June 03, 2007

Reporting for duty

I remember this about high school graduation: I rejoiced. Family and friends contributed to my delight, showering me with black and gold balloons, layers of flower and ribbon leis, “congratulations” and gift cards. Plenty of hugs and kisses went around. But the best part of graduating was seeing everyone I knew in attendance. They cared enough to celebrate my moment of achievement.

This evening I visited my high school for an old friend’s graduation ceremony. It brought back bittersweet memories of my graduation four years ago. It also stirred up memories of past failures: popular groups I never took part in, a weak academic record and poor standardized test scores. Memories of my less-than-stellar performance—a result of poor attitude and lack of guidance. I had no college or career plans and I barely graduated with a degree. But I was ready to take on the real world. Or at least that’s what everyone told me. I looked forward to my future, because there was no looking back.

As I walked into the newsroom of The Honolulu Advertiser last Friday for a visit, memories of a high school class trip flooded my mind. Five years ago, I toured the facility to learn about possible career options. But “reporter” was a path I’d never heard much about. “Doctor,” “lawyer,” and “engineer” were often mentioned by relatives, who insisted I pursue them. But I wanted to keep my mind open to other possibilities. I strolled through the office picking up the aroma of coffee, listening to telephones ring and looking at glowing computer screens. I recall thinking as a high school student that I could never work in such a stressful environment, cooped up in a cubicle, staring at a computer screen all day long.

How would I have known my fate? That I’ve become addicted to freshly-brewed coffee and its stimulating aroma. That I always have my cell phone nearby in case interview subjects return my calls or pose questions about an article. That I’m constantly on my laptop and haven’t gone a day without checking e-mail and news sites. That I chose to pursue reporting out of passion and the belief that I could provide a voice for my community, not for the salary level or what others suggested I do. In spite of stiff competition and uncertainty about finding work after graduation, I decided that as long as I dedicated enough time and effort into my work, employers would eventually notice.

And they have—I begin my internship tomorrow. I’ll be working with journalists who share similar beliefs with me—a duty to tell the stories of their communities. The thought of working alongside news professionals who have been in the business for decades is exciting. I’ll learn from them and improve my craft. I’ll attend news meetings, pitch story ideas and pursue them. Although I may not see my byline in print while working online for the first five weeks, I’ll gain valuable experience in website development. Then I’ll rotate to the city desk, and literally chase down stories while tackling daily deadlines.

I am overcome with a mixture of emotions. I am eager to plunge into reporting and I am excited about the infinite story possibilities. But nervousness consumes me, because I can’t predict the future. It’s the same feelings I had when I moved away for college: joy, uncertainty, and fear.

But I realize it’s a different situation. I grew up in Honolulu, so I know the environment well. I can navigate the Hawaiian roads in my car, and use the knowledge I gained as a former city taxi dispatcher to my advantage. I call Hawaii my home and the people here my “ohana,” or family. I can speak rapid-fire pidgin and Cantonese and can relate to the locals, the people of Chinatown. I won’t be afraid to ask them tough questions and document their lives. I’ll collect information, gather quotes and combine them to form articles. I’ll capture nighttime events on camera using the lighting techniques I learned in my photojournalism class. I’ll do some investigative work and create stories of public interest using computer-assisted reporting. I’ll put in a lot of time and effort into the work I produce during my 10 weeks at The Honolulu Advertiser.

I’ll take a week off from my internship in August, for a second one with the Asian American Journalists Association. I’ll fly to Miami, Fla., to cover the organization’s four-day national convention with 23 other students, while being supervised and mentored by journalists from The San Francisco Chronicle, The Washington Post and others. I’ll produce multimedia stories on Asian American issues, the journalism industry and Miami-related features, and present them to recruiters and editors from news networks across the nation.

I never imagined I’d spend my summer immersed in the world of journalism.

Looking back, I have no regrets. I am thankful for the experiences that have transformed me into the person I am today. I am no longer tense around people. I muster the courage to approach strangers and interview them instead. I gained confidence in my academic and professional abilities after overcoming laziness and fear. I have a clear picture of my goals and aspirations—a big change from five years ago. I am excited about the opportunities now and yet to come.

But there were times when I didn’t believe in myself, and when friends and family reinforced those beliefs, my self-esteem tumbled. Yet, despite my own lack of faith, there were many other times when teachers, friends and even strangers stood by and helped me develop self-confidence.

My best advice is to surround yourself with people who are positive influences in your life. Mirror them. Like I did my voice instructor Lina, whose passion for music was contagious; she inspired me to search for and pursue my passion. Don’t be afraid to ask for guidance, and in some cases, ask if the person will be a mentor. I did that when I met Aldrich, a journalism-graduate-turned-professional reporter who I always counted on for advice about future journalistic endeavors. There are people who believe in your abilities and the possibility to achieve your full potential. Like my journalism instructor Dustin, who believed I’d make an excellent reporter. He continued to persuade me to join the newspaper staff even when I refused the offer more than a dozen times, until one day, I finally gave in. These people will continue to offer their support and encouragement when you don’t even believe in yourself. My mentors and role models Angie and Geoff always found time to listen and teach me everything to become a successful reporter. They also told me the truth about my work and provided feedback to grow. And I am thankful for many others who have supported me.

Documenting my transfer experience in this blog has been a worthwhile journey. ACT offered me the opportunity to find my “voice,” record my experiences, and share my story to help students with life’s transitions. I hope I’ve inspired at least one person who read my entries. I want to continue another blog for a news organization in the near future, so maybe this won’t be the last time you hear from me!

Although I can’t predict my future, I’ve worked hard to secure it. My two internships will test my ability to apply the experiences I’ve learned thus far to the real world. I survived high school and the transition from a two-year college to a four-year university, so I believe that I can conquer anything now.

I definitely can’t wait for tomorrow, because it officially marks my career as a reporter.

May 28, 2007

Reflecting on life's transitions, learning from past experiences

Looking back, I have no regrets.

I don’t regret being clueless about my future after high school graduation, unlike my peers who planned theirs months in advance. Or the fact that I attended Kapiolani Community College, despite discouragement from relatives about the quality of education received at a two-year college compared to a four-year university. Or my final decision to transfer to Bradley University, rather than choose a university on the island or one well known on the Mainland. Most certainly, I don’t regret the close friendships I accumulated over the past four years, or the teachers who inspired me to strive for success, or the experiences I gained along the way at two-year and four-year schools.

Following are tips for high school students and those considering the transfer route:

o Find a school that fits your needs, not the financial needs of family, social needs of friends or prevailing needs of society.

o Consider attending a community college, where you can receive the same first two years of education as at a four-year university for half the price.

o If you plan to transfer to a four-year college, find out what you need to do to transfer successfully, and work hard.

o Take advantage of your school’s resources—you’re paying for them!

o Immerse yourself in school and the community to find your niche.

o Look for people who are positive influences and emulate them.

o Don’t let your pride get in the way, and seek counseling when needed.

o Relax once in a while, and don’t overburden yourself.

o Do your best, and never settle for less.

When you start your career in the professional world, it won’t matter which school you attended, whether it was a no-name or brand-name, public or private. You will be judged on your performance at work. Can you handle deadlines? Will you meet the expectations of your employers?

I realized that college is really what you make out of it—the experiences you gain and the people you meet. Keep in mind, many of these suggestions may be transferred to real-world situations. You control the direction of your future.

As Walt Disney said, “If you can dream it, you can do it.”

So chase your dreams, even if it means sacrificing sleep. Face your fears, even if it means being uncomfortable. Overcome your laziness, if it means breaking a bad habit. Challenge yourself, if you haven’t already. Work hard and you will be noticed.

When you look back five years from now, ask yourself if you have any regrets.

Hopefully, the answer will be “no.”

May 24, 2007

Survival of the fittest

I survived life on the Mainland.

I lived 1,000 miles away from home for the first time in my nearly twenty years. I meandered alone through airports in Chicago, Detroit, Minneapolis, Phoenix, Los Angeles and San Francisco. I learned to read temperatures and predict weather forecasts. I weathered the snow storm on Dec. 1, 2006. I battled homesickness, blistering cold and unbearable heat. I experienced my firsts: four seasons, snowfall, winter coat, life in the dorms, and s’mores. I introduced friends to new foods like sushi, almond cookies, neen go, macadamia nuts and lychee. I managed to embrace differences with my roommate Sara. I shared my experiences as an Asian American and Hawaii native with people from different backgrounds, and in return I learned about them.

All because of the decision I made – to leave my hometown and explore unfamiliar territory.

It’s been a week since I returned home and much has changed. My favorite Hawaiian plate lunch stand is gone, replaced by a financial building. Skyscrapers populate the skies and development signs stick out from the brown earth. My car is fixed and no longer hums like a sewing machine. An old friend is moving on with life, packing his belongings for Missouri, and getting married tomorrow.

Change is something I learned to adjust to, and I realized I’ve changed, too. For the first time in my life I’m independent. Despite predictions from friends that I wouldn’t last a month living away from home, I stuck it out for a year, proving them wrong.

But it wasn’t easy adjusting to a new university, even as a transfer student. Having already experienced college life as a community college student didn’t prepare me for what lay ahead. It felt like freshman year all over again: new environment, new teachers, new friends, and even a fresh grade point average. But I found my niche in the surrounding Asian community and often conversed with shopkeepers and restaurant owners. I proved to teachers that I could produce quality work in a small amount of time. I sought experience from activities outside of class and made close friends in the process. And I spent hours studying for exams, going through piles of notes scrawled with terms and their definitions.

