Category — Cultural Encounters

Coming from a middle school of mainly Hispanic students, I was shocked by the heavy Asian culture at my new high school. There were names and foods and languages I had never really been exposed to before. One drink in particular, called “bubble tea,” was mentioned frequently among my classmates. I assumed it was some kind of carbonated tea beverage. The explanation they eventually gave me for this drink, “sweet tea with these gooey tapioca ball things,” did not appeal to me. One day, a few weeks into school, I ran into a girl in my environmental club on the bus. She invited me to get bubble tea with her and her sister and I accepted, just for the sake of meeting new people. When we got to the bubble tea shop, my friend ordered a plain milk bubble tea for me and I watched anxiously as the gooey tapioca was poured into my cup. I had always been a picky child and bubble tea was completely foreign to me. When I was handed my tea, my friend inserted a fat pink straw into my cup and I cautiously took a tiny sip. The tea tasted like sweet, milky Lipton, rather than the exotic flavor I had been expecting. However my next sip shot a slimy chunk of tapioca down my throat, causing me to choke. My friend giggled next to me, warning me not to drink so fast. When I finally got the tapioca in my mouth I almost gagged at the strange texture and lack of flavor. Though I lied to my friend that I enjoyed the bubble tea, I had absolutely no intention of ever trying it again. Now, years later, I am a big fan of bubble tea. I tried it again my sophomore year of high school and that time I loved it. However, the only place I will drink bubble tea is at a shop called TenRen’s, so I am still quite limited in my drinking of bubble tea.

The other day as I was on facebook–probably wasting time when I should have been doing homework– I noticed a picture my friend posted on her page. It was a picture of “arroz con dulce” and as the caption she wrote, “starting thanksgiving early =)”. She is Puerto Rican and I knew she ate Spanish food a lot, but I was unaware this was her traditional Thanksgiving dinner. When I think of an ideal Thanksgiving supper, I think of turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing, gravy, cranberries, and apple pie. That is just the way I grew up and how I got to know Thanksgiving. Out of curiosity, I asked her if this was really what she had on Thanksgiving because I was simply unaware. She responded by saying yes and that this is a traditional Thanksgiving meal for many Spanish families. I don’t know if you would say I was ignorant for not knowing that there were different Thanksgiving meals for different cultures, but I was definitely surprised when I found that out. I know every culture has their own cultural foods, but I sort of thought that Thanksgiving was a national meal in which everyone ate turkey.

I was pretty amused by the whole idea of eating another Thanksgiving dinner. I tried picturing me and my family having that type of meal for Thanksgiving and it made me laugh…not because of the food itself, simply just because it is a completely different culture than the one I’m used to so anything else would feel weird and artificial to me. I actually love this cultural variety that we have in New York though. From house to house, there is uniqueness that we don’t get to see anywhere else, and being able to see these cultures and learn about them is rewarding in many ways.

http://www.bbc.co.uk/religion/galleries/christmas/images/6.jpg

I love the holiday season.  My friends joke that it’s my namesake (deck the halls…), but from Thanksgiving to Christmas, everything’s just more cheerful.  Perhaps its because of all the family gatherings—and the huge feasts that come with them.

Starting with Thanksgiving, is when the family comes to my house, and the food is prepared by lunch and we eat endlessly until the night, play games (mahjong and cards), watch television, and just catch up.  There’s always the turkey that starts defrosting since the night before, garlic clam pasta, garlic bread, some sort of fish, Stouffer’s stuffing, baked potatoes and yams, and a little bowl of gravy.  Then there’s the stuff I make: the mashed potatoes and baked goods (brownies, pumpkin pie, pecan pie).  And the cranberry sauce from the can that I used to like when it retained the can-shape.

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But the greatest event is Christmas because it’s when everyone comes to New York City.  Thanksgiving is usually my grandma, relatives from Jersey, my second cousin’s family, and whoever happens to be in town.  Instead of Forest Hills (where my house is), we used to gather at my aunt’s loft at Greene Street.  This aunt used to fly in from Sweden with her husband and son, then there’s the uncle from New Jersey with his wife and three children, and the family from Australia.  Being the closest in proximity (a subway ride away), my family would always come early to help set up.  There would be vacuum packed fish from Sweden, along with loganberry jam made from scratch, nougat from Australia, and other foreign goodies.  The Jersey aunt would always make chocolate covered fruit and bring everyone gifts.  Meals would start off with appetizers and they alone made one full and usually included fried salt and pepper shrimp, shark fin soup, and other delicacies.  Then there’s always a break to relax before eating one’s own weight in food.  And there’s the drink that’s one of my favorite parts about the holidays: glögg, a sort of mulled wine with cloves and nutmeg.  Along with food is the endless number of family members I seem to have and meet, cousins, extended cousins, and then there’s the random professors that are lifelong friends of my grandmother.

