Michelle Nguyen, Vietnam

Teacher: Pam Ames

"Hello," "Good morning class," "How are you all today?" Lovely eyes with a beautiful smile always on her face. A beautiful personality that I will never forget in my whole life. This describes my teacher, Mrs. Wanda Taylor. Today, I want to share my story about my great English as a Second Language teacher that I had when I first started eighth grade in America.

The first time I saw "Mrs. Taylor," I did not know whether I would like her or not. According to my Vietnamese culture, it is very disrespectful when you look straight at another person’s eyes when he or she is a lot older than you are. As a result, I was afraid to look straight at Mrs. Taylor’s eyes when I was working one-on-one with her every day for two hours. However, this did not last very long. Mrs. Taylor’s great teaching style and her endearing charm made me want to look at her face, to laugh with her, and to share joy with her as I accomplished what needed to be done in her class.

Mrs. Taylor was a professional woman. She usually dressed very well when she came to class. She was in her late 50s, and she was approximately 5’7" tall and slightly overweight. She was very well prepared for the class. For example, she would write down everything that she was going to cover in two hours on the board, and she would put a check mark after each item when she was done with it.

What impressed me the most was her great personality. I remember her sitting patiently on the chair and hearing me tell her about my experiences in life, or about my thoughts on many different things in life. For example, I could talk to her about my family difficulties in Vietnam. My parents had to work hard selling rice in order to put my siblings and me through college. I could also tell her about how I felt about life in America, about how it is much colder here than in Vietnam. She was willing to listen and she was willing to offer advice.

Mrs. Taylor’s style of teaching was very different from other ESL teachers that I have met over the years. She would take me to the museum for one hour just to show me what I needed to learn from the museum, like how early Iowa farmers grew corn. Or she would take a walk with me around the room just to pick up such things as an apple, a chair, or a pencil and listen to me pronounce those words. She smiled beautifully each time that I pronounced a word correctly. Her encouragement made me try to do my very best in her class so I could get her beautiful smile and her hugs.

What I loved most about Mrs. Taylor was that she loved me the way I was. She did not love me because I was somebody important. She loved me because my name was "Michelle." I could see this by the way she treated me. She would share an apple with me, and she would let me try her favorite V8 tomato juices. She even let me borrow and take home her handkerchief when I caught a cold during my trip to Chicago with her. Sometimes, when I had to stay late at school, she offered me a ride home without complaining that she had to be home with her family.

Although she never described herself as a happy person, I knew that she was. I could see that by listening to her singing by herself at her desk. Sometimes, she would sing "Jingle Bells" or "My Darling Clementine" and ask me to sing it with her. Once in a while she let me sit next to her, and together, we would sit by the window and watch the snow falling outside the window. She shared her story as a young girl growing up in Seattle, Washington who loved to watch a rainbow. She talked to me about her trips to Colorado Springs and how she experienced walking on the Rocky Mountains.

Three years ago, Mrs. Taylor passed away because she had bone cancer. This was a big loss for all of us as her former students. Her death was so unexpected, I was stunned to hear the news from my friends. At the funeral service, I could not control myself. When they played her favorite song, "What a Wonderful World" by Louis Armstrong, I burst into tears. I could not believe this had happened so soon. I felt regret that I did not have a chance to tell her that I loved her, that she was my favorite teacher, that she was my closest friend, and above all, that she was my great mentor.

I do not think that there are any words in any language that can describe the great friendship between Mrs. Taylor and me. I know now and for the rest of my life that I love her, I will never forget her, and that she will always be in my heart.

* * *

My American dream does not involve material things as much as it did before. Well, of course I would not mind making a hundred thousand dollars during some point in my life. However, as long as I have a wonderful healthy family, and am able to live a nice comfortable life, then that is all I could ask for. I say this because, when you really think about this issue, you can live like a king by being able to afford everything under the sun; however, what is the point in having this if you are not able to share this with the one person you truly love? Of course you might be saying to yourself that it would be an incredible dream come true to be able to live a life of luxury, but what I am saying is that a person should be happy if they are healthy, and are able to live a good life without having to wake up in the morning worrying about how you are going to pay for this month’s rent and be able to provide food for yourself or family. That is all I am saying.

I must say that most of my dream has come true because I found the one special woman in my life that I am going to marry. She is the love of my life. I must admit that a couple of years ago, I thought of my American dream being somewhat different than just having a nice family, making a good living, and being healthy. At that time, my American dream involved making tons of money, having a huge glorious mansion, and driving fancy cars such as a BMW, or a Rolls Royce. Very high expectations. Well, of course I still want that very much; however, I now realize that money and material items are not everything in life. I think the reason why I now feel this is because I am aging and realizing my own perspective towards life.

It is also interesting that each and every other person has their own views about their American dream. For example, one person’s dream might involve the issue of making money, and another person’s dream might involve something other than money such as being able to live under a roof, and being able to put food in their stomach so they could survive. The moral of this story is that we all have our own dream. Some people are fortunate enough to achieve it and some are not. Some people’s dreams can involve material things; however, having a nice family and good health is sufficient for them. But do not give up on your dream because the ones who never reach their dreams are the ones who never try. So do not give up.

* * *

Sung-Hee Choi, Korea

Teacher: Pam Ames

When I read the article, "The Trouble with Slang," I laughed many times because I had the same experience. I’m very happy to know that there are many international students who experienced those kinds of things. Before I read this article, I thought that I, only, couldn’t understand what Americans said.

In Iowa City, there is a restaurant, named "Country Kitchen." I wanted to meet friends there, so I said "How about meeting together at Country chicken?" After I said that, I felt something wrong. When I realized that I confused "ch" and "k", I could not help laughing for a while.

The most interesting thing for me is the answer to "Thank you." When I learned English in Korea, if someone says, "Thank you," I should answer "You’re welcome." But when I said, "Thank you," the answer is "Sure," or "You bet." When I heard those answers first, I was confused. Now I‘ve gotten used to those responses, but until now I feel strange to use those words.

Except using English, I felt cultural differences many times. The first thing is to open a bank account. When I opened the checking account and savings account, my Korean friend helped me. In Korea, there are not separate checking and saving accounts, so I couldn’t understand what they meant. Of course, I felt strange using a check.

One of the difficult things is to drive a car. In Korea, there is no stop sign. Here, there are many stop signs and also there are differences in them ,for example, two-way stop or 4-way stop. And there are many signs for speed limit. In Korea, there is not a speed limit sign on the road. Only on the highway there are speed limit signs. Now whenever I drive, I always look around lest I should miss it. I heard if I drive faster than the speed limit, I might get an expensive ticket. I already got a ticket because I passed the school bus. I was very surprised to see that there was a stop signal on the school bus. When I passed the school bus, the police car was hiding on the side of the road. It was a good experience for me although I got a ticket for $50.

In Korea, I didn’t live in an apartment. Now I live in an apartment, and there is a laundry. One day, I was cooking and I had my clothes washed. When I checked my clothes, I left the key inside because I thought the door was opened. I forgot there are two door locks on my door. The upper lock was opened but the bottom lock was closed. When I realized that the door was locked, I was really embarrassed. At that time I had no money, and I didn’t have any telephone number. Fortunately one of my neighbors helped me and he called the apartment manager. The manager was really kind and he opened the door immediately. It was a really unforgettable experience.

Now I can manage my life in the States. I think that I’m learning the way to live alone and manage my life by myself. Of course many interesting experiences were processes to adjust the new life. Until now it’s very difficult to understand a lot of slang. I think it will take long to understand those meanings. I really wish that I could understand more slang and I could enjoy my new life.

* * *

Natalya Voropaeva, Moscow, Russia

Teacher: Jerry Harp

One may be shocked by the way I’ve titled this essay, but believe me, the place I’m going to write about isone that calls for such contradictory emotions. I would never think much about a country house our family has not far from Moscow if it didn’t revive my treasured memories about my grandmother.

There is nothing really special about that place; it is just an ordinary place for some rest, but people who visited us always expressed their feelings of inner comfort while sayting there. The house itself is not big, but there is something in it that takes your thoughts away and gives peace to the mind. I mean after a big city like Moscow with crazy traffic you find a place that seems to be a sacred corner to relax and forget about the daily routine. You find yourself dipped into the sound, scent, and atmosphere of nature’s secrecy every time you go there to spend a weekend.

Starting from the day we bought that house, all the burdens of taking care of it, of growing some common vegetables, and making the place cozy and inviting were carried out by my grandma. To tell the truth I never felt that being closer to the soil, feeling it with my own fingers, and shaking it up was something I was ready to spend my spare time on. Things were different for Grandma. She spent hours in the garden.