The last few weeks of junior year was a blur. I stuffed myself with free pizza, washed it down with coffee, and munched on bags of potato chips and mounds of chocolate chip cookies distributed throughout campus on “Study Day.” I spent many sleepless nights preparing for five finals, tackling pages of mind-numbing short answer essay questions or fill in the blanks.

Packing seemed to be the last thing on my mind during my last week of living in the dorms. But I realized procrastination proved useless when it came to moving, so I made note to plan weeks ahead next time. Bittersweet memories of living in the dorms flooded my mind.

There are things I miss like the dorm’s close proximity to other buildings on campus; the surprise gifts of granola bars duct-taped to our door by floormates; the floor lunches and dinners; and movie gatherings. Yet, there are other things I don’t care for like the booming hip-hop music emanating from neighboring rooms; the echoes of voices heard through the walls from across the hall; waking up every morning at 9 a.m. and tossing in bed past midnight because of the singing from my next-door neighbor; the wet and soap drenched shower benches, the absence of a communal kitchen and, of course, the lack of privacy that comes with sharing a room.

But next year will be different when I share an apartment with three friends. I’ll finally cook on a stove top—I’ll fry omelets and steam rice every day. I’ll invite friends over for Korean drama nights. I’ll share a bathroom with one friend and we’ll keep it neat and sanitary. And I’ll have the privacy of my own room, where I can wake up, stay up, and sleep whenever I want.

I can’t wait for next year.

Hey, if I can hop on a plane and travel miles away from home, then I believe I can do anything!

April 28, 2007

A nation united, not divided

My eyes fixed on the television set as the shooting rampage unfolded on Virginia Tech’s campus. I tuned in to one of the major news networks just in time for an interview with a student who claimed to have witnessed the identity of the shooter.

“What race was the shooter?” the reporter asked. She gave a list of possible answers: “Was the shooter Caucasian? African American? Asian? Hispanic?” I shook my head. “What does the shooter’s race have to do with anything?” I yelled at the television screen. I cringed when the witness answered with confidence. “No, the shooter was Asian,” he said. Here comes the negative attitudes towards Asian Americans, I thought.

I turned off the television.

I learned from earlier interviews with Asian American news professionals that lack of knowledge about different cultures and insensitivity to issues of race often cultivate negative stereotypes. Seung-Hui Cho killed 32 people because he was mentally unstable, not because he was Korean. Drawing attention to his ethnicity is in itself a bias, replied a journalist to my e-mail message about the incident. I took note: keep an open mind when reporting on issues of race. I sifted through my in-box and clicked on the headline of a forwarded message: “Asian photographer mistaken for shooter.” A student who “fit” the profile of the shooter was arrested, but later released, according to Collegiate Times.

April 16 was Sept. 11 all over again. U.S. flags across the nation flew at half-staff to honor lives lost. Family and friends of victims mourned the death of their loved ones. An outpouring of sympathy and grief were sent from countries around the world. Blood spilled on American soil, except this time—by one of our own. It meant finger pointing and name calling for those who resembled the killer. After the 9/11 terrorist attacks, Arab and Muslim people or even those who looked of Middle Eastern descent were alienated from their communities and humiliated at airports based on the color of their skin.

The Virginia Tech incident was no different.

“I am not a terrorist, and you are not a terrorist,” I said over the phone to my Chinese friend in Indiana, where only 3 percent of Asians populate her college campus. She feared going to school, where peers might blame her and the Asian community for the acts of one individual. I reassured her that students should be educated and informed enough to understand that the shooter’s ethnicity had nothing to do with it.

“The killer had a mental problem,” said the owner of a Chinese grocery store nearby. “In this world, there are good and bad people in every race,” he said in Cantonese. He expressed sadness for the victims and their families, but he was also angered that blood was spilled by the hands of an Asian American.

More than 1,600 Asian American college students felt the same. More than a dozen groups like “Cho Seung-Hui does NOT represent Asians,” appeared on the popular social networking website, facebook.com, aiming to rid negative views towards Asians. I read their messages of anger, despair and sorrow. The shootings even prompted South Korean officials to issue an apology letter, fearing backlash against the Korean American community.

But why did South Korea apologize? And why did fellow Asian Americans feel a need to prove themselves? We did nothing wrong. South Korea did nothing wrong. It angered me that people didn’t seem to understand. The shooter acted because of his mental state, and not his race, ethnicity or even country. At the same time, I wanted to understand his motives for committing the deadliest mass shooting in modern U.S. history.

Yet, like many people of Asian decent, I began to worry about being blamed for the incident. I prepared for the worst: possible racist comments and death threats.

But I didn’t feel like my peers treated me any differently, despite being one of the handful of Asians on Bradley’s campus. In fact, words like “Asian” or “Korea” didn’t even creep into conversations, let alone blatant remarks. Instead, the incident spurred debate in classrooms about issues like “gun control” and “campus security.”

The Tuesday after the shootings, students and faculty gathered in front of Bradley Hall to sign condolence messages on a large banner to offer support to those at Virginia Tech. I joined local news professionals, interviewing students and faculty, who showed up at the event. Many attendees said their lifestyles were changed after the incident, while others acknowledged that no campus is immune to such events.

The incident has made me cautious about my actions; how can I prevent myself and others from becoming victims of crime? I pay special attention to simple things like refusing to invite strangers into buildings, shutting the door behind me, locking rooms, reporting suspicious behavior, and even befriending my neighbors. I constantly wonder whether I am doing my part to prevent potential crimes or—God forbid—a possible shooting from happening on campus.

The Monday following the incident, more than a hundred people showed up for a candlelight vigil on Olin Quad in remembrance of the victims. It seemed like more people showed up at the event than to coffeehouse performances and film showings combined.

It goes to show that times like these should bring us together—no matter what the color of our skin.

April 15, 2007

Working hard, embracing the future

I wonder what next semester will be like.

I’ll take classes like Topics in Sociology: White Collar Crime to gain a better understanding about identity theft, insider trading and fraud. I’ll analyze and discuss Issues and Perspectives in Communication. I’ll receive intensive training in Public Affairs Reporting on state and federal government issues. I’ll write magazine stories, but I’ll learn the aspects of Magazine Production, too. I’ll take field trips to historic sites like the local blacksmith shop for a World of Metals class to fulfill my last science requirement. My schedule won’t be a burden, because I’ll have a good balance of discussion, research and writing classes.

And I’ll have free time to do other things too. I’ll share an apartment with three roommates and I’ll get them hooked on Kona coffee, ramen noodles and Korean dramas. I’ll dedicate my time between the speech team, news program and yearbook. Maybe I’ll even get a car so I can intern at the weekly newspaper in town. My friend did it last fall.
Who knows what opportunities may appear after I complete my internship this summer? I imagine I’ll improve my interviewing, researching and writing skills. I’ll juggle multiple deadlines and gain newsroom experience in the process. I know I’ll be prepared for the real world after graduation in spring 2008.

I’ve worked hard this semester preparing for the summer. I devoted my spring break to researching for my Media, Race and Gender paper, interviewing four Asian American journalists and a journalism instructor. I sacrificed my free time between classes, calling sources until I captured that quote or interview for a news story. I followed a student majoring in viola, documenting her life through pictures and words. And I started my second photo essay on a Vietnamese refugee who learned to adapt to life in the U.S. alone. His story is one I want to tell the community through an article.

Friends complain that I spend more time with the strangers I interview than with them. They ask me to take a break, but I often decline. I worry I’ll fall behind in my studies. A minimum of three assignments are due each week, with exams occupying my schedule every other week. I’m afraid that taking a nap, going out to dinner or playing a game of hide-and-seek will take away time that could be used for researching or studying.

Once in a while, I drop everything I’m doing and give in to temptation. Finding a balance between work and play is important in keeping your sanity.

But school should take priority. I realize that extra sleep, an expensive dinner or a fun game is something I can sacrifice.

No matter how hard it may seem to take on several assignments and turn them in on time, I always seem to pull through. The outcome of my struggles and sacrifices are far better than any award or accolade I’ve received.

Spending another day with my subject to capture a precious moment, whether in words or photographs, is worth it for a simple “thank you,” I know I’ve made a difference when a smile appears as the subject gazes over the work I’ve done. Going an extra mile to get that last source for a quote in my story is rewarding when I learn something new. Speaking with Asian American journalists about issues of race gave me a different perspective, and learning about the challenges of being one of the few Asian Americans in a newsroom encouraged me to strive for excellence in everything I do (no matter how simple or small an assignment may seem).

I’ll get to show off my valiant efforts this week. I’ll present my transportation database analysis of fatalities in motor vehicle crashes involving alcohol. And I’ll share my intriguing findings about Asian Americans in the newsroom from in-depth research and interviews.

I figure the hard work I put in now will be worth it when summer arrives.

Next semester, I know I’ll be prepared to tackle anything that comes along.

March 16, 2007

Spring Break escape

It’s the day before Spring Break, so I’ve been busy taking tests and completing assignments.

