Technofail

I just wrote this: "Spring"

but it's showing up far below.

Healing

"...and because I like hospitals", I said, and was greeted with a bemused (and perhaps slightly concerned) look. The physical therapist I'm talking to is probably twice my weight and has a shiny bald head that's reflecting the limited light in the SICU during "nap time". He's asked me why I want to be an occupational therapist. We're waiting for an energetic, sweet, and Finnish nurse named Toula to finish caring for the patient before he and the occupational therapist I'm working with head in through the various vestibules and automatic doors.

My answer is, as usual, a mumble jumble of words about diversity and caring. I'm never really quite sure what to say, and for some reason "It's what I've wanted to do since I was 15 and no, poop doesn't bother me" doesn't quite seem like the answer people are looking for. In honesty, I've been raised to believe that care for other humans is paramount. The kindness you can do people as well as service is center stage for my parents. In fact, it might be the only thing I can think of that they find equally important. I grew up knowing I wanted a career that was rewarding, helpful but also financially stable and occupational therapy fills those requirements and another list longer than Santa's.

I spend the rest of the day bouncing around various ICUs experiencing something that seems akin to OT hazing: I read charts too many times, can't find the bathroom, can't sit down, and elevators are definitely for wusses (even when getting from the eighth floor to the second). Patients thankfully make up for my heavy bladder and my aching feet and when I leave the hospital and hit the sunshine I have a small smile on my face.

Tiger Mama...

...is a babe.

Defending the Tiger Mother

I recently read Amy Chua’s “Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother” after the book was given a gigantic amount of publicity, blown up over the Internet, and mentioned in my beloved Minority Group Relations Sociology class. Appropriately enough we had just begun discussing model minorities, and I was (un)surprisingly given the job of talking for the United State’s entire population of Asian American young women. Not that I don’t mind this illustrious job but honestly it’s a big responsibility and a ridiculous one at that.

Someone raised their hand to say “She didn’t let her daughters go to SLEEPOVERS!”, like she had strung some one up on a rope and left them to sleep upside down. As time went on the entire list was revealed and outrage was poured out at the thought of a childhood devoid of school plays, extracurriculars other than the ones your parents picked, and TV. I didn’t help my Asian American case by raising my hand to say, “So? Normal is relative. It works.”

I realized that I was becoming quickly defensive of Chua’s methods, because I think a person should stick to their guns and I do, to a point, agree with what she’s saying. However, the sensationalist manner in which she did it was a turn off for me. She is quite the Ivy League smarty pants, and she knows exactly what she’s doing and how she can profit from it. This is to me, again, something to be admired but I don’t want to read her bragging.

My overarching opinion after reading this book, as well as listening to the criticism parents have rained down upon her and hearing her parenting discussed by students and parents alike is that there is nothing wrong with the model minority. If anything, it’s been a helpful thing in my life. It is definitely hurtful to members of the Asian community who do not fit into the model minority (Southeast Asians for instance, and those who do not have the opportunities for education that it is assumed the Asian community has) but for the rest of us, how can it hurt?

In a society that is quick to set up it’s children for dependence and failure, believing that your children should be the best ought to be appreciated and mimicked. I was raised in a world where giving up was not an option and I was held to the highest standards. I don’t think I’ve managed to meet those standards, which is sometimes difficult to come to terms with. I do know that I’m proud of 15 years of classical violin training, and 13 years of ballet. These things taught me the meaning of long term and showed me that working toward a long term goal is an achievable thing.