Snapshots with Princess Nell

Nell is ready to go :) 

An overcast day is perfect for thinky thoughts.

Green flourishes in the algae-populated wastewater.

Day 29: They still think I am a real tree.

Those two distant dots in the concrete are a man and his dog.

There is so much going on in this backyard... 

To the right, we have the secret garden...

Pink, white, red, and purple bougainvilleas.

Maybe these birds are spelling out a song... too bad I can't read music. 

Little white dove, you came to the wrong neighborhood... 

Homeless people live in those cement dugouts... 

Pigeons in flight.

We arrive at the city of Cypress. 

Some little details that could not be captured by photo were

The intimidating glare emitted by a mob of gangster-looking ravens, strutting their avian swagger. 

The wall of air that hits your face, taking you aback, when an entire flock of dusty gray pigeons suddenly takes flight at the first sense of a threat.

The gaze of an old man as he slowly pulls the strings tighter on the hood of his wife's fleece jacket, and then cocoons her face with his warm hands. 

The concrete and soda-can smell of wastewater, flowing into the artificial stream from car washes, commercial plazas, and nonexistent rainfall. 

The pruned hands of a young woman standing in her backyard, furiously hand washing a load of laundry in a large white plastic bucket. (Twenty minutes later, when I was on my way back home, she was still washing.)

The feeling of nervousness when you suddenly stumble upon a bearded homeless man, and immediately wonder if you can outrun him. 

The feeling of guilt when he merely looks at you with tired eyes framed by deep wrinkles, and you look away. 

Desert Fairytale.

Without warning the wind picked up again, bringing a slight chill to the rocky desert landscape in spite of the bright morning sun. It raised goosebumps and loosened a strand of hair from her braid, blowing it across her face. She quickly brushed it aside before taking the next step from one boulder to the next, following closely behind a pair of scuffed white chucks and the adventurous boy that was wearing them.

“Let’s stop here,” he pointed, “up on this rock.”

They clambered up to a large boulder to take a quick breather and take in the surrounding scenery. Scattered across their view were piles and piles of bulky, dust-colored stone, some stacked in almost precarious natural sculptures and some caught mid-fall down the mountainside. Thorny plants and shrubs, proving hardy against the difficult environment, thrived in little crevices between the boulders. Their spiny leaves and branches reached up toward the sun, which was currently burning a white-hot hole in the azure sky.

The two sat quietly for a moment, just taking it all in. Suddenly, their silence was punctuated by a distant sound.

“Did you hear that?” he asked. She looked around, scanning the rocks and trying to locate the source of such a bizarre noise. In contrast with the rigidness of their surroundings, this was soft, clean, and melodic, like the musical twinkling of--

“Bells. It sounds like bells,” she said. “but why are there bells in the desert?”
“Maybe this is how the desert people lure tourists into their traps,” he said with a straight face, followed by a teasing smile, “this is how we die.”
“You have such a wild imagination.” They stood, trying to hone two pairs of small ears on the direction that the twinkling was coming from.

“There ?” she pointed, and then looked toward the right “...or there ? It almost sounds like it’s coming from two different places.”
“Let’s go investigate.”

They paused every couple steps to listen again for the sound, and reevaluate the direction it seemed to be coming from. Not too long after, they were standing on top of another boulder when suddenly--

“I see it!” he exclaimed, “do you see that thing over there ?”

Tucked in a gap between larger stone, there was a small copper plate hung on a wire, swinging back and forth in the wind. With their target in sight, the two treasure seekers hopped and crawled their way over more rocks, closing the distance between them and this oddly placed musical object. 

Upon getting closer, they realized that it was not only a copper plate on a string, but a set of windchimes-- five long, cylindrical metal tubes and two copper plates, fixed to a coffee-colored wood base. As the wind blew gently, the tubes clinked and clanked against each other, producing a lovely pentatonic melody. 

“So this is what has been serenading us,” she remarked, satisfied at having solved the mystery. Standing on her toes, she leaned forward and swung the copper plate back and forth, releasing a louder and more frantic blend of notes. The sound echoed across the rocks. 

