(To the reader of the "Why I love Villa Park" blog entry, I didn't know where to reach you, so this is my response.) In a country and even in a part of the world where frivolity and excessiveness are as familiar and flagrant as the stifled air we breathe, my motivation for examining the wonders of suburban life were quite simple and naïve; to give thanks and recognition for a privilege that is not so easily bestowed upon others. Knowing that with a simple twist of fate in my own parents’ lives, I could have very fluently transitioned to the after-math of war-torn poverty in a third world country, feeding off only the despair and furled pride that remains.
It is indeed the sense of community that unites us, but the fact remains that without the underlying environment, community is nothing. We are physical beings that take in the breath of life, but are forced to succumb to its sometimes harsh, calloused hands as well. And so the community that envelops us also in turn, shapes us.
Would I gladly grow up in a place that emits a few chlorofluorocarbons versus suffering the effects of 2,4-D (Agent Orange), or sit in a deadlock of traffic for an interminable amount of time, versus having my home and privacy ransacked by communist officials?? The answer on both accounts is most definitely yes.
And so my response to the idea that we are “spoiled” in our riches and matriculation through an inflated educational system is that I completely agree, but I am supremely conscious of what the alternative could and still might be with the right turn of events. So for all the things that I grew up with, I am not ashamed, for all the material possessions I didn’t grow up with, I am quite simply unapologetic. I know their worth and value in terms of personal appraisal, and that’s all that really matters to me.
This article just proves exactly what I've been defending and enduring for the last three months since graduation (see third caption: academic research scientists) News article . Some days I love my job, and on some days, like this one, I wish I worked in a multi-group conglomerate, evil corporation whose soul purpose is making money. But alas, I do sadly believe in what I do...
1. If you want to participate, leave a comment below asking to be interviewed. 2. I will resond by asking you 5 questions--each person's will be different. 3. You will update your journal / blog with the answers to the questions. 4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview others in the same post. 5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them 5 questions.
Aaron's questions for me: Can you describe in more than 10 words why you like cheese and/or pickles so much?
You must be referring to my spontaneous propensity to utter the phrase “I love cheese!” at any given moment, regardless of appropriateness or not, and for stealing pickles off your plate at meals… Well, seeing as taste is both a product of nature and nurture, I would say that genetically I have taste papillae very attuned to the taste of glutamate, an essential amino acid found in cheese, and a need for H+ protons found in sour foods needed to maintain cell membrane potential. On the nurture side, I dunno, my mom really liked pickles when she was pregnant. As for the cheese thing, that’s another mystery of science…
Is there a book/song/artistic work that inspires you in life and why?
Wow, this could be a very lengthy discussion in itself. I have a different song for every aspect of my life—heartbreak, hope, loneliness, inspiration, gratitude, love, and a mix of the rainbow of emotions above. I know not only exactly what song I want to be played at my wedding, but also at my funeral (When You Say Nothing at All, and Say Goodnight, Not Goodbye). So that’s an extremely difficult question. As for books, my favorite is also my inspiration—Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice. It is a story of romantic but realistic hope in a time of oppression. It’s a love story that defies all odds, but with a twist of humor and irony and a twinge of self-deprecation. It’s a story I loved as a child but understand its depths more as I grow older, and will continue to love forever.
So what is the deal with you and eyebrows?
I could make up an incident that severely traumatized me in childhood, but honestly I have no idea why I have such a fascination with people’s eyebrows. They are the first attribute that I notice on a person’s face, although sometimes subconsciously. I am also quite critical about the size, shape, length, arch and general appearance of them in proportion to other facial features. You’ve got me on this one…
I know that you are someone who aspires to change the world in a positive way. What would be the one specific thing you would do to change the world if you knew it would be the only thing you'd be able to accomplish?
I’m basing my entire career around this goal, actually. One of the many underlying reasons for doing clinical research is to improve health outcomes. I’m not expecting to cure AIDS or cancer; there are much more intelligent people out there who will eventually do that. Health outcomes and equal access to health care is something I’ve always been passionate about, even before I knew exactly how to pursue this. But now that I’ve got a partial foot in the door, I realize that it is entirely possible in our lifetime to provide the best standard of care for all people, and to alleviate many of the current accompanying morbidities of both chronic and infectious diseases, if not eliminate the pre-determined mortalities altogether.
