The Situation

Today is a historic occasion, and even though I had not blogged in a long while, I am obligated as a blogger to write. It is an implicit principle that all bloggers, big and small, must diligently come out of the hiatus-holes, if only for one day, to land fingers on keys and leave their mark on the days that will remain forever significant in history. For a week, our ‘robost’ Capitalistic economy was betting on a 700 billion dollar bail-out plan, and today, our Congress gave it the finger.

So why did things fall apart? I mean, shouldn’t Congress just take the word of our wise President and forget all the deliberations? Why can’t  Congress decide already? Actually, I don’t blame the Congress–they really are in a tight spot. On the one hand, if they don’t get this fat cat passed along quickly enough and the economy really does crash and burn as Paulson and Bush claims, well then not only will the members be forever portrayed as villains in all successive history textbooks of the United States, they will be put out of their political positions in the blink of an eye–not to mention they will also be personally screwed, not only at home, but also when they look for another job, as they walk down the streets, etc.  On the other hand, if the economy doesn’t jump up and sing as it is expected to after it is given it’s 700 billion dollar zing…well, that’s 700 hundred billion dollars you’re sending out of the taxpayer’s pockets and down the drain. You can bet that if the expedited deal doesn’t work out, a lot of people are going to be pissed at those who passed it. Not to mention, November is just right around the corner, and the politicians need to seriously consider whether or not they want to tick off their constituents at this crucial time.

So in conclusion, the situation calls for immediate action, otherwise the nation risks economic disaster. Yet immediate action may not always be well planned out, and with the politics and economics tugging and pulling in the house, the end result may not always be ideal. So act too slowly, collapse. Act too quickly, fail. If I were sandwhitched in the middle between these two forces, I would be gridlocked too. Now that I  expressed some of my thoughts on this historical occaions in which the first round of negotiations has fallen apart, I have done my part as a blogger. I shall now wait for history to take its course. Our parting will not be long: in few days, something will happen, and I will be called to duty once again.

Aria to a whip

It’s been a long time since I last blogged. I state the obvious, and I state it with a mix of  embarassment and nonchalance. Let’s just say the blog was a whip: it whipped me in shape in the slumberly days of summer and kept my feet marching with the pace of my other peers who are immersing themselves in internships and research projects over the summer. Yes, it whipped me good, kept me in line. But now, I have a much more formiddable disciplinary machine to reckon with, one that is constantly standing over my shoulder, wide-mouthed and bare fanged, waiting for the moment I slack to give me a swift bite in the butt. Such is the disciplinary machine that is the educational system: merciless, inhuman, raw–it has a taste for blood.

And now, I return to this humble whip, fondling its hilt, smelling the slightly cracked leather that has gone old with time, remembering the good old times. It was easier back then, just the whip and myself, even though it seemed tough at the time. The academic machine has seriously upped its intensity lately, with suped up claws and an upgraded v8 engine that downs multiple shots of hard petroleum like it was child play. Yes, I return to the whip in tattered clothes, ruffled hair, and a face marked by age. The whip still cracks when I strike it against the ground, but already after a few swings I could see it give off dandruff and weeze out dust. How glorious it was back in its prime! It had the color of a strong stallion, the force of a swinging hammer, the agility of a flailing monkey! But now, two months into its conception, it is already puckering! Fie! Fie!

Walkin like a San Franciscan

Today was the Chinese Moon Festival Holiday, and to celebrate, I decided to walk away from two essays and a quiz in the horizon to find some chill time in San Francisco. China town was my first destination, but as much as I wanted to visit good old Chinatown on feet, I didn’t really expect to walk around there for as long as I did today. Being there and dawdling around instead of merely passing by on a bus really makes a difference. I poked my head into a few stores here and there and talked with a few pedestrians, and by the time I was walking from Chinatown, I realized that it wasn’t like the stereotypical San Fran Chinatown I have read about in my “cultural literature” in school. In fact, it was very, very different.

