Eleven Eleven

When you work night shift at the hospital as a volunteer, it’s easy to feel lazy or feel unhelpful when many of the tasks are done for the day. All the patients have eaten, all their visitors begin to leave, they’ve all showered and had their sheets changed. There is very little for me to do besides restock carts, check the inventory, and take vitals (as needed). I cherish the rare opportunities when the nursing assistants (NAs) ask me to help them change a patient, or when a nurse (RN) invites me to observe a procedure.

Continue reading


First generation outsider

My mom immigrated from the Philippines to the United States in 1994, the year before I was born. That makes me a first-generation American. Now just to clarify things: my mom did attend college in the Philippines, but the college process there from like 40 years ago is very different from how it is here now in 2016. So I won’t truly claim being a first-generation college student of my family, but I certainly am in the United States. 

My research discussion group talks about applying to graduate school, and how finding the right mentors are incredibly important for fostering a rewarding graduate school experience. I’m not interested in graduate school, but it was still quite insightful. It wasn’t so much about the talk about applying to graduate school that got to me, it was how much help my peers got. Continue reading

How my depression hinders my social justice duties

By now, everyone is aware of the tragic murders to Alton Sterling and Philando Castile, and how these two cases are only a snippet of the history of racism and police violence in the United States . These two incidents are not surprising to me per se, but they still make me feel something. Sad. Angry. Frustrated. Scared for my friends. And a set of complex emotions that comes with scrolling down your Facebook newsfeed and reading the stories your friends share about their experiences as a Black person in the United States. Continue reading

To my co-worker who told me that race doesn’t matter

To my co-worker,

Perhaps to you and your rose-colored lenses, the people you interact with display no difference in complection. 

To you, they are simply human. 

But to the child whose skin they see being murdered on the television screen, their vision of race is so painfully obvious, their lenses shattered to reveal the reality of a tragically colorful world: white cops, black bodies, red blood.  Continue reading

Tide pools: To see and be seen

This past weekend was July 4th weekend. I’m not the most patriotic participant, though I do enjoy watching a good hotdog eating contest. I think of July 4th weekend as a long weekend where I can relax and do non-school non-research non-adulting activities. I thought about driving home, but San Francisco is way too far and the drive is way too boring for just a weekend trip. I’ve done it before, and it tends to be more stressful than it is fun.

So I decided to spend some time with my cousin and her family in Brea. I have two adorable nephews, Anthony and Mason who 7 and 2 years-old respectively. I enjoyed doing literally nothing productive all weekend. But for some reason, I was very much set on returning to campus on July 4th so that I could attend parties and watch fireworks and just basically be seen. Continue reading