Almost 356.24 days ago, a humble Asian senior at New York University was sitting at home, wasting away because he was failing out of life. After spending over $2000 on medical school applications, countless hours (not days, hours!) on MCAT studying, and praying to God (or the Gods of Olympus as you prefer) above, he had received exactly one interview, no acceptances, and a bunch of rejections. Said Asian man shook his head and wondered what was wrong with him and more importantly, how he would deal with his academic incompetence in the future.
2009 has been a year of many changes for your humble blog writer. I've moved across the country, attended two graduate school orientations, blew a bunch of money on food, discovered how deep of a depression I can withstand (for now), had flings with two or three women (none of which amounted to anything), drove over a thousand miles for a chick, wore my Slytherin tie as a showpiece, and discovered that I look better with short hair. Along the way, some of the people I've met (not in order) are:
1) a hyperactive but adorable cockatiel with a prima donna temperament and a constant need for attention,
2) a quirky art student with incredibly large anxiety problems with a horrible case of yellow fever,
3) an alcohol-loving professor with his own strange cocktail concoction ('the Goldburg'),
4) a classroom full of female would-be wanna-be teachers with some far more attractive than others,
5) a bunch of Magic: The Gathering playing folk including a thrifty, shifty-eyed, but good hearted kid with a gift for imitation,
6) an Oregonite who makes crappy jokes, cooks with spam, and is considerate, thoughtful, and a much better person than I,
7) SoCal natives who claim one stands 'in line' as opposed to the proper 'on line' terminology,
8) a kid who speaks Russian but isn't Russian and who gets less ass than his girlfriend,
9) LaRanger.
Wild ride, huh.
And in the meantime, I've learned a few crucial things about the world. The highlights, in my true, sarcastic, and bitterly witty voice, are as follows (with parentheses for easy comprehension!):
1) Medical school is for the dedicated. I'm not dedicated. (Everything has a price. Dedication is always at the cost of one's individualism.)
2) If you're really desperate, there's nearly always graduate school. (Desperation often shows you the way; just not the way you expect. But one must have faith even in the darkest times to see.)
3) I can move around if I have to, but my heart will always be in New York. (You can never escape where you come from, or who you are; it should empower you instead.)
4) Innovation is creativity applied, born with humor and invention by necessity. (New things are born from combinations of old things, paying homage to their past and looking towards a novel future.)
5) Relationships are fragile things, just like people. Never trust them. (Always be aware of the delicacy of the human spirit. It is easy to see in others, but one must also see it in oneself.)
6) I can and will do stupid things for someone I love, including drive 1000 miles north only to get rejected. (The desire of reciprocity can blind us to reality and cause us pain, but can also inspire the most remarkable of actions, the most beautiful of changes.)
7) Gas is expensive. (Never be afraid of finding out something. Never be afraid to pay the cost for knowing whether you are right, or wrong.)
8) Less words, more content. (People want specific things in their lives. Understanding the wants of others is to understand them.)
9) Failure is the price of trying, not necessarily its only outcome. (Make of failure as you will. Sometimes, it is prudent to fail; you have succeeded in learning regardless.)
Succinct. I should write cards.
I do believe it is New Years tradition to thank people who have supported me throughout the years, but beforehand, I would like to present New Years resolution (another classic!). Let's see how long I can actually follows these for, shall we?
1) Learn to use neurolinguistics effectively.
2) Beat Mass Effect 2 with Tali in my team.
3) Finally complete a Harvest Moon game.
4) Take professional development seriously.
5) Learn to love. Ha!
6) Learn to deal with my emotions in constructive ways to other people.
7) Play 'Defying Gravity' on piano properly.
8) Write more frequently.
9) Continue to grow and develop, never ceasing for the sky.
And now, acknowledgements for 2009!
1) My INTP buddy for being there in spirit.
2) My INFP roommate for the micromesh blanket of amazing (please cheer up!)
3) Mom and dad.
4) Ryan, for being a good go-to buddy when I'm crying about work.
