I came across this article a couple of days ago. It links the choice of clothing by Melania Trump on her first trip to Houston to the vacuous gaze she, and also Ivanka Trump, so often project as part of the Trump administration's image.

https://www.thecut.com/2017/08/melania-trump-hurricane-heels-and-the-artifice-of-fashion.html

And here are my thoughts.

45's trip to Houston #1

The entire trip to Houston by 45 and his wife was nothing but a photo-op. And their clothing, especially hers, showed it. (The FLOTUS hat!) What he wore, what she wore told the world that they weren't going down in the trenches and help. It told that they were there to say a few words, take a few pictures, and then leave. That is exactly what they did.

But the writer is also saying that this was more of the norm for this White House family than the exception. The choice of garb--and the garb has always throughout history been used as a symbol of power, money, and status--has been important for this family, especially for women.

They are not alone. Jackie Kennedy wore hers to perpetuate the idea of the Kennedy White House as the American Camelot, Michelle Obama wore her clothes to show American wholesomeness, especially because there were those who doubted, Trump comes immediately to mind, that the Obama White house was legitimately American.

The writer takes this a step further. She makes a foray into a dissection of the photo-op obsessed mind. And why not? Photo ops are exactly what they are--they create an image, a mirage of a package that tells a story of your making. So what is the story?

Though the article seems to be about clothing, it is about more than that. The clothing is just a symptom of what is wrong with the White House right now. In that sense, the blank stare that you get from Melania is not really about the clothing or even about her former career as a model. It is a symbol for what is so tragic about this administration: the vacuousness, the lack of honesty, the lack of character. It is the story of an American tragedy.

What is sad is that women are made to be the purveyors of this empty message. But that is hardly surprising.

I remember the day after Donald Trump won the presidency.

I walked into a quiet classroom with several brown faces visibly upset. I knew I had to say something. "I know many of you are feeling unsafe. I promise you that, when you are in my classroom, I will do everything I can to keep you safe."

I am not a big person. I know I am just another person of color who was feeling as unsafe as they were. But these words meant the world to my students. As a teacher I know that students look to me for guidance, not because of my physical attributes, but because of what I stand for for them. Someone with authority. Someone with knowledge. Someone with wisdom.

At the of the class, Maria (not her real name) got up. She stands several inches shorter than me. She hugged me and said "Thank you. That made me feel so much better."

People of color knew what the Trump election meant: HARM. Many whites dismissed it. They told me to get "real. This is America." Yes, this is America with its long history of racial violence. Genocides of Native peoples. But white America has hushed it up. Lynchings of black and brown people. Yes, brown people. White America had buried it as the past. Internization of yellow people. White America has simply forgotten it. Restitution of some thousand dollars and quickly forgotten. But we, the people of color, have the experiences to tell you that the political climate can produce the most horrible atrocities against us. We knew what to expect.

People of color have been throwing their bodies in front of cars, buses, bullets, batons for justice.

Dear white people. We can't do this alone. Join us. It is time to act. Nazis are marching in the streets of Charlottesville, chanting Nazi slogans, wearing Nazi emblems, quoting Hitler. They came with their militias ready to start a war. Isn't this enough? Your greatgrandfathers, your grandfathers, your fathers gave their lives to fight the Nazis. If they could see what's happening, they would weep.

We have to this together. Because this is America. We are fighting for our land. Our soul. Our future.

August 12th shall live in infamy.

Charlottesville, VA. Donald Trump's War #1.

I really thought that his first foray into war would be elsewhere, but I was mistaken. It happened here. In America. My heart is so heavy, I question my decision to marry an American and to strike my roots here.

I just remembered. In my dream last night I was being chased by neo-Nazis. As I ran, a hand grabbed me and took me away. I looked at whose hand it was, it wasn't Eric, my tall, white husband, but an older, shorter, stocky white man.

This is the reality for people of color. We do what we can, we protest, we march. But without our white allies, there is only so much we can do.

That is why my husband insists on coming with me whenever I have to go somewhere unknown. That is why I feel safer when my children go places with my their white dad than with me. My husband is aware of his white privilege and uses it to protect his family.

Dear white people, YOU HAVE white privilege. Use it. Use your white privilege against racism. Use it to act. Because to stay quiet is tantamount to tacit consent.

It has been a while since my last blog. How time flies. It is already December, and the semester is slowly coming to an end at the community college where I teach. As my life goes on, there is a longing in my heart to hold on to the beautiful memories shared with my brother.

Time to pick up where I left off.

The next day we went back to my brother's resting site. It was another beautiful, sunny day in Korea. The autumn sky so blue that Koreans call it adoringly the "high autumn sky."