For several hours, I poured over note cards scribbled with French verbs and their English definitions. I analyzed 10 chapters of my Microeconomics textbook. I reviewed communication theories from lecture notes. I studied important dates and well-known figures for my Computer-Assisted Reporting and my Media, Race, and Gender exams. I memorized f-stops and shutter speeds for my Photojournalism midterm. I crammed everything I read into my brain. I yearned for a break between my overlapping classes, never-ending homework, and intensive midterms. I wanted to rest my drooping eyes, aching back and frazzled brain. But my desire to earn good grades kept me going.

All the hard work paid off when I got back my Communication Theory midterm. I let out a sigh of relief when I looked at my score: 80/100. Oh, the horror stories I had heard about the professor! “He’s a tough grader,” “He has favorites,” “His accent makes it difficult to understand,” and “He made me cry.” But he didn’t seem threatening to me. In fact, everyone in my class agreed—he’s a funny man.

“If my students say good things about me, I think I must be doing something wrong,” he said. “It’s either you’re all smart, or I’ve gone soft in the head!” He laughed. Poor guy. He didn’t even get a chance. Potential students decided not to take his class based on rumors of his “tough love” grading. They judged him without even stepping foot in his classroom.

But we misjudged him, too.

“My friend decided not to take your class because he wanted to maintain his GPA,” a student admitted to the professor. “I heard you’re a tough grader, but I think your exam was pretty straightforward.”

Perception, a term we examined in class, applied to the situation. Assumptions based on past experiences, cultural expectations, needs, and attitudes influence the way we perceive. We believe what we want to believe.

The most effective teachers, I believe, communicate the textbook’s connection with real-life situations and engage students in learning through discussions. I think it’s especially important to gain an overall understanding of material. You’ll learn best by applying terms to reality, rather than memorizing their definitions.

When I attended my Microeconomics class, I didn’t understand my professor’s references to negative and positive externalities or his drawings of supply and demand curves. It was as if he spoke another language and wrote in a cryptic code. I was lost, but I decided to teach myself. I practiced review problems in my workbook, confident of my ability to comprehend the material. But when I sat down to tackle the 10-page midterm filled with charts and graphs, my mind drew a blank. I decided to withdraw from the class and drop my marketing minor in favor of sociology. Reading the class descriptions for “Self, Mind, and Society” and “Sociology of Religion” piqued my interest. I decided that learning about human behavior and society in general complements my major in journalism, whereas marketing is geared more towards advertising and public relations professionals. I had to scramble around campus to collect five signatures for approval in switching my minor.

This weekend, when I’m home on break, I’ll catch up on schoolwork, hoping to reduce the amount of work near the end of the semester. I’ll begin interviewing the handful of news professionals who agreed to share their experiences for my Media, Race, and Gender research paper. I’ll start searching for transportation databases to present to my Computer-Assisted Reporting class and I’ll analyze 2006 crime statistics for my final research project. Then I’ll tackle my French composition and text assignments. After that, I’ll cover a baseball game for my competitive sports photo essay, and I’ll probably make a stop by the beach to capture the sunset off Waikiki. And maybe I’ll get some shuteye this time around.

March 04, 2007

Homework bound

Palm trees swaying in the summer breeze. White sandy beaches stretching along the coast of North Shore. Dramatic shades of red and orange the sun emits before dipping below the horizon off Waikiki. I conjure the images of home: basking in the sun, driving less than 10 minutes to the beach, and viewing the Pacific Ocean from Diamond Head. The things I took for granted are replaced with a mix of snow, rain, and 35 m.p.h. wind gusts. The streets of University and Main are covered with brown slush, and the sidewalks are frozen with patches of ice. I bundle in layers before going outside. I return to my dorm after class, traveling home via my computer desktop background of the Waikiki sunset I shot last summer.

I imagine how I’ll spend my summer. Exposing animal abuse in rodeos across Texas? Investigating safety measures for California produce? Or capturing the sights back home? Nervousness creeps inside me. No word on the internships I applied to mid-November last year. Questions race through my mind. What if I had attended a prestigious journalism school? Would I be guaranteed placement in a media organization upon graduation? What if I had majored in another field? Would I be happy following my parents' wishes to study math or science? Unlike my cousin, who decided to pursue a job in pharmacy because 1) it was stable; 2) it paid well; 3) and her parents wanted her to, I chose to be rebellious. I wanted to follow my dream despite stiff competition, lousy pay, and parental pressure. I wasn't ready to give up.

That’s why I worked so hard last fall. I gathered materials for internships to increase my chances of landing work during the summer. I photocopied my news clips at the library. I requested transcripts at the registrar’s office. I revamped my cover letter and résumé. And I surfed websites for media internship listings.

After class, I sifted through the contents of my mailbox in the lobby. A card addressed to my roommate. A flyer promoting an event. I crumpled it. Another letter for my roommate? I sighed. A long white envelope. I froze when I saw my name on it. My eyes glided to the upper left-hand corner of the thin envelope printed The Honolulu Advertiser. Bad news from my daily newspaper back home. Familiar words rang in my mind: "We're sorry to inform you . . . but it was a difficult decision to make . . . please try again later."

I stomped upstairs into my room. I handed my roommate her mail and left mine sitting on the desk. "Aren't you going to open your mail?" she asked. "It's probably a rejection letter," I said, shrugging. I picked up the envelope and tugged at the flap. I opened the letter and skimmed. I took a deep breath and read slowly. I read it again, savoring every word: "Congratulations. You have been selected as a finalist for The Honolulu Advertiser’s 2007 summer internship program. We will contact you shortly for an interview.” I shared the news with my journalism instructor and my mentor and they advised me to prepare for the interview. I researched possible interview questions, and rehearsed my answers. I jotted them down.

When the interviewer called me, I expressed my passion for storytelling, and even pitched story ideas. I treated the interview as I would a normal conversation. I placed confidence in my abilities and told the truth.

Yea or nay? I wouldn't find out until the following week, my interviewer said. A committee meeting on Monday would narrow down the dozen-or-so finalists to a handful, he said. But I couldn't stop thinking about my plans for the summer: covering breaking news, reporting on subjects that matter, and writing profiles of ordinary folks. I imagined the stories I'd tell, the voices I'd represent. I survived the weekend awaiting the decision. I was sitting at my desk Tuesday evening, when my cell phone rang. An 808 area code appeared on my phone’s caller ID. I picked up and exchanged greetings with The Honolulu Advertiser's internship coordinator.

I held my breath.

I was selected as a full-time intern for the summer! I let out a sigh of relief when she said, "Congratulations!" She asked if I wanted to accept the offer. An opportunity to gain on-site newsroom training and real-world experience? Absolutely! A chance to follow my dream—and get paid for it? Of course! I accepted without hesitation.

The stress of searching for internships is over, but the semester just began. I'm scrambling to meet weekly deadlines for my Photojournalism class, but I’m learning how to enhance my visual composition. In my Computer-Assisted Reporting (CAR) class, I'm analyzing databases to assist in my final reporting project and transportation presentation. CAR is essential in developing stories and uncovering hidden truths. Also, I'm interviewing various news professionals for my Media, Race, and Gender paper to gain an insight into the field. I hope to publish my research paper on Asian Americans in the newsroom. In my Communication Theory class, I'll have the option of writing a research paper or taking a final exam. I won't make a decision until I take the first exam this week. I'm also studying for my French exam and analyzing supply and demand graphs for my Microeconomics mid-term. I've mapped out my schedule on a calendar so I can meet multiple deadlines. I'll tackle my assignments and exams one by one. I'll be prepared for my internship by the time summer rolls along.

But next week is spring break. I’ll catch up on my work, and after that, I’ll hit the beach.

February 18, 2007

Hungry for a new year

Weather forecasters issued a blizzard warning last Tuesday, predicting at least 6 inches of snow. I bundled up in layers of clothing, before trudging outside in the blowing snow. I arrived, ecstatic, eight minutes early to my 9 a.m. French class, until a passerby informed me that my teacher canceled class. Friends received e-mails from their teachers about class cancellations, too. Others weren’t as lucky. But the administration sent out an e-mail at noon, announcing that classes after 3 p.m. were canceled. In fact, most businesses and schools shut down due to hazardous driving conditions. It was like the Dec. 1 snowstorm all over again—no one was prepared then, when more than 12 inches of snow buried Peoria.

I spent most of that snow day buried in class notes and textbooks, preparing for what lay ahead. Despite class cancellations, my Media, Race, and Gender exam resumed the next day, along with my French exam on Thursday. I had no clue of what to study for my media exam, so I looked over four chapters in the textbook. I memorized French culture facts, future tense verbs, and vocabulary on politics based on the study guide my French teacher provided. The next day I whisked through my French exam, but struggled through my media exam, wishing I had studied more. However, after taking the exams, I have a better sense of what to expect in the future.

