at University. Made money, then spent it.

What a waste. I am sooo glad I am on antidepressants now. I have not been this happy or productive since 2004.

Dinner is not barter system for sex, it is dinner.

Just in case you were wondering.

This is why I have always gone Dutch. I am proud to say that I owe my ex not a cent. More than one person has said that this makes me a fool. What was the point of having sex and doing housework if I did not get something out of it? Fact: I enjoy sex. Fact: I did no more housework than my ex (less, if you believe in the mythology). A commentator has once mentioned, quite intending to be helpful (to me) I am sure, that my ex should “propose to that girl, she will do more housework for you.” Really. I would be so moved with gratitude that I would become commit my life to servitude. If wishes were fishes…

It is reality, however, that men do earn more than women. My ex has always made more money than me. Per hour, I should add. For some of the time, I did make more money overall, but only because I worked so many more hours than he. The present job market favours men, as well as masculine skills. So in this social climate, is it not correct that the man pay more than the woman in heterosexual relationships?

Maybe they should. I am reluctant, but I am willing to admit that there are good arguments for and against this. What it should never, ever, represent is a barter system for sex. No one, no man nor woman, should pressure sex as a payment for dinner paid. There is a clear delineation between economics of the thing, and the sexual aspect. These should not be confused with one another, or let it meld into one.

I personally believe in discussing sex before it happens. What it means to you might not mean what it means to them. If there is open communication, presumably there will be fewer disappointments down the road. Talk to your partners and potential partners about money and about sex.

So, um, does anybody want to buy me dinner? I would like that a lot.

$$$,

KK.

Intrepid Job Hunting Tips for Immigrants and Racial Minorities

You find yourself job hunting once more! Your mad skillz and fantastic personality are in the market, awaiting some lucky bugger to hire you. Hooray! Well done, this is the first step. You DO have a lot to offer the world.

There are especial challenges that face immigrants and racial minorities when it comes to job hunting, and everyone needs to know. It might not be YOU yourself that is preventing you from gainful employment, but how others might perceive you.

If any part of your name sounds "foreign", like mine does, please include in your cover letter or CV that YES, YOU CAN INDEED SPEAK ENGLISH (if you can). This might be obvious to you, and to everyone that you have actually spoken to, but it is not obvious to everyone. You do not have to say it outright, I normally say that I have "excellent communication skills". (I normally wink as I write this.)

I have heard from an ex-flatmate of mine that some companies simply throw away CVs from people with "foreign" names (hers did), so maybe even invest in a pseudonym. They are fun to make! I usually use my English name on CVs. This is not the bad kind of lying! Employers have as much to gain as you from hiring a competent worker. Do not let their prejudice stop you, it might even be subliminal!

Finding referees who speak English might be hard. Many of your influential and respected contacts may be reluctant to speak English to potential employers. This sucks, but that doe not mean at all that no one else would speak for you! Perhaps you need to broaden your approach. Ask a friend, or a lecturer, or a tutor, or your high school teacher! They are mostly understanding, especially if you explain the situation.

Always, but especially for us, double check cover letter or CV for spelling or grammatical mistakes. Yes, you should do this anyway, but if people suspect that your English is your second language, some might read more into it than they should. A typo for you might be bad English for some.

Does anyone else have anything else to add?

Good luck, and show 'em how awesome you truly are!

Hugs,
KK.

I am one crazy biatch.

Really.

Some of you might know, I have been diagnosed with clinical depression. I am even on antidepressants. And they are, probably literally for me, a life saver. I am a non-functioning human being without them. Sure, I might have breathed, eaten (far too much), slept (also far too much) and occasionally showered once in a while (far too infrequently), but I could do very little otherwise. I did not perceive that I would be happy again, I simply could not imagine that this was even possible. The rare happy thoughts I had was imagining I was someone else entirely. I was in the proverbial deep end, doggy paddling for my life.

So here is a question that  Peter D. Kramer asks in his book, Against Depression (2005): would you, if you could, cure everyone in the world of clinical depression? I stress that we are talking about clinical depression, not depression. Kramer accepts, and I too agree, that sadness is a crucial part of the human condition. I would even venture to say a productive one at that.

