I want flexibility. I want to know that I'd be able to do whatever I think is most important, at precisely the right moment.
I want to feel that I've not wasted my life.
I want my friends to realize just how intensely I've fallen for them.
I want to see if they would do a remake of Friends.
I want to live sufficiently, enough to bask in the materialistic goodness of this world.
I want to always stay fascinated by soap bubbles.
I want to learn to juggle balls. Relating to that, I'd like to continue passing off casual but figuratively-misleading statements.
I want to learn to live like I was raised another way.
I want to be able to define my relationship with chocolate.
I want to stay comfortable with the fact that I'm not perfect. Having said that, I'd like to try making a better first impression.
I want to always believe that honesty is the best policy.
I want to be able to just..move...on.
Now that I've learned it, I want to use the word "floccinaucinihilipilification" casually and regularly.
I want to do everything I feel like doing, because asking "Why didn't I?" is much more painful than "Why did I?"
I want to fall outrageously and madly in love with someone. Actually, I would want to fall outrageously and madly in love several times, before I found someone who's willing to fall just as outrageously and madly in love.
I want to find out how I got this American accent.
I want to experience the world instead of seeing it.
I want to be able to give a compliment to anyone, anytime, preferably in front of other people, without making the person feel uncomfortable in any way.
I want to be able to handle pressure.
I want to try moving out and see if it really is the answer.
I want to stay surrounded by people who continuously puts me in awe.
I want to understand my own mind.
I want contentment.
I want to find and enjoy fantastic ideas.
I don't want to be alone.
Thursday
Friday
How do you know?
I'm one of those people who use the term "love" quite loosely, and I feel quite justified to do so. We don't have a standardized definition of love anyway, so nobody can really criticize me for being contextually wrong.
So I realized that I tend to use the word on something I get really excited about. That can be just about anything, and I don't even need to have a constant excitement about it, but whenever I feel that emotional jump, the word just comes out. When a bowl of spectacularly hearty pasta with chicken & mushroom was put in front of me, accompanied with heavenly-soft bread, which I ate with succulent tomatoes from the dish, I exclaimed that I love Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf (I should note here that I've been disappointed by it - their waiter once insisted that sushi should be served at 18 degrees Celcius. Probably my fault for ordering sushi in a coffee place).
The thing is, that pasta looks and tastes so good that during those moments, I forgot about the sushi incident, or how they don't take my debit card because they made an arrogantly exclusive deal with another bank, or how they don't have electrical plugs for my laptop in the non-smoking section. That pasta made me forget about all that, and for a brief period, I love the restaurant.
Another thing about "love" - by my definition at least - is that as it excites you so, you normally can't keep it to yourself. You just want the whole world to know...although that probably have something to do with me being a girl : expressing emotions through words. That's how I often find myself in outrageously excited conversations, larger intensity if I found more people in love with the same thing, but still quite intense even if it's just me blatantly describing affectionate things to anyone who's listening.
The last odd thing about my definition of "love" is this : as much as you want to be out spoken about your feelings, sometimes the only subject unaware of it may be the object of your affection (linguistics, linguistics...). This remains to be a mystery to me, but my best guess so far (as I've found from my muses) is we don't proclaim it in front of them because, of all people, we fear the reaction from those we love.
So I guess for me, that rush I get when I encounter something wonderful, so amazing that I'm willing to set aside everything else, deserve to be labeled "love". I may be on a limb here, but it's probably because my normal self is so obsessively analytic (can't stop thinking about every little thing and how they're intertwined) that I enjoy moments when I'm allowed (in fact, I'm disallowed to counter) to think about just one thing. That's when the world is wondrously simple, because it's just about a single thing that's making you happy. Nothing else matters.
And so even though I'm terribly furious at him, even though I hated him for abruptly tossing me to the side, blatantly disregarding what he himself has built up in three weeks - just like what his ex did to him, only it's seven years - and as I've built an immense dislike for him for the simple reason of making me feel bad about myself,
I forgot about all that when I'm in front of him.
You know when you're so mad at someone that you plan to say all these mean horrible insults to them, and you think about how good it would feel to be able to hurt them as much as they've hurt you? You always think "I'm not going to forgive them, no matter how they ask for it!"
And yet, magically, it all disappears at a sudden. They don't even need to do anything. When they're right there in your face - bowl of gorgeous pasta, romance interest, a wonderful performer - the only thing you can think about is that they're in front of you.
I'm furious at him, but I can't be furious when I see him.
And that's how I know.
