Dork?

Timothy Lum

3 December 2010

RD#4

Dork?

It was a cool Hawaiian night in the fall of 1998.  Somewhere in the post dawn hours of late night television shows and refrigerator raids came a boisterous cry, "booyah! level 100 Charizard jerk holes!"  Minutes later another shout, "ah! touchdown!", disrupted the shortly lived silence within the confines of my cousins' two story house.  I was a guest that night at my cousins Mike, and Tom's house; evenings were usually split between watching sports and playing videogames.  My cousin Mike was primarily a sports fan, and Tom was primarily a videogamer.  Society has taught us many lessons, one of which is the concept of social hierarchy.  With just a brief description, most people would have already categorized my cousins into two distinct groups.  [Thesis]Often times, society's lessons are observed only by our mind's eye.[Thesis]

Mike was a medium built high school senior with a short buzzed hair cut.  He was a member of the varsity tennis team, as well as their star doubles player.  Ever since Mike was young, he has always had an abundance of stored energy.   Tom was spiky haired and also of medium build.  Tom participated as vice president of the Pokemon Club at school, as well as Mike's tennis partner.  Despite being identical twin brothers, Mike and Tom lead different social lives. 

Tom did not get nearly the same amount of attention from girls as Mike had.  Mike would get far more invites to social gatherings, and calls to the house would more often be forwarded to him as well.  Mike's inner circle of friends had a healthy male to female ratio, while Tom's inner circle consisted only of males.  To anyone who has been through high school, this is about as shocking as a two wheeled bicycle.  Stereotypically, Mike could be considered the cool jock, while Tom had the lead role of dorky outcast.  If aliens from a galaxy far far away had to research the social behaviors of humans, they would be hard pressed to find an answer.  Both subjects shared similar DNA, had similar faces, and both conducted themselves in a very similar manner.

Mike and Tom were very enthusiastic with their hobbies and interests.  Mike would scour the internet for the latest news concerning his favorite athletes.  He would also read several commentaries regarding certain players matches.  Tom was no different in burning the late night oil to gather more information.  Tom's internet browser was filled with bookmarks to videogame sites; he even had them separated into categories.  Tom read gamefaqs.com to familiarize himself with new strategies; and for purchasing advice he would travel to ign.com because he felt the reviewers were not as biased.  Before the era of internet cafe's, wifi, and iPhones; there was really only one way to feed a person's addiction for information when they were not at home, the cure was magazines.  Tom subscribed to Next Generation Gaming and Playstation Magazine, Mike had his subscriptions to Tennis and Sports Illustrated magazine.  Having bountiful resources of information on tap granted brothers Mike and Tom with special abilities.  From memory, Tom was able to inform you that the pokemon Charmander, evolves into a Charmeleon at level 16 before becoming a Charizard at level 36.  Mike also possessed this same ability; and would be able to tell you that Andre Agassi won five titles leaping from world ranking number 122 to number 6 in one calendar year. 

As is customary with many sports fans, Mike would proudly wear his favorite teams logo or jersey.  Mike would often be seen wearing a black and red baseball cap featuring his beloved Chicago Bulls, a black and white Adidas tennis shirt in honor of Andre Agassi, or a pair of black Babolat tennis shoes endorsed by Andy Roddick.  Tom would also clad himself in clothing exalting his primary interests.  Tom had a very extensive collection of tee shirts featuring many videogame characters; his favorite being a black tee shirt featuring a golden Tri-force logo from The Legend of Zelda.  Their attire matched beautifully with the decor of their rooms.  Tom's walls were blanketed with posters featuring his favorite videogame character of all time, Cloud Strife from Final Fantasy VII.  Tom was especially proud of his rarest wall scroll, it featured a spiky yellow haired Cloud on the back of his immense black motorcycle Fenrir.  Shelves were littered with videogame strategy guides, game magazines, and plastic models of robots from Virtual On.  Mike's room was adorned with posters that featured his favorite athletes in action.  Above his bed was Anna Kournikova in full swing of her backhand, behind the door was Pete Sampras readying to serve, and just above his computer was a poster of Andre Agassi diving for save.  Mike's collection of tennis posters were so extensive, it featured samples from Andre to Venus. 

