SCHOOL OF ARCHITECTURE, BUILDING AND DESIGN

THE DESIGN SCHOOL

FOUNDATION IN NATURAL BUILD ENVIRONMENT

NAME: Audrey Ting Ming Fang

STUDENT ID NO: 0320247

Subject: Social Psychology (PSY30203)

LECTURER: T. Shankar

SUBMISSION DATE: APRIL 27th, 2015

Date: 21.4.15

Time: 6.00pm

Entry 1: The False Consensus Effect

On the April morning, I found out about Lucy’s mother, it rained. I did not know what kind of cancer her mother had until later, but I know her condition was very serious. I love Lucy’s mother almost as much as I love my own parents, and Lucy is my best friends. But I did not want to go to school that day and I sure did not want to see Lucy. What could I possibly say to her? What do people say to their friend at such a time? I tried to every trick to get out of going to school but mom insisted. My mom told me to stay close to Lucy because that poor girl is going to need my strength. Strength? What was mom talking about? I had no strength. I didn’t even know what to say to my best friend. I hid out in the choir room between classes in hopes of avoiding Lucy, but she was never out of my thoughts. I kept trying to come up with something appropriate to say to her because I really wanted to get it right. I even wrote out a dialogue between the two of us, but in the end, I tore it up simply did not sound like me. Lucy and I had last-period English in Mrs. Soon room. I was going to have to face her last period and I still did not have a plan. However, I worried needlessly because Lucy never showed up for class. When English class was over, Mrs. Soon spoke to me, she knew Lucy is my best friend and asked me how Lucy was handling her mother’s illness. I said I did not know how she was handling anything because I had not seen or heard from her since yesterday. Mrs. Soon told me that I will be seeing her shortly because Lucy is coming here in a few minutes to get her lesson assignments. My heart tightened into a hard knot and I trembled inwardly. I still did not know what to say to Lucy and time was running out. I finally made an excuse and left the classroom. I raced down the hall and out the front door of school practically in one breath. It had stopped raining and the air smelled clean and fresh. A rainbow cut across the sky and the wind tossed my hair in all directions until I pulled up the hood of my yellow raincoat. In the distance I saw someone coming towards me. I knew it was Lucy even though I could not see her face. She had her head down and she was wearing a yellow

raincoat exactly like mine. She had pulled her hood up too, may be she had not seen me. Maybe if I ran back inside and hid in the choir room again, she would not find me. Then I noticed how Lucy’s shoulders shook with every step she took. And I knew she must be crying because I was. The rain came down again. Lucy’s heart was breaking and I was not doing a thing to help her. As I drew nearer to her, my throat tightened, making it impossible to speak, even if I had known what to say. I prayed for strength, the strength my mother claimed I already had, and I forced myself to move forward. We hugged then, but I still could not utter a sound. But we finally came face to face and let her know that I really cared about her. Looking back, I learned something that day that I might never have grasped in any other way. Since then, Lucy has told everyone she sees that I have the gift of saying just the right words at just the right time. I still do not think she realizes that on the day we hugged in the April rain, I never said a word.