Now I realize that I was ignorant, I really was. Actually nobody ever imposed a dictatorship on me to do something, but the feeling of being a lazy and indifferent person made me sorry. The outcome of all this was my constant refusals to go there. At that time I thought that planting and picking in the soil were not worth my youth.

Grandma spent more time than anyone cherishing every plant and flower. I would always wonder why and how my grandma, not a young and physically strong person, had so much energy to take care of every blade of grass, every newly-born vegetable. I wanted her to get some rest, to enjoy fresh air and birds singing, but she was too busy to think about her most common needs.

I know that many people don’t feel passion towards their grandparents. I mean there is love, respect, and family connections, but still we tend to feel more towards our mother and father, people who spend all their time and effort on us. In my case, things didn’t go the usual way. I was raised by my grandmother, the one with whom I shared all my secrets, needs, happiness, and sorrow. She was the one I had confidence in. There were situations when I felt that she was not simply my grandmother; she was more of a friend, somebody equal and devoted to me. She spent all her time with me. I do believe that there was some inner power that attracted our souls.

My granny had an influence on me; I’d never do anything if she didn’t approve it. As time went by, my dear granny became older and older. She suffered heart attacks very often, and that scared me a lot. I was conscious that someday everything would be brought to its logical end, and I would lose the dearest person forever. Still I hoped that somewhere high above there was an omnipotent force which was aware of my real happiness of living with such a person an my granny. A voice inside me was telling me to calm down, to be sure that everything was going as it was supposed to be. But one day a dark veil of sorrow fell over me; my granny suffered another heart attack, and her heart, exhausted by life, was too weak to fight for the future. That summer my grandmother was staying at the country house. It happened v ery often that I couldn’t go there with my parents. I was really busy preparing for final exams at school. Now I realize that my refusals to go there had a different ground; it was simply the desire to stay alone at home, to feel free to do whatever came into my head. It’s really hard for me now to face the truth, to understand that I was wrong. I was stupid. My grandmother cherished every moment she could see me. How could I be so indifferent?

There are somethings in life which I personally believe to be universally true. In this concrete situation I can’t think of anything but personal responsibility for every single trifle; one should pay for all mistakes, as I did. But the price was too high.

Now I realize that the person whom I loved so much died without me saying such a simple but important word as "Good-bye." This makes me feel terribly blue and down.

My pain is directly connected with the country house, a peaceful, beautiful place which drives me and nobody else crazy. I feel sorry to go there, to come into Granny’s room, to feel the touch of her spirit there, to look at all those flowers and trees that were planted by her caring hands. I know that I will never lose the burden of feeling that I missed the last minute with the person who was my mother, father, and a friend at the same time. The only conclusion I’ve made is to be careful about everything, to reevaluate my approach to life and never ever miss the last chance to treasure the most valuable things.

Walaisiri Muangsiri, Thailand

Teacher: Kai-Lin Wu

The Pe Pe islands are my most favorite place. Located in the southern part of Thailand, they are a famous recreation area. The Thai government declared this place a national park in 1985. This place is famous for its clear warm water and white-sand beach. The sand is so soft and white like instant cream. Some coconut trees shoot straight to the sky like huge green candles while some, as if melted in the sun, curve in different parabolic shapes. Sand, sea, and coconut trees compose a gorgeous picture of the Pe Pe islands.

There are plenty of activities to do on these islands such as camping and hiking. One of the trails leads to the highest point of the island. Besides, people can swim and scuba dive. This area is known as one of the top ten places for scuba diving, not only because it has perfect coral reefs, but because it has numerous kinds of colorful fish. One kind of fish is called the parrot fish. They have bright green colors like the parrots and swim like parrots flying.

My friends and I went there by boat. We were impressed by colorful fish swimming in transparent seawater below the boat. We could not wait to jump into the sea immediately. In very warm seawater, we could swim continuously for hours. When we got out of the sea, our eyes were almost blind because of the strong sunlight that reflected from the white sand on the beach. Coconut tress along the beach gave us perfect shelters from sunlight. The seawater there was so pure and clear that I did not feel that there was sticky salt left on my skin. Wind that perpetually blew reduced the heat from the sun and refreshed us all the time. After that, we walked to the highest point of the island. There we had perfect views around the island. We saw islands nearby and corral reefs around the island. We waited for the setting sun. It was hard to express how happy I was when I saw the sun disappear in the horizon, heard the waves break on the shore, and talked to my best friends. At night, we sailed to catch squids. It was very exciting that we caught lots of them to set a barbecue party. In the dim light from the camp fire, we ate squids with a special Thai style seasoning and chatted until midnight.

The next day, we dived to visit the undersea world. It was spectacular when we swam among schools of fish and colorful corrals. The fish were so friendly that we could feed them with bread in our bare hands. Some of them were small but some of them were quite big. I had to be careful of the big ones, especially when the bread was almost gone, because if the big ones bit you, it hurt. Following the parrot fish, I tried to swim like them, like parrots flying. God knows, some days I might invent a new swimming stroke, the parrot stroke. The parrot fish swam from one corral to another all the time. So I saw many kinds of corrals such as brain corral, deer horn corral, and many kinds that I did not know what their names were. They had various colors: red, yellow, purple, brown, and blue. I saw lots of star fish, oysters and sea worms. I thought that the sea worms were soft like jelly, but when I touched them, they were rough like sand paper.

My friends and I had a good time together. We were very sorry that we only had two days on that marvelous island. Even though we did not want to, we had to leave. However, we still remembered our wonderful experience and hoped that some day we could visit the Pe Pe islands again.

* * *

Bui Thanh Hien, Vietnam/Marion, Iowa

Teacher: Kai-Lin Wu

On a hot summer day in 1995, my mom took out a small envelope with an old design stamp in the corner. She handed it to me and gave me permission to open it. I was very excited and nervous. Slowly and carefully, I tore off one corner. A small picture fell out of the envelope. "It’s cousin Lisa," I shouted. Her small face with a sweet smile appeared in front of my eyes.

Cousin Lisa was my best friend when I was young. She was the youngest child of my mother’s brother. She was five years older than me . I usually called her my dear elder sister. Lisa had a small face with two big black eyes that glittered like bright stars in the dark sky. Her eyelashes, dark black and curving up, made her eyes even bigger. She attracted most people in the neighborhood. When I was young, I usually envied her naturally curled eyelashes because I had to curl mine.

I spent a lot of time with Lisa after school. I ran to her house and played with her. We gathered our neighbors and played games such as hide and seek, tick and tag, selling and buying, and doll house.

Lisa was eloquent and deft. She taught me how to knit, sew clothes, and draw. Our neighbors always said that her body and mind were more mature than her age. In 1985, she was fifteen years old. She looked like a flower blooming in the spring. Many people in our town complimented her beauty. She began to fall in love.

One winter evening, black and gray clouds covered the sky. It was raining. The thunder roared in the dark silence like an angry man; the lightning seemed to tear the sky into pieces. In her pink raincoat, Lisa walked to my house in the rain. Surprised, I ran to her.

"What happened?" I asked nervously. My heart beat very fast.

"I don’t want to live any more," she sobbed, choking.

"Why? What happened, Lisa?" I tried to console her.

Still crying, she said, "My parents wanted me to marry Long, but I am in love with Tan."

"Did your parents know that?" I asked.

"Yes," she nodded. Her face looked so sad as if a flower in the thunderstorm.

"My parents didn’t like him," she cried.

"Oh, don’t be so sad. Everything will be okay," I comforted her.

In Vietnam at that time, parents had power over children. They wanted to find perfect husbands or wives for their children. Their children had to obey. Lisa’s parents did not approve her marriage to Tan because he was too poor.

In 1988, Lisa married a man whom her parents chose for her. Her husband’s family lived in a town nearby. Their beautiful house in light green had many rooms filled with luxurious furniture. Lisa’s parents-in-law were very strict with the old tradition. She dared not do anything without their permission.

A year later when Lisa and her husband had their first beautiful daughter, they moved out of their parents’ house. He built a small cottage on the farm. Their bamboo cottage was very simple. There were only a small brown wood table, four chairs, and a small bamboo bed that was just big enough for them and their baby. Sometimes her husband complained about their shabby home, but Lisa solaced him that it was better to live there than her parents-in-law’s beautiful house. At least, she had freedom. Her husband calmed down a little bit, but when it rained and the house leaked, he complained again.

My family and I left Vietnam in 1991 for America. Since then, Lisa and I seldom write to each other. However, in my heart, I can not forget the time when we were together in Vietnam. Her small face with two big sorrowful eyes are still vivid in my mind. I hope that some day I can visit her.

