Month: May 2020

i really hate waking up early, but i love my friend, so when she asked me to speak at a morning “assembly” for her brooklyn high school students about community action during covid times, i grumbled wu-tang is for the children and agreed to set my alarm clock for the first time since isolation began. as i sleepily watched the list of attendees file into the video conference, i clicked over to the q&a box and almost laughed my entire cup of espresso out my nostrils when i read the first comment: “THIS ZOOM IS WACK.”

i’ve been booed offstage while reading poetry to high schoolers before, so someone typing THIS ZOOM IS WACK from an anonymous account doesn’t phase me – but it does impress me that the word wack continues to endure so resiliently through the decades that, here in 2020, it can be a choice adjective for a kid to describe a scenario in which a teenager is marked absent unless they log into a teleconference to watch a bunch of strangers talk. i get it. actually, if i could anonymously comment THIS ZOOM IS WACK on all my calls throughout the past month, i would. i might, from now on.

THIS ZOOM IS WACK washed over me this morning in the form of teenage nostalgia. it made me think of the years in my early twenties when my weeks were spent performing at high school assemblies all throughout the bay. standing on stage, looking out into the auditorium, i could see all the microcosms – the cliques with their leaders and tag-alongs, the ones taking the opportunity of darkness in a crowd to sleep, the teachers shushing, the honors students paying avid attention and wanting me to know it, and of course, the many in the audience who could give a fuck. regularly going to high schools was a way to keep me grounded, to not get so carried away by all the things that people in the adult world take seriously even when they really shouldn’t.

when i’m on a wack zoom call these days i choose more subtle rebellions: switching off my camera so i can roll my eyes, telling people i have to go when i actually don’t, or just straight up logging off and emailing an apology for getting disconnected. all of these are socially-acceptable expressions for people like myself who have gotten old and polite and opt for professionalism over keeping it real.

here’s a covid-era statistic i’d like to see: how many wack zoom calls have been allowed to go all the way through without anyone pointing out how wack they are? for the record, i felt that this morning’s zoom was incredible. but someone else disagreed, and they were going to make sure we all knew, damn it!

i don’t miss the drama of adolescence, but popping my head into a virtual high school today did remind me of how many other worlds are out there, each with people who are processing this moment of uniformity in vastly different ways – including at least one kid somewhere in brooklyn, who amidst social distancing and new norms, still figured out a way to step out of line.

i’ve long been enamored, even consumed, by the prospect of going through life on autopilot. my earliest memory of being appealed by this notion was in back to the future, the scene where doc brown’s alarm clock sets off a series of events beginning with waking him up to brushing his teeth to brewing his coffee. with eyelids heavy throughout the entire scene, doc brown sleepily makes the most meager movements while everything else does the work. the scene ends with doc brown having been coaxed into full alertness, overjoyed by yet another perfectly-roboticized morning. even for the mad scientist inventor, the ideal day begins with no thinking.

wouldn’t it be relaxing, i remember daydreaming as a kid, if my entire day were like that? i wouldn’t even have to think about it and somehow i would get through school, have all my homework done, shower taken, without me having to go through the excruciating human conditions of anticipation, effort, procrastination, and regret.

this infatuation for autopiloting things continues to exist in my life in different ways – the convenience of automatic bill payments, email autoreplies, and the jungle of triggers deployed by my phone. meanwhile, the conveniences of capitalism have made it possible for me to jump on amazon to subscribe to almost anything, and for shows to invite themselves into my life without me even asking for them. lately autopilot has manifested in this weird idea that the best way for me to get through this lockdown period is to live each day as a perfect routine. like if i just got through a checklist of things that the ideal me would normally do (meditate, exercise, eat healthily, get some work done, connect with loved ones) then i’d be happy that day. and if i did that everyday, then i’d be happy everyday. easy.

i call this idea weird because it’s completely un-gemini and also against the way i’ve framed so much of my life around my love of adventure. how is it that just a year ago i was excitedly hiking in new zealand and today i’m getting just as much satisfaction out of sitting on my patio each morning? maybe in this apartment, behind these gates, in this closed world, i’ve given up on adventure.