So now I'm hearing that he doesn't have an answer, which I find odd since it really seems like he does have an answer - he just can't bring himself to say it out loud. But even if he really is confused, and if he is wondering if he's currently doing the right thing, then it's actually quite simple, because you almost don't need to think on this. The whole thing controls you - it controls your mind. And I guess just as my mind is controlled forcibly to think only about him, what should happen is whenever he sees her, anything about me (and everything else) should completely disappear. If it doesn't, then he's going the wrong way.
And that's how he'd know.
So I realized that I tend to use the word on something I get really excited about. That can be just about anything, and I don't even need to have a constant excitement about it, but whenever I feel that emotional jump, the word just comes out. When a bowl of spectacularly hearty pasta with chicken & mushroom was put in front of me, accompanied with heavenly-soft bread, which I ate with succulent tomatoes from the dish, I exclaimed that I love Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf (I should note here that I've been disappointed by it - their waiter once insisted that sushi should be served at 18 degrees Celcius. Probably my fault for ordering sushi in a coffee place).
The thing is, that pasta looks and tastes so good that during those moments, I forgot about the sushi incident, or how they don't take my debit card because they made an arrogantly exclusive deal with another bank, or how they don't have electrical plugs for my laptop in the non-smoking section. That pasta made me forget about all that, and for a brief period, I love the restaurant.
Another thing about "love" - by my definition at least - is that as it excites you so, you normally can't keep it to yourself. You just want the whole world to know...although that probably have something to do with me being a girl : expressing emotions through words. That's how I often find myself in outrageously excited conversations, larger intensity if I found more people in love with the same thing, but still quite intense even if it's just me blatantly describing affectionate things to anyone who's listening.
The last odd thing about my definition of "love" is this : as much as you want to be out spoken about your feelings, sometimes the only subject unaware of it may be the object of your affection (linguistics, linguistics...). This remains to be a mystery to me, but my best guess so far (as I've found from my muses) is we don't proclaim it in front of them because, of all people, we fear the reaction from those we love.
So I guess for me, that rush I get when I encounter something wonderful, so amazing that I'm willing to set aside everything else, deserve to be labeled "love". I may be on a limb here, but it's probably because my normal self is so obsessively analytic (can't stop thinking about every little thing and how they're intertwined) that I enjoy moments when I'm allowed (in fact, I'm disallowed to counter) to think about just one thing. That's when the world is wondrously simple, because it's just about a single thing that's making you happy. Nothing else matters.
And so even though I'm terribly furious at him, even though I hated him for abruptly tossing me to the side, blatantly disregarding what he himself has built up in three weeks - just like what his ex did to him, only it's seven years - and as I've built an immense dislike for him for the simple reason of making me feel bad about myself,
I forgot about all that when I'm in front of him.
You know when you're so mad at someone that you plan to say all these mean horrible insults to them, and you think about how good it would feel to be able to hurt them as much as they've hurt you? You always think "I'm not going to forgive them, no matter how they ask for it!"
And yet, magically, it all disappears at a sudden. They don't even need to do anything. When they're right there in your face - bowl of gorgeous pasta, romance interest, a wonderful performer - the only thing you can think about is that they're in front of you.
I'm furious at him, but I can't be furious when I see him.
And that's how I know.
So now I'm hearing that he doesn't have an answer, which I find odd since it really seems like he does have an answer - he just can't bring himself to say it out loud. But even if he really is confused, and if he is wondering if he's currently doing the right thing, then it's actually quite simple, because you almost don't need to think on this. The whole thing controls you - it controls your mind. And I guess just as my mind is controlled forcibly to think only about him, what should happen is whenever he sees her, anything about me (and everything else) should completely disappear. If it doesn't, then he's going the wrong way.
And that's how he'd know.
It's a bit of a mess, which incidentally is what I'm stuck in.
One of the most interesting thing about my childhood is that I spent most of it in hospitals. See, both my parents are doctors.
Thankfully, or perhaps consequently, I've never been afraid of those long dim hallways, that sterile smell or gloomy rooms with sterile colors. I actually find them quite comforting, in fact, in the manner of a small child who recognizes the environment where her parents are nearby. And as I grow up, I had quite a bit of fun watching other people coming to hospitals feeling very vulnerable, and how they associate hospitals with pain because, well, pain is either the reason you came in or something you undergo while you're in.
Anyway, having spent a lot of time in hospitals and clinics, I had to grew interested in this whole process of treatment, healing, medication, etc. And it is pretty interesting, actually, looking at how people heal. The way people change gradually, physically and mentally (just playing with languages here) is quite heartening.
