this is, Sarah

I first met Sarah in my apartment. Her and I united as roommates in a railroad apartment in Greenpoint in 2009. Things can either go terribly right or spiral off in an awkward / let’s-not-speak-of-it direction when you’re two people who aren’t in a relationship living in a space where one must walk through the other’s room to access the kitchen + bathroom. Fast-forward 2+ years and despite us now both being in very different places in life, we remained in good contact.

I spoke with Sarah about her participation in my project, “What If This Were Me?” because she’s insightful, thoughtful, creative, and I felt she’d lend a very conceptual image to this project. We met several times, exchanged rounds of emails and bantered back and forth over the ideas and photographs she wanted to contribute. It was really wonderful working with Sarah on this because she provided a critical eye to how she wanted to be portrayed in both images and she helped me think about the project from a different vantage point. Although “What If This Were Me?”  has an occupational feel to it, in the sense of employment, we spun it in a different direction thinking about women’s choices from the perspective of being one person in the context of a place, and the freedom we have to occupy spaces + nature. The decision to hold signs in both images sprung from the idea of being one person in the past, in nature, surrounded by a pastoral milieu that was more easily accessible, to the current/future image of being one of seven million individuals who co-exist in a city, amidst urbanization + the growth of consumption + essentially, “stuff.” It’s about being a voice amongst many, sometimes buried in our thoughts, sometimes in each other’s words and stories, laboring to emerge as an individual who isn’t consumed or occupied by tight spaces and seven million other voices.

Shooting these images with Sarah helped me think a lot about my own place and voice in this world. For her, the project seemed particularly meaningful as an individual/writer whose voice and space is spoken through poetry and books. What spaces in time have we occupied and been one, or one in N million? How do we use space to define ourself and contribute something back into the world? And in the spaces we occupied in the past and for the ones we will in the future, what impact have we left and will we leave?

This is, Sarah.

this, is Ariel

These are a few images from my first shoot for the series, “What if this were me? Part II,” that I’m working on with women. I’ll continually post a few of the images that were not included for the final collection with some background info on the shoot + the subject. The reason for doing this is mainly because the images as seen on suerissberger.com represent a fragment of that individual and the time that went into shooting them. It filled my soul in more ways than I could’ve imagined. Meeting each woman, telling them about the project, hearing their feedback and thoughts on how they imagined themselves and discussing execution of the shot has given such momentum and energy to, “What if this were me? Part II.” And I hope, to their vision of where they are headed in life. When Ariel and I started discussing her participation, I emailed her a few options and she immediately responded with an interest to this series. We met multiple times over subsequent months, talking about our lives, the project, and pausing for moments to think about where we were, physically + mentally, then. The words we exchanged are the very meat of this series and how the final picture evolved. Our conversations involved a lot of could’ves and future-tense visualizations, i.e., “I just want to be [in France] right now,” and “I can’t wait.” There’s something to be said for following your dream, feeling those strings tug on your heart, and responding to the emotions that surge inside with each pull. A bientot, mon amie. This, is Ariel.

made in…

After listening to This American Life’s podcast last week, “Mr. Daisy and the Apple Factory,” it served as a catalyst to thinking about social good and the use of technology. For those that didn’t listen, I’ll provide a brief synopsis but it’s definitely worth the 60 minute tune-in if you have the time. Mike Daisey reports on manufacturing plants in China, specifically Foxconn, one of the major factories tied to Apple products and a host of other companies that produce tech-saavy gear. While Daisey sheds light on a known but seemingly untouched and unchallenged topic regarding labor rights and working conditions in factories outside of the U.S., the commentary post-report also raises other interesting points that are worth confronting – the idea of sweatshops and their place within a developing country, and the benefit of factories that are less than ideal in general, within an economy that is struggling to survive and a community where mouths need to be fed. This American Life (TAL) spent weeks fact-checking Daisey’s findings, to the extent that they could, and while there were small revisions and confirmations on what the original, full story reported, most of the corrections were negligible. It’s not like they rescinded the whole report after looking into Daisey’s research; in fact, it just seemed to open up further discussion and the need to look into labor conditions and who is manufacturing the products we’ve come to rely on. These actions may inspire companies to become more transparent, publish best practices or adhere to corporate responsibility standards.

