I shot/developed my first roll of BW film in a really long time. I've lost touch with film in the past few months, but it was nice to be back in the dark room.
This is a really inspirational film I stumbled upon yesterday, which reminds me of the deep satisfaction I once found in examining and repairing old cameras. Definitely makes me nostalgic and miss my small collection of analog cameras at home.
This post will probably be a mess of things. The past few months have been insane. I tried to sort out my thoughts in an earlier blog post, right after the election. I've tried endlessly to make sense of the results, the implications, and to determine a reasonable personal course of action. I've read a lot more, in an attempt to understand even a small percentage of this incredibly complex world. Most recently, I read Merchants of Doubt, by Naomi Oreskes and Erik M. Conway. This book describes cases of science denial and how keeping controversy alive is a method used by contrarian scientists, private corporations, and conservative think thanks to achieve their economic and political goals. Essentially, it outlines people that actively and willingly harm other humans for economic gain. And it terrified me, not because I didn't know that this was occurring, but because this book was written in 2010, and now seven years later, it is more relevant than ever. It baffles me that science has become something you can just "not believe" in, as if that means it doesn't exist. Science is not religion. Whether you pray to God or follow the teachings of Buddha, and if you're not part of an extremist religion, the impact of those actions is mostly confined to yourself (and those of your religious community). I am not diminishing the worth of religion, but believing or not believing in a certain religion will not actively harm anyone. Science is not something you can choose not to believe in. If you jump out of a plane because you don't believe in gravity, it doesn't mean your body will not smash into the concrete. And just because it takes you a few minutes to hit the ground and feel the consequence, doesn't mean that gravity isn't acting during that time. Right now, the world is in free fall from the choices we've made in the name of advancement, and certain people believe that gravity doesn't exist because we haven't splattered on the concrete yet. But we will, and by the time that happens, it'll be too late to eject a parachute.
The future of the environment terrifies me, as does the future of healthcare, education, and all types of human rights. And now, in my fourth year of college and the brink of determining how my future will intersect with this country's, I'm quite confused. It's always bothered me how my personal interests and hobbies never quite aligned with my larger goals as well as I would've liked. I'm passionate about the environment, but my personal interests and skills didn't align well with environmental engineering. I am deeply interested in personal and global health, but biology and chemistry constantly went over my head. The things that I have been moderately successful in - product design, UX, photography - are infrequently connected to the issues I'm truly passionate about. They exist, certainly, but are pretty niche. Instead, I find myself skimming through the jobs for which I have relevant skills, which include designing new consumer products that require more of earth's resources to manufacture for those with dispensable income, testing random fun mobile applications, improving business strategy for companies to make even more exuberant amounts of money, etc. The intersection of design with healthcare or the environment is quite small, and I'm trying my best to find it. The desire to contribute to something that will genuinely improve the lives of people, when combined with the functional need of having a job, makes this process pretty stressful.
For now, I will continue reading to educate myself on the issues I hope one day to be able to address. I will continue modifying my personal habits and choices to reduce my negative impact, and I will continue documenting this beautiful world that is a privilege to see every single day.
Women's March in Boston
A favorite song as of late, and some photos from a trip to the Isabella Stewart Gardener Museum in Boston with some friends. I recently sold my Fuji X-E2, making my Fuji X100T my one and only digital camera. It's oddly liberating, and probably something I will write more about in the upcoming month. For now, here are some photos that I am quite happy with from the visit.
It's one of those new year posts! I'm not big on new year resolutions; I'm a pretty firm believer that if you want to make change in your life, it can start at any point in the year, week, or day. This will be more a reflection of what's happened this year, and what the next year will bring.
I started off 2016 at my friend's house in South Pasadena, watching the delayed ball drop and drinking apple cider. Since then, I've moved to Irvine, and no longer have the luxury of being minutes away from my high school friends. I spent my January term interning at a software company in San Francisco as a user experience designer, and learned a bit about web design. Living in SF was an interesting experience, although I definitely cannot imagine living there for an extended amount of time. My spring semester of junior was a wreck both academically and emotionally. I felt suffocated by it all, but managed to land an internship in design consulting, which had been my dream since early sophomore year. I dragged myself through the semester, ending the year with sickness and a brutal cough. I made drastic changes in the beginning of summer, feeling alive again for the first time in months, and gaining further insight to what mattered to me in life - the most important being health. As a result, I spent the summer in Somerville enjoying life immensely. I learned how to play guitar, read often, cooked new foods, watched a lot of Planet Earth, and regained motivation as a photographer. I visited NYC a few times, and spent a lot of time with people that I truly value. I was involved in a crazy car accident and suffered a concussion, although luckily nothing worse than that. Fall semester of senior year was unexpectedly rewarding - I learned much about leadership, user research, writing, and medical anthropology. I made time for the relationships I valued, and felt consistently happy and healthy in my personal life, with some exceptions. The process and results of the presidential election (the first I was able to vote in) was incredibly draining, but I feel like I have a much better grasp of this country I live in. I have excitement and fear that will follow me into 2017, and confusion about how to deal with them. Despite these fears, I also carry a deeper appreciation for those in my life (which if you're reading this, is you). So thank you for being part of my 2016 journey!
Looking back, I've realized that a year is an incredibly long time, and I have no idea where I will be a year from now. As I stand in the face of graduation, there have never been so many unknowns. Where will I be living? Where will I be working? What will this country look like? What will I be doing to help? I cannot predict any of these things, but I know that I'll be making an active effort to improve what I can around me. Despite the chaos, 2016 has been a year of simplification for me, and I hope to continue distilling as we move into the new year.
It’s been quite a chaotic week, if not month, for the majority of this country. I have many feelings about the election, most of them along the lines of fear, confusion, and anger. This post won’t be about the election directly, but something I’ve been forced to think about even more as a result of the election. The future of our environment is more uncertain than ever with the impending changes in D.C., and I’m beginning to think more about the impact individuals can make to help our planet. If you’re thinking, I don’t want to read about this hippy stuff, or something like that… I’m not sure what to say to you, except that it’s the responsibility of each individual to think critically about challenging the status quo, especially living in this mind-bogglingly wasteful country.
I’m not preaching. This is as much a personal exploration for me as it is a way to share the information I already know. I’m wasteful in many ways, many of which I could be completely unaware of. I think that’s usually the main problem - we’re so accustomed to what we’ve grown up around that we don’t see anything wrong with what we’re doing. We proceed, believing that we’re all entitled to the same indulgences that we witness, not questioning where things come from, or where things go. Certain things are okay because “everyone else does it too”. We comfort ourselves by emphasizing that we are 1 in 7 billion, and nothing we do can possibly make a difference in relieving the planet of the pressure of human existence. Yet, most of us seek to make a difference in the world one day. To me, it only makes sense that this difference starts with our daily habits. I’m not the most sustainable person I know, nor necessarily the most environmentally aware, but I’ll outline some of the things I want to do or already actively do to reduce my own environmental impact.
I’ll talk about diet first because that’s what I’m most familiar with. I have been vegan since I was 8 years old for health reasons, that have also accumulated environmental reasons in recent years. Livestock is responsible for 7.2 gigatons of CO2 emissions each year, which is nearly 15% of all human greenhouse gas emissions. For each kilogram of beef protein, 300 kg of CO2 is released. Additionally, cows produce 44% of human methane emissions, and methane can warm the planet about 86 times more than CO2 while it’s in the atmosphere. Pigs and chicken have less impact, but still require about 100 kg of CO2 per kg of protein. For comparison, tofu requires about 16 kg CO2 per kg of protein. There’s people out there who blame vegetarians/vegans for the deforestation in South America to make land for soy production… what they may not realize, however, is that 75% of the soy grown (in 2011) was used for animal feed, and 6% is used for human food. Instead of eating the animals that consume the soy for protein, we can eat the plant protein directly.
