danielmente

Ouch

2007-11-02T15:37:00.000-04:00

So I'm with the kids out near the bathroom, trying in vain to keep them calm during the post-lunch mayhem. "Against the wall!" "Hurry up!" "Stop looking in other peoples' stalls!" Seriously, the bathroom is like a friggin' playground for 'em. Anyway, I'm shuffling kids around while my bathroom monitors are dispensing hand sanitizers and generally causing more trouble than their worth. All of a sudden, I hear a yelp of pain. I dash over to the girls' bathroom and see a girl walking toward me, her face contorted with pain, her left hand clutching her right.

"What happened?" I ask. "I closed the door on my finger," she sputters, choking on tears. "Lemme see," I continue, motioning for her to open her hand. She obliges and a decent stream of blood flows down her index finger.

"Ah!" she yells, "I'm gonna die! Tell my mom I love her!"

Now, I am completely taken aback by this comment. The girl runs to the paper towel dispenser and yanks out a mile as I just stand there, stupified.

"Tell my mom I love her! Tell my mom I love her!" she continues, a shade past hysterical by this time.

I finally come to and wrap my arm around her shoulder, walking her out and away from the bathroom to the shouts of "What happened?!" coming from the kids.

"My fingers are gonna fall off! My fingers are gonna fall off!" her mantra continues. "Tell my mom I love her!"

As I'm walking I bump into another teacher waiting to use the bathroom and he somehow ends up taking her the rest of the way to the nurse's office, while I watch the two classes.

Turns out she gashed it pretty good and ended up going home. She may need stitches. Piecing together the wild accounts of seven-year-old witnesses, it turns out she was holding the side of the stall with one hand and, not looking, proceeded to slam the door on it with the other.

Afterwards, it was all I could do to not collapse with laughter. I know, I shouldn't! I mean, the girl thought she was gonna die! But it was pretty sweet that her "last" thoughts were of her mom- and her fingers.

Marital Issues

2007-10-17T19:16:00.001-04:00

We started writing fantasy stories today in class. We talked about different possible characters and settings. Then the kids picked their own and gave them problems and solutions. Here's one student's take on it:

Problem: They [the prince and princess] going to have another baby
Solution: They going to talk it out

I'm not sure why, but it's just hilarious to me.

The straw that broke the camel's pants

2007-09-20T21:34:00.000-04:00

So I walk the kids into one of those ever-so-stupid (but necessary?) fundraising assemblies where the candy man tells kids not to peddle their wares at strangers' houses. While I think the assembly is a waste of time (I could easily give them the safety lecture and hype them up in five minutes), I am glad to be there. Math was just plain horrible today. I could not get them to focus and, I must admit, my lesson was lacking. So when the principal announced the assembly with only twenty minutes advance notice, a wide grin grew on my face. "Close your books and put your pencils away!" I yell. I walk the kids down and sit them in the gym. Now, at this point I had been on my feet for almost two hours nearly non-stop. I was sweaty and tired and the kids looked entertained enough by the candy man that they wouldn't act up. So, I decide to plop myself down on the floor next to them, as teachers often do. Then, I hear the sound.

RRRRRRRRRIIIIIIIP!

My usually dimwitted reflexes slap the two books I had been carrying onto my lap. I stare blankly ahead, taking a moment to attempt to understand what just happened. All I remember was the sound and a flash of pale, pale flesh. I gulp and sweat begins to bead down my forehead.

"Are you alright?" says a teacher who happened to be standing next to me.
"Yeah," I manage to sputter.

The realization finally dawned on me. I had split my pants.

I panic immediately. The only reason people didn't notice was because of my lightnin' fast reflexes and the fact that I ended up sitting criss-cross applesauce. Upon standing, my not-fit-to-be-seen-in-public undies and unkempt thunder thighs would be visible to a couple hundred students and staff.

And the assembly was half over. I had to get out of there.

I yank a kid in front of me over. "Can you please go to the classroom and get my sweater hanging over the chair in front of my desk. Quickly." Alas, if it had only been winter. A nice, long coat may have worked nicely.

