Anonymous asked: Any advice for a student taking Journalism in college?
Eep I didn’t notice this till now. I hope you weren’t waiting a while for me to answer this! Anyway, here’s my advice: work your ass off. Journalism shouldn’t be easy. People think it’s easy but it’s actually not. It should be one of the programs with the most work outside of class. If you find yourself trying to find things to do, then you’re probably not doing enough things.
Also, know that the stuff you learn in class is mostly formality. The real educational experience is outside of class while you’re actually doing the work. So apply for internships, work for the school paper, network, write a lot, talk to people, do your research, know your community.
Know the hierarchy and work through it. Know that you won’t get a chance to work on big stories right away, but you have to work through the small stories before you get the big ones. Work on every story like it’s the most important story ever, even if it’s not.
Have a Twitter and use it professionally. Reach out to journos you admire and build a network. Build credibility around your Twitter profile.
Lastly, respect deadlines.
Anonymous asked: Best places to visit in Seattle?
Gosh SO MANY. If you want to go the touristy route, ofc go to Pike Place Market (pro tip: the underground shops are rad; there are secondhand-book stores, used cd/record stores, magic shops, poster shops, and so many awesome things. The food shops and/or restaurants/cafes are also really good, literally anything you go to will be exceptional in its own way). One place I would absolutely recommend is Bayou on 1st, they have AMAZING cajun food (of Louisiana, just in case you didn’t know that already, which you probably do). Get the seafood gumbo/jambalaya and some french vanilla cake.
Capitol Hill is also really fun if you want to experience some unique and rad Seattle artsy-/hipster-/queer-ness. Some places to check out:
Clothes: Red Light Vintage Store or Crossroads Trading Co
Food: Dick’s drive in burger on Broadway (Macklemore + Ryan Lewis shot a video there, ICYMI), Annapurna Indian food, Glo’s Cafe/Oddfellows Cafe + Bar (ideal for breakfast/brunch), Pike St. Fish Fry, HoneyHole, Julia’s On Broadway (go for dinner on a Saturday, they have awesome celebrity impersonation drag shows), Joe Bar (real good crepes).
Stuff to buy: Elliot Bay Bookstore, Twice Sold Tales (used bookstore, the owner has cats that roam around the store. If you have a cat allergy, stay the fuck away otherwise you’ll regret it), Everyday Music record store
Stuff to do: Harvard Exit Theatre (old 1920s style theatre, has nice mainstream + indie movies), Volunteer Park (literally one of the most gorgeous parks I’ve ever been to). Lovecitylove art space has great live music nights on Wednesdays. Explore Capitol Hill during the night time. Their night life is pretty amazing. Go during happy hours and hit the bars.
If you’re coming during the spring/summer, go the the U-District (the linked page has everything you need to know) and visit UW campus, it’s gorgeeee. Henry Art Gallery and the Burke Museum at UW has really great things. There’s also wonderful coffee shops, bookstores, record stores, thrift + vintage stores, dvd rental place that has pretty much everything, and more. Plus, I live there!
Ballard also has a pretty good night life, lots of good bars but don’t go alone if you do. Make sure to go with a friend or a group cause ppl don’t really branch out of their groups in Ballard bars, so I’ve heard.
There’s honestly so many things (more than I’ve ever visited/know about) and this post is prolly longer than what you’d expect. If you’d like to know more specifics, feel free to ask me another question!
At the Tokyo Airport
by Koon Woon
Cold juice, cold Mt. Fuji,
A child alone dining.
Empty plane, empty heart.
Hearing six tourists talk
Six bites of hot chicken.
Six swallows of cold juice.
Six hours, America.
Child alone, lonely child,
Here, six lotus petals
From Buddha, Mt. Fuji.
Where are your friends, your friends?
Where is your family?
In Buddha’s lotus palm.
Man alone, lonely man,
Where lies your loneliness?
In the mist of the world?
I literally started tearing up when I read this. It brought so much nostalgia, fear, sadness, joy, and just a whole jumble of bittersweet, confusing thoughts and feelings. At the core of everything, this is about homesickness peppered with missing the feelings I get when I’m on and/or near airplanes. Being on airplanes have always meant that I was going to some form of home. My trips back to Jakarta mean that I would visit familiar faces and places, feel some bittersweet nostalgia, and contemplate on where I’ve been and the person I’ve become. On the other hand, my trips back to Seattle mean that I would be home, be able to go to the coffee shops I always go to, see the people I always see, do what I always do, and live my life. Somewhere between that, I would change and grow and learn. Oftentimes I wouldn’t realize what I’ve learned or how much I’ve changed ‘till I actually do go back to Jakarta.