Can be heated up and drunk as is or heated up with alcohol.

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That loft is now regrettably gone (it was a rent-controlled studio bought out by a new landlord), as are some of the most loving family members.  There’s the new apartment at which to celebrate, and all the old gatherings are some of my fondest memories.  And the holidays don’t really end there: there’s New Year’s and Chinese New Year’s and then birthdays and more.  So in a way, its always the holiday season, and there’s always something to be grateful for.

Because there are no classes on Fridays, it has become somewhat of a tradition for my coworker and I to go out to dinner after we close up the store. Being located in the East Village, we never have to worry about restaurants being closed. The city is very much alive with a vast array of people. The East Village is, in my opinion, one of the most cultural diverse spots in New York City.  Dallas BBQ, a Ukrainian restaurant, a pizza place, and a Japanese bar stand side by side along second avenue.

As I am from Florida and my coworker is from Hawaii, the diversity and wild nature of New York City at night is still relatively new to us, and we look forward to our every Thursday adventure. Last Thursday, we decided to take a bit of a walk and try out a Spanish restaurant she heard was relaxing, cheap, and open late.  We end work at eleven, and often find that our conversation is only beginning to wind down as the clock approaches two, so we are always eager to find restaurants that will not kick us out as midnight strikes.

The restaurant was cozy, with an extremely authentic atmosphere. Spanish music floated lightly through the speakers, and each table was decorated with a quirky ceramic flower vase. The authenticity of the restaurant made us very excited and eager to try out the food.

Before we could even open the menus, a waiter came and plopped a huge pitcher of Sangria on our table and briskly walked away. We were at a loss for words. We had no idea what to do.

“Maybe it’s just grape juice?” I asked.

We leaned in to sniff the red liquid, and pulled back quickly. It was not grape juice. We shrugged and ordered our food when the waiter came back. The food arrived and we were about to dig in, when the waiter, a fat, jolly man, asked up why we were not partaking in the Sangria with our food. Glancing at each other, we began attempting to stutter out a reply.

He was having none of it, however, and poured the Sangria into our glasses for us. He would not leave the table until we each had sips, and he then proceeded to rave about the Sangria (which they make in the restaurant, fresh, every night!) for ten minutes. My coworker and I listened politely, trying not to laugh at the ridiculous situation we had gotten ourselves into. Apparently, the legal drinking age in Spain is 18, and the restaurant is so authentic that it decided to adopt Spanish laws on drinking as well. Only in the East Village.

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It’s funny how different aspects of a fad or trend are so differently received in different places. The same clothes, same music, same label can mean one thing in one place, and mean the complete opposite just an hour’s drive away. Just one example of this stark contrast happened to me this very weekend—and not even in the city.

I went home for the weekend to help my parents around the house. To help out with all of the extra work—there’s lots of heavy lifting involved when it comes to horses—my mom asked her friend’s son Joe to come over. As we moved wood chips, branches and other ridiculously heavy things, we ended up talking about music. He tried to peg my musical interest: “You’re definitely a country girl, aren’t you?”

“That’s what my mom would want you to think,” I snorted as I carried a saddle past him. He tried to justify his guess, by saying that the plaid shirts and the boots that I always wore seemed to fit perfectly into a Garth Brooks video—not to mention the whole “horse thing,” he joked.

Sure, his assumptions seemed to make sense to me—but now that I live in the city, his strategy seemed a bit off. Here, everyone’s perspective seems so different than from Manorville, the little farm/forest town that I hail from. The exact same outfit that I was wearing as Joe dubbed me “country” jokingly got me labeled a “hipster” in my dorm’s common room. What’s the difference? How is it that the East End of Long Island has such a different opinion of various trends, when compared to Manhattan? And most of the people that called me “hipster” weren’t even from Manhattan—so even on different ends of the same island, perception can alter greatly (even about the small things, like flannel and boots).

