blackbody

I want a blackbody’s soul with the mind of a mirror.

One of the most beautiful (yet sometimes painful) consequences of human relationships is that we are sometimes forced to put into words some issues that we may otherwise let fester in the back of our minds.  In my experience, problems, whether of the personal or mathematical variety, seem much less daunting when I figure out how to describe it to someone with words. I don’t know what it is about direct, explicit expression that seems to lead to some level of emotional self-awareness, but it does at least partially explain why we think talking to our friends about our problems, “unloading,” is cathartic.  I don’t know about you, but usually when I start talking to my friends or family about something that’s bothering me, I don’t necessarily seek advice; rather, I just want someone to listen and absorb what I say as I say it. It’s more of an exercise for myself: to push myself to dig up what the true problem is.  While I always appreciate words of encouragement or advice, my only goal is, quite selfishly, just to have someone listen to me work out (or simply unload) my problems.

Now, I want to consider the other side of this exchange: the listener. One of my biggest insecurities regarding my friendships is my constant worry that I am not giving my friend adequate attention, or advice, or pity, or whatever it is they may need in their times of need.  As it is for everyone else, it hurts me to see my friends hurting, but sometimes I just don’t know what to do.  I listen as they unload, and try to give reasonable and non-empty advice, but there are some issues lately that I am certain I don’t know the first thing about handling. What’s more, I’m noticing that with these bigger issues, I start feeling an enormous emotional weight being piled up on me. It no longer feels like I’m solely listening to their problems; it’s as if I were absorbing all of it and unreasonably making them my own. Like a blackbody, except my mind is the one that captures all of these negative emotions and let’s them sit and fester.  Sometimes I wonder if it would be better if I weren’t so attached, if I had more emotional inertia, you could call it. Or if I could make my soul and emotions more like a mirror so that I didn’t have to absorb all of it.  But think of how robotic, how entirely void of warmth I would be.  The other beauty of human relationships, perhaps the counterpart of the one I mentioned above, is that when we listen to other people unload their issues, we begin to share with them all sorts of emotions, good and bad.  We mutually move each other.  So if by absorbing some of their problems, I could lighten a load, then it really is worth it. I only wish that I had the mental and emotional strength to absorb, but then stop thinking about it and let go. I wish I could be like a blackbody in my soul, but a mirror in my mind.

- C

P.S. I know it’s been a while since I’ve posted (because I’ve been busy with school), but I’m hoping to start this up again. It struck me the other day how so many different science terms could be used to explain human emotion, which I thought was worth exploring. I specifically thought of blackbodies and inertia, so I thought it’d be fun to incorporate the two into my rather personal post. Thanks for reading!

review: sidewalk by mitchell duneier

Who knew I’d enjoy a summer reading book so much? (Haha that’s a joke – I’m pretty sure I’ve secretly liked most of my summer reading books in the past couple of years…)

Today I’ll be reviewing Sidewalk, an ethnography written by Princeton sociology professor Mitchell Duneier. The thing I loved most about this book was how candid and genuine the voice of the narration was – I came to trust the author and his analyses easily due to this clarity and honesty. Mitchell Duneier spent 5 years on the streets of New York City, working alongside and interviewing the various people trying to make “an honest living” on the sidewalk. Duneier presents us with many detailed snapshots of the lives of the street vendors, panhandlers, and inhabitants of the sidewalks of Greenwich Village. I found this book particularly striking because I had just returned from a trip to NYC when I started reading it and I never gave a second thought to those vendors on the street. It was as I was reading this that I realized how much I don’t know about the world and the lives of different people.  After finishing the book, I understood finally how “the little people who really have proved catalytic…hardly ever get talked about, or even make it into the sweep of history” (41).  It was an enlightening read, and deeply moving as well.

One of the most touching stories in the book was about Hakim Hasan, a book vendor.  He is one of the older vendors, and therefore a mentor for the others on the street.  Hakim developed a mentoring relationship with Jerome, an “at-risk” youth who loves books.  Due in part to this positive relationship, Jerome stayed anchored by his desire to read, as Hakim continuously supplied him with African-American literature.  Hakim ultimately wants to persuade Jerome to continue his formal education by finishing his GED.

