Across the Spiderverse

How do you top one of, if not the best, superhero movie ever? Into the Spider-Verse was phenomenal on multiple fronts. It had an empowering coming of age story coupled with over the top multiverse shenanigans. The movie was rife with superheroes in wild action sequences, each with varied and outright crazy stylizations, yet these superhumans somehow felt much more human, more alive, than the slew of live action superhero films we keep getting force fed these days. Most importantly, it fundamentally changed the trajectory of animation, using the medium for what it is; instead of chasing photorealism, it embraces the fact that the canvas need not be limited to physical realities.

I couldn’t see how Across the Spider-Verse could hope to top it, all the odds were against it. Frankly, sequels are just disappointing. Studios have pressure to make the next event bigger, with larger worlds, even higher stakes, and more dramatic conflict. However, in trying to fit that expanded narrative, they lose all forms of subtlety and with that, the humanness of it.

Yet somehow, Across the Spider-Verse defies all odds and manages to do both amazingly. The story is as expansive and maximalist as you can get, introducing so many more elements. There are more universes to hop around and the potential for each one to spontaneously collapse, a philosophical debate of fate vs freewill, and an entire new society of characters with multiple narrative threads sewn throughout. But what isn’t forgotten is the meaning behind these threads and the subtle ways that interweave them all together.

One major theme within Across the Spider-Verse is communication, or its lack thereof. It’s easy to miscommunicate, especially with family. Even with the best intentions and the love you may feel for one another, there are some topics that feel impossible to convey. Either because of how emotionally charged the subject matter is, or the vulnerability and uncertainty you feel broaching the subject. Or perhaps it tests the limits of the relationship; does one really want to uncover the boundaries? Find out if the love and support is truly unconditional?

This theme was conveyed in each of the subplots, whether it be Miles and his parents, Gwen to hers, Peter B Parker to his mentee, Spot’s nemesis perspective vs Mile’s bad guy of the week, or Miguel's inability to convey his mission. Even apart from the main plot points, to my delight, it was shown even in the smallest of details. I loved that there was this minor inconsequential scene when Gwen and Miles reconnect for the first time in Mile’s childhood room. There was a bit about Gwen cheerfully removing a collectible out of its original packaging, much to the chagrin of Miles, who was stumbling on his words, trying to stop her. That beat didn’t have to be there, it didn’t drive the plot along at all, and it could have been one of many scenes that needed to be axed because of time constraints. However, it was there, beautifully and playfully showcasing that miscommunication is and will be a driving motif in the movie.

That’s how these animated characters feel so much more real and relatable. You can tell love, care and attention was given to the characters, even to the ostensibly insignificant details. The constant chaos and craziness the movie pushes forward are purposeful and interconnected. All of these add up, painting a clear picture:

Fundamentally, Sony’s Spider-Verse movies are about family.

It’s about the family you’re given, and the family you choose. It’s about finding your place within that family, and with that, in your own world. It’s about your desire to be heard and understood, and it’s about how to best use your voice.

So back to the original question. How do you top one of the best superhero films? You just make the sequel a contender for one of the best films ever, period. No additional qualifier needed.

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Also didn’t fit in my above narrative, but I have to call it out. This film did representation right. The writers, Phil and Chris, realized that Pavitr Prabhakar, the Indian Spider-man, didn’t feel culturally specific enough in their drafts, so they invited the Indian-American voice actor Karan Soni into a writer session to bring more cultural relevance to that portion. They also created an environment so that the voice actress of Rio, Mile’s mom, felt comfortable speaking up to specifically have Miles seek a blessing (bendición) from his mother, a critical part of Puerto Rican culture. 

Even though they were both small bits in the grand scheme of the movie, it's so refreshing to see leaders being aware of their own limits, and seeking proper input in the backroom to make things right. Just wish some other culturally-specific movies just took those simple steps...

Home

As each year passes by, the community I once so deeply entwined myself with becomes just a bit more distant. Before, when I went to a competition, I could barely walk a few feet without running into a close friend I spent seasons repping the same sets over and over with. Time marched on, and we then became teachers, watching as our students took center stage. Another few seasons go by, and I find myself rooting for the teachers more so than any performer. And now almost a decade since my age out, many former colleagues and students, like myself, have begun diverging and finding other priorities in our lives.

Still, I insist on going to a live winter drumline show each season. While the people I can excitedly run into number less than the fingers on a hand, I still appreciate the activity and the art. However, I would be lying if I denied the discomfort we had when Samantha and I walked around the lot at Toyota Arena. Nervousness isn’t to be unexpected after all these years I suppose. The activity and the people have changed so much. So much so that we felt like foreigners, with a nonsensical dread of being exposed that we didn’t quite belong. To then have RCC perform their show about Home was unexpectedly coincidental. The show itself did such an amazing job for such a simple concept. 

Instead of narrowly prescribing what a home is or should be, RCC’s approach was expansive and loose, describing what a home could be. There is of course the physical manifestation of a house, illustrated by the prop front entrances or unique pieces of furniture. But instead of limiting itself to the physical boundaries, the show also plays with the idea of the symbolic definitions of home. It can be a family member welcoming you with open arms or perhaps it's a place of play and discovery. Home can be where one find’s support, either through life’s inevitable trials or the celebrations in times of triumph. It can be that old family lamp with special meaning, or maybe just a single person to lean on. Or, if you’re fortunate, it can be a staircase full of those you love. As long as one feels safe, unjudged, heard and allowed to dream, then the home can manifest in any form.

While the show itself was brilliant, the metanarrative of winter drumline as home was the crucial element that effectively led to the overwhelming transference with the audience. So many young performers were enraptured by the show due to the relevancy. Many actively pursue winter drumline precisely because of that yearning for a home, to have the safety to aspire and to belong. This activity creates the space for play and self-discovery, all while creating art that has the potential to communicate meaning in ways words rarely do by themselves. And it was also a helpful reminder, that even if another decade passes, even if at that point I recognize absolutely nobody, this crazy activity, and some tennis courts in a small community college, will always be home.

Making a small dent to the inequity within drumline

Note. This was written pre-pandemic, since we were initially trying to establish the scholarship fund for WGI’s 2020 season and it got delayed for obvious reasons. I’ve left it mostly as is.

Over different parts of my life, drumline meant different things to me. Initially, it was an escape from reality, a place of fun; engaging in band class typically always beat out all my other subjects at school. Soon afterwards, it became a community, a warm and inviting house emanating a sense of belonging; the perfect environment many young adults yearn for as they feel trapped in the hyper judgmental confines of their surroundings. The mutual reassurance and support between drumline members were hardly ever questioned. Passion came next, as the rehearsals became the highlights of my day and as I insatiably auditioned and participated in more and more groups. While my body sat in classrooms, dorm rooms, or lecture halls, my heart was in another world, fantasizing about the field. Finally, inspiration. While odd to place the concept of inspiration at the end of the arch, this call to action to inspire and be inspired was only evident to me once I reached the higher echelons of the activity: to leave an imprint within those around me and to invite others to have their lives become inextricable from mine. 

Fun, community, passion, inspiration. This ever-changing narrative was ever-deepening; every audition, every repetition, and every performance cemented these emotions and values deep within the core of my being. Even now, as my career is shaping to have no relation to my time as a drummer, the fundamental nature of who I am today is inseparable from this activity. While my educational pedigree taught me how to write code or how to read a financial statement, the dreamer within me was crafted by my time on the floor. This inspiration, this innocent snowball that barreled down the slope of my life until it became a full-on avalanche that completely disrupted it, is still very much paving my path forward.

While there are plenty of shortcomings of the activity, I treasure it deeply. I wouldn’t be who I am today without it and I am greatly appreciative of the opportunity I had to undergo this transformative experience. However, bringing its shortcomings to the forefront, it is apparent that this activity is not inclusive to all who should be able to participate. Especially at the pinnacle of the drumline activity, the amount of women present is meager at best. While accounting for half of our population, women account for probably < 10% of our world-class battery members. Perhaps it could be due to drumline’s historical roots in the military, a drumline culture that seeks out attributes traditionally seen as “manly”, not seeing enough representation to encourage participation, or a myriad of other reasons. While I’m not going to pretend to be an expert in understanding why this divide exists, I can at least recognize that there are clearly systematic issues that prevent many women to participate in such a life-changing opportunity.

