Of "It"

So the point today is to dissect the word "personality" - and I don't mean in the psychological sense, I mean the term so often used in the entertainment world.

Let me explain.

Whether I like it or not, I've come to conclude that I'm one of those people who seeks attention. There may have been some dry periods where you can't put me on a stage or in front of a crowd for any reason, but as a child, I did love the sound of applause. Nowadays, I can delicately be described as "being comfortable in public". The art of presenting myself had become a skill I purposefully keep track of.

Part of tracking that skill is to know the type of figure you are projecting. It's been brought to my attention many, many times, that I come off as a straightforward, dominant, and arrogant person. Words like "bull" or "charge" are often used as helpful descriptors.

A big part of this has to do with the fact that I hate people who talk too much. In my culture, talk is what you do to define yourself - and if you can't talk about it, it doesn't exist. I once shared an elevator with a man who suddenly noticed a stain on his shirt. He made a startled noise, and then looked up at me, trying to catch my sight, clearly expecting an audience. After it became clear that I wasn't going to take my eyes off the floor buttons, he stopped fussing about and stood quietly. Had I looked his way, he would've gone on describing his surprise upon finding the stain (a moment that I fully witnessed and therefore able to recount myself), listed the reasons why he didn't expect the stain ("But I'd just checked the mirror! I've been in my desk all day! I mean sure, I had soup, but it was this morning!"), analyzed the properties of the stain and ways to get rid of it, before briefly reiterating his genuine bafflement. If this goes as planned, he would have spent whole minutes sharing personal feelings to a stranger in the elevator, and we would have both missed our floors, but he would have came out feeling fulfilled.

This is a story that still makes me mad when I think of it, as I am repulsed by those who talk when they clearly aren't looking to start a conversation (i.e. an exchange of remarks). So many define "talk" as delivering a monologue in front of a subservient listener, whose job is to be nothing but an ear. I hate this with so much passion that I have, perfectly comfortably, cut people off mid-sentence. If you have no interest in engaging me in an interaction in which we can both actively contribute, then shut up.

So this becomes my personality. The society that I live in measures significance by number of words uttered, so as the girl who often asks to end conversations so she can go home, I seem to have projected a highly confrontational, if not rude, persona. This works out much more to my amusement than to my chagrin, as watching people's defensive reaction when I ask what is it they really wanted is worth the occasional social punishments. People don't generally enjoy being asked why they say things. They'll say I was dismissive of their feelings, but what actually happened was that I had asked them to explain their reasoning, two very different offense.

I'm being deliberately blind, of course. You can't be self-righteous in your strive for efficiency if your world prioritizes social niceties. It's like complaining about people who insist on cramming "thank you" at the end of their text message, causing all kinds of spelling / grammar compromises. You can, but the general public will not like you very much.

So I've come to the conclusion that my personality is not well accepted by other people. In the past, I took this to mean I should be ashamed of myself (and I was). Then the entertainment industry comes along and decides that a personality, any personality, is an asset. If you have it (and this is that infamous "It" that reality show judges refer to so often) then you will be a huge success. At first the word "success" usually means you are likely to win a skills contest, like, say, a singing or dancing competition, because "It" makes you stand out. Then it was realized that personality doesn't just separate the standout singers to regular singers. It also separates the standout regulars to regular regulars. Personality used to be the icing on the cake that is your skills and talents, but now, suddenly, personality can be sold separately.

What better way to exhibit this than reality shows? We love watching those because, unlike scripted shows, the characters are complex, multifaceted, and have no problems contradicting themselves. They're just like us, and we love watching us. Sure, sometimes they're a bit exaggerated, but you always get to see the parts you recognize. The heart-to-heart. The pain of losing. The disappointments - oh god, the self-disappointments - and the relationships. And who among us, even the most gentile and discreet ones, don't enjoy seeing a part of themselves shine on camera?

