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Name: Angela
Country: United States
State: California
Birthday: 9/30/1984
Gender: Female


Interests: What do I look like? Someone who actually has a life?! Are you kiddin' me?! Nah, actually, I like to read, play badminton, ultimate frisbee and volleyball. Watching anime is the best way to waste time, especially when you're up to your knees in essays. Music is good too, especially CHINESE. Oh, and I am a patriot, so I go around burning ******** flags too. HAHA, just kidding! (that's just cuz I'd go to jail, then I wouldn't be able to watch anime). : )
Expertise: Hmm. Talking non-stop? I would say badminton, but i get kicked all the time, so... nah. I know! Cheering people up by distracting them with my overly hyperactiveness. I'm surprised no one's tried to tape up my mouth yet. :P
Occupation: Student


Message: message me


Member Since: 2/3/2003

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Saturday, July 15, 2006

等待

        你在吗?

        好像不在。

        这次在吗?

        好像还是不在哦。

        我还是在等待。

        等到夜幕降临;等到星星开始眨眼;等到脑中一片空白。等到…… 什么也没等到。等到失落。其实,我也不想这样。我觉得,应该能够拿得起,放得下。可是我管不住自己。我无法停止想你,等你,爱你。就像痞子蔡在他的书中所说:      

      “我希望自己不会无时无刻地想起她,而这种希望..
        就好像我希望天空不是蓝色的;
        就好像我希望树木不是绿色的;
        就好像我希望星星不在黑夜里闪耀;
        就好像我希望太阳不在白天时高照。
        基本上,我是在希望一种不会发生的情况。” 

        我 选择等待,选择写出我的思念,那是我的选择。我并不希望你能够改变,也不是希望你可怜。对我来说,等待,有时候竟是一种残酷的享受。它就像一杯苦涩的咖 啡,会引出苦涩的泪水,但是也无法否认,在苦涩过后,它也含有它独特的香醇,让人回味无穷。我无法解释它所含有的诱惑,只是无怨无悔的去做了。虽然有时会 有点难过,有点失落,可是毕竟,有了失望,才会有惊喜,不是吗?就像如果这个世界没有黑暗的话,我哪里会知道你为我生命带来的就是阳光?

        等待。一个多么让人怦然心动,却又潸然泪下的字眼。


Tuesday, May 16, 2006

It's Almost Over...

Three hours away from my first final, and here I am on Xanga... ah yes, the powers of Procrastination.

It's hard to believe that 11 hours later, I will be done. No more going to class in Cory or Evans Hall, the ugliest buildings on campus. No more all-nighters accompanied by instant soup and green tea. No more study sessions with friends in 220 Bechtel... In fact, no more TBP events as an officer, ever...

Thank you, Berkeley, for all you have given me. Thank you, Mom and Dad, for supporting me through all this. Thank you, all the people I have met here that have made my experience at Cal unique and special. Although some of us have had our differences, we'll always be connected to each other by a thread of blue and gold.

If I had to describe my days here in one word, that word would be:

See, I started writing that, and then realised that I can't describe it in one word. There was laughter, pain (from studying and exams - no thanks to CS61B and Hellfinger), chaos and drama, beauty, exhiliration, and many many heart warming moments. Berkeley really grew on me! Upon first arrival, this place was some gritty campus with People's Park in it that I would never walk through even during day time. Now, it's a place I feel like I belong to.

Some of my friends became UC Berkeley grad students. It's as if by staying here for another 6 years, you can delay the goodbyes. But you know what? It's not the campus, really. Surely the campus will hold your memories: as you walk by Memorial Glade, that image of you and your friends playing ultimate make you smile in nostalgia. But even as you stay here to reminesce, the people that matter won't. There is no way to delay the goodbyes.

The only thing to do now, is to seize every moment. Put down that maths textbook! Is your grade in Complex Analysis really worth more than the moments you could be spending with your friends? Take every opportunity to let those special someones know that they are loved by you. Tell that friend who took you grocery shopping every week, "Thank you for all you've done, I would have starved without you!". Call that freshman year roommate and wish her congratulations on her graduation. Make arrangements to meet up with friends and party hard one last time before everyone heads in their separate ways.

My wish right now, is that I leave this place with no regrets.


Sunday, April 30, 2006

Another interesting essay. I didn't write this... not sure who did, but it's good.