Two personal stories come to mind as I contemplate this issue. This past WGI finals, I surprised my old student Shea by flying out to Dayton to watch her age-out with RCC. While I haven’t taught her for many years now, her earnestness, effort, and excellence was always apparent to me; to see her kick ass in the lot was expected. The reactions I heard from the young high schoolers watching her were of much greater astonishment and intrigue. Multiple times I heard audible and excited whispers of how there was a female cymbal section leader in such a prestigious group. This shock and awe left me with very bittersweet feelings. While proud of the example she was setting, I was dismayed that this was seen as something so special, so out of the norm that it elicited such a strong response. This should not be a rare occurrence that merits excitement and wonder, but instead a natural facet of the drumline activity. 

My long time partner Samantha was also a part of drumline, a snare drummer since her middle school days. When she auditioned for her first independent drumline, she got cut. While being cut at an auditions is an extremely routine occurrence and there may have been many valid reasons to cut her, how she was cut completely eliminated any sense of reason. 

When she asked how she could improve, the first and only response she received was that "she was a girl, and they didn't want the snareline to look weak". As completely unacceptable as those remarks are, the fact that this was the first and only reason they gave her illustrates how deeply cemented these biases are within our activity. The person giving the comments probably had no qualms stating this and probably has already forgotten, while Samantha has always had this in the back of her mind.

That is why, partnering with RCC & BDPA, I am starting an annual scholarship for all female battery members for RCC’s winter drumline. Every year, I will donate $2,000 to RCC’s winter program, which will be split evenly and go towards the tuition of every single female battery member. While this gesture doesn’t come close to addressing the vast majority of issues regarding gender or socioeconomic barriers to the activity, change always comes one step at a time; I’m excited to be one of the first to be pledging my own resources to encourage that process.

Reflections on Mulan

It took me a long time to cherish my Taiwanese-American heritage. Growing up in the United States, it wasn’t a facet of my identity that I attached any importance to. As a child, I even actively denied that part of me. Whenever my family went out to eat Chinese food, I threw a temper tantrum and would only eat if we stopped by fast food first. I didn’t bother speaking Chinese; I replied to my Mom’s Mandarin in English and I consistently repeated the entry level class for my Saturday Chinese-school until I was not compelled to go anymore. The only attempt to understand the vast history and traditions of my culture was acknowledging the bare minimum to profit off of the New Years. 

While there are many reasons for my delayed acceptance of my culture and identity, the portrayal of Asians in Western Society was definitely a significant factor. Similar to many young children, I was deeply impacted by television and movies. My weeks were organized by TV show airtimes and the few times I was able to go to the movies were momentous occasions. I idolized the heroes on screen, wishing to become just like them. However, what I saw on the screen never closely resembled me. Almost all Western media featured white protagonists, and in the few moments there was somebody of Chinese descent, they were essentially a one-dimensional caricature that was completely unrelatable (for men, choose either kung fu master or a super nerd, and for women, choose an exotic hypersexualized love interest or submissive wallflower). Many values are actively defined and imprinted at a societal level, and this one was no different. The messaging from Hollywood was loud and clear: there is nothing valuable about being Asian American; this culture only deserves to be simplified to basic tropes. 

To my delight, as my own relationship with my culture deepened and flourished over the decades, it seemed that the media’s portrayal of Asians were finally evolving as well. First starting on the fringes, with Asian-American content creators using new platforms such as YouTube to reach directly to their audience, then slowly creeping into the mainstream, with sitcoms and major blockbuster films. Finally, Asian-Americans can be cast as characters that were complex and interesting. Their only defining feature wasn’t just that they were Asian! Similar to white actors and actresses, it was just another part of their identity. Witnessing Asians star in these multifaceted roles has been amazing given how the landscape was just a few years prior. 

I also understand that at the end of the day media is a business, and for this movement to not be temporary, Asians need to throw their full support when these things happen. Personally, I watched Crazy Rich Asians four times (two times in theaters, once on a plane, and then renting again at home to show my mom), and I’ve been subscribed to Wong Fu’s Patreon ever since I’ve learned of it. So of course, given this momentous live-action remaking of Mulan, I’ve been at the edge of my seat, excited and ready to support. 

Especially given the cultural phenomenon that was Black Panther, I was ecstatic that Disney was going to take on Mulan again. While many were bemoaning the exclusion of Mushu, Shang and those classic songs, I actually grew more excited since the director stated that she made those decisions to be more faithful to the original legend. The anticipation kept growing and growing as the pandemic forcibly pushed back the release again and again. Until finally, this past Friday’s release on Disney+, where I eagerly paid the additional $30 premium access to be among the first to support the movie. 

My disappointment was immeasurable.

While there are many major flaws to dive deep into regarding this movie (especially the superpowers that weaken the narrative of a woman fighting to be seen as an equal in a patriarchal society), I wanted to spend some time to speak on some smaller details that yanked me out of the immersion by how grossly misrepresented it was. In life, it’s the small actions that build up to communicate your intent. Love is shown by showing care and consistency in the tiniest of details; however, in this case, the small details accumulated to disrespect and disregard instead. These cultural details clearly didn’t matter to the people designing this film.

Warning slight spoilers ahead, but nothing too major if you’re familiar with the story.

The villagers from Mulan’s hometown all lived together in a Tulou (土樓), a circular earthen hut that can house many families. However these buildings are a facet of the Hakka people living in Fujian originating from the 12th century. Mulan’s story takes place in the Northern Wei Dynasty; which occurs during 386 to 534 AD and is, as the name describes, in the northern part of China. Not only is it geographically inaccurate, but there is a time difference of 600+ years there! That would be akin to placing a modern skyscraper penthouse into the Renaissance.

As someone who is learning more about Chinese tea to connect to their culture, the teapot used during the matchmaking scene was equally jarring. The teapot was a Yokode kyusu, a teapot that has a side handle 90 degrees from the sprout. While Japanese tea culture was originally imported from China during the Song Dynasty, the cultures have significantly diverged. Each has their unique vessels, tools, and processing techniques worthy of celebrating (matcha vs pu’er, sencha vs oolong, yokode kyusu vs yixing). However, maybe to the creators of this movie, east Asian culture is just all the same to them. 

The phoenix was a central character in the movie, and to the chagrin of many fans of the original, Mushu’s replacement. As the Hua family’s ancestral guardian spirit, it provided a nice symbolism for Mulan, as her character’s male persona dies and she is reborn as Hua Mulan. What is egregious is that Phoenixes are not even an animal within Chinese folklore, that’s a Western (Greek) myth! While some may point out that there is a Chinese mythical bird called the Fenghuang (鳳凰), these are immortal birds that only choose to visit regions when there is peace and prosperity. What it definitely is NOT is a reincarnating bird leading warriors into the heat of battle. Sure, Fenghuang are genderfluid and that does match Mulan, but why was the only emphasized trait of the bird the aspect from Greek lore? Why bother taking out Mushu to be closer to the original if it’s replacement is a Western myth?

Finally, I have to bring up the obvious change in accents that happened when Mulan changed from a kid to an adult. Why cast a child actor with an American accent if the main character has a Chinese accent? There is no way that any other movie with a 200M+ budget would have allowed a white child actor to speak with an American accent, to then change it to a British accent when that character grew up and not even acknowledge it. Are we just supposed to be okay with it since they’re at least both Chinese looking?

No movie will ever be picture perfect in representing any culture, trade-offs are inevitable. However, I can’t see how those choices above added anything. Why would you make the villagers live in a Tulou? Was it critical to the plot? Every other Mulan adaptation is fine without a Greek Phoenix, why make it so necessary to this re-telling? Those small details exposed the attitude that I was all too familiar with growing up: who cares about representing actual Chinese culture?

After watching that movie, it felt as if the creative process was a room of white people gathered together, cherry-picking what fit their own narrative, sprinkling some Asian artifacts throughout, shrugging and saying to each other “That’s Chinese-y right? Good enough for me!” Imagine my lack of surprise when I checked to see that none of the screenwriters, producers or director had an Asian background. Chinese culture is the longest continuing culture in the world. It deserves to be shared for what it is (warts and all), not to be trivialized into a simplified palette that’s easiest to digest. Chinese representation in Western media should be about collaborating with us as peers, not to be used as a tool to extract the growing affluence of the Chinese and it’s diaspora.

I so badly wanted this to be a celebration, but now it’s a lose-lose situation. I wouldn’t want the younger version of me to watch this. It would have pushed me further away from my culture; I would either not relate to the characters alluding to “honor” every other sentence, or I would see that my culture isn’t worth even having just one person in this $200M major blockbuster film correct the gross cultural inaccuracies. On the other hand, I also don’t want critics to point at bad numbers and proclaim that Asian representation isn’t worth the investment. 

