A Walk to Beautiful

Yesterday evening, Justin and I went to visit some friends up in Durham who recently had a baby. Their daughter Sam is beautiful and her mother has recovered just fine too. In fact, Courtney (the mom) plans to participate in a triathlon in August--about six months after she delivered.

I take comfort in knowing that one day I will give birth to my children in a clean hospital where there are doctors, nurses, and midwives. I know that if anything goes wrong during my labor, then I can rely on the medical personnel to give my baby the best of care. Unfortunately, millions of women across our globe do not have such a luxury.

Last week I watched the documentary "A Walk to Beautiful" that chronicles the prevalence of fistulas in Ethiopia. Obstetricians and midwives are rare in this poor African nation and even rarer in its countryside. Most women in rural areas have no access to a medical professional when they give birth---they just rely on the other women in the village to help them through the delivery. Now in many cases, both mother and baby are healthy after the birth; but in some cases, the woman languishes in labor that can last up to ten days. The child is often left stillborn while the mother frequently develops a fistula.

A fistula is a hole that forms between a woman's birth canal and one or more of her internal organs (either the bladder or the rectum). This hole is created after numerous days of obstructed labor and it causes permanent incontinence of urine and/or feces. Many women who develop fistulas are abandoned by their husbands and shunned by their communities. One woman in the documentary was forced to build an isolated hut away from her family members because they did not want to be close to her. For six years she suffered like this.



Yet there is hope for these women. The Addis Ababa Fistula Hospital was established in 1974 to treat women with this medical ailment. In the past 33 years, the hospital has treated over 33,000 women and boasts a 90% cure rate. But the work of the hospital is never done. About 100,000 Ethiopian women remain untreated while 9,000 new cases are introduced every year. The hospital faces an uphill---but not impossible---battle.

After the documentary ended, my heart was drained and I was humbled. How easy I take for granted the access to medical care in my life. How easy I take for granted my insignificant trials that are so small compared to others. And how helpless I feel when I realize there is not much I can do for these women beyond making a donation to the Fistula Foundation.

Life is so cruelly unfair and I wonder why I have been given so much and others so little.

Signs

On our way home from Durham today, we passed by two billboards that I found highly ironic.

On the left side of the freeway was a sign proudly proclaiming: "Ask Jesus to be your Savior today!" And on the right side of the road was a sign advertising: "Topless! Topless! Topless! Next Exit."

I couldn't help but wonder---which billboard would win in a boxing match?

On one side of the ring we have..........JESUS!
On the other side of the ring we have..........BOOBIES!

It'd be the match of the century if you ask me.

(Indeed, I am a blasphemous and crude woman who will surely be struck by lightning. Forgive me please, high lord Xenu.)

Racism is not dead

I consider myself very lucky that my run-ins with racism are few and far between. Growing up in suburban Maryland, my neighborhood and community was tolerant and diverse. My friends throughout my childhood and teenage years came in an assortment of ethnicities and races and the color of our skin was never really an issue.

Yet the ugly head of racism has reared up in my life a couple of times. I've been called "flat face" and I've been nicknamed "Caroline the Brown" and I've been asked why I speak English without an accent. Most of these incidents I shrug off as simple ignorance--but one example still makes my heart ache a little.

During my third year in college, I befriended a guy from Wyoming and we spent a couple of semesters in innocent flirting and bantering. I discovered one day that my friend had considered dating me but decided against it due to my race--and this discovery stung my soul and wounded my heart. I told myself that it wasn't a big deal and I tried to lock away my hurt feelings--but I couldn't. This was the first time I felt utterly judged by the color of my skin. I felt like someone had looked at my race and figured I wasn't good enough. I wasn't white enough. Suffice to say, I didn't talk to this person for a very long time.

Racism is still alive in our country. We can tout the rise of the black middle class or point to the diversity of college students in our universities or hail the achievements of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. But this doesn't mean that racism is gone or that it has been stomped out of our society. Of course, we have come a long way since the days of Jim Crow but the road ahead of us remains long and winding. Just look at the way some people demean Hispanic immigrants as "dirty Mexicans" and "lazy."

Millions of Americans look to Barack Obama as a sign that racism doesn't matter anymore. Indeed, the candidate has rallied voters from all colors, religions, and ages to the banner of his cause. But this doesn't mean that the Obama campaign has not faced a wave of racism in conservative states and counties. A story in today's Washington Post recounts the trials and tribulations that Obama workers have encountered as they canvassed across the country.


In Indiana for instance, one of Obama's campaign offices was vandalized and spray-painted the day of the primary election. In Scranton, Obama signs were burned during a St. Patrick's Day parade. And here is the clincher: in rural Pennsylvania, one man ranted that he could never vote for a black man and dared to say: "Hang that darky from a tree."

How frustrating. How disappointing. How very, very sad.

