I find myself having difficulties with myself and my changing perspectives on this voyage. At first, I was ecstatic to be on a study abroad program with so many like-minded, culturally curious students. A few weeks in, I began to freak out as I realized that about 75% of the students came from the top 5% of the US, economically speaking. It felt as if I was on the campus of Bates College all over again, yet couldn’t get away to the University of Iowa as a safe-haven from snobbery. But after the first month, my anxieties over fitting in with these people exploded into a sea of rage and resentment. Seeing the entitlement complexes of some of my peers, coupled with their abilities to afford things that others could not yet not appreciate what they had, and even not take seriously the poverty of those they saw in the countries…I was offended. I was so unbelievably offended that within the second month, my feelings of anger had grown into hate. I thought SAS was not what it was supposed to be—instead, it was a booze cruise for the disgustingly rich, and opportunity for mommy and daddy to send them away and stay out of trouble at home. This hatred, however, soon developed into outright discrimination. As I started to hear familiar hometowns (Greenwich, CT; Manhattan), I would make snap judgments of students before I even met them. I didn’t even want to talk to them, because I felt that they must be inherently bad people. I was ready to go home, sell all my worldly possessions, and use the profits to launch a Robin Hood crusade against rich bitches everywhere.
But I’ve hit the third month now, and I’m reconsidering my stance. All my life, I’ve had a big problem with telling my friends what my parents do for a living. I didn’t much care for taking people to my house, or saying how much I was contributing to the costs of my college education. To a large extent, I did this because I was ashamed of being what 90% of America and 99% of the world would consider rich. I thought it was embarrassing, almost a crime, to have so much where others had so little, and worst of all to enjoy all the privileges that came along with it. I was grateful to have parents who didn’t make me get jobs, who gave me a beautiful car, who told me to go to whatever college I wanted, no questions asked. And yet…I hated it, because I knew that other people would hate me.
How is what I’ve been doing on SAS any different from what I was afraid other people might do to me? It’s not fair of me to look at someone from Greenwich, CT and mark them off as entitled and awful simply because of their parents’ incomes. Let’s talk about rich boy for a second. I used to tell my friends (and blog about) how I hated rich boy more than anyone I’d ever hated in the entire world. And I did. I really, really did. If you read my blog posts, you’ll remember why. But even my opinion of him has changed. Here’s the thing: as a PERSON, he’s as sweet as they come. He loves his sisters more than I’ve ever seen anyone love their siblings. He has the utmost respect for his parents. He sings like an angel, and is incredibly modest and shy. But as a HUMAN BEING, something has been lost in him. And the problem is, much of it is his own fault. Even if you’re raised in a mansion, you have the opportunity and civic responsibility to look outside the window and notice that the gardener cutting the grass doesn’t have as much privilege as you. In this age of technology, there is no reason not to be aware of political instability with regards to inequality and inequities. Turning on the TV is enough to demonstrate how the country club isn’t where every kid goes to ballroom dance after school.
But somewhere in there, it’s NOT his fault. It’s society’s. He didn’t ask to be raised behind the walls of privilege, to only have access to the minority of Americans who live like nobility. He didn’t ask to be whisked off to the Hamptons every summer as if it was just what “was done”. He didn’t ask to only get to listen to classical music instead of integrating with normal culture. He was raised in conditions the likes of which no one outside of the top 1% has ever seen. Therefore, it makes sense he’d end up different from most people…he was going to end up really weird no matter what. And if anyone doesn’t have a right to criticize someone for being “abnormal”…it’s me. So while I used to despise him, I’m now conflicted. I like to be around him and talk with him…but something in me can’t stand the thought of him. All I know is, there is no reason to hate someone because they’re rich. There is no reason to HATE in general. But the feeling of general DISDAIN should come from how a person conducts themselves, not what means they were born into. Rich boy acts like an angel on a shallow level, a monster on a deeper level. He’s a complex case, but not deserving of Hitler-level derision.
Life lesson learned. Never hate, only investigate why it is you so desperately want to hate. Hate doesn’t solve anything, and neither does constantly bitching.
Another life lesson learned. The concept of “rich” is not a good thing. Inequity is, in fact, the cause of most of the world’s problems. But it is not necessarily “the rich” who we should hate—it’s the system that put them in such a position in the first place.
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
Marek Has Her Own After-School Special
Monday, November 21, 2011
Japan
Japan Top 20:
1. The train system. It’s so high tech, so efficient, and so easy to navigate that I got from Kobe to Kyoto all by myself…with the help of a Peruvian guy…and a Chinese lady. Whatever, I liked the trains.