* * *

Svetlana Kalnova, Moscow, Russia

Teacher: Diane Brown

As I live in a big city, my favorite place is not a busy street or an elegant mall. Living in Moscow I can see them every day; such things irritate me sometimes. When one lives in a big city, one has less time for rest, for nature, and for silence.

My favorite place is near the Moscow River. It is a big park with ponds and different sculptures. The trees are really old there, and I like to think that these trees were there before I was born, before the birth of my parents, or even my grandparents. Maybe the trees will stay there after me. Sometimes it seems to me that time has no influence on them. That’s why I like this place. It is a special world of mine that gives me rest and silence. Busy life is somewhere outside it.

Usually I do not have much time to go to that park, but if I do, then I enjoy the power and dignity of the ancient giants. I try not to think about my problems, to let my mind relax, and I just walk slowly, enjoying the beauty of nature.

Mostly I go there with my dog. This park is not crowded, so my dog can enjoy her freedom. (When I walk my dog in the yard, some old lady will come and shout, "Take this dog away! There are children here!" though my dog has never bitten anybody in her life.)

My dog swims in the ponds if it is not winter. She tries to catch some ducks because she is a hunting dog. But she always fails, because the ducks are too fast for her. It is so funny to watch her doing it! Both of us feel that we can do what we want in that place. It is like a source of good mood or even happiness.

* * *

Lindsay Nguyen, Vietnam

Teacher: Kai-Lin Wu

The sun, half hidden behind the green mountains, shone on the wild colorful flowers and plants in the rain forest. At noon when it rose up in the middle of the sky, the sunlight, as hot as fire, seemed to burn everything in nature. Sweat ran violently down the farmers’ faces as if they were bathed in salty rain. They were my Uncle Nam, his wife Linh, and their seven-year-old boy, Thanh. The life of the Southern Vietnamese peasants during the 1960s was not economically sufficient, but they were really happy with the peaceful life they had. Unfortunately, the Civil War in 1967 made their life a pitiful history.

The whole village where my uncle and aunt lived was bombarded, a lot of people killed. From behind a huge tree in the middle of the rice field, my mother saw Linh and Thanh limped toward our backyard. Linh’s left cheek was bruised by the splashing of the bomb; her eyes were swollen from crying too much. Thanh sobbed heavily as he dragged his mother’s fragile body across the rice field. Thanh was only seven. He cried not only because of fear, but for his father whose body was crushed into pieces by bombs.

After the war, many Vietnamese women had to take care of their children alone, so did my Aunt Linh. Their husbands died during the war. Linh ran everywhere to look for a job, but she could not find a job with enough salary to support her family. Lihn finally got a job in a fabric factory in Thu Duc, but the money she earned every week was just enough for their food. When Thanh turned twelve, he started junior high. Linh began to worry about her son’s education.

During the Civil War, the American government built military bases in South Vietnam to help people there to fight the North. They hired many Southern Vietnamese to work for them in their bases and gas stations. These openings brought Linh a great chance. Two months after Thanh’s twelfth birthday, she was hired to work in the military base in Tan Son Nhat. Everyday, Linh had to carry hundreds of pounds of stones back and forth. It was a hard job for a small woman like Linh, but she never complained. She was even happier because with the money she earned now she was able to buy enough food and pay for her son’s education.

When Linh worked in the military base, a young American soldier saw her every day and fell in love with her. One day, the man followed her, grabbed her hand, and asked her for a date. Linh blushed with embarrassment. She looked around to see if any Vietnamese saw them. Quickly she ran away from the soldier to avoid gossip.

On a cool summer night when Linh and Thanh were eating dinner, there was a knock on the door. Linh quickly opened the door . It was Mr. Kaysey. The American soldier had finally come to her house. Like any Vietnamese woman would do, Linh welcomed him and asked him in for coffee, even though she did not feel comfortable. Later, because of his regular visits, their relationship became more and more intimate. Before long, she agreed to marry him. Linh told my mother, "I married him not only because of our relationship, but because I thought he would bring a better life for Thanh and me."

They lived happily together, and loved each other very much. Two years after marriage, they had a very beautiful daughter. Linh thought that her sad life had ended and this second marriage would last forever. She never knew that Vietnam was just a temporary home for Mr. Kaysey and he had to go back to America when the war ended. One dark and cloudy afternoon, Linh and her children waited for Kaysey on their porch. While Linh worried for her husband who was on his way home in the dangerous thunderstorm, a pat on her back shuddered her. She turned around and found a mailman in a black raincoat. He handed her a piece of paper with her husband’s name on the right corner. She was so curious that she asked the mailman what it said. He looked at the paper, paused for a minute, and said, "It says that Mr. Kaysey has to get ready to go back to America in a week because his service in Vietnam is ended." The news broke Linh’s heart into pieces. She did not say anything to the man or thank him when he left. She stood there and painfully accepted the fact.

It was Sunday morning, exactly a week after the mail arrived. Linh held her husband’s hand tightly, slowly walking to the bus station; their two innocent children ran in front of them. It was a bright and sunny day. Humming birds sang on the trees along the roads. But to Linh, everything in nature at that moment was gloomy. Linh did not say anything to Kaysey, but deep inside her, she had millions of things she wanted to tell him. The ten-minute walk passed fast. They got to the bus station on time, but they did not have time for even a short conversation. Kaysey gave Linh and their children a short kiss good-bye and ran right into the bus. Linh and her kids held each other tightly as they watched the bus slowly back out of the station. Linh’s eyes were full of tears as she stared at the bus that took Kaysey further and further away. She stood so still and her eyes did not move away from the bus, even though the bus was already far away. She began to regret when the bus disappeared in the distance. She did not tell her husband how much she loved him and she did not know when she could see him again. He left without an address.

* * *

Adrian Gozali, Jakarta, Indonesia

Teacher: Cinda Coggins

Hollywood! It is the home of beautiful actors and actresses, bright lights, wild parties, excitement, and glamour. It is also a place where so much power is concentrated in so few hands. The Hollywood community brings to mind many different images such as: arrogance, beauty, the need for constant attention, and contributions to charity. All of these images relate to the value I feel the Hollywood community shares: the power that comes from being part of a tiny but influential elite. In this paper, I’m going to address the ways in which the Hollywood community values power by discussing how this position of power sets them apart from the "average" citizens and the negative and positive ways this power is used in the every day lives of the stars.

Big stars cannot walk down the street without being recognized, and people always want their autographs. They must feel special and larger than life. It would be very hard for them to experience this special treatment every day and not feel powerful and influential. I feel that most stars enjoy this position and value the power that comes with it. This special status places stars above the general public because the public is not allowed direct access to Hollywood. Ordinary people like me can only become a part of the Hollywood community by participating from a distance. They can only watch Hollywood movies, augment stars’ salaries by buying tickets to their movies, read some of the stars’ autobiographies, or duplicating the dress that Hollywood stars wear. If you want to be a part of the Hollywood community, you have to be an entertainer or someone who has something to do with the entertainment business.

Usually, the women have beautiful, shiny hair, a very beautiful body, and are very pretty. For the men, they must have muscular bodies and be good looking. Besides that, they have to be marketable. If they do not fulfill all of these criteria, it would be hard for them to be a part of a movie. For those who do not have beautiful bodies or are not good looking, they must have very much talent. There are some actors or actresses who depend solely on their talent because they do not have traditional good looks. For example, Danny DeVito and Roseanne do not fit the traditional roles. However, they are the exception and not the rule and are not cast very often in romantic leads.

The power in Hollywood also excludes many people on the basis of race. As an Asian, I feel very distanced from the Hollywood community. People like me are not able to gain access to the small group because they don’t fit the mold for traditional Hollywood actors. I very seldom see Asians in the Hollywood movies. I’m not talking just about native Asians but Asians who were born and have grown up in America. I hardly see any Asian Americans becoming leading stars in big Hollywood movies. The only Asian I know who became a leading star in very big movies was Bruce Lee. After he died, not so many Asians have become leading stars in big movie productions. The only kind of movie that Asians can become leading stars in are kung fu movies. I think this is because Asians do not fit the stereotype of a movie star. They look different and directors are not willing to risk box office failure by going against tradition. It is a very racist decision, but money seems to be the driving force behind Hollywood movies.

Even though they are famous stars, the Hollywood community is still made up of ordinary people like any other people in this world. The only thing that makes those stars very special is their exposure in the media. The media likes to make those stars as if they were Gods or Goddesses. For some reason, the silver screen gives power to stars and makes them larger than life. The stars use this power for negative or positive ends depending on the way they choose to incorporate this value into their daily lives. This power is very hard to achieve, however, because Hollywood seeks to exclude all but the most beautiful, the most marketable, and unfortunately, the most white people.