5) A dear new friend of mine; who roomed with my high school crush, le Korean small and hyperactive.
6) Bambi, for making me realize how far I'll go for someone.
7) The short girl from Sichuan China who almost won a singing competition; I love your voice!
8) All of my NYC buddies. <3
9) Whatever this mysterious force that allows me to continually exist. And hasn't yet tried to kill me yet.
Peace out, 2009. You'll be missed. Well, maybe not; but it's the thought that counts, right?
Today is New Year's Eve, with the new year in just 9 minutes. I need all the energy I can get to face the dawn, so therefore, I am lazy.
Cheers.
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Juxtapose
As an interested party to my own inner workings as a human being, I have been reading up on different personality types in order to understand myself more; at least, myself from a standardized position that other people have taken in treating people like me. One of the core strengths of my standardized personality type is the ability to be creative through the manipulation of different objects; we are capable of seeing different combinations of factors and hence, appreciating the myriad possibilities a given object would have. The source of our creative power is this ability to take something; a situation, a feeling, an person, and shove them into a billion possibilities at once, into new places and see what happens.
A writing professor once told me that parodies and humor are created from this juxtaposition, this taking of something and putting it someplace else. Many things perhaps, are born from this as well. Fusion cuisine, new music genres, poetic styles, video games, so many things arise from the transportation of something where they have been to an area they've never been before. I would argue, therefore, that the source of innovation in a philosophical sense doesn't lay within a specialization, or the furthering of one object in one distinct vector, but the entire movement of that object into a different subspace entirely. To combine rhythms and genres that normally never coexist (country x rap?! That would be hilarious!), to take objects and change where they are placed in relation to everything else (why don't we shift the angle of this film to this ...), such is the way that new combinations of things are born and from there, true innovation.
I don't have much else to say about this topic. However, I wish to deliver the message that innovation is something that we should all pursue, perhaps even on a personal level. While the juxtaposition of objects might be easy to facilitate logistically (let's put this banjo in this symphony ...), it is harder when we do it as ourselves. Who ever thought of juxtaposing themselves into another situation, a what-if scenario, another world and another existence? Yet, perhaps to continue growth or at least, promote change, we should seek experiences that are radically not our own. In this way, we might be able to innovate ourselves and in turn, understanding, experience, and share something that perhaps is fundamentally new and different from all that came before. Innovate ourselves, without fear, without hesitation.
Today, I'm finally back where I belong. Hence, I am lazy.
Cheers.
A writing professor once told me that parodies and humor are created from this juxtaposition, this taking of something and putting it someplace else. Many things perhaps, are born from this as well. Fusion cuisine, new music genres, poetic styles, video games, so many things arise from the transportation of something where they have been to an area they've never been before. I would argue, therefore, that the source of innovation in a philosophical sense doesn't lay within a specialization, or the furthering of one object in one distinct vector, but the entire movement of that object into a different subspace entirely. To combine rhythms and genres that normally never coexist (country x rap?! That would be hilarious!), to take objects and change where they are placed in relation to everything else (why don't we shift the angle of this film to this ...), such is the way that new combinations of things are born and from there, true innovation.
I don't have much else to say about this topic. However, I wish to deliver the message that innovation is something that we should all pursue, perhaps even on a personal level. While the juxtaposition of objects might be easy to facilitate logistically (let's put this banjo in this symphony ...), it is harder when we do it as ourselves. Who ever thought of juxtaposing themselves into another situation, a what-if scenario, another world and another existence? Yet, perhaps to continue growth or at least, promote change, we should seek experiences that are radically not our own. In this way, we might be able to innovate ourselves and in turn, understanding, experience, and share something that perhaps is fundamentally new and different from all that came before. Innovate ourselves, without fear, without hesitation.
Today, I'm finally back where I belong. Hence, I am lazy.
Cheers.
