My mom is a currency trader. That means she takes currency from one country and exchanges it for money from another country, for a profit. Literally, all she does is move money from one place to another, and she makes more doing that than what she used to make while helping people find jobs at a government agency. 

It's not exciting or rewarding by any means, but I plan to learn currency trading so I can make money while I pursue the activist work that I actually want to be doing. 

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I sleep over at school two or three times a week in the Media Lab, a private area of the school accessible only to a dozen videography students. The cleaning ladies come in at the same time each evening to rest on the couches after work, and I've been getting to know one of them. 

In Chinese culture you can only address those who are younger than you by name, so I can only refer to her as Auntie (Alternatively, you can call someone "Auntie Amy" or "Uncle Sam" but it's uncommon to address your elders by their first name only).

Auntie came from the same province as my grandparents. She's exactly my mom's age, and the two women grew up in the same poverty that was typical of the time and area. Neither mom nor Auntie had an education.

Auntie used to raise chickens. She told me that chickens typically take a year before they're ready to be killed for meat, but on today's hormone injections they can go from egg to slaughterhouse in 5 weeks. Auntie can't read or write and she can't speak English, but she can grow any kind of vegetable. She hates malls and hyper-consumption and processed food, and she knows that fresh fruits are better than vitamins. She knows that you don't have to pop a pill for every cold or headache, and she's the only Chinese adult I've known who was happy to hear that I'm vegetarian. My mom believes that everyone in the world is out to do her harm, but Auntie made and brought me rice cake within two weeks of our first meeting.

Why is my mom getting paid well to do a job that is of absolutely no benefit to society? What's the point of money if all you'll do with it is buy fancy douchebag cars?

More importantly, why is it that that someone who literally has the power to save the world, is valued by society to be, at most, a custodian? I want a world which celebrates and rewards the skills and ideas that are necessary to our planetary health and survival. 

Louise was my homestay mom when I spent my summer in Quebec. I remember she was crying as I boarded the train back to Vancouver. I dream about being in her arms again. Arzeena is a local food security advocate who teaches her kids to say NO when other people offer them McDonalds. Her brand of activism is clearly maternally motivated. 

I have a Naomi Klein playlist on Youtube. She is clearly one of the most brilliant and beautiful women on the planet; the most perfect mixture of intellect and sweetheart. Dr. Cross is the professor whose influence caused me to become feminist. She's about the same age as my mom. It was Dr. Cross I went to when I felt demoralized about my activism; she taught me that hope isn't always necessary when you have a job to do. 

Society obsesses so much about the almighty father figure that I think it underestimates the importance of its counterpart. Or, we assume it's always there. 

When the arguments get really bad at home, my mom likes to say to me, "Don't call me 'ma'. I am not your ma." She's clearly a madwoman, undeserving of my patience, but still I try to work things out with her. I don't strike back. I try to maintain a semblance of dialogue. 

But today I wasn't in the mood to try anything so I yelled back: "No. YOU stop talking to me. You're not my ma."

She shut up for once; I don't know if it was out of surprise or burning hatred, but she shut up and left the house. I went upstairs and cried over my laptop. 

But a part of me felt liberated.  

Image Souce

Kick-Ass the comic book was a douchefest celebration of violence, racism, homophobia and sexism.

Dave, the main character, is a loser slob who only attends school to jerk off to his biology teacher and to stalk his prettier classmates. He spends his nights watching porn and the money earned by his single, night-shift working dad on comics. And somehow we're supposed to accept his sudden declaration of wanting to fight crime as a sign of his high principles. 

But even more than this inconsistency, I was bothered by Dave's conviction that the world had to be saved through violence. Dave does not demonstrate any understanding of societal ills, but he was nonetheless convinced that the best way to help people is by going on some type of destructive rampage. This is Dave's understanding of citizen involvement. 

Kick Ass is not the exception. Virtually every show I watched as a kid - from Power Rangers to Sailor Moon - was written with similar themes. This narrative of "superhero beats up bad guys" has been hammered into our minds and sewn into our very social fabric. These are the stories that we are told and taught from a young age, and no doubt we've taken it to heart -- I remember how my friends and I used to pow pow imaginary bad guys during recess.

This playacting is an innocent act in itself, but it indicates a larger societal pattern where physical vehemence is not just condoned but celebrated. It dichotomizes the world into good and bad, instead of recognizing that good people are always doing bad things, and vice versa. Saving the world is easy when the enemy is always someone else.

The superhero narrative further suggests that only those possessing super strength and super power, will be able to mobilize the forces of social good. And this is why my dad tells me that I can never make a difference. It doesn't matter if I compost and refuse to ride planes, because every movie we've ever seen is conditioning us to think that change can only be achieved by the super-elite, by powerful people "out there". The world can go to shit - but someone more powerful than you will do something about it. The superhero narrative is ultimately undemocratic and disabling.  

