All-University Commencement at Yankee Stadium

An era of sorts came to a close for me this past week with ceremonies dedicated to graduating students of Steinhardt School of Culture, Education, and Human Development and to all 2012 graduates at the All-University Commencement at Yankee Stadium. In some respects, the experience was surreal, but for the most part, it felt as though that I was simply going through the motions.

After all the hoopla of heels and long robes, mal-fitting hats and swinging tassels, and flurry of speeches, the endings to not only commencement, but also to the undergraduate experience in its entirety, seem rather anti-climatic. The first days that we set foot on campus, the anxiety slowly creeps up on each one of us as freshman year becomes sophomore year, then junior year, and finally, senior year. The excitement and anxiety for graduation builds, finding itself feeding off of on campus recruitment, senior week, finals – in essence, everything that poses some significance as “the end.” But as evident as that anxiousness is, it suddenly dissipates come graduation, and we are left with at a standstill, wondering what comes next.

I now have a piece of paper in tow, certifying that I am of at least mild intelligence. It has little bearing on dictating what I am capable of or what I will do. Rather, it ups the ante. This thin slip of paper written all over in slick calligraphy symbolizes the belief that others – family, friends, staff, and teachers – have had in me. And the same goes for everyone who graduated this past week. Our diploma shouldn’t signify the debts or strife incurred, but rather, the result of others believing in our potential.

Congratulations class of 2012!

Obligatory photo with the parents at Radio City Music Hall

All-University Commencement at Yankee Stadium

All-University Commencement at Yankee Stadium

The ushering in of faculty

Francisco and I

Kathleen and I (Take 1)

Kathleen and I (Take 2)

Epiphany

There are the particular moments in which we feel enlightenment wash over us, as though we have transcended to the “next level.” But with no firm beginnings or endings, we quickly realize that there is no level to surpass; granted, hierarchies exist but overall, our banal and mundane lives are encompassed in an otherwise flat structure. Thus, the “revelation” that we just had is tossed aside as any other thought; it is not the life-changing belief that we had supposed it to be, and it never will.

Conceding to that fact, we cannot help but slump in our chairs and wait for the next flickering set of ideas that will render us amnesiac of the aforementioned, only to experience it all over again.

Image via Flickr (user: aeon)

It Gets Better... I Promise

She sits on a couch facing the nurse practitioner. The difference between psychiatrist and nurse practitioner elicits nothing but confusion of words and titles. Silence sits between the two. A slip of paper is torn away from its pad and handed over to her. She takes it from the nurse practitioner’s hand and neatly folds it, and places it in her pocket. Upon leaving, the nurse practitioner believes she is offering comfort with the parting words, “don’t worry, it gets better.”

But what is “better?” The question finds itself met with an answer as abstract as the query – “to be better is to be normal.” The term “normal” is used interchangeably with “ordinary.” Both these words carry an emptiness that we, as a society, fill with the banal experiences. The constructed meaning that results is one that we blindly apply to the everyday life. To be different than what the collective dictates abnormality or trauma. The feelings of the ordinary are impossible to pin down; the bucketful of collected mundane memories render us numb or unable to recognize what it is that we ought to feel.

In a state of melancholia (or depression as Big Pharma so generically titles it), however, everything becomes clear. The ordinary affects – these public feelings – are anything but “ordinary.” Ordinary signals static and unchanging, but that is not what these affects are. They are extraordinary, fluctuating between experiences from traumas to pleasure, disguising and packaging themselves as the boring and quotidian.

And if only it had been that way instead of what had actually happened in that first encounter.

Image via Flickr (user: nettsu)

Network SouthEast sign on an ex-Waterloo & City line train

Yesterday, someone in the audience (at a conference that I was attending) introduced their question with the statement, “everyone around me has connections,” and completed their thought with the self-defeatist “But I don’t have the connectons to assure me an internship.” I seem to be missing out the question, which concerned whether or not candidates would be weighed higher if they had connections to the hiring staff as opposed to someone who was a shot in the dark, because it is for the most part irrelevant. The girl added a slew of words that merely added to her negative disposition – mentioning that she wasn’t in the place to have connections. Why not?

It seemed as though that what she was hinting at was that there had to be a preset formation of networks that directed you wherever – and if you were not in the scope of said network, you’d essentially always be out. That’s flat out wrong.