After what seemed like an eternity, the kid returns, sweater in hand. I had my covering, but how could I actually leave. It was the end of the day and in a few minutes I would have to walk the kids out to their parents. And I thought that that one time I ran into a pair of them whilst inebriated was the most awkward thing I would ever do.

I had to confide in someone. Someone else had to walk my class out. I motion the teacher who questioned me earlier.

"I've go an embarrassing situation," I whisper. "I seemed to have split my pants and I need to get out of here." "Oh no," she says, with genuine concern. "Yeah, could you please walk my kids outside at the end of the assembly?" I sputter. "Sure, sure," she says, "Where exactly do I take them?" At this point, there is roughly five minutes to dismissal. Throw them out of the fuckin' window for all I care, I think. After a lengthy explanation of the tricky subject of walking students outside in a straight line, I finally get the go-ahead.

With a simultaneous flip of the wrist and a smooth standing motion, I am upright with my sweater awkwardly, but adequately, covering my shame. I rush towards the door, feeling a particularly refreshing feeling in my nethers. I hit the first door. Damn, locked! I go to the next and it opens easily. I don't look back. I rush through the school, praying to Jesus I wouldn't see anyone, and out of the door. Cursing the fact that I parked in the school lot, I rush past milling parents, not daring to make eye contact.

Within moments I reach the sanctity of my car. Time to inspect the damage. I had not split the back of my pants, but the front. The tear stretched from my zipper down both thighs. The only remnants were fibers that lay blithely over my fleshy manscape. To get a clearer idea, inspect this shot of the pants in question, taken after I reached the comfort of home:

The best thing of all was that I had to return to school that evening for open house.

But, shit, I've weighed more than I do now and I've never split my pants before. And I've sat on the floor plenty of times on these self-same pants and nothing's ever happened! I guess they were just fed up with me. There is a lesson in all this though: I will never sit on the floor during an assembly again.

Gotta split.

PS- Throughout the whole fiasco, I could not get this song out of my head:

Spongebob Ripped Pants

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Now I see

2007-09-17T20:15:00.000-04:00

It's like night and day with these friggin' kids.

Last week was hellish. I had no control over the class. The kids were blabbing non-stop. The boys kept on smacking each other. I was yelling from the top of my lungs just to get their attention. I was not able to teach everything I was supposed to. Every day of that week ended with a sore throat and a pounding headache.

But today was fine. Pretty good, actually. The kids were, aside from a handful of minor situations, chill. I was able to engage them in the content, they were sharing and working well together. One of my more "challenging" boys was moderately focused, a marked improvement to his usual zero to little percentage. He even wrote a story about football fueled by his own interest! (This may be an in, but, alas, I can't even throw a football properly)

The icing on the cake happened after our shared reading. We read a book about a blind kid who wants to play baseball. After reading the first chapter, I handed out sticky notes and told the kids to write one connection they could make between the book and either themselves, another book, or the world around them. The kids really dug the book and related it very well, but feast your eyes on the gem I came upon:

"Mr. Mocdow is blind"

A subtle yet telling criticism of my character? A witty rejoinder vis-à-vis my classroom management? Or perhaps a guess because I told them once they can never see me without my glasses. You decide.

I predict...

2007-09-14T21:14:00.000-04:00

This week in school I've been talking with the kids about predicting. We've been reading several books and learning how to use clues to figure out what will happen next. As a culminating activity, I made up a book for them but wrote only the first and last page. It was about a girl who puts different small animals in her backpack as she walks home (it seems a slightly odd premise now that I think about it). I hoped the kids would catch the pattern and construct a story. Most were successful and went about creating impossible tales about shoving giraffes and fish inside of a book bag. One particularly precocious pupil went about weaving a yarn that left me in stitches. Here it is, her words are in bold:

Jennifer was walking home when she found a frog. "Oh, how cute!" she said. Then she put the frog in her backpack. Then she found a guinea pig and a rabbit and a dog and a cat and she walked and walked and walked and walked and walked and walked and walked and walked and walked and walked and walked and walked and she got home.

Might I add, that the "walking" portion of the story was spread over four pages. I don't quite know if she was feeling lazy or felt that she got the gist of the story quite early and just needed filler. I see potential.

