Yet even in student government, it was clear that factors such as popularity, quality of campaign posters and (no joke!) how funny the final speeches were played larger roles in the election than how capable the “elected officials” actually were. There’s a certain amount of disillusionment that comes with many aspects of high school as a microcosm for the real world, but among them, student government still stands out as one of the most memorable.

The idea of a “fair” democracy, then, of having a truly effective and representative body working to help further our wishes and solve our problems, clearly didn’t always apply. And the main block between a desire for a representative democracy and actually fulfilling that desire was simple: those who had the optimism to believe that their vote mattered were the ones who came to control the way the student government ran. The rest of the apathetic student population could complain all they wanted, but realistically, by failing to take action, they had forfeited their right to criticize.

Over time, and through the haze of high school, college and post-college living and a quickening pace of life, that initial faith in democracy has since waned. For our generation, blind faith that a true democracy exists on its own has been replaced by the understanding that nothing worth it comes easy — and this, too, includes that elusive concept of a perfect government.

The beauty of the democracy is that it provides an open forum for anyone who wants to participate, should they choose to. The truth about the democracy, however, is that this freedom of choice often leads to the decision (conscious or not) that the fate of societal problems lies in someone else’s hands.

And this is the side of “democracy” they didn’t teach in jr. high text books.

The first two might seem intuitive – in order to survive in a city like New York, with its debatably isolating, quick pace, it makes sense that hard work and connections are key. What isn’t as obvious, however, is how powerful the gift of mentorship can be. In fact, I’ve found that mentorship is the most commonly overlooked, and probably least well-executed, element of the three.

It’s easy to believe that mentorship is a one-way street. Adopting a mentor seems to be little more than literally latching onto someone in the industry, someone who understands the trials and travails of what you are going through, in order to learn the tricks of the trade. In reality, however, mentees cannot undergo the full growth process that is so indicative of a positive mentor relationship without a good deal of work. Yep, work. Being a good mentee means initiative, follow-up, and humility, three elements that are also indicative of a valuable employee.

Before I even made the big move out here to New York, I had the luck of stumbling into several incredible mentors within the journalism industry, all of whom were at once encouraging and realistic. They encouraged my pursuit of journalism and passed along contacts and tips. They patiently answered questions I had about entering a field that is unpredictable and ever-evolving in nature. And they told me stories of their own journey toward journalistic success.

But the biggest takeaway by far was that none of them told me what to do. There is no distinct path in any career we undertake, and part of being a good mentor is recognizing that and not trying to mold someone else’s future. On the flip side, being a good mentee means also recognizing that and therefore not expecting answers from said mentor. Part of the beauty of mentorship is that both parties learn a lot about their own capabilities as individuals while having the security of an “industry insider” to lean on.

Mentorship is not defined by who gains and who gives. It’s about mutual growth.

Having grown up with parents who immigrated to the States in their mid-20s, I am always acutely aware of this perception, and the consequent implications. The idea of social mobility is something that isn’t as encouraged in Taiwan — whatever “class” you are born into tends to be where you stay, even in the advancements of your career. And hence, the draw of a country like the U.S. where “anything is possible” is pretty hefty. If it is true that wealth springs from luck and opportunity, and luck itself is composed of preparation and opportunity, then, in the immigrant generation’s mind, hard work (preparation) is the only part they’ll need to contribute, now that the other controllable variable (opportunity) is present.

And hence the immigrant mentality stands: work hard, and you can succeed. And by success, I mean of course in monetary and materialistic terms. I’ve always looked to this model as part of the reason why children of immigrant parents tend to place a different emphasis on the value of wealth (read: money) than either their parents or their American counterparts. To second generation Americans (those born in the States, but whose parents immigrated from another country), there is a balance to be made.

Their immigrant parents insist that attaining wealth — working hard and forfeiting enjoyment in many cases — is the justifiable ends to a life of just getting by. Because the opportunities are here, it is unwise to throw them away — and for immigrants, all opportunities point toward monetary stability and development.

American society itself is filled with contradictions, but the overarching theme at present seems to be that money can’t buy you happiness, and it is therefore almost insulting to the Constitution to “sell out” and do things just for the money. (At the same time, of course, we observe the lives of the rich and famous and aspire to reach that level of social acceptance and wealth. Oh, the irony).

Somehow consolidating the two viewpoints into one coherent view on wealth is near-impossible, but it’s somewhere in the struggle that the third piece of the equation falls into place. Luck. Because even with a rigid mindset regarding the value and definition of wealth, we always find success (however we define it) at just the right time, don’t we? And if that can’t be attributed to luck, then what can?

My mom tried something a little more drastic.

“Do you know how many kids there are who are starving in Africa right now? I can drive you downtown to see all the hungry homeless people, is that what you want?”

Call it harsh, but her methods worked. And more than that, her mealtime threat actually translated into a lesson in the concept of privilege, and consequently, poverty. Having food to eat wasn’t a given, necessarily. It was a luxury that a big part of the world’s population just didn’t have access to. Her words taught me that to know and understand poverty meant having to know and understand privilege. One is really not possible without the other.

