COVID-19 Dairies (1)

March 31 (Tu)

Today I started to write dairies on COVID-19, suggested by Igel. As of now, the number of the infected souls worldwide has exceeded 800,000, among whom 175,000 are Americans, something unthinkable a month ago. Is it real, or are we living in a dystopian novel? In his Motorcycle Dairies, Che tells an extraordinary and life-transforming story of his cross-continent travel in his youth. My dairies will be of a very different kind. As most of the states in the US have issued a stay-at-home order, we have been sojourning at home all the time, working, cooking, and worrying. I don't aspire to be as famous as Che one day, but do hope that my dairies will be a window through which I can reflect on the unprecedented unfolding of the global crisis, both as a historian of medicine and as an ordinary human being. The experience is destined to leave an indelible mark on my life, for better or for worse. But mostly for better, for I wish we can survive the crisis and the world will be a better place. Stay tuned.     

April 1 (Wed)

A day of low energy. The pandemic is still evolving quickly—the number of cases in the US has passed 200,000, among whom more than 5,000 died. An alarming acceleration. We didn't pay much attention to the outside world as we were occupied by our own businesses—Igel kept investigating her H1B visa matter and I agonized over the revision of my book Intro. Between the public and the personal, we chose the latter. But not exactly. Igel gave a public talk this evening—via Zoom, obviously—reflecting the current pandemic especially its racial implications. We brainstormed for the talk, but regrettably I didn't listen to her talk. As a medical historian, I felt it a shame. I was too obsessed with my own little world of getting out the writing block. Did I make the right decision? Maybe not. Well, hopefully, I can get out of this low-energy quagmire soon. In this swirling moment, that is the least effort I can make.

April 2 (Thu)

Today my energy level came back a bit. I finished a subsection in Intro that has pained me for quite a few days, so I am glad that I eventually got over it. Hopefully I can keep the momentum and finish the revision of Intro soon. Now more on the pandemic. I encountered two pictures in NYT (see below). The curve of the US is quite deep at the moment: So far, more than six thousand people perished, and based on the current curve, the deaths will double every three days. UK and Canada have the similar rate, though they have less deaths thus far. These are numbers, but we know that human lives cannot be simply reduced to numbers. In the CNN news we watched tonight—we have developed a routine recently to watch PBS or CNN news on YouTube over the dinner—we watched a harrowing story of a New York doctor (Dr. Frank Gabrin) who died of COVID-19 while trying to save others. His husband was interviewed by Chris Cuomo, who himself contracted the virus lately, and the widower was in tears. It was painful to watch, and we know there are many stories like this around the country. It feels particularly agonizing as what happened in China two months ago is unfolding exactly the same way now. An excruciating déjà vu. On the positive note, if we look at the second picture, Washington is doing pretty well: the number of deaths doubles every 11 days. Compared to New York (every two days), that is quite remarkable. Although Andrew Cuomo is much more vocal and splashing big waves in the news, Jay Inslee might be the real hero who has quietly saved many lives. As Benjamin Franklin rightly said: Actions speak louder than words. 

 

2020, A New Decade!

Another year, and decade has passed!

Looking back, I can hardly believe that I have lived in this country for two decades. Very soon, it will surpass the time I lived in China (the first 23 years of my life).

I came to the US in 2000. At that point, I had dutifully followed the course charted by others to pursue a promising and profitable career, namely, biology. But things changed radically in the following decade, as many oversea students would experience. That was a decade of continuous struggling and finding purpose in life. Toward the end of that decade, I eventually worked out a way to redirect my career to be a historian. I am glad I did that!

The second decade involved both a fulfilling life of a history student (first half) and a transition to be a scholar (second half). I feel lucky that things have worked out the way more or less as I planned in the first decade. Life has been busy, and often hectic and stressful, but I am happy that it now has a clear purpose. Towards the end of this decade, I also found the "other half" of mine, who, as I feel ever stronger, has truly enriched my life!