Long, hot days

2007-09-10T15:24:00.000-04:00

The kids are gone and I still have so much to do. But I can never work directly after they leave. I need a buffer of at least a half hour to vent or shove the stress deep, deep inside of me.

Today feels like a venting day.

To begin with, the air conditioning is still not working. I spent the entire day with twenty-two second graders at the cozy temperature of 86° in a space slightly larger than my living room. I was sweating all day long, using sheet after sheet of paper towels to sop up the juices. I feel sticky, smelly, and just all around gross. Days like this make me miss shorts and flip-flops so badly. Wearing long pants and closed-toed shoes in times of heat just does not make physiological sense.

But besides the sweat, the day started well enough. I was a little later to work than usual this morning (Mainly because of last night's post but also due to the fact that I somehow cracked my phone in half. My phone, you see, serves as my alarm, and while the phone still functioned, the screen was completely white and, thus, I could not set the alarm. And, believe it or not, I had absolutely no other alarm of any kind. I resorted to finding online alarm clocks and leaving my laptop beside my bed. Hey, it worked.) I pretty much got everything ready in time and the morning went fairly smoothly. But if you've ever worked a full day in an elementary school (or can remember being there), you know the worst time is after lunch.

After lunch, the kids seems to lose all focus. I really can't blame them, though. They get fifteen minutes of recess a day. But take away from that the daily review of the playground rules and time spent lining up and they're lucky to get ten minutes. Add the fact that we were five minutes late today and you can see a problem. You see, kids need recess. We force them to sit still, be quiet, and learn difficult concepts for three hours, give them a ten minute break, and then shove another two hours down their throats. You may ask about lunch but that's just sitting and being quiet with food.

I seem to recall getting a lot more recess when I was a lad. And although I didn't usually run around and such, I did draw pictures and play random Asian card games. It was a rest for my mind as much as my body and most of my fondest school memories occurred on that cement field. No wonder so many of my kids cited recess as one of their favorite parts of their first day in their writing.

But, as I was saying, it was a madhouse in here. I teach math and writing after lunch but I feel like we really didn't get anything done. I kept yelling and the kids kept complaining and bothering each other. Mix in the heat and the fact that so many of these parents send their kids to school with far less than adequate sleep and you can paint a pretty accurate picture. It was so, so frustrating.

But now after getting that all out of my system, I cannot bring myself to do any work. I have no desire to put together conferencing notebooks or make a KWL chart or check short vowel worksheets. I guess that's why I show up to work at 6 AM. I'm gonna go buy a cheap new cellphone.

Sleep

2007-09-09T23:24:00.001-04:00

I think I'd like to start writing a little bit more.

So, I'm sitting here celebrating my first Dreaded Sunday Night of the new school year. Sunday in and of itself is quite possibly the worst day of the week. It is a mystery why it is considered the Lord's Day (although my pastor taught it was really a Saturday and that those other supposed "Christians" were awful silly). I do not consider Sunday a part of the weekend. Upon awakening on a Sunday morning, I only curse the fact that in twenty four hours I will be awaking to a Monday morning. Doing anything at all productive seems moot because work will be starting again so soon. So the day is spent agonizing about the impending doom of the work week. Hours upon hours drift by while I look at stupid shit on the internet and make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

Then the evening time comes and bedtime rolls around. And I do not want to go to sleep. It isn't insomnia: my eyelids are heavy, my limbs are droopy, and the yawning is non-stop. But I don't want to go to sleep. These days, I think its due to the job. If I go to sleep, tomorrow is that much closer. Another day of stress, paperwork, sweat, and agitation will be born. So I slaughter hours of sleep in a delusional effort to stave off the coming dawn.

But I recall college summers at home doing the same thing. And with nothing at all to do the following day, I would frequently stay up until dawn watching cartoons and hanging out in random chatrooms (I really can't believe I used to go into chatrooms). It was quite an effort to keep my eyelids ajar but I just didn't want to sleep.

It takes a tremendous amount of willpower or just complete exhaustion to make me go to bed early. But if I ever get less than seven hours of sleep, I feel like crap all day long. The only equalizing factor is that as the evening grows later, the desire to sleep increases, as shown by Figure 1.a.:

Figure 1.a.

