Chinese names

I just thought I'd put it out there that these are the names of some of the students I met while I was in China. Though most of them get assigned an "English name" by their teacher when they are much younger, some of them later decide to change them, with varying results.
CASE & POINT:

Caesar
Johnson
Helen Bill
Riancy
Jazz
Eagle
Rainy
Mercury
King
Jet-Li
Cream
John Rambo
Voldemort [there were two of these and both were girls]
Ink
Forest
G
Rossi
Lupin
Chilee
Alou
Melly
Neo
Why
Show
Orange
Blue Sky
Armstrong

P.S. The drawing to the right was a gift from one of the students, Lynn Ye, thankfully not featured in the list above.

I am a Physicist's Daughter

Lyrics: "And the songbirds keep singing, like they know the score" - Eva Cassidy



If we’re to look at everything as a fraction of time in a long chain of events that eventually add up to a sequence and a result, then even the single, smallest deviation can lead us to a drastically different end. This is called the butterfly effect, one of the most well known parts of chaos theory, partly because of that whole butterfly-flap-its-wings-and-a-tornado-occurs-around-the-world hypothetical and Ashton Kutcher’s Oscar-winning [not] performance in a movie bearing its title. This kind of thinking has often driven me to think about my parents – who met at random in a movie-ticket line – or decisions my grandparents took during WWII in Russia, or lucky yes’s and no’s along the way of life, and try to map out what my alternate present would be like if those things had been tweaked along the way. In a very Jorge Luis Borges kind of way, I’d be interesting to see that garden he writes about where every path separates and all the infinite possibilities of one’s life are happening simultaneously.

I’ve thought about this recently because I’m caught in a wonderful moment of observing people I’ve known for years fulfilling the dreams I heard them talk about behind a school desk, at a sleep over, over coffee, in Harvard square. At each stage of my twenty-one years I’ve been lucky enough to meet incredible individuals, and to watch so many of them presently take flight makes me so deliriously and sentimentally happy that it’s almost too dramatic to admit. The oxymoronically predictable uncertainty of chaos theory has led most of these people to pursue their dreams, adjusting them as time or opportunity saw fit, but steadfastly walking in that direction anyway. Bankers, lawyers, Olympians, philanthropists, pastry chefs, mothers – it matters little that we all shared a similar point of origin, because now we’re spread out all over the world and in all walks of life. And as long as we’re still holding on to each other – through distance, through time – I couldn’t be happier.

It occurs to me that this is what we are for each other, a person we meet at a crossroads, before each moves on, hopefully blessed and enriched by the other. I have a friend who just got out of the army, one who is married to a priest and just gave birth to her second beautiful daughter, and another who is touring in a band in Spain. At the same time, I know people who have wanted to be doctors for years and are now entering Medical School, who are pursuing a PdD, or writing books, or applying to graduate schools. In the tiniest moment of daydreaming that I am frequently caught in, I can think of goals that are being achieved and decisions that are being taken, of passions that are being realized and ordinary paths that have been tossed overboard in favor of unconventional ones. And that, according to Frost at least, will hopefully make all the difference.

It seems somewhat silly to be happy simply because people are doing what they said they would, but I like this notion of defining “success” as the “reaching of hopes.” When it comes to growing up, and the decisions and responsibilities it incurs, I think of how little we truly know about the larger paths we’re taking, but how blessed we are to have a full life to question and search. We shouldn’t be limited by uncertainty, but should instead welcome its power. My rudimentary understanding of chaos theory (which is to say what I know from random reading of Richard Feynman and wikipedia) has taught me that:

a.) In uncertainty, there lies limitless potential.
b.) There are no ordinary moments.

And that is my little, rambling, naïve, slightly incoherent, optimistic twist on the unavoidable reality of the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle of Quantum Physics - you can never tell with 100% certainty where you (or an electron) are or will be – and the opportunities that come with this freedom. If nothing else, considering how much change can occur in our lives from a single alteration has reminded me that the laws of math, physics, and chaos are not just something we memorized in high school.

This is Not A Pipe

So I'm stuck at home waiting for the fabulous French Labor Department to do their job and finish sending me my paperwork. I'm wondering how much of the effort it took to get this internship and how much of the effort it will take to survive for five months on below minimum wage has actually been worth it. More importantly, I'm worried that I may not have the necessary wisdom to know when to stop pushing and find a Plan B. How much of my stubborn refusal to give up on this or the South Africa/Rwanda project, is actual belief/courage and how much of it is simply blind stupidity? I guess I'll know after the risk is taken.