Yet I do have hope for this country. (The audacity of hope!) As the older generations die out and as the younger ones rise up, I believe racism will lessen and ebb away ever slowly. My own marriage is a testament of this belief. Decades ago, my union with a white man would have been illegal in some states and looked down upon in most others--yet people today don't even bat an eye when my husband and I walk hand-in-hand down the street.

We have come so far--yet we still have far to go. Racism is not dead. It is alive in our country and it will cling to life as long as people hold onto the prejudices of the past. It will continue on as long as we allow it to live in the hearts of our children. And it will continue on if we allow it to live in our hearts as well.

This is a little late but...

I voted on Tuesday!

After watching over forty states hold their Democratic and Republican primaries, I finally got my chance too. And it was fabulous! On the day of the primary, Justin and I went down to our local elementary school to cast our votes for Barack Obama as well as our picks for the governor and Senate races in November. Justin even spent the rest of the afternoon canvassing for Obama in a few neighborhoods in our town. (I declined to go because knocking on people's doors freaks me out. A lot.) I was just happy to wear my "I Voted" sticker for the rest of the day because I finally got my chance to vote in this historic election.

On my way home from the grocery store later in the day, I heard on NPR that voting in North Carolina doubled this year compared to the presidential primaries in 2004. On one hand this made me really happy, but on the other hand I was sorely disappointed. 35% of North Carolinians voted on Tuesday as opposed to 17% in 2004---yet this leaves a huge bulk of the population that failed to go to the polls!

I can't help but think of Elizabeth Cady Stanton and Susan B. Anthony who worked for their entire adult lives to give women the vote. And I can't help but think of the horrible laws like the "grandfather clauses" that were implemented to prevent African-Americans from voting. For so much of our history, huge swaths of the population have been barred from casting a vote on election day. Yet now that every adult citizen has the right to do so---many of us choose to stay at home. (And I admit it. I used to be one of these people too. I never bothered to vote in 2004 because I figured my vote would be wasted anyway.)

But no more! Voting is so important. This very simple act is the lifeblood of our democracy. Thus, if you still have the chance to vote in the primaries, then be sure to do it. And if you failed to vote in your primaries, then be sure to register and vote in the general election!

If not, then Caroline the voting monster will come out and get you...

The End of the Universe

Since the name of my blog is "Adventures in Space," I've decided to actually write about--what else?--space! I've actually been in love with astronomy since I was a kid. You know how some children go through a dinosaur phase or a robot phase or an airplane phase? Well, I had a space phase and I never really grew out of it.

During my freshman year of college I took an astronomy class and in my free time I read my textbook for fun. I loved learning about the formation of galaxies, the creation of our universe, and all of the wonderful oddities of outer space. If I had more of a knack for physics, then I probably would have majored in astronomy. But alas, my brain didn't inherit the mysterious Chinese gene that inspires genius within the fields of math or physics. Indeed, I am a shame to my mother country and to my heritage! To put it mildly, I am a dunce. I am the equivalent of a male panda who is unable to reproduce--both of us entirely unuseful to China's hopes in taking over the world.



And yet I still have a layman's curiosity when it comes to astronomy. On Tuesday nights I watch a fantastic show on the History Channel called "The Universe," which delves into different topics ranging from the force of gravity to the strange moons of Saturn. The most recent episode focused on the end of the universe--and my mind is still boggled and bewildered by what I watched.

Basically, astronomers have two theories about the end of the universe: either a hot fiery hellhole or a frigid wasteland of darkness and cold. Pretty bleak, eh? The first theory goes like this... One day the universe will stop expanding and will start to shrink. It will get smaller and smaller and hotter and hotter until it collapses back into a pinpoint of mass. Scientists call this the Big Crunch. The second theory is equally distateful. This theory posits that the universe will continue to expand at an accelerated pace. One day all of the stars will lose their light and even the black holes will evaporate. The end of the universe will be black and icy cold. Everything will be dead. (Not exactly a happy ending either.)

Of course, the universe we live in now is vibrant and strong. Stars still form, planets still orbit, and life still finds it way to birth. We will all be long gone before the universe will end in the far distant future (over a 100 trillion years). But my brain has been churning about the end of the universe in the spiritual sense. Once the universe dies a cold or fiery death, does God die too? Or do He and She pack up their bags and find a new place to call home? Or perhaps God exists on a plane that is beyond our physical universe? I really have no idea.

The Bible talks about eternal life and I've taken this to mean that life will never end. That our souls have some sort of immortal quality to them. But what if eternity has an end too? If the universe must die one day, then what will happen to me or you once this end is reached? Mormons tend to believe that God is a powerful being who is constrained (or rather follows) natural laws. Would He or She be able to bend such laws to allow the universe to keep going without end? Or perhaps does God have the power to create some kind of wormhole into a brand new universe where we can all indeed live forever?

I really don't know. I guess I will just have to wait 100 trillion years to find out.

That is, if I make it that far... :o)