Origin Story

Around a month ago, I whined my way through an application for the Ashoka Changemakers global competition. The topic was Financial Inclusion and the purpose was to find "innovative solutions that make valuable, affordable, secure, and comprehensive financial services accessible to underserved and excluded communities."

Somebody with investor connections forwarded it to us as a hey-interesting-FYI. The CEO asked me to put together something and honestly, I was not pleased. There was end-of-the-month performance reviews I had to give my team, an implementation plan to hammer together, and some clients to close. I bleeded out a 12 page monster talking about our model, uploaded it last minute, and forgot all about it.

Then I got an email two weeks ago.

"Congrats Sisi Messick!

We are delighted to announce that you are one of the 12 semi-finalists of the G2012 Mexico Financial Inclusion: Innovative Solutions for Unlocking Access global competition . . .

In recognition of this honor, you have been invited to attend the G20 Summit in Mexico City on Nov. 2nd and 3rd, 2012."

I rubbed my eyes. What? The G20 Summit? There were around 260 entries around the world and we somehow made it? The President of Mexico and Ministers of Finance will attend? And they invited me?

That's when I realized that I didn't really read the section on the competition prizes.

I didn't even realize that this was a grant, aka there's money involved. Glad they didn't ding me for being so honest with our operational challenges.

Mexico City. 2012. Hasta pronto.

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You can read what I wrote here. They hid a lot of the sensitive stuff.

Head Bashing

My little brother, Cody, made a new friend. One who had blond locks, polite mannerisms, and a crazy cool dirt bike. Or so I had heard. He didn't even need to ring the door bell. We could hear the vroom vroom from two streets away.

After an animated discussion of dirt bikes and crushed skulls, my parents laid down the law: Our trusty old moped was good enough for Cody, but he could go and pick out a new helmet for his neighborhood rides with his friend.

Cody said that he didn't want the small, "Jewish caps" helmets that we saw in Vietnam.  I'm guessing he meant these.

So, instead, he went and got this (partly because he hoped that a genuine dirt bike will eventually follow):

Even though I'm not quite sure how much protection 20 bucks could buy you, it sure was a good deal for a part-time Halloween costume slash head gear for imaginary practice rides at home.

An Irreverent Class Portrait

Welcome to my Chinese class.

Girl J keeps her hands tucked into her sleeves like the emperor in Mulan. She seems like the type who would like cats.

When boy X wants to catch my attention, instead of raising his hands, he throws up a peace sign. As if that would get on my Asian radar a little faster.

Then there's girl K who looks like she's going to cry every time I speak to her.

I almost stopped calling on boy U out of guilt. The deer in the headlight moment has passed. His looks are those of a dying deer, resigned to his fate of being lost in Chinese.

Boy Z shyly asks if we can be friends outside of the classroom. And if he can call me by my first name. How sweet.

It's been a constant struggle to explain to boy C that his Chinese sentences have to make sense. And that in China, dogs don't eat children. Every time, he looks at me as if I'm being unreasonable.

Then of course there's girl S (or me). The small Asian girl who gestures and repeats almost everything she says. It's like watching a free circus show. Rumor has it that she's a tough little teacher. (Is it still a rumor if it's true?)

So Good at Being So Bad

Last night, for my last honors portfolio entry, I watched a play about Florence Foster Jenkins, an American soprano who became a legend for her bad singing. She was so convinced that she could sing that she kept pushing through, interpreting the jeers as spontaneous eruptions from the audience because her music resonated with them.

She made it, in a way. And she was happy.

Which makes me wonder why I dropped all those things that I was told that I was bad at. Perhaps to satisfy my kindergarten teacher who gave me a C on my painting of happy taxis flying in the clouds (she taught me, "taxis don't smile")?

In any case, now that I've perfected my art of procrastination, I must stop and actually write another sentence on Putnam's two-level game theory. I guess it's a case of painful writing vs. painful singing.

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Here's a clip of her singing. I actually had to pause it in the middle because my ears hurt. But here's a cheer to those who persevere!

The urban myth of graduation

Graduation is a loaded word for me. On one hand, it means accomplishment and completion (or not because I'll stay for spring to finish up the thesis). On the other, goodbyes and full-blown adulthood.

Last week, the only thing I was really excited for during graduation week was the Tucano's luncheon that I've planned for my family. Emotional eater much?

But today, I woke up and thought: I'm so excited about graduating!

Well actually, the exact thought was whether we would get to do this:

Throw our caps.

Back in high school, when I was on the student council, I suggested that we should get cap and gown for our graduation. Ultimately it was shot down because the idea was too American (I went to a British school).

I've seen this done in movies so many times. But I've always wondered if it's real. Do people in America really just throw their caps in the air at the same time? Or do people just walk around under a cloud of thrown-up caps all day long? How do they really achieve that kind of hang time? How do you find your cap afterward? Should I put a sticker on mine so I can get it back?