The book-concieved Chinatown has a snappy feel to it, a certain jiggle and a funny gait that gave it a chinky Chinese Panda-expressive feel. For some reason, a Chinatown thus conceived actually had a “feel” to it, a taste, if you will, that is uncanny like raw soysause and crusty like a fortune cookie. The real Chinatown, on the other hand, was not as hip and certainly not as exotic. Walking around the way I did today gave me some perspective into my prejudice of what SF Chinatown was versus what it actually is. Without its mythic shroud painted by the Chinese literature in school, old Chinatown upclose had a kinky, hybrid urban-rural feel to it that kept it raw and interesting. Sure, all the expected elements  to the Chinatown-impression were in place (cheap goods with quickly slapped on price labels, bamboo furniture, jade and other precious stones, little bakeries, random outbursts of broken, accented English, etc) but either way, it felt more complex and vibrant than the simplified far-out orientalism depicted by books.

The other characteristic I found to be interesting for the day was the bus; in particular, the speed of the bus: it’s slow. I used to rely on the bus as I traversed the unknown streets of San Fran, but since the time my friend took me on a 3 day excursion around the city with an improvised iteniary, I got to know the streets. So when I realized upon arriving at the bus stop that I had to wait 14 minutes before the next bus would arrive, I said “Heck no man, I’m walkin’.” So I walked, but I kept near the edge of the sidewalk along the bus stops in case a bus outpaced me so I could run up to catch it. I walked for a good 30 minutes and got to my destination–without the bus ever catching up to me! Now, I was really surprised by that since I natually expected the automobile with four wheels and good jug of gas to beat a little man with a pair of Saconi running shoes (I wasn’t running, by the way). It didn’t.

So I tried it again when I was back at Berkeley: instead of waiting for the bus, I walked. Although the bus finally caught up to me this time, I was actually one block away from my apartment when it did. So I drew a conclusion: not only does traveling by bus take money, it is hardly as exciting, physical, or proactive as walking. Sometimes in life, I may know of an opportunity that may be coming, an opportunity that may take some time and some money. Yet instead of waiting for such an opportunity like a dote head, I should take the initiative and just walk forward. Walking is more tiring, yes, but it is also more rewarding as I get to see the people, smell the air, and pass by store fronts I may want to visit one day. It is a much more engaging experience, and it isn’t even that demanding or time/money consuming. It just takes the initiative ot walk.

Building Efficiency

Getting three assignments done in a row is one of the best feelings in the world. Your head feels kind of woozly and then you kind of run out of things to say on a blog. One thing that I learned is that efficincy is a muscle that can only be trained when it is properly fed with nutrients. In other words, it is a  two part process:

First, it must be trained. In other words, a person has to make a decision to be efficient in everything that is done, or at least try to find a way to be efficient. That may sound boring at first, but this definition of being efficient is extended to everything. So having fun, playing the guitar, drawing, writing a blog, reading a book, etc. All of these, both fun and “unfun” matters, should be done with efficiency to up the muscle factor in the mind. The archnemisis of this nightmare is half-baked, lame committment. Nothing is worse at atrophying the muscle than that.

The second component is the proper nutrients. The body must be well rested, there should be enough water, food, etc. If the machine doesn’t even function well in the first place, the motor will run but the gears will move with effort and the process will be cacophonous. Also, a slow machine won’t function upon command, and that also breaks down of the habit of building strong muscles for efficiency.

Getting Up

A list of what could and can’t get me up in the morning:

Games: Maybe. But I don’t play games anymore, so that’s not an option.

Reading: Depends on the kind of book and how far I am. Hand me a reference book or some other nonfiction and I’ll be asking for a shot of latte and Red Bull mixed in one. Haven’t read for leisure in a while, and reading non-fiction is quite trying and toilsome. In general though, it seems Chinese novels have stronger caffeine content than English novels.

Job: Most definitely (Toco Madera).

Exciting Project: What? Sleep on an exciting project?! I think that’s the one thing that could get me out and pumping with adrenaline: my own project. But then defining this project often becomes quite an issue.

Anime: It did, and it probably still can, but I won’t let it.

Special Events: I definitely enjoy special events such as community service, annual fairs, opening ceremonies, retreats–whatever, you name it.

So what was the point of compiling the pathetic list? Yesterday night, I heard from a speaker who talked about the importance of knowing who you are and finding a passion. The key, she said, was to determine what got you up in the morning.

Conclusion: It seems that being a man of letters is not my particular passion, at least for the non-fiction aspect of it. Books require a sort of engagement I find to be harder to be immersed in than just talking. If I had the choice of learning from a book or debating with a friend or talking with a teacher, I would stuff the book under the sofa and jump in on the discussions. Of course, what is written also seems to be more “polished” and “sophisticated”, but many times, I find that a good amount of letters clustered together tend to be soporific. But then again, that may just be due to a lack of sleep.

