Hidden Immigrant

"'If we were meant to stay in one place, we would have roots instead of feet,' he said."

[breathtakingdestinations]

London - England (von Eric Esquivel)

[hidden-immigrant]

I miss #London

[hidden-immigrant]

This Goddamn Motherfucking Dress.

I hate to become a part of this Internet sensationalism, especially in the wake of the great news about Net Neutrality, a horrible shooting, the anniversary of Trayvon Martin's murder, and the death of a legend. But I've seen a lot of people get really mean over what fucking color they see vs. what color it is or whatever and while I understand some people are joking, a lot of people aren't. So I did some research and I've figured out why this stupid ass dress is so goddamn polarizing.

I know the damn dress is blue and black, but in this photo, unless I rationalize it, I see it as white and gold, or sometimes blue and brown. And what colors you see has nothing to do with your eyes and everything to do with your perception.

There are 2 aspects I explored here: photography and illusion.

I'm more familiar with photography, so I started there. The whole principle is actually pretty straightforward--the photo was probably taken on a camera phone with very little ability to detect white balance, probably in a place with lots of tungsten (yellow) light, and most likely with flash. This results in very poor image quality and also decoloration. I say this because unlike the Internet, my Photoshop doesn't recognize any blue or black (except for the checkered blanket in the background) in the photo; rather, it detects very light blue and brown. This was a common issue in frame and sequence, particularly regarding the relationship between blue and white. When blue is overexposed, it washes out, making it look white (check out the sky in shitty photos). The yellow is most likely the yellow tungsten lights reflecting off the presumably sheer black lace, which seems to be where my issue with seeing the black is coming from. And since black by definition absorbs whatever light hits it, the flash would illuminate it as yellow.

Now from an optical standpoint, shit gets really interesting. So color enables us to see the similarities in differences in objects based on the full spectrum of the light an object reflects. Check out this photo of a jungle:

Do you see a predator? It's very difficult, and if humans saw like this, we'd all be dead by now. So let's add color to the mix:

OH SHIT! SEE THAT MUTHAFUCKIN PANTHER? That nigga would've eaten your ass if you couldn't see in color.

Color is, by definition, is the quality of an object or substance with respect to light reflected by the object. We can tell different surfaces and objects apart by the unique wavelengths of light they emit when other light hits it. So the predator becomes obvious in the colored photo, which is why the human eye evolved to see color all together.

The problem is, as color is by definition reflection of light, the quality of light doing the reflection is critical. That's why the light that falls onto your eye is essentially meaningless and comes down entirely to context, as illustrated by the checker shadow illusion.

Your brain is what adjusts, not your eye. Stare at the dot between the red and green boxes for 30 seconds, then look at the identical desert scene. Your brain becomes accustomed to green light on the left side and red on the right, and it applies that to everything else you look at.

CRAZY. ASS. SHIT.

So we see by LEARNING to see. And we don't see the world the way it is, we see it the way it's most useful. It's apparently similar to kinetic illusions. I'm sure you're familiar with the spinning dancer illusion--look at her for long enough and she seems to change directions right before your eyes.

I also recall something I learned about organized vs. disorganized sound and your perception. When you learn a foreign language, your brain needs to learn how to organize a seemingly random array of syllables and vowels. That's why when you hear a language you don't know, it sounds like gibberish. But as you learn, it starts to sound more melodic and carries meaning, intention, and emotion. Apparently the same thing can happen to your eyes based on context.

So now this stupid muthafuckin' dress. My problem is, I instinctively look at it and see a white dress under blue tinted light, when in reality, it's a black dress under yellow tinted light.

It has nothing to do with your eyes or cones or your personality or whether or not you kill babies or not, it's all your goddamn perception. And this is particularly polarizing because blue and yellow occupy opposite sides of the color wheel. Some people, however, are able to switch between both by (perhaps subconsciously) changing the context in which you perceive the dress's environment.

Wanna see how fucking arbitrary this shit is? With a few exposure and temperature changes (NO color replacement whatsoever) you can even make the original look white and fucking gold.

There, everyone satisfied? Now SHUT THE FUCK UP.

#LivTheScientist

[hidden-immigrant]

¡Estamos en España!

