Talk to me/ So you can see/ What's going on

I hate train tracks

2009-06-30T21:58:00.001-07:00

Last night I made plans for a long (for me) bike ride this weekend. I'm a little rusty in my biking skills and nervous about biking so far so I decided to ready myself by pedaling to work this morning. This helps me get used to riding in traffic and gets my bum used to the saddle again. I also was worried about falling on the long weekend ride and being to scared to finish the ride. I figured if I fell on a short ride, I could get my nerves together better and just generally be used to falling. Yes, I am that uncoordinated that I anticipate falling all the time.

I pumped up my tires at midnight, fixed my fenders and filled up my water bottle, ready to go. This morning I hoped on and pedaled over the bridge, under the highway, and on the Embarcadero. Vroom vroom vroom or whatever the noise is that bikes make. Three-quarters of the way there I fell. Hard.

My bike flipped over as I was crossing a set of train tracks. I fell off and bruised my legs up really bad. Thank goodness I was wearing jeans and gloves as that saved my knees and hands. A cop stopped and started to ask me questions about how I fell, even though he obviously saw the whole thing/ I was too disoriented to answer, super flustered, embarrassed, scared (that for some reason I was going to get a ticket for falling off my bike) and in a lot of pain. I jumped up off the ground, put my shit back in my basket (which was really bent from the fall) and said incoherently, "the tracks... train.. crossing...". The cop just shook his head and sped off. I as relieved that I didn't get a ticket (why would I worry about that tho?) and then was sad b/c I realized I was too scared to get back on my bike and could have hitched a ride w/ the cop.

I made it to work but was wobbly all day long. My bike basket was crushed; my legs ached; my pinky was bleeding; and my wrists were really sore. To top it off, a piece of my pedal even broke off! So scary.

At the end of the day, I had to gather up all of my energy and courage to bike home and cross those same tracks. My bike commute requires me to cross train tracks 8 times one way; 16 times round trip. Very, very scary. On the way back, I rode over tracks 1,2, and 3 just fine. When I got to 4 though-- the set I originally fell on-- I couldn't do it. I had to fully dismount my bike and walk it across the tracks. Yes, I was that shaken up. Yes, I am happy I fell today so that if I fall again on the weekend bike ride, I will already be an expert.

I am also happy cuz my bike was so messed up I had to take my bike to Alameda Bike to get it adjusted. There I learned some new tips on how to avoid falling on those damn tracks. yay bikes! boo train tracks!

how we sit in class: part deux

2009-06-28T09:14:00.000-07:00

White Female
White Male
White Male
White Male
White Male
White Male
White Female
Black Female
Korean Female
Latino
Latina
Pinay
Pinay
White Female
Latina
Latino

bad student!

2009-06-24T16:11:00.000-07:00

in high school i was a slacker. yes i had pretty good grades, but honestly, i just knew how to work the system. when i think back on it, i'm amazed that people didn't call me out on my bullshit. i'm even more amazed that I, a child of korean immigrants who have very little cultural captial, was able to move through and manipulate the white and economically privileged world of my school. how did i pull off that shit? incredible.

in undergrad and in my masters program, i was totally different student. i readily consumed everything that was assigned to me and found almost everything intellectually stimulating. i was very torri torri-- almost running around finding more to read, think about, and do. no more bullshitting.

today, as i push through my third semester of my doctoral program i realize i am de-evolving into the unmotivated student i was in high school. i am not engaged at all this semester. i can't even get my shit together to fake it. must be one of the most undisciplined people i know. BOO!! :(

How We Sat In Class- U Shape

2009-06-20T15:44:00.000-07:00

White Female
Asian Female
Latina
White Female
Asian Female
Latina

Latino
Asian Female
Black Female
Latino

White Male
White Male
White Male
White Male
White Female
White Male
White Male (Instructor)
White Male (Guest Lecturer)

Mehn-su,1992

2009-06-20T15:35:00.000-07:00

Mehn-su,1992

I looked down and saw a small stain on my cartoon-printed underwear. Panic rushed over my body. What is this? Am I dying? I yanked up my pajama bottoms and sprinted towards my Unie’s room for help. I stopped at her door, waited for her to look up, and said in a small, scared voice, “Unie? Something’s wrong.”

At ten years old, I didn’t know what it meant to have a period. All I knew was that my mom would buy gigantic Kotex pads would wrap them neatly in tissue before depositing them into the wastebasket. The year before I started my period, in fourth grade, the girls had a day of “Sexual Health Education.” My parents checked the “NO, I do not consent” box on my form. My um-ma and ap-pah grew up after the Korean War, when there was certainly no such thing as Sex Ed. The letter from my elementary school explained the purpose of Sex Ed, but my parents spoke limited English and they only needed to understand one word: SEX. So, while all the girls learned about periods, pads, and puberty, I sat with the boys and watched “Big Ben”, a movie about a brown bear.

The morning that my period first started, my sister handed me one of my mom’s bulgy pads and showed me how to use it. I secretly wondered why there was no “belt” as my only exposure to periods and pads was from an outdated version of “Are You There God? It’s Me Margaret” in which Margaret and her friends yearn for their periods and practice fastening belts to a pad. I also wondered, How often should I change my pad? How should I take a shower? How long my period would last? Why did I have it? And most importantly, How could I keep everyone from seeing the outline of this bulgy, extra-long, overnight Kotex from the back of my Bongo shorts? This was my introduction to my period: many questions and no answers.

My um-ma didn’t find out that I had started my period until three days later. I didn’t know how to say “period” in Korean. In true tradition, she simply asked me if I had started my mehn-su. I had no idea what mehn-su meant but from my um-ma’s tone, I could guess that she was talking about my period. I slowly nodded my head and she yelled in exasperation, “You’re so young! Why are you starting so soon?!” I clearly did not have the answer, so I silently added it to my growing list of questions about my period.