===================================

Sometimes it can be difficult, having a conversation with those whose political views are so diametrically opposed to one's own.

But even more challenging, is having a discussion with someone who simply refuses to accept even the most basic elements of your worldview. At that point, disagreement is less about the specifics of one or another policy option, and more about the nature of social reality itself.

This is what it can be like sometimes, when trying to discuss the issue of white privilege with white people. Despite being an obvious institutionalized phenomenon to people of color and even some whites, white privilege is typically denied, and strongly, by most of us.

Usually, this denial plays out in one of two ways: either we seek to shift the focus of discussion to our status as members of some other group that isn't socially dominant (so, for example, whites who are poor or working class will insist that because of their economic marginalization, they effectively enjoy no racial privilege at all), or we retreat to the tired but popular notion that all have an equal opportunity in this, our colorblind meritocracy.

Denying one's privileges is, of course, nothing if not logical. To admit that you receive such things is to acknowledge that you are, at some level, implicated in the process by which others are oppressed or discriminated against. It makes fairly moot the oft-heard defense that "I wasn't around back then, and I never owned slaves, or killed any Indians," or whatever.

If one has reaped the benefits of those past injustices (to say nothing of ongoing discrimination in the present) by being elevated, politically, economically and socially above persons of color, for example -- which whites as a group surely have been thanks to enslavement, Indian genocide and Jim Crow -- then whether or not one did the deed becomes largely a matter of irrelevance.

Of course, what is ultimately overlooked is that denial of one's privilege itself manifests a form of privilege: namely, the privilege of being able to deny another person's reality (a reality to which they speak regularly) and suffer no social consequence as a result.

Whites pay no price, in other words, for dismissing the claims of racism so regularly launched by persons of color, seeing as how the latter have no power to punish such disbelievers at the polls, or in the office suites, or in the schools in most cases.

On the other hand, people of color who refuse to buy into white reality -- the "reality" of the U.S. as a "shining city on a hill," or the "reality" of never-ending progress, or the "reality" of advancement by merit -- often pay a heavy toll: they are marginalized, called "professional victims," or accused of playing the race card.

Consider the common charge of conspiratorial paranoia hurled at any person of color, for example, who dared to point out the racially-disparate voter purging that took place in Florida in 2000, or in various places in 2004. White reality is privileged at every turn, so that if whites say something is a problem, it is, and if whites insist it isn't, then it isn't.

Those of us who are white remain thought of as sober-minded, and never as given to underestimating the extent of racism, making a molehill out of what is, in fact, often a mountain, or playing our own race card (the denial card), which far and away trumps whatever version people of color may occasionally find in their own decks.

In other words, privilege is not merely about money and wealth. It is not merely something that attaches when one is born with the proverbial silver spoon in one's mouth. Rather it is the daily psychological advantage of knowing that one's perceptions of the world are the ones that stick, that define the norm for everyone else, and that are taken seriously in the mainstream.

Whiteness is so privileged in everyday dialogue that one need look no further than our nation's post-election discourse to see how it operates.

So, for example, one after another commentator in the wake of election night pontificated, without hesitation, that the outcome had been a referendum on "moral values," and the result of high turnout amongst evangelical Christians, who overwhelmingly voted for President Bush.

Yet what this analysis ignored is that it was only some evangelicals who overwhelmingly chose to re-elect the President, while others voted to do exactly the opposite. Indeed, black evangelicals voted at least four to one against Bush, meaning that the mainstream talking heads, as usual were privileging the white perspective, and universalizing the particular behavior of white folks, as if it were the standard for everyone.

So too with the so-called "red state, blue state" divide. Fact is, the divide is less one of geography than race: a slight majority of whites in the blue states (including California, Illinois and New York) voted for Bush on election day, while the vast majority of blacks and the majority of other persons of color in the red states voted against him.

But part of white privilege is never having to examine the peculiarity of white behavior (or even acknowledge that there is such a thing as white group behavior at all), and so naturally, this racial aspect of electoral division remains unexamined, and the more comforting perspective (for whites at least) that there is merely a split based on residence remains largely unchallenged.

But it's more than that. Even more important as an example of white privilege -- the kind that adheres to all whites, not just the rich -- is the ability to avoid being stigmatized by the actions of others who just so happen to fall within the same racial group as you.

