Tag: United States

My McBite

My first American solo supper was a big Whopper, at the time, sold by the leading Burger King.

The next day, I sampled McDonald known for its fries. You may say, I got myself into a blind-fold test not unlike Coke vs Pepsi tasting.

To this day, my number-one choice would be In-and-Out. But seeing McDonald opening its first restaurant in Vietnam, the taste of my first McBite brings back warm memories. Of friendship and winter cold, of people who care for total strangers in Happy Valley (petition to change Beaver Stadium to Paterno Field now surpassed 61,000 designed goal mark).

Penn State in the mid-70’s was the place to be: fast football, fast food with no fast lane. None of us would think of driving “fast and furious”. Just walk and jog, any time of the day and night. You would have to be really anti-social to not land a date on the weekend. We were “trapped” there in the valley.

Guess where we would go for a bite off-campus? Hardees, Roy Rogers, Arby’s, Burger King and of course, McDonald.

Who would have guessed with automation and standardization that the last has become first? Not a bad legacy for a traveling milk-shake machine man from Oak Brook, IL. Later, I traveled the same trail, going West. From suburban Chicago graduate school over San Bernardino ” until the sun comes up from Santa Monica”.

I have  had my shares of McBite, on road trips or just to baby-sit generations of kids in my family: niece and daughters.

Vietnam will get its first McBite after this year’s Tet. The once forbidden foods will taste so divine.

It’s not the burger nor the fries. It’s the culture of efficiency, cleanliness and consistency across the franchising empire.

Doing the same thing 10,000 times. Bruce Lee would have been scared (of someone practicing the same kick 10,000 times).

It all started with identifying and solving a problem: milkshake takes time and slows down the fast-food delivery process.

America’s beat generation was into outdoors (Happy Days): outdoor movies, outdoor picnic (station wagon) and outdoor concert.

Mr Kroc spotted an opportunity and zoomed in on it. The rest was history.

You bet I will get my first McBite when it finally arrives here in Saigon. And I won’t even wait to be asked “You want fries with it?”

(As of this edit, promise said, promise kept. See My McBite pt II VN).

Out here, like last night, Saigon young demographic was into outdoor cruising (on motorbike) as well. And McDonald here promises “drive through”. I think they meant “ride through”. Whichever way, the young patrons should know that they will be enjoying their first taste of milkshake, which started it all.  There is no turning back once automation and standardization took over. Algorithm and formula, mechanical precision and predictability. All hallmarks of 21-century society living on technique.

Taste just happens to be a side order. Bonjour McDonald, bye-bye  memory. The future is officially here. Turn back not, just like the time when I had my first McBite. Deep down inside, I knew it’s symbolic but nonetheless solid that my life has taken a turn for good. It’s that melodramatic. But you have to understand the context of  spending winter cold Christmas alone in Happy Valley, PA.

10,000 hours

How many among us actually put in that many hours pursuing one thing?

Yet studies show it takes that much practice to master a skill or a trade.

That long to promote ourselves to the rank of outlier : Bill Gates coding skill, the Beatles smooth performance etc…

Today marks my first 10,000 views of this silly blog, which I started as an experiment, to see if the Recession would break or make me as in Hemingway‘s Farewell to Arms “the world breaks them all…but we remain strong in broken places”.

I started blogging when I was married, until I am single again for two years.

It remains my focal point and commitment. To fail time and time again, and stand up if not standing tall.

I am sure the Beatles learned this lesson. They put it in the lyrics of My Sweet

Guitar Gently Weeps “with every mistake, we will surely be learning”.

As adults, we  shy away from trying out new things, meeting new people and going to new places.

We take the path of least resistance. I have friends who keyed down the karaoke coding for their song list, and started to punch them in while the rest of us fumble through the dirty pages of its song book. Apparently these people just want to stay within their range and comfort zone.

I understand the fear of the unknown.  I am living it everyday: from motor-biking on the streets of Saigon, to meeting new faces.