I didn't expect to spend my first weekend for Lunar New Year, or Chinese New Year, in Peoria, where Chinatown doesn’t exist. New Year’s is a big event in Hawaii. Every year, scores of vendors line the streets of Chinatown, while crowds swarm the stalls for t-shirts and gifts printed with the New Year animal. (2007 is the year of the pig.) Restaurants sell out their popular vegetarian dish, jai, and the rice soup, jook. I remember going to Chinatown for food and cultural festivities. I'd push through crowds to get a glimpse of lion dancers: a pair of kung-fu students draped under a lion costume, prancing to the beating of drums. I’d shop with mother in Chinatown for fish, roast pork, and vegetables, and visit the temple with her, lighting up incense sticks to pray for good health. Grandma and I would dust the house to sweep away bad luck. I would joke with relatives in Cantonese, “Gung Hee Fat Choi! Lee see dou loi,” which translates to “Happy New Year! Give me a red envelope!” I awaited my blessing of fortune, red packets stuffed with $5 to $20 bills. But my favorite part was eating mother’s traditional finger foods — gin dui, mochi balls covered with sesame seeds and stuffed with coconut shreds. She deep fries the dough, until it puffs golden brown. I would wait several hours for steamed neen go, sweet rice cakes. The chewy ooze sticks like bubble gum in my mouth. Despite its messiness, neen go became one of my favorite desserts. Chinese New Year became one of my favorite celebrations, too.

But I was shocked that most people here have never heard of it! When I discovered an upcoming New Year celebration, I shared the exciting news with friends on my floor. I told them about a Chinese buffet dinner and a talent show at a high school nearby. I asked friends to accompany me, but many said they'd get back to me. As the date neared, I asked again. Inevitably, they broke the truth to me: 1) They didn’t care for Chinese food and it probably wasn’t any good; 2) $10 for a buffet and a talent show was too expensive; 3) They lacked transportation to make it to the high school. I was devastated. Was it possible they didn't like steamed rice—the staple I consumed for 21 years? What, then, did they really think about the canned fruit, lychee, I once shared with them? I tried to think of reasons, but I realized that we were raised differently. Different environments + different cultures = different tastes. I didn't want to force them to eat steamed rice, if they preferred mashed potatoes.

I decided to respect their decision, but I refused to let our differences ruin my spirit—it was a new year for goodness sake! I strolled to campustown and treated myself to Chinese food: steamed rice and mixed vegetables. I talked with the restaurant’s owner in Mandarin. When she asked for details about my family’s history, I confessed that my vocabulary was limited to simple conversations. We exchanged New Year greetings: xīn nián kuài lè. I walked to the Chinese grocery store next door and scanned the aisles. Bags of noodles and canned goods filled its shelves, along with bottles of soy sauce: the perfect ingredient in Chinese dishes. I yearned to whip up chow mein noodles to share with friends, but the nonexistent kitchen in my dorm made it impossible. I settled on almond cookies and shrimp chips instead. I celebrated dinner with my reporter friend Lindsay, over a buffet of steamed rice, green beans, and egg drop soup. It didn’t compare to my mother’s home cooking, but it temporarily satisfied my craving for Chinese food. That will help get me through until I receive my mom's package of neen go, which should arrive any second!

February 06, 2007

Getting back to normal

I munch on cereal for breakfast every morning. I bundle up in winter wear every time I step outside. I peer into my mailbox every day after class. I spend every night doing homework in the study room downstairs when my roommate’s asleep. And I always look forward to making trips to the grocery store every weekend to stock up on supplies. I’m back to the same routine, after a month of hiatus during part of December and January. I’ve traded warm tropical Hawaiian breezes for the freezing arctic temperatures of Illinois.

There are times when I miss familiar faces and places, but going away to college has given me a chance to get away from my comfort zone to meet people with diverse experiences. I’ve resisted every urge to buy a one-way plane ticket home when I think about staying in Peoria to attend school at Bradley for another year, but I remember that I’ll be home for breaks in-between. I remember that I’m an adult and need to learn to fend for myself. Eventually, I’ll have to pay my bills when I land that dream job or support my family when I settle down. Family and friends may offer advice, but they won’t always be there to hold my hand through every experience I encounter. Moving 1,000 miles away from home was a hurdle, but I’ve survived so far with the support of family and friends. I’ve adjusted to living in the Midwest—compared to last semester, my first time away from home. This semester’s course load, however, seems heavier than last semester’s.

Spring semester began two weeks ago, but I have exams, group projects, and research papers lined up. I registered for six classes based on my advisor’s recommendation. But it was difficult to balance my schedule, because I finished most of my prerequisites and only upper-level classes remained. I scheduled classes on Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays, taking days off on Mondays and Fridays to finish homework, schedule interviews, and get ample rest. I decided a four-day weekend would be sufficient to tackle the weekly assignments and exams that occupy my schedule.

My Media, Race, and Gender class and Photojournalism class meet for two and a half-hours every Wednesday. Last week in the media class, we discussed issues of diversity in the media with authors of our textbook via video conferencing. This week, we’ll have class discussions about readings in the text. Every week for my photojournalism class, I’m required to have 36 candid images of strangers on a specific theme. It’s been a struggle to approach strangers with a camera, let alone find themes I haven’t covered yet. Plus, the images must be shot off campus, so I’m at a disadvantage without a car to explore the rest of Peoria. But I think meeting the challenge will be excellent practice for the real world.

I’m also taking Communication Theory, taught by a friend’s favorite professor. My friend recommended the class, but I also heard negative reviews from other students. My roommate promised to join me in a different class with the same professor, but she dropped out at the last minute. Other friends backed out, too. I was intimidated until the professor said he was aware of his reputation. He told everyone in class to keep an open mind—I have, and I’m enjoying his class so far. My other classes include Intermediate French, Principles of Microeconomics and Computer-Assisted Reporting. I’m eager to explore spreadsheets and databases to assist in investigative reporting.
Friends have begun making plans for the summer and upcoming academic year. I imagine spending my summer reporting for a newspaper or magazine, drawing attention to distinct personalities of the public and raising awareness about issues like global warming. Next semester, I’ll share ideas and experiences to enhance my campus newspaper visually and content-wise.

Until I land an internship, my plans for the summer and future remain uncertain. But I’m eager about the apartment I’ll be sharing with three friends next year. Since the apartments are open all year I’ll no longer have to worry about finding a place to stay for Thanksgiving, fall, winter, and spring breaks, when residence halls close. I’ve also begun my search for cheap flights home for spring break. It’s only one week away from school, but I’m looking forward to it.

January 18, 2007

Application déjà vu

Piles of 9 x 10 manila envelopes sit on my desk, their yellow shells printed with names and addresses of newspaper and magazine companies scattered across the U.S. Inside every envelope contains an internship application, cover letter, résumé, list of references, college transcripts, essays, and copies of my clips. I’ve chosen samples of my best work based on friends’ critiques. I check again to make sure my application is perfect. I ensure the directions are followed completely, the envelopes are addressed properly. I scan my cover letter and résumé for misspellings. I quadruple check everything for errors. One mistake could ruin my chances of getting experience as an intern. And not getting experience as an intern can hamper my chances of finding work in the competitive field of journalism.

There’s an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach as I begin my search for more summer internships. I surf through numerous websites and pour over several books to discover that most deadlines have passed, though a few remain. My acceptance or rejection to these internship programs will determine my future. I have a sudden feeling of déjà vu: I remember spending winter break last year, searching for four-year universities to transfer to. I dreaded the whole application process. I feared stumbling over my words during admissions interviews. I feared rejection from teachers when requesting letters of recommendation. I feared my essays didn’t grab readers’ attention. I feared my résumé lacked experience. I feared my transcripts didn’t scream overachiever. Most of all, I feared none of the three schools I applied to would accept me.

While most of my friends settled for schools near their homes, or selected similar tropical destinations like California, I decided it would be best for me to explore unfamiliar territory. I chose schools located in Oregon, Illinois and the District of Columbia. After submitting my application packet, the one I transferred to was out of my hands; it was up to strangers in the admissions office to decide my fate. Would they accept or reject me? I decided to make it hard for them to reject me—I made my application error-free with the help of friends and library books. Hard work and the long wait paid off—I was accepted to all three private universities. I would finally pursue my dream of attending a four-year university elsewhere. Though it seemed financially difficult upon high school graduation, completing community college made it possible. I decided to attend Bradley University, which awarded me a $3,000 Transfer Scholarship and a $2,000 Provost-Garrett Scholarship. Its location in Illinois was just what I needed: a step out of my comfort zone and a step closer to being independent. Some friends supported my decision to attend school in the Midwest; others predicted I would drop out and return home to Hawaii after a semester.

And return I have, though only for a month of winter break. But leaving home has made me appreciate simple things I once took for granted. Like hot showers in clean bathtubs for instance, and warm breezes, relaxing walks on the beach, and satisfying home cooked meals. Yet, I remember why I left everything behind. I wanted to pursue my first—snowfall, four seasons, winter coat, roommate, time away from home. Friends in Illinois deemed me crazy for choosing the state’s fluctuating temperatures and unsightly manufacturing plants over my hometown’s warm weather and famous white sandy beaches. Sometimes, I thought I was crazy, too.

My winter break has been productive; I’ve spent most of my time working crazy 10-hour shifts every day. I treasure my time spent with family and friends. I’m also finishing the rest of my internship applications. Next year, I’ll begin my daunting task of hunting for work. Will I end up in California or New York? Who knows what the future holds for me. I’m just hoping for the best as I plan for the upcoming semester.

December 18, 2006

Hawaii for the holidays

It’s been a stressful semester being a thousand miles away from home, learning to adjust to a new environment, and having to make new friends. But I found my niche while reporting news for both my campus newspaper and TV program. I made friends by immersing myself in those activities, but I managed my time for homework, too.