Maybe it's just an urban myth. Evidence: Chelsea's cap didn't leave her head once during her graduation.

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(update) I just remembered this:

I still haven't ordered my cap and gown. 

Epic fail.

Flash Mob for Japan

When the world was watching the earthquakes, tsunamis, and nuclear emergencies in Japan several weeks ago, a small group of Asians in BYU got together and started scheming.

We wanted people to remember their initial compassion and sympathy for Japan when the water recedes, when the news cameras leave, when Japan has to pick itself up and start again.

Our solution? Organize a flashmob where we raise awareness of Japan's sufferings and encourage people to buy "Made in Japan" because that is the best way to help Japan's long term recovery.

Around 200 Asians responded to the call. And this is what we did today at the wilk terrace:




Added bonus? Now the white people know that (some) Asians can dance.

Check this out if you're a little confused at the ching chong part in the middle.

Props to Kenji (for designing shirts and editing video), Ryan (for remixing the song), Jarom (master planner!), Shunta (choreographing), Amy, Rachel, Miranda (for being the most patient dance teachers), and many others!

Cannibalism and other subtle messages

The Donner Party was a group of pioneers (not the Mormon ones) who attempted to cross the freezing plains to reach California in 1846-7. They had a lot of women and children and even hired helpers. But because they were misled by a greedy store keeper who wanted to sell them more supplies, they started on a supposed shortcut and were snowed in for months.

The group was so desperate for food that they ate the oxhide in their bows. And their makeshift roofs. And each other.

Apparently they even tried to practice cannibalism in true democratic style when somebody suggested a vote to pick their human sacrifices.

Ultimately, they were rescued. But only 48 of the 87 people made it into California.

For our 328 assignment, we had to run probit and logit models to calculate the characteristics that contributed to higher survival rates.

Younger and older people were vulnerable. Being a hired help is not bad. Being male is advantageous. Being in a family is even more so. So if you're a married male adult, you've hit the survival jackpot.

And if you're a single female, you're shafted. Or just eaten.

I think I just found another incentive to get married.

p.s. It's nearly 2 a.m. and I'm still sitting in the TA office working. School sleepover party? It's starting to look that way.

Line by Line, Heartbreak by Heartbreak

People tend to write about what they know best. And in the case of my Chinese 202 class, my fresh-off-the-mish students apparently know all about frustrated love and DTRs.

They turned in their first homework the other day, where they were asked to write sentences using certain grammar principles.

Some classics: 

"I turned to her and asked, 'do you even love me?'"

"The reason why I like beef is because I just like beef."

"When I bumped into my girlfriend talking with a boy I didn't know, they made a face at me."

"It is very difficult to find a wife here at BYU."

"The reason why I don't leave the house is because I'm afraid somebody will hurt me."

"Together, we will make it to the Celestial Kingdom."

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Oh, the joys of being a TA.

I should be writing my paper right now, but . . .

It's so ironic that I'm writing a paper for my OB class on how to motivate Kaplan employees . . . and yet I'm not at all motivated to finish this paper.

Perhaps it's because of the three hours of sleep I had tonight and the four hours last night, I'm just not feeling the miraculous motivating power that is supposedly going to spring from goal setting, efficacy, and expectancy theories. I am powering through though, just because I am looking forward to my soft-boiled egg, honeydew, and homemade wholewheat toast, slathered with Land O Lakes butter.

Instead of writing this paper, I should just write the textbook company and tell them to add breakfast to their categories of motivation tactics.

Lawn Party

What happens when you tell a bunch of college students to revamp the Kennedy Center's supposedly "too serious" image with department funds?

You get a hippie-feel, blankets-on-the-grass, lay-out-in-the-sun party of course. Complete with guitars and free gelato.

We even had three guys show up in kilts.

And wrapped ourselves in the ethnic drapery that we were sitting on.

*More photos to follow later.

Professor Matchmaker

In my Doctrine and Covenants class today, we were asked to fill out a yellow sheet with our personal information. There was a column asking about our relationship status with four check boxes:

Single (actively looking)

Courting (dating exclusively)

Engaged

Married

While we were passing our sheets over to the end of the aisle, I couldn't help but notice that the guy next to me also scribbled down "I'm single and perfectly lonely" (it was underlined multiple times).

He should have been in my Honors Thesis class instead. A boy introduced himself as a sports-loving male. The professor then asked every other girl in our class whether they liked sports. If yes, then he would make a grand gesture of offering up the embarrassed boy in the corner as a possible husband. I think Lonely Boy's problems would be solved if he was writing a thesis. The Honors Department should use that as a selling point.

Believers

I just realized that I never finished blogging about NY. BYU won top honors for both teams (Germany and Medecins Sans Frontieres) that we represented - making us champions six year running. My partner and I also won the committee award in our committee (the popular vote) so I guess people liked us :)

As Chase said, through our hard work, we made believers out of ourselves and everybody else.

