SkyDeck Follies (Part One)

My writing residency in Wicker Park is officially at its end and I needed to kill 3 hours before I go on my train out of chicago, which I did by catching up on an old self-promise: visiting the top of the Sears Willis Tower. My first trip to chicago with my mother was just a little too close after September 11, so mother was dead set against me going to the top of any high rise. 

Best view , 2001

However, this was 2011 now and Mom was not longer there to stop me.

     I should point out, that the sears tower was not my first visit to the top of a high-rise. Some time in 05, I did join the ranks of the empire state building, so I noticed a similar routine when other tourists and I had to journey to the top. The first stage involves rounding us up like cattle. The employees ask how many are in each respective group, in order to determine where to cut off the line. You find yourself waiting for a while because only so may people can fit in their cargo-sized elevator. Once you get onto the first elevator (yes, the first),  it flies up so many floors ( from 3 to 99) you feel like you're on the world's cheapest amusement park ride. Have chewing gum on you. Once your off that, your roped in again like groupies as you watch the elevator let off the next set of exiting visitors before your group can board.  By the time you're wondering how many more elevators you have to take, an employee is there to welcome you to the top. 

     More times that not, the view is similar to what the "traffic cam" on your local news sees, but through your own eyes. It was the early afternoon, so the skyline had an orange tinge to it. 

Leave it to my 11 year old camera to filter it blue.

     Because the sun was on it's way to setting, the clearest part of the skyline was overlooking the lake shore. As an east coaster, I was so used to the vastness of the ocean, so I found it hard to grasp the concept of any lake as "great". When seeing lake Michigan out on the east side of the building, and no end to the coastlines at either direction, I began to understand what gave these lakes their collective name.

“Decisions, Decisions: Rick and Anh’s Story”

Originally published in CCBC's Red & Black Newspaper on February 8, 2007

    During the Fall semester of 2006, I attended an interview held by the Head of Multicultural Department Gayona Beckford, Natalie Kimbrough (E-203), and Heather Woodland in the K building. The featured guests were Rick, a veteran of the Vietnam War, and Anh, a former Refugee from Saigon, South Vietnam.
     First up was Rick, a veteran of the war.  A native of Memphis, Tennessee, he was stationed around 1971 at age 21.  Rick was in college for a year when he lost his military deferment for partying and was later drafted. Politically, Rick leaned toward anti-war side, however influences from the past prevented him from evading military duties. Years ago, Rick’s father was dishonorably discharged for “desertion” in World War II and suffered socially ever since.  Rick tried to get as much insight into his decision wherever he could find it. However, the sources were either outdated (one Vietnamese immigrant neighbor who had not been in Vietnam since the 1950s), while others were biased (anti-war and pro-war advocates). After returning home, he was warned by friends not to wear his uniform in public or to mention that he was a veteran, for risk of harassment or worse.  Although he believed that the government did what was best because the issue was larger than any individual, he also admitted never wishing what he experienced on anyone else.
     Next to speak was Anh, a refugee from Saigon who left in 1978 at age 24 with her husband, daughter and siblings-in-law. Before the war, Anh was from a middle class family but economically and socially regressive policies enforced by the Viet Cong forced Anh and her family to make a drastic decision. Having left most of everything they had in their home and sold off the rest to Viet-cong soldiers for an exchange to leave, the family squeezed themselves into a 65-foot long boat with 300 other refugees. Later the deteriorating boat landed on an island off the coast of Malaysia, where the government offered asylum to the shipwrecked group. Anh, her family, and the others endured the next 18 months on the island refugee camp with rationed food or water shipped from the mainland. Once they were able to attain a legal immigration approval and a flight to the United States, Anh and family were flown to New York and later sent to Baltimore, where they were sponsored by the Baltimore Jewish Association. In 1991, Anh visited her native homeland after the government lifted its ban on allowing apostates in the country.
     It is well known a lot of people who attend CCBC did not grow up in a bowl of cherries, and yours truly is no exception. Some of us already have a good horror story under our belt and just want to achieve a better life than what we grew up with. As I’ve eventually learned so far from some of my own misfortunes, those miseries we experience in our lives sometimes turn out to be the very wicks that fire the cannons of determination. The decisions we make determines what kind of person we are, so how will we know unless we are not provoked into making one? Injustices drive the leader from within ourselves, while it forces the rest of us to simply build up the courage to make a decision that may seem like mistakes at the moment. Decisions are never easy, and never always good, but they shape us into the person we are meant to be.
     When it comes to deciding world priorities, nothing is absolute and every struggle needs someone to fight for it. In Rick’s time, Vietnam was not the only problem, as people were also fighting for Civil Rights. Today is no different, for not only is there terrorism, but genocide, poverty, AIDS, along with the problems in our own back yards. There are so many things to fight for but it’s hard to decide which struggle is more important. Decisions we make, even if they seem insignificant, still affect the world in subtle ways. Anh and Rick show us the complications of life: pushed into becoming the persons they were, all by doing what they could with what they were dealt. And by taking chances and enduring all challenges, they have become leaders in their own right.  Both Rick and Anh survived, literally, and spiritually, and used their advantages to speak up for a mostly voiceless demographic. Just think about it, two ordinary Marylanders made a change just by deciding to share their stories at a college interview.

