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JStressJam
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Country: United States
State: California
Gender: Male
Interests: Way too much...why don't you ask?
Expertise: I think I've finally conquered breathing.
Occupation: Student
Industry: Education/Research
Message: message me
Member Since:
10/31/2003
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| I'm feeling old and out of place. And it really feels like I'm having problems breathing. It's not just because of the fires in the area, but it's something else. I'm suffocating, but I don't know why.
I've been listening to Pandora radio more frequently than before. I've been limiting my CD purchases, so it's nice to just listen to music with no strings attached. Needless to say, I keep a wish list on Half.com open in case some song comes up that I really enjoy. That list has grown exponentially since I started really using Pandora to discover music.
There are radio stations for everything. I have my pseudo-country folksy singer station (Jewel), my pop divas (Christina Aguilera, Leona Lewis), my emo-pop-punk-alternative bands (Cartel, Yellowcard, Weezer), my emotive songwriters/songs (Chasing Cars, Duncan Sheik). And lately I've added my reminiscing of being a kid (New Kids on the Block/late 80s early 90s stuff). Who knew?
I felt compelled to post the lyrics of one song I found through Pandora as I was contemplating a post on my lack of breath. It's almost a feeling of claustrophobia, of being constricted by something left unseen. It's paralyzing, and I'm searching for the answer of how to get out of this funk that's left me feeling less than funky.
Get me out of this place, before I cause more damage,
a small price to pay for building houses out of matchsticks;
and when things get too hot, you've got me to blame for,
every fire that breaks out in every lover's name, {so...}
Don't forget, we've got unfinished business,
stories yet to unfold,
tales that must be retold,
and I regret not knowing when to put an end to all this madness,
keeps me wanting,
keeps me wanting more...
Sell me out I'm yesterday's old news,
phrases left on paper,
black ink bleeding through
the pages where we made our history.
Call me foolish,
I feel hopeless...
Running from lions, never felt like such a mistake (Like a dear caught in the headlights)
Running from lions, never felt like such a mistake (I won't know what hit me...)
Running from lions, never felt like such a mistake (Like a dear caught in the headlights)
Running from lions, never felt like such a... (I won't know what hit me...)
Don't forget, we've got unfinished business,
stories yet to unfold,
tales that must be retold,
and I regret not knowing when to put an end to all this madness,
keeps me wanting,
keeps me wanting more... | | |
| I am overwhelmed to the point that I find myself unable to breathe. My sleep is disturbed, and I have as many nervous breakdowns as I did during first semester finals. And worst of all is I have no clue why it's happening like this.
I tend to complain a lot in this space. It's the reason I got one of these things in the first place. In real life, life outside of the computer and outside of my personal space, I am more of a no one than I am here. I've come to terms with the fact that my ethnic mask places me in a particular role, and more often than not I am happy to play the part of that quiet guy who shrinks into the background and doesn't talk much.
It's easier to hide from it all. To be that one person who goes without notice. It was so easy growing up, when all the other kids grew taller and I stayed the same. I have a tuxedo that we bought in late 1996. It was my uniform for one of the high school choirs I was in, the one I had to buy because at the time I hadn't converted kids' sizes to men's sizes. I still fit in that suit, 12 years later.
It's easy to be that shy, unassuming type when people insult you to your face. In my 4th grade yearbook, there's a guy who signed it in his best faux Chinese restaurant accent. I have no clue why he would do that, but it's a remnant of what I didn't understand about human nature back in the day. But so much went on in my head during that time that looking back on where I've been and who I am, I wonder how I survived.
Back then, the administrators of my elementary and middle school sent me to speech therapy. Growing up in a refugee household, I had learned Mandarin and Cantonese before I learned English. I had (and still have) problems with pronunciation of "ph," "f," "th," "s" and "z" at times. In middle school and high school, the administrators sent me to counseling. As much I thought there were incompetent and careless people teaching and mentoring us during school, these people caught something. I don't know where I'd be had it not been for someone noticing that things were off for me.
