Spring 2013 Issue #1

ASIAN OUTLOOK volume XXVI, issue 3

international student voices

Volume XXVI, Issue 3

contents OUTLOOK

featured 4 | Subway Tragedy in Sunnyside | Angela Wu 6 | Education: United States vs China | Jinhua Hu 10 | The Ballad of Asian Prime | Kahlil Stultz

editorials 13 | Recognition of Lunar New Year | Dale Gao 14 | Coming to the USA | Aayush Verma 16 | My College Experience: Transitioning | Her Min 18 | College Life in America | Farhan Hussain 20 | Bing U: The International Perspective| Tina Yu

food & entertainment 26 | The Queensland Harlem Shake | Kahlil Stultz 28 | Turkish Delight & Baklava | Tan Oguz

conscience 30 | Farhan Hussain 32 | Laileena Yu 35 | Kahlil Stultz

ASIAN

38 | Jia Xin Lu

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38 | Joe Park 39 | Jonah Lang

Cover image sources: http://www.charlesrussell.co.uk/UserFiles/image/blackboard-with-chalk.jpg http://www2.binghamton.edu/inside/images/uploads/Union-pik1.jpg

T

letter from the editor...

he apathy on campus can sometimes be frustrating for the many of us in student

groups who want to make a change or bring attention to issues that we feel are important. When I was a freshman, I joined Asian Outlook and my eyes were opened to so many serious issues surrounding me in this country and the world. I was inspired by zealous professors and upperclassmen who seemed indomitable in their commitment to activism. My eyes opened up to the realities of inequality, racism, sexism, racial profiling, unfair immigration policies, and more.

I really believed that all of this injustice stemmed from ignorance and fear of “the other” and so I wrote articles. I wrote articles that would dispel ignorance and instill knowledge by exposing common misconceptions and addressing controversies and taboos. I trusted the cliché: “Little by little one goes far,” and thought of my contribution as a tiny nudge in the right direction.

Then, I saw another side of the upperclassmen that I admired. I saw that in their moments of doubt that fiery zeal faded away to reveal defeat. I vowed that I would always remain positive and that I would keep pushing, keep nudging. I would not become jaded.

I am now nearing the end of my third year. I have been president of Interfaith Council, Amnesty International, and now, Editor-in-Chief of Asian Outlook. With peers, I helped plan rallies and events to raise money for cleaner water, to collect shoes for children who have none, to discuss hate crimes and racism, to bring attention to cultural appropriation, to inspire people to activism through spoken word, to inspire people to write and to write better. I have worked with my team to put together a publication that would “challenge and re-conceptualize forms of awareness of Asians and Asian Americans, [and serve] to protect the voice of those in the minority, whether by ethnicity, gender, political, or sexual orientation”.

And I’ve seen my events flop. I’ve struggled to inspire people to care, to speak out, to write, to ask, to donate and even to attend or read, and I’ve failed. Along the way, I’ve looked in the mirror and I saw that fiery zeal fade away to reveal the same familiar look of defeat.

Vincent van Gogh once said, “In spite of everything I shall rise again: I will take up my pencil, which I have forsaken in my great discouragement, and I will go on with my drawing.”

Now in my third year, I finally realize that all along, my efforts failed nothing but my ambitious and ever growing expectations. The cliché phrase had not failed me, but I had forgotten it. All along there had been new freshmen full of energy and motivation, just as I once was. All along they had been attending events, writing and reading articles, contributing ideas and making suggestions. I hope they will see me in my moments of weakness and vow to be even stronger. In the struggle, we all grow weary and discouraged from time to time, but we must pick up our pencils and go on with our drawings. Hope is frail, but we are already moving mountains with an onslaught of tiny nudges.

Asian Outlook Magazine offers prayers and condolences to the victims of the Boston Marathon Bombing and their families, including the MIT officer who was only two years older than my cousin (also a campus police officer), and those who were wrongly suspected based on assumptions born of racial profiling.

Kayla Natrella Editor-in-Chief, Spring 2013

asian outlook executive board Spring 2013 editor-in-chief conscience editors copy editors

layout editors

secretary business manager publicity managers

Writing Staff

Kayla Natrella Claire Chang Adam Mei Joe Park Saruta Siriwatanakul YaeJin Oh Alena Kim Jun Hao Zhang Rudy Kuang Susi Ngo Dale Gao Kitrena Young Her Min Farhan Hussain Jinhua Hu Kahlil Stultz

editorial policy Asian Outlook is the art, literary and news magazine of the Asian Student Union of SUNY Binghamton. Originally conceived and created to challenge, redefine, reimagine and revolutionize images and perceptions associated with Asians and Asian Americans, Asian Outlook also serves as an outlet for marginalized groups whether by ethnicity, gender, sexual orientation and/or political affiliation. All matter contained within these beautiful pages do not necessarily reflect the views of the editorial board. Asian Outlook reserves the right to edit submissions and publish work as deemed appropriate. Prospective contributors are encouraged to discuss their work with the editors prior to submissions.

Articles may be submitted as an e-mail attachment to ao.editor@gmail.com. All artistic and literary pieces may be submitted to aoconscience@gmail.com.

contact policy Uninvited contact with writers and contributors is forbidden under punishment of pain. Please direct all questions, comments and complaints to ao.editor@gmail.com.

interested in contributing?

E-mail us at:

ao.editor@gmail.com

Or come to our weekly meetings held in the Asian Student Union office (UUW-329) every Tuesday at 7:00 p.m.

ASIAN LIFESTYLE, ENTERTAINMENT, AND CULTURE

Vol. XXVI, Issue 3

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Subway Tragedy In

SUNNYSIDE

by Angela Wu

For years, muslims have had to live in fear of being attacked by strangers as they walk out from the security of their homes.

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New York City, a male victim, Sunando Sen was pushed to death by 31-year -old female Erika Menendez on Thursday December 27, 2012. In response to her hatred of Muslims, Menendez took matters into her own hands and pushed Sen, a Hindu Indian immigrant, onto the subway tracks of a Queens Subway station, while a train was passing. She was charged with second degree murder for committing a hate crime.

This is only one incident out of a total of 55 subway deaths for 2012. Menendez’s hate for Muslims stemmed from the events that occurred on 9/11 which involved the destruction of the World Trade Center. Along with being charged for murder, Menendez was ordered to undergo a psychiatric evaluation. Menendez has had multiple encounters with the law since 2003 when she punched a 28- year- old man in the face.

Despite controversy over Menendez’s mental condition, she was declared sane enough to stand trial on her next court date, Jan. 29. Even though the victim was Hindu, Sen was pushed onto the subway tracks because he was mistaken for being a Muslim. Attacks against Muslims have been prevalent since 9/11. Last month, before the Sunnyside subway incident, there were two different incidents involving Muslim men in Queens. On November 24, 2012, Ali Akmal was stopped by two men and was questioned about his ethnicity. When he told them he was Muslim, the two men savagely beat him and left him in critical condition. In a similar anti-Muslim hate crime, Bashir Ahmed, a 57 year old male, was stabbed multiple times near a mosque in Flushing, Queens on Nov 19. Both victims, Akmal and Ahmed, were bitten on the nose and left in critical condition. n a tragic subway death in

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For years, Muslims have had to live in fear of being attacked by strangers as they walk out from the security of their homes. Twelve years have passed since 9/11 and although statistics show that incidents involving American Muslims are on decline for a third straight year, there is still a large number of anti-Muslim hate crimes. The amount of ignorance and injustice in America is appalling. We still need to work on our ability to be open-minded and educate ourselves about the many differences in the world.

Differences do not give people the right to judge others and hate. Muslim Americans have become scapegoats, not only because of their association with the 9/11 attacks, but also due to our lack of understanding of Islam, as well as, Muslim Americans and their culture. When people hear negative criticisms about an ethnic or religious group in the media, they tend to stay away from the particular group and harbor negative feelings toward the group’s members.

Today, there are continued prejudiced acts against, not only Muslims, but also anybody who fits the stereotypical image. Airport security checks on ethnic minorities who have brown skin, and thus, “appear to be Muslim” occur all the time. The government has yet to find a way to fix this system of racial profiling.

Even with the recent hate crime that happened in Sunnyside, people seemed to be more concerned about Menendez’s psychological problems than the victim, Sunando Sen. Although it is important to diagnose Menendez’s mental condition and take notice of the pattern of recent tragedies committed by individuals with a history of psychological problems—the Newtown School Shooting, for example—we should not overlook the victims killed in these incidents. Society should reflect on the fact

“Society should reflect on the fact that we can often remember the name of the killer, but not the victims that were murdered.” that we can often remember the name of the killer, but not the victims that were murdered. America has an endless fear of terrorism, which explains the lack of sympathy for antiMuslim hate crimes and how we have become desensitized to the violence that ensues.

It is true that there has been a recent increase in subway related deaths, but we have also been paying more attention to them as well. If we compare the number of motor vehicle related deaths per month and the number of subway related deaths per month, we probably would not make such a big deal about it. This is due to the availability heuristic, which is the tendency to predict the chance of an event due to how easy it is to bring up examples. About two months ago, I was stuck behind an F train up ahead at the Parsons Boulevard subway station due to a suicide attempt. Because of this, I have become more aware of these incidents. As a subway commuter, I frequently check my surroundings and always stand behind the yellow platform line. Of course, my condolences go out to the families of victims from subway accidents, especially Sen’s family and I hope they will be able to heal in time. However, we have to find a way to prevent these subway tragedies. Possible solutions, like slowing down the rates of incoming subway trains entering a station and installing platform barriers, have been brought to the table. However, there has been no cost efficient solution to decrease the number of subway deaths. This has turned into a bigger issue now that Scott Stringer predicts that New

York City is heading towards 100 subway deaths this year, with already six subway deaths in January. Although some may object, maybe subway commuters can afford to take a few seconds out of their lives waiting for slower incoming subway trains. This will not only significantly decrease the amount of subway deaths, but also prevent subway delays that can take up to two hours. Asking drivers to slow down trains entering the subway stations would hinder efficiency by increasing commute times and making platform more crowded, but it is the most rational solution offered so far.

Next time you ride the subway, make sure to lower the music on your iPod and really listen to the automated warning to “Please stand away from the platform edge.”

Sources: http://www.nytimes.com/2012/12/30/nyregion/woman-is-held-in-deathof-man-pushed-onto-subway-tracks-in-queens.html http://www.timesledger.com/stories/2013/3/subpushersane_ at_2013_01_18_q.html http://www.huffingtonpost.com/sonny-singh/ali-akmalbeating_b_2233695.html http://www.wired.com/dangerroom/2013/02/american-muslim-terrorism/ http://cnsnews.com/news/article/lawmaker-nyc-subway-deaths-wakecall-0 http://www.work4youlaw.com/2013/01/31/city-officials-call-investigation-subway-deaths/

Friends grieve over the death of subway shove victim, Sunando Sen.