Without the distractions of school, due dates, and tennis practice; Mike and Tom like do their research in person on the weekends.  Tom would frequent the most popular arcades as was judged by his peers; the most popular being Hawaiian Brian's.  Hawaiian Brian's was a dark and smoky environment.  At the door you were instantly greeted by scent of second hand smoke, and the deafening music coming from the Dance Dance Revolution machines.  At Hawaiian Brian's, Tom would learn and implement new strategies by watching and playing with the other people.  Crafting friendships with the other regulars, Tom was able to share and gather more information.  Mike would frequent the Kapiolani tennis courts late into the night.  At 11pm, the Kapiolani tennis courts were quite busy.  Usual waiting time for an open court was nearly an hour.  The wait did not bother Mike, while waiting for an open court, he would observe the play style of other players.  Mentally noting subtle movements and reactions, Mike would often employ these techniques during practice.  For Mike, the main reason for playing tennis at such a late hour was because graduates of the same alma mater played there as well.  Mike would not only have a chance to learn from the upper classmen, but they would give him inside information about some of the players.  Mike learned that Kalani High School's first seed doubles net player was very easily intimidated.  In order to psych out said player, all one would have to do is forfeit one point; by simply hitting the ball at full strength straight at the net in his direction, the opponent would lose his nerve. 

With all hobbies and interests, information is useless without application.  Tom would often spend his mornings saving the world from a galactic threat, or saving a princess from an overgrown turtle creature with spikes on his shell.  On his way to school, he would continue playing via his custom blue metallic Gameboy Color.  Even though videogames were contraband, Tom held a secret alliance with his homeroom teacher Mr. Ihara.  Behind closed doors during lunch, Mr. Ihara allowed Tom and his friends to use the classroom television to hook up their various game consoles.  After tennis practice, chores, and homework; Tom would play another round of videogames until his optical and mental strength gave out.  Mike was no exception to obsession either.  Much to his parents dismay, Mike would spend his mornings practicing his forehand against the side of his house.  Between classes, Mike would practice a common but difficult tennis technique used to promote quick net play.  The technique involved placing a tennis ball at the top of the strings; the person would then proceed to flinging the ball upward as if they threw it, as the ball descends, the person would catch the tennis ball by matching the velocity of the falling tennis ball with their racket.  At lunch, Mike and his friends would gather in front of the school gymnasium and throw around a football; all the while discussing previous games and scores.  After Mike had finished his homework and house duties, he would immediately go to check his Yahoo! fantasy football account.  Employing his knowledge of statistics and player history, Mike was in first place in his fantasy football league. 

Looking with the minds' eye, it is easy to see that my cousin Tom should be dubbed the outcast in high school society.  After all, Tom was the one who constantly had his gaze set upon a screen with moving pixels.  Forget that he was also a top ranked doubles player, he spent his lunch time hours away from the rest of the school to jam on a six button controller.  However, from an objective point of view, the lines between cool and dork seems blurred.  In our minds' eye, the line is usually drawn at social interaction.  The general connotation behind dorks and outcasts is that, they have limited interactions with the population.  This misconceived idea is simply untrue; just about every hobby or interest worth being obsessed about has a large following.  Many people with similar interests will eventually congregate with one another in large numbers; Star Wars conventions are a testament to this. Whether a social interaction is under a "dorky" pretense is of no issue; the fact of the matter is that it is still a social interaction. 

Soon To Be Former Sidekick

Timothy Lum

11-12-10

FD3

Soon To Be Former Sidekick

The hour was late, the lower back was aching, and the books on my desk resembled a virus extending over the surface of a cell.  My eyes had developed a mutinous will of its' own.  It plotted to shut down all the operations of the body with the single act of an eternal blink.  For the most part, it was successful.  I had succumbed to total bodily paralysis.  Just as reality started to blur into a dream state, I began to hear a desperate voice cry out.  It sounded as if the voice was approaching me with haste, and each time the words "grandpa wake up, wake up grandpa!" became louder.  Waking up abruptly, I gasped for a breath as if I had been underwater.  I immediately reached for my energy drink and consumed its' contents.  My eyes still fatigued, I was newly filled with an unnatural high as I commenced my studying.  [Thesis]I was determined to evolve from a sidekick, and into a hero.[Thesis]

It was a Sunday morning, and I was prompt for my 6:30am shift.  Once the morning coffee kicked in, I started to enjoy the hospital's serene environment.  Many departments did not operate on the weekends, so the normal hustle and bustle of machines and tests were nonexistent that day.  At 9:00am I finished the last of my morning rounds in the Critical Care Unit (CCU).  