While people of color bear the burden of disproving negative stereotypes regularly -- when interviewing for a job, taking a standardized test, or merely driving in the "wrong" neighborhood, where they are presumed not to belong -- whites rarely if ever have to worry that the actions of others like us, no matter how horrible, will stick to us or force us to prove that we are somehow different.

For example, whites can screw up on the job, run entire corporations into the ground, rip off the Savings and Loans to the tune of hundreds of billions of dollars, cut corners on occupational safety and health in the workplace, or scam millions from employee pension funds, without the rest of us having to worry that such incompetence or outright dishonesty will result in whites being viewed suspiciously every time we seek to climb to the top of the corporate ladder.

White men in Lexuses (or is it Lexi?) will not need to fear being pulled over by police on suspicion of transporting documents confirming their latest fiscal shenanigans.

When Martha Stewart conspires to cover up a stock dumping scam, white women across America do not cower in fear that somehow they will be viewed as dishonest and predatory as a result. Nor white men thanks to Ken Lay.

If the President of the United States mispronounces every fifth word out of his mouth, none of us white folks have to worry that someone will ascribe his verbal incompetence to some general white illiteracy. But honestly, do we think that if this President were black, or Latino or Asian Pacific American, or indigenous, and mangled the English language with the regularity of the actual President, that no one would make the leap from individual to group defect?

Why is it that when the white President of the University of Tennessee overspends his expense account by tens of thousands of dollars, using public funds for expensive rugs, home furnishings and lavish chartered plane trips, no one suggests that perhaps it's time for the school to pick a black or brown chief executive, but when the black President of historically black Tennessee State University is seen as mismanaging that school's resources, voices all across my hometown of Nashville began to whisper (or even say quite loudly) that perhaps it was time for TSU to get a white President?

For those reading this who are white, ask yourselves, when was the last time you felt the need to stand up and apologize for a crime committed by another white person? Better yet, when was the last time you felt the need to do this for fear that if you didn't, your community would come to be viewed as inherently violent and dangerous, and perhaps be attacked as a result? And when was the last time someone suggested that our failure to openly condemn white criminals implicated us in their wrongdoing?

Yet what of the recent murders in Wisconsin by a Hmong immigrant, who killed six white hunters when they confronted him in a private deer stand? Not only did bumper stickers crop up within days reading, "Save a deer, shoot a Hmong," implying that the shooter was somehow representative of a larger group evil, but more to the point, the Hmong and larger Southeast Asian communities in Wisconsin and Minnesota (where the shooter was from) rushed to distance themselves from him.

This distancing was, of course, only made necessary because to not do so would put others like them at risk, in a way no white person has ever been put at risk because some of our number occasionally kills folks.

Likewise, nearly a decade ago, when a Hmong woman in the Twin Cities murdered her six children, her status as a racial and ethnic minority was front and center in discussion of the crime -- anger on talk radio was pointed at the Hmong as a group, or Asians more broadly, for example -- but a few years back, when Andrea Yates killed her five kids in Texas, or when Susan Smith drowned her two boys in a South Carolina lake, no one attacked them as examples of what's wrong with white folks these days.

Even when some white teenager commits a racially-motivated hate crime, as happened recently in Simi Valley, California where four white youths beat two black kids to a pulp, the white response is one that seeks to demonstrate that their town is not racist (as if geography alone ever commits an aggravated assault), rather than hoping to prove that all whites aren't that way. The latter possibility would never enter their minds, and why?

It's why in the aftermath of 9/11, you could hear one after another white person demanding to know (and being treated as reasonable for asking it), "where are the moderate voices in the Arab Muslim community prepared to condemn terrorism," all because nineteen out of 1.5 billion Muslims on Planet Earth flew planes into buildings. Yet one cannot fathom anyone being taken seriously if they were to ask, "where are the moderate white Christians," in the aftermath of Oklahoma City or any of a number of abortion clinic bombings.

It's why whenever this issue is raised, white folks rush to insist that we're "just individuals," and want to be thought of as such, rather than as whites. Indeed, we often believe that to even point out our racial identity is racist, as it groups us unfairly and diminishes our "humanness," or "Americanness."

Of course, the irony in such a position is that it is only members of the dominant group in a society who could ever have the luxury of viewing ourselves, or expecting to be viewed by others as "individuals."