The following anecdote was memorable because I think it defined Hakim’s character.  Hakim is quite a “public character,” as Duneier puts it, and thus develops many friendships with various people, whether they are fellow street vendors or his customers.  When he sees police officers walking by overdue parked cars, he’ll say that the cars are his, so that the officer can’t give out tickets. He sees this as his responsibility as a public character – he tries to keep the streets safe and maintains social order.  Which brings me to the next thing I realized: social order can come in many different forms.  At first glance, observers may see the vendors and panhandlers on the streets as disruptions of social order, but in reality, they are somewhat “eyes of the sidewalk” who maintain their own kind of social order so that they can work alongside each other.  I guess this is a distinction between a micro and macro view of social order. Duneier claims that “order is a by-product of a system of social regulation that is grounded in an understanding of city life in its uneasy complexity” (316).

Furthermore, I enjoyed that Duneier presented us with the facts before jumping to conclusions. He was very cautious with his claims, allowing the reader to make his/her own guided conclusions.  This book dissolved many of my early prejudices about the people on the sidewalk.  I think all of us share these initial prejudices, whether based on race or class. Duneier writes:  ”Americans…assume that a person who looks broken must be shattered, when in fact he is trying to fix himself as best he can” (315). And it’s clear that the people working to make an honest living on the sidewalk are trying to fix themselves – they haven’t given up despite their dispiriting conditions or resorted to crime. That in itself should be appreciated, if not admired.

I would recommend this book to anyone interested in African-American studies, sociology, or just anyone searching for an enlightening, unique read.

- C

speaking of quotes…

“A wonderful fact to reflect upon, that every human creature is constituted to be that profound secret and mystery to every other. A solemn consideration, when I enter a great city by night, that every one of those darkly clustered houses encloses its own secret; that every room in every one of them encloses its own secret; that every beating heart in the hundreds of thousands of breasts there, is, in some of its imaginings, a secret to the heart nearest it!” – Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities.

connected through quotes

As I was cleaning out my room today, I found a barely-filled journal in the back of my desk drawer that contained pages of quotes and random thoughts I’ve had ever since my freshman year of high school. Some were incredibly embarrassingly cheesy…I had a quote in there from Twilight… But others seemed to mark in my mind a precise feeling or moment in which I had a very precise thought. It was almost like taking a journey back through these years, as I remembered why I chose to write down each entry.

I started to wonder why we decided to write things down in journals (or blogs) and find famous (or anonymous) quotes to jot down. Why are quotes – whether they’re inspirational, funny, cynical, or philosophical – so appealing to people?

I came up with two reasons. One, quotes usually become famous because they not only carry some universal truth, but also are eloquently or cleverly phrased. For example, I found this quote from Eric Butterworth (yeah, I don’t know who he is either): “Don’t go through life, grow through life.” This certainly expresses a universal truth, no matter how cliché, but it’s notable because it’s phrased cleverly. But the best quotes – the memorable, worthy-of-jotting-down-in-a-tattered-journal ones – are often the ones that surprise us because of how perfectly they phrase something we have been feeling, but did not know how to put into words. They provoke us to think differently, or sometimes realize something we never thought about before. One of my favorite quotes in my journal is: “Nothing in the world is ever completely wrong. Even a stopped clock is right twice a day” – Paulo Coelho, Brida. Now, I remember when I first read this in Brida, I didn’t immediately relate it to my own life; rather, I found it to be merely poetic and thought-provoking. But as I thought about it, savored it, I connected the idea to so many of my own experiences and the world around me.

Quotes are also appealing because they validate our thoughts, feelings, and experiences. Sometimes I come across something on the internet, book, or movie that somehow says exactly what I’ve been thinking or feeling, and I instantly feel a sense of justification for whatever I’m feeling, whether it’s happiness, nostalgia, regret, or anger. It doesn’t even matter if the quote is from someone famous or “great”; even if it’s anonymous, I feel understood, connected. It’s weird how we all need this sense of validation; it seems like it’s all just a huge search for empathy, really. We just want someone to understand something about us that cannot exactly be put into words. But more importantly, the memorable quotes help us understand ourselves. They reveal humanity’s deep inner motives, desires, and fears. Sometimes, we don’t immediately recognize those within ourselves, so we require an external push to encourage us to face ourselves. These quotes can give us courage to face some our deepest, most vulnerable thoughts, because we can be comforted by knowing that somewhere, at some point in time, someone felt the exact same way.

