You'll Never See "American"

Being Something-American is hard. I remember turning 12 and transferring from the multi-cultural Alief Independent School District to the mostly Caucasian Cypress Fairbanks School District in Katy, Texas.

You'd be hard pressed to find an Asian family or face on the cover of any of the several Katy magazines mailed to our home each month

It was then that I first realized I was really different. I was asked where I was from, and I didn't know how to respond. America. I mean, I spoke English, didn't I? Then they'd specify: "'Where are your parents from?' 'What does it matter?'"(Ramirez, 842) was my exact response. At first I gave the students the benefit of the doubt- I didn't talk much, and I was new to school. After a year, I was hit by the truth. No one would ever look at me and think "American." I was "Asian-American." And what the hell did that mean?! Did it mean I was another color? Did it mean I was different, somehow less able? If anything, I was more able than most of my peers. Since I was very good at English, much like Melendez, "I knew I would be the one handling all the financial, academic, and commuting arrangements"(Melendez, 853-854) I required. I'd always taken care of myself and do my best to understand a system I had no guidance in. My first reaction was denial. I was just like everyone else. I slowly assimilated into American culture and became "white washed". I'd always been American, since I'd come here when I was 2 years old, but school uniforms and a carefree childhood had kept me from ever caring about style, movies, or my appearance. All of a sudden, I was challenged. I had to fit in. My parents didn't grow up listening to 80s songs, so when they played them at school, I'd feel left out. I'd go home and do my research. No matter what, I was always Asian-American, and never just American.

I felt as misplaced as this woman looks while I strove to assimilate. I would often be teased for "having a dot on my head" (and by the way, I've never put one on, I'm not even Hindu). I was just the opposite of her- a brown girl with a punk-rock haircut and preppy clothes.

"I don't feel like a Dartmouth student, but rather a Latino Dartmouth student"(Ramirez, 838) Ramirez lamented. I completely understand the feeling. Even after coming to terms with your ethnicity, the fact remains a nuisance. I used to get embarrassed because my culture and my parents didn't allow me to wear the clothes the other girls wore or go out the way they did. I tried to hide it, and although I felt restricted, "I never once damned my parents, nor my Koreanness"(Lee, 879) (Indo-Pakness in my case), because it was still a large part of who I was. It's a strange conflict. To feel obligated to two worlds and unable to really dislike one or the other.
Eventually, I realized this was all foolishness. If anything, I'd become fiercely proud of the fact that my parents were immigrants. Immigrants are in my opinion, some of the most hardworking, respectable, and intelligent American citizens. When my parents went to take their Naturalization oaths, I was surprised to look over the tests they had to take for citizenship.

There are so many stories in a room full of immigrants giving their naturalization oaths. I wish I could interview every one of them.

Half of my junior class couldn't even pass the tests they got 90% or above on. Standing in a room of people giving oaths is amazing. You can smell passion. It's invigorating. Remarkable immigrant stories are everywhere- my friend's mother used to walk a mile to school everyday in the heat of summer. Melendez's brother was amazing. "At nineteen, he tackled the English language, his first year of college, a job, and the army. After five years... he graduated with honors"(Melendez, 852). I know a young boy who is a freshman with me here at UT. He came to America at the age of 15, not speaking a lick of English. He graduated at 18 as Valedictorian of his class. His English is impeccable and almost as amazing as his work ethic. At times, I wish I hadn't grown up here. I wish I knew what it was like to want something so bad that I wouldn't settle even for an A minus. Don't get me wrong, everything I do is for my parents. It seems "no matter how successful I am, it will never make up for the fact that my parents put themselves, their personal dreams and goals aside so I could succeed"(Ramirez, 843). My parents had great lives in Asia. They had successful careers, plenty of land, fame, fortune, and whatever else you could hope for. They gave it all up to come to America and work ridiculously hard just to give us the opportunity to go to school. My mother has her Master's, and my father finished Law School as Valedictorian, but neither knew the process to get their degrees recognized in America. Working hard, they programmed us from childhood, saying "your father and I weren't able to go to college, but you will"(Ramirez, 838). I watched the pain in my parents eyes as my brother consistently failed in school. His failure encouraged me, and I got straight A's. I conquered all that I could, simply so that my parents would be proud. Somewhere since then and now, I lost that fire. I'm ashamed.
Being a second-generation Asian-American, I'm not sure how I feel about third-generation/white washed Asian-Americans. I pity those who didn't learn their native tongue and grow up in a traditional, non-American environment. I feel as if they're deprived and they'll never know what they're missing. Lee's parents were not understanding. In response to his gayness, his father encouraged him to "Get the AIDS... You are no longer my son. You shame us"(Lee, 878). The pain of these words cannot be expressed in words. When you care so deeply about your parents and work hard for them only to be dismissed, there is no consolation. Contrastingly, Ng's "body was gripped by anger as tears started to come to [his] eyes... [his father] was one who made it through growing up in a physically abusive family environment"(Ng, 881). While I don't despise Ng for not growing up in an abusive environment, I do not respect him for the way he speaks to his parents. "Would you put down the dishes and just fucking listen to me!!!"(Ng, 880) introduced him in this paper.

