Everyone we've ever known

Do you see it? The pale blue dot. That's Earth, as seen from 6.1 billion kilometers (3.7 billion miles) in an image taken by NASA's Voyager 1 spacecraft in 1990. This excerpt, as cited in Wikipedia, is from Carl Sagan's 1994 non-fiction book, Pale Blue Dot: A Vision of the Human Future in Space. It's a beautiful piece.

"From this distant vantage point, the Earth might not seem of particular interest. But for us, it's different. Look again at that dot. That's here, that's home, that's us. On it everyone you love, everyone you know, everyone you ever heard of, every human being who ever was, lived out their lives. The aggregate of our joy and suffering, thousands of confident religions, ideologies, and economic doctrines, every hunter and forager, every hero and coward, every creator and destroyer of civilization, every king and peasant, every young couple in love, every mother and father, hopeful child, inventor and explorer, every teacher of morals, every corrupt politician, every "superstar," every "supreme leader," every saint and sinner in the history of our species lived there – on a mote of dust suspended in a sunbeam.

The Earth is a very small stage in a vast cosmic arena. Think of the rivers of blood spilled by all those generals and emperors so that, in glory and triumph, they could become the momentary masters of a fraction of a dot. Think of the endless cruelties visited by the inhabitants of one corner of this pixel on the scarcely distinguishable inhabitants of some other corner, how frequent their misunderstandings, how eager they are to kill one another, how fervent their hatreds.

Our posturings, our imagined self-importance, the delusion that we have some privileged position in the Universe, are challenged by this point of pale light. Our planet is a lonely speck in the great enveloping cosmic dark. In our obscurity, in all this vastness, there is no hint that help will come from elsewhere to save us from ourselves.

The Earth is the only world known so far to harbor life. There is nowhere else, at least in the near future, to which our species could migrate. Visit, yes. Settle, not yet. Like it or not, for the moment the Earth is where we make our stand.

It has been said that astronomy is a humbling and character-building experience. There is perhaps no better demonstration of the folly of human conceits than this distant image of our tiny world. To me, it underscores our responsibility to deal more kindly with one another, and to preserve and cherish the pale blue dot, the only home we've ever known."

Though your heart is breaking

Everything I've learned about customer service I learned from my first job (at a fast-food restaurant).

• Greet the customer with a smile and a welcome
• Answer a "thank you" with a "thank you" instead of a "you're welcome" (I still do this, and I think people think that it's weird. For some reason, "you're welcome" sounds too harsh to me.)
• Annunciate when you speak
• Repeat the order before you ring it up to make sure it's right
• Count out the customer's change in front of them
• The customer IS always right (you can have doubts, but treat them like they're right, except in extreme circumstance where you know they're just trying to work the system)

This combination of things rarely happens at any restaurants/businesses that I frequent in my city.

Qué dijiste?

My earliest memory about Spanish was that I pretended to strangers that I was a lot more proficient than I actually was. I was in a bookstore, and I was probably around 8. I was browsing the Spanish book section (I don’t know why, maybe because even then I thought Spanish was cool?), and a stranger saw me and said “Oh, you speak Spanish?” And I said “yes” and I grinned and started paging through the book (It was a kindergarten book with a few words per page) and pretending I knew what I was doing (I didn’t, really).

Growing up in San Diego I had a lot of exposure to Spanish but I didn’t actually start speaking it or learning it until my freshman year in high school. From the very first moment in that class, I was in love. My Spanish teacher was Mexican, and although she was a little tough on us freshmen (wise on her part), she was fair and she was kind. I still remember the Spanish songs I learned in that class, and even some of the lines of the dialogues we memorized. “Beto, Beto Chavez.” “Ay, ay, ay! No hay carpetas?” “Dulce de chocolate, chocolate candy, chocolate candy. Uno para mi y uno para ti. One for you and one for me!” This was the actual song, by the way. I’m not translating. This was in the days before Dora the Explorer, I might add. We didn’t need it back then.