Date: 22.4.15

Time: 7.00pm

Entry 2: Social Influence

While in middle school, students seem to have one goal: to be popular. More than anything, most of the students fervently hope to not be accused of going against the grain. These young teenagers would much rather conform and be accepted by the “in” crowd than focus on finding their own identity, style or path. Like most thirteen-year-olds, I succumbed to this need to fit in. One afternoon, however, I had a conversation with my father that made me think twice about following the rest of the lemmings over the proverbial cliff. My dad and I were sitting in the dining area eating lunch. We had run the gambit of usual conversation topics: schools and my plans for the weekend. Then, I am not quite sure how the discussion began, we started talking about popularity. I told him that I wanted to be popular, or at least accepted favorably by those who were. He looked at me and asked why I felt that way. I shrugged my shoulders and looked back into my drink. I had never stopped to think about why I felt the need to fit in. I had been told by my friends that I should want to be popular, and since I had always trusted them, I was inclined to believe them. My father proceeded to tell me a story from his college days. His mother, my grandmother had made him a singlet to wear at school. These singlet were practical and comfortable but hardly ‘in style’. Nevertheless, they became a staple of my father’s wardrobe. He did not care what everyone thought of him. I was shocked. What was even more surprising was that after a few weeks, other students at my dad’s school began wearing singlet. By deviating from the norm, my father had started a trend. What he wore became fashionable because other students saw the confidence with which he dressed. This information was a lot for a thirteen-year-old girl to process, especially one who had been carefully taught what was cool and what was most certainly not cool. I found it hard to believe that going against the grain could have benefits for me, so I continued to wear the same clothes, listen to the same music and go to the same places that my friends did. I had not seen the light yet and I continued on my quest for popularity. However, our

conversation that day replayed over and over in my mind. As the days passed and I mulled it over, I realized that my father’s words might have some validity after all. I began to evaluate my wardrobe to find which items I have bought because they were cool and which items I had bought because I truly liked them. I also looked back at my actions, attempting to determine how many of them I performed because I actually enjoyed them. I have come a long way a long way since middle school. It no longer bothers me that those who still feel compelled to follow the herd do not accept me as one of their own. I do not strive to dress in the latest fashions. I attempt to create my own. The conversation I had with my father about wearing sweater feeling the need to fit in sparked in me the desire to deviate from the beaten path and form one of my own instead of affected by others.

Date: 23.4.15

Time: 2.00pm

Entry 3: Confirmation Bias

Having been raised Catholic by parents who worked hard for every penny they earned, I was taught at an early age that money cannot buy happiness. As much as my parents and the church tried to teach me these values, I had to learn through my own experience that happiness comes from within and cannot be measured by material possessions. As a child, I would sit in church, trying to concentrate on the words of the priest, but my attention was soon diverted by the sparkle of gold and diamonds worn by the Sunday churchgoers. As many eyes began to wander, I noticed men dressed in their tailored suits and women in their designer dresses. My family, on the other hand, was the opposite of glamorous. Our clothes had been washed for several times that the colour had become dull and lifeless. Although our clothes revealed the money struggles of our large family, our faces were always washed, our hair neatly combed and we each tossed ten dollars in the basket even when the second collection. I continued these fantasies when I was an adolescent attending catholic school. Since it was a private school, most of the children came from wealthy families. As a result, I constantly felt inferior to the rest of my classmates. Although I could hide my lack of wealth at school by wearing our mandated school uniforms, my poverty was embarrassingly apparent on weekends when my classmates wore designers jeans and I had no choice but to wear my sister’s jeans. Once, because I could not afford a birthday gifts, I gave one of my own used CDs to a friends in school. When she opened the gift, her face twisted into a strange look as if she did not know whether to laugh or say thank you. I began to believe so much in the material world that I started my first job when I was fourteen so that I could afford those things that were going to make me happy. Soon I was working two jobs in order to fulfill my needs. I began to purchase smartphones, clothes and jewelry. Each purchase was a sign of hope. Each time I thought that this is really going to make me happy. Within a few days that feeling of emptiness came over me again. I would dream bigger and set my goals higher to purchase something even better.

Unfortunately, it took many of these disappointing and painful experiences for me to realize that what I admired in other people was not their clothes. It was their self-confidence. I admired the way they carried themselves, their ability to take on new challenges and the way they looked people in eyes during conversation instead of looking at theirs toes. I knew then that I would never be a complete person until I started doing some works on the inside. I had to go all the way down the wrong road in life to realize that I was headed in the wrong direction. As a result, I now possess those qualities that I had always admired in other people. I know each time I put on a new outfit and look in the mirror, the same person will be underneath it all. I now can carry myself with an air of confidence for I have no reason to look down.