Vol. XXVI, Issue 3

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Education:

United States vs China

By Jinhua Hu

After arriving in the United States, the author recounts her educational experiences from China and compares them to those from the United States, hoping to pinpoint some insightful differences between the two systems.

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T

he call for education reform is never a new topic,

though the need for improvement has become increasingly pressing in the globally competitive age with the threat of China’s rise and the fear of the United State’s decline. Why do people care about education so much? First, as mentioned, a good education system is the bulwark against decline. And secondly, it is purely an economic concern—the tuned human capitals are essential to increase productivity and ultimately sustain economic growth. But education is far more complicated than commonly assumed; fixing the problems is as difficult and challenging as identifying what the actual problems are.

Some have argued that we should cut the expenses on defense and national security, attributing the lack of investments in education as the cause of the bad performance of public schools. As a matter of fact, both the United States and Mexico have spent about the amount of their GDP (approximately 5%) on education, but the immense illiteracy rate among the Mexican population is almost inexplicable. Obviously, some other factors are at work. Here I will consider one of the possibilities by recounting my own education experiences in China and in the US, hoping to pinpoint some insightful differences between the two systems. To clarify, this is only my conjecture, and I am not trying to give reform advice or suggestions.

Rote memorization Behind the startling test grades, going to school in China is rather stressful for most Chinese students. Unlike most of

their Western peers, they simply do not have the freedom to think about being mediocre students in school. When the semester end approaches, their nightmares begin. Grades are publicly posted, and if they didn’t get into the top few spots in their grade, they would have to suffer all the humiliation and pressures from their peers and parents. But perhaps the experience for the better-toned students was a bit different.

In retrospect, school was fun for me. The occasional dramas--teachers tugging students’ ears, hitting their hands with a stick, making them run the track---were entertaining episodes classmates frequently talked about in reunions.

Nevertheless, even at a very young age, I have always come to believe that corporal punishments were too inefficient a strategy to indoctrinate the indomitable wills.

I moved to the US at the age of 11, spending my first few months in fifth grade. The first shocking thing that I had noticed about American schools was the heavy math textbook: it was six times the size of the Chinese book and did not even include practice exercises! The weight and size of the book certainly did make math psychologically fearful, but I was overwhelmed with disdain and indignation when I soon discovered that the materials covered were basically the same. That American math textbook, supposedly a symbol of flourishing knowledge, could no longer command my respect.

For I have always believed that brevity is the soul of wit. From basic fraction to complex calculus, I don’t remember reading more than 30 pages out of all the math textbooks in secondary school.

Comparison of China’s education and America’s education through the PISA test.

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But the most shocking thing had yet to come. In China, students would arrive at school at 7 a.m. in the morning to study the passages in their Chinese textbooks until they could memorize the entire passage word by word. Quite luckily, rote memorization is so repulsive a method to education experts that none of the teachers here, who rave extensively about the fun of learning, would have actively embraced it. School was too easy and perhaps too free, and the new freedom caught me completely off guard. Growing up being taught that diligence is the key to success, I suddenly felt that there was not enough work for me to work hard on in school.

The English teacher did not force me to memorize anything; she’d only said that rote memorization is a form of coercion the teachers imposed on their students, and coercion could diminish the students’ motivation for learning.

Her counter-intuitive advice did not convince me, and after some observations, I’ve come to the conclusion that American students often did badly in reading comprehensions because they did not know most of the words. After all, I could not think of a more efficient way to learn new vocabulary besides rote memorization. Educators had blamed students for not reading enough books, yet did not realize how books filled with unfamiliar words were more of a burden than real enjoyment. The vicious cycle is everywhere! I am not suggesting that English class should be all about memorizing new words, but where vocabulary memorizing is not a routine, it is nearly impossible to develop verbal and comprehensive skills. There’s no secret to success to discover. Additionally, the routine did have some benefits that not many people can see. First, it helps to build discipline. Secondly, how can any student be strong and confident when they constantly receive bad scores on their reading tests? No pain no gain. The logic could not be more straightforward.

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Neutral values In the “Asian values” debate in the 1990s, the former Singaporean Prime Minister Lee Kuan Yew had famously advocated for the teaching of neutral values in schools. This project proved to be a total failure due to various social and political complications. What was impossible in Singapore is being carried out in China.

As a part of the elementary school curriculum, students have a book, or more precisely, a supplement to the main curriculum that even their close peers in Hong Kong, where liberal education is promoted, do not have. The title of this book can be literally translated into “Thoughts and Virtues”.

Against China’s political background, the name itself has roused much suspicion, and might have led many to think about the indoctrination of Communist ideas when in fact it is just a book about general moral values. In it, there are many interesting stories about famous people and their struggles to succeed. More generally, these stories convey important values like perseverance, hard work, discipline, respect of elders, responsibility, independence, and filial piety.

Coverage by the Western press on the controversial education reforms in Hong Kong during the last years have mentioned about the notorious proposal by the PPC’s offering for a national education curriculum---a nationalistic approach to understand China’s history and a benign interpretation of the Communist Party’s role. After the massive protests and dissenting voices from the academia, people in Hong Kong have vehemently rejected the proposal. I am definitely sided with the protesters, because accepting the proposal would only invite the suppression of freedoms like thought and expression. Perhaps people are simply overridden by the antiCommunist sentiments or this is so counter to conventional wisdom. Part of the proposal also wanted teaching of the

Elementary school students in the United States.

ASIAN OUTLOOK

Elementary school students in China.

aforementioned values in Hong Kong public schools.

To a considerable extent, there was a consensus in Chinese schools that these values were good for students of any background, including students with no parents and those who come from bad families. Reinforcing the values outside the book, I remember my teachers frequently promoting these values even in math or science classes: “It is all right to get a 50, but it is not all right if you get a 50 because you didn’t study. I cannot tolerate laziness.”

“It is all right to get a 50, but it is not all right if you get a 50 because you pretend to know the stuff and didn’t ask me for help. It is your responsibility to ask for help. Any teacher who would reject this small request is not a good teacher.”

“In Hong Kong you will get a ticket that costs about a couple hundred dollars for littering. No one would have known if you had littered, but discipline is to do the right thing even when nobody is watching. We should all be socially responsible citizens.”

“Always treat others how you want others to treat you.”

“If you are willing to work hard, I will sit down to work with you.”

My fourth grade math teacher once told me, “When students present me with a math problem, my job is not only to help them get to the right solution, but also to help them to develop the right attitude in the process so they can develop the strength of character to know how to handle obstacles and challenges in the future, whether they are math-related, or otherwise.” Perhaps this is what they meant when they emphasized the importance of character building. Math

has been my favorite subject since then. Although I did not intend to pursue a career in math or science, I have repeated the exact words to the students I have tutored. Elementary education plays a significant part in children’s character development, and it is without dispute that building the foundation is crucial. Thus, education should not just be about “distinguishing the gifted from the well-prepared,” it should also help children develop the values of hard-work and discipline, which they can apply to their future pursuits in life.

To have the same book in the West would not be easy. First, this could potentially be a legal problem— it violates the parents’ right to parent—and possibly, freedom of expression, since the book is only permissible in China’s repressive social environment. From a Western perspective, the school is imposing its views on the students. Even though self-discipline and hard work are good values to have, what right does the school have to impose these values on the students? How coercive! If the students choose to be lazy and indulgent, they absolutely do deserve their human rights to be that way. In the Hong Kong legislative debate, a senator mockingly asked, “I don’t see why it is wrong to produce more respectful and more hardworking students through the education system. After all, what’s the purpose of education?” His views have resonated with many education experts who know all too well the most negative problems that exist in current education system— the excessive freedom, the entitlements, and the indulgence.

So what is the purpose of education? Until we can answer this question, we will not move further.

Education should not just be about “distinguishing the gifted from the wellprepared,” it should also help children develop the values of hard-work and discipline.

Vol. XXVI, Issue 3

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The Ballad of

Asia Prime

By Kahlil Stultz

For the brothers of Duke University’s Kappa Sigma chapter, Friday, February 1st 2013 was more than a party night.

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t is no secret among college campuses,

that the frat house is commonly tied to all the debauchery, raunchiness, and young manly camaraderie that has entrenched universities in popular culture. Animal House, National Lampoon, and the plethora of other media series which have portrayed the houses of the North American College Fraternity as the Xanadus of sex, beer, and youthful indiscretion have always marketed an idea – the idea of college and its scandalous social societies as being the hot bed of extravagance and decadence. With each fraternity outdoing each other in the hottest house parties, originality and exoticism

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were virtues for the institutions which made ‘toga parties’ a part of dormitory parlance. Duke’s Kappa Sigma chapter’s wild and salacious themed party on a simple Friday night was ironically not unique in its outlandish approach, but for where it galvanized networks of Asian American groups and activists.

Kappa Sigma was holding a Friday night party and this time, it was Asianthemed.

Starting with the greeting of the party’s email invitation (the provocation which many activists claim was moderately obvious), “Herro Nice Duke Peopre!!” the invitation maintains a blatant imitation of the stereotypical

broken English with phrases, such as, “We look forward to having Mi, Yu, You and Yo friends over for sake.”

The invitation, while not verbose, is representative of what enraged Duke’s Asian American community. The text content, as well as the use of an image macro of a cartoonized Kim Jung Il from the 2004 satirical film Team America: World Police, was met with a deep wave of opposition. The newly chartered fraternity’s budding ‘Asia Prime’ Party reached a perilous position.

Many of Duke’s Asian American students – particularly those involved in cultural organizations—fought bitterly and went through every channel to block

the party from happening. The brothers of Kappa Sigma were not perturbed, and in a wily move, dissolved the ‘Asia Prime’ Party, replacing it with the ‘International Relations Party”, described as a multicultural event designed to “celebrate Duke’s Diversity”. With a now relaxed eye, the students of Duke focused their attention on other matters and left Kappa Sigma to its own devices. As it happened though, on the first night of February, an entire school would be fooled.

Kappa Sigma, with resounding confidence in its own ability to swoop past the censors and multicultural watchdogs, went through with its initial Asia Prime party idea. As students marched into 1102 Anderson, a pattern could be noticed. Faithful to the party’s guidelines, students were unashamedly garbed in cartoonish Oriental clothing.

Some wore paddy hats, others wore geisha gowns; some posed for photographs with the V sign (a relatively new stereotype aimed at the poses of East Asian teenage girls), while others folded their hands in prayer like a hackneyed Asian sage.

Despite their varied buffoonish attempts to interpret Asia through pedestrian lenses, there were two unifying factors in it all – one: that these people had no idea what Asia was, and two: that they did not care to recognize the anger and trouble that their actions would inspire.

It goes without saying though that they were duplicitous for utterly trivial reasons.

