Bad optics

On By thecoraxIn Head to Head, Through My Senses

My classmate entered the final arguments for their paper presentation: “From this speech, you can see the President Xi seriously wants China to displace the U.S. President Xi speaks about offering the Chinese model as an alternative and realizing the Chinese Dream.

“Corax, you spoke last class that China didn’t intend to become a global superpower. Do you think the same now?” asked my classmate, directing the question to me.

I explained that I still did not think China intended to displace the U.S. Based on what I know about China, it seeks to have its interests represented according to the weight it has. Sure, China is promoting its development model and increasing the attention it pays outside its borders, but it does not mean that China intends to displace the U.S. “As our prof said, China is not raring to pick up the U.S.’ role in international institutions or as a provider of global public goods. In that way, China is not seeking to displace the U.S.,” I responded.

My classmate smiled, acknowledging receipt of my argument, but I knew that classmate and my other classmates did not share my views. In the class where I presented my argument on how China did not intend to be a global superpower, the other presenter argued the exact opposite. The other presenter covered how Chinese activity increased across economic, political, and security spheres. People remarked with great interest about the amazing extent of Chinese activity the presenter described. I think the presenter missed a link in the argument proving that this increased activity reflected China’s intent of becoming a global superpower.

However, I didn’t ask the other presenter a pointed question about the missing link in his argument. I also kept the response to the question that my classmate directed at me short. I could go on about what I view China’s behaviour is like, based on the years of study I have under my belt, but the Zoom classroom for my Asia-Pacific Political and Economic Relations class was not the place for a long explanation from me. I was not the professor, just a student (albeit one who had dedicated most of her undergraduate degree and almost every graduate degree course to Asia).

I exited class and called a family member immediately to recount what had happened in class. It was 9PM and I usually appreciate some quiet time before I tuck under my covers at 10PM, but I talked to that family member for an hour.

I was frustrated. I was annoyed.

I feel the need to share what I know about China and Asia in this course because my classmates have less experience working on the subject area, as I learnt in the first class when the professor asked us to describe our Asia experience. After info-dumping in the first class, I decided to restrain myself and instead challenge people to broaden their views by asking pointed questions.

I did not realize how tiring it would be to try to skillfully convince people through questions to change their views, or at least convince people to re-examine their views.

Coming up with questions that are respectful and encouraging is tiring enough, but the worst part that has punched me in the gut was realizing that the optics looked incredibly bad.

There I was, the only Chinese face in the class, trying to convince my classmates (almost all white, with limited experience with Asia) that China was not as bad as they thought.

I may be overthinking this. Maybe my classmates are respectful enough to see arguments as arguments, not as personal biases coming from a person’s race. Still, I cannot shake this feeling that my Chinese face delivering my unpopular arguments about China has terrible optics. Because I was Chinese, I could be perceived as pro-China.

I know I consciously used my professor’s name in my response to my classmate. As a Chinese-looking student, I relied on a respectable white man’s words to make my point. I am not certain whether it made a difference, but I believe it did as people perked up.

I know that I can easily remove any possible bad optics by telling my classmates that I am from Hong Kong. I mentioned that I lived in Hong Kong in the first class, but I could say it more clearly. Affirming that I am from Hong Kong, where people are expressing widespread discontent with mainland China, could easily cleanse people’s doubts that I was a Chinese student propagating Chinese Communist Party propaganda.

I’ve chosen not to take this route to removing the bad optics. My suspicions that my classmates suspect me will make this class harder to bear, but I do not want to resort to that to gain their trust. There should be no need for me to clarify my heritage to absolve myself of their suspicions. It is discrimination if they are not able to hear my arguments without associating it with my face. If they are not able to make that differentiation between the argument and the person, that is their obstacle to overcome, not mine.

Still, I am saddled with the heavy feeling that I was bad optics.

It is Asian Heritage Month in Canada (known as Asian Pacific American Heritage Month in the U.S.). The Canadian Government’s Asian Heritage Month website calls upon Canadians to celebrate this diversity that is Canada’s strength.

If that’s the case, Asians are not bad optics. Asians are a part of the diversity Canada claims is its strength.

So, take in this Chinese face. Take in my black, black hair; take in my petite but round nose; take in my narrow dark brown eyes; and take in the yellow-toned pale skin that fills my oval face. See me for who I am and take in my words for what they are, even if they are different from what you know. I trust that if you celebrate diversity along with this country, you will be able to respect those who look different. I trust that you know that respecting others means treating them like how you would treat any other person, including recognizing that their academic arguments are separate from who they are.

