The meaning of life

I hate getting up early in the morning for class.  If there’s a reason for an early arrival to awake-dom, then I’m all for it. I’ll get up at 430 in the morning and operate on 4 hours of sleep to get to the airport.  I’ll get up at 330 to begin an 8 hour car ride for vacation. But I hate, absolute abhor, getting up at 630 or beyond to go to [shudders] class.

At least I did. Then I bought a TV for my bedroom, and suddenly the world made sense again at 630 in the morning. 

It’s something of a ritual of mine to roll over, beat my alarm senseless, flick on the light and immediately turn on the news. It gets me all riled up in the morning and makes me feel…well…alive. This morning, for instance, I watched a story on CNN about former Senator Rick Santorum.  They discussed a report in which the former senator stated that in the face of his views of civil rights, President Obama’s stance on abortion was “remarkable for a black man.” Hmm…Didn’t I just talk about this in my Dr. MLK blog post? I believe I did.

The former senator then goes on to say that he does not believe that “you’ll find a biologist in the world who will say that is not a human life,” in reference to a fetus.  Now, I’m a biologist. I spend my working days with biologists. And I can say for a fact that I’ve heard it a time or two where a fellow biologist has indicated that a fetus is not a person.  Now, the former senator has done something quite interesting here – which is why I both love and hate politicians. They are like the Fae in how they tell a lie.  

How do we define life? As an undergraduate, I encountered professors both young and old that had no set definition for “life," and it was actually the topic of debate in class one spring day.  I would say that we encounter “life” when we encounter a living cell, but that is my definition.   A fetus is comprised of living cells and, as a result of my current definition, a fetus constitutes life because it is a comprised of living cells.  But what is life to someone that is not a scientist? For those people of the world that haven't chosen to pursue scienece, life is often synonymous with “personhood” so to speak. So, for former senator Santorum to come forward and say that he wouldn’t “find a biologist in the world who will say that is not a human life” is not necessarily a lie, but it’s so far from the truth it might as well be. Asking someone to define life is like asking a person to define love.

BUT, the point of this post is not to debate what constitutes life, what makes a person a person, or even whether or not abortion is right or wrong.  The point of this post is to discuss the use of the “[insert adjective here] for a [insert race here] person” formula. The point of this post is to discuss, yet again, why the use of such language – while fully endorsed by our first amendment rights – is just flat out wrong.  I would hope that a former senator of the friggin United States of America would understand that, but sadly he apparently does not. (Watch out kids! He’s slated to run for president in 2012.)   

Why isn’t it enough that the President fights for civil rights? Why couldn’t Santorum have stated that President Obama’s stance on abortion was “remarkable given that he advocates for the civil rights of all people?” Why does the fact that he’s a black man have anything to do with it? I say this, because a statement such as the one uttered by Santorum makes it seem as if black people are the only ones that should care about civil rights. Would he have said President Hu’s stance on abortion (whatever it may be) was “remarkable for a Chinese man?” I don’t know. 

Maybe the problem is me. Maybe I’m just supposed to accept the use of the insert adjective/insert race formula and turn a blind eye to it.  Maybe I’m just making a “big deal” out of it.  Ha! As if I ever would!

This wouldn’t bother me so much if it was a small isolated incident, but we hear it everywhere we turn.  Remember “Barack, The Magic Negro?” Remember Senator Harry Reid’s comments about the world being ready for a “light skinned” black President with no “Negro dialect?” Remember Vice President Biden’s comments about the president being the “first mainstream African American that was articulate and bright and clean?” Naturally Vice President Biden said those words were taken out of context. And Senator Harry Reid apologized. And the esteemed leaders of our nation expressed the appropriate disapproval of that magical song. 

How about you just not do/say/engage in this offensive shit in the first place?  How many times are we supposed to sit back and accept it when people say "it's just a joke," or "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it?"