Watching reality shows have taught me a lot more lessons than I care to initially admit. These shows celebrate nothing more than us being human - and that's really enough. I often wish that society can be more efficient, straightforward, more like a machine that just does its job with precision. I still think that would make life a lot easier, but the point of being us is not to live an easy, efficient life. Reality, and reality shows, is an evidence that we are inevitably and unapologetically human. We are imperfect, messy, ambiguous, and sometimes up to no good - and we're proud of it.

I think that a personality is a flaw, and I mean that in a good way. Because I imagine the perfect human as a machine, I think of every aspect of personality as a hurdle of getting there. But everyday I'm seeing contrary evidences. People don't want to be perfect, and they certainly don't aspire to be machines. We have a need to tell stories of failures, of sorrow and heartbreaks, and we feel better after sharing our imperfections. I don't share the sentiment, but I admire that some embrace the trait with such unshakable pride.

"It" is not in any way perfect, but it's ours. So own it.

On Coming to Terms

So.

I did something today that I regretted. At least, I think I regretted it. I'm trying to climb out of the regret, which forces me to justify the actions, which requires me to think that what I did was not, in fact, regrettable. I suppose this is what people means by "coming to terms".

I remember reading somewhere, just this week, that disappointment is the gap between expectation and reality. I thought that was a very astute definition (one that made me map my life in the form of a Venn diagram), so I'd like to coin a similar definition. Regret is the intersection of desire and restriction.

The definition about disappointment is sort of an internal vs external thing - parts of it are outside of your control. Regrets, on the other hand, are purely your own: at one time in your life, you've determined that you will not do something, and yet now you find yourself having done it. You broke your own rules.

My way of coming to terms this time is to tell myself that the rule was self-imposed, and thus void. It means nothing outside of myself. It still made me feel bad, because even though I chose to adopt the rule, it was adopted from an external source, and thus possesses some authority. Here I attempted to argue with myself that externality does not necessarily entail legitimacy. This piece of logic worked for some time, but it's fleeting.

Then I tried telling myself that people change, and part of growing up is to change and break the restrictions, self-imposed or otherwise. This made me feel better a bit. I don't know how exactly am I changing for the better just because I broke a rule, but surely I'm - as they say - pushing the boundaries, which is a good thing?

I don't know yet.

Somebody told me not to worry about it. I was actually offended, because the person took it so nonchalantly, that I didn't believe he understood the gravity of the situation. Then he said part of being an adult is to recognize the consequences of your actions. I thought that was a very good point, which led me to analyze the second ingredient: my own act of breaking the rule. Yes, I did it, and I suppose as I chose to do it, I should have known that consequences may occur, even if only in the form of a very big regret. In fact, this should have been extremely clear to me in the beginning. Did I honestly think that my decisions don't have consequences?

Actually, I may have thought that. I guess I've always thought that if an action has regrettable consequences, then it must not be worth doing. I've always hated regret, and it's much easier to protect yourself against it by setting up a bunch of barriers. I thought that if I ever regret an action, then it must be because I did something wrong. Is it possible that regret is a normal feeling, and does not necessarily mean you've made a mistake?

There's plenty of people urging you not to have regrets, or claim that they had none. I like to think I've had none too, actually, but I wonder now if I can really put myself as part of that group. I've had basically no regrets because I've lived my life very carefully, and the whole point of living for me is to avoid regret. Whereas these people, they may have grown up with restrictions, and at some points break them, propelling them to all different directions. They have had to suffer the consequences of their actions, they sucked it up, lived through it, then chose not to worry about it anymore. I wonder sometimes if they chose to live without regret because otherwise they would have just spent the rest of their lives worrying about what they've done, and what bad thing possibly is coming their way because of it. That's certainly a reassuring fact - you choose to have no regrets because otherwise you will never stop regretting.

Not only is that reassuring, it also implies that a whole bunch of people are trying to talk their way out of worrying (I wonder if this means regret = worry?). This tells me that (a) I'm not alone in trying to talk myself out of it, and (b) worry and regret must be a mighty useless thing to do, if so many people are avoiding them.