Next in Fashion – Next in what exactly?

On By thecoraxIn Head to Head, Through My Senses

Next in Fashion, a fashion design competition on Netflix, proposes to find the next designer to make a splash. According to what criteria? It’s unclear. The trouble lies with how “fashion” is defined on the show.

Next in Fashion is an enjoyable show. The contestants are seasoned designers and work with each other in a professional manner to bring designs to life. A spirit of camaraderie is shown amongst the designers as they help each other out and cheer for each others’ designs on the runway.

Despite my enjoyment and happiness in seeing one of my favourite contestants get crowned, the problem of how designers were judged along the way remained an uncomfortable thorn in my side. How designers were eliminated shows that the show was very confused about what fashion is.

Fashion connotes a sense of something popular. For example, “Wide leg trousers are in fashion.” Fashion is also used to refer to the clothes-making industry. For example, “The fashion industry is a heavy polluter.”

In the sense of fashion meaning “what is popular”, fashion can be far from singular. Fashion often depends on a level of socioeconomic privilege. Most ordinary people glancing at runways would find many designs wild and far from “fashionable.” Miranda Priestly’s top-down explanation of the fashion industry in the film The Devil Wears Prada explains how fashion on those runways are connected to fashion for the masses. Designers present the latest styles for runways in Milan, Paris, and London. Some styles are ready to wear, meaning that those who can afford it can purchase it immediately, while other styles are translated into pieces that can actually be worn. The ideas and motifs from runways may be picked up by designers for mass retailers, who further translate the designs and retail it as fashion for the masses. As such, what fashion is for the upper crust and for the masses often differs.

Fashion at the runways sometimes cannot even be worn. Firstly and most obviously, there is the fact that the clothes are typically made for runway models and must be altered before production for the bodies of ordinary people. Another is that they may not be designed with functionality of clothes in mind. At times, the only way to get clothes on a model is to sew it on, which is definitely not practical. Or, perhaps the clothes are designed with the intent of expressing something rather than being clothing that can be worn.

This brings me to Next in Fashion’s confused meandering around what they are judging “fashion” by. Next in Fashion attempts to satisfy both the upper crust and the masses. It demands designers to be “next in fashion”, but tosses away more abstract expressions and realistic industry timelines in favour of clean finishes executed within a handful of days.

[spoilers begin here]

The event that highlights the show’s problematic judging criteria is the judging impasse in episode four. The judging panel is torn as they deliberate whether to send Farai and Kiki home for unfinished edges or whether to send Claire and Adolfo home for a poorly executed design . Guest judge Kerby Jean-Raymond, a streetwear designer, leaves the room as he firmly believes that despite the unfinished edges of Farai and Kiki’s work, they have presented something that can truly be considered next in streetwear. With the impasse, both pairs are saved from elimination, but the event has a sequel. Farai and Kiki are sent packing the next week in the lingerie challenge, where major criticisms included failing to shape the women model’s breast with an underwire.

The judge’s deliberations over Farai and Kiki’s streetwear design showcases how confused they are about what they are looking for. As others, including Farai and Kiki themselves, have already commented how the judge’s reception of Farai and Kiki’s designs reflect ingrown racism against black people, I will not further go down that road (links to articles on race and Next in Fashion provided below). Aside from potential race biases, the judges’ impasse reveals that it’s unclear if they are looking for perfect products that are ready to wear, or whether they are looking for designs that reveal what fashion to come looks like.

The critiques levelled at Farai and Kiki for not including underwire in the lingerie challenge (which are also levelled at another duo, Angel and Minju) are a repeat of the judges’ confusion. The judges say that underwire would have helped shape the woman’s breast more and would make it look better on the runway. Aside from contradicting with Farai and Kiki’s intention to make the lingerie relaxing loungewear, this criticism seems to not be based on current realities or expectations of what is in fashion’s future. Today, many runway models are bra-less. Today, most societal norms expect breasts to be well-shaped – expecting underwire to meet this norm is much more a reflection of current fashion rather than “next in fashion”. As such, the judge’s critiques of Farai and Kiki’s lingerie reflect more the judge’s desire to see products that are ready to wear now.