I often found relief, culturally, when going indoor, air-conditioned and culturally conditioned (English-speaking, pipe-in music, and preferably with a menu I can order from without hesitation).

The American part in me must be the true Quiet American, seeking and embracing the Third Force.

Neither here nor there. So sometimes, I escape to my cocoon.

Expats who came here from the Philippines, Singapore and America express similar sentiments.

They are a bit homesick. Like during this time of the year. White Christmas and Oh Holy Night.

It gets cool here but not winter cold. I still put on my shorts and T-shirt, sandals and helmet.

Perhaps it will take a total of 10,000 hours of coming back and living in Vietnam for me to hone my survival skill.

People seem to go about their daily lives, not in quiet desperation, and certainly, not constituting “the lonely crowd” as David Reisman puts it. I hardly came across news of lonely people commit suicide over Christmas holidays as I had read in the States.

On Christmas Eve, in Saigon, people just pour out onto the streets, taking souvenir photos, in front of major hotels (using  their decorations as photo-shoot background) and go to the church (Notre Dame du Saigon). The sacred and profane intersect that night like an annual eclipse.

It’s known as Noel, after the French. And well-off families would gather for Reveillon mid-night dinner.

Now that part I can relate to. The feeling of in but not of it, alone in the crowd, celebrating but not belonging.

Something significant takes place in those hours, of the crowd pushing but not hurrying, dressing up but not showing off.

Just logging in another year, an hour or ten hours toward that something called life experience.

Now that I have put down my humble and jumble thoughts, being viewed for more than 10,000 times, I hope I can detect a pattern. Some of you are also lonely, but not to the point of desperation. It’s our Christmas and Holy Night.

Someone important is joining our party. Might not “tenu de soiree”, but wrapped in peasant cloth. To the trained eyes (the 3 kings), it’s a phenomenon. But to us, commoners, our instinct tells us it’s an event not to be missed. Cut through the noise and clutter, we might find the gem. No matter how you view Nativity, Christmas is here to stay. An excuse for us to affirm our humanity and to be validated. Yes, you are still here. I am still here. Mistakes and all. 10,000 hours to go. Starting now. We’ve only just begun. With baby steps. With starting point in the manger or manager office. As long as we don’t lose sight of that child-like fearlessness, of trying out new things, seeing new faces and learning a few more lines of poem, of lyrics or famous motivational quotes.

The intent of 10,000-hour grunt is not to discourage us. It is rather a reinforcement and affirmation for us to keep trying and fail, instead of fail to try. ( I know the difference between this and the definition of insanity). Persistence is fumble after fumble without losing enthusiasm, says Winston Churchill (I have just learned this quote today). Merry Christmas to you and yours. Never stop trying.

 

Next-Gen Leader

With the passing of Mandela, the world raises a legit question: will there be another one in the horizon of equal moral stature!

Yes and No.

This is why. Gen Next grows up digitally.

Search at their fingertips.

Conversation has long tail.

Everyone is well-informed by those tweets (Welcome Pres George H.W. Bush to Twitter). Tweet not Twist!

They invent services, fix things and carry none of the analog legacy. Instead, they identify more with sports and entertainment figures than WW II heroes like Churchill.

Attention is their new currency (Ashton and the hash tag). Wardrobe malfunction is the norm. Instead of avoiding disruption, they build it into the planning and implementing process.

Everyone thinks different including rival Samsung who opens factories in Vietnam instead of China. The older generation is looked at as having dementia (shut down the government?)

Morgan, Madoff and not Mandela? Rather, their hero is one who cooks his own meal and takes the bus to work. The new Pope (who just spoke up against CEO salaries which used to double-digit higher than workers, now triple-digit).

Next-gen leader is currently backpacking in Nepal and Napoly. picking up on the nuances of a globalized and inter-connected world while building and rebuilding homes torn by tornadoes. They play by the rules, but not rewarded for points just yet.

