Hair Loss

I cut my hair yesterday.

This in itself may not seem significant. It probably is not. It's just that my hair was past my waist in length, and over time, we grew very attached to one another.

I can be a messy eater. I do not mean to be. Often, I am quite careful. Yet somehow, I always manage to spill some food product on my shirt front. Sometimes it is because I am talking and not paying attention, sometimes it is because the food lends itself to messiness (e.g., saucy), and sometimes just because. My hair would diligently come to the rescue and hide the offending spot/drip, thus allowing me to at least leave the restaurant with my head held high.

My hair was long enough to create a whipping ponytail, so when I played tennis any time I would serve my hair would help balance me. I am sure it also looked intimidating with its whip action to my opponents.

Babies would like when I used my hair as a tickler. They would laugh and laugh. So cute.

Plus, I think I look better with longer hair. Short hair does not become me.

But, I guess it was getting heavy and a bit unwieldy. Sometimes I would slam my hair in the car door and not realize it until I had to turn my head. Sometimes I would be blinded, especially on windy days. Also, my hair would occasionally fall into my food, which my mother finds extremely disgusting ("Eeww, put your hair up when you eat!") (Also, refer to my earlier comment that I can sometimes be a messy eater).

The icing on the cake is that I was growing my hair out for a reason...to donate it to Locks of Love. They make human hair wigs for kids that need them due to cancer or other illness / treatment that causes baldness. So, Locks of Love gets 13 inches of my hair.

I guess I can be intimidating on the tennis court without my whipping ponytail and I can start carrying around those little stain-remover towelettes with me. Either that or start wearing a bib.

Under Pressure

Former U.S. Surgeon General Richard Carmona testified at a House Committee on Oversight and Government Reform hearing to advocate that his former post be made more independent and less subject to political influence. Apparently (try to contain your shock here), the current Bush administration exerted a lot of political influence over what the Surgeon General('s office) could say or not say. To the point where the President had to be mentioned at least three times per page of any speech. Bleh.

Now, one of the great things about science is that there is a scientific community. Any results you get and any conclusions you form in the course of your work gets published and the whole community can poke and prod and validate or dismiss your claims. And because of all of this, there is a certain weight and deferential acceptance that comes with scientific findings for society at-large. It seems to have worked relatively well.

But now, how can we put our confidence in "scientific conclusions" if what we are told has been altered, omitted or just plain made up by political forces? Apparently this kind of influence has always been wafting around the Surgeon General's Office (Clinton fired Dr. Jocelyn Elders), but not to the degree that the Bush administration has taken it (see ma, we're number one in something!) Bleh.

Dr. Carmona said he was not allowed to say that comprehensive sex education was the most effective route, because the Executive Office was pushing abstinence-based education only. He also was not able to attend or speak at events for children with disabilities, because that was a cause for the other political party (i.e., Special Olympics is a Kennedy project).

Yet, the statement from the White House says that they are not allowing politics to influence science (hello, global warming) and that if Dr. Carmona did not feel he could express himself while in office, it is his own chicken-clucking fault. Okay, so they did not use the term "chicken-clucking," but you get the flavor of the statement. Bleh.

Seriously, what is up with this myopic vision by the White House. Are they so insular, so brainwashed by their own propoganda that they truly feel the Emperor is super fly in his fancy threads? How often, how loudly must we yell, "HE'S NAKED!" before someone hears and does something about it? Or should the rest of us just be glad that there is a term-limit on the office of President? Double bleh.

Patriotism (or lack thereof)

Yesterday was America's Independence Day. My country . . . by birth and by choice. Being third generation Asian-American (sansei), I grew up saying the Pledge of Allegiance, singing all those military hymns (I actually had an LP of them) and living in a household that believed in the American Dream.

My father grew up on a sugar plantation on the Big Island. My mother was raised on a small farm on O'ahu. They were the generation that saw what happened when there were no labor unions securing workers' rights (and the struggle and sacrifice that ensued in trying to establish them). When having white skin meant getting a job with an influential firm that did not bother to interview people of color for management positions. When civic responsibility and giving back to your community was expected.

No wonder I turned out to be such a liberal socialist! I have no idea what happened to my sisters who are conservative Republicans and actually voted for GWB . . . twice! Bleh. After numerous mind-numbing, head-banging "conversations," it seems my hope must rest with the next generation, my nieces and nephews, to think for themselves and not succumb to their parents' ignora...uh...misguid...er...views. Yeah, okay, views.