You might be surprised to know that lots of people would not. Kramer states that depression is associated with creativity in this culture, much like how TB was associated with a sort of fatal romanticism in the past. Many of our favourite artists and writers and thinkers have suffered from clinical depression, and some have even succumbed to it in suicide. Especially women writers, like Sylvia Plath, Virginia Woolf, Audre Lorde (attempted suicide in this case), and many others besides. They have become tragic heroines, and somehow their deaths have become inexorably linked with their work.

My personal experience tells me that I could not possibly be writing, indeed writing this this very moment (scary thought, yes? ;-)), without the benefit of antidepressants. I believe that these great women writers were only able to write those great works of literature when they had a temporary quiescence from their illness. Illness is an illness, whether it is in the mind or the body. And illness by definition is debilitating. People's experiences of depression may inform their work and compel them to have more compassion, but I maintain that the work itself cannot be a product of depression.

But I also suspect that depression is a product of the social condition, much like how sick building syndrome is a product of a sick building. For many, depression and clinical depression, is a response to social injustice. This is perhaps why there are so many women writers with clinical depression relative to their male counterparts. The little Marxist in me fears that antidepressants are the "opium of the masses", like how Marx thought that religion was for the proletariat class. Depression, then, is perhaps an accurate symptom of a sick society, and something on which the impetus for change can be born.

I think that in reality, depression must be a mixture of these two perspectives. Personally? I would be rid of clinical depression, not just for myself but for all the people in all the worlds, if only I could. And if this is to be possible at all, there must be less injustice and inequality, and we would all be more productive and have more fruitful lives.

What do you think? Would you do the same as me? If not, why? And is anyone offended I called myself crazy? I apologise in advance if I did. I am trying to reclaim the word crazy, but I am not sure yet whether this is a worthy cause at all. La dee dah.

Asian Undercover! or, How I became an Unwilling Sleuth

Hello dear Readers! I have a confession to make: I eavesdrop. I am a flaming, flagrant eavesdropper. Besides it being a questionable habit, it is quite fascinating what people say in public if they think no one can understand them.

I do not go around creepily sneaking up to people in public to hear what they are saying, no. (I would not admit to this even if I did. Ehem. Okay, there were these girls, one time last week, but anthropologically speaking, they were unbelievably stupid.)

I merely look Chinese, according to some. I am not, I am Korean racially, and mostly Kiwi ethnically. It is an easy mistake to make, and I personally do not have the talent for differentiating between different kinds of Asians on sight. Unfortunately for some, this means that people do not always expect me to understand (albeit rudimentary) Korean.

So sometimes, quite unexpectedly, people say things that they do not intend for me to understand. It is sometimes people speaking in English, who maybe thought that I could not. But by far more often, it is other Korean people, thinking that I am not.

One memorable time, I was in a crowd with one of my best friends, who is South African New Zealander. There was some uncomfortable shuffling, and by complete accident, my friend bumped into someone. That person did not say anything in English, but under her breath, called my friend ugly. She is most definitely not, and a wonderful person besides. I caught it, and, er, suffice to say, I won.

Other times, people are speaking in Korean for privacy. I find this quite tricky to manage. What is one to do? By the time I realise that I am hearing something that I should not, it is maybe too late to move away abruptly without these people realising, much to their dismay, that I understood. And for frankly racist reasons, this also embarrasses some people when they find out they have made a mistake. But I also know that I do not have the right to sit there and listen gleefully with morbid curiosity. It is tempting sometimes, and honestly, if you want things to remain private, why not find an actual private place to talk?

Does this happen to anyone else? Tell me, the gossip monger in me wants to know. The juicier and gorier the better.

Sometimes a very bad girl indeed,
KK.

The Church of Feminist Orthodoxy

Hello, my name is KK, and I (drumroll, please) am a feminist.

