Scene assignment: Entering the hood

On a sweltering July afternoon nearby Dudley Square in Boston’s Roxbury neighborhood, I was instinctively out of my element upon entering an area packed with graffiti murals, dilapidating buildings and squad cars. My presence was something of a wonderment to the throngs of African Americans surrounding me. My fair complexion made me stand out like a florescent billboard in the middle of Times Square in an area locals dub by “The Hood.” I was on assignment in the neighborhood to find-out more about a local non-profit organization. As I took-out my camera, many became more skeptical of my presence, as if I was cop trying to report people for their daily interactions. Then a kind man pulled me aside and suggested I put away my camera for my own safety. This made me question if pursuing my project further was worthwhile.

My Toughest Assignment (Final Version)

A journey I’ll never relive

In the Summer of 2011 my Broadcast Journalism professor, assigned each student to profile a person running a grassroots organization in the Boston community. After reaching out to a few people, I was connected with Jon Feinman’s organization, InnerCity Weightlifting. Since its inception in 2010, the program has reached out to male youth who are vulnerable to gang violence and those already involved in the city’s poorest neighborhoods, specifically areas in South Boston including Dorchester, Mattapan and Roxbury.

Jon and his team mentor young men. They boost their confidence through weightlifting, plus he inspires them to live productively by helping them secure jobs as trainers or other in sectors and assists them to complete high school.

Growing up in Toronto and living in Mid-Town in Manhattan for a few years, I thought I was familiar with the multicultural nature of the urban melting pot. And I didn’t think twice about pursuing this assignment. But, as I was preparing to embark on what would be the toughest assignment of my life, Jon strictly informed me, “avoid wearing any red or blue garments since those colors are associated with gang violence. And don’t wear any jewelry to avoid getting raped or robbed. And… umm… no nice purses.”

This struck a few chords and made me extremely apprehensive to meet him, along with the fellow gang members in Roxbury. A quick Google search of the area yielded a gamut of profiles of people wanted for murder and notices about shootings that occurred in the area hours prior to my internet search. But I had no choice except to move forward to avoid failing the assignment.

So I reluctantly began swapping my Louboutin's and Gucci purse- for flip flops and a canvas grocery bag to downplay my appearance.  With my expensive SLR camera in tow and tripod for filming, I was shaking as I jumped on the T for a journey from Harvard Station to Roxbury Crossing. During this ride, which felt like an eternity –my mind was constantly contemplating, would I survive this? What if I got seriously injured? Would I ever walk or talk again? Would I get raped or kidnapped?

Upon exiting Roxbury Crossing Station, my head failed to push these mortifying thoughts aside. Despite my effort to feel calm as possible, my heart was beating rapidly that it was protruding from my chest, as if I was running away from a bullet fired in my path.

Upon arriving at the gym, Jon and the two men helping me with my assignment relieved my worst fears by greeting me with kindness, as I was capturing footage of the men lifting weights in gym and asking them interview questions. To my surprise, everything ran smoothly!

However, this interview did not prepare me for the events in store that evening.

In addition to the interview, I had to snap pictures of the neighborhood and incorporate them into my footage.

Upon exiting the gym, I took a brief stroll and ended up in “The Hood”, or gang territory, surrounded by abandoned and dilapidating architecture with hoards of dwindling companies, panhandlers and prostitutes. Clutching my fancy camera in one hand and canvas bag full of miscellaneous objects in the other, I was approached by a cohort of African-American men, all of them were astonished by my presence. And they were petrified by my presence. Some of them suspected I was a cop, my presence in Roxbury was something of a wonderment to everyone in the area.

Despite my youthful and dressed down appearance, one of the men who went by the alias “Big G”, asked me if “I was a cop?”

Never being asked that question before, I reluctantly said, “No. I’m just a student filming and taking pictures for my project”

Big G and his buddies gave me an awkward stare, they seemed to be high on drugs with their blaring blood shot eyes, some of them even seemed to be on another planet. It’s as if I was taking pictures to get them incarcerated for pre-existing warrants issued for an arrest.

Given Roxbury’s notoriety for gang violence, combined with the area’s staggering crime rate, a concerned Asian gentleman snatched me aside and instructed me to “put away my camera, it’s not a safe area, and I might get in trouble for accidently filming a drug deal.”

I hesitantly replied, “I’m only a Harvard student. I’m here for an assignment to take pictures and then I’m leaving.” I explained I’m not a cop, nor have negative intentions. And then I completely brushed off his advice, as if it went in one ear and out the other.