2. The vending machines. OH MY GOD the vending machines. I got hot coffee—no, more specifically, a MOCHA LATTE—in a cup, with a lid, straight out of a rest-stop vending machine. I also got soda that was already poured into a glass for me. Others enjoyed hot French fries, ramen noodles, and used women’s panties (I wasn’t allowed in the section that vending machine was). I love Japan.
3. The claw machines. Seriously, I blew through more money than I should have on those things. But they are EVERYWHERE, and they have every toy a kid (or immature adult) ever dreamed of! And the employees were so super nice to me (and/or sympathetic at how delightfully bad I was) that they showed me EXACTLY how to get what I wanted, promising that if I failed this time, they’d shake the machine for me. Mommy, look! I gotted a giant llama!
4. Cabbage pancakes, octopus balls, and something that’s still moving on the plate. Frankly, when that’s what the only English-speaking guy at the food court is selling, you have to suck it up and eat it.
5. Bright green melon-flavored soda. Tastes and looks like you’re drinking radioactive lemonade!
6. Amina onsen, a hotspring and bathhouse right outside of Kobe and atop Mt. Rokko. Went there by my lonesome, ran into a Psychology professor and her partner, and proceeded to see much more of them than I was anticipating (no swimsuits allowed). I think I had to be one of maybe 4 people in the whole place under 40. Minus the wrinkles in odd places, it was exactly how I’d imagined it to be. Ask me about the procedure of actually getting INTO the water later. It’s complicated and kind of hilarious.
7. Nara – Japan’s 9th century capital, home to extensive Shinto shrines and Buddhist temples, and the land of hungry, free-roaming deer.
8. Getting attacked and promptly munched on by the hungry, free-roaming deer.
9. Porn shops in Tokyo, and accidentally ending up in the “14-years-old and under” section while looking for my missing friends. I’m also a fan of the excessive, ridiculous sex toy called “Magnum”. I’ll let you imagine what that means. Also there are bedazzled dildos, which I don’t think would be very effective during sex, but what do I know?
10. 7/11. Tokyo has ‘em, and I used ‘em. Great Japanese food and booze for under $10!
11. Walking into an non-Westernized Japanese restaurant with no English on the menu, knowing the Japanese word for egg while the Japanese waitress knows the English word “beef”, and proceeding to literally be served rice with beef and a fried egg on top for my lunch.
12. Pictures/scale models of food the restaurants often put outside their doors to make sure the annoying tourists know what they’re getting themselves into before walking inside.
13. Getting a free stay in a luxury, 5-star hotel, courtesy of my drunken friend, his parents, and his pissed off sister.
14. Hakone: the most beautiful place on earth.
15. Speaking my broken Japanese, and watching how unbelievably excited the Japanese people get when I do it!
16. Little girls in kimonos.
17. Wedding crashing at the Meiji Shrine. Twice.
18. Purifying myself with spring water at all the Shinto shrines.
19. Wearing a cardboard Pikachu hat and wandering throughout the streets of Kyoto like a 5-year-old tourist.
20. Wearing an Ash Ketchum hat and superhero goggles in downtown Tokyo in order to look ridiculous, and only succeeding in looking half as ridiculous as half the Japanese teen girls.
OH MY GOD I FORGOT
Marek Muller University of Iowa, Class of 2013 BA in Bear-Wrangling/Being a Superhero, with a minor in Jewish Stereotyping
China
Marek Muller University of Iowa, Class of 2013 BA in Bear-Wrangling/Being a Superhero, with a minor in Jewish Stereotyping
Vietnam and Cambodia
Sunday, October 30, 2011
Malaysia!
I AM SO BEHIND.
Therefore, Malaysia gets one brief post. It's a shame, because I actually really did love Malaysia. It's one of my favorite places so far. Please, please, please ask me about it when I get home! I'm planning on going back as soon as I can!
Day 1: Did a stupid walking tour of Georgetown that I only signed up for to make Maria (who hails from Singapore) happy. In return, however, she introduced me to every Malaysian food known to mankind (including stingray) and allowed me to stay in a four star hotel with her wonderful dad, step-mom, and half-brother and sister. They were wonderful people. I babysat the little girl Zoe (who is 4), and convinced her to eat her dinner via playing the airplane game which apparently the kids in Singapore have never seen before. We also built sand castles. Maria's overly-masculine British father was humiliated upon ordering a Cosmo and realizing what it actually was. My American-ness sniggered at his British ignorance of pink, frilly American cocktails. Her dad tried to get me drunk by insisting we order more drinks with him. I only got through one Pina Colada and half a tall glass of white wine before I had to stop. The room was spinning just a little bit. I may be a bit of a lightweight.