Farai and Kiki are the unfortunate duo that bear the brunt of the judges’ confusion about what is fashion. The judges’ confusion about fashion goes on to affect other designers too throughout. One criteria that the judges frequently use is whether the design is wear-able. Judges praise designs by saying that they can envision it on a red carpet or see specific celebrities wearing it, or condemn designs by saying the design lacks wear-ability. For a show claiming to find what’s “Next in Fashion”, this criteria is inappropriate. Evaluating designs based on wear-ability ignores how fashion is not always about making functional clothes. As I mentioned before, sometimes fashion is the convincing execution of a concept, a message that happens to be in the form of some textiles on a body. As such, fashion does not need to be wear-able. Notably, the designer guest judges do not use wear-ability as a compliment.

The “wear-able” criteria is also problematic for the show’s half-hearted attempts to open fashion to the masses. Executive Producer Yasmin Shackleton has said the goal of the show was to make fashion “accessible and relatable,” saying, “From the beginning, it was ‘How do you make this accessible and not just for the elite of fashion?'” (source: Hollywood Reporter). In the same article, judge Tan France says that judges considered whether designs were “shoppable”, or items that consumers would realistically purchase. If the intent of Next in Fashion was to bring fashion to the masses, then my previous arguments about how fashion needs not be practically worn perhaps are irrelevant. However, the judge’s clear interest in evaluating designs based on their potential to be worn by celebrities entrenches the difference in socioeconomic levels that make fashion inaccessible to the masses. What celebrities wear on red carpets or at concerts is far from an accessible sort of fashion. It relies on a level of socioeconomic privilege that allows people to purchase it, have the lifestyle with opportunities to wear it, and have the social capital to be celebrated rather than disdained for wearing something far from mainstream. It is far from what the masses could imagine wearing.

In this way, Next in Fashion wanders, lost, around the word “fashion”. The show fails to respect fashion as a form of artistic expression, instead demanding for designs that resemble clothes and seem wear-able. Despite its shots of runway countdowns and hordes of in-studio influencer audiences, the show fails to make fashion accessible to the masses by elevating designs for their potential to be worn by a privileged elite.

Next in Fashion’s aim to highlight exciting new designers and bring fashion to the masses is achievable. In fact, I believe that by further abstracting fashion, the more you can overcome the socioeconomic divides. Unlike the direction Next in Fashion takes, making fashion accessible to the masses does not mean you have to make things that resemble, by arm-hole and leg-hole, clothes already in our closets. Thinking that the only way the masses could appreciate fashion is through designs that appear like ready-to-wear clothes is an insult. It preserves fashion for the consumption of the elite only. Presenting ready-to-wear runway designs as wear-able is also insincere as no design on a runway model is ready-to-wear at all, given the size, cost of materials or sewing shortcuts designers take to make the runway show work.

Accessible fashion would convey a message or a concept, which the masses could adapt. With a high-level abstraction, the masses have the opportunity to take what they will from the design based on their own tastes and wallets; whereas detailed and almost ready-to-wear designs leave little room for the masses to manipulate it to allow their consumption. If Next in Fashion returns, I hope it will learn from mistakes in the first season and try harder to truly make fashion accessible for the masses.

 

Further reading:

Next in Fashion is entertaining, but problematic

Next in Fashion’s eliminated designers on the fight for streetwear

Quick and Dirty Review: Phantom of the Opera (2011)

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The musical: Phantom of the Opera (2011 Royal Albert Hall musical production)

The recommendation: watch to enjoy stellar singing skills, musical motifs and great costuming. I did not say plot or characters.

Note: free stream available from April 17-19 (depending on your time zone) on YouTube channel The Shows Must Go On.

Phantom of the Opera (Phantom) is the filmed stage production of the musical in celebration of its 25th anniversary. The musical is based on the book of the same name by Gaston Leroux. Although it has been a while since I read the book, I advise you to divorce impressions of the musical from the book as the two mediums tell the story quite differently.

After Les Misérables, Phantom was the second most frequently played musical in my home. Having listened to recordings for years on end, the songs made sense to me. As such, it took me aback when some friends of mine who saw the Broadway production of Phantom reported that they had slept through half of it. I was shocked and furious, but they were more annoyed than me. The plot was infuriating, they said, and none of the characters made sense!

Having rewatched Phantom since then, including this weekend, I concur with my friends’ opinions about the plot and the characters. The conflict between staff of the opera, where Phantom is set, and a human Phantom who haunts the opera, drives the plot forward. There is rising action and climaxes in this conflict, but most characters run around aimlessly. The plot does not drive home any meaningful messages, except in the last fifteen minutes. Only two key characters are shown to have some depth as they expose their inner conflict or prove an ability to surmount obstacles. Other characters and the rest of the plot remains very superficial.