When I got to grad school, I wanted to do a project about silence. Despite the musicality of languages that existed in my home as a child, the sound of silence was deafening. It was a house of ghosts, with photos of dead relatives I would never know and that my parents would never talk about. I spent much of those years frightened by the idea that I am part of this legacy of silence. I wondered what my parents saw when they looked at me, and when I look at myself, part of me screams to try and break a silence I can never understand. The silence, profound in its effect, has, as I pursued my educational objectives, traumatized me to my core. A huge part of who I am now is that shattered individual who has resigned himself to being that quiet guy no one notices.
It makes law school that much harder when it reminds me of high school and all the things I hated (and continue to hate) about myself. I can't complain in person, not well at least. Most of the time, it would seem that there's nothing to complain about. I'm enjoying my job, although there are never enough hours in the day to get what I want to do done. If I stop to think about things and complain in person, I feel that I will completely break down. At least here, in this space, I can break down and not have to worry about shattering someone else's preconceived notions in front of their faces. As if anyone really reads these entries any way.
The good thing about moving beyond the last few years, however, is the perspective I've gained. But I've still got a lot of growing up to do. With my birthday coming up next week to remind me how far away the darkest of my days have passed, I'd like to think that I haven't completely given up. But after my "interview" with MAN last week, I feel like I've resigned myself to a life of underachievement. And silence. Which can, if I don't do something about it, traumatize and paralyze me all over again.
Four fast weeks of summer internship done. Six more (at least) jam-packed weeks left. Please accomplish something. | | |
| Is this what being an attorney feels like? I've got to say that I'm loving the work. The workload is picking up though, and I hope I don't feel too overwhelmed to do anything about it.
I finally finished my first memo about public benefits for victims of human trafficking. It's interesting seeing how much of a response it has elicited from both political parties and all the different regulations that have been put out there by all sorts of agencies. Once that was done, I could finally edit the memo with the feedback from my supervising attorneys and prepare the information sheet.
This is going to be fascinating. HRH and LSNC are part of a nascent coalition working with the Rescue and Restore effort to coordinate services and advocacy for victims of sex and labor trafficking, sort of like CAST is in Los Angeles. I'm working with our outreach coordinator on this, and she has been nothing but helpful in getting me as many resources as possible to do this project. I may be presenting this to the larger coalition, which makes me excited that this project will result in something but nervous about my contribution being so overly hyped.
I'm also starting the hospital visitations next week as part of my contribution to a larger survey on compliance with California law on providing notice of policies for discount and charity care for uninsured and underinsured patients. I am really looking forward to checking in on these hospitals to see what the situation is like, although I am nervous about visiting the ERs. ERs make me nervous, and I certainly don't want to get in the way.
Today, the start of three projects were tossed at me. My project with MAN will be worked out (hopefully) Friday morning, when my supervising attorney and I head out to Del Paso Heights another time to figure things out. I'm feeling really bad about this part of my internship. It's already the end of week four, and I haven't done anything other than talk. What if this talk leads to nothing but wasted time? I don't want to leave it like that.
The managing attorney gave me the giant case file for something that LSNC may be appealing to the 9th District Court of Appeals. I've been reading through the file just to get acquainted with the specifics, and I'm really just disgusted by the bureaucracy of it. It's an unusual case, but it strikes me as normal in how the patient is being treated by the insurer. I don't know; maybe I'm just jaded. But the story makes me want to work harder. Right now, I'm supposed to do a memo on the balance between specific allegations of amounts versus the attorney's ethical obligations to the facts. I hope my Civ Pro grade doesn't fail me know (since I finally know what it is, and I'm not at all disappointed by it).
My supervising attorney, in between all the jokes and stories, started me on part of one of her projects about Medi-Cal fee for service providers in South Sacramento and Del Paso Heights. I'll be making phone calls to providers to see if they are taking new clients. It seems pretty simple, and it should be a good start to getting her project further along. She showed me this GIS map of the percentage of FFS beneficiaries in Sac County, and they were concentrated in three zip codes. It was actually quite shocking. Of the three regions, we've only thus far found one provider in Del Paso Heights, which by far has the highest concentration of beneficiaries. When we went to visit the area, we couldn't find a single clinic or medical facility.
Otherwise, there are a lot of meetings. I'm attending the Sacramento Health Improvement Project (?) meeting tomorrow morning, HRH case review in the afternoon, MAN meeting Friday morning, LSNC Sacramento bowling party (to make up for the cancelled all-LSNC picnic), and many others. My supervisor is working on a Medi-Cal case that may go to a hearing, so I'll get to help prepare for that and may get to go to the hearing and see one first-hand.