I want to be proud of my country. I think in many ways, I am. I mean, every country has its faults, its skeletons, right? It's not like we committed genocide. Oh. Well, it's not like we enslaved another race. Oh yeah. Well at least America never put her own citizens in internment camps. Uh. Hmm, well at least we hold true to and protect our civil liberties. Geez. Vehemently oppose torture? Take the lead in safeguarding our environment? *Sigh* What was the original point of this paragraph again?

Seriously though, I feel part of the reason I am so critical is because I still believe. I have not given up hope. There is a part of me that wants to waylay the cynicism and revel in the proverbial cock-eyed optimist perspective. To believe this country can live up to its highest ideals. (Cue crescendo of patriotic music now.) (SweetlyDemure frantically tries to swat cynicism away.) In political science it was all about deconstructionalism. Perhaps it is time to start constructing. To create a new paradigm. Civil discussions. The respectful exchange of ideas. Hmm...guess I better start working on my nieces and nephews now...

Paying It Forward

The floor of the building in which I work has been over half empty since I started. Several months ago, however; a new organization moved in and took over all the empty space. The majority of this organization's employees seem to be female. This means, of course, that the previously never busy restroom has become the equivalent of Grand Central Station.

Now, I am not one to linger in the restroom. I do not go there for solitude or to socialize. I enter, do my business (so to speak) and leave (washing my hands first goes without saying). I rarely even spare a moment to check the mirror, so I often leave the restroom looking as disheveled or unpolished as when I entered.

Even though I have no real affinity for restrooms, it has been my goal to get the women of my floor to pay it forward there.

Let me explain. We have a paper towel dispenser in which you have to pull down a lever in order to get the paper towel to unroll. It is not one of those motion-sensor towel dispensers. After ripping off the paper towel for my own use, I use my now crumpled paper towel to pull down on the lever to dispense more towel, thus leaving a swath of towel hanging down for the next person to use. This way, they do not have to use their clean, just-washed hands to touch the paper towel dispenser and possibly get someone else's germs.

Good idea, no?

Well, I thought so. Now that the restroom was a high-traffic area, I thought it might be nice for us to...well, be nice, even with our limited exposure to each other (no pun intended). So, whether someone else is in the restroom or not, I always leave a little paper towel hanging down for the next person to just rip off and use.

I just came back from the restroom (Yes, I'm typing this at work, but I'm on a break and I type fast. Don't judge me.) And what did I find? What did these weary eyes behold? A swath of paper towel hanging down, ready for me to use in the empty restroom.

Yeah, ok, so I'm not Rosa Parks or anything. Yet, perhaps this one small step of hygienic kindness may lead to still other remarkable acts. The tiny pebble in the pond creates far-reaching ripples and all that. You know what I mean. C'mon ladies, let's join together in paper towel harmony!

Plantation Nostalgia

Today I took my mom and my aunt to Hawaii's Plantation Village in Waipahu. There is a 20-minute video about some of the basics about sugar plantation life in Hawai'i and there is a small, but packed museum. A volunteer takes you through the museum as well as the "Village." It is not a typical Village, which would generally only have been made up of one ethnic group (i.e., only Japanese or only Korean, etc.), but a sampling of each type of house that could be found between 1900 and the late 1930s. They also show the Portuguese outdoor oven to make bread, a Japanese tofu-ya to make tofu, the Plantation Store and even a little replica of a Saimin Stand.

It was a long tour (about 2 hours). Our guide was a really nice man, but he was kind of slow talking and so the tempo of the tour tended to drag. It was really interesting, though. I did not realize that most of the Korean immigrants came to escape religious persecution; they wanted to practice Christianity. The Japanese came to make their fortune and planned (originally) to return back to Japan. The Portuguese on the other hand, came with their families planning to settle and raise the next generation in Hawai'i. The Japanese bachelors here were apparently a rowdy bunch that would drink and fight a lot. In order to "control" them, the Plantation owners got them to bring women over...in the form of picture brides. The Chinese were the first to come over (about 16 years before the next group, the Japanese). Again, mostly men came, so they started marrying the Hawaiian women. No wonder the Hawaiian and Chinese combination is so prevalent.

It was nice spending time with my mom and my aunt. It was also a little sad, too. They're getting old. Slowing down. In fact, another aunt was supposed to come out with us today, but she decided not to because she was not feeling up to it. My mom said that aunt (who is older than them) would not have lasted during that 2-hour walking tour anyway. My mom is still really mobile and active, but my aunt is losing her sight and has a more difficult time getting around.