Burden with school debt, they decide to get our of the box altogether, postponing their parent’s white-shoe

career for a chance to experience the many shades of grey.

I hope they connect the dots, and not just cross the t’s.

My daughter dances with the number one hip-hop team in the US. Her group is composed of multi-ethnic LA (she was a few years old when the LA Riot broke).

To her, the conversation about race is just as passe as AOL ‘s “you’ve got mail”.

Kids in the Ukraine and Turkey, Tunisia and Egypt are all aspiring for real change, and not just a phone upgrade

To them, bigger is not better.

And the Beatles are still cool.

If a seventeen-year-old whose cancer death “Clouds”  can rally 5,000 people at the Mall of America for a choir, than we still have hope.

This time, it’s not going to be a towering figure as we had hoped for. It will be multi-tasking multi-racial and multi-platform leaders.

Every kid knows how to self-invent, self-promote and seek self-correction (at least the spell check). The Internet with its power growing by the minute will raise the bar.

Tech language will bind everyone together better than the Queen’s language.

And the new frontier is out there, in space and under the ocean. New leader looks for role models in influencers and thought leaders whom they trust, digitally.

You cannot hide but be the truth, the transparency  and the trust they are looking for.

Their votes will be crowd-sourced and cross-checked, not a replay of Florida in 2000

Next-Gen leader has emerged on this side of the digital screen. We just don’t know it, or refuse to recognize him, or more likely, her.

It’s that fast and furious, or common like our Inaugural poet. It’s staring in our faces, from the screen. Next-gen leader has to play both sides of digital divide, virtuality and reality, not both sides of the aisle.

Ladies and gentlemen, may we welcome our new leader, via podcast and broadcast, via tweets and texts and via whatever platform they will and surely will invent. We just did not know we would someday ride in EV and get stuff delivered by drones.

Stay healthy and stay tuned (because we are going to live very long life) to be witnesses to change.

New world requires new leader. Just that they will come in packages we might not like or are comfortable with. In MN, they voted for wrestler and SNL comedian. Someday, our leader might come with tattoos and ear rings in non-traditional places. You might wish it otherwise, but it’s the new reality brought to us by the virtual world we had created in our own image. For now, the Pope will do.

The racist that is us

The world mourns for a beacon that was Mendela.

It rains in the stadium and inside the heart.

Racism was an ingrained system up to the Civil War, fought in World War, struggled in the 60’s and onto the 90’s in Apartheid.

We simply don’t like color folks, first in speech, than in hush-hush, now only in thoughts. Keep it to yourself.

But if it’s the Huxtables (neighbor, doctor and well-mannered) than it’s OK.

Recently down in Florida, it still happened when a nephew of a resident got shot in a struggle. Zimmerman got off free, than later, in jail for beating up his girlfriend. A diametrical replay of Rodney King who also got arrested for other charges after the LA riot.

Man inhumanity to man spreads across the color line.

What Nelson Mendela did which made him great? He simply went to a ball game (just like Rosa Parks who chose to sit in front of the bus), and not a soccer game, but a Rugby game (lilly-white). He refused to be drawn into a downward spiral, the mean streak of violence piling on top of violence, which eventually destroys both sides. This cycle polarizes us, and perpetuates itself,  inflating the dark side in each of us, the racist part. Studies show that fear passed on from generation to generation, that includes the fear of the bogeyman.

For me, Mandela was more than a symbol of reconciliation, or racial struggle, or political triumph.

He was and remains my symbol of hope. Of thought leadership. Our Gandhi. Creative problem-solving, while setting aside personal feelings (and the urge to take revenge).

27 years of honing his thoughts and feelings in confinement.

Of nursing the dim light of hope. Of  life-long learning.

Then, boom! Stadium and podium, concert (Bono) and ball game, Bishop and President.

Sometimes, in traffic, a minute is too long for us. And when pre-judging someone, 5 seconds are too long.

