This morning as I drove out from my house, I saw a dead deer on the road side. Living as I do in the land of rapid developments and ruthless cutting down of natural wooded habitats, I am used to seeing small roadkill as animals haplessly encounter more and more man-made roads and metal killing machines. Still, every time I see a larger animal, say a cat or a dog or a deer meet its demise under the wheels of a car, I feel a little sad. Usually, involuntarily, I would sigh and mourn for that death, if only for a moment.
As I was walking into the metro station this morning, I walked by a person sleeping in the corner. He is by all accounts, homeless. But what caught my attention was the fact that his face was all cut up with fresh wounds. The wounds seem fresh enough that the blood has not even had time to react with the oxygen and darken. For a moment, I wondered if he was dead instead of asleep. I even thought I'd go and wake him up and asked him if he was alright. My good samaritan wishes lasted but a microsecond and quickly, my fears, my tendency to be protective of self took over and I walked on, rationalizing that he looks like he is asleep and plus, I was going to be late for work and plus I don't even know what I would do for him if he did need medical help and plus what if he turned violent or nasty or what if he really were dead?
Ideally, in a perfect world, I would be a person of strong, full-steam ahead convictions. When I feel the need to help someone, I would just do it, irregardless of consequences, stripped of all thoughts of self. I would cast aside my wimpy, scared, tentative self and emerge, Superhero Emily, saving the world one day at a time.
Realistically, I'm so far from being that person it's not even funny. =(
Friday, April 28, 2006
Wednesday, April 26, 2006
I just came up with a brilliant idea
In order to deter criminals from committing crimes, we should institute a punishment system in which the convicted felon must read a scientific journal from cover to cover. He/she must read every single scientific research paper published in that journal and then write a paper to critique the research involved in each of the paper. They will still be in prison, but that's what they must do with their free time. What better way to purify the criminal mind than with the sheer, staggering weight of scientific research?
Playing Devil's Advocate
The day before, I went on a walk with Mom and we were just talking about random stuff. Suddenly, feeling adversary, I challenged my mom to the philosophical question, "Why is it so bad to be selfish?" If you know my mom, she takes morality very seriously. To her, being selfish is immoral in the eyes of God and therefore, she's probably the third most selfless person I've ever known in my life, surpassed only by her very own parents. I think my mother actually started getting mad at me, because she probably thought that I was seriously advocating being selfish, although on my part, it was mostly an intellectual discussion.
Suffice to say, I probably should have kept my mouth shut. Now my mom has the troubling notion that I'm going into the DARK SIDE.
Saw Memoirs of a Geisha last night. What a crappy piece of work, all told. Zhang Ziyi IS pretty, but her prettiness was not enough to carry the movie. It's not so much that the female actresses were all Chinese, I had less of a problem with that than the fact that they all spoke English - Asian accented English at that. It was irritating. They were all theatrically trying to portray an Asia that existed only in the eyes of the Westerner. It was so fetishized and unconvincing, it was truly hard to be engaged in the movie. Gong Li was not bad, but I had problems understanding her because of her English. Fundamentally then, acting rests on the all important principle of clear communication. She would have been better off if she didn't have to speak. Or they should have all had Japanese actresses dub their lines in Japanese. Really, the language was a fundamental and ultimately fatal flaw to this movie.
Suffice to say, I probably should have kept my mouth shut. Now my mom has the troubling notion that I'm going into the DARK SIDE.
Saw Memoirs of a Geisha last night. What a crappy piece of work, all told. Zhang Ziyi IS pretty, but her prettiness was not enough to carry the movie. It's not so much that the female actresses were all Chinese, I had less of a problem with that than the fact that they all spoke English - Asian accented English at that. It was irritating. They were all theatrically trying to portray an Asia that existed only in the eyes of the Westerner. It was so fetishized and unconvincing, it was truly hard to be engaged in the movie. Gong Li was not bad, but I had problems understanding her because of her English. Fundamentally then, acting rests on the all important principle of clear communication. She would have been better off if she didn't have to speak. Or they should have all had Japanese actresses dub their lines in Japanese. Really, the language was a fundamental and ultimately fatal flaw to this movie.
Monday, April 24, 2006
I don't wanna be a stoopid girl
"I don't wanna be a stupid girl" is a new song by Pink. The music video is hilarious. According to Pink, stupid girls are girls who like to play up their sexiness and would do just about anything for that dubious honor. Among the females made fun of are Paris Hilton and her infamous sex video, Jessica Simpson or other soapy sexy carwash girls, bulimic girls, girls with fake breasts, etc etc. You get the picture, they're relatively easy targets after all.
Lately I've been watching with a sort of morbid fascination as girls one after another go under the knife in order to be prettier, more attractive, more "like the person they feel inside." Style Channel: Dr. 90210 and Extreme Makeover and 10 Years Younger, etc etc. It's absorbing and twisted and in a perverse way, very satisfying because it goes back to that whole "Man is in control of his own destiny" thing. Inject some pain killer, artfully sculpt around with a scalpel and voila! A new and beautiful you! The possibility of instant transformation is too much like the powers of the Cinderella Fairy to resist.
The other allure of cosmetic surgery is that for some things, you can't achieve the result through hard work and practice and toil. I will never be a size D even if I worked that "We must we must we must increase our bust" chant til the day I die. But! I CAN shell out some money and achieve barbie doll perfection overnight. Hmmm....tempting indeed. I guess it's just as well that I don't have the option or luxury of considering that at the moment, or my days would be spent researching that possibility. But the question I would like to posit is, "Is it necessarily stupid to undertake these drastic measures to achieve a certain desired and highly idealized aesthetic of your body? Is the answer really very clear cut? What exactly is the big difference between saline and natural fatty breast tissue? If there isn't such a big deal and distinction, do we need to make such a fuss over a "real" or "fake" breast tissue?
