On the Insignificance of Brian Foo

Contrary to purpose, reading Voltaire makes a Candide of me. Upon reflection of the story, I must confess that I also believe I live in the best of all possible worlds. Or rather, in this grotesquely imperfect world, I inhabit the best situation. I am incredibly blessed with the right amount of wealth/poverty at the right times to enable me acceptance into the right "programs"; doubly am I blessed with the right talents, for presentation and positive impression, regardless of substance; triply am I blessed for my unparalleled education up to this point; but most thankful am I for my passion and strong sentiments, for though they cause me much suffering and chaos in this life and make a fool of me in many circumstances, they also bring my life a fullness I seldom witness in others.

To whom do I owe these blessings? Society. The Democrats. Countless social welfare programs and nonprofit organizations. Most of all, my parents.

I feel I have a heavy debt to pay to society. I am standing on the shoulders of giants, my purpose yet unfulfilled. I must give back. I must give back. This is why I'm in college: to better understand my world, the power structures of human society, the troubles and sufferings of people who are without power, and the means by which these people can be empowered. The only way to live up to the gifts I've received in the past seven years of my life is to pay back: sevenfold, elevenfold - help people, keep paying back evermore.

(However, for the people to which I am most indebted, my parents, my contributive efforts are most impotent. I am a plague upon their lives. I traumatize my brothers. I am terrible. I know not how to amend my deeds; right now, I seek only escape from further witness.)

Seeing my life in this light, Brian Foo becomes very small. Transient. Ephemeral. A joy, but not deeply significant. The story of Candide makes me count my blessings; he is one of the best blessings in my life right now. However, the story also makes me think about the temporary nature of blessings: my life is going to be long and eventful, whatever joy or pain I feel I have experienced thus far will be nothing compared to the accumulated joy or pain I have yet to experience; Brian may be joy today and sorrow tomorrow; I don't know, it doesn't matter right now; I'm so young, I know so little about the world, I'm an unbroken idealist and abstractionist, I have a lot of hurting left to do. I embrace the coming suffering as it is the only thing in life that I am sure leads to growth; or if not growth, then signficant change; I do not ask for pain to come to me; nor do I brood, placing upon it dooming expectation; I think nothing of it, yet suffering will come of its own accord. That said, I am prepared.

Sometimes I want him to be my everything. This is magical thinking. I express it in saccharine platitudes, causing cavities in both our mouths. Other times, like in his cold moods of quietness when he ignores me, he becomes but a passing snowflake to me: unique? yes. lovely? surely. significant? not at all. There will be others, I don't care. I can't tell, and I won't hold my breath.

On Self-Condemning Ideals and My Wish for Redemption

I am inspired by the Blue and White article featuring the accomplishments of a certain Columbia student, who is a former slam poet from San Francisco, and who is now deeply involved in issues concerning immigrant and migrant worker rights.

That's amazing.

I come from a similar background, and feel that I have lost my roots, or perhaps was never heartfully involved in the matter of social justice and human rights. All the workshops that I went to, all the programs I've been involved in, CYI especially - I feel these ideals were never very deeply lodged in me. I have been involved in many activities throughout high school, but maybe only for the purely selfish motive of promoting myself in college applications. Maybe the do-gooder in me is only as good for the world as greed is socially beneficial in a market system.

So I want to open my mind a little more to the world: the poor, the needy, those for whom I claim to be securing a privileged education, the people I want to help when I graduate.

Do I still want to do this? Or have I blackened totally to the temptation of investment banking and the evil (but oh so golden) side of my nefarious major?

At the end of my Theoreticals class, Professor Burgstaller said to me in a brief conversation regarding Smith's conception of productive and unproductive labor: "the economic surplus allows wasteful people like Wallstreet Workers and Lawyers to survive." They are the waste of society. Yeah, who needs them? Some economists disagree. I, myself, am not sure.

In French class, when the SIPA students speak, I'm lost. I have nothing to say about current events because I haven't read the news lately. I guess maybe I've never really cared about any of the issues, or I would, at least by some urge of curiosity, have taken the time to figure all the stuff out. What the hell is going on in the Middle East? Words and terms I do not know. Newspapers I do not read. I am living in a bubble!

I am displeased with myself. I want to know what my world is made of. I want to know stop this self-important academic seclusion. I want to get out of this academic bubble and really see people for what they are, what they want, what they fight for.

I came into college thinking I knew what I was studying for: social justice, giving back to society, bettering my world. I am worried that I was never deeply committed to the cause. Well, I want to be.