It's been a pretty good summer. It had been both self-sustaining, relaxing, and thoroughly excellent through and through. I got a summer job which turned out to be a good work experience, which was what I wanted for anyway. I did read at my leisure, and I had a gift card to spend at Kinokuniya, which is possibly my favorite bookstore in the world.

'If we, citizens, do not support our artists, then we sacrifice our imagination on the altar of crude reality and we end up believing in nothing and having worthless dreams.'
- Yann Martel, The Life of Pi

Whenever I feel afraid, I hold my head erect. And whistle a happy tune, so no one will suspect, I'm afraid.

-The King and I

***

Whenever I feel afraid
I seek out my faithful companion
Since I was three
The little stuffed rabbit
Has traveled far and wide
No ticket, no passport required
Just its presence
Is enough to comfort me.

***

When I'm self-conscious
It happens now and then
The homeroom teacher wants me
To stand up in front of the whole class
I start chewing
Even when I have no chewing gum in my mouth.

***

I drew a fairly large crowd
I was their senior
I was quietly revered in awe
Or maybe I just made that up
Anyway,
I had something profound to say
Or give good advice
For want of becoming a role model
Been there and done that
So, it seems
That I have the legitimacy
To solicit advice
It's not a matter of age
But a matter of experience.

I once thought of doing my World Literature Essay on facial expressions. Below are quotes I collected specifically for this topic.

***

Govinda - as pale as a dried banana.

Siddartha - laughed in such a way that his voice expressed a shade of sorrow and a shade of mockery.

The old man (eldest Samana) became silent, his eyes glazed.

Your mouth is like a freshly cut fig, Kamala

His face is still more clever and intellectual than other people's, but he rarely laughed, and gradually his face assumed the expressions which are so often found among rich people - the expressions of discontent, of sickliness, of displeasure, of idleness, or lovelessness.

Weariness was written on Kamala's face.

Good-natured wrinkles

-From 'Siddartha' by Hermann Hesse

***

Darting black eyes both insincere and self-satisfied in expression

The expression on his face was one of spiteful mistrust and chronic ill-concealed anger.

Sad black eyes of the children.

Expressionless black eyes like the empty windows of a dark room.

You can tell these Americans of 1929 by their whipped-dog expression and gold teeth.

Large eyes and thin lips; their archaic faces do not stem from the Romans, Greeks, Estrucans, Normans, or anyother invaders who have passed their land, bt recall the most ancient Italic types.

Earthly, immobile, animal-like expression.

-from 'Christ Stopped At Eboli' by Carlos Levi

On writing essays:

Sometimes it's really easy to write what you want, when you feel like it. This feeling of creative flow is akin to having a jug of syrup pouring down beautifully. When it's hard, it's like trying to elicit a sliver of meat from the crevices of a crab. Sometimes it's just damn hard, like constipation.

"In those days I was young, and all sorts of fancies bright and dark tenanted my mind: the memories of nursery stories were there amongst other rubbish; and when they recurred, maturing youth added to them a vigour and vividness beyond what childhood could give." - Jane Eyre

I was like that when I fell into a blissful and ignorant reminiscent of my childhood. It was true that I had a memory like a roll of films, just like my Dad had said. I remembered playing in the grass, swinging on the swings, swooshing down the slides. I remembered inconsequential details like the tile arrangment of our neighbor's kitchen. I remembered the bumpy carpeting of my home. My best friend and I balancing on a bike. Watching the steam rise from the rooftop over the swimming pool. Stuff like that. Attention to detail, no? But I would forget the famed sights of Germany, sites of historical significance, places in China I visited with the family because I was too young to understand. Nevertheless, my mother still thought travelling at such a young age was an invaluable part of growing up and of parenting. But there were things I would remember for a lifetime because they had been brought up not long after whatever passed, salvaged from the vague recollections of 'Those Early Days'.

'The Life of Pi' (continued)

Let me tell you what's so special about 'The Life of Pi'.