I'm really getting excited. But it's scary, and I don't want to mess things up for any of the people involved.
Is this what growing up is like? Because I'm having second thoughts... | | |
| I'm trying to reconcile all the news and views I've been getting as time passes between entries. I would like to write more often, because my head is swimming with stories and curiosities. Somehow, though, the energy just isn't there for much other than rolling over in bed.
Things are very isolating all around. I'm thankful that I have my own space for a change. When I was at USC, I lived in the same dorm room for my four school years there. Only for about a few months my senior did I have that room truly to myself (my first roommate that year moved to a frat house, and my second roommate found some place cheaper off campus). When I left for college, I essentially left my room; ever since November 2000, I've slept on the couch in the living room on my trips back home.
I lived in apartments during my two summers with orientation. I had lucked out and gotten my own room that first summer; my roommates shared the other one. While I appreciated sharing space with great people, I couldn't help but hate myself for feeling like I made other people resentful. Even if that was all just in my head, I really had a whole lot of made-up drama that I imagined; it affected how I related to others. I had my own apartment, a wheelchair-accessible unit, during my stint as Orientation Coordinator. It was there I learned to appreciate ovens and stoves; I was actually using it.
When I moved to Westwood in September 2004, the space forced me back into myself. I shared a one-bedroom apartment with two others, both of whom spoke Cantonese and didn't realize that I understood what they were saying. While I knew they weren't speaking about me, the association of a "foreign" language with speaking in my presence, while I was on the phone, or while I was using my computer or reading a book, filled me with dread. I wondered what they were saying about me, or if I warranted mention at all. Sharing the room with an undergrad was strange as well, since my experience at UCLA was monumentally different than his was. I didn't have a bad relationship with my roommates, but I think my relationship with myself was made more difficult; there just wasn't space to beat myself up when I need that kind of ass-kicking.
Moving to Davis last year, I really didn't know what to expect. I live in a space larger than the space I shared in Westwood. It's certainly bigger than my dorm room at USC, and my parents said it looked bigger than the space I shared with my brother when I was in high school. I get to stretch and exercise in this modest space, something I haven't been able to in "my space" since my OC days in 2004. I sit on the floor with the books that have been my best friends and worst enemies this past year of 1L hell. In all this space, though, I feel so incredibly isolated.
It stretches to the work I do in getting to work and being at work. I've been busing from Davis to Sacramento for this internship. It's allowed me to get caught up on my leisure reading, something that the staff attorneys at HRH encourage and make time for in their busy schedules. On the bus, time melts away. I stare out the window or read, and I'm transported (in both literal and figurative senses) away from my thoughts of law school and isolation and into the world in which I want to function. It's strange, then, that when I get to work I sit at a desk in the back of the office. I do overhear everything, but it feels physically separate. And it contributes to my sense of isolation, despite how much I really do enjoy working in that office.
In reviewing my entries from this past year, which have been few and far between, I've wondered if this was the right place for me. I'm not good with words or particularly good with interacting with people. The few networking type events I've been to, where attorneys really do want the students to get to know them, have just been painful for me. Scholarship Night with the Asian Bar Association of Sacramento was the first of such painful events. Although the event was designed to acknowledge us, I just never felt comfortable. Some great attorneys came up to speak to me as I sat in the corner hoping to fade into the background. That probably saved my night. But I just can't do this whole networking thing, and a large part of me refuses to play by those rules.
Work is progressing, although I feel like I'm just sitting there like a lump. There's so much going on in that office, and I want to learn about everything. I think I'll just start sitting with the advocates and hearing them go through calls. I'll start visiting the different program managers and attorneys at the hotline and chat with them about their projects. When my project with MAN starts up, I won't be complaining.
I need to remember that this is the type of organization that excites me. During the second week of my internship, the staff attorneys presented to the Sacramento County Board of Supervisors about proposed budget and staffing cuts affecting county clinics, including the closing of three clinics; one of these clinics served a large proportion of the county's homeless population. The team had suggested that closing the clinics would result in the county falling below it's Cal. Welf. & Inst. Code § 17000 obligations to ensure the health of every resident of the county. That week, we worked with the California Nurses Association to present testimony and submit written declarations from three of the nurses. Because the attorneys didn't know when they would be speaking, I was given the opportunity to work with the nurses to edit the prepared documents, running from the hearing once we figured out the changes and printing edited copies for them to sign. It was a small thing, but the county has since decided not to close the clinics. Unfortunately, services will be cut; the hours and days were slashed drastically. But there were no closures of the clinics.