Carly is setting off for Senegal today, to work with a great organization called Tostan. After I saw her yesterday, a quote by Henry James popped up, "Evil is insolent and strong; beauty enchanting but rare; goodness very apt to be weak; folly very apt to be defiant; wickedness to carry the day; imbeciles to be in great places, people of sense in small, and mankind generally, unhappy. But the world as it stands is no illusion, no phantasm, no evil dream of a night; we wake up to it again for ever and ever; we can neither forget it nor deny it nor dispense with it."

I noticed that James says goodness is weak and felt enraged. Weak why, because it is tempted, distracted away, torn by force? For me, goodness is what I see in friends who set out to the ends of the earth armed only with dreams, hopes, and passions, in people who turn the basest human drives into constructive energy, in what reflects in the eyes of the faithful, in the resistance against one's personal vices and the vices that consume the world. Goodness is not a frail, submissive ally of truth; it’s an ardent warrior! I see goodness as neither abstract nor passive, I see it everywhere, fighting in small, barely-noticeable ways to grab permanently onto the human soul. And if it wavers in this fight, it is from exhaustion, not weakness. Perhaps my definition has become too broad over the past several months, weathered a bit by pain and touched by growth, but I'd rather have a simpler [in the good way], more inclusive criteria than a selective, high-brow categorical breakdown. Then again, I also clearly lack all of the answers, as is evidenced by the title and my partial agreement with Magritte that, no matter how hard you may try to portray something in painting or in writing, you will never fully succeed in defining the real thing. It's always going to be an inferior, grayer version, much like my definition of goodness pales in comparison with goodness itself, whatever it may be. One of my favorite quotes from George Santayana comes to mind, but I've already quoted once so I'll restrain myself.

I was cleaning [not a surprise] part of my closet several days ago and found an article I had written in high school for our Yellow Press magazine. Despite its exaggerated language, bothersome didactic tone, somewhat cliché phrasing, and bad philosophical simplification for which Thomas Paine would surely have smacked me upside the head, I found myself smiling. The piece was about students not paying attention to the world around them, or the news, or human suffering [very original, yes I know]. The concluding paragraph was as follows:

"Anyone who lives submerged in the endless repetition of the hours, the minutes, consumed by the innate knowledge of this emptiness, and finding neither a way to differentiate between the days nor to unite and mold them into a worthy and sequential series, is devoid of the emotion, desire, and passion that make up the pulp of life. “Carpe Diem!” I feel like screaming. Follow a life, any life, every life. Question like Socrates, or with truths, statements, actions. Existences should not disintegrate to complete monotony and unawareness of the outside world, to supine ingestion of our media’s mindless and biased drivel, for when the time does come for death, we should hope to waste away surrounded by almost anything but the overpowering, hollow ring of an empty room and a life brimming with forsaken thoughts."

In some ways it's simultaneously sad and wonderful to see the things that have changed since I was 17. But in more ways it's great to be reminded of the things that have circled around and risen up again.

Summer at Home: The Gifts I Will Give My Children

Music: Feist

The summer started with a bang, coming home in the middle of the semester to finish answering a bunch of health questions and take over the house because my mother would be leaving for two months to handle the arrangements of my grandfather’s death. The health concerns were cleared by the beginning of May after some other procedures and a third biopsy. I mourned my grandfather the best way I knew how: I prayed, I remembered, I selected the good memories and ran them through my mind, like images on a movie reel, and made conscious notes-to-self of lessons I never wanted to forget, of things I wanted to teach my children. Of all my family members, he is the one that was the closest to a lovable quirky caricature – stubborn beyond reason, hard-working beyond exhaustion, repetitive and paranoid after living through WWI, WWII, and the Cold War, uniquely Russian in many ways. He bought me my first cat, he taught me how to know when a squash was ready to be eaten, where mushrooms grew in the forest, how to properly insulate a greenhouse, and how much sugar to put into the making of blackberry jam. He also taught me how to argue, how to resist, how to yell, which are skills that, despite their negative connotation, have been and will surely continue to be, useful. He was the only grandfather I’ve known and following his stoic example, I dealt with his death as a fact, not as a calamity. His life had been long and interesting, and I was here, to remember it and tell it for him.

In the middle of all the things that fell apart during those spring months, in the middle of sleepless nights and exhausted mornings, I needed to keep my body moving and my mind alive. As always, running was the lifting force, both physically and emotionally. In its constancy and predictability running makes me feel at ease in what is really a furious battle against myself, mind over body, soul over mind. I run against all the enemies I can see in my own mind, all the ones I imagine, and all the ones I’m trying to forget. A George Sheehan quote comes to mind, "On the roads, I can see truth revealed whole without thought or reason. There I experience the sudden understanding that comes unasked, unbidden. I simply rest, rest within myself, rest within the pure rhythm of my running. And I wait." But, surprisingly, biking did as much of this for me as running. Having just learned how to bike (Thanks Nancy!), I got home, almost immediatly bought a bike, and rode it every single day for the rest of my months at home. The things running would exhaust and wear down, biking would let float up and refresh, even in the moments of my most furious pedaling. I also convinced by father to run a couple of 5k events with me, which we both grew to love. You’re surrounded by hundreds of people at 7am, running simultaneously with them and alone – it’s cathartic, really! In the second race, I placed fourth in my age group, but it was not the ranking that was the most rewarding. After the run, you go to breakfast with strangers, you are showered with water by the fire truck that comes out specially for the event and splashes kids in the middle of the street, and it doesn’t matter who finished when because everyone is tired and everyone is happy they did it. It’s an incredible way to start a Sunday!