I just wish for us to be portrayed as who we truly are. 

Why do people agree to be governed?

Why do people agree to be governed? During my first year in Business School, this question was posed to the class. I was absolutely stumped. Prior to that class, I never needed to question this aspect of my life; me being a citizen, and therefore me consenting to be governed by the US government, was as obvious to me as the very air I’ve been breathing since being born here. To me, it was simply a given. However, like most things, it depends. Context matters. While it may be evident for me in my own limited & privileged life experience, these past few weeks have illuminated the strife and hardship of millions of Americans grappling with that question. Why agree to be governed? Why do citizens submit themselves and obey the various rules set forth by their governments? Fundamentally, it’s about trust. A trust that is maintained as long as both parties (the governed and the government) uphold a social contact. On the one hand, citizens should comply to the restrictions put forth by the legislature: respect property rights, don’t steal, don’t intentionally or unintentionally cause harm to others, respect age limits of drinking/smoking, etc, etc. However, equally as important is the other side: what do citizens get in return? What does it mean for the government to uphold its side of the contract? The essence of what the US government should uphold for its citizens can be traced to what America is celebrating today. The documents from our revolutionary roots are the bedrock of what it means to be an American. The Declaration of Independence unequivocally states:

“We uphold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.”

The government’s promises to their citizens were further expanded upon when the Bill of Rights were subsequently added onto the Constitution. Freedom of speech, freedom of religion, and the right to bear arms are popular examples of limitations on government power that have become interwoven in our cultures vernacular. But equally as important is the 5th amendment,

“no person shall be … deprived of life, liberty or property without Due Process of law.”

This is the lens from which I’ve been following the Black Lives Matter movement. Where was Breonna Taylor’s inalienable Right to Life when she was shot eight times by simply being in her own home? Was George Floyd’s Liberty even considered as he was pinned down to the ground for 8 minutes and 46 seconds for a crime he didn’t commit? In the 1,944 black deaths that occurred between 2013-2019 by the hands of police, only 3% of police officers were charged while < 1% were ultimately convicted of any wrongdoing. Where in that funnel is the Due Process owed to each of those lives? In light of these unresolved deaths, it doesn’t just show the government refusing to uphold it’s part of this social contract, it brings into question if this social contract was ever being upheld at all for black citizens. Critics attempting to delegitimize the entire BLM movement by pointing to the cases where demonstrations turned to violence or looting are blind to the core problem. Like me, I bet for these individuals, their social contract is a given. From their perspective, of course individuals should uphold their side of the contract by quietly acquiescing to be governed; after all, the government doesn’t impose on their rights. I doubt these individuals have to fear for their life or liberty when interacting with government institutions. I’m confident that when they see a police officer, they have no fear—no fear that this individual will transform into their judge, jury, and executioner with even the slightest misconception. While I’m not one to condone violence, this strong reaction from the black community is understandable. In fact, the subsequent lines of the Declaration of Independence are advocating for this exact thing: “whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new Government”. Why should Black Americans continue to agree to be governed when their Rights to Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of Happiness turn out not to be inalienable but rather negotiable, nothing more than a mere recommendation with no accountability. It is unacceptable that on this 4th of July—244 years after the initial signing of the Declaration of Independence—we still have a government that is not upholding its obligation to its people. While progress has been made over the centuries in extending rights to people other than white male property owners, it is not appropriate to wait even a few years longer for our government to fulfill its basic duties. Samantha and I will be celebrating this 4th of July by donating $244 to the NAACP Legal Defense and Educational Fund and vowing that, come November, our votes will only go to representatives that fully realize the severity & urgency of this situation. I hope all my fellow Americans, the true patriots in this country, will do what is in their power in demanding that our government institutions be held accountable, respect the Constitutional Rights of Black Americans, and uphold what is supposed to be our collective American values. Appendix: A brief history of police impunity in Black deaths - Vox NAACP Legal Defense and Educational Fund

Silence of the Heavens

RCC’s production this year was unexpectedly simple. Silence of the Heavens is a depiction of an idyllic pond, inhabited by dragonflies and lotus leaves. The movements and music by the members vividly illustrate the brief moments in time as the sunlight breaches the clouds, dragonflies dart about, and lotus buds delicately bloom. That’s it. RCC’s straightforward show this season can simply be summed up using a few succinct sentences.

Yet somehow, when I watched this performance live, it left such a profound influence on me, of which I never experienced before in a winter drumline show (and very rarely in any piece of contemporary art for that matter). This impact was not created in spite of the shows simplicity, but rather because of it. By surrendering to the show’s simplicity, I discovered insurmountable complexity.

For a show ostensibly about tranquility, one would think of adjectives such as “still”, “calm”, or even “spiritual”, and the opening does seem to follow that spirit. As soon as the members finish setting up, a solemn tone fills the stadium. The members on the floor enter a deep bow while sitting in seiza. Their costumes are vibrant, warm and inviting. The music begins with a lone timpanist and a hollow sample from the synth. As the rest of the front ensemble enters and the battery begins to move, we feel a beautiful melody slowly rise from the vibes, we hear a narrator describing the water and it’s inhabitants, we see delicate movements from the battery as they imitate a water’s ripple, curl up to resemble an insect egg, personify a dragonfly, and longingly reach for the heavens.

However, the audience is never allowed to settle into this depiction of tranquility, the tone shifts as our previous illustration of serenity becomes disrupted. Instead of the soft gentle tenor moment, we witness rhythmically and emotionally intense snare features. Instead of poignant meditative body language, we experience chaotic and high velocity movements from the members. The lilypads stable foundation is disturbed as the members imitate thrashing waves and scatter them throughout the floor. Instead of the delicate melodic climb, we hear a flurry of mallet runs played at aggressive heights. Then, just as sudden as the transition into this thematically antithetical tone, we abruptly shift styles again, re-entering the picturesque view of serenity.

As the production progresses, more contradictory ideas can be seen strewn together as if completely natural. Musically, there is the stark contrast from the playful and rhythmic second movement of Maurice Ravel’s Piano Trio Pantoum to the heavy and poignant third movement Passacaille. Visually, there are a collection of small moments that silently sow the seeds of contrary notions: members emulate the sporadic and restless movements of dragonfly while adjacent to the still and patient lilypads, body lines depicting the rigid lines of wings smoothly transforms into the soft curves of leaves, the floor’s density continually changes (quickly transitioning to and from a boisterous floor to one bereft of life) as members move around the lilypads. The cymbal players transition from their loud and rigid metal on metal technique to a feature that communicates through expansive and delicate motions by replacing one cymbal with a wooden stick. Even within the show’s title, the word “silence” seems at odds with the typical characteristics of any form of musical production.

Of course, contrast isn’t anything new. It is a common tool that not only creates excitement for the audience, but also allows the performers to display their range of musical and visual competence to the judges. But there is a key difference in how RCC uses this contrast. Silence of the Heavens dances at the intersection of juxtaposition, making unannounced grand jetés to and from the seemingly incompatible. The shifts in mood defies expectation, unafraid to completely ignore the motifs the performers were actively setting mere seconds before. Yet, most importantly, all of this is happening under the guise of the same theme, as if there is no disparity occurring whatsoever.

As the dull green lilypads turn over to reveal vivid pink flowers, the bass drums are quietly placed on the ground off in a corner of the floor; the members tilt their head down, respectfully bowed, as if the sacred spirituality of the moment demands their humility. Next, one of the most awe-inspiring bass features I’ve ever seen comes to life, as the members skillfully and casually display their technical prowess. The tenors join in to aid and cooperate in this moment as split singles cavort from drum to drum. Finally, the feature decelerates and diminuendos to a halt, ending just as modestly as the feature began. This must be the true essence of “purity”, just like the narrator dictated. But immediately after, there is a minute-long snare feature. The snareline initially seemed to follow the established demeanor of the bassline, but slowly, this moment transforms into an overt display of self-assertion and swagger (as far away from any hint of modesty and humility). Not only is this shift unmotivated, the narrator continues to describe this segment as uniformly as the one that came before; his booming voice echoes throughout the venue: “beauty, serenity”.