It wasn’t until sixth grade, when I slyly moved the checkmark from the NO box to the YES box, that I finally got some answers.

in My Little Red Book

2009-06-06T16:33:00.000-07:00

http://www.nytimes.com/2009/05/31/education/31takaki.html

http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/c/a/2009/06/01/BA7B17T6TQ.DTL

Like many students at Berkeley, I first heard of Ron Takaki in my Asian Am 20A. Strangers From a Different Shore was one of the many books we were assigned to read but it was the book that had probably the biggest impact on my life. Two years later in my junior year of college, I had the honor of taking a small research seminar led by Professor Takaki. We met in a dark classroom in Wheeler Hall once a week. Creaky chairs, too small tables, dusty blackboards. The 15 or so of us, including Professor Takaki, sat in a small circle every class period sharing our research. Professor Takaki opened up the semester asking us his famed question, “How do you know you know what you know?” and we spent the first three weeks of the class sharing our epistemologies. Riveting to learn from him. Riveting to learn from each other.

Professor Takaki’s discussion of his epistemology deeply resonated with me and still does. I was moved to hear him share his experience entering academia, publishing his first book, and going home to Hawaii to his family. His uncle said to him, “Hey Ronnie, it’s good that you did all that but when are you going to write something for us? Something that we can read?” And that shaped the rest of his career as a historian, writer, researcher, and teacher. He told us this story at a time when I was struggling to reconcile my own idenities as a student in Asian American Studies and as a daughter of Korean immigrants. Everytime I went home to San Diego, I left something behind in Berkeley. Everytime I left to Berkeley, I left something behind in San Diego. At that point it was something I had never talked about and instead struggled alone in this constricting binary paradigm.

But I digress.

Professor Takaki invited our class to his house for lunch. He took us on a tour of his study which was really a basement room with a bunch of filing cabinets. On top of the file cabinets you could see plaques and awards collecting dust. An after thought. He proudly showed us the paintings that he and his wife Carol made (I don’t remember what the style is called, one was a mallard duck though!). In the living room the piano was cluttered 40 photos or so of their children and grand children. The only thing that could make you think this man was a big deal was a picture of Professor Takaki and President Clinton taped to the wall. No frame. Just tape.

In that seminar, Professor Takaki was so supportive of me and my writing. Even though we were just undergrads, you could tell he really cared about our writing and storytelling. Out of his class came my paper Yuhl-Sheem, which is captured in this blog as a series (See Tag: Yuhl-Sheem).

In the past year I have thought a lot about Ron Takaki. He has been on my mind as I identified my research topic and did some preliminary work in the spring semester. Even more so, in the past few months, I have come to a strong realization that Ron Takaki has influenced me beyond academia and into my work as an educational practitioner. The work I did in Richmond and the way in which I did my work was deeply rooted in working with my students to shape, name, and tell their stories as young folks who live on the margins and to find ways to develop fluency in multiple Discourses so that we may retell our stories in ways that matter to other people.

I was so saddened when I read about Ron Takaki’s passing. Short of breath when I read how he passed. I send my deepest condolences to his family and the thousands of other people who have been profoundly touched by his work and life.

kimchi fried rice recipe

2008-09-15T00:38:00.000-07:00

2 cups of day-old cooked rice (I use brown but white tastes better!)

1/2 c of kimchi- chopped into small pieces

2 scrambled eggs, cooked

1/2 can of SPAM (I use Spam lite) chopped into small pieces

any additional veggies you like (peas and carrots?)

saute the kimchi in 1 T EVOO for about 5 minutes, until transclucent

add 1 T EVOO to pan (with the kimchi still in it); add rice, fry :)

at this point i like to add in the liquid from the kimchi

after your rice gets nice and red!!!, remove rice, add the spam to the pan, let cook crispy ( you can just dump it into the rice too), then add the kimchi fried rice back into the pan = kimchi fried rice w/ spam

add cooked scrambled eggs

modifications: no spam? add some beef bouillon to the rice to make it tastier

instead of adding cooked scrambled eggs, make an omelette with the rice as the filling. squiggle some ketchup on top of the omelette.... DELICIOUS!

Help my students by eating!!!

2008-02-14T17:09:00.000-08:00

Here is an easy and tasty way to help out some amazing students from Richmond High School. I have a few 12th grade students who are undocumented and are thus, ineligible for federal and state financial aid. My students are leaders at their school: student government, service clubs, and academic clubs. They have worked really hard the past four years to make college a possibility and you can help them get a step closer to their goal, just by eating!

Cafe Cacao (http://cafecacao.biz) in Berkeley has agreed to donate 25% of your total bill to my students. All you need to do is eat there any weekend in February and present a printout of the donation card ( http://docs.google.com/Doc?id=ddgfrwzj_0t3sdxccw) Easy, right? Cafe Cacao has brunch (french toast, chocolate banana pancakes, poached eggs in rosemary butter, savory egg scrambles), yummy mochas (one time they drew a kitty cat in chocolate powder on top of my mocha foam), and sweet desserts. It was even featured on "The Secret Life of: Brownies" on the Food Network! Cafe Cacao is located right next door to the Sharffen Berger Chocolate Factory, so you can book a free tour to the Factory (http://www.scharffenberger.com/factory.asp) and eat at Cafe Cacao afterward.

Cafe Cacao is open for weekend brunch 9-3 on Saturdays and Sundays. For large groups, you can rsvp by calling 510. 843. 6000
Don't forget to bring this printed card! http://docs.google.com/Doc?id=ddgfrwzj_0t3sdxccw
Happy eating!

~Amy

fried calamari

2008-02-11T15:39:00.000-08:00

i've been having a tough time :( as a result, i've been scared to fall asleep without sleeping pills... i'm afraid that i won't be able to fall asleep and i'll stay up all night alone. also, i don't want to wake up in the middle of the night and not be able to go back to sleep. *sigh*

getting up after taking a sleeping pill is a challenge. even though i give myself the 8+ hours of sleep recommended it fucks with my mind. Sunday morning I woke up and could not bear to pull myself out of bed. not only was I weighed down with several heavy blankets, but my mind was hazy and slow. i stayed in bed, groggy and literally terrified that i wouldn't be able to get up. it felt like a giant squid's tentacles were tightly wrapping my body and limbs... i kept thinking that the suction tentacles were injecting a slow but steady stream of poison into my body to keep me from leaving my bed. it was only after i said a prayer that i had the ja-sheen to pull myself up...