I adjusted quickly to living in Peoria, despite my lack of winter wear. I was told my first snowfall would occur after winter break and I needn’t worry about owning a heavy coat. I planned to buy a pea coat over the break, but I wasn’t prepared when a snow storm hit on the first day of December. My first snow day began with a light dusting at night, and ended with more than 12 inches of snow by the next morning. My friends teased me for mistaking sleet for snow. But I marveled at the spectacle anyway: a shower of ice crystals floated like feathers in the night sky and a thin layer of powdery white substance coated the ground. I awoke to a winter wonderland: blankets of snow covered every inch of campus from roadways to trees. When untouched, snow looked smooth like white cake frosting, glittering with thousands of microscopic diamonds. I was in awe at the mere sight of snow, but my friend became sick when her car was buried in it.

I had planned on using the day after the last day of classes, Study Day, to study. But like many of my friends, stressed and burnt out from school, I used that extra day before finals to relax and play in the snow. Not taking advantage of the day to study only ended up hurting me. I stayed up Sunday night and into Monday morning to study five chapters of Intermediate French. I zipped through my journalism and math finals, but I seized up in my French final. I was relieved when finals finished, but I wondered if the outcome would have been different had I studied more.

As soon as most of my friends finished their finals, they hopped in their cars and sped away. I was one of the last ones on my floor to leave. When it was my turn, I got in a cab to the airport and glanced out the window. A combination of rain, footprints, and snow plows turned the once pristine snow into grimy slush. Mounds of it sat on street corners. I decided to relish next year’s fresh snowfall.

I left the snowfall behind, transferring planes twice before arriving in Los Angeles, where I bumped into a high school friend at the airport. We caught up and shared our plans of sleeping and eating during the break, and we promised to meet for sushi and pasta.

Another flight later, I finally arrived home. I spotted my grandma in baggage claim and startled her with an embrace. My older brother helped to lug two suitcases outside, where we met my mother. She jumped out of the car and hugged me tight. At home, we devoured a big feast around the dinner table. Everyone seemed to notice I lost a few pounds.

That night, I went to bed thinking about my plans for the upcoming week. I look forward to dining with friends and soaking up the sun’s rays and the beach’s water for friends in Illinois. And I’m excited about my mission to capture mongooses on camera to compare them with squirrels. I’ll prove to friends in Illinois that squirrels aren’t as menacing as they think. It’ll be entertaining, but I also plan to be productive during the break, working and beginning my search for a summer internship. Internships are important for gaining experience, and in many cases, you need internships to land a job after graduation. As 2006 comes to a close, I’m planning for the following year: to manage my schedule and stock up on clothes for the winter.

I’ll be prepared this time around—and that’s a promise.

November 29, 2006

Family time

It was the same routine every Thanksgiving at home: I’d wake up at 8 a.m. to beat long lines at the bakery and claim boxes of custard and pumpkin pie. Then I’d volunteer to serve people in the community for the Salvation Army’s annual Thanksgiving dinner at the Neal Blaisdell Exhibition Hall. I’d return home with leftovers: bags of dinner rolls and packs of chocolate candy.

I’d tidy the house for several hours with my grandma. It was good to stay busy, as my brother and I eagerly awaited our parents’ arrival at 6 p.m. and the feast that followed—glazed ham, roast turkey, crispy chicken, tender lobster meat with ginger and green onion, gooey clams in black bean sauce, and spicy sautéed shrimp. My parents always worked their jobs at a Chinese restaurant on holidays like Christmas and New Year’s, but it became tradition to take the half day off on Thanksgiving—the only day my whole family would have a “sit down” meal around the dinner table. The next day I’d wake up before the crack of dawn, anticipating after-Thanksgiving sales at the mall.

This year, however, I spent my Thanksgiving break with relatives in Rhode Island. On Thanksgiving eve, I stuffed myself with white rice and roast turkey smothered in brown gravy. I let out a sigh of relief. It wasn’t my mom’s traditional Thanksgiving feast, but it was nice to have a home-cooked meal for once.

On Thanksgiving Day we took a trip to Boston, where heavy rainfall drenched the city. We dodged pouring rain and mud puddles in Chinatown. We ordered pastries at a bakery in Cantonese and browsed through a collection of Chinese videos at a store. We ate dim sum at a Chinese restaurant, where I learned the proper way to hold chopsticks.

I spent the day after Thanksgiving cleaning my relatives’ Rhode Island home. I had mulled over missing Black Friday sales: pushing and shoving through crowds, standing in lines that snaked around the building, and paying wholesale prices for electronics at the checkout counter. I yearned for a car to hunt for bargains, but I decided to take a walk to a nearby discount store to pass the time. I returned to their home with cleaning and organizing supplies an hour later. I vacuumed, cleaned couches and tables, washed a sink full of dishes and organized medicine and my cousin’s completed schoolwork. The house seemed clutter-free to my aunt’s and uncle’s surprise. My uncle asked if I could drop by every year to tidy up the house. I smirked and didn't promise anything.

The next day my uncle drove me back to Boston, where I met my cousin Mandy in Chinatown. We hopped aboard a subway train to downtown, where we headed to the Holocaust Memorial. The memorial consists of six large towers of glass representing death camps. We stood underneath each tower, speechless, as our eyes glazed over the glass plates—etched with white serial numbers and quotes from survivors.

Other stops that day included a meal of teriyaki chicken and rice; a horse-drawn carriage ride along the high-rise buildings and colonial churches in Boston's financial district; and some shopping, including a bookstore where we “traveled” to Hawaii via guidebooks. It made us long for warm weather and the comfort of our homes. My cousin’s boyfriend swung by in his convertible and we took a tour past their alma mater, Tufts, and the historic architecture of Harvard. Our exploration ended and we drove back to Rhode Island. My aunt and uncle treated us to more food—crab rangoon, a pupu platter, shrimp dumplings, and cocktails. We ate until our stomachs bulged. We finished our meals with pineapple, blueberry, and raspberry cheesecake.

It was good to experience a little bit of home, even if it was in Rhode Island instead of Hawaii.

November 19, 2006

A change for better or worse

I never donned a coat, a scarf, a pair of gloves, slumbered on a loft bed or even lived in a dorm—until I arrived at Bradley.

I’ve learned to put on layers of clothing to stay warm in cold weather. I’ve learned to share living quarters with someone, to reconcile with someone's quirks, habits and schedules. I’ve learned to adjust to climbing a ladder every day to reach my bed. I’ve even changed my diet of Chinese food to pasta and pizza. But my living and eating habits weren't the only things I had to adjust to. People in the Midwest, I discovered, have unique habits, attitudes and, generally, a different way of doing things.

Everything seemed foreign to me when I toured Peoria's TV news station and radio station with a group of communication majors last month. I was stunned by vastly different broadcasting equipment, use of camera angles, backdrop behind the anchor desk and even categorization of "news." My unfamiliarity with Peoria and the station's on-air personalities may have played a big role in my experience.

The local newspaper dedicates a section to "random acts of kindness," a collection of letters submitted by readers about their encounter with Good Samaritans. It's interesting to read about strangers who return lost cash or help stranded motorists. It's a relief from everyday news, especially with crime stories covering the front page nowadays. Yet, I don't think Hawaii's newspaper would devote a section to random acts of kindness, since locals generally like to spread their "Aloha Spirit" to others.

The campus newspaper, The Bradley Scout, is much different than The Kapio Newspress, the paper I worked on while in community college. The Bradley Scout is supported by advertising revenue, while The Kapio Newspress is paid by student activity fees. The budget and circulation of the Scout, of course, far exceeds The Kapio's. In fact, the Scout's more than 25 pages are packed with colorful photos every week. I used to spend more than 10 hours designing the Kapio's black-and-white newspaper, eight pages split between me and the layout editor.

I sat down with my academic adviser last month to map out my schedule for the Spring 2007 semester, along with my remaining three semesters at Bradley. With most of my general education requirements out of the way and only higher level classes left to take, I expressed an interest for a minor in multimedia. My heart sank when my adviser said it would take me an extra semester to complete a minor in multimedia. My goal to graduate in two years and incur less debt would be impossible to reach if I took that route. I decided to proceed with my backup plan: minor in marketing.

A setback of transferring from a two-year school to a four-year school is the cap, or limit, on transferable credits. Bradley accepts a maximum of 66 transfer credits from two-year institutions. Classes like “Self-Management Skills” often don’t transfer, and neither does your grade point average. I had to work exceptionally hard to maintain my grades the first semester at Bradley because my future cumulative GPA depended on it.

When I arrived at Bradley, I had great expectations of a smooth transition: I'd be a socialite, I'd ace all my classes and excel in every extracurricular activity I joined. However, that was not the case.

My ego deflated when I found out I couldn't handle everything. I was eager to get involved outside of the classroom, but it was difficult to maintain my grades as well. I refused to eat or sleep until my schoolwork was done. It seemed like a never-ending cycle of things to do. I had a natural tendency to stay awake past 1 a.m. to do work, and saying "no" to offers for lunch became a catchword. It was a constant struggle to balance school and extracurricular activities while leading a social life—especially when homesickness kicked in. Unhappy, exhausted and lonely, I wanted to hop aboard an airplane and fly to anywhere outside of Peoria. I was being irrational, I realized. Besides, my funds were nearly depleted anyway. I decided to manage my time instead. I scribbled a "to do" list on a dry erase board. I laid out important events and due dates of major assignments on a monthly calendar. I wanted to contribute to every activity that sparked my interest, but I came to the conclusion that I was human; I needed at least four hours of sleep each day. I slowly pulled back my workload, until I had the time or strength to tackle another activity. I made an effort to have lunch with friends. I even attended two basketball games with them.