What is one thing about your chosen field of study/job that you can't stand and is a black mark on the job?
While I love most everything about my “chosen field” as you put it, there’s a small logistical aspect that I can’t seem to get past. That is, research is where the money is. Hence, no money, no research. So when you’re running a clinical study, about half the time is devoted to writing a grant in order to get funding, re-writing it according to the reviewers’ preferences, and submitting multiple other grants in order to get further funding. It’s all a lot of wasted time and effort, I think (although the relief of finally getting that nod to funding is as close to a feeling of euphoria as you can get). We all spend so much of our time multi-tasking as business managers and accountants that sometimes it’s very easy to lose track of what is imminent and important.
The joys of small town/suburban living did not allude me when I was home for a short stint this weekend. However chaotic my own personal schedule may have been, there was still the unspoiled atmosphere of lingering leisure and easiness wafting about. 18 years of living in a town sharp on the cusp of a major metropolitan to be an outlet of entertainment, but yet somehow unfettered by the hustle and bustle, brings pangs of pride and slight sadness - reminiscent of a time when things were more innocent, almost irreproachable.
This is a place where on any given Sunday afternoon, the elderly knife wielder who will sharpen your kitchen blades for 50 cents can be seen rolling his cart down the sidewalk after the close of the French market. It’s also a place that for as long as I can remember, our neighbors remember every single family member’s birthday and stop by with a card and small gift, and don’t turn out their own bedroom lights until the last remaining teenager has returned home.
It’s most definitely a friendly town, where 9 out of every 10 people (I counted) on the walking trail will say hello and possibly stop for a chat. Gossip runs rampant, and in two short days, I now know the current ongoings of most everyone on our block (the neighbors in the brown house both work for the school district recently renovated their house because they like to entertain; the couple in the house kitty-corner from us who’ve always had questionable taste in lawn ornaments are moving soon). Children still play on the street without fear, and it is a place where my fifth grade teacher still recognizes me at the grocery store.
Even more importantly than all of these things, it’s a place where my family, my love and life, reside. And even though it’s been six years and some odd months since the first time I said goodbye… it never gets any easier.
The aftertaste of my morning half-cup of no cream/one sugar/skim milk coffee sits strangely acrid on my tongue this morning, the bitterness slightly reminiscent of that very first jolt of that lucid drug that kept the weight of college bearable and forgiving.
But as I examine the dark swirl of cocoa-colored liquid in my coffee mug this morning for altercations, I see nothing out of the norm.
It is the same mug that I’ve had for the last 16 months, 5 days and a smattering of hours here and there. Washed and re-used, re-washed and used once again, symbolic of the changes in my persona and mentality in the last 16 months and 5 days. It’s strange how one small sense of variation has brought to light an epic change.
While I pulling into the Target's parking lot last night, my windows were rolled down and so I could hear a snippet of conversation from the couple approaching their car and unloading their bags. Within this small time frame as we crossed paths, I heard, unmistakably this sentence spelled out phonetically to the best of my ability: "I don't like d'em Romaine noodly thangs, it's really gots no flava; me's really hate dooze ecky $%!#%."
The grammar-nerd in me literally freaks out when someone doesn't know the difference between "you" and "you're", but this was almost TOO much to bear. And judging by mere appearances, this was not an isolated misuse of the English language. And no, the couple was not black, which would almost justify a different dialect.
So, as I got out of my car quickly, trying not to look completely horrified, I thought to myself that maybe the next time I am witness to a dangling participle or a split infinitive, I may not get so worked up or distraught, as those are just mere squabbles in full-fledged warfare, including verb tenses, the ongoing less versus fewer debate, and the hundred years war over pronoun placement in a sentence.
~~It's the heart, afraid of breaking, that never learns to dance. It's the dream, afraid of waking, that never takes a chance. It's the one who won't be taken, who cannot seem to give. And the soul, afraid of dying, that never learns to live. ~~
