Jaja In

Reflections, Insights, and Adjustments for the Future of Jaja in by Jahan Sharif

A few years ago, when I was still living in New York City, my executive producer made an off handed comment that I’ve carried with me ever since.

We were launching a new show, and many of us on the team had been furiously trying to figure out what the “right” segments to pitch were, and what types of guests really embodied the intention of the show’s mission. One day, a group of us was huddled together comparing notes on research we’d done, when our EP walked by. When she realized what we were doing, she said, “Don’t think too much about getting it right out of the gate-- the show won’t even begin to know what it is until at least episode ten. And plus, I don’t know about you guys, but I’ve told people not to even watch until episode 6!”

I found this logic curious, so I visited her office later that day to ask for clarification.

She explained that it was important to have a clear sense of where we were trying to go, but not to be wedded to the original ideas I thought would get us there. The best way to get there, she continued, was to think really hard about what might work, try it out, and then adjust: “Refine the things that work, and experiment with the things that don’t.”

(It turns out this concept was mathematically proven by George Dantzig in 1947. He developed the Simplex Method for solving complex problems. Basically, the fastest way to find the optimal answer to problems with many variables is to assess where you are, find the best next step, and then assess again-- repeating the process until you’ve arrived at a solution that cannot be further improved.)

So what was it about episodes six and ten that were unique? I asked. She said that it takes at least five episodes to identify any trends, and another five episodes to put any insights into action. So episode six would be the first chance we’d have to refine the show, and episode 10 would be the next time we’d see results. If we were doing things right, the improvements at points six and ten should be dramatic.

Well friends, this post you’re reading now is our episode 10. And if you haven’t noticed, I’ve been trying all sorts of things! In fact, I think it’s worth a few moments to look back.

My first piece was a personal story about The Unintended Consequences of Buying a Rolex. I followed this up with a college research paper/think piece called The Magical Realism of Karl Lagerfeld. Then, I tried to make it more personal by recounting my experience with gentrification, before rebuking my own lesson and taking a hard left to write a poem about environmental conservation, which I followed with a piece on the spiritual experience of Jazz.

Those were my first five pieces, and I’m so grateful you stuck by me through this period of schizophrenia.

Fortunately by this point, through my communications with many of you and reflecting myself, I’d learned some things:

  • I needed to make my content more personal

  • I needed to focus my message

  • I needed to curate the content so it was useful

  • I needed to find a format that was sustainable and scalable

With that in mind, my next post was Coming Out Isn’t Just for Gays. This was my best received piece. It achieved many of the goals above. I told my personal story of how I arrived at this topic, and it had useful and actionable content for readers. For me though, the most valuable takeaway was that it showed me where my lane was. It reminded me that I am most at home in the space between a compelling story and an audience-- the facilitator.

Since then, I’ve published interviews with two captivating characters building community in their own ways: Efrem Fesaha with his coffee shop in Renton, WA and Jesse Morton, the former Al-Qaeda recruiter who is using his clout to unify former radicals in an effort to combat violent extremism.

While these changes feel intuitively right, I am reassured by the fact that the empirical data suggests you like it too! So I’m going to continue in this direction.

The intention of Jaja in to share stories that help guide us toward fostering more meaningful relationships with the people, things, and events in our lives remains the same. But now, instead of trying to communicate those lessons through disjointed “day in the life of Jahan” essays, I’ll be using my skills and access as a tv producer to bring you the stories of interesting people and organizations that are putting these values into practice through their own lives, and in creative ways. The formats will vary and surely evolve, but for now you can expect to receive a mix of audio and written content.

As Gary Bartz said that night I went to see him, “I don’t know where we gon’ go or how we gon’ get there, but I hope you enjoy it.”

The same is true for us.

xoxo,
Jaja

Los Angeles, CA, USA
April 2019

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Sifa Zote Kwa Mtu Mweusi: All Praises to the Black Man by Jahan Sharif

Gary Bartz

Gary Bartz

I.

The DJ is playing music that sounds like it was made by aliens for aliens, and it’s making me crazy. I’m here to listen to a famous Jazz musician, but if this DJ set is any indication of what to expect, then I had better brace for a total mental breakdown.

Listening to Jazz can sometimes feel like reading a science fiction book with loose grammar and no punctuation inside of a wind tunnel. Jazz draws from everywhere, and yet doesn’t meet you anywhere. It asks nothing of you, and yet requires your full faith to go to where it needs; and, if you get there, it still doesn’t promise you anything, it just presents you with an opportunity.