2008-02-11T15:32:00.001-08:00

i think i'm back to blogging

Yuhl-Sheem 12

2006-11-16T19:05:00.000-08:00

That night I called Christen who was in her last year of undergraduate school at Yale. I told her what happened. I asked her to translate the events that lead up to my firing and write a letter so I could take it to an attorney. It wasn’t fair. I’m suing because I think of the other women that I worked with. It makes me sad to think of those women working there. They work the hardest because they couldn’t go to college and get the least in return. The people who came out of college and work there do nothing and make the most money. I don’t want the Marriot to do the same thing to these women. They have such hard lives. Big corporations shouldn’t make it harder for them.

In America you have to have everything documented. That’s the only thing that counts if you want justice. Since I got injured at work my whole body hurts. If I sit for more than a few minutes I feel like my bones are going to crumble. When I sleep on my back at night and I try to roll over I can't because of the pain. If I sit in the car for more than half and hour, I get shooting pains into my lower back when I try to stand up. I hurt so much and I still went to work. They still ripped me off. None of this matters unless it is on paper. I told this all to my daughter crying from anger and sadness.

My husband had been very supportive of me during this whole time. He knows everything that has happened to me and he knows where my pride and where my shame is. He saves Korean newspaper clippings that give websites and advice for immigrants. They're posted up all over our refrigerator with pictures and postcards from our daughters. On one of these clippings is a website for the Equal Employment Opportunity Commission (EEOC) and one is for Workers Compensation. He went to the EEOC and filled out paperwork for me. It took him days to fill out the paperwork because he would have to go back every day with questions. He would stand in line for a long time to help me. After three months the EEOC did an investigation and said they found nothing. The letter they sent us did say that we could file for a hearing if we were not satisfied with their findings.

We decided to file for a hearing. Before the hearing I had to have a deposition. The hotel's lawyers kept asking me the same questions over and over again. They were harassing me, trying to catch me in a lie. We didn't have a lawyer then so we didn't know that they couldn't harass me. I was questioned for hours and hours. They let my husband stay in the room as long as he didn't make any sort of looks or signal to me or say anything. They kicked him out though after a little bit. The translator made a wrong translation and my husband spoke up and corrected her. They were so mad. They told him to leave the room and he said, “Who is supposed to correct the translator? You don’t know if the translator makes a mistake! My wife doesn't know if the translator makes a mistake! This is ridiculous!” That was the last straw. The attorneys made him wait outside.

When we finally went to the hearing it was me and my husband standing up against the lawyers of the hotel's insurance company. They told the judge that I had been injured somewhere else and was trying to scam the hotel. The insurance company lawyers said they did an investigation and couldn’t find anything. The judge asked us if there was any doubt that I had been injured on the job. I said that there was no doubt and that I hurt myself on the job. She asked if we had proof. My husband said yes and he pulled out the letter my daughter had written to Ron. The insurance lawyers were so surprised! They were all scrambling through their papers and whispering frantically to each other, not knowing what had happened. Robert and the hotel lied to them and kept the letter from them. The judge said that the letter was proof that I was injured and that I should receive treatment. She told us that we should sue but that we need a lawyer. She was so surprised that we made it to a hearing without a lawyer! She said only people with lawyers file for a hearing. She asked us how we made it this far and my husband said, “I just asked a lot of questions and filled out the paperwork.” We told her that we couldn't hire a lawyer because we didn't have enough money. The judge let us know that workers compensation lawyers are only paid if you win, no up front money. That’s why we now have a lawyer. Even though we have a lawyer, the hotel is still doing illegal things by keeping documents from us.

My younger daughter asked me how I got up the nerve to sue such a huge corporation. I think that in America it is a lot easier to get justice. America still has a lot of problems but it is better than other countries. It has laws to help protect the powerless. I know this sounds corny but I love America. To me, America really is like the song America, the Beautiful.

abortion= undocumented immigrants

2006-11-13T15:52:00.000-08:00

"A Republican-led legislative panel claims in a new report on illegal immigration that abortion is partly to blame because it is causing a shortage of American workers."

Undocumented students & CA post-secondary ed

2006-11-02T17:47:00.000-08:00

It's that time of the year... college apps... my students and i have been trudging through their personal statments. some are even on draft 13! anyway, here's some info to pass along for those of you who may have undocumented students in your California classrooms:

A student’s legal status does not have any bearing on his/ her admission to college. Colleges and universities do not share a student’s status with the federal government. Undocumented students, however, are not eligible for federal or state financial aid such as the Cal Grant or Federal Pell Grant.

California law AB 540 grants undocumented students the in-state tuition rate at public institutions (UC, CSU, CCC). AB 540 students are undocumented students who have attended a California high school for at least three years AND graduate from a California high school or receive an equivalence to a California high school diploma. The monetary savings is as follows:

• Paying $26/ unit versus $197/unit at a California community college
• Paying $2,864 in fees versus $12,420 at a CSU
• Paying $6,141 in fees versus $22,504 at a UC

To pay the in-state fees, students must request and submit the completed AB 540 Affidavit to the appropriate office at the school in which they enroll (usually the registrar or admissions office). The affidavit states that the student will file for legal status as soon as she/ he is able to do so. This is kept confidential with the school and is not shared with federal authorities.

Please use these materials with your students as you see fit and pass them onto other colleagues. Math teachers can use AB 540 in word problems or weekly projects to have students figure out the savings cost from filing the affidavit. English and Oral English teachers can have students write persuasive essays or debate about the issue at hand. Also, SB 160, the California DREAM Act was vetoed in September by Gov. Shwarzenegger. This would have required CSU and CCC and requested that UC allow AB 540 students to participate in all state student aid. English teachers can have students write letters to Honorable Gil Cedillo’s office to push for further action (www.senate.ca.gov/cedillo)

i have a whole packet of info, so if you want more leave me a comment w/ your email (i'll keep your comment private of course!)