And since you care so much about civil rights former senator Santorum – are you also going to begin advocating for gay marriage? A right that, in my opinion, is a right that belongs to anyone that lays claim to it.

I also looked up the definition of life for my own edification. This is what I and my good friend Merriam found.

I speak, therefore I am....speaking.

At the putrescently senescent age of 23, I sit in my rocking chair (okay really, my desk chair in lab) and continue to ask myself “what do you want to be when you grow up?” My mother used to ask me, whenever I had a ½ midlife crisis (which was any day that ended in ‘Y’) “what would you do if you could do anything, and didn’t have to worry about making duckets?” (That’s a direct quote, I swear! Also, for those of you that aren’t as down as my mother is, duckets = money. Oh, and down=cool). I told her then that I would either teach or write. Today, I feel so far removed from my desire to teach that I’d rather write. And hopefully teach through writing.  I wonder why I thought one was somehow exclusive of the other.

                

          I had yet another invigorating discussion yesterday evening with my roommate (from henceforth referred to as R. Matey) about language and how it is used to define who we are. How one speaks is often associated with how intelligent they are, where they come from, and – unfortunately – their status in society, so to speak.  I’ve been told on multiple occasions by people from all walks of life that I (here comes another direct quote) “sound like a white girl.” R. Matey brought this up in our freakin’ awesome pad yesterday evening.  She has the honor of teaching a cultural anthropology course at our institution and the issues of language and race were brought up during discussion.  Apparently, one of the students was frustrated by the fact that speaking “standard” English was associated with “sounding white” whilst (yes, whilst) anything else was associated with “sounding black.”

                This, dear readers, is an age old story that refers to a war that has been waged on our shores for as long as I can remember. My generation has lost many warriors in its salient fight against the destruction of English. Texting, Facebook, Twitter and the like are just the tip of the iceberg in what I like to call “technowarfare.”  This young lady brings up an interesting point. I’ve heard it all my life, now this woman (who I assume is younger than me) faces it as well –“why do you talk like that?” When I was growing up, I felt like I didn’t fit in with my extended family because I would always get that question. “Why do you sound like a white girl?” It pains me even now. I didn’t fit in with many of my peers in college because they felt, on some level, that I thought of myself as better than them. At 23, I still suffer from those feelings of never quite measuring up to anyone’s “standard”. I’m always too much of something for some circles or not enough of anything for others. Either way, I’m usually on the outside looking in.

Why is it so wrong to enjoy stringing together (what I consider to be) a properly structured sentence? With enjoying the sound of words like “putrescence” and “polyglot” as they roll across the tongue like fine (or even cheap, which is all I can afford and have no clue what fine is) wine? Why, with all of the words at our disposal, should I be left to say things like “it’s going bad” and “he knows a lot of foreign words and stuff?”  What’s more, why is it so common within our society and cultural circles to refer to “standard” English as the “white” sound? As luck or misfortune would have it, these sorts of distinctions run rampant in every cultural circle known to man!  I don’t get it. I fear I never will. I speak because I have a voice to do so. And when I do so, I sound like 100% pure USDA NeuroScienceGeek (more geek than neuroscience these days, but, alas (that’s right, alas), I digress).

                Yes, I AM upset. I know you’re thinking to yourself at this very moment – this girl’s got nothing better to do than complain about language. But, in my defense, I love the way language can both mold us and set us free.  I love that Edgar Allan Poe was able to bring such rhythm and such fluidity to the realms of poetry and short story writing (Annabel Lee anyone? Quoth “The Raven” shall I? Is that a hideous heart I hear?).  Maya Angelou’s “Phenomenal Woman” was perhaps the first poem that I fell in love with. I had no idea what “diamonds at the meeting of my thighs” meant when I was 8, but damn it I knew I had them! And, ladylike though I may be, I love the way successful, ahem, “oath swearing” can make a statement exponentially more powerful.