[hidden-immigrant]

Travel Log #6: "Would ya like some haggis with that?"—23 hours in Edinburgh, Scotland

This is it—my first real solo trip! It’s official…I’m a grown up now.

Because I know how much everyone cares about my every thought and movement, I thought it might be interesting to document my 36 hours in Edinburgh. I started with a well thought out and highly ambitious plan, but aren’t plans more like guidelines in general?

7:00—Arrived much earlier than expected; it’s still dark here; no kilt sightings yet.

7:45—Found the hostel, which is right across from the castle; navigation tip: this city is NOT a grid, New Yorkers beware.

8:30—Sitting in The Elephant House, where JK Rowling famously wrote the first Harry Potter book on a napkin, reading Clockwork; unfortunately they were out of haggis.

9:15—Costa Coffee. Not very Scottish but I’m about to keel over from exhaustion and I’ve been here all of 2 hours.

10:00—After an intense internal debate between the national gallery and a walking tour, I’ve opted for the walking tour. Why not? I’m allowed to be a tourist for a little while.

10:25—I DESPERATELY need to brush my teeth. And redo my makeup. I look like the joker.

10:30—These streets are so winding it’s ridiculous

10:35—lol where the fuck am I

10:36—FIRST KILT SIGHTING ON THE ROYAL MILE.

10:50—Sooo many Americans in this hostel.

11:10—literally hear bagpipes in the distance.

11:30—Just learned where the term “shitfaced” came from! Apparently when people used to poop in buckets, everyone emptied them out the windows at 10pm every day. So they’d yell a warning and if you were underneath, you’d respond. Only if you’re really drunk, you don’t respond in time and look up to see who’s talking, resulting in a bucket of shit in your face. So yeah thanks Edinburgh.

11:33—More bagpipes. Jesus.

12:00—Dat view

12:30—This is such a grim city! There’s literally a pub called the Last Drop right next to the gallows where people would drink their last whiskey before being hanged. Not to mention the hundreds of dead bodies they found when the castle moat drained. And the tower in the graveyard where people were tortured. And the railings by the graves to stop grave robbery. And the hostel where they would kill people and sell their bodies for medical research. Lord have mercy, Halloween here must be terrifying.

13:05—I made frandz from the hostel!

13:20—Ate a sandwich from a place called “Oink” where there’s literately a freshly slaughtered pig in the window they bring in every day. It was good tho, not gonna lie, but this country is obsessed with dead things.

14:10—Okay. It was charming at first, but too much bagpipe music is truly horrendous.

15:20—Castle was £16 lol no

16:30—Writing with wine in the storytellers cafe #blessed7eva

18:15—Just helped a street performer juggle 3 torches and a knife 😳

19:45—At an extremely rowdy Biergarten with a Guinness watching Poland vs Scotland / Germany vs Ireland simultaneously…life is good

20:10—Why da fuq did they give me weird sub-par ranch dressing to dip my cheese fries into?

20:11—OMG THERE’S HAM IN THESE FRIES. You’re forgiven, Scotland.

20:15—These accents. The fuck are they even saying? Is this English?

20:35—Dude Scotland sucks balls at soccer/football. 20:43—Switched to Germany v Ireland. 20:55—Why is Neuer always way out in the middle of the field? Jogi should just make him a striker cuz that's clearly what he wants.

21:00—POLDI DAS GIBTS DOCH NICHT!!!!! 21:12—Toni Kroos, please marry me. 21:30—You can always tell when a guy loves--I mean LOVES--football. You see him at the beginning of the night with a group of hot girls. They all come to the bar and he noticed there's a game on. Then you see his attention start to shift very slowly from the babes to the game. It's subtle at the beginning, but then all of a sudden he's sitting far away from the group, pint in hand, more invested in this game than in his own life. It's a beautiful and wonderful sight. 21:34—Ew he's an Ireland supporter nvm