Gary Bartz crica 1976

Gary Bartz crica 1976

Tonight, I’m with a friend at a performance venue in Highland Park, and we’re here to see the saxophonist, Gary Bartz. I’d never heard of him before, but he has the endorsement of many respected musicians. In fact, Ali Shaheed Muhammad from A Tribe Called Quest and Verdine White, the legendary bassist from Earth, Wind, and Fire, are both here.

It’s a diverse crowd with ages ranging from high schoolers as young as 15, to veterans well into their 70s, and us in between. The gentle hum of idle conversation hangs overhead as we wait. I have the impression that most people here tonight are like me-- we have some inkling of what is possible, and so we came in case something did.

II.

With the pacing of a person who moves exclusively at the speed of his own choosing, Gary Bartz-- dressed in a white collared shirt under a black corduroy blazer, and donning a wide-brimmed bowler hat-- smiled as he sauntered his way to the mic. He adjusted his saxophone and bantered playfully with us, saying that he had to take the stage this early (11pm), because we were so young we probably still had curfews. As we laughed, he said that since he’s started to look old (though he doesn’t feel old) he feels the need to remind us “young people” that even now, after more than 60 years of performing, he “don’t know what we gon’ do, or how we gon’ do it. But I hope you enjoy it.”

With that, he put his lips to the mouthpiece and produced a noise that sounded like a screaming elephant with bronchitis. And then, he just matter-of-factly carried on from there; making his horn screech and scratch, then squeal and wail: Forcefully, confidently, and without apology. This was not easy listening.

The band joined in and soon the sounds flowed together like a field of multicolored wildflowers swaying in the desert breeze: individually remarkable, spiritual in unison, and organized in a such way that seemed like it could have only been envisioned by Mother Nature herself. While I’d never heard anything like it before, even an unsophisticated ear like mine could tell it was something special.

Aside from his brief cover of Earth, Wind, and Fire’s “Fantasy”, there’s one song I remember clearly.

He started it off by singing in a low speaking voice, seeee-faaaaah zooooeee-tehy, the sounds dripping out of his mouth like warm sap from a maple tree. Seeee-faaaaah zoooo-tehy...seeee-faaaaah zooooeee-tehy. His eyes closed as he rolled each syllable around his tongue like he was savoring the flavors of the perfect bite of his favorite meal. Seeee-faaaaah zooooeee-tehy...seeee-faaaaah zooooeee-tehy...seeee-faaaaah zooooeee-tehy...

“You like how that sounds?” He asked, gazing out over us.

We cooed with approval.

“Me too...so much so that I made a song out of it. Sifa Zote: It means ‘All Praises’ in Swahili. Sifa Zote Kwa Mtu Mweusi-- All Praises to the Black Man. That’s music, all praise. And that’s me, a black man. You get the music with the man, and you get the man with the music.”

He took a breath, closed his eyes, put his lips to the sax, and made it sing. And with its song, he preached.

III.

Listen to Sifa Zote on the album I’ve Known Rivers And Other Bodies, by Gary Bartz (1973)

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We, Like the Sea Turtle by Jahan Sharif

Have you ever watched a sea turtle swim?

It’s magnificent heft muted
By a single flap
Of its undulating wings.

Tilting. Gliding.
Moving in sync with
The invisible currents of the sea.

A world of all-pervading water
Filtering sunlight into the twinkling hues
Of blues and teals and purples
That feed ancient corals,
And illuminate tide pools where dwell
The miniature creatures
Of that proximate world.

So,
Too,
Are we
Creatures of a proximate world.

And like the sea turtle,
So,
Too,
Are we
Creatures who can occupy both:

Land, and Sea.
Here, and There.
The other world
On our one earth.

And so,
Heeding the call of a beckoning moon,
The sea turtle
Heaves herself across the water’s edge
To lay her eggs.

Doing today
What we, humans,
Save for tomorrow.

That is,

The work
Of preserving a world
Worthy of life.


Los Angeles, CA, USA
March 2019

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The Unintended Consequences of Buying a Rolex by Jahan Sharif

A typical weekend at Maru— neighbors, caffeine, and puppies.

A typical weekend at Maru— neighbors, caffeine, and puppies.