So the one possible objection one may say is, what if you had to nurse your baby in the future? You don't want to be feeding it salt water. And the usual risks involving surgery and what not. But almsot everything in life is a gamble anyway. If you never take the chance, you would never know would you?
Lately I've been watching with a sort of morbid fascination as girls one after another go under the knife in order to be prettier, more attractive, more "like the person they feel inside." Style Channel: Dr. 90210 and Extreme Makeover and 10 Years Younger, etc etc. It's absorbing and twisted and in a perverse way, very satisfying because it goes back to that whole "Man is in control of his own destiny" thing. Inject some pain killer, artfully sculpt around with a scalpel and voila! A new and beautiful you! The possibility of instant transformation is too much like the powers of the Cinderella Fairy to resist.
The other allure of cosmetic surgery is that for some things, you can't achieve the result through hard work and practice and toil. I will never be a size D even if I worked that "We must we must we must increase our bust" chant til the day I die. But! I CAN shell out some money and achieve barbie doll perfection overnight. Hmmm....tempting indeed. I guess it's just as well that I don't have the option or luxury of considering that at the moment, or my days would be spent researching that possibility. But the question I would like to posit is, "Is it necessarily stupid to undertake these drastic measures to achieve a certain desired and highly idealized aesthetic of your body? Is the answer really very clear cut? What exactly is the big difference between saline and natural fatty breast tissue? If there isn't such a big deal and distinction, do we need to make such a fuss over a "real" or "fake" breast tissue?
So the one possible objection one may say is, what if you had to nurse your baby in the future? You don't want to be feeding it salt water. And the usual risks involving surgery and what not. But almsot everything in life is a gamble anyway. If you never take the chance, you would never know would you?
Friday, April 21, 2006
Jason is a sweetie
I received two bouquets of flowers today, one of gossamer lillies and the other, prim roses. They were beautiful and such a pleasant surprise. Somebody in the world loves me! Thanks again darling. =)
Thursday, April 20, 2006
The world according to one overactive neuron in Emily's brain last night
There was this cop going after a criminal, a mafioso. It was old Shanghai style. The cop caught the crook on the bridge and directed a cannon at him, ready to blast him away unless he gave up information about something. The crook, wiley as always, said, "Wait! Wait. I have a better idea of how to get me to talk. He beckoned the police to look over the bridge at the swirling water beneath, a 100 foot drop into the water at least. I peered over too, because I'm curious as to what he was pointing at. A rope materializes miraculously and he ties it to the bridge and flung the rest into the water. He implies, "You can dangle me on the rope, threaten to drown me and get me to talk that way." The cop thought it was a good idea.
But before anyone actually did anything, a sophisticated lady in a Chinese style cheongsam very gracefully leaped over the bridge and seemed to float gently into the water below. She emerged from the water, wet, but still graceful and then casually walked to the bank of the water. She said to the crook, now transformed to dashing revolutionary hero, "I'll be waiting for you here." The man nodded and then he grabbed the rope and then leapt over. But something was wrong. He was falling! He was getting major rope burn because his hands were sliding down the rope. With supreme effort, he halts his advance by gripping the rope super hard. He stops. Then with a yell, he steps on his own hand on the rope and somehow manages to climb up the rope. His hand was a pulsating mess of blood and swollen flesh. The scene was very intense. I was astonished, You can do that on a rope? What a neat acrobatic trick.
But all that effort was for naught, because soon all of us found ourselves in the water, walking towards this house. But the story of the revolutionary heroes continue. Inside the house, I paced with the revolutionary hero and the female counterpart. The TOD (totalitarians of the day) were after us and were about to capture one of us. Another female team member, a dashing, tomboyish female flippantly showed her disregard and her fearlessness. But shortly after, she was dragged off to the "interrogation" room. She returned to us but she was severely disfigured. There was a moment, as in a horror film where I looked upon her face. She was ghastly white. Her hair changed from glossy black to burnt bright orange mess, like the hair of a clown. On her eyes were two shiny metal plates. The sophisticated female revolutionary walked up to the girl and gently took off one of her metal plates. I remember cringing. I did NOT want to see what was underneath. Her eyes were swollen shut. She had no eyelids. God knows what unspeakable things they did to her eyes. At first I thought they plucked out her eyeballs like they did to this girl in Hostel. She uttered a cry and then turned and ran away. Against all my better judgment, I ran after her to stop her. She turned to me and amazingly, she suddenly had these amazing gray Anime eyes, abnormally large and alien looking. Still I was relieved, I thought, oh, at least she still has her eyes.
Then I was walking through an amusement park. The aisle was filled with teddy bears. Along each side of me were these mountains and mountains of teddy bears. High up on the hills, you can see a vendor stationed among the bears. Their job was to throw the bears at you. Your job was to pay them for the privilege of throwing the bears at them. The thrill of course is to be able to hit them, even though they have such an unfair advantage. I kept throwing and throwing, but my aim was terrible and I kept missing. In my rage, I ran away as fast as I could and refused to pay. I ran away and hid in the bathroom.
But before anyone actually did anything, a sophisticated lady in a Chinese style cheongsam very gracefully leaped over the bridge and seemed to float gently into the water below. She emerged from the water, wet, but still graceful and then casually walked to the bank of the water. She said to the crook, now transformed to dashing revolutionary hero, "I'll be waiting for you here." The man nodded and then he grabbed the rope and then leapt over. But something was wrong. He was falling! He was getting major rope burn because his hands were sliding down the rope. With supreme effort, he halts his advance by gripping the rope super hard. He stops. Then with a yell, he steps on his own hand on the rope and somehow manages to climb up the rope. His hand was a pulsating mess of blood and swollen flesh. The scene was very intense. I was astonished, You can do that on a rope? What a neat acrobatic trick.