I find disrespecting elders, especially your parents, to be disgusting.

For some reason, I wouldn't be so offended had a Caucasian person written this paper, but perhaps that just goes to show that we ourselves discriminate to. Or perhaps it's just that we hold other Asian-Americans to higher standards because our families tend to be more traditional and not yet lost in the melting pot. Lee lived the horror stories that Ng could probably only imagine. "After his [father's] fifth attempt in one week to "beat the gay out of [Lee]"... mother tried to protect [him]... and ended up getting herself battered... [he] punched [his father] square in the chin"(Lee, 878). Having to watch your mother get hurt and then having to hurt your father can be a very difficult experience. When I was younger, my father used to become furious with my brother's inability to do well in school. He'd beat him, and my mother would often try to protect him. Although my father never hurt my mother, he had no mercy with my brother. The episodes eventually ended, but the fright of having to experience anything like that still makes my heartbeat skyrocket. Words don't do the situation justice.
All in all, despite the difficulties, we are all very lucky to be in America legally. Many immigrants have much greater concerns than we do. We simply have to adjust. Ramirez was furious that his family was asked for papers until his mother pointed out that "When they asked for... papers, [she] saw some people rush to the bathroom"(Ramirez, 841). Gratefulness is a crash course I know I could take, and perhaps everyone in the United States as well. Immigrants and non, we have no idea how blessed by opportunity we truly are.

My Religion from the Outside In

Am I the most religious person on Earth? I would venture to say no, as I sit in front of my computer in shorts and a tank top, writing papers in English about the Qu'ran rather than participating in regular prayer time. At the same time, do I have a deep reverence for Islam? Definitely. I'd like to say I'm fairly knowledgeable about Islam, having gone to Sunday school and read the Qu'ran in Arabic from a young age.

I do not pray 5 times a day, but I do revere the Qu'ran. Since I was young, I visited an Ustaani, or teacher of the Qu'ran, as these girls are doing.

Many Qu'ranic heroes amaze me with their genuine integrity, and I hope I can live my life with even a quarter of the discipline they lived theirs in. The Prophet Mohammad(pbuh) "forgave enemies who had committed unspeakable atrocities against him and his brethren"(Unknown, 320), and I completely admire the fact that he at no point desired revenge or harbored hatred. Unlike other leaders, like Allah(ws), the Prophet displayed many compassionate characteristics. The Prophet was also a leader, a father, a warrior, and yet he remained just and kind. I was surprised at the meaning of "Rahmin" in "the first Sura of the Koran, the Fatiha... God is called Al Rahmin"(Unknown, 320). I know the first Sura (amongst many others) by heart and have recited it countless times in my life, but I never payed attention to the exact meaning.

Surah Al-Fatiha is depicted to the left. The Surahs are often very ornamented. This one is very similar to the book I have at home which I memorized Surahs out of.

There is a large framed poster in my living room that depicts ninety-nine names for Allah and their meanings. "Al Rahmin" is one of them. It's very interesting that it is derived from the word "womb", but now that I think of it, Allah is very much depicted as having some feminine traits.

The ninety-nine names of Allah are very commonly found in Muslim homes.

As a child, I always found these characteristics very comforting and I felt closest to Allah when I slept next to my mother. Perhaps this is one of the reasons many Muslims are so strongly devoted and truly love Allah. Faith is a very powerful thing to see. During the holy month of Moharram at my mosc, it is not uncommon at all to see women "falling silent, starting into the distance, lost in thought, stepping back, weeping"(Ramadan, 316). In fact, many women weep after each sermon. Those moments are moments I wish I could share and explain to my American friends. They are usually followed by Maatam, which is where all the women make a circle and lightly tap on their chests to keep a beat while chanting songs about Qu'ranic figures.

Men doing Maatam in the streets. The beat of hands on chests is breathtaking.

Unfortunately, it is shown in negative light. Extremists often do Maatam with knives. There are no videos recording true Maatam because it is not allowed. There's nothing like this in the world, and every time I experience it, I feel humbled and ashamed at my lifestyle. I'm ashamed because it is possible for me to be a better person. All the traits I admire in the Prophet and his family are achieved by clarity of mind and discipline, two things the Qu'ran promotes very strongly. "Surely it is not their eyes that are blind; what is blind are the hearts that are in their breasts"(Qu'ran, 22:46), the Qu'ran reads, and I know that I am blind-hearted. This simply means that I have not been able to train myself against temptation and laziness. I indulge myself, procrastinate, and concern myself with myself. I see that these things are wrong and fixable, for I am not blind. At the same time, my heart is weak and I don't have the drive to carry through. I want very badly to change my ways, and I think Islam definitely helps, which is perhaps why it attracts so many people. The only thing that shies me away is my fear of hypocrisy. I've sinned and I do believe to a certain extent that I should live my life to the fullest. "On people's hearts is the stain of that which they do"(Qu'ran, 83:14), and although I know I can remove this stain, I don't know if I can remain unstained while I'm still experiencing the world in the transitional stage that is adolescence. I'm basically in a state of confusion. Regardless of my convictions, I revere the Qu'ran for its practical applicability. Whether or not you believe in god, you cannot deny the moral value of the characteristics Qu'ranic figures promote. Additionally, even practices such as abstaining from eating pork are not without reason. Pork is the fastest spoiling meat and causes the most medical complications every year by a landslide.