Check out this video for the wrap up of our New York MUN trip!

BYU Model UN - Nationals 2010 from BYU | Kennedy Center on Vimeo.

Hooked

Model United Nations (MUN) started last night. We've been preparing for this for a whole year and now we're finally here in NY and competing. BYU is representing Germany and Medicins Sans Frontieres (MSF or Doctors Without Borders) this year and there is a lot of pressure to win because BYU has won top honors in the past five years. However, many people say that this is the year that it just might not happen for us. One of our head delegate had to pull out because of sickness at the last minute and we have a NGO to work with this time, instead of two countries.

I was majorly stressing out about it the night before. I was busy writing speeches and cramming in little tidbits of info. But yesterday, the moment we stepped into the room, it all clicked. Working the room became natural, almost second nature. We were all smiling too much and talking too loud. But it wasn't all tea party conversation. There was a raw power struggle there. And I absolutely loved it.

In half an hour, we'll be meeting with 20 countries that we hope will join our block. This will be the pivotal moment to establish our leadership. The trick is to let them feel like they're in charge and have a stake in our coalition.

Let the games begin.

Copyright-worthy word

Last night, my friends and I were going strong hitting the econ books at 1 a.m. (which was not a good idea since our test was at 7 a.m. this morning). Somewhere in between trying to figure out the myriad of questions on how much ice cream sundae Ooh Soofat (seriously) likes to eat, talking about things like circumcision and drinking milk, and eating a chocolate mug cake at midnight, we came up with a fabulous new word:

FEMONOPOLY :[fem-muh-no-puh-lee]
- noun, plural- ies

1. Exclusive female control over/access to the boys in a certain area
2. The dating market condition where there is one girl to multiple guys
3. Example: In a study group situation

Disclaimer: I was not the only girl in my study group so I'm guessing that my situation was a competitive market where you better be the most efficient at attracting "buyers" (min Average total cost = price = marginal cost!).

Giving up on you.

I'm sorry. I'm done. It was fun while it lasted. But now I'm all burned out - you are too confusing. I'm not negating everything between us - I do admit that there are those rare moments when I think I understand you better than anything else. But just when I think I've got you figured out, you throw another curve ball at me. Are you playing hard to get? Cos I'm not playing with you anymore. This is me packing up, cutting my losses, and going home.

And for some reason, you, my battered Econ 380 notes, are coming with me. See, I told you, I am whipped.

Overhearing

There is a very thin line between overhearing and eavesdropping - especially while I'm walking around on campus. Here are a couple of things that I overheard (and then heard some more as I perked my ears up) while minding my own business:

"What on earth do they have in common? One's a food science major and the other is an economist major . . . I'm telling you, he should have asked me out instead."
- by a somewhat animated girl in a purple dress

"My patriarchal blessing doesn't even mention a wife. Or a family. But it does mention my mom though."
- from a guy to another; they looked at me weirdly when I actually laughed aloud

"My wife is having a baby!"
- good for him!

"Mom, you need to stop trying to set me up on dates, the last one wasn't even pretty."
- an unappreciative son

"She cheated on me. First she dated my room mate and then my home teacher...."
- he went on and on for a while. I was walking home and he was in front of me the whole time.

Lack of farmer blood

I used to have this lofty illusion of being the busy-bee early-riser (a.k.a. Chelsea), who somehow manages to do all her laundry, bake some bread, and dust down all the counters before 9 a.m. So I ambitiously signed up for 8 a.m. classes my first semester at BYU. Boy, was I in for a rude awakening (most of the time quite literally). Like all respectable freshman, I partied hard till 4 in the morning, dancing on our mattresses that we had pulled into the hallway, sneaking out to belt out happy birthday to the embarrassed individual, and delivering goldfishes to the boys in our ward. Needless to say, Physical Science first thing in the morning just kicked my trash. I would stagger in midway during class and sleep through the rest of the clicker quizzes. With a habit like mine, even Edison's brightest bulb would struggle desperately.

Eventually I caught on. The next semester my earliest class was at 12.

Then the next semester my Tuesdays and Thursdays schedule started at 2.

And now once again, the night before school starts, I'm sitting in front of my computer, trying to figure out my schedule for the next four months of my life. Can I handle philosophy at 9:30 every morning? Even though I know myself pretty well, so in this case the answer would be a no, I'm still tempted to hold onto my pretensions to be an early-riser. There is just something so refined and I don't know, almost lady-like, about the concept of waking up when the first rays of morning light hit your eyes. I would imagine that Jane Austen stretched contentedly on her bed and came up with new ideas for her books every morning without jerking awake when her sister pounds on the door because she was late for class once again. No, women like Virginia Wolfe, Condoleezza Rice, and Snow White all sound like early-rising go-getters.

Looking back at the BYU screen, I sighed and dropped my philosophy class. I guess there will be no Emily Bronte aspirations for me this time, I'll just have to face reality and settle with being a Marie Antoinette.