Piscine Molitar Patel, the main character of this novel, is telling a very remarkable story about one's journey of the extraordinary. There is much to discuss about: themes, character development, and much talked about literary forms if one is to analyze it in a literature class, or even compare it to other similar 'Castaway' genre books such as 'Robinson Crusoe' and 'Lord of the Flies'. What struck me, leisurely and attentively in the lulling enjoyment of 'Reading for Pleasure', is the structure. This book is divided into three parts; the first in which Pi (no irrevocably nicknamed so, but nevertheless symbolically representative of the divine human being) narrates his childhood, a tone that of an innocent and curious young boy. The second part is his 227 days at sea, with a Bengal tiger in tow. The third is a written transcript of his conversation with two Japanese shipwreck investigators on the fate of the cargo carrier which sunk and consequently led to Pi's castaway life. It is in the second part of this novel which Pi narrates, in simple and eloquent language, of his maturation and understanding of humanity, and human's relationship with nature. The fact that he is able to survive a lifeboat with a Bengal tiger is testimony to his ability to discern how animals communicate and behave with the human race, which more often than not mistreats and misunderstood these vital communicative signs at a fatal cost (note that in Part I Pi explains the anatomy of zoos, and debunks self-proclaim nature lovers who do not really understand freedom in the wild on the animal's behalf with regards to the supposedly rigid confinements of a zoo). In the last part of the book Pi is shown to irritate his impatient investigators, and through this the reader once again is given an allegorical portrayal of his testimony at sea.

Below is my favorite part of the book; Pi has followed three religion, and this excerpt shows what is so baffling and so simple of practicing three religions altogether. Please start from the previous post.

****

Ravi had a field day of it when he found out.

"So, Swami Jesus, will you go on te hajj this year?" he said, bringing the palms of his hands together in front of his face in a reverent namaskar. "Does Mecca beckon?" He crossed himself. "Or will it be to Rome for your coronation as the next Pope Pius?" He drew in the air a Greek letter, making clear the spelling of his mockery. "Have you found time yet to get the end of your pecker cut off and become a Jew? At the rate you're going, if you go to temple on Thursday, mosque on Firday, synagogue on Saturday and church on Sunday, you only need to convert to three more religions to be on holiday for the rest of your life."

And other lampoonery of such kind.

An extract from 'The Life of PI'

The wise men seemed annoyed when they realized that all three of them were approaching the same people. Each must have assumed that the others were there for some business other than pastoral and had rudely chosen that moment to deal with it. Glances of displeasure were exchanged.

My parents looked puzzled to have their way gently bocked by three broadly smiling religious strangers. I should explain that my family was anything but orthodox. Father saw himself as part of the New India - rich, modern and as secular as ice cream. He didn't have a religious bone in his body. He was a businessman, pronounced busynessman in his case, a hardworking, earthbound professional, more concerned with inbreeding among the lions than any over-arching moral or existential scheme. [...] Spiritual worry was alien to him; it was financial worry that rocked his being. [...] Mother was mum, bored and neutral on the subject. A HINDU upbringing and a Baptist education had precisely cancelled each other out as far as religion was concerned and had left her serenly impious. [...] As for Ravi, if Lord Krishna had held a cricket bat rather than a flute, if Christ had appeared more plainly to him as an umpire, if the prophet Muhammad, peace be upon him, had shown some notions of bowling, he might have lifted a religious eyelid, bt they didn't, and so he slumbered.

After the "Hellos" and the "Good days", there was an awkward silence. The priest broke it when he said, with pride in his voice, "Piscine is a good Christian boy. I hope to see him join our choir soon."

My parents, the pandit and the imam looked surprised.

"You must be mistaken. He's a good Muslim boy. He comes without fail to Friday prayer, and his knowledge of the Holy Qur'an is coming along nicely." So said the imam.

My parents, the priest and the pandit looked incredulous.

The pandit spoke. "You're both wrong. He's a good Hindu boy. I see him all the time at the temple coming for darshan and performing puja."

My parents, the imam and the priest looked astounded.

"There is no mistake," said the priest. "I know this boy. He is Piscine Molitar Patel and he's a Christian."

"I know him too, and I tell you he's a Muslim," asserted the imam.

"Nonsense!" cried the pandit. "Piscine was born a Hindu, lives a Hindu and will die a Hindu!"

The three wise men stared at each other, breathless and disbelieving.