One does not need to know the backlash that occurred afterwards. The apologies were made and the crocodile tears were shed. A nine-hundred strong group of students articulated their disgust in a formal protest, both the Asian Student’s Association, and the Black Students Association,

Flyers were made by Asian American students protesting the party.

Some wore paddy hats, others wore geisha gowns; some posed for photographs with the V sign. . . among others formed a coalition to fight oncampus racism. Despite the controversy, the North Carolina University washed its hands of the matter and declined to punish the fraternity. The national Kappa Sigma Organization, however, took action by suspending the Duke chapter from its roster.

Duke’s ‘Racist Rager’,

as critics are calling it, is not something on the traumatic scale of the murder of Vincent Chen or Japanese internment, but something else entirely.

There are some who would say that the outraged response is an example of political correctness trying to damage reputations and dampen the college experience. Those with that mindset should keep in

mind that in places where ridicule and exploitation of the minority and group stereotypes have been used, racial discrimination and conflict have not followed far behind. Blackface and minstrel shows, in which typically white performers p o r t r ay e d African Americans as slothful, stupid, musical, and lascivious, were staples of American culture and

Vol. XXVI, Issue 3

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society until the 1950s.

In pre-World War Two Europe, Jews were widely depicted as ugly, base, evil, avaricious, and perverted in comics and newspapers.

I am not insinuating that there are Jim Crow Laws or Pogroms ahead for the Asian American Community, but I do believe that the mindset that allowed these things to happen all started with

stereotypes collectively laughed at by society. In a twenty-first century society, stereotypes are powerful tools in the destruction of selfconfidence and identity.

Studies published by Ohio State and the Journal of Experimental Social Psychology have shown that black students who believe in the stereotype that they are inherently unintelligent typically

do worse on exams than those who have not internalized this stereotype.

If that has not made one cognizant to the dangers of typecasting, imagine then, a future where a large chunk of Asian American children loathe themselves because of the stereotypes surrounding their skin color. There are already cases like this in our society, in which

self-hatred and emotional discord have led to depression, drug use, and suicide.

Perhaps there are many members of Duke’s Kappa Sigma chapter who are staunch antiracists. While lovely, this is irrelevant because lip support for the uplifting of minorities in America is not enough; a cognitive and physical change is needed.

Trying to portray a rice farmer along the yellow river or a Geisha in an urban Japanese district is not necessarily racist, but when the farmer is portrayed as a moronic Pagliacci and the Geisha is hypersexualized, then you must ask yourself – is my portrayal for my own giggles or is it telling the story of a people whom I admire.

Do I fetishize or do I respect?

Sources: http://faculty.smu.edu/chrisl/courses/ psyc5351/articles/implicitsocalcog.pdf http://www.atkinson.yorku.ca/~jsteele/ files/04082317043617968.pdf http://faculty.washington.edu/agg/pdf/ UnifiedTheory.2002.pdf http://newsfeed.time.com/2013/02/07/ duke-university-fraternity-suspendedover-asian-themed-racist-rager/ http://redalertpolitics.com/2013/02/08/ duke-fraternitys-racist-asia-prime-partyputs-greek-community-behavior-backunder-scrutiny/ http://www.dailytarheel.com/ article/2013/02/51185b8399b4f http://researchnews.osu.edu/archive/ racster.htm http://blog.angryasianman.com/2013/02/ you-were-not-invited-to-kappa-sigmas. html

Photos of the party were taken from Facebook and used to make flyers.

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ASIAN OUTLOOK

Recognition of Lunar New Year

By Dale Gao

Sometimes, students must decide between missing class and this important holiday for the Asian community.

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February 10th, it is a day of celebration for many Asian ethnicities including Chinese, Japanese, Korean, Mongolian, Tibetan, and Vietnamese. It is Lunar New Year 2013, a holiday when many Asian cultures around the world gather in honor of the Year of the Snake with festivities and food. Lunar New Year is known as one of the most significant holidays around the world. It is similar to Thanksgiving in its emphasis on family, but has deeper meaning as members get together to honor their ancestors, as well as wishing for good fortune, wealth, and longevity in the coming year. Outside the Asian community however, this occasion has yet to be widely commemorated in the United States.

For Asian students, this is at best a major inconvenience.

This holiday is a time for family so it would only be right to allow students to spend time with their loved ones.

Sometimes, students must decide between attending class and this important holiday for the Asian community. Many kids choose to celebrate with their family members rather than attend school, and so their absences are often unexcused by their teachers. Often times, this could negatively impact their grades. Consider an American student deciding whether to miss class or a combination of New Years and Thanksgiving.

You might then begin to understand the dilemma that Asian and Asian American students face. Students do not have to make this choice when Thanksgiving comes around because there is a four day weekend allotted. However, this is not the case for Lunar New Year.

Asian Americans represent a large and growing percentage of the U.S. population so it would make sense to see Lunar New Year as an official day off for students in the public school system. Asian interest student groups on campus have circulated petitions, but have not achieved this goal even though students on other campuses have also started to do the same. Initiating action towards recognition, someone under the pseudonym B.C. petitioned to establish Lunar New Year as a national holiday on January 15. Despite garnering or those who know about

almost 40,000 signatures, the establishment of Lunar New Year as a national holiday was denied. According to the White House office, “[Lunar New Year] is an occasion that makes us richer as a culture and stronger as a people -- even without it being a federal holiday,” comparing Lunar New Year to other holidays that hold cultural significance. The inability to become a national holiday occurs not only in Lunar New Year, but in others as well. Many thought this dismissal was outrageous, in which an anonymous critic argued that, “If students weren’t going to attend school to spend the holidays, why couldn’t Congress [pass an act to] spare a day [to accommodate them]?” Furthermore, students do receive days off for holidays, despite its lack of “federal holiday” status. Many who celebrate this holiday are not demanding the status of a federal holiday for Lunar New Year, but rather that it be included on the academic calendars as a day off.

Despite the setback of failed petitions, I still remain optimistic. With the Asian community being such an integral part of the United States, I would not be surprised to see Lunar New Year on the academic calendar in the future. We should continue to pressure the state and department of education to consider this, so that we can make it a reality.

Lion dancing during Chinese New Year.

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coming t o I

As soon as I came out of the John F. Kennedy airport terminal, I was astounded by the richness of the United States of America: the fresh air, wide roads, tall buildings, yellow cabs, air-conditioned buses, and people of different ethnicities who were walking side by side.

Binghamton University last year in the fall semester of 2011. This was the first time that I had traveled to another country and I was immediately shaken by the differences of the surroundings around me. I was apparently coming from a third-world country to a first-world country, skipping all the second-world countries that lay in between. So you can just imagine how shaken up I was. As soon as I came out of the John F. Kennedy airport terminal, I was astounded by the richness of the United States of America: the fresh air, wide roads, tall buildings, yellow cabs, air-conditioned buses, and people of different ethnicities who were walking side by side. came to

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Since there are extremely few people from my home country who have come here for an undergraduate education, I had trouble settling in. One of the biggest problems was the language barrier. Even though I pride myself on my English-speaking capabilities, I was scared of speaking a lot because of my accent, which is very different from the New York English with its slang and coolness. I thought I would say something wrong which would not make sense, or would mean something entirely different. This restricted me from expressing myself in front of other people and, in turn, made me unhappy. I was afraid that people would think

o the usa

By Aayush Verma

that my accent was funny or would laugh at my very incorrect English. Most of the time, I was concerned with how other people thought I spoke. This was not the true nature of my personality because I am a funny guy, and love to talk to new people, and am very good with girls!

However, after staying here for one year in Binghamton University, I realized that such thinking was affecting me in the long run. So I gathered up courage and started interacting with the people around me, in classes, halls, dining halls, receptions, clubs, et cetera. And to my surprise, I realized that I was able to communicate perfectly well, and even crack jokes and describe long events to other people. Of course, my English was way off as compared to American English but this did not mean that others could not understand me. For the first time, I was not afraid to say something due to fear of making a fool out of myself. This helped me make a lot of new friends, speak up in a group, and ask questions in classes!

I still cannot comfortably speak anywhere or anytime, especially not in front of beautiful American girls. But I am much happier since I came here because I am communicating on a whole new level with other people. I have come to understand that it does not require a fluency in language for people to laugh, love, have fun, or for that matter, bitch about professors.

I think a lot of international students coming from around the world for undergraduate studies are very young and go through similar struggles as I did. These would be the psychological effects from being self-conscious by making a mistake of saying something wrong or embarrassing in front of people. They can be helped with expressing themselves more often if they can understand this psychology. I hope the psychology department can do something to help them. Ha ha!

Vol. XXVI, Issue 3

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My College Experience: Transitioning From the Perspective of an

International Student

By Her Min

Since I joined Asian Outlook (AO), I was able to meet many great friends. They taught me how I can be friends with them, socialize with them, and express my own opinions.

D

o you think you are really happy?

Do you think you are a really lucky guy? Do you think your life is going the way you’ve planned? I would love to say, “Yes.” My life was filled with good fortune. I didn’t do much, but thanks to my luck, I am now here in the United States. I am indeed lucky with the personal relationships I have built with my peers and friends. Whenever I had some problems, my friends or other people often helped me.

In the beginning, I wanted to study hard to enter the University in Korea. In spite of my desire, however, I could not afford to buy textbooks and workbooks. During this time, my family filed for bankruptcy. Therefore I had to save money by giving up buying books. I was so depressed during this time but fortunately, my teacher noticed my financial situation. Later, she gave me lots of free questionnaire books. By solving the questionnaire books, I could enroll my name on my former University.

In addition, I worked in SK telecom as a salesman in order to buy my own meals. Because I only focused on earning money I would often skip my meals. Unfortunately, my younger sister encountered a situation where she could not pay for the graduation trip for her high school. As I knew the situation, I prepared her graduation trip money and put it in my wallet.

Incidentally, the manager saw the inside of my wallet and he asked me, “Why do you have so much paper money?” I explained the facts because it was not shameful to me. Fortunately, he was very impressed with me and he tried to help by buying me meals. Because of him, I never skipped my meals anymore.

Now, I am in the United States. I have stayed here for 5 months so far and I think my good luck is still with me. In other words, many people have helped me out a lot. I only knew how to say “yes” or “no” and a few other English sentences when I first came here. Therefore, I asked my friends who were good

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ASIAN OUTLOOK

This photo was taken during an AO apple picking event.

at English to correct my English whenever I made mistakes.

Since that time, many people have tried to correct my English and I feel that my English is improving little by little.