It's hard to adapt to change, I must admit. As a transfer student, I started anew: new environment, new friends, new academic record and new experiences. My transition from a two-year college to a four-year university was a hurdle. School pressure and frequent parental phone calls triggered bouts of homesickness. Living in dorms was helpful in making friends, because it was the ultimate solution to combat homesickness. Joining an organization was another way to keep busy from longing for my family or home, and the chances to meet people with common interests increased. Also, it's always an excellent opportunity for "outside of the classroom" experience. I learned to write conversationally, make simple and short sentences in my broadcast stories from reporting the news for Bradley's weekly TV program, Midstate Magazine. During a copyediting session with Scout editors, I learned that the leads in my articles can be less than two sentences, yet pack a punch. I’ve grown from these experiences and I realized I still have a lot to learn.

I look forward to spending three more semesters at Bradley, mastering skills in writing, speaking, listening and interviewing. But for now, I look forward to the weeks ahead. I'll spend my Thanksgiving break with relatives in Rhode Island and I'll finally get to return home for the winter break. I can't wait to eat a good home-cooked meal, throw on a tank top and shorts, take a walk along the beaches of Oahu and climb (without a ladder) onto my bed in the privacy of my own room.

November 01, 2006

One-way ticket to paradise

It took a convention, a trip to the Midwest, a guest speaker and 21 years to figure out what I wanted to do with my life.

Although I didn’t realize it while reporting for my community college newsweekly, journalism is my calling. When I first discovered a "nationally known journalist" would be a guest speaker on campus, I scribbled the date on my calendar and highlighted it. I had the opportunity to meet Ken Auletta, a writer for The New Yorker magazine. Speaking with him and listening to his lecture, "The Media's Ethical Dilemmas," only confirmed my love for investigative reporting and long-form narrative writing.

I was first introduced to a guest speaker when my accounting teacher brought in an airline pilot to class. Dressed in a white button-down, long-sleeve shirt and black slacks, the pilot expressed his excitement to meet young blood. He passed his airline ID card around the room. “Anything different?” he asked. When the plastic card finally reached me, I glanced down at his mug shot. A sparkle was captured in his eyes. His smile, wide open, revealed gleaming white teeth. Genuine enthusiasm for work was the reason for a wide grin, he said. He confessed to having fun at work. He said he loved waking up before the crack of dawn, putting on his uniform every day and savoring every moment at work.

“Get a career, not a job,” he said. There’s a difference. A job is working at a fast-food joint to make ends meet, while glancing at your watch every half hour wishing you were in paradise. (Unless of course, you’re passionate about scooping fries and serving soft drinks.) “Do something you love and get paid for it,” he said, “because in a career — every day is a vacation.”

He’s a total nut job, I thought. Do something I love? Ha! My relatives said that'll get me nowhere. Get a secure job, I was told: become a doctor, lawyer or engineer. What normal person doesn’t want to show off their expensive cars, designer handbags and brand-name clothes? They said I needed to make enough money to support my parents, raise a family and live a comfortable life. It seemed logical, but I wasn’t spectacular in math or science, I stumbled over my words in debate competitions and I became nauseous from the slightest smell of disinfectant used in hospitals and clinics. My future didn’t seem bright.

I wanted to believe him.

“What do you want to be when you grow up?” he asked everyone. One wanted to crunch numbers for the rest of his life. Another said he planned to join the reserves after graduation. One said she wanted to pursue a career in the airline industry. The speaker nodded, reached into his black duffle bag and handed them airline wings. Then, all eyes focused on me. I had a strong urge to run out the door. I shrugged. “I don’t know,” I said.

As a child, I spent my free time in the library reading Marvel comics. Whenever I acquired loose change, I bought a 24-pack of X-Men trading cards to add to my collection of more than 70, in hopes of completing a full set. I secretly yearned to have extraordinary superhuman strength to influence a nation. I was heartbroken to find out the meaning of the word “fiction.”

In fourth grade, I doodled in my sketchbook for fun. One day I decided to share my drawings with close friends, with whom I entrusted my secret. It leaked the next day and I was unanimously voted best artist in grade four.

In high school, I made plans to become a computer graphic designer. I was almost positive that my artwork would appear on the silver screen and I would see my name roll through the credits at the end of a film. But when I stumbled upon a collection of classic musicals, I decided that I wanted to be multitalented and make a living as an actress, singer and dancer instead. I dreamt of being well known and heard around the world, but I lacked the ability to dance to a rhythm.

After watching a dozen episodes of the X-Files TV show, I had aspirations to become an FBI agent. I joined JROTC during my senior year of high school. Every Thursday after school, I appeared in matching uniform with fellow cadets. We marched in formation for hours in the baking, hot sun. When my JROTC staff sergeant promoted me to the rank of corporal, I considered enlisting in the service for its various health, education and travel benefits. I told him about my “big” plan to join the armed forces, after meeting with several recruiters from the Army Reserve and the National Guard. He responded by saying that I wouldn’t survive basic training if I couldn’t do a push-up or a pull-up during warm-ups. The truth seemed unbearable. Soon after, the Iraq war broke out and I had no intention of signing a contract.

I signed up as a marketing major at my community college instead. For fun, I took a journalism class and published an article about a sports broadcaster in the school newspaper, The Kapio. After receiving positive comments about my article, I jumped at every opportunity to write. I even landed a job as an editor, but soon I became worn out from scheduling interviews, approaching strangers with random questions, coming up with story ideas and making deadlines. I yearned to work in a less stressful environment.

I visited Bradley over the spring break with a plan to major in electronic media. When I sat down with the director of communication, he said it would take three years for me to complete a degree in electronic media as opposed to two years for one in journalism. Inevitably, I declared my major as journalism. "I'm going to be a journalist," I said nonchalantly to my adviser and the staff at The Kapio when I got back to Hawaii. They expressed excitement and predicted success for my future.

Despite their encouragements, I still convinced myself that journalism was not my cup of tea. It was a one-way ticket to the poorhouse. Once the semester ended, I cleared out my desk and turned in my key to the office. Over the summer, I stuffed two suitcases full of clothes and supplies for the fall semester at Bradley. Several story ideas popped up and I had an urge to tell everyone back at the newspaper, but remembered that I was no longer reporting for them.

When I found out a journalists’ convention was coming to town, I took advantage of the opportunity. I attended the Asian American Journalists Association's four-day convention at the Sheraton in Waikiki, where I participated in workshops, lectures and a job fair. There I met Joe, a recruiter, who looked over my resume and clips and offered some suggestions for improvement. I met Angie and Geoff, professional journalists, who saw a potential ability in me and agreed to be my mentors. I met Aldrich, an Asian American, who was in the same boat as me. Despite the stiff competition in journalism, he saw a bright future in the craft and passed on some tips and advice for finding work. I met fascinating people, who were passionate about their work and about genuine causes like providing a voice to the voiceless. I looked past the stereotypes of journalists as "slimy people always looking for negative stories." Instead, I saw them as human beings with good intentions. I was in awe of their professionalism, in spite of the negative image, pressure of deadlines and ethical dilemmas they faced every day. Journalists learn to develop thick skin, I was told.

And I wanted to be among them. I was inspired and motivated to pursue a career in journalism. It’s hard to imagine a day when I’m not writing or reporting, coming up with good story ideas, probing for tough questions, finding what makes people tick and making sense of a bunch of information and quotes. Maybe, reporting on subjects that matter, I’ll influence a nation. Maybe I’ll share my work with others and perhaps inspire or motivate them. Maybe I’ll see my byline in a film or play review. Maybe I’ll save the world doing some investigative work.

Maybe I will be a nut job after all—but a happy one.

October 18, 2006

Under the weather

I strolled outside last Thursday morning, expecting to see "scattered flurries," as weather forecasts predicted. I was greeted by clear blue skies and gusts of icy air instead. My face and body turned numb, despite the heavy jacket, fleece scarf and gloves I donned. It's only the beginning of fall and I'm shivering! During the brief walk to my 9 a.m. math class, I wondered if I would survive the severe arctic winter winds. More than an hour later, I returned to my dorm room and peered out the window. No signs of snowfall. No layers of white fuzz on the ground. No phenomena of nature falling from the sky.

"There's a chance of flurries tomorrow morning," I whispered to floor mates the night before. I made sure everyone knew about it. I even phoned my mom. I didn't care if everyone thought I was odd, and I armed myself with a digital camera just in case the spectacle appeared.

My classmate in French claimed she saw flurries early morning. I surfed the local news website and read the weather prediction, and was disappointed to learn that scattered flurries were confirmed early morning. Somehow, I missed it. Buffalo, N.Y., on the other hand, was slammed by a snowstorm, which caused massive power outages and damage throughout the state.

While surfing through a news website on Sunday morning, one of the top stories with “Hawaii” in its headline caught my eye. I clicked the hyperlink to see what the fuss was all about.

When the webpage loaded, the headline screamed, “Breaking news: Hawaii issues disaster declaration.” The words “6.7 magnitude quake” and “governor declared statewide emergency” sent shivers down my spine. I skimmed the article and looked for "Oahu," "injuries" and "deaths." Immediately, I grabbed my cell phone and dialed home. No signal. I punched in the numbers to my mom’s cellular. No signal either. Grandma’s home? No luck there. I tried calling my parents’ workplace, friends and anyone I could think of at that moment. “All circuits are busy now, please try your call again,” pierced a stiff, mechanical voice.