Lord, avert their eyes from me, I whispered in my soul.

All eyes fell upon me.

"Piscine, can this be true?" asked the imam earnestly. "Hindus and Christians are idolaters. They have many gods."

"And Muslims have many wives," responded the pandit.

The priest looked askance at both of them. "Piscine," he nearly whispered, "there is salvation only in Jesus."

"Balderdash! Christians know nothing about religion," said the pandit.

"They strayed long ago from God's path," said thhe imam.

"Where's God in your religion?" snapped the priest. "You dont' have a single mircale to show for it. What kind of religion is that, without mircales?"

"It isn't a circus with dead people jumping out of tombs all the time, that's what! We Muslims stick to the essential miracle of existence. Birds flying, rain falling, crops growing - these are miracles enough for us.

"Feathers and rain are all very nice, but we like to know that God is truly with us."

"Is that so? Well, a whole lot of good it did God to be with you - you tried to kill him! You banged him to a cross with great big nails. Is that a civilized way to treat a prophet? The prophet Muhammad - peace be upon him - brought us the word of God without any undignified nonsense and ided at a rip old age."

"The word of God? To that illiterate merchant of yours in the middle of the desert? Those were drooling epileptic fits brougth on by the swaying of his camel, not divine revelation. That, or the sun frying his brains!"

"If the Prophet - p.b.u.h. - were alive, he would have choice words for you," replied the imam, with narrowed eyes.

"Well, he's not! Christ is alive, while your old 'p.b.u.h.' is dead, dead, dead!"

The pandit interrupted them quietly. In Tamil he said, "The real question is, why is Piscine dallying with these foreign religions?"

The eyes of teh priest and the imam properly popped out of their heads. They were both native Tamils.

"God is universal," spluttered the priest.

The imam nodded strong approval. "There is only one God."

"And with their one god Muslims are always causing troubles and provoking riots. The proof of how bad Islam is, is how uncivilized Muslims are," pronounced the pandit.

"Says the slave-driver of the caste system." huffed the imam. "Hindus enslave people and woship dressed-up dolls."

"They are golden calf lovers. They knee before cows," the priest chimed in.

"While Christians kneel before a white man! They are the flunkies of a foreign god. They are the night-mare of all non-white people."

"And they eat pigs and are cannibals," added the imam for good measure.

"What it comes down to," the priest put out with cool rage, "is whether Piscine wants real religion - or myths from a cartoon strip."

"God - or idols," intoned the imam gravely.

"Our gods - or colonial gods," hissed the pandit.

It was hard to tell whose face was more inflamed. It looked as if they might come to blows.

Father raised his hands. "Gentlemen, gentlmen, please!" he interjected. "I would like to remind you there is freedom of practice in this country."

Three apoplectic faces turned to him.

"Yes, Practice - singular!" the wise men screamed in unison. Three index fingers, like punctuation marks, jumped to atention in the air to emphasize their point.

They were not pleased at the unintended choral effect or the spontaneous unity of their gestures. Their fingers came down quickly, and they sighed and groaned each on his own. Father and Mother stared on, at a loss for words.

"If all the world hated you, and believed you wicked, while your own conscience approved you, and absolved you from guilt, you would not be without friends." -Jane Eyre

"Life appears to me too short to be spent nursing animosity, or registering wrongs." - Jane Eyre.

"The most disappointed are the most Americanized, a curious consequence of frustrated enthusiasm."

Currently reading: Beyond the Age of Innocence

That sentence pretty much explains even the most mildest form of anti-American sentiments. "Frustrated enthusiasm" resonates with the early excitement, anguish, disappointment and frustration when I first moved into college. I had high expectations, so there was much to anticipate; yet equally there was much to discover. This was a major reason why I was more than surprised once I arrived, that I would be experiencing some first-hand culture shocks, despite the fact that I had been schooled in an American system. In reality, there were thousands of aspects of American culture that I have not yet been acquainted with. The most funny thing about the cultural flabbergast was that over here, of all places, stereotypes were actually reinforced, not undermined. I felt like I was trapped in a daytime soap opera (well, kind of). Despite the fact that America is one of the world's most influential and powerful country in the world, it still contain pockets of suburban ignorance to the world at large. Specifically, international affairs especially in which the majority of America's political presence played decisive roles, if not, overwhelming and subtle influences.