So what will happen in my third decade here in the US? Or will I continue staying in this country? I think most likely I will, at least for a good part of the decade. Even for a person who likes planning on everything, it is hard to design a ten-year map ahead. There are just too many variables, and that is not necessarily a bad thing. Perhaps I will get tenure at Buffalo and continue living here. Perhaps I will move to somewhere else. Perhaps Igel and I will have a baby. Perhaps I will become more outspoken in the public, and more politically involved. Perhaps I will switch my career again. No, the last one, I am quite certain, will not happen. Just joking!

As I just looked at my New Year Resolutions for 2019, it turns out that I have fulfilled the major one of submitting my book manuscript and getting the reviewers' comments. In that sense, 2019 is an important year, just like the year of 2015 when I got this Buffalo job. It gives me more assurance for my tenure case, and importantly, for my professional identity of being a historian. Putting things in perspective: One of the first books I read during the process of switching my career, in the fall of 2016 I believe, is Benedict Anderson's Imagined Communities, a classic in the field. When I read that book, I couldn't help pondering, as an outsider at the time, how I could possibly write a book in English like that. It was like climbing Mount Everest. 14 years have passed, and now I am here, claiming to be a historian with a bit of imposter syndrome still lingering, carrying a book manuscript that has received favorable reviews and will be likely published in a year or so. It doesn't feel real, but I am glad that it is happening. Kudos to the two generous reviewers—your unfailing support for a junior scholar like me is nothing but a noble act.

Which naturally leads to my New Year Resolutions for 2021:

(1) Manuscript Revision

I will spend the first six months of the year revising my book manuscript, making it as good as I can. Then it will enter the production line. Hopefully it will reach far at the end of the year, though that is mainly out of my control.

(2) Saffron article

I will submit the article manuscript to a journal this month and get the ball rolling. Hopefully I will receive the comments in the summer. I will use the fall semester, a busy one since I will teach three courses, to revise the article and resubmit it by the end of the year.

(3) Getting married (wanhun)

We did not do it last year due to a logistical issue. This year we will make it happen! In March, we will go to the City Hall in Toronto to get the certificate and have a mini-honeymoon afterwards. In July, we may have a wedding on the West Coast. Still planning on that...

(4) Travel

With my book manuscript in good progress, I now can afford traveling a bit more around the world. A trip to Boston in March; a trip to Taipei in early May and another one to Tel Aviv in late May. During the Christmas and New Year season, Igel and I will go to an exotic place to have a nice vacation, and belated honeymoon!

(5) Exercise

I need to have some weight evaporated. So keep exercising throughout the year: jogging, swimming, biking, and occasionally skating and hiking. 160 lb is my goal! Is that a tall order? :>

(6) German

I will keep learning German by Duolingo EVERYDAY. I have been doing this for more than 100 days consecutively. I will continue the exercise for the entire year, which will be very impressive. And Igel will join too!

(7) Casual reading

I miss reading non-academic stuff, especially novels. I didn't do that at all last year. I want to resume the habit and perhaps read a novel per month. It is edifying.

(8) Green Card

I plan to initiate the application in the summer. It is boring, but I have to deal with it.

Of course, there are things that I cannot predict or plan in advance, and I will leave those to the ebb and flow of fate. Altogether, my goal this year is to have a routine and disciplined life as much as I can, which is really the source of productivity, but also to leave some healthy room for sparkling spontaneity! Cet's la vie!

New Year Resolutions (2019)

It is been a while since I posted stuff here. Last time it was the start of 2017, on my 40th-year birthday. Almost two years have passed, and quite a lot has happened. The transition from being a carefree student to a not-so-carefree scholar took longer than I thought, but I am glad that I am moving to the next stage of life. 

This, above all, means being in a relationship and cultivating it wholeheartedly. We met in the spring of 2017, in Toronto, at a conference. The dating was unconventional as we live in different cities. But we made it work against odds and difficulties, and solidified the relationship later that year. In the past year, we managed to spend more time together, which certainly helped. Now we are ready to move to the next stage. In my last post, I said that if I can find somebody in the fifth decade of my life, I would be happy. Things happened more quickly.

