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| A friend of mine has a superiority complex. See, we both go to a university, and she's hopped up on her major . She thinks that if you're not a hard science major, you aren't as good. Like, good in general, like.... in life. You are inherently a better person for being a hard science major like math, physics, computer science, engineering, chemistry, or her favorite, biology (which is her own major). Hard science majors, afterall, tend to make more money after graduation with just a bachelors than, say, a social science major. And I'll admit, their courses tend to be quite demanding and rigorous. Its more acceptable to drop out of a hard science and major into something still math oriented, like, business economics or something completely different like political science. Yet, how often do you hear of a social science major dropping out? What do they drop out into? Underwater basket weaving?
But there is a misconception that all social science majors lack the academic rigor, tenacity and intelligence of a hard science major. For most social science majors, there is a natural disdain for math, yet all social science majors at UCI have to take calculus. Myself, an international studies major, also have to do statistics. Business economics PhDs only work with applied mathematics from top to bottom, and while they might not be building bridges, their theoretical and practical knowledge of economics keeps the money flowing into everyone's pockets.
A person with a major in social science has a very broad knowledge, and while their knowledge is not specific, they have learned ways to learn about society. A social science masters can work for the city, and work with business men and women to build a new company in the area. They have the broad knowledge to walk a business through the steps of getting things done, the proper legislation, codes to be followed. And guess who they have to work with? Other social science majors, usually businessmen. Lets say this businessmen makes backpacks, who does he have working for him? Engineers and chemists.
There's a saying, engineers will be engineers when they graduate. Biologists will be biologists. Programmers will be programmers. But a social science major can become anything. They work in business, they work as public health administrators, NGOs, cracking deals, selling deals, and often, employing people from the hard sciences.
Only problem is that you have to be kick ass at it...
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| To the one I must finally let go:
Something interesting has been happening to me lately. My hair has grown out longer than its ever been in nearly six years - its over two inches on top. For all my time in the military, it hasn't grown more than half an inch anywhere. This may seem trivial to you, but to me, its the sign of change in my life. In less than a year, I will get out of the military to begin new endeavours. The change feels like the spring winds entering the end of Winter, warming your soul for the new beauty that will come.
Like how spring's flowers only bloom when Winter has given it the snow and water to grow, you have nourished my well-being to enter a new era and chapter in my life.
Darling, it has been years since we've really talked. The last question you asked me was "Do you love better?" I didn't understand for years. Now, with conviction, I can tell you I love better. I realized the errors in my character, and the person who I had to become worthy of being your man from our relationship. In the process of becoming that better person in hopes of winning you back, I realized that I could never have you back. The hurt, the lies, the secrets, the built up resentment... it was a wall that could no longer be broken down by only one side of love. Regretfully, I turned my back to that wall and moved on with the rest of my life.
Every now and then, I return to that wall and I look at what bricks I tried to break down. I looked at my hands and the scars I wrought on them, in vein, but without regret. Every now and then, I stand at the wall shouting, trying to penetrate the wall we've built, and hope, just hope, that you'll recognize a slight whisper on the other side. I want you to hear how much I've grown, how much of a man I've turned into, how I'm now the man you truly deserve since the beginning. Its been years in the making, but it happened.
The wall will never be broken down and you'll never care to know how much I've changed because we've broken up. You'll never know that our breakup was one of the best things in my life. But now, I want you to know one thing. I'm glad you entered and left my life, leaving the fond memories etched into my being.
Darling, the seasons are changing, and my life. I'm moving forward. I'm getting married soon. I'm letting go of everything... no more hurt, no more misplaced feelings. I have to get over it. But as I get over it, like the melting of snow for Spring, the water will flow and give life a chance to bloom and become wonderful. If you ever wonder about us, know that you made my life wonderful with the snow, ice and water to nourish my future. My future will be just fine.
This will be the last time I will revisit the wall. Here, I proclaim to you one last time: "You're the one that I let get away. I love you, and always will." This is the last time. No more. No more. I hope you never return to the wall because I'll never be there again.