***

I remember a conversation that had taken place during house meeting between two housemates. One of them is pretty interested in American something (I don't know quite how to describe it - American culture?) and he asked his friend ,"Do you know what America needs more?", and his friend shakes his head sadly (of course, they were discussing the plight of the country candidly) and replied, "More suburbs".

***

Notwithstanding, there are plenty of 'the best of the world' categories from this bewildering and paradoxical country. And the best part of reading this particular book is coming across this phrase that best describes how I feel about going choosing to study in the U.S: Americans know what it means to have 'the best of communities': "A common sense of identity based on shared values".

American exposure

I guess the it started in 1990. I was almost three years old, and my dad was transferred to Shanghai because his company had secured their bid to build the No. 1 metro line. So my dad relocated his family and we left Hong Kong. We lived in a very nice, luxurious service apartment at NanJing Xi Road (that would be similar to say, living in an apartment flat in downtown Manhattan). This service apartment was part of the larger entity of the complex called Shanghai Center, which was literally full of prime lots and apartments for rent all rolled into one (today, it's possible that most cab drivers still refer to the place as 'Portman'). It was built by an American company and, upon its inception, became a center for foreign exports as well as the then small and tight-knit expatriate community. The shopping mall included various restaurants like Tony Roma's, it had stores like Watson's, Starbucks, Chanel, Salvatore Ferragamo, and office spaces for major airline companies. At the center was the Portman Shangri-La, where former President Clinton and President Bush have stayed during their visit to Shanghai. Today, it's replaced by the Ritz-Carlton. Shanghai Center formed a big part of my early childhood. It had an impressive lobby flanked by two gigantic arches (they served as entrance and exits) along a sloping square. There were various elevators leading up and down. It even housed a theatre which was known for bringing shows, back then, the Hong Kong Ballet Troupe, and a convention center. I haven't been to any other apartment which is as impressive as this. On the eighth floor was a wide garden terrace, and here I spent countless hours playing with my friends, roller blading, and attending various dinner functions held by the Management, as well as the annual Easter Egg Hunt.

We lived in Shanghai during the early 90's, when there were not yet as many expatriates living as now (of course - I say this because it's a known fact that Shanghai has transformed dramatically since 1996, the year we left, moving to yet another growing and developing city, Kuala Lumpur in Malaysia). Most of the foreign residents stayed at the Shanghai Center, and most of their kids were my age, so it's no wonder that I loved living there. There were many friends. Most, if not all of us, attended Shanghai American School, (which was also one of the few international schools in Shanghai back then). I also grew up with my German childhood friends (family friends; both are dads worked for the same German company), and we both traveled around China together and had dinner together, often at the Hilton, and Tea Garden which, I vividly remembered, had the most delicious looking display table for the Christmas season with gigantic gingerbread houses, a little mini steam engine train and delightful pastries.

It's possible to say that we were living in a pretty much accessible Third World Country (I'm using this anarchic and politically incorrect term for metaphorical purposes) with all the perks and benefits of living an expatriate life, in a cocooned world.

Shanghai American School was my first real exposure to the American life. Most of the staff were Americans. We sang songs, played tag, eni-mini-miny-moe, and other playground games. I made my first paper-mâché. My first grade teacher creatively came up with the idea that we should go on a holiday to Hawaii, so we made passports and suitcases out of construction paper, turned up the heater so that it was warm enough to wear T-shirts indoors. Once, she invited the whole class for a cooking session at her place - we made 'Crocodile Soup'. I listened to the older and taller middle-high school kids sing 'We Will Rock You', stomping at the back and deliberately making it coincide with the famous hump that we had to cross just before we reached our stop home (most of us lived in the same apartment complex, so we all got off at the same place). The other distinctively American school feature was the yearly Scholastic Book Order. I would pore over the thin pages full of colorful prints and blurbs. My Dad helped me order many with audios, science experiment books, etc. I also ordered one or two 'Baby-Sitters Club' series (but one of my teacher told my Dad it was poor reading material, so I never got into it; my second grade teacher, on the other hand, was a 'Boxers Children' fan but I never got into that either).