i know it sounds kind of corny, but the adventure that still remains constant is my struggle to write each day. i’ve been able to corral every other good habit except for writing. me wrestling a green ghoulish cyclops version of myself – that’s the image that comes to mind when i think about the moment each morning between me chillin with a cup of coffee, and me writing a non-work related paragraph. like, if i could just trigger one outcome with a doc brown-style contraption, it would be that i could somehow just have a beautiful piece of writing channeled out of me each day without all my insecurities about purpose and audacity and what gives me the right to say anything at all discouraging me. this inability to somehow just have is the dose of adventure that has kept me from being lured into a euphoric cycle of groundhog days.

in this age where we’re constantly being reminded to check our privileges, and amidst days dedicated to tending to my loved ones who have fallen ill, it’s been hard to take my artistic conflicts seriously. a projection of hundreds of thousands of more deaths, and you seriously want to talk about writer’s block? the green ghoulish version of me has a point. but while so many elements are containing, regulating, fearmongering, and subduing us – insisting on still exploring, imagining, and creating is a risk worth taking.

i’m writing this morning while sitting in an awkward position, and by awkward position i mean physically awkward, not socially awkward, like if i were eating at a restaurant, only to look up and realize that i had somehow seated myself in between a newly wed couple who i don’t know, at the head table of a chinese banquet, and everyone’s clanging their chopsticks against their glasses. there i go again already going on a tangent in my first sentence. and now here goes the whole paragraph. what was it that i said the other day about getting to the point?

anyway. the physically awkward position that i’m sitting in is due to a sharp pain in my left shoulder, something that i began feeling at the beginning of april due to sitting too long coding. i spent the next couple of weeks addressing it by doing yoga, which in this moment of isolation was most easily accessible by subscribing to an app that totally has lulu lemon vibes. i scrolled through the gallery of instructors, with the kind of facial expression that is typically reserved for when i’m trying to find a feel-good romcom but netflix keeps suggesting investigative documentaries about how fucked up the food industry is. while reading the description for “optimum warrior flow,” i contemplated whether all of my work to empower and place agency with marginalized communities is disqualified by the fact that i now pay $15 a month for various white people to teach me how to find my center of gravity.

but lo and behold, within the next five days, my shoulder was completely healed! as i rotated my neck without a crack or pop, the phrase that popped up in my head was can’t hate!

can’t hate! is an expression that basically means “despite the fact that i should despise this, it in fact qualifies for my embrace.” can’t hate! typically follows an expectation that is broken, or rather a pit which lacks expectation that is filled with something that impresses. this can sometimes be from a stereotype that is defied, like the very brief period in middle school when i could actually shoot three-pointers “asian dude can hoop though…can’t hate!” but this shares a thin line with instances of cultural appropriation, which can also qualify for the phrase, like when tiger fork – a restaurant with a pretty atrocious “hong kong alley” theme opened in d.c. – still had pretty good noodles. “this brisket chow fun is pretty good though…can’t hate!”

can’t hate is sometimes awarded as a (subjective) absolving of the cultural appropriation label, because appropriation is an attempt to emulate something for its surface appeal without actually cultivating knowledge and expertise. for one to admit that they can’t hate on something means that what they’re commenting on is so good that they’re convinced that the potential appropriator must have done their homework (so was not the case with tiger fork, which had its can’t hate! rescinded when they gave us our check in a red envelope. can hate.)

anyway, all of that was a tangent to admit that it’s not the yoga app’s fault that i ended up injuring my shoulder again, it’s my fault for overdoing my wheel pose, despite the instructor in the video warning against overdoing my wheel pose. actually, the set of classes i ended up gravitating to are led by deepika mehta, a mumbai-based instructor who takes care to explain the sanskrit name and spiritual context of each movement, and who i was surprised and delighted that the app actually included. can’t hate!