So there.

I guess I should stop worrying.

Well, then.

I'm in a stage in my relationship where I miss my precious man so much that I pout alone in my room, feeling forlorn and, after years and years of not writing on account of lacking the emotional triggers, automatically open a new file and type away. That kind of foolish sentimentality.

I love it, though. I'm in a stage in my life where I'm aware of most of my emotions, and I know I'm being silly and utterly, unnecessarily, emotionally dependent. Being lovestruck is a beautiful thing.

I also know that it can make me unreasonably sensitive to anything - like being sad because I'd told him I miss him and he hadn't replied. It's just those stupid things. I'm sure the little girl in me just LOVED having a reason to feel lonely and abandoned, but the fact is, I'm not. I'm in a great relationship, perhaps the best one yet, with a guy whom I trust, respect and care for.

So as nice as it is to gaze mournfully out the window as I regret being so open and vulnerable to a man who just doesn't understand how important a text message is, I should stop looking for reasons to be so damn depressed, because really, I don't know how it can get better than this.

About Bubbles (or is it?)

I told this story to a friend of mine and apparently it's got a very interesting allegory in it. Or maybe it's just him:

Soap bubbles entice me in a way that nothing else can.

First of all, I think it's because we rarely get to enjoy a lot of free floating objects. A balloon floating in the air, for example, does not invite that much awe, but more on concerns over which poor 5 year-old lost their grip. On that note, a hot air balloon is another equally magical thing, maybe because it served its purpose as being entertaining just by floating around freely.

So among those few entertaining floaters, soap bubbles are perhaps the most (literally) down-to-earth, since everyone can make them. I think this fact made me appreciate them even more - the moment that soap film curved into a round shape, then as we snapped the wand to let go of the bubble and it became ovale-shaped for half a second before it bobs beautifully right on your face. As you look at the light colours and extremely light movement, a bubble as good as any other, you wonder in your insecure childhood mind : "How did I make THAT?"
I honestly think it's the closest thing to pure magic I will ever witness.

Now.

As I've repeatedly argued, being "grown up" does not mean you forget your childhood dreams. Being an adult should empower it. And so one day I realized I can do just that - now that I've grown, I should push to grow the size of my bubbles too. Maximizing what my college years had taught me, I looked for the most logical solution and googled "how to make giant bubble".

Fate brought me to Professor Bubbles, where I learned the serious art of bubble making. The fact that it was serious enticed me - I must be on for more magical moments! - so I obediently boiled my tap water (this is called "soft water", as I'm told), looked for the recommended soap dish brand (nothing made for machine use - too harsh) and persuaded my parents to prescribe a bottle of glycerin from the hospital. I have no idea how these three ingredients can make any difference to the store-bought mixture, but as I learned later, there are much more than just putting three strange elements together. In the next couple of weeks, I tried my luck at the mixture, failed, and repeatedly went back to Google only to find "how did I miss that?" tips.

This site told me that, when mixing, I have to stir very very slowly, as suds and foams (which ironically are little bubbles) are bubble busters. If I stirred too quickly and found suds, "carefully spoon them away from the surface". These additional-tips websites normally add some learning values to this, such as "explain to your children that in this game, patience is very important", which is sort of depressing to read for a 23-year-old.

Bubble Town, which I think is the most helpful site overall, stated that it's best to let the solution sit overnight. Upon further searches to back this tip up, I found consistent disagreements in whether the solution should be left uncovered or sealed. Deciding there was no way I would know better, I tried both.

And then there's the wand itself. I learned that straws, pipe cleaners and cookie cutters are all acceptable, but for giant bubbles, consider the classic wire hanger - turned into a ring shape. I experimented with all sorts of sticks, picking some off the streets, bending and polishing them, experimented with different ways. But no matter how I blow out of them, it's not giving the satisfying effect. The bubbles are mediocre.