“What a strange item to find while hiking in the desert...” she said. “I almost feel like we are in a video game, and that we have to collect this item in order to continue the quest!”
“At least it wasn’t a death trap,” he joked. “I’ve played enough games to be suspicious of such entrancing things.”

The chimes calmed from their earlier disruption, returning to their original swaying motion. They rotated slowly in the wind, and settled back into a gentle, musical twinkling.

“This is almost magical. I swear, stuff like this only happens in movies...” Reaching out to hold his hand, she said, “...yet here we are, and suddenly, life is like a fairytale.”

“Well that means it will end happily ever after,” he smiled. 

The 2012 UCI Medal- A Celebration of Stars

 A few weeks ago, I had the privilege of spending an evening in the gorgeously transformed grounds of the Bren Events Center, volunteering at the annual UCI Medal. Upon entering the building, I could not even believe that I was inside the Bren. The last time I was in the building was for my own commencement ceremony back in June, and it was completely unrecognizable.

Of course, my camera phone does not do the interior justice.

A luxe white carpet ushered guests into the lobby, where they were greeted by a small waterfall, bouquets of white orchids, and shimmery, peach-colored satins. The inside of the gymnasium was even more beautiful; the room was filled with a hundred round tables, each perfectly set with formal diningware and accented with long, cylindrical vases of white florals. Long, tasseled curtains were hung from the ceiling, creating a tenuous wall of white fabric between the banquet hall and the dancefloor. Faux chandeliers made of large gold sequins were hung from the ceiling, reflecting glittering lights across the room as they turned slowly in the air. Even the restrooms were decorated to fit the theme, with smooth river stones lining the sinks, and glass orbs hanging from the ceiling, each housing one or two delicate flowers.

Yes, I took a photo of the ladies' restroom

I can only think to describe the Medal as the Nobel Awards of UCI, a chance to recognize the greatest contributors to the success and prestige of the University. As a student ambassador with AAN I was not formally invited as a guest, but as a volunteer, and was thus committed to being on my feet and on call for the duration of the event. I had no issues with this at all, however, as I was still able to experience much of the glamor of the night, as well as engage with various attendees while carrying out my duties.

As photo assistants, Kevin and I were among the first guests to see the medalists. Upon their arrival they were ushered into a private photo room to have portraits taken with their friends, colleagues, and of course, their medals. I got to meet Chancellor Drake's very charming wife for the first time, as I held onto some of her personal belongings- a plain black tweed clutch, and a navy blue folder containing drafts of her husband's speeches- during the picture taking sessions.

The entire night proceeded like a charm. Entertainment was provided by UCI's very own, as musicians, dancers, and singers from the Claire Trevor School of the Arts took to the stage to present their tributes to all our University stands for- light, leadership, innovation- through song and dance.

Official UCI photo

The most emotional moment of the night for me was hearing the very poignant and thankful speech given by medal recipient Professor Elizabeth Loftus. She began by recounting her experiences at her previous school, and the often difficult nature of her line of research. True, heartfelt appreciation for the nurturing and supportive environment of UCI showed through as her voice cracked, explaining how even as a young University, UCI not only accepted but fervently supported her research findings. Now one of the most celebrated professionals in the field of psychology and memory, Professor Loftus still cried tears of joy as she proudly exclaimed how glad she is to be part of such an inspiring community of University colleagues and students.

It was not only the words of her speech itself that touched me, but also the fact that her words made me look back at my own experience at UCI. In my second year, I took an Honors Social Science course that touched upon the research of Professor Loftus. I remembered staying up a few late nights in ripped sweatpants and t-shirts, furiously studying her texts for an upcoming exam... Learning about the great strides she had made in the field: planting memories, getting people to vividly describe things that never happened, and dramatically transforming the way witness questioning is performed and recorded.