It’s funny how homesickness works for me. During regular days, I usually get homesick because I miss my parents or my cats. During summer breaks when I’m in Indonesia, I would get homesick cause I’d miss my regular reading spots and the coffee shop baristas that know my name. I’d miss the people I usually spend time with, the dance studios I go to, the broken-down couch I usually flop on after a long day of dancing. I feel like for me, and for a lot of people who’ve had similar experiences, it’s a never-ending feeling. It’s like no matter where you are or which home you’re in, there’s always that ever-present threat of homesickness, feeling of missing something, and not ever feeling completely whole. You’re always trying to do this weird dance; you try to weave in identities, experiences, languages, transnational spaces. You’re stuck in this limbo of two cultures (more challengingly, in a society that fears ambivalence or ambiguity). But despite the challenge, you do it anyway, because otherwise you’ll lose a part of yourself.
I usually go back to Jakarta either over the summer or winter break, though I’ve only gone there over winter break once since I moved to Seattle. Still, the homesickness is always multiplied over the break because everyone goes home for the winter holidays. As much as Seattle is home for me, so is Jakarta. That’s where my parents, family, and childhood friends live. Yes, I do have family here (my sister’s here, but I’ve found I have so many more relatives by circumstances than blood relatives in the states. I love them, but I usually never realize that until the winter holidays. Funny how life works, huh?). This time of year, most everyone get to feel what I feel whenever I go back to see my family: a mixture of confusion and awe at how such different characters and personalities can actually be related (for better or for worse) through a combination of miraculous selections of genes and simple fate. Whether you love or hate your family, whether they’re shitty to you or not (I myself have been privileged enough to have a loving family, but it’s important to recognize that some people don’t have that privilege and amazingly, they survive regardless), I don’t think you can’t not be in awe of this fact. Usually I get over it pretty quickly, but sometimes I still do feel envious of people who get to go through those weird moments with and feel those weird feelings about their families.
As silly as this might sound, I do miss airplanes, because being on airplanes means I should expect tears some 10,000 feet above sea level no matter how cheerful I was before that. Looking out of airplanes as the plane took off means I have a few minutes to take in a sight that I could only see once every year (if life permits). Obviously these don’t happen on some airplane trips, but it happens often enough that it becomes the first thing I associate with airplanes. Entering an airport to check-in means you’ve just went through a process of packing and/or unpacking, with maybe some not-so-pleasant life reevaluation thrown in the midst of the process. Being at airports during layovers means that you get to say you’ve been at some foreign country, if only to experience its culture through something resembling more of a bathroom quickie than a night of lovemaking with foreplay and shit. The seemingly countless hours on a large, enclosed cylinder with complete strangers mean you have so much time to reflect and to think (a.k.a. the worst things to do when you have so much thoughts and feelings). Being on airplanes mean you’ll watch really good and really bad airplane movies, and then after the x-number of movie, you get sick of them. You’ll hate airplanes and being on a 10+ hour flight more than anything in your life. It seems no matter how often I go back and forth between Seattle and Jakarta, I will never stop noticing these little things and the flood of bittersweet thoughts that come with them. As level-headed as I am most of the time, I will never stop romanticizing the trips home — whichever home I’m going to. This past summer, I went home for just three weeks. I thought I could do it and not romanticize it. I went home, hung out with my friends and family (plus cats), went and danced at my old studio, visited places I usually visited, and more. It was a nice, relaxed, low-stress trip. I thought I wouldn’t get attached, and, more importantly, I thought I wouldn’t cry. But as the plane took off and the towering buildings turned minuscule, I started bawling like a baby. I thought I wasn’t supposed to feel that way. It was supposed to be like a one-night stand, not saying goodbye to a lover only to be in a tragic long-distance relationship. Yeah, all of this is melodramatic, but it’s valid.
I wouldn’t ever have felt any of this had I not board that plane four years ago when I first went to the States. I wouldn’t be sitting here writing this post had I not packed my bags and said goodbye to my friends, family, then-boyfriend, and everyone else. Uprooting and traveling; it’s hard, it’s fun, it’s enlightening, it’s exhausting, it’s weird, it’s scary. Now, sitting here writing this at 12 a.m., I realize that it was necessary. Funny how life works out, huh?
Instead of saying “I am Trayvon Martin” it would do more good for white people [and non-Black people] in solidarity with the Trayvon Martin case to recognize all the ways they are Zimmerman.
As in, if you live in a “safe” suburban or gated community that is mostly white and that is considered a “good” neighborhood because it excludes people of colour [especially excluding Black people] then you benefit from the same conditions that created Zimmerman.
If you benefit from “police protection” to your property that depends on racial profiling of people of colour [especially Black people] and brutality towards them then you take part in the same systems that create Zimmerman.
If you have the racial privilege to work, move, live in mostly white spaces and have limited contact with… [Black people], particularly “low income” …[Black people], then you live with the same social and economic policies of casual segregation that create Zimmerman.
It’s good that people recognize the injustice of Trayvon Martin’s death, but if that recognition is not accompanied by the work to recognize and undo the systematic economic, social, educational and employment policies that create neighborhoods where Black people are seen as threatening trespassers - and how people benefit from this racial privilege - then no true anti-racist work can occur.
Nobody wants to say “I am Zimmerman” but until we recognize how Zimmerman reflects institutionalized racism there will continue to be more Trayvons."