What makes Phantom stand out are its songs. It contains one of the most famous Broadway love songs, All I Ask of You. It also features a rock-like use of organs in its eponymous number, Phantom of the Opera, which serves to create the mysterious atmosphere that surrounds the Phantom character and his lair beneath the opera house. A sense of unity across the musical is clear when listened to as a whole, as musical motifs are repeated across the songs. Especially satisfying is rewatching the introduction (before the overture) after the musical, as the musical begins its work on introducing musical themes before the orchestra even starts playing.

For the 2011 production of Phantom, what makes it stand out are its cast and costuming. I admit that I have not seen many different productions of Phantom. I have not had the chance to see it in person, but I have listened to many renditions of Phantom’s famous songs. Ramin Karimloo and Sierra Boggess, who play the lead roles of the Phantom and Christine respectively in the 2011 production, are amazing in their roles. Karimloo (who is Iranian-Canadian!) brings a harsh edge to his voice that reflects the Phantom’s wild power and desperation. Although I used to view Christine as a passive character with little substance who was exceedingly frustrating due to her little agency, Boggess squeezes in some attitude. Boggess’ Christine is as strangely wispy as other renditions of Christine in her initial numbers, but is shown to have an opinion when the conflict develops.

The costumes in the 2011 production of Phantom make the musical a visual delight. The costumes throw historical accuracy out the window and instead layer whimsical and fun designs on top of another. Christine’s short, calf-length orange dress had me gasping. Her white dress had a beautiful set of ruffles running diagonally across its front. The Phantom had a cape with dark sparkles on it for his first appearance, and a cape with luxurious silver embroidery on its collar in a later appearance. There were many other costume details that caught my eye, including a hat that resembled a tart, but I will stop now lest I continue for another few paragraphs.

As such, even with the poor plot and weak characters, Phantom is an audial and visual delight. The cast’s excellent skills make the characters more intriguing, and the costumes are a treat for the eyes.

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The Phantom and Christine maneuver through fog in the waterways under the opera. In the Phantom’s first appearance in the musical, Karimloo as the Phantom makes an especially big splash with his amazing vocals. Phantom: My power grows stronger over you (listen here) Me: Yes

The Impossible Latte Bowl Test

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I was not offended by bowl-sized drinks at first. I have seen and cooed over oversized ceramic mugs. Impractical for drinks as they are too large in volume and impractical for soups as they are too heavy to lift up, but they are adorable in their lack of utility and oversized nature, much like babies are.

My encounter with a latte bowl, however, was not so cute.

It was in French-speaking Canada, where the coffee game is strong and the brunch game is even stronger. I had travelled to Quebec City with a group of friends from my hometown of Vancouver and we were brunching at a casual fine dining place.

In French, the small and large size of the drinks were labelled “tasse” (cup) and “bol” (bowl) respectively. “A bowl!” our group of friends exclaimed. Most of us were proficient in French, but we still marvelled at the French translations of words as we learnt fun words through our immersion in Quebec City every day. “Un bol/A bowl!” we ordered, as we needed the power of caffeine to power through another day of sightseeing.

“Un bol/A bowl?” we remarked, when the lattes arrived at the table. The latte was served in the same vessel that the menu’s name for its size was: a bowl, the often hemispherical vessel for serving foods and liquids that lacks appendages for you to grip on to. It was a latte bowl.

“How am I supposed to drink it?” a friend mused. I too stared at the serving bowl on its saucer, resting next to an overly-petite teaspoon, with great consternation and curiosity, silently thinking of the same question. I watched the bubbles in the creamy foam of my latte deflate in front of me, the valued frothiness escaping into the air and away from my experience, but the question of how to drink this latte bowl was a bigger concern for me.

The question of how to consume a latte bowl was not one so easily resolved for myself, or for my table-members. Our table stuck out like a sore thumb in the restaurant and the rest of Quebec City. We were a group of first/second-generation Chinese-Canadians, all save one Caucasian. Had we not had one white companion and had you not heard us chattering away in English or attempting to practice our French, we could have been easily mistaken for Chinese tourists in Quebec City. A group of friends like ours would not have looked out of place in Vancouver, where we originally hail from, but in Quebec City I could keenly feel my yellow skin against the crowds of white that surrounded us.

The latte bowl was some sort of sick challenge because it posed a test of civility to myself and the other Chinese folks at the table.

Chinese people are known to slurp noodles without only a pair of chopsticks and drink the broth directly without the help of a spoon. Much louder and much messier than the Western way of spooning soup into your mouth. With this reputation of loud and messy eating, myself and other Chinese bear a burden of proving our “civility” to observers.