Now, over two years later, I am sitting in black-tie formal attire, in a luxuriously decorated room that once held a thousand of my fellow Humanities colleagues and their families, listening to a moving speech by the very same inspiring woman whose works I pored over in the dim light of my VDC Norte bedroom... and I experienced such a feeling of fulfillment, as if things had come full circle.

How great it is that UCI so enthusiastically supports its own, and makes its students aware of the amazing work that is done by its professors and faculty... and how great it is that UCI so enthusiastically brings back its sentimental alumna- like yours truly- to experience the pride and joy of the University at such an event as this.

AAN volunteer team

Vocabulary Volume #4

I'm studying vocabulary for the GRE, and one of the tips for studying vocab is to come up with creative ways to remember them. Of course, such methods are unique to the individual.

I remember learning vocab words out of these little books when i was in middle school/high school, but the one year that I remember the most was sophomore year. Our English teacher, Mrs. Avilucea, made us draw silly pictures for each vocab word that week, as a way to help the visually oriented students in the class (such as myself). I thought I would bring back that strategy for my own study purposes, so I took out a few sheets of scratch paper and started doodling away. It wasn't long before I realized that I could simultaneously use this as a chance to entertain my readers, and perhaps teach them a word or two as well.

So I present to you the new and improved Vocabulary Volume: GRE Edition...featuring shitty drawings by yours truly !!

The Experience Collection

A human desire, a selfish one perhaps ? Preemptive stirrings of nostalgia, to collect the most valuable moments in our lives—the ones we hold dearest to our hearts. The ones that we want to remember forever; from the sly sideways glance that makes the heart flutter, to the life-changing decision that sets the course of a lifetime. The ones that we naively, futilely, and inadequately attempt to capture—once in paintings and Polaroids, and now in ones and zeroes.

All this seemingly in vain, for there is no possibility that a mere picture can capture an experience.

Where an experience is a feeling… a painting is an image.

When an experience spans a length of time… a photograph is only one second.

An experience is multi-dimensional… a painting, a photograph, only two.

An experience includes the chilly breeze that whips hair into your mouth and stings your eyes. It includes the strangely foreign but pleasantly comforting smell of your friend’s laundry. It includes your peripheral vision. It includes happiness, anger, sorrow, and déjà vu.

The experience is relative. Every experience yields a widely varying range of Experiences, as each individual perceives an event in his or her own personal way.

As a collective experiences a graduation ceremony, an individual’s Experience consists of joy, relief, and the swinging of multicolored tassels as he walks. To another: pride, anticipation, and the smell of a congratulatory orchid bouquet. Apprehension, appreciation, and the slight panic of almost losing her cap in the crowd.

Such a boundless multitude of Experiences, each one as unique as the experiencer, and all distinctly memorable. Memories so vivid at one point, but eventually fading as colors in sunlight.

...what if it were possible to capture an Experience ?

What if it were possible to view your life, frame by frame, and plant little orange landscaping flags around the moments that you want to collect ? To play the role of a movie producer, sifting through hours and hours of raw video, finding the best shots worthy of keeping as memoirs of a life well lived.

Then, to distill the Experience- whether it be three seconds, hours, or days- into a tangible, material substance. A substance like a liquid, like vanilla extract, I suppose… easily stored for safekeeping in bottles, ready for future use.

All the highlights of a lifetime, captured in little bottles of varying color and shape. Color-coded, even ? archived by date, or by emotion ? Aligned atop your fireplace, or laid sideways in a cellar latticework, as one does with fine wines ? Well, it depends on you. They’re distinctly yours, after all. Your hand-picked collection of memorable Experiences. Your life’s essence.

But to what end ? What use would it be to collect an Experience, and merely bottle it for display ?

If one were to expend the time and energy to capture an Experience, would it not be for the ultimate end of reliving it ?

Just as one injects, imbibes, inhales a drug, one could do so with material Experience… and just as a drug trip transports the user beyond the range of normal human perception, so does a dose of Experience. Take Experience, to experience it again. And again, and again…

Wouldn’t it be fantastic ?