Every summer and Christmas holidays we went back to Hong Kong. We would also bring back supplies to Shanghai (that's the extent to which its stark and early stages of China's new policy towards the outside world looked), like the 'Laughing Cow' cheese, milk powder (when Wellcome, a supermarket chain from Hong Kong decided to open at Shanghai Center, the entire expat community rejoiced), and toys - lots and lots of boardgames because I always went to Toys "R" Us every time I went back to Hong Kong.

That was pretty much my happy childhood in Shanghai. It's not hard to tell that it's made a deep impression on me. Nor is it hard to tell that I'm sort of raised up in the American system. America has also some of the best universities in the world. I'm finally living in the U.S which was one of my far-fetched experiences that I always wanted, and it's been an amazing journey. Of course, the American expatriate community experiences something, included in their lifestyle, much more different than the average, and provincial, or even metropolitan American in the States.

Why Michael Moore's films have a silver lining

A couple of days ago, I met up with two college friends, enjoying the waning days of summer. We have less than half a month to go before class begins, which would herald the start of our second year. It was a nice day out. We had lunch at a tiny café tucked behind the red marble-stone building of Takashimaya, one of Japan's flagship store (like the American Macy's). Of course, none of this is necessary detail, unless I was trying to set the scene or attempt an attention to detail. Whatever. Half-way through our lunch bite we discussed politics and semi-touched on America's relationship with the world.

The reason why I titled my post 'Why Michael Moore's films have a silver lining' was because the topic of discussion prompted me to think about how Americans sometimes take pre-emptive security measures for safety reasons. Prior to that we were discussing the difference in job perks between the President of the United States and the Prime Minister of Singapore. The Prime Minister of Singapore earns a salary that is at least three times the salary of the President of the United States, and has a much smaller country to govern. [ed. note - The Singapore government says that the reason civil servants have such high paying jobs is to prevent corruption - that's debatable]. The latter gets to live in the White House, which is part of the prestige of being President, whereas the Prime Minister of Singapore does not have a state-owned residence; the Prime Minister, upon taking office in the political sense, resides in his (or her, to show that I am gender-equality conscience?) private property. Moreover, even though the President of the United States is paid less and has more to manage on his agenda, as the sole important representative of a superpower, as the leader of the world's most influential country with regards to politics, policies, and even the environment, the President rests on a significantly larger share of the global stage than the political leader of a fairly developed country (especially relative to neighboring countries within its region). In colloquial terms, the President of the United States has a bigger limelight. Also, the perks of his job are more prestigious and fancily served (if the word, 'fancily' is appropriate, I do not know), that are not personally charged on the President' expense, such as Secret Service, Air Force One, and whole staff of personnels running the day to day operations of the White House (the White House Press, Housekeeping, speech writers, campaign aides etc.). Let's not forget it is also this country that is able to employ best brains and intellectuals working as members of the Cabinet, as part of the administration in the name of the President, and working as his advisor.

Sure, the Prime Minister of Singapore is also entitled to a team of advisors as part of his job, but everything is operated on a much smaller scale.

My friends also argued that the President of the United States has plenty of money earning possibilities, giving speeches and guest-lecturing at various institutions across the country. Then there is also the possibility of writing a memoir, or have others write a biography of you and thus play a pivotal role in determining your legacy. I don't think the prime minister of Singapore has as much post-office opportunities as the President of the United States.

Speaking of autobiographies, we discussed various less-educated group of elites, namely celebrities who have also marketed themselves through the personal medium of the autobiography (after writing the last sentence I was eerily reminded of somebody's humanities essay on St. Augustine's The Confessions). I don't believe that young stars like N.R, in her early twenties would have something significant or wise to say about her relatively short life so far, even with the aid of ghost-writers. Of course, in the case of Bill Clinton he had a definitive chapter of his life closed and post-presidencies often leaves the former President a period to reflect his time in the Office.