On a typical weekday, the CCU was normally comprised of seven to eight nurses.  But on that Sunday, the entire CCU was spearheaded by Alma, John, Patrick, and Lorna.  Alma was a petite woman who was always sporting the latest trends.  John was an eight year old trapped inside a grown mans' body.  Patrick was your typical intellectual; someone who was quick with witty remarks, and who was always in the know about political issues.  Lorna was the nicest person in the entire hospital, she was also the hardest working person.  I had grown close with the CCU staff over the past two years of my employment; close enough to be accepted into their inner breakfast circle.  In this circle, we would all eat together around a table just like a family would, and our conversations would vary from life stories to whom we wanted voted off a particular show.  The topic of that morning however, revolved around an elderly patient in room 3.

The patient in room 3, whom I will refer to as Joe Smith, was Lorna's patient.  By looking at Joe, you would never have guessed that he was critically ill.  In the medical industry, Joe was what we called a frequent flyer; he frequently checked in and out of our hospital.  Initially, Joe was your typical disgruntled patient; every nurse in the ward desperately wanted to avoid him.  He eventually warmed up to the hospital staff after having lost a bet to me.  

It all started with my first encounter with Joe.  Every nurse and doctor warned me about our new guest in room 505, a mister Joe Smith.  As I performed an EKG test on Joe, he was compliant yet grouchy.  While listening to his complaints about the nurses, I learned that he was a Dodgers fan; and that he had named his dog Dodger, in honor of his favorite baseball team.  After several conversations about his dog, and how his condition limited his passion for photography; I concluded that I had built sufficient rapport with Joe.  Enough rapport to kindly ask that he cut the nursing staff some slack, and to try smiling more often.  Joe scoffed at my comment saying how he hated being in hospitals, and how no one would be able to get him to smile.  Answering back with a bit of defiance in my voice I asked Joe, "is that a bet?"  Several hours later, I returned to Joe's room while he was sleeping.  I snuck into his room as quietly as a ninja, and placed a framed picture of my smiling dog on his tray table.  At 2:00am I received a call, from a fifth floor nurse, sarcastically asking me to restrain my patient.  I smiled with accomplishment because I heard Joe laughing hysterically in the background.

Suddenly without warning, the overhead speaker cried out what every health care provider dreads, a Code 500.  A Code 500 was the universal signal for when a patient undergoes cardiac arrest, or if a patient had stopped breathing.  This specific Code 500, was set in motion for a patient in room 3 of the CCU.  Like horses being released from the starting gates, the inner breakfast circle members leaped out of their chairs and immediately sprung into action.  

What I witnessed in that moment could only be defined as awe-inspiring.  All the nurses knew exactly what to do and when to do it.  Almost as if they had ESP and were able to read each other's minds.  Lorna bolted down the west hallway to obtain a crash cart.  John went straight to the drug dispensing unit.  Alma began preparations to draw an arterial blood sample from Joe's right arm.  Patrick gloved up and proceeded to perform CPR chest compressions on Joe; and I followed proper protocol and assisted with the CPR.  The room quickly reached its maximum occupancy as techs and doctors flooded the scene.  The temperature of the room rose as everyone rushed to accomplish their part in the Code.  Just outside the room, there was an x-ray tech dressed in light blue scrubs warming up his machine, a phlebotomist gathering her color coordinated test tubes for blood samples, and a ward clerk darting back and forth as she answered calls and secured test results.  What looked and seemed like chaos, was actually a very well orchestrated event with the attending physician as the conductor.