My father seemed obsessed with cleaning out the chamber where my brother's urn was. Because it is subterranean, dirt had accumulated inside and it seemed damp. He had ordered Yung-Un to buy coal, COAL?, to place inside the chamber. She found some coal pieces that are used by interior decorators to purify the air and absorb moisture. I didn't know such things existed. 

After everything was clean to my father's satisfaction, we bowed again. I felt like it would be a long time again until I come back here. It is a remote site. Brother, until I see you again. Sadness came over me. Winter is coming. I could not stop thinking how cold it is going to get under the stone inside the Earth.

We made our way back to Seoul. My mother, who is a Buddhist, arranged for a 7-week vigil for my brother at the temple where she is a member. The temple was like an oasis in the middle of the concrete jungle, the futuristic mega-city called Seoul. It sat on top of a 5-story granite building, but the temple itself was made entirely of wood. Compared to the coldness of the granite of the building, the wood seemed warm. I thought again about how cold the granite chamber seemed where my brother's urn rests. The temple structure was not highly decorated like other temples I had seen before. It was plain. It was how my brother would have liked.

We met one of the monks in a smaller building on top of the roof. He explained what was about to happen. It was me, my sister, my mother, my father, Uncle Yong-Woo, Yung-Un, Hongkyu, and Kyurie. We all sat on little sitting pillows and crossed our legs. Surrounded by little Buddhas. Nice breeze blew through the open doors.

Then we began the process of calling the deceased's spirit so that it can begin the 7 step journey into the next world according to the Buddhist tradition. We chanted as one though I didn't really understand the meaning of what we were chanting. The sound, the breeze, the surrounding, the air--everything together was incredibly moving.

I heard what I needed to hear from the monk during this calling of the wandering spirit. There's only life and death and everyone has led a life that was both good and bad. My brother's life was special, not because he led a special life, but rather a meaningful one that will continue in his family and his children.

Our job is not to mourn the death, but to celebrate the life my brother led in this world and to guide him gently into the next one with our devotion. Our devotion to him, to his memory, and to his safe journey into the left life.

I was incredibly grateful to be my family's side at this time of sorrow.

We all sat down for breakfast. Yung Un had some breakfast sandwiches for us to eat. I couldn't eat. I hadn't eaten much at all since I got to Korea. It just didn't seem like the thing to do. I kept remembering what my mother had said. Look at your dad, eating. How can he eat at a time like this? 

As my mother, my father, and my uncle Yong Woo readied themselves to leave for Seoul, I decided to stay one more day. My dad wanted everyone to meet at my brother's side one more time the next day, so everyone was to meet there again. I would hitch a ride there and then back to Seoul with Yung Un. It was decided that Uncle Yong Woo would drive back down, bringing my mom, dad, and Mihye with him.

That afternoon Kyurie had to take a trip to her school with some gifts for the friends who helped out at the wake. She studies Korean art at Korea National University of Korean Heritage, which is about an hour away from Daejeon. We rode along the beautiful Geum River meadering through the gorges in the former kingdom of Paekje. My mother had always said how remote her school was. But she didn't say how beautiful the surroundings were. Korea is a beautiful country. My brother used to say all the time, he likes to enjoy the beauty of the land on his bike on his many, many solitary meanderings on his motorcycle.

Hong Kyu said that my brother had taken him on a bike ride along the river one time. For an hour. He thought his legs were going to fall off. We all laughed.

Yung Un said to me, Jung traveled so often, it seems like one of those times. It feels like he's just gone on a long trip.

After touring KAIST led by a team of KAIST professors, we headed for the crematory about an hour away. It was, for the lack of better words, a modern marvel. Modern. Granite everywhere. The walls and floors were gleaming. Neat beyond description. So clean as if to say that this process of burning the dead bodies is just that. A process. Nothing more, nothing less. The coldness of the place angered me.

There was one large waiting room and off the hallway there were waiting rooms for the families while the bodies were being cremated. There must have been at least 8 furnaces, all of which had numbers on them. Each one was hard at work, burning the bodies of the departed, literally turning to dust every evidence of a life that had once been.

As the coffin was led into the furnace numbered 8, it dawned on me that it really was our last chance to imprint on our minds the physical dimensions of my brother filling that coffin. That was it. He was to be reduced to ashes after this process. The space that he occupied as a human being, a husband, a father, a brother, a colleague, and everything else that he was to those around him, was about to be reduced to that of an urn. Then the workers asked if we wanted the leftover bones to be preserved or to be pounded down to ashes. It seemed to me to be an incredibly cold thing to say to those who were so deeply grieving. There was such coldness that I perceived there, from the physical building made of stone to the attitude of those who worked there. I don't know if that is because it was their job, or if it was because they do not want to emotionally involve themselves in each process.