I learnt from a young age that proper table manners proved your civility. Not having proper table manners made you look like a savage. My mother drilled eating etiquette, both Western and Chinese, into me as a child. She nagged me about how the spoon should move away from you to skim the top off a Western soup, and how the spoon should move towards you for Chinese soup (if you were so equipped). I learned to hold my fork and knife properly and how to switch fork angles with ease to either pop or lift food into my mouth. If my mother caught me slipping into poor form, she’d remark that it seemed as if I had never been taught.

For a Chinese person, looking as if your family has not taught you is a grave criticism. It is a reflection upon both yourself and your family. In the arena known as the dining table, poor fork and knife handling also suggested a lack of education and therefore a lack of civilization. It was thus impressed upon me that I needed to prove my civility via proper eating etiquette to operate seamlessly in the world. As such, I did my all to deftly wield eating utensils to my mother’s expectations.

On that day in a Quebec City restaurant, the latte bowl tested my civility. I let my mother and the Chinese race down. I surrendered to my Chinese instincts and drank from the bowl directly to get the caffeine in my system. I drank from the bowl directly and savoured that unique latte experience where the foam brushes your upper lip while rich, milky coffee enters your mouth.

Meanwhile, the Chinese friend next to me used the overly-petite teaspoon that accompanied the bowl to delicately sip droplets of latte at a time. While she may have successfully proved her civility, there was no winning with the latte bowl. By drinking small amounts from a teaspoon, her latte cooled rapidly and she missed out on that beautiful sensory experience of drinking a latte that day.

The latte bowl was an impossible challenge for my Chinese friends and I. If we slurped, we enjoyed the frothy latte experience and the novelty of drinking a latte from a bowl. If we sipped from a teaspoon, we maintained our table manners but lost out on the latte.

I do not recall if my slurping from the bowl attracted any eyes. I do not recall if white patrons of the restaurant slurped their latte bowls or spooned droplets out of it. Perhaps my concerns about my fight against negative stereotypes of an uncivilized way of Chinese eating are self-imposed struggles against imaginary stereotypes, but let my wordy description of the conundrum I faced be a testament to how powerful they are. And I dare say that a white person would have had the privilege of not having to think deeply about how the way they drank a latte bowl reflects on their civility or race, and would have been able to just enjoy the damn drink.

Quick and Dirty Review: Joseph and the Amazing Technicolour Dreamcoat (1999)

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First in what may be a series. It’s a review written quickly and with some dirt between the words, be that due to the speed of my writing or the content that I’m reviewing. I’m aiming to get the words out fast because there’s diminishing value in waiting.

The film: Joseph and the Amazing Technicolour Dreamcoat (IMDb page)

The recommendation: watch if you are reminiscent of the 90’s and enjoy cultural mash-ups.

Note: free stream available this weekend (April 3-5) on YouTube channel The Shows Must Go On

The 1999 film Joseph and the Amazing Technicolour Dreamcoat (Joseph) is a film adaptation of the musical of the same name written by Andrew Lloyd Webber and lyricist Tim Rice. The musical was first performed in 1972 and is based off the story of Joseph from the Bible.

Joseph is one of the first musicals I ever knew. I’m a kid of the 90’s and my parents raised me Catholic, so Joseph probably was acceptable, if not appropriate material for them to play on our VCR. I remember watching Joseph so much that I knew all the names of Joseph’s eleven brothers and all the colours of Joseph’s multicolour coat. In order.

Universal Studios is streaming musicals once a week during this period on YouTube. Joesph is first up and I took the opportunity to watch it.

Rewatching it now, I realize that it is a hot mess of cultural appropriation that is not very appropriate. The musical mashes up “Egyptian” motifs with 60’s disco decor, places western American cowboys influences and Saguaro cacti that are native to US in Israel, and includes a musical number that seems to have been intended to reflect some sort of Caribbean island vibes.

The cast is also very white, which although is not surprising for its time and may be caused by the film’s potential need to rely on trained musical actors, is still not okay. There are two people of colour in the main cast. The aforementioned Caribbean number also features the darkest actor in the main cast (who is black). I know that featuring a person of colour in a more prominent role is great for bringing colour to the screen, but do people of colour only deserve to portray poor caricatures of rich and vibrant cultures?

Joseph’s also got moderate sexual undertones from the story (which is unavoidable), the dancing, and the costumes. Unsurprisingly, a lot of the sexualization is of women, many who are in skin-tight flesh-coloured costumes with embellishments on choice body parts. This isn’t problematic on its own, except that this musical is supposed to be appropriate for younger audiences. I am not sure how it may be safe for younger audiences who are navigating sexuality and understanding how to be comfortable with it.