So I'm sitting there, at Maru, telling a friend of mine about why I bought my watch. We got onto the topic because we were discussing the frustrations we have that come from dealing with the assumptions people make about you because of your appearance or presentation. I assure you, I am not rich; but, I wear a Rolex. 

I don't know where my interest in luxury fashion came from, as nobody in my family or immediate circle growing up had a particular affinity for luxury, and they certainly placed no importance on fashion! But for reasons that are not important now, what could have been a passing impulse turned into a legitimate pursuit to try to understand why certain things justified higher prices.

At 11 years old, I made my first luxury purchase— a wallet from the Versace outlet at Woodbury Commons, in New Jersey. It was an unremarkable brown leather bifold with the only exterior branding being a tiny metal Medusa head. I don't know why I chose it, but I remember being certain that it was what I wanted. I had with me about $200-- roughly my entire net worth-- which I had saved up from the previous few birthdays and Christmases. The wallet cost about $190 with tax.

Every hour, a coach-sized shuttle bus from New York City brings foreign tourists to the mall. So, I wasn't surprised when the salesperson didn't react to me, a random young kid, buying a Versace wallet in cash. The reaction came from my dad who was, in hindsight very reasonably, a little shocked and confused as to why I was buying a luxury anything! Never mind that I had nothing to put in my new wallet, I loved it and I was happy to own it. 

Eventually, I did have money and cards to put in it, and it served me well for almost six years, which is when I upgraded to a Prada.

This is the Surrealist painter Salvador Dalí walking his anteater in Paris. At first, this is what I felt like wearing my Rolex.

This is the Surrealist painter Salvador Dalí walking his anteater in Paris. At first, this is what I felt like wearing my Rolex.

But this story isn't about a wallet, it's about a watch. And, my move to watches happened after luxury clothes became somewhat less novel. (It might be the "perfect" t-shirt, but it's still a t-shirt.) Watches had a different appeal to me, because with cellphones around they serve almost no essential purpose. So why are they still important? Status, sentimentality, and fashion aside there is something to be said for an object that is almost entirely made by hand and can perform a specific set of functions perfectly... for forever. Other than a house, do you own anything that you can reasonably expect to outlast you? 

It took me about six years to save for an entry level luxury watch ($5,000-$8,500). And after a lot of research, I settled on the Rolex Explorer (ref. 214270). It is the great-great-great-great-grandchild of the Rolex that Sir Edmund Hillary wore as he, along with his expedition parter Tenzing Norgay, became the first people to successfully summit Mount Everest in 1953. (You can learn more about it here.) 

But, just because I knew which watch I wanted to buy, doesn't mean that I could just walk into a store and pick one up. The watch is made in very limited quantities, because it's not that popular. The Explorer is intended for people who know its history, or for whatever reason, understand why this simple piece that can only tell time, is special. It took me a full year to track one down, and when I finally had it in my hands, I hesitated.

Me, the precious Lucy, and my watch.

Me, the precious Lucy, and my watch.

How could I, a then-26 year old with barely a job let alone job security, really justify a purchase that took me almost six years to save for? Then my mom, who was with me, reminded me of something: Trump's recent election. And I quote, "The man has bankrupted everything he's ever touched. Who knows what's going to happen to the value of your cash in a few years. You'll always be able to sell a Rolex." That insight, along with a special zero interest holiday financing offer, allowed me to walk confidently out of the store with the most gratifying purchase I've ever made.

That was about two years ago, and it turns out that that purchase was also one of my most important. Los Angeles is a notoriously lonely city. It is really hard— like really hard— to meet people here. There’s no central district, no mechanism that forces people to be aware of each other (like New York City’s subway), and it’s very segregated. In many ways, LA is like a collection of gated communities— you can’t get inside if you don’t already know someone. But there are a few places where you can meet random people and hope for the best: Cafes and Uber Pools. The challenge is finding that little piece of common ground that can be used to justify starting a conversation.

I speak and write often about my favorite coffee shop in Los Angeles, Maru. Yes, it has the best coffee in LA. Yes, they have the best staff in LA. Yes, they have the best location in LA. But Maru is important to me, because it was the gateway into what has become my vibrant, loving, and supportive community of neighbors and friends in this city. And it all started one typical Spring day in 2017, when I interrupted an elegant man minding his business, to let him know that we were wearing the same watch.