I didn't want to resort to this because I know what will show up on Google, but I realized I had to master the trick of blowing. Remember: always specify the blowing skills you wish to look for. After being educated in ways I could never think of, I found that ultimate professionals, those who measure their bubbles in meter, often rely on wind. Wind-blown bubbles are usually supported by a special wand, made of sticks and three pieces of strings. Looking at the 8 steps needed to make the wand (and still not knowing how to use it), I realized this was getting way too serious for me. I had to settle for the paper cone version - which was complicated enough.

On top of everything, I also had to learn to control the bubble. Bubble Town suggested I started practicing in a closed space with no wind, as "big bubbles are harder to control" (I didn't even realize this was a bad thing), which I think kills the magic, so I ignored it. Then I found out that the correct way to blow a bubble is to do it horizontally first (so your cone is facing down) because you want the bubble to drip off any excess solution. Once it's the size intended, start tilting the cone upward and carefully flick the bubble to freedom. It's important to flick instead of just pulling the wand away. Not even Cosmo can give a more precise how-to-blow guide.

After 2 months of concoctions, experiments with wind and wands, and practicing my blowing technique, I finally nailed it. The bubbles weren't as big as I dreamed it to be, then again I've dreamed it to be at least half as big as me. It's liberating to know how many people are as into bubbles as I am, and it's scary to know just how many people are serious about their giant bubbles - World Record is 2.98 cubic metres. I guess when I've acquired the skills and professionalism necessary, I'll get to enjoy bigger sizes too.

I've said it before and I'll keep saying it again.

I'm sick of feeling lonely but I don't know how to make it go away. Obviously this isn't some form of isolated-lonely, since I go to work and interact with people every day, all day, nor is it a form of boredom-lonely, because I've done enough sudden road trips or self-pampering to know that excitement can easily come from watching a Scrubs marathon. Incidentally, that's what I'm doing right now.

I guess I just feel lonely at heart (whatever that means). And look, I've thought, talked and written about this for many times, and I still don't know how this came to be. I've had people telling me that I got stuck feeling lonely because I LIKE feeling lonely. And like any self-deprecating individual, I understand where this is coming from, but how would I know for sure if I really subconsciously want to feel like this or not? It's called subconsciousness for a reason.

And you know what, I don't care. Maybe I secretly enjoy feeling sorry for myself, or maybe years of being antisocial has finally left me with no one. Whatever the reason is, I don't want to feel lonely anymore. I hate it. It makes me sad and needy, and I look sad and needy, and neither can be good for my social life.

So I ended up feeling alone again, for no particular reason, and I got up and tried talking to someone for a change (instead of sulking in the corner, which I used to resort to) and sometimes, I'll just have the pleasant surprise of finding out that people just don't give a crap. I can see it from the way they start uhh-ing and ahm-ing when I started talking. A few words of kindness. A sincere explanation that they really have to go. And off they went. I swear, nothing will reduce you more than realizing that people close to you are in fact too busy for you. It screws with your mind because they're your good friends, you thought you can afford being selfish, then you realized you're being TOO selfish because let's face it, even your close friends have issues of their own, and you can't demand their full attention to you. No matter how much you want it. If you didn't get it, you didn't deserve it.

And no, I do NOT think all of my friends are like that. I've had times when someone really did cheer me up, to which I'm eternally grateful, but here's the news : they're rare, and most of them are too compassionate to be listening to someone like me. They're much much better off being with people who can give them as much attention as they're giving out, because they deserved it.

This sucks.

On Taking Deep Breaths

I'm sick of doing it.


It sort of symbolizes me wanting to be strong (which I'm not) through these very hard times (which I often conjure up myself) while still allowing me to feel sad and pathetic over the whole situation (which I often am).
I'm typing this on my last day at this gorgeous office, knowing full well that I may never again get a chance to see this much fireworks from atop.