Despite the questionable elements present in Joseph, there is a lot to appreciate. Joseph retells a biblical story in vivid colours and keeps audiences entertained. The dark parts of Joseph’s experiences are balanced out with cheery remixes, making it easier to digest for younger audiences. The cast pulls off energetic dance moves and movement sequences across the set, revealing and emphasizing characters’ feelings in addition to adding comedic effect. And as awful as stereotyping cultures is, if you are able to clearly recognize that Joseph is not a realistic depiction of ancient Egypt in any way, you might be able to enjoy the Pharaoh who rocks an Elvis haircut and croons into a crook-shaped microphone.

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If you can disassociate Joseph from reflecting any part of the world realistically, you might enjoy how the superb musically-trained actors belt out songs while donning genius fashion combinations. Here, Joseph’s brothers are serving American cowboys in a Middle Eastern desert circa 1999, while plotting to get rid of their brother. Source: IMDb

A pandemic of poorly sourced information

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I am (figuratively) sick of the poorly sourced information that is roaming my family chat groups. I am privileged to have family that care deeply for each other and me, and they express their care by sharing abundant information on COVID-19 with me.

However, I find the countless videos they share on health-related topics, from masks and how they prevent spread of disease to advice from health professionals on prevention, completely unhelpful. It’s not that I am unable to process the information. Rather, much like when I’m grading an academic paper with suspiciously few citations, the information my family members spread come from unknown sources.

In the past 24 hours, I have seen three videos shared by three different family members that came from dubious sources. The most memorable one was one of a woman with dark brown hair and a British accent in a hospital, who was warning viewers to take precautions seriously. It was a harrowing video from someone that was implied to be a patient suffering from COVID-19, but it wasn’t the visible struggle that made the video memorable – rather, it was that the family member resharing the video saying this was “Trudeau’s wife”. Sophie Grégoire Trudeau, who is Canadian Prime Minister Justin Trudeau’s partner and did test positive for COVID-19, has lighter brown hair and no British accent. Fortunately, someone pointed out that the woman in the video did not look like Sophie Grégoire Trudeau and that the woman in the video said something about, “Richard and the kids.” The family member who shared the video apologized for not fact-checking the video and was sufficiently embarassed. Unfortuantely, the video seems to have confused enough people, as this article debunking the video’s claim about it featuring Sophie Grégoire Trudeau came up when I searched for Sophie Grégoire Trudeau.

Still, more videos were shared after this, without any direct links to their sources. One was from a doctor who said he was working from the frontlines of Canada’s healthcare system. Another was Vox’s recent video on why handwashing is important, but had another watermark on it in addition to the Vox logo.

Screen Shot 2020-03-22 at 8.47.30 PM
Original Vox video
Screenshot_20200322-173518
Re-posted, translated video re-shared by a family member

These aren’t harmful videos, especially not the Vox one that emphasizes the proper way to wash hands in order to kill off germs. It is the unrestrained re-sharing, reposting, and recycling of these videos without identifying the source that is harmful.

The circulation of massive amounts of information, however high-quality, is of no use unless the information can be trusted. If the information deviates from what health authorities recommend, acting upon that information can even be harmful (if you want to talk about whether what health authorities is to be trusted, I am ready to talk and may have another post coming on that).

I believe that people know better than to rely on information whose sources are not verified or perhaps credible. Going back to the comparison that I made earlier to grading academic papers without sources, I would like to ask whether folks who are sharing information broadly without linking to the source directly: would you trust a research paper claiming to have proven something if that research paper didn’t cite a robust set of peer-reviewed studies and perhaps conduct well-thought out experiments of its own? Would you trust someone’s advice on home repairs if you didn’t know they had years of experience in home repairs or held relevant licenses for that field? Would you trust someone to build a bridge if you didn’t know they were a certified civil engineer?

You too can take action against this pandemic of poor quality information! Here are some suggestions from me:

  1. Before sharing information, check the source. Share it by sending a direct link to the video/article/file, such as a Twitter tweet from the person who said it or the news article the quote appeared in.
  2. If you see someone sharing information without a source, ask for the source. Who is this person in the video? Where can I find the original file?

Take care and stay healthy, dear readers.

What kind of writer are you?