But I continued strolling, cautiously and photographing the area. Altogether I snapped a collection of images of graffiti, decaying architecture, a few men getting arrested, many panhandlers with missing teeth and tons of street brawls. But my experience wouldn’t have been complete without capturing Big G and his boys.    Despite my terrifying thoughts of losing my life, I timidly approached these men with my Harvard ID and adorable charm to prove I was not a cop and I was only out on assignment. In spite of my reluctance, Big G and his homies were all like brothers from another mother. They seemed to be life long buddies with their own set of jargon.

Surprisingly, they watched out for me and many of them kindly agreed to let me take their picture. They even honored me for my courage to “go down to the hood and take pictures.” And told my professor, “I need to get an A-plus,” as I filmed footage for my assignment. Despite confronting my fears, warnings and masked nerves, I successfully accomplished my mission.

Surprisingly, my adventure to Roxbury was an incredible firsthand experience of inequality in America, which I’ll never relive. Upon returning to Cambridge and sharing my video footage, I rendered my friends and professor speechless since many said they’d never go to “ The Hood”.

When I sent the footage to my parents, my mom said, “she would have phoned the police if I informed her about this assignment beforehand.”

Although overcoming thoughts of losing my life made this the toughest assignment, I was perplexed to acknowledge the vast amount of people living in urban America— lacking knowledge of the current extremes of racial isolation that were matters of grave national significance nearly sixty years ago. Despite widespread integration movements and human rights campaigns to promote and reinforce equality and diversity, efforts to halt racial segregation have seemingly reversed in more recent years. From Skid Row to the South Bronx, urban areas that were already deeply segregated 5 or 6 decades ago are no less marginalized presently.

P.S. See video in prior post...

My toughest assignment on camera

After a recent conversation, I reminisced on my toughest assignment. Swapping my Louboutin's and Gucci purse- for flip flops and canvas grocery bag --to solely travel to Roxbury (the Hood of Boston) for a class project at Harvard; filled me with tons of fears and unreal emotions! It was truly an incredible and unforgettable firsthand experience, which I'll never relive! (note: this is entirely unscripted. I'm not the greatest with a video camera). xo! 

Cast Away Assignment

Following the horrific crash of his company’s plane, former FedEx executive Chuck Noland is stranded in the midst of the South Pacific after fighting to get to shore.

Although Chuck initially thought FedEx would deploy rescue efforts to connect him back to civilization and reunite him with his fiancée Kelly in Memphis. The likelihood of being rescued grew bleaker, while more than 200 weeks passed without any sign of human contact. Meanwhile, his family in Memphis is forced to assume he’s deceased.

In a first endeavor to create a fire, Chuck cuts a deep, gushing wound in his hand. Out of frustration, he tosses around numerous miscellaneous items including a Wilson Sporting Goods volleyball derived from a FedEx package. Noland draws a face on the ball with his bloody handprint and names it Wilson. With the lack of human contact and loneliness, Check’s yearning for companionship, and he begins talking to Wilson. The pair start to form a special bond that grew stronger as time went on.

Four years later, Chuck is accustomed to talking and arguing with Wilson, as if they’re father and son. Wearing a loincloth, as his body is increasinly emaciated, Chuck’s bearded and his hair is much longer. In order to survive, he’s become proficient at spearing fish and creating fires.

Following a large section of a portable toilet, washing to shore, Chuck crafts it into a sail and bonds several pieces of timber together to construct a raft. After devoting a substantial amount of time to building and stocking timber for the raft, while gauging the optimal weather conditions for launching away from shore via an analemma sundial he created in his cave to monitor the seasons; he finally departs the island with the sail to conquer the rigorous waves with Wilson in tow. Following hours of unsuccessful progress, a storm hits nearby and nearly obliterates his raft.

The next day, Chuck wakes up on his raft in the middle of the Pacific Ocean and frantically yells “Wilson where are you?” Upon realizing Wilson fell from the raft, he’s crushed by loneliness and desperate to find Wilson. Chuck persistently tries to spot Wilson, as he repetitively screams his name, while simultaneously trying to maintain his balance – endeavoring to stand on his dilapidating raft. After spotting Wilson floating hundreds of feet in the distance, Chuck dives into the freezing water to try and rescue his sole pal. But after struggling to catch his breath and stay above water Chuck starts pulling his raft toward Wilson, while assuring him “he’s coming”. After Chuck’s unnourished and frail body fails to drag the weight of his raft, he’s forced to let go and give-up hopes of reuniting with Wilson. Crying and screaming, Chuck is sobbing over the loss of Wilson, and constantly yelling, “Wilson, I’m sorry. Willlllllllson I’m sorry”, as he’s struggling to swim back to his raft with the aid of an attached rope.