Have you said this to anyone? Or have you had someone say this to you? It is quite interesting to me how people respond to feminists, and I would love to hear your experiences. Surprisingly (to me, anyway), most people seem to backpedal. To these people, I tell them that they are feminists too, but they just do not know how to say it. There are many, many different kinds of feminism, but I would assume that most people today in NZ do believe that a sane, adult women should be able to have a bank account without her husband's consent, for example. After that, it is all a matter of degrees. I think that maybe people secretly think that only crony witches and butch lesbians can be feminists. Well, my darlings, THAT IS NOT TRUE. (VOTE NOW: if it is, which one am I? *Wink wink.*)

But I can understand, in a way. A writer (I forget her name, which is terrible of me - if anyone knows, please tell me so I can credit her as is her due) posed an interesting thought experiment. I am sorry that this is highly prejudiced, but it works for me because of my own personal prejudices, and I imagine that would ring true to many of you too. This is the thought experiment: imagine that your partner came home one day, and without any warning, said to you, "Honey, I've decided to become a Jehovah's Witness". If you are not a Jehovah's Witness and is in fact an agnostic (or simply not Christian) like myself, you might feel confused and afraid. I would be. I would not know how much this would change my relationship with that person. Would this newly found but profound belief make this person like me less? It might. Would I have to guard myself against proselytising? I would. Would I now not say things that I normally would as not to offend? I would.

It is a perilous thing, telling people what you believe in. Especially if there is a name to it; naming gives the thing a power and a boundary. No one knows where this boundary lies exactly, and crossing it can seem treacherous. And I can understand the fear. I used to be a member of the "I'm not feminist, but..." school of feminism myself. But part of becoming a self-identified feminist is to navigate this boundary land, and also to realise that this boundary is blurry and numerous.

Being a feminist is a big part of my identity. To me, being a feminist is even more important than being a woman and an immigrant. It is who I am, rather than what I am. It is a definition of how I think and act, transcendent of biology and personal history. I hold it close to my heart.

Yet, I am still scared. I imagine this great big Church of Feminist Orthodoxy (it is a tall ivory castle with mysteriously red-robed figures peaking out the towers in my mind). And there are these Feminist Police (they are scary but glamourous women in leather corsets, with whips) who will one day round me up, chuck me in a carriage (pulled by My Little Ponies, who seem sinister in their impossible cheeriness), and there will be a Great Feminist Inquisition. And they will find me wanting, because I know I am not a perfect feminist and I know I am wrong sometimes (really, most times), and chuck me unceremoniously into a den of wolves, or even worse, Furbies (they will have sharp little teeth, as well as cameras, and my ugly demise will be twittered live, to be dissected on Facebook later). The sisters of FP will brush their meticulously manicured hands (like how my hands never are, however I might try), and say, "Good riddance for bad rubbish" and fly away laughing, glistening in the sun on their magnificent ponies.

You know what? This is actually not going to happen. It is not going to happen to me, and it is not going to happen to YOU, my dears. Yes, people are going to disagree, maybe even viciously. But in truth, they can be, and are, as wrong as you and me. And still more will respect you for your courage. And who knows? Maybe you will change your ideas, refine it, grow a little more, and be a better person for it.

I am saying all this to encourage other burgeoning feminists, to express themselves. Because we need you. I need you. Feminism is not some dusty fact of past history, and it is not just an academic study. It is a movement that concerns each and every one of us in the world, and it is a necessity. There are so many things to be done. So. Many. Just look around, and pick and choose. So fly, fly my lovelies, and be the change that you want to see in the world (hee, always wanted to quote that - I know it is unavoidably wanky, but frak it, I like it).

And also a word to established feminists out there: play nice. And be kind. And understanding. Nurture us, we are more friends than foe. Because love is more powerful than hate, and it will only make us stronger.

With love,
KK.

PS. This is also a shameless plug for someone, anyone, to read my blog other than my two wonderful friends, and comment on or to contribute to it.

Positive Feminism, Positive PMSing

So there are these people selling milk to save men from women suffering from PMS. (http://feministing.com/2011/07/13/five-ways-to-get-calcium-without-supporting-sexist-milk-ads/). Poor, helpless laddies. My heart goes out to them... NOT!