Continuing my pursuit of energy-consuming activities, I managed to convince Jason and Seb to go kayaking one day, in what proved to be a hilarious adventure [see the pictures]. More importantly, I got into trap shooting. Yes, with a shotgun. Yes, Natalia Martinez with a 12-gage shotgun. I only shoot trap, not skeet, and I find the concentration required to shoot the little flying orange ball – that moment of silence when you just have to learn to feel when you should shoot – to be exhilarating! I also was lucky enough to meet Steve, who is one of the kindest human beings I’ve ever had the pleasure of encountering. Steve is a sixty-something incredible shooter with a white mustache and a loud laugh who volunteers to teach people on the last Saturday of every month. Not only did he lend me his shotgun twice, he also gave me shells, met me in the middle of the week, and generally was as helpful as he was genuine and funny. It takes time to improve, especially for someone as hand-eye-coordination challenged as I am, but it was about time I did things because I liked them, even if I was not good at them! So I’ve improved, enjoyed the process, and taken Seb and Joanna to learn. In short, I’ve had fun with it and, in not having an intense, perfectionist attitude, have been rewarded.

Also, accompanied by my good friend Allison, I ice-skated almost every Thursday. Upon discovering the inferior quality of the funnel cake at the ice rink, Alli and I also decided to make our own. I cannot speak for Alli, but I actually got to feel quite comfortable on the ice. On one occasion, when I went alone, I saw a father and a daughter come in. It was obviously a treat for her and he sat in the stands and watched her as she slowly made her way along the boards. I skated several times past her and offered to help. We spent the rest of my time skating, hand in hand, falling on each other the several times she tripped, trying to keep a rhythm she could follow. She was scared of falling and I remembered that feeling all too well. I knew what it was like to need a hand to hold, I remembered a bit too vividly the safety of that other body following yours. It didn’t matter that I wasn’t doing any skating of my own, or practicing the things that Sasha had taught me [keeping my feet straight, lifting my back leg straight up, etc]. She needed me more than I needed to improve. We met the week after for another couple of laps, and when we got off the ice, her dad came up to me and thanked me in Spanish for helping his daughter. It really had not been a great effort on my part, as I would have come that day anyway, but he reminded me so much of my own father, his expression was so simple and happy, that I felt my eyes watering as I shook his hand and assured him, for the 10th time, that there were no thanks needed. I guess it kind of felt like an odd circle, a moment frozen in time: I had just helped myself, I had just made my own father happy in such a simple, pure way.

Interestingly enough [and ironically in some ways], I also climbed this summer. “A lot” would be a gross exaggeration, but enough to understand it much better, to respect the skill and endurance involved, and appreciate the unquestioning kindness of the people I met. My only problem is that it is not an activity one can do alone. My most memorable snapshot? There I was, on that damn problem again, the one with the protruding lip at the top. I had managed to get up to it every time, but then, I was supposed to hook my left foot up, out, and around, so it would be above my head and on top of this piece of horizontal wall. Then one hand was supposed to reach out and grab a hold, while the other elbow pushed off and, after a moment in mid air, I ended up on top of the diagonal slant. This had yet to happen. After many attempts, sore fingertips, pants covered in chalk, there came a moment where, dangling from one arm, I hoisted my leg up, moving my hand at the same time. It was a single motion that seemed to come from somewhere outside of my tired body. And there I was, on top, three moves away from finishing. My calves were shaking and I was seriously sweating, but when I came down, everyone at the gym was looking at me. The guy at the front desk, who had remembered my name from the last time, clapped and laughed, the intensely buff nurse I’d seen almost every time walked over to tell me how she had been right in telling me I could do it, and the group of guys who had gotten there thirty minutes earlier and had seen me struggle the entire time, smiled and jokingly said, “Finally!” I shook my head, laughed with them all, and said, “It was about time!!” And yea, it was about time, for plenty of things. It was great to be welcomed by people whose names I didn’t even know, to be helped and guided in a task I was clearly new at, to not be asked why or what or how come. Tara was an incredible belay partner and later in the summer, Carly jumped up to accompany me, and Masha even trusted me enough to let me teach her how to belay! I went on to purchase my own shoes and now, as I head off to Paris, I’ll be borrowing a harness for my expeditions with the Paris Rock Climbing Meetup Group. Who would’ve thought!?