But back to my thesis: I believe that Americans have often neglected to ensure world peace (not intentionally, of course). We have a revelation that 9/11 could have been avoided if the FBI and the CIA had cooperated rather than keeping vital information from each other. I don't accept the argument that these governmental institutions are so swamped with leads, of which (I'm not so sure on the statistics) 90% of them are false, so this makes it likely that vital and real leads are buried and glossed over. It's possible that these clerical error happen, but its the technology and the capital at the disposal of these giant bureaucracies that suggest otherwise. True, Michael Moore's films should be taken with a grain of salt, but I sincerely believed that he would never have lied, as a film maker, to the American public. He exaggerates more than he does to distort the truth. In my book, the distortion of truth is a more serious felony of misrepresentation than the exaggeration of the facts at hand. Distortion of truth misleads, whereas exaggerations are best used to emphasize Moore's political message and to emphasize the social commentary of his films. Distortion of truth undermines the potential to analyze and understand the failings of society, either through poor policy implementations or neglect of social values and welfare. For this reason, Michael Moore's films contain a bigger grain of truth (the silver lining) than the grain of salt (or precaution) taken on the part of the viewer.

Why Facebook is Bad (or Good)

I got my Facebook account over the summer. I was only a handful of people from my graduating class that had a Facebook account that early in July, well before Orientation and the start of our first year in college. Because of this, I could somewhat stalk and check out the profiles of my other future prospective classmates (from the proud Class of 2010), and concluded that yes, these are the people to whom my university attracts. We are going to rock the year, and revel in our new-found friendship. Indeed, we would discover immense happiness in the discovery of knowing so many talented and unassuming individuals all wanting (and evetually, chose) to study at the same institutions. Facebook is definitely the best social network utility to come out over the years (mine began with, considering the expansive scope of Internet connection, from ICQ, MSN, Friendster (which I don't personally use), hi5, and myspace). I think, out of the most meaningful type of online activity, (other than the possibility of high-quality www. surfing), I prefer blogging.

Right away, I looked up Facebook on Wikipedia and found that it was the brainchild of a Harvard graduate. It was initially used to keep students in touch (within the Harvard community). It has since expanded for all registered college students in the United States, as well as other universities abroad. Most recently (and sadly for us existing users), Facebook broke its exclusivity by extending membership to anyone who has an email account.

There are a lot of cool stuff about Facebook. But before that, and more precisely, a year ago, it was much more different. It was the dream-site for stalkers all over the country. Facebook allowed you to glimpse through a slice of personal life your friends, acquaintances, and even the cute guy in your chemistry class. It was easy to find out what your friends have been up to lately from their wall posts, an attractive feature of the profile that resembles virtual Post-It Notes. It's possible to guage how popular a particular individual is, take a guess at their social prominence (or lack of), check out who their acquaintances are (with possible relevance to your own circle of acquaintances), and see how many people they know and have connections to from top colleges around the world. In addition, it's even possible to look up their high school educational background. So, it's partly due to Facebook that I have heard about U.S preparatory schools such as Phillilps Exeter, Phillips Academy, the Cate School, Cransbrook Kingswood, Chouate, Chadwick, and other private boarding schools in the United Kingdom like Sevenoaks and the Harrow School.

The downside to Facebook's distinct feature and huge popularity, appeal, and addictiveness was, ironically, exacerbated by its transformation. This began with the Mini-Feed. Horror to horrors, it displayed every single possible story that would be of some use or interest to the rest of the people to whom you are connected through a common network. Thankfully, the privacy setting allows you to choose what you want to disclose. Unfortunately, and, I suspect, loopholes do exist, such as the granting of permission for Facebook to give away information about you to business organization. Why? That's because Facebook does not run advertisements the way Google does. But it has an enormous database and immense potential of consumers, mostly teenagers and young adults, that firms can target. It is the ability to determine how important that individual is (imagine a map with dots and lines to represent people and relationships) - the most connected have plenty of friends, and therefore, their influence and distributive power, which these firms can tap into and promote their products.

