Arrogance vs. confidence in women

With the recent news about the engineer Susan Fowler’s appalling experience and departure from Uber, I couldn’t help but feel disgusted at the technology industry in general, as well as how poorly human resources departments I’ve personally encountered have handled touchy and controversial experiences that have been reported. It makes me angry that even in HR, where there tends to be a lot of women leading the team across companies I’ve seen, women cannot even help or support other women. Women, no matter how hard they work, are considered women before they are whatever their job titles are. And confident women are hardly considered a good thing in a male-dominated environment like the technology industry; there’s a very, very fine line between exuding confidence and being perceived as “arrogant” for women in the workplace. And it really bothers me to think about it because I’m positive that is how I have been perceived in the past (in fact, someone on Glassdoor wrote a twisted review of his interview experience with me, which was half wrong factually and also accused me of being arrogant in my position and discussion). If I’m speaking to a prospective employee or in an interview representing myself, chances are that I’m going to be commanding respect and attention with the tone of my voice and how I’m speaking about whatever the topic is. But after almost nine years in this industry, I’ve only met a handful of women who do this. What that means is that people in general around me are not used to women exuding this level of self-respect and confidence, and instead perceive me as being arrogant.

It would be so much simpler and easier to be a man in the technology industry. Like the protesters at the Women’s March in Washington D.C. had signs of, “I can’t believe I still have to protest this shit.” But the worst part about the example for me I’ve given above is… it’s oftentimes that women do not support women, not just that men aren’t supporting women.

 

It’s been a while

I woke up this weekend to look up at the framed photos of my brother on my wall, and I wondered why he hadn’t come to visit me in my dreams for a while. As Chris has noted, my dreams of him have evolved over the last few years. In the year after his death, we had all these scenes of him committing suicide in different ways, of fighting with my parents or telling me he was sorry that he left me. He insisted he still loved me and cared about me, but he had to leave. Gradually, the dreams have become better. Sometimes, he’d appear out of nowhere, and I’d run up to him and throw my arms around him, hugging him tightly and yelling how happy I was to see him again. Nowadays, in the last few months when I have seen him, we’re just doing ordinary things together: walking, talking, eating, watching TV. On Saturday night, I dreamt we were just sitting at a table while eating sesame noodles I made for us together. We said nothing to each other. All I heard was our chewing and the smacking of chopsticks against our bowls.

I’ll never quite be at peace with him gone, but as the years go by, I think I am more at peace with the fact that he is at peace, even if I cannot physically see him again.

Banana pudding gone wrong

Tonight, I decided to finally put the Tahitian vanilla bean my friend got me to good use by adding it and its scraped seeds into a banana pudding with pistachio crumble recipe that has long been on my list of things to make. I had been saving these Tahitian vanilla beans for years now, properly storing them and deciding they would be best to use in a custard or pudding of some sort. This pudding shattered all my dreams; it came out mealy, completely unlike a custard, and really just tasted like pureed bananas with some vanilla flavoring added to it. Even the pistachio crumble turned out brown, with the taste of sugar and butter completely overshadowing the delicate pistachio flavor.

You win some, and then you lose some. I hope the next time I use one of these vanilla beans that I will win. This stuff ain’t cheap.

Mope

Chris is trying to pack as many theater shows as he can into our winter, so today, we went to see Mope, a play at the Ensemble Studio Theater about the LA porn industry and the “losers” called “mopes” in it. The play was quite sad, actually, as it depicted a very sexist and ignorant white man who helps his black male friend get into the porn industry, and this friend ends up becoming far more successful than he is. He blames his failures on being a white man in an industry where white men are not appreciated enough because their penises are not as large as black men’s, and apparently we all know that everyone wants to see a big black penis in porn. He claims that black men are taking away the white men’s roles in the porn industry, and it has nothing to do with his talent or ability that he hasn’t done well for himself.

This made me sad because it reminded me of all the white Trump voters who claim that immigrants and people of color are taking away their jobs, that there’s an attack on white people in this country. This country is a country of immigrants, so what makes a white person feel more entitled to any job than an immigrant or child of immigrants, or someone who doesn’t have white skin? Trevor, the main white character of this show, would definitely have voted for Trump. What a mope.

Games with friends

Tonight, we met two of our friends for dinner at a Filipino restaurant downtown, and then we went to their apartment close by for a night of board games and drinking. Our friends have a fairly large apartment on the east side, so they oftentimes invite friends over for meals, games, and just hanging out.

When I lived in Elmhurst, I would have loved to invite friends over more often… but I lived in Elmhurst, which is a place most people never wanted to go to since it wasn’t in Manhattan or in a trendy neighborhood in Brooklyn. Now, we live on the Upper East Side, but our space is a bit too cozy to have lots of friends come over at any one time. Even our alcohol stash in our fireplace is being cramped. I’m looking forward to getting a bigger place so that we can host friends over more often this summer.

Taiwan

We just booked flights to Taiwan for this summer, so I’ve been getting excited and researching where we’re going to visit. Even though the island of Taiwan is not very large, there are so many things to do there, and each region of Taiwan has special things it is known for. In China, Shanghai and Beijing are known as the major tourist destinations; but most people don’t know anything about Taiwan outside of its capital of Taipei, if even that. It seems to be under appreciated as a major destination, and it’s obvious when you look at Marriott and IHG hotel offerings to discover that both major hotel chains have only 2-4 hotel locations in Taiwan, and they are all in Taipei. Forget Kaohsiung, the major populated city in the south of the island, or Hualien, the major city/town that is closest to Taroko Gorge, which is considered the number 1 site to visit in all of Taiwan.