* * *

Brad Haugh, Des Moines, Iowa

Teacher: Cinda Coggins

"Well, Brad," the doctor explained, "the text results and x-rays reveal a slight tear of the rotator cuff in your right shoulder." He spoke to me with great sincerity as he warned me that my shoulder might never be the same after the needed surgery. My heart suddenly sank to the bottom of my chest. I was frozen with awe and disbelief. I was speechless thinking of only the worst outcome--I might never be able to play college ball again.

I remember the drive home from the clinic like it was yesterday. There was absolute silence in the car. With tears in my eyes, I gazed out of the window imagining myself playing catch with my dad. My dad always played catch with me, even when he came home tired from work. There was still a long silence in the car. My father couldn’t say anything, for he, too, felt my pain. I felt his sorrow and compassion as I looked him in the eyes. Baseball was not only my life, it was his, too. He attended every game and supported me unconditionally ever since Little League. He was always there for me, even when I didn’t play well.

We stopped at our favorite diner, George’s Chili King. My father embraced me and explained to me that there was more to life than baseball. With pride, he reminded me of my success in the classroom and as a person. He reminded me of my accomplishments and good character. With ease, he explained that I have only begun the first chapter of my young, adult life.

That day, my father helped me realize that I have other options and challenges to take besides baseball. It only takes one experience to change the course of one’s life. My life had already changed its course. I don’t know if I’ll ever be behind the plate again, but I do know that I am fortunate to have a loving father who supports me unconditionally.

* * *

Anna Tumanova, Moscow, Russia

Teacher: Jerry Harp

I moved to Moscow two years ago. But now I feel that I've been living there all my life. I feel at home in Moscow partly because all my friends live there. The other reason is that I love the city itself: its streets, avenues, boulevards and, of course, the architecture. It's really magnificent. When I talked to foreign tourists the first thing they told me about Moscow was that they were astonished by the magic mixture of different architectural styles.

This is actually what I like most of all about Moscow. It's fantastic that you can go along one street and see edifices belonging to different epochs. Looking at them and appreciating them you feel connected to the past. Somewhere in the depths of your soul you feel proud of the thought that you are living in a city with almost-nine-century history.

But even in such a wonderful city as Moscow you can't love everything. There are still favorite places. For me the most favorite one is a bench near a monument to famous Russian writer Gogol. This place is situated on Gogol's Boulevard which is very beautiful in any season. It's really wonderful in summer; and when it's hot one can always find shelter in the shadow of the boulevard's trees. Even in winter when the trees are bare and the boulevard looks somewhat deserted there is still some fascination about it.

I've noticed recently that whenever I go for a walk at the end of it, all roads lead to that bench on Gogolevsky Boulevard. This place attracts me for some mysterious reason. Sometimes I just can't explain why I go there to sit for a few minutes before going home. It seems that this place gives me strength to cope with all my problems.

Of course, I wouldn't have taken this place so close to my heart if there were no romantic memories connected with it. There, on Gogol's Boulevard my relationships with the person that I'm going to marry started. Walking along the boulevard, talking, we were getting closer to each other. We went to that bench several times a week because we felt at home there. It was the very place where we could solve all our problems. For example, if we had quarreled an hour before, we always knew that as soon as we went there all our misunderstandings would seem unimportant and artificial. And it always worked even when we were about to break apart. That bench and boulevard reminded us of the great times we had together, of our dreams and plans for the future. And thinking of all that, we just couldn't break apart because it meant to deprive ourselves of love and happiness.

It might seem funny but sitting on that bench was helpful on quite a specific occasion. When we couldn't think of what to buy as a birthday present for one or another friend, we had to sit on the bench for half an hour suggesting some stupid things, and then an idea of genius was sure to come.

Coming to the Boulevard so often we became experts on the architecture around it. Every small part of the edifices became familiar. I remember how glad we were to know that the Moscow government decided to restore those buildings. They really needed restoration. And after being restored, their beauty appeared in its full strength.

Sometimes I think of the people living in those buildings and wonder if they appreciate the buildings they live in. Do they feel the connection of the centuries, the spirit, and nobility of the people of the past? I do feel it just looking at those buildings. I imagine coaches passing by, carrying luxurious ladies and elegant gentlemen to theaters and balls. When it's snowing, I always see this picture, and it adds a lot of romanticism to the scenery.

Every person should have a place where he or she can find shelter and take rest from problems and everyday routines. Gogol's Boulevard became such a place for me.

* * *

Sidney Liu, Taiwan

Teacher: Carol Severino

I am a curious person. I have always had a lot of questions since I was a child. My mother always mentioned that when I was a kid, I had so many "why’s" and gave adults headaches. For example, I asked this kind of question when I was four: "Why, whenever I think, I know what I think, and whenever I want to, I can move my hands and body, but I can’t know others’ thoughts and move others’ bodies just by thinking?, and " What is outside earth? What’s outside space? And what’s outside the thing outside space?" I always asked endless questions.

My high school friends described me as "a person who always traced answers to the end like breaking the wok to get to the bottom, (the ‘bottom’ symbolizes the ‘end’, because a wok has depth), but still asked where the wok was." The former part of the description is an old Chinese saying, but my friends added the latter part that begins with "but" to emphasize how much I like to ask questions. They even exaggerated this by saying that they saw our physics teacher trying to hide himself when he heard I was going to ask him questions. Although it was a joke, I think even if he really did that, he just tried to be funny by pretending he was afraid of my questions, because sometimes he didn’t know how to answer them.

I also always have questions about everything I don’t understand and don’t know, not only academic things. Sometimes I am even willing to take risks to get the answers I want. I am a person who always has more courage than others. I am not even afraid of death, because I am curious about what the afterlife is. It’s why sometimes I always do something risky just to experience the feeling, even if my friends think it’s dangerous. All because of my curiosity, I like to have a lot of adventures.

In fact, I’m more curious about life, the mystery of life, the wonder of life, and the meaning of life. It is why I am studying life science now, and am also a Christian. I have found out that the meaning of life is love. Without love, life will become meaningless; with love, even suffering is sweet. But, since I have studied science for several years, I feel it is kind of boring now, because I will have less contact with people. I’m an outgoing, energetic person and always interested in people. Although I wanted to find a cure for AIDS before, I think I will feel happier if I become a teacher. Then, I will have more chances to have contact with, love, and care about certain people (my future students) to realize myself, and moreover, to learn more about life through this kind of life.

Since I am also interested in science and always think about how I would present the materials that my teacher just taught me better if I were the teacher, I think I am suited to be a science teacher. It is why I am considering changing my major now. It is my new dream now. (My old dream was to find the cure for AIDS and to solve the mystery of life science.) I want to try my best to fulfill love in those who need my love and can accept my love; that will make me feel more satisfied and delightful about my life, and will more easily lead me into the truth of life. Why do I think it will be better for a teacher to do this? Because I don’t think I have enough ability to love everyone in the world, and people are not easily open to a stranger’s love, except for money, but students are more easily open to accept love from their teachers, right? In fact, I thought about being a pastor or a nun before, but I know my personality is not suitable for this kind of job. Being a teacher is more practical for me.

Another nature of mine is that I am so sensitive, that I am easily hurt and feel others’ suffering. Whenever I see others suffering, I can also feel the suffering and can’t take it. So I hope I will have the ability to relieve some people’s suffering someday; it is one of my long-term dreams. Reading till here, do you know more about me now?

* * *

Mio Ohta, Tokyo, Japan

Teacher: Cinda Coggins

Most leaves on the trees change their colors in October. We can enjoy the variety of the color of fall leaves and feel romantic and sensitive watching them. At the same time, I can find some pumpkins put in front of the doors. Some are really big which I have never seen before, and others are so small. Their bright orange color is a symbol of autumn as well as harvest, I feel. Walking around my neighborhood, I sense that Halloween is coming soon.

I am terribly interested in the customs in the United States. I would like to participate in one of the traditional ones. In Japan, there are many chances to see pictures of jack-o’-lanterns, but I have never carved a pumpkin by myself.

Last Saturday one of my professors held a party called "Pumpkin Carving Party." Not only graduate students but also his neighbors and friends who seem to enjoy playing the banjo with him gathered. Everyone brought their own pumpkins, big or small. My husband and I went to the party with a middle-sized nice round-shaped pumpkin which we bought at a farmer’s house on our way from Pikes Peak Park where we enjoyed the picturesque scenery of the Mississippi River.

After drinking real fresh cider my professor made using an old fashioned cider maker and tasting the autumn, we began carving with the banjo’s rhythmical sounds in the background. A kind old man instructed us. We learned that the first thing we should do was to draw a line of a head as well as a picture of a face. We wanted to make a traditional jack-o’-lantern because it was our very first time. So we drew a picture of a face with triangle eyes and a nose, and a smiling mouth with square teeth.