Pork in unsanitary conditions is a great health concern in Cuba.

The practicality of these characteristics and their effectiveness are displayed throughout Muslim history. "Early muslim leaders were sophisticated townsmen and highly competent commanders"(Rodenbeck, 324), as the Qu'ran very strongly emphasizes that Muslims should be competent leaders and simultaneously just. However, there are accounts of obvious discrimination in areas conquered by the Muslim empire. In Spain, "non-muslims were not allowed to ride on horseback without a permit, or to bear arms"(Ormsby, 326), but it is important to understand that these were measures initially taken to ensure control. Identification cannot be compared to Nazi reign in Germany during the Holocaust, because Muslims were controlling, but not hostile. They did not force their religion down anyones throats, nor did they enslave people. Additionally, there were many exceptions and permits were allowed.

Identification in Muslim Spain and Nazi Germany are not equivalent.

This is not to say that all Muslim empires ever created were angelic and perfect- obviously, corruption exists in all planes of time and space. However, today's views of Islam are construed. I strongly disagree with the statement that the reason for "the current hostility"(Goodwin, 330) is "Insecurity, of course, [which] is widespread in the Muslim world"(Goodwin, 330). Insecurity is widespread all over the world. I would argue that the current hostility finds its roots in cultural isolation and general ignorance. Most educated Western Muslims are not at all hostile. Rather, in very isolated areas with homozygous cultural ideas, hate breeds. There are several other misconceptions where culture and religion are confused. For instance, lack of women's rights are definitely not advocated by the Qu'ran. The Qu'ran encourages a couple to "dwell in tranquility... creating loving affection and merciful compassion between you"(Qu'ran, 30:21).

Domestic violence is a concern in third-world countries more than Muslim countries.

Reverence for each other, and most important compassion are of utmost importance.
All in all, I find the Qu'ran to be a very inspiring text guiding "the heart that makes the intense effort necessary to liberate itself"(Ramadan, 316). I know that I am not currently making that intense effort, but one day when I'm ready, I know I'll find my way.

Evil is not Absolute

Innocence and evil are very strong motifs in his novel. The source of evil in Pecola's life seems to be her parents. However, once we look into their life stories, we find that Cholly was also a victim. He innocently inquired "How come you all didn't name me Samson?"(Morrison, 133) after his father, because although he was betrayed by his father, he was still innocent and wanted him to be a part of him.

Boys who lack father figures either try very hard to be good fathers, or often continue the cycle, like Cholly, of bad parenting.

Pauline also "had a clearer idea of what drear meant"(Morrison, 118) as conditions continually worsened and "Cholly got meaner and meaner"(Morrison, 118). Both end up victims as "both Cholly and Pecola increasingly manifest severe psychopathology in the novel"(Bump, 156). Pecola ends up schizophrenic, and delirious as she believes everyone hates her "because [she] got blue eyes, bluer than theirs, they're prejudiced, that's all"(Morrison, 197). Those who were perceived as good turned out to be evil as well. Mr. Henry brightened the girls' day by giving them a quarter so that they could get ice cream, but they returned early and "saw Mr. Henry with two women"(Morrison, 77). They were surprised that their hero turned out to be evil and avoided eye contact with him "to keep from seeing those kindly teeth frame a lie."(Morrison, 78)

Deception is often subtle, but its effects harmful.

The girls could also sense evil in apparently harmless figures such as the frightening Soaphead, who turns out to be a pedophile that justifies touching children by believing "there wasn't any nastiness, and there wasn't any filth"(Morrison, 181) in the act. It's beautiful how subtly the book tells us that in innocence and childhood, it is very difficult to pinpoint the bad guys. Moreover, perhaps there is a little bad in everyone and there are no heroes. With innocence also comes confusion. The sisters were innocent enough to believe they could "ask Him to let Pecola's baby live and promise to be good for a whole month"(Morrison, 191). As a child, I would often wish on flowers and truly believe with all my heart wishes would come true if I made a personal sacrifice for them. It's because at this age children still believe they have power and that the world is just. After all, if someone makes a promise and sacrifices something, shouldn't they be rewarded? When Pecola's baby died, Claudia blamed herself and was convinced the "flowers never grew"(Morrison, 205) because she "had planted them too deeply"(Morrison, 205). As she grows up, she begins to "talk about how [she] did not plant the seeds too deeply"(Morrison, 206). One of my favorite quotes of the book is "the thing to fear was the thing that made her beautiful, and not us."(Morrison, 74) What is this elusive "thing" that made her beautiful? It was society's twisted frame of thought. It was misfortune and racism. The scariest thing is that racism is alive today. In a famous experiment in the 70s, young girls were presented with a white doll and a black doll. The majority chose the white one. The experiment was recently re-enacted, and once again, most girls chose the white doll.