Students of Color Conference 2006

2006-10-20T16:13:00.000-07:00

UC is hosting it's 18th annual Students of Color Conference on Nov 17-19 at the Berkeley campus. The conference theme is RISE UP! Reclaiming Our Education and Making Our Voices Heard. To register and find out more about the conference got to their website . I'll probably be leading a workshop on the effects of Prop 209 on the APA community, so maybe I'll see you there!

i love my students

2006-10-19T21:19:00.000-07:00

my students are encouraging and inspiring.

on monday, i did a thesis-statement writing workshop w/ my students. we identified different components of a thesis statement, looked at 3 examples of UC-personal statement thesis statements, dissected them, etc etc. my plan was for them to work individually and write a thesis statement for their personal statement draft. after 5 minutes of working, i could tell they were stuck so i asked them if they wanted to verbalize their thesis components (concession, assertion, reason, significance) to the group and work through them together.

it was amazing. yes, in the end they were able to accomplish the task, but in addition to that they were uplifting and validating each other.

example: rudolfo's writing about the accelerated math program he's taking advantage of. junior year, students cram through alg 2 in a semester and cram through Calc AB the spring semester. Senior year, students take calc BC as a year-long pace. the class of 2007 is the first class who is doing this. anyway, rudolfo has been really hesitant to write about this b/c he struggled through the class. he thought writing about the struggle would make him look "dumb". even after multiple conversations and drafts, i knew he still felt like it might not be the right topic. on monday, when he shared w/ the other kids his topic and working thesis he had the following:
concession: Math is my most difficult subject
assertion: I enrolled in an accelerated math program at my high school
Reason: I know that higher level math will prepare me from college.
Significance: BLANK.

my students always struggle at the significance. the so what? they hate that i always ask them, so what? why are you telling me this? what am i supposed to learn?

anyway, rudy started questioning the topic again and the significance. "did i really get anything out of it?" the other students started jumping writing it. "you totally need to write about that. out of everyone in the class you worked the hardest! remember how we all had mr. spear the year before and you were in mr. hunn's class? and mr. hunn didn't teach you anything? you were really behind. you stayed every evening working w/ mr spear to catch up. you missed all the club meetings b/c you were getting tutoring during lunch. remember when we visited so cal? you were the one that made us take our calc books so we could study in the hotel! you could have dropped the class but you didn't. you didn't give up. you ended up w/ an A-!" etc etc etc. Rudy's face totally lit up. these kids were repeating everything i had already pulled from up and reinforced, but it was different b/c it was coming from his friends, who according to him are the "smart" ones. and then he saw the significance of this-- not just that he went from a quarter grade of a D to an A, but that he didn't give up, he knew he had to ASK and SEEK support from his teacher and his classmates.

example two: Edgardo's worksheet had something like

concession: Richmond has a lot of social problems. There's a lot of poverty and hopelessness.
assertion: I started Y-ME? a club that helps our community
reason: b/c nobody is going to help us, we have to help ourselves. it's not fair that we live like this. most of us won't leave the city to go to college so people are suck here. anyway, people shouldn't have to leave their homes for a better life or a safer place to live.
significance: BLANK

Edgardo started talking about his passion for social justice and activism (he didn't use those words). he had a lot of reasons written and verbalized even more. he's a very silly and fun young man at times but also sometimes quiet, observant and introspective. as he kept talking about what why he started Y-ME? and he started talking about the community he got pretty emotional and started getting tears in his eyes. i think at first all the other kids didn't know how to react. i think maybe they were in a bit of disbelief. edgardo kept talking about how it's important for people inside and outside richmond to really think about what's going on and try to make a difference. then the other students started talking about the huge change the club has made on the campus and in the lives of the students in the club. "people care now b/c of you. people think they can actually do something and then they do it. you didn't even like talking in front of people but you started this club and you have to make the presentations and do the workshops and nobody can even tell that you're nervous. well we know, cuz we know you, but it doesn't seem like you're nervous. people are starting to change here and its because of you." edgardo didn't quite finish his thesis statement. we're working through a lot different topics. i'm trying to help him create a new outline that is more focused. right now it clearly demonstrates his passion through his words, but not through his actions. it's more "this is important because" not "b/c this is important, i did...." but no worries... it's a process. he'll finish.

although these examples may seem a bit small, to me they are HUGE. one of the biggest barriers of helping students write their uc personal statement is that they are asked to write about themselves-- their greatness and their contributions. they must showcase themselves. the students that i work with, who are primarily students of color, children of immigrants, and from working class families often come from a cultural background where you don't talk about all the great things you're doing, all the awards you've won. you refuse your compliments. you're brought up to think you shouldn't be proud of something you did, you're just doing what you needed to be doing. the college essay caters and thrives on a white middle class culture of entitlement, ownership, and perservation and adoration of self. it's so hard to get my students to "fake it" to write the statement. i know it feels so awkward, embarrassing, prideful, shameful to write about yourself in the way that basically declares, "HEY ADMISSIONS, I'M THE SHIT!!!!!" helping my students navigate that culture is very, very difficult. the beauty of monday was that the students affirmed each other. they have infinite confidence in each other. when they share their thoughts w/ each other and hear what other ppl think of them, they start to build the confidence that needs to come through in the essay. all of a sudden, it's not just me telling them that they are smart, resourceful, caring, leaders, etc etc but they're hearing from their friends. it is very beautiful.

p.s. sorry for the occassion posting. i've been very busy. i want to blog more often b/c its a way for me to preserve the happy things about work and life.... i still need to blog about the T4SJ conference.....