Lately, I've been stuck on the research project I was assigned when I started. The extended deadline is this upcoming week, and I only have one section left to write. But I've been pretty darn apathetic about it. It's an interesting subject (the availability of public benefits for victims of human trafficking), and I've got an abundance of materials that I'm now working from a closed library of resources. It's just been frustrating that it's taken so long to do this. Plus I've just been so tired from the last month of school that I don't have any energy. I've been falling asleep at work, and the outreach coordinator, whose office is one of those in the back with my desk, has noticed this. As a result, Pepsi is one of the things I purchase on Monday, Wednesday and Friday mornings (starting last week). I don't know why I can't shake off this lack of energy.
It's made me very nostalgic for being a child again. One of the bright spots about my bus rides from my apartment to campus throughout the year is passing by the elementary school. I see all the kids hanging out, running and laughing with each other, and I wonder what happened in my life to change things from that. I used to be like that, so trusting and seeing the good in everyone around me. Maybe I was just surrounded by genuinely good people. Maybe I was a stupid kid. But I miss that. I've been watching old TV shows and cartoons, and I've been listening to music that was around that instantly remind me of being a kid. While I wasn't paying attention to the New Kids on the Block, for instance, listening to The Right Stuff instantly brought back happy memories of elementary school and of people I've known at various points in life. What happened to me to get me to where I am now?
Tomorrow starts a new week of work, which includes further defining of my project at MAN, turning in this memo finally, setting out plans for the hospital visits over the next few weeks, and figuring out what to do with myself in the meantime. | | |
| Today was eye-opening and reaffirming. I hope the energy will last over the next few years of my life.
A Tour of Poverty
Today, the LSNC interns took the "River Walk" portion of the summer internship. While things had been hinted earlier this week at orientation, I had no clue how impactful it would be for me personally. It became the event of most impact thus far.
We started at LSNC Sacramento, got into cars and drove down to the River. We trekked a short bike route to the bridge, noticing remainders of camps and portions of tent cities during the day on our way to a bridge over the river. There, the managing attorney of the Sacramento office explained the history of homelessness, how the United States created its status as being the only industrialized nation to have homelessness problems like we do.
He talked about the closing of mental health institutions. They seemed barbaric, so they were closed for alternative community mental health centers. Which were never funded or built. Then GI benefits were slashed so that veterans could no longer afford to pay rent. Affordable single-room occupancy hotels were shut down in the name of blight; where else could people go to get $100 per month rents? Laws were passed criminalizing homelessness, although not explicitly naming the homeless as its target. Foster children were booted out of the system at the age of 18, given only $200 in assistance on their way out.
And then there were the lawyers. In Sacramento, LSNC attorneys argued that the amounts provided under general assistance programs were not enough for subsistence. In a case that went up to the California Supreme Court, the court found that counties needed to provide a minimum amount of support, but that it didn't need to be in cash form. Those of GA only got $30 in cash, and more people ended up living alongside the river. With the welfare reform movement during Clinton's presidency, families were becoming homeless after the five years of benefits ended. And now with the high amount of foreclosures, we may only have begun to see homeless families.
It's this criminalization of being homeless that gets to me. Everyone has bad days, some more than others. Yet our governments punish those whose governments failed them. These politicians knew what they were doing. For that, they have blood on their hands. And although well-meaning lawyers had contributed to the problem, the LSNC lawyers have stood by their clients, helping them as best as they could after all these setbacks forced them from the river.
We went to Loaves and Fishes to meet Sister Libby, the tireless woman who oversees the operation. What a place. She spoke of the history of the organization, how they would respond to problem after problem in order to provide some sort of dignity and personhood to the homeless. The city and county certainly weren't. There are showers, hot meals, lockers, a private park, day care, a school, a library, phones, and even a kennel. Women who owned pets were not being allowed into shelters because pets weren't allowed. This is quite an operation, responding to problems that present themselves in ways I never would have thought. I was moved.