And now, as the magic hour approaches, I submit. Oh Mistress Nocturne, take my waking self and grant me bittersweet dreams of Freudian consequence.

Artistic interpretation

2006-04-07T22:33:00.000-04:00

Jupiter's Two Wallets

JUPITER, it is said, once gave to man two
wallets, one in which to put the faults of
his neighbors, and one for his own.
One was much smaller than the other, and
both hung from a girdle, which was to be
thrown over the shoulders so that one wallet
should hang in front, and one behind.
The man kept the large one in front for his
neighbors' faults and the small one behind for
his own, so that, while the former was always
in sight, it took some trouble to see the latter.

Moral: Though people are often blind to their own faults, they rarely lose sight of their neighbor's.

This is one of Aesop's more obscure fables, but still moralicious as any other. This particular tale talks about Jupiter (more commonly known as Zeus).

In class the other day we were looking at a bunch of his fables and talking about them. Then I gave them each a different fable to read, write, and draw about on their own. One girl got the above fable. She read it, wrote a bit, and drew her picture. She then popped her little head up and called me over. "Mr. Mercado! Look!" I stared at her drawing with a slightly puzzled look on my face. "What is it?" As-a-matter-of-factly, she said, "Its Jupiter. With two wallets." Low and behold she had drawn the planet Jupiter (color acccurate and with its tiny, tiny ring) with two blue pockets with two small black (leather, I assume) wallets in them. Needless to say, it is hanging on my wall in front of my desk.

I love my job.

Long time no see

2006-01-31T13:23:00.000-05:00

Haven't posted for a bit but that's because I have tremendous difficulty in writing (or drawing, for that matter) on any kind of daily, scheduled basis. I have tried several times to come onto here and whip out a clever phrase or two but have found myself woefully disinterested. But today, yes today, I'm feelin' it. Several bits of news for you today. First, my weight. Yes, I am talking about my weight! At the beginning of the fall semester, I weighed an immense 320 pounds, the utmost gravity has ever pulled on me. But today, ladies and gentlemen, I weigh a trim 278. Ok, maybe it's not exactly trim but I feel its quite an accomplishment. And this is only the beginning! I have an ultimate goal of weighing a mind-shattering 185 pounds. Some have told me this goal was crazy, but for a 6'2" male, I assure you its not. But besides focusing on the numbers relating to poundage, I am tracking my weight loss at a more qualitative level as well. Here's a list of things I want to be able to do by losing weight:

be able to look (even more) damn sexy in a wife respecter
be able to clearly see my purple-helmeted warrior of love at his most chill state with minimal effort
be able to try on clothes I would never, ever wear
be able to look completely amazing when utterly naked
be able to fit into any desk, anywhere, any time
be able to do poor-quality belly flops
be able to wear pants an inch off of my tassle (if I ever cared to do so)
be able to conceal myself comfortably with a towel
be able to live a long, healthy life with plenty of sex in it

That's just a few things that I just sit back and daydream about. Maybe by the end of this still new year. Who knows... But in other news, I also started student teaching! I am in a sixth grade class at Downey Elementary in Harrisburg. I've barely met the kids, but I've gotten alot of "don't take any crap" from a bunch of teachers and the student-teacher there last semester. So, needless to say, it will be a challenge but one that I'm up for. I mean, I do believe I was meant to be a teacher, for some time at least. Why else do I fantasize about decorating my classroom, get excited at the sight of journals and crayons, and would watch Lean on Me at a moment's notice?

One more semester?

2005-12-13T22:09:00.000-05:00

What the hell, man? I thought I was ready but I am not. I remember saying how much I wanted to graduate last year. "I'm tired of school!" I proclaimed "I want to go to the real world!" How foolhearty! As I sit perched at the foot of reality, I shudder. Can I stay another year or two in college?

I also remember thinking about how people moved back home after they graduated. "Why would anyone want to do that?" I foolishly questioned. Well, they all have one great reason: money! You see, money really does make the world go round. You need money to pay rent, buy food, and have hot water, just to name a few things. Now, I'm not saying I was (completely) unaware of reality. But life after college is like a shark. I know what it looks like: big fish, sharp teeth, couple of fins. I have watched it on TV and talked to people who have seen one up close. But when I am on the edge of the boat, peering into the sea, and I see it swimming before my very eyes, it becomes a little more real- and a little more scary.