Since I joined Asian Outlook (AO), I was able to meet many great friends. They taught me how I can be friends with them, socialize with them, and express my own opinions. Surely, all of them are really great. Among these amazing people I have met, Kayla who is like a mom in AO, made a great effort in helping me adjust and adapt to the college life in Binghamton. She did this by inviting me to social activities like ‘Apple Picking’ or ‘Bubble Tea time’. Jonah, who is like a father to me in AO, helped me to quickly improve my writing skills during writing workshops. Also, because his speech is so fast, I was not able to understand him at all at first. This, however, eventually helped me to enhance my listening skills even though I could not understand everything he was saying. Meng, who is a very talented person, helped me to get involved in various groups. She suggested to me that I should become a model. When I got the suggestion, I was so anxious because I never did it before. Also, I thought she might be a little crazy because we only met each other two or three times. However, I really appreciated her recommendation to be a model because it gave me the opportunity to engage in valuable experiences and meet with more brilliant people.

Moreover, Will was my mentor, teaching me how to survive at Binghamton. He introduced me to his friend, Dana. Since then, Dana and I became close friends, so we used to study together, as well. She aimed to help me increase my English

speaking tremendously and I even helped her learn some Korean.

In addition, other friends have supported my mental health to prevent homesickness or loneliness. By seeing Joseph Lee, I felt I was an immature person and had to study harder. Also, from another friend, Jisun Kim, I have realized that I have to learn how to embrace others even if I do not like them. Bomi Na taught me how to hide my emotions and how to be strong. Hyeyoung Min goes to the fitness center with me and sometimes she gave me food that I wanted to eat.

Wan Kim taught me how to play piano and he likes me even though I am rude to him. Yeonsoo Kim has helped me since I came here and she has informed me about when I should use certain words or phrases in English and improved my english speaking. Lastly, my roommate has accepted my opinions and my personality traits, so he overlooks my shortcomings.

As a result, we do not have any problems while living in one house.

Originally, I preferred to close off my mind and my emotions. As a result, sometimes, I seemed rude and people were unwilling to be my friend. However, despite my bad attitude, those people still befriended me and helped me with my hardships. That is why I think I am such a lucky guy. Many people who are reading this article might be reminded of people like the ones I have mentioned. So you may think you are also a lucky person. I would like to say, ‘Yes, you are.’ Luck is nothing. If you find any pleasure by something, it is your gift. So please realize your gifts and be happy.

AO members going from left to right: Dale Gao, Tan Oguz, Her Min, Kayla Natrella, Farhan Hussain, James Oh.

Vol. XXVI, Issue 3

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College Life in

AMERICA: The Differences Between the Bangladesh and American Education System

By Farhan Hussain

Farhan enjoying a little R&R at his dorm room.

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ASIAN OUTLOOK

“Farhan! how is college life in America?”

Like a bucket of ice-cold water, this question would splash onto my face every time I met up with friends back home.”

T

rying to comprehend the depth of this question,

I would blankly stare at their faces and finally reply, “Pretty cool I guess.” Yeah, I know it’s literally “cool” here in Binghamton, but that was not exactly what I was going for. However, the question raises a very interesting discussion on the differences between college life in Bangladesh and America.

Let’s start off with housing. While most American students would leave home and go off to live on or around a college campus, Bengali students usually commute between home and the respective colleges that they attend. There are several reasons behind this. First off, the notion of going off to college in the US and starting an independent life for yourself is not common in Bangladesh. Students mostly opt to live with their families and commute to their universities from their homes. As a testament to that fact, many prominent universities don’t even have residential dormitories. Second, Bangladesh is a small sized nation. It is roughly the same size as the state of New York. Most of the universities of Bangladesh are actually located in the major city areas. The term, “college town” is nonexistent and the campus life would closely resemble to that of NYU, where the whole city is your campus.

Partying and drinking alcoholic beverages are big components of the social scene here in the US. I am not the biggest fan of going to Downtown Binghamton. I find that place pretty scary to be honest. On the other hand, the consumption of alcohol in Bangladesh is absolutely illegal and the trend of going to frat parties or bars is nonexistent.

However, one particularly large consumption by students in Bangladesh is that of cigarettes. A pack of cigarettes in the US can cost up to about $10 whereas in Bangladesh, it would cost about $2. This is, perhaps, a sign of taxation being effective in reducing consumption of de-merit goods.

(I’m an econ major, I have to go through the pain of thinking about this sort of stuff ).During weekends, students mostly hang out in local cafes and restaurants or have fun nights out at their friends places.

Now, let’s move into one of the hot topics, which is dating! Many students here in the US love to “hook up” quickly and furiously. It is seen as a norm for the ultimate

college experience. However, how many of those “hook ups” actually turn out to become committed relationships remains a question to be answered. Dating in Bangladesh is probably much more old fashioned. If you like someone, you’re expected to spend a ridiculous amount of time getting to know each other. Then, if you’re lucky enough to move onto the next phase of actually going out on dates, you’d have to find innovative ways to elude the girls’ parents—like coming up with the excuse of group assignments for going out. In general, the society is much more conservative in issues like dating, where having a relationship before marriage is sometimes seen from a negative perspective. However, the effects of globalization are clearly apparent and people are becoming much more liberal in their viewpoints regarding such issues.

The most important difference is probably academics.

Isn’t getting a higher education the prime reason for why all of us are in college? The US is known for its excellence in its standard of higher education. Students studying in the US benefit from the wide range of different courses and flexible programs. People can take a class on zombies for God’s sake! In most schools here in the US, we also have the privilege of choosing our majors (usually around the end of our sophomore year) after trying out different subjects. The courses in Bangladeshi universities are much more limited and mostly focus on the core disciplines. You are generally required to declare your major during admissions. The education system leans more toward specialization than liberal arts. If we delve deeper, there are also differences on the methods of studying between students in the two countries. Students in America are required to do more independent study and research compared to in Bangladesh, where there is more class structured learning involved.

It has to be said that most statements in this article are just mere generalizations and may not effectively represent all the universities, but I do hope I was able to highlight some key differences in college life between these two nations. So next time, when someone asks me that question again, I'll zealously hand him a copy of Asian Outlook with this article in it!

Vol. XXVI, Issue 3

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Binghamton Campus, Lois B. DeFleur Walkway

Bing U:

The International Perspective Interviewed by Tina (Mengting) Yu

B

inghamton University has an international student population of

around two thousand students and it is growing every year. Have you ever wondered what it would be like to go to university in another country? For many of us, college seems like the natural next step after high school, yet this experience is undoubtedly a transition into a new life. For international transfer students, this road of transition is paved with very different challenges and rewards. I interviewed a few students from different areas of the globe in order to get their perspective on life at BU. Here are their stories. *Names have been changed to ensure the privacy of the interviewees.

Interviewee: Hermes Hermes is a transfer student from South Korea. He is currently studying in Harpur.

1) What is the single biggest difference between campus life at BU and campus life in your home country?

Of course, the biggest difference is language. When I was in Korea, I wasn’t afraid of anything. I thought that I spoke very well; I was smart and competent. Since I came to the U.S. , I don’t feel as smart since I cannot understand what people say or what the professors lecture.

Besides the language problem, there is an additional major difference between BU and my prior university.In Korea, students have hectic schedules. Of course, students are busy here too, but almost all Korean students take at least 18 credits of lecture and I used to take up to 21 credits.

In addition, to getting a job, they have to take numerous tests. They have to get scores in TOEIC, OPIC, TOEIC Speaking, TOEFL in addition to getting computer, engineering or technician licenses. Moreover, in order

Vol. XXVI, Issue 3 Binghamton Campus, Lois B. DeFleur Walkway

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“

...my favorite part about studying at BU is that people can express their own thoughts or opinions without any restrictions.

to improve their chances of getting jobs, Korean students must compete in “contest exhibits” in which students compete to create the best advertisements for companies.

I was surprised that American students prepare to get a job after they graduate. Even though many may intern or work part time, few apply for fulltime jobs as students. In Korea, students apply to work full time in companies starting from their senior year. As a result, they do not have much time to discover themselves or relax after university; they always seem more anxious and stressed. In contrast, American students look more composed. They play basketball, frisbee and work out; they do not focus solely on studying, but try to have fun, form relationships, and experience new things unrelated to their future jobs.

2) Do you find it hard to adjust to campus life here? If so, what makes it difficult?

Yes, first of all, if people notice that I cannot speak English very well, they may be divided into two groups: those who speak more slowly and clearly and those who are unwilling to talk to me.

Both make me depressed because whenever they act like this, it means that my English is still bad.

Because of my lack of English ability, I sometimes have difficulty in understanding lectures. Once I asked my professor “Since your lecture is too fast to catch, so could you speak slower or more clearly?” and he said “Nope, this is America, you have to adapt to my English. Why should I give you special consideration?” So, what could I do? I just read the textbook and did my best.

3) Do you feel disadvantaged compared to native students? In what sense?

Yes. Honestly, I did not know how hard it is to live in a foreign country when I was in Korea.

Whenever I want to do something, I have to skip

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”

through many hoops to do it. To be specific, when I wanted to get a job, I needed to have citizenship or a different type of visa. Even scholarship applications require citizenship status. In Korea, I did whatever I wanted to do without hesitation.

4) What is your favorite part about studying at BU or in the U.S.?

My favorite part is that people can express their emotions, thoughts or opinions even in front of elders. In lecture, students are not afraid to ask professors questions. Students in Korea also ask questions in lecture, but often they are unwilling to do it. American students are also free to argue with their professors if they think that their professors are wrong. The interesting thing is that the professors actually listen and may even retort back to the students. Their voices get louder and louder as the debate gets livelier. I like this situation because it shows that students are free to voice their opinions.

In addition, there is more freedom of choice here. If someone asks me to do something, they always add “If you want” or, “It’s up to you.” In Korea, there is a strict hierarchy; if someone elder ordered me to do something I would have to do it without questioning.

My point is that my favorite part about studying at BU is that people can express their own thoughts or opinions without any restrictions.

5) Do you have any advice for future transfer students like yourself?

I would like to recommend for them to be active.

Many international students are unwilling to be a part of an American group or to be friends with Americans. Of course, some people are very willing to be friends with Americans, but many foreigners often stick with peers from their own countries.

If you are in the United States, why not become friends with Americans?

5) Do you have any advice for future transfer students like yourself?

6) What improvements can be made on campus to help future transfer students adjust better?

Yes. I recommend them to be mentally ready for their future success at BU.

Be a member of a group. When I first came to the United States I had very broken English and I could only say simple phrases such as: “I want, I want.”

To improve my English, I became involved with many groups: Ascend, Women in Business, Crew, Asian Outlook, Page Turners and the Campus Bible Fellowship. All groups have been helpful and helped me to enhance my English, but Asian Outlook is the biggest help to me. The members have accepted my short English and included me in their activities. So, by being with them, I could not only improve my English but could also familiarize myself with American cultures.

6) What improvements can be made on campus to help future transfer students adjust better?

Ibterviewee: Hoi Polloi Hoi is a transfer student from Turkey.

1) What is the single biggest difference between campus life at BU and campus life in your home country?

Life in BU campus is much more multicultural compared to the campus life in my home country.

Here, you have the opportunity to acknowledge how people live in different ways.

2) Do you find it hard to adjust to campus life here? If so, what makes it difficult?