What. The. Frak?


I have a confession...

The main symptom of my PMS is that I feel really, really good. I am a morose lump of couch potato most days, but right before my period, I kick the ass out of life. Kapow! I do banking! Peow peow! I eat vegetables! VRRRRRRRRRRRM! I CLEAN ALL ZEE THINGS!!!!11

I understand that PMS is horrible for some women. But I know that I am not alone. My informal, anecdotal survey of half a dozen women suggest that PMS can definitely have positive side effects for some. This phenomenon is certainly more common than is portrayed in the media (which is zilch). Which begs the question: why is it not? Am I the crazy one with crazy friends?

The Got Milk? campaign posits that calcium alleviates the symptoms of PMS. It says that we should drink milk. Not because it alleviates the sometimes debilitating symptoms of PMS for women, but because it is annoying for men when women are in pain. And not only is PMS annoying for men, women also become irrational. (One advertisement reads: "I'm sorry I listened to what you said not what you meant.")


I propose that there are two intertwining issues at work here.

One, women do not have control over their own bodies.

I read somewhere (this is good research, yes?) that women were not even allowed to interact with men when they were menstruating some place, some time (please, if you do know what the heck I am talking about, let me know so I can reference this properly)(hint hint nudge nudge, Tove). This is how men dealt with it then. But even in modern societies, with dual income households and more nuanced pomo sexism, it is still useful to have ideologies that give men control over women's bodies.

The picture that Got Milk? campaign draws is one in which men are both the ultimate sufferers and saviours of and from PMS. Women are emotional and irrational, and men are here to save the day. With milk. Which is ever so ironic.

I know that the Got Milk? campaign is not some evil masterplan for men to control women's bodies, but I also know that little bit by little bit, the media is saturated with such messages. And the conspiracy theorist in me truly believes that the subtlety and the sheer volume of these messages is what makes them so dangerous. I believe that these subliminal forces make both men and women doubt women to make the right choices for their own bodies, and, by extension, for others. It takes only sliver of doubt to baby her when she has PMS, to pass her for promotion, to not believe her when she is raped, to not give her custody of her child, to not vote for her in government...


Two, women's bodies are inherently wrong.

PMS is a serious and recognised medical condition. But not for everyone. And, as I described above, clearly not for me, and probably not for vast majority of women. Otherwise, it would not be classified as a disease. We do not say that out legs are diseased when they are reasonably sore after exercise, for example. It is only a part of a natural processes of muscle growth. By claiming that all women suffer from PMS, the media is not making a PSA for the sake of women. On the contrary, it is demeaning to women who actually suffer from PMS, which is (I repeat) a real, serious and recognised medical condition.

There is a tendency to distrust women's bodies, even if they are not diseased. Several years ago, there was a furor over the tragic deaths of Chinese babies who were poisoned by a faulty batch of Nestle baby formula. Their parents (apologies, I almost wrote "mothers" there) were lead to believe that baby formula was cleaner, more scientific, and simply better than breastmilk, and their babies died.

History has shown that we cannot take whatever crap media say about women's bodies for granted. I know my own body, if no one else's, and I refuse to blindly trust  in something simply because it started with, "Studies have shown...." Did this study include a good representation of women, including women who did not suffer negatively from PMS? Was it a blind or double blind trial, or mere statistical correlation? Were the symptoms tested objectively or were they self-reported? Were there sufficient participants for statistical significance, and were the results repeated? Is there a good scientific explanation to directly connect calcium intake with hormones or other processes that affect PMS?

Feminism have come a long way, and my foremothers have armed me with science, and you betcha I am going to use it. KAPOW! KK out.

Hinky Kindness of Strangers

I was knee deep in bureaucracy today. I think there is much to be said about comparing bureaucracy to guerrilla warfare. In both, one is fighting against massive, oppressing, dominant force. Exaggeration? Well, I did have nearly two hours of standing in line today, so I had a lot of time to ponder imaginatively. I basically had to argue that a computer record was wrong, which incited interesting responses. I discovered that everyone I talked to today in official capacity defaulted into trusting a computer more than a person. Even I thought I was confused for a while, but thankfully I had kept a record of it with a date stamp so I will just have to wait and see...