A handful of feelings rushed through me: anger, weakness, frustration, anxiousness. I was overwhelmed with homework, but the news only made matters worse. I remembered calling my mother earlier that night to complain about something silly like eating mass-produced cafeteria food and wearing rubber slippers while showering. I remembered calling my grandmother during lunchtime one day, because I didn’t have time to call later with my overwhelming, crammed schedule. Despite reports of no major damages, the news of an earthquake occurring on Big Island and later reaching Oahu, causing massive power outages throughout the state made me expect the worst. Who would I complain to about the food in Peoria? Especially the nearby Chinese restaurant’s version of “white rice” -- instant wild rice mixed with fried eggs. I wondered if anyone noticed the name was false and misleading.

I surfed several national news websites for more information about the earthquake and checked a Hawaii newspaper for details. “Landslides, power outages, but no deaths,” reported one headline. I talked to a floor mate from California and she gave me hope that everyone on Hawaii was okay. Although earthquakes are considered an everyday occurrence in California, the one that rocked the islands was shocking to residents, including me.

I wanted reassurance of no major injuries or deaths. For the umpteenth time, I dialed home to family and friends. I was shocked when a friend’s voice echoed through my ears. I was relieved to hear a familiar voice from home. I went to bed, hoping the news reports were accurate.

When I awoke, I immediately phoned home, where it was 7 a.m. PST. When my mother’s groggy voice answered on the other line, a wave of relief washed over me. I wanted to hear the news from her that everyone survived the quake. No major injuries or deaths reported. Everyone was okay, after all.

I, too, would be okay.

October 03, 2006

Homesick blues

I called my school's housing department to ensure that I won't be homeless next week. They said that I shouldn't worry, because I won't be without a home ... for fall break at least.

I discovered, however, that students are required to check out of their rooms during Thanksgiving, winter and spring breaks because residence halls are closed. I was unaware of this detail until I filled out the housing form two months ago.

Almost everyone plans to go home for the four-day break, because their home is within driving distance from the university. I’d like to do the same, but my “home” is more than 1,000 miles away and can only be reached through a grueling 10-hour flight.

The closest I can get to home is by eating Chinese food. I can’t help but tell everyone I’d prefer to eat chicken chow mein, white rice and spring rolls over the cafeteria’s usual menu of pasta, burgers and mashed potatoes.

I hate to admit it, but I miss having choy sum and white rice at every meal. I miss eating rice plain, sprinkled with furikake or drizzled with soy sauce. I miss having dim sum for breakfast and kimchi as a snack. I miss finger foods like musubi, malasadas and mochi. I miss the local tradition of eating saimin on rainy days. I miss paying less than five dollars for a chicken katsu plate lunch. I miss the side order of macaroni salad that often comes with every plate lunch in Hawaii. I miss driving hours for juicy butter and garlic prawns, sweet pineapple ice cream and Hawaiian flavored shaved ice. I miss drinking from the tap without having to worry about an odd metallic taste in the water. I miss spending hours with friends talking about the past, present and future over lava flow and mai tais.

Most of all, I miss eating my dad’s rice vermicelli with fish balls every Monday; receiving daily phone calls from my grandma inquiring about what I had eaten for breakfast, dinner and lunch; and listening to my mom’s nagging to drink her “special” pork bone soup every night.

Winter break seems like a long way off, because 12 more weeks are left before I finally get to return home. Until then I can’t wait, because I’ll get to have all the ono kine grindz (delicious local foods) I want!

September 18, 2006

S'more things to do

I was on the student panel of Bradley's community college articulation conference with four transfer students last Friday. Articulation refers to the agreement between community colleges and four-year colleges and universities about which courses a transfer student can take which will be accepted for credit at the four-year colleges. We introduced ourselves to nearly 20 counselors from Illinois. We answered general questions about our reasons for transferring to Bradley and offered suggestions for advising students.

If I returned to my high school as a guest speaker today, I would offer this advice:

• Look beyond the Ivy League schools and find one that fits. Don't choose a school based on your family's notion of what a "perfect" university is or where all your friends will be next summer.

• Don't dismiss the option of attending a community college, because of common misconceptions. Community colleges offer the same education as four-year universities and are half the price! Why not save on tuition, while you can explore all areas of academic interest?

• Get involved! Who knows? Maybe you'll find your niche.

• Don't procrastinate! You'll never get anything done if you do, so kick that habit!

If I had the chance to do it all over again, I wouldn't change a thing, with the exception of my bad habits.

I am a nocturnal person. Sometimes, I wake up as late as 10 a.m. or stay up until 3 in the morning. My roommate is the exact opposite. Luckily, we both can get some peace and quiet because there's a study room downstairs in our dorm. I spend most of my nights there, finishing up the weekly project for my communications class and writing articles for the school newspaper. I'm eager to get involved, but I find that I don't have enough time in a day to fit everything into my overloaded schedule. I'm struggling to do my homework between classes, meetings and extracurricular activities. It seems nearly impossible to divide my attention among several activities, while spending quality time and effort in them.

Everyone offered me the same advice: Take things slowly.

And I am! I'm working on time management issues. I've found that calendars can be very useful. Once in a while, I try to take a break from studying and doing homework. It helps to relieve stress even if it's for a short period of time. This past week, I signed up with my roommate to spruce up one of the six bathroom stalls on our hall. We decorated a stall in an overall fish theme and covered it with gift wrap, construction paper, tin foil and newspaper clippings.

All the girls on my floor gathered downstairs on Thursday night to roast marshmallows over a charcoal grill. We sandwiched gooey brown marshmallows and pieces of Hershey’s chocolate bars between two graham crackers to make what's called, "S'mores." It was the first one I ever had—it was S'more-licious! I watched a teen comedy with friends for an hour on Saturday. And last night, everyone in the dorm brought their own bowls for free Cap'n Crunch cereal at the hall council meeting.

Hopefully, when fall break arrives, I'll be able to take a "real" break.

September 02, 2006

A home away from home

Everyone seems to notice that I’m not from Illinois. Since arriving in Peoria, everyone I’ve met has asked me the same question, “Why did you leave Hawaii?!”

I want to give them some silly answer like, “I had rock fever, so I came here to cool down.” But inevitably, I tell them the truth. I was bored, I sought change, and I wanted to experience living in an environment other than the year-round warm weather I was used to for 21 years.

So here I am at Bradley University. Rest assured, the Midwest is unique, different and as far from Hawaii as one can get!

I’ve never seen the mysterious cicada insect before, but I am greeted by the high-pitched, chirping noises they make daily. I see squirrels scurrying around campus to gather food. The adorable, furry animals remind me of the mongooses back home with the exception that mongooses feed on birds and rodents.

After having eaten white rice at every meal since grade school, it’s difficult to change my eating habits. Gradually, I’m adjusting to the cafeteria’s endless selection of bread, pasta, pizza and potatoes. When I get sick of the food there, I can make a quick stop at one of the Chinese, Indian or Vietnamese restaurants nearby.

The Midwestern food isn’t the only thing I’m learning to adjust to here. The locals warn me that the current weather is nothing compared to the winter’s record of below-zero temperatures. The 64-degree temperature is what they call “normal weather.” Wearing an extra thick, puffy jacket to keep myself from shivering is unusual. I didn’t even own a coat until I arrived!

The combination of the dampness outside; the air conditioning in the dorms; the booming hip hop music emanating from one of the rooms nearby; the towering height of the loft bed; and the stiffness of the mattress make it difficult for me to sleep at night. But I’m adapting, although slowly. Sharing a cramped space with my roommate has taught me to respect the other person’s differences. Essentially, the key to resolving conflict is not to avoid differences, but rather, to communicate! That shouldn’t be hard because, like me, most of the people on my dorm floor are communication majors and/or transfer students.

The walls and bulletin boards of our dorm are plastered with posters and flyers of campus events, performances and club information. Activities are often scheduled late in the evening to make sure a whole day isn’t wasted. I’m not used to the idea of walking across campus late at night to attend a club meeting from 9 until 11 p.m. Yet, I find myself cramming all sorts of events into my daily planner.

School began last month, and I’m swamped with homework. I’ve begun to work on my major in communications, taking classes such as Survey of Communication, Introduction to Media Production and Journalistic Writing. I’ve finished most of my general education requirements, but since my credits in algebra from my community college did not transfer, I had to register for a basic college math class. The text focuses on word problems as opposed to basic arithmetic and complex formulas. I’m not a big fan of logic or mathematics in general, but it seems a lot easier to tackle in the form of the English language.

Speaking of English, imagine my reaction when the teacher spoke no English on the first day of my intermediate French class! After struggling with two semesters of French at community college, I decided to take a year off. Bad move! I soon learned that I needed to complete another year of French to fulfill my foreign language requirement. So when you take a foreign language, don’t take time off between classes or you’ll have some unwanted surprises and a loss of knowledge.

