by Malcolm Gladwell. It's his third novel, after
. I read
on a flight to New York late last year and thought I might investigate all the buzz around
Now just as a preface, this post will be somewhat lofty. In fact, after reading this post (if you make it), you might conclude that the description lofty is more so a euphemism or wild understatement of sorts. However, I assure you that I have tried my very best to make this post bearable and less apt to make you want to poke your eyes out.
The book portrays exceptionally successful people (professional athletes, Bill Gates, The Beatles, and of course, Jews, amongst others) and all the factors that contribute to their successes. It touches upon the importance of IQ, birth dates, historical context, cultural upbringing, and pure luck, and how the aforementioned intermingle to create the outliers of society--that is, the megamoguls we know too well and are so envious of.
If you ever read The Tipping Point, you aren't missing too much if you have yet to read Outliers. The two are very similar, as both echo the same theme--all the little things count and contribute to the overall grand picture. The biggest differences between the books are the historical contexts he chooses to wrap each book around. Most times, they were absolutely necessary to convey his point; others were longer than the time it takes to divide a dinner bill into twenty separate checks. Nonetheless, I found his socio-historical lessons refreshing (though sometimes far-fetched) and entertaining. His personal anecdote in the last chapter was a poignant means of drawing all of his points together and added sincerity to the mix.
So is it a yay or nay when considering it as an addition to your already insurmountable reading list? If you've got the leisure, then yes. If not, buy the Cliff Notes version.
Now back to the rice paddies and math connection.
As you may or may not know, I am of Filipino, Chinese, Spanish, and maybe Italian descent. (I like to call myself a product of colonialism.) I was raised under a primarily Filipino-Chinese background, which most would venture to say qualifies me as an Asian American. Growing up Asian American affords me the luxury of being well-versed in Kung Fu and ping pong. I have competed in and won every academic decathalon since grade school and will probably become a scientist, engineer, nurse, doctor, or all of the above. On the downside, my chinky eyes inhibit my ability to see, which is probably why I drive so poorly. In addition, your pet disappearing wasn't just an accident--I was cultivating the rice paddy in my backyard and grew too tired to buy peking duck from the Ranch 99 supermarket, so I caught your pet and ate it for dinner.
Such are the Asian stereotypes that we all grow to know and love. Just to debunk a few--I don't eat domestic pets, I've never competed in academic decathalons because I was too busy winning spelling bees, I've had only four minor car accidents, and I don't know Kung Fu or play ping pong--I play badminton.
Ok, maybe I've only confirmed your suspicions of the yellow people. Stereotypes often ring true as they are gross generalized observations of a particular group of people, right? While I can't convince you to dismiss such stereotypes of the yellow man, allow me to allude back to Outliers to offer some kind of explanation as to why Asian Americans are as dorky as they seem.
In Outliers, Gladwell discusses the roles that culture and heritage play in shaping a person or whole group of people. It emphasizes how communities in the modern-day US must be traced back to their respective mother countries to truly understand why a community exhibits the stereotypes that often characterize them.
For instance, why are Asians (Gladwell refers specifically to the South Chinese, Singaporeans, Korean, and Japanese) so good at math? They don't have intellects that have been particularly bred for success in mathematics. Rather, their rice paddy cultivation bred work ethic and stamina into Asian culture, values that were easily handed down from generation to generation (do note that I am simplifying to great extents). Such work ethic permeates many aspects of the Asian lifestyle, making them formidable competitors in academia simply because they work tediously for longer periods of time. To give you some perspective--the average American student is in school 180 days in a year. The average Japanese student? Over 230 days. That gives Japanese students more time to learn and less time to forget. (Education reform, anyone?)
I think back to my own upbringing and all the factors that contribute to what I can only describe as what family and friends have called "my genius" (I'm not, really--and those of you who are near and dear to me have photographic proof of this fallacy). I'm not a genius at anything--I just happen to be in love with the world and like to busy myself every moment of the day. I'm a huge believer in personal improvement, and I'm ultra-competitive with others and even more so, myself. I even scare other Asians with how competitive I am. To give you some insight on why I am such a psychopathic competitor, let me share a bit about my upbringing. (Told you this was going to be long. You deserve a prize if you've made it this far!)