As we were waiting for Sister Libby, a woman walked by with her dog. Seeing us, she came to speak to us about the dog, which had a perfectly symmetrical white star in its fur. She called it her hero, or something like that. Blue, the dog, clearly had a good relationship with her. We learned from our attorney guide that often women would have pets to protect themselves, and that they wouldn't leave their pets just for a shelter. Indeed, Blue seemed protective of the woman; she told us of a time where he stopped a chainsaw from operating nearby.
Loaves and Fishes is quite an amazing place. Things are interconnected and exist for a reason: a recognized need in the homeless community that is not being met by the county. The organization receives no public funding, allowing it to do more things without the strings attached to federal funding. But it hasn't been without its challenges. Sister Libby and Bill (LSNC Sacramento's managing attorney and our amazing guide for the day) told us about the city's attempt to shut Loaves and Fishes down in order to start redevelopment. It cited the facilities for 48 different violations, including intruding on its own property and, my favorite, serving the homeless on Sundays without a permit. Great attack on a religious organization, huh?
In what has to be the most beautifully crafted response to the allegations of the lawsuit, the pro-bono and LSNC attorneys opened their document with Bible passages. I'm not a religious person. I feel that most people who cite verses from the Bible tend to be right-wingers trying to hurt others. But here, at the very core of all the volunteers behind Loaves and Fishes, was compassion that ran deep. I was very impressed by the guts that that legal team had in standing by the convictions of the organization it was representing. Needless to say, the bad press, which initially showered Loaves and Fishes, was aimed now at the city to the point where People Magazine was outraged.
We next visited a transitional housing project called Quinn Cottages. They are small units, but they felt like home. The two I looked into were comfortable and inviting; they didn't feel restrictive or claustrophobic. And there were similar battles here. But the community decided how they wanted to live, with a residential association that somewhat self-polices and certainly self-supports. Since it's temporary housing, there's a statutory two-year period of eligibility. But what the project has seen is people moving on in 13 months. And 14 families have gone from homeless to home OWNERS. I think that result speaks for itself. Listening to people and letting them determine how things should be is a better step than the models the government tried to force feed upon them.
Finally, we stopped by the former McClellan AFB to visit Serna, a housing program for families with substantial needs. It was a beautiful community; I told someone later that it seemed like that ideal American complex. It's not white picket fences, but it's beautiful. Community gardens, playgrounds, multiple bedrooms, community rooms, youth empowerment and life skills training, families, kids running around on grass. It was idyllic.
We met three remarkable women who held leadership positions in the community. They were open and honest about their experiences, the process of getting there and what tremendous growth they've experienced because of the opportunities they received. Many of the families living here have been reunited, taking kids out of the foster system and into stable home environments. We were all very moved by one woman sharing her story of getting to sobriety and regaining the trust of her children, something that she desperately needed. I know I felt like crying for joy with her.
As in the other sites, Bill told us about some of the problems that came to be in preparing for Serna Village. Homeless agencies had priority over every other non-federal entity in using former military bases. So LSNC helped put in a request when it saw that McClellan was being closed. The City also wanted the land, so LSNC agreed to let them in early if the city granted the existing hotel to the homeless project. The City did this, then proceeded to disregard it. It allowed another entity to lease the hotel and tried to avoid having LSNC and the buyer meet each other. After a series of negotiations and protests, LSNC won.
And how! Two of the lawyers put together a master settlement and ran it by a transactional lawyer, who noticed that there were going to be several problems down the road. Taking all that contract law and property law that's shoved down our throats first year, the new contract granted the homeless project title to the hotel in case the city didn't make good on its promise (which included immediate housing for 40 families and building the Village). The transactional lawyer was doing this pro bono, and we were told that he would have normally charged $250,000 for such a transaction.
Needless to say, I left feeling both satisfied and incredibly angry. I saw people working in the community to create community. I saw the fruits of much hard work by lawyers who listened to the community, letting the community speak for itself to get where its members wanted to be. But all these problems still exist, and they are exacerbated by the ease in which policy makers can try to hide problems and blame other things for what they have done. This whole day was the event that I needed to continue through this hellish game of law school, and I feel like I can't regret this decision of mine if it lets me do this work in one way or another. | | |
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