But today was also a testament of kindness of strangers, and, of course, of friends. I could not have gotten through today without it. One instance of it was quite interesting, and relates to race, so I thought I would share it here.

I went to see a lecturer to say hello, and to ask about a paper she is teaching this semester. She was incredibly lovely and welcoming, even though it was a spur of the moment visit. A couple of things bothered me though, and I am now bothered that I was bothered about it too.

She said she welcomed "all perspectives from different cultures" and asked "how to pronounce my name". I was sorry to inform her that despite my Asian appearance, I mostly grew up in NZ. And I was raised Christian even in Korea, where 18.3% and 10.9% of the population are Protestants and Catholics respectively (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/South_korea#Religion). And I have a very common English name. So common I almost always had someone who had the same name in class always. And I should know too - this is a sore subject for me, and I still want to change my name to something a little more interesting.

This is by far not the first time these things have happened to me. And no, I do not have a Korean accent, and my spoken English is very good. I may have a slight American accent, from having American English teachers in my early childhood education and from watching far too much telly. I am rather proud of my English. I tell as many people as I have the opportunity to, and then some (I am sorry friends), that I was second best in English when I graduated high school, and that my best friend, also a Korean Kiwi, received a prize for being the best. Please feel free to tell this story as many people as you can muster. And then tell them again. ;-P I am quite proud, especially considering I failed English four years prior.

In one particularly memorable class, "my people" were welcomed as well as my own meagre self. Allegedly, I was the first Korean person to take this class, and I was the only Korean person in the class. I felt like a pioneer. It cheered me up, to tell you the truth. I felt like a fraud too. I felt like I should go to a Convention for Koreans and tell them that we were all welcome to take this class. I could get up on stage, and address a club that belonged to fifty million people, and say, "just so you know, our people are welcome to this class now, in case you were wondering".

I find all of these instances endearing. There are so many other times when people are actually being racist and horrible. But I wondered, how do other people feel about it? It is alienating as well as welcoming. As I said in a previous post, I am sometimes surprised that I am not white in a room full of white people. If I do not notice it, why do they? Am I doing something wrong? I fear that these acts of kindness also delineate me as "the other". And believe you me, I do not want to be "the other" all the frakking time.

I have this recurring thought experiment: for some crazy reason, I have won a gold Olympic medal for god knows what sport. Say synchronised swimming, just for the hilarity of it. And there, on the podium, I have to choose whether I accept the medal for NZ or Korea. And you know what? I would always choose NZ.

Korean Baby! Squee!

http://jezebel.com/5820098/baby-takes-the-cutest-shortest-naps

You. Must. Watch. It is redonculously cute. Also because I had a very dear friend in highschool who said she could not imagine cute Asian babies. Hey, hold the hate! Not her fault! She just never met any. So watch the video, damnit. Becasue I said so.

Asian Sterotype Saturday Morning Post: Good at Maths?

I am in my mid-twenties and I do not think that I will ever find out whether I am good at maths. Did this happen to anyone else?


In a overly generalised, probably not-completely-true account (that I, er, pieced together from hearsay and my ass), Korea and New Zealand have very different approaches to education. In Korea, pre-university education is, in a way, tougher than university education, and in NZ, it is the other way around. Also, education is more punitive in Korea, whereas NZ stresses positive reinforcement. I can only venture that Korea may be this way due to extremely limited placements available in universities in Korea, perhaps due to some combination of poorer economy and overpopulation.

So when I came to NZ as a little girl, I was praised for my mad maths skills. It was slightly more advanced than my new classmates'. I was hardly going to be praised for my English, was I? This baffled and thrilled me. Dadadadadadada Maths GURL! (Please cue in batman theme.) In my previous life, I was terrible at maths, much to my mother's disappointment. Indeed, I thought I was rather good at English, my favourite subject at school: I had even won a couple of prizes in English. But here, this identity turned upside down.