In addition to eating a plant based diet, trying to purchase locally grown produce is beneficial to the environment because it reduces transportation cost and energy to move the produce. Eating organic reduces toxic chemical waste from pesticides and fertilizer.
Eliminating food waste, composting, bringing your own bags to the grocery store, using a reusable water bottle (+ BPA free), and buying foods with less packaging can also help. In terms of daily habits, choosing to walk/bike instead of taking a car, taking shorter showers, turning off lights when you’re not using them, and recycling when possible are all beneficial.
Speaking of recycling - while it is definitely good to reuse and recycle, recycling is also an energy intensive process. Instead of using products (plastic water bottles, paper, disposable items) and assuming it is fine because those items will be recycled, it can be valuable to think about how to not use these products at all. Most actions that are done out of convenience can be easily altered to include reusable items.
Speaking of disposable items, I’ve recently started thinking about the environmental impact of feminine hygiene products. While these products are mostly cotton/rayon based, the disposable plastic packaging can definitely take a toll. The aversion to talking about periods may be part of the reason why disposable products are the standard - people want to just be able to throw them away and not think about it ever again, which makes sense. It’s a bit weird considering this is something half the globe has to deal with, which makes me think that reusable options, such as menstrual cups or reusable pads actually make a lot more sense.
I read a book called Overdressed: The Shockingly High Cost of Cheap Fashion by Elizabeth Cline this past week, which presented unbelievable data about how much global impact our clothing has. When this book was written (2012), the US consumed 20 billion garments a year, which is 64 items per person - more than 1 piece of clothing per week. It’s the second largest consumer sector, right behind food. As a result, Americans throw away 12.7 million tons of textiles per year, which is 68 lbs per person. In 1950, the world made 10 million tons of fiber a year. In 2012 - 82 million tons. That requires 125 million tons of coal and about 2 trillion gallons of water. Zara alone produces 1 million garments per day, and the customers there shop an average of 17 times per year. While it might sound insane on paper, the rate at which we’re capable at consuming clothing is incredible. There is a focus on cheap clothing - H&M, Target, Forever21 - and these companies can afford to make clothes cheap because they’re making small profit margins on huge numbers. They thrive on making cheap, poor-quality clothes with factories that pay workers minimum wage, which is lower than living wage (cost to survive) in many countries. The book also describes a “clothing deficit myth”, which is the idea that all of our clothes, when donated, goes to some poor person who really needs it. In reality, 20% of post-consumer clothing becomes fiber for building materials, 30% for industrial rags, and 5% is thrown away. There’s not really a need for clothing in the world anymore, and if there is, it isn’t for the poor quality clothes that we’re burning through. To address this problem, we need to stop believing that all the clothes we purchase is put to effective use after get rid of it.
Even as someone who consumes relatively little clothing, this book still shook me. Clothing is not something we can just ignore, so I began looking into more sustainable clothing brands. Yes, many of them are more expensive, but when I consider the workers that made it, quality of the item, and decreased environmental impact, I find it justifiable, if possible. If not, trying to find higher quality cheap clothing and making it last as long as possible by taking good care of it and purchasing versatile pieces that will be worn often is another way of addressing this problem. A few brands that I have looked at and find admirable include Patagonia, United by Blue, and Cotopaxi. There are other companies that aren’t as charitable as those ones, but still sell high quality, long lasting, or ethically produced clothes - American Giant, DL1961, PACT, prAna, etc.
That's all I have for now, although I expect the themes of sustainability and consumption will continue to come up for me as I continue to examine the impact our daily choices can make.
If you're wondering about the title of this post, I saw James Vincent McMorrow this week, and "Rising Water" reminds me of climate change.
Second example of my struggling attempts at writing fiction. Don't judge me.
“Everyone around here had two things: a job, and a name. My name was C4111, and I was Builder. We were all born something. Most of us became Builders and Cleaners but some became Fighters and Explorers. I’d always wanted to know what would happen if I wanted to do something else, something I wasn’t born as. Why could each of us only have one role? Nobody else cared to ask these questions.
Explorers were confident, brave, and knowledgeable. They knew about local plant species and how to handle the potential attackers that might strike our colony. They’ve all reported some major source of danger before, and many of them were younger than me. When Explorers made a discovery, it became part of their identity. They got a name. C5114 discovered that the sweet sap rolling down a tree about 4,000 body-lengths northward was extremely poisonous. She had observed four members of Colony E feasting on it before they began losing muscle function and dying from paralysis. Her name became Sap. Seven sun-downs ago, C4929 sensed a thunderstorm coming based on wind patterns and got the entire colony underground and plugged the entrances before the rain struck. She was called Storm. We weren’t that creative, but having a name was the pinnacle of fame around here.
I’d spent all ninety-two of my sun-downs as a Builder. The highlight of my life was that I was a special Builder. As a Builder for the Explorers, I got to live among them. We lived in an underground annex 613 body-lengths away from the main compound, where all the other Builders, Cleaners, and Fighters lived. This annex was completed before I was born, so I spent most of my time fixing minor cave-ins in the tunnels and extending some rooms as the colony grew. Our compound was a complex network of tunnels in the dirt, kind of like tree roots. My job involved calculating the structural stability of this particular network of tunnels, and moving dirt around to make sure nothing collapsed. It sounds more exciting than it was.
It’s not that I didn’t like building; I just wanted to do more. I wanted to talk to people, I wanted to be somebody. I wanted a name. I wonder if my best friend would’ve had a name if she had made it out alive.
C4123. We had been friends since day one on the job. We had started our careers on the same day, and we were the only new members that warm and sunny morning. Although she was an Explorer, she was too intimated to talk to anyone else in the thirty-two-member crew, so we talked only to each other. C4123 had a spectacular sense of smell—one of the best of our generation. She could smell the good ripe fruit from the bad ones without even tasting them. She was humble about it too, and that’s how we became friends. The other Explorers weren’t as friendly. I don’t think they liked that I kept asking them if I could tag along whenever they went outside. They didn’t understand why I would ever want to do something I wasn’t born for. C4123 let me tag along with her on the most basic missions sometimes. I liked to believe that she saw some innate skills in me that no one else did. I was chosen to be the Builder for the Explorers for a reason, right? Actually, I’m pretty sure I was just the first Builder born after the previous specialized Builder died. But that’s not the point.
I tried to stop thinking about C4123 so much, but the way she died was so…unusual. We had gone scavenging in the Concrete Expanse south of the main compound. I say “we”, but it was really her exploring the concrete, and me hiding in the grass nearby. I didn’t dare walk out there. There was nothing to hide under. I must have been psychic or something, because these clear metallic saucers appeared in the sky soon after we arrived. No one had ever spoke of anything like those before, but there they were. Underneath them, bright spots of light appeared, and the ground got alarmingly warm. I tried to warn her, but she was too far away and too engrossed in her senses. Suddenly, the saucer moved directly over her, and the bright light centered right over her body. I was blinded. The light was gone within seconds, but when I crawled over to her, she was dead. The bright light had charred her and her limbs were shriveled. She lay there, curled in her own soot. I didn’t need her sense of smell to know that she had been burnt all the way through.”
That’s the story I would tell about my life up to this point. Everything in there is the truth, but it’s not the complete truth. Things started going awry before C4123 and I went anywhere near the Concrete Expanse. Where would I put the part about the fruit trees completely disappearing overnight, with nothing left to show for but unnaturally clean-cut stumps? How about when two-thirds of the colony was eradicated without a trace when part of the compound was scooped up, including the majority of the Fighters? Not a single trace! No creature we know of eats dirt. How about when the day after, when a sapling fell from the sky into the crater where part of our home once was? What was that all about?
The story I have right now makes sense. I sound cool, collected, and determined…maybe even brave, with a touch of self-deprecation. There’s no need to include that I’m scared to death of my nameless future and the future of my colony. Maybe I’m just scared that I’ll never become someone that avenges her best friend. But really, I just tell myself stories to make sense of it all, and convince myself that one day, I’ll become someone whose stories are worth listening to, if there’s anyone left to listen.