“Would you like something to eat?” I asked my cousins, who had just arrived from England.  “It’d be great if I can get some crisps” one of them responded.  I stood there transfixed, wondering what in the world crisps were.  When they tried to explain, I learned that it was definitely some sort of snack.  I eventually had to resort to the always trustworthy Google, which told me that crisps were what we call chips in America.  This was the start of an extremely long and confusing two weeks; my cousins had come to visit from Europe, and although we all spoke the same language, I couldn’t comprehend a huge portion of what they were saying.  They spoke fast, and often I would really have to concentrate in order to understand what they were saying. Sometimes they would laugh at me, and would say, “American are slow”.  Being younger than them all, I tried to remain respectful to them, but eventually I would often have to respond.  “The best thing that the British have given the world is Harry Potter,” I once said, in response to a comment they had made to mock Americans.  Joking around about our different cultures helped us get along with each other.  Our trip to Canada (to visit family) also helped us get along with each other, as we joined forces to make fun of Canadians.  When time had come for them to leave, I was able to keep up with their fast language, and for a few weeks after they left, I had even picked up a little bit of their accent; but I made sure that I eventually dropped it.

If you ever need a simple memory card reader for your camera and would like to immerse yourself in a “culturally enriched” atmosphere, you should check out B&H Photo Video on 34^th street and 9^th Avenue. It may be the most unique store in Manhattan. As you enter you’re greeted twice. Continuing to walk down a wide hall with a fork in the road,  you’ll find product department maps hanging above your head and a third person to greet you and help you navigate your way about the superstore. Cameras, phones, computers, cell phones, alarm clocks, batteries, and little fuzzy pouches for your iPod nano are about.
The first thing you’ll notice is the assembly line that hovers products either overhead or behind counters. My little six dollar card reader would be bagged by one of employees catering to fifty or so booths at the photography department, dropped into a green plastic tray that’s tagged with my receipt, and routed to the pick-up area. I’d take a receipt and make my way back down the stairs, as the escalator goes only upwards, and head to the payment area, where one of four cash clerks or one of ten credit card clerks will take my money from me and offer me another receipt to pickup my purchase. The process is systematic and the methodology is brilliant and efficient to an extent.
Virtually every person working at the department counters is male and Orthodox Jewish. The salesmen who work the floor are male Orthodox Jews. The cashiers that handle the money are male Orthodox Jews. The information guide, however, was a Hispanic woman. The second person to welcome me in after the doorman was a Hispanic woman. The person who checked in my bag was a Black man. The person who looked for and gave me my purchase of the assembly line was a Hispanic man. The person who gave me back my backpack at the bag check this time a Hispanic man.
I thought that something was wrong, that there was a certain level of discrimination that should have already resonated in legal channels, but in reality this was the solution. In October 2007, B&H settled a multimillion-dollar lawsuit for discriminating against Hispanic workers. In November 2009. B&H was sued for $19 million for refusing to hire and discriminating against women. Status: Pending – go figure.
The stores track record and current atmosphere is allegorical of America’s history in general. Our system is extremely efficient and productive; we champion services rather than production to other; we departmentalize our government with bureaucratic scrutiny, but disappointingly we still champion discrimination de facto.

Addendum
This is absolutely not intended to singling out Orthodox Jews as racists, but to provide an example that illustrates the stark reality of general discrimination in American society. It just so happens that this was the store I went to and found a blatant contrast in job detail vs. gender and ethnicity.

Freshman year in college is an exciting time because you get to decide who you are. Everyone tells you that these are the years that you will “find yourself,” and it’s the chance to get a fresh start and shed your image from high school if it was unfavorable. Many people identify themselves by the clothes they wear, the people they hang out with, or their interests and hobbies. Psychology gives us Eyesnck’s personality assessment which claims that everyone fits somewhere on these two scales: introversion-extroversion, and stability-instability. Your rating on these two factors can tell a person about the nature of their personality and list many personality traits that are typical of that type. I classified myself as a stable introvert: which typically means calm, even-tempered, reliable, controlled, peaceful, thoughtful, careful, passive. I found these results pretty accurate.