For a loner like me, this involves lots of changes; it is not easy to open up myself completely and walk into another person's soul. It takes effort, and courage, and perseverance. Two souls clash, and gradually become one. Relationship, as I have learned in the process, is about how much you care about yourself vs. about the other. It may seem that I have lost lots of freedom when I am with somebody, but the feeling of being connected to another person, deeply and affectionately, is a stabilizing force that I, at this stage of life, very much yearn for. Maybe that is what love is all about. Simply put, it may be hard from time to time to be with her, but life without her is just unimaginable.

On my career development, it's been slowed down a bit due to the time I spent on relationship. That, I believe, is a necessary re-balancing of life. I am in the midst of the third year of my tenure track, so I still have time. But the pressure has been building up—I must finish a manuscript of my book by the end of this summer. Otherwise, I would be in trouble. It is about time to speed up. And I will. 

Hence my New Year Resolutions as follows:

Major ones:

(1) Finish my book manuscript by the end of the summer. Find a good publisher—being realistic is the key—and ideally get the reviewers' comments by the end of the year.

(2) Get married, either this summer or at the end of the year, depending on our schedules. We will just get the certificate and deal with the wedding later, when we find time.

Minor ones:

(3) Work on my saffron paper in the fall. Hopefully I can submit the manuscript to a journal by the end of the year.

(4) Keep learning German, which is fun!

(5) Some travels: Early March in Hawaii; late March in Denver; and hopefully a road trip from Baltimore to Tacoma in August! [This depends on (1)]

(6) Get my Green Card application rolling—it takes time.

(7) Keep exercising (swimming, biking, running, planking)—I need to lose at least 10 pounds.

Well, life will surely be busy this year, as typical for an academic. But there is lots of excitement and hope on the way, and I will embrace it with my whole heart!

Birthday Thoughts

Today I am turning 40.

That is sort of scary. I am entering the fifth decade, and have passed the mid-point, approximately, of my life.

I don't remember how I celebrated my 10th or 20th birthday, if at all. But I do remember my 30th. That was 2007, when I was in Ann Arbor, approaching graduation. I sent an email to my lab mates, calling for a bar night. One of them, my good friend Dave, replied: "Yan, were we precocious guys, your kid could have entered the college, and mine just graduated." 

Ten years have passed. Following the logic, my kid could have their first-born or even second-born already. It is strange to think about life in that way.

That is the track I could have taken, but I didn't. Instead, I switched career, did another PhD, and just started my first job ever. It is an unconventional track, but I am content with what I did and with what I have achieved thus far.

It is interesting to think that I spent the prime time of my life in school, and as I just started working, I only have 20 years to go, that is, less than the years I spent in school. On the other hand, academic life doesn't really have an ending; it is a life-long journey. In that regard, I still have 30-40 years, hopefully, ahead of me. That is plenty of time to do lots of things.

Of course there are practical considerations, like getting tenure—I will know the result five years from now when I am 45. But this is the moment to put things in perspective. If my pursuit of a humanistic career in the past decade can be called a success, the question is what I really want to do with it in the following decade. I switched the field because, simply put, I like history. Nothing more, nothing less. To do things one truly loves is a blessing, but I wonder whether there is something beyond personal satisfaction that I can strive for in the following years. Something not just out of passion but also out of responsibility. It sounds noble, and I haven't had a clear picture yet.

Another change I would like to see in the next decade is on the personal level. I am a loner, and I enjoy being alone. When I was a kid, I could spend hours watching people playing chess on the street for hours without getting bored. I still feel the most comfortable and free when I am by myself. But the flip side of this life style is loneliness. This feeling is particularly strong after I moved to Buffalo last fall, adjusting to the new environment, dealing with heavy workload, and having few friends.

Things are getting better. At this moment I feel much more comfortable with Buffalo, and a strong sense of getting settled. The recent purchase of a house helps; the presence of parents helps also. But in the long run, it would be nice to be with someone. I dare not to plan anything beyond that, but if I can find someone in this coming decade, I would be happy.

Confucius teaches that when one turns 40, they become free of perplexities. I do feel less perplexed now in terms of career path. But there are many other decisions in life that I need to make. I may never be free of doubts, but after all that may not be a bad thing.