After about an hour, it was signaled to us that the process was over. We were led to where we were to see the body coming out of the furnace. I had such mixed feelings about this. Tom Kang, one of my brother's oldest friends whom I love dearly, led us away. "You don't need to see this." While I deeply regret not having been able to see my brother one last time before he was placed inside the coffin, I do not regret the decision not to see his body come out of the furnace.

His ashes were gathered in an urn that Yung Un had chosen. It was held by Kyurie and led outside in a procession of grieving people. Kyurie was the picture of calm. I wondered how a young girl of 18 could be so brave. We boarded the bus and drove to our family's burial plot on the hillside.

When we finally got there, I was finally able to hold the urn. All that was left of my brother was inside that urn about a foot across and a foot and a half long. It was still hot. The hotness of his ashes made me indescribably sad. He was never to be warm again. Ever. My brother, all of his almost 6', 200+ pounds of flesh, was reduced to this hot pile of ashes inside this beautiful green urn. As Kyurie sat holding the urn on her lap, I hugged it. It's still hot, Kyurie said. It was the first time I could hug my brother since I had gotten home. Finally. As I lay my right cheek on the hot lid, I broke into a loud wail. I  I couldn't stop and I couldn't let go of the urn. It was the second saddest moment of my life.

The weather had been cloudy all morning, but when we arrived, all the clouds cleared away. As if to say: this way into the next world. This way into the vast universe.

My brother is now surrounded
by these beautiful mountains.

We proceeded up the hill. The view from the hillside was breathtakingly beautiful.

We placed the picture of him smiling on the edge of the opening of the subterranean catacomb-like structure about 2-feet deep consisting of 8 sides for the 8 brothers of my grandfather's. Each brother had been allotted enough space to accommodate all the urns of his direct descendants. On each stone that covered the 8 sides, the names of the descendants had been carved. Including mine, my husband's and my children's. It was a bit of a comic relief, seeing the American names of my family among all the Chinese characters. My family will not be there after we depart this earth, neither will my sister's family. We married out of the family. The names carved on the stone slab were mere reminders that we were daughters, not sons, of the Shin family.

We placed the urn inside. Each one took a turn to say their last good-byes. I kissed the urn many times as my brother was known for his kisses. Octopus kisses. My last physical good-bye to my brother. It was my third saddest moment of my life.

My father spoke for a while. I really think this was his way of coping. He was talking proudly of what his son had achieved in his short life, much more than he himself achieved in his long life.

My mother, on the other hand, was quiet.

When the heavy granite cover was placed back onto the top of the catacomb, I thought about how his hot ashes will eventually cool. And how cold my brother will be under all that stone and inside the earth. He was a hot guy in his life. He had always been so hot that my dad, when he got too cold in winter in our drafty old house of my childhood, he would climb into bed together with my brother just to warm up. It seemed to me to be such a weird contrast. His hot body in life and as ashes and the cold stone catacomb.

We spent that night at my brother's beloved house. HE. LOVED. THIS. HOUSE. It sits at the foot of a hill. It's serene there. His garden has all of his touches, from the persimmon tree to the manicured pines. His beloved dog, Bonnie, greeted us. Poor thing. Doesn't know where his human dad is. She paced along the fence like she always does, looking for something or someone.

My mother and I slept badly that night. We split a Valium pill. This was maybe the 3rd time in my life that I had to take it. But this night, we really needed it. My mother was having an anxiety attack, and I just couldn't put the day behind.

When my mother's breathing finally became rhythmic, I slowly drifted into sleep next to her, listening to the gentle sound of her quiet snoring.

The next day began early.

We had to be at the funeral parlor at 6:30 and leave at 7. We gathered all of our things from the adjoining suite where Yung-Un, Kyurie, and Hong-Kyu had been sleeping. Once we gathered all of our things, we went outside and packed them into cars. There were 2 buses waiting to take all the family and the guests to the crematory via KAIST. KAIST had arranged an unprecedented memorial in my brother's honor.

There was a hearse behind the bus. The funeral parlor director motioned for 6 people to come and retrieve the coffin. Then out they came carrying my brother's coffin. It was a very simple pine coffin. My brother was in there. It contained the last physical evidence that my brother had ever been on this Earth.

Up until then I had this stupid thought in my head. The quacks at the hospital have misdiagnosed. If anyone can come back to life as if in an Edgar Allan Poe story, it would be my brother. Of course, there must have been some sort of mistake. My brother had always been injury-prone, survived many accidents. This must be one of them. He just needs to wake up and show everyone that all of this had been a huge mistake.