Date: 24.4.15

Time: 9.00pm

Entry4: Social perception

I have never read an official study on the matter, but I have noticed that in animal shelters, black cats are the most overlooked. Black seems to be the least preferred of cat colours, ranking below all combinations of white, grey, spotted and striped. Black cats are still stereotyped as creatures of bad luck. To make matters worse, in cages, black cats become close to invisible, fading into the dark shadows in the back of a stainless steel cage. When I was in secondary school, I volunteered at an urban animal shelter. It always struck me that as particularly unfair that I had get to know affectionate , adorable black cats only to watch them be passed over by adopters only because of their colour. One day, I spent a few minutes petting a sweet, black half-grown kitten, who had been found as stray and brought to the shelter. The slender thing purred warmly at my attention, gently playful as she patted my hand with one paw. I thought about what a shame it was that the kitten was already too big to be adopted an baby-kitten appeal alone and so solidly black that most people would not pause in front of her cage. I noticed there was no name written on the information card on her cage since volunteers were welcome to name the strays that came to the shelter. The name Jellybean popped into my head and I wrote on her card. I was taken entirely surprise when, later that afternoon, I overheard a woman walking through the cat room say what a wonderful name. After a few minutes, the woman told me that she would like to adopt this black kitten. I was pleased. I was surprised again a few weeks later when the woman came back to the shelter. She had been wanting to stop back to thank you. She told me that she is the sweetest thing. I told her that I was touched that she had stopped by and thrilled to hear that Jellybean was doing well in her new room. Then I explained how I thought black cats were often unfairly overlooked. She told me that I should name all the black cats Jellybean so that the cats would probably adopted otherwise. Just because I named one kitten Jellybean and it had gotten adopted did not mean anything. It had just been a stroke of luck.

Black cats were still black cats, after all, most people did not want them. There was only one, a small black kitten alone in a cage, sleeping. I wrote Jellybean on its cage. Later that afternoon someone came along and said they would like to adopt that little Jellybean. A few days later, a nameless black cat came along, fully grown. I named it Jellybean. It was adopted. Days later, another adopted. The process repeated itself enough times that, after a while, I had to admit that may be there was some magic in the name. Of course, we need more far-reaching solutions to ensure that every cat has a home.

Date: 25.4.15

Time: 3.00pm

Entry 5: Counterfactual Thinking

I was sitting next to Michelle in my form four history class when Mrs. Lee announced a new project. In groups, we were to create a newspaper around the culture we were studying. On a piece of paper, we wrote the names of three friends we wanted in our group. After collecting all the requests, Mrs. Lee informed us that she would take into consideration the names we chose and would let us know the results the next day. I had no doubt that I would get the group of my choice. The next day, I waited anxiously awaited the class. After the bell rang, Michelle and I stopped talking as Mrs. Lee called for our attention. She started to call out names. When she reached group three, Michelle’s name was called. So I am in group three, I thought. The second, third and fourth members of the group were called. My name was not included. There had to be some mistakes. Then I heard it. My name was in the last group. I could feel the tears well in my eyes. How could I face being in that group. Oh, how badly I wanted to be with my friends. I fought back tears as I walked up to Mrs. Lee. She looked at me and knew what I was there for. I was determined to convince her I should be in the “good” group. I asked her why. She gently placed her hand on my shoulder and said she knew what I wanted but my group needed me and only I can help them. I was stunned. I kept on begging her to let me with my friends but she refused. Finally, I said I will with the same group with them. As I bravely walked to where the others in my group sat, I could hear the laughter from my friends. I sat down and we started. Halfway through the week, I felt myself enjoying the company of these three misfits. They were not misfits, just people that no one cared enough about to try to understand- except Mrs. Lee. Her thoughtfulness brought out the potential in four of her students. After that semester ended, I always received a friendly hello from my group and I always genuinely happy to see them. Mrs. Lee gave us an A on that assignment.