But all that effort was for naught, because soon all of us found ourselves in the water, walking towards this house. But the story of the revolutionary heroes continue. Inside the house, I paced with the revolutionary hero and the female counterpart. The TOD (totalitarians of the day) were after us and were about to capture one of us. Another female team member, a dashing, tomboyish female flippantly showed her disregard and her fearlessness. But shortly after, she was dragged off to the "interrogation" room. She returned to us but she was severely disfigured. There was a moment, as in a horror film where I looked upon her face. She was ghastly white. Her hair changed from glossy black to burnt bright orange mess, like the hair of a clown. On her eyes were two shiny metal plates. The sophisticated female revolutionary walked up to the girl and gently took off one of her metal plates. I remember cringing. I did NOT want to see what was underneath. Her eyes were swollen shut. She had no eyelids. God knows what unspeakable things they did to her eyes. At first I thought they plucked out her eyeballs like they did to this girl in Hostel. She uttered a cry and then turned and ran away. Against all my better judgment, I ran after her to stop her. She turned to me and amazingly, she suddenly had these amazing gray Anime eyes, abnormally large and alien looking. Still I was relieved, I thought, oh, at least she still has her eyes.
Then I was walking through an amusement park. The aisle was filled with teddy bears. Along each side of me were these mountains and mountains of teddy bears. High up on the hills, you can see a vendor stationed among the bears. Their job was to throw the bears at you. Your job was to pay them for the privilege of throwing the bears at them. The thrill of course is to be able to hit them, even though they have such an unfair advantage. I kept throwing and throwing, but my aim was terrible and I kept missing. In my rage, I ran away as fast as I could and refused to pay. I ran away and hid in the bathroom.
Wednesday, April 19, 2006
Ever the Same
Have this song "Ever the Same" stuck in my head, playing on repeat. The funny thing is, I don't know all the words to the song, only the refrain, but the situation is not without a touch of irony.
Hm...what else? Taking off from work Friday. Wasn't too hard of a decision to make as there is not too much for me to do at work except stress out about the MCAT and yes, I could just stress out while getting paid, but I decided to take the day off and stress out in private. I have visions of me floating serenely in the pool with my ears plugged with water and being surrounded by utter silence. That is a fantasy of mine. Maybe then I can find peace from my anxieties? (No, I don't mean I wish to drown, that sentence may be slightly misconstrued)
I read The Old Man and the Sea by Hemingway last night. Quick read, I finished it in about 1.5 hours. I really liked it. I had to speed read it because I wanted to finish it in one go. There is something about that Old Man and his running dialogue to himself. He goes, "Old Man, you can do this. Don't quit now, " in his eternal struggle with the majestic Giant Marlin in the sea. It's very heroic actually. It reminds me of Bruce Willis in Sin City as he talks to himself saying, "Old Man, don't give up now, keep at it." Maybe that is where they got their inspiration for his character. I know I talk about aging maybe a tad too much. I can't help though feeling that it is especially touching to see an old person, wizened and battered, but still tenacious, still retaining something of his/her former glory and spirit. Clint Eastwood comes to mind too. He just has that touch. My grandfather too...
Oh yeah, the book also made me want to try fishing. Sure, I'm easily influenced by outside ideas. On the other hand, I see no reason why I shouldn't try fishing. Maybe I'll discover a God-given talent for it. I just need to find some fishing master to latch on to and maybe he will teach me how to fish.
More outdoor stuff, that's what I vow to get into this summer. I have to take advantage of every outdoor weather that there is, because I feel a claustrophobic grip on my psyche. I want to get out there and breath some fresh air. Need air, need space, need oxygen. Except, ironically, the pollen count is driving me berserk. Stupid nose, always the bane of my existence.
Hm...what else? Taking off from work Friday. Wasn't too hard of a decision to make as there is not too much for me to do at work except stress out about the MCAT and yes, I could just stress out while getting paid, but I decided to take the day off and stress out in private. I have visions of me floating serenely in the pool with my ears plugged with water and being surrounded by utter silence. That is a fantasy of mine. Maybe then I can find peace from my anxieties? (No, I don't mean I wish to drown, that sentence may be slightly misconstrued)
I read The Old Man and the Sea by Hemingway last night. Quick read, I finished it in about 1.5 hours. I really liked it. I had to speed read it because I wanted to finish it in one go. There is something about that Old Man and his running dialogue to himself. He goes, "Old Man, you can do this. Don't quit now, " in his eternal struggle with the majestic Giant Marlin in the sea. It's very heroic actually. It reminds me of Bruce Willis in Sin City as he talks to himself saying, "Old Man, don't give up now, keep at it." Maybe that is where they got their inspiration for his character. I know I talk about aging maybe a tad too much. I can't help though feeling that it is especially touching to see an old person, wizened and battered, but still tenacious, still retaining something of his/her former glory and spirit. Clint Eastwood comes to mind too. He just has that touch. My grandfather too...
Oh yeah, the book also made me want to try fishing. Sure, I'm easily influenced by outside ideas. On the other hand, I see no reason why I shouldn't try fishing. Maybe I'll discover a God-given talent for it. I just need to find some fishing master to latch on to and maybe he will teach me how to fish.
More outdoor stuff, that's what I vow to get into this summer. I have to take advantage of every outdoor weather that there is, because I feel a claustrophobic grip on my psyche. I want to get out there and breath some fresh air. Need air, need space, need oxygen. Except, ironically, the pollen count is driving me berserk. Stupid nose, always the bane of my existence.
Tuesday, April 18, 2006
Stress
I've been told in the past that I seem to always maintain my cool and calm and that I am not easily perturbed. You know what my secret was? I treated most things in my life as no big deal. If it didn't matter all that much, what was there to sweat?