While some of the contrasting ideas are more drastic than others, all of these narrative devices establish an extremely conflicting sentiment. To say that this left an unsettling feeling in me is a vast understatement. I fell deeper and deeper into this jarring dissonance; my idle spectating became an internal struggle, begging for any modicum of consistency or meaning. This internal strife voraciously grew, consuming every single one of my sense up until...

Silence. Silence disseminated throughout the stadium. The battery stripped their instruments, their bodies free of those tools that so easily sowed the seeds of disparity. Sounds of water penetrated the air. The members coalesced into a lotus bud, to actively craft one final blossoming. 

As if nothing at all had happened, the lotus bud quietly waited for it’s moment to blossom. In such noble decorum, I can sense the silent music of the heavens.

The emotional instability carefully crafted since the beginning of the show was swiftly purged in those last few seconds. The narrator’s words were straightforward yet cathartic, the silence uncanny yet welcoming, the lotus flower indifferent yet purposeful. As I sat in awe, I realized how limited my world-view was compared to one of a simple lotus bud. Where I saw inconsistency, the lotus bud saw normalcy. Where I saw disarray, the lotus bud saw opportunity. Despite all of the discrepancies that were transpiring within this pond, the lotus bud patiently waited and fulfilled its purpose. It was beautiful.

With RCC, I discovered a repudiation of my myopic perspective of life. I continually tried to find the causal mechanism behind the dramatic shifts, but instead, I should have been striving to understand the relationships between these contrasting tones. Peace is not the absence of strife, but found through realizing the inextricable nature of calm and chaos; it’s about acknowledging that the inevitable triumphs and tragedies that consume us are one and the same. Presence is not found by always looking towards the next thing, greedily coveting pleasure; it’s found by fully living in the moment, expecting anything and nothing at the same time. Fulfillment is not the single minded pursuit of happiness; it’s strengthened by actions that precipitates great suffering as well. Meaning is not crafted in spite of death; it’s produced and pursued because of the ephemerality of existence. Learning how to die is the equivalent of learning how to live. This is the essence called life.

The brilliance of this performance was due to the show’s simplicity and openness. I am confident that nobody else in the audience had the same response to the production as I did. My interpretation was allowed to become special and unique, because of the trust placed on me, the viewer. Instead of overusing various narrative techniques to force a single message to be conveyed, the members mainly utilized imagery to craft an evocative landscape; how this landscape is formed allows the production to become an empty canvas, ultimately a reflection of the viewer's’ thoughts. In essence, Silence of the Heavens transports the audience to this pond so they can feel the water sprinkling their feet, experience the light breeze and sunlight caress their face, listen to the melodious chorus of nature, and observe the interactions of the insects and plants, all to better cope with this contradictory substance known as life.

New Beginnings Pt. 2

I initially started this blog because of my transition from a student to a full-time software engineer; now, after a short 3 years, I find myself ready to do the inverse. I’ve been given the honor to join the Harvard Business School class of 2019. 

Even though this transition is just the beginning of a new arduous journey, I would like to take some time now to express my deep appreciation for the many individuals that selflessly guided and supported me along the way.

I’d like to thank UCLA’s engineering program for your rigor. It’s no understatement that I struggled during my undergrad years, but the difficulty was necessary to reveal how hard I can and should work. Thank you for revealing my intellectual curiosity and establishing a firm foundation anchored in analysis and observation. I’d like to thank all of my managers and mentors (George, Gerard, Guo Jin, and Zhen) for your trust. Each of you believed in me before I did, giving me opportunities and responsibilities that were clearly above my head. These challenges allowed me to greatly accelerate my personal and intellectual growth and surprise many colleagues along the way. I’d like to thank my Fountain Valley students, Alex, Mitchell, Shea, Jonathan, and Dominic. Even though I was your instructor, I was the one who had the most to learn. My long-term goals, my vision of success, was developed during those weekly rehearsals and our intimate interactions. The five of you inspire me to keep moving forward just to see what I am capable of. I also have to thank Gary, Rick, and Peter for allowing me to join this life-changing program. (Don’t want to play favorites too much, I cherish all the students and groups I teach/taught). I’d like to thank Jason for your frankness. During the application process, I found it difficult to properly communicate my story. It was difficult opening up and trying to put my dreams on paper; it was even more difficult for me to understand why my aspirations were failing to be properly conveyed. Even though your words were harsh, they were exactly what I needed to hear to understand which parts simply weren’t working. Sorry for making you read every revision and my insistence to dive deep into every single one of your reactions.

I’d like to thank Jacob for your compassion. Even though I only asked for another set of eyes on my essays, you knew I needed more than that. Throughout this tedious 5 month process, there were many instances where the flood of negative thoughts wore me down, but you seemed to always be there, ready to listen. It may not have seemed much, but your steadfast positive presence made a huge difference.

I’d like to thank my best friend Sam for your patience. You were by my side every step of the way, providing a voice of reason, offering insights on my application, and encouraging my aspirations. You watched as I slowly transformed into a 1-dimensional and self-centered character, always talking, thinking, and worrying about one thing, yet your patience and understanding never wavered. Thank you so much for believing in me.

I’d like to thank my family, especially my parents. It’s always difficult for me to properly express my gratitude to you two, but to put things simply: thank you Dad for giving me potential; thank you Mom for giving me purpose. At the end of the day, all of my hard work and ambitions stem from trying to make the both of you proud.

To Michael & Chrissy

Congratulations on the beautiful wedding! Originally, I intended to give a speech during your reception, but given the time constraints, I thought it best not to try to make the busy event even more hectic! I’d still like to deliver my speech to you, given the long history of friendship between me and Michael and the even longer period of time I’ve known Chrissy. So instead I’ll deliver my speech to you in writing.

Generally these type of speeches begin with short and humorous anecdotes shared between me the groom. Given the amount of time Michael and I have been close friends, this task should be fairly simple. In fact, during high school, outside of school and my own home, you would likely be able to find me at his place. Hours would pass by as we played video games, cooked food (if using a deep fryer and George Foreman’s grill constitutes cooking), admired his two beautiful retrievers, and lazed around those corduroy couches talking about everything and nothing at the same time. Laughter was spread, waistlines expanded, friendships solidified, and hair lost.

But for some odd reason, it’s been exceedingly difficult to recollect specific memories. Ever since I tasked myself with this speech, I was tormented by one of my personal quirks: my memory sucks! This is a well known characteristic of mine in our small circle of friends. Whenever we would gather around highlighting stories of the past, it seemed as if I was learning of new stories, rather than reminiscing old ones. Michael would oftentimes tease me that he would insert fake stories during our nostalgic conversations to see if he can implant these falsities. This made writing this speech even more challenging; it would be highly embarrassing if I recalled an “implanted” memories during this speech!

Chrissy, on the other hand, would frequently remind me of countless distinct instances where I was downright rude to her when we were in middle school. I could never quite remember these altercations, but it seemed like something a younger and more insensitive me would in fact do. So each time these stories arose I would profusely and awkwardly apologize to her. So Chrissy, I would like to take this time to apologize again, for my unruly adolescent self. Sorry!

While I mulled over what I could possibly ramble on about, I remembered one of my favorite quotes. “People will forget what you said. People will forget what you did. But people will never forget how you made them feel”

Although I may not be able to conjure up specific anecdotes, it is unquestionable how Michael makes those around him feel. In our group of friends, all of us would treat Michael as our go-to guy: whenever we needed a favor, whenever we were in trouble, whenever we had any doubts, whenever we were upset, and whenever we just wanted to talk, he was at the top of all our lists - it didn’t matter the circumstance. He just seemed to always know what to do, what to say, and how to act; this consistent reliability instilled a deep sense of trust and stability within each one of us. He is simply that kind of person. He is understanding. He is caring. He is dependable. 

It is evident that he is the anchor in our group of friends. While Michael is all of this for us, it turns out his own foundation is Chrissy. There is one specific memory that I can vividly recall. And I am quite certain this one isn’t fake.

It was a cold night, Michael and I were both sitting in his backyard. We were at that point in our lives where uncertainty was imminent; we were wrapping up school and we were struggling to find our role in what inevitably comes next. As we sat there under the stars, faintly illuminated by the dim lights on his porch, we shared our insecurities and stress. We went back and forth, back and forth, listing our woes, unloading the burden. This went deep into the night until a natural silence fell between us. Michael utilized this moment to shift the tone. He intruded upon this cloud of negativity we created with his own personal solution. It was simple. He turned to me and straightforwardly remarked “I just need to spend more time with Chrissy. Then I’ll be fine.”

