flossing my teeth

most of my childhood was w.out health/ dental insurance (i think it's something like 33% of Korean Americans in CA are uninsured compared to 15% of all Californians). perhaps only because of Highlights Magazine and those cheap flat green/ lime lollipops do I have vague memories of going to the dentist in 1st grade. after then, the next time i went to the dentist was sophomore year of high school. i got a root canal. on the drive home my dad kept saying, "be careful not to chew the inside of your cheek". i had no idea what that meant but it sounded soooooo intriguing. being the crazy person that i am, i went a head and did it anyway. 2 hours later, i was in lots of unnecessary pain.

but i digress.

3 weeks ago, for the first time in my 27 years, i started flossing my teeth. 3 weeks ago I went to the dentist after 3 years of avoiding the dentist. turns out my teeth are super healthy (actually, i think i have super teeth even though i chew on ice, bite plastic pen caps in half, and chew on things i'm not supposed to chew on: "no braces? reallly? so straight" "upper and lower jaws are per0fectly aligned." "nice arch" "wow, you can open your jaw really wide. if anyone ever hits you in the face with a baseball bat, you'll still have good range of motion in your jaws! yup, no worries about jaw problems for you!" yes, my dentist really said that). anyhoo, my gums are not so great due to the absence of flossing.

i like my new dentist so much, i decided that i would finally floss. for 3 weeks, i flossed every single night. but in the last 2 nights have been so tired i just went straight to bed. fast forward to 10 minutes ago when i flossed for the first time in 2 days. SERIOUSLY DISGUSTING. b/c i started flossing right after i got my teeth cleaned, i only saw build up w/in a 24 hour period. 72 hours of build up is nasty. i can't believe I have gone so long w/out flossing. NEVER AGAIN.

that is all.

Rest in Peace Loni Ding

I just heard that Asian American filmmaker Loni Ding passed away. Loni Ding* was an multiple Emmy award winning filmmaker, producer, activist, artist and teacher. She joins the list of distinguished Asian American sheroes and heroes who have passed on in the past year. My condolences to her family and those who love her.

My junior year at Cal, I had the honor of taking Loni Ding's Ethnic Studies class called Documentary Film in Communities of Color. We spent a quarter of the semester in a traditional film studies class and spent the rest of the semester working on our own documentary.

That was a crazy semester with a lot of long nights and weekends filming and editing. It took us forever to figure out how to smuggle our mini dv camera into the Media Resources Center in Moffit Library so we could copy clips from films/ docs to use as b-roll.

Anyway, the first time I met Loni Ding (and pretty much every time I saw her after then), I thought, "Loni Ding is genius and crazy!" Crazy in the best way of course! She embodied life. Loni Ding had so much vibrant spunkiness to her. She knew what she wanted and got it. She knew what she wanted from us as well and had no problem letting us know. Her outlook, her art, and her way of being complexified for me what it could mean to be Asian American.

At the time I took Loni Ding's class, I think was in her early 70s, but you would never know it. We only had 3 clues to her age 1) She always yelled at us to "Stop muttering! I can't hear you! Why do you all mutter?!" But it was really her hearing. I used to wonder, how has she not figured it out yet? 2) She always yelled somewhat because of her hearing and 3) Once my group went to her house for a meeting. It was totally something you would see in the movies. Long shot from the street: Three Asian American college students approach an old house. Trees and plants are growing everywhere. Birds eye angle of the students and house: Students gaze up, look around and wonder, Where is the entrance? Extreme close up: Hand knocking on a door. Medium shot: students look at each other nervously. We hear creaking, squeaky door hinges and a voice off to the right that yells, "What are you doing over there! Come here!" Pan far right to the other side of the house, up some stairs: enter Loni Ding shaking her head at the silly college students.

Thank you Loni Ding for these memories. RIP

Loni Ding on developing her identity as Chinese American and as artist:


"Before I went to Mexico, my whole sense of myself and my esthetic sense of what I liked in shapes and colors in clothing, furniture, sculpture, buildings, anything, was really into WASP culture. I liked gray colors, linear, Gothic shapes and hollow-cheeked people. I wanted to be a hollow-cheeked person, a wispy, tubercular type. Instead I was sturdy, chunky, mesomorphic.

Then I hit Mexico. I just went for the work camp but ended up seeing the murals of Diego Rivera, Orozco, and a lot of countryside of Mexico—the colors of the earth and people. I started to see that all the good people in the Rivera murals were the round, brown people: I saw the orange and the reds, the deep greens and the purples of the culture, and the round bodies painted by Rivera. When they sat down on the little chairs, part of their buttocks would hang over the edge! Very real and tender. The lean, gaunt faces were of Henry Ford, Rockefeller, the Conquistadors—the evil people.

When I came back my tastes had completely turned around. I looked in the mirror and I rather liked this round person that I saw! Everything turned into reds, oranges and brilliant colors. I also looked differently at someone like Eric Sevareid, the news commentator who was a classic WASP type. I used to think that he was the absolute last word. And when Sir Kenneth Clark, in a PBS series, would talk about "Civilization," by which he meant only western European culture—I used to think that this was wonderful.

Well, when I got back I suddenly looked at both of these men with a totally distant eye. I had a skeptical attitude, and they no longer had any power over me. I thought they were quite ordinary."



On why she does her work
"For the problem of absence, the main work is to create presence. My preferred approach is to displace stereotypes by creating vital images of Asian Americans as real human beings, with individual faces, voices, and personal histories that we come to know and care about.

They would not be the Americans whose differences are dissolved in the "melting pot," but people speaking with the distinctive accents and rhythms of their real individual and family histories; neither looking nor sounding like the "typical American."

Authentic images of minorities do not abound. For ourselves too, we have a need for the objectifying record. We think we know what we look and sound like, until we’re surprised or shocked by hearing our actual voices on a tape recorder, or seeing our physical selves in moving images".


-------
*For some reason, I never feel comfortable calling her "Loni", she is always Loni Ding to me!

Korean Parents (blurry iPhone pix)

Parents are here for a few days!

1) First meal Umma makes is crab chigae with kimbop!


2) Appah trying to fix my Crocodile Dentist



3) Umma and Appah at Ovo

I hate train tracks

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

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!

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

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

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

Thank you Ron Takaki

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 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 famous 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 identies as a student in Asian American Studies and as a daughter of Korean immigrants. Every time I went home to San Diego, I left something behind in Berkeley. Every time 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 there sat a piano that 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 dissertation 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 powerful stories.

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

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!!!

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

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... 

i think i'm back to blogging

Yuhl-Sheem 12

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

"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

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

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

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

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)

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.