Lately I'm finding this approach to life pretty dissatisfying. If nothing is a big deal to me, then nothing matters then the sum of all its parts is decidedly insignficant. Extrapolate that to...what? Nothing. There is nothing to extrapolate to.
Now I'm trying to reform my mindset, a paradigm shift. I'm starting to focus on the things I do care about, or at least take the things in my life more seriously. When I say things, I guess I mean, oh...career? Life direction? Relationship? Yeah....those things.
So yeah, I'm also starting to understand stress. You should see me these days. Not a pretty picture. I wake up, I put on my glasses, I shove down some food and I go off to work. I don't bother too much about my appearance, because, well things have to be prioritized. Once I deal with this hurdle in front of me, I'll decompress from this state of high anxiety and hopefully rediscover the joy of living.
Yeah, so I guess it's not fair to say that nothing mattered to me in the past. Whatever else my faults, I was good at enjoying life. =)
Lately I'm finding this approach to life pretty dissatisfying. If nothing is a big deal to me, then nothing matters then the sum of all its parts is decidedly insignficant. Extrapolate that to...what? Nothing. There is nothing to extrapolate to.
Now I'm trying to reform my mindset, a paradigm shift. I'm starting to focus on the things I do care about, or at least take the things in my life more seriously. When I say things, I guess I mean, oh...career? Life direction? Relationship? Yeah....those things.
So yeah, I'm also starting to understand stress. You should see me these days. Not a pretty picture. I wake up, I put on my glasses, I shove down some food and I go off to work. I don't bother too much about my appearance, because, well things have to be prioritized. Once I deal with this hurdle in front of me, I'll decompress from this state of high anxiety and hopefully rediscover the joy of living.
Yeah, so I guess it's not fair to say that nothing mattered to me in the past. Whatever else my faults, I was good at enjoying life. =)
Sunday, April 16, 2006
the jack diamond morning show
I've gotten hooked on the Jack Diamond Morning Show. Listening to them gab happily amongst themselves as I speed down the freeway every workday morning has become something of a routine for me.
What I like about the show is the dynamics of the show. There's an older guy - Jack. There's a younger guy, Jimmy. And there's a woman in her late 30's or early 40's - Erica Hillary (one of those last name as first names). And they're just a bunch of fun, decent people who are extremely talented and gifted speakers, but are also mindful of what they say. They don't try to say outrageous things just to be "cool" or "different" or extremely radical.
I once heard them interview Kevin Federline and they poked good natured fun at him. However they were never nasty, whether during the interview or afterwards, when they commented on the interview. I think that it was a deliberate choice on their part to not use nastiness as the drawing spot for their show, aka Simon Cromwell style.
This morning, they were poking fun at the fact that Erica Hillary's 13 yr old son was gleefully pushing his mom to have the "TALK" with the 8 yr old sister. The talk of course being about S-E-X. The impetus for this was because the little girl observed these teeangers go at it in the bushes in a park, and they were not holding back. So naturally the girl was very curious and kept wanting to ask questions about it. And Erica Hillary recounted bewilderedly, "And my son was like, 'I think you need to start talking. I'm interested in hearing about what you THINK you know about this topic." Of course everyone starts ribbing her about the fact that maybe her 13 yr old son knows more about sex than she does. It's mostly lighthearted stuff, especially good for a cheerless morning like today's.
---------------------------------------------
Recently I've taken to singing James Blunt's song, You're Beautiful, to myself. Two reasons. One, the lyrics are easy to sing and repeat. Anything more complicated would be above my ability to remember and sing along. Secondly, something in the song resonated with me. I feel that there is a very simple yearning in that song and it's not just directed at some random girl that one happens to encounter in a crowd, I feel that it's a simple yearning for a love that is and will always be unattainable. The sad part is, you get a glimpse of that possibility only to realize that you are getting a glimpse of what can never be yours.
____________________________________________________
Had a dream last night where I turned in my exam completely unmarked. I realized what an idiot I was and went to the teacher to ask for my exam back so that I could complete it. Then with the clock ticking, I finished it as best as I could and returned it to the teacher again. I got a 25/30. And my mother was sitting next to me and she was a student in the class too. And I resisted the feeling of being competitive and wanting to check out what SHE got on her exam. It was a ridiculous feeling for me, to be in competition with my own mom. Also, I was completely out of character in the dream. I was loud, obnoxious, impulsive. I said whatever I felt like in the class. The class seemed really rowdy too. All of us were opening and closing our mouths, expelling random words into the air but it is unclear whether anyone bothered to listen to anyone else. We were like a bunch of baby birds in a nest, beaks opening and closing, chirping shrilly for attention, oblivious to everyone else.
What I like about the show is the dynamics of the show. There's an older guy - Jack. There's a younger guy, Jimmy. And there's a woman in her late 30's or early 40's - Erica Hillary (one of those last name as first names). And they're just a bunch of fun, decent people who are extremely talented and gifted speakers, but are also mindful of what they say. They don't try to say outrageous things just to be "cool" or "different" or extremely radical.
I once heard them interview Kevin Federline and they poked good natured fun at him. However they were never nasty, whether during the interview or afterwards, when they commented on the interview. I think that it was a deliberate choice on their part to not use nastiness as the drawing spot for their show, aka Simon Cromwell style.
This morning, they were poking fun at the fact that Erica Hillary's 13 yr old son was gleefully pushing his mom to have the "TALK" with the 8 yr old sister. The talk of course being about S-E-X. The impetus for this was because the little girl observed these teeangers go at it in the bushes in a park, and they were not holding back. So naturally the girl was very curious and kept wanting to ask questions about it. And Erica Hillary recounted bewilderedly, "And my son was like, 'I think you need to start talking. I'm interested in hearing about what you THINK you know about this topic." Of course everyone starts ribbing her about the fact that maybe her 13 yr old son knows more about sex than she does. It's mostly lighthearted stuff, especially good for a cheerless morning like today's.