The famous "black doll-white doll" exposes the insecurities society builds into children at a young age.

This is what they fear- racism, not the girl who is racist. Perhaps this is what Claudia realizes when she finally concludes "it was the fault of the earth, the land, of our town"(Morrison, 206). Not only does she imply that the soil killed the flowers, but that Pecola was a sort of flower, and in the soil she was raised in (a broken family), with the town she was raised in (a racist mindset), she simply could not bloom. As sad as it is, it's reality. This says a lot about fate. Children find it easier to believe that some things are just predestined. Perhaps it's easier to believe it, so that we don't feel guilty. Ultimately, we all have a hand in this- hatred, racism... we are it's creators. Hopefully, we can be its destroyers, as well.

Sunorexia

"If you don't think you're beautiful, no one else will." The lady gave me a stern, dismissing look. I felt as if I'd been bleeding from the nose and then slapped in the face. Any observer would have likened me to Pecola as I probably "seemed to fold into [my]self, like a pleated wing"(Morrison, 73). With low self-confidence and friends who needed companionship, I'd entered a modeling contest.

On America's Next Top model, supermodel Tyra Banks insists that self-confidence is heavily reflected in a model's photos.

I was praised for my unique features, but ultimately dismissed
because it was apparently obvious that I had no self-confidence at all. The experience only made me feel worse. I felt dejected, as usual. On the car ride home, I reflected on the fact that I hadn't always been like this.
It all began when I made a new best friend the year before. Unlike my other friends, she was also Pakistani. And unlike most Pakistanis, she was very light-skinned, a very valued trait in the Pakistani community.

Aishwariya Rai is the portrait of beauty in India, praised for her European features, light skin, and colored eyes.

Being around her, I first became conscious of the fact that I was not fair-skinned, and deduced that I was hideous. My best friend probably didn't mean to hurt me, but she dropped remarks much like Maureen did when she asked "What do I care about her old black daddy?"(Morrison, 73). Maureen didn't directly attack Pecola, but she spoke in a derogatory manner, very casually, about her father being black. I experienced little things like these. We'd watch a movie, and my friend would point out in disgust how black the actress in the background was. I'd feel ashamed, but not phased. "The insults were part of the nuisances of life, like lice"(Morrison, 153), and I'd come to accept the fact that I was simply inferior. That was how my Sunorexia got started. If I avoided the sun, my skin would be more fair. I quit sports, I ate less healthy... anything to appear more fair.

"Pale is Pretty" is a common motto amongst "emo" kids, who generally wear black and avoid the sun.

And it worked, at least in my twisted little world. I felt like "A little black girl who wanted to rise up out of the pit of her blackness and see the world with blue eyes"(Morrison, 174). By hurting myself and my health, I truly felt as if I had "blue eyes"(Morrison, 197). Unfortunately, it was really all in my head.
I wasn't looking for pity. I simply wanted to blend in. But it was not my dark skin (which I realize now, is not comparatively dark at all), it was my dejected mannerisms that alerted people. I had hardly realized how little I'd smiled. Each morning, I would start my routine by putting on make up that made me appear lighter, putting on a black shirt to make me appear more fair, and then simply starting in the mirror, soaking in my own ugliness. Everything was so twisted in my head that I really found no reason to smile. I hadn't noticed until one day when a friend and I had a tickling contest, and she remarked that it was good to see me "that way."

A smile can truly transform a person's appearance and aura. I believe everyone is beautiful when smiling. :)