Denial

2006-10-14T21:25:00.000-07:00

Tonight, I called in an order for chickan biryani-spicy to my favorite Indian restuarant called House of Curries (formerly Naan n Curry) on College Ave. Since I'm picking up the order and still recovering from a late Friday night and a long day at the Teachers 4 Social Justice conference (will blog about taht later), I'm dressed like a total scrub. Anyway I walk in to pick up my order and this is what happened:

Me: Hi, I'm here to pick up my order
House of Curries Guy 1: Are you Amy?
Me: Yup
Guy 1: It's going to be a minute.
Guy 2: You're not Amy are you?
Me: Yes
:Guy 1: Are you Amy Amy?
Me: ?
Guy 2 proceeds to pull out a piece of paper from under the counter and hands it to me.
Guy 2: Is this you?
I take the paper and read it over. It's a review from Yelp! that reads : "chicken briyani, extra spicy... pure goodness. i've never had anything bad at this location. i love the mildness (perhaps watered down?) of the FREE chai, the blaring music, the spiciness, and of course the hot guys who work at the counter." written by Amy L.
Me: Um, I'm Amy but that's not me
Guy 1: Well, we thought it was you because you're Amy and you ordered chicken biryani spicy.
Me: oh... nope, not me.
Guy 1 to Guy 2: Well, what about that other girl?
Guy 2: No, I know her. Her name's not Amy.
Guy 3 (super hot dude) comes out and hands me my spicy chicken biryani. I pay, say thanks, and leave

DOH!!!!!! OF COURSE that is my review! when i realized what they handed me I was super embarrassed because of the hot guy remark. i couldn't confess b/c i looked like a scrub! damn. I should have gotten the biryani last night when i was REALLY craving it and looking smokin' hot!

next time? i'm calling in and requesting chicken biryani, extra spicy. and when they ask for my name, i'm going to say, Amy L. and of course, i'll make sure i look good when i go in!

Yuhl-Sheem (11)

2006-10-13T18:30:00.000-07:00

I only worked at the hotel for a few months. I was fired because I wouldn’t work on Sundays. On my application I wrote that I could not work Sundays because of church. Also, at my interview I said I couldn’t work Sundays. After they hired me they would post my schedule every week and schedule me to work Sundays. All the other ladies at least had one Sunday off. I was scheduled for every single Sunday. I went to Robert, one of the managers, and asked him for Sunday off. He said, “The hotel business is 24 hours a day 7 days a week; I can’t do anything to help you.” Sometimes when I couldn't find Robert, I would tell my supervisors, Carlos and Rudolph, that I couldn't come to work on Sunday. They would tell me that it was fine.

My shoulders and my back kept hurting so I finally went to the doctor. I got shots but I still had a lot of pain. I had to schedule an MRI. The Thursday before my appointment I told Robert that I had a doctor’s appointment for the next day. He said, “What? What? Speak up!” So I got closer and said it louder. I also asked him again to switch my Sunday schedule. He was upset and made me follow him to the Human Resources department. He was looking for Michael, the head of the HR department. The secretary told Robert that Michael wasn’t in and she asked what the problem was. He yelled and said, “This woman doesn’t want to work on Sundays!” The secretary looked at me and said the same thing that Ron had told me about the hotel business being 7 days a week.

I said, “I know. I know, but when I interviewed with Robert I said, ‘ No work Sunday.’” I said to her, “Please, please, I go to church on Sundays.” The secretary’s eyes got really big and she said in a nasty voice, “Go to church Sunday morning and come to work in the afternoon! Or tell your pastor that you can’t come to church because you work!” Her eyes were so big and angry. I thought she was going to grab me and tear me up. If I could speak English well I would have said, “Hey! Who are you to talk to me like this?” That’s what I wanted to say but I couldn’t say it in English. I felt so bad inside that I wanted to cry. But I kept it held inside of me. I did not cry. They told me to wait and they went inside the HR office. They talked for 20 minutes or so and came out and just told me to go home.

On Friday I didn’t go to work because of my doctor’s appointment. The following Saturday when I went to work in the morning Robert called me into his office and asked me again, “Why didn’t you come to work yesterday?” I said, “I told you that I had a doctor’s appointment. I told you yesterday.” He said, “Well if your arm hurts so much why don’t you go find another job? You don’t even want to work on Sundays. Why don’t you find another job?” He was trying to get me to quit. I told him, “No. I like it here.”

Then the woman who writes out our schedule asked Robert how many rooms she should put me down for. Robert whispered something in her ear. She looked at me like she was sorry and put me down for only six rooms. He was cutting my work time short. He stood there for a while. He finally said, “Look, I like you. The other women like you and you work hard but I have to take the side of the hotel. You have to work on Sundays.” We went back and forth for a little bit more and he finally told me to go start my rooms. After I finished my six rooms I had nothing to do. I was hired fulltime though so I went downstairs to the laundry room and helped them for the rest of my day.

On Monday I went into work and looked at my schedule. I had no rooms assigned to me. My supervisor Carlos said to me softly, “Song, come wait here (meaning in front of Robert’s office).” Carlos looked sad. Robert called Carlos in and they talked for a while. Carlos came back out and told me that Robert wanted me to wait longer. I waited for 20 minutes. I was so mad. I came to work that day and Robert had no reason to be so mean to me. He thinks because he’s the manager he can do whatever he wants, treat people however he wants. I finally just walked into his office and said, “Should I work in the laundry today?” Robert told me, “No. No more work for you. You don’t want to work on Sundays. You say you're sick. You can’t work here anymore.” I said to him, “I don’t speak that much English. Please talk to my husband about Sundays.” Robert told me he had talked to my husband several times but they had not agreed. Robert told me that he and Michael in Human Resources had already decided not to give me any more work. He said to bring my husband to the hotel on Friday if he had any questions. I told him, “No, I still want to work. I don’t want to go.” He said, “No. You’re done.” I stood there for a bit and finally said, “Are you sure?” He was quiet. I said it again, “Are you sure?” After a few seconds he said, “Go home.”

Before I went home I looked at my name on the schedule. Robert had written that I had not called in to say I wouldn’t be in on Sunday. I told him twice that week that I wouldn’t come in on Sunday. My husband also called him and left him a message on his cell phone. He wrote a lie on my schedule. He was covering up for himself. It was done.

Before I left, Carlos looked at me and shook his head in dismay and said, “I'm so sorry. It wasn’t right what Robert did.” The other women were upset too and hugged me before I left.

Damn Bay Area

2006-10-11T21:56:00.000-07:00

I've been swamped with work, work, and sickness so it's been a while since I've blogged...