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Someone asked me this question recently. I expunge words and ideas from my mind through my fingertips. The arguments course through my forearms, animating them into a jagged dance as the thrust of the claim ebbs and flows. After the deed is done, I am but a limp shell, an empty vessel to be occupied once again by another thesis spirit.

What kind of writer are you?

trace

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One man. Two pianos. Three ashtrays.

This was the stage for trace, a one-man written and performed by Asian-Canadian actor/playwright Jeff Ho. Jeff Ho, who was born in Hong Kong and grew up in Toronto, draws upon his own lived experiences to present the story of three generations of Cantonese women and their experiences with survival and immigration.

Ho’s great-grandmother flees the second Sino-Japanese War to Hong Kong. His grandmother “Ma” marries into the Ho family and becomes irreplaceable in supporting her mother-in-law, ill husband, and daughter. His mother becomes an accountant but moves to Toronto with her two young sons in hopes of a better life.

Upon Mother’s return to Hong Kong, the three women confront each other’s failings. Each have deserted family and upset expectations of duty. The plot advances through monologues and memories of each women.

Ho transitioned seamlessly between the three distinct female protagonists. The three women had conversations but it was all easily differentiated as each women had a characteristic posture, tick, and voice. While trace weaved in and out of the lives of these three women, trace made full use of the stage and lighting effects to indicate memories and create a sense of progression in the plot.

One of the most curious intricacies of the play that has stuck with me, even as I write this months later, is the tension between Ho’s presentation as a man and his portrayal of all three women. trace is the story of women, yet it is presented by Ho. However, Ho omits all other traces of men from the play as male voices are replaced with snippets of Ho on the piano. In this way, Ho balances out his presence and pays respect to the female owners of the story.

I learn more and more that while experiences of being a visible minority or being a migrant draw me to diasporic experiences like trace, my experience differs greatly from others’ experiences. I flinched hearing Ho apply certain accents to his characters. Some sounded too comically stereotypical and not genuine. I feared that others might take this presentation as accurate, when I thought it wasn’t. This fear may be for naught though as I reflected on my reaction and concluded that perhaps, perhaps that presentation was accurate from Ho’s experience.

And so, I applaud Ho for his stellar creation and performance of trace. I am elated that I am able to see and celebrate the work of an Asian-Canadian artist and would encourage others to enjoy and support the arts too.

My Declaration of Independence

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Out of chance, I started exploring romantic relationships again. It’s reminded me of the fears that I had when I started my first relationship.

The biggest fear I had back then was of losing my identity. I was less concerned about that this time around since I have a firmer grasp of myself now and knew to not cede the things that I value about myself.

Although I didn’t have to fight for my independence within my own head, against the expectations that I believed my partner might have, this time I found myself fighting for my independence against remarks voiced out loud by people around me.

Those remarks were not intended to hurt me. No, they were fairly common remarks that can be freely said without harm.

It was being in a relationship, which led to these remarks being said to me, that grated against my sense of independence. The remarks reflected assumptions about what the priority of a person in a partnership should be: your partner.

The first remark happened after I mentioned to my friend that I had taken a long time deciding whether I should keep a certain dress that I bought. Knowing me, he knows too that I historically rarely wear dresses. He also knows from that I typically am a decisive person who makes judgements quickly. This friend had also seen me on a particular outing with someone he knew to be outside our usual group of friends. Although he knew naught of my relationship situation, my friend implied romance and joked, “Who are you trying to impress?”

The answer that I can articulate now is, “I am only trying to impress myself.” I like receiving compliments, but in the end the only person I considered when making the purchase is myself. I only care about how much joy I derive from the purchase and how value I get from it. My clothes and appearance had nothing to do with any romantic relationship or potential suitors.

The second remark came from a dear friend who celebrated my romantic adventure with me along every step of the way. Unsurprisingly, she was overjoyed to hear of how things progressed for me. On one occasion where we were casually chatting and expressing our appreciation for each other (yes, such overt gratitude is a common part of our conversations), she opined that it would be nice to spend more time with me. Except, she noted, I had another special person in my life that I probably would be spending time with instead.

My crafted response, which I cannot remember if I delivered then, is that me being in a budding romantic relationship should not displace the relationships that I already have and treasure greatly. Other suggestions in society and popular culture that reflect this expectation that people should prioritize their romantic partner over all others befuddles me greatly. I do not see why romantic partners should occupy the top tier of my attention all the time. I do not see why my family and friends should receive less time when a romantic interest enters my life.

With or without a partner, I want to fiercely be known that I am who I deign I am. No one else has a say in who I choose to be. I want people to know that I make decisions for myself, be it in what I choose to wear or who I spend time with. I want people to know that if I choose to enter a relationship, I still am my full, whole, person, and not some fraction of a partnership.