I remembered the words of one of my colleagues who once had lived in the States saying, "It is so hard to carve the pumpkin. The skin is very tight." But when we carved, I felt that it was not as difficult as I imagined. The skin was not so hard. Using a special small knife, we could cut out the parts of the eyes and nose without any troubles. The difficult part was the mouth. We tried hard to follow the line we drew. Sometimes we wondered which parts we should cut or leave. At last we finished. Two boys who were carving next to us said, "It’s good," or "Is it your first time?" In fact it was a good job although our jack-o’-lantern has one black decayed tooth.

When we went back home, we put a candle in it and enjoyed the clear face lighted up by the candle with a cinnamon smell. It is a real lantern. I now understand what a jack-o’-lantern is.

* * *

Naomi Yoshioka, Kyoto, Japan

Teacher: Cinda Coggins

Now, I have only one grandmother who is the mother of my mother. My other grandmother and two grandfathers already passed away, so that the grandmother I have now is the only grandparent who is worrying about one of her grandchildren who lives in the United States. She lives in the Awaji Island in Japan as a farmer. Although she is almost eighty-years-old, she still works the land with my uncle and aunt. When I was young, I visited the Awaji Island every long vacation and stayed as long as I could. Because I lived in one of the big cities in Japan, I really liked visiting the rural area. In this paper, I would like to tell about my experiences that I had as a farmer’s grandchild in Japan.

The Awaji Island is the biggest island in Japan, the main products of which are rice and onions. My grandmother is a farmer, too. When I was a child, I liked to visit the island very much because it was a different world.

Every morning, as soon as I woke up, I went to the place where my grandparents let me touch the cows. I was kind of scared, but at the same time, it was fun. After milking, I drank the fresh milk for my breakfast. My grandmother grew many vegetables for her hobby besides farming, so that I could eat fresh vegetables, too.

After breakfast, I usually went to the rice fields with my grandparents. I liked to sit on the back of the small truck. In the city where I lived, I could not get into the back but could only get into the cab. Therefore, it was very exciting for me to be able to feel the outside as I rode in a car. In the rice fields, I do not remember what I did, but my grandmother and my mother said to me that I usually chased my grandparents carrying small buckets and wearing big black boots.

I had the most interesting experience. My grandfather, who passed away seven years ago, often took a walk with a cow in the late afternoon. It was for the cow’s exercise. I went with him many times. Taking a walk with a cow was an opportunity to feel a cow more closely. I pulled her tail, touched her body, and pushed her hip.

Before dinner, I rode a swing, which my grandfather made for me. My grandfather made many hand-made tools while I visited there. Therefore, I never got bored even though I usually stayed there for a long time.

I had a lot of fun over there. Since I live in the United States now, I can not visit there. But interestingly, I sometimes feel the Awaji island when I drive along a country road in Iowa because I see many cows. When I go back to Japan next time, I will visit the island.

* * *

Ya-Ju Chang, Taiwan

Teacher: Carol Severino

I personally did not receive any formal education regarding traditional Chinese medicine. Since I grew up in Taiwan where Chinese medicine has been overwhelmingly recognized, I have some general idea about what it is and how it works.

Chinese medicine is very different from western medicine in several ways. The classification of diseases and medicines is different. The goal of treatment is different. The ways of developing new treatment techniques are different, too.

One interesting difference in the classification of disease is the anatomy. Western medicine uses the true anatomy as the criteria to classify. In other words, diseases occur when there is an anatomical change in the organs. This change is always observable by the naked eye, electrical microscopes, or molecular biological techniques.

Rather than true anatomy, Chinese medicine uses virtual anatomy. There are five virtual centers of the body: mind, lung, liver, spleen, kidney, and latent phenomena. Each center represents a major function of the body. For example, the mind regulates all the will, motivation, and commands all the volitional activities. The spleen regulates the circulatory system. These centers are called virtual because we can not see any anatomical structures of any of them by dissecting the human body. The amazing thing is that Chinese medical doctors use this concept of the virtual center as the basis of treating diseases and it works all the time.

One example of the difference is the way of managing pain. It took a long time for the western medical system to find specific receptors for a specific pain. Thus, it took a longer time for them to discover the way to transport the medicine to the specific part to block the pain. In Chinese medicine, however, certain organs bind together as a system; therefore, pain can be blocked by treating any part of this system. For example, acupuncture one inch above the medical malleolus can block abdominal pain. We can not see any direct link between these two parts in anatomy. However, it works most of the time.

Other than the different conceptualizations, there are similarities. Chinese orthopedic doctors use similar methods as western orthopedic physical therapists do. Both of them use joint mobilization to reduce the pain and malstructure of body. They both splints or tapes to immobilize acute sprained ankles.

Because of the similarity between western orthopedic physical therapy and Chinese orthopedics, people in Taiwan have more than one choice if they get a sprained ankle. Generally, people go to see the Chinese orthopedic doctors first. They tend to choose physical therapy only when their conditions can not be improved by Chinese medicine. There are two proposed reasons: physical therapy is a newly developed profession in Taiwan. People are not aware of what physical therapy can do to cure their disease. Therefore, they choose the traditional Chinese treatment. The second reason is that Chinese orthopedic doctors use aggressive manipulation to treat a sprained ankle. People will perceive more "progress" within a Chinese orthopedic clinic.

The concept "no pain no gain" is widely believed by people who choose a Chinese orthopedic clinic. In contrast, western physical therapy believes that inducing pain during treatment means further damaging the already injured tissue. Therefore, western physical therapy forbids inducing pain during treatment, resulting in less perception of "progress" in patients. In other words, quite a few people interpret the pain perceived at a Chinese orthopedic clinic as an essential part of disease curing process.

As a Taiwanese physical therapist, I would like to see people trust western physical therapy more. However, because I lack knowledge in traditional Chinese medicine, I have no ability to make a unbiased comparison between these two. Only one reason for telling my patients to choose physical therapy instead of traditional Chinese medicine is that physical therapy will never make their conditions worse with its conservative treatment attitude; however, Chinese orthopedic doctors sometimes make patients’ conditions worse because of inadequate aggressive treatment.

Though full continuing development of Chinese medicine in Taiwan might get patients away from western medicine, including physical therapy, I am still happy to see that patients can have more choices to treat their disease. Western medicine and Chinese medicine are so different. Maybe, in the future, they can help each other to fill in the logical holes of theories in both.

* * *

Cindy Yates, LeMars, Iowa

Teacher: Leslie Akchurin

The wind swirled the cold, dry snow all around the ground. It seemed to dance in lights on the runway below luggage carts that were running back and forth between the planes like ants at a picnic. I looked out the huge windows of the Chicago airport. There I was, dressed in dark colors, headed back to Iowa, of all places. Black jeans, a black tee, dark brown flannel, and black boots were loosely hung on this medium-sized body.

My flight had been delayed over an hour. I was debating whether to board. Reluctantly, I walked up the ramp onto the smothering warm plane that would return me to my personal hell. Returning to a small town would mean concealing my feelings just to get by. It meant everyone knew everyone, and judgments came too easily.

Upon arrival in Des Moines, my grandparents were waiting with open arms. They were there to greet the same little girl that had left them months ago, but I wasn't her anymore.

Days later, bored out of my mind, I decided to go out and find a job. I worked at McDonalds for a couple of weeks, but it wasn't enough for me. My grandparents kept constantly insisting that I needed a nice secretarial job, where I could be a proper lady. Although they say it's the thought that counts, this thought was simply dreadful. So I started a second job working for UPS at nights.

Soon I realized that pushing myself to work that hard wasn't helping. I needed friends, maybe even a relationship. I seems as though God felt the same. An old, forgotten friend called me up to tell me about a friend of hers that I would "just love." A very respectable, yet adventurous soul who was just getting back to life also. This lovely adventurer was twice my age, but had her shit together (mentally, physically and financially) and, although she was a five hour drive away, might just be worth my while. I told her I'd think about it.

I decided to push this idea to the back of my mind, and to start concentrating on my dreams of attending a university. As I busied myself with applications and paperwork, my mind would wander from thought to thought. I soon came to an awareness: There was a clear need to escape, but I was unable to understand why or how I had this need. It was also a need to involve myself with people, and a need to feel accepted.

As I was daydreaming about this one day, the phone rang. "Hello," I said.

"May I speak with Cindy?"

This unfamiliar voice was hypnotizing and flowed with a certain grace. It danced around my head, in my ears, and straight to my heart. It felt like a mellowing drug, almost causing me to lose touch.