The past decade has been a good one, arguably the best in my life so far. I very much enjoyed the process of switching career. Now I am pretty much settled on the track of history, and I will see where I can find new excitement and fulfillment. I may not get completely settled due to my spirit of exploration and intense curiosity. But again that may not be a bad thing.

The fifth decade, I am coming, with vigor, composure, and, hope!

Japan Impression, second round

After six years, I am back to Japan.

Six years ago, in the summer of 2010, I visited Japan the first time, spending most time in Kyoto learning Japanese, and a couple of weeks traveling around—Hiroshma, Kōyasan, Nikkō, Tokyo.

This time, I am back to Kyoto again, in fact to the same university (Doshisha University) where I studied Japanese before, and this time for a conference. It feels like a full circle coming complete.

I am always fond of Kyoto, one of my favorite cities in the world. Above all, it offers many old temples and palaces that always excite a historian like me. Since I've visited most of them in my last trip, I skipped them this time, and went to see a really old temple—actually the oldest in Japan—Horyu-ji (法隆寺) near Nara, which was founded in early seventh century (Sui Dynasty in China). The temple was sponsored by Prince Shotoku (聖德) to worship Yakushi Nyorai (藥師如來), a healing Buddha, to help the recovery of his sick father.

      

It was a cloudy day. Under the overcast sky, the pagoda (the left picture above) looked imposing. Old architecture like this, precisely because they are old, are plain, empty, and vast, as if history had stripped down all their ornaments and only left the most basic there. The awe they elicit lies not in magnificence, but in simplicity, bare-bones simplicity. 

At the time of its construction, the temple could be tremendous. How this type of building travelled from India to China, to Korea, and finally to Japan is beyond my knowledge. But one episode from Xuan Zang's Datang xiyu ji (大唐西域記) is interesting. The famous monk, during his travel in India in the early 7th century (not long after Horyu-ji was built), encountered a stupa that was fifteen meters high, commissioned by a foreign merchant. It was covered by the paste of saffron, a plant with colorful flowers and fragment smell. Already then, ornamentation figured more prominently in India than in Japan.

What was Japan like in the 7th century? I don't know much. This is the period of Asuka (飛鳥, 538-710), when Buddhism started to penetrate into Japan, and cultural exchange between China, Korea, and Japan flourished. This vibrant exchange continued in the following centuries, first in the Nara period (奈良, 710-794), then peaked in the Heian period (平安, 794-1185). One piece of material evidence is the many items preserved in Shōsō-in (正倉院) of Tōdai-ji (東大寺) in Nara, many of which are medicinal substances from China and further west. I tried to take a look at this important site when I was in Nara, only to find that I was too late to enter. So I only caught a sight from afar.




After I visited a few temples in the Nara area, visual fatigue arose—in the end they all look similar. Better to get some change: Kanazawa (金沢).

Kanazawa is two-hour train northeast of Kyoto. Often called "Little Kyoto," it has some interesting historical sites, though not as old. A fairly small city that literally you can walk around to cover all the places. It has a famous castle dating back to the 15th century when a so-called "Peasants' Kingdom" was established. Here we are at a different moment of Japanese history—the Sengoku period (戦国, 1467-1603). Not unlike the Warring States period in ancient China, the period witnessed the waning of the central power in Kyoto and the rise of feudal lords in local regions. The Peasants' Kingdom was one of them. It didn't last long. In late 16th century, it was defeated by Toyotomi Hideyoshi (豊臣秀吉). Several decades later, Japan was united again by Tokugawa Ieyasu (徳川家康), and enter the Edo period (江戸, 1603-1861).

Another famous site in Kanazawa is Chaya (茶屋), tea houses or geisha houses developed in the early 19th century. I suppose this is why the city is called "Little Kyoto," as that is what Kyoto is famous for. In Kyoto, there is a street at the center of the city called Hanamikoji (花見小路) where if you are lucky, you may see a "flower," an euphemism for geisha. Similar idea for the Chaya districts in Kanazawa, where a century ago customers (mainly male) sought rest and pleasure. These days the districts have become popular commercial sites to sell the quintessential Kanazawa product—things made of or covered by golden foil. The city was the major site of gold production in the 19th century. Hence the name 金沢, "marsh of gold." They even have a golden ice cream. Walking around the districts, I had sort of conflicted feeling. The architecture is certainly impressive. Yet underneath them hides a history that entwined money, greed, and distress of women.