One subject I'm particularly fascinated about is the whole "self-healing" theory of the body. This, I'm guessing, came from the simple question of "how did people survive before modern medicine was found?" and from this you conclude that man may just in fact be perfectly capable of healing one's self without any external assistance. We don't really know how, but tales of survivals and miraculous recoveries have shown us that the human body may be more self-sustaining than we thought. Take the placebo effect. Your mind, apparently, can treat your illness just as effectively as a "real" drug can. Physically, there are more amazing feats - broken bones are naturally mended, a liver completely able to regenerate up to 50% of its damaged parts, etc.
I marvel at this because not only do these prove just how well we are designed, it also kind of made you wonder: so why do we bother with modern medicine, then? (Mind you, I probably shouldn't question this too much, as modern medicine is where my parents found their bread & butter)
I guess like any other inventions, modern medicine was made for convenience - shorter time, tangible progress, credibility, etc. So we sort of understand that the body can look after itself independently, but we still like some extra help. Just because feeling rotten is such an unpleasant feeling, such that we would like to get rid of it as soon as we can. Our loss here, as we've yet to realize, is that as our diagnosed illnesses are conveniently and swiftly treated, our tolerance for the undiagnosed ones diminishes. We understand, physiologically, that all of our pains - physically and, yes, mentally - can naturally be healed, but we're not accustomed to letting nature to do its work. We don't want to wait. It's too painful.
And so when they tell me, quite frequently, recently, that time heals everything, I actually believed them. But as I struggled through my aches, I'm left wondering why we can't find an easier way.
Thankfully, or perhaps consequently, I've never been afraid of those long dim hallways, that sterile smell or gloomy rooms with sterile colors. I actually find them quite comforting, in fact, in the manner of a small child who recognizes the environment where her parents are nearby. And as I grow up, I had quite a bit of fun watching other people coming to hospitals feeling very vulnerable, and how they associate hospitals with pain because, well, pain is either the reason you came in or something you undergo while you're in.
Anyway, having spent a lot of time in hospitals and clinics, I had to grew interested in this whole process of treatment, healing, medication, etc. And it is pretty interesting, actually, looking at how people heal. The way people change gradually, physically and mentally (just playing with languages here) is quite heartening.
One subject I'm particularly fascinated about is the whole "self-healing" theory of the body. This, I'm guessing, came from the simple question of "how did people survive before modern medicine was found?" and from this you conclude that man may just in fact be perfectly capable of healing one's self without any external assistance. We don't really know how, but tales of survivals and miraculous recoveries have shown us that the human body may be more self-sustaining than we thought. Take the placebo effect. Your mind, apparently, can treat your illness just as effectively as a "real" drug can. Physically, there are more amazing feats - broken bones are naturally mended, a liver completely able to regenerate up to 50% of its damaged parts, etc.
I marvel at this because not only do these prove just how well we are designed, it also kind of made you wonder: so why do we bother with modern medicine, then? (Mind you, I probably shouldn't question this too much, as modern medicine is where my parents found their bread & butter)
I guess like any other inventions, modern medicine was made for convenience - shorter time, tangible progress, credibility, etc. So we sort of understand that the body can look after itself independently, but we still like some extra help. Just because feeling rotten is such an unpleasant feeling, such that we would like to get rid of it as soon as we can. Our loss here, as we've yet to realize, is that as our diagnosed illnesses are conveniently and swiftly treated, our tolerance for the undiagnosed ones diminishes. We understand, physiologically, that all of our pains - physically and, yes, mentally - can naturally be healed, but we're not accustomed to letting nature to do its work. We don't want to wait. It's too painful.
And so when they tell me, quite frequently, recently, that time heals everything, I actually believed them. But as I struggled through my aches, I'm left wondering why we can't find an easier way.
Monday
Thanks A Lot, God.
Shouldn't man feel really, really blessed that they continue to exist despite the fact that most of them have no idea why they existed in the first place? Whatever it is that created our existence must either have an undeniable faith that humanity will eventually understand their purpose or simply has a lot of fun watching us struggle with it.
It's those overbearing moments when you're sitting somewhere quiet, minds wandering off, when you started asking yourself, "Why am I here?"
Last time I had that moment, I was sitting on the side of the street in Ho Chi Minh, waiting for a ticket box to open. As I was drinking the questionable bottled water that I bought from some guy off the streets, I wondered how in friggin' hell did I get here, and what the heck am I here for?