It was very much like seeing Pecola when "She was smiling, and since it was a rare thing to see on her, [Claudia] was surprised at the pleasure it gave [her]."(Morrison, 106) I used to be a very happy person, constantly smiling, and it was perhaps this incident that first alerted me to the fact that I'd changed.
When a person obviously has low self-esteem, people tend to shower them with pity, even when a small misfortune befalls them. When Maureen treated Pecola to icecream, the sisters "were embarrassed to be caught... thinking that she would treat us, or that we deserved it as much as Pecola did"(Morrison, 69). I find it ironic that they use the word "deserved". Do people really deserve anything for being weak? Accumulating pity is a reaction to weakness, and if anything, acquiring things through pity only serves to further destroy self-esteem. I find human nature very interesting- we flock to protect those weaker than us, perhaps because it makes us feel better. It can be likened to the fact that "Aunt Jimmy... took delight sometimes in telling [Cholly] of how she had saved him"(Morrison, 132). Claudia noted that Pecola's "pain antagonized [her]"(Morrison, 73), and she also used it as a platform to yell at Maureen, who had disappointed her for not buying her ice cream. Her anger was not really in Pecola's best interest, and since her attack was not successful, it "demonstrates that anger and hatred by themselves are not enough to defeat racism"(Bump, 190). Another interesting idea is the way we pity men versus the way we pity women. Pecola and her mother seem to be martyrs. Pauline was portrayed as "no more than a girl, and still waiting for that plateau of happiness"(Morrison, 118). She also had an inferiority complex, and in accumulating pity became a way of life for her as she ended up "holding Cholly as a model of sin and failure, she bore him like a crown of thorns"(Morrison, 127). Once you've been pitied and you've become accustomed to it, it become something that you constantly expect to be there, even when you no longer have any reason to be pitied and you've been given the opportunity to step up. I experienced this myself. I began to pity myself and make excuses for myself.

After playing the victim for a long time, it becomes all you know how to do.

I later realized that instead of making excuses, I had plenty of chances to step up and be strong. I believe Cholly at least tried to be strong. Even when "the trace of pain edged his eyes, and he had to use everything to send it away"(Morrison, 156). He could've given up an looked for pity, but since he was a man, he had to find another route. He did rape his daughter, but in a way, the way Pauline ignored and beat Pecola was just as bad. She cared for a white child and beat her own. She seemed ashamed that Pecola was her child as she spoke to the little girl: "'Who were they Polly?' 'Don't worry none, baby.'"(Morrison, 109) When your mother doesn't even care for you, life must be devastating.

Motherly love is often the cornerstone of a person's development.

I can't imagine what Pecola must've gone through. It's interesting however, because Pecola is one of two reactions to being unloved- the other is to overcompensate and be arrogant. Pecola's version is more realistic and truly saddening.

A Little too Late?

In order to truly feel compassionate, we must "[adopt] progressive stages of a compassionate attitude"(Rinpoche, 91). However, at what stage does a doctor need to stop? I believe it is a very delicate scale and the more emotionally invested a doctor is, the more it has to take out of something else. Thus a doctor needs to understand how to value a patient in a detached manner, for as Dr. Cox says on Scrubs, "All we do is prolong here." Eventually, all doctors have to deal with loss, especially when on an average day at a large hospital one in three patients will die.

One in three patients dies at Sacred Heart Hospital.

"The first stage is to try to stop thinking of ourselves as being more important than others"(Rinpoche, 91). This stage is one that we should all achieve, especially doctors. If we can elevate everyone to our own level and treat each life as if it were our own, we can truly make a difference. This attitude is not specific to the field of medicine, either. We often look down upon others, and it never leads to any type of positive emotion or outcome. In valuing those around us, we better ourselves as people. This is simply the characteristic of being humble, but put into application because it also allows us to value others and put their agendas aside our own.
"The second stage is to try to mentally put ourselves in another's place"(Rinpoche, 91). This is simply the ability to put ourselves in another's shoes.

Although we don't literally have to try another person's (or animal's) shoes on, we do need to take a moment and imagine ourselves in their position.

A patient is normally delighted to see a doctor because a doctor can understand things normal people can't. Patients are delighted when doctors suggest they may be feeling something without the patient having to mention it. It makes them feel as if they are truly understood. A doctor can only do this by putting himself in the patient's shoes. It goes beyond memorizing side effects, but really looking at your patient and seriously suggesting some form of comfort.
Patients expect their doctors to be compassionate and knowledgeable.

Putting ourselves in another's shoes is harmless and I believe it is once again something that all doctors can do.
"The third is to regard others as more important than ourselves"(Rinpoche, 91). This is the stage where things get tricky. This statement does not mean that we put our patients immediate needs before our own; that is stage number one, seeing others as equally important. The third stage suggests selfless love and caring. It is even stated that "a mother's (or father's) feeling for a child is a very good example of the attitude we are striving for in the third stage in cultivating compassion"(Rinpoche, 92). It is much easier said than done, however.

Women are often completely changed after having a baby.

If we invest ourselves to the point that every patient we lose is like losing a child, it would obviously take some kind of a toll on the doctor. It may be easy for a lama to preach instant love and then detachment, but let's face it- that takes extreme conditioning. It is not something we can quickly and consciously decide to do. I don't believe the preceding steps even prepare a doctor enough to progress to the third. There is a good reason that "as you start to see more and more patients, you become a little less sensitive"(Rinpoche, 139). Aside from simply being exposed enough, it is a natural defense mechanism because we cannot stand to take fresh pain over and over again. Ultimately, when facing death, "they key point... is to let go"(Rinpoche, 147), and taking concern while fully accepting that you will have to let go in one way or another is love with detachment.

Religion and spirituality play very large roles in our acceptance of death. We can wish our loved ones well through words, prayer, or ceremony.