Quick post:
I love the Bay Area. After 18 years in conservative San Diego and beginnning my 7th year in the Bay, hands down the Bay wins for many, many reasons. Because of my diehard love of the Bay, it makes me really sad when my Bay Area bubble pops.

Despite its reputation as embracing "diversity" and "culture" , there is a shitload of closet white racist liberals living in the Bay. Usually, I can feel it out in bits and pieces... a few comments here, a few comments there. People who pararde around as liberal but secretly hate people of color or liberal folks who are politically motivated by condescending and ignorant rationale.

One of the best online places to witness such beahavior is Craigslist , specifically on rants and raves. For example, last year when a young black woman slashed the throat of an elderly white woman in North Berkeley, this page was filled with comments such as "This is what happens when you let n****** go free" or "Those people are such savages. They should stick to killing each other" or "Lynch that fucking n******"

Confession: I read Celebrity Dish on SFGate.

Anyway, on today's Dish there's a mini-headline that reads: Jolie Criticized by Black Rights Groups. It begins with:

The casting of Angelina Jolie as the mixed-race wife of late journalist Daniel Pearl in the new movie "A Mighty Heart" has been heavily criticized by black rights groups.

Make-up artists are believed to have used special cosmetics to darken the star's skin to match that of Mariane Pearl -- but campaigners believe a real-life mixed-race actress should have been given the part.

Some blog comments read, "This is the most ridiculous thing I have heard since from them since reparations."
"blacks are always crying... get over it and fix your neighborhoods. thanks."
"actually i think the concept/term of "white privilege" is the most stupid thing i have heard since reparations. your alleged oppression and "white privilege" are figments of your wild imagination and are used only as excuses to make you feel better about yourself and that's sad and pathetic. "
"Guess what? I'm Jewish, you don't want me to start whining about what happened to the Jews now do you??? No, I choose not to whine, I choose to move on with my life REGARDLESS of what happened to my ancestors. I choose to make MY life MY own and do what I need to do to make myself happy in life, not sit back and ask for handouts and expect others to do it for me, thats all."
And of course stupid comparisons to J. Lo playing an Irish person, skinny people getting fat for fat roles, and hallie berry playing roles written for white folks.

I do not have the energy or the want to break this down. I will leave it at this: Damn. Haters.

School Day Cupcakes

2006-09-26T22:41:00.000-07:00

The LA Times has this story on the banning of cupcakes and other unhealthy foods from classrooms in an attempt to curb obesity. Apparently this is creating mini-cupcake rebellions by parents who are pissed that their child can't be the center of a sugary celebration on their special day. Texas even passed a Safe Cupcake amendment to ensure a parent's rights to bring cupcakes into the classroom.

I actually don't care about this story at all, but it does remind me of a story from my childhood (surprise, surprise)...

I am a summer baby and was always a bit sad that my birthday was never celebrated at school. Thank goodness for year-round school!!! By the time third-grade rolled around I was on a track that had me in school in my birthday month! sweet, i thought. I FINALLY get to be the center of attention... The envied one... muhahahahhaha...

As my birthday approached, I told my parents about the coveted cupcake tradition. I guess they thought it was pretty cool, so the night before my birthday we went to our local grocery store to buy these mini-confections. Did I leave with a class set of sprinkled cupcakes? Nope. What did I leave with?

BLUEBERRY MINI-MUFFINS

My parents decided the cupcakes were too expensive to buy for the whole class, so instead they bought me blueberry mini-muffins*. I was seriously devastated. I'm sure my parents didn't think it was a big deal. Not only were they both in the baekery section, but to the untrained eye, cupcakes and muffins may look similar so mini-muffins should be fine right? Despite my sadness, I accepted the mini-muffins w/out protest. I didn't want to hurt my parents feelings, but my little third-grade throat definitely tightened... sigh...

so the story ends with me bitterly walking to school w/ my bag of mini-muffins, contemplating throwing them out before I arrived at school. I also definitely was sad that I had to bring them myself, rather than have my parents bring them to class w/ ice cream or something. I ended up reluctantly sharing them with my classmates, who loved them, but I was still a bit sad in the end.

this story isn't sad or anything but whenever my sister and i see mini-muffins we always crack up at the , "Remember when...?"

---
*so cupcakes aren't that expensive, but for us they were. not only were we pretty poor, but we rarely bought snacks and goodies so this was definitely going to be unusual. on top of that my parents dont think birthdays are important. i think i may have "celebrated" 5-7 birthdays with my parents; they don't even call to say happy birthday now. it wasn't a big deal to them, so why should be a big deal to a third-grader right? b/c EVERYTHING is a big deal to third-graders!

Stoopid

2006-09-24T21:57:00.000-07:00

Today's SFGate has an article entitled Same Sex Marriage Foes Says Divorces Prove Their Point
Here is an excerpt:

Two of the highest-profile same-sex couples in the country split up this summer, and their breakups immediately became fodder for opponents of such unions.

Julie and Hillary Goodridge, the named plaintiffs in the Massachusetts case that legalized same-sex marriage in that state as of 2004, announced in July that they had separated after two decades together. And in August, Carolyn Conrad and Kathleen Peterson, who entered into the nation's first same-sex civil union after five years together, ended it.

"The separation of Julie and Hillary Goodridge is tragic not only for their daughter," the Rev. Lou Sheldon of the Traditional Values Coalition said in a statement released the day after the couple confirmed the separation. "But ... they have clearly shown just how little they value the institution of marriage and provide a chilling look into what our nation faces if homosexual marriage is legalized elsewhere."

Something tells me that Rev. Sheldon doesn't believe that the "chilling" divorce rate of heterosexual marriages is a call to halt male/female marriages as well.

Yuhl-Sheem (10)

2006-09-22T14:43:00.000-07:00

I have a lot of pity and sadness for women who do housekeeping. Even though we didn't really share a language, I felt close to the Mexican women workers. The housekeepers have the hardest work to do in the hotels but they get the least amount of money. When I worked there I lost a lot of pride. Sometimes I couldn’t keep my head straight. I would come home and not want to eat anything. It was a hard time. I would work 9-5. When I came home my husband would be sleeping so he would be ready for his night shift. I'd make dinner for us and we would spend some time together but then he would have to leave for work at night. When he would come home in the morning, I would be leaving for work. When I would sleep he would work. When I would work he would sleep.