Admittedly, it can be more difficult breaking into an industry without any connections, but it is that beauty of being scrappy that teaches you so many things. I had no “hook-ups” going into any of the fields that I work in now.

I can vividly recall how I had my start — I had no connections to anything. I made cold calls of sorts – showing my portfolio to anyone that would listen to me. Someone eventually did. From there, I learned how to network before I even knew what it was called. I merely labeled it as “talking people up” and “reaching out.” Little by little, I wound up with my own network and set of connections.

And what about all those other jobs that I seemed to have created for myself? I tossed out solutions to what I perceived to be missed opportunities for the proposed companies. It wasn’t exactly abstract, but I couldn’t liken it to anything until a couple of weeks ago. The emphasis of the design process – assessing the field, finding need, creating solutions – with BREAKER made me realize that there was a structure to everything that I had proposed; I simply hadn’t known how to define the method.

Connections help, but they most certainly aren’t the end-all, be-all. There is a path to everything; it simply depends on how hard you’re willing to work.

Image via Flickr (user: futureshape)

Full circle

To some degree, it feels as though that each moment I believe to be significant finds itself rendered irrelevant by the next passing instance of time. I look for markers to tell me the beginnings and endings to stories that would not have otherwise existed, had I not sought to separate them from the bucket of collected memories. Those markers, though, sink as quickly as they rise in pail full of events. In turn, it becomes apparent that what I am searching for is completely arbitrary.

The appointment was for a medication refill; the halls and waiting areas were empty on account of spring break. I had a meeting with a psychiatrist, whom I had never met before, and thus I dub the Newbie. Winding through the corridors, something seemed familiar – the particular twists and turns and doors past inflicted jolts of familiarity. Pushing open the door, it became clear what it was that I recognized.

It was the same office where I had originally started off. The insipid paintings that I “critiqued” two years ago still hung on the walls, and the uncomfortable couch on which the Intern sat as she tried to convince me to take medication for my depression still sagged at the slightest touch. This room captured not only my secrets, but also, more importantly, my misery, traumas, and distress.

I awkwardly slid onto the couch and narrowed my eyes, squinting to see if I could catch a glimpse of my insults and comments from years prior. I uttered a comment that I had been here before. I then asked the Newbie if that had always been her office; to which she responded with a “no.” She was new, having only arrived in January.

Proverbially wiping a bead of sweat away, I gestured to the decor and recalled verbally the disdain that I had for it. My comments were met with a chuckle; the Newbie pointed to the now-empty space above the computer and noted that she couldn’t stand to look at the horrid picture any longer and took it down. The affirmation that my perception of at least something in that time was true provided a sense of relief to what I now feel to be surreal.

If my life were a narrative, written by someone, we could say that this subplot has come “full circle.” But what do I call it? Do I write it off as the ending to all of “this?” “This” being the vague entity that I use to define the past few years in which my depression and string of experiences overwhelmed me. It almost seems pointless to declare an ending to anything, as like a soap opera, new developments or nuanced themes continue to arise. Nothing is definitive, even though there are the instances that make me think otherwise. But I’ll simply label that meeting for what it was – a coincidence.

Image courtesy of Flickr (user: seadevi)

The streets of Salvador

To say that this post is a tad belated would be a rather large understatement. I’ve made passing mention in previous blog entries on plans to travel to Brazil through Steinhardt’s Dean Research Travel Colloquium program with the pretense of examining differences between the United States and Brazil with regards to health care for low-income families. Shortly after returning from Hong Kong, I set forth on a week-long trip to Salavador, Brazil.

One of the immediate things that comes to mind when I tell people about my trip is “what is Salvador? Don’t you mean El Savador? And if so, that’s not in Brazil, you know…” And yes, I am well aware that El Salvador is not in Brazil, but no, that’s not where I was headed. Salvador is the country’s third most populous city, and is found in the state of Bahia. The city carries great cultural significance as it was the first colonial capital of Brazil and considered to be one of the oldest of the Americas.

Since the flight took an approximate fifteen hours, along with a three hour time change, the initial day was spent up in the air. With televisions not working, there was not a lot to do apart from sleep on the two legs of our trip (we transferred flights). Although I had spent a good portion of the flights asleep, I still found myself exhausted when we arrived at our hotel – Golden Tulip Rio Vermelho – at 2AM the following “morning.”