"Shelter"

      After learning that Mom had to travel to Hartford for a conference, I just had to come along to sightsee. It was January though, and when we arrived to the city, I could have mistaken the place for a ghost town. It was so cold, the only people standing outside were waiting for the public bus. After eating lunch at a local café the next day, I joined those transporters under the hut, but it remained cold, so cold. My layered bundling covered two thirds of my body. I think my eyes alone remained visible. The wind made the chill less bearable. My only solace from the freezing torture was the graffitied iron sanctuary surrounding me and the others.
As the waiting continued, a cab drove by with its number painted on the side: 666-6666. “How Demonic” I thought. The underworld would feel nice during this desperate need for warmth. I contemplated raising my arm to hail the cab, but I could not bear to let any body heat escape, even from my arm.
If God was not finished with my endurance test, He added another challenge with a phone call from Mom. Unfortunately, my phone was in my purse, lying comfortably on my back. What should I do now? Let it ring and have mom assume my death, or sacrifice my arm’s heat to relive her anxieties? As I began to lift the first finger, the bus finally arrived. With each step I felt the heat of the bus thaw every vein and capillary in my arm.
I found a seat in the back and finally left a message on my phone. One of the locals, a man, turned to me and smiled: “New in town?” He asked.
“How’d you guess?” I chattered.

Money Management

The Consolation

What part of "Occupy" do you not understand?

From my other blog Mi, Misma y Me

    The  Occupy Movement is the first protest that isn't so black and white.  It may have one thing in common, but that is simply the blanket to cover many varieties of issues that many feel should be addressed. Yes, maybe the protest needs a few faces to speak on behalf for them (since the aged news heads needs simplicity). However, the protest is not and cannot be narrowed down anymore than it is. Everyone who could appear did so for their own reason. It may not be all the same reason but one guy's reason may be the same as the second and that guy may have the same reason as that third guy even if the third guy does not share any of the same purpose as the first guy.  

     Many of the goals and motivations are linked in a six-degrees pattern, because whether we like to accept it or not, we are affected by the actions of one another no matter how separated we are. It's this denial of the separation theory that has brought us into this global economic situation in the first place. 

Equally, it's this same complexity that has allowed the movement to transcend cultural barriers. Different nations could use the economy as a template to mold for meeting their local needs.  After all, Those protests in North Africa would never have happened without the actions of technology advancements in the west. This is the 21st century, the new age of intricacy. 

     The goals are complex. The achievements may not even be picked up on video phones. Is that really a bad thing? 

The Other Brother