The distant sound of familiar footsteps tells me that the Explorers are making their way back now. I had taken the day off from building to mourn my friend, but being attached to each other is frowned upon around here—especially after everything that has happened. Mourning is a waste of time when the future of our colony is in danger. I scramble onto my feet and shove a few pieces of dirt around as the Explorers single file into our main meeting chamber.
C4000, also known as Cinnamon or Lead Explorer, looks grim as she addresses her crew. Her head hangs with exhaustion. “We have a serious problem. Yes, another one. Are you all familiar with the massive fellow that lives near the bush 3,200 body-lengths westward?”
Everyone nods. We all know who he is. We don’t see him often, but he drags his gargantuan slimy body around occasionally and leaves sticky trails that are difficult to navigate around. It is inconvenient, but not really worth doing anything about. He isn’t threatening, even though he smells slightly rancid.
“We found him today,” she continues. “He was dead on the Concrete Expanse. Shriveled.”
Someone else voiced my internal question. “Burnt?”
“No. Dehydrated, it seems. He was covered in a white, foul-tasting substance. Not a hint of slime left. Completely crusted. He doesn’t even go to the Concrete Expanse... something moved him there.”
My head began spinning. Dried up? Moved? This definitely wasn’t anything I’ve heard of before. How could he just dry up? What was happening out on the Concrete Expanse? Is it related to the abduction of our colony?
Cinnamon quickly doles out exploration assignments for sun-up. Apparently she had deemed it too dangerous to return to the Concrete Expanse, although we had always had good luck with food out there. Fruits and sugary substances were found often. Without the fruit trees, the Concrete Expanse is one of our only options. Instead, Cinnamon focuses on looking for dead bodies we can eat. That’s how I know things are real desperate.
It suddenly occurs to me that this is my chance. I had never had any sort of advantage over the Explorers before, when it came to exploring. They are bigger, faster, and have significantly keener senses than me. I won’t call this situation well suited for me by any means, but at least we are all on the same playing field now. They are just as clueless and frightened about the situation as I am. This is my chance to do something real.
As Cinnamon dismisses us for rest, I become increasingly distressed. Builders aren’t allowed to leave the compound unaccompanied. Only Explorers have the sense of direction required to wander around alone outside—that’s why they’re Explorers. I could get lost out there. I could die. And I doubt anyone would even notice until the tunnels in the annex start caving in too much. I tuck myself between two soft pieces of dirt and try to settle my thoughts. I imagine counting the seeds of a strawberry to calm myself. Thankfully, sleep comes quickly.
I awake at the same time I always do—before the Explorers— and think about what to do. I think about what C4123 would’ve suggested. She was blunt, and she didn’t care much for our rigid social structure, even though she followed it. She probably would’ve said, “Hey, you’re one in 4,000 and you’ll probably die soon anyway. Go for it.”
I would’ve asked her if she would miss me, and she would’ve told me that she wouldn’t, and I had nothing to lose.
Ouch.
Well now, she would be right. What did I have to lose, really? The Explorers couldn’t risk themselves. Without them, the remaining members of the colony wouldn’t last, especially since most of the Fighters were gone already. The responsibility of the Explorer is too great, and their numbers too few. Me? I could either live to solve the greatest mystery of my time, or die from starvation, abduction, or whatever our fate may be. I might as well make myself useful while I can—C4123 would’ve done it. The version of myself in my story would do it. Before I have time to let more logical fears consume me, I crawl through the narrow, dark, earthy exit tunnel and make my way towards the bright morning light.
I head southward from the camouflaged entrance of the Explorer annex, clamoring over rocks, leaves, and squishy dirt towards the Concrete Expanse just over the horizon. The sun casts its golden glow through the orangey trees from the left. The shadows unnerve me—the Eight Legs could be anywhere. I scuttle forward, trying not to think about it. I miss the protection of C4123. The landscape looks different, and I can’t quite decide why. I realize with a sinking stomach that I’m standing in a giant oblong footprint. The footprints are everywhere. Plants were trampled in the wrath of this creature, and these prints are unlike anything I’ve ever seen here. This thing wasn’t a local. I shiver with fear, but move forward robotically. It is now or never. I recount my story in my head to calm myself.
Halfway there and already winded, I stop to formulate some semblance of a plan. Observation seems like the best option—I can hide in the grass as I did when C4123 was attacked. That will give me a good vantage point if the metallic saucers appear. I can also burrow into the ground if needed. Low risk. Moving forward, I cross the shifting landscape and begin maneuvering around the tall and sharp blades of grass. The sun continues to rise in the azure sky, and after what seems like a lifetime of endless climbing, the grass finally clears. I am at the edge of the enormous Concrete Expanse. It’s empty, and leaves rustle across the unforgiving surface. I sit there and wait, uneasy.
When the sun is nearly directly overhead, a spectacular vibration begins out of nowhere. I hold onto the grass for dear life, disoriented and terrified. The vibrations end as suddenly as they began, but I quake as I register another soul-chilling sound. Things are moving towards me. Very large things. Massive shadows fall over me, but their movement is unlike anything I’ve ever seen before. They are smaller than trees, maybe the size of saplings, but thick. Warm blooded, by the look of them. They walk on their two back limbs, flailing off-balance awkwardly. There are three of them.
I freeze. The shadow over me has stopped moving. I turn, look up, and see a giant, hideous, white and pink face. Blue eyeballs the size of pinecones reveal themselves. This thing is disgustingly bald, and I’m overwhelmed with panic. I need to get out of here. The red, gaping hole in its face cracks open, and I see glimmers of sharp marble-like rocks. I am dead. I know it. With a flash, I’m flung into the air, higher than I have ever been, the wind whipping around me. I’m still holding onto to the blade of grass I was perched on, but it wasn’t attached to the ground anymore. I hold on with all six limbs and my mouth until I realize the sense of vertigo had passed. I hate making sudden movements because it draws attention to myself, but I don’t know what else to do.
I dart downwards, not knowing where to go except trying to reach the familiar safety of the ground. I realize with horror than I am standing atop of this creature’s warm and fleshy skin. I half expect myself to disintegrate on the spot, but I keep scrambling downwards. The fleshy limb I’m scrambling over begins shaking violently. I bite down with full force, and my antennae overload from the intensity of high-pitch vibrations. Dizzy and deaf, I let go, accepting my fate. I tumble in free-fall for an eternity, it seems, and I brace myself for my body’s inevitable splattering on the Concrete Expanse. I hope it doesn’t hurt. At least I’ll die where my best friend died.
I am met with a surprisingly soft landing on the large grass patch where I had started my adventure. As I pick myself up gingerly, I sense some vibrations that sound like… “Stoo-pit-ante.” I know this won’t be the last time this monster terrorized my kind, but for right now, I don’t care. I am alive, and I have something to report. I have my next chapter.
Just a song and a picture.
I'm in an apocalyptic narrative class with Junot Diaz this semester, and I thought I'd share my first assignment, which is also the first fiction piece I've written since elementary school.
Soft flakes of snow fall from the obsidian sky, barely illuminated by the cold, unreliable glow of the nearly full moon. Shadows shift across the ground as crusty evergreens sway with the relentless wind. The snow piles high against the flaky exterior of the house—about three feet, from my estimation. I catch myself thinking it is kind of eerily beautiful before I snap myself back to the reality of the situation. It is summer.
I remember what I was looking for—anything sharp, anything that can be used as a weapon. The old aluminum baseball bat I have from my brief and failed stint as a Little League player back in the day comes to mind, and I open the creaky closet door, pulling harder than necessary because it always jams on the soft carpet. A cloud of dust bombards me, and I recoil instantly with my fists up. Calm down, I think. The dust settles slowly and I kneel down, digging through the heaps of disorganization Ma always got on my case about. The flashlight I’m holding isn’t as helpful as I wish it would be. The bright light hurts my eyes. Why did I ever think I would need this old textbook about solid-state chemistry ever again? I sigh, rub my eyes, and continue digging. I see the familiar green corner of an origami kit, and remember why this closet is so dusty in the first place.