My maternal grandmother, Felicidad Adriano, was one of maybe six to eight children born to Marciana Damian and Pedro Adriano. They were from the probinsiya--the provinces--of the Philippines. Felicidad, or Fely, as others called her, happened to have a beautifully smooth, light complexion.
Ty Eng Po was an entrepreneur from South China and migrated to the Philippines to set up a number of businesses. He met Fely in passing as she was selling snacks roadside. He immediately took to her and informally married her as his third wife. They had six children, my mom being the second born. As Chinese Filipinos, all of my grandparents' children were afforded advantages in being mixed Filipinos--i.e. higher socioeconomic status in a highly striated and segregated Pilipino society and equally important--access to higher education.
All six children were college educated, and all children, with the exception of my mom and her older sister, attended Chinese school to learn Mandarin. They grew up to become accountants, dentists, doctors, business owners, and computer engineers.
The Philippines was in bad and is even in worse shape today. Beginning in the 1980s, all of them, except for one, left the Philippines and moved to either Australia or the United States. My mom was the only one to move to the US.
My mom always had a knack for opportunity. By 1991, my mother took out her life savings of $4000 and whatever she was able to cash out from my education bonds. She bought plane tickets to LAX, and flew us to California on February 25, 1991. That same year in July, my mom remarried her childhood friend Romy, who had been living in the US since 1986 and had since then become a US Citizen from the amnesty that opened up.
I enrolled in a public elementary school in Downtown Los Angeles as a kindergarten student, despite my already having completed kindergarten in the Philippines the previous year. As a consequence of having been in kindergarten a second time and being in preschool before then, I excelled above my classmates, despite my sometimes unsatisfactory citizenship for excessive chattiness. (I'm so not chatty.) The following year, our then family of four moved to Orange County in fear of the rioting and looting going on in downtown after the Rodney King beating.
My parents and I practiced our English at home to improve our fluencies. After I was able to break away from English Language Development classes, I was tested as a gifted student and was transferred into the Gifted and Talented Education program within the Garden Grove Unified School District of Orange County. I never looked back.
I think about my two younger brothers, who I'll affectionately describe as my complete opposites. Let's think about the historical context: I grew up during my parents' struggle to make ends meet--when McDonald's was a luxury and my babysitter was Home Alone on repeat. My brothers are growing up in a more affluent point in my family's history--we live in a two-story, four bedroom/three bathroom ranch home in a gated community. My parents drive luxury cars--heck, I even drive a luxury car. When I was building forts out of blankets and furniture and creating my own games to keep myself busy, my brothers play PlayStation 3 on their flatscreen HDTV.
It's funny what we learn from our parents, what we internalize from them, and who we become as a consequence of them. Am I competitive and diligent? You bet! If you've ever seen my parents clean the house, you'd think that the Obamas were going to visit. It only seems natural that I would internalize their diligence in maintaining cleanliness and apply it in every aspect of my life. Am I fearless? Completely, with the exception of zombies. Years of facing my mother's stink-eye glare has prepared me for nuclear fallout. Do I consider myself successful? Absolutely. My parents dug our family out of a dingy studio apartment in Downtown LA to a spacey Orange County home in just ten years. They set the standard of achievement for me, which I took upon myself as a signal to carry the torch.
I can't give credit to just my parents alone though. As people, we shape ourselves through the various experiences we encounter. However, it's incorrect to think that who we seem to become are just our individual experiences. We stand on the shoulders of our parents, grandparents, mentors, and teachers (thanks, Mrs. Winders!). Throw all of that in with specific socio-historical settings (thanks, 1986 amnesty and Rodney King riots...?), and you've got yourself an individual human being.
Bah, I think I'm all tapped out and my bladder is full from excessive amounts of coffee I've managed to consume while typing. If you made it this far, congratulations--I owe you a drink.
Eternally grateful to the world and coffee for continuing to fuel my pursuits,
Shopgirl.
Am I up for the challenge of being iPhone-less for a couple of days? I remember a time without iPhones. My first cell phone was Nokia bulky enough to have given someone cauliflower ear had he or she used the phone too long. It came with three features--phone capability, text messaging, and Snake. My parents paid $30 a month for 30 minutes of service. Nonetheless, though it wasn't exactly the monument of technology of its time, it was way better than Zack Morris' massive walkie talkie.