---------------------------------------------
Recently I've taken to singing James Blunt's song, You're Beautiful, to myself. Two reasons. One, the lyrics are easy to sing and repeat. Anything more complicated would be above my ability to remember and sing along. Secondly, something in the song resonated with me. I feel that there is a very simple yearning in that song and it's not just directed at some random girl that one happens to encounter in a crowd, I feel that it's a simple yearning for a love that is and will always be unattainable. The sad part is, you get a glimpse of that possibility only to realize that you are getting a glimpse of what can never be yours.
____________________________________________________
Had a dream last night where I turned in my exam completely unmarked. I realized what an idiot I was and went to the teacher to ask for my exam back so that I could complete it. Then with the clock ticking, I finished it as best as I could and returned it to the teacher again. I got a 25/30. And my mother was sitting next to me and she was a student in the class too. And I resisted the feeling of being competitive and wanting to check out what SHE got on her exam. It was a ridiculous feeling for me, to be in competition with my own mom. Also, I was completely out of character in the dream. I was loud, obnoxious, impulsive. I said whatever I felt like in the class. The class seemed really rowdy too. All of us were opening and closing our mouths, expelling random words into the air but it is unclear whether anyone bothered to listen to anyone else. We were like a bunch of baby birds in a nest, beaks opening and closing, chirping shrilly for attention, oblivious to everyone else.
Wednesday, April 12, 2006
My God
I realize that my last post was the pitiful ramblings of an aging woman. I need to get a serious grip on myself. Focus Emily Focus!
I sometimes wax too sentimentally about the passing of time. There is something particularly poignant about fading looks, sagging lines, wilting flowers. Or you can just take the hard nose route. It's just life, dude. Get over yourself already right?
I will. I promise. I am just feeling outgunned by life recently. Too much being hurled at me at supersonic speed. I feel like I stumble around helplessly half my waking hours, haggard and tired and heartsore and all because I worry too much about the future. Why worry? Why am I losing the ability to feel happy? Is this really then what I should be doing with my life? Maybe my last post also smacks bitterly of jealousy. How come I'm never in those pictures, carousing with friends, drunk as a monkey, having the time of my life?
How come I scurry to and fro every day, head bent low, trying to stay above the water and the best I can do is not to drown? I think I need to rethink which end of the pool I belong in.
I sometimes wax too sentimentally about the passing of time. There is something particularly poignant about fading looks, sagging lines, wilting flowers. Or you can just take the hard nose route. It's just life, dude. Get over yourself already right?
I will. I promise. I am just feeling outgunned by life recently. Too much being hurled at me at supersonic speed. I feel like I stumble around helplessly half my waking hours, haggard and tired and heartsore and all because I worry too much about the future. Why worry? Why am I losing the ability to feel happy? Is this really then what I should be doing with my life? Maybe my last post also smacks bitterly of jealousy. How come I'm never in those pictures, carousing with friends, drunk as a monkey, having the time of my life?
How come I scurry to and fro every day, head bent low, trying to stay above the water and the best I can do is not to drown? I think I need to rethink which end of the pool I belong in.
Old faces, New perspectives
Rediscovering people from high school is like stumbling upon a little box of forgotten stuff. I hesitate to use the word "treasures" because these people never meant anything to me in the first place, and vice versa. That thought depressed me somewhat. All those years in high school, all those people I could have gotten to know and yet I was imprisoned inside my teenage angst and therefore, managed to go through four years of high school without saying one word to some people, never getting to know some people. What I may have lost in those missed opportunities, well, I guess it is up to speculation now.
So came across this guy's XANGA. The profile picture was funny. Also, he's gotten alot more built than I remember, but my memory of him is hazy at best. I don't think we ever had the same class together anyway. Anyway, he's also more articulate than I ever imagined. The thing is, I don't think I ever once spoke to this guy in high school. He existed at the very periphery of my consciousness. He might as well have been transparent. And here he is, with his Xanga, very much alive, very much out there. Amazing. What is amazing is that I realize that to some degree, everyone is very much alike. Or at least Xanga presents it that way. Blog after blog, I see people huddled together in drunken glory, deliriously happy, partying, living the good life. He's at once a complete stranger and yet at the same time, so familiar. He could have even been my boyfriend in another dimension, in another life. At the very least, I can see no true ostensible difference between him and say, one of my exes. It's really strange. I don't know what I'm talking about. I guess this is just to say, I rediscovered a new person today, behind a somewhat familiar face. It amazed me to realize how completely wrapped up I have been in my own private thoughts for the past N number of years.
Okay, well perhaps I don't need to be too melodramatic. I was just stalking people from high school on their Xangas, marveling at how everyone has matured so much and at the same time, how alot of them are not so different from me after all. I wonder then, why is it hard for people to get to know each other? No one that I have met has struck me as a true original, everyone is a copy of another is a copy of another. Okay, now THAT is starting to depress me.
So came across this guy's XANGA. The profile picture was funny. Also, he's gotten alot more built than I remember, but my memory of him is hazy at best. I don't think we ever had the same class together anyway. Anyway, he's also more articulate than I ever imagined. The thing is, I don't think I ever once spoke to this guy in high school. He existed at the very periphery of my consciousness. He might as well have been transparent. And here he is, with his Xanga, very much alive, very much out there. Amazing. What is amazing is that I realize that to some degree, everyone is very much alike. Or at least Xanga presents it that way. Blog after blog, I see people huddled together in drunken glory, deliriously happy, partying, living the good life. He's at once a complete stranger and yet at the same time, so familiar. He could have even been my boyfriend in another dimension, in another life. At the very least, I can see no true ostensible difference between him and say, one of my exes. It's really strange. I don't know what I'm talking about. I guess this is just to say, I rediscovered a new person today, behind a somewhat familiar face. It amazed me to realize how completely wrapped up I have been in my own private thoughts for the past N number of years.