The biggest detriment from using Facebook is its procrastination factor. The Mini-Feed is the first page to appear when you log-in to Facebook. Such prominence helps to distract and compel you to browse through your friend's profile, and basically stalk other people, as much as hours on end. It's a big waste of time. I can make an analogy by saying that for every hour one spends time on Facebook, that's a one-hour loss (in terms of opportunity cost) of say, reading up on news report (for this, I deliberately do not have Facebook on my web browser bookmark, but instead news bar such as Time, The New Republic, BBC, the New York Times, as well as Project Syndicate). There comes a time when spending one hour informing yourself of world affairs is a much better use of retrieving information than half-guessing that your high school classmate is coming back for the holidays and can't wait to party it out. I personally feel much more at ease, peaceful, and more successful to stay away from Facebook, and engage in more meaningful activities. So I guess Facebook is starting to annoy me and impede on my intellectual development.

Don't get me wrong though. Facebook has also contributed to my ability to discern good gossip from bad gossip. Coincidentally, I'm much more fluent in writing notes, love-notes, and friendly posts to people I know. As much as I benefit from Facebook, so much that I'm becoming a well-versed individual, so too has my social skills. I'm not kidding*. However, I feel like the time has come to relinquish its duties, and do myself a favor and enjoy the more tangible aspects of life.

*I'm getting other people's wit and humor rubbing off on me.

"We cannot talk meaningfully about the motivations and intentions of any institution, only of those who constitute and govern it." - Joseph Stiglitz, Globalization and Its Discontents

Even in this day and age, it's clear that not every institution of any kind sucessfully carry out their agendas while staying true to their espoused values and missions. It's a lot easier to steer a boat in the rough sea than it is to direct the boat to a specific destination under the same conditions. Because of this, it's important not to dismiss and ridicule people like me (I do have this tendency) who have received an education that emphasises on social awareness and responsaibility. I just don't think it's fair to dismiss people who others have condemned for their childish visions and naivety. In fact, it's these people who have inspired great films, poems, and compelling stories that have captivated and positively influenced many others, and who give us hope and optimism of the future. Forget about existentialists; they were practically insisting on a completely different clause!

"It's the economy, stupid"

Currently reading: 'Globalization and Its Discontents' by Joseph E. Stiglitz

To become a learned economist, it's important to be up to date with world news, increasing one's knowledge of economics, globalization, and social trends and phenomenons from different perspectives. For this reason, I am reading one of the currently best selling non-fiction books hitting all major bookstores. I want to be more informed and learned about international affairs, with the purpose of avoiding stuff happening, such as this: politics and policies harmlessly, ignorantly, and caressly tossed before me.

Come to think of it, the world is becoming acutely aware of how small it actually is (think of Thomas Friedman's 'The World Is Flat'). We are virtually connected to anyone else who has access to the Internet. Chinese is becoming one of the most popular foreign languages taken by college students. Steven Levitt helped gained worldwide attention and interest in cconomics with his thought-provoking book (Levitt has his own 'Freakonomics Blog' featured on the New York Times website). Even before the Freaknomics craze, Malcolm Gladwell, staff writer for The New Yorker (who I personally admire), wrote about the fascinating relation between people and phenomenons. Social phenomenons, that is. It is the one distinct and generous umbrella under which many categories of lifestyle and society lie. Malcolm Gladwell, coming from a literary magazine background, discussed this beautifully in his first novel, 'The Tipping Point', and later topped it off with his second novel titled book, 'Blink'. Some of the interesting anecdotes that Gladwell uses to illustrate his main thesis are related to pyschology, the third domain which connects society with the individual. Speaking of which, pyschology has also become a popular degree.

***

Once I started college, my biggest fear, oddly enough, was fear of failure. I hesitatd to declare the I was going to major in Economics. I avoided saying a solid, 'Yes' when people asked whether that was my intended major. Why? For a long time, I saw it as a stepping stone into the financial world, of which I had very little idea of. Or so I thought. I kidded myself a lot, not really exploring the subject first-handed. Today, I have discovered that this is not at all true! Over the summer, I have been entertaining the idea of going into academia. My ambition is to work at a global institution such as the World Bank, or an NGO or think tank for which I share the same values, or possibly work as a top advisor. It would also be nice to get some work experience in the world of journalism, either as a freelance writer, or contributor for some featured column. Any of these are good ideas or goals to have, but it's equally important to know what is achievable. And college helped me to expand my horizons; this is one of the reasons why I know I hadn't disappointed myself, not from the very beginning.