We have to be able to train ourselves so that suffering evokes a driving empathy in us, but not attachment or pain. "That is why training in meditation is so important"(Rinpoche, 101), because it teaches us to mediate our emotions. Another consideration is that this book is written for doctors, who are often very busy. It is ideal to "enter a monastic situation"(Rinpoche, 118), but it is not feasible for most doctors who may have difficulty finding the time to read this book. They have to attempt to train themselves as they go, "actively involved in the tasks of daily living"(Rinpoche, 118). "This is the most difficult path"(Rinpoche, 118), and there is no guarantee that most people will even be able to pull off this great feat.

In "The 12 Types of Med Students", the normal one is depicted as the one who quits. Demanding lifestyles often drive these students to the edge. (http://theunderweardrawer.homestead.com/twelvemedstudents.html)

Philosophy is great, but I believe that messages like those in Medicine & Compassion should be administered to doctors before their intense training, in the first two years of med school. All in all, the message is great, but it may be getting out there a little too late. Med schools should focus on creating well-rounded, knowledgeable, and compassionate doctors.
The Message needs to begin in med school. Yoga classes should be required!

Relax, Doctor!

Calmness and wisdom seem to emanate from the very print on the pages of Medicine & Compassion. I almost chuckled when I read, "on rarer occasions, stress in our lives may render us capable only of extremely limited compassion"(Rinpoche, 52), because it seems as if this irritated state describes a lot of us, a lot of the time. Being students, especially at UT, it's often hard not to get swept up in all the stress and find yourself a different person at times. Perhaps this is why we are so interested in compassion, because we've always had it and suddenly circumstances have beat it out of our everyday routines. Doctors in training are much the same way. A doctor studying residents noted that "fatigue cultivates anger, resentment, and bitterness, rather than kindness, compassion, or empathy"(Shlim, 2). In these two situations we must work extra hard to ensure that we are indeed compassionate.

The TV show "Scrubs" documents the journeys of a few young doctors-in-training. We see their daily stresses and endeavors to be passionate.

Furthermore, compassion is a conscious effort, not a spontaneous state of mind. I think this is the mistake we often make. We feel we either are compassionate or we aren't. Shlim initially poses the question "Can you develop compassion in th same sense that you acquire other knowledge and skills?"(Shlim, ix) and as he affirms, I strongly believe you can. Rinpoche suggests that "if we fall asleep full of joy and delight, then odds are higher that when we wake up some of that feeling will resurface"(Rinpoche, 69). I've personally found it to be tried and true. The most difficult part, however, is falling asleep genuinely full of joy and delight.

Genuinely being happy is difficult. Too many teenagers these days are dependent on "happy pills" or anti-depressants. Forcing ourselves to be happy has the same effect.

This is where we run into difficulty. Forcing ourselves to swallow plastic emotion does nothing for us. No; this simple statement goes much farther than it seems. Falling asleep full of joy and delight means looking at the world in a way that you never have before. It's learning to love the little things and knowing that everything does not need to be solved immediately. "It is extremely difficult to be 100 percent at ease"(Rinpoche, 49). It means accepting that everything is not perfect, nor is it black and white, nor will you never face problems. "The only way to ever be completely at peace is to get beyond both hope and fear, to get beyond the dualistic clinging"(Rinpoche, 49) and to realize that we must always acknowledge the negative and look for the positive.

Life and emotions are not absolutes; everything comes with balance. We must accept the negative and the positive, yin and yang, and still remain content.

Personally, I tend to freak out about things, even when worrying will not achieve anything. It is a natural tendency, and a large reason people do not go to sleep happy. In order to decrease our neuroticism, we must get in touch with a relaxed state of being. Few of us "spend ten to fifteen minutes a day cultivating mental relaxation"(Rinpoche, 76). People who do Yoga have proven to be happier and healthier. Perhaps this is because "diseases occur when there is an imbalance between one's body and the environment"(Rinpoche, 75), and the ability to relax that we learn from yoga counters the emotional stresses and burdens we carry and face everyday.

Yoga has spread around the world and is used to keep the mind, body, and spirit healthy every day.

These feelings can cause and illness of the personality, and it is important because it inhibits us from being able to be compassionate. The Lama speaks at length about "being empty and awake"(Rinpoche, 87) and the fact that these qualities "cannot be separated"(Rinpoche, 87). I believe this is where compassion is born and cultivated- in this peaceful silence and clarity we strive to achieve.

Motives, Dissected

As part of my P4, I want to help young struggling artists. I believe this is for a few main reasons. Firstly, because I can identify with them. Secondly because it will directly benefit my sister, and thirdly because it will directly benefit me. Dass splits the reasoning behind helping up into compensation, low self-esteem, atonement, power, helplessness, and loneliness. My case, as previously established was "a deeper sense of helplessness; we don't have to face our own quite so much when we're busy treating someone else's"(Dass, 126). However, since Project ReRen has long been a dream of mine, I know that this is not the motive behind it. We can explore the different motives I may have by following my framework and justifying it through Dass' ideas.