- C

the sound of music

One of my favorite things is finding music that adds new meaning and inspiration to my thoughts. I’ve had some trouble this summer finding this kind of music, but recently, I’ve discovered a flood of new songs that are perfect .  This batch of new music has inspired this blog post, because I realized that all of the songs I found seem to have one thing in common: they’re all sung in either a different accent or a different language. Just so you know what I’m talking about, here are some of the songs I’m talking about. I’ll also include a short description of the artist and my favorite line in the song.

• Skinny Love – Birdy (British, pianist and singer, 16 years old) – “my, my, my, my, my, my, my, my”
• Strangeland – Keane (British, alternative rock band that uses piano or synth as lead instrument) – “strangeland blind”
• Black Rain – Keane - “the blackest of seas glittering red”
• Lights – Ellie Goulding (British singer/songwriter) - “touch my skin and hope that I’m still breathing”
• Nobel Maiden Fair (A Mhaighdean Bhan Uasal) - from Brave soundtrack – the Gaelic part (I don’t know the words)
• Ju Hua Tai – Jay Chou (Taiwanese musician and actor, this song is from the movie Curse of the Golden Flower) – “夢在遠方,化成一縷香 meng zai yuan fang, hua cheng yi lu xiang” (dreams fade and become distant, they become only a faint trace of fragrance)
• I Cried For You – Katie Melua (British, born in Georgia) – “and the sky cried for you”
• Primadonna – Marina & the Diamonds (Marina Lambrini Diamandis, Greek/Welsh, born in Wales) – “all I ever wanted was the world”

The lyrics of  these songs are interesting and multi-layered because both simple and complicated words are strung together in unique, meaningful ways, but what makes them special is how the words sound together.  For example, in Skinny Love, my favorite line simply consists of the repetition of one word, but the sound of Birdy’s voice coupled with the rhythm makes the line beautiful and reminiscent of a heartbeat.  Even without working to make out or understand the lyrics, I am touched by these songs.  I like just sitting back and listening to the sounds of the words roll off the singer’s tongue. I guess that’s what makes a song different from a poem: the sung lyrics are also just another instrument, so to fully appreciate a song, we have to not only analyze the lyrics, but listen to the synthesis of all of the sounds.

Since all of these singers have accents (or speak different languages), the sound is even more unique and pleasing to my ear.  I’m quite sure that it’s just because I’m American that I can hear the difference in the way the words are sung by British singers, but I think everyone can experience the feeling by listening to foreign music. Sometimes, I will listen to a song in a different language that gives me a certain “feeling”, read the translated lyrics, and think “of course.” It’s amazing how the sounds of sung words can perfectly mimic the meaning of them.

- C

split identities

As I was watching an intense swimming round in the Olympics the other day with my family, my mom suddenly asked me: “Which country are you rooting for?” I looked at her, confused for a minute, and replied: “Uh…USA of course. Who else?”  To which she said: “Oh, what about the Chinese?”

I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised that my mom was cheering when the Chinese swimmer won gold, but I never before realized that I have never questioned which country I “belonged” to. So easily, I identify as American, although I am of 100% Chinese descent. I mean, I look 100% Chinese, I technically am 100% Chinese, and I check the “Asian/Pacific Islanders” box on forms, but I still see myself as an American at heart and in my mindset.  I guess it’s just another one of those labels with which society tends to organize people; it’s easier to look than to understand.

While writing this post, I’ve found it difficult to express this feeling of “split identities” (it’s taken me about 30 minutes just to formulate the last 2 paragraphs), because I don’t think I quite understand yet. The conversation with my mom somehow inspired me to think about this though, so I’m just putting out observations and trying to come to as many conclusions as I can. Bear with me.