There’s a reason why I was able to remember this moment so specifically, despite my limited memory. It was at the moment that I realized what Chrissy was to Michael. She was his dependable source. His source of security. His source of harmony. His source of happiness. Michael, who was always the one being relied upon, now has his guide in life. To be all of that for Michael, Chrissy is clearly the right person for him. 

Thank you for letting me be a part of this intimate moment of your lives. We definitely need to keep in touch. And best of luck. 

Cage

I didn’t get it. After watching their show at WGI western championships, I didn’t know what to think at all. A stark contrast from the previous group’s more candid production, hands and their many different uses, Broken City’s was vastly more obscure and flew right over my head. My lack of comprehension was definitely not due to lack of interest; I was trying, trying very hard to digest the show to gain some basis of understanding. Clearly the show is about a cage, as suggested by the title, but that was largely the full breadth of my understanding. As I was watching the show, a flood of questions disseminated through my mind. Who created this cage? What does it symbolize? Did the “prisoner” escape? If they did, how did they escape? Sadly, as the last note was played, I failed to answer any of my questions. I walked away from the show confused and a bit dejected.

Fortunately, I was able to attend two shows this year. As I sat in the audience watching Broken City Percussion walk in and set up at SCPA finals, I told myself to not stress out about understanding the show and to focus on being in the moment and enjoying their performance. Funnily enough, as I watched the show the second time with this approach, I had a much more inspirational experience. Instead of trying to second-guess the designers intent, I let the musicality and imagery emotionally connect with my subconscious. And as I did that, the show came alive. The theme of the production molded itself to mirror my own insecurities and my own personal development.

“Spending hours and days”. Once the show begins, the opening emotional statement of the production is unequivocal. Desperation is heavily communicated by the visual body work, the spoken sample, and the long drawn out notes from the synth. The distress is so dense that it physically manifests itself through the display of suffocation. The members stretch their arms to reach for something, anything to pull them out of this prison of uncertainty. A single light bulb is positioned front and center, alluring and taunting the members of a better life, a life they can never attain. The finishing sample of the opening phrase, “An invisible life I guess, deserves an equally invisible death” perfectly summarizes the opening theme, an exceedingly defeatist narrative. Next, despair transforms to frustration. The music shifts, an ominous chord from the synth, an aggressive snare feature, a forceful guitar chord. The ensemble slowly adds more and more layers until it is practically exuding an immense sense of anger and agony. The theme is further developed visually. The members look and feel downcast and despondent; the physical gestures, choking and reaching, and downward angled postures occur again and again. Each section gets an opportunity to display their exasperation, from the basses, to the tenors, then finally to a demanding and assertive drum set duet. The performers fling their bodies around, like a helpless doll confined in some sadistic playhouse. The last visual moment of this phrase ends with the members covering there faces in shame. The feelings of being trapped, of being vulnerable, are communicated so well that as I watched, those familiar feelings stirred inside me. The frustration and insecurities exhibited throughout this piece became my own. The question that puzzled me earlier changes. “What is this cage the members are trying to escape?” becomes “What is the cage that is trapping me?”.

“Is there a way out?”. The ominous towering pipes are put into motion. The members desperately crawl towards these rusted, peculiar pipes, and then work together, slowly and deliberately, to mobilize these large props. The performers are rolling on the ground, contorting their bodies to try to grasp these bars. The positioning of these pipes on the floor, starting from the left edge slowly traversing to the right, clearly indicates progress. But progress of what? To the light? Perhaps this leads to a way out, an escape from this cage. The members seem to find solace when advancing them, but it’s not a simple process. Due to the nature of these pipes, the movements are awkward and cumbersome. As these pipes lumber across the floor, the music shifts in tone. Vastly different than before, the mood feels a bit optimistic. The previous common visual motifs no longer occur; the body language is less frantic, less frustrated, and becomes more purposeful, more determined. The struggle is still there, but now that the light at the end of the tunnel is visible, there’s hope. And with this newfound hope, the members are able to move these large props at a quicker pace. The members tilt, swivel, and rotate the pipes. They leap, they duck, they slide around them. The progress becomes easier and easier; they are now accustomed to the peculiar shape and the burden that comes along with it. As the props are almost across the floor, this progress is suddenly interrupted. “The way I am…”. The theme shifts. A snare feature is performed using a familiar aggressive style. Feelings of frustration and desperation resurface as the previous alacritous prop progression rapidly decelerates. The emphasized movements slow to a stop. The same visual body shape occurs again. Shame. Is this the true way out? After all this, was there any real progress?

“In the dark and in the light of day”. The floor is still, save for a lone performer. A single bell chimes as she dances across the floor. The rest of the ensembles movements and music are delegated to occur in the voids between her solitary motions. The dancer’s strong and purposeful movements offer a distinct contrast to the other members scurrying about aimlessly and confused. Throughout the entire show, everything was performed as unison moments. The visual choreography, the musical features, were all executed within a group, not as individuals. Here a new theme arises: independence. This unique solo moment, shakes the very foundation of the metaphorical cage. “To find a way”. The synth enters with a relieved melodic tone. The ensemble picks themselves up and harness their instruments to come together to play their final unison moment. Musically, it is a strange mixture of all the previous emotional motifs, a reprise to reminisce of the arduous journey taken. Finally, the performers set their instruments aside, and disperse throughout the floor. Members of the front ensemble desperately crawl forth, clutching a light by their side. Members of the battery rush to the cage’s bars to move them again, but this time in the opposite direction, undoing the progress seen earlier. Everybody on the floor is actively reaching or grasping on to either the lights or the pipes, delicately falling to the ground in defeat. Except for one, the lone member who rejects those notions. The one who truly escaped. “From here I’m on my own”.

This show is for those who feel stuck. Who live day by day feeling trapped, frustrated by the circumstances, feeling the inability to alter course. The bars that compose our prison are the preconceived beliefs of what a “perfect” life should be. We let societal pressures, tell us how to live our life. Why to live our life. These restricting mental constructs were initially injected from the outside, but are now being held firmly in place by our own thoughts. The cage is our own mind. We are trapping ourselves. We blindly chase conventional “wisdom”, without any afterthought, no proper analysis that doing so may be completely against our own inner peace. Following a path created by others is not meaningful progress; the end result just adds another faceless blob to the masses, clutching onto somebody else’s ideals. This is a show that passionately demands for you to save yourself. A show that wants you to realize that the only hindrance to your happiness is locked in place by your own accord. Choose to not be stuck, choose to not be distracted, instead set aside these duplicitous false restrictions. Don’t let societal constraints define your life’s course, be independent. Choose to think, choose to thrive, choose to bloom. This is a show that implores you to enter a journey of self-discovery, to re-define your path, to become reborn.

Thanks for reading my interpretation of Broken City Percussion’s “Cage”. As always I’d like to remind you that this is only my personal opinion of the production, and is not representative of the designers or members intents. I may be completely off base with my interpretation, but this is the very thought process I had while I watched the show. This show was heavy; it left such a lasting impression that kept me thinking and questioning long after the final note. This show caused me to analyze the choices and thoughts I have been actively making that may inadvertently lead to suffering, rather than progress. I hope you get a chance to see them live as they perform in Dayton, and I hope you don’t make the same mistakes I initially made. Don’t think too much, just bask in the intense feelings the members radiate. I wish the best for all the talented individuals in Broken City Percussion as they enter finals night. Have fun performing this inspirational show.

Ink Impressions

Just came back from the Stanford show, and I was blown away from Blue Devil’s show “Ink”! I heavily recommend you watch the show live while you can.

The simple theme of the empowerment of imagination through the written medium was prominent throughout the show. Recognizable characters sprung to life which brought back nostalgic memories of their tales of adventure, heartbreak, peculiarity, and triumph. The familiar faces of Snow White, Cinderella, Jack from the Giant Bean Stalk, etc, filled the field with their fantastic presence. The book motif was well portrayed from the very beginning to the very end as the characters traversed with the turning of pages; I was especially delighted with the ending when the final character vanished with the last flip of the page.

Most importantly is how the production stood out, how it differentiated from the other performances; it was not so much what the subject matter was, but how they portrayed it. It parallels the importance of how an author described his/her story. Any narrative can be stripped down to the who, what, and where, but an author brings a story to life through how they describe it, using their clever wordplay and their arsenal of literary devices. I found “Ink” to be particularly effective in this. It was able to communicate the emotion, the author’s intent, through showcasing the member’s talent and skill with an impressive depth of vocabulary and excellence in execution. Similar to a reader of an addicting novel, I was at the edge of my seat with a voracious appetite for how the next chapter, or the next musical/visual phrase, may unfold.