21:39—NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO 21:40—I fucking hate draws. 21:45—Pub crawl time! 21:47—Just kidding ima watch Sinister with my roommates. 22:58—😐 23:00—It's fine I love having horrid nightmares. 23:03—Real talk tho ima go to the bar and drink away my fears. 23:15—Somehow wound up playing kings cup jenga with a bunch of Australian boys. 23:18—"Rizah-blides" 23:30—Guys are always so damn impressed when I can skull a beer. #valuablelifeskills 23:35—Had to kiss one but he's cute so I'm not complaining. 23:37—Whoa I'm really drunk. 0:20—I'm at a salsa bar in Edinburgh dancing to "Waka Waka". How did this happen? 0:25—No seriously how did we get here I don't remember 1:00—When did it become 1?!?!?! I have to go to bed!!!!! 1:25—A whole 2.5 hours of sleep. 1:26—*drunken sleep 4:15—Lol my roommates hate me 4:59—WHERE IN HELL IS THE BUS STATION?! 5:00—Oh found it 5:15—Bye Edinburgh! It's been real! 5:20—Shit I'm still drunk 10:50—Woke up in Manchester. So another 4 hours. 13:10—If this baby does not stop crying within the next half an hour, I will jump out the window. 14:00—SHEEP!!!!!!!!! 14:10—May I recommend not getting pissed hours before a 9 hour bus ride? 14:47—I CAN SEE THE LONDON EYE IN THE GREY FOGGY DISTANCE AND IT'S THE MOST MAJESTIC THING I'VE EVER SEEN. 14:55—Motherfucker I'm hungry. 15:06—I really do love London. I always forget how in my element I feel in this city. 16:10—Home. Finally. With pizza.

16:15–Shitty pizza, but pizza nonetheless.

[hidden-immigrant]

Travel Log #5: My New Favorite Drug (BBC Wood Norton, Evesham, England)

Today, for about 15 minutes, I felt better than I have in my entire life.

It was a rush like no other. At first, it was scary.  My heart started racing and my face felt warm. I could feel my lunch start to creep up from my stomach. When I looked down, I noticed my hands were shaking.

Then suddenly, it felt great. I was on top of the world. I was more confident than I knew was possible. I could do anything, and I knew just what to do.

And then euphoria—pure and simple. I was electrified, exuberant, and exhilarated all at the same time.

    And then it was over.

  When I first applied to film school, movies were my life and blood. I could think of nothing better than living a life between sets, pouring your soul into one project for a few months and then moving on to something else. It sounded like the perfect job for me.

But soon, I started to realize I didn’t feel the same joy crewing on sets as some of my peers. I found the process of filmmaking tedious and slow, and a year in, I got bored. And no city or person or substance could entertain me.

That rush I felt when I heard that gravelly voice over the radio warn, “30 seconds to broadcast” was better than any drug.

I had never considered directing live television until this week.  Broadcasting was way too much pressure.  The thought of directing the World Cup final gave me anxiety.  Now it excites me.

I love live television because it’s never boring.  You have to be mentally sharp and make decisions on the fly.  You get to be creative and technical at the same time.  You’re the boss in a true collaborative process.  You feel omniscient, omnipotent even.  You’re surrounded by people with technical skills that rival mechanical engineers.  And for a short period of time, you’re communicating with millions of people at once.

I don’t think I’ll be able to forget that rush sitting in the gallery, eyes darting from monitor to monitor, cuing everything from camera movements to cuts to lines to lighting changes. That being said, there are still a few movies I insist on making myself, and I still plan on creating and writing my own television drama one day.

  You know what? Fuck it. We’ll do it live!

[hidden-immigrant]

Weird DuoLingo screencap of the day

[hidden-immigrant]

For the next 4 days

[hidden-immigrant]

Me swiping drunk back into the dorms at 7am

[hidden-immigrant]

Ha.

[hidden-immigrant]

Travel Log #4: "England is really weird—a memoir", vol. I

Alright, Brits.

To follow up that warm, fuzzy piece about how much we love y’all, I simply must note that we also think you’re incredibly bizarre. From your unintelligible accents to your *ahem* questionable food choices, I have yet to go a day here without vocalizing the phrase: "What the actual fuck."

So without further ado, here is the first in what I'm sure will be many installments of: "England Is So Weird: A Memoir". I'd like to begin with a simple list of weird shit my little American self has encountered over the past 3 weeks.

1. DIGESTIVES. They're fucking delicious and highly addictive. But really? Digestives? It's like you went, "hey, what's the most unappealing name for a food? Great, let's use it."

