Tag: Penn State

Repatriation

You can take a boy out of Texas, but you can’t take Texas out of the boy.

This happens to me, not once, but twice. Culture shock upon culture shock! until I feel numbed.

I jog on the street full of motorbikes (nice people would say “Co len”, bad people would try to run me over), or tell jokes at music jam session, oblivious to the fact that half of the audience barely catches the meaning, much less the punch line.

So I made a few mistakes upon repatriation.

Mistakes I have had to pay for dearly, monetarily or otherwise (just stop short of  becoming a social stigma since it’s more acceptable to backpackers to come across as free and loosed, not someone whose outward looks exactly like locals).

There are Viet Kieu, and there are Viet Kieu.

The former, tourists – waving their US dollars , and the later, expats – hiding their VN dong.

Or, as I often joke: the real Viet Keu would react “OUCH!” when got slapped, while the fake ones “UI DA!”.

But it depends on where you go and spend your money. If a place rates you on how thick your wallet is, then it will throw you out the next time when you are a bit short .

Back to my jogging across the round-about. Quite challenging. In the rain, and in the thick of Saigon rush-hour traffic, I had to tap dance, jog in place or run in opposite direction like a running back at the starting line of another down in football).

I do miss my time at Penn State. Just like when I was at Penn State, I missed my time in Saigon. You can take the boy out of Saigon, but you can’t take Saigon out of the boy. At Penn State, I simply wished for a meal surrounded by my extended family, or to hang out with friends, some smoke, some play the guitar. Now, I am back, repatriated. With some new friends who smoke, some play the guitar. Then all of a sudden, I wish for that 8-shaped trail which wraps around the University Park golf field. There, I wouldn’t get run over by two-wheel bikes, but then, I wouldn’t hear “co len” by complete strangers either.

More than once, I have let the outside affect what’s inside. Now, after taking so many punches, I counter-punch by let the inside affect the outside. Like telling a joke in English to an audience of mostly Vietnamese . The experience was diametrically opposite to the time at Penn State when I was trying to blend in without  “getting” the punch line (since I was unprepared for a completely different conceptual frame of reference ). Exile to expatriaton.

At the end of all travel, one returns to the starting point and know the place for the first time. It has happened to me. Like a newborn again, taking in and embracing everything. So familiar yet so foreign.

More

When reading the ABOUT tab on some web sites, I got no idea what the companies were ABOUT.

Apparently they sell some intangible services, such as Human Development, but were afraid to say so. Others would try to get out of the box they found themselves in “we are more than just a hardware company, we also provide this and that”. More.

It takes a lot to say less and get More.

The KISS rule.

I took a few inter-disciplinary courses at Penn State (Science, Technology and Society), a baseline which set me on a generalist track. And because each field in and of itself takes up one’s life-time pursuit, the intersect of these fields overwhelmed me. Keep my curiosity up and ego in check.

Even now, we are working through the implications of globalization and free trade.

And that falls under just the Society heading alone.

As for technology, I have blogged about the rise of the machine, and its implications for human life i.e. the long disconnect.

I will leave Science to the scientists who research gene sequencing and try to find the cure for dementia and cancer.

We all want more, live longer and hopefully, find meaning during those extra years (my older siblings used to read serial Kung Fu novels when young, and now, watching Korean soap series upon retirement. I guess anything “foreign” can offer them MORE values than domestic).

We can’t take anything with us when we die, just as we did not bring anything to this world when we were born.

What matters is that journey, the pursuit and camaraderie (I miss walking to school with those young friends, just chatting about anything and everything. One conversation etched in my mind: the assassination of JFK).

Forget not the  past, but then try to. Because we can’t make progress without healing, and no healing when the chip is still on our shoulders.

Dementia sometimes is a good thing for those with a painful past (that makes up for most of us).

Besides, when we forget pain of the past, we have more room for even happiness.

Like de-fragmentation function on a computer which helps conserve more space more RAM.

Winter, symbol of hibernation, is behind us. Now is time for blossoming, for MORE.

Opportunity likes to dance with those who are already on the floor. May I have that next dance!

Matchmaking

In Vietnam, one of the first questions is What animal represents you? (12 symbols of the zodiac).

Second question is, how come you are single. Find someone to alleviate your miserable state of being single (collective society).

Third and logical conclusion: find someone, whose symbol matches yours, yin-yan, fire and ice, earth and sky etc…

I found this mechanism an easy way out, as opposed to Vietnam Got Talent, where candidates are picked base on their merits.

