Stengths and Weaknesses

This past weekend, I attended a leadership conference, which was reinforced what my strengths and weaknesses are as a leader. It’s kind of funny because not a lot has changed. I am analytical, disciplined, deliberative, focused, and an achiever, but I don’t know how these attributes affect my weaknesses. It makes it seem as though I am somewhat detached from my feelings.

I suppose I can give off the impression as a cold person, but I do not think I am. My true weakness is being in tune with my own personal feelings, not with those around me. Usually, I can tell when someone is upset or the mood in a room. I am a good listener and usually give (I hope) good advice.

Over the course of high school, I have been put in several leadership positions and I have one true fear. I am not afraid of a team that has trouble working together or a group of people who are not as skilled for a job as they should. I am scared that the people I am responsible for are not comfortable coming to me about their problems.

As a leader, it is important that people are comfortable coming to you for any of their problems, personal or work related. I have found that people’s personal lives affect their work and how they perform. Since my initial impression is somewhat tough, it makes it difficult for people to approach me, but I usually talk to people individually to get to know them.

I miss the people that I was responsible for in high school. I still visit them and give them advice occasionally. In my opinion, the mentor-mentee relationship does not end when you leave a situation or position. It’s your responsibility to continue to help that person with any problems they have.

A Picture Worth 1,000 Words

People say that one picture speaks 1,000 words, but I disagree with this argument. How much can you truly say about one picture? I was thinking about a picture in particular today. It used to sit in the formal sitting room when I lived with my mother and stepfather. The picture was a replica of an original that my mother found when she had visited the Philippines the year before.

The picture was of my grandmother, someone who had died before my mother was a teenager. I still cannot tell who she was from that picture. The original picture was black and white, small, probably a 5x7 and was torn and at one point had pieces missing, which were replaced by a professional who had drawn them in. It was yellow from old age and somewhat brittle.

It turns out that I did not know much about my grandmother or mother for that matter. My grandmother was young in the picture, probably around 25, and had short, curly, dark hair and a face that was rounder than mine. She was not smiling, but I don’t know if that indicated anything about her. I used to pass the picture everyday and wonder what she must have been like.
I suppose that we do not know much about the people around us, their lives, past experiences, hardships, or even the truth behind some of their stories. Sometimes I wish I had taken the initiative to ask about the lives of people I knew. For instance, I lived with my mother for nine and half years, yet I still learn things about her every day. I did not know how hard her life was when she lived in the Philippines, that she was dirt poor. I did not know that she was the only person with my grandmother when she died in the back of a jeepney. I was with her almost every day for nine and a half years and I hardly knew her.

Sometimes, I wonder why I did not know these things. They were a part of who she was, yet I knew nothing about them; it’s like I knew nothing about her. I suppose I still do not take the initiative to ask about people’s lives. I like to ask questions, but am I truly asking the right ones? Am I really finding out more about a person or only finding a small piece of the big picture?

The Beatles

My dad just drove me back to Tech today and I started thinking about a lot of car rides that I have taken. It’s sort of funny. My dad and I always have conversations about what went on in our lives while apart and then listen to the Beatles. We both love music and he influenced me to like much older music than most people my age would listen to.

For some reason, I have this strange fascination with the Beatles. Their music is just so unique, but there is still one album which still eludes my grasp… “Hey Jude”. I have tried and tried to get a hold of this CD, but whenever I get to a store, they never have it. I suppose it would be simple to just go on Amazon and buy it online, but I have this thing where I want to personally go and buy a CD versus just ordering it. The stores always have the twangs of “A Hard Day’s Night” or the eerily calming sounds of “The White Album”, yet I can’t get my hands on “Hey Jude”.

The Beatles are one of those timeless groups whose music never get old and still can evoke the same feelings across the generation gap. On Friday night, I watched the movie, “A Hard Day’s Night”. Although it had basically no storyline, it was still entertaining all the same. Through that short movie, I basically met who each “Beatle” was and sort of got a better understanding of their music.

It’s somewhat frustrating for a 19 year old to get frustrated over something as silly as finding a CD especially since I am making the trouble myself. I think there is some pride involved in finding something that you have been searching for. In finding the missing piece, the puzzle is complete and you can see the entire picture.

Superstition

Today, as I was walking to the Graduate Life Center, the oddest event occurred… a completely black cat crossed my path. As soon as I saw the cat, I immediately started saying, “No, don’t”. Upon me addressing the cat, it paused, looked into my eyes then continued on its way, crossing directly in front of my path. The cat then ran over a large pile of snow to continue on its way causing other students and faculty more bad luck.

I never used to be superstitious, but I have grown to become so. Maybe it’s just coincidence that whenever bad things happen to me, they happen after one of those mysterious instances that everyone deems a “bad luck” situation. Not to say that something bad happens to me whenever one of those instances occur, but bad things tend to only happen after those instances.

I suppose most of my superstition comes from my mom. She always used to tell me the symbolism behind almost everything. She once told me the mole on my right temple meant that I was smart and that it was bad luck to put shoes on a table. I suppose it is part of the culture in the Philippines, but I never asked.

I remember once I was in one of the houses of my mom’s friend and I didn’t know about the whole shoe on the table thing. Needless to say, I was little and put my shoe on the table and was yelled at for like 10 minutes for that. For some reason, bingo is a really big thing with Filipinos and it seems like for them everything is based on luck. I once remember one of my mom’s friends telling me to go outside because I was bad luck and she kept losing bingo. It’s kind of funny growing up in that environment.