By the time I was a senior, Spanish wasn’t so much a pleasure as a chore and a series of increasingly daunting tasks. That’s because from one year to the next, I skipped a good two years’ worth of Spanish classes. I was planning on only skipping one year to take an AP class, but that class didn’t fit with my schedule so I took the next available AP class, which was the even more advanced Spanish literature. So I went from just barely starting to study the subjunctive tense to reading classic Spanish and Latin American tomes and writing essays about them. I didn’t know what was going on half the time, when I spoke in class it was just in the simple present or the simple past (no subjunctive, ever), and my mom and I split the task of looking up all the words I didn’t know from my assigned reading because it would have taken me all night to do it by myself. Sometimes I would read an entire short story thinking the narrator was a man and then get to class and discover it was actually a woman. That’s how much I was groping in the dark. But somehow, almost inexplicably, I took the AP exam and I got the highest score. From then on, I was absolutely committed to Spanish.

Then later:

Spanish is how I picked my major in college

Spanish is how I picked my concentration in grad school.

Spanish is why I travel.

Spanish is how I met my husband.

Spanish is how I got my current job, which is challenging, but good.

Spanish has opened doors for me.

My dream job when I was 15 was to be a high school Spanish teacher. Maybe I’ll do that someday, and help make Spanish open doors for others.

Type B Personality

The world has been conspiring to keep me from donating blood. When I first became cognizant of the possibility of donating blood, I was in high school. Not only was I under 18 (strike 1), I was under weight (strike 2). In college in Connecticut, I successfully gave blood a few times. It was a great experience each time. The place where we donated was a converted school hall that was really quiet and relaxing, and the nurses treated me well. After each session, I would promptly return to my dorm room and take a nap to recover my energies.

After college, I gave blood in San Diego and got a coupon for an oil change and a sticker that said “be nice to me, I gave blood today.” In DC, I gave blood after waiting for half an hour even though I had an appointment, watching my husband get kicked around several times (the people at the center were pretty rude and kept telling him to sit in different places – he doesn’t give blood as a general rule but he was there to keep me company), spending 15 uncomfortable minutes getting questioned about every place I had travelled abroad (including down to the city), and being asked to my face what gender I was (I think it’s pretty safe to assume I’m a girl). The nurse said she couldn’t really find my vein (no nurse has ever told me my vein was hard to find), and left long red bruises on my arm from the blood pressure monitor being applied way too tightly (I didn’t complain, but then again, how was I to know what was too tight until I saw the marks that were left?), but I successfully donated that time. I went back to the same place exactly two months later and, even though I had my blood donor card by that time, I had to sit through the exact same questions again and wait around even though I had an appointment. But this time, I was told that my iron was too low. I try again a few months later at a blood donation center at work and am told that my blood pressure is too high. I didn’t even get to the iron test.

Those last two times, after being told that my blood was not wanted that day, I had to sign a form that said I would not donate at all that day. My blood type is B+, so nothing special, but I like it because it’s easy to remember when I think to myself “be positive!” But it’s hard for me to stay positive when I keep having all these crazy experiences when I try to give blood in this city. Maybe I should cross state lines. Maybe in Maryland or Virginia they won’t be as strict, and the process won’t be as stressful. I feel like the other day my pulse was quickened due to all the “bad blood” that has passed between me and the blood donation process I’ve experienced of late.

Be positive, indeed!

…

According to the interesting charts here, my blood type is only 8.5% of the U.S. population, but 20.59% of the world’s population (thanks in large part to India, where almost 1/3 people are type B). So, since blood types are inherited, that means my blood is from the Central Asia/Mongolian regions of the world. Proof positive that I am in fact Asian.

Snow globe

Early release from work, thick snowflakes falling sideways outside, cozy pjs and slippers at home: perfect conditions for writing and reading. This has been a week of ups and downs for me. I need to let myself rest and reflect. I hope it snows so much that I get excused from work tomorrow and I can get even more time to myself. We'll see how it pans out.