No, I don’t find it hard at all. Needless to say, there is an adaptation process depending on your approach to a new way of life, but it ends when you get used to living on campus.

3) Do you feel disadvantaged compared to native students? In what sense?

Sometimes. Even if I put in enough effort to develop my English skills, I cannot be fluent in English in a relatively short period of time. That makes me feel disadvantaged.

4) What is your favorite part about studying at BU or in the U.S.?

In general, my favorite part about studying in the U.S is that I can meet with students from all over the world.

In order to make transfer students more comfortable at campus, more events should be organized targeting the issues transfer students face. From my observations, I don’t think there are enough student advisors per transfer students to address the individual needs of each student. The number of student advisors should be increased.

Interviewee: Vanessa Vanessa is an international transfer student from Shanghai, China.

1) What is the single biggest difference between campus life at BU and campus life in your home country?

Life at Binghamton is more stressful—busier.

In one semester, I had numerous quizzes and midterms whereas in Shanghai I would only have one midterm or final per semester. [In China] school life is usually more stressful during high school, especially during the Gao Kao season, but the stress level and workload usually decreases by university. (Note: Gao Kao exams are highly competitive college entrance exams, similar to the SAT, except they are more information based.)

Another big difference is the living situation.

Since there is a greater population in China, there would be as many as six people in a dorm room whereas only two people share a room here. In a sense, the living situation is slightly better here. I really enjoyed my experience in Shanghai though—since I went to school in my hometown, it was easier for me. The food there was also fantastic.

It was very convenient to eat out or shop since Shanghai is a big city. In that sense, Binghamton is very different.

2) Do you find it hard to adjust to campus life here? If so, what makes it difficult?

When I first transferred here, I found reading [English] to be difficult. The amount of reading

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required for each class was especially hard to handle. There were many logistical differences between the education systems. For example, there were no such things as syllabi in Shanghai; I had also never encountered the concepts of adding/ dropping courses or withdrawing before I came to Binghamton. If students could not take a course, they usually waited until next semester, or the next available opportunity to take that course.

As an international student, you’re also mostly on your own. After my first year of transferring I began to live off campus, so resources such as the Discovery Center were less accessible due to the commute. It is also sometimes difficult to become part of the culture here. You may have noticed that Americans, ABCs (American Born Chinese), or Koreans all have their own circles. Even if you join clubs or extra-curricular activities, it is usually the Americans that reach out and try to fit into the Asian clubs or communities instead of including you in their own friend circles.

3) Do you feel disadvantaged compared to native students? In what sense?

Native students have the option of going home for the weekend if they want to, whereas, for us, the campus is basically our homes. It is also inconvenient if I want to go traveling with my friends due to the lack of accessible transportation.

I think one of the most burdensome aspects of being an international student is the fact of constantly having to prove our residential statuses; whether applying for jobs or trying to get a driver’s license, we always have to produce pages upon pages of paperwork.

Another disadvantage is the fact that I have to learn a foreign language through another foreign language (English). I am currently taking German, and even though there are many similarities between German and English I feel that it is more difficult for me to grasp the nuances of the language because I do not have a solid background in English. It might be easier for English speakers or students with European backgrounds to grasp German more quickly because German is more similar to English and other European languages than it is to Chinese. Professors also stress the importance of “taking good notes” in lectures, however sometimes I miss some small words or seemingly unimportant words which hinders my ability to “take good notes” like native speakers might.

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4) What is your favorite part about studying at BU or in the U.S.?

Freedom. *Laughs* There is definitely a higher degree of freedom associated with class selections and everyday life. I feel especially free in my personal life since I am no longer so hindered by parental control. However, with that also come some difficulties. Over here I’m basically on my own, so I have to do everything by myself. If I was still in Shanghai, I definitely would not know how to drive or pay the bills. Essentially, this is allowing me to experience the real world in advance.

Another really good thing about the US is that you could go wherever you want. It really brings life to the quote “where there’s a will, there’s a way”. If set your heart on something you could do it and that is really liberating.

My favorite part, I have to say, is how easy it is to do laundry here. *Laughs* Shanghai is a very humid place, so it is very difficult for clothes to hang dry.

Since dryer are not as commonplace in Shanghai as they are here, keeping clean is all about how many outfits you own.

The structure of the living communities at BU is also very well designed. For example, there are study lounges within every building and a dining hall in each community. My dorms in Shanghai were not nearly as convenient; the library, dining hall and other resources were all quite a distance away from the residential areas.

All in all, I think I enjoy living here mainly because it is completely different from my life back in Shanghai.

5) Do you have any advice for future transfer students like yourself?

I would definitely say treasure your freshman/ first transfer year. Make sure to be involved on campus and definitely take note of important deadlines in order not to miss the add/drop deadlines. Don’t think that your freshman year GPA doesn’t matter and just goof off. Of course it is important to be hard-working, but I feel that the most important part of your freshman year is to find the direction in which you are interested in. In America, no one will say to you, “this is your major, and you will find a job in this field after you graduate” so it is important to realize your interests and go in that direction.

“

Honestly, I did not know how hard it is to live in a foreign country when I was in Korea.

6) What improvements can be made on campus to help future transfer students adjust better?

I don’t know. I think the campus has done a pretty good job in helping international transfer students to adjust. I especially like the tutoring services provided by the Discovery Center and the availability of break housing. I suppose that the university could provide some tips regarding things such as filing taxes and such. I think it would be very helpful to provide international transfer students who want to study abroad with information regarding visa applications for other countries.

Interviewee: Noreen Noreen is an international transfer student from Pakistan.

1) What is the single biggest difference between campus life at BU and campus life in your home country?

The out of class activities would be the single biggest difference between BU and campus life in my previous university in Pakistan. There are a lot more extra-curricular activities offered here on campus and university life doesn’t only mean classes—it’s much more.

permanent resident here in NY I enjoy all the financial benefits of a local NY student.

”

4) What is your favorite part about studying at BU or in the U.S.?

You can spend 24hrs on campus—all the facilities are there.

5) Do you have any advice for future transfer students like yourself?

There is a lot going on around campus, new students should try to stay connected with the happenings around campus and take the initiative to go out and explore the various opportunities present.

6) What improvements can be made on campus to help future transfer students adjust better?

I believe the cost of living and tuition for international student is pretty high. If it could be lowered, it would definitely help a lot of international students.

We may take our resources for granted, but a peek into foreign college lives reveals that we still have much to treasure and much to learn.

2) Do you find it hard to adjust to campus life here? If so, what makes it difficult?

“Adjusting to campus”-wise I had no problems at all, but “academics”-wise, yes. Education here at Binghamton or the US is much more open ended and courses require you to do a lot of independent research. I’m a graduate student here and this was the first time I wrote a research paper in my life!

Photo source: http://www2.binghamton.edu/wallpapers/

3) Do you feel disadvantaged compared to native students? In what sense?

No I don’t feel disadvantaged compared to native students and since I’ve become a

Vol. XXVI, Issue 3

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The Queensland Harlem Shake I

t starts off with the indecipherable rambling of a presumed

Latin singer, with the schizophrenic prostrations of a single person in the most mundane of situations with the most ordinary of people. Oblivious, this character is of a manic fantasy, unseen and unheard by those around them, and is adjoined with the hypnotic twenty second melody of electronica whose tempo climbs higher and higher until –the drop.

Within a riven second of a swipe of black, the walls are broken and every actor is united in a common hysteria, with every senseless action possible done and a variety of abnormal clothes and costumes donned by those who contribute in this ‘shake’. The next ten seconds is full of random squiggles, crawls, leaps and frantic dances of an entire group gone mad – until a final roar some unknown animal draws the episode to blackness.

By Kahlil Stultz

This ‘meme’ or ‘sensation’ is something which has gone so far as to incur millions of views on Facebook. It has been performed by news companies, American fire fighters, Tahrir protestors and Norwegian Military<space>men. NBC’s Today Show and CNN have covered it (and performed it) and it seems that not even the momentary awkwardness of several teenage hockey players from New York who incurred controversy by performing the ‘shake’ in minimal clothing can stop the internet onslaught of the ‘Harlem Shake’. It has been predicted that its cultural pervasiveness will go beyond last year’s groundbreaking meme – Gangnam Style by portly South Korean rapper, Psy. It seems, at this juncture, that Psy will have to hold his celebrity cheaply if music producer and maker of the ‘Song’, Baauer, overtakes him in total views on Youtube. Furthermore, if the rise of Harlem Shake proves to be as massive as Psy’s, The”Harlem Shake” as performed by TheSunnyCoastSkate.

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“

People performing the “real” harlem shake.

”

While the Harlem Shake videos, with their catchy beats and crazed antics, have captured the delight of many people around the world, the dance is really not much of a shake, let alone from Harlem.

then the promising nature of the internet (and social media in particular) will be the single most prominent stage for fame chasers and performers.

It should be noted though, that while the Harlem Shake videos, with their catchy beats and crazed antics, have captured the delight of many people around the world, the dance is really not much of a shake, let alone from Harlem.

A misnomer of the grandest type, the meme’s tinderbox was set and lit by a group of Australian skaters who went by the YouTube title of “TheSunnyCoastSkate”. Perhaps better named the Queensland Disco with its familiar antics, the real Harlem Shake is nothing like millions believe it to be.

Started on the streets of Harlem nearly thirty two years ago by a New Yorker only known as ‘Al B.’, the gyrations of the original Harlem Shake dance are far more stable and liquid than the frenzy of movement. The hands go up, and then squirm like a snake in the grass; the body rises up, then squirms in a similar fashion. As one can imagine this is very much different than someone jumping out of the window in a purple morph suit with diving equipment on.

Is it a good thing that a dance, perhaps in the incarnation of that same one created by the enigmatic Al B. , has finally come to some fruition (albeit not as he probably imagined)?

Is it a bad thing that a song and dance which emerged from

Harlemite culture has been bastardized and changed into something it is not?

Most people will have varying opinions, but what can be said is that this song and, indeed, this meme is a wake-up call for anyone who is not cognizant of the opportunities and realities of the internet. In a matter of a month or so, a group of longboarders from North East Australia, influenced a massive change in the popular culture. It could be said that they, in their probably unplanned and lackadaisical idleness, made something which has touched the lives of millions around the world. Of course, with things like this, people with high emotions will accuse it of being a shoddy and prejudiced interpretation of a piece of Harlem History (just as many thought Psy to be a social critic as he yelled at a an exercising woman’s behind and others thought Rebecca Black’s infamous Friday was the product of modern day child exploitation).

The debate goes on, but what can be known now, is that for every comedian, singer, artist and actor, there is a new venue.

In days gone by, getting the right audition – that acceptance letter from Julliard or perhaps even being in the same bar as a talent scout—was what made and broke people’s lives. In this day and age, the internet and specifically YouTube has walked up to those bygones and seemingly shoved them aside.