Staying on the topic of money (and sharks), I actually tried to figure out how much money I would owe after I finished the other day. I won't go into specifics, but trust me, its a tidy bundle. I had no idea that I couple spend a couple dozen grand so easily!

Things I want to do before I die

2005-12-12T17:56:00.000-05:00

Write a children's book
Get my master's degree in something awesome
Swim in every ocean (only got 1 so far) and lots of seas
Visit (at least one of) the following countries: Egypt, Japan, Spain, Italy, UK, Australia, Argentina, Brazil, Nepal, China
Spend a significant amount of time living in one of the above countries
Write a novel or other interesting book
Create art that gets shown somewhere or seen by someone
Teach in a city school
Learn another language
Sing in front of lots of people
Doodle for a living (for a little while anyway)
Live in Philadelphia (or another big city) on my own
Spend some time in Puerto Rico
Be able to speak Spanish really, really well

Don't worry, this is just a preliminary list. More to come.

Sight and sound

2005-10-26T15:27:00.000-04:00

It's like nirvana, man.

I remember the first time I got glasses. It was around the fourth grade and I was having trouble seeing the chalkboard in class. So my parents took me to the doctor's, I got an eye exam, and suddenly (or so I thought) I was nearsighted. I went to the eyeglass place and got some pretty awesome now-hip-but-then-not thick, black rimmed specs. I can think back to the first time I slipped them onto my face and peered through the thickish glass and looked onto the world. Everything was crystal clear. Suddenly, the world seemed so much more detailed, intricate, ornate. I walked around awestruck for awhile because I could really see, now (And because my sight gets progressively worst, everytime I get new glasses, I experience it again).

Then, other days come up like when I was sitting in my inclusive education class. My prof was droning on and I was a bit drowsy. But suddenly, I shot my eyes open wide and stared ahead into nothingness. Everything literally snapped into clarity. Every detail- from the outline of the chalkboard, to the stripes of the prof's shirts, to the pen I held in my hand- suddenly and unexpectedly became blazingly clear.

There is also a day like today: cold, clear, and crisp. The sky blue, the wind cold, the sun shining despite it all. You feel the cold breath in your lungs and the warm light on your skin and it's almost orgasmic. The world is fresh and new and clean. I sat on the steps outside my building for fifteen minutes staring at the sky, the cars, and the people who were all participating in this euphoria with me (even if they didn't actually know it).

And, finally, there is music. Although the visual is my primary sense of perception, I can become immersed in audio. Take, for instance, John Legend. I'm sure everybody has heard "Ordinary People" (and if you haven't, click and do). I have heard it and I do like it and have been even known to sing it in the shower and to the kids I worked with in PFL. But have you ever listened to a song that you know pretty well and it suddenly has an immense meaning that it never had before? Like I said, nirvana, man. I listened to that song today and it just hit me like a ton of bricks right off the bat. At the end, I honestly said "John Legend, did you write this song for me?" My brain was just like *bing* It's ok. You are not alone and you never really were. This is ok and, you know what, this is life.

I think I am starting to get it.

It's fall

2005-10-19T19:16:00.000-04:00

This morning I sat at my desk, freshly awake from a mid-morning nap which replaced class today, and wondered what the weather was like. I turned on my computer (which is an arduous task these days) and as I waited for it to boot up, my eyes turned to the four huge windows that my desk faced. I saw some trees with multicolored leaves blowing in the breeze, the assorted college houses on Carlisle Street, the gas station next door, and a bright blue sky with some patches of cloudy fluff.

Then it struck me, why do I need to look up the weather? Here I am staring outside at the world I am about to walk into and I don't even know what the weather is! Now that might be a bit far-fetched. I know it's fall and it'll be cool and crisp. I've lived through at least 21 of them. But what struck me was my disconnection from nature. I do not know the subtleties of seasons. I am separated from nature so much. Even today, with its beautiful temperatures and bright sky, I would have to be stuffed inside for classes or school or a job. Why? Rain, snow, freezing or boiling temperatures I understand. But this separation from nature is year round. It simply is not built into our society to use the benefits of nature. How much electricity could we save being outside on a day like today? How much better would it make people feel to be in fresh (sorta) air? But we impose ourselves on nature and force it to accommodate to us. So, I need to use weather.com so I know how to dress for my brief experiences with nature as I walk between buildings.