Los Angeles, California, USA
February 2019

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Vol. 3 Bangkok -- Places and Spaces // Jaja in Asia by Jahan Sharif

The Four Faces Pagoda in Bangkok, Thailand.

The Four Faces Pagoda in Bangkok, Thailand.

This essay was originally published March 2, 2018.

While walking along the banks of the Chao Phraya River, Andy and I happened upon a cafe. We stepped inside and saw an older man coming out of a door just ahead. He smiled at us and motioned for us to come through. I ducked my head and passed through the threshold into an expansive open space with art stacked high against white walls reflecting exposed rod iron gangways that led to private working spaces and doubled as mounts for overhead lights. The building clearly used to be a warehouse; and at some point, fairly recently I imagine, was converted into an artist space and gallery.

There were a few people in semi-private areas working with their heads down. One round man emerged from a cell a few floors up and looked downward upon us. He saw us but didn’t say anything.

Below the exhibition I saw a stark white wall with a floor made of the same iron planks that construction workers use to cover open wounds in the road during repairs. We went down, and Andy saw three chairs lined up against the perpendicular wall. “Go sit over there-- I’ll take your picture.” Andy instructed. And as expected, I obeyed.

I am not camera shy, but I’m also not a model-- and so my little effort to bring you some #Fashion was, in fact, a futile one. I did get one nice shot, though.

Strike a pose…ish.

Strike a pose…ish.

Andy, on the other hand, knows his angles. I was eager to make use of this white wall, and so I moved a chair over, and told Andy to sit. I retreated a few paces and pointed the camera at him. Turns out, that that’s all the direction he needed!

People saw us, but nobody said anything. That was the vibe of the place: Noticed, but not bothered. As we headed out, I thought to myself how wonderful this little spontaneous aside was. Here we are walking along without expectation, and then all of a sudden we are inspired to create! Such is the power of a place that is transformed, intentionally, into a space.

The Chao Phraya River originates in the plains of central Thailand at the joint of the Ping and Nan Rivers, meandering southward for 231 miles and passing through Bangkok before emptying into the Gulf of Thailand. The city became the country's (then called Siam) capital in 1782 when General Chao Phraya Chakkri assumed the throne as Rama I. Bangkok sits in the river’s delta; and, among the new king's first acts was to move the court to the East Bank.

As the area was mostly swampland, there were certain challenges and advantages. For example, there were ample natural barriers for protection. The wide westward bend in the river created a moat guarding the site's northern, western, and southern flanks. To the east stretched a vast, swampy delta called the Sea of Mud, which could not be traversed easily.

People, however, cannot live in swamps. So the area was drained and the river tapped to create an intricate network of canals. Over the ensuing 200 years, the canal system expanded and a culture and way of life emerged where most people lived on, or near, the water-- an example of how space came to shape a place.  

The city today has evolved away from the elements that allowed it to once be known as the “Venice of the East.” Many of the canals have been filled in and paved over-- replaced with roads that are clogged with old busses, cars, mopeds, and tuk tuks (pronounced “tuke tuke”-- which is a three wheeled cross between a golf cart and a motorcycle). They all pollute with abandon. And then, in the midst of all of this, there is a modern, clean, reliable, and super-efficient metro system that would make any New Yorker envious.

A main street outside of CentralWorld, one of Bangkok’s largest malls-- around 11am.

A main street outside of CentralWorld, one of Bangkok’s largest malls-- around 11am.

Bangkok, in many ways, is like any major metropolis in a developing country: Extreme wealth inequality, but extreme affordability; and homelessness not so dissimilar from what’s in Los Angeles. Strong cultural norms anchored in its history that govern individual and collective behavior, but an unequal legal system. Free expression-- especially sexual-- but under an unelected, military-ruled government that prosecutes its peaceful critics.

An American friend of mine described this place as 10th century meets 21st century. And I would agree. It’s a city of contradictions: Young and ancient, wild and measured, traditional and radical. Thais describe it differently. They say, “Same same, but different.” And that framing, I think, shows how Bangkok is one of the most human cities I’ve ever visited, and why it is so eminently delightful.

Bangkok, Thailand
March 2, 2018

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Vol. 2 Hong Kong -- A Tram Ride to Remember // Jaja in Asia by Jahan Sharif

Hong Kong’s famous milk tea and egg tart!

Hong Kong’s famous milk tea and egg tart!