Can we imagine any alternative? Can we have stories that reflect upon a culture of peace, cooperation, and self-examination? (I know that last bit doesn't sound very fun, but we can't collaborate with other people and cultures unless we try understanding both them and ourselves) I want a narrative that reflects our real, lived experiences. The world is still in definite need of saving, but can we do it without violence and without labeling Other People as bad guys?

Such a story, if we can dream it, won't come from the Big Screen because Hollywood doesn't believe in social progress except for when it's profitable. But that's ok, because that's where we step up to the plate. We can define our own lives and tell our own stories, because we don't need no superheros. 

Well it sounds like Christmas
When the air is cold and grey
and like the solar warmth and beauty
I have locked my heart away

Every night I lie and listen
for the sound of love coming home
There's just the sweet descend of snowflakes
Every one of them alone

And I swear I'm not looking for the old days
It's not your cloudless eyes that I miss
But if starlight's the moment you touch me
You know I'm dreaming of your snowflake kiss

What if morning comes all quiet
and I am not there to see the light
I'll put my infant heart to sleep and
have it dream of you all night

I'm not always like D:< I swear! That's just for Xanga sorry I can become a more cheerful blogger! This is probably just a phase.

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A girls' night out with [Miley], [Cafe] and [Mint] consists of dressing up, making up, camwhoring, and spending a month' worth of lunch money on so-called fancy food that I don't particularly enjoy because it's never vegan. When I go out with Blenz, Mermaids or Shark we eat affordable, home-style, organic veggie food in hipster, boho restaurants and I wear whatever the hell is comfortable (dorky wool hats and all). Instead of making faces at a camera, we actually have conversations that aren't only about boys.

I'm so grateful to have them. I never thought I'd have people with whom I could be myself.  

I don't mean this to be a rant. I know the price of friendship maintenance is different from friend to friend and I make that sacrifice because we have that high school history. But it makes me realize how much I've changed since then. I've done a near 180 from the outgoing, optimistic girl who just wanted to make everybody smile. I knew that shitty stuff happened in the world, but let someone else take care of that. I only wanted to live quietly and to have a radio show about local jazz and to create an escapist world of music and art. 

I remember running on the field with a frisbee for every day of those five years, and now Trumon is about to do the same. I'm definitely living through him more than just a little. 

Trumon was at practice the other day and he told me about the bad curve that he had thrown. Apparently Lime had been there, back for a visit after having always been away from Vancouver.

"You mean for the 5 years I've been gone you haven't gotten any better?" said the older boy to my brother.

"Hey! I only started playing seriously last year."

"Fine, you haven't gotten better in these two years then? "

I remember seeing 17-year old Lime walking hand-in-hand with a 7-year old Trumon and ever since I've secretly wished for the two to become friends. I smiled at the story and I could hear the words coming from Lime himself. It's the closest we'll ever be to being friends again.

I remember that voice and grin, such audacious laughter coming from someone so lost and introverted. It made me feel warm to know that some things never change. 

[Batman]'s mom was diagnosed yesterday with terminal cancer. 

"Really, I'm okay. I'm just concerned about my dad and my sisters. I had a great 20 years with my mom. That's more than what most people get, so I'm just grateful. She might survive but the tumor's been there for 10 years so if it's her time, then I just have to accept it. I have to keep positive cause y'know...it's better than the alternative." 

He says this to me over lunch, which for him is a box of Timbits (mini doughnuts) and a large Coke. 

It's almost as if, short of having a miracle drug fall into our laps, there is nothing we can do about killer cell mutations. Cancer is a completely random and unpredictable occurrence and we're just helpless, sitting ducks. 

One thing we're really good at though, is opening our wallets.

I don't make it public knowledge that I resent the Terry Fox Run, which is practiced every year in all Canadian schools. As a kid, I was asked to pester my family for cancer research donations, and after each completed run we'd celebrate with a school-wide pizza lunch, complete with KFC and neon-coloured freezies.

If I didn't know any better, I'd call that a conspiracy.

Because every year they'd show us clips of Terry running across the Trans-Canada Highway but in none of those videos were we educated about healthy diets or carcinogens. Cancer is completely depoliticized and deprived of its causes and origins. It is mystified and put on a pedestal as something to be feared and respected. Cancer is a wonder in itself, so when it hits, all we can do is be afraid and to throw money at Big Pharma in the hopes that it will produce an equivalent counter-miracle. 