This weekend, I found an entirely different way that people identify their personality types by: my dad calls it Beatle Psychology. The Beatles are relatable to any age group, but I didn’t realize how far our culture’s fascination with them went. Apparently everyone will identify more with one of the Beatles and who your favorite Beatle is says a lot about the type of personality you have. If you identify most with John, you’re “the smart one,” if its Paul, you’re “the cute one,” if you like Ringo the most, you’re “the funny one,” and if it’s George you’re “the shy one.” I can’t imagine this being even mildly accurate for most people, but to each his own. Which Beatle are you?

Quorum sensing is the unbelievable process in which bacteria, who have no nervous system whatsoever, are able to communicate with each other. Bacteria are single celled organism, but don’t be fooled, they are as diverse, some would say more diverse, than all of the eukaryotes combined, (plants, animals, etc). For hundreds of years scientists thought that bacteria acted as individuals, separately from each other. In fact this is not the case at all, almost everything bacteria do is based on all the other bacteria around them. They are able to do this by releasing a certain chemical into the surrounding environment. Normally these chemicals would be dispersed into the environment and forgotten, but if there are a lot, I mean A LOT, of bacteria in the surrounding environment all these chemicals start to build up. When the amount of the chemical in the environment reaches a certain concentration proportional to the number of bacteria, the bacteria react to this and, all at once, carry out a certain task.

For example a bacterium might want to invade all the cells in your lungs in order to reproduce more efficiently and kill you, but it knows for a fact that it can’t do this on its own. This is because your immune system would be able to stop it before it even had a chance to munch on your delicious endosomes, or whatever it wants to invade and destroy. So instead of going on a suicide mission the bacterium decides to lay back, and stay cool for a little while, build up it’s numbers first. Eventually the bacterium will reproduce until maybe one day, if everything goes as planned, it reaches a population that would be impossible for your immune system to contain. Then, out of nowhere, they attack and kill you. If the bacterium had acted on its own your body would have killed it and then memorized what it looked like, so that if it ever came back it could be dealt with more efficiently. But now, because it was smart and waited for some back up, it can effectively invade your body with the help of its large family.

Obviously bacteria don’t only use quorum sensing for killing humans, they use it for hundreds, if not thousands of things. Each different kind of bacteria is like its own culture, with its own chemicals and proportions used for quorum sensing. Every single bacterium knows when it’s supposed to act and doesn’t question it. They have no leaders; they act as one, a single cohesive group.

Quorum sensing is great for us humans too. A massive amount of our body weight is bacteria, friendly organisms, and if we didn’t have them we wouldn’t be able to carry out some of our most basic processes. Not only that, but, anyone that has studied history knows that by understanding another nation’s culture one can more easily manipulate and eventually destroy that culture/nation. We can do the same thing to pathogenic bacteria, now that we know their secrets. We can create inhibitors (chemicals that look like the ones the bacteria use for quorum sensing), which prevent a bacterium from knowing how many other bacteria there are around them. It is the equivalent of putting a blindfold on everyone in Grand Central.

http://biofilmbook.hypertextbookshop.com/public_version/artifacts/images/illustrations/quorumSensing.jpg

Most of us can say that we experience many cultural mixes very often in our lives. For some of us, these encounters with different cultures come as often as every day; but how many of us can proudly say that we were the ones creating these encounters?

In the eighth grade, I started getting really involved in music; particularly electronica. Radio538.nl (pronounced five-three-acht punt en el) took over the Z-100’s and Hot 97’s of my life, and I was immersed in the worlds of trance, house, and techno. I also thought it would be really cool to be a DJ, and had a fair amount of musical background, so I combined my two hobbies into one super-hobby – a trance producer.

My obsession with trance music lasted for a couple of years, and in those years, I released some really awesome tracks, but alas, my career never kicked off. My brother told me that there was no future in DJ-ing, and I was never going to be good enough to rival Tiesto and Paul van Dyke, who were my idols. Had conversation taken place now, I would have taken it as a challenge and continued my pursuit of fame and glory. Alas, my experiences mixing music from countries all over the world ended during my Freshman year of high school when I gave up hope and lost inspiration. I still listen to electronica, and even mess around with mixers and turntables from time to time, so I want to hear your opinion – should I pursue my passion in music and go professional, or just accept it as a hobby?

Eternal Sunlight by DJ Infrared

Crash Course by DJ Infrared

E3 Mix by DJ Infrared