On pain

This is a heartbreaking, surprisingly well-composed suicide note from a fellow Trinity College alum. I think that it's important to read it. My heart goes out to all victims of sexual abuse. He was 27 years old and a gifted computer programmer.

http://gizmodo.com/5726667/the-agonizing-last-words-of-bill-zeller

Talk to me

Interviews are like therapy. When you get in that room, a person you know nothing about, and who knows nothing about you, asks you questions for 45 minutes to an hour, and basically just listens to you talk. While you go on and on about yourself, the interviewer tries to read between the lines to get clues about the "real you." But instead of trying to diagnose you, or fix your problems, an interviewer, unlike a therapist, tries to determine whether or not your personality and your experience would make you a good match for the position they're trying to fill.

And afterwards, the person being interviewed learns something about his/herself. And feels relieved. And exhausted. And like he/she has accomplished something. Then getting the job, like getting "cured," may or may not happen. But one finds out with time.

Baby, don't hurt me

When I was in high school I signed up for an elective called Video/Film. I was the only honor roll student in the class (because honor roll students are far too busy taking AP European History and other more rigorous courses), and honor roll students all tend to know one another (know your competition!), so I didn't know anyone going in. It was mostly guys, mostly slackers, watching clips from important movies, learning how to operate a video camera, using cool camera and film tricks, and editing film the old fashioned way--on a machine, NOT on a computer. I was so into it. I loved coming up with ideas for our assignments: make a commercial for a product, shoot a music video, create a public service announcement (PSA).

My group included my petite, ambiguously ethnic self, a very large Hispanic male, a tall, thin, pale Caucasian male, and some slacker I can't quite picture clearly. I led my team on a Night-at-the-Roxbury-themed project to convince our fellow students to clean up the school. We used the famous song - What is Love? - to create a head-bopping PSA, in which we all starred, simultaneously head-bopping away as we pretended to throw away trash, that apparently was so good that a little later the instructor played the PSA for the entire school body during our morning announcements (our brand new school had a TV in each classroom where we would watch the announcements daily).

They would re-air the PSA several times over the next few years. Then I graduated. My younger brother, who graduated from the same school 3 years after me, told me that they were still playing my PSA 3 years after I had graduated, and 5 years after we had made the thing.

I wonder if it still comes on every once in a while, and how staticky and distorted the tape must be from the wear and tear.

Sock it to me

Sometimes when I get dressed I like to shake things up a bit. Take one foot, and put on my sock, followed by my shoe. Then do the same with the other foot. Similarly, you can dress your entire bottom half (undies and pants), then start on the top half, or vice versa. I also like to take the opportunity to test my balance. I will put on my sock and shoe while balancing on the other foot. You look silly while getting dressed, but it's amusing.

Learning

I am 28 years old and I am learning to drive. Stick. Because it is the only car my husband and I have, and it's been the only car we've had for 4 years now. So, it's high time I learn to drive it. Especially because we're in the midst of football season and I am stuck at home every Sunday unless I want to bike it, hoof it, or metro it. Also, husbands can only take so many trips to the mall (when you're still in courtship mode they actually seem to enjoy it, but then things change).

In an effort to broaden my horizons and deepen my knowledge of world events I have started reading The Economist, a British news/economics magazine that is better than anything similar in the US. I think the magazine is great, but I kind of wish that there was an American edition available because the grammar bugs the heck out of me. They spell "Mr" without a period at the end! Eg. "Mr Yellow is mellow, but Mr Brown must go down." And they spell "loath" as "loth," they say "take a decision" rather than "make a decision," and they have a strange way of conjugating verbs sometimes, but I have that issue with American English as well. I used to think that the only differences between American and British English where the extra "u"s (i.e. "colour") and "s"s instead of "z"s to spell stuff ("stabilise")but boy was I wrong. I am always learning something new. Whether I like it or not.

Weddings

I am going to a wedding today, on 10.10.10. I know several people getting married today, on this auspicious day. I think of how I have only been to a handful of weddings in my life, and each one has been so different.

The first one I don't remember because I was three: I was the flower girl at my own parents' wedding. Then when I was a teenager my oldest brother got married in a tiny Vegas chapel by a very unfortunate-looking chaplain. I remember we took a limo there, and during the ceremony I cried my eyes out I was so touched. My mom married again a few months before I did. It was at the church I used to attend when I was in high school, and the reception was at her house. I helped her pick her dress, and during the ceremony I lit a unity candle with my new sister-in-law, whom I had only just met.