Wouldn’t it be lovely to relive that special moment. That joyous discovery. That carefree feeling. Lying in the middle of a parking lot at midnight, trying to catch shooting stars with your peripheral vision. Running along the beach with a butterfly-shaped kite, as the sea spray blows cold air and saltiness into your open mouth. Laughing at your grandfather’s silly jokes… because now you know that soon, he will forget the punch lines, and then he will forget you ?

Wouldn’t it be phenomenal…

…but at the same time, precarious ?

Consider this… as one’s Experience collection grows, does it also shrink ? Like a graph that plateaus, and then decays, does the number of collected Experiences decreases as your life cycles by, one day at a time ?

As you collect more and more memories to relive at your own pleasure and judgment, you are inevitably committing your time to reliving them. The graduation ceremony could have been condensed into half an hour’s worth of Experience, but that is still thirty precious minutes of lifetime that you are sacrificing out of your day for that rendezvous with nostalgia. That half hour could certainly have lived another life, as a loving phone call to an aging grandparent, a walk in the crisp night air with that special someone, a laughter-filled cooking lesson with a beloved daughter… it could have played out as any one out of a thousand opportunities to make new memories and experience new Experiences.

Ultimately, what is the human experience, if not to take in as much as we can in our brief and finite lifetimes ? 

Vocabulary Volume #3

The other day, I read a few excerpts from the book May this House be Safe from Tigers, by Alexander King. The author is rather witty and possesses a tongue-in-cheek style of writing, as well as quite an extensive vocabulary. The following are a few words I scribbled down on a scrap of paper while reading.


seraglio (n): sequestered living quarters of concubines and wives in a Turkish residence (SUPER useful in daily conversation)

ossify (adj): to turn into bone, to mold into a rigid pattern

morass (n): area of low-lying, soggy ground (like a bog, I guess ?), also something that hinders or engulfs (ie. a morass of details)

prophylactic (adj): preventative against something like disease

palaver (n): idle chatter, flattering talk

aegis (n): a shield/breastplate worn by major religious figures/gods in ancient Greece

mephitic (adj): poisonous and foul-smelling


[Currently listening to: Light a Roman Candle with Me- Fun.]

Nothing Better.

Because I'm an English major and I love words, one website that I occasionally visit is BetterthanEnglish.com. Guests submit their favorite notably untranslatable foreign words, and their best attempts at explaining them in layman English. Submissions often range from odd trivia, to words that span the entire human emotional spectrum and beyond. 

One such post from awhile back was a word known in the 1993 Guinness Book of World Records as the "most succinct word" in existence, because of its emotionally loaded definition. 

It is a touching and beautiful word to those observing on the outside, and a rather uncomfortable word to those actively engaged in it. Now I am sure many of you have experienced such a feeling before, and it is a difficult and complicated thing to process. You wonder, you look away. They wonder, they sit in silence. What am I waiting for, am I a coward ? What are you thinking ? Are you thinking the same thing I am thinking ? Do you ever wonder how you got to here ?

Then one day, one person takes the awkward initiative. One word leads to one response, then two statements, then three, then five, eight, thirteen, twenty-one... and before you know it, you've found yourself in a Fibonacci spiral of feels. 

Yup, life can really throw you for a loop sometimes... 

...and this is definitely one of those times. I never even imagined that we could ever arrive at this point... but this is here, and now, and there is nothing better. The feeling of mamihlapinatapai may be succinctly elaborate, but I'm sure it has nothing on the feeling that comes immediately after the turn. 

However, this is a rather recent posting on BetterthanEnglish, that I just noticed today. I think it speaks for itself quite well. 

Coming from a native-speaking Mandarin background, this is a word that, unlike the previous, I am actually familiar with. And I think that gives me the authority to say that the above definition isn't perfectly accurate either... but then again, I suppose the whole point is that there is a sort of beauty in its undefineability. 

However, if I was to add my own second definition, I would state that it is the joy that comes from pouring your feelings to your best friend, and having them fill your cup in return.