At lunchtime I would eat with the other ladies and they would talk about their problems with their kids. So then I would think, well I’m not the worst off. I would think about my daughters at the best universities and my mah-uhm would feel better. I know that they will never have to do the type of work I have to do.

The work I did at the hotel was very physical. I would have to bend over a lot to scrub the toilets and the bathtub. I had to push around heavy carts and lift up the mattresses to fix the sheets. After awhile I started to have pain in my shoulder and lower back. I went and told Rob, the department manager, that I had hurt myself. He dismissed my complaint and told me to go back to work. The pains didn't stop. I had Christen write a letter to Rob telling him that I had been injured and asking that I be given less physical work. After Rob got the letter he told me if I needed help to ask him and he would help me. Of course, he was never around when I needed help.

Yuhl-Sheem (9)

2006-09-13T18:28:00.000-07:00

Two or three years later both of my daughters were in college. Christen was in her last year of undergraduate school at and Amy was in her second year. Again, I wanted to send them just a little bit of money, enough for books. My mah-uhm hurts when I think of my daughters trying to study and work at the same time. I would think of Amy who was at work more than she was in class and I was willing to do anything to help my children.

I started working at a newly built hotel. I was hired as a housekeeper. I was the only non-Spanish speaking housekeeper. Even though my co-workers and I couldn’t really communicate because most of them spoke Spanish, we got along. Also my supervisors were nice to me because I worked hard. It was my first time doing housekeeping in a hotel, but I was good at it. The other ladies would ask me how long I had been doing it and I’d say, “First time.” They would be so surprised.

At lunchtime we would sit together. If you looked at the cafeteria everyone sat according to their department. The other housekeepers and I would sit together and try to chat. I would bring apples for lunch and cut them up so we could all eat them together. It didn’t matter that I couldn’t verbally communicate. We were all housekeepers. None of us went to college; we’re all alike.

Housekeeping is hard and humiliating work. I would knock on the room doors and say “Housekeeping” to see if anyone was in there. After a little bit, if nobody answered I would take my key and open the door. Sometimes there were men in there! I would tell them that I’d come back but they would tell me to go ahead and clean. I was scared. If somebody else was in the room I’d always keep the door open. One time I had to clean a room and it smelled heavily of cigarettes. I couldn’t breathe because it smelled so disgusting. I propped the door open to air out the room but the guest told me to close the door because he had a cold. I told him that I couldn’t breathe because of the smell; I was coughing and everything. He still made me close the door. So I tried to clean it in a hurry but he would say, “You missed a spot. Clean over there.” That bastard didn’t even give me a tip. Most of the customers don’t tip. The families on vacation would tip, but not the business people. The business people always leave the biggest messes too and they still don’t tip!

When I first started working we had to set up the rooms before the grand opening. We had to get all the sheets on the bed, wipe down all the furniture down, hang up the shower curtains and put the new furniture in place. It was too much hard work. When I worked at the hotel I cried so much. It was back-breaking work. I would be working all day and I would get thirsty. I would want water but I would have to take the elevator to another floor and that would waste time so I wouldn’t even drink water. In 8 hours I had to clean 15 rooms. The manager gave me all the smoking rooms. I was the only one who was assigned to clean these rooms. Everything smelled like smoke, even the floors. One time I got so mad that I took a drinking glass in the bathroom and threw it at the wall. It shattered into pieces and I felt good.

Are you there God? It's me, Amy. + Awesome youth

2006-09-10T21:29:00.000-07:00

in the midst of my craziness the past... oh say... six years? i decided at the last minute to cancel my weekend plans and attend a retreat with the graduate student fellowship.

this is my second church retreat-- the first was one i was 8 or something. anyway, i went because all my life i have felt distance from God. for the most part i grew up in a church but i never felt the way other people seemd to feel or even knew the Bible all too well. since i started college and became more and more passionate about doing work in social justice, there has been huge tension between my faith in God and my passion for work. the amount of passion and convinction i feel in my work ('used in general terms, not just my paid work) i have never felt in God. this never sat well with me, but never bothered me enough to really do anything about it.

last year i joined a women's small group in my church, in hopes to find a community of Christians who would help me strengthen my faith. the women in my small group are wonderful, but sometimes i would feel this disconnect. my life is experienced through a gendered, raced, and classed lens. because of this, when i share my thoughts, feelings, or concerns that are filtered throug this lens, i felt like sometimes people wouldn't know what i was quite talking about, thought i was "too much" something, and/or i was asked to explain. many times i tone down what i would normally say to soften the blow. once i said something about learning to work w/ white allies and i think some people thought i was racist. always accommodating. so frustrating. so voiceless.

the contemporary western Christian church does seem to care about social justice issues. however, i feel like it is usually addressed at a global level (poverty or AIDS in other countries). if it is domestic, it seems to be incidental (Katrina) or a form of class inequity (homelessness). a part of me cannot help but feel like this is a sanitary, non-threatening way to addresses issues of equity. like someone else' country is messed up, not ours. or there is a failure to interrogate the intersections of power, ESPECIALLY race/ ethnicity, which lead to inequity. a lot of these sorts of thougths keep me from feeling at home in a community of Christians.

ironically, what pushes me away from God is what also draws me to Him; the Bible has a very strong message about justice and love. i feel very strongly that i am put on this earth purposefully to be working with people who live on the margins. so this is a small part of what draws me back and makes me long for a solid faith.

i went on this retreat and again there was this tension. it was on my mind the whole time. many of the grad students are in mathy/ sciencey/ computery fields. there are some grad students who are in fields i would guess would make them progressive, but they say stuff that is slightly shocking. and then bc this is UC Berkeley and b/c this is a GRADUATE student fellowship, many ppl come from privleged, privleged backgrounds. so many times i felt displaced and alienated from people simply b/c i could not identify (in my car was the daughter of a mathematician,the son of a dean of engineering, and the sone of someone else equally impressive. they were talking about how their parents professions influenced their learning/ careers. i was like... okay... how can i relate to this when my mom went up to junior high?). other times ppl said stuff that totally pissed me off and made me feel like i had to go into my "working class, woman of color, educator mode". the blessing was that i also saw glimpses into ppl who care about injustice. their work may be in physics or astronomy or electrical engineering, but they do think about things i care about. the bigger blessing was that i was able to start seeing people as what they are, rather than what they are not.