Golden Tulip Rio Vermelho
Rua Monte Conselho, 505, Rio Vermelho,
Salvador, 41940-370 Brazil
http://www.goldentulipriovermelho.com/

With several more hours of sleep under our belt, our group was most certainly more alert and readily entertained by our fantastic guide, Simone. Giving focus to our research, the morning was spent at Projeto Axé – a place where street children are offered real opportunities for education and training, along with involvement in creative and cultural activities. While some questions were left unanswered, a greater understanding of the situation of the poverty in the city was gained. Thereafter, we were given a tour by Simone, who provided us the necessary historical context, touching on colonization and religious beliefs, along with visits to the São Francisco Church and the Museu Afro.

Perhaps it was coincidence or careful planning, but our group arrived at a point of the year in which celebration was amidst. The subsequent morning, we found ourselves on the bus at 8AM and driving towards downtown for the Bonfim Festival. The story behind the festival, before I elaborate on the happenings, is as follows: a captain, whose ship was wrecked off the coast of Bahia in 1875, promised God that if his men survived, he would build a church in gratitude. Subsequently, the captain built the church known as “Our Lord of the Happy Ending,” and thus rooted is the ritual of women dressed in traditional white dresses of colonial Bahia and forming a procession to the church. Despite the fact that Brazil is nominally a Roman Catholic country, it is observed that many Brazilians find themselves adhering to various Afro-Brazilian beliefs.

Coming back to the actual festival, it was amazing to see that the path to the church was already crowded by 8AM. Both men and women were clad in all-white garb, dancing and celebrating in the streets. Despite it being rather early, people had already begun drinking, with young children selling beer (either Skol or Schin) and folks readily buying them at a modest 3 for 5R$ (the equivalent of $3 USD). But what I found to be most troubling wasn’t the selling of alcohol by minors, but rather, the fact that these children were actively consuming the beer themselves.

These observations that we had made were kept in mind during our visit to COPE, which deals with health initiatives for the state of Bahia, the following day. The information received was fairly positive with regards to the campaigns launched and success rates; however, one couldn’t help but wonder how effectively the goals were being met and what issues had yet to be addressed. Overall, the meeting seemed to carry an air of idealistic goals with some promising results.

But to build upon the programs developed for at-risk youths with creative goals, we were brought to CIPÓ – Interactive Communication, a nonprofit focused on training individuals on technological and creative mediums. To see the impressive work by these adolescents, as well as watch several of them at work, was a touching experience, especially when I come with an understanding of how difficult it is gain access to some of the programs and technologies that were available. To provide adolescents that wouldn’t have otherwise had an opportunity with these tools was simply remarkable.

The evening, perhaps, was the highlight for some since it was our first and only collective meal and the big opportunity to see capoeira in action. Our meal was considered to be comprised of traditional fare – moqueca (fish stew), cornmeal, rice – at the second-level restaurant Uauá. The dessert, which was a passion fruit pudding, had most of swooning and excited for the evening show at the Miguel Santana Theatre across the street.

Uauá
R. Gregório de Matos 36, Pelourinho,
Salvador, 40025-060

The show, titled Bahia by Night, was put on by the Bahia Folklore Company (Balé Folclórico de Bahia); through music and dance, the story of several African Gods (Orixá) were told, including those of Xangô (God of Fire and Thunder), Iemanjá (Goddess of the Sea), and Oxum (God of Rivers and Lakes), along with the story of colonization and freedom in Brazil. Though there were moments in which my eyes drooped heavily on account of the warm air in the theatre, I was captivated and entranced by the liveliness and passion of dance troupe.

Having spent so much time in the city, our program shuttled us away to the “farming hinterland on the western side of the All Saints’ Bay” (or so my itinerary reads). Our first stop was the country market town of Santo Amaro, whose open-air markets were unlike anything I had ever experienced or seen. Crabs, covered in mud, were bundled by string and sold by the corner of the street; meat was cured in salt and left to sit out in the open on a table; homemade laundry detergent in various hues were sold in recycled pop bottles; and cigarettes rolled on the spot and cigars sold for 1$R each. From there, we were taken to the town of Cachoeira, where one could find the Danemann Cultural Centre – the country’s oldest cigar factory in the country.