Then again, maybe I will. We really are not able to signify our situations proportionally - there are thousands of people out there going apes over a change in time (for God's sake, I'm standing on level 40 and I can here people counting down on the streets), and there are thousands sleeping at home, having no business over how time changes. This is my last day at work and I'm barely thinking about it, but I know there may be a time later when I'll wail about it. This moment could be everything or it could be nothing. And there's no way you can tell.


I don't like the fact that I think everything is important. It tips off my balance. I can't stay sane if I think all moments are precious, and I should hold on desperately to each one of them until they're all snatched away from me. Refusing to let go is what keeps me fighting, and I know I have to fight for what I want, but this is crazy. Am I really going to be able to do this?


No. This is important for me. I'm staying.


I'll just hope I'm not the only one holding on.

The Clock is Ticking

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.

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.

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.

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?

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 Los Angeles. Four years ago nobody would’ve thought that a rock star like Cook would’ve won American Idol. Succeeding against all boundaries is the best victory of all, and even if my epiphany was a lot less dramatic than his, I understood what it’s like to beat the odds.

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?

How do you savor something that's already gone?

There are several things you just enjoy in life, things that made you stick through the less enjoyable part.
Like a good macchiato when you're alone at work at 9 PM.
Or a cute guy sitting at the cafe you normally visit to think about your disastrous relationship.
Or Kanye West's "Stronger" blaring through the CD store as you passed through while on the phone scheduling a meeting.
Or a charming blog that never fails to inspire, even when you feel like a complete moron.

And just like the feeling of noticing the blog's title on the taskbar, cramped between a PowerPoint file, a Word document and a "To Do Today" note, it's extremely comforting to know that you can always resort to several pick-me-ups.
That's why it sucks like hell to have one of them yanked away from you. Sure, it was a hell of a memory, pleasantries and hopeful thoughts were present, I even managed to end it with a bang, but it still really really sucks.
I'm depressed. I know I'll be fine in a day or two, but right now I'm sad and I know there's nothing I can do to stop being sad. It'll pass. I just need to reminisce.
I just got caught in the moment.
I just have to let it out.
I just wish it didn't have to end.

For all my blessings

All my life I’ve been completely insecure with myself. I was sure that I was the ugliest, stupidest, loneliest little girl. I simply don’t know how to feel good about myself, and everything good calls for validations. Grades (even though they don’t mean anything). Friends (even though they just pretend to be). Achievements (even though they came with a price).

Somehow, I changed. Internally I became so self-sufficient that any forms of bad judgments on me are not only ignorable, they’re wrong. I can prove them wrong, and I can make them regret that wrongdoing. I’m now so strong that the outside world can’t hurt me anymore.

Now I don’t know what made me change. I also don’t know whether this change represents me going forward or backward, but what I do know, I now have something I didn’t have before.

My muses.

Several people whose worlds coincide mine, some in the most random way imaginable. Most of them I wasn’t too impressed with during first encounters. It usually takes several weeks, months, maybe half a year, before I started noticing these beautiful souls. And once that came out, there was no way I could resist being charmed.

How could I not be charmed? These souls, they’re all so open. So serene and sure of their own selves, they do more than believing or rejecting outside world – they affect their world. They have the ability to accept with so much sincerity, and give back with so much passion. They make “strong people” like me wonder why we’re so proud of being strong after all. I’m so proud of being able to resist negativity that it became a significant part of who I am, and yet for these people, negativity do not even exist.

People in this group aren’t necessarily fascinating. Throughout the years I’ve seen all of them being insensitive, tactless, rude, or simply stupid. They’re not the most popular people you’ll see, nor the smartest, nor the most attractive. These people are average, sometimes even below, but this just made me more fascinated – how could I be so deeply enchanted by them, and yet still very much aware of their shortcomings? What is this non-judgmental pure affection bestowed upon them?

That’s when I realized I must have fallen in love with every one of them.