The current recession is a testament to that fact. With an increasing number of formerly middle-class workers finding themselves in long-term unemployment binds, the definition of who belongs to the “haves” and the “have nots” has changed dramatically. In a New York Times article earlier this year, writer Peter S. Goodman introduced readers to the “new poor.”

And in a city like New York, the obvious contradictions are all the more emphasized because of the cramped proximity between the “haves” and the “have nots.” I think back often to my mom’s words whenever I find myself on a crowded subway and a man or woman dressed in rags, carrying rotting sacks of laundry, begins his or her speech.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I don’t mean to disturb you today on your commute…”

The shame is obvious, but the need is even more acute.

“I’ve fallen on hard times and I don’t have any money to buy food to provide for me or my four children. If you have even a bit of spare change, I would really appreciate any kind of help.”

The tension in the air is palpable. Long-time New Yorkers don’t even finch from their position on the subway bench, flipping through the touch-screen pages of their iPads or clacking away on their Blackberries. Tourists look around nervously, unsure if the subway beggar is a safety threat to their small pack of children, their shopping bags, or especially to the purses sitting on their laps.

Nobody ever really reaches into their bags to dig up a wallet or a few small coins. More importantly, few people ever really reach out.

Poverty carries with it some pretty strong connotations, and as a result, we are often hesitant to directly help a fellow man in need, though we applaud those who dig very deep into their wallets and donate to charity. Poverty is something removed and unpleasant, something to be dealt with by a larger governing body, or more bluntly, the “haves.” With the aforementioned rising unemployment rates, an unfortunate side effect can be our numbness to others’ hardships as we begin to get down on ourselves and think of ourselves as the “have nots.”

The truth about poverty is that it is not somebody else’s problem. When even a small segment of our community, city, state, country, or even world, is suffering, we all feel the effects. The difficult part is mustering up the compassion, putting our own situation into perspective, and doing our small part to help remedy the situation. We can buy a homeless man a cup of coffee. Lighten our wallets and give some dollars or even a few cents to the war vets who’ve more than done their share to help the country. Or even just begin to educate ourselves about what it means to “have” and be privileged in this country.

Or even, by my mom’s suggestion, consider those less fortunate when faced with a few stray grains of rice.

Waste not, want not.

The truth about success, in my view, is that it is more about personal goals and drive than it is about finding a place in the human rat race. We’re taught at an early age that there is such a thing as winners and losers — labels that are ultimately arbitrary, since the process is more valuable than the end result. This black-and-white rationale can act as blinders for how we view personal achievement, and it takes some unlearning to even begin to define success.

Take something as simple as a marathon, for instance. I recently ran a 10K race through Central Park as part of my preparation for the full New York City marathon. Without a doubt there was a runner who finished the race first, and by definition, he or she was the “winner” of the run. Likewise, there had to be a person who finished last, and by definition, was the “loser” of the race. But you would be hard-pressed to find somebody who wouldn’t agree that each person who crossed that finish line was still successful in his or her own right. The mental endurance and emotional poignancy that is associated with training for a marathon is blatant proof that success is an individual experience.

How is it that this very literal example, however, often fails to translate into other areas of life? If the workforce really is the rat race we believe it to be, then why worry about finishing ahead of other people, about making more money than, owning more things than, having more power than others? It should matter more the lessons we learn, the skills we acquire, the positive changes we see in ourselves in our quest toward a finish line. Having a goal and working toward it and actually embracing all the experiences along the way — that is success.

Blindly reaching for institutions and social levels that we’re told are benchmarks of success is the surest way to ensure personal frustration and failure. It is only when we learn to let go of external expectations and begin to enjoy the process of life itself that we can truly grasp what we personally define as success, be it raising a family, giving back to the community, or even just learning a foreign language.

It’s not so much what we do that makes us successful. It’s how we go about striving toward our goals and why we choose to do them. Everything else is just details.

We’d both just moved to the City from the west coast and were finding it hard to describe to our friends back home in L.A. just what a rush it was to be in such a Mecca of creative minds, diverse cultures and never-ending ideas. Finally, between thoughtful bites of thin-crust, perfectly sauced, cheesy pizza, he waved his hand in the air like a first-grader desperate to answer a call of nature.

“I got it. So this is what New York feels like to me. I feel as though even if all the people in the City were inexplicably gone one day — moved away in favor of a slower pace of life — I feel like the City would still be thriving,” he said. “It has this pulse and life to it that I think people come here for and add to, but it’s ultimately generated just by the City being here, ya know?”

And I knew.

New York City’s very nature — the cramped streets, tall skyscrapers rising up around patches of greenery, delis with striped awnings leaning up against floor-to-ceiling glass doors and doormen — the illogical juxtaposition of so many different lifestyles and cultures is what gives the City such character and vibrancy. It’s no wonder, then, that artists, writers and dreamers all flock toward this self-purported “best city in the world.”