It was such a pleasure experiencing the show; it stirred such strong emotions of childhood fantasy within me. This is likely the only time I will watch it live, which is a shame; these type of shows always require multiple iterations to grasp everything. I hope the organization does well this season and I can’t wait to see how they decide to end their story.

Guardians of the Breath

When I first began hearing about RCC’s show and seeing snippets online, I initially thought that the show would portray some ancient tribe or clan that was entrusted with the duty to guard trees and preserve balance. This is likely influenced by the few moments where the members would depict archaic rituals that seemed to illustrate a religion devoted to venerable trees. But when I was able to watch the show in it’s entirety, I began to believe that the so-called “Guardians of the Breath” are simply just the trees themselves.

The tree motif can be seen throughout the production. In the opening scene we see the trees in the back corner with the members sprawled through the ground as a metaphor for the trees’ roots entrenched in the earth. They contort and shape their bodies slowly and deliberately as the first sample plays. When the front ensemble enters, the movements become more sporadic and the members begin to spring to life. We see members use their legs to symbolize twigs and branches sprouting out of the surface. Slowly more and more members are able to get to their feet; the unison impact everybody is standing fully upright. This whole process mirrors the early life cycles of a tree; demonstrating how trees are able to grow and flourish from the surfaces of the earth.

The first spoken sentence guides the viewer to the perceived significance of the guardians. “They have been here for ages…”. It speaks of the timeless nature of the trees from the narrators/viewers perspective; the trees have been existent far longer than imaginable. But since the trees have been a constant attribute to the planet, this sentence could also be interpreted that the guardians are likely taken for granted. We may still appreciate them from time to time, when it is convenient for us, but we do not fathom the sense of weight and importance of these trees. The guardians are seen as unchanging, unfailing, able to withstand the passage of time; this may lead to the wrong conclusion, that our choices and consequences can do little to change that fact. We see the trees packed closely together in the back corner, away from the foreground. They remain still, solemn, untouched and untarnished.

In the second movement we begin to see the manipulation of the trees. They spread out and their presence is now at the forefront. This new attention is not benevolent as the members wade through the trees, uproot and displace them, and even strike at the guardians with their sticks; the trees are now being seen as resources to be hacked and chopped. The music begins to quicken in pace; the atmosphere feels frantic and the drill is demanding. The trees are stripped further away and spread throughout the floor; what once was a dense and firm ecosystem becomes sparse and thin. It is still known that the guardians are necessary, but not enough is being done. The drumline stops playing and circle towards a lone tree. There is a strong effort to help that single tree thrive, but this miniscule act is insufficient to change the current tide. At the concluding moment of the movement, as the wind howls a cacophonous chord, we see the another tree fall; this marks the beginning of the consequences given the choices made.

In the next movement we start off with a solemn piano playing in the background. The trees are now just remnants of their former glory. The words “battered and bruised”, “abused by our own choices”, “storm clouds gathered in the sky” are echoed through the sound system. Here is the turning point of the show as everybody pulls together to try to change the tide. The music turns hopeful; the members’ understanding, deeper appreciation and their sense of responsibility to the guardians are now easily visible. Hopefully it is not too late. There is a powerful resolve to start fresh; the members assemble together to try to make amends. The last image is a young tree standing tall as the members are scattered around it, back to their roots.

An obvious interpretation of the show would be a message of the tragedy of the commons, a story of the tragic deforestation of a limited resource everybody relies on due to our own choices. This is an important issue that I believe needs to be put into the spotlight, but as I watched the show live I began to have a different interpretation. I began to deeply question what the trees represent; this show about trees didn’t seem to be just about trees anymore. This thought began to manifest itself during the powerful turning point of the show, when Adam Watt’s “Life on Earth” was sampled. An overwhelming sense of introspection overtook me as I intently observed the closer; an inspiring feeling kindled inside myself that I could not explain. The previous performances I watched were all of high caliber, but none captivated me to contemplate my own choices, my own life during the performance. It was an astonishing show.

I couldn’t fully account for what triggered the excitement of feelings. Later I discussed with some of the performing members and the staff, but I was still unable to find words to describe the profound effect. It wasn’t until later, as I began to listen to the referenced song, “Life on Earth”, was I able to draw a more satisfying explanation. What I did notice was that the lyrics used, as well as the song itself, has nothing to do with deforestation or trees at all. I could sit here and dissect the entire song, but just the chorus should be fine for the purposes of this post. The chorus summarizes the intent of the song succinctly; part of it was sampled in the closer, but the show did not use it in it’s entirety.

This is life on earth. You live then you die. I wanna know it’s worth. I wanna know the reasons why Life on earth Gets me down Unless I understand It’s supposed to hurt. This is life on earth.

The rest of the chorus changes the meaning of the resolution quite drastically. One could argue that since the design staff chose to only use a select portion of the lyrics then the interpretation should only utilize the chosen content, but I always believed that the context is equally as vital to understand the true meaning in any work of art. The sample ends with the line “Life on earth”, but that isn’t even the end of the sentence, it’s an incomplete thought. The full chorus describes an attempt to define and understand life, one that is a downtrodden life, intentionally painful. This doesn’t seem to be a narrative just describing the tragedy of the commons, but one that describes the tragedy of self.

“This is life on earth. You live then you die. I wanna know it’s worth.” This line can be related directly to the fact that tree’s give life. They produce the air we breath, they give us the possibility of life on earth. Trees create a solid foundation that constructs the environment that allow us to not only live, but allows us to give life meaning. The trees symbolize our support system in life. This aspect is open for interpretation, dependent on the viewer. It could be family, spirituality, religion, or any pillar of life that provides essential support that has been present throughout your life on earth.

“Unless I understand it’s supposed to hurt”. Could it be that the strife, the destruction brought upon the guardians, or our support system, is inevitable? This isn’t a simple story of “don’t harm the trees”; these trees were always meant to become desecrated and abused. It is an inevitable cycle that occurs on earth. This cycle motif can also be seen throughout the show. When the members pay tribute to the trees the drill forms a rotating sequence that is repeated multiple times. Many of the body movements throughout the show, especially the beginning and ending charts, utilize revolving motions and cyclical body shapes. The way the show ends mirrors the beginning, with the foreboding opening sample which is reiterated for emphasis as the members lay on the ground repeating the slow and deliberate contortions. This cycle, the mistreatment of the trees and the need for rebirth, continues throughout the ages.

This is a lesson of perseverance. Of being able to acknowledge and deal with hardships regarding matters we deem vital through self-reflection and revitalization. We need to be able to understand how we define our support system and to appreciate our pillars no matter if it is a peak or a valley. It is expected to use and expend our support system, but the support system itself needs aid just as we do. And finally, it is inevitable that we make repeated imperfect choices throughout our lives which will leave us battered and bruised, but how we deal with it is the true meaning of life on earth.

Thanks for taking the time to read this, it’s always quite difficult to put my thoughts to words; it seems that I may have made this much longer than originally intended. Obviously this is only my interpretation, there is likely some members or staff that may read this that thinks “This doesn’t make sense at all!” But I just wanted to write down how I felt while experiencing the show, it genuinely is an amazing piece. I hope for the best for RCC as they enter WGI Finals tonight. Have fun everybody!

Work work

I've been working around half a year now, and the biggest thing I'm learning is how little I know. I've always been one to emphasize the importance of setting high expectations, and putting yourself in discomfort in the short-term to enable further growth in the long term. But that concept is much easier to say in retrospect.

In the past couple of months I've felt like I've been straddling average. Not really achieving above and beyond, yet also not failing miserably. But of course that's definitely not where I want to be. It's a struggle going from the top to the bottom. I studied at one of the most prestigious universities, performed with one of the top ensembles in the world, and mentored some of the most talented students; I felt like a leader, a role model with a purpose. Now there's a stark contrast in my perceived value. I'm the one with the least experience, the least domain knowledge, the least adept in just about every way, working in the lowest position; I'm now at the very bottom of the totem pole. There's still much for me to learn to even make the subtlest of differences. Even if I consider myself a quick learner, the necessary foundation of knowledge is so vast that it seems unapproachable.