"Speaking. What can I do for you?"

"My name's Dee. Pat gave me your number. She said you might be interested."

I had a feeling she'd set me up. Damn! What should I say?

"This is kind of awkward. I don't usually do blind dates, but you seem to be just what I'm looking for in a woman. Although I only have Pat's description, " Dee hesitated. "She said you would be a little shy. Look, I'll just cut straight to the chase, or forward rather."

There was slight laughter and a breath. This soothing voice continued, and I had to remind myself to listen to the words and not just to the sound.

"Could you come see me this weekend? I know that's a lot to ask, not knowing you and all, but my car's in the shop and..."

"Ya, I'll come." I couldn't believe what I was saying. I must be crazy. This person could be some murderer or psycho.

Directions were given and plans made to meet Saturday. I think we must be insane at times to make certain decisions and take chances on impulse. I was unsure how to explain this issue to my family. My grandparents would never understand me dating a woman. So whenever they would ask me about my trip, I would change the subject and just walk away.

Soon I was driving down the interstate, having second thoughts about this romancer. I had hours to be indecisive, but I felt like someone had set my spirit free. It became the wind in the trees and the water in a mountain stream. This weekend would be an experience like no other, I thought to myself. I had no real ties, and no one influencing my decisions. I was strong and secure alone; it felt wonderful.

As I pulled in the driveway, I couldn't imagine what Dee would look like. "A hippie" rang in my ears. That's how she had described herself to me over the phone. A quick mirror check, then I opened the car door slowly. I felt awkward and clumsy as I walked up the stairs and knocked on the door. There was a long pause, then as I was about to leave in disappointment, the door creaked open.

"Hey, come on in," she smiled and gestured.

"Hi." My voice was small like a child's.

She'd described herself perfectly when she said hippie. Her hair was long, but it wasn't thick like mine; the shiny, light brown hair hung down to the middle of her back. She had jeans on that were worn out on the thighs and had holes in the knees. She had a tee shirt on under a button-up shirt that wasn't fastened at the top. She was golden tan, much darker than me. She wore thin wire framed glasses that gave her an intellectual look. She was tall and skinny, but not like a stick. She smelled of a men's cologne.

I stepped into the living room.. The arrangement that I remember the most was a Native American totem pole. It was about two feet high and colored with earth tones. It had several different faces on it. I sat across from her as we talked.

"My mother would love your house the way it's decorated. She's really into Native American beliefs and ceremonies. Do you follow a lot of those teachings or do you just like the decorations?" I asked, trying to start a conversation of some sort.

"I believe very strongly in their views and beliefs."

This comment intrigued me. I had been very scared of religion. I always believed in God, but I knew that some of the things people said He ‘wanted’ weren’t true. I knew this just by listening to my heart. I began asking questions. I listened intensely to everything she had to say. She wasn't preaching to me like some hyper preacher on a Sunday morning. She was simply informing me about what she knew. Her voice was calming and put my soul at ease. I could have listened to her for hours.

"How do you feel about religion and God?" she inquired.

"I'm still searching for what I can take as the truth."

We also talked about things we still wanted to experience, such as having children and marriage. I had thought about children, but not of marriage. Marriage was not something I had ever really wanted, even when I was young. I had seen too many divorces, so I didn't think it was worth it. We talked intimately about legalized same-sex marriages. At that point I didn't feel it involved me, but Dee felt differently.

"Aren't you a lesbian?" she asked.

"Ya. What kind of a question is that?"

"Well, then it definitely involves you. You are a part of the gay community, therefore, you can't just sit back and say that. It's everyone's responsibility to be part of the solution."

This wonderful woman overwhelmed me. I was filled with hot passion, cool sensitivity, and beauty that was incomprehensible to me. The weekend went very well, in fact, our next three dates went so well that we decided to move in together.

Talking between us was always very intimate and emotional. Often one (usually me) or both of us would end up in tears. We talked about everything. Dee was often a source of information because she had experienced so much more in life than I had. Our talks covered everything from the supernatural and angels to political stances and self-exploration. She helped me to see my strengths and weaknesses in relation to each issue. Some of the things she said to me triggered thoughts that strengthened my views, but some opened my eyes to new perspectives. I now think about some of the things that I was opposed to and can understand the reasoning behind her support of them.

Dee and I are now feeling the lonely pain of a long distance relationship as I work to fulfill my dream of obtaining a degree in social work. I'm still learning to deal with each change as it comes along, and I'm learning how to embrace new perspectives, or at least to accept someone else's point of view.

As I look back, I think about how one person can change your life forever. The odds against our ever meeting each other were so enormous that I thank God every day that Dee and my paths crossed. Looking in the mirror today, I see a young woman who feels more secure about where her life is headed. She now wears clothes full of soft colors, the same colors which dance in her eyes whenever she smiles. And the smiles come easier and more often than they had just months ago... Even though she remains in Iowa, she's finding out it isn't so bad.

Cristina Roque, Vitoria, Brazil

Teacher: Amy Kolen

Last weekend was the University of Iowa’s one-hundred-fiftieth anniversary A beautiful party took place at the university, and I had the opportunity to learn a little bit more about the UIs history. I was impressed how the university and the city are advanced in some issues. For example, the mayor of the city and the president of the university are women. This is the first university in the US to accept men and women on an equal basis in medicine. The first black man to get a law degree in the US and the first woman who graduated from law school came from UI.

I really did not expect that a small city in the Midwest would be so advanced. Usually, people in rural area cities tend to be more conservative, keeping the traditions and concepts taught by their elders. One might expect that changes in how people dress, in how they deal with minorities, in how they accept people with a different lifestyle from the majority would be slower than in big towns. But I think the university presence plays an important role in a city like Iowa City changing those conservative leanings The university presence means that there are a lot of people from different parts of the country and even the world here, with different perceptions and concepts. Diversity helps to enlighten Iowans, expanding local concern to more universal ones.

Iowa City seems to maintain the pleasing characteristics of small cities that we hardly see in big ones. For instance, people whom you have never seen before smile and talk sympathetically with you in the street. Iowa City is a safe city and usually you do not have to provide extra protection for your house or your car against burglaries. We can walk in the streets without fear. This safe feeling is very comforting. Another important advantage is since the city is small we do not lose much time in traffic.

And Iowa City has some advantages of big cities such as a good night life (including good and diverse options of music), a reasonable number of movie theaters, good shopping options (including a lot of imported stuff from many countries of the world), a good public transportation system and frequent and different international performances. Besides, Iowa City residents are advanced in the way they deal with minorities. They are concerned about gender and color equality and are tolerant of different minority groups. Thus, I see Iowa City as a small city in a good way.

* * *

Monika Numrich, Carol Stream, Illinois

Teacher: Arturo Yanez

The skill that gives me the greatest pleasure in my life is playing the piano. I have been playing ever since third grade, and I have loved it.

I feel very comfortable whenever I sit down at the piano and play. It is a time for me to be by myself and use my own pace in order to excel. I often find myself leaving my books in the middle of studying and sitting at the piano. I feel like I am in a different world, and most of the times, I need to get away.

Another aspect that I enjoy about playing the piano is that it is no longer difficult for me. I’m not the best piano player, but when I run into problems, I don’t mind struggling through them because I know that once I get through them, the piece will sound beautiful.

A third aspect that I enjoy about playing the piano is that people appreciate it. When I am at home, my parents applaud when I finish a piece. When I am at the sorority house, people continuously wander in to hear me play and compliment me because they never knew I could play the piano in the first place. It makes me feel good that other people appreciate something I do.

Playing the piano is something that I enjoy doing for these different reasons. I wish that would be all I have to do because my life would be much easier and a little more simple. However, since I know it can’t be that way, I will just enjoy the time I have to practice my favorite pastime.

Olga Gatovskaya, Moscow, Russia

Teacher: Diane Brown

People are never perfect. They make mistakes and become angry with themselves. They wish they "had not been so stupid." They swear that they will be more cautious and thoughtful. But time passes and they repeat their own mistakes and make new ones. That is characteristic of human beings.

However, children tend to choose certain grown-ups as models of perfection. In fact, it is a good thing, but it inevitably entails a disappointment because, as children grow older, their models of perfection become devastated.

When I went to nursery school I admired my nurse. Now I can hardly remember her, but at that time she could influence me greatly. I mean, I considered her perfect from all points of view: she was all kindness, beauty, and intelligence to me. I tried to resemble her. I dreamt of becoming a nurse in the future.

That is what I remember about the feelings my nurse arose in me when I was about four years old. However, later things changed. Actually, there was not any particular event that revealed a flaw in the behavior of my nurse. I simply started realizing that she was not perfect. I still liked her and enjoyed her company, but she was no longer a model of perfection to me.