The fatigue in Patrick's face now grew evident, and sweat ran from his forehead saturating his hair.  Alma desperately feeling for an artery was becoming very aggravated.  John looked as if he prayed for a miracle each time he injected a drug, begging the monitors for a change in vital signals.  Lorna, having placed defibrillator pads on Joe's chest, ordered everyone to stay clear as she began the series of shocks.  The extended beep of the defibrillator pierced through the clamor of the room, everyone paused and diverted their attention to Joe.  The delivered jolt tightened every muscle in Joe's body making him spasm abruptly.  The anticipation that ensued swept up the entire room, everyone gazing upon the heart monitor waiting for a blip.  Fate was unusually cruel this morning; it was not until the fifth cycle of CPR and defibrillating that we were successful in releasing Joe from death's grip.

During the last six hours remaining in my shift, the nurses and I would stabilize Joe many times as he slipped in and out of a Code.  Joe was now classified as a CTD patient; CTD stood for circling the drain.  It would only be a matter of time before Joe's body eventually gives out.  Earlier in the day, the attending physician spoke to Joe's daughter on the phone; he suggested that she and the rest of Joe's family fly in from Maui. 

As I had mentioned previously, fate was unusually cruel that day; Joe had Coded once again.  The nurses again resumed their efforts to resuscitate Joe, and amidst the chaos we were informed of the arrival of Joe's family.  Once Joe was stabilized, his family was allowed to visit.  Joe's daughter, and eight year old granddaughter entered the room in tears.  I felt my heart grow heavy as I witnessed Joe's family openly weeping, his daughters eyes bright red from her briny tears.  Not being able to cope with empathy any longer, Alma and Lorna excused themselves.  I was able to hold my reserve up until Joe's granddaughter grasped his hand and pleaded "grandpa wake up, wake up grandpa!"  Not more than five minutes after their arrival, the continuous sound of a flat line filled the room.  Joe's daughter instantly threw her body onto his and started to wail; Joe's granddaughter unsure of the situation began to cry loudly as well.  Just as the nurses started to intervene, Joe's daughter instructed them to stand down.

The nurses of the CCU fought tirelessly and valiantly that day.  They were not awarded with medals, nor were they publically recognized for their efforts.  Yet, if they were asked to do it all again; those heroes would gladly endure any type of hardship, if it meant giving a family five minutes to say goodbye to a loved one.  Five years ago, on that Sunday morning, I stood on the side lines assisting the nurses as their sidekick; that day I vowed to endure as many hardships as it takes, if it meant evolving into a hero.

_X_Oct. 13W- Intro to Paper #3: Personal Essay. (Confirmation reply required.)
_X_Oct. 18M- Complete readings: all of chapter 12. (Confirmation reply required.)
_X_Oct. 20W- Laulima Discussion 1: “Chimera“
_X_Oct. 22F- Laulima Discussion 2: “Notes of a Native Speaker“
_X_Oct. 25M- Laulima Discussion 3: “Under the Influence“
_X_Oct. 27W- Laulima Discussion 4: “Being Brians“
___Oct. 29F- Laulima Discussion 5: “Warring Memories“ and “Snakebit“
_X_Nov. 1M- RD3 due [50 pts] (Confirmation reply required.)
_X_Nov. 5F- RD3 Evaluations due [50 pts] (No confirmation reply required.)
_X_Nov. 8M- FD3 due [125 pts] (Confirmation reply required.)

Soon to be former sidekick

Timothy Lum

11-2-10

RD3

Soon to be former sidekick

The hour was late, the lower back was aching, and the books on my desk resembled a virus extending over the surface of a cell.  My eyes had developed a mutinous will of its' own.  It planned to shut down all the operations of the body with the single act of an eternal blink.  For the most part, it was successful.  I had now succumbed to total bodily paralysis.  Just as reality started to blur into a dream state, I began to hear a desperate voice cry out.  It sounded as if the voice was approaching me with haste, and each time the words "grandpa wake up, wake up grandpa!" became louder.  Waking up abruptly, I gasped for a breath as if I had been underwater.  I immediately reached for my energy drink and consumed its' contents.  My eyes still fatigued, I was newly filled with an unnatural high as I commenced my studying.  [Thesis]I was determined to evolve from a sidekick, and into a hero.[Thesis]

It was Sunday morning, and I was prompt for my 6:30am shift.  Once the morning coffee kicked in, I started to enjoy the hospital's serene environment.  Many departments did not operate on the weekends, so the normal hustle and bustle of tests and patients were nonexistent that day.  At 9:00am I continued with the last of my morning rounds into the Critical Care Unit (CCU), I was greeted by the usual bare bones Sunday CCU staff.