The racist in us needs a re-education. Be it 27 years or life time. But start now. To understand and be understood. What if you were born dark-skinned? or white for that matter. The burden is on us to reach out, to say “Hi, my name is….. Good to meet you”. I know a friendly person when I come across one. Don’t you? Because if we don’t, we simply transfer that fear to the next generation, and before we know it, history repeats itself due to our ignorance or inertia. Then, some facist or racist leader will rise (hopefully with another style of greeting if he/she is creative enough) and recycle those stirring speeches we all know so well ” they took our jobs, they come with strange ” costumes” etc…”.

Then the crowd will nod, and the crowd will call themselves the Majority vs the Other. And mass hysteria will take over

The right to bear arms etc… and our children will have to do it all over again. I hate that, don’t you. So mourn, but not too long. Mendela would rather see us take action, smile at strangers regardless the size of their bodies or the color of their skin. It only takes a small effort to reach out, to click on the mouse and send a text or endorsement. Recognize the racist that is us, and manually override it. Let not your small inherited fear dictate how you behave in today’s world. I hope that world is full of Mandelas, full of hope and humanity. We got work to do. Let not the small stuff steal  our game of Rugby.

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.

Van’s Cafe pt II

Last Sunday morning was my first time at the jam session here.

Today, my second. It is getting better, sweeter and with more substance.

Thanksgiving weekend with friends and music lovers. It’s game weekend in the US. Or shop til you drop.

Here jazz music permeates the air we breathe.

Unrehearsed of course.

But it flows. The energy, the passion and just a good passage of time together.

I feel jazz. It’s warm, sweet and penetrating.

It makes us human. Playful and painful at the same time. The headache and heartache.

Share it brother!

Hi five.

We take a rest to be real audience.

Forget the bills, the business of life.

Just celebrate it while living it.

Being In love.

Being confused.

And being here.

Join me. I probably be here next Sunday. My friend won’t be. He is doing his numbers now, but will fly back to San Francisco, where he plays in the SF Jazz band.

I am glad he is here this weekend. So I don’t have to be all the way back across the pond to hear him.

Of course Hung brought his amplifier, and guitar. Dat (blind) on the piano and the KC band on drum and base guitar.

They play well together. Jam session.

The audience too. Very selective. Very very much in love with every note, every expression of seeing open soul on display.

“Sometime when we touch, the honesty too much”.

I don’t feel alone here, even at an empty table. They are after all up there jamming.

Beer half-opened and I sip mine slowly, for fear that their number will end too soon.

The Heineken you can reorder, but friendship and the mutual love for music will never die.

I wish you can be here. Not the kind of canned “I wish you a Merry Christmas” you hear all the time.

But I truly wish you an experience as valuable and unique as this one.

Pop, Jazz, French mix.

Like the city itself. Old Saigon, always adapting and thriving on chaos.

I love this city, it’s people and its multiple expressions however unrehearsed and unprepared.

It’s our best and it’s best in my eyes.

 

Goodbye Saigon, pt II

Another friend flew out for Thanksgiving.

There is no such a thing here in Saigon: oven-roasted turkey, croton and mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce , yam and apple pie.

Mouth-watering!  children running around and old folks reminiscing the good old days.

Yes, his destination has a few hallmarks of the American Dream.

Here in old Saigon, the only thing that changes is new names on old streets and schools (no longer segregation, so it came with a shock as I rode pass the old all-girl Gia Long High to see the new mix of male and female students)

My friend likes the quote from T.S. Eliot (In my end, my beginning).

He knows the Earth is round, and that at the end of his short stay in Saigon is the beginning of his trans-continental journey to America and Europe.

Before meeting him, I carry water and chop wood.

After meeting him, I carry water and chop wood.

But he left a vacuum hard to fill. Just like our mutual friend, before him (see Goodbye Saigon).

They have sons and daughter to attend to, paper work to sign and friends to play catch up with.