Of course at the time, that last question was pretty easy: I was there to visit the museum.
I doubt that one can really understand why they exist. Furthermore, I doubt that one can really understand why they're set to exist in a particular place. Why was I born here? How did I end up being in a completely different place? Why do I have a certain kind of family, and a certain set of friends? Why did I meet the people I meet?
When I was about 14, I had concluded that my purpose in life was to be quantified by how much I impacted people around me. This was a great source of distress, because I really didn't matter to people around me. I contributed bits and pieces to my social circle, but in the long run, it would not have mattered whether I existed or not. So eventually I gave up and decided that my purpose in life was to sit in the corner and watch carefully as other people's life unfolds. At the very least, it's good entertainment. It was a revelation that I was forced to be content with.
Now, after 8 years, after being exposed to numerous personal developments and a small group of inspirational muses...I still find it hard to argue with my 14-year-old self. It's ridiculous. Here I am, with a completely new life attitude, a good set of logic, and I thought this would surely bring a new perspective of why I'm here. It just can't be that pathetic. And yet, over and over again, life has shown me that I am created here, in this world, in this situation, in this circle, to sit in the corner and watch. I wanted to argue with this fact, a lot, but this fact just kept on proving itself logically true. And again, it's a revelation that I am forced to be content with.
Source of distress? You bet. Would I change it? Yes.
But now that I seemingly understood why I exist, the next question would be : can I really change what I'm here for?
It's those overbearing moments when you're sitting somewhere quiet, minds wandering off, when you started asking yourself, "Why am I here?"
Last time I had that moment, I was sitting on the side of the street in Ho Chi Minh, waiting for a ticket box to open. As I was drinking the questionable bottled water that I bought from some guy off the streets, I wondered how in friggin' hell did I get here, and what the heck am I here for?
Of course at the time, that last question was pretty easy: I was there to visit the museum.
I doubt that one can really understand why they exist. Furthermore, I doubt that one can really understand why they're set to exist in a particular place. Why was I born here? How did I end up being in a completely different place? Why do I have a certain kind of family, and a certain set of friends? Why did I meet the people I meet?
When I was about 14, I had concluded that my purpose in life was to be quantified by how much I impacted people around me. This was a great source of distress, because I really didn't matter to people around me. I contributed bits and pieces to my social circle, but in the long run, it would not have mattered whether I existed or not. So eventually I gave up and decided that my purpose in life was to sit in the corner and watch carefully as other people's life unfolds. At the very least, it's good entertainment. It was a revelation that I was forced to be content with.
Now, after 8 years, after being exposed to numerous personal developments and a small group of inspirational muses...I still find it hard to argue with my 14-year-old self. It's ridiculous. Here I am, with a completely new life attitude, a good set of logic, and I thought this would surely bring a new perspective of why I'm here. It just can't be that pathetic. And yet, over and over again, life has shown me that I am created here, in this world, in this situation, in this circle, to sit in the corner and watch. I wanted to argue with this fact, a lot, but this fact just kept on proving itself logically true. And again, it's a revelation that I am forced to be content with.
Source of distress? You bet. Would I change it? Yes.
But now that I seemingly understood why I exist, the next question would be : can I really change what I'm here for?
This. Is. Information Technology.
I began watching American Idol on the start of Season 3. Just for the record, I do not consider myself an AI fanatic. I like watching the show, I enjoy cooing over great performers and read some Idol blogs / fan forums like everybody else. I do not, (a) pray to whomever’s in control for my favorite to win, or (b) get involved in bashing terrible contestants and hope they rot in hell for beating my favorite.
Having that said, I sort of made an effort to watch every Finale Result show.
I’m not always that lucky though. In Season 3, I did watch Fantasia won, only like a month after the original show aired. By Season 4, my cable station was able to afford live airings, which was great. I did miss the Result though, because I had back-to-back classes at the time. All day long I avoided the internet (easier said than done, given my major) and whenever someone came up to me looking excited, I’d yell, “Don’t tell me!!”
I watched the rerun later in the day, saw Carrie won, agreed that it seemed a bit pageanty, then got on with life.
By a staggeringly lucky chance, the Result of Season 5 fell on a holiday. I had the opportunity of watching the actual live Result show for the first time. I watched and celebrated (timely) as Taylor Hicks won, and immediately started downloading Elliott Yamin videos.