On a typical weekday, the CCU was normally comprised of seven to eight nurses.  But on that Sunday, the entire CCU was spearheaded by Alma, John, Patrick, and Lorna.  Alma was a petite woman who was always sporting the latest trends.  John was an eight year old trapped inside a grown mans' body.  Patrick was your typical intellectual, someone who was quick with witty remarks, and was always in the know about political issues.  Lorna was the nicest person in the entire hospital, she was also the hardest working person.  I had grown close with the CCU staff over the past two years of my employment, so close that I was accepted into their inner breakfast circle.  In the inner breakfast circle, we would all eat together around a table just like a family would, and our conversations would vary from life to whom we wanted voted off a particular show.  The topic of that morning however, revolved around the elderly patient in room 3.

The patient in room 3, whom I will refer to as Joe Smith, was Lorna's patient.  Just by looking at Joe, you would never have guessed that he was ill.  He could have been described as a man with a strong jaw and a good build.  Joe was what we called a frequent flyer; he was always checking in and out of our hospital.  Initially, Joe was your typical cranky patient that all the nurses wanted to avoid.  He eventually warmed up to the hospital staff after he had lost a bet to me.  

It all started with my first encounter with Joe.  Every nurse and doctor warned me about the new patient in room 505, a mister Joe Smith.  I performed an EKG test on Joe, during the test he was compliant yet a bit grouchy.  While listening to his complaints about the nurses, I also found out he was a Dodgers fan, and consequently named his dog Dodger in honor of his favorite baseball team.  After several conversations about his dog, and how his condition limited his passion for photography; I concluded that I had sufficient rapport with Joe to kindly ask that he cut the nursing staff some slack, and to try smiling more often.  Joe scoffed at my comment saying how he hated being in hospitals, and how no one in the hospital would be able to get him to smile.  Answering back with a bit of defiance in my voice I asked Joe, "is that a bet?"  Several hours later, I returned to Joe's room while he was sleeping.  I snuck into his room as quietly as a ninja, and placed a framed picture of my smiling dog on his tray table.  At 2:00am I received a call from a fifth floor nurse sarcastically asking me to restrain my patient.  I smiled with accomplishment because in the background I could hear Joe laughing hysterically.

Suddenly without warning, the overhead speaker cried out what every health care provider dreads, a Code 500.  A Code 500 was the universal signal for when a patient has undergone cardiac arrest, or if a patient had stopped breathing.  This specific Code 500, was set in motion for a patient in room 3 of the CCU.  Like horses being released from the starting gates, the inner breakfast circle members leaped out of their chairs and immediately sprung into action.  

What I witnessed in that moment could only be defined as awe-inspiring.  All the nurses knew exactly what to do and when to do it, almost as if they had ESP and were able to read each other's minds.  Lorna bolted down the west hallway to obtain the crash cart, John went straight to the drug dispensing unit, Patrick gloved up and proceeded to perform CPR chest compressions on Joe, and Alma began preparations to draw an arterial blood sample from Joe's right arm.  I followed proper protocol and assisted Patrick with CPR.  The room quickly reached its maximum occupancy as techs and doctors flooded the scene.  The temperature of the room rose as everyone rushed around to accomplish their part in the Code.  Just outside the room doors there was the x-ray tech dressed in light blue scrubs warming up his machine, the phlebotomist gathering her color coordinated test tubes ready for blood samples, and the ward clerk darting back and forth as she secured test results and made calls.  What looked and seemed like chaos, was actually a very well orchestrated event with the attending physician as the conductor.  

The fatigue in Patrick's face was now evident, and sweat ran from his forehead saturating his hair.  Alma desperately feeling for an artery was becoming very aggravated; and John looked as if he were praying for a miracle each time as he pushed a drug and looked to the monitors for a change signaling life.  Lorna, having placed defibrillator pads on Joe's chest, ordered everyone to stay clear as she began the series of shocks.  The extended beep of the defibrillator pierced through the clamor of room as everyone paused for a momentary break.  The delivered jolt tightened every muscle in Joe's body making him spasm.  The anticipation that ensued swept up the entire room, as everyone gazed upon the heart monitor waiting for a blip.  Fate was unusually cruel this morning, it was not until the 5th attempt in which we were successful in releasing Joe from death's grip.