Monday, December 7, 2009
Beneath the Bodhi Tree
I find myself in the most remarkable position of being able to feel the depths of my emotion without allowing it to influence my actions. True, it leaks through; my facial expressions are different when I'm happy than what I'm sad, and I perhaps am more waspish than normal when stressed, and I tend to eat comforting foods when down (like, for example, cheap Americanized Chinese food), but I have done a great deal in trying to be unhampered by the 'soft weak things' that make up our humanity. This divorce, if you will, enables me to pick part my emotional processes and intuit more things about myself than perhaps I would be able to. It also prevents me from becoming an emotional wreck even after watching 'The Notebook' (one of my weaknesses as a teenager!).
Most of the time, my emotions don't cause me much grief. However, there are moments when my processes become circular, and I reach a point where my emotions constantly recoil and self-perpetuate, unable to solve a fundamental equation or divine a specific answer. One of the most common cycles for me deals with love. I in many ways, accept the beauty of love and all of the wonderful things it can do. I have written fairly extensively that love is a positive thing for many, many people and it is a feeling we should seek in some ways throughout lives. However, what I notably do not often write about is how I feel when I love. It is a personal subject that has little place in becoming actualized into words, but perhaps it is fitting to exposit upon it for a little bit. If only to understand more of what I am deep down.
Love is a selfless and selfish emotion. I was rather abruptly shook out of a rather lovey-dovey feeling by a friend who proceeded to find me that attraction oftentimes had more to do with what people could do for one another than it did any sort of 'higher' feeling. Is love simply a collection of selfish desires we see becoming fulfilled by someone else? Is this why many relationships fail when one person fails the expectations of another? How can this be the high ideal of romantic love if it too embodies a sense of self-preservation and want? More and more as I grow older, I find myself grappling with the object more and more; this conscious desire of certain aspects and yet, this incredibly overpowering feeling of guilt surrounding them. To want something is in some ways, the worse crime. To want someone, could it be myself perverting something that could be far more beautiful?
Though it is human to desire, and it is futile to aim for something 'not human' as an end, I do not believe the journey towards transcending human limits is one not worth undertaking. To love everyone and everything equally perhaps requires a grace I do not have and will never have, but to endeavor is a worthwhile goal to me. Such things always require a price or toll to pay, and I feel that I stand at an impasse. Shall I do nothing about my own desires and live and want as much as others,or should I try consciously eliminate them one by one, until I have not want for anything any longer? I wonder if Siddhartha, as he sat below some tree of some kind or another, felt the twinge of sadness for even wondering such a thing, for even contemplating the idea that to be human somehow is something undesirable.
One thing's for certain. It's time to say good-bye. I'm not a child anymore, nor can I afford to continue to attempt to be.
Today is cloudy, but no rain, but it's still gloomy out. Therefore, I am lazy.
Cheers.
Most of the time, my emotions don't cause me much grief. However, there are moments when my processes become circular, and I reach a point where my emotions constantly recoil and self-perpetuate, unable to solve a fundamental equation or divine a specific answer. One of the most common cycles for me deals with love. I in many ways, accept the beauty of love and all of the wonderful things it can do. I have written fairly extensively that love is a positive thing for many, many people and it is a feeling we should seek in some ways throughout lives. However, what I notably do not often write about is how I feel when I love. It is a personal subject that has little place in becoming actualized into words, but perhaps it is fitting to exposit upon it for a little bit. If only to understand more of what I am deep down.
Love is a selfless and selfish emotion. I was rather abruptly shook out of a rather lovey-dovey feeling by a friend who proceeded to find me that attraction oftentimes had more to do with what people could do for one another than it did any sort of 'higher' feeling. Is love simply a collection of selfish desires we see becoming fulfilled by someone else? Is this why many relationships fail when one person fails the expectations of another? How can this be the high ideal of romantic love if it too embodies a sense of self-preservation and want? More and more as I grow older, I find myself grappling with the object more and more; this conscious desire of certain aspects and yet, this incredibly overpowering feeling of guilt surrounding them. To want something is in some ways, the worse crime. To want someone, could it be myself perverting something that could be far more beautiful?