None of us gives up on Saigon. We all think the place deserves a make-over, a second chance (as if it needed our help and opinion).

Rated as most competitive in the nation, Saigon is quite poised to soar and regain its former glory (Pearl of the Orient).

Skyline and sea harbor, street signs and shops, all compete for clientele. Back-packers have a hard time configuring  their Google-map routes. But everyone here knows or are supposed to know where they are going.

Young work force pour over the key board, while street vendors peddle their wares (walking Wal-Mart).

When my friend was here, we used to sit at one of the ronde’s, French round-about, to feel and feed on the energy of bustling traffic.

Afterwards, we would retire to his quiet alley just a few feet away to recuperate. It’s exhausting and exhilarating at the same time to live the night life in Saigon. More bikes take up the space a few moments ago reserved for buses.

Years ago, they stopped allowing tow-trucks to come through before mid-night. So on this Thanksgiving eve, there is no Black Friday here in Saigon. Only window shopping and online shopping. Tourists find it refreshing to stroll the old boulevard, to discover names like Majestic, Continental hotels etc…

Time seems to freeze-frame here. And we took advantage of this to “re-enter” our past (as if it’s ever possible).

American pop songs overheard from retail shops can lure you back to a time when you were first in love or discover love.

Don’t give up on us, baby.

On the other side of the trans-Pacific flight, my friend perhaps is checking out his luggage, going through custom, with the reflexive greeting “Welcome home, mr Ngo”. I like America. When being addressed by Mr so and so, you know it’s official and that you have paid your taxes and your due.

Consumer confidence is returning with rising home prices in the Bay Areas. I hope it spills over across the pond. After all, Fukushima tsunami waves got tossed all the way to San Francisco bay. Why not this time around, with rising economic waters from the West. When my friend returns, he’ll know once again, his next stay in Vietnam would just like T.S. Elliot puts it, “in my end, my beginning”. No way around the inter-dependence and inter-connectedness of our 21st-century living.

disposable people

Industrial society once allowed to run its full course leaves behind many casualties: pollution, typhoons, unemployment and crime.

Kids with early exposure to the I pad and I phone, turn near-sighted if not bi-focal.

Adults with easy access to porn (free or paid) found real organic relationship something of a burden if not boredom.

Back in the early 70’s the US and its think tank already realized the limits to growth, disposable society, fail-safe situation…..

The resulting strategies were to outsource, M&A and mass production to shave off  some costs. Every attempt has been either to cope with the irreversible growth of the chip speed (Moore’s Law) or to increase subscriber base by capitalizing on the Network Effect (Facebook and Ebay), economy of scale (Wal-Mart) and logistics (Amazon).

People and diapers are disposable.

BPO now talks about Social Mobil Access Cloud.  What can be outsourced will be, first offshoring, then full automation.

First, cut down on the amount of pollution. Second, on operational costs. Third, mass production process has been much easier, thriving on the 24/7 economy to deeper penetrate foreign markets where the new smokestacks are located.

For the first time in their 200-year history, N America and Europe face a crisis loom large: the people are disposable economically, while constitutionally, they have more  human rights than any other time.

There lies the tension, the frustration and lock-jam. To keep up with population and information explosion, we will get to the point, like alcoholic or chemical-dependency people, who start selling everything to feed the habit. The irony of all is when color folks finally get to be heard, their social and economical platforms get shipped online or overseas, first to Mexico and S America, the so-called 2nd world, where Paulo Freire used to call “the oppressed”, then onto frontier and emerging markets of South East Asia.

Yes, the poverty level has been decreased in countries where BPO  is in full steam. But the industrial waste and social ills have also increased. You may call this a new form of colonization, or selective recolonization. The new bosses are the go-between, facilitating the flow of fund and the hunt for local talent. This is also a problem deserving a separate blog.