For the next six hours remaining in my shift, the nurses and I would stabilize Joe many times as he would slip in and out of a Code.  Joe was classified as a CTD patient, which stood for circling the drain.  It would only be a matter of time before Joe's body eventually gives out.  Earlier in the day, the attending physician spoke to Joe's daughter on the phone; he suggested that she and the rest of Joe's family fly in from Maui.

As I had mentioned previously, fate was unusually cruel that day; Joe had Coded once again.  The nurses again resumed their efforts to resuscitate Joe, and amidst the chaos we were informed of the arrival of Joe's family.  Once Joe was stabilized, his family was allowed to visit.  Joe's daughter, and eight year old granddaughter entered the room in tears.  I felt my heart grow heavy as I witnessed Joe's family openly weeping, his daughters eyes bright red from her briny tears.  Not being able to cope with empathy any longer, Alma and Lorna excused themselves.  I was able to hold my reserve up until the Joe's granddaughter grasped his hand and pleaded "grandpa wake up, wake up grandpa!"  Not more than five minutes after their arrival, the continuous sound of a flat line filled the room.  Joe's daughter instantly threw her body onto his and started to wail; Joe's granddaughter unsure of the situation began to cry loudly as well.  Just as the nurses started to intervene, Joe's daughter instructed them to stand down.

The nurses of the CCU fought tirelessly and valiantly that day.  They were not awarded with medals, nor were they publically recognized for their efforts.  Yet, if they were asked to do it all again, those heroes would gladly endure hardship if it meant giving a family five minutes to say goodbye to a loved one.  That day I stood on the side lines assisting as their sidekicks; that day I vowed to endure as many hardships as it took, if it meant evolving into a hero.

Final Draft - Portrait

Timothy Lum

10-12-2010

FD2

A Day with Grandma

Loathe, it seems that that is the only word strong enough in the English language to express how I felt at that moment.  The white Batman T-shirt I was wearing mimicked a heat compress as it stuck to my body.  Everything was quiet, and everything was blurry.  At the glorious age of five, naps were never a joyous occasion;  neither was it waking up from one.  Silently, I contemplated whether or not to make another effort to fall asleep.  Oh how deceitful pillows can be at 2pm; on the surface they are delicate hosts to a restful paradise, but deep within its cushy exterior is a molten core.  Deciding to forego the struggle to sleep in the heat, I climbed down my warm bed and navigated to the door.  As I stepped out of the door way and into kitchen, a waft of salty savory goodness greeted me.  Grandma had been crafting lunch as I napped.  A woman barely 5'0 tall, she was the stereotypical size of a Chinese woman.  Grandma was a very humble person, and her attire spoke of it loudly.  She must have had it for years, her matching purple top and pants were thin from the many encounters with the washing machine.  She turned to me with a smile and said "look at your hair, it's like you woke up from the sidewalk."  It was true, I did look as though I had spent a night under a bridge somewhere, but all I could think about was how thin Grandmas' hair was.  [Thesis]Diagnosed with lung cancer, and having undergone chemo therapy, my Grandmother was barely a phantom of her former self.[Thesis]

As I sat down to lunch, still trying to mentally awaken, my Grandmother presented me with a steaming hot bowl of rice.  The menu my Grandmother had prepared was very simple, and yet robust with flavor.  Lunch that afternoon consisted of sautéed skirt steak slices on a bed of steamed broccoli.  The first bite of the steak sent me into overdrive; it was as if the beef was marinated with an anti-groggy serum, and the gravy that accompanied it carried the same active ingredients you would find in energy drinks.  My Grandmother must have been amused watching my sudden Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde like transformation.  As with all five year olds with a fully charged battery, I talked...and talked.  My conversations with my Grandmother that day was as sporadic as a movie trailer.  I would reveal my disbeliefs at how she was my father's mother, I confessed saying how my sisters were secretly robots, I tried to gain sympathy from the loss of my snack sized pack of Doritos, and how I had miraculously discovered the secret to self propelled flight.  As I went on ranting about the drama that was my five year old life; Grandma just sat there with her legs folded neatly humoring me. 