                So, yes, I AM upset. Speaking or writing in a structured form is not analogous to “sounding white” for those of us that aren’t white. It is not done to somehow denote someone’s status in society. We do not speak it so that we can “sound” smart.  It is done because it is beautiful. When we include tones, sounds, vernaculars, etc that are associated with where we are and where we came from it becomes even more beautiful! So please, dear reader, go forth – I beg of you – and find a word today that makes your heart swell, string together a sentence that will make the earth shake (not literally though, that sort of power could be dangerous), and, for the love of Pete and all that is holy, write something. WRITE ANYTHING. And I don’t mean string together a few SMH’s, LOL’s, and ITGTSSBAIDY2SSAI’S.  I mean sit down and write a letter to someone you love. Write a story (flash fiction, short story or otherwise) that tells your story as it is or as you intend it to be. Maybe the weight of the world will be lifted from your shoulders, if only for a day. And, if that doesn’t work, maybe you’ll find joy in writing the way your write, or in speaking the way you speak. It, like a fingerprint, is yours and yours alone. Whether it measures up to anyone’s definition of “standard” or not.   

                Like I said in my previous post, words have power. Thanks to Mr. Kemosabe (aka Google) I learned that today is the 50th anniversary of JFK’s inaugural address.  Just listen to his speech and you’ll surely understand.  The words he spoke inspired me and, like many, I wondered how he would’ve changed the world had he not been taken from us before his time.    I wonder why we do not celebrate him and what he stood for nationally….

This speech, like so many others, is why I choose to speak English as it was taught to me, and why you should find your voice and wield it with all of the dignity and responsibility that it is due. Forgive me if that makes me “sound white” or somehow makes you feel like less of a person because you don’t do it too. Consider “standard” English my form of vernacular speech.  And, as this post comes to an overdue close, think about how something as simple as a sentence – the way it’s uttered, the way it’s shaped, the way it is wielded – can have such a profound effect on something as explosive as race, as beautiful as self-acceptance and as  dangerous as life (and the  losses therein).

So, Mother Dear, I think I finally have an answer to your question. I want to be a writer when I grow up, whenever that may be. I want to embrace the English language that you and Father Dear so painstakingly taught me and use it to reach whoever I may reach, and teach whoever I may teach.

And thanks again, R. Matey, for inspiring yet another post. 

Happy birthday Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. You fought so that I would not have to.

For reasons that will remain undisclosed (sounds nefarious right?) I was liberated from my lab at an early, also nefariously undisclosed hour. Fully intending to arrive at my humble dwelling and instantly begin reading for my classes, I spent about 2.5 hours chatting with my roommate.  We always have very interesting conversations to say the least. We talked about a wide range of things from politics to the economic crisis in the US to hair to race relations (both in my country and her home of Singapore) to education.  Our conversation made me evaluate for the hundredth time whether or not I’ve chosen the right career for myself (but that’s a post for another day).

                For those of you who don’t know, have forgotten or have chosen to ignore it – we celebrate Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.’s birthday on Monday, though his actual birthday is today – January 15. I noticed as I navigated my way through the deep and murky mire of science over the past week, that many people simply did not remember that Dr. MLK’s birthday was indeed upon us. Does it make me sad? A little bit. I don’t blame them though. It’s not their fault that we don’t celebrate culture and history the way that we should. It’s not their fault that we don’t talk about race relations in this country and many others as much as we should or even in the ways that we should. It’s everyone’s fault, including mine, that, often, discussions of race get swept under the rug.

                I opened this post by sharing that I’d recently had a very long, very thorough conversation with my roommate – who is from Singapore.  I shared with her, as I have done many times in the past, stories about what it has been like for me to grow up as a black person in the United States of America – I told her about why I’ve chosen to loc my hair, why black women began straightening their hair in the first place, why it’s so difficult for me to ignore the explosive racial politics of this country and, more importantly, what it’s been like for me to interact with people of my own race in this country.  What she told me, and what I’m sure many people outside of Singapore don’t know, is that the problems that face minorities in this country are much the same in Singapore. Issues of what hair is “good hair,” what skin color is the “right” skin color, which race is smarter, lazier, more prone to criminal activity, etc. Naturally, this is a dumbed down version of our conversation, and I could never ever hope to encompass the various issues we talked about in one single post, but I found it saddening. 