Okay, well perhaps I don't need to be too melodramatic. I was just stalking people from high school on their Xangas, marveling at how everyone has matured so much and at the same time, how alot of them are not so different from me after all. I wonder then, why is it hard for people to get to know each other? No one that I have met has struck me as a true original, everyone is a copy of another is a copy of another. Okay, now THAT is starting to depress me.
Tuesday, April 11, 2006
Things said to me
Musing on some of the things said to me over the years. Some of these go way back. Of course I have received more compliments than the ones below (I'd like to think, at any rate) but these are the few I could recall at the moment. In general, I take the compliments in stride. If I happen to agree, or it just agrees with me, I tend to let myself be flattered. Why not? That is the whole point of compliments. But sometimes I am sensible enough to grin wryly, weakly accepting a compliment that is completely off base. In any case, I always appreciate hearing nice things. Again, why not? Life is brutish and short. We have to grab hold of something to keep our spirits buoyant.
Compliments:
1. You look like Maggie Cheung. (maybe...)
2. You look like Cameron Diaz with those cheekbones. (so we both have cheekbones?)
3. You always have a certain lightness about you. (that's a nice compliment)
4. Oh don't worry, you'll get into medical school, you're so cute. (strange logic, but...)
5. You'll make a pretty doctor. (hmmmm....)
6. You have legs that extend like forever. (no, they are actually quite finite.)
7. Oh pretty hair (my fifth grade friend touching my unwashed hair. I cringed slightly because I didn't want her to know that I've been lazy. hehehehe)
8. You look mischievious. (sarcastic i think)
9. You're a good listener. (i try)
10. You're a good shopper, always finding great bargains. (what else is a bored disaffected young girl to do in the big city?)
What compliments have you received?
Compliments:
1. You look like Maggie Cheung. (maybe...)
2. You look like Cameron Diaz with those cheekbones. (so we both have cheekbones?)
3. You always have a certain lightness about you. (that's a nice compliment)
4. Oh don't worry, you'll get into medical school, you're so cute. (strange logic, but...)
5. You'll make a pretty doctor. (hmmmm....)
6. You have legs that extend like forever. (no, they are actually quite finite.)
7. Oh pretty hair (my fifth grade friend touching my unwashed hair. I cringed slightly because I didn't want her to know that I've been lazy. hehehehe)
8. You look mischievious. (sarcastic i think)
9. You're a good listener. (i try)
10. You're a good shopper, always finding great bargains. (what else is a bored disaffected young girl to do in the big city?)
What compliments have you received?
Monday, April 10, 2006
Only Yesterday
Friday night I gave myself a little time off and watched the film "Only Yesterday."
http://www.madman.com.au/studioghibli/yesterday.html
It is an animated film produced by Studio Ghibli. Although not directed by Hayao Miyazaki, the film was still very entertaining and simple in its soulful approach. It takes the viewer on a trip to the countryside and imagines the landscape through the lens of a somewhat jaded city girl (27 and not sure what to do with her life). Much of the film dealt with flashbacks of her childhood as her memories of "only yesterday" come alive. In the end of the film, a wonderful sequence appears where the past and the present temporarily come together in magical surrealism. And the ending is surprisingly romantic for an animation.
Watching this film made me yearn to work on a farm somewhere, planting, harvesting, growing. Coarse, physical labor in the sun, exercising, being free from mental, academic and pedantic exertions, working closely with nature, breathing fresh fragrant air. Being free from enclosed spaces, indoor fluorescent lighting, car exhaust fumes, honking people, mad drivers, exams, books to study, applications to do. The film offered a temporary escape from my current existence and created in me a simple yearning for the great outdoors.
While I know better than to jet off to the countryside in search of this idyllic existence, I am happy that a film was able to temporarily transport me out of reality and into a virtual one.
http://www.madman.com.au/studioghibli/yesterday.html
It is an animated film produced by Studio Ghibli. Although not directed by Hayao Miyazaki, the film was still very entertaining and simple in its soulful approach. It takes the viewer on a trip to the countryside and imagines the landscape through the lens of a somewhat jaded city girl (27 and not sure what to do with her life). Much of the film dealt with flashbacks of her childhood as her memories of "only yesterday" come alive. In the end of the film, a wonderful sequence appears where the past and the present temporarily come together in magical surrealism. And the ending is surprisingly romantic for an animation.
Watching this film made me yearn to work on a farm somewhere, planting, harvesting, growing. Coarse, physical labor in the sun, exercising, being free from mental, academic and pedantic exertions, working closely with nature, breathing fresh fragrant air. Being free from enclosed spaces, indoor fluorescent lighting, car exhaust fumes, honking people, mad drivers, exams, books to study, applications to do. The film offered a temporary escape from my current existence and created in me a simple yearning for the great outdoors.
While I know better than to jet off to the countryside in search of this idyllic existence, I am happy that a film was able to temporarily transport me out of reality and into a virtual one.
Friday, April 07, 2006
She's an angles girl
When I was young, whenever my mother, my sister and I huddled in front of the TV and watched the latest soap opera, it was prime bonding time for my family. Upon the conclusion, we usually would commence the critical analyses portion by talking about the characters and their various pitiful and tragic endings and cluck at the dumb mistakes made, etc. My mother especially liked using soap opera narratives as moral lesson of the day, instructing us on the mores of living a good, proper life.
My sister and I would often discuss the looks of the female and male characters. Through our discussions, I have very wisely and knowingly came up with my own term for a certain type of individual. They are not unattractive per se. They are far more complex than that, you see. Something about their faces is not in complete harmony. The lines are sharply delineated, the features are strong and juts out. From certain angles, the face presents a not altogether pleasing symphony. Yet, catch this face at the right angle, slightly upturned, slightly lowered, full-frontal...it could be any angle and the face becomes softened, it fills with a sharp aching aesthetic power all its own -- it blossoms into a beauty.