A flash of light reflecting off the closet doorknob catches my attention, and I look down the hall. It’s Bryan, as somber as ever. His hair is jagged and flat against his head, and his feet seem too heavy for his thin legs. He drops himself down on the floor next to me, leaning against my bed, but doesn’t look at me. My little brother is sixteen now, but his cheeks make him look more like twelve. He still struggles with the incident. I reach out and squeeze his knee, but he begins to tremble, and his breath is labored. I glance at the plastic watch on my wrist, realizing Bryan was due for his medication. I pull a small purple pill from the Altoids container in my pocket and give it to him. He knows what to do at this point. I take a pill as well—the last one. It’s the only thing I’ve ingested today other than the quarter can of beans about six hours ago.
The Bryan next to me now is almost unrecognizable from the one I saw the last time I was home, before the incident I wasn’t here for. Bryan can’t let it go, and I don’t blame him. He still has nightmares about it; I can tell by the way he thrashes in his sleep. He’s a talented artist, so I asked him to draw me a picture of it. I had hoped it would relieve some of the pain, but it definitely didn’t. It had been my the start of my final quarter at UCLA – Materials Science, class of 2040 – but I never walked, although I guess no one did. I don’t know. I flew home the day of the incident, and Bryan handed me a picture of the front seats of our car. Ma and Pa sat next to each other, except Pa had multiple holes in his head and Ma had bits of brain splattered all over her. It was a pencil drawing, but I threw up just from that. I imagine the most eerie part was that the car just continued driving towards our house, undisturbed. I never got the full story out of Ma. She has bigger things to worry about.
Can you believe that? Bigger things to worry about than your husband getting his head blown to fleshy bits? Imagine that. I shut down all emotions after the incident. Pa and I got along well, but he had always been in lab, researching about chemicals and climate change. My eyes wander back to the origami kit—I did miss when he would show me how to fold paper seals and elephants. Missing was an understatement. Anyway, like Ma, I have bigger things to worry about.
Bryan’s breathing is normal again, and I get up, helping him onto his feet in the process. I lead him quietly back downstairs, through the empty vastness of the living room and into the kitchen, my flashlight guiding the way. We go to the pantry, and I remember with a jolt why I had been searching for the baseball bat in the first place.
“Goddamnit,” I hiss to myself, hating the effects of the air on my short-term memory, and hating the situation. I breathe in deeply, even though that won’t help the forgetting.
There are six containers in our pantry. Three cans of beans, one can of corn, half a box of graham crackers, and a bottle with five purple pills inside. Bryan stares with panicked eyes. He doesn’t usually come into the pantry with me—Ma had given me full food responsibility when everything went down. I was supposed to ration for us, and I did my best. We lasted twelve weeks. Even if we had more food, we still need more pills within two days. My heart is beating in my throat and my palms are slick, but I try to breathe. Panicking isn’t going to help anyone. And now Bryan knew.
I consider my options, trying to be as objective as possible. I can tell Ma about the situation, but will it make a difference? If she stops me from going out there, we all die. If I die…we all die anyway. But if I make it back, we might live. Ma might find a cure. I might find other normal people out there.
Bryan tugs on my sleeve, staring up at me—how he ended up so much shorter, I don’t really understand. I don’t want to look at him, but he keeps tugging. I glance at him, his face gaunt and hollow under the harsh white beam of his flashlight, and I make up my mind. I’m going tonight. But he has other plans.
“I’m going with you,” he whispered, more forcefully than anything he’s ever said to me, although I hear the tremor in his voice. It’s a flash of the Bryan I used to know, the one who once forced a schoolyard bully 30 pounds heavier than him to apologize for pushing his friend off the swing. That Bryan had left when Pa got shot, but maybe he’s on the way back.
“No,” I respond flatly. That is absurd.
“More eyes are better. I will die either way.”
Why does he have to be so logical? I grit my teeth, and then jerk my head slightly. I tell him we’re going to visit Ma, but he isn’t allowed to speak. He was never good at keeping secrets.
We open the door to the basement, the glow of light at the bottom of the stairs welcoming us. We creep down the first few steps, shutting the door quietly behind us.
“Ma?” I whisper.
We continue down the stairs, eyes gradually blinded by the fluorescent lights of the basement. We didn’t keep the lights on upstairs to avoid attention. A few weeks ago, we saw a man lying right outside our back door, his head bloody from trying to bash through our walls. The snow around him was stained red, but he was buried eventually. It must’ve happened while we were down here. It’s the one room that hasn’t been affected by all of this. I’m surprised the electricity is still working, but who knows how much longer it’ll last. We have a backup generator when that day comes. The bookshelves come into view, and then the large rectangular table littered with books, research papers, and empty bean cans. Ma is bent over the table, brows furrowed, her gray hair untamed. The concrete floor is so cold I can feel it through my shoes as we walk over to her. She doesn’t acknowledge us, but pulls us in for a quick hug when we get near. She feels thinner than ever.
“Any luck?” I ask, startled by the volume of my own voice. The basement is soundproof, testament to my middle school drummer phase when nobody in the house could handle my racket. After I decided drumming wasn’t my thing, Pa turned the basement into a library, and eventually, a small laboratory.
“It’s curable,” she mutters, her sunken eyes darting around a complex diagram on the table. She sleeps about an hour a day, and does nothing else but pore over these papers and eating the inadequate amount of food I can bring her.
Pa had worked at the National Laboratory of Global Climate Change, the NLGCC, near the University of Washington. He started bringing experiments home a few years ago, when he realized the security of the labs was being compromised. People were mad. With all the technical advances of our age, why was global warming so difficult to fix? They insulted the scientists while everyone scorched in the 120 degree Seattle winter. Some smart people took it upon themselves to find out what was going on inside NLGCC—they managed to hack into the system and found out about a possible chemical that could turn it all around. They blamed scientists for keeping it under wraps, and a startup began recreating the chemical in their own lab. Pa had been the primary critic of the chemical—it could work in theory, but some tests with animals hadn’t gone smoothly. Representing the government, he revealed these potential problems. People didn’t listen. They were tired of government-funded labs. They wanted the flashy startups; they wanted the young entrepreneurs who could make a difference now, not these old guys who were far too careful. Over the course of two years, they manufactured 60 billion tons of this stuff to counter the CO2 in the air. The plan? All at once. All or nothing. Project Holocene, they called it. So, more than three months ago, Pa was shot, and this mysterious chemical was released into the air, right in the Puget Sound. There were fancy parties throughout the city and people were absolutely ecstatic. Humans could conquer nature, they believed.
I had come home to grieve for my Pa while the rest of the city rejoiced as temperatures fell day by day. Ma and Bryan struggled hard after the shooting. They started taking this OTC anti-anxiety pill that Ma had developed at Overlake Hospital Research. It was meant to suppress the nightmares and panic attacks that they both started having. Ma knew why Pa was shot though—he had been onto something that people didn’t want to be true. She grieved quickly, and then raced to figure out the implications Project Holocene would have as temperatures continued dropping. I dealt with the pain my own way, or rather, the Seattle way. Special brownies here, a joint there. I was high for weeks.
“J, I’m tired,” says Bryan matter-of-factly. God, he is a terrible actor.
We say goodnight to Ma, squeezing in two more quick hugs while we can. We creep back upstairs, and I grab the aluminum bat I was looking for earlier. I shuffle through my old drawers, sorting through old photos and letters I didn’t want to look at. I manage to find a small pocketknife and a facemask. Bryan comes back with his old BB gun, but tosses it on my bed lightly. He can’t handle guns anymore. I hand him the baseball bat. He grips it, arms trembling. I step over to him and wrap my arms around his thin shoulders. When I step back, his jaw is clenched and his eyes are closed.