Sometime between revealing my sisters dual identities and explaining how I distinctly left my chips on the dinner table, my Grandmother decided that it was time I broadened my taste horizons.  She brought out a flat metal pan, not much bigger than a saimin bowl, with a very reflective surface and dusted with a healthy portion of pepper.  My Grandma offered it to me to use as a condiment for my beef; needless to say, I declined her offer for fear of the intense prolonging effects spicy things had on my tongue.  After a persistent nudging, I reluctantly took up my fork, sank a piece of my beef into the pepper, and took a bite.  Sure, it sounds like all of that hoopla happened in a matter of seconds, but for me it was as if time slowed down.  I could feel a nervous sweat drip down the back of my neck, my eyes widened and all that could come into focus was the piece of beef careening towards my mouth.  To my surprise, the pepper was not hot at all; in fact, save for a slightly tingly sensation dancing on my taste buds, it was mild.  I'll always remember that day, for it was the events of that day I attribute my love of spicy foods. 

During the first few years of consciousness, my Grandmother was my primary caregiver and educator, second only to my parents.  I would often spend entire days in her care, these days that were once routine are now some of my most treasured memories.  

My Grandmother enjoyed many things, one of them was gardening.  It was typical that after lunch, I would accompany my Grandmother into the garden to water the plants.  She always looked so proud and happy in the garden.  Grandma would take the time to manually search her plants for slugs; and when she found them, she would excitedly call for me to watch her execute them with her pair of stainless steel scissors.  My Grandmother was a hard worker, and her garden showcased it.  My Grandmother grew many things, but if there was anything to be truly proud of, it would be of the squash that she cultivated.  The squash that my Grandmother grew were enormous; they resembled green torpedoes covered in a fine armor of hair like spikes.  When it came time to harvest the squash, she would always request that my dad take a picture of it.  In order to showcase the sheer size of her squash, she would always recruit me to model next to them.  

My Grandma was the absolute best.  Whenever she bought me treats, she would spare no expense; I was allowed to have anything my heart desired out of 7-11's ice cream freezer.  There was only one time in my life in which I can remember not being happy with my Grandmother.  One summer, my cousins from San Francisco came to visit.  My Grandmother took them to Ala Moana and bought each of them a toy of their choosing.  I was obviously jealous and a little resentful, I had never received a toy of any kind from my Grandmother.  

It was late into the evening when I found out about my Grandmothers' debilitating prognosis.  I found my distraught father pouring over his bible, searching for any inkling of good news to soothe his soul.  When my Father noticed my presence, he explained my Grandmothers' dire situation to me as best as he could.  I did not fully grasp the situation, but I do remember praying intensely alongside my Father for my Grandmother's health.  As her condition worsened, my Grandmother and I no longer scoured the garden for slugs, and her once vivacious garden began to wither.  As I grew older I began to reflect upon the memories I had of my Grandmother; I had come to realize that I had received so much more than toys and a love of spicy food.  Out of all her grandchildren, I had received the exclusive privilege of spending the most time with my remarkable Grandmother. 

_X_Sep. 17F – Intro to paper #2: Portraits Confirmation reply required.
_X_Sep. 20M- Complete readings – all of chap. 13. Optional: “Cucarachas” by Madeline Sonik Confirmation reply required.S
_X_Sep. 22W- Laulima Discussion: Portraits by Lee and Simic.
_X_Sep. 24F- Laulima Discussion: Portraits by Steinbach and Toth.
_X_Sep. 28t- Laulima Posting: Sample from Your Portrait.
_X_Oct. 4M- RD2 due [50 pts] Review the guidelines. Confirmation reply required.
_X_Oct. 8F- RD2 Evaluations due [50 pts] Review the guidelines. Confirmation reply required.
_X_Oct. 12t- FD2 due [125 pts] Review the guidelines. Confirmation reply required.