-Mike | | |
| Before I went to war, I used to be optimistic about the state of humanity. I truly believed problems can be solved with good words, even better intentions, coupled with smart diplomacy and incentive-based economics. My high ideals lead to a passion in political science and international studies at the beginning of college, where I thrived, believing that one day I can perhaps be a small force in the gentle wind of change. I was a reformists and progressive.
Then I went to Iraq.
There, I witnessed first hand the utter brutality of entrenched ideas of hatred and violence as a means of resolving issues. I almost couldn't believe how violence was such a way of life for so many Iraqis; a reality almost absolutely unknown in cosmopolitan areas where the closest thing to brutality was a speeding ticket. Curiously, the brutality and entrenched ideas were not directed to us Americans. They were directed to their own peoples - neighbors, fellow countrymen and former old friends. There, I saw the roots of extremism and Al Qaeda take hold of a community. I saw extremism indoctrinate young minds like how liberal, compassionate values are indoctrinated into elementary and high school students. I've realized that all ideas that fall outside their philosophy are irrelevant and impractical to the values of martyrdom and religion.
We tried to make inroads against this extremism. We setup schools, educated the local populace, tried getting their economies going. On many occasions, I gave out water to locals whose only source of water was mud puddles from the rain season. Yet, in front of us, we saw the locals side with religious extremism as an answer to their problems. Not just against the US, but against each other.
How do we eliminate such a hateful population? Of course, the traditional anti-insurgency answer is to nurture a nation that is more geared towards economic success than religious devoutness. Something like Saudi Arabia, I suppose, but that country is exceedingly rich, and even with money as a unifier, there is still underlying religious and political tension. Even if we change the economic condition, how do we address their violent attitudes? In our own nation, we fight against the attitude against higher education in minority populations, but even on a micro-economic and macro-economic scale, it is virtually impossible. We've discovered that change is a notion that must be created from within.
Like the violence in Iraq, and the violence around the world, the only major change that will come is from within.
I figured if I'm going to change the world for the better, I am better doing that one on one as a doctor or physician assistant. Fixing the world can be left to the idealist who haven't truly tried. As for me, I'll be more practical. | | |
| Seventh grade was the most confusing time of my life. I didn't know where I was going, what I was doing, what my purpose was. So much happened to me, it defined how I would interpret my life and the world around me, plus dictate my relationships with friends and girls.
The summer before seventh grade, I had almost killed myself in a scuba diving accident and subsequently underwent 20 hours of hyperbaric pressure treatment in Seattle Downtown Hospital. I remember entering the hospital with my mom and dad. My dad told me go up to the front desk in the emergency room and tell the triage nurse what was wrong. As soon as I told the nurse I thought I had the bends, two nurses came from behind the desk and told me to sit down immediately. Within minutes, I was given a mask of oxygen. All the eyes in the emergency room - fellow patients, nurses, doctors - were on me. Nurses and doctors came up to me every few minutes to ask how I was doing. I felt so scared. It was as if everyone else knew my fate except for me.
Years later, after high school, my father told me something I never really considered. He said that ever since that time, I was never the same. The young, exuberant, innocent kid turned serious about life. I became introverted. Life just didn't seem the same anymore. Looking back, it makes sense... 7th grade was an era of emo poetry, revolving around the futility and meaninglessness of life. The connection between my emo behavior and one incident, after nearly 8 years, was finally put together. | | |
| I'm not that big on wine. Or at least I wasn't. I always thought it was sour, gave you a bad something-is-dying aroma, and only pretentious bigots knew how to tip it right.
Then I went to Iraq.
I sipped wine on my return, and suddenly, it was sweet.
The maxim goes when you go through hell and back: "The wine is so much sweeter."
I didn't understand this phrasing until I got back. Its incredibly true. Though the taste of wine may have been changed on my pallet due to some physical change, I believe its a largely psychological process. It is the sheer fact that you're able to drink wine. When death is only 100 meters away, awaiting to blow you up, and you know it is hunting you down... you don't take anything for granted. Even something gross like wine. The ability to consume such a cankerous drink that validates your life! "Look at me! I am alive, I am here! I can enjoy life!" And what's sweeter than knowing you're alive enough, free enough to do as your wish, even drink wine!!
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