Now, when you think of beaches in Brazil, images of bliss are conjured. Turns out that numerous beaches, at least the ones along Salvador, have polluted waters; of the few decent ones, it becomes incredibly crowded over the weekend. Lasting out in the sun for more than ten minutes is quite commendable, especially with the heavy sweat that one will be breaking. Stepping into the ocean provides relief from the blistering heat, although quite a few tend to forget that the sun is just as strong in the water. That said, I didn’t last longer than an hour at the beach before decidedly heading back.

I mentioned earlier in this post about arriving at a particularly opportune time; in addition to the Bonfim Festival, the duration of our stay happened upon one of the Candomblé ceremonies at a local terreiro. Having the explanation of the ceremony and seeing the actual ceremony take place are two completely different things. Despite having fallen asleep for part of the “dances” and “trances,” it was quite the experience in having observed at least part of it.

Cultural activities aside, the last portion of our trip was spent at the hotel, listening to and meeting with representatives of various organizations, including the ministry of health, and Bolsa Familia, and intellectuals. The conversations were enlightening and rather elaborate upon a lot of our observations throughout our time in Salvador.

And that was it. Our trip to to Salvador, Brazil met its conclusion the day after as we loaded our bags on the tour bus, and made our way for the airport. The experience was most certainly an eye-opening one, what with it being my first trip to South America, as well as informative, while staying relaxing with the spread-out agenda. Though our tour guide wouldn’t admit to us being the best group she’s ever led, she certainly shed several tears at our departure, making us the only group to make Simone cry (but in a good way).

In case you hadn’t noticed, there was a lot of leisure time. So how exactly did we spend it? Much of our afternoons, between activities, were spent on the rooftop pool deck. Evenings were spent at the foot of the hill on which our hotel was located hanging out in the orange plastic chairs and chatting the night away over freshly made caipirinhas at a meagre 3$R a glass. For meals, the lunch favourite stemmed from our tour guide Simone’s recommendation of a vegetarian eatery (pay-by-weight system) named Manjericao, followed by a fresh coconut from a local stand or a scoop of ice cream at the nearby Sorveteria Primavera. Dinners were seldom elaborate; for the most part, it was grabbing an acarajé from the well-known Acarajé da Cira. As you’ve probably surmised, I spent a lot of time eating.

Manjericao
Rua Fonte do Boi, 3-B,
Salvador, Brazil 3335-5641

Sorveteria Primavera
http://www.sorveteriaprimavera.com.br/

Acarajé da Cira
Largo da Mariquita, Rio Vermelho
Salvador, Brazil

Bonfim festival

Bonfim festival balloons

Acarajé da Cira; a hit amongst the locals

Watching the students work at CIPO

Moqueca (Bahian fish stew) at Uauá (R. Gregório de Matos 36, Pelourinho, Salvador, 40025-060)

Trying out fruit at the country market

Fruit market in Santo Amaro

Cured meat at the market

Seeing how cigarettes are made and rolled

Nothing like people watching

The Brazil of 'yesteryear'

Touring the streets of Cachoeira

Cigar rolling at the Danemann Cultural Centre

Cigar rolling at the Danemann Cultural Centre

Boats nearby the Mercado Modelo

Boats nearby the Mercado Modelo

Manjericao; Rua Fonte do Boi, 3-B, Salvador, Brazil 3335-5641

Manjericao; Rua Fonte do Boi, 3-B, Salvador, Brazil 3335-5641

Looking over the Happy Valley racetrack

I decided to take a leisurely approach to my last day in Hong Kong, starting the day off with a back massage at Bua Hom Thai Massage in the Lan Kwai Fong district. The night before, I had attempted to seek it out since it was open until midnight, but had the wrong address, which seems to be posted online on some blogs. After a little more searching when I was back in my hotel room, I realized it was actually around the corner. For about $70 USD (20% tip included), the masseuse worked out a lot of the knots and kinks in my back. And hey, a big plus is that she spoke English, which means there was no need for my embarrassingly broken Cantonese.