Meanwhile, poverty level is up in the West, especially Portugal, Spain and Greece, where young people are disposable.

http://www.nytimes.com/2013/11/28/opinion/kristof-where-is-the-love.html?hp&rref=opinion&_r=0

Go East young men. Travel the world in 80 years. Take a bullet train, or bite a bullet. I have seen EFL “teachers” smoke pot in Vung Tau (VN) and God knows where (Thailand, Malaysia). They are the new Missing- in- Action, unable and unwilling to be reintegrated back into western society. Their voices are unheard and aspirations unfulfilled.

While primitive society disposed people of no or little economic values, in present day there are people who also by choice drop out of main stream. Call them the misfits, outsiders, the beats etc… But if their ideas can be monetized, then suddenly, they are one of ours. Charlie Chaplin first got exiled, then knighted. Sir Chaplin ably made fun of the social and psychological consequences of over-industrialization. His warning had barely been heeded when Foxconn‘s workers jumped from company dormitory. How many more suicides before we realize something is wrong with the way we conduct our lives and business, given all the machinery and software application. We dispose the diaper because it smells. Will we do the same with people once they are deemed undesirable and under-productive? Business leaders are paid to deliver results. At what cost? Empathy deficit disorder? obsessive compulsive disorder? Attention deficit disorder?

When a business runs afoul, it’s the leader’s inside that is eaten up. Imploded. And of late, there have been a few (JP Morgan 13 B fine, or Obama’s no-show at the Trans Pacific Pact due to government shut-down). Have you had the time to follow-up and see where those “reparation” billions go to? Food stamps? Perhaps not. Dreams crushed, career derailed and families torn apart.

And the house of cards got rebuilt, bigger than ever (having pac-manned Washington Mutual and a bunch of tier-3 banks).

It’s like asking Germany to pay for WWII damage done to France, but 2 million lives were somehow eliminated without a small echo from the mass graves. When in grade school,  I kept hearing it on the radio that this president got assassinated, and that the one who gave the order himself got whacked. Then the “I have a dream” orator also got shot. Then finally John Lennon “was not the only one” He was hoping someday we would join in. Then he got a bullet by Mark Chapman whose musical talent was almost nil, but whose name forever got associated with someone whose band once self-pronounced that “we are more famous than Jesus”.

There has never been a better time to live in terms of comfort e.g. electricity and emerging technology. Yet there has never been a worst time to live as far as managing one’s expectations i.e. we want more but enjoy less, got treated less humanly (try to get in line at a Wal-Mart in Long Island this Black Friday, be sure to bring some pepper spray),  breathe worse air and have fewer or no friends over during the holidays.

Having said that, I wish you Happy Holidays with your loved ones, those kids whose constant companion has been the I pad and I phone. And be sure to have their eyes checked out. Who knows they already need glasses, like, yesterday. Just don’t buy them disposable.

 

Friendship and Fraternity

At work or at home, we relate to a network of people e.g. parents, siblings, neighbors and co-workers.

Now, on top of that, we got our online reputation to build and keep up. It’s the new currency. Trust and transparency.

Amazon and Facebook model are built on that. Delivering what we are promised, on time and every time.

On Social, we live the illusion of grandeur, having connected with many virtual friends, but having no real and close friends.

The key lies in your emotional intelligence and empathy.

Judge not.

The passing-away of my parents left a vacuum hard to fill. Now, I am like Eric Carmen “All by myself” or  Kazuo Ishiguro‘s “When we were orphans“.

I realize I lost more than a set of parents. I lost my two best friends. Friends who cheer me up when I am down. Talk me down when I was way over my head.

You can’t get that online, or ordering it on Amazon.

Then there were friends at work. All of the sudden, when you are out of work, you lost pension and insurance. You lost a set of friends.

Each of us moved on. Some to better positions. Others worse

But the pain remains: we will never get back together, like the Beatles.

Women problems at work are now a popular conversation with Sheryl Sandberg‘s “Lean in”.

But when one is out of work, nobody sings “Stand by me”.

Or, “That’s what friends are for”.

So we keep connecting, liking and commenting.

