Camp and the Sense of Community

When I was trying to write about the camp story, I started to digress. I thought it best to put this as a separate post to keep structure.


Following my parents' advice, I went to the Christian camp. PCUSA had rated it highly. I thought PCUSA had something to do with Korean Philadelphia churches, but having looked it up right now, it's actually Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.). This advice was probably more so to avoid any bad influences on their "only son." Drugs and sex were definite no-nos for any Christian boy. Too bad I had already learned all about sex, including anal sex impregnation from the week in Mt. Misery, which was also a magical experience. Now that I think about it, the main reason they probably wanted me to go to camp in the first place was because they wanted me to socialize more. Most of my childhood teachers had told my parents that I was a quiet child and that the one thing that I could improve on was to speak up more. I was an introverted child who was extremely shy and self-conscious.

As most introverts, I was shy in the outset, but once I got to know people, I could talk to them comfortably. Getting to know them was inevitable since I was living with these people 24/7 and sleeping with roommates in this sort of outdoor tent-cabin of some sort where it had wooden structures to place sleeping bags, but no doors or windows. The best description would be one of those child playhouses except the two shorter walls are removed and the playhouse is large enough to fit 4 adults and little space for storage.

We got to do many things in camp, one of which was to go on a zipline after climbing up the trees and crossing a single line of wire. You had the safety gear on, so you were completely safe. The wait was far too long though because almost everybody else was afraid of falling. I asked to make sure if I would be safe if I fell because everyone was acting so scared as if they were going to die if they fell. When my turn came, I got up the trees and then rushed across the line. I didn't want the others to wait too long. I still remember one of the camp counselors singing "Spider-man, Spider-Man! Does whatever a spider can!" when I was going through the whole thing. This inspired my fellow roommates to also go through it quickly. I was still the fastest, but they were close behind. Too bad my badassness was shattered when I screamed like a girl when it came time to go down the zipline. It's the only way I can breathe when riding rollercoasters or falling down great heights. Back then, I had a higher pitched voice and my scream was higher than all the girls. I didn't mind. My puberty came late.

Electronics were banned at camp, but for the most part, it was a good thing. You didn't have any distractions and you felt more one with nature. I did however, get a chance to play on the Game Boy Advance one of the counselors had. She was playing in one of our gatherings and couldn't beat the final boss of Mario vs. Donkey Kong. I said that I could help her beat it (having played platformers for many years at that point), but after having seen her play, I thought it to be a difficult challenge. I did attempt it a few times, but failed each time. She tried many times after and finally beat it. I was surprised because she did do worse than me at the start, but she got it after much persistence. I think it would've been better had I not played the GBA; to be without all electronics would've made it more of a better experience, but that's probably just my OCD.

The camp was fun and one of the most memorable and rewarding experiences of my life. A sense of community made the whole thing one of the happiest times of my life. As one black girl touching my closed eyes pointed out, "It feels like there are no eyeballs!" I was at peace and I hadn't known that, until years later and many years later I found out that the reason for "having no eyeballs" was because I wasn't stressed and I was genuinely happy, though I did want to play video games and I wanted to go on the internet.

Cookies n' Cream

Back when I was in middle school, I had gone to camp as many kids do. It's definitely a great experience, the whole camp lifestyle. You really can't get it anywhere else, being that adults tend to get full-time jobs and then babies.

I had gone to a Christian camp at my parents' recommendations and advice. I was devout fundamentalist Christian at the time and I didn't care that much about going to a Christian camp, even though I had wanted to go to a secular one-- a normal one.

When we all settled down at the camp and sat around the tables. We had to tell everyone our names and our favorite ice cream. It was an interesting idea and a great ice breaker. Now, this was in Pennsylvania and most of the people who went there were generally born and raised from that region. It was in order of seating. The white girls started out by choosing vanilla. The black girls would pick cookies n' cream exclusively. They really loved it. Some of the white girls would pick mint chocolate chip, but when it came down to the final numbers, it became a sort of competition. The white girls began to choose vanilla. One white girl said she sometimes liked soft serve, but that she likes vanilla as well, making the numbers for vanilla higher. The guys for the most part weren't in on it. Vanilla, vanilla, cookies n' cream, cookies n' cream, vanilla, and it would go on. And finally it came down to me and nobody knew what I would pick. I was Asian and they did not know what ice cream Asians liked. Green tea ice cream? All eyes stared at me. I chose cookies n' cream. A victory for the black girls. They shouted and cheered for cookies n' cream. They had won. And the white girls had lost.

I could've chosen cookie dough. I loved that too. But I had always loved cookies n' cream, as did my family. It was our favorite ice cream and we had tried everything.

The reason I was last was not by chance. We had to sit in alphabetical order by our first names. This was the reason for the intermingling of vanillas and cookies n' creams. This was also the reason I was last. My first name starts with a Y.

One thing I did not know, was that I had chosen my side. The white girls decided that I wasn't one of them and the black girls accepted me like their long lost friend.

This should have been an eye-opening lesson on racism, but instead, I did not see it, until years later. Having been raised in a liberal town and taught in a highly liberal, politically correct public school, I became indoctrinated into believing that there were no racial differences and that racism wasn't as rampant in the liberal states as in those damned backwards southern states. It's a different form of racism. That much is true. But it is still racism. You either get the loud, offensive racism with racial slurs shouted at people for no reason or you get the hidden racism where people do discriminate against you, but they never admit to it and worse, they believe themselves to be not racist at all. You cannot fight the second one because you have no proof. The first type you can, because it's obvious to everyone.