Bua Hom Thai Massage
1/F, Lan Kwai Fong House,
5 Lan Kwai Fong, Central
Hong Kong
Email: info@buahom.com
Telephone: 2234 9322

The next stop was afternoon tea (or more like lunch for me, since I hadn’t had time to make the stop at Sang Kee for congee) at the Ritz Carlton’s Lounge & Bar. The price for afternoon tea isn’t as steep as what you might find at some of the other Ritz Carltons around the world; though one would still be apt to find it pricey for an afternoon snack at ~$35 USD. While the view was gorgeous from the 102nd floor, along with the live band, the pastries and desserts left much to be desired; most of the desserts were “all right” at best. The brownie and macaron, in particular, were the most dismal of the set what with the brownie being dry and the macaron’s texture completely wrong. That said, there were some highlights; of the set, the cheese cake and hazelnut cream were the highlights.

Following afternoon tea, I greeted sunset at the Nan Lian Garden, which is a public park built in the style the Tang dynasty. Adjacent to it is the Chi Lin Nunnery; however, when I made my way up the steps, I was disappointed to find that it had just closed. I wound up simply taking a lovely stroll in the garden before heading to the Happy Valley Racecourse for the Wednesday night races. Although I hadn’t placed any official bets, it was all the while fun to watch the enthusiastic folks write down their bets for the next race, as well as watch the short bursts of actual racing.

Perhaps one of the more shocking highlights was before the fifth or sixth race when I heard a gaggle of English speakers. It turns out that New York University had managed to follow me, even during vacation; the NYU Stern MBA DBi (“Doing Business in …”) program had an evening out at the racecourse and merely dropped by for one to two races to see the horses up close.

After I grew tired of watching the horse races, I stopped by for a quick dinner of noodles and wontons at Mak’s Noodle, which I’ve heard to be quite formidable. Before heading home to pack, I obtained a snack for the morning at the Singaporean jerky store, Bee Cheng Hiang.

Mak’s Noodle
G/F., No. 44 Jardine’s Bazaar,
Causeway Bay, Hong Kong
Telephone: 2895 5310

Bee Cheng Hiang
G/F, 25 Lee Garden Road,
Causeway Bay, Hong Kong
Telephone: 28330128
http://www.bch.com.sg

The morning after was quite a relaxed one, especially since there wasn’t a lot to pack. I enjoyed a light breakfast at the MoMo Café downstairs before making my way to the airport. When taking the Airport Express from Central, one can check into their flight before making their way to the terminal and leave luggage to be checked-in at the counter to be transported on their own, which in turn, makes for a smooth and comfortable ride to the airport. The flight itself seemed to go by a lot faster this time around – perhaps it had to do with the TVs working this time around. In any case, I only had about two days of rest before heading back to New York to catch a flight to Brazil for my DRTC trip.

Ritz Carlton; Lounge & Bar

Ritz Carlton; Lounge & Bar

View from Ritz Carlton; Lounge & Bar

Nan Lian Garden

Nan Lian Garden

Happy Valley Racecourse

Happy Valley Racecourse

Picking the winning horses for the next race

Happy Valley Racecourse

Happy Valley Racecourse

Happy Valley Racecourse

Back at the hotel, waiting for me to pack

TalentEgg founder Lauren Friese on CTV’s Canada AM talking about the summer job hunt

Landing a full-time job seems to be the pinnacle of challenges that I face these days. The movies and television shows make it seem that coming to New York from wherever you come from is the equivalent to opening the doors to opportunity. It’s really not the case. Sifting through job openings, the opportunities for sponsorship are much fewer than one could ever anticipate, especially in this economic climate. Of all the positions that I’ve looked at thus far, only two have actually expressed intent in entertaining applications from foreign applicants; even then, you can’t help but wonder if/when they’ve passed on you because it would be less trouble to go with a citizen/permanent resident.

Of course, the question that people have often asked me is why don’t I seem to want to go back to Canada. My first response is to ask people where they are from and whether or not they considered going home to work there upon graduation; most reply “no.” After all, I’ve changed a considerable bunch in the past four years, and for me to come back to where I grew up, I would have to confront the old perception and memories that people hold of me. I want to be able to make something of myself in my own space without the constraints of what people believe about me. And to add, I’ve only truly spent two years in this city, since I spent two of my college years studying in Paris. And while the experience was a great one, I simply want to spend a little more time with New York, and get to know it better.