What do you expect? You are known to others as son or daughter of so and so.

This reminds me of the Museum of Innocence which recounts a story of a character who fell in love with his distant cousin. No where can you find individualism collide more with social more. He managed to collect even her hair to be displayed later in what he called, the Museum of Innocence.

I found a public comb hanging in the men’s restroom at an ACB bank branch here in Vietnam. Apparently, it’s common property, to be shared among the men.

Part of my missing education, was that by the time I was supposed to reap the benefits of all that our country had to offer e.g. matchmaking system, shared mores, shared pot of luck (guests would pitch in to jumpstart a new family), I instead launched cold turkey ino the culture of sports at Penn State, of extreme competition although we always chanted “We Are”.

The “We Are” in Vietnam is quite different from the “We Are” at Penn State.

The latter nailed Coach JoePa to be the fall guy (while it’s Sandusky who was supposed to be nailed).

I am not defending the former “We Are”, nor do I accuse the latter.

But in Vietnam, for example, a rape which occured within the four walls, stays within the four walls.

The victim would rather be dead than seeing her family be put to shame.

So life goes on. What’s your animal symbol?

Use that comb. Shake off  the past. Forget and move on.

You will never find a public comb in Penn State lockers, where We Are is the chant.

But you will find it here.

and maybe, even a suitable other-half, if you can answer the first few questions by the matchmaker.

Oh, by the way, these days, they also asked if you had own a house. A scooter was a given. Just as back then, they assumed you own some buffalos to tend the field.

My sister has lived a hard but productive life. As symbolized by the animal represents her.

Mine? you guess. It’s the monkey. Jumping from tree to tree , culture to culture and not commit completely to one set of beliefs. It’s boring for a monkey to sit under the shade of just one tree in a forest full of them. It would bore him to tears. Scratching that ich all day wondering if the next tree might be worth the leap. Who knows, I might find happiness at the next bend, next road less travel. And if not, the journey itself is the reward.

What’s your animal symbol? or Avatar? You see, each culture has its own way to move beyond one self. To break out of what’s given, what’s restricted.

May you find your match, off or online.

Myopia

It was just a few years ago when friends and I discussed the inevitable departure of Joe Paterno at Penn State. Retired? Replaced? Removed? Now, it turns out, it’s his statue that got removed.

Who would have conjured up that scenario.

Today, the Nittany Lions will get their verdict from the NCAA. I am hoping for a lighter sentence. I bleed Blue.

(and Orange, at MCI).

Penn State taught me about being a team player. WE ARE.

Today, my team, our team gets punished.

Not for its diligence and desire to win. But for its failure in moral leadership.

Physical and moral aptitude, hand in hand.

Certain lines cannot be crossed, not without penalty. We know the rules. We play by the rules. Now we are penalized by the rules. Fair play. The only way.

There will be no applause sound track today. Maybe just silence. The same silence that the leadership at Penn State chose as a response to the Sandusky‘s accusation a decade ago.

When I went to school there, during Spring Break concert, the opening act was “Here comes the Sun“. Maybe the school should invite that guy to play again. Maybe, the magic works again.

Pushing away darkness, pushing away institutional myopia. And most of all, showing and shedding more lights on Beaver Stadium, where our school mascot will once again do one-hand push-ups on the sideline while defense” Push them back, push them back way back.”

Highs and lows

Perhaps one of the places you wouldn’t like to visit these days is Happy Valley, PA.

Heart of Penn State Football. Normally alumni would post home-game tickets as if they were for Albert Hall‘s Fab reunion concert.

Now, it’s a place that is much condemned: punishment for Penn State, penalty for Penn State.

Alumni started to flip the script: BOT this and that, the Governor himself, where was he? etc…

This fiasco reminds me of a rack-focused shot from a David Lynch‘s movie, perhaps Mulholland Drive? which slowly reveals what’s beneath the well-manicured auto-irrigated lawn. Finally, real Happy Valley is revealed.

We know now, there is no perfect place. Nor people. Just ordinary human beings with highs and lows.

Like you and I.

It’s like when we receive our transcript: some courses we did better than others.

Oh well.

Ethically, Penn State is getting its report card. We Penn Staters are getting a black-eye.

Hard to imagine “senior panic” plus austerity, plus this. Perfect storm.