When you spent half your life being so exposed to negativity, and the other half building a wall of defense, you pretty much don’t know what it means to love someone. You can’t even make you like yourself. So when I meet people who magically produce that exhilaration, that pure feeling I never knew I had, the one I had tried to prevent from happening in the first place, it puts me in awe. So much that I don’t want to let go. I want to keep myself exposed to that feeling; I want to keep hanging on to their every move, to watch that magic happen again and again. I want to know if my humble self can rise to their world, I want to be able to show affection so purely too. I want other people to know that I truly love my muses.

And so I’ve come to this blatant, nearly-disturbing point of obsession over them. My face lights up whenever I see them. I made a conscious effort to always be near them. I get jealous over them. Even when they’re not around, I love talking about them. Before this post I wasn’t sure what to call this group of people – then I realized how much they inspire me. Everything I do, write, and say is affected by them. They shape my opinions, contribute to my ideas, defined my spirit, without even realizing it. I had to give them credit. Every time someone gives me a compliment, I can point out a certain person who helped attract that compliment, and 97% of the time these people are those I consider my muses.

But the thing is, I don’t tell them all this. Yeah, I say how much I like them, but I hardly ever explained why. Reason: I don’t want to scare them away. Doesn’t matter how much their personality fascinates me; for them it’s simply the way of living. Living purely is a natural way, and they never intend to affect or fascinate anyone. Having someone looking up at you isn’t necessarily a good thing, because there’s that bond, that expectation to live up to people’s standard. The things with these souls, they’re too free – they disregard expectations (social and personal) because that’s what ties most people down.

So no, I don’t tell them why I like them so much.

I’m forced to interact normally with them, act as if we’re equal human beings, at times even mocking them – because I don’t want them to know how dependent I am on them. Frustrating, and there are times when I can’t help it and blurted something out. It’s all very much pathetic, extreme and incomprehensive.

Now tell me if that’s not love.

A couple of years ago I probably couldn’t even think about love. Now I find myself giving out a disturbingly large amount of love, and being proud of it.

Now tell me if that’s not a blessing.

What to do

1. Realize that he's not doing any of this intentionally to hurt you. I know you think you know that already, but keep that in mind whenever you felt like getting slapped in the face and you wanted to be mad at him. Realize that it's you slapping yourself, and that's your problem, not his.

2. Realize that he's not good in handling a lot of issues at the same time. So if you really want to be a good friend, lay off the selfish talks when you know he's busy. And you know he's busy. It's just not the right time to make amends. He's making amends with other people now, people more important to him than you. If you want to be selfish, the least you can do is to acknowledge the facts.

3. When sudden pain attacks, get busy. You've done this therapy before and it seemed to work. Keep a book in sight to keep you distracted, or be as engaged in anything else as you can. Bear in mind that during that one painful weekend, you came out feeling gorgeous and a lot smarter. Only next time, don't break down again the minute you saw them.

4. Remember that you always knew this was going to end, and now's the time...you already knew that even though you talked to him, things may not be fixed. And I'm not even saying this can't be fixed forever.

5. Be realistic. And that includes being realistic about the previous 4 things. All of them are logically true, but keep in mind you actually knew some of those truth are made up. You don't know which ones, but you know some of them came from the heart, not the brain. So don't beat yourself up if some of them sounds stupid.

6. Try not to let no.5 stop you from doing the right thing.

Midnight.

I bet you'd never guess,

But this is the second time I cried over you this time of day.

Isn't that strange? You'd think I have better things to do at 1 AM rather than fussing over some outrageously-blown-out-of-proportion issue. Sleep, for instance. Or smoke my brains out (too bad I don't smoke). Or get hammered (too bad I don't do that either). Or get laid (nope, never done that). Or do weird stuff, get to work, surf the web, anything, ANYTHING that might be contributive to the mind and/or soul! Just never think gloomy thoughts in the middle of the night. That's the loneliest time of day.

The thing is, I don't know if it's the situation, or is it just because of the time, or maybe because I'm always insecure...but this is one of those moments where I just sat down not knowing what to do.

I don't know what to do about you.