“We have to go now,” I whisper.
He nods.
Factoria Mall is less than a mile away, just down Newport Way. We have been there hundreds of times—family dinners at Old Country Buffet and late night froyo runs. Factoria Mall has everything, including a supermarket and a Target pharmacy. We have no idea what awaits us outside, or if there’s even any food or medicine left. We haven’t been outside since the day Project Holocene went awry. That was the day everyone wished they had listened to Pa.
Holocene is a spectacular hallucinogen, comparable to phencyclidine but airborne, more powerful and more unpredictable. It’s pure luck that all three of us survived. It turned out that Ma’s anti-anxiety drug, and presumably other sedatives, countered the effects of the mysterious Holocene. Bryan and Ma had been on the anxiety meds, and I had been high for days. Ma initially believed that I had a natural immunity, but I had to tell her. I never thought a mother would be so happy to learn that her kid was a stoner, but I eventually ran out of herbs. After a few days, the initial tsunami of fear passed and the thought of supplies occurred to us. The snow had already covered the roads and the car became useless. As long as we were alive, Ma had better things to worry about.
Bryan and I open a window in the living room, since snow blocks the front door. Frigid air drifts in, and we shudder. I remove a few of the jank wooden planks I had placed over some of the ground floor windows as a safety measure, and climb through. I hear nothing except the whispers of the trees, crying out ominously. I help Bryan through the window and he lands softly in the snow. I grab the bag and hand Bryan the bat. I pull out the knife and BB gun, gripping both with such force that my knuckles feel like they’re going to pop out of my skin. I clip the flashlight to my belt.
We tread slowly down the familiar gravel road, no sign of life in any of our distant neighbors’ shadowy homes. We can barely see them through the snowfall. Parts of the snow are eerily disturbed. I see something that reminds me of a mutilated body, but it’s too dark to be certain.
The first step in Holocene poisoning is the loss of memory. We learned this from Ma in the days following the breakdown, which she had learned from Pa’s research. I stop suddenly to pull out the facemask, and quickly slip it over Bryan’s nose and mouth. I have already started this step. From the research, it doesn’t seem to be reversible. Bryan has to be protected in any way, however minuscule. I can’t let anything happen to him, not while I’m still here. After Project Holocene, our neighbors slowly forgot where they lived. We didn’t notice initially, too caught up in our own distress. Before we realized it, our street was empty, and the snow covered most signs of life. The next steps of Holocene poisoning were paranoia, then murderous aggression, and then death. The murderous aggression stage could last for years. I assume the man we saw behind our house had been in that stage.
We continue down the road, away from the body-like figure in the distance, leaving our footprints in the fresh layers of snow. We stop and listen. Movement in the corner of my eye sends me whirling. I register a crazed coyote, or some dog-like creature, bounding over the snow at us, snarling and snapping. In the beam of my flashlight, its eyes are bulging and bloodshot, and one of them has already been ejected from its socket, dangling by the nerve. Before I can pull the trigger on the BB gun, Bryan swings at it with the bat. He connects with the creature’s head with a sickening snap, and it falls limp, emitting a horrific screech in the process. I look at Bryan, who is trembling violently, but we don’t say anything. This is just the beginning.
Leaving a lovely song here as I contemplate concussions, connections, classes, and my career...
Gallant is an artist whose music I have an inexplicable connection to. Since the first time I heard "If It Hurts" and "Manhattan" on Soundcloud in 2013, I've been looking forward to every single new song he's put out, Zebra-EP, and finally, his album Ology.
Although he has released a new album with noticeably different production, the Maths Time Joy version of "Jupiter Grayscale" has been among my favorite songs for a couple years now. It could be nostalgia, but there is something incredibly intimate about this song. I've listened to it driving down the 110 in Los Angeles and on long walks across the Mass Ave bridge. I've listened to it when I'm sad and when I'm happy, and it always makes me feel more.
A close second is "Forfeit", also off the 2014 Zebra EP.
Despite my attachment to the more ethereal production of the first EP, Ology is captivating in it's own way. It sounds much more mature, and in my opinion, better highlights Gallant's vocal capabilities. My favorite off the album is "Bourbon"
Seeing him live yesterday at The Sinclair was a bit surreal. I wanted to see him when he toured with Sufjan Stevens and when he opened for Zhu, but timing didn't work out until this time around.
His stage presence was overwhelming. It was a performance was that deeply pained yet unquestionably optimistic, and the best way to end the summer and kick off the new school year.
Home is an interesting concept, one that I’ve been confused about for the majority of my life. I’ve never really been attached to physical places—I’ve lived in six different houses now, not including my dorm at school. Like many, I define home as where my family lives. And like many, the definition of home has shifted since moving away from my family, to a new environment full of new people and new friends.
Eventually, these new people and new friends created an environment quite similar to that of “home”—these friends have seen me at my best and my worst. They’re the first ones to celebrate a successful exam or completed project with me. They’re inside my room when I’m stressed out or too sick to function. They’re there to cook with me, eat with me, and talk to me about my day. They’ve created a new home for me, but I now view home as a word that can describe multiple locations (why didn't I realize that sooner?? unclear.)
I’m moving back into my dorm tomorrow, and it feels like going home. I have elaborate plans for laminate flooring, floor beds, and coffee tables, but we’ll see how that all pans out. Summer is coming to a slow close, but I’m excited to go home.
As the summer draws to a close, I’ve been forced to reflect on the twelve weeks I’ve spent at Altitude as an engineering intern. In a few weeks, I’ll be returning the Massachusetts Institute of Technology to start my senior year. I study mechanical engineering and product design, and am also hoping to complete a minor in anthropology.
Transitioning from MIT to Altitude involved a bit of culture shock. For the past three years, including my prior internship at Northrop Grumman, I have had technical problem solving skills pounded into my head. When given a difficult problem on homework or an exam, I’ve been trained to blast my way through them, equipped with scientific principles, equations, and sheer determination. Getting to the answer is undeniably satisfying, regardless of the frustration, self-doubt, and sleepless nights that come before it.
Design thinking is the antithesis of this brute force attitude. At Altitude, I have learned to take steps back, instead of bashing my way forward. I’ve re-learned the critical question of minds that don’t think they already know everything—why? I’ve learned to question assumptions and traditions for a deeper understanding. Here, I’ve learned to give myself context and reasoning for which questions hold valuable answers, instead of trying to solve all of them just because they’re there.
To summarize important insights that I want to take with me back to MIT, I’ve divided the lessons I’ve learned into three categories.
1) Empathy is crucial: Technical skills can only take a product so far. I’ve seen incredible technology placed in products, but do not effectively solve the right problem. Being able to understand and empathize with the end user is an invaluable skill. No matter who the user is, being able to design with those people in mind will help make the product more usable, more adoptable, and more successful. Thoughtful engineering is critical, but well executed user centered design is what makes a product stand out.
2) Effective problem solving requires flexible thinking: I touched on the differences between what I’ve learned at MIT and what I’ve learned at Altitude earlier, but a strong engineer or designer has to be able to do both. There is a delicate balance between the big picture and minute details, but both have to be kept in mind. MIT has given me the hard skills, but Altitude has helped me learn where to apply them. Being here has also taught me to not get too attached to my work, no matter how long or hard I worked on it. Ideas change frequently in the iterative design process, and letting personal bias into the work only bogs down this process.
3) Don’t be afraid to speak: This is the biggest personal lesson I have learned during my time here. “Imposter syndrome” is a common feeling shared among students from top universities, and I was definitely a sufferer. I spent the majority of my first two years at MIT questioning whether or not I deserved to be there. I never felt this way at Altitude. The open and collaborative environment gave me constant opportunities to quench my curiosity and share my own insights. The positive and encouraging responses from my co-workers encouraged me to speak without reservation, even during meetings with intimidating clients.