I guess that’s like when visitors come to the U.S., and all they think about are New York and LA. It still makes me sad, though.

Radicchio

My friend and I were just discussing how hard it is to keep a low grocery budget and still eat healthily in New York City when today, I walked through Citarella on the Upper East Side (a fancy grocery store I’ve never purchased anything in before), and I found non-organic radicchio for $14.95/pound. How is that even possible that a vegetable could be that expensive? My friend tries to exclusively buy organic produce, but this isn’t even organic or exotic, and it’s over $10/pound.

I don’t understand how people shop here regularly for everyday groceries, especially when I see people queuing up after work for their produce and meat purchases. It makes no sense to me, or maybe they don’t care about the cost of groceries because they just never eat out. This city will always be an anomaly when it comes to the proportion of people who cook few or none of their meals at all.

Gym outburst

This morning, I was at the gym and about to get on a treadmill when a man and a woman a few treadmills down from me start screaming at each other, yelling expletives and waving towels. I wasn’t quite clear on what had happened and I wasn’t sure if they knew each other personally, but it was the first time in my entire time in New York that I’ve witnessed a fight at the gym. After listening to their back and forth, I realized that it was simply about the guy accidentally using the woman’s towel. Is that really the end of the world if that accidentally happens? I remember a time when I was in a gym class doing some really intense cardio and weights, and I accidentally drank out of someone else’s water bottle, which just happened to look like mine. Thankfully, the woman it belonged to just laughed and didn’t think it was a big deal.

Sometimes, it’s exhausting to be in New York because of how high strung everyone is.

Happy un-Valentine’s Day

After our first year together, Chris and I have stopped “celebrating” Valentine’s Day. I still make him a card every year, but other than that, we typically don’t do anything special on that day. And a few days over the last several years, one of us has had work travel. This year, he’s away, so I ended up having a dinner of hand-pulled noodles tonight with my good friend instead.

My friend and I have been friends for 20 years, since we were both 11. Whenever I see her, I’m always excited to hang out. Nothing is ever scripted, sometimes things aren’t even fully planned, and I never have to think about topics to discuss. That’s the greatest thing about having a friend in your life that long: once you reach a certain level of comfort, you can feel free to literally shoot the shit, or really not talk about anything at all, and you will still have fun and enjoy each others’ company. We don’t talk about work or “popular topics” that people discuss; we just discuss whatever is on our minds. It’s like the way our minds work; we flow from one topic to another, even when the initial topic had nothing to do with the next.

Friendships like these are the reason it seems so exhausting to meet new people and start at square one again.

At the end of a Mother’s Reckoning

After seeing the Sue Klebold TED Talk where Klebold discusses the mass murder her son participated in at Columbine High School, I felt compelled to read her book A Mother’s Reckoning, so I picked it up from the library and finished it in four days. Needless to say, the Columbine shooting shook the entire country, if not the world, and opened our eyes to so many issues that are still a problem today: mental health and illness, the dangers and life-long lingering effects of bullying, gun violence and control, among others. I’ve finished reading the book, and have also spent a decent amount of time reading news articles covering the mass murder at the time, and also Amazon reader reviews, and this is generally what I think.

Sue Klebold is so right in that it’s so easy for us to say as outsiders that it’s easy to blame the parents. If you have never experienced the suicide of a loved one, or a suicide-homicide in her case, it’s easy for you to think that it could never affect your own life or that of someone you love who is close to you. You think to yourself, “if I had a friend/brother/sister/daughter/son/etc. who was going through that, I’d have to know.” No, you don’t have to know. No, you wouldn’t always be able to tell the signs. Sometimes it’s the people closest to us who have the most to hide and are the best actors. All of our lives are busy, and all of us are always going to overlook things that in hindsight, may seem obvious. We are all human beings, after all, and we are prone to error in judgment. We need to accept that we are not infallible. I’ve personally had to accept that every day since Ed’s death.

It’s hard for me to blame Sue Klebold and her husband the way so many readers and outsiders do because at the end of the day, don’t all parents “try their best”? Their best may not be your best or my best, but it’s to the best of their ability, as all of our spheres of knowledge are so different. Of course, the book is written by her, so it’s obvious she would want to portray her and her (now ex-) husband as good parents (which could make a potential reader think she would be an unreliable narrator), but that also seems to be the general consensus of those around them, as well, who knew them. She is also brutally honest in revealing all the “danger signs” that she and Dylan’s dad chose to either ignore or overlook at the time. She’s really using this book as a way to be a warning to all parents even non-parents out there: be aware that you may never fully know your child, but also look out for signs like all these that I failed to see. And I personally think that is so brave of her. It’s even braver of her to put herself out there in the world, volunteering for the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention, going to conferences around the country to share her story, despite all the hate and death threats that she has received.

One thing she does repeatedly in the book is refer to mental health as “brain health” instead of mental health. She says she does this because “mental health” is not something people can see or grasp, and therefore it is easier to ignore or avoid it; if we refer to it as “brain health,” it’s more visible, and it forces us to see that it’s part of our head. It’s an interesting concept, one that a number of readers have complained about, but I do think it could have some merit. Her argument is correct: it’s hard even for the medical community to take “mental health” seriously. Isn’t that why so many suicide attempts and hospitalizations are treated so poorly and handled in a way that wrongly treats suicide attempts as a conscious and active “choice” rather than a poorly made decision in a medical state of emergency?