I feel for graduating seniors. I want to remind them of Steve Jobs‘ commencement address “Stay hungry, stay foolish”, plus, “Stay clean”.  BTW, I am not ashamed to admit I started out there at Penn State in my first job as a janitor at the HUB. Reports say one of the janitors at PSU saw what happened but “was afraid for his job”etc…

Maybe he too should be taken into custody for not doing his job: cleaning up the mess at Penn State.

Not “where was the Governor”, but “where was the janitor”. Highs and lows.

Ignore it!

Willful ignorance, kicking the can further down the road. Hoping it lands on someone else’s front yard.

Problems got ignored,  because if solved, it’s gonna cost. Penn State pedophile problem is one.

One of us vs societal rule of law, subjectivity vs objectivity, warm feelings vs calm rationality.

I read JoePa’s son’s op-ed in USA Today. He asks for suspense of disbelief until the full investigation is out (email in context etc….).

In short, we need time. Kick the can a little further down the road once more.

Don’t ignore it, but also, don’t just immediately jump to conclusion.

Moral dilemma.

Beaver Stadium was adding seats. Can’t just tear them down.

Moral rehab vs mortar remodeling. If you look back, you will turn into salt.

Just ignore it?

Tragedy comes in three for me: 1975 Saigon evacuation landing at Penn State – devastated. Three-Mile-Island internship 79 – terrifying. Now FootballGate.

I want to ignore it. Then it creeps up. Like an unwanted member of the family.

Hoping there is no such thing called Thanksgiving, so you don’t have to face him/her. Meeting with Jesus. Court date. Press inquiry. Public debate.

Can’t ignore it now, ever.

the right screen

Smart phones got computer, TV and phone screens, all in once. The combined screen.

I was sitting in front of a lap top and an attached large screen. For a moment, I looked at one screen while the action took place at the other. To catch on, I  need to follow the cursor to know where the action was.

In life, we have looked in the wrong place for the right thing.

(to make friends while in prison, for instance).

Penn State commissioned JoePa statue in front of Beaver Stadium, just to now debate whether to take it down.

The Christian in Asia a few centuries ago, were told to remove ancestor’s altars, traditionally placed at the center of the home.

The FEDs keeps reducing rates. Should we look there for future directions? Unemployment indicators? Housing and foreclosure reports?

Never have we been tested as during the past 4 years.

Am I looking at the wrong screen?

Prophets have arisen, and more shades of truths have been made available.

Which way is the wind blowing?

Put your money in Macau.

or in Manhattan?

Google Glasses or JcPenney?

Pick your people right. Business model can always be modified as we go along. Often times, it’s on the wrong screen anyway. Keep the statue. Make it a teachable monument. After all, JoePa had always championed scholarship and athletic pursuit hand in hand. Institution for higher learning should at least have intellectual honesty and moral conviction to defend its mantel and mission. Especially when it is now looking at the right screen not smokescreen.

Closure

Fact 1: I went to Penn State.

Fact 2: I felt ashamed and defensive (no punt intended) at the same time

Fact 3: I am not alone in this.

There are more stuff to be worried about these days: immediate and long-term future.

Already a book was out (at 50% off) about Penn State and the culture of silence.

Collective amnesia.

Just like Vietnam War aftermath.

Or Watergate aftermath.

We move on. Have to.

It takes time discounting some relapses.

We are not therapists, much less self-therapists.

And we men don’t talk it out over coffee. Ain’t cool.

Let’s hit the gym.

Put some more weight on the bench press. Could you spot me!

Let pain reign.

It ain’t hurt.

Psycho-somatic syndrome.

What’s outside should not be let in, to infect and destroy what’s inside.

We last longer than the storm.

We survive disaster after disaster.

Only to get to the best part: closure.

By then, we have turned semi-experts on the subject of recovery.

Survivors and strivers. Long-distance runners and deep thinkers.

Conversation with myself while running, for instance.

Zen and the Art of Motorcycle maintenance.

Each generation is tossed a curved ball. Up to us to catch it, spin it and develop new coping strategies.

Ours faces threats that we have never seen before.

Sometimes, from within. From the defense line. From the top whom we respect.

The day the music dies. Sometimes, I think it’s best for the candle to go out at peak.

Like James Dean, M. Monroe, J. Lennon and M. Jackson. At least, they are icons frozen in time.

A sense of permanence and immortality. For now, being human, I got to deal with stages of grief. I got to get to closure, to acceptance. Got to look at myself in the mirror and smile reluctant.