This is my declaration of independence.

Always Be My Maybe: the Asian-American film that I didn’t know I needed

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First things first: I’m not Asian-American, I’m Asian-Canadian. If you’ll allow me though, I’ll sidle under the Asian-American umbrella for a while given the similarities between Canadian and American cultures.

I am supportive of movements to increase diversity in popular culture, even if I have had mixed impressions of recent celebrated examples. The revealing of futuristic, high-technology Wakanda in Black Panther almost had me in tears as it imagined an alternative world where blackness was associated with progressiveness rather than regressiveness. Meanwhile, Crazy Rich Asians left me disappointed as it reduced “Asian” culture to filial piety and pitted it in an apparent antagonistic relationship with “Western” culture (to be more precise, liberal values).

Having watched the Christmas-themed romance movies on Netflix, I know some Netflix romance movies are simple plots without much depth. As such, I was hesitant to click on Always Be My Maybe (2019, directed by Nahnatchka Khan) since it looked like it fell along those lines. However, for the sake of showing support for Asian creatives, I tucked my chin in and decided to watch Always Be My Maybe.

Sasha Tran (Ali Wong) and Marcus Kim (Randall Park), the childhood friends and romantic duo in the film, are polar opposites. Sasha is a rising culinary star, jet setting every few months to open new restaurants across the U.S. Marcus is stuck in time, working for his father’s air conditioning company and playing for the same high school band at the same venues. The challenges in their relationship emerge partly from her desire to advance her career, no matter the miles she must travel or the places she must move to; whereas he is reluctant to leave his familiar surroundings, venture to new places, or fade into the shadows behind Sasha’s glaring brilliance.

When I found out hat the glasses that I bought last week looked much like Sasha Tran’s, I was very pleased. Sasha’s character resonated with me.

Sasha is uncompromising in terms of her career. She is dead set on rising higher and skips to another city in a matter of seconds, even if her relationships might suffer.

I too see myself working in a number of great metropolises, far from Canada, for parts of my career. I know that the jobs I want demand separation from my family, who are based in Canada. I believe that I won’t be here in Ottawa for much longer than two to three years more as I will endeavour to jump to a different city to pursue my interests.

As I plan my future, I wonder if these numerous moves will nip multiple relationships in the bud. Like how Sasha and Marcus’ relationship is extinguished again when Marcus refuses to New York with her, I wonder if my focus on myself will lead to a similar event in my future.

On another line of similarity, I wonder if being too successful like Sasha is unattractive. I know better now, but up until even a year ago I suspected that my successes frightened off potential dates.

I am not trying to toot my own horn, but I have been told by friends and mentors how impressive my experiences and skills are. My academic transcript lists a record of achievements. Assuming then that I have somewhat decent social skills, given the fact that I am able to maintain friendships and acquaint myself with new people relatively easily, I used to ask why I was single for so many years.

For me, the praise that my friends offered was like a double edged sword – they regaled my performance, but doing so seemed to create a distance between myself and others. Was I untouchable in the minds of others? At least one family member has expressed that they feel dwarfed by my presence, a presence weighted with awards and reams of recognitions.

Recent interactions have informed me that being too successful should not be a cause for concern in terms of relationships, but watching Marcus turn away from Sasha due to her accomplishments reminded me of the fear that I once had.

There are other parts of Sasha’s character and the film that I don’t identify closely with, so it befuddled me why the character captivated me. Furthermore, Always Be My Maybe is not the first film to feature a successful woman who is determined to put her career first. The Devil Wears Prada is another one that comes to mind, as Anne Hathaway’s character gives her personal life up for the fashion world.

The only reason that I can think of so far as to why I see myself in Sasha Tran (and not because we have similar looking glasses) is that she is Asian like me. She’s tiny in stature but unstoppable. Her hair is black and her skin is not fair like the lightest shades of foundation. She is elated when someone brings her the news that they’ve got some sort of stinky tofu soup waiting for her. I see now the effects of visually representing diversity on screen, for I think if Sasha Tran looked more like a Sasha White, I would not have cared to write this. Identifying with Sasha Tran made me realize how far all other female characters that I’ve seen in films are from myself. Sasha Tran was the Asian-American female representation that I never realized that I had lacked.

I really enjoyed Always Be My Maybe. I’m hopeful that it signals a continuation in the trend of putting Asian-American creatives and Asian-American stories in the limelight.