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.
Friday, 22 July 2011
Wednesday, 20 July 2011
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.
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.
Tuesday, 19 July 2011
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.
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.
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.
Monday, 18 July 2011
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.
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.
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.
Friday, 15 July 2011
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.
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)