Then I got married, and it was good.

A few months later, one of my friends from college had an Indian wedding in Connecticut, with Indian food, Indian music, and Indian guests. My husband and I sat at the non-Indian, college friends table. The colors, smells, sounds, and traditions were amazing. Later on that year, my brother-in-law got married in Chile, where the pastor never showed up and someone had to step in and impromptu marry the bride and groom, and where an aged pseudo-pop star hijacked the wedding by crooning for an hour. His music was not conducive to dancing.

Months later my husband and I were in Serbia, at a beautiful Orthodox ceremony with Roma music and incense and strong brandy sipped from 10:30am onwards. Now I am in anticipation of today, a Jewish wedding of two special ladies in a chimney in Georgetown.

Truthiness

Test your religious knowledge and see how you measure up. According to this article, atheists and agnostics know more about religion than folks that regularly attend worship services. The quiz is about religion in general.

I missed 2 questions. I never cease to be amazed at Americans' general cluelessness. The religion poll is just one small example. Most US-born Americans would not pass a citizenship test if they had to take one. We have no problem revising history to suit our purposes. We might not know how to define exactly what we believe, but we believe it strongly.

That's why Colbert is so good at what he does, and so funny. I can't wait for his march/rally in DC next month.

A pound of flesh

A girl loaned me her boobs once. It was one of the greatest acts of kindness I have experienced. It happened 11 years ago but I still think about it from time to time. I was competing in my 2nd and last pageant (*hallelujah*). The dress we all had to wear looked like a heavy duty black trash bag that someone had cleverly fashioned into an evening gown and festooned with sparkly sequins. Again, the dress wasn't our choice. Leading up to the pageant, I met a girl who decided to take me under her wing. She gave me makeup and hair advice. She didn't try to sabotage me, counteracting the old beauty queen stereotype.

At the time, I was feeling ok, but I was working a part-time job and in the middle of finals and AP exams, and had lost weight since my last dress fitting. And when I got dressed and began to despair that the dress was falling off my over-stressed, thinner-than-before-frame, she simply presented me with a small box containing an extra pair of chicken cutlets (trade secret, but now not so secret), and all was well. Not only did the dress fit better, but I was given an extra boost of confidence to boot.

It reminds me of my friend's flip-flop story. Sharing is something so simple and so universally kind and human.

Pet peeve

Why are we supposed to put two spaces after each sentence? Does anyone do that? It is standard in government writing, but why? It's so obsolete. With the advent of word processing (i.e., no more typewriters and their monospaced typefaces), the practice has been rendered obsolete. I learned this in 5th grade. Why hasn't everyone else learned this? Every person I've met in DC has looked at me like a crazy person when I've told them that

it isn't necessary. But the double spacing is a waste of time, and a waste of space. It's so frustrating! I feel like a crazy person. At least my husband agrees with me.

http://desktoppub.about.com/cs/typespacing/a/onetwospaces.htm

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sentence_spacing

Photo credit: Jeremy Meyer

Test eaze...1,2,3

When I took the GRE 6 years ago I promised myself I would never take another *stupid* standardized test again. I thought that I was in the clear as far as testing goes, because in the real world it's not about tests but about brains, skills, being in the right place at the right time, etc.

I was wrong.

If I want to start a career as a foreign service officer I have to take a special test for it, which is run by the ACT. The same ACT I took when I was 16. Along with the SAT, the AP exams, and the who's-it-what's-its I took my junior and senior years in high school which, when I look back now, just seem like a hazy fog of frantic test-taking, not necessarily my carefree years.

During those non-carefree years I used to make sure to wear my special, lucky black hoodie on the days I had a test to take. I stupidly wore the hoodie once when I helped to paint my brother's new house and thus ended up getting eggshell-colored paint on it. I threw the hoodie away. I shouldn't have thrown it away, though. A little paint wouldn't have taken away the hoodie's natural powers --and if I had the hoodie now I could have worn it to take this test I have to take sometime in the next several months. I could use some luck. The failure rate for this particular test is 80%.