This essay was originally published February, 19 2018.

The two of us were on the tram heading from Wan Chai in the east, to Central. The trams here are modern skinny double-deckers made in a style harking back to the days of British colonialism. We were sitting together on a bench in the back when he asked me if I wanted to move to the front so I could see better. I was comfortable where we were because there was a lot of legroom and I could stretch out. But I’ve learned that when Andy asks if I want to do something, he’s not asking me at all. So, to the front we went.

I hunched my way forward, squeezing and weaving my elbows through the heads poking into the aisle before taking a seat in the first row. The view was indeed better in the sense that it was easier to see out-- but tall buildings, no matter where in the world they are, all look about the same at street level.

Inside of the tram.

Inside of the tram.

I don’t blend in here, so I wasn’t surprised when I heard the group of ladies sitting to my rear talking about me. They were speaking in a different language, so I couldn’t understand them. But when one of the ladies said the phrase “must be tourist, eh?” I could tell by her accent that she was Filipina. I ignored her and Andy scooted over to take my picture. I heard the same lady speaking about me in Tagalog again. She said, “Tagalog, tagalog, tagalog, HIS FIRST TIME, yea, first time.” And that’s when I whipped around and engaged her.

I looked her in the face and gave her the Austin Powers “I see you girl” finger gesture-- smiled broadly and then turned back to Andy for the picture.

“Yes, take picture! It good for memory. Memories important, yea. Take picture.”

“I agree! Why don’t you come take a picture with me?”

Without hesitation she uncrossed her legs, got up, sat next to me, Naomi Campbell’d the shoot, and returned to her seat.

“Where you from?” she asked.

“Los Angeles.”

“Ah-- USA. California. I want to go one day. Look nice. You here visiting? You tourist?”

“Yep, it’s my first time. Do you live here?”

“Yes, but I from Philippines. That your man?”

(Smiling) “No, he’s just a friend-- but I’m visiting him. What’s your name?”

For the ancestors.

For the ancestors.

“Jenny... and this Linda, that Jessie, and she...(speaking in Tagalog)...oh she name Linda too. We just meet today. What your name?

“Jahan.”

“Jahar?”

“Yes.”

“Oh nice name.”

“How long have you lived in Hong Kong?”

“I live here 5 years now. My employer very good to me so I stay with him. I want to go to America when he go, but Trump make it very hard now. Linda come here a few months ago from Middle East. They no treat us good there sometime, so it better here in Hong Kong. I know Linda long time and I tell her to come here and I will help her find work.”

Linda chimes in:

“Yes, employers in Middle East sometimes good sometimes bad. I get scared when I hear story of employer in Kuwait locking maid in freezer for one year as punishment. She die.

“You were in Kuwait?”

“No, I was in Qatar-- but I hear stories.”.

“So it’s better here in Hong Kong?” I asked.

“Yes, I think so. Sometimes people rude, but it’s ok. Most time they ok. And we get day off when we want.”

Roughly 320,000 foreign domestic helpers, as they're officially called, live in Hong Kong. Almost all of them are women and come from either the Philippines or Indonesia. They are required by law to live with their employers. (Or, phrased differently, employers are required by law to provide housing for their helpers.) Because they can choose which day to have off, most pick Sunday so they can be together.

From Victoria Park to the outdoor lobby of the HSBC building and the footbridges that connect malls, friends gather early in the morning to stake out a good spot. Once they find a plot, they construct what is effectively a temporary informal settlement made of broken-down cardboard boxes and fleece blankets. They bring their own food and battery packs-- I think I even spotted one person with a small generator powering a TV. They nap on the street, listen to music, play cards, and shop in pop-up style flea markets. They openly engage in communion and unapologetically obstruct foot traffic. It’s as if they’re saying, “It’s one day a week-- you can deal with it.” And of course, people seem to do just that.  

Jenny and me!

Jenny and me!

I asked Jenny where she was going.

“Central-- to meet friends. I introduce these ladies to them so they get friends too.”

“That’s good of you.

“Jahar-- this for you. Take. They say it for good luck.”

Jenny handed me three little inch-long oranges, which are believed to bring prosperity.

“You take good care of people, and the people take good care of you. Yea? Remember that, ok?

Hong Kong
February 19, 2018

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Vol. 1 Hong Kong -- Arrival Terminal // JajaInAsia by Jahan Sharif

This essay was originally published on February 16, 2018.