(Ironic side note: I did discover today that you don't even have to go to weather.com. If you type in weather and a zip code in Google it tells you! I know, it sorta just topples my whole tirade but I just thought it was convenient.)

Gender exclusion

2005-10-18T22:47:00.000-04:00

At yesterday's community gathering we heard Arbutus Sider speak about gender roles and Christianity. While there was relatively little time for discussion after Sider's lengthy presentation, the discussion that did happen was good and came from many different perspectives (which is always the key to meaningful controversial conversation). One point brought up was that even if the Bible says "man," we know it means both sexes. Why be nit-picky and change the text of the Bible when everyone knows what it means anyway? Ok, let's play devil's advocate and say I accept that. Just because it says a specific gender doesn't mean its limited to that gender. But just for fun, let's flip things around: what if the Bible was written by women? Here are some interesting verses that we would find:

"Then God said, 'Let us make woman in our image, in our likeness, and let them rule over the fish of the sea and the birds of the air, over the livestock, over all the earth, and over all the creatures that move along the ground.'" - Genesis 1:26

"When I consider your heavens, the work of your fingers, the moon and the stars, which you have set in place, what is woman that you are mindful of her, the daughter of woman that you care for her? You made her a little lower than the heavenly beings and crowned her with glory and honor. You made her ruler over the works of your hands; you put everything under her feet: all flocks and herds, and the beasts of the field, the birds of the air, and the fish of the sea, all that swim the paths of the seas." - Psalm 8:3-8

"Jesus replied, 'If anyone loves me, she will obey my teaching. My Mother will love her, and we will come to her and make our home with her.'" - John 14:23

"Blessed is the woman who perseveres under trial, because when she has stood the test, she will receive the crown of life that God has promised to those who love her." - James 1:12

(All verses from the New International Version)

Now we get quite a different feel for the verses. I know when these verses say "woman" they really mean all people. But somehow reading them rings differently and I feel as if they don't quite connect to me as they once did. I would guess a woman would feel empowered and have a stronger tie to the verses (and promises contained therein), especially now that it's God the Mother. Now imagine if we built a millenia-spanning religion on this tradition.

Is gender inclusion really that nit-picky, or is it simply trying to make the Word of God truly available to all people?

Just another day at school

2005-10-17T15:27:00.000-04:00

Don't know if you know but I've been working the past five weeks or so at the library at Duckrey Elementary School. The library had been closed for years but was reopened, cleaned up, and staffed. They hired a veteran elementary teacher with no library experience but no real desire to use the library to its fullest potential. He usually teaches a random science or English lesson, through which most of the students are talking or playing around. He lets only about half the classes that come through take out books... every once in awhile. Some teachers don't even send their classes to him. Today, we had two whole periods with no classes. And what do we do during these times? Organize the huge disorganized mess of books on the shelves? Prepare for the next class? Work on setting up the card catalog? Nope. We talk.

Today's discussions included how education professors are "bullshit artists," the fact that teachers "bitch and moan" and "talk trash about students" in their lounge, why we both shouldn't have been education majors, how suburban schools are stupid, why you shouldn't get on the bad side of a principal, how IEPs suck, and the possibility of crack pretzels existing.

This has been a different experience than the one I had been anticipating but it's actually been a healthy dose of reality. This is how schools are in Philly. There are teachers who care a lot, who care in different ways, and who don't care at all. There is a system in place that is criticized, bemoaned, used, and abused. Everything you learn in school is not how things are in life and sometimes kids just suck. It make sound negative but its real and something that could balance me out a little in preparation for what I am getting into. So, I may not be getting any practice whatsoever, but I am learning what some real teachers are and what I want to be as a teacher.