Thinking about labor laws and hearing TAL’s program did make me pause and gaze around my apartment wondering about where all my “things” were crafted. I’d recently visited this web site too, Slavery Footprint, designed as a survey that questions the user on how many items of a particular product they have in their home – including jewels/jewelry, sporting goods, and electronics; measures their levels of consumption – taking into account food/drink; and other variables such as gender, age, geographic location, and number of children. As you move through the survey you’re provided facts about natural resources in Africa, jewels in Burma and factories in Indonesia. So this, coupled with TAL’s program, planted some seeds of sustainability in my mind and got me wondering about my “stuff”, who makes it, and what I use it for.

I love technology. I use a computer everyday and not to mention it’s “made” by Apple. I don’t have an iPhone but it’s something I’m considering. All its applications and uses seem befit for an individual who’s trying to manage their schedule with ease and finesse in a culture where a constant stream of news / media / stimuli is omnipresent. But I got to wondering when does using technology compete with your other morals and values? What if you’re using your iPhone or PC to run a business focusing on sustainability, or nonprofit for at-risk youth, but the very materials that are helping local communities and the nonprofit you run, are actually provided by a business that works with a manufacturer that do not adhere to human rights standards and laws? What do you do then? How do you know when good business is actually good business? If Apple is telling the truth and they’re 100% transparent – working with factories that provide fair wages, insurance, and hours –  then there is nothing to think twice about, really. But what if it’s not Apple, or even technology we’re looking at but the more likely industries in which child labor and labor violations actually do occur – like clothing, or the environment. What if those beads I’m buying from a nonprofit organization, or company, are actually distributed by another buyer who acquires them by using underaged labor? Remember Greg Mortenson’s funds that were supposedly going to aid his nonprofit’s “programs” but were in fact helping support other unnecessary expenses (book tour)? Or that there were fabrications with the author’s actual endeavors that could not be verified and they were created to encourage funding for his organization, Central Asia Institute, and book sales? I’m getting slightly off track but what I’m posing is that what if the “social good” you’re doing for an organization is using the materials that are provided by a company that do not investigate those same practices and a cycle of supporting bad practices (unknowingly) is actually occurring?

I’m not usually so blatantly suspicious of corporations or organizations. I do question their practices, their assets, and where money is actually going (paychecks? programs? investments?), but I think in a world where economies appear to be crumbling and hanging on by mere threads (Europe!), or burgeoning like untamed beasts (South Korea!), we  need to be mindful of what we’re using, who’s endorsing it, and not take for granted a campaign or corporation who profess their mission supports social justice. There are so many charities nowadays that while the supply isn’t necessarily greater than the demand / need, we shouldn’t jump on board with the first organization who meets our needs. I think there is a strong argument for quality vs. quantity in this case. Yes, competition in many markets is fierce and even nonprofits need marketing departments on where to best communicate their mission, but doesn’t community, cooperation and collaboration make for building better societies vs. just getting the job done quick without breaking the bank?

The purpose of this post has come to be two-fold. One – where are our dollars / Euros / pennies / pounds going? And, two – how do we approach a situation when a nonprofit / NGO is obviously working to address a community need, but some of the services or materials they’re using are produced in an environment that contradicts their morals and values? Or what if we’re using one of those products -a phone, tablet, clothing, materials…- to run our own social enterprise?

In the spirit of these thoughts, the following images represent the direction of this post – who makes our toys? Who handles the goods that end up in our home? A machine? A person? And where are they made? In a country? A factory? A village where the materials can be traced all the way down to the very roots?

Turkey + Football + Target

Black Friday. A day that people either love or loathe. Look forward to or cringe at the ads. Prepare for weeks, planning even months in advance or wait for the passing flurry of people to reduce to a quiet gathering of bargain hunters. Black Friday has turned into Brown Thursday.

I remember growing up and admittedly, looking forward to the possibilities of waking early the morning after Thanksgiving to accompany my mom to the store. She’d have her list, as well as a fistful of ads colorfully luring shoppers to their store with myriad suggestions for “him” and “her” gifts. Advertising captivated my attention at age 8, and especially as thoughts of Christmas and Santa Claus roamed closer my gift list greedily turned longer. I am no longer 8 and understand consumerism a bit better (as well, I do not have someone offering to buy me a bagel and apple cider at 6am as early morning compensation). The holiday that is known as Black Friday has now become a cause for slight concern, strong bewilderment, and my own disapproval. I peer at these ads with their times and openings and sales that no longer reflect a shopping day beginning at the crack of dawn, but now retailers are inviting shoppers to start their spending the eve before Black Friday — also known to many as…Thanksgiving.