Leaving the Edo history behind, I am entering a new domain, both temporarily and spatially, Hokkaido (北海道). Why Hokkaido? Well, the answer seems obvious: Hokkaido has a special appeal to foreigners because of its natural beauty. As the last piece of territory incorporated into Japan in the 19th century, it is like the American West, a wild, mysterious land that allures and invigorates. Not to mention its romantic portrayal in many movies, from Yamada Yoji's superb 遙かなる山の呼び声 (Chinese title: 遠山的呼喚) to Hou Hsiao-Hsien's Millennium Mambo (千禧曼波), and even to the popular movie 非誠勿擾.

So here I am, in Hakodate (函館), a southern city in Hokkaido. It feels fresh. No more heavy historical burdens; no more stifling heat in Honshu region; no more hordes of tourists. Here you see empty streets, quiet neighborhood, vast ocean, and still-active volcanos. There are some interesting historical sites, though, chiefly in the 19th and 20th centuries. Say, a Catholic church, an Orthodox church, and a Buddhist temple sit right next to each other, betraying the history of Western proselytization in the past century. But coming to Hokkaido is chiefly to enjoy its natural beauty and pleasant weather, not to forget its abundant seafood.

  

Something funny happened when I was in Hokkaido. Some places there reminded me of other places faraway that I visited before—a strange sense of déjà vu. When I was standing on the top of the Hokkaido Mount where I had a nice bird-view of the city, and the ocean beyond, I thought about Grenoble, a city in southern France I visited a few years ago. It also has a mount where you can climb up and have a magnificent view of the city, and the Alps beyond.

   

Here is another example. I spent a day exploring Toya Lake (洞爺湖) near Hakodate. Sitting near the lake and looking over, I discerned some mountains afar, which, perhaps because of the dense mist, were reduced to sheer geographical shapes. Are they not the mountains in Lauren Harris's paintings? The Canadian artist is famous for his depiction of natural sceneries as abstract, geographical, and hence highly spiritual objects. Harris went to Lake Superior in the early 20th century to produce many of his paintings. And I am now sitting along Lake Toya in Hokkaido, experiencing the same.

   

Is this a coincidence, or not? I have been traveling to quite a few places in the past years, mainly between 2012-13 (see my earlier posts). If my first visit of Japan six years ago provoked more of an excitement of initial encounter, this second visit, by contrast, offers something different because it is already built upon layers of my earlier travel experiences. As a result, some kind of connection emerges. For a historian, naturally enough, I cannot help pondering these questions: What is time? What is place?

Toronto, in transition

Here I am, Toronto.

This is the third city I live in North America, after Ann Arbor and Cambridge. Although the stay will be brief (10 months), it is long enough to get a real taste of the city, with all the commotion of re-settling. I am a guy who is slow to adjust to a new environment. The initial excitement is often followed by a period of melancholy and withdrawal. This is how I feel now. The transition has duel meanings: physically I am moving to a new place, and professionally I have left my student life behind and become a scholar. Hence the need for double-adjustment. For the former, it is a matter of finding my favorite spots in this new environment and re-establishing my daily routine: the café to read and think, the grocery to shop, the gym to swim, etc. I am sure it is just a matter of time, though I am a bit under time pressure. The latter is more challenging. Most important, I am on my own now to pursue a career that I find both interesting and meaningful. Although I often think of my former mentors as role models, now it is time to develop my own ideas and guide my own students. 