                I had no idea that she faced those issues in her home country, and I’m disappointed in myself. In my ignorance, I believe I thought on some level that Black people had a monopoly on discrimination and the self-image issues brought on by said discrimination. It is situations such as these, eye opening discussions such as these, that made me want an international roommate in the first place.  My education doesn’t stop in the classroom. I’ve always known that, and I’m glad for it; most importantly, I’m glad for roommate.  She’s given me perspective.

                I shared a story with ye olde roomie about a visit to a local pizza establishment in Virginia when I was about 15 years old.  Before this time I’d always looked at men like Brad Pitt and (my future love slave) Johnny Depp and stated “he’s cute, for a white dude.” At 14 or 15 years old I never really thought about the implications of that 6 word statement – as if men that weren’t black could somehow never be attractive! But at that very tender, very impressionable age, I walked into a pizza place to get some food and almost as soon as I breached the threshold, the young cashier looked at me and said “you’re pretty for a black girl!” Now, being 15, and having the emotional and self-esteem issues that most 15 year olds have, I did not know whether to be thankful for the comment or not. I said thank you – because my parents raised me to be as polite as their dilute southern genes would allow – ordered my food and went home.  It was an insult wrapped in a compliment (like pig’s in a blanket as I recently told a Canadian friend). One never knows what to make of statements like that. The one thing I took away from the incident was the overarching implications of statements like “you’re cute/you’re smart/you’re well spoken for a [insert race here] person.”  From that day, I’ve tried incredibly hard to never make comments even remotely related to the aforementioned formula.  

                As we proceed throughout our daily lives we don’t often think about how our words and actions affect others. We like to believe that they are just words, but – as we learned in elementary school – words have power and words hurt. We sometimes like to believe that our problems are the only problems that exist and are therefore the most important. We don’t think about the people a country over, or even over on the next street. Out of sight, out of mind, right?

                I read a headline the other day that questioned why people are only able to unite in times of tragedy. My answer, though unfortunate, is simple. It’s when we are reminded in the harshest way possible that we are not the center of the universe. It’s when we are reminded that we’ve forgotten how to be kind to one another. It’s when we are reminded that our lives shift further every day from the basic teachings of our lord and savior Jesus Christ.

                I’d like to end this by saying happy birthday MLK. He, like all of us, may have been flawed, but he fought for equality and, most importantly, for peace.

Go ahead and cry. I did....

My (fellow)ship's taking on water! Abandon (fellow)ship!

          Fellowship applications…suck. There. I put it all on the table. It isn’t pretty or flowery or even “educated” language, but it’s true. They suck.  I’ve been writing, literally, for eons. And before you ask – yes, I do indeed know what an eon is. And I’ve been writing for that long. Literally. 

          Because I believe in planning life to the nth detail – I began writing last Monday with the intention of writing one section per day. I skipped Wednesday, which turned into a skipped Thursday which turned into “eh, it’s Christmas!” Now, here I am, a week later, with only 2 sections of my application completed, pancakes in my belly, donuts on my mind and application writer’s block weighing down my thinking cap.  Remember those movies where the directors think it to be extremely important to show various clips of the struggling writer as he moves around his home carrying his laptop and coffee with him. He’s lying upside down on the couch with his feet against the wall and his head on the carpet. Or he’s sitting at his desk, leaning back in the desk chair that inevitably goes too far back causing him to fall.   That’s me.  Without the embarrassing “falling out of the desk chair” scene. I’m too classy and nimble footed for that. I’m the Audrey Hepburn of Ninjas. Wait…where was I? Oh yes, fellowship application writer’s block. 