That's the point: no one else has ever been able to assume they would be viewed that way, because at no point have they been, nor do they get to be so viewed today, as the aforementioned examples demonstrate all too clearly.

To even say that our group status is irrelevant or should be is to suggest that one has enjoyed the privilege of experiencing the world that way (or rather, believing that one was). In other words, it is the result of a particular social arrangement, whereby some and not others have been seen as individuals no matter the actions of others within their group. There is, of course a phrase for this arrangement.

White privilege.

And until it is eradicated, dug up and discarded root and branch, there can be no legitimate discussion of "colorblindness" or simple individualism. Nor can we be taken seriously as a nation when we hold ourselves up as an example to other nations of what freedom and democracy are supposed to look like.

==============================================


Tuesday, April 25, 2006

Hey people, I'm going to be back in HK on the 31st of May.

Call me up before the 8th of June, so we can go hang out! Then I be off to Taiwan for some good scenery and good food.

Be back on the 15th, and will bring some UC Berkeley 'bananas' with me... Call me up again to hang out! Esp. my girlz, you guys gotta take me to Lan Kwai this time!  Miss you guys! At least boni, tami and zar will be around, right? I have no idea what happened to donna already... Anyways, if you don't call me, I will call you >=].

 

 

 

 


Thanks to my roomie, Mel, for such a wonderful story :)

--------------------------------------

 

A cup of warm, foaming vanilla milk met a glass of double espresso ice coffee one day on her way home.
Milk smiled at coffee, and asked, why do you look so bitter and dark?
Coffee cried to milk, you fool! the world is full of depressing and painful souls, quit being so wholesome and aromatic! It sickens me!
That night, milk tossed and turned in her sleeplessness, thinking about what coffee said.

On the second day, milk followed coffee to a coffee shop and sat across from him in quiet observation. brooding and gloomy was his expression. his doleful eyes wandered toward the window.
Outside the window, two kids were fighting on the cracked pavement. the bigger one pushed and kicked the smaller one and ran away. fell onto the ground, the smaller kid wailed. seeing this, milk knocked on the window to beckon the kid's attention. while he's looking, milk blowed a foamy white bubble out of her mouth, which looked so cute and silly that made the kid broke his tears and laughed.
Coffee winced. whatevers, he said.

An old, blind man came into view. he labored through his steps with his cane in hand. his wrinkled hands looked as dry and lifeless as his cane. his expression looked frozen and bored. milk shook up a little, and a strand of vanilla fragrance escaped from inside of the coffee shop, reached where the old man stood. the old man stopped and was surprised by this dose of pleasant smell. perhaps the sweet smell triggered some delighful memory in a distant past, or perhaps it is so refreshing, it invigorated him somewhat. the old man stopped for awhile and strolled on.
Coffee shrugged. 

A beggar sat down outside of the shop, shivering in cold wind. an empty cup in front of him, looking for coins from fast-walking pedestrians. coffee looked at the countless feet that passed by him, none slowed down.
Milk got up and walked outside into the cold, knelt down and pour some of the warm milk into the empty cup. steam rose from the cup and fogged up the window, dimming the street lights, which casted everything in soft yellow.
Milk turned around and pressed her lips against the window, where coffee sat inside. the mark, in the shape of a heart.
Coffee stared through the window, until milk disppeared.

That night, in the middle of reading a book in her bed, the doorbell rang. milk opened the door and found coffee standing outside, a little drunk.
Come in.
I can't sleep, coffee said, the night is too dark and cold sometimes. but it always looks so warm in here.
How do you know? milk asked.
I see your windows are always fogged up and well lit at night. and sometimes i stand outside, looking up at you, hoping that i was inside.
Milk inched closer to coffee, and pressed against him. and i always wondered why you never did...
The ice inside of coffee start to melt.
Coffee felt the warmth start to filtrate him, but he was still having trouble sleeping.
Milk poured half of her warm milk for him, and the soporific effect calmed him down.
Coffee poured half of his black coffee for her, the rich fragrance energized her.
And they stayed awake side by side, talked and talked until the dawn came.

A truck stopped in front. the driver came down to move coffee into the trunk. he is going to be shipped to somewhere far away. but little did the driver know, half of the coffee will always be with milk now, no matter how far apart they are.

------------------------------------

 To all the Milks and Coffees in this world: May you all live happily ever after.



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