To be perfectly frank, I don’t remember what exactly happened on Season 6. I remembered watching Jordin won, but I think I missed the rest of the performances (which is a shame, I really like some of the Season 6 finalists). Aside from Sanjaya’s totally awesome performance, I really don’t remember much about it.
Season 7 is definitely one of the trickiest to follow. I was already working full time, and for the first time ever, my working hours are nonnegotiable.
Now.
I continuously thank my lucky stars that I studied SciComp. Granted, I may not have came out as an academically-acknowledged graduate (that’s putting it lightly) or a prospective IT professional. I did, however, learned what I’m now convinced is the single most contributive lesson in my life: There’s always another way.
I’m quite certain that I would not have learned this mentality had I not been exposed to something as wonderfully designed as IT. There really is no better proof of how there’s no such thing as a dead end (there is, however, such thing as a deadlock, and understanding the difference brought so much perspective into my life. Seriously.). No matter what problems you have, an array of alternative solutions always exists, and trying them out one by one, even if it ends on a stall, will magically provide you a rigorous learning process you’re not likely to forget (“Why can’t I call that method? I called something similar in ASM, maybe that’ll work here..”). Even if an effective solution does not exist, you can go ahead and make one. In the simplest way possible, you make technology cater your needs.
And another amazing thing about IT is the fact that once you've learned the underlying concept (which should’ve turned your brain inside out in the first place) you find that the concept is applicable everywhere. For me, that concept was how every problem has a solution, and the process of looking for a solution should be enjoyable. True, you’d normally be up all night, stare patiently at the screen, nourish yourself with any dried empty calories available, got immensely frustrated at 11 PM only to get your second wind by midnight, bang your head / fist against the wall and occasionally talk very nicely to your computer to stop torturing you, but all this should be enjoyable. And an accumulation of those nights may have reduced my sanity, my overall sleeping hours or my lifespan, but it was worth it.
Ward Cunningham (the inventor of Wikipedia) once said: “A problem is something you savor. You say, "Well that's an interesting problem. Let me think about that problem a while." You enjoy thinking about it, because when you find the solution to the problem, it's enlightening.” Bearing that in mind, solving problems became a fun activity and asking questions (even if you don’t know the answer) turned into a mentally enriching experience instead of a waste of time. Eventually, finding a solution becomes something that naturally occurs instead of occasional moments of luck.
And that’s how I ended up watching David Cook won and enjoyed the moment exactly as it happened, even as I was sitting in a conference with 60 people, no TV in sight, in an office building 14458 kilometers away from
Thursday
Because It's Too Late at Night to be Writing Something Long.
I'm such at a mellow point right now, it's not even funny.
Well, if you're feeling mellow, nothing seems funny anymore, really. There's just things swirling in your head about how far you've gone, what are you aiming for and, most importantly, why aren't you getting there?
This is a bunch of contradictions put into one. I'm so depressed thinking about my life, at the same time any small gesture can turn my mood completely. Last night a guy gave me a hug to make me feel better, and I'm still blushing now, which is so sad. True, he brilliantly identified that I seriously needed one and was willing to give it, but it wasn't even a bear hug, it was like a "friend leaving for a month" hug. Ironically, this is someone whom I used to do a LOT more than a hug with...my point is, small things seem to matter when you're focusing on the big things.
What is this? Why am I spending every vacant moment dreaming about things that shall never be? Why am I lying in bed imagining what it would be like to be so happy, you'd be giving yourself chills? Why am I listening to any available sappy songs out there, even going back to classic romances (i.e. Westlife)? Why am I looking at my phone and wondering why it's not giving me anything?
What is wrong with me?
Well, if you're feeling mellow, nothing seems funny anymore, really. There's just things swirling in your head about how far you've gone, what are you aiming for and, most importantly, why aren't you getting there?
This is a bunch of contradictions put into one. I'm so depressed thinking about my life, at the same time any small gesture can turn my mood completely. Last night a guy gave me a hug to make me feel better, and I'm still blushing now, which is so sad. True, he brilliantly identified that I seriously needed one and was willing to give it, but it wasn't even a bear hug, it was like a "friend leaving for a month" hug. Ironically, this is someone whom I used to do a LOT more than a hug with...my point is, small things seem to matter when you're focusing on the big things.
What is this? Why am I spending every vacant moment dreaming about things that shall never be? Why am I lying in bed imagining what it would be like to be so happy, you'd be giving yourself chills? Why am I listening to any available sappy songs out there, even going back to classic romances (i.e. Westlife)? Why am I looking at my phone and wondering why it's not giving me anything?
What is wrong with me?
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