The Time It All Went Wrong

As I mature, I keep discovering I'm the worst judge of character. I've indefinitely searched for the positive attributes in people and believe those qualities shape their character. Unfortunately, I'm realizing I ignore the negative signs these people give me; the signs that indicate a person really doesn’t care about me and that I’m wasting my time trying to cultivate a meaningful relationship with them. This has happened with quite a few people, who I’ve considered close friends. And it has occurred once again, with someone who is still an important person in my life. I really trusted and looked up to this person. It was that love, which deceived me into thinking she was a person I could always count on for professional support, occasionally lean on to discuss my personal struggles and hang-out with on a friendly level too.

Ever since I was adopted at age 10, I've concealed my younger sister and me spent the first decade of our lives in foster care since we were severely neglected by our parents. I also refrain from speaking about this because living without a stable home or family rendered me feeling worthless and vulnerable to degrading statistics, while I encountered severe physical and verbal bullying at school. I have a difficult time trusting people and I lack a positive support system in life.

In March 2010, I was diagnosed with kidney cancer. Enduring several months of dialysis took a toll on my life, which is another topic I avoid discussing. Getting diagnosed with cancer felt surreal since it’s impossible to grasp reality when your future remains ambiguous. The time treatment took out of my life and impact it had on my body is sometimes too overwhelming to think about.  Regardless of what I’ve gone through, I want people to cherish my intrinsic characteristics like my exciting personality, talent, drive, integrity, loyalty and passion to excel in everything I do.

When I started working with my former mentor earlier this year, I was the happiest I had been in a long time. And I’m not just saying this; many of my friends told me they saw my “glowing confidence” and “sense of accomplishment.” I didn’t only enjoy working closely on a professional level with this person, we’d go out for lunch, talk about subjects we enjoy writing about, we’d discuss events, things we did with our families and friends, plus of course talk endlessly about my passion for fashion. It seemed unreal since nobody has ever supported me like that, or I’ve never had the confidence to discuss my future aspirations since I’ve struggled with my self-esteem and have difficulty believing in my own potential. And she was the first person to inquire about my goals after I graduate from Harvard and she seemed keen on helping me accomplish them. As everyone knows, my 'dream job' is to work in NYC in luxury fashion and lifestyle editorial, she was supportive of that too.

During an annual routine kidney biopsy and tons of medical tests I was diagnosed with ulcerative colitis (UC), after experiencing months of gross stomach pain. Following my diagnosis with UC, I was required to go undergo major surgery in May to survive since my kidney transplant halted most treatment options. Although I had a phenomenal hiatus with family and friends following my recovery from late May to mid June; I encountered additional life threatening health complications that I dealt with throughout the summer, which I’ve only recovered from recently including a liver transplant.

At the infancy of my second set of setbacks in June, I’ll admit I texted my mentor inappropriate information that pushed the limits of our relationship. Despite acknowledging the magnitude of my behavior, showing my remorse and trying to learn from my actions to the best of my ability—nothing I did mattered and the more I tried-- it made things worse; I got the impression that my effort to reconcile is equivalent to failure. My mistakes caused irreparable damage, which did much more than escalate my grief during such a difficult time. In the midst of all of this, I lost my beloved grandmother, who I still miss dearly. Although I received hundreds of “Get Well” cards from family and friends, I didn’t receive one from a person that mattered to me a lot, instead she confirmed that she didn’t want anything to do with me, in spite of understanding how much her support meant. Given the poor state of my health, my parents intervened with my mentor from witnessing the magnitude of my grief over the situation. Although I’m unaware of the content of the conversations between my parents and mentor, I wish I had the power to stop their interaction from happening. Although I've neglected to convey a lot of detail, I’ll leave it at that since I don't know what happened, except their interaction seemed to completely obliterate the circumstances of our relationship and I still feel negligent for their interactions, which I had no control over.

As I'm writing this assignment, I've found-out there's nothing worse than caring so much about others and realizing that those feelings aren’t returned. I’ve felt like that a lot, as if my devotion and effort are inexistent.

I’m so drained. No matter what I do, nothing makes a difference. I feel lost from the time it all went wrong, especially since I'm a person who strives to hone up and learn from my mistakes.