2. NORTHERN ACCENTS. ...what? Is this even English? It took my classmate and I about 10 minutes to realize our Northern tutor was saying "pull" instead of "paw". The struggle is too real. Then again, I suppose this is how you feel when you hear them down-home Southern accents in America.

3. SCOTTISH ACCENTS. See above, x100000000000.

4. THE "SHOREDICH MAN BUN". Please stop.

5. "PAEDIATRICS", "PROGRAMME", AND OTHER INCLUSIONS OF UNNECESSARY EXTRA LETTERS. Don't give me that we-invented-the-language bullshit. It's extraneous. Modernize.

6. APOLOGIZING. Y'all need to stop apologizing. A dude tripped over all my shit, which was spread obnoxiously all over the tube car, and fell on the ground. Then he got up, turned to me, and said, "I'm so sorry!" Why the fuck are you sorry?! I was actually offended that he was sorry! I'm the one who should be sorry! Jeez.

7. "EGGY BREAD". This is what you call French Toast. Though I will admit, it's kind of adorable.

8. GIANT STRAWBS. Not only do they have the exact same consistency as wax, but "strawbs"? Really? I thought the Americans were the ones that over-shortened everything.

9. PUDDING. I'm extremely confused about what it really is. It seems like anything that's not ice cream or custard can be referred to as "pudding". I don't understand what's going on here.

10. "MATHS". Why do you want more than one math?!

11. THE NORTHERN LINE & THE CIRCLE LINE. ???????????

[hidden-immigrant]

Granny.

Britain is like America's somewhat estranged grandmother.

She took good care of us as young children, kept us safe, and imposed her rules–rules we didn't agree with, rules we thought were antiquated and unnecessary. So, being her most rebellious children, we revolted. We became the world's first emancipated minors and decided to become our own nation. We were (and to a great extent, still are) deeply troubled and conflicted, but we managed to flourish and eventually became extremely successful and influential. And now that we're at least a semi-well adjusted young adult nation, it's time to reconnect with the motherland.

Like any loyal child, we came to Granny's aid whenever big bad Mainland Europe threatened her. And since then, though we may not always see eye to eye, we've been making efforts to understand one another and remain on good terms. Granny thinks we're loud and often quite obnoxious. She thinks our dealings with others are brash and violent, though time and time again, she supports us regardless. She's confused by our modernization (or bastardization, depending on your point of view) of her classical language and finds our spelling preposterous. But she also laughs at our slang and marvels at our unwavering positivity and optimism.

We, on the other hand, think Granny's customs are outdated. We don't understand why she's so pessimistic and melancholic all the time. We think her dance moves are pathetic, her cooking is horrible, and often wonder whether she has a problem with alcoholism. Sometimes she can be so stuffy and uptight we have to repress the urge to suggest she have the stick up her ass surgically removed. But we also find her endearing and most of the time, we think she's adorable. We even enjoy her dry humor on occasion, even if it does go a bit over our heads. We appreciate her long, rich history and most importantly, we absolutely LOVE her accent. All in all, we really get along rather well.

As the UK goes through this important and tumultuous time of change, we Americans can only offer our steadfast support and solidarity. We know it must be very difficult to question a 300-year-old identity–hell, we haven't even been around for that long. But you've held up thus far, and we're very proud to have come from you. And take it from us: change isn't always bad.

[hidden-immigrant]

[hidden-immigrant]

Travel Log #3: Lost in the Crowd (London, England)

I find myself once again in a city where I’m neither a tourist nor a resident. It doesn’t feel like home–but then again, nowhere really does. This is a place where I can go on a moment’s notice without feeling like I’m in a foreign country. A place where I couldn’t give you directions but I feel very comfortable getting lost in the crowd.

Sitting in this orientation is tedious. I’m sure it is for everyone, but I imagine if I were here with Alex, a good friend with whom I visited London in the winter, we’d be texting each other about how much more we know about this city. It’s interesting to see what an immersion experience can do to a person. Alex and I were in London for about 2 weeks, which is not that long by any standard. But we lived those two weeks like real Londoners. We learned the language (which really is quite different than 'Murican), we studied the culture and history, and we spent every moment with our English counterparts. By the time we left, we could honestly say we knew the city of London.