These twelve weeks have had a significant impact on the way I view the world around me. It helped me discover meaning in my insatiable curiosity. It forced me to question my education and to find the value in it. It forced me to embrace my strengths and work on my weaknesses, with the support of a welcoming interdisciplinary team. Ultimately, being at Altitude has trained me think more critically about how to become a better student, a better engineer, a better designer, and a better human.
“I’m so into you, I can barely breathe
And all I wanna do is to fall in deep
But close ain’t close enough ‘til we cross the line, baby
So name a game to play, and I’ll roll the dice, hey”
We are on Massachusetts Ave, crossing the bridge from Boston into Cambridge. We are talking about Ariana Grande and trying to decide whether we love or hate her. Everything is perfect on this clear summer night, and the reflection of the city lights on the Charles and the sound of laughter in the car only makes everything better. It was a moment I knew I would be nostalgic for later in life, even though I still don’t have a word for that. I register consecutive green lights, chalking it up to my luck, since those lights at the end of the bridge were rarely ever green at the right time.
Suddenly, I sense headlights out of my left peripheral view. My foot, already on the gas pedal, slams down reflexively. I hear a deafening crash of grinding metal and the car begins to spin. I smash my head into the driver side window, cushioned by the side airbags of the Zipcar. We come to a stop, 180 degrees from our original orientation. I register swirls of smoke, a toxic scent, warning lights from my dashboard, and three coherent voices around me talking to emergency response before I put my head down on the steering wheel, wondering if I had misjudged somewhere, wondering if this was all my fault. I suddenly hear concerned voices and feel a hand on my shoulder, snapping me back to the reality of the situation. There was a new sound now, though. An angry sound.
“I’M GOING TO KILL YOU, YOU FUCKING BITCH. RUNNING A RED LIGHT IN YOUR FUCKING ZIPCAR? I HAD THE GREEN BITCH, I HAD THE GREEN. I’M GOING TO FUCKING KILL YOU. GET OUT OF THE FUCKING CAR, I SWEAR I’M GOING TO FUCKING KILL YOU. DO YOU KNOW WHAT THIS CAR IS? DO YOU FUCKING KNOW? GET OUT OF THE FUCKING CAR.”
This is accompanied by pounding on the window and door, although we can’t see anything because the ejected airbags obstruct the windows. Someone out there tries to pull open my door before I am able to pull it shut and lock it, my left arm trembling uncontrollably with the exertion. I register how terrified I feel and how apocalyptic this scene is. Cars stop and people stare, probably mostly at the woman yelling obscenities at me and beating on the window. It is only now that I recognize a radio voice in the car. The Zipcar representative has been trying to talk to me, but I let my friend in the passenger seat handle it as I hold onto my door and my consciousness.
A few long minutes later, police arrive at the scene, demanding that I open my door to get out of the car. Still trembling, I muster up the strength to stand up, wondering what I would be facing outside the “safety” of this vehicle. The officer looks at the screaming young woman and back to me. Her friends are holding her back now, telling her that she’s just in shock. She stares at me with murder in her eyes, but I can’t look away.
“Sit on the curb,” commands the police officer. My head hurts and I’m disoriented, but I wonder at his tone. I look down and consider the scene as a drag myself towards the curb. I was the driver of a rental car full of 21 year olds, dressed nicely after a night out, and there was a woman who was wailing with conviction that I was in the wrong. It doesn’t look great. I explain to him, surprising myself with my calmness and coherency, that I had the green light and she had driven straight in a right turn only lane. I pointed at the intersection I had crossed hundreds of times in my last three years at MIT. She may have had a green light, but the green light was for the right turn. Under no traffic condition do cars cross straight across the bridge. He understands the situation better now, and tells me he’s going to talk to the other party. I ask him if someone could stay with me, my voice straining with fear as her screaming continues to echo in my throbbing head.
He says not to worry, and leaves me there on the side of the bridge. Cars pass by slowly, drivers’s heads swiveling like owls to stare at the wreckage. I shake uncontrollably. My friends are pulled out of the car and directed to join me on the side. The friend sitting directly behind me suffered some whiplash, but we’re remarkably calm. I stare at the pieces of metal beneath my feet and my brain bounces between how lucky yet unlucky we were. I seek out warmth in the arms of my roommate, but my trembling doesn’t stop. The flashing police lights make my brain pulse. As we sit, we hear the police explaining to the other driver that she had been at fault. There were 5 signs indicating that only right turns were permitted from that lane. She finally quiets down. Passing drivers and pedestrians are still staring.
The ambulance had apparently been called at the time of the accident, but it takes three follow-up calls before it finally arrives. My whiplashed friend and I are guided into the ambulance by two nonchalant young men. One of them takes my vitals and examines my eyes. He asks me whether I want to go to the hospital, but I don’t know what to say. I think, aren’t you supposed to know what would be helpful? He shrugs a few times. I say I will go, mostly because there is no way I trust this guy to tell if there is anything seriously wrong with me. We drive to Cambridge Hospital, the driver seemingly incognizant of the fact that he has a whiplashed and a potentially concussed patient in the back of his vehicle. It takes a great deal of effort to hold down the nausea, but I send a few calm texts to my brother and boyfriend, not sure what to say about the situation other than that we’re all mostly unscathed.
We are checked into the hospital and assigned a large double room. A nice nurse comes to talk to us eventually, noting our symptoms and condition. Time passes in a swirl. I have no idea what time it is. I’m still shaking, and my roommate has to manage panicked texts from various people for me. The doctor comes to examine us, and decides that we’ll need to get our head and neck checked out to make sure there isn’t serious damage. Another nurse comes back to wheelchair me out to get a CAT scan. The bed is uncomfortable, the back half of my head is pounding, and my tremors are so severe I wonder if they’ll be able to see anything in the scan at all. He does the scan twice—once for my head, once for neck. Once I’m wheeled back into the bright double room, I wrap myself in blankets and wait. I’m incredibly grateful that two of my friends are completely fine. We talk about other ER experiences and laugh. Apparently, our spirits cannot be dampened by this event, and that warms me greatly.
The doctor comes back twice after. Once to tell us that they have to send the scans out to get read off-site, and again to tell us that everything is normal and that we will be fine. He tells us to take 800mg of ibuprofen three times a day and to get plenty of rest. That seems like a lot of medicine to me, but I just want to go home, although the thought of getting in another car isn’t too appealing. We answer a few questions for the nurse. I’m deeply comforted as I remember and recite my social security number, home address and zip code, and my mom’s phone number, although my head throbs at the effort.
We ask the Uber driver to drive carefully, and he does a great job. I zone out during the ride, flashbacks of the incoming car lights and screaming woman still pounding in my head. The next thing I know, I’m inside of my apartment. It’s about 3am. My roommate tells me this is the best birthday she’s ever had. I shouldn’t be surprised by her endless stream of positivity anymore, but I still am. For a second, I think about other outcomes that could’ve resulted from this scenario, and I shiver.
I want nothing more than to be clean, so I take a slow shower, brush my teeth, wash my face, and dry my hair. I realize how hungry I am. We had eaten dinner more than eight hours ago. I eat some yogurt before I realize I already brushed my teeth. I wonder if this has anything to do with the accident, but I’m too tired to give it more thought. I brush my teeth again.
I climb into bed but cannot find a comfortable position for my throbbing head. I’m told the next days would be significantly worse, but for now, I can only be grateful. I still can’t decide whether I’m lucky or unlucky, but I think I’ll go with lucky.
I'll start off with a feel good song for a feel good post.
Summer minutes are dwindling fast. This summer has probably been the most rewarding summer I've ever had. I'm consistently happy for the first time for as long as I can remember. This doesn't mean that everything is perfect, but I am extremely satisfied with the progress I'm making in all aspects of my life, and incredibly grateful for the people around me.
Reflections on the Red Line T.
I have time to work on most of the things I want to do outside of work. I've been making time to read, write, play guitar, and spend valuable time with the people I love.