I tried to think about the benefits of this and its relationship, if any, to having a meaningful Thanksgiving. Many working people are granted two days off. Right, doctors, nurses, those in health care professions and trained workers servicing those whom are dependent do not receive such a holiday. Policemen, firefighters, etc. Okay, so many individuals still are working. But for those who are not, the masses of people who have two days off to, presumably, spend doing whatever they want now have the option to shop. Great! What a valued American past time that we’ve never had the opportunity to experience! Now I’m not trying to make decisions for people or proselytize, but unless there is some must-have sale that human kind has never before seen, offering iPods, iMacs and Kindle Fire’s on sale for 75% off the manufacturer’s price…why do we have to begin shopping mere hours earlier? Why can’t we have one day off where we aren’t totally consumed by consumerism? By shopping and commercials…where we can be tempted but have no opportunity to act on it other than online shopping. Where we can simply think of the wonderful goods we want to buy like a dream bubble in our mind…?

I get it. I understand that by offering consumers the option to begin their holiday shopping on Thanksgiving day evening, say 10pm, it’s technically allowing retailers the opportunity to make hundreds or thousands of dollars more than if they opened at 5am. We’re addressing the economic woes the United States is facing, we’re stimulating growth and by chasing consumers with discounts they couldn’t resist it’s preventing businesses from digging themselves into a deeper debt. But please, just one day where work can cease and we can rest on the thoughts of what Thanksgiving is about — perhaps that is an idealist speaking though. An equation of Thanksgiving no longer looks like this:

turkey + football = Thanksgiving

but this,

turkey + football + Target = Thanksgiving

I have no problem with Black Friday. It’s a part of our culture, traditions are created around this day and for those that do enjoy embracing the crowds, generally speaking, the sales can be very buy-worthy and save families A LOT. But what I fear happening is that by opening the doors of retailers Thanksgiving Day, post-turkey, it’ll not only take place this year, but next year and for years to come. It will become a new part of our Thanksgiving culture. Instead of relaxing post-meal to hearty conversations and cheesy/classic holiday movies like Home Alone or A Christmas Story, families will be mapping out what stores offer what deal, at what time, and configure their route so all bargains at all five stores can be bought. Wal-Mart is offering a 1opm discount on various merchandise, but a 10pm discount this year will be an 8pm sale in 2016 and a pre-dinner sale in 2021. I love America – its absurdity, its obsessions and all of the turkey trimmings – but is this what makes America…America? Are these our values? Drowning ourselves in a consuming culture when we’re already doing so in debt? Starting a habit of opening stores on Thanksgiving evening with sales that cannot be beat will, and does create a change in our cultural values and norms. If the Martinez’ next door went to Best Buy at 10pm to get a 30% discount off of a total sale, and the Paulson’s hear about it, next year they’re quite possibly going to rush to next years door busters. It’s a domino effect that will move faster over time.

Perhaps I’m speaking with haste, but I believe this is how cultures change and traditions fade from actual experiences to photographers wanting to document the few remaining celebrations. My only hope is that the turkey remains, mashed potatoes always find a place on the table, and that these musings are simple thoughts that will never come to fruition.

Happy Thanksgiving!!

is vanity…fair?

I rode the subway to work this morning as I do each day. The F to 14th St. and one block to work. It’s just enough time to allow me to drift into and out of a daydream (morningdream?), become captivated by Claire Keegan’s Walk the Blue Fields (short stories inspired from bygone days in Ireland), play Rachael Yamagata’s “Even if I Don’t,” on repeat x 6, and of course, people watch.

People watching in New York City is, in my opinion, an activity that everyone experiences at least once a day. From walking out your front door, to taking a seat on the subway or a bench in the park, people are everywhere. It inspires, intrigues and engages. This morning it left me in the spaces between intrigued and engaged. I stood behind a 10 year old boy who arrived on the train at York St., the last stop in Brooklyn before departing for Manhattan.