If you’re planning to transfer to a four-year college or university, take basic liberal arts classes (e.g., English, math, humanities, science) to complete general education requirements associated with most majors. Specialized classes like “Pre-College Mathematics” or “Self Management Skills” may not transfer. You’ll probably be better off taking courses in English composition or introductory classes in psychology or another social science or a physical science. Speak with someone in the admissions office or a transfer counselor (if available) for more information about the specifics needed to transfer and for more details about receiving a transfer credit evaluation. Always make sure that the credits you have taken (or will take) transfer to the college of your choice, otherwise it’ll be a waste of valuable time, effort and money! Also, apply several months prior to the semester you wish to transfer in. If admitted, you may request to defer enrollment or hold your spot for up to a year (this may require a deposit). Once I was accepted to Bradley, I took a semester off to work a part-time job, to finish classes at community college and to cool off before making my big move.

Peoria may not be home yet, but I’m eager to explore the surrounding area. I know I’ll be too busy to be bored with my new-found freedom, full course load and involvement in activities.

August 20, 2006

Aloha, Hawaii!

For nearly two decades, I grew up loathing everything about Hawaii: its isolation from the rest of the United States, its predictable warm weather, its association with all things "touristy" and its label as "the ultimate tropical paradise."

I dreaded the thought of staying on this "tiny little rock in the middle of the Pacific" for the rest of my life. But only recently did I begin to appreciate the island of Oahu.

Last week, I snorkeled the waters of Hanauma Bay with a close friend of mine. For the first time in many years, I climbed the Diamond Head crater. I drove for hours with friends to the North Shore area to ease our cravings for Dole's sweet pineapple ice cream, Haleiwa's mouth-watering shaved ice and Kahuku's juicy butter and garlic prawns. And, for the first time ever, I watched the sunset on Waikiki's beach.

I realized, while growing up on the island, I didn't have enough time to appreciate everything Hawaii -- the warm aloha spirit, various ethnic cuisines and the melting pot of cultures. I was too busy looking for negative aspects to add to my list of reasons to dislike the island that I didn't allow myself to appreciate its surrounding beauty.
Already I miss Hawaii. Though I'll be miles away, I know that I can always come home to family and friends who support me. I will be leaving for the airport in a few hours. I'm excited to embark on my journey to the Midwest and frankly, I can't wait to start school.

I look forward to living on my own for the first time in 21 years; dwelling in the school's dorm with my new roommate Sara; writing and reporting for The Bradley Scout; competing on Bradley's speech team; meeting and making new friends; organizing road trips with several friends and raking over 1,000 miles on the rental car's odometer; bundling up in layers of clothing; donning my first winter coat in temperatures below 30 degrees F; wearing thermal underwear and experiencing its "miraculous" effects against the extreme cold (or so I'm told); watching and living through the four seasons; encountering my first snowflakes (frozen snow in ziplock bags don't count); building a man made of snow; throwing snowballs at complete strangers; forming indentations of an angel with my body in the snow; and exploring the rest of Bradley and hopefully, everything around Peoria, Ill.

August 05, 2006

Tips for transfer students

The decision to transfer was based on my long-term goal to earn a bachelor's degree, which my community college did not offer. To qualify as a prospective transfer student to most four-year universities, I had to fill out applications for admission; solicit official copies of my college transcripts; compile a resume; acquire a glowing letter of recommendation; and draft several personal statements. Transfer students are judged differently than high school applicants, since high school transcripts and standardized test scores are often not required for those who complete more than 15–24 transferable credits in college. Luckily for me, I obtained more than 50 transferable credits in liberal arts to satisfy general education requirements.

As a successful transfer student:
• I got a jump start in my admission applications by applying a semester in advance;
• I received extensive feedback on my essays and resume;
• I sought academic counseling and advice from teachers, advisers and friends;
• I turned in my college applications weeks in advance;
• and most importantly, I made sure my credits were transferable to the schools I applied to (many of which only provided transfer credit evaluations upon acceptance).

While you will judge the reputation of the schools you apply to, don't overlook other factors such as geographical location, classroom size and student body, course and major offerings, extracurricular options and the overall cost of attendance. Try not to judge a school solely by its academic reputation from a ranking on a website or its listing in the glossy pages of a magazine. Statistical rankings are often misleading and may not accurately reflect a school's overall caliber. Extracurricular activities may often be overlooked, but they are usually excellent tools for learning, and they serve to enhance your academic experience. Whether it is participation in a sport, publication or a play, you can get involved outside of classrooms and meet new people at the same time. Based on your personality and preferences, you should choose an environment you will thrive in; schools where you will benefit the most from academically, socially and most of all, one where you will be happiest.

August 01, 2006

Reflections of a late bloomer

I haven’t taken the route to college that my relatives expected me to. My family had always told me that I needed to attend a prestigious, well-known university to land a high paying career. My mother even offered me several career suggestions: a doctor, lawyer and engineer. But to her disappointment, I turned ill at the sight of blood; I was terribly quiet and shy among strangers; and math and science weren't exactly my fields of expertise. My less-than-average academic record, unfortunately, ruined my chances of attending a brand-name university.

The summer I graduated from high school, I was asked, "What are your plans now?" While most of my classmates and friends applied to schools on the mainland, signed up for the service or searched for jobs upon graduation, I had no definite plans. But when my strict Chinese mother learned that I had no future plans or career goals, she gave me two options: get out of the house and find a job or attend a community college. Since I dreaded the idea of going out into the "real world" alone, I chose the latter.

The decision I made by default to attend Kapi`olani Community College (KCC) in Honolulu, Hawaii, was the best thing that happened to me. Despite the criticism and lack of support I received from family and friends for attending a less-than-selective school in my hometown, I quickly found my niche.

During my first semester at KCC, I enrolled as a full-time student and worked part-time as a cashier in the cafeteria. Working while trying to focus on my studies was challenging. I worked hard to maintain my grades by seeking help from teachers in the math and science classes when needed. I took several classes, stumbled upon a journalism course and published my first article about a public figure in the school newspaper. The euphoria of seeing my name in print and the excitement of meeting someone famous propelled me to write.

When my journalism instructor encouraged me to join the staff, I was hesitant at first, but he saw a potential ability in me, so I decided to give it a shot. I promised to spend one semester as a staff writer, but I ended up landing a position as one of the editors. I spent nights and even weekends in the newsroom, learning everything from basic reporting and editing to the intricacies of layout design and photography. Story ideas often sprung up from my natural curiosity about people and events in the community. I met people of all backgrounds, races and age groups from covering news and feature pieces. I took pride in the stories I wrote and did my best to report from both sides, but I was occasionally challenged by students and teachers who deemed my work as "slanted." Although there were a few setbacks along the way, the people I met inspired and motivated me to pursue a career in journalism. Friends and teachers continued to support me through times of difficulty: offering their advice and words of encouragement.

I may not have attended a well-known university, but I found the experiences I received from my hometown's two-year school worthwhile. My less-than-average high school grades no longer mattered since I was given another chance at school: to build a brand-new academic record from scratch. I found that I enjoyed the intimacy of small classes and personalized attention as opposed to being lost in large lecture halls and unrecognized by professors. I felt that I had more room to explore my interests without the financial constraints of attending a four-year university. Once I realized that I could easily gain "real world" experience in communication and leadership from working part-time jobs, getting involved in clubs or organizations and even from volunteering for a semester — I took advantage of every opportunity available. I discovered that happiness came from my experiences, not from the brand-name of the school I attended. I learned that out-of-classroom activities such as internships and extracurricular activities are excellent opportunities for learning and growth. The people I encountered made such experiences memorable. Had I chosen to attend another school, I never would have met the teachers whom I respect and admire, nor forged friendships with the classmates, co-workers and interview subjects that I did.

After spending two years at KCC, I decided there was little room left for me to explore and grow. I yearned for a quick change of pace, a challenging academic environment and a livelier social atmosphere. And so, I finally did something I had never done before in high school — applied to schools on the mainland. I put my journalism skills to good use in acquiring every source (books, college fair, Internet, word-of-mouth) available to research as much as possible about the schools I applied to. I was often tempted by societal pressures and the prestige of attending a brand-name school. Instead, I opted for schools that provided students with more out-of-classroom experiences. I sought a diverse array of extracurricular options and a small student enrollment of 5,000. I narrowed down my options, arrived at a decision of three transfer universities and applied to all of them online. Each had its distinctive qualities, but only one stood out in my mind.

Bradley University embodies everything I looked for in a school: small classes taught by faculty members instead of teaching assistants; over 200 clubs and organizations to choose from; and a career center for "real world" preparation. Its location in Peoria, Illinois, boasts a safe, close-knit community to provide a college experience free from the distractions of big city life. Yet, the three-hour distance from Chicago attracts me, too.

On the plane ride to visit the school last spring, nervousness and uncertainty crept inside of me. I wondered if I had made the right decision; whether Bradley was as I had imagined it to be. Once I had the opportunity to meet everyone there, my nerves were put at ease and the surrounding town made me feel right at home. I listened to my intuition and decided that Bradley is where I needed to be; I easily pictured spending the rest of my undergraduate years there.

I believe the school a person chooses to attend may not determine their future, nor measure their level of success, but what they choose to accomplish while there will. Though my parents never attended college, I'm grateful they place a strong emphasis on education. My mother was determined to put me through school, after I graduated from high school with no plans for the future.

Looking back, I can't believe that I survived four long years of high school or that my three years at community college have flown by so quickly. Now, I can only look forward to more experiences at my new school.

In the end, I believe Bradley is where I will be happiest.