I'm flexing my photographic eye constantly now. For the first time since last summer, I'm interested enough in the world around me to seize moments I used to pass on. I stop. I breathe. I shoot.
Aggressively confused squirrel in Boston Common.
Golden hour never looked so fake.
I've found my 50/50 introverted/extroverted self a good balance of personal and social time. Although sometimes it would be good to have friends...like when I wanted to take a photo of someone in this beautiful lighting...
This is a summer I'll never forget, and a summer I know I'll be nostalgic for for years to come. There should be a word for that...knowing that you'll be nostalgic for something before it's even passed. I have 3 weeks left, and I hope to make the most of it.
Relevant cover of Outkast's "Hey Ya" :)
Instant film has captured my attention since the first Polaroid iZone camera my brother had when we were kids. Watching the image develop before my eyes was an unforgettable experience, even though the pictures were tiny and really poor quality.
After getting into analog photography, I would inevitably make a tangent into the instant film world. I got a Polaroid OneStep at a flea market for a few dollars during my senior year of high school. The Impossible Project was expensive, but I shot 3 packs of 600 film with that camera before the roller deteriorated and image quality became unpredictable. I eventually donated the camera to the photography club at school.
During my freshman year of college, I bought a Polaroid Land 450 on a whim off of eBay. I didn’t know what I was getting myself into—I just knew that peel film was cheap (at the time), and there was a near cult following of the Land series cameras. When I received it, I was appalled at how massive and brick-like the thing was, but then I shot with it. The images were unique. Sharp and soft at the same time. There was a distinct quality to the FP-100c that I couldn’t quite capture, but I loved peel film. I loved peel film so much that it was all I shot for a while. Despite the size and weight of the Land, I carried it with me daily. People would stare at me on the street, but it didn’t matter. The camera was magic. I even tried to design one.
As time went on, I wanted to try other pack film cameras. I obtained a Polaroid EE100 Special, which was a lot like the Land but built from plastic and much lighter. This used a zone focusing system instead of the Land rangefinder, so the photos came out a bit blurrier, usually. It was still an incredible camera.
In 2016, FP-100c was officially discontinued by Fujifilm. I was indescribably sad. I sold my cameras, sold my film, and didn’t take photos for a very long time. I thought about stocking up on FP-100c and continuing my use of the wonderful film, but it seemed to be holding on too hard to something that I could see the bitter end of. I couldn’t do it.
I bought a Fuji Instax Mini camera to tinker with—the colors of Fuji Instax are vivid and beautiful, but it’s a modern type of aesthetic. It’s fun, it’s cheap, and I enjoy shooting with it, but something was missing.
While on vacation in Vancouver, BC last year, my aunt handed me a “surprise”. It was a brand new Polaroid Spectra, in box with original receipt. It was purchased while on vacation in Japan in the 90’s, and never used. I was dumbfounded. And then excited. Spectra cameras are known for their level of control, and the wide frames were suitable for my landscape vision.
When I was purchasing a system, I opted for the Land cameras over the Spectra due to the cost of film, but I am now embracing the Spectra with Impossible film. It’s expensive ,yes, but I have fewer options now. The Spectra is light, fun to shoot with, capable of multiple exposures, and the color of IP film is quite interesting. There’s black and white and color options.
I’ve looked at Mint cameras, SX-70’s, and Lomography options, but I’ve decided to stick with the Spectra. It came from the family, and there’s something very bonding about that. Maybe it’s the sense of nostalgia or irreplaceability. It's also a spectacular (ha) camera.
This is where I stand now in my journey through instant photography, but I’m looking forward to where my curiosities will take me (and my wallet, potentially…) next.
Spent the afternoon at Revere Beach admiring the outcomes of the International Sand Sculpting Festival. The sun was quite brutal and the beach was ridiculously packed, but these unique works of art were awesome!
Ended the beach day finishing Cloud Atlas by David Mitchell. What a well-woven book...
I don’t pretend to know more about current events than I do, and I definitely don’t know as much as I should. I struggle to keep up, and admittedly, sometimes I turn a blind eye to avoid thinking about the cold hard facts. This is a privilege I have, and a privilege I recognize.
Attacks in Baghdad, Bangladesh, Afghanistan, Syria, Iraq, Nigeria, Somalia, Turkey, and France in July alone should convey the chaos of the world, but do not even begin to scratch the surface of everything that is wrong. Social equality, racial tensions, poverty, terrorism—these terms do not convey the sense of hopelessness felt by people everywhere, nor do these terms come close to covering the plethora of issues prevalent on this planet. I’m not the best source of this type of information, and I don’t claim to be, so I’ll leave this as it is.
This weekend, my classmate, Drew Esquivel, was killed on the street by a drunk driving NYPD officer. I didn’t know Drew well, but I had been around him long enough to put a personality to the name, and I cannot shake the sense of loss. This was the same feeling I had when my multivariable calculus classmate, Phoebe Wang, lost her life during the first semester of sophomore year. This was how I felt freshman year of high school, when a senior, Aydin Salek, lost his life. These names haunt me, because glimmers of their personalities are etched into my brain. Like many others who have had their lives even briefly scraped by these individuals (and countless others), I can only wish I had the privilege of knowing them more—to wonder about their lives, their interests, their deepest thoughts, their biggest dreams.
Maybe it is the location, the social proximity, the timing, or the fact that it was completely driven by another individual’s blind stupidity, but I cannot get the incident out of my head. I’ve had important lives taken from me “before their time.” I grew up immersed in loss, yet this seems so different. I’ve always tried to live by the philosophy to never save things for the “right” moment, to never take things for granted, to never miss an opportunity to show people how much they mean to me, to be kind to people even if there isn’t a “reason” to be. And although I’ve been able to do all of these things to an extent, they now seem so inadequate. I’ve never lived in a time when a missed call or slow text responses send me into slight panicked thoughts. I’ve never dreaded the loading of the news page or worried so much about people not immediately in my proximity. I’m a believer that positive thoughts hold some sort of power, but it’s becoming harder and harder to maintain these thoughts with everything that is happening. Sometimes I just have to stop and take deep breaths (and splurge my thoughts of how much people mean to me at them, hoping that they’ll realize even a fraction of what I feel).
The most overwhelming part of this is that this was one incident that affected me so much because it was too close for comfort. However, there are incidents every day, all over the world. Some of them undocumented, some of them lost in flurry of what media deems most important, some of them completely overlooked. There are shootings, bombings, murders, and these are only the issues that remove lives from earth. There are diseases, gross inequalities, hateful attacks, poverty issues, environmental issues, structural issues…the list goes on. The list goes on. And that’s what feels the most helpless. No matter what issues we decide to focus on or put on efforts towards or even spend a moment of our days thinking about, there is always more. The list goes on.
I didn’t write this to find solace, although I was hoping it would sort out some of my relentless stream of thoughts. I don’t think it did, but that’s okay. I am not looking away from the cold hard facts right now.
For now, all I can do is truly cherish every moment of the people around me. To take the time and effort to really get to know people as individuals, to see what makes each person unique, and to truly sense how much the world would lose without them here.
So to the people reading this, and I know who you are, I love you. You are each meaningful to me in drastically different ways, but each of you have supported me, believed in me, loved me, and had some part in getting me to where I am today. I can only hope to have done (and continue to do the same) for each of you.
I spent the past weekend in New York in the company of someone who never ceases to surprise me. I'm honestly not a huge fan of New York, but this weekend was pretty fat, lovely, and unforgettable.
Of course the first thing seen is a tragically abandoned baby doll at an intersection... We got lunch at Terri, a vegan/kosher fast food restaurant. I had the buffalo chicken sandwich. Strawberry smoothie very on point.
We wandered around a few museums, but sadly no photos. Highline!
Dinner was eaten at Palà Pizza. Nice pizza place with delicious vegan options in a garage? Seems very New York.
After dinner and a bit of wandering, we arrived at Brooklyn Bridge Park (I think?) right at sundown. It was misty, foggy, and a little bit eerie, but city lights at night are always awe-inspiring. So are vegan maple donuts.