Breathing

2005-10-16T23:30:00.000-04:00

Do you think much about breathing? Its been on my mind a lot lately. In my urban field experience class, we read an article about how the stress of inner-city life actually deteriorates quality and span of life of those living there. It spoke about how parents in urban areas keep their kids inside in an attempt to keep them safe from these risks. Now, kids who have been kept inside do have a greater chance of "surviving," says the article. But these kids also have a greater chance of developing asthma (as well as obesity, heart disease, and diabetes) because of all of that badly ventilated indoor air filled with vermin droppings, toxic construction materials, and dust. The asthma I have now may be in part because of this (although I do not blame my parents and I thank God for all they did in raising me).

In scuba diving class, we had to do a 45 foot swim holding our breath. At first I thought it would be a dive to 45 feet and then surfacing (which freaked me out). I sorta forgot that we did everything indoors and that the deepest pool we had was 15 feet. So, we did it the length of the pool instead (this did much to ease my mind and lungs). Can you believe I actually did it without passing out? It might have been the longest I have held my breath ever (I always chickened out early in those contests when I was a kid). Boy, was that first breath out of the water the sweetest ever.

And now today I sit here writing with my nebulizer buzzing away at my feet and smoking at my mouth (I never really got the hang of an inhaler). The cool weather, my persistent cold, and lugging a heavy box up three flights is a bad combination for my lungs. I wasn't about to have an attack (for which occasion I do have an inhaler) but my breathing was just not going that smoothly. But whenever I get like this, my breathing suddenly becomes conscious. Normally, it just hums in the background, quietly doing its job while I attend to other matters. But when my asthma flares up, I am suddenly thrust into active control. I have to suck in the oxygen and press it past the chords of pain and force it deep into my lungs. Then, I have to push the carbon dioxide out of my lungs, through the same pain, and expel it through my mouth. I do this over and over again with careful, focused attention. While I do not enjoy having to do this, it does remind me of how amazing, yet fragile, this body is.

Now, let's all take a nice deep breath ...... and exhale. Doesn't that feel nice?

Home reading

2005-10-15T19:01:00.000-04:00

Came across this article in Teaching Tolerance, another random magazine in my parents' "reading room." Written by Mitali Perkins, "A Note to Young Immigrants" is a small sample of the swirl of identity-forming emotions and experiences that people new to this country go through. It really spoke to my life and maybe it could speak to yours:

Be ready: You lose a lot once you're tossed into the mainstream. You lose a place that feels like home, a community where the basics are understood, where conversations can begin at a deeper level. No easy havens await you, no places to slip into with a sigh of relief, saying, "At last, a place where everybody is like me." In the neighborhood, you're like a pinch of chili tossed into a creamy pot. You lose the sharpness of your ethnic flavor quickly but find that you can never fully dissolve. You lose the ability to forget about race. You're aware of it everywhere in town, like a woman aware of her gender in a roomful of men. You dodge stereotypes at school by underperforming or overachieving. You wonder if you're invisible to the opposite sex because you're foreign or because you're unattractive.

You lose a language. You still speak your parents' language, but it will soon begin to feel foreign to lips, pen and mind. Your heart won't forget as quickly; it will reserve a space for this mother tongue, your instructor of emotion, whispered in love and hurled in anger. Your heart language will speak words that tremble through tears; it will join you with others in the camaraderie of uncontrollable laughter. In your new language, English, you enjoy the lyrical cadence of poetry and glimpse the depth of ancient epics, but your heart will remain insatiable.

You lose the advantage of parents who can interpret the secrets of society. Your friends learn the art of conversation, the habits of mealtimes, the nuances of relationships, even the basics of bathroom behavior, from their parents. Your own parents' social etiquette sometimes leads to confusion or embarrassment in the outside world. You begin to take on the responsibility of buffering your parents from a culture that is even more foreign to them. You translate this new world's secrets for them.

You lose the stabilizing power of traditions. The year is not punctuated by rituals your grandmother and great-grandmother celebrated. Holidays in this new place lack the power to evoke nostalgia and renew childlike wonder. Your parents' feasts of celebration fall on days when you have to go to school.

You lose the chance to disappear into the majority anywhere in your new world. In the new neighborhood, you draw reactions common to minorities — outright racism, patronizing tokenism, enthusiasm from curious culture-seekers. If you travel across the seas to neighborhoods where your parents grew up, you're greeted with curious, appraising stares. You're too tall or too short; you move your arms and hips differently when you walk; you smile too often or not often enough; you employ the confusing nonverbal gestures from another world.