Days 2 and 3: Homestay!!! I stayed in a small village surrounded by durian trees, leeches, and for some reason a lot of KFC bumper stickers. My hosts did not speak English save for the older daughter, who spoke enough to get by. At first the family was really uncomfortable with me and my roommate (who I had not met before). They pretty much locked us in our room while they prayed (Malaysia is a Muslim country). They did, however, feed us very well. Despite the flies swarming around us like we were poop, I feasted upon fish heads, curry, tom yum, roti channai, fried chicken, and a hell of a lot of tea. On day 2 I'm not joking when I say that I had about 8 meals in one day. The most interesting meal was when I had durian. Durian is a weird, spiky fruit that smells kind of like onions mixed with garlic-coffee breath and dirty socks. The inside is squishy and kind of sweet. The second I ate it, I had to run to brush my teeth to spare my host family the smell of me.
We finally won the host family over by conquering the most difficult Malaysian of all: the 3-year-old. Little Sara was a precocious little thing who made what she wanted very clear to everyone. She could hold a grudge, and proved it. Every time her older sister tried to touch her, Sara would give her the sort of look that Buttons gives to anyone who tries to steal her freshly caught mouse. Upon first meeting me, of course, Sara ran the hell away. That's when we brought out the big-guns: the Hawkeye football. At first Sara didn't quite know what to make of an American football. She clearly liked the colors, but only knew how to spin it around in her arms. When we taught her how to throw it, however, everything changed. I've never seen a little girl who squealed as loudly as she did. We played multiple rounds of catch and where greeted with smiles, laughter, and screams of joy from the little thing. My roommate brought out the coloring books, mini-purses, and sparkles, and Sara just about died. Eventually Sara brought over her little friends. We taught them Yoga and gymnastics, and also gave them removable tattoos. I think that even if we killed someone in front of those kids, they still would have loved us for all the fun we were having.
It was clear that the mother changed her opinion of us from then on. She smiled and did her best to make conversation with the couple phrases in English that she knew. She and her daughter no longer insisted that we stay in our room, and instead watched us with smiles as we danced around the room with Sara. They decided to surprise us by buying us full Malaysian dresses as well as snacks and wedding wands (don't ask) to take back on the ship. We didn't know what to say--no one else's family had done that.
My family dressed me up in full Malaysian garb (including the Muslim hijab, which was actually kind of awesome) and rejoined the SAS group. We watched a fake Malaysian wedding between two of our group members, which was beautiful and really weird. Eventually a Malaysian dance troupe tried to teach all of us a traditional wedding dance. It ended up with the SAS kids wobbling around awkwardly, and me and Sara holding hands and jumping up and down onstage.
Long story short, my family invited me to come back and see them. Go Malaysia, go!
Saturday, October 22, 2011
India: Days 5 and 6
The rest of my time in India was done independently. It was incredibly spur of the moment, and involves a good chunk of eating and shopping. Therefore, I’ll only point out the coolest things that I did and move on to Malaysia.
1. With Maria off seeing the Taj, I became the leader of the group with regard to negotiating with the cab and rickshaw drivers. I think she must be rubbing off on me, because I was damn good at getting the deal that I wanted. Where the drivers wanted us to pay 200 rupees per person to get to the mall, I scoffed and snarled them down to 200 total for the group of 4. I actually was so stubborn regarding the prices I wanted that my group had to pull me away and tell me to just pay what they wanted at one point. I was PISSED. Sure, the difference between 50 rupees and 100 rupees is only 1 dollar, but I was NOT willing to get ripped off. The 1 dollar wasn’t the point. It was the PRINCIPLE of the thing. I am slowly becoming a beast.
2. I went to a really classy, touristy Indian restaurant. I was NOT happy at having to pay American prices for India food, but boy was I treated like nobility. A guy literally pulled up with a cart, yes, a CART of different types of chutneys and told us to pick as many as we wanted. We also got a traditional Indian folk band playing on the floor right next to us. I got the try the wooden flute! I have a new fondness for that Indian cottage cheese thing. I don’t remember what it’s called because I’m in a room full of loud girls, but you know what I’m talking about.
3. I went on a wild rickshaw ride. Seriously, I think our driver was drunk. And considering the nature of Indian traffic? It was like the roller coaster ride from hell.
4. Gabriela and I watched half a Bollywood movie. I would have watched the other half, except for the part where it was all in Tamil with no subtitles. But I got the general gist of what was going on: super cool spy-cop-hero guy was trying to live up to his comatose father and stop an evil gangster but then his father comes out of a coma and it’s awesome but there’s a love interest who hates him and then there’s a train and OH NO WILL IT HIT THE HERO and also song and dance breaks. So yeah.
INDIA.