What had happened? I can’t be sure, but I suppose that this change must have followed from what I learned in life. I was still a little girl, but I had met a lot of new people and I had seen a lot of new things, both pleasant and unpleasant, during the time I knew the nurse. I tried to compare people. Finally I asked myself: "What is there in the nurse that puts her higher than other people?" And I found myself confused because I could not answer this question. By comparison, I arrived at the conclusion that something bad was always accompanied by something good and vice versa.

That broke the model of perfection I had. But it also taught me to be more patient with mistakes people made because I realized that no one could be perfect.

* * *

Dantia McDonald, Ames, Iowa

Teacher: Brendan Wolfe

I’m late again. Luckily there are no customers in the restaurant yet. Naoma will not say anything to me directly but she will log this fact into a file in her brain labeled "The Chronicle of Spoiled Brats: Landretti Family Greed and Favoritism." She appears to be sitting in the back office smoking and reading the paper but I know that she is really busy sharpening her knives. She sticks these knives into me daily, but only after they are disguised under a coat of sugary substance. Recently the weapons have gotten sharper and the sugar coat weaker.

I start making coffee and Naoma walks past me in a pointed silence. Sometimes I want to say I’m sorry to her. Sorry that both her parents have spent their whole lives working for puffed-up Landrettis, sorry that she will likely do the same. Sorry that the Landrettis own the restaurants, whole chunks of the valley, Cadillacs and second homes on the coast. Sorry about the air of superiority under which my grade school-aged cousins function when frequenting this restaurant. Other times I fight back in my head and become intoxicated with thoughts of what I could do to her life. She needs this job. But when the high passes, I always feel nausea from my power binge. Why can’t she see that I did not grow up here? I grew up thousands of miles away from this all. I am not a believer in the unspoken family assumption that the Landrettis are God’s chosen people. I, too, need my job to survive: no one pays me for being their relative.

"Hi, Dantia, how are you this morning?" Naoma asks in a sweet voice as she furiously scrubs the hot cocoa machine. She is speaking to me , and she is working. Aunt Dorothy must have arrived through the back door.

Francisco walks in the door and I fight to suppress the glaring grin I feel forming on my face.

"Hi."

"Hi, fea chica." Francisco’s eyes wrinkle around the edges when he smiles. I like Francisco’s smile and everyone knows it. I watch his back when he does dishes. He is almost two years younger than me. He is Mexican. The first fact is the reason why I refuse to look up at him when he tries to get an answer out of my face. The second fact is the reason that the whole restaurant goes into titters when I help him with his homework. He doesn’t care that I am a Landretti. He tells me he often forgets I’m a "white girl." I laugh and point out our skin is the same color, the only difference is the undertones. His hands fascinate me. The fact a Landretti spends her breaks with a Mexican dishwasher seems to fascinate everyone else in this restaurant: workers, patrons, owners. Fascination may not be the correct word on the owners’ part. Concern, might be more precise, great concern. I am fighting the urge to follow Francisco into the kitchen when Aunt Dorothy comes bustling in.

When I was little, I wanted to be just like Aunt Dorothy when I grew up. She cooks homemade pies and candies weekly. She sews her grandchildren’s homecoming dresses; she goes to church every morning. She started a thriving religious store and gives all its profit to the church. She is the head of almost every fund raiser in this town. Uncle Albert says of her, "If she ain’t busy, she ain’t happy." She and my Uncle Albert started their married life penniless and managed to transform the name Landretti to its current connotations. As I watch her, I think about how Aunt Dorothy may have fired someone so I could work here. I’m not sure; no one will speak to me about it. I think about how my being too friendly to Francisco endangers his job.

The expression of the dead moose head on the wall seems to echo my feelings. In the dim light of the morning you don’t notice the bare spots where his hair has been falling out and he doesn’t look so tragic. As I put some quarters in the juke box, I realize that the customers are probably eating his old, dirty hair. It’s falling out and we always pass underneath him with plates on the way to serve. My Uncle Albert who shot him eats here every morning and must digest his share of dirty moose hair. This gives me a feeling of glee. On my way to pour my second cousin John coffee, I smile at the moose and, holding the coffee pot right under his majestic head, I pause for a few seconds.

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Tomohiro Masazawa, Tokyo, Japan

Teacher: Jerry Harp

About three months have passed since I came to the United States. I feel that I’m getting used to living here and influenced by the culture of the United States. I’m getting more individualistic, informal, and assertive. I’m asking more questions and trying to take part in the classes more than I used to in my university in Japan because that’s what I’m supposed to do in America. Otherwise, I would be left behind by other students, and my situation would be miserable. It’s extremely difficult for me to keep up with the classes and get along with other American students. But, I’m enjoying my life in the United States and having valuable experiences because everything here is a challenge to me, like talking and studying with other American students. But, there’s one thing I should’ve done before I came here. That is study. I’m having a more difficult time here because I don’t have much knowledge about my major. I studied in my university in Japan for two and a half years before I came here, but I didn’t study my major so hard there. You think I’m a lazy guy, and I agree with you. But, let me defend myself a little because the Japanese educational system also has the responsibility for why Japanese university students don’t study so hard. They don’t study because they’re tired of "examination hell." Most high school students must study like crazy to pass the entrance examinations for the universities because many people want to go to prestigious schools, and competition is extremely high. Some people don’t care about studying, or they don’t know what to study. They just want to enter the prestigious schools because graduating from these schools can be an advantage to get higher paying jobs. Also, in order to enter those schools, you don’t have to be creative or logical. All you need to do is just memorize facts. So, many students get fed up with memorizing all these facts and start to play around because their goals are just to enter famous schools, not to study there. You can get a grade without studying t oo hard because exams aren’t so hard. Many professors aren’t serious about teaching because they know many students aren’t interested in their own studies. There are so many students in every class that students aren’t supposed to ask questions in classes. Teachers don’t ask questions. They’re just reading books, and many students are chatting with friends, or sleeping with their heads on their books to make them like pillows so that they can sleep comfortably.

When they become serious, they start looking for their jobs. Most of them are just interested in entering big and famous companies. If you’re the students of famous schools, you have more advantages to enter those companies. After they enter companies, they must work hard like slaves, work overtime every day, and drink almost every day. I guess many students in Japan prefer playing around partly because they know they have to work like crazy after they graduate from universities.

I hate to criticize my country like this, but I have to criticize because I want my country to change for the better. It’s too sad because many people seem to think in exactly the same way: Go to famous school, enter a big company, and get a promotion.

But I don’t think I would feel happy if I chose such a way of living. Every person should have a different goal, and people should respect that. Students should know what they really want to study, and should study what they like. Every worker should have time for his or her family.

If we can’t accomplish these basic human rights, we can’t say we’re having wealthy lives, even if our economy is very prosperous. We must ask ourselves what happiness means. We should have different answers for that question because we’re all different human beings.

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Maria Fernanda Garcia, Cedar Falls, Iowa

Teacher: Ann Franzenburg

I was born in Santiago, Chile, in 1977 during the reign of Augusto Pinochet, who was the dictator in power. My parents were still newlyweds; they’d only been married two years. They had just gotten out of college when I arrived. Chile in the 1970s was a hard time for a young couple to try and start a family. In 1983, my father decided enough was enough, and we moved to the United States of America. I lived in Chile for a total of five years. It wasn’t much, but it has remained a part of me throughout my life. Even though I’ve lived in the US for the last fourteen years, I am still a Chilean citizen.

If you ask me about Chile’s history, I don’t know much. I know that once we had a war with Peru and Bolivia, and that Northern Chile used to be their land. I know that Augusto Pinochet committed great crimes against the people of my country, and that some of my dad’s friends were killed by him. My parents don’t talk about him much, but if you ask me, Pinochet was the reason my parents decided to leave Chile. They came to the US to get their masters degrees. They weren’t given in any of the universities, and they needed them if they were ever going to get good paying jobs in Chile. Due to the political problems, the country’s economy was pretty low. Both my parents were psychologists, but even that was not enough. Almost everyone, including educated people like my parents, had to hold two jobs just to get by. Because the parents were at work till eight or nine at night, grandparents, schools, and maids were the ones raising the children. My parents didn’t want to have that kind of a life. So we left, and my life’s path totally changed.