Weekend Insert

I spent many college weekends at the library. The journalism library.

Work study program (certain publications need to be behind the desk. My desk.)

That P/T job followed two years of working at the campus TV studio.

I keep wondering how many of those communication students made it in the real world.  Has anyone landed on Page One!

After all, we weren’t Columbia Journalism School.

Just a land-grant farm University, whose football coach is still around after almost 4 decades.

(as of this edit, this is no longer true. JoePa was fired yesterday and Happy Valley turned uproar, flipping a CBS-news van on its side).

I realized then that many would go on to marketing and advertising.

A few would move up market, and eventually be settled in metros like Pittsburgh and Philadelphia.

Occasionally, the school bulletin still advertises “insider” job openings for Associate Producer of sports TV, let’s say down in Jacksonville, FL.

But I have a feeling that many of those students who were there at the library on those weekends, are not holding communication-related jobs.

It’s too integrated a field of study. And unless you found a niche (dog food adverts), and honed in, chances are that you would end up in sales, as in my case.

Still, I hope to be surprised by a New York Times book review title, whose author I might recognize. It will be  a happy moment for me. That somehow, my butler-ing at the library on those weekends wasn’t in vain.

Words have always been cheap.

Now even memory (and expertise) faces its own deflation. Just google it.

Consequently, kids just text and invent shorthand that soooo SMS-fitting.

It’s been sequential, for movies to be derived from screen plays which are adapted from books. Now, it’s movies first, then games and cartoon or tie-ins.

If you feel socially awkward to “friend” someone online, maybe because people you actually know already died, or that they are also bewildered in this new social media landscape. Studies show that it’s the 2nd or 3rd degree connectors that somehow influence us most (see Connected, by two Harvard researchers – who found a link between obesity and those we hang out with online).

I didn’t realize then, what I now know, that those minimum-wage hours have been habit-forming for me. I have grown attached to print and the sound/smell of quiet minds at work. I know those same students perhaps still flip the channels to find out how Penn State team is doing (lost to Alabama), and maybe, still read a newspaper during commercials. Nowadays, you can hardly find any publications considered sacred or in short supply enough to be kept behind the desk. Consequently, I wonder if the school of journalism is still keeping a weekend part-timer  just for that.

the dot connector

I am referring to Dr Rustum Roy of Penn State whom I met almost 4 decades ago.

I knew then just as I know now that he was ahead of his time. He pushed for integrated studies in Science, Technology and Society.

He showed up at a demo of  hologram which is now being worked into 3-D Telepresence. Along with his wife and colleagues from all over the world, he quietly developed Material Research Lab up the hill near Beaver Stadium.

But his most enduring and endearing influence on my life was that of his house church. The Sycamore Community signed on to be my sponsor to provide some  cushion from “culture shock”. (On the way to University Park, we even stopped to pick up a hitch hiking student, who looked like he just had  lunch at “Alice Restaurant”).  I was “clueless” among the giants. On one Wednesday night, I even strummed my guitar and had them join me in a chorus to Carpenters‘ “Sing” (the group went in circle and each “shared” something).

Dr Roy did not do too badly I might say.

But in looking back , I realize how my new beginning served the group right: they rediscovered their reason for getting together: to reach out to the downtrodden and focus then on the second “S” of his life work (STS).

I forever remain in their debt for my start in Happy Valley. The warm clothes and warm reception have been ROI’ed multiple times. And in the tradition of “integrated” studies, I have tried non-stop to connect the dots as I recognized them. But for every two dots I could connect, Dr Roy probably did ten or a hundred times as much. He acknowledged in his last interview on YouTube that these new technologies can now liberate “useful science” for the mass. Sort of “unchained melody” used to be confined in the “Vatican” of Science.

His sons were with hair down to their knees when I first met them.

And that how cool a scientist family could get to be. Between them, father, mother (a whole biography on her own) and sons, I don’t think that family let any revolution go unnoticed.

He was last quoted on yahoo as saying “I felt chilled down my spine” when the lab uncovered that salt water could conduct electricity. I would too if I had been there and witnessed the experiment.

But for all the white papers and honors he deservedly received, he remained a dear fellow sojourner, one who came before me as a Penn Stater albeit of a different kind not degree.

For “We are” and forever will be, Nittany Lions, lurking with inquisitive minds, while letting no dots go unconnected.