'Break' is such a useful word. I like it. It's a harsh and abrupt sounding word and not pleasant to say or hear, but still, I like it. It's short and to the point. It's a word that covers so many emotions, outcomes and actions. Look it up. Type "define: break" in Google and look at the definitions, there are many.
Even though Spring has yet to arrive temperature-wise, it's Spring break here in Boston. College students take this time to flee the months of nasty Winter by celebrating the end of class in exotic, sunny locations: Cancun, Mexico and the like. See, breaks can be good.
We all want to take, get, hope for a break in life. Breaks are the keys to success, happiness and new adventures, or so I've been told. I've had a parade of significant disappointments recently. "Give me a break" has become my new motto.
When breaks are bad, they can be devastating. To be broke, broken down on the side of the road, broken-hearted, or to have a break-up, are all very bad. The negative power of "break" is presented to us beautifully in Brokeback Mountatin, which is one of my favourite films. By telling the story of a tragic romance, the movie captures and distills the breaks, both rewarding and tragic, that we all share in life to expose some harsh realities of love and consequence.
Even in a seemingly bad context, breaks can be good. We say "Break a leg" to someone for good luck. Odd, huh?
Overall, we all cop our fair share of good and bad breaks. At the moment, I'm just hoping to break even in life.
14 March 2008
9 March 2008
Le Petit Prince
The Little Prince (by Antoine de Saint-Exupery) is a kids book, of sorts. The book is illustrated and easy to read, but carries a profound message about love, innocence and self-discovery. The writing is simple and elegant, and the story is childishly captivating. It's a classic piece of literature that you must read! (You can finish it in one sitting). To really appreciate the beauty of the novel and its message, check out these SparkNotes.
Read The Little Prince and maybe you'll never look at the stars the same again.
Read The Little Prince and maybe you'll never look at the stars the same again.
21 January 2008
17 January 2008
A welcome back
"What's this?" sneered the immigration officer behind the desk. I looked at my crisp, neatly typed documents that had just been cast onto the counter before returning my gaze at the imposing uniformed figure in front me. The officer maintained his disdainful glare at my presence. Confused at the unexpected question, my brain fought to formulate a coherent response. The 2 week long holiday in Great Britain and Spain, combined with the just completed 7 and 1/2 hour flight from London had deadened my senses and I struggled to comprehend my unexpected situation.
The room at Boston airport that I had found myself in was fairly large, with several rows of seats facing a counter where 6 immigration officers presided. Resplendent in their black uniforms and gold badges, they formed an intimidating human barrier for entry into the US. A two-way mirror spanned the length of the room, and security cameras maintained a silent vigil over the proceedings. Save one other Middle Eastern looking individual I was the sole foreigner in this 'Secondary inspection' area of US immigration. I had been led to this room after alighting the plane and presenting myself to immigration, a process that had been a mere formality during my numerous other entries into the States. Since I have a valid work-visa and am an Australian citizen, I had no idea why I was being so intensely scrutinized this time around.
Even though several officers were unoccupied when I was escorted into the secondary inspection room, it was several minutes before I was called up to be questioned.
At the counter, after a few routine questions including what did I do ("medical scientist") and whether I had a valid working visa ("yes I do") I was confronted with the sudden, angrily toned question of "What's this?", in reference to my document that had been thrown in front of me like trash. The paper was not trash, but was extra documentation from my workplace that further supported the validity of the visa in my passport.
I was stunned by the sudden hostility of the officer. My treatment made me feel like I had no right to be on US soil. Everything I had endured and accomplished in order to earn the right to work in the US - my PhD, the job interviews, the stressful move overseas - were temporarily stripped away during this brief moment. As for the question, I finally replied that the person taking care of my visa at work had supplied me the letter and had said that I may need to show it upon returning to Boston. Satisfied with the answer, the officer abruptly dropped the stern demeanour, informed me that I was "all set" and proceeded to make some light banter as he stamped my passport. I stumbled out of the room to collect my luggage, feeling bewildered with the experience.
It was with regret that I had boarded the plane to Boston earlier that day, as it meant that my holiday had ended and the stresses of work were imminent. Being an acutely sensitive individual, my immigration experience had further soured my mood and after arriving home I just wanted to leave the States again and not return. Sure I understand border protection is necessary. What I don't understand is the requirement to treat people impolitely in the process of merely confirming an individuals credentials (it wasn't as if my visa had expired); I guess it's easy to do so when you're in a position of power. Well at least I wasn't in immigration for very long, unlike some of the horror stories I've heard about where people with valid visas were detained for several hours as their visas status was confirmed.
So that was my welcome back to Boston last week. Not a great start to my Boston 2008 experience, nor is this a very inspiring 61st entry for Status: +61, but hey, c'est la vie. Oh yeah, a very belated Happy New Year!
The room at Boston airport that I had found myself in was fairly large, with several rows of seats facing a counter where 6 immigration officers presided. Resplendent in their black uniforms and gold badges, they formed an intimidating human barrier for entry into the US. A two-way mirror spanned the length of the room, and security cameras maintained a silent vigil over the proceedings. Save one other Middle Eastern looking individual I was the sole foreigner in this 'Secondary inspection' area of US immigration. I had been led to this room after alighting the plane and presenting myself to immigration, a process that had been a mere formality during my numerous other entries into the States. Since I have a valid work-visa and am an Australian citizen, I had no idea why I was being so intensely scrutinized this time around.
Even though several officers were unoccupied when I was escorted into the secondary inspection room, it was several minutes before I was called up to be questioned.
At the counter, after a few routine questions including what did I do ("medical scientist") and whether I had a valid working visa ("yes I do") I was confronted with the sudden, angrily toned question of "What's this?", in reference to my document that had been thrown in front of me like trash. The paper was not trash, but was extra documentation from my workplace that further supported the validity of the visa in my passport.
I was stunned by the sudden hostility of the officer. My treatment made me feel like I had no right to be on US soil. Everything I had endured and accomplished in order to earn the right to work in the US - my PhD, the job interviews, the stressful move overseas - were temporarily stripped away during this brief moment. As for the question, I finally replied that the person taking care of my visa at work had supplied me the letter and had said that I may need to show it upon returning to Boston. Satisfied with the answer, the officer abruptly dropped the stern demeanour, informed me that I was "all set" and proceeded to make some light banter as he stamped my passport. I stumbled out of the room to collect my luggage, feeling bewildered with the experience.
It was with regret that I had boarded the plane to Boston earlier that day, as it meant that my holiday had ended and the stresses of work were imminent. Being an acutely sensitive individual, my immigration experience had further soured my mood and after arriving home I just wanted to leave the States again and not return. Sure I understand border protection is necessary. What I don't understand is the requirement to treat people impolitely in the process of merely confirming an individuals credentials (it wasn't as if my visa had expired); I guess it's easy to do so when you're in a position of power. Well at least I wasn't in immigration for very long, unlike some of the horror stories I've heard about where people with valid visas were detained for several hours as their visas status was confirmed.
So that was my welcome back to Boston last week. Not a great start to my Boston 2008 experience, nor is this a very inspiring 61st entry for Status: +61, but hey, c'est la vie. Oh yeah, a very belated Happy New Year!
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