The day ended in torrential disgusting New York downpour. I had a "rain jacket" but it really didn't do anything. Shoes were soaked, pants were soaked, backpack was soaked, but spirits could not be ruined.
Day 2 began in Chinatown, on a mission to consume all the vegan dimsum.
So much deliciousness. Post food-coma was spent at B&H Photo nerding out about all the camera things (the Fujifilm X-Pro2 is so beautiful wow). Short pitstop in Central Park.
The walk from Central Park towards the bus stop on 34th was filled with chai tea, sky shots, and Blossom du Jour.
Quite a wonderful weekend, thank you New York (but not really New York, except the food maybe).
Just a quick update on daily photographic experiences from my daily commute to work. Also, this Wye Oak song makes me really happy.
“Thick-skinned chameleon
Climbs the curtains hanging on the wall;
The only living ghost to grace the hall.
Meanwhile on the battlefield,
Another soldier boldly bites his tongue;
The only noble thing he’s ever done.
Step one: wake up,
Now open your eyes,
Now float to the window,
Open the blinds,
Now nevermind
The cold shiver on your over-exposed spine
Still lying on the bed where you left it,
Soaking up the sleep from the mattress.
And that’s it;
Feel your way to the kitchen,
Bring the milk to a simmer,
Spill the sugar on the surface of the counter,
Thin-skinned calcium sipper.”
As I delve deeper into the melodic rhythm of summer, I find myself frequently pulled back to the nostalgically carefree summers of early high school. It was there, in my muted yellow room of a sunny Southern California townhouse, that I began to discover some of the many things in this world that intrigue me.
Although “carefree,” my summer days were not spent lounging around in the traditional sense of the word. Those unstructured minutes were valuable, and since the first summer before my graceless entrance into high school, I vowed to make the most of them.
What did I do?
I’ve asked myself this question quite often recently. Working a typical 9-5:30 job, I’m granted a limited number of hours to pursue my own goals this summer. After commuting home, resting my brain, cooking, and unwinding, I have around four to five hours to distribute among my endless curiosities and pursuits (assuming I want a decent amount of sleep).
Although some summers are more vivid than others, these are things I remember focusing on most during high school:
1) Photography: I spent countless hours researching rangefinders, learning about exposure, hunting at Goodwill, wandering around my house looking for the next interesting strike of light, blogging, taking apart cameras, failing at putting them back together etc. It was through this process that I began to learn the difference between looking and seeing.
2) Music: I honestly cannot remember the first song that made me realize that music was capable of invoking indescribable feelings, but *Milk* is as good as any other one. Discovering Sea Oleena was life-changing, even if it just meant I started spending hours of my day scrounging YouTube, Bandcamp, and Soundcloud for the next "Youth", "Smoking Books", or "Paris".
3) Books: Reading has always been one of my favorite past times, but summer is when books would make me lose all sense of time, space, and (almost) consciousness. Invisible Monsters by Chuck Palahniuk realized my fascination with what I call “trippy fiction” and eventually led to my love of Murakami's work. Jonathan Safran Foer made me re-question my dietary choices in Eating Animals. I read a lot of John Green, although I’m not sure why. Stieg Larsson’s The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo may hold my record for fastest time burning through a series.
4) Movies: I watched a lot of movies alone. Black Swan. 127 Hours. Blue Valentine. Shawshank Redemption. IMDB was basically my homepage, and I tried to watch anything and everything I found interesting. Despite the stigma of watching movies alone, I feel that a lot of my visual language in photography is derived from the cinematographic observations from those movies that I absorbed alone.
5) Basketball: I definitely couldn’t forget this one. Most of the twilight hours were spent on the outdoor courts of my high school, trying to make 100 shots in a row, working on post moves, training my left hand, or just basking in comfort of the breezy sunsets. My basketball "career" was plagued with accidents and physical injuries, but nothing taught me how to battle pain more thoroughly than my love for that sport.
Maybe this doesn’t sound so interesting anymore…They seem like very typical hobbies. Maybe so, but I find that each of these hobbies have made a significant impact on who I am today. The books I’ve read, the movies I’ve watched, the songs I’ve heard, and the discipline I’ve learned on the basketball court never leave me. I learned that summer minutes are indispensable.
This summer, no longer blessed with the long unstructured days of pre-real-human-life, the stockpile of minutes is much smaller. I’m constantly being forced to choose. Should I play more guitar, hoping to finally nail "Cherry Wine"? Should I watch the next episode of Planet Earth? Should I read the next chapter of Cloud Atlas? Should I listen to an episode of Radiolab? Should I write? Should I get dinner with the close friend I haven’t seen in a few weeks? Should I go play basketball?
Traditionally, I’ve mapped out my summers by what I want to accomplish quantitatively—read 10 books, finish my summer assignments by July 15th, play guitar for an hour a day, etc. This summer, I’m trying to think abstractly about my goals, and find more comprehensive steps to get there. Instead of focusing on activities, I’m centering my focus on five aspects of myself that I want to work on. At the risk of sounding like an airy self-help blog, here they are:
1) Empathy: By definition, empathy means the ability to understand share the feelings of another person or being. The ability to truly place oneself in another's shoes is one of the qualities I admire most in other people, and something that I am constantly working on. Luckily for me, I spend a significant percentage of my work days working on this, trying to understand people's problems, what they want, what they need, what makes them happy, what makes them sad, what makes them frustrated etc. Applying this same type of emotional awareness to people around me has helped me become more understanding on many fronts.
2) Forgiveness: This is related to empathy, but different. I am very hard on myself, constantly. It's easy for me to blame myself for things that aren't really within my control, question my abilities, and be harsh towards myself in general. It can be motivating at times, but as a whole, it causes a lot of unnecessary pressure and unhappiness. This summer, I'm learning to forgive myself for mistakes, to be gentler on myself, and to fully understand that failing is necessary for growth and development.
3) Mindfulness: A big mistake I made this past school year was not taking the time to reflect on some aspects of my life. I found meaning in my school work, but the quality of many of my relationships became questionable. Writing is my favorite form of introspection, and I'm making more time to put my thoughts to paper (or pixels). Podcasts have been helpful in this process of finding mental clarity--I especially enjoyed TED Radio Hour's "Nudge" episode. Maybe I'll write about that one another time. Mindfulness also includes thinking about my role in the world in a broader sense (hence the interest in Planet Earth).
4) Health: My health is something I've always tried to prioritize. Whether this category involves food, exercise, or sleep, I want to actively make sure that my health does not suffer due to all of my other commitments and goals. I'm making an effort to learn how to cook new deliciously healthy foods, play basketball more often, go biking, and to sleep a restful number of hours each night. Without health, most other things become meaningless.
5) Creativity: As demonstrated by my high school list of five, I find fulfillment in creativity. This could be interpreting someone else's creative outputs (movies, books, music) or creating my own (photography, music, drawing, writing, graphic design). I'm trying to find a balance of both and to derive more personal motivation from other people's work. Lately, I've been inspired by the musical hobbyists on Soundcloud--they might not have many listeners, but that doesn't make their music any less magical than some big names on Spotify. Instagram serves a similar purpose for photography. I think it's been important emphasize the belief that any "ordinary" person is capable of creative genius. This is why I'm blogging, and this is why I've been inspired to take more photos again.
These are my "goals" of the summer, if you want to call them that. They could also be my five Islands of Personality, a la Pixar's Inside Out. These thoughts were all triggered by the song that started this post. The line "step one, wake up now open you eyes, now float to the window, open the blinds" always reminds me that actions are sequential. Overall tasks might be overwhelming, but if you break apart even the largest goals into achievable steps, everything becomes much easier. Not bad for a song about milk, really.
If you're still here and wondering why there are random images throughout this post, these are various images from my summers at home, hunting around my house for interesting subjects.
Thanks for reading. :)