So what was the point of such a pathetic list?

Hiatus on the Horizon

Recently, I have begun to find that the courses I am currently taking in college to be somewhat pushy and over demanding. It has got to the point in which trying to maintain a blog on a daily basis is a little out of reach, as one may have noticed since I have not blogged for the past few days. There have been many experiences happening lately worthy of being blogged about; unfortunately, the blog is now in competition with the College Writing class, and in the tug-of-war of “who gets to have Michael’s writing time”, it appears that the class is pulling a little harder. I, too, feel sorry for my blog. He has just barely come out of the womb and now he is facing an ominous future looking like arrested development—all because of the bald hunk behind the monitor can’t manage his time well enough to give time to both writing endeavers. Fie! Fie!

I’m Cheating

That’s right, I’m being lazy and posting my response paper for my Chinese class instead of actual blogging. Go ahead, sue me

In politics, the typical response to “virtue” (more familiarly known to be “morality” in the west) is one of great ambivalence. For one thing, morality in politics is all too often converted into a tool for power. Additionally, the definition of being ‘moral’ is different for every individual, and defining these standards becomes a confusing game of semantics. Given this context, it was hard for me not to be surprised to learn that in ancient China, virtue is not only considered a personal character value, but actually an integral part of the political system.

The concept of virtue in politics was present even in the very early legends of Chinese history. According to the Bamboo Annals, the first ‘sage king’, or Yellow Emperor Xuanyuan, ruled with virtue and brought not only peace to the people, but ‘auspicious signs’, including the visit of mythical creatures such as Phoenixes and Qilins. This record, although not so much historical as it is allegorical, was significant in that it was an early indicator of the connection between the virtue of a ruler and the prosperity of the land. Although the political system then was essentially a dictatorship, it was based in benevolence and regulated by morality.

In a more well-documented example, virtue was demonstrated as being the standard for politics. From the Canon of Yao, the Emperor Yao chose his successor not on kinship, as he did not bequeath his throne to his own son; he did not choose on merit, for he didn’t pick the superintendent of works who had plenty of practice; instead, he chose the successor to his empire based on the simple virtue of filial piety that was practiced by a commoner named Shun. It was noted that Shun’s filial piety was practiced so well, that he was able to harmonize his dysfunctional family (his father was stupid, his mother was insincere, and his brother Xiang was overbearing). This purity in virtue was the quality that Emperor Yao sought, and he proceeded by marrying his daughters to Shun, a man of no royal relation or glorious history. Ultimately, in choosing his successor the way he did, Emperor Yao also demonstrated the virtue of character he was seeking.

In contemporary politics today, morality and virtue is often seen as being complicated and sometimes, even ‘politically inconvenient’ to bring up. However, as the early legend of Emperor Xuanyuan and the story of Emperor Yao demonstrated, virtue belongs as an integral element of politics necessary to bring prosperity to the people. For a political system like China’s in which a king reigned over the people, virtue is that much more important in determining the success of the country.

What is the Page?

1. What is the page? It is white, immaculate and dignified yet quite fragile at the same time. It is thin, elegantly thin, and incredibly impressionable. Just as any motion can disturb its peace and send it flying about, any careless gesture can damage it for good, carving on its smooth countenance stark patterns of permanent wrinkles.

It is this innocence, this purity that makes it unique. Armed with the simplicity of sheer emptiness, the page confronts the writer, stares him in the face with the full intensity of nothing, anything, and everything. It is futile to fight. Not even the most experienced of writers could take the bright white for long. With a sudden whip, the page will be torqued out of shape, swallowed by frustrated hands that will munch on it like rice crispies until it is reduced to nothing.

2. Despite the frustrations it causes, the page is by nature selfless. It is the unknown martyr, the daily blessing little recognized in life, for the page is not meant to be, but to become. White may be lofty and noble, but nothing in the world is as boring as a white page. There is nothing in pure white but sanctimony and pride in being the straightest of straights and whitest of whites. No, the page cannot stand such insult. Even crunching it into a ball is more dignified than neglect. An entire universe is shrunk, melded and concentrated into the stubs of lead on the tips of pencils. There are wicked stepmothers waiting to abuse, heroes waiting to challenge and triumph, and other characters waiting to define their own signature traits, characters that can leave their legacies only through cutting their trails on the white of the page. The page in itself is nothing, but in sacrificing its own ego for the cause of others, it becomes the stepmother, the hero, the generic character—anything.