With my teachers' encouragement, I went on to study maths and sciences primarily throughout my highschool education, and only found my passion for words again later.  I realise now, regardless of whether I am actually good at maths or not, I have yet to gain pleasure from maths itself. It is, I am awfully sorry to say, boring. But, like anyone else, I am addicted to praise.

It was hard to find passion in words again, but I was undeniably drawn to it. I always loved reading, and learned, over time, to love reading in English. And now it is the best thing in my life, hands down. I have since gained immeasurable pleasure from reading in English. Reading is the one and true love of my life, sometimes reading books in English that I have previously read in Korean translation for the different taste of it, and othertimes simply reading my favourites over and over again just for the sheer loveliness of it.

But I did very poorly in English, History and Social Sciences at school. I clearly did not seem like the kind of girl who could excel in these subjects, even though, I daresay, I was better than averagely competent. Some people assumed things when they saw my Asian cover. I remember being talked to very loudly very slowly a lot, which infuriated me. Some of my teachers caught on, but others never found the opportunity. And there were the substitute teachers, and every new teacher in every new year was another person who I had to convince. I was, from time to time, also put in ESL program, based on extremely limited tests such as, "How many words can you think of in one minute?", and pulled out of regular English classes. I do not think it was racism per say, or if it was it was positive discrimination: these people were overzealous in trying to help.

With maths and sciences, it was the opposite. It may have been the composite effect of my Asian appearance, glasses and braces. (Ah, that kid, you say.) I was expertly and positively pushed into these fields of study. I did well in them, but I had the distinct benefit of people expecting it from me. And it was a pleasure too, to be good at something, and for people to expect you to be good at it. It was always a positive reinforcement, a cycle of encouragement and achievement. And I am very grateful. I very much doubt I would be equally competent at the limited maths skills I do have if I had stayed in Korea.

And I am, in fact, overall extremely grateful for the education I received in the public school system in NZ. I had so many wonderful teachers in both fields of my education, and very few who gave into their prejudices in the long run. But it made a sort of impression in me, one that was perhaps inaccurate. I am a bit suspicious by nature, so now I am also wondering whether I chose to study arts instead of science as a kind of rebellion.

This is only one version of truth. What do you think? And to fellow immigrants, had something like this ever happened to you? I would love to know.

Bridesmaids

IS it a feminist movie? And why am I asking?

I know there has been some hoohaa about it being a landmark film, a rare feminist comedy. But is it beside the point? Just because women are in it, or made it, should we scrutinise it through a feminist lens?

It seems excessive to me. Hardly all movies or television must jump through this extra hoop, but women in media seem to. Women in media generally, and comedy more specifically, have already surpassed expectations by succeeding in a male-dominated field. Sure, we celebrate them for that. But we also demand they be feminist. We hardly ever seem to demand this of their male counterparts.

So this occurs to me: by being feminists, are feminist women and men actually restricting other women rather than helping them? Feminism, no matter what its naysayers might say, is not just about women. It is a study of gender, not women. Excuse my stating the obvious, but if there were no men, there would be no women to speak of. Obviously (I am truly apologetic; forgive me). As obvious as this may be, I think we forget sometimes. Men, as well as women, are subjects of study. There is a reason for the departure from women's studies to gender studies. I think that this distinction helps to avoid blaming the victims of sexism, and correctly identifies that men are also victims of their own gender.

Bridesmaids is just another funny movie. Personally, I found it only an okay-ish movie. I laughed at some of the jokes, but by far less than all of them. I would hardly recommend it to anyone, except for the fact that it is made by and portrays women in comedy; a true rarity. It was definitely refreshing to see a comedy movie with women focus without it being a romantic comedy. Although there is romance in it, it is not the central plot in the movie. I see it as a comedy, not romantic comedy. (Anyone disagree? I would be interested in knowing why.) For this reason alone I would recommend it.

Clearly, even though I am uncomfortable with the feminism test of this movie, I am also partaking in it. Is there a good reason to hold women to a higher standard? It does seem more cannibalistic when women betray other women. And in a way, perhaps it is setting a better standard for women. A better standard, as biased as it may be, is a better standard, after all. I want to see more realistic portrayals of women in media. I want little girls and boys to see it. Women are not just bodies, and objects of the male gaze, as they are so often portrayed. I just wish that more men in media also feel compelled to pass the feminism test too.