TED keeps coming up with cerebral lectures to motivate us. Bill Gates with new products that save the world.

But deep down, we all know that people are hurt by this economy. The pain and avoidance of pain take on subtle forms: alcoholism, passive-aggressive behavior and withdrawal.

In other words, what happened out there finally affects what’s in here.

By severing our lifeline, those intangible values of friendship and fraternity, the powers that be have failed to calculate and factor in those hidden costs. That which injures people, set them back and de-motivating. Smart people have moved on to better things taking a page from a different playbook. But those of us who thrive in togetherness and inter-connectedness can never stay whole. Something is missing. Somebody is not showing up at the Thanksgiving table. Then those defensive mechanisms kick in, to explain away someone’s absence e.g. demonizing the person, writing them off as “weird” or “mal-adjusted”. Yes, nature favors those who are the fittest. Wait until nature calls on you.

Meanwhile, I feel like tripping over on some neural minefield. I know we are not dispensable like yesterday’s version of Nokia. But somehow, the hidden costs of industrialization e.g. planned obsolescence and disposable society, have taken a toll on all of us. Starting with some line items on Excel down to our co-workers, then friends and families. It’s easy to connect with thousand friends on Facebook than talking to your parents who know you better than anyone else. I envy those who can “bounce it off” their parents on choices for a career or a mate. It’s necessary and it’s human. We pass on our DNA and our stored experience. As Viktor Frankl puts it ” they can take away my body, but not me who resides in this body”. Our genes pass on, but while we “do time”, we cherish those encounters and engagement with friends. Just a few laughs. Passing the time and not judgment. Seeing the world as if we were they.

I miss my parents this Thanksgiving. They were my best friends who passed on the appreciation for poems and patience with people.

I didn’t realize then, that I was born into a fraternity, where friends cared. That’s what they are for, in good times and bad times.

What’s your tale? Where will you be this Thanksgiving? In it’s origin, it’s a simple meal of wild turkey among early settlers and native American. Friendship was fostered and trust built. A nation was born and decisions were made. Gut check and gut call. True-North alignment to create and grow a nation where all men (fraternity) are born to pursue happiness among them (friendship).

Haiyan and Hyatt

The world’s poor seem to bear the brunt of typhoon destruction more than the  world’s rich.

They live in The Ring of Fire. Can’t afford to move anywhere and now can’t go home.

Disaster relief is needed. But long-term and sustained recovery takes time.

We have come up with pre-fab housing that can withstand heavy storm damage.

Made out of bamboo and steel.

Every crisis carries with it embedded opportunity.  For our human family to come closer together.

To show and share our humanity and hope.

Done my part too, for having spent a year in Bataan Refugee Center.

People were labeled “refugees”. But they later become Ph Ds in Physics at University of Chicago and Berkeley.

They might invent the next Twitter and Google ( one of the founder’s parents were Russian immigrants – Ph D in Math).

Between Haiyan and Hyatt, the journey is the same: climbing out of the heap, rebuild and move on.

Heart-breaking most of the time. But Hope never fails.

As long as we believe once again in the goodness of the human family.

People who share bread with strangers. Who chip in. Who started “Habitat for Humanity“.

10,000 lives lost, or millions (during the world wars), we march on.

Work our way back to normalcy and diplomacy.

Romance and rage.

From Haiyan back to Hyatt.

The good ness of life.

As long as we survive, there is still hope.

The challenge of natural disaster should draw out what’s best in us.

Not like a deer stands frozen facing the headlight.

But the Phoenix that rises again from the ash.

It’s like two sides of the coin: death and life, destruction and reconstruction.

Now presents a challenge for designing sustainable and safe housing.

Architecture as if people matter. Economics as if people matter. Diplomacy as if people matter.

We could be among those 10,000 dead. Yet we are still here, the morning after disaster struck.

Go on and live out our lives as if people matter. Give nothing but the best if not all of yourself. That’s what it’s for.