Creativity.

It used to be that I assumed that to be creative was to take something not yet in existence and bring it into reality. New York, however, is a creative city because what already exists generates so many ideas and can be viewed in so many different ways that it becomes a unique entity to each person’s experience. In a city that is constantly pushing forward with innovation and the next big step, and is always swallowing up its inhabitants in speeding trains, it might seem as though New Yorkers become little more than game pieces. And yet, the city is still teeming with individuality.

So how do they retain their sense of self? Creativity. Living here in the bustle has taught me that being able to think outside the box often (if not always) involves introspection and a certain kind of affinity for the indefinable. People who are passionate about their craft and reinventing the wheel, so to speak, often don’t even know where to begin when they try to express what it is they’re doing or what they’re feeling because it’s never been done or felt before. When my friend and I were trying to put our finger on what it is exactly that makes the City what it is, there was more a sense we could both feel than there were words we could use to describe our thoughts.

And that, in my mind, is true creativity.

Alternately, some Saturdays I would make the 30 to 45 minute drive with my dad’s side of the family to the local temple, where we would light incense sticks, bow our heads before giant golden Buddha statues, and mumble a few words before sticking the incense into large vats. Religion, then, became to me at an early age merely a series of rituals — because my parents wanted to ensure that both my brother and I came to our own conclusions, they didn’t tell us much about the meaning behind these actions. So for me, organized religion always seemed more rooted in routine than in questioning, less discovery and more listening.

In college, I became very interested in psychology, and specifically, the psychology of happiness. So-called “positive psychology” is a growing field, and the volumes of books and studies devoted to the topic are astonishing. What I discovered, somewhere amidst the papers and exams and assignments, was just how many bits and pieces of religion seemed to leak their way into positive psychology. Psychology, now considered a science (albeit a “soft” science by people in other scientific fields), actually helped me make more sense of the religious rituals I had experienced growing up.

At that point in my life, I considered myself spiritual, but not religious. And here was my textbook, with facts and figures proving that meditation did indeed lead to better use of psychic energy and therefore increased happiness. Meditation, so deeply rooted in the Buddhist doctrine, is all about clearing the mind and understanding the impermanence of thoughts and feelings, and especially earth’s material things. By changing your mind, my texts claimed, you could change your brain’s functionality.

Buddhist monks, known to lead longer lives than the average human being, and also admired for their cool, collected demeanor, now have scientists supporting their way of life. Their thoughts. Their religious doctrine.

Likewise, studies have proven that individuals who spend time weekly (if not daily) on matters relating to faith live longer, happier lives than those who don’t believe in a God. Whether these are tricks of the brain or genuine results of religious faith is still the topic of much debate nowadays, but one thing is certain: Science and religion are no longer mutually exclusive. Being a man of faith doesn’t exclude someone from being a man of science, and vice versa.

Having grown up without understanding the spiritual aspects of religion or the logical mechanics of many scientific facts, it’s at least good to know that learning about one means I’m learning about the other as well.

My friend is a photographer with a fine arts background, and her exhibit was to me (no bias) the strongest one of the bunch not just because she knew the terminology and the techniques, but because her message was so strong and relatable. On the second day I was there, each of her classmates got up before the rest of the class and talked about their ideas, influences and visions – each gallery revealing a different side of their personalities and quirks.

My friend’s exhibit hinged on the concepts of identity and ethnicity, of growing up as a second-generation Filipino American in a predominantly Asian community and then moving to Syracuse for school. She spoke about identifying more with her ethnicity and culture after her move, and how it felt to be on both the outside and the inside at different points of her life. In one series, which she dubbed “The Hyphen Series,” she played with the concept of the hyphen as both a separator and a connector of words, concepts and identities. She photographed her own face with black bars running across her closed eyes at different intervals, creating a Morse code of sorts, the bridging of two cultures playing across her face.

And in looking at her works, her ideas pouring forth through different mediums – video, photography, sculpted craft – I knew that there were definitely still elements of art that words could never aptly match. The reason why art is such a necessity (albeit an oft-dismissed one) is that it resonates differently with each individual viewer, and it provides a reflection into that person’s psyche in a way.

Fashion is an art form. Photography is an art form. Architecture is an art form. How our society is feeling during a given time period and how we feel about certain issues is reflected in so many different artistic expressions throughout our everyday lives that it almost becomes unnoticeable. But it’s still such a huge part of how we frame our current state of mind.

They say that to the world, you may be one person, but to one person, you may be the world – and so it is with art and culture. And so, with my friend’s pieces, I felt the significance of a whole lot of issues literally boxed in and packaged through her art. To say that they will have a huge impact on defining our culture and our times, these college-age art pieces, would be naïve. But in the sense that she was carving out a piece of our current society and molding it to define her own corner of the world – in that sense, she was making a world of difference.