Though it is human to desire, and it is futile to aim for something 'not human' as an end, I do not believe the journey towards transcending human limits is one not worth undertaking. To love everyone and everything equally perhaps requires a grace I do not have and will never have, but to endeavor is a worthwhile goal to me. Such things always require a price or toll to pay, and I feel that I stand at an impasse. Shall I do nothing about my own desires and live and want as much as others,or should I try consciously eliminate them one by one, until I have not want for anything any longer? I wonder if Siddhartha, as he sat below some tree of some kind or another, felt the twinge of sadness for even wondering such a thing, for even contemplating the idea that to be human somehow is something undesirable.
One thing's for certain. It's time to say good-bye. I'm not a child anymore, nor can I afford to continue to attempt to be.
Today is cloudy, but no rain, but it's still gloomy out. Therefore, I am lazy.
Cheers.
Friday, December 4, 2009
The Death of Literature
One of my close friends linked me the following article, detailing the fourth novel in the popular 'Twilight' series.
I couldn't believe it. With an almost morbid fascination, I cruised onto Amazon to read customer reviews of the book and spent an hour bouncing around and extrapolating the thought processes of those people. In many ways, it drove me almost to the point of sheer vocal amusement (a rather disrupting sort of behavior given my current position in class) in tandem to the point of suicidal depression. I have attempted to survey the latest teen craze in literature, but was horribly disappointed to the point of driving a wooden stake through my heart. Since when have Mary Sues taken over the world? Since when have novels and stories become shallow, trash-ridden tales that seek not to enlighten, inspire, or anything but only to make people feel good about their lives? Is this simply our generation lacking inner strength and resilience?
If 'Twilight,' arguable by the series' champions as the 'best book,' was far below my expectations, vicariously reading 'Breaking Dawn' through reviews made me nauseous. Even deeper than an authoress capitalizing on weak pre-teen (and middle aged and mentally deranged in some cases, I'm sure) readers with a fantasy world almost explicitly designed for love-starved insecure escapists, I am concerned about the popularity of such a series. It says a great deal about the lack of focus on the craft of writing throughout American culture; and it has deeper implications than a simple blockbuster mess of text. Writing well is a skill required for many professional and personal environments; and yet, mass media perpetuates poorly written farces focused only upon either 'making people feel good' or 'I'm going to express myself because I'm worth it.'
I realize my words are harsh, but I wish to clarify that I do not mean people should not 'feel good 'from reading, nor limit self-expression. However, such tools are powerful entities that have the capacity to inspire, communicate, and shape the world. Think of the great writers in the past; philosophical paragons like St. Augustine, expressivists like Hemmingway, social champions like Harper Lee. Even smaller fables by Aesop, who illustrate even through a childhood joy, add value to the world. Yet, even as I go through life and have become exposed to numerous writing, both professional and person, published and amateur, I can scarcely believe that the focus of writing and sharing such expression has become a self-serving means of 'listen to me' or a way to make money off escapists. Truly, in some way, this is the death of literature.
The death of the literary age of writing. Perhaps, we will soon have such nuance and diction lost in favor of more efficient means of information transfer (arguably, TV transmits more information than writing, for certain). However, I cannot feel anything but sadness at books such as 'Twilight;' their popularity demonstrates the beginning decline of the written word, and the focus of our society more on euphoric experiences of the now than lasting value and meaning. Popular culture in writing, in some ways, is the vanguard of a new age of writing; an age in which quick 'bursts' of emotion and feeling matter more than the complex weave of meanings, viewpoints, and philosophies.
Truly, will we forget where we have come from? I hope not. As I face the future of writing, even in my own development, I can feel nothing but respect for those before me, and reverence at their skill and style. For whatever words I have were shaped in part by them, and I can be no more arrogant than a child to his parents towards the writers of ages long ago.
I suppose my sentiment isn't shared by the majority. Perhaps it never was.
Today is sunny, but I hurt my finger. Therefore, I am lazy.
Cheers.
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