I love tagging along with my mom and my aunties. I enjoy hearing their stories, hearing them laugh...and of course, they would always pay for everything. Heh. It was an endless source of amusement for me when my mom and aunties would go out. Those little asian ladies would have ninja-fast reflexes any time a bill would come. They're all talking, then the waiter would bring the bill to the table. Woosh! Hands would just start flying, seeing who could pick up the bill first. After establishing physical prowess, the "winner" would have to withstand the psychological and verbal assault that would immediately ensue.

"It's my turn! You paid last time."
"No, I didn't. It is my turn now, remember?"
"No, no, no! We always go through this. It is my turn, because..."

Only the strong would survive.

Now, they are a little slower physically, but they make up for it in craftiness. I noticed the planning occurred even before the day of our outing. My mom gave me money before we got to the Plantation Village to pay for our entrance fees, feeling my youth gave me an advantage to whip out my wallet and pay before my aunt would know what was going on. It worked. But somehow during the tour, my aunt convinced my mom she was going to pay for lunch, and it was all decided before we even chose at which restaurant we would dine. Older means craftier and working more through diplomatic channels.

Sigh. To my mom and aunty: Thanks for letting me hang out with you guys again. It was a wonderful way to spend my vacation day. I hope there are many more days we can spend together and I can listen to you tell stories, laugh and scold each other.

Volunteering (kicking and screaming)

About ten years ago, my entire immediate family (parents, siblings and their spouses and kids) vacationed in California. There were 13 of us all together. One of the stops, of course, was Disneyland. My nieces and nephews were ages 3 through 13 years old at the time. It was a great trip, but by the end of the two weeks, I think we were all ready to come home...to our separate homes. There definitely is such a thing as too much family togetherness. We all had about reached our limits (some of us exceeded our limits, but not in any irreparable way, as we all still choose to be in each other's presence).

Anyway, I bring this up because at the time, my sister's youngest boy was 8. She wanted to take him on the Matterhorn (a roller coaster-ish ride), which looked pretty scary to his 8 year old eyes. She told him, "you'll have fun...you'll like it." To which he replied, "Noooooooo, Mommy, pleeeeaaaassseee! Don't make me gooooooo!" as he cried and tried to dig his little sneakered feet in while my sister was dragging him by his arm to stand in line.

At this point we were attracting some attention from the other visitors to the "happiest place on earth" (aka the most heavily sugared place on earth). Back then, I cared more about what people thought than I do now and was noticing them noticing our little scene. But more importantly, I seriously thought she was going to psychologically scar this poor kid for life. He really seemed freaked out about it all.

I ask my sister if she really thinks it is worth it to drag him on this ride when it will probably result in a huge expense for her down the road when she has to pay for his therapy bills. She seems blithely unconcerned and continues dragging her son (who is literally crying and begging as only an 8 year old in full dramatic mode can) to stand in line for the Matterhorn. I make another attempt upon my poor nephew's behalf and my sister throws over her shoulder, "Don't worry. He'll love it once he tries it."

Skeptical, I stand in line with them (my nephew has been reduced to whimpering at this point, since he realized volume was not getting him anywhere, so he, as most children, quickly learned to cut his losses and try another tact). I forgot who I sat next to (probably not my brother, since he complains my screaming makes him lose his upper decibel hearing), but my sister sat next to my nephew. I hear them screaming and laughing through the ride. Once we get to the end, my nephew (whom I have been championing), looks at my sister and says, "Mommy! Can we go again?" My sister give me that vastly smug, superior look that only an older sister can give her younger sister and says, "See?"

Now why did I share this slightly entertaining yet seemingly meaningless anecdote? Because this week I had my volunteer work and I did not want to go. It is only a couple of hours each month and I often find myself hunting for excuses not to go. I am performing the same acts my nephew did, but just in my own mind.

And I don't know why. Because once I get there, I am totally into it, have a great time and at the end am glad that I went. I know this from prior experience. Yet for some bizarre reason, each month when I am scheduled to be there, I feel an illness coming on / am extremely tired / need to stay late at the office / am supposed to meet a friend / etc.

I recently had a conversation with a co-worker who volunteers once a week to help adults learn to read. She said she has the same problem. She has to drag herself to the session, but once she is there, it is a great experience and she is glad she did it. Plus, she has a great relationship with the person she tutors.

At least my nephew had a good excuse. He did not know how much fun he was going to have on the Matterhorn. A few hours each month to help out a worthy program is very little. Why am I so reluctant when I probably get more out of being there and interacting with the kids than they do? Perhaps the obvious answer is that I am selfish. But is it that simple? Perhaps it is.