But my brother didn't wake up.

As the coffin was being carried, there was no sign of resistance. No one screaming, LET ME OUT!, or knocking to be heard. He wasn't coming back. He didn't survive this time.

I had never ever been sadder at that moment than at any other moment in my life.

The coffin was placed inside the hearse, we boarded the bus and began the slow ride to KAIST.

My brother's colleagues at KAIST had arranged a tour of all the places my brother had occupied. His mailboxes. His office. His lab. The faculty lounge. It all had traces of my brother. There were motorcycle paraphernalia in his office. 2 helmets. 2 pairs of boots. In the corner.

As we entered the lobby of the Graduate School of Nano Science and Technology, we saw there were maybe 200 people gathered on a Monday. One of his students spoke on behalf of all of his students. Then one of his colleagues spoke on behalf of all the professors. Then finally, the president of KAIST spoke these words:

추도사 (追悼辭)

우리는 이제
우리의 자랑이었으며, 사랑했던 동료
신중훈 교수님을 보내드리려고 합니다.

아직도 3일전 비보에 놀란
쓰리고 황망한 가슴이 가라앉질 않습니다.

이 슬픔과 안타까움은
잊혀질 수 없음을 우리는 잘 알고 있습니다.

신 교수님은
부모님과
세상에서 가장 사랑했던 아내 홍영은 사모님,
따님 규리와 아드님 홍규,
그 외의 가족분들,
지도를 받아온 제자들,
국내외 동료 선후배들의 추억과 그리움 속에서
영원히 함께 할 것입니다.

신 교수님은 늘 정직하고,
권위적이지 않은 분이셨습니다.

아내와 두 자녀에게
어느 누구보다도 더 친밀하고 사랑스러운
가장이었으며,
동료 선후배들 사이에서는
형처럼, 아우처럼, 친구처럼
격이 없고,
동시에 항상 정의롭고, 지혜로운 분이었습니다.

신 교수님의 교육과 연구
그리고 학문을 향한 꿈과 열정은
KAIST인들의 귀감이었고,
동료 선후배들에게 베푼
그의 깊은 우정은
KAIST인들의 가슴을 항상 따뜻하게 했습니다.

신중훈 교수님!
견디기 힘든 슬픔을 뒤로 하고,
이제 당신을 놓아드리려고 합니다.

교수님도 너무 갑작스런 이별의
슬픔과 회한을 내려 놓으시고,
고요하고 평화로운 곳에서
편히 쉬시길 바랍니다.

KAIST인들도 신 교수님의
꿈과 열정이 헛되지 않도록
열과 성을 다해 정진하겠습니다.

사랑하는 사모님, 따님 규리, 아드님 홍규가
이 큰 슬픔을 이겨내고,
굳건히 생활할 수 있도록
항상 지켜 봐 주시리라 믿습니다.

KAIST도
가족분들이 큰 슬픔을 이겨내고
행복할 수 있도록
최선을 다하겠습니다.

안녕히 가십시오.

KAIST 총장 강 성 모

***

We are about to bid our final good bye to our beloved colleague, Professor Shin Jung Hoon, who was also a great source of pride for all of us. 

The feelings of shock and grief that we felt upon receiving the sad news of his passing three days ago are still present in all of us today. 

We will never forget this immense grief and sense of loss.

Professor Shin will live forever now in the beautiful memories and remembrances in all of us -- his parents, the love of his life--his wife Yung Un, his daughter Kyurie, and his son Hong Kyu, and his other family members, his students on whom he bestowed so much of his wisdom, and his colleagues here and abroad.

He was an honest, loyal, and modest man.

He especially loved his family, he was a good and loving husband to his wife and good father to his two children. At work he treated all colleagues as equals regardless of rank or standing; he was a brother, friend to everyone without a trace of formality while at the same being fiercely loyal to and wise with everyone.

His passion for research and his teaching, and his vision for the future were sources of pride for KAIST, and his generosity and friendship never failed to warm the hearts of everyone who came across his path. 

Professor Shin Jung Hoon!

We are now preparing to let you go by putting our indescribable sorrow and grief behind. 

We would also call on you to let go of the pain of your sudden departure and to find peace and tranquility in your final resting place. 

We at KAIST will do everything we can to continue your legacy, your passeions and your dreams, and your visions.

We believe deeply that you will watch over your beloved wife, daughter, and son, and help them overcome this deep grief.

We at KAIST also promise that we will do our best to help your beloved family overcome their grief and find happiness again.

Good bye.

President Kang Sung Mo, KAIST

***

It was truly moving. Everyone was grieving. Not just us. The world in which my brother navigated as a scientist, colleague, and mentor was grieving, too.