That said, I also ought to dispel the notion that Canadians have it “easier.” Sure, there are opportunities for different visas/statuses, such as the TN status, but those are particular to certain trades/skill sets (the easy list can be found on the Wikipedia page). Skimming the list, the only category that I could slide myself under would be graphic designer, though it is not something that I would particularly want. The stories of friends of friends of friends easily obtaining offers and green cards on the spot are the exception (reminds you a little of “He’s Just Not That Into You,” doesn’t it? See the clip below if you don’t know what I mean); they fall under these special statuses or are with the companies that have the highest number of H-1B sponsoring.

So, do I feel as though I should have geared my education towards what would have been more “acceptable” for visa purposes? Absolutely note. I would by no means be of the same caliber as I am now with what I am able to do in marketing and publicity. Come May, I suppose I’ll activate my OPT (optional practical training) and see what opportunities may arise during the regular year.

Image courtesy of TalentEgg on Flickr

Instead of interning, I’ve been looking to alternative forms of learning experiences and community engagement this past year. Last semester, I spent most of my time re-integrating myself into the NYU community, whereas this semester, though I’ve been continuing my work with the university community, I’ve also found myself engaged with Project BREAKER, a twelve-week design project – started by TED fellow Juliette LaMontagne – seeking to solve a challenge posed by a visionary.

This session’s challenge, proposed by environmental justice advocate Majora Carter, is to develop a new product or service aimed to improve urban agriculture. Admittedly, going into the project, I knew nothing about agriculture, let alone about urban agriculture. The only knowledge about anything “food production-related” that I had came from the documentaries that I’ve watched in my spare time. That said, I was more so initially drawn to the project because of the amount of group work involved (I’ve only ever worked in small groups of two to three, or solo) and the free reign provided. Becoming immediately immersed through literature, previous TED Talks, websites, informational interviews, and other resources really shed a lot of light on an area that I had only ever thought about in passing when at at the supermarket or farmer’s market.

All of these sessions, every Friday and Saturday, have made me reconsider and re-evaluate a lot of things, not just about the possibilities of urban agriculture. For instance, over the past few weeks, I’ve learned a lot more about what it actually means to collaborate and brainstorm. In retrospect, I’ve always found myself getting too ahead of myself, whittling down the options before I even listed all the possibilities that could exist. But through this more structured method of design, I consciously realized that brainstorming and refining are two separate processes.

What I’ve also come to realize is that no one person needs to be an expert to jump into any project; all that is required is a willingness to learn and to embrace new experiences. I thought I would be completely out of my league, but I quickly learned that some had about similar amounts of exposure, and we all quickly caught up to speed with the more knowledgeable members through simple resource sharing and immersion. Granted, sharing experiences and being immersed have always stuck out as being keys to learning for me, but it took something so out of my field to make me really appreciate and realize such.

And lastly, being hands-on by means of visuality is how I function best. I’ve often speculated about myself that I learn and contribute well in face-to-face settings because I can lock the referential images of a classroom in my head, but this project, thus far, has really affirmed that for me. Being able to link the information gained with actual site visits and workshops in these past weeks have really fortified my understanding of how I acquire knowledge.

With all that said, I’m excited since we are approaching the mid-phase point (this coming Friday) in which we take our more fleshed out brainstroming, present them to another design team, and then proceed to refine our solutions into viable businesses and services.

Breaking down our experiences at IDEO

Seth and Sarah presenting our initial findings to MTV Scratch

Working with guest Katie Koch yesterday at QLabs

Screenshot of the latest from NYU Local and how the 1831 Fund 'sucks'

Admittedly, NYU Local’s list of things that you could buy with $18.31 is pretty funny, or at least the first couple of bullets before you get the point that there is so much alcohol and takeout that can be bought with a twenty-dollar bill. But at the same time, I am a little disheartened by it. The article perpetuates misconceptions about the 1831 Fund and promotes a self-serving nature amongst students.

Don’t get me wrong – I’m all for leisure and fun, as well as looking out for “number one” when necessary, but I also believe that we can and should look beyond that from time to time, even if that means skipping a happy hour or two. After all, it’s $18.31 and not $180 or $1800 that is being asked of you. Does it not make you feel a little shrewd that you’d refuse to dispense a couple of dollars because you find your drinks and takeout to be that much more important?