It is all very well and good to have a beautiful face that shines and chirps from all angles, under all lighting and at any given time. Yet I believe that a face that has transformative powers, it can be ugly one minute and it can be beautiful the next, it is versatle and alive, that is the more interesting face.
Whenever I come across a person like that, I think to myself, "She's an angles girl."
My sister and I would often discuss the looks of the female and male characters. Through our discussions, I have very wisely and knowingly came up with my own term for a certain type of individual. They are not unattractive per se. They are far more complex than that, you see. Something about their faces is not in complete harmony. The lines are sharply delineated, the features are strong and juts out. From certain angles, the face presents a not altogether pleasing symphony. Yet, catch this face at the right angle, slightly upturned, slightly lowered, full-frontal...it could be any angle and the face becomes softened, it fills with a sharp aching aesthetic power all its own -- it blossoms into a beauty.
It is all very well and good to have a beautiful face that shines and chirps from all angles, under all lighting and at any given time. Yet I believe that a face that has transformative powers, it can be ugly one minute and it can be beautiful the next, it is versatle and alive, that is the more interesting face.
Whenever I come across a person like that, I think to myself, "She's an angles girl."
Wednesday, April 05, 2006
A possibly morbid post - beware
"But the worst thing that could ever happen to a person is not death - anyone would die given a cause big enough. The worst thing that could ever happen to you is never having anything worth dying for." - Joanne Shetler
I found this off a friend's blog and I am pondering on the meaning of this statement. Is that really the worst thing that could ever happen?
Death, after all, is hardly an option. Whether you die for a cause or not, one thing alone is certain, you are going to die. So what is the worst thing that could happen to someone? I think the worst thing that could happen to someone is not being able to find anything worth living for. Maybe it is just semantics and we are essentially saying the same thing. But nothing is sadder than to observe a person living when the will to live is no longer there. There is something particularly poignant about a person who is living only to die. Poignant yet regrettable.
I admit that I have always been somewhat fascinated about death myself. I think about it every now and then. I wonder if you will get to see your relatives, your friends, hang out with some historical greats. Will you hold on to your personality? If you were stiff and awkward in life, are you going to relax a bit in death? Do you still have the capacity to learn new things after you cease owning a brain? I must say that I would be truly disappointed if there is no life, no existence of some form after death. I would be disappointed if this is it, our one shot at announcing to the universe, "I exist."
Sometimes I wonder if people commit suicide not necessarily or purely out of depression but out of an irrepressible curiosity about the "other side" and can't wait to see just what the fuss is all about.
I found this off a friend's blog and I am pondering on the meaning of this statement. Is that really the worst thing that could ever happen?
Death, after all, is hardly an option. Whether you die for a cause or not, one thing alone is certain, you are going to die. So what is the worst thing that could happen to someone? I think the worst thing that could happen to someone is not being able to find anything worth living for. Maybe it is just semantics and we are essentially saying the same thing. But nothing is sadder than to observe a person living when the will to live is no longer there. There is something particularly poignant about a person who is living only to die. Poignant yet regrettable.
I admit that I have always been somewhat fascinated about death myself. I think about it every now and then. I wonder if you will get to see your relatives, your friends, hang out with some historical greats. Will you hold on to your personality? If you were stiff and awkward in life, are you going to relax a bit in death? Do you still have the capacity to learn new things after you cease owning a brain? I must say that I would be truly disappointed if there is no life, no existence of some form after death. I would be disappointed if this is it, our one shot at announcing to the universe, "I exist."
Sometimes I wonder if people commit suicide not necessarily or purely out of depression but out of an irrepressible curiosity about the "other side" and can't wait to see just what the fuss is all about.
Tuesday, April 04, 2006
Stories from the road
Apart from my privileged friends coccooned in the city of New York, the rest of suburbia America usually have to deal with the very necessary evil known as driving. Now, I don't mind to drive and I enjoy the autonomy that operating a vehicle gives me. If I weren't too cheap to pay the speeding tickets, I may very well be a closet speed demon as well.
That said, I have two great hates in this world and I'm positive they are shared by many. One: I hate hate hate driving in morning rush hour. Aside from the bumper to bumper phenomenon, I am constantly either worrying that I will hit the car in front of me during a momentary lapse of concentration or that I would be rear-ended by some stupid, careless driver behind me. Usually my morning commutes consist of me looking longingly at the HOV lane next to me (high occupancy vehicle or the carpool lane) and wishing I had a blow up doll to pass for a decoy passenger. Einstein's theory of relativity never hits home quite as hard as during those times of solitary contemplation.
Secondly, I hate tailgaters. Ever since being rear-ended at 12:15 PM on January 31, 2006, I have been existing in a post-traumatic state where I expect to be rear-ended haplessly by some fool of a driver every time I venture behind the wheels. I've taken to eyeing my rear-view mirror obsessively as I talk to whomever is behind me. Usually the message is simple " Don't hit me please don't hit me please." Then of course, there are those obnoxious ones. The people who seem to enjoy kissing ass so much, they incorporate it into their daily commute. Last week, I had this Asian punk driving a sports car determined to keep the distance between us at around 5 cm, give or take a few sig figs. As we neared an exit ramp, he actually USED the exit ramp, swung around to my right and then cut in front of me. Now, the only reason the little punk isn't in the hospital is because I slammed my foot on the brakes to avoid a collision. Boy I was plenty mad though.
