I became a student activist in college; those years were among the most exhilarating and fulfilling times of my life. The end goal was to pressure the university into offering an Asian American Studies program on campus (which it now has). I spoke to various student organizations in order to build coalitions, passed out petitions, wrote letters to the campus newspaper, and even got to plead our case in front of the Cal State bigwigs in Sacramento.
The fun part was networking with students from all over the state. We attended conferences, slept on the floors of gyms and even churches, and of course partied together (and yes, there was a lot of hooking up going on -- we were hormonally-charged college students after all). As a result, everyone knew who everyone else was.
One day I was invited to, and attended, a secret meeting hosted by folks who were more radical and definitely more "Leftist" than the typical liberal/progressive student activist.Obviously, they were picky about whom they invited (i.e. whom they could trust). A few of my close friends were part of the inner circle and I found myself wondering if I would join them; after all, I admired and respected those who were already involved.
The "wondering" part took all of less than 10 minutes, really. It was one thing to be idealistic, liberal, and progressive. But I knew a more radical kind of life wasn't for me: I was hopelessly attached to my material possessions. I couldn't imagine lugging the September issue of Vogue on the bus to attend another demonstration. And let's be honest -- how I was going to rough it with the workers of the world? Me, who had never been camping and hadn't planned on doing so unless the campsite had a clean bathroom with a functioning toilet and running water and preferably a bed (OK, let's call it what it really is -- a spa).
There are a few vestiges of my old life: student leadership gave me negotiating and motivating skills I later used in the workplace, and my problem-solving skills are pretty well-honed. I'm still a liberal, and still believe in the issues I once fought for. Lastly, all those days spent on long drives and crummy accommodations made me an expert at looking pretty decent with a tube of hand cream and one lipstick. And yes, if I had to, I could probably fight off riot police with a well-worn issue of Vogue.
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