I took no notice of him at first, or at least thought nothing of his behavior.  He wore a school uniform. Had a number 3 haircut and straightened his book bag with straps that hung low down his back. He then took a drink from a bottle that was misleading from its contents, and after catching his reflection in the train’s windows, straightened his tie. And…straightened his tie and collar. And collar and tie and tie and collar…and yes, it went back and forth like this for a solid 90 seconds. I watched him care for his appearance and tidy his look as we rolled into and out of stations. Silently, to myself, I tried to imagine his upbringing and what values his parents worked to instill in him. It’s not often I observe a young boy being mindful of his appearance by ensuring apparel is straight and linear, and nearly wrinkle-free. Taking notice of him I thought, “He must be really disciplined, attend to his homework without being asked and maybe he’ll grow up to be valedictorian…”. I don’t really know where these ideas were going, but I imagined if his mother or father could see him, they’d be proud. Perhaps I subconsciously wished I’d been of that mindset at his age and maybe it would’ve led me down a more traditional path…

But that got me thinking, and raised a question, “At what age does spending (too much) time in front of a mirror begin to reflect your vanity?” “When is it seen as being too vain or superior?” I saw this boy of school-age who simply appeared to be making sure he was presentable but imagined him 15 years later with those other men and women I’ve seen who spend what is perceived, and may very well be, too much time and money on their appearance? At what point does one go from observing a child and praising him or her for their manners and ability to groom themselves, to thinking they’re haughty, or too proud? Can instilling your child or a close loved one with values that are supposed to prepare them to take care of their themselves, and thus their health, well-being, etc. reach an unnecessary or inappropriate level?

No Caption Needed is a blog dedicated to photojournalism. It’s insightful, presents images paired with the authors’ (Robert Hariman and John Louis Lucaites) opinions and it’s incredibly inspiring. Their writing causes you to stop and think, take a sip of jasmine green tea, reflect on what’s written and ponder – which is exactly how I reacted to one of their posts last year on Haiti as they reported on the aftermath of the country’s earthquake. Have a look, one of the images poses this very thought as a refugee is seen amid the debris pausing to check her appearance in a dresser’s mirror. Given the context, Hariman stages the argument that it is an, “…Act of triumph over adversity.” Having a routine activity when tragedy strikes provides some sense of normalcy which helps. Right?

I don’t know whether that young boy will grow up wanting to straighten his tie day after day, or if he’ll grow up and with it, grow an aversion toward wearing ties for work. Or if that young girl who paused for a moment to see her reflection in an unclaimed dresser mirror will grow up dreaming of a job on 5th Ave in fashion merchandising. I don’t know if appearance should speak for itself or whether personality and vanity go hand in hand and correlate with one another. I don’t think appearance should speak for itself, and I also believe personality and vanity are not mutually exclusive. Can an individual who looks to put a lot of time and money into their appearance, with mani-pedi’s and Marc Jacobs bags, but works for an NGO addressing education in indigenous communities still be a perfectly wonderful human being?

I’d like to think the answer is yes. It may not be my taste, or upon-receiving-a-paycheck-pursuit, but wouldn’t the world be awfully boring if we all splurged on gourmet coffee and a nice sushi dinner?

Coney Island – Stillwell Ave.

Coney Island. I think you mention its name and for many, an image of bygone days surface whether or not we actually had personal memories there. We know the type of scene that part of Brooklyn once held – and if we don’t, we read or learn about it from others. We can imagine what it was like – perhaps our visions are a bit fanciful. But isn’t that what our mind does when we haven’t been to a place and wish to go? We draw up a grand picture full of various extremes. The good, the bad, the beautiful, the bold. For me? Coney Island was a hybrid image of modern with mermaid parades, and traditional with sideshow performances. It was my first time there last week and like any place you look forward to visiting for the first time, I woke up excited to explore the environment.

This excursion for me was particularly exciting because of a few reasons: 1) I’ve been yearning to see new land and other borders, and 2) I recently listened to a pod cast with Pico Iyer about traveling/culture/home. To say that I had not been there to people was like uttering a sin, or so it seemed. How could I have lived in Brooklyn for nearly 3 years and never touched foot on the boardwalk? So this past Friday I went to rectify this. As Iyer stated in his interview, “[Traveling] moves you to look at your home with new eyes…” and I needed to refresh my palette.