I know that although I see myself as an American through and through, I’m still quite not sure what that means. What are those fundamental ideals that make me American? We have long celebrated our notions of freedom and equality here in the States, but I think that viewing those values as uniquely “American” is a bit outdated by now.  Many other countries have the same luxuries we have, and we must also consider how much “freedom” is too much, and when that will begin affecting our social well-being.  Regardless, I do know that I’m proud to be both American and Chinese, because I still cherish and keep close my Chinese heritage, yet I feel loyal to my home country. I am certain that my way of looking at life and future experiences will be heavily influenced by my Chinese upbringing though, so being Chinese still plays a huge role in my life.

Another observation I have is that whenever I visit China, I don’t feel quite at home. And as a child, it used to bother me a lot, because I saw how happy my parents were because it was home to them. And what made it more difficult was that I looked like I should belong.  And now that I think about it, I realize that what defines the US is truly the “melting pot,” so to speak. Here, although the majority is still Caucasian, I don’t feel misplaced just based on what race I’m perceived to be.  I don’t see race as a fundamental difference here, but that may be due to my rather privileged and sheltered upbringing.

And it’s interesting, because my best friend is half Asian, half Caucasian, but she identifies much more with her Asian side.  I find her philosophies, emotional thinking, even her artwork (she’s an amazing artist) distinctively belonging to a more eastern culture.  And she says that when she’s in Taiwan, she feels at home and peaceful, which is starkly different than my experiences.  I’m not sure why that is, but I feel that both of us are quite lucky to be able to have such a strong sense of self that we’re able to craft our own “cultural identity” by using more than just race as an influence.

- C

review: a brief history of time

Today I’ll be reviewing  A Brief History of Time by Stephen Hawking. I started and finished the book this summer, as per my physics teacher’s suggestion.  When I first picked up the book, I was a little skeptical and intimidated by the not-at-all modest title…a “brief” history of time? But truly, in less than 200 pages, Hawking never once disengages the reader from a fascinating look into the history of our understanding of the world.

It became immediately apparent to me that Stephen Hawking’s talents were not limited to being a renowned physicist and genius mind; he is also a surprisingly witty, humorous, and clear writer.  While he explains complex physical concepts to ordinary people like me, he will add in clever little quips that catch the reader off guard.  I love physics, so I think I would have enjoyed the book regardless, but his style of writing certainly makes this one of my favorite books of all time.  Although it is packed with information, it certainly doesn’t read like a textbook. It’s very logically organized, and Hawking walks the reader through quantum mechanics, general relativity, grand unified theories, and even the esoteric string theory like it’s a story. He includes easy-to-understand examples – it truly exemplifies the fact that if one truly understands something, he should be able to explain it simply.

Hawking’s skill and style aside, the topics in the book caught my attention right away – they were thought-provoking in a scientific as well as philosophical sense. One of my favorite topics (and possibly one of the most science-fictiony) was time travel, in which Hawking also included an objective analysis of free will vs. determinism. He argues that if there is indeed some complete unified theory that governs the workings of the entire self-contained universe, then of course it must also determine our actions and indeed, the fate of the universe. But since humans believe in “free will,”  clearly there is an aspect of this theory that evades human understanding, at least for now. Or perhaps the nature of this theory is that it is impossible for organisms even as complicated as human beings to be able to predict outcomes. Thus, we believe in free will because we ourselves cannot predict what we’ll do, but perhaps there exists a unified idea that does. But this also begs the question: if we can’t know or use it, why does it matter?

Anyway, that is a tiny peek into what Stephen Hawking discusses in his book, A Brief History of Time. I would recommend it to anyone who enjoys physics and/or astronomy or just wants something stimulating to read.

I’ll close here with the last (and incidentally, my favorite) lines of the book :

“… if we do discover a complete theory, it should in time be understandable in broad principle by everyone, not just a few scientists. Then we shall all, philosophers, scientists, and just ordinary people, be able to take part in the discussion of the question of why it is that we and the universe exist. If we find the answer to that, it would be the ultimate triumph of human reason – for then we would know the mind of God.” – Stephen Hawking, A Brief History of Time

- C

sweet unrest

I like this poet and poem, so I thought I’d share. I analyzed it for an English project once upon a time…Enjoy!

Bright Star

John Keats

Bright star, would I were steadfast as thou art–
Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night
And watching, with eternal lids apart,
Like nature’s patient, sleepless Eremite,
The moving waters at their priestlike task
Of pure ablution round earth’s human shores,
Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask
Of snow upon the mountains and the moors–
No–yet still steadfast, still unchangeable,
Pillow’d upon my fair love’s ripening breast,
To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,
Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,
Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,
And so live ever–or else swoon to death.