3. So the page has made the ultimate sacrifice, and the baton is now passed to the writer. The stakes are great and the expectations run high as the writer is left with the last stub to unplug: his own ego. A writer may squeal or grunt as he boils ideas in his head, but until the tip of the pencil is made clear of his demand for perfection, the flow will be plugged and his ideas will continue to bubble, roil, steam and hiss. In the beginning, the tip of the pencil is usually especially demanding. Many words will try to fit themselves through its cracks, but syntax after syntax, they will be rejected for not being of the right length or proper rhythm. Until the first idea finds a way out, the crowd of other ideas will be forced to wait in the stuffy room and stare at the freedom that is the page. It may take five minutes, or it may take fifty, but eventually, the writer will come through. The writer’s block will give away, and the crowd will be rushed forward so they come squeezing out through the tip of the pencil, leaping into the white sea where they will immerse into and become one with the selfless page. When that happens, the page will have truly become what it is meant to be: everything.

I’m feeling it

Yesterday was Saturday. Yesterday was the first day of the Cal Football season. I did not know that.

As a dutiful and dedicated student, I was minding my own nerdy business (going to the student store to return some books and buy some readers) when I came across a massive crowd out in the middle of the school participating in a large rally. After I did my business, I walked out of the store saw the crowd begin to open up as the marching band came striding out in their full suits and glittering instruments. The Cheerleaders where well ahead of them, and as the golden scaled snake of marchers went forward, I was drawn along like a child brought away by the proverbial piper. The beat of the drums were too irresistible, and I as I ran up to catch the middle of the band, I pulled out the camera I always had with me in my backpack and went on a photo frenzy.

After ten minutes of trailing, running, stopping, shooting, I decided I had looked moronic enough to the people around me and began to slowly blend away until I was indistinguishable from the crowd. And then a thought struck me. So what is a better trade-off: actually going through an experience or taking pictures to preserve them for future use? What I mean is, as I take pictures, I am in essence sacrificing the total experience of absorbing the moment for a snapshot in time. Instead of listening to the steady beat of crashing drums next to my ears, I am steadying my camera; instead of watching the proud, unified strut of the shimmering band, I am steadying my camera; instead of breathing in the pungent sweat and palpable excitement in the air; I am steadying my camera. When does using a camera become counterproductive? Either way, I continued to take my pictures until the band entered the stadium and the crowd were forced to stay outside until further inspection. Since I didn’t have any tickets, I turned and left.

As I walked down hill, another thought struck me: I am walking in the opposite direction of the crowd. Most throughout my life, I have conformed and ‘went with the flow’, so to speak. Never had I come upon such a dramatic and obvious situation in which I am going in the opposite direction of everyone. “Is it scary?” I asked myself. “No.” But what makes it scary to go against the flow in daily life, and what makes it completely comfortable to do so now? I came to the conclusion that in order to have the strength and courage to go against the flow, a person must have confidence in not only himself, but also in where he is going. If I did not know the direction and destination I needed to reach, I would panic and become very confused when being confronted with a steady flow of people rushing in my opposite direction.

As I continued down the path, I looked upon the faces of the families who have trudged up the hill to go to the football game and had a third and final thought of the day: am I an American? Looking at these people, I feel I was able to catch of glimpse of what it means to be an “American”. I see the white families, the baseball games, American pie, and all the other minute and subtle aspects of daily life come together into an ominous impression that turned into the ugly question: am I American?

Now, in this day and age when political correctness is king, I know I will surely be bashed and persecuted for my insensitive, general, stereotypical, and simple-minded conclusion for what it feels like to live as an American. However, I speak from the gut. It was a feeling, not a rationale, and try as I may, I can’t get any more rational with my feelings than I can control the palpitation of my liver. So if I’m not feeling quite like an American, do I feel Asian? Not quite either. After having gone to Taiwan last year, I recognize that differences do indeed exist between the “Chinese” and the “Chinese American”. So feeling neither full Chinese nor full American, I continued to walk against the flow of people until I came across a book store. I went in and spent 3 hours shopping for books. And then I went home feeling just plain nerdy.