I’d heard going there was like visiting a different state. Like truly being on vacation. I heard it was amazing and that I’d have “so much fun.” In fact, I’ve never heard anyone express they’ve had a terrible experience. In a sense, this is what most people expect vacations to be like — one goes to Greece, the Canary Islands, Mexico, Hawaii…and you hear good and envious stories. My trip on Friday went a bit like this. Coney Island was beautiful, peaceful, full of life yet very changed at the same time. It reflected the past as well as today’s trends and one can only imagine what 50 years in the future will bring.

From talking to a few locals on the boardwalk, Coney Island seemed like THE place to be decades ago. With hot dogs for .12 cents, 6 roller-coasters and a plethora of games and shows, this iconic Brooklyn seaside landmark will never be what it once was. Lola Staar, a former roller-skating rink turned candy store turned Italian restaurant is now a vacant paint-peeling building. Hot dogs are currently $3 and some change. A friendly veteran shared photographs and reminisced with stories about his days and return to America after WWII – friends gathering for photobooth type pictures, comaraderie in the Iceberg Athletic Club, etc. Sure it won’t be the same yet people still visit and smiles still abound. And when one does stop by for a visit, there’s something about a historic place like Coney Island that is mystical yet comforting.

“I think what we’re always looking for, when we’re seeking out a place, a person or a life, is that mixture of strangeness and familiarity.” – P. Iyer

something beautiful.

There’s something beautiful about how you spend your time when you’re caught in a rainstorm. No one truly wants to find themselves standing outside, under a tree or at a distance from shelter the instant we feel the heavy splat of rain against our skin. Only movie scenes seem fit for those dramatic moments: man stands in the middle of a parking lot with hands out and palms up, face toward the sky asking, “Why me?”; girl and boy meet on a cobblestone street, are the type of smitten that only seems to happen in European films and they go wandering off in the lamplit Parisian mist; it’s a dark and stormy night where the driver of a car finds him or herself on a deserted road in a rural part of Nebraska and the windshield wipers are on the optimal speed but the rain’s downfall defy them. When it comes to rain and time, it always feel like we need to be filling that space with…ourself. With something and ourself. Even if we’re in the comfort of indoors, we use the rain as an excuse to sleep more, watch a movie, or lounge around in our Saturday pajamas while reading the next Stieg Larsson novel. We are a culture that is constantly in motion. To stop, and to observe the natural phenomena that is sometimes so powerful it’s destructive, is rare.

But being caught in the rain, and finding refuge under a well-sheltered overhang is something totally different. Unless you’re looking for a reason to get wet or cannot wait, there is nothing else you can do in this instance except wait. And so you stand there, watching the rain fall – looking like whole notes written across a scale, descending one octave lower and lower; or appearing to bounce off the pavement like little glass beads that reflect pieces of the world upside down, and for a brief period of time, become unaware of the hour, of where you’re going or why you were rushing. They are completely innocent moments.

This is the “something beautiful.”

Before the storm

flowers, concrete, and a breath of fresh air

I grew up in upstate New York where a verdant spring was expected and a landscape of trees and flowers grew. Maples lined my backyard growing up. They were my ‘cones’ as I dribbled the soccer ball back and forth. Allergies came at full force like the April rains, all family members were awakened by a new season of flowers, pollen and umbrellas. I grew up surrounded by this natural beauty but one would never find me with my mouth wide-open admiring the beauty of potted plants, perennials or blooming hydrengea’s. Oh, and the bountiful ferns hugging the side of my grandparents home created a mini-rainforest that brought drops of dew each morning. To me, they were always there. With each new year came new buds and new leaves — sadly, I admit, I think I took these springtime moments for granted.