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RECIPE/

Turkish Delight & Baklava

By Tan Oguz- Hoi polloi

D

ue to its unique geographical location, serving as a

bridge between Europe and Asia, Turkey possesses a cuisine that is influenced mostly by Greek, Armenian and Middle Eastern cuisines. Under the Ottoman Empire rule, palace chefs gave importance to develop a cuisine that would serve for the tastes of the Royal family.

Multicultural society of the Ottoman Empire was a golden opportunity for palace chefs to experiment on existing cuisines so that all the ethnic groups fused indirectly and directly to contribute to the creation of the current Turkish cuisine. This cultural assimilation apparently demonstrates why Turkish cuisine is currently considered as rich with authenticity and possesses substantial variety of foods.

Turkish desserts, too, take an important place in Turkish culture and reflect the characteristics of its diversity.

Ingredients : 2 cups sugar ½ cup corn starch (or potato starch/ tapioca) 1 ½ cups water ½ tablespoon cream of tartar 2 tablespoon of rosewater or one of the following: ½ teaspoon rose food flavoring ¼ cup fruit juice 1 tablespoon of vanilla extract 1 tablespoon of orange extract 1 tablespoon of Crème de menthe liqueur food coloring ½ cup chopped toasted pistachios or almonds Icing sugar, granulated sugar, or desiccated coconut for dusting Heat up sugar, 1 cup of water, cream of tartar, and flavoring(s) in a small saucepan. Boil over medium-low heat for 20-30 minutes or 250°F (120°C) on a candy thermometer, until the mixture reaches a “firm-ball” consistency. In a separate bowl, combine cornstarch with remaining water, mix completely and slowly. Then, stir into sugar mixture until the mixture is evenly combined. Next, apply the non-stick cooking spray to a shallow pie pan or jelly-roll pan. Pour the hot mixture into the pan and allow it to set and cooled. When cooled, remove the cake from the pan and cut it into small cubes. Then, roll each piece in the powdered sugar, granulated sugar, or coconut powder. Store at room temperature in an airtight container.

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When I ask students in Binghamton, “What is one thing that you know about Turkey?’’ they mostly tell me, “Turkish Delight,” without a doubt. This example would be enough to show the popularity of Turkish desserts (pronounced “Lokum”). In a city 5500 miles away from Turkey, it is not surprising to get the same popular call for Turkish desserts. As a result of getting the same answers, the question for me to find out is what makes them so special? What I found is that the ingredients used melts in our mouths irresistibly. This Turkish delight is made with small fragrant cubes of jelly, a mix of water, sugar, corn syrup or glucose, thickened with a starch (usually potatoes or tapioca). Countless aromas including orange, rose, lemon, strawberry, passion fruit and vanilla provide broad choices for consumers.

Turkish Delight is not just a sweet, it is rich with culture and authenticity.

Baklava, one of my favorite sweets, is a dessert that can give you full delightfulness. Baklava is a type of Turkish pastry traditionally made with phyllo dough, honey, nuts, pistachio and orange essence. The city of Gaziantep is famous for its pistachio baklavas across the country. Baklava is especially popular on religious holidays. Although it is high in calories, baklava is an irreplaceable dessert. I highly recommend it to those who love to try new things and who is not afraid to explore new tastes and experiences. I’m warning you beforehand, baklava is addictive!

Ingredients: 3 cups sugar 2 cups water ½ cup of lemon juice 1 ½ cups butter, melted 2 packages Phyllo Dough, ½ cup of fined chopped walnuts ½ circumference dowel rod (or something similar)

Several hours prior to baking (overnight is best), boil sugar, water and lemon juice until the sugar is completely dissolved, and place in refrigerator to chill. Roll out Phyllo Dough and spread 2 tablespoons of butter evenly across the Phyllo Dough. Cut the Phyllo Dough in half and roll the Phyllo Dough onto the dowel rod (or anything of a similar circumference). Squeeze the Phyllo Dough on the dowel rod until it is crinkled, then push the dough off the dowel rod.

Then, cut the dough into pieces, arrange each piece in a spiral and place on baking sheet. You may not need the full 2 boxes of Phyllo (I usually only need about 1 2/3 boxes). Use 350°F for 30-35 minutes or until golden. As soon as you remove baklava from the oven, pour the chilled sugar water evenly over the tray and let it soak.

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AO CONSCIENCE 30

ASIAN OUTLOOK

to by

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Vol. XXVI, Issue 3

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More Than A

I

Rorschach

By Laileena Yu

exit the elevator and walk towards the dark mahogany door with a gold plaque that reads “Claire Kellen – Grief Counselor.”

Instead of being reassuring, the familiar sight causes my stomach acid to churn and my hands to fidget. I take in a deep breath and place my hands on the cold golden knob and twist it as slowly as I dare to.

The waiting room is professionally decorated; the walls painted white with black splashes of abstract art hung equidistant from each other, but at varying heights. Two couches line the far and left wall of the room, while a frosted door stands on the rightmost side of the far wall. I walk to my left and towards the dark, sleek receptionist’s desk that’s lower on one side – the side that the receptionist is sitting at, and wonder why can’t they just build it so that no one has to look up or down at the other person.

I swing my bag around and slam it onto the counter, knowing that she won’t service me unless I make my presence absolutely known.

The robust black woman doesn’t even lift her head, but just asks, “Name?”

“Chelsea Cunnings.”

“What’s your appointment time?”

“1:30.”

She types something into the computer then says, “O.K, take a seat.”

Even though I’ve been coming here at the same time for five months now, she still doesn’t recognize me. It could be possible that she’s seen so many patients that she just can’t keep track, but looking around the empty waiting room I doubt that’s the case.

I sit at the edge of the leather sofa that’s furthest from the frosted glass door. But before I’m even properly settled in, I hear a click and notice that that same door I’ve been trying to avoid is now inviting me in.

As I stand up, I hear the familiar click-clacking of heels and know without a doubt who’s coming to retrieve me. The infamous Claire Kellens saunters out of her finely furnished consultation room and flashes her million watt smile.

“Hi Chelsea, how are you?” She asks as she extends her left hand out to greet me.

“Good.” I shake her hand.

“Please, come in,” she says as she gestures for me to walk ahead of her.

The small consultation room is a warm cinnamon brown framed by white trimming, very different from the cold waiting room. I take my usual spot on the lumpy grey couch, avoiding the stain on one of the cushions while trying to make my actions look as inconspicuous as possible. Claire has glided onto her swivel chair and is pushing herself towards her messy desk. I watch as she sifts through the piles of papers, coffee cups and inkless pens to find my information sandwiched inside a manila folder. She thumbs through it for about

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five seconds and without lifting her head says, “So it says here that we’re going to try some hypnotherapy today.”

“O.K.” Her head shoots up and she smiles at me. “Do you have any questions or concerns about the process?” I realize that I should have some reservations about going into a deep sleep and allowing a stranger to listen to the secrets of my subconscious, but I don’t.

“No.” She looks taken aback, but smiles that strained smile again and says, “Alright then, if you’ll just lie down on the couch, we’ll begin right away.”

I’m reluctant to lie on the couch, especially because it’ll cause me to touch that mysterious stain. But my obedient nature gets the best of me and I swing my legs onto the couch and feel it graze the spot where the stain is. I place my head on the only pillow there and don’t even bother to try and make it more comfortable.

“Comfy?”

“Yes.” “O.K. Now just close your eyes and breathe in deeply and exhale slowly. Listen to the sound of your breath.”

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. I feel my breath leave my nose and graze my upper lip and am mesmerized by the little things that I miss every day.

“Let your mind wander.”

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. I relax and try not to think about what I have to do at work tomorrow or even what I’m going to make for dinner tonight.

“Feel yourself lift out of this world and into another space and time.”

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. I open my eyes.

In front of me is a long hallway that I recognize, but haven’t walked down in almost ten years. Each side is lined with old green lockers and the floor is a mosaic of blue and white swirls. Judging from the light that’s pouring in, students should be bustling about, but there’s nothing here but me and the occasional pieces of dust that fly into the sunlight.

I blink. Now I’m in the doorway of a small classroom. A stout balding man is standing behind a desk and he is so short that he doesn’t even reach the shoulders of the nervous student standing before him.

“How may I help you, Miss Cunnings?” the short man asks.

“I just wanted to ask you about the scoring of our test last Friday,” the student asks.

“What do you want to know?”

“You marked me wrong for this question, but I’m sure I’m right.”

“Let me see.” The teacher takes the paper from her hand and his eyes quickly slide over it. He shoves the paper back into her hands and says, “No, it’s wrong.”

“I know it’s not what you told us in class, but I consulted the textbook and another teacher and both agree with my answer.”

“Miss Cunnings, are you doubting my expertise? If I say your answer is wrong, then your answer is wrong. Now take your test and return to your seat.”

The student looks down at her paper and contemplates the situation for a moment. Then in one swift movement she lifts her head up, a deathly glare imbedded in her pupils, reaches her hand forward until it finds purchase in the teacher’s thinning hair, jerks her hand back and slams his smug face into the weathered wooden desk.

Hard. I instinctively gasp and then cover my mouth with my hands, hoping no one heard me. I blink again and see the student staring at her paper and the teacher behind his desk waiting for her to quietly return to her seat. She slowly turns around and shuffles through the desks until she finds her own.

I don’t know what just happened. One minute I see myself slamming that arrogant teacher’s face into his desk and the next I’m standing there looking defeated and weak. The latter was what really happened, but I know that at that time, the former was what I wanted to happen. I turn around, my mind still trying to wrap around what I just saw, but when I look up I see that I’m not in school anymore.

I’m in a dimly lit restaurant with a bar on the right side and small round tables strewn throughout. At the back of the restaurant there is a small rectangular stage with a pull down projection screen displaying various landscapes ranging from the arctic tundra to the tropical scenery of the Bahamas. Music is coming out of a small machine near the front of the stage with a wire that leads to a black microphone. At the microphone is a beautiful woman, whose brown long hair I remember playing with when I was young.

“Mom?” I repeat it louder and louder as I run up to her, but she doesn’t even so much as look in my direction. Her eyes are glued to the screen as she continues singing. I wave my hand in front of her face, but still no reaction. I feel tears stream down my face, but seeing as no one can see me, I don’t bother brushing them away. I remember waking up to my mom singing as she made my breakfast and listening as music travelled all the way around the house until she reached my door. She had a beautiful voice. She tried to teach me to sing, but my mouth could never make the same notes that came out of hers. The singing gene must’ve skipped a generation. My knees buckle and I sink to the floor, feeling as helpless and alone as I did the day I got the news.

The room brightens and before me is a bed. A sickly middle-aged woman lies under the covers, coughing and looking pale. I look around and see the familiar weathered furniture of my mother’s house. I get up and touch the rough pansy-patterned wallpaper, still ugly as ever, I say to myself. The woman coughs and I kneel by her side in an instant. I grab her hands – wrinkles are starting to form, but will never get a chance to delve deeper into her skin.