Spending two hours scouring various articles, biotech companies and pubmed web pages regarding information for one single, solitary cell line is not my idea of fun.  Naturally this search brought up various tidbits of information that I did not need, which lead my brain down various woodsy paths to arrive at destinations it had no business at. Every time I read something, I have a Eureka! moment and think of an experiment that is so breathtaking, so earth shattering, so scientifically pivotal that it must be written down! And then, I remember, you’ve only 5 pages in this research proposal, 2 of which are to be spent on research design and methods. I’ve already decreased the spacing of my paragraphs to single and my font to 11. So, my earth shattering, breathtaking, scientifically pivotal experiment will be put to death by the slow strangulation of page limits. I hang my head in shame. In the midst of the research and spontaneous Eureka-ing, I still cannot write a simple research design section. I finally know what cell lines I’ll need, what questions I’ll need to ask – I even know how to answer said questions. I cannot, for the life of me, put it down on paper. Oh, sure, I can think about it out loud to no one but my imaginary friend Bob (and, NO, that is not what one would refer to as talking to oneself. Bob is here. I’m talking to Bob.), but I can’t write it.  I’ve been TRYING so hard, but the dang on cursor just blinks at me on the blank screen taunting me and laughing maliciously as everything I write gets discarded like yesterday’s Christmas wrapping paper.

                I have discovered that it is slightly easier to get things done when I grab a notebook and a pen and write out on paper, in the least jargony language possible, what I plan to do and how I plan to do it. But, for whatever reason, I’m not doing so well at putting it into the language a fellowship panel usually fawns over. I want them to squeal with glee when I use words like “superfluous” and “erroneous” and “bifurcation” correctly. I want them to say – “that is vocabulary that deserves $25,000 a year in funding.” But, alas, the mighty sword pen fails again. I am not slaying my blocked dragons. In the midst of my turmoil, however, I found a blog post.  Gather round kids, it’s advice time. 

                Fellowship and grant proposal writing requires a certain amount of planning, unless you’re name is Sheldon and you’ve been a physicist since you were 13 (that’s a Big Bang Theory plug, in case you missed it). Since most of us aren’t Sheldon, we’ve got to take the time to plan out what we are going to do and how we are going to do it. I take my research proposals section by section, completing those that I think are easiest. For me those are usually background and methods. The background is almost always a breeze because there’s so much information in the form of review articles out there. It practically writes itself. I did encounter, for the first time, something known as “specific aims.” I had no clue what this was. I’d never seen it in any other fellowship application I’d worked on. If you ever come across a portion of the research proposal that you’re unfamiliar with, contact the organization that funds the fellowship/grant.  Ask them if they could provide you with a bit of guidance as to what they are specifically looking for, and don’t be afraid to tell them that the application process (or sections of it) is new to you. They’ll either help or they won’t. Talk to your mentor (if you have one), a research advisor or a peer. If all else fails, Google it.  Or Bing it. Or Yahoo it. Whichever crumbles your particular cookie.               

  Now that you’ve got your questions answered about the aesthetics of the application, you can start thinking about how you structure each section. People do this in all sorts of ways, but the one major commonality between all proposals is continuity. You want your proposal to flow exceedingly well. If you let someone read it and they find themselves confused from section to section, your flow is off. Think of your proposal like a story. A good story keeps its reader intrigued, and says what it has to say without forcing the audience go back and re-read everything, searching for what they missed. You want your proposal to get from A to C without going to Z first.

If you read it, and YOU get confused, there’s definitely a problem.  If you read it, and YOU get confused, there’s definitely a problem. (Notice that's there twice...that's what I like to call "emphasis.")