Now though, living in New York City, my senses are more perceptive and appreciative of such greenery. While I walk on sidewalks, tree-lined and shaded, or pass small batches of freshly turned dirt, I take notice of the flower beds wrapping the base of neighborhood oak trees. Newly planted Impatiens color apartment windowsills – red, purple, pink, alternating as you pass from one street to the next. The nature that fills the space between apartment buildings and businesses, streets and avenues, construction sites and unattended lots exists, and its juxtaposition next to these very urban backgrounds commits an added sense of beauty to such scenes. It does not go unnoticed. Besides city residents and the flow of tourists, this natural life enlivens an area and breathes energy into commercial and residential spheres. It’s a reminder that aside from the development lining our city panorama, marks of nature occur naturally – those aromatic scents of lavender and trails of birch leaves are just small examples. No paint or canvas, no photograph or trace of a stencil to draw these fresh views. They’re all around us – growing taller, greener, leaving shadows on our resources and blowing in the wind as the breeze passes us by.

Science vs. the Arts

I recently went out to dinner for a friend’s birthday in Brooklyn. The food was delicious. Zaytoons never disappoints and their choose-your-own combo plate of grape leaves, labneh, falafel, and of course, hummus makes you feel like you’re celebrating a grand occasion even if you’re simply satisfying your mid-week Middle Eastern food craving. Dining together that night were eight people – three of whom were of Asian ethnicity. The five others fall into standardized categories we are all familiar with from various forms requesting us to recognize our ethnic identity.

Pause for a flashback.

I wanted to be a Marine Biologist when I got older. I also wanted to be a writer, an artist, and my mother and grandmother frequently encouraged me to work for Hallmark or go into business for myself making greeting cards. I must not have seen this as a viable career because during my junior year in high school I remember going to Farleigh Dickinson, the first university campus I visited and one of three I was interested in that advertised a marine biology program. Well, crossing Farleigh Dickinson off my list occurred nearly as quickly as pursuing a career in Marine Biology but at least lasted longer than thoughts of a career in the arts. I maintained my interest in science and was accepted into Clarkson University with the intent of studying Biology and Environmental Science. What I planned to do with this degree was still undetermined but numerous possibilities crossed my mind as I neared my high school’s graduation: surgeon, environmental scientist (I still don’t know where I would’ve taken this) and the most clearly thought out profession of them all – an individual who wanted to save the world.

While my ambition to save dolphins was not brushed under the rug, I’d met my threshold for learning chemistry in college. Or so I thought. Second semester of my first year arrived and test results did not reflect the grades of a future Newton. I realized my path forward would have to be rethought and maybe…just maybe the sciences as we generally understand them were not my cup of tea. Think about it, how many friends or acquaintances or friends of friends do you know that studied one discipline in college and they’re either doing little related to that now, or if they are, they wish otherwise. I’m not saying it can’t happen, but it’s not unreasonable if it doesn’t. Settling on one industry to begin a career in at 22 years old, hardly having experienced life and being told to make a decision is like being asked to rate a movie you’ve seen the trailer of, are familiar with the actors and read some reviews — you have some general knowledge of it but your rating of that movie is pretty unreliable given you didn’t actually see it.

Choices and research and decisions and months later, I’d graduated from a liberal arts college with a degree in psychology and sociology. My days of balancing equations, calculating mathematical limits and fears of upcoming semester of physical chemistry had passed. What was next?

Fast forward to now.

Without offering an autobiographical narrative of the past 12 years of my life and the many in’s and out’s, ups and downs encountered, I’ll keep it short by saying I’m slowly defining what it is I want to do. It hasn’t been easy…but as the old adage goes, “No one ever said it would be.” One subject that never proved to be a strength is…can you guess it? Math. Yup. Perhaps that’s why I didn’t excel in chemistry. Maybe my brain isn’t ‘wired’ with the capacity to do math like I’m supposed to. Wait, supposed to? Yes, this is a topic I’ve been challenged by (and my dad informed me to challenge IT) since high school: it’s science vs. the arts,…and I’m Asian, so who wins?

Sometimes I think I could’ve been good at math. I could’ve tried harder, studied more, and not been so defiant in breaking down those stereotypes Asians are still known for. People expected top performance and high grades, and because I knew these boxes that people were known to fit into existed, I remember trying to live outside the box. I can’t say I purposefully chose to not get top marks, but I certainly remember not appreciating it when a comment fell on me sounding something like, “Oh she must be good at math, she’s Asian.” This sequence of words made me cringe and belonged to the community of stereotypes I’d personally tried to deconstruct. Years later, not necessarily any wiser, I realize these remarks aren’t meant to harm but they’re simply drawn from history and observations and research, and I should feel privileged to be considered among the many who carry such an aptitude. Do I wish I’d worked harder in 6th grade math with Mrs. Friedhaber? Yes. I do.