In reality, superstition has no real basis. It is completely irrational. I somewhat believe in it because of experience, but it’s like when early civilizations had no explanation for certain events and they would just blame it on some higher being. I hope I make it through the next 17 hours without bad luck… THAT DARN CAT!

Observation

Audience: Americans; age 15-30

Vicenta walked leisurely through a park in suburbia; this was probably the first time since she arrived in the United States that she felt somewhat at peace. The bustling of the city often had her uneasy and it did not do anything beneficial for her current state of mind. Of late, she had been feeling somewhat sick; she attributed it to the lack of sleep and homesickness.

It did not help that she didn’t know English very well and she had trouble connecting with others. She had been somewhat quiet when she lived in the Philippines, but her lack of proficiency with English only increased her awkwardness. Vicenta was awkward in mannerisms; she didn’t like to dance, partake in social events, or even swim. She did not like water in general; she had a near death experience while swimming when she was a child. She did not even like kiddie pools.

I still don’t understand why she accepted her current position. She never really liked people and she could make the same money being a waitress, but here she is babysitting this child in suburbia. I suppose children are different than adults; they are pure and innocent, untouched by the evils of society. I usually sit in the park, watching my own children play and wonder about her. Most of the things I have told you are assumptions. I don’t even know her real name or anything really substantial about her. She just strolls in the park with the child in one of those strollers and sits on the bench on the other side of the sidewalk.

It’s kind of funny the things you notice about a person you don’t really know. I do know several facts from observation; the only person she speaks to is the child she is nanny to; of late, she has said some phrases in passing like she has been learning English slowly; and she is very protective of the child she watches. She observes everything like I do. She learns by watching and listening to the people around her. I think sometime soon I will gather up enough courage and speak to her. Maybe I will find out if the story that I have made up for her is true.

Happiness is a State of Mind

This past weekend was Military Ball, which you would think would be a big deal for cadets, but really is not. As cadets, we were all expected to attend and I wore the ugliest uniform on the face of the planet… Mess Dress. This female uniform is a floor length, black skirt, worn with black pumps and a white, ruffled shirt worn with an equally atrocious white blazer with overhanging maroon shoulder boards, giving the affect of a 1930s waitress. I call it Birth Control Bag.

Besides the horrible uniform, each freshman training company also paints a banner. Unfortunately, each company tends to only have one artist and end up painting the night before the event. Even more unfortunately, I was one of the few that stayed up the entire night, finishing the banner at 8:30 that morning.

It’s sort of funny because the upperclassmen make such a big deal about this event and I only ended up staying an hour. Military Ball is the event which marks the start of the final phase of freshman training, which also marks the receiving of some privileges. (Yay!)

Although the military event was a “let-down”, my weekend was not without its fun. I pulled an all-nighter on Friday, but because I did, I bonded more closely with one of my buds who I did not know as well. After I left Military Ball Saturday night, I hung out with one of my female buds and we went to Starbuck’s while doing laundry, hung out in the civilian dorms and made a random Wal*Mart run at midnight. After getting back to the dorms at 2:00 in the morning, we had a fun party in my room, where we cooked the frozen foods we bought from Wal*Mart.

The point is although we encounter crappy situations, most of us tend to only dwell on the bad stuff that happens to us and not the good. I would say that overall, my weekend was awesome. It is in my opinion that we choose to be. Happiness is a state of mind; if you want to be happy, you will be. It doesn’t matter what actually happens; what is important is what you choose to remember.

Escaping Through a Window

Windows fascinate me in a strange sort of way. Like a fly to a light bulb, windows draw me in. Sometimes people walk into the room when I am looking through them and I find some excuse to be near that corner. Sometimes, windows are stained, geometrically shaped, or pictures made from different shapes and stains. I have never understood their true purpose; they let in light, but that is really their only practical use in the 21st century.

I remember once looking through a window for 10 hours straight. That particular window was not shaped like an octagon or stained bright colors. It was a plain, rectangular window. Maybe, it had curtains, but I don’t remember, probably because I was nine years old at the time. What did I remember about this one, simple window? This window took me away for 10 hours from the misery that filled the house I was trapped in.

That was the day my mother died. Unlike everyone in the house, I did not cry when I was told. Instead, I walked around the house and was drawn to the window, where I sat down and simply looked out. I watched everything: the wind blowing through the small trees, the cars going by on the main road, the neighbors outside mowing the grass and yelling when the mower ran out of gasoline, the sky turning orange and pink, then slowly fading to darkness. All of which seemed so beautiful to me.
When I turned from the window and looked around the room, all I saw was an empty living room and kitchen. The table was covered with those ridiculous meat platters that people buy when someone dies because for some reason, people think you forget how to cook over the course of a day or they can’t say, “I’m sorry” and they need to make some big gesture of feeding you. My mother usually occupied the kitchen, cooking Filipino dishes that would fill the room with their delicious smells. All I saw then was… emptiness and continued to look out my window, escaping to the outside the only way I was allowed to.

Some look at windows and think the ornate ones are the most beautiful, but I think different. It’s not what the windows look like that matters, it’s what you can see through them. I think that seeing beauty in simple things is the most important thing in life. Looking through a window, I can see the beauty of living. It makes me feel free in a strange sort of way. My body may be stuck in a room, doing some menial task, but I can see and think beyond my physical boundaries.