An old sketch I did. The text reads "I fed a starving artist!" I sold quite a few as buttons. Trendy.

Having had to choose medicine over the arts, it makes sense that I would want to prevent others from having to make the same decision. Perhaps I do this because it's my way of contributing to art when I can't do it myself. Dass notes that there is often "guilt to assuage"(Dass, 126).

Follow your dreams, or encourage others to if you can't follow your own.

Perhaps it is my way of apologizing to myself and following my parents' dreams instead. Through these young artists, I can live what I don't plan to as of now.
Direct benefit to my sister is another key reason for me to do what I do. I want to be able to help her, and this is seems like a great way to get her publicity. Obviously, she'd be one of the artists on the forefronts of this endeavor. Helping her out "can provide a needed sense of power or respectability"(Dass, 126). Perhaps I want to feel as if I were useful to her, as well as others. I want to have the satisfaction that I did indeed do something right.
Finally, I am obviously going to benefit personally from starting an organization such as this. It would perk up any resume. As Dass says, "Need Praise? Help out"(Dass, 126). I will have an immense amount of publicity and be petted by all kinds of people for my "selfless" endeavors. I will have the opportunity to be a spokesperson and hear myself speak.

Public speaking is one of my greatest passions.

Underneath all of these motives, however, there must lie something else. In the blind woman's story, she is proud to be "someone who had seen a need and done something about it"(Dass, 144). I believe that's what drives me as well. I've found an injustice and decided to do something about it. Something that will continue long after I'm gone and forgotten.

Dass moves on to talk about the intricate details of actually helping and being a listener. I find this very applicable. Just last night I got in a big argument with a friend. We entered the argument to prove "who was always right". This spelled out disaster from the start. Neither of us really won and we ended up personally attacking each other. One of my favorite Dass quotes exemplifies the attitudes we should enter any fruitful discussion with; "When we're free of self-righteousness, grounded in a kind of inner clarity and quiet self-assurance, we're less likely to rush in simply to prove our point- only to contribute to a chain of reactiveness in which the issue gets lost and the polarization makes it harder even to start over again. We just don't get sucked in"(Dass, 166). This idea forces me to recall debate tournaments and how little was actually achieved in debate.

The democratic debates are full of contradictions and mildly amusing in my eyes.

Watching the presidential debates, I wonder how much mature and fruitful they would be if the candidates followed Dass' simple rules. Since I quit debate, I've begun to opt not to prove a point in any discussion, but to listen and simply respond with thoughts for the speaker to entertain. Since I've shed my self-righteousness, I've learned so much and grown as a person. In addition, my words have much more meaning when I speak.
At the same time, I feel as if conflict is something positive. A friendship only becomes stronger after a fight. This is because it allows you to see the true nature of an individual and accept them for all their flaws. It also gives you the opportunity to change a person. The trick with conflict is that "you don't push against it; you move to work with it"(Dass, 166).

Conflicts strengthen good relationships of all kinds, from friends to lovers.

Working with it can be very tricky, however. Especially because we naturally have egos, we have to make sure "not to force any change of heart; hearts usually don't change under external pressure"(Dass, 166), we just need to say what we think is important in a non-offensive manner and "win a little space for our message to work on its own"(Dass, 166). The best way to deal with an argumentative person is with passiveness. I approached my friend again today and told him we both needed a little work on our communication skills. He insisted it was completely my fault, and I did not argue because I saw no point in it. But I did say again that we both needed to work on our communication skills offhandedly, and I hope the message will sink in for him at some level. Right now he sees my flaw as a responsibility and ignores the possibility of his own. Dass notes that "we may feel as if we've got to set people straight"(Dass, 194), and yet we're blind to our own needs. I believe that the key is patience and gentleness. Much like all of Dass' ideas, being rash and bold are not going to help me at all. I know I need to change, but I know I need to help as well. And this aid is something I will do simply because I am truly passionate about my friend and I want to see him progress. It's a good feeling. I think it is because I am finally able to "simply heed the call of that natural caring impulse within, and follow it where it leads us"(Dass, 238).

Who and Why Can I Help?

I feel as if I've always been focused on giving to those around me, but recently something about my giving has changed. It feels unclean. I feel as if helping others has become an obligation, not something I'm happy to do. Is it possible to do something altruistic without actually having compassion? Should we always expect to derive happiness from altruistic deeds? Should I always expect something in return, even if it is to be better liked? Is there something wrong with the way I approach aiding others?

What goes around comes around. Isn't is natural to expect SOMETHING back when we are giving?