One mistake foreign exchange students in any country make is spending all their time with their fellow expats. I of all people know what it’s like to feel foreign and out of place, and it was extremely difficult during my first few months in Germany to resist only talking to the English and Australian kids. But what do you expect to learn exclusively hanging out with your own kind? Why did you even bother leaving home in the first place? I’m making a promise for this upcoming semester right now—that I will branch out from my American peer group, that I will make new British friends, and that I will fully immerse myself in this vibrant and diverse city. I’ll allow myself to get lost in the crowd.

[hidden-immigrant]

Weird DuoLingo screencap of the day La mujer either needs professional help of a show on TLC. Or both.

[hidden-immigrant]

Travel Log #2: Disappointment; or: A New Kind of Humility (Munich, Germany)

Welp, I failed my driving test.

I’m good at a lot of shit. Mind you, I'm also not good at a lot of shit, including calculus and camping. But I’m a really good writer—stories and narratives come naturally to me. I can pick up a language in less than 3 months if I hear it enough. I have a great ear and I can play a melody on a piano after you hum it once. I tend to “get” technology pretty fast, and I can run a pretty solid mile for someone who isn’t an athlete. And I was just admitted into an extremely selective television internship to which only 8 students are accepted.

I’m not very good at driving.

Snaps for perpetuating misogynistic stereotypes!

It’s always a shock when intelligent people realize they’re not great at everything. I’ve seen it time and time again at school, when my extremely clever friends and classmates decide to take that one class that kicks their ass and they have no idea why. More often than not, they beat themselves up for not knowing everything there is to know. And when they do this, I always tell them they’re being ridiculous expecting so much of themselves. I myself had this very tough awakening in 8th grade, when I first moved to Germany knowing no German and was expected to follow along in my courses. I realized failing isn’t the end of the world, and that most of the time, you suck at things you first try. But you get better over time, just as I could suddenly speak fluent German just a few months later.

And yet, here I am now. I started this summer saying I would go to Germany in August and learn to drive stick shift before my program in England started on the 25th. Not only is learning to drive in Germany, as one would expect, extremely difficult, it’s also very stressful. German teachers aren’t exactly famous for encouraging their students and making them feel confident and self-assured. High school was hard enough, but now, I have to sit next to a grouchy old Bavarian man with a heavy accent for 2 hours a day who is never shy about how much I suck at driving and how difficult it is for him to teach someone like me.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1MLry6Cn_D4

My dad keeps telling me, “Don’t let it get to you, just brush it off, you’re doing great.” That’s what any American would say to someone in my situation. But imagine trying to go about your day with someone next you you yelling, “That was terrible! What the hell are you doing? You’ll never get this right, it’s no use. I’ve never seen someone have such a hard time. Why is this so hard for you?” Soon, you’d start to get annoyed. Then, you’d get angry. And after a while, you may even start to believe it.

This “vacation” has been more stressful then the word suggests (part of the reason I haven’t been updating this blog as often as I’d like). I know I’m probably being harder on myself than I should, but I really don’t understand why I just can’t seem to get something as simple as driving. The dumbest people on earth can drive, why the fuck can’t I? Why can I downshift to 2nd gear in a turn one day and then hardly keep the thing in a straight line the next? Fuck, I can’t even pass the freakin written text, how do I expect to take a practical driving test, most likely with another grouchy mean Bavarian man, in less than a week?

I don’t want a pity party, and I most certainly don’t want anyone to tell me that I AM doing well and to stop abusing myself. The fact is, I’m an overachiever, so I will always be hard on myself. But my dad did tell me one thing that I believe is important for everyone to remember: another underrated form of humility is admitting to yourself when you’ve done well. Maybe I can’t learn to drive as fast as some people, but in 3 weeks, I’m a lot better than some road users out there. I already know and understand the basics of stick shift, which a lot of Americans never even come across. And I’ve learned more about cars and engineering than my dad’s old quack mechanic.

Oftentimes, things don’t turn out the way you expect. Sometimes they’re better, and sometimes they’re worse, but they’re always different. I probably won’t have my driver’s license by the end of the summer, and maybe I will have to start all over in the US next year. But in any event, I have to believe the Universe intended it this way.

[whenyouliveinmunich]

when someone wears lederhos'n with chucks

[hidden-immigrant]

Weird DuoLingo screencap of the day.

Not many, DuoLingo.  Not many.