It is almost winter here in Toronto, nippy and crisp. Leaves are changing colors, so is the politics of the country (the national election just finished with the change of power from the conservative to the liberal). What is my impression of Toronto? It is a fairly large city with lots of interesting activities. My territory is pretty much restricted to the downtown area, close to the UT campus. Life is convenient. I live close to the Korean Town and the China Town, so I have no difficulties to get decent Asian foods. I see more 24-hour shops here. Toronto probably resembles Boston more than Cambridge; although the university is large, it is engulfed in city life. In general, Torontonians are more patient and laid-back than Bostonians, easy to talk to. Making friends is the first step, and perhaps the key step to get immersed in a new place. I am still navigating to find the right people—I don't need a lot; just a few would make my life different. My cultural adventure has just started: several cool museums to visit, a fantastic independent movie theater (TIFF), and some enjoyable biking trails along the lake. Have I ever mentioned that there is a lake nearly—Lake Ontarian. A déja vu of my Ann Arborian life. Indeed some people here say that Toronto is a mid-Western city, not really Canada's New York City, as often portrayed in popular imagination. In that sense, my life has circled back. 

Although the downtown area is populated, it is easy to go to somewhere that is quiet and pretty. Last weekend I visited the Toronto Island, which is just off the lakeshore. From there you can have an open view of the Lake Ontario. It was a cold and windy day, so the island felt vacant and vast. Maybe that is our impression of Canada, a huge country with sparse population. Cold weather too. What would be like standing on this island two hundred years ago? I have little knowledge of the history of Canada. Considering it is a politically more liberal country, I cannot help musing upon the historical roots of that political consciousness. Something I am yet to explore.

Time goes fast. If this whole year in Toronto is a transition to my next stage in Buffalo, I am at the transitional stage of this transitional year. Looking backward, or nostalgia, is futile; I must look forward. Transition is not always easy, but if my current uneasiness prepares for a better transition in Buffalo, it is all worth it. This prospective attitude is all I need now.

Toronto, looking forward to knowing you more.

Post-graduation thoughts

All of a sudden, I graduated.

The whole process feels incredibly fast: the defense, the Hooding Ceremony, the Commencement. Although they span the whole month of May, they seem to happen over the snapping of fingers. Surely it was a happy and memorable moment as I had the chance to celebrate it with my family and friends, including some special ones from far away. I wish I could hold that moment longer so I can enjoy it more fully; after all, it took me six years to reach this point. But it disappears as quickly as it comes, like the dissipation of the mist by the morning sun—the campus becomes quiet again, family and friends have left, and life goes on.

I already feel nostalgic, not just for that fleeting moment of happiness, but for a way of living I am too familiar with and too used to. Now I must leave that comfortable student life behind, and start the new career as a scholar and professor. Although I try to make this transition slow and smooth, it is a change nonetheless, which creates both excitement and anxiety.

To alleviate the anxiety, I initially planned to travel to Europe to take a break. This plan didn't work out because of an unexpected logistic issue (my passport is not with me). This is rather frustrating because I do want to travel after two years of staying in Cambridge, and this is a rare opportunity to enjoy myself. But bureaucracy presents a formidable barrier, and I have to learn to live with it. At every turn of the rosy moment of life, reality strikes back.

I should not complain too much considering what is ahead of me in the following years. It is a fortunate year after all. But sometimes I feel that underneath my docile and gentle facade lies an independent and rebellious soul, a free spirit. I like to explore both the physical world and the world of books, to learn more and experience more. But as I enter the next stage of my life, I wonder how long I can sustain this way of living, to live life the fullest. On this matter, I often think of Frank Capra's movie "It is a wonderful life." In one scene, the protagonist George is waiting at the train station for his brother, who just graduates from college, and, as George expects, will come home to take over their father's bank so George can be free. George has big plans; he shows a bunch of brochures to his friends and tells them that he will travel to many beautiful cities in Europe and fulfill his dream. George didn't go because later he realizes that his brother has a job in the factory of his fiancée's father. Neither does George go anywhere for the rest of his life. He stays in his hometown, and enjoys a wonderful life there.

I love this movie, and cry every time at the end. It reminds me that freedom always comes with restraints, without which freedom becomes purposeless and disorienting. Opposite to freedom is sacrifice and responsibility, string to stability and source of happiness. It is a fine balance between the fulfilling of self and the caring of others—too much of the former makes one detached and too much of the latter becomes a burden. It is a balance I will continue to learn and test out in the following years. Between soaring to the sky and sticking to the ground, where is me?