The position I am currently in exacerbates the situation. The first two months were very simple and straightforward. I was assigned easily-understood problems; I developed a single component, implementing basic software APIs, while given an approachable mentor to help each step of the way. This is what I feel most straight out of college software engineers should be doing. But after that short time period, responsibilities shifted, and I transitioned to another, very different, team. This new team I transitioned to functions in a very hands-off, throw into the deep-end style; no real guidance to be found. On top of that, and I'm not sure why, I've been trusted with a decent amount of responsibilities that I'm not too sure how to even fulfill. Perhaps my manager trusts me more than I do. Of course I want to prove him that the trust isn't misguided, but it's not that simple. I feel like I don't have the proper training and/or tools to even know how to begin performing these tasks well. In the next months of my very first year of working, I now had to coordinate a project spanned across multiple teams in multiple countries. I'm given the responsibility to delegate and prioritize issues according to the projects stakeholders' short-term and long-term visions; and ironically I've yet to experience how a full business cycle operates. I found myself doing what I actually studied for less and less, and now I am very much out of my element. It's also important to understand that the amount of work assigned isn't impossible. It's very possibly my bias is highly exaggerating the difficulty, but when you're in the dark everything seems exceedingly intimidating.

It's frustratingly difficult to set myself up for succeed in the current situation. For some reason I just can't think clearly. It feels like I'm not 100% myself; I guess I'm just panicking on the inside. I used to always stress to my students about the necessary steps to success, yet I can't even follow my own advice. At work, I generally only address the surface of issues, I seldom ask the right questions. I overreact to new "urgent" issues assigned, not seeing how it truly aligns to the end goal. I overly stress out over the the constant stream of new concepts that I should, but I do not, know; disallowing myself to be placed in a stable environment where I can succeed. It is quite hard to properly step back and apply such basic principles when you're deep into attempting to grasp unfamiliar concepts and being shoved into every minute details. And at the end of the day when I drive home from work, I just think to myself, "Why did I spend so much time doing that? The actual priority of that task did not accurately reflect the time inputted!", or "How did I not realize I was chasing a side effect the entire time, I obliviously missed the real root of the problem the entire day!"

I'm probably being very impatient; of course these things will come with time and experience. But the fact stands that there are these expectations that I can not meet right now. I need to improve, and I need to improve on my rate of improving. I need help, and I need perspective. I need to be manage myself better.

Faking to Making; Malleability of Intelligence

Ever since I started going to school, people all around me told me that I was smart. I was never the top student at school, but I was able to be near there with what it seemed like to be not much work. My peers would see my lax attitude during class, yet contradictory consistently good grades, and tell me how unfair it was that I was so smart. It seemed that my fellow students around me thought that my intelligence was a fixed innate quality that was genetically bestowed to me. Of course they could never see the studying behind the scenes, and just assumed my relaxed state was how I acted 24/7. More than once during high school I was asked to go up to the board and help teach the class some concepts, from Calculus BC to US History. A teacher even commented how nice it was to have my tests, since she had no need to create her own separate answer sheet. This idea of my intelligence became extremely detrimental. Everybody assumed that it was my natural ability. I believed them.

I got accepted into UCLA for Computer Science and Engineering; I was ecstatic. It was going to be such an amazing experience; I was going to have so much fun. But that excitement was ephermal. College was much more difficult and stressful than I ever imagined it to be. I felt as if my position near the top of my small school abruptly plunged down to being below average. My first quarter was brutal. I couldn't understand a word my multivariable calculus teacher was saying, quantum mechanics seemed to be taught in a completely different language, and even the introductory class to computer science felt too ridiculously fast paced. I tried to study for each of these classes, but didn't know how to take even the first step. I would get frustrated when concepts would take longer than a few minutes to understand; I felt out of my depths. In my mind I simply concluded that I was just not good enough. I wasn't doing too well, and I knew I was struggling. The tipping point was when I got the results back from my first CS midterm. I only got about half the questions right on the entire test. Sure it was going to be curved a little, but the fact still stood that I essentially failed the first test that was suppose to be my major for the next four years. It hit me hard. I felt ashamed, frustrated, powerless, and worthless. How was I going to last being a UCLA computer science student for the next four years? I couldn't even handle the introductory class. I felt as if I didn't deserve to go to UCLA, and I couldn't do much to change that fact. I cried.

I would like to say that afterwards, I changed things around. That I was invigorated to prove myself wrong, and I worked harder than ever before. But that wasn't the case. I still believed that intelligence was some fixed attribute that people were born with, such as the color of your skin, or your overall height. I just assumed that naturally, given the circumstances, I was never going to do well at UCLA. I might have been smart in high school, but the given environment was too difficult for me now. So the next couple of quarters I just straddled the minimally acceptable line. I never did too badly, but I never reached for my potential. I did study, but not well, and most importantly, not with confidence. It was a disappointing time for me. 

Things stayed like that for a little while, until I watched Amy Cuddy's Ted Talk: "Your Body Language Shapes Who You Are". In her short 21 minute speech, there were some really powerful ideas that I immediately related to. She described how she felt like an imposter during her studies at Princeton, but she kept faking it through the years until she realized while teaching at Harvard she was where she deserved to be. So I tried to apply that for myself. I started to act like I was the smartest student there. I would sit in the front, contribute in class, and answer whatever the professor felt like asking. I would do what I thought any top student would do, and happily and confidently invested most of my time to my studies. Even if I didn't understand subjects at first, I would find other sources of information, ask other classmates, email TA's, and essentially do whatever I could to understand it so I could keep on my charade that I knew what I was doing. Of course on the inside I felt like it was all a facade, but it was better than wallowing in self-pity. Finally, the stress I felt wasn't frustrated hopelessness, but of my own pressure to achieve at a high level. My GPA steadily rose, and I understood concepts more easily.

It never really hit me how well I was doing until one of the older students in my Applied Numerical Computing class approached me after discussion. He looked straight into my eyes and told me that he needed a considerable amount of help. He was struggling badly in the class. He failed the midterm and didn't know what to do, but he thought that since I obviously knew what I was doing that we should spend sometime outside of class to help him out. I was shocked. At first I was embarrassed. I looked down at the ground and told him that I could be of no assistance, that I didn't know what I was doing either; besides, I was faking it all. The way he viewed me was the same as I used to view other students in my classes, that I wasn't even in the same playing field, and that the other students must have had something inside them that made them naturally better. Now seeing what it was like on the other side made me realize something. I studied all of the concepts so much I knew it all in the back of my hand. I knew the tricks for least-norm and QR factorization, and I knew the exact steps to solve unconstrained optimization and nonlinear least-squares. For the second time during my UCLA career I was hit hard again. I was doing fine at UCLA; more than fine, I was doing great. But this time it was a different type of great; it felt like my own accomplishment. It felt real.

One important thing to note is that genetically I did not change in order to do well in college. What I needed to realize was that intelligence is malleable.  It seems that there is the pervading idea in our current society that there are some born smart and others born dumb. But the truth is that intelligence can simply be improved through hard work. The idea that somebody is just naturally a good at math or science is such a self-destructive idea, both for those who are struggling and feeling gifted. It becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy that is doomed to repeat itself unless there is full awareness on the issue. To turn my college career around from feeling left out and insignificant to an amazing learning experience was to simply just change my perspective. I didn't need some miraculous Rocky like training which comes with it's own montage and inspirational music. I just needed to realize that I had the ability to change my own abilities, even if the motivating factor behind it was to fake it.

This is a very important concept that I believe everybody needs to know: having a growth mindset of intelligence. This concept may be very obvious to many of you, but I only learned of it relatively recently. My story will definitely not be the only one, there are probably so many struggling with the thought that their intelligence is powerless to change. I hope everybody, including myself, will focus more on the value of effort and hard work than simply commenting on if somebody is intrinsically smart/dumb. 

It's funny how there seems to be a prevailing theme of self-perception in my blog. I guess it shows that I firmly believe that the majority of issues we deal with today is mainly due with our views of ourselves and how we fit into this world

If you would like to hear more information about these subjects I would recommend: 

(Faking it till you Become it) Amy Cuddy: Your body language shapes who you are

(Intelligence can be grown)

Miles Kimball and Noah Smith: there's one key difference between kids who excel at math and those who don't

So This is Earth...?

Just recently, I aged-out of WGI with the RCC 2014 winter drumline. It was a great experience and an honor to be in. But this year the concept of the show was a little harder for me to grasp. I was able to relate to my other years with the group much more easily. Even as we flew to Dayton, Ohio for WGI Percussion Championships, I still had no idea what to think about our show. I did somehow piece together my own interpretation on the bus ride back to the hotel after our prelims performance and I would love to share it with you.