4/30/2012 edit: Actually, the passage rate is 40%. And only 3% of the people that take the test end up becoming an FSO. I like them odds. Still haven't taken the test. I had discovered that it would be a good idea to study, so that's what I kind have been doing.

The kids are alright

I have been observing that the people in my area that have kids are so old. I don't feel like I could be a part of their club yet. If I were to live in other parts of the country I would see much younger couples with kids and babies, and I could probably see myself more like them and not feel so weird about the idea of growing my family. I know some pregnant people, and I know so many people getting married in the next year. We are growing up.

I can't wait for my friends' wedding in a few weeks because it's going to be in Serbia. Serbian weddings sound wild. The festivities are supposed to begin at 10:30am and they proceed until at least 4am the next morning. I was told by a Balkan coworker to bring antacids and tylenol, because we will be wined, dined, and danced for almost 24 hours straight. I can't wait.

Today I went to a national park and my friends and I saw a lot of children. I felt kind of like we were on a child safari, observing the different shapes, sizes, haircuts, and wardrobe choices. All kids, with the exception of my darling nieces and nephews, are strange and alien to me. Where I live, you don't see many, and when you do they are usually in 1s and 2s and they're just visiting.

Perchance to dream

My mom grew up in the Philippines, speaking Tagalog (Filipino), but when she came to the States she pretty much stuck to English, and got really good at it. She doesn't have a foreign accent at all.

She didn't speak Tagalog with my brothers and me as we grew up, thinking that it wasn't a language worth knowing, really. She was much more interested in us taking Spanish in school and concentrating on that. From what I recall, the only Tagalog word she used with us is the word "muta." Muta is what Americans would call the "sleep" in their eyes, the crusty stuff in our eyes each morning. I never heard my mom say the English equivalent to us. I taught my husband to say muta pretty early on in our relationship. Any kids I might have one day will also learn muta. But I hope my own family could also learn and use other Tagalog words, in addition to speaking Spanish, since that's my husband's native language. Unlike my mom, I believe the more languages, the better. There's always room for more.

Sharing is caring

I'm sharing now and it's scary. I'm used to having only 2 people read my blog, my buddy who also blogs, regularly, (you'll note that she's also the one that leaves me comments) and my hubby a.k.a. The Hubmiester. And maybe my dad? Although I'm not sure.

Quickies

Just got a call from my grandma. I love that woman. And she's also very efficient. Our phone chats are always brief. This one was just over 3 minutes, and we managed to talk about my return from Mexico, my work, and babies. She even wished me a happy Thanksgiving. We don't talk that often. I'm so much better in person.

I don't give good phone.

Rut

It has come to my attention that I do nothing. When trying to account for what I do with my time, I find that my time passes, but I didn’t really use that time to do anything in particular; and seldom anything of note. When someone asks me the dreaded question, so, what do you do in your spare time? I usually say I cook, I read, I watch movies, I like languages.

I cook but I’m not a cook.

I read but I’m not an avid reader.

I have been told that I am a skilled writer, but I’m not a writer. I rarely write anything. I think I’m pretty good at writing emails, but I don’t use email to keep in touch with people anymore. I use Facebook, like everyone else. I don’t tell anyone that I write, or used to write, or would like to write. Somehow it’s easier to say that I watch movies, probably because watching is passive, and writing is active and, to me, too personal to share with someone I barely know.

I believe I’m naturally athletic, but I don’t exercise. I walk every day, but it’s not much, and it’s mostly to get from the metro to work or home. And when I walk, I don’t wear sensible shoes. I wear flats that smush my toes, flip flops that restrict the natural movement of my feet.

I study languages but I’m neither a polyglot nor a linguist. The problem is I study but I don’t speak.

I’m not trying to be harsh on myself, I’m just trying to figure myself out. I think I would like to be a person that does something. A person that has hobbies, talents, skills. I do enjoy life and I have a good time in my spare time, it’s just that I would like to transfer my creativity into activity.