A Day with Grandma

Timothy Lum

10-4-2010

RD2

A Day with Grandma

Loathe, it seems that that is the only word strong enough in the English language to express how I felt at that moment.  The white Batman t-shirt I was wearing mimicked a heat compress as it stuck to my body.  Everything was quiet, and everything was blurry.  At the glorious age of five, naps were never a joyous occasion;  neither was it waking up from one.  Silently, I contemplated whether or not to make another effort to fall asleep.  Oh how deceitful pillows can be at 2pm; on the surface they are delicate hosts to a restful paradise, but deep within its cushy exterior is a molten core.  Deciding to forego the struggle to sleep in the heat, I climbed down my warm bed and navigated to the door.  As I stepped out of the door way and into kitchen, a waft of salty savory goodness greeted me.  Grandma had been cooking lunch as I napped.  A woman barely 5'0 tall, she was the stereotypical size of a Chinese person.  Grandma was a very humble person, and her attire spoke of it loudly.  She must have had it for years, her matching purple top and pants were thin from the many encounters with the washing machine.  She turned to me with a smile and said "look at your hair, it's like you woke up from the sidewalk."  It was true, I did look as though I had spent a night under a bridge somewhere, but all I could think about was how thin Grandmas' hair was.  [Thesis]Diagnosed with lung cancer, and having undergone chemo therapy, my Grandmother was barely a phantom of her former self.[Thesis]

As I sat down to lunch, still trying to mentally awaken, my Grandmother presented me with a steaming hot bowl of rice.  The menu my Grandmother had prepared was very simple, and yet robust with flavor.  Lunch that afternoon consisted of sautéed skirt steak slices on a bed of steamed broccoli.  The first bite of the steak sent me into overdrive; it was as if the beef was marinated with an anti-groggy serum, and the gravy that accompanied it carried the same active ingredients you would find in energy drinks.  My Grandmother must have been amused watching my sudden Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde like transformation.  As with all five year olds with a fully charged battery, I talked...and talked.  My conversations with my Grandmother that day was as sporadic as a movie trailer; I would reveal my disbeliefs at how she was my father's mother, I confessed saying how my sisters were secretly robots, I tried to gain sympathy from the loss of my snack sized pack of Doritos, and how I had miraculously discovered the secret to self propelled flight.  As I went on ranting about the drama that was my life; Grandma just sat there with her legs folded neatly humoring me. 

Sometime between revealing my sisters dual identities and explaining how I distinctly left my chips on the dinner table, my Grandmother decided that it was time I broadened my taste horizons.  She brought out a flat metal pan, not much bigger than saimin bowl, with a very reflective surface and dusted with a healthy portion of pepper.  My Grandma offered it to me to use as a condiment for my beef, needless to say, I declined her offer for fear of the intense prolonging effects spicy things had on my tongue.  After a persistent nudging, I reluctantly took up my fork, sank a piece of my beef into the pepper, and took a bite.  Sure, it sounds like all of that hoopla happened in a matter of seconds, but for me it was as if time slowed down.  I could feel a nervous sweat drip down the back of my neck, my eyes widened and all that could come into focus was the piece of beef careening towards my mouth.  To my surprise, the pepper was not hot at all; in fact, save for a slightly tingly sensation dancing on my taste buds, it was mild.  I'll always remember that day, for it was the events of that day I attribute my love of spicy foods.

During the first few years of consciousness, my Grandmother was my primary caregiver and educator, second only to my parents.  I would often spend entire days in her care, these days that were once routine are now some of my most treasured memories. 

My Grandmother enjoyed many things, one of them was gardening.  It was typical that after lunch, I would accompany my Grandmother into the garden to water the plants.  She always looked so proud and happy in the garden.  Grandma would take the time to manually search her plants for slugs; and when she found them, she would excitedly call for me to watch her execute them with her pair of scissors.  My Grandmother was a hard worker, and her garden showcased it.  My Grandmother grew many things, but if there was anything to be truly proud of, it would be of the squash that she cultivated.  The squash that my Grandmother grew were enormous; they resembled green torpedoes covered in a fine armor of hair like spikes.  When it came time to harvest the squash, she would always request that my dad take a picture of it.  In order to showcase the sheer size of her squash, she would always recruit me to model next to them.

There was only one time in my life in which I can remember not being happy with my Grandmother.  One year my cousins from San Francisco visited, and my Grandmother took them to Ala Moana and bought all my cousins toys while I was at school.  I was obviously jealous and a little resentful because I had never received a toy of any kind from my Grandmother.  But as I look back on it, I received so much more from my Grandmother.  In fact, out of all her grandchildren, I had the privilege of spending the most time with my Grandmother.