did i witness a miracle? am i now w/out hesitation and fear able to proclaim to people that i am Christian? definitely not. but i am rethinking, rearranging things in my mind, which is always good. i think i learned that being a Christian does not demand that i be complacent. in fact, it demands the very opposite. after the retreat i went to church today and the sermon was about just that. the connection and oneness between worshiping God and human relationships.
click here and then on the 9/10 sermon to listen it was very relevant to me.

awesome youth
today i had my first meeting w/ the youth who are interested in helping me start an APA youth program in Richmond. i'm so pleased with them. excited to start. scared as well.

today; tonight

2006-09-07T23:17:00.000-07:00

the power of one supportive, dope ass person is amazing.

i started this day still feeling upset about all the stuff i blogged about last night. i fell asleep at 3 am, woke up at 7 for an 8:30 appointment at school #1 where all is well and the admin embrace me w/ open arms, went to school #2 w/ my supervisor. school #2 only had glowing remarks about me (which was extremely embarrassing b/c the nice words are undeserved). THEN we had to tell them that our program was leaving their school. that made the kind, undeserved words feel even worse to me. went to school #3, told them that we were no longer going to be working at the school but trying an out-of school model (internally meaning, we are slowly transitioning to drop your high school as a partner school), never made it to school #4, went back to the office and was swamped w/ work. all in all my work day sucked. i came home tired, numb, and still feeling unresolved from the night before. i got stuck in my bed.

then i get a call from my beautiful Romeo to get dinner. romeo is a dope ass educator and friend. his motivation, intention, passion, and work is solid. i take notes when we talk. there is not pretense with him at all. i am able to purge my guilt, check myself, bounce ideas, get feedback on my work and myself, be nakedly honest and vulnerable, be critically questioned and pushed to examine different lenses and be articulate, be inspired and encouraged, and give and receive good hugs. he gives me the space and permission to indulge in my self-discovering/ questioning/ processing shit and turns it into something that is reflective and helpful. i feel like romeo went into my head and sucked all the negativity, hesitation, and self-doubt out of my head. all happened in one leisurely meal at that!

adding fuel to the fire? Red Doors

2006-09-07T00:56:00.000-07:00

inspired by Gar's post about the movie Red Doors by Georgia Lee. Lee's come under some fire from some ppl for having a movie w/ 3 asian american sisters who all have white male love interests (i think). BTW gar, in my post i use "your" or "you" a lot, but that does not equal Gar, it's a general "you".

let me start by saying:
-I am an APA woman who finds APA men extremely sexy and lovable.
-It makes me really disgusted when i hear APA women say "i can't date an asian guy b/c it would be like kissing my brother" i think to myself, wow, you must also subscribe to the idea that all asians look alike b/c you can't tell your brother part from another APA man!
-I live in the Bay where yellow fever is rampant and often get annoyed by its huge presence. i try not to, but i def sometimes maddog these couples. (I *really* try to stop doing that)

back to red doors
i have not seen it or really followed the back and forth too closely. i did read michael kang's post on it. i ONLY read kang's post and Gar's post. i did not read all those comments on Kang's blog. here is an excerpt from kang: "Georgia didn't grow up in a predominately Asian community. She grew up in an upper-middle class suburb of Connecticutt. She probably didn't have much exposure to Asian men in her love life growing up. For her to write a story about these three sisters in relationships with Asian boys would have been false. She stuck by the old adage that you write what you know. When I see Red Doors, I believe she knows this material inside and out."

not only is this part of Georgia's reality, but also the reality of many many APA women and men (including myself up to age 17). that story deserves to be told as much as anyone elses (even if you think it doesn't further your APA agenda)

i often think about the large burden that artists of color are expected bear. it's not fair of communities of color to expect artists to dismantle negative images in all of their projects. when i think about supporting APA artists, yes, i def throw my support behind those whom i feel create new and refreshing representations of APAs, particularly those that fit in w/ my political agenda. HOWEVER, one of my many hopes for the APA community is not so focused on dismantling negative images of APAs but providing a diverse and complex representations of our experiences, INCLUDING white male/ asian female loving. mores stories, more voices right? we are not homogenous, our experiences certainly are not.

hopefully, Georgia's characters are complex. i know if i watch red doors, i will have to really try and remove my automatic dislike of white-on-rice to see if the characters are multi-dimensional, if the film is beautiful, if the story is solid, etc etc. my political beef on APA male representation can play a role in how I recieve the film, but hopefully it will not be the only role.

another thing i want to say is that APA men can be the harshest critics when it comes to this shit. for those of you who don't know why, i'm not going to take the time to explain it right now. anyway, i get frustrated b/c implicit in getting upset over asian female/ white male couples is that it becomes framed w/in ethnicity and sexuality (demasculinizing APA men, right?). however, SOMETIMES IT'S JUST AN ISSUE OF PATRIARCHY! it becomes a competition of ownership. "Who can legitimatley own APA women?"

last thoughts?
this issue will always depress me. the outrage over representations of APAs can seem so silly to people on the outside, but it is def grounded in a sociohistorical context AND of course it affects our everyday lives. no doubt, it is very personal. it sickens me that there are so few APA artists/ writers/ filmmakers who are given acccess to resources, publicity, acceptance, etc that we must staunchly defend/ defeat them because the artists are not making an image that is palatable for our community. it's like we get someone and we have to immediately assess "For or Against"? because there's so few in the first place! FUCK MAN. you know white folks don't ever get slammed for showing trailer trash or their suburban counterparts. it's hard enough to break out and decide to follow your heart and your art, then get funding, then get publicity, and then also have to please all APAs? come on, now.

here are some related thoughts: on black male/ asian female relationships (an old post of mine)