![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
greybetaRight now, I should be working on my 1500 word report due tomorrow for my junior history colloquium. But procrastination is the power.
In Senate we had to approve the new Cabinet for Tulsa’s Student Association. It’s my opinion that we’re young and fresh in both Senate and Cabinet, so we’re all going to grow up in student government together. One of the veteran senators, the outspoken Noam Feingold, announced his resignation. He may be the wisest (former) senator of us all.
I got a jab in at our President, and proceeded to share one of Aesop’s fables, “The Fox and the Lion”. It concludes that familiarity breeds contempt, just as our current student administration is trying to make all of us more contemptuous of our Student Association.
If you were wondering what the age range of Dai Hoi was, I’d say the extremes were fifteen and forty-five. Most of us Vietnamese youth ranged from eighteen to thirty years old. I happened to be on the younger side, among those not yet aware of the difficulties of the real world.
As you well might imagine, I was the only one with connections to Arkansas or Oklahoma. I’d say I was from Arkansas and people would shake their head. Then I’d say that I was from the home of Bill Clinton and people would nod and smile. Say what you want about Willy, he did put Arkansas on the map (not always in a good light, unfortunately).
To balance out the serious side of Dai Hoi, I have to tell you about Room 446 of the Marriott Hotel in Fairfax. Indeed, I am digressing once more about Dai Hoi (or building up the climax of why I became a confident pessimist). After all the events of the day, everybody would come and hang out there (strange enough, the smooth talker, pretty boy, and the black sheep all stayed in this room). We all know what happens when you get a bunch of young people in one place.
Well, first we played a lot of random games. The best one that I remember is a singing game. One team would sing lines from a Vietnamese song. Whatever word they ended on, the other team had to sing a song with that last word in the lyrics. Wash, rinse, repeat. Even though I hadn’t heard most of the songs, I felt the vibrant atmosphere in the room. Fun times.
Then they brought out the beer.
You must know that I don’t drink. It’s always been my policy to politely refuse. But I’m not good at saying no, especially when everyone around me is urging me to take a drink. For free, no less. I thought I could escape until a red-faced Chu Long, graduate of the last class of VNMA (thirty one), offered me a drink (anime explanation girl says that Chu is a Vietnamese honorific denoting an uncle, specifically one of your dad’s younger brothers even though he is certainly no blood relation to Daniel).
Respect your elders, son.
You have to understand that I was brought up to respect my elders from a very young age. Bow to your relatives, and always greet them before you leave.
An aside, in my junior year of high school, my maternal grandparents visited Ft. Smith (the family bond is strong enough to drag them out from Vietnam to the middle of nowhere). They were appalled that I would just get up and leave the house at will (they didn’t say this to my face, as I learned this fact from my mother). Culture difference, you know.
So I took up a woman’s drink, Smirnoff Ice. I won’t lie; it didn’t taste too bad. But I just felt too uncomfortable drinking it. For social etiquette, I drank the neck portion before hiding the bottle behind the window blinds.
It was late, so my eyes had turned blood red from having my contacts in too long.
Fortunately, people assumed that I had had a negative reaction to the alcohol.
Oh, so that’s why he doesn’t drink.
I should just told them the truth.
But I was too weak to tell them I was practicing a discipline of my faith. I choose not to drink because it shows that I’ve given up something to the Lord of my life.
Again, the good Lord will have to forgive a weakness of mine.
At this point in my life, I want to clearly remember both my good and bad times.
In Senate we had to approve the new Cabinet for Tulsa’s Student Association. It’s my opinion that we’re young and fresh in both Senate and Cabinet, so we’re all going to grow up in student government together. One of the veteran senators, the outspoken Noam Feingold, announced his resignation. He may be the wisest (former) senator of us all.
I got a jab in at our President, and proceeded to share one of Aesop’s fables, “The Fox and the Lion”. It concludes that familiarity breeds contempt, just as our current student administration is trying to make all of us more contemptuous of our Student Association.
If you were wondering what the age range of Dai Hoi was, I’d say the extremes were fifteen and forty-five. Most of us Vietnamese youth ranged from eighteen to thirty years old. I happened to be on the younger side, among those not yet aware of the difficulties of the real world.
As you well might imagine, I was the only one with connections to Arkansas or Oklahoma. I’d say I was from Arkansas and people would shake their head. Then I’d say that I was from the home of Bill Clinton and people would nod and smile. Say what you want about Willy, he did put Arkansas on the map (not always in a good light, unfortunately).
To balance out the serious side of Dai Hoi, I have to tell you about Room 446 of the Marriott Hotel in Fairfax. Indeed, I am digressing once more about Dai Hoi (or building up the climax of why I became a confident pessimist). After all the events of the day, everybody would come and hang out there (strange enough, the smooth talker, pretty boy, and the black sheep all stayed in this room). We all know what happens when you get a bunch of young people in one place.
Well, first we played a lot of random games. The best one that I remember is a singing game. One team would sing lines from a Vietnamese song. Whatever word they ended on, the other team had to sing a song with that last word in the lyrics. Wash, rinse, repeat. Even though I hadn’t heard most of the songs, I felt the vibrant atmosphere in the room. Fun times.
Then they brought out the beer.
You must know that I don’t drink. It’s always been my policy to politely refuse. But I’m not good at saying no, especially when everyone around me is urging me to take a drink. For free, no less. I thought I could escape until a red-faced Chu Long, graduate of the last class of VNMA (thirty one), offered me a drink (anime explanation girl says that Chu is a Vietnamese honorific denoting an uncle, specifically one of your dad’s younger brothers even though he is certainly no blood relation to Daniel).
Respect your elders, son.
You have to understand that I was brought up to respect my elders from a very young age. Bow to your relatives, and always greet them before you leave.
An aside, in my junior year of high school, my maternal grandparents visited Ft. Smith (the family bond is strong enough to drag them out from Vietnam to the middle of nowhere). They were appalled that I would just get up and leave the house at will (they didn’t say this to my face, as I learned this fact from my mother). Culture difference, you know.
So I took up a woman’s drink, Smirnoff Ice. I won’t lie; it didn’t taste too bad. But I just felt too uncomfortable drinking it. For social etiquette, I drank the neck portion before hiding the bottle behind the window blinds.
It was late, so my eyes had turned blood red from having my contacts in too long.
Fortunately, people assumed that I had had a negative reaction to the alcohol.
Oh, so that’s why he doesn’t drink.
I should just told them the truth.
But I was too weak to tell them I was practicing a discipline of my faith. I choose not to drink because it shows that I’ve given up something to the Lord of my life.
Again, the good Lord will have to forgive a weakness of mine.
At this point in my life, I want to clearly remember both my good and bad times.