When we first moved to the United States, we were really poor. My parents were studying at Southern Illinois University in Carbondale on scholarships. We barely had enough to make it -- it was almost worse than staying in Chile. At least in Chile we had money and plenty of food on the table. Both my parents had student jobs; they were janitors for the university. Knowing how intelligent my parents are, that is the weirdest thing to picture. They both had jobs in their field in Chile, but because they were recent immigrants and they didn’t know the language very well, that was the only job they could get. I get so angry when people talk bad about immigrants and say that they’re lazy and uneducated. Americans that hold that opinion are the most ignorant people in this country. They have no idea what it’s like to try and make it in a different country, especially in one as big and powerful as the United States. Immigrants have to do a lot of things they would never have done back home. My mom says we lived on $15 a week for groceries. All I remember is that we ate hot dogs a lot, but I liked hot dogs, so I didn’t notice our poverty.

Most of the things I learned while living in Chile have been erased. I need to take Spanish classes, and I follow none of the customs. It’s almost like I was reborn when we moved here. I don’t remember much of my adaptation to the US, but I do remember the teacher who taught me how to speak English, and I remember not understanding the Flintstones on TV, but I don’t remember learning English. I feel like I’ve always spoken English; I consider it my first language. Somewhere in the transition between Chile and the US, I lost my Spanish. I really regret the loss because now it is hard for me to communicate with my family the way I would like to. During the last couple of years, I’ve tried to relearn what I can. It is important to me that I can speak to the Latino world as well as the English one because I have realized that I belong to both. I want to blend into both of the societies that have made me what I am today.

My parents tell me that I was a really smart kid. They say that I could sing the entire Chilean national anthem by the time I was two. It is a joke in my family that I was born talking. My parents and family have always described me as this really talkative, really outgoing, confident little kid, but I can’t remember what I was like before I came to the US. I was too young. That’s why it’s really strange to hear them describe me that way, because what I remember is being in elementary school and feeling out of place and stupid. Kids made fun of my name, the name of my country, and my lips. I have big lips compared to white people. I was always really embarrassed and I always felt out of place because I was too different from everyone else. I wanted blond hair and thin lips like Barbie. I remember constantly pressing my lips together so that they would look thin, and wondering why I had to be born with the ugly black hair that no one but adults seemed to like. I was jealous of my sister because she had blond hair when she was little and everyone, even my family, always raved about it. I grew up feeling like the ugly duckling. I was too dark, my face was too different, and my name was too weird. It’s funny, because now that I’m older, I am so glad that I don’t look like Barbie. I would hate to have that big blond hair, and if you look closely, her lips aren’t thin at all. They’re full and pink. I can’t imagine having thin lips. How would I kiss anybody?

As I’ve grown up, I’ve come to appreciate my differences, and I even wish that my skin was a little darker. I’m not embarrassed to be a Chilean anymore. Today, I am proud of being a Chilean and I hope that as I continue to grow, my knowledge and love for the country I came from will also grow and flourish into something I can call my heritage -- a mix between the United States and Chile.

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Tiffany Wu, Taiwan and Los Angeles, California

Teacher: Elise Meyers

The place I came from is actually a beautiful place. It is an island. A line of mountains separates the island into east and west sides. Cities on the west side have developed better than those on the other side. People from everywhere on the island come to the west side to do business, work for companies, or for the government; people on the east side do fishing or farming mostly.

A long time ago the island had a beautiful name -- Formosa. Dutch people who lived on the island hundreds of years ago called it by this name. It means beautiful island. Today, people call it Taiwan. The beautiful landscapes have changed a lot, due to the chemicals from the factories, the illegal cutting down of the trees, and the flooding caused by the built-up garbage. Some rivers are not as clear and smoothly flowing as before; some mountains are ugly brown. This kind of damage is obvious on the west side, but fortunately, most of the natural scenes on he east side have been preserved. Nevertheless, there are still many spots on he island that are worth a visit.

My favorite place is located in the middle part of Taiwan, named Si Toe. A lot of bamboo and huge trees grow there. There was a Chinese poet who said that hugeness is beauty. I agree with him, and if you ever go to Si Toe and see the many tall, straight, and beautiful bamboos and trees, you will agree with me. The green on the bamboos and trees is so fresh it is as if they were just rinsed. Early morning, fog covers the whole mountain and that is the right moment to stand or walk on the path which goes through bamboos and giant trees. The chilliness and thickness of fog blinds you and seems to bring you to the ozone. You not only breathe the air, you can smell it, a little wet with moisture and a little sweet with earth. This instant all activities stop. No sound can you hear till the moment you glimpse the smiling and waving from the sun, and then in no time you will hear the chatting between leaves and wind, and the giggle of birds.

Recently, people living on the island tried to look more closely at their own lives. The magazine called Teacher Chang Monthly Magazine offers some space every month for readers to talk about the environment in Taiwan. They found Formosa was not beautiful any more. People are so greedy that everyone cares only about money. The environment, like mountains or rivers, is full of trash. How to save the environment is becoming the concern of many people who really love their own country. They have been urging our government to impose serious penalties upon those factories that do not properly deal with the chemicals and upon those who illegally cut down the trees. The most important job, I think, should be recycling and not randomly throwing away garbage, which depends on the cooperation of every civilian. I hope personally that my country not only improves its economics but also pays attention to its environment, or one day it will pay for its economic growth with all the "hugeness of beauty" it has lost.

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Chad Reekers, Lawton, Iowa

Teacher: Michele Morano

I’ll never forget the day that our baseball team went to the college World Series in Omaha, Nebraska. It was my sophomore year in baseball and it was the funnest summer of my life to date. Our two coaches decided to take the varsity down to Omaha to see the series. According to the seniors on the team, the three sophomores that started on the team were too immature to hang out with, so this day was going to be a long one. The two classmates that started along with me were the secondbaseman, Brent, and the thirdbaseman, Rick. I was the shortstop. The seniors viewed us as the three cocky little pups that just needed a good ass-kicking.

Anyway, we traveled down to Omaha in the school van and since this was Brent’s, Rick’s, and my virgin trip to Rosenblatt Stadium, we were very excited. We had no tickets for the game, so we had to take advantage of the scalpers. We ended up buying bleacher seats, which was fine by me, I was just happy to be there. The first game was more like an extended practice session than a baseball game. Our head coach was preaching quotes like, "Watch him, Reekers, see how he does that, you should do that, it looks classy." This was happening during the whole game, not real fun. But the best was yet to come.

The coaches had first-base line seats for the nightcap, the second game of the night, so they left the nine teammates in the bleachers. That was a big, big mistake. That was when we little "immature" sophomores came to life. We taunted the left-fielders, LSUs Jim Greeley and Miami’s Bob Torta.

In the sixth inning, Greeley was batting with the bases loaded, and he K’d (struck out). The same inning, while he played defense, Jim misplayed a flyball and committed an error. If that wasn’t enough, the three "immature" sophs had the entire bleacher section taunting and cussing out #44 Greeley. It began to bother him so much, he even flipped us off. In the eighth inning Jim was up with the bases loaded again, and he didn’t strike out; he hit a bomb. My god, was it ever a bomb! The homer put LSU in the lead for good and clinched the win. When Greeley took the field, Brent, Rick, and I had the bleachers praising him as if he were a baseball god. The funny part was that the big, grownup seniors were acting just as "immature" as the sophs. Ever since that day, those seniors didn’t think that we were quite so "immature."

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Pharmacokinetics and Pharmacodynamics--a dissertation abstract

Chen-Cheng Chou, Taiwan

Teacher: Cinda Coggins

Nonparametric analysis is defined as a method that makes use of a mathematical representation of a kinetic variable or response without making specific structured model assumptions about the kinetic variable or response. In other words, the nonparametric analysis approaches are dealing with response approximations rather than those highly-structured model parameter estimations. A fundamental advantage of nonparametric analysis approaches is the use of fewer and less restrictive assumptions than traditional compartmental methods. These assumptions can be experimentally verified by using methods such as the basic superposition principle. Nonparametric analysis approaches provide a more objective manner of describing the pharmacokintics than the traditional compartment methods. The overall objective of this thesis is to develop some nonparametric analysis methods and to demonstrate their application in pharmacokinetics and pharmacodynamics. The specific objectives are summarized as follows:

(a) A novel nonparametric approach based on a general cross-validation spline function to predict steady state from single dose data is developed and tested.

(B) Four novel nonparametric approaches based on cubic spline functions are compared to a conventional procedure.

(C) A novel, robust monotonic regression analysis methodology is developed to make a pharmacodynamic comparison of the onset, potency and duration of opioid antagonism produced by nalmefene and naloxone when tested at equi-efficacicous doses and to demonstrate that by employing this method the heart rate can be used as a surrogate pharmacodynamic response variable instead of using pCO₂.

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Voices from the Writing Lab is published twice a year at the University of Iowa, Rhetoric Department, in the Fall and Spring semesters. Thank you to

Editors/Proofreaders: Ann Franzenburg and Carol Severino all the students and their teachers who contributed to this issue.