I am, however, sure of one thing in this rambling, no point, blah blah of mine. We should support women in arts to overcome the gender barriers, and hold the media to a higher standard. What do you think?

UPDATE: this post seems redundant. Watch Miss Representation, directed by Jennifer Siebel Newsom, screening this year at the New Zealand International Film Festival.

OMFG I'm not white!

Hi,

Anyone else surprised that they are not white? I am racially Korean, but I grew up in New Zealand, mostly. Technically my mother tongue is Korean, but I cannot even hold a conversation in it anymore. I think and dream in English. And I do not get Korean jokes, which I take to be the ultimate test of cultural integration (assimilation?). In conclusion: I am racially Korean, but ethnically Pakeha. Being in New Zealand, I am sometimes in a room where I am the only person who is not Caucasian. And sometimes, suddenly, it hits me: I am not white! One of these things are not the same as the other! It comes to me as an actual surprise. And when I look in a mirror, I think that my aesthetic appeal is that I am exotic.

I think it is funny. But I am worried. It is sort of like... Fat is a Feminist Issue (Susie Orbach) meets Asian Mystique (Sheridan Prasso). (Btw, this makes me think of Alien vs. Predator for some reason. But instead of Alien and Predator, it is a fat white woman and a skinny Asian woman. Which is so wrong, and I am so sorry. Please, God, do not turn that into a movie. And please, please, do not turn it into a porn movie.)

Orbach says that women do not embody their body truly. Women believe that there is a skinny person inside their body, and that is who they are, trapped inside their faulty, larger body. Prasso shows that Asian women are fetishised as "exotic orientals", especially by white men. This fuels the terrible and tragic sex industry in many Asian countries that carries on to other countries by underground sex slave trade.

Do I consider myself as a white woman trapped inside an Asian woman's body? And from a white person's perspective, do stereotype my own body as exotic and "oriental"?

I am bombarded every day by the media that the norm and the ideal of womanhood is white. This is also true in Korean media, in which beauty products are often modeled by Caucasian models, Korean models with European features are considered more beautiful (e.g. see epicanthoplasty: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Epicanthoplasty) and whitening creams are still sold.

What do you think? Who am I? Am I in Freaky Freaky Friday Redux?

The Rule

There is only one rule for this blog. Actually there are two. One: only positive posts. Two: my mother can never, ever find out. I have been having a bad week, but this?

This makes me smile:
http://www.buzzfeed.com/daves4/little-boy-gives-an-epic-inspirational-speech-afte

I Heart Drugs

Hi.

I am KK, and I take antidepressants.

This is the second time I've been on antidepressants in my life. The first time, I felt like a failure. I took them for a few weeks, and just stopped. I read that the benefits of antidepressants were similar to having a good diet and exercise routine. A psychiatrist I knew socially, who did not know my situation, told me that although she believed in antidepressants as a professional, she would never put her own children on them. My boyfriend at the time told me that in controlled trials, people did better on placebo. I felt stupid and weak.

I am not a scientist, or a researcher. A am not saying that antidepressants are beneficial for everyone. What I am saying is that I chose not to take medication that my doctor prescribed to me for a serious condition that was debilitating to my professional and personal life because of taboos surrounding mental illness. People were telling me, even a psychiatrist, that I should just try harder.

Mental illness is a real disease. Mental illness is a real disease.

So, I HEART DRUGS. My drugs make me able to live my life. Reader, please support people who are taking drugs for mental illness. Do not make them feel guilty or silly, because it might really, really be helping them.

Go hug somebody.

Role Models

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dHZR9iS8a-U&feature=player_embedded

Girls rock.

I am a glass-half-empty kind of gal, and things have not been shiny lately. But even now I am grateful. I have supportive, patient, fabulous women in my life. Thank you ladies.

Kiora

So I might be fond of alliteration.