Nowadays though I don’t regret where science and my liberal arts background have or have not taken me. We all have our strengths, and weaknesses to make stronger. Recognizing them and developing them into assets is the hard part but we should do as my dad advised and challenge ourselves; or stimulate our mind. I believe our society has reached a point where collaboration between disciplines is necessary to build thriving communities and global partnerships. Although I haven’t rekindled my dream to save the dolphins, or embarked on fulfilling the vision my family had for me in start a greeting card company, I have awakened my creative leanings as I explore the visual arts. It’s inspired me to look at angles and composition, spaces and lighting, all of which have a connection to science. Art, math and science share a common space bound by shapes and sizes, reasoning and logic. It’s important we continue to explore different perspectives so universally, our understanding of the world increases and the vision we saw it with yesterday grows from what we learn today. Asians may be good at math, but that doesn’t mean that they, or others can’t be good in the arts, or both. And next time I’m at dinner and we’re computing what we owe, I should be proud to speak up when someone remarks, “I have the bill. What do we owe? Give it to an Asian.”

A little challenge never hurt anyone, right?

looking back, looking in between

Life anywhere can become overwhelming. We don’t have to live in a big city where a crowded subway can cause morning commute madness, and a day that started happy quickly turns sour because we forgot our lunch rushing to catch the number 2 train we just missed. Likewise, it’s winter and another morning in New England arrives that calls for scraping the car free of ice in frigid temperatures that fall below freezing, because the windchill broke another record. It’s too hot, too cold, not enough choices, too many to choose from…wherever we are, the grass will always be greener elsewhere. Someone will always be richer, poorer, in a so-called ‘better situation’, happier, luckier, etc. If you think about where you were a week, a month, or even a year ago this time, I’m sure you could think up some situation or remember an emotion attached to that time period that was probably quite different than you feel now.

It’s all about perspective.

I do a lot of reflecting. A lot of thinking back, to the past, which some people may not consider healthy. I think what it comes down to is how we choose to use this information and those memories we’re looking back to. It’s been 6 months since I returned from Korea and not a day passes where I lose consciousness and awareness of where my two feet are standing. I think back to a year ago and how I’d considered returning to the US before completing my 12 months, or how staying for 6 months more fell as one of my options during various stages of my contract. And now I consider how some people return to Korea because to them, that’s where they were possibly their happiest. For others, like me, it was my most challenging year. Happiness and challenges aren’t mutually exclusive but we only usually come upon this conclusion in retrospect, and my case, they were.

Here in Brooklyn, NY, life has not been overwhelming. I started a new job at The Foundation Center, have artwork hanging at Choice Restaurant in DUMBO, and was selected to participate in a juried exhibition earlier this month through VERGE Art Brooklyn. According to the cards, I have nothing to complain about and I’m not about to begin. But it hasn’t always been like this is what I’m saying. And while I am lucky compared to MANY, things will get better for many of them. Life is overwhelming but it doesn’t always have to be.

What makes this blog post different from others by me is that I am usually weighed down with the sorrows and tragedies of countries turned upside-down by natural disasters, conflict, political or economical instability. Guilt begins to generate because I am here, writing from the comfort and safety of my home, whereas those whom I am usually writing about lack this security and I end up doing little more than cogitating on this morass of seemingly infinite global plights. And while we won’t forget the devastation that struck Japan, nor overlook the earthquake in Burma, or stop pursuing peaceful agreements amidst the uprisings in the Middle East, we have to look for a silver-lining somewhere. The world is an unpredictable place and for us to keep ourselves and each other afloat on a global-level, we can’t overlook the success happening in smaller, less-publicized parts of the world: in Liberia where bridges bring access, and the AU’s aim to provide laptops to children across Africa. I’m not a politicist or specialist in foreign affairs, so I don’t know if these decisions are all ‘right’, but we can’t constantly look at humanity’s struggles and people in the context of adversity. We have to keep moving, and to look in between stories and scenes we normally pass by to see that even in the midst of chaos, beauty does…and can exist.