With these questions in mind, I began How Can I Help? Although the writing warns against ego, I automatically lined myself up against Dass' criteria for a person capable of helping and created a checklist. He mentions "widening our circle of compassion to embrace all living creatures and the whole of nature in its beauty"(Dass, 20), and even though I feel as if I can always have more love for those around me, I know I'm much more compassionate than the average person. Check. Here, the plot thickens as the subject turns to "self". I wonder as the text asks "How does who we are affect what we have to give?"(Dass, 21) Since childhood, we feel the need to isolate and define ourselves from others. We are developing egos. And our "selves" do not diminish as we grow older. We now "are now more conscience of our professional identity... as parents... as a liberal or a conservative"(Dass, 21) and these effect our disposition. We can't live in these tiny spheres and interact only with those like us. The solution is to "ONLY CONNECT",

"Only connect... Live in fragments no longer."

but more importantly to do so properly. Why do we help others? Because of what we need. This determines how we connect. How do we know what we need? Because of who we are. Thus, the act alone of helping people is not always correct. We must observe ourselves, our motives, and our methods of giving. Only then can we "feel transformed and connect to a deeper sense of identity"(Dass, 39).
Suddenly, a bell goes off in my mind. That's why I don't feel right. I'm missing that connection. A fortune cookie in the book reads "The geese have no intention to cast their reflections. The lake has no mind to receive their image"(Dass, 41),

We can create something beautiful without conscious effort; a reflection, for instance. But unlike nature, it is engaging ourselves in the subject that makes us human.

and I feel very much like I've been as mindless as the lake all this time. Mindlessly doing things simply because they're good rather than emotionally investing myself. Backtracking that train of philosophical thoughts, why am I missing that connection? What is it about me? I look back to see what has changed about me since I started feeling obligated rather than excited to help. I noticed right off the bat that I had become much more connected to those around me. But wasn't this supposed to be healthy? There's a thin line between "connected" and "dependent", and I may have bordered on "dependent". It was after I experienced the loss of a close friend, followed by the loss of all my high school friends as we all went our separate ways and the eventual loss of my significant other and my family as I moved to college. If the people around us define us, than what was I now?

We often wonder who we are and experience bouts of uncertainty and soul searching as a response to change.

"Despite all our ego's concerns and warnings of the dire consequences of not being "somebody special," we are capable of simply resting in our being. We simply are"(Dass, 41). Here ensues the soul search. What is my plain state of being? I believe finding it will restore my ability to connect. I'd also become much less efficient and hadn't achieved much. That's when I realized that I was so into helping others because I couldn't help myself. And maybe I'd been hoping this whole time that if I helped enough people, one day I'd run into one that could fix me. However, I need to dispel this thought from my mind, because as a friend reminded me, without a strong base I cannot truly help other people. In order to properly connect, I need to be solid and self-sufficient.

Mother Teresa aided millions using religion as her strength, her base.

Only after isolating myself and then reconnecting can I truly achieve my goals. Dass writes of his experience in India. He initially pities the beggars, but once he understands the culture versus his own, he "found in their eyes not... suffering... but looks of peace"(Dass, 73). He is able to differentiate and connect because he realizes who he is versus who they are. If I cannot identify myself, how can I truly identify those I want to help rather than pity them?
This introduces another very important aspect of connecting properly. Differentiating between compassion and pity. We should not help someone avoidantly. When we help a person, we should open ourselves to them. This is the definition of compassion. Compassion is to truly care about a person and thus seek to aid them. Thus we need to have an intimate understanding of suffering. As pointed out, we like to engage ourselves with suffering through friends or "through newspapers, soap operas, tragedies, and gossip with images of suffering"(Dass, 55).

Tragedy we can turn off is quite appealing.

Our desire to help those we engage ourselves can only be wholehearted if we truly understand them. "But it's one thing to have one's heart engaged, quite another to have it overwhelmed or broken"(Dass, 56). This sets up the two typical states of mind when giving advice. The adviser is concerned, and this emotional detachment allows for clarity, but not understanding. The advisee is devastated, and logic is skewed by emotion. But it's those very illogical emotions that require attention. When attempting to understand these emotions, it's important that the adviser is not sucked in. This is why a certain extent of isolation is important. In order to be able to advise others, I must know myself well. I must additionally let in the pain just as the advisee eventually must. "As long as I was pushing away the pain, it had me nailed to the wall. But then I stopped resisting it"(Dass, 78). Accepting pain is very important in defining yourself and moving on. As the dead days before finals began, I fell miserably ill. I was unable to take incompletes and I suddenly found myself with an overwhelming amount of work to do coupled with a weak body. Everyone told me they were proud and told me to be strong, just be strong. However, I found my resolution in a different shade. I cried. I cried until I didn't want to anymore.

Sometimes you need to cry to move on.

I let the unfairness sink in. Nature screwed me over. The college of liberal arts was full of inhuman assholes. And I'd procrastinated a bit, too. After it ran through me, however, I dried my tears and began to work. I'd come to terms with the circumstances, and I was ready to do something about it. I'm slowly defining myself, and next time I truly feel compassion for someone, I'll be ready to do something about it.