Aside from this life of mediocre exploration, I tried to read as much as possible and focused on my bone marrow objectives. I ran a drive at University School [my high school] and worked with another group to organize a series of events to target Hispanics in my county. This group was particularly dysfunctional, so the events have yet to happen, but in the process I found myself placed on the Board of Directors of a local Non-Profit, giving presentations about the importance of registering for the registry and the power of a single individual to save another. It felt good to have found something I truly care about, not just a cause I think is interesting or would love to contribute to; this is something I connect with, I feel with.

Let’s also not underestimate the positive effect that work can have on clearing a mind. I was interning at an incredible asset management firm, where the work was almost as interesting as the people were wonderful [which is to say, both were great!]. To my own surprise, I found the research I did interesting and wished I had had more time to continue the projects I didn’t get to finish. And the people, especially Donna, brightened every day, without fail. I’m still not sure how much finance and I have in common in terms of a long-term career, but I was pleased to find that I genuinely enjoyed certain aspects of it.

Three of the other highlights of my summer months were Becky’s visit, my frequent seeing of Carly, and the dancing Marcelo took me on. Becky flew down from Washington and I was more than happy to host her, take her around, tan…her company added a much need component of wit, humor and intelligent conversation to those first weeks of summer! In all, it was a great weekend of driving, tanning, exploring [need I remind her of the hospital parking lot tour?]. I also had the pleasure of seeing Carly several times while she was down here from Boston, to go to the beach and catch up, hear about Senegal, plan ahead, etc. Aside from great conversations, great reminiscing, and even greater looking ahead, Carly took me on my first motorized boat ride. There we were – Carly, her father, and I – on the intercostal, waving to the other boats, sipping margaritas, and to my own surprise, I felt at home in the twilight and on the waves. Where has this been all my life? How stupid I’ve been, afraid of water, afraid of boats! I almost smacked myself but didn’t want to ruin the afternoon. On the dancing, not much can be said, other than it was an incredible series of nonstop hours where my mind cleared and my body exhaled and I let my soul take over and feel the music.

On a bad note, I had a massive car accident on the highway, which will only be mentioned briefly. In short, I spun in a circle across three lanes of Miami highway traffic, before I crashed, first with the front, then with the entire driver's side against the concrete barrier. And yes, the other idiot just drove away. And yes, the car was totaled completely. Miraculously, all I had were burns from the airbags, a spinning head, shaking hands, and another problem to add to the running list of the last couple of months. Allie drove to sit me with while I shook on the curb and some incredibly nice guy stopped and called the police and explained that I wasn't driving with excessive speed and that some crazy man had swerved behind me.

Side note: I’ve learned this summer that I love asparagus and that I make really good tuna steaks.

Then I went off to China. And on August 20th, I went straight from the airport to Key Largo, driving into the night and seemingly away from civilization. This was a much-needed vacation for both my parents, who were emotionally and physically exhausted for different reasons. I was just happy to be by the water again. Our week in the Keys can be summarized as follows:

a.) We ate incredible food. I had amazing Dolphin, Yellowtail Snapper, and Grouper and discovered how much I do love a well-cooked fish!

b.) We slept. A lot. And I read, a lot.

c.) I took my parents canoeing, trying hard to remember my Outward Bound skills and wondering, for the nth time this summer, how I became the one showing people how to do things!

d.) We saw pictures of Fidel and Hemingway. Everywhere. The former we dismissed; the latter we discussed. I admire certain aspects of his life, though I only like several of his works and think he was crazy politically.

e.) I convinced my father we should snorkel and now we’re both hooked! The coral reef was beautiful, first of all. More importantly, the world is so quiet underwater, everything is still, at peace. To see your hands underwater is to see them anew – everything is floating, held in time and space. It was an incredible discovery for me, who has always been afraid of ocean water, of fish, sharks, giant squid, imaginary beasts, tidal waves, and anything else that could possibly be hidden under those waves and/or written about in a Jules Verne novel. I did wonder why my fins were neon green – would this not make it more likely for the animals I had spent years being afraid of to…well, devour me? There’s only one person I could ask who wouldn’t laugh at me, so I kept this question to myself. Also, apparently sharks have very bad vision.

f.) I wrote a lot in Spanish. Things just sound better in this language, especially when there’s a feeling hidden in your words. El anochecer. La marea. El abrir y cerrar de las puertas. My mouth moves in a different way, my lungs exhale differently when I speak Spanish. I was happy to get that feeling back, I hadn’t written that way in a while.

And now I’m heading off to Paris, still half broken and half lost, but half alive and half smiling [Yes, that’s four halves…follow the idea, not the math], to work, to learn, to find, to wonder!