“Chelsea is that you?” She asks in a voice as sweet as I remember it being when I was a child.

“Yes, it’s me, Mom. I’m here.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No. There’s nothing to apologize for. You’re amazing.” My vision is becoming blurred.

“I’m sorry. I love you, but I’m sorry,” my mom says as a single tear breaks free from her eyes and trickles down her soft cheeks. My throat is filled with phlegm and my nose is stuffed, so I don’t dare

speak and let her hear my quivering voice.

She looks away from me and towards the ceiling. “I see him. Oh, I’ve always said he was a handsome fella. You’ve waited long enough, I’m coming honey.” She smiles as she lets her eyelids fall.

“Mom? MOM?!” I scream even though I know she can’t hear me.

Her hands have stopped gripping mine, but that only makes me grip them harder. I’ve lost her…again.

“They say she died of a broken heart.” I turn around at the sound of a voice, but I don’t see anybody. “She was never the same after Rob died.”

I get up and leave the room, but all I see is a dark corridor. “I’m surprised she even made it this far considering how depressed she was,” the voice says.

“Well she had that daughter to take care of,” says a second voice.

“Who are you?! Show yourself!” I scream, whirling my body and head around and around hoping to catch a glimpse of the speaker.

“I guess she figured it’d be okay to go now that her daughter’s all grown up.”

“Shut up!” I squat down, cover my ears and close my eyes, which causes tears to break free and fall. It’s not real, I tell myself, they’re lying. Mom would never leave me. She was just sick. I start rocking on my heels, but am brought out of my trance by crappy computerized music.

I’m back at the restaurant. Mom is still there, alive, breathing, singing. I can’t take this anymore. I can’t go through her death one more time, especially in whatever twisted dimension I’m in right now.

I refuse to be a toyed with and hurt over and over again. I wipe my face, fast and rough, stand up, straighten my back, take one last look at my mom and turn around ready to leave.

My eyes land on a man’s who’s sitting at one of the tables furthest from the stage. At first I don’t know why his face makes me falter, since I had been so determined to leave. I examine his angular face and dirty blonde hair with matching goatee, but I still don’t know who he is until he smiles and I instantly recognize the deep wrinkles that frame his loving hazel eyes. No. This can’t be happening; I’ve already gone through enough. I step back and almost slip on something that was firm but gave way to my foot. I look over my shoulders and see that it’s a beige backpack, every pocket filled to the brim with supplies. I turn back to look at my dad again, but the entire restaurant is replaced with a sandy dune and men dressed in clothing the same color as that backpack. The blaring white light makes it difficult to see more than twenty feet in front of me. I feel something hard in my hands; I look down and see that it’s a long black gun, with the back, handle and a part of the tip made of some wooden material.

My clothing has changed into something like what the men in front of me are wearing. Several black cartridges are attached to my vest. I touch my head and feel a helmet; I touch my shoulders and feel the straps of a backpack. I’m in a war.

“Keep up Cunnings!” The voice is coming from my left and I can see it belongs to a soldier with a bent nose, who’s also sporting sunglasses.

I point to myself and ask “Me?” “Of course, who else would I be talking to?” I start running, but stumble over my heavy combat boots. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

The soldier says and starts heading in my direction, “I don’t know where your fucking mind went, but I doubt you forgot how to walk on the way there.” He squeezes my left arm and hoists me

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up so quickly that he must’ve left a bruise. As I stand up, I glance at his uniform: B. Caveat. I don’t recognize this name, so as I dust myself off, I look at the soldier’s face, but all I see is an image of a man reflecting back at me in the soldier’s sunglasses. I rub my hands over my rough dirty blond stubble and slowly glide it over my sharp nose, chiseled cheeks and warm eyes to make sure that they were all real and not just a figment of my imagination. B. Caveat gives me a quizzical look, says, “You’re so fucking weird today,” and leaves to join the rest of the soldiers who are almost out of my sight.

I’m…my dad? Why am I in my father’s body? What would I have to go through now? I never really knew how my dad died, all I remember is that when I was about ten years old, there was a knock at the door and when my mom opened it, two soldiers were standing there. Before even a single word was exchanged between my mom and the men, she had already started crying. I sat there and watched as one of the soldiers spoke to my mother. She covered her face and started crying more audibly, so I ran to her from my post at the kitchen table scattered with math homework, and asked her what was wrong. My mom was unresponsive, but the soldier kneeled down to my level and put a firm hand on my shoulders. I remember staring at his nose, wondering how it managed to bend at such an odd angle…

“Hi, I’m Ben. What’s your name?” He asked.

“Chelsea. Do you know my daddy? He’s in the army too,” I reply and shoot him a big smile.

“I did – he was a great man.”

I cocked my head in confusion. “Aren’t you guys friends anymore?

My daddy’s really nice, you should be friends again.”

By then, my mom had calmed down a bit and started wiping the tears off of her red face. She put a hand on Ben’s shoulder and said, “No, let me do it.” Ben stood up, his face stern and solemn. My mom cupped my face in her hands and I was forced to look at her red-streaked eyes. I became scared and tears started rolling down my chubby cheeks. “Chelsea, sweetheart, I know this is going to be hard, but,” she closed her eyes as if bracing herself for the brunt of the next few words. After a couple of seconds, she opened her eyes and continued, “Daddy’s not coming home.”

“Okay, then when is he coming home?” I said, through bouts of hiccups.

“Chelsea, he’s never coming home ever again. From now on it’s just going to be Mommy and Chelsea living in this house, eating dinner and doing everything else together.” She started crying again and now I’m screaming and bawling, blaming Ben for not helping my dad. That was the last memory I ever had about my dad. From that day on, it really was Mommy and Chelsea doing everything together.

My mom never remarried and I could tell that she never wanted to.

“Cunnings! What did I tell you?!” I’m shocked out of my stupor by B. Caveat.

“Sorry, coming!” I yell back. I lift my combat boots high as I run over to the rest of the troops, making sure my feet clear the ground at every step. As I start to close the gap, there’s a pop pop pop sound coming at me and the other soldiers.

“It’s an ambush! Stand ready!” B. Caveat orders. In an instant, every soldier has their guns at the ready and begins shooting into the far distance as soon as their commanding officer yells “fire.” I fumble to lift the heavy machinery, but when I finally get it to sit comfortably in my hands I realize that I have no idea how to use it.

My pulse continues to rise and I can hear the blood rushing through my ears. I look around hoping to find someone that could help me, but everyone’s preoccupied by the invisible attackers.

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“Who are we shooting at? I can’t see anyone!” I scream. The white light becomes more intense and I squint my eyes into the direction that everyone’s shooting, but can’t see a single thing. With my attention distracted, I didn’t notice a small dot coming towards me and hitting home in the flesh of my breast. I’m knocked to the ground and scream out because of the pain. I put my hand over the wound and press down hoping it would stop the bleeding. I remove my hand from the wound to check the damage – my hand is drenched in blood. Oh God. Is this how my dad died? In the middle of the battlefield with his blood slowing draining out of him and no one to comfort him? I feel a sharp pain in my chest as someone shakes my shoulders.

“Cunnings! Stay with me, Cunnings! I need a medic now!” I can now recognize the that voice without looking. My eyelids are drooping and I feel very sleepy. He continues to talk to me, but now it sounds like it’s coming from some far-off place. I slowly stop feeling the power of his shakes and my body goes numb. “…Cunnings, Chelsea Cunnings! Wake up!” This voice is different – it’s too feminine and too afraid. “When I count to three, you will wake up feeling refreshed and rejuvenated. One, two, three.” At the moment she says “three” my eyes spring open and I find myself lying on a lumpy gray couch in a warm brown room. My face feels itchy and sticky. I reach up to touch it and realize that I’ve been crying a lot.

There’s also sweat around my brow and forehead and I notice that my breathing is fast. I look at Claire; she’s clearly shaken, more so than I am. Her signature smile is gone and her composed demeanor is shattered. In clear Claire Kellens-style, she pulls herself together and asks, “What did you see?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” I reply.

“We have to, Chelsea. Just before you woke up I heard you mumbling something about your father. Could you tell me what exactly you were saying?”

“Look, I just went through a lot, could we talk about this some other time?”

“Ok, we won’t talk about your father. How about your mother? It seems that you revisited that memory as well.”

“I don’t want to talk about that either.”

“Chelsea, it’s very important that –” “I said I don’t want to talk about it!” Claire has never seen me this angry, which is evident from her shocked expression. Come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve ever seen myself so angry. She opens her mouth to say something that she’s been taught would probably calm me, but before she gets the chance, I grab my bag and leave the room.

I notice that there are two people in the waiting room. On the couch that’s placed against the wall perpendicular to the receptionist’s desk, a woman with long brown hair sits humming a familiar lullaby.

On the adjacent couch sits a man with a strong, but loving expression who’s still dressed in his beige uniform. The woman and the man’s hands are intertwined as they both look up at me with smiles on their faces. I smile back at them. I walk steadily towards the exit and although I don’t look behind me, I know that the woman and man in the waiting room had also gotten up and followed my lead. I also know that I will never have to sit on that lumpy gray couch again.

The Flowers of Kon Tum

By Kahlil Stultz

T

he village which had lived for many centuries between the mountains of Kon Tum province was not the site of great battles of epic wars.

For these swarthy dirt farmers, their overburdened cattle and the little cupids who ran about them, the two which had been dispatched from the bowls of Saigon to their little home atop hill 457, the two green coated men in their muddy jeep were but another set of vain conquerers. Walking down the dirt road, which he had traversed from the days when the aches in his knees were but a yearning to run faster, an old man was met with the vulgar force of a racing jeep which stomped past him in such a speed it seemed a madman was in control. He stopped, holding tight the thick yarn which held him and his beloved old bull, and stepped to the side where below was a gully where a throng of little children and their mothers washed clothes and bathed in the river.

The Jeep growing ever closer screeched and howled with its madman engine blowing black bile exhaust into the air, destroying the clarity of the blue sky which lay above, and clouding the mind of the driver and his pilot who, in their passions, had slowed. Enraged, the driver unleashed the full terror of his jeep horns which challenged the old man off the road.

The Bull screeched in pain, but too old to give a fight, it grunted and wailed, stamping its hooves upon the dirt road but not daring to slide off the cliff. The old man standing firm – his wrinkly face dotted with sweat, and his little eyes like those of small fruit bird—glared with heavy concentration. In his dusty, dank little slippers he stomped upon the floor and digging himself into the dirt, he watched the jeep go on. Soon he could see into the eyes of the two men driving—of the dark skinned tall boy who seemed uneasy and the slanted eyed yellow boy who seemed reluctantly stern. It was like a dream he had lived through his entire life. In the eyes of the black fellow he saw the colonial soldier that had burned his home and manhood. In the eyes of the man on the right, he saw the Japanese soldier who had shot his father in front of him and his mother nearly twenty

years before. If he had wanted to, he could have pulled the machete that lay underneath his belt and in a wave of passion, regained the manhood which had been robbed from him. He did not do this, and realizing the fear that his emasculated bull felt, he held unto it with his hands gently caressing its chaffy head as the jeep rolled by. He wanted to and could have regained the manhood which he deserved, but as the car went past and the irate eye balls of the two soldiers met with his, he realized for the first time that even if he did fight these men, the violence would only leave another mother crying and another son dead.