Hong Kong is an island that sits in the South China Sea near the mouth of the Pearl River-- China’s third longest. Approaching from the west we flew over Taipei and continued far out into the ocean where hundreds of cargo ships queued up in a shotgun spray pattern across the bay waiting to enter the harbor. It is nighttime and their deck lights sparkle in the water like fireflies in the desert.

Whenever possible, planes prefer to land into the wind. The captain informed us that there were light winds coming from the East, sloping upward and over the peaks of Lantau Island before breezing gently across the airfield. We banked hard to the right and made a U-turn, touching down moments later purposefully and without much fanfare. We taxied off the runway and within a few minutes were parked at the gate. The captain shut down the engines and very matter-of-factly turned off the fasten-seatbelt sign, signaling that our nearly 15-hour trip across the Pacific had finished, and that Jaja was officially in Asia!

It is not possible to overstate the number of Asian people in Asia. I know that sounds obvious and completely ridiculous, but it’s just something you have to experience to understand-- and those who have experienced it will understand. I think the culture here recognizes this, because they seem uniquely adept at moving huge amounts of people very quickly.

Take my experience going through immigration as an example. My flight landed around the same time as four others— so there were roughly a thousand people at immigration. Men and women in baby blue blazers led groups of about a hundred people to different areas in the terminal. They walked so fast that most people had to trot to keep up. (Imagine getting off of a 15 hour flight and then having to run with all of your bags and kids across a terminal the length of a football field. Nobody’s happy about it. Everyone is complaining loudly. Nobody is listening. And everyone complies.)

I joined the first line and had a few hundred people in front of me. When I reached the front, I was met by two older men (65+) in blazers who were firmly and forcefully sorting people into lines to the left and right. They’d vigorously motion in the direction you were expected to go. If you stopped at a line too early they screamed at you from afar to move down. If you weren’t paying attention or not moving fast enough, they grabbed you by the arm or waist and physically moved you along. I was definitely focused!

I was put in a line with an agent who looked to be in his late twenties. He was asking the lady in front of me why there was a mole in her passport photo, but no mole on her face. Before she could say that she had had it removed recently, another agent had arrived to take her to secondary screening. As the lady cleared the space, the agent leaned out of his chair and stretched his hand out through the glass toward me. I didn’t so much give him my passport, as he snatched it from me. We exchanged no words and fewer than 10 seconds later, I was through.

Take this scenario as you will, but the fact is I deplaned and got through immigration in less than 20 minutes.

Celebrating the Year of the Dog with frozen candied strawberries at the Lunar New Year Market.

Celebrating the Year of the Dog with frozen candied strawberries at the Lunar New Year Market.

My friend Andy, who I’m here visiting, met me at the airport. In the Uber he told me some unfortunate news. Because of a recent bus accident that claimed the lives of 19 people and injured 65, Hong Kong’s chief executive placed the entire bus company under investigation and canceled the annual Chinese New Year fireworks show out of respect. (There are also reports that because the driver was driving recklessly, surviving passengers tried to beat him up after the crash!) I was disappointed.

That night— less than two hours after landing— we linked up with some of Andy’s friends and went to the Lunar New Year Market, which is known locally as the Flower Market. Throngs of people flood Victoria Park (Hong Kong’s Central Park) to buy Chinese street food and special holiday desserts. It’s the year of the dog and little canine-themed trinkets and figurines are everywhere. There are vendors selling trees for good luck, and bouquets of flowers for loved ones— it is Valentine’s Day after all. Young people with megaphones rap along to their favorite songs next to salespeople hawking everything from scissors to mops to pieces of wood that are supposed to help you sleep at night. It’s a wonderful, and very human, mishmash of life where you can watch kids delighting in the blissful glow of first loves while munching on grilled dried squid or frozen candied strawberries, all the while holding onto a bag of doggy knickknacks. By the time I went to bed, it was nearly 3am.

I woke up the next morning to the news that a high school in Parkland, FL was shot up by a former student. I know the school. It’s not far from where I went to high school, and it’s much like where you went to high school, which is probably very similar to the other schools that have been shot up since the beginning of this year in the US.

One of the most valuable parts of travel is just bearing witness to how others do things. In Hong Kong, there was a tragedy and we see how they chose to react. What will we choose to do in the face of ours?

Hong Kong
February 16, 2018

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