For most of my adult life I’ve maintained this innate awareness. My identity is a confluence, where the communities I belong to meet my assimilation of my physical surroundings and sensory stimuli; an ever-fleeting sense of physical consciousness. Growing up an Asian-American farm boy, my family settled in a Northern California valley-town populated by ten-gallon hats, framed by golden hills and punctuated by dry, blistery summers. There weren’t many other kids like me in ‘My Little Slice of Texas.’
Perspective Articles
Hoopla Hooper: Jeff Lagasca
Emigrating for Self-Realization
Hoopla Hooper: Angela Workoff
The New York City Reason To Be
I woke up in this morning in New York City and it wasn’t paradise. There were no palm trees outside and the weather had not completely pulled itself out of the winter slump, having dipped down into the 40s the night before. I woke up to drag my feet down to the subway stairs, down the platform, squeezed into the first train, transfer, squeezed into the second train, wait, wait, transfer, shift bag, stayed away from that guy with the cough, let them in, let them off, spaced out, woke up, got out and went to work. I know I wasn’t alone either.
Hoopla Hooper: Rita Kurniawan
Cycling for Life
Biking has become an addiction to me. Before I came to the U.S., biking had never been a part of my life. I was also originally reluctant to bike in the city due to the convoluted traffic. Born and raised in Jakarta, Indonesia— a beautiful country if you didn’t live in the capital—I was accustomed to the unbearable traffic where, crossing the street was a form of “seppuku”— a ritualistic suicide undertaken by Japanese samurais.
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