                I think the most important thing that anyone can do when writing, well…anything, is to make enough time for proofing.  Don’t wait until 5 days before it’s due to start writing.  You want to have enough time to write a rough draft, write a final, and get feedback from your professors and advisors so that you can write the final final, aka the final².  More importantly, you want to have enough time to take a breather while you’re writing. If you wait, you’ll be rushed, stressed out and feeling pressure that doesn’t need to be felt. Starting well ahead of time allows you to plan for things like, oh I don’t…writer’s block maybe.

                With all of that said, I’m still a newb! Please, please, PLEASE talk to the more experienced people around you. This is all information that I’ve gleaned from my “elders,” if you will, and from reading a lot of how-to guides.  I hope my consolidation of what I consider to be the important points helps at least a little.  I’m off to take another stab at my methods section. I’d really like to give up and lay down in my comfy bed with a nice fantasy novel, but I’ve got miles to go before I sleep, and a (fellow)ship to save. 

IT'S CHRISTMAS...plus 48 hours...

IT’S CHRISTMAS!!!! I took the procrastinator in me and murdered her so that I could study hard for finals and turn in my take home early. Why the bloodthirst you ask? Because I was in a rush to get home.  I’ve got three weeks of bliss and I plan to capitalize on my time at home like any person with a type A personality should.  Based on my calculations I needed an 88 on my Biochem final to get a C in the class (graduate credit, yippee!) and an 80 on my neurobio final to get a B in the class. Isn’t that the worst? Where I was once one of the smartest people in my classes, I find myself at a loss for answers or critically sound responses to questions.  I’ve discovered, and please don’t take this the wrong way, that first year grad students are expected to be dumb. I know this isn’t the case for every first year student, but many of the second and third years have shared their stories with me. In many of them, they experienced the same things I am experiencing now. Mostly, I feel out of place. In class I can’t answer a lot of the questions some of my teachers pose. In lab, I’m constantly asking questions to the point that it borders on annoying. In lab meetings and journal club, I find it hard to draw conclusions about the presented material, or even critically analyze the data of some articles.

                I’ve shared this with my mentor and members of the labs I’ve been a part of thus far – mostly those of my second rotation – and I’ve found that most people feel like this during their first year. I’m starting to realize that I’m not incompetent, just that I’m not a scientist yet. I’m a baby scientist, so I’ve got to take baby steps. I’m still learning how to critically analyze articles and data and I’m not expected to have brilliant answers to questions while in class – I’m still learning. So, dear reader, remind yourself of this everyday while you are in graduate school. You are still learning, and this learning continues outside of the classroom and outside of the lab.  You aren’t expected to be a brilliant thinker in the first semester of your first year! You’re a scrub! The bottom of the pyramid! I recognize this now, at the end of my first semester, and it makes me feel slightly better about not knowing as much as those around me. 

So, I will move forward with this information next semester, and work smarter – not harder. I already work hard enough.  I will know more next semester than I did this one and I’ll grow as a student and a scientist.  I think the most important thing that anyone needs to remember is that whether or not you’re in school, there’s always something you need to learn – most especially in the realm of academia.  I signed up for graduate school because I want to be a teacher and a scientist.  Somewhere along the way, during my one year hiatus, I forgot that science is all about learning. Science is all about finding, gaining and expanding knowledge.  To adequately do something like that requires years of preparation. Those years start with undergrad and, well, they never really end.  I tried to shed my student skin too early.  Onward and upward, as they say; the second semester will be better than the first.

Until next time!

Update: I clearly forgot to post this before Christmas as intended, and, now it’s 2 days after Christmas so…MERRY 2 DAYS AFTER CHRISTMAS! Purdue posted grades a few days after I originally wrote this post and I discovered that I pulled a B in neuro and a C in biochem (the highest grade I could’ve achieved after my dismal performance on the first two exams). I'm just mentioning my grades because I want you to know that the hard work does actually pay off. A 'C' may not seem great, but I was still able to get graduate credit for the course. I feel that I learned what I needed to learn. The grade, for me, isn't that important. 

I hope everyone had a wonderful Christmas and I wish everyone a safe new year!