First and foremost, I am going to put an important disclaimer before I delve into my personal explanation. What I perceive the show to be does not mean that is the only possible explanation. Even if I was a member of the ensemble, it doesn't make it the "official" interpretation of the show. At RCC our designers approach our shows as artists, meaning that the show isn't meant to have a single meaning. Any viewer of the show is entitled to what they interpret based off their own observations. I always believed that art is like a small child. Parents can always control the environment the child grows up in, but who that child ultimately grows up to is not decided by the people who created the child, but the child itself. The simile is quite a stretch, but it is what I believe.

Now if you haven't watched the show, go and watch it. I wouldn't want to spoil the show for you, you should watch the show and gather your own thoughts first. And it wouldn't make sense for you to continue reading without doing so. 

Now i'm assuming if you're at this sentence you've watched the show. I'll begin my explanation of what I interpret the show to be. It'll be in first person perspective, since I was approaching the show as one of the aliens.

On the surface the show is about an alien civilization that stumbles across some radio frequencies that displays how humans on earth are. In our first movement we are curious and intrigued by this faint connection, and we are in the process of trying to establish a more solid connection. There are visual and auditory displays of our alien mannerisms to try to allow the audience to see how initially foreign we are to what earthlings are like. But even with how different we may seem, the signal was no accident.

In the second movement we finally establish our connection. We definitely are ecstatic about what we see. We imitate whatever pops up, which happens to be commercials for various earth products. The happiness we feel and portray is not genuine though, it is all a facade; we are tricking ourselves about this happiness. Even though it seems to be a fake, deep down we do feel a more substantial connection to these foreign humanoid earthlings, we're not sure what is is, but at this point we must know more. And I also get a cool little one note solo in here.

We get to the third movement, the media we are observing starts going crazy. There's an overwhelming abundance of information that is being forced onto us and we can not stop ingesting it. These images that we see now are much more amazing and deep than the previous superficial images, we see what humans are capable of making. Actual moments of greatness that people banded together to create. There are magnificent skyscrapers and astronauts in space and a rocket flying into the sky. And as we see that rocket, we are starting to piece together, not just a deeper understanding of humans, but of our true origins. That was us, and that is still us; we are watching our previous ancestors leaving earth generations ago. With our new-found knowledge we become overcome with confidence, satisfactions and true happiness. But then there is a deeper underlying question; why would we leave earth in the first place? This question does not linger for too long; there is a sudden change by the media. We are interrupted with erratic images of war, hatred, bigotry, and oppression. Just as how humans were capable of amazing things, we aliens started seeing the other end of the spectrum. And because of our realization that we are the same as the humans from earth, even though it is against our alien nature, we begin to imitate that as well; we do not even take a second to question it. We start emulating the conflict and the anger, and even seek to harm our fellow alien brethren, because apparently that is who we always were and that is who we currently are. But as things grow dim and somber, some brave aliens who still have a sense of their own individuality alter the connection. 

Movement five begins with the famous Charlie Chaplin speech in The Great Dictator. As he speaks, we immediately begin to feel shame, but a new sense of hope arises. We realize through the combined wise words of Charlie Chaplin and Edwin Starr, that humans encompass a whole spectrum of emotion and possibilities, but we can choose what that means for us. Something within us changes, we do not feel the need to imitate everything we see on the media. We cry out that war means nothing and we celebrate what is meant to be celebrated, that we now know who we have been and know what we can be. There is a reprise of the music heard earlier in the first movement, the native music of the alien race; then there is big ending finale where we look back at our new perspective of earth without losing touch of who we were when our journey began.

That is what I believe what our show is about. Now what I think why our show is, is why I had trouble relating to it. It may be obvious now, since I sat down and described each of the movements, but it wasn't obvious to me initially. The show, to me, is not about aliens at all. I think the show concept is "Who am I?". I believe that the show is about self-discovery, and personal perception.

The show describes how people perceive themselves. Again, I am going to explain this using myself as an example. People come in layers, and the outermost layer may be the one that most people view and think of us, but remember, it may be a facade. It tends to be superficial, erring on the side of consumerism. We base off our happiness by the latest new product, and we tell ourselves that as long as we have these things we are "happy". It may not need to be wanting a physical product like in the show, but it can be any type of medium that we may place our yearning for instant gratification. An example, one that I am partially guilty for, is that it may be our desire to want to be well perceived by our peers; we pick and choose certain highlights of our life to share on our next Facebook status, and we ignore the embarrassing moments. There may be nothing intrinsically wrong with this, but that is the definition of our character that people first see. Under that layer we have something deeper to us, our accomplishments. These are the ideas and values we really want to define ourselves as. The great moments in our lives that we think makes us special and unique, why we want to live our life. For me, one of my great accomplishments is how much my Fountain Valley cymbal line matured in the short span me teaching them for 2 years. It gives me great gratification and a sense of belonging in this world. Because even in a minor way, I helped give a little push to some great kids that have the potential to do amazing things. These type of experiences are what I wish my life was all about. And we all have so many positive experiences and accomplishments; it makes us feel very satisfied and gives us a sense of connection to each other. This is what our life should be defined as.

But what always seems to be the deepest layer in our minds is not the great positive moments in your life. The innermost layer always seem to be the negative thoughts in our lives. These are not just small little faults, but they are the most pessimistic and extremely detrimental ways that we always think about. We definitely do not want our lives to be defined by this, but it always seems to be the case. Even though we want to view our own lives as our positive accomplishments, the negative thoughts always seem to outnumber the good. We are insecure, unattractive, undesirable and weak. I don't like to admit it, but those are the thoughts that always seem to be pervading my mind. Thoughts that I'm nowhere near good enough, that I'm failing in my own definition of life, that nobody really would care if I were to cease to exist. These thoughts seem to be the closest to our inner core and it permeates through every pore of our body. Even if that may not even be true, we can't help but think about it. Sadly, for many people that is where the story ends, we've fallen too hard and we can't get up. We think it's too late.

But the show is not a depressing show, because in our journey of self-discovery we do not conclude at that point. We realize that we encompass many things, many attributes, many positives and negatives, but we ultimately get to choose what we want to define ourselves as. And that message is what I think is the ultimate message of the show. Don't just view the negative and think that that is who you were, who you are, and who you will be. It is very easy to let the negative control you, but never forget that we are in control of our lives. We should realize that we can say that "war" means absolutely nothing, and we have the power to define what we want to be. Answer the question, "Who am I?"; what you choose to say, is who you really are.

Yes, the show included aliens, but it was never about the aliens; the alien civilization was a literary device used to help portray this simple, yet important, message. I believe the show was about different perceptions of your life and the possible perspectives. The different movements portrayed how others view us, how we want to view ourselves, how we actually view ourselves, and how we should view ourselves.  

And that concludes what I believe our show "So This is Earth...?" was about this past season. I want to thank all the designers of the show for creating this masterpiece. This show may have not gotten us a medal, but for me in my life right now, it was exactly what I needed.

New Beginnings

I’m going to be entering a new phase of my life. It’s exciting and scary, and I’m not too sure I’m ready for it. These past years of being a computer science student, marching band performer and teacher have all been such unique and amazing experiences; leaving the comfort of familiarity is shaping up to be overwhelmingly intimidating. Each one of my experiences have been slowly molding me into the man I want to be, but that ideal man is still far out of reach in my current horizon. The reason why I choose to live my life is to create a substantial positive impact on a global scale. The current scope of my influence doesn’t even scratch the surface. My goals are a little overly romantic and idealistic, but that’s just the person I am. I’ve decided to start a blog for multiple reasons. To have a social medium that can have more meaning than simply sharing the latest viral trend. To share the experiences in my life, in case others can relate and learn. To have something to look back towards to keep me rooted when I’m having another one of my many existential crises. To keep aiming to be a transparent and genuine person towards everyone I encounter. And to share more of my life with others who want to be a part of it. The nature of the content on this will be very random and spontaneous. Many entries will probably be trying a little too hard to be deep, such as this one. I am a very emotional and sensitive person, so I’m hoping no one will be judging me and my manhood too much. Hopefully I will also share some funny and lighthearted stories as well. I’ll describe both the high and low points in my life, and my random thoughts and feelings on any subjects that come to mind. I think this will be another positive experience.