Millions of dollars are raised by the Run each year but this is not what fighting cancer looks like. Fighting cancer is to not eat a microwave dinner and to not dunk everything in MSG. Protesting the Alberta tar sands is a form of fighting cancer. I still get angry when I think of how my grandfather died a decade ago because cancer doesn't have to happen.

The cure for fear in every case is education. But instead of countering despair with empowerment and knowledge, our schools are actively fostering a culture of slacktivism. Health is not an accident, but something to be earned. 

Despite being restricted to only 140 characters per post, twitter is way more intelligent than facebook. When I log onto facebook I get pictures of people getting drunk at parties / grinding up in da club. For the past 6 days, my twitter feed has been flooded with updates of the Egyptian uprising. 

200 marchers in downtown Vancouver

I lost my protest virginity last Thursday. It's admittedly a funny way of putting it, but for me it's one of those pivotal life moments. All my activist work to date - the petitions, the letters, the articles for the school paper, the facebook discussions - all that was done in the safety of my home. It's easy to get the instant gratification from writing a couple words; it's harder to show your face and to put your own body on the line. 

It was a joyful, happy protest - it was like nothing I imagined. The rally was attended by students, faculty and other concerned Vancouver citizens. I couldn't believe my eyes as the megaphone was handed to senior, disabled, and low-income women; they finally had a voice and it was a beautiful, impossible sight. I felt myself tearing up as our voices joined with those of the Downtown Eastside (DTES) residents. There was music and dancing in the streets and I have never been so proud of our Vancouver.

That was last Thursday. Yesterday night I was browsing the internet like how I always do and I noticed something different. A lot of the time I read activist lit and write stuff on the internet to help dissipate my agitation and anger, but now that inner unrest was gone. I still read and I wrote, but now it wasn't out of a need for something to cling onto.

There's a Season 6 episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer where Buffy is told that everything she's ever known about vampires and Sunnydale is a hallucination, and that she's actually a mental patient in the hospital. During this episode she fluctuates wildly in between the hospital (a vampire-free world) and her demon-infested Sunnydale. In the end she is asked to choose one of the two realities.

I know you know that I'm heavy with the dramatics, but I can't think of a better way to describe my activist life. In my Sunnydale there are people who eat McDonalds and parents who want you to shut up and friends who look awkwardly away when I suggest bringing your own mug to the club icebreaker. In Sunnydale I have to argue with [bebe] and Starr. In my hospital I can play dress up with friends and smile at boys and obey my grandparents. There isn't anyone to call me a lesbian, man-hating feminist. 

This is about acceptance. Which is the reality where I can find that solace, where I don't have to question my own sanity?

But I remember marching down the Vancouver street with 200 hundred others, yelling and singing at the top our lungs about freedom and possibility. And in that group the college boys weren't the usual gamers or jocks, but 3-dimensional humans who don't look away from the people sleeping in the streets. The women don't have to wear Aritzia to be beautiful. When low-income people have something to say, we give them a megaphone and we listen. 

And it's possible from my computer desk to imagine that these people exist, but at the rally I saw their faces and I shared their spirit. I'm not so scared anymore, because I know I'm not alone. 

HuckDuck sent me a link over both facebook and twitter about Gordon Ramsay's investigation of shark endangerment due to the luxury Chinese dish of shark fin soup. I didn't post anything in reply so he found me over msn: "Did you see my link? That was soo disturbing."

I basically only said "mhmm" in reply because hey, I've talked about animal abuse for years now and people - including HuckDuck - have either ignored me or told me I was crazy. Anyway, there are much worse things that happen in the animal product industry. It's too easy to criminalize shark slaughter because it's something that's done by "Other People In China". It doesn't require any sacrifice on our part to talk about it.

Most of the time I'm in despair at how everything I say seems to disappear into a dark void of social complacency. But then I realized - when HuckDuck saw that Youtube clip, the first person he turned to was me. When confronted with the planetary injustice of species extermination, it was me that HuckDuck went to for validation. 

Once in awhile I get similar comments from other people: "I like how you're so passionate about everything," or "I like how you care about media issues." It's nice to know that there are people who appreciate my efforts even if they're not yet willing to stand up for anything themselves. I symbolize something to them, and for those who choose to convert, I become a resource and ally. It's these people I think of when it feels like no one's listening. 

I walked through Holt Renfrew for the first time today in the puffy jacket I've had since grade 7 (I swear I've grown since then...vertically...somewhat) and the whole time I was bristling with self-consciousness.

My discomfort was about more than just the dollars in my bank. It was the way the store had conspicuously poised their shelf of "new reusable bags". The way the mallers were walking through casually with their friends, A&W takeout in hand, while HR staff were sizing us up based on race and attire. The way the crowd felt comfortable in this commercial, gentrified space that in reality is hostile to all except those who dress like movie stars. The way a $4000 jacket could pay for 8 month's rent. The way HR can take over our city with its shiny real estate and its billboard proclamations and then turn around and tell us that it's us who don't belong. 