Last night, going home, a huge red SUV very menacingly tailed me for a good 10 minutes. Sometimes I slow down on purpose to annoy the driver even more. But sometimes I play it cool and completely ignore its existence. But this car was BIG and big makes me nervous because I don't particularly feel like getting whiplashed, should it decide to bulldoze into me for the hell of it. Get this, even going down the exit ramp, when you are supposed to slow down to about 30 mph, the red SUV still tailed me like mad. That is just pure asshole behavior. All I can do of course is roll my eyes and rant on my blog, but I don't understand why people have to be so aggressive when they are driving. Maybe they are trying to compensate for the smallness, the pettiness of their actual lives.
And today, as I was once again in bumper to bumper traffic, I saw this grandma behind me, in a snazzy sports car. She was this little old lady, and I thought, well, maybe at least SHE won't tail me. But instead, the grandma got sick of the slow traffic and tore into the HOV lane with ferocious speed and then took off. And there I was, sadly gazing at the dust trail left behind her and knowing that I have a couple more miles of bumper to bumper to endure in the road ahead.
That said, I have two great hates in this world and I'm positive they are shared by many. One: I hate hate hate driving in morning rush hour. Aside from the bumper to bumper phenomenon, I am constantly either worrying that I will hit the car in front of me during a momentary lapse of concentration or that I would be rear-ended by some stupid, careless driver behind me. Usually my morning commutes consist of me looking longingly at the HOV lane next to me (high occupancy vehicle or the carpool lane) and wishing I had a blow up doll to pass for a decoy passenger. Einstein's theory of relativity never hits home quite as hard as during those times of solitary contemplation.
Secondly, I hate tailgaters. Ever since being rear-ended at 12:15 PM on January 31, 2006, I have been existing in a post-traumatic state where I expect to be rear-ended haplessly by some fool of a driver every time I venture behind the wheels. I've taken to eyeing my rear-view mirror obsessively as I talk to whomever is behind me. Usually the message is simple " Don't hit me please don't hit me please." Then of course, there are those obnoxious ones. The people who seem to enjoy kissing ass so much, they incorporate it into their daily commute. Last week, I had this Asian punk driving a sports car determined to keep the distance between us at around 5 cm, give or take a few sig figs. As we neared an exit ramp, he actually USED the exit ramp, swung around to my right and then cut in front of me. Now, the only reason the little punk isn't in the hospital is because I slammed my foot on the brakes to avoid a collision. Boy I was plenty mad though.
Last night, going home, a huge red SUV very menacingly tailed me for a good 10 minutes. Sometimes I slow down on purpose to annoy the driver even more. But sometimes I play it cool and completely ignore its existence. But this car was BIG and big makes me nervous because I don't particularly feel like getting whiplashed, should it decide to bulldoze into me for the hell of it. Get this, even going down the exit ramp, when you are supposed to slow down to about 30 mph, the red SUV still tailed me like mad. That is just pure asshole behavior. All I can do of course is roll my eyes and rant on my blog, but I don't understand why people have to be so aggressive when they are driving. Maybe they are trying to compensate for the smallness, the pettiness of their actual lives.
And today, as I was once again in bumper to bumper traffic, I saw this grandma behind me, in a snazzy sports car. She was this little old lady, and I thought, well, maybe at least SHE won't tail me. But instead, the grandma got sick of the slow traffic and tore into the HOV lane with ferocious speed and then took off. And there I was, sadly gazing at the dust trail left behind her and knowing that I have a couple more miles of bumper to bumper to endure in the road ahead.
Monday, April 03, 2006
Eureka! The value of having no options
For most of my young adulthood, I've always been smug about the fact that now we live in an era of multitudinous choices. We can select this, we can elect that, my, what empowerment, what progress, what utopia! If I so please, I can choose to study this. If I so like, I can choose to work in that field. The options are available and the opportunities abound.
But wait! With choices, come responsibility. With choices, come agony. With choices, come the temptation to always take the easy way out.
Therefore, also for most of my young adulthood, as opposed to when I was a teenager and felt very powerless about many factors in my life, I was given the free will and the option to choose any particular path for a given course of action. Sadly then, I realize that for much of my life, I have taken the road more easily travelled. The path of least resistance.
A simple example is when I present myself with the option of going to the gym. For some time now I have resolved, or at least pondered at the possibility of getting up early to go work out. (Montages of Rambo jogging on the beach, running up the stairs come to mind - oh how disciplined I will be!) Then, usually, come 6 AM alarm clock blaring, I sleepily look at my clock and consider the options A. Go back to sleep. B. Get up and be a rambo. What do I always always do? I choose option A.
BUT NOT TODAY!!! Today, I was startled out of my sleep by my hideous sounding alarm clock. I turned it off just before my heart attack began and without giving myself that option of choice, I got up! Okay I lied, I did begin the familiar multiple choice question, but I stopped myself sternly and said, it's not an option. You go!
So I did. Nothing could have been simpler.
Life without choices is indeed a simpler thing.
But wait! With choices, come responsibility. With choices, come agony. With choices, come the temptation to always take the easy way out.
Therefore, also for most of my young adulthood, as opposed to when I was a teenager and felt very powerless about many factors in my life, I was given the free will and the option to choose any particular path for a given course of action. Sadly then, I realize that for much of my life, I have taken the road more easily travelled. The path of least resistance.
A simple example is when I present myself with the option of going to the gym. For some time now I have resolved, or at least pondered at the possibility of getting up early to go work out. (Montages of Rambo jogging on the beach, running up the stairs come to mind - oh how disciplined I will be!) Then, usually, come 6 AM alarm clock blaring, I sleepily look at my clock and consider the options A. Go back to sleep. B. Get up and be a rambo. What do I always always do? I choose option A.
BUT NOT TODAY!!! Today, I was startled out of my sleep by my hideous sounding alarm clock. I turned it off just before my heart attack began and without giving myself that option of choice, I got up! Okay I lied, I did begin the familiar multiple choice question, but I stopped myself sternly and said, it's not an option. You go!
So I did. Nothing could have been simpler.
Life without choices is indeed a simpler thing.
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