But don't get discouraged. In fact, you should feel quite the opposite. There is good news about life in the melting pot. There are gains to offset the losses, if you manage not to melt away altogether. You're boiled down, refined to your own distinctiveness. You realize early that virtues are not the property of one heritage; you discover a self powerful enough to balancethe best of many worlds.

A part of you rises above the steamy confusion of diversity to glimpse the common and universal. You recognize the ache that makes us all feel like strangers, even in the middle of comfortable homogeneity. You understand the soul's craving for a real home because yours is never sated with a counterfeit version.

So take time to mourn your losses, but remember to revel in the gains. Learn to embrace a litany of genuine labels — words like stranger, pilgrim, sojourner, wayfarer. Stride past the lure of false destinations, intent on traveling to a place where, at last, everyone can feel at home.

Full article here.

What about Pakistan?

2005-10-10T14:36:00.000-04:00

Did you know that there was an earthquake in Pakistan on Saturday? It was 7.6 magnitude and death tolls stands at 30,000 and rising. This is a monumental tragedy so I expect an Earthquake Relief telethon coming soon, right? Stores and websites everywhere will donate some of their proceeds to Pakistan, right? I mean, just look at Katrina. Here was a hurricane that caused massive destruction and killed a little over 1,000 people. And look how Americans, and the world, opened their arms. Thus, a tragedy of even greater magnitude so soon after Katrina would just keep the flow going. Right?

Ok, end of sarcasm. Here's my problem: Katrina was a horrible tragedy and I do not want to detract from anyone's pain and suffering through this crisis. But it happened in a city that really should never have been built (New Orleans will probably fall again in my lifetime especially if global warming continues to supercharge storms). New Orleans is also, of course, in the richest nation in the history of the world. Governmental incompetance aside, we should have been able to take care of this with no problem (especially with no foreign aid).

But then you have Pakistan, a developing nation, and it has an earthquake. The people affected were just living their lives in everyday towns and cities. But billions of dollars worth of property was destroyed and tens of thousands are dead. Bush pledged billions to rebuild a city that should have never been built in the first place (while $200 billion and growing has beent spent for the war). How much is the US offering Pakistan? $50 million. This paltry amount will also set the international standard of amount given for relief. The Kashmiris are pissed off at the trickle of aid and they have every right to be. Pakistan will be rebuilding from this tragedy for decades. But in a few short years New Orleans will be rebuilt, another captiol of American selfishness.

People have grown tired of mass destruction on the news. They already donated, like, 20 bucks to the Red Cross. They want to read about Kate Moss and Britney Spears' freakin' baby, now. Pakistan is so far away, anyway. And didn't we just give them money for the tsunami?

UPDATE: The Swinging Bridge published this in their latest issue! Woot!

Some thoughts on busing

2005-10-05T23:04:00.000-04:00

So in my urban sociology class we saw a video about the effects of Brown v. the Board of Education then and now. The solution then to integrating public schools was the busing of African Americans students to white schools. That didn't last too long and was not really widespread in use. So basically, today there is still massive defacto segregation. My question is: why didn't they bus white people too? In all the cases it was these poor black kids saved from their miserable schools and whisked away to the magically perfect white schools. That's some sort of one-way integration. What about those still left behind? I think whites should have been bused too. Maybe we can reinitiate that program in our nation. Imagine a bus pulling up to a rundown Bronx high school and 20 or so Abercrombie and Fitch kids pouring out. Let's see if an interest in fixing and truly integrating schools perks up.

But, personally I grew up in the incredibly diverse neighborhood of Olney in Philadelphia. My friends were Puerto Rican, Irish, Vietnamese, Korean, Indian, Chinese, Italian, African, Laotian, and Mexican Americans, just to name a few. I was incredibly lucky to spend most of my childhood in this environment. I feel it has prepared me somewhat well for the true, deep, mind-numbingly huge variety of people in this world. To commemorate my love for Olney, I added a significant portion to its entry on Wikipedia. I'm quite proud of it. Why don't you check it out?