I love this poem because it seems to speak to so many different things: the concept of eternity, the ephemeral nature of life and love, and the loneliness (and price one must pay) for being great. But those topics come up regularly in other poems and works of art as well.  What makes this poem special is Keats’ perfect choice of language, the words leak a certain wistfulness, melancholy, and old-soul wisdom. The effortless rhyming, ‘s’ sounds, and quotable phrases (i.e. “sweet unrest,” “lone splendour”) make this poem timeless and beautiful.

- C

saying goodbye

How do you say goodbye to someone who is already gone?

Been a long time since he’s been a part of your life, yet his every word, action, and expression remains etched as crystal clear in your memory as if it were yesterday. Imprinted upon your mind as if he’s still the most important thing to you. But your heart feels differently. Much has changed. The universe has finally reverted everything back to what it should have been in the beginning – strangers, contained in your separate worlds, impervious to one another’s hurt, preventing each other’s inevitable pain.

In every way that matters except one, he is dead. You mourn him as if he were. As if one day, his very presence slipped from your perception’s grasp – you could no longer recognize any remnant of him. Completely and utterly transformed – unrecognizable, you had declared. You or him? You. or him.

Yet he still appears, he’s still here. In every familiar location, still with the same voice and expression, though when you look a little longer, you sometimes catch a flash of crimson light, of lightness, of something resembling happiness. In every way that matters, he is an illusion, like water in a scorching desert. At first, you were confused, seeing him in such a familiar place. Is he real? Now you know he’s not. In every way that matters, he’s not. You recognize, but you don’t know, not anymore, maybe never did.

So how do you say goodbye for good, when he doesn’t even realize he’s gone? Unspoken words, un-shed tears, you forbid yourself to feel anything. But what could you feel anyway? Who would sympathize? Because he isn’t gone, he’s still breathing, living as happily as he could be. I’m the only one who mourns.

- C

to ∞ and beyond

If I were to get a tattoo (which by the way, I don’t think I’ll ever be daring enough to do, so don’t worry mother), I would get an infinity sign ∞ behind my ear. Which yeah, would probably forever mark me as a math nerd…but ∞ is just so pretty…so much better looking than its rotated counterpart, the number 8.

Infinity is so beautiful…and I’m not talking about just the symbol itself. Since I was a little girl, infinity and 0 have fascinated me so much. They’re such extreme absolutes, yet completely ambiguous at the same time. When I was at a science talk about Venus the other day, I learned that the Mayans used the same glyph to represent both 0 and “completion.” For a reason I still cannot fathom how to articulate, hearing that poetic fact became the inspiration for this blog post.

I’ve always thought infinity was closer to the concept of “completion” than 0 was, since infinity is larger than 0. But I’ve finally understood that being a large number has nothing to do with being complete. 0 is perfect and much more certain than infinity, because it is complete nothingness. It is an absence, but a complete one. Infinity, on the other hand, is the ultimate state of limbo…it has no limit, which means it really can’t be defined as anything except that it is unbounded. Given any fathomable large number, infinity trumps it. Yet certain infinities can be bigger than others…which blows my mind still. So I’d like to share something I read that explains this concept perfectly. Georg Cantor, a brilliant mathematician who invented set theory, explained this phenomenon about different sizes of infinity.

Imagine a circle that consists of an infinite number of points on its circumference. Draw radii – an infinite number of them – from the center to all of these points.  Then, draw a smaller circle inside the initial larger circle. It becomes clear that each of the radial lines of the larger circle must touch a point on the smaller circle…which suggests that both size circles must have the same number of points…

Which really just makes no sense because intuitively, we think that the larger circle must have more points on its circumference than the smaller one because it’s, well, larger.  But here is the key to infinity – it is so counter-intuitive that we can’t expect it to make sense. The fact is, this scenario proves that although there are different sizes of infinite sets, infinity is still just infinity. SO COOL.

Ok I had more to say about 0 and infinity…but writing this post has required a lot of work for my brain (infinity is too mind-boggling)…so I’m just going to end it here.

- C