I know people that are in and have read about those that have had to cinch their financial belts so as to simply make enough to pay rent, but this is not the population to whom this list points. If the “list” mentioned a couple more of obligations and financial responsibilities (that still could be funny, or take on a more serious tone), such as “buying a Kindle textbook instead of staking out in course reserves for that one copy at Bobst” or “purchasing three round-trip metro cards so that you don’t have to walk across the Brooklyn Bridge in pouring rain,” then I wouldn’t be as annoyed.

Since the article wants to classify me as one to be “bragging about all the cool things that I’ve done,” let me shed some light on myself:

1. I’m an international student, but I am by no means “loaded” or wealthy. There is no financial aid and few scholarships for international students, even Canadians (some schools, such as Amherst offer aid for students with Canadian citizenship), at most US universities (due to endowment and other reasons), which means that I pay the full price tag. Even though there is the notion that international students are “rich beyond belief,” there are those whose parents liquidate savings to send their child for that “American education,” believing that they are providing the best opportunities for their child.
2. I am not in debt but I have sold my house in Toronto to pay for this education; that is something that I don’t mention to people, but am willing to do so to better elaborate on myself. I understand and value every dollar that is spent and earned by those that have afforded me to be here. I understand that there are those that have over a $100 00 in debt, but former NYU Local editor-in-chief has $23 000 USD worth of debt, which is less than the Canadian average of $27 000 CDN (and our tuition is also considerably less and our currencies are relatively equal).
3. NYU was never my dream school. I enrolled at New York University because I wanted a school that was far from where I grew up since I wanted to make a new start for myself and it was one of the three American schools from whom I received an acceptance offer. For some, NYU was the dream school, but for me, it was simply an institution that I made my own in terms of opportunities and professional relationships.So by no means have I been chugging the proverbial Kool-Aid; I’ve made my choices to get involved this year specifically with several of the University’s resources, because the people here have prove to me that the experience – the good and the bad – has been worth it.
4. Part of the reason why I spent two years in Paris was because for the first year, I was not given a choice to study in New York. For some of the Liberal Studies students, seemingly the international ones, there isn’t an option to spend your freshman year on campus. The decision to spend a junior year abroad was comprised of several factors (personal and academic), including that it was more cost efficient for me to live in France (which comes as a surprise to some who find Paris to be more expensive – it simply depends on how you manage your finances).
5. I’ve had my own gripes with the University, specifically with regards to health services and academic/administration policies, and can understand some of the strife that others have faced. That said, there is empathizing, and then there is communicating change. By getting to the root of the problem, I’ve instigated change, instead of rehashing the same problem in conversations.

 
In truth, $18.31 (or the quadrupled amount when we account for the dollar-for-dollar matching by President John Sexton and trustee Dale Hemmerdinger) will not solve the issue of financial aid nor will it solve student debt. What it does do, however, is demonstrate that we acknowledge that there is need and take a stance as a community. I know that in saying the word “community,” complications arise around the term being merely a buzzword of sorts. Let me elaborate and tell you what “community” means to me so that we are on the same page.

I have come to define “community” as our collectively shared experiences and memories. We will look back and be able to mention to one another “the Time Keeper,” Violet Ball, and more, and elicit a smile. There may not be a campus full of green, or a large turnout at sports games, but we are still tied to one another by the small things. This was our undergraduate experience.

And you may say that “if this was ‘community,’ you certainly wouldn’t wish that upon another soul,” then that is fine. I do not ask any of you to fall under my “written spell,” but to simply hear me out. I am willing to take what I could not be afforded (e.g. financial aid) and the challenges delivered, and hope that someone’s experience and dream will be better. I gave because I believe that community – in all shapes and sizes – will be shaped not only but what others will do, but what we have also done. I wanted to give someone the chance to find their dream in this big city, and it may only be a water droplet in a vast ocean, but at least I can tell you that I support the future you in the choices that you will make.

One more thing: could we have please used the logo on a white background (which is widely available) instead of the screen grab from the video? It would’ve made the organization’s name and word “sucks” pop a little more and make the image all that more catchy – I’m just saying.

Full disclosure: I am an 1831 Fund committee member; however, these views are my own.