“Do you have to be so reckless? Christ!” cried out MacInnis – the black man with his deep Brooklyn accent sounded out of place to those ignorant of his stock. A bourgeois West Indian in all but voice, he kept his legs crossed. Nakamura – in a brooding nature that was not unknown of in a person of Niigata stock, drove with mobilized shreds of coolness, sliding for a millisecond.

His two large eyes, made slanted by a flap of skin, gave a look that spoke volumes.

“Show some dignity,” MacInnis read from Nakamura’s rectangular face, and tapping his feet, he looked away to the lush green valley that stood as a precipice between them and death. There was no beauty in the trees that blanketed the land like a green quilt. There was no delight in the haunting songs and odes of the birds and insects that dwelled in these woods. Something – deep in the darkness—spun an old fear. MacInnis dwelled in it, but Nakamura, in stoic fashion, denied it.

“Ngo Cao says he got ambushed around here on Wednesday,” stammered MacInnis with both hands on the butt of his rifle, trying to start a conversation with a man whom he could tell was marked only by inhumanity. This Nakamura was more ice and skin than man – a monster like those whom he had seen in the rice paddies of the far south, firing their machine guns at those whose misfortune it was to be in their target range. Behind all this though, MacInnis had a woman and, whatever happened, he would return to her and he would return to 7823 Parker Avenue. He’d return to

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Mum and Dad with a woman and a wedding ring. In this place the beauty of the landscape had been outraged by bullets and napalm. Hemingway was right when he described war as a crime. It was love that was needed and one did not need long hair to know that. Odd how a name like Nakamura, which in his mind sounded so wise and so gentle, was manifested as this common golem with its automaton heart.

“Ngo Cao talks a whole heap of crap.” grunted Nakamura trying to gently hold back the fear which spiked his heart each time he felt a bump beneath the car and click when it rolled over a rock. He never chose this life and Father never wished it for him. A season before, he, in the gentle embrace of family in Makawao, had tilled the soil for sweet potatoes. His father’s words wrung around and served as gold foil for the heart: “This country is good to us – do not dishonor it.” That was the only thing that kept his sanity. Tears gathered around his eyes, but he knew that his mother had cried enough for him. She who had lost two babies in a place where she was less than human and Pa who had fought for the same people who stripped him of his land had cried for him. Uppity MacInnis, who whined only because of a misplaced fear of death, knew no higher calling and had no understanding of duty, for he had never suffered true shame.

The sun, which rose from the east and moved closer to the west, roasted them. They, the unwanted ones, were slowly being burnt underneath the rays of a dying day and shared an incommunicable hatred for each other.

It was in those moments of true and utter contempt that a certain silence crawled its way from the depths of fear to the shores of awkwardness. That black silence which was only broken by the jeep’s groaning Detroit engine, cast off the two to their own separate sides Where on the one side, Nakamura, with his hands coolly steering the wheel of the car, did all he could to avoid any contact with the man on the right side of him, MacInnis, holding onto the handles of his door, shot a nasty glance at Nakamura at every chance he could, and, hissing his teeth and mumbling curses, he squirmed in his seat. So agitated he was that while Nakamura drove about like a bloated statuesque toad, MacInnis seemed more like a slug doused with salt. Thirty minutes into the ride, the silence grew more and more contemptuous that the unspoken poison between the two could have conjured up an invisible wall.

Out of the mountains and into the hills the jeep had gone, stretching down a lone and dusty road that in the monsoon season was notorious for the deep mud traps that sank many a peasant and animal who arrogantly dared to negotiate the sludge. There was no sludge now though; all that remained of it were harsh and unrelenting crevices. It was, under the rays of a powerful yellow sun, reduced to dust and hard dirt. With great ease now

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did the jeep roll past the mud, showering light brown entrails into the green rice paddies that surrounded the road on both sides. In utter contempt of nature, the jeep rolled past and for a slight moment, a smirk grew on Nakamura’s face as he pressed his black booted foot upon the gas pedal, pressing the jeep on farther down the road with such speed that every now and then, his hand was forced to hold down the steel helmet that covered his close cropped black hair. MacInnis—whose mood had softened, felt less vinegar in his face and became more lackadaisical. Tapping his fingers on the car door, he began to look out to the landscape that overwhelmed the eye. The jeep pulled across the hills and then the flat lands like an ant crawling across plum pudding. The tough jeep pulled upwards, controlled by Nakamura’s iron arm and MacInnis felt more comfortable. He laid his body into his stiff metallic chair, snuggly patting his head down into his towel. At no time at all, did the pain and the angst of previous feelings adulterate the calm that had come over the two. The silence and awkwardness remained, but in the beauty of the blue sky, the yellow sun, the green fields, and the wind blowing all the sweat and stress from the two’s eyes, there was a new optimism in spite of the silence. Twenty minutes and up the hills, thirty minutes and over the bridge – by the time they had reached the outskirts of village of Kon Tum, where a large sign written in Vietnamese read: KON TOM PROVINCIAL CENTER – 5 Kilometers A new feeling came over them.

It seemed so odd how in the passions of silence, the true objective of their partnership was so unconsidered.

MacInnis stared out to the blue river, where a swarthy woman with black hair and a vivacious pink dress sat about at the banks scrubbing clothes whilst an even older woman sat at the banks, pressing her fingers to a cloth or article of some sort. MacInnis, whose eyes wandered, saw the little bodies of small children running about in the shallow water splashing and singing as if songbirds in a pool.

A smile, for once, lit up MacInnis, and his black face erupted with a charming ivory toothed smile that shined sweet rays of approval upon the scene.

It was so banal a mission – something which in this war had reduced MacInnis, a man of such pedigree and learning, soldiering, and yet in these moments, those classes on Classical Poetry rang with an inescapable truth. This was a lovely country and these people – so simple, so innocent and so human—were to McInnis’s fancy, beautiful. He hung his head and hung up his sweetness in shame at the misery that men of his uniform may have caused in this land. Kipling’s words, “Send forth the best ye breed; Go send your sons to exile; To serve your captives’ need” wrung true here. Exiled he and this fellow next to him were but cogs in the machine. When he looked at the way Nakamura’s tightly

wound eyes would glimmer and his mouth shake, he could not equate this to the cat calls and bloody shouts that he had seen before. In his contempt he had thought this man a villain but as it would turn out, poor Nakamura – just by his shuddering lips had shed his machismo like a cicada shed its skin.

“Not many people from Hawaii, I see out yonder,” shuffled MacInnis out of the blue, keeping his eyes on the scenery around him. Nakamura, alarmed (so much so that he nearly jumped his seat in surprise) turned briefly to MacInnis with his eyes open, then back to the road where he gathered his nerves.

“Haw’aii?” He said – with an accent. He looked about at MacInnis, half suspicious and half interested, “What do you mean?”

MacInnis rearranged himself in his seat and assumed a more professional posture when addressing Nakamura.

“Like Hawaii – the islands, you mentioned back in the Cantina – about two weeks ago how you grew up there.”

“Yes” Nakamura said, lowering his shoulders and adopting a less belligerent stance. “Yes, I’m a Hawaiian, born and bred. What do you want make of it?”

“It must be beautiful,” said MacInnis with a smirk.

“Maybe not as beautiful as St. Mary’s and the Blue Mountains, but it must be rather lovely.”

“Oh yeah, it’s beautiful alright. Prettiest place in the world. Best forests, best farms, best towns, and the women—and the women, they’re pretty swell.” Nakamura’s heart melted as he began to remember all that he had left, “I’m from a county called Maui – Is it near Honolulu?” interjected MacInnis.

“Not even close” said Nakamura, who shot a smile (a smile that could only be described as being a farmboy’s grin), “but I’m happy you know your state capitals.”

“That’s what the New York Catholic school system gets you,” replied MacInnis.

“You’re from New York?” laughed Nakamura whose eyed opened up in surprise, “Get the hell out of here!

I’ve always wanted to go!”

“Yah. I’m from a place called Brooklyn—it’s next to Manhattan.” MacInnis answered, turning his eyes to Nakamura who slid his face to MacInnis every now and then as a show of respect.

“I heard of Brooklyn – yah – Oh yeah, and then there’s the Bronx” “Good” “And then there’s Queen’s” “Getting close.”

“And then there is – uh” Nakamura halted and giggled nervously. His machismo suffered as he tried to remember the other name that he had in mind, “I think it’s Ellis Island?”

“HA!” laughed MacInnis. “You’re thinking of Staten Island. Ellis Island is where the statue of liberty is.”

“Oh” snickered Nakamura embarrassed. “Yah know I

always wanted to visit the Statue of Liberty, but I never got the chance.”

“Well,” said MacInnis shaking his head, “When you live on an island in the middle of nowhere I don’t blame you.”

“Fair enough.”

Nakamura’s eyes followed the dirt road up to the green mountains where the dark ruffle of the trees hid the road further. The fear of Charlie hiding in the bush again hit at his heart, but as he drove he noticed something. A pink Chrysanthemum bush that, though small and malnourished, pushed forth from the dust struck him as being beautiful. It was in this that he rejoiced for a moment. For in those small things he realized that all was not death here – he realized that a flower grew even in the dust and dirt of a war zone. His Sarah was not there to share this with him but suddenly, in the midst of thought, he realized that he was not alone. The man next to him – this Brooklyn guy was there. It took nuts to start a conversation when the man next to you couldn’t stand you and God knew how hard it was for him to just say ‘Hello’. A feeling of immense and unutterable happiness came over him and as the car began its ascent back into the mountains of Kon Tum province.

Nakamura asked with a smirk, “You a Yankees fan?”

Vol. XXVI, Issue 3

37

Life

By Jia Xin Lu

Braille

By Joe Park

I feel like braille.

It takes a certain kind of person to touch me and understand.

To everyone else I’m just obscure goosebumps.

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ASIAN OUTLOOK

The cries of a baby seeking out to the world.

The slow crawling sound goes softly “plitter, platter.”

The years go pass quickly, the child slowly walks, finally, reaching adulthood. with love, with time.

Decline, decline, time passes so fast.

In a blinking of an eyelash.

Slowly, slowly, body deteriorates, But our memory’s still intact.

Life is a slow passing, everyone just goes through But life is a big precious moment so cherish it through.

Vol. XXVI, Issue 3

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