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I never knew what true democracy was like until I joined CJSF. On just the 8-person exec board we have people who are coloured, LGBT, young, elderly, vegetarian, female and disabled. Most of us fit in more than one category. In other words, an entire Vancouver radio station is being run by minorities. We have a station manager, but he is not our boss and he doesn't tell us what to do. Each individual is accountable to everyone else; all decisions are made as a collective. 

jhr (journalism for human rights) held a free Canada-wide conference today; there were 25 attendees total. The group was white and cliquey (high school v.2!) but hey, I get that mingling's hard for all the involved parties, especially without a supportive environment.

What I couldn't forgive was the smoking, Coca-Cola, gummy worms, makeup, Tim Hortons, bottled water, Coach bags and mall rats. 

I'm so matronly, I know. The conference facilitator even said at one point, "I don't expect you to be anti-discrimination, sexism, racism and environmental degredation all at once, much less do something about them all. It's impossible!"

But why? How hurtful is avoiding cigarettes, fast food and $400 designer bags to our quality of life? How difficult is it to say NO to sexual objectification, $1.45 packages of candy and disposable tissues? You can't be a feminist who isn't concerned about the environment, and you can't fight for gay rights if you don't care about aboriginals. I used to think that the term "activist" was lame because it was too broad and vague, but now I understand that activism is a package deal. 

My best friends are Shark, who smokes, and Mermaids, who's a neoliberal. But I don't expect anything from them because they didn't sign up for a human rights conference! We spent all today talking about Chinese censorship, human trafficking, WalMart sweatshops - as if human rights abuses happen only in places other than here. As if we can critique others before reforming ourselves. And we wonder why we felt so powerless in affecting real change! 

None of us are saints, but god, why aren't we trying? Especially while claiming to be agents of change? Especially when it's so easy?

I'm not this antagonizing in real life, obviously. I nod and agree with Blenz when she reiterates the need for fun and friendly environmentalism. I smile demurely when people say, "I should start carrying a reusable mug," and then I offer gentle words of encouragement. But I resent having to baby people into activism and my frustration ends up here.

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Can I just add that French boys are the real deal. They're pretty, compulsively polite and activist. France is socialist! Student rallies happen on a yearly basis! AND they speak French! I am clearly in the wrong country. 

I was at my co-op counselor's office a couple weeks ago, and when she asked what type of work I was looking for I cut her off before she could finish. 

"Non-profit. Definitely nothing commercial."

Once upon a time, I would have thought that that was enough to protect myself from becoming a pawn for Big Corporate, but working in the non-profit sector has taught me a substantial amount about how censorship and oppression really works. 

I wanted to report on the relationship between Sustainable SFU and our university administration. My friend, a Sustainable exec, said No straight off the bat. The admin basically wants to stall for as long as it can on environmental reform because it knows that students typically become involved in the campus community at around their third year of study. If it can hold out for just a year or two more we'll graduate, leaving it free to do nothing at all. And yet, Sustainable SFU will say nothing negative about them, lest they refuse to cooperate entirely. 

I also make radio documentaries for the local museum. Because the museum doesn't get enough public funding, it is forced to accept corporate dollars. I didn't understand at first why all the exhibits were about "The History of Technology", until I realized our public museum was doing profiles on local tech companies and "their contributions to our community". The rash of public spending cuts in BC have caused the province to become increasingly privatized - the museum has gone from being a city historian to a corporate archiver, a for-rent ad service that relies on this ass-kissery to survive. 

And finally, I love the CBC, despite everything. Despite laying off journalists and replacing intellectual talk with swishy animation during the news. Despite them producing the crappiest quality television next to MTV. Despite their focus on branding and celebrity creation over depth of content. I love the CBC despite its hierarchal, corporate structure and its exclusion of citizen opinion and participation. I love the CBC, but the lack of government funding has it groveling for more audience, which results in lowest common denominator productions. 

I want to bring these unethical business practices to light, but I don't want to lose my jobs ([Bomberman] has had trouble finding work because employers don't like that he used to be a Free Tibet activist. We are in Canada!). And what's more, we have to keep playing nice if we ever hope to achieve cooperation. We can't offend the university administration, and attacks on public museums and broadcasters will be interpreted not as "they can't do what they are meant to because they lack funding," but as "public services suck anyway so why not cut them altogether". 

I resent how my friends say I'm innocent and sheltered because I can't make rape/homo/"that's what she said" jokes. But they have no idea about anything else, and what's more, they don't want to.