I'm tired of bringing myself to face this over and over again. I want it to end.
I want my head to stop telling me to compare and expect. Two of the things I do way too much.

And then I began to think,
maybe this is all just a big mistake. Perhaps I shouldn't have gotten too acquaintanced with you. Maybe I should've just keep a distance, just like I do to most people, right after the fun part ends. Maybe I should have not allowed it to develop, taking it to another level, all that crap. Maybe I should've just forget about the whole thing, instead of trying to improve the relationship.
Most importantly, maybe I shouldn't have told you how I feel. I mean, I don't do that to most people I'm close with anyway. I don't know what I was thinking that time, telling you all that stuff. I mean, yeah, sure you'll be flattered, and I'm sure at the moment you felt pretty good about the whole thing.
But that's just the thing : I don't know exactly what you think about all this. I'm sure it's nice to have someone declaring their affection to you, but what if you don't feel the same way? What if you don't feel anything at all, except that you're supposed to be nice to this person who'd been so open to you?
What if you don't need someone like me to be so open to you?
What if you already have people close to your heart, and I don't fit into their quality?
Can I really be upset over that?

And you know the worst part is, I may be bawling like crazy now, but it'll all just came out here. Tomorrow I'm going to see you with a smile on my face, exchange a few greetings, then pretend to get busy because I don't want to bother you who's actually really busy. Or maybe I'm just scared you're not really busy, but you just lost interest in talking to me.

And you will never guess.

I'm Taking It Back to "Me" Again

I don't get compassion, at least not the way I see it being expressed. I don't know if what I see everyday is sincerity and kindness, or am I just looking at a reinterpreted version, but if that's the way people do it, then I am neither kind or sincere, let alone compassionate.

Too bad, though. I know I don't pass on as "nice", but I do care about other people. The problem is, my definition of "other people" is pretty much "people I find worth concerning about", like my friends/family/people in need of assistance.
Families and people in need are easy to define, but what's the boundary on friends? I'm not sure, just people I grew close to, really. That's a dynamic boundary, which I'm comfortable in, because the only reason I stay in a relationship is when we both make each other happy. If one of us lose the ability, thus eliminating the chemistry, it's over. Then again, if none of us ever lose it, then I'm either partially or fully enslaved by that person. And this is the kind of relationship I build with my friends, whether they realized it or not.

Well, okay. Enslaved might be too big of a word. We all do favors for our friends anyway. The reason I picked that word is because I've had some unfortunate choices of friends way back when, and these people would take advantage of me like you wouldn't imagine. Then again, now that I am (hopefully) blessed with better friends, I still sometimes feel like my friends take me for granted.

I have two reasons for this, and both eventually blame myself. First is my problem-solving nature. It goes like this: I see a troubled friend, I do what I can to help them. At the least, I give an array of solutions. This is my definition of compassion. It's a terrible thing to adopt, really, but what it does is keeping me in a pragmatic view of my peers. Consolation is an unknown term. If I fail to help solve the problem, I get frustrated myself - partly because the problem isn't solved, partly because my friend remains troubled. On general cases, though, I do a pretty good job in helping out people, and it's fair to assume that people do come to me to ask for favors. Which sometimes makes me wonder "Am I just here to find a solution?"

The second reason is my understanding of the word "favor", or lack thereof. Meaning: I'm not good in weighing appropriate favors to do for / ask from my friends. Sometimes I do too much, sometimes I expect too much. Simply put, sometimes I get upset because I am a slave of people, other times I get upset because people don't reciprocate. I just don't know to what extent can you play this relationship game, and as a result, I often lose.

I'm wondering, as I'm always wondering, whether the people I love really love me back, or am I just an object of manipulation. This leads to that big question "Why do you have to love and expect something back?"

Because being ignored is not better than being hated. Especially when it's someone you love.

On Starting Over

So I was at a mall the other day (alone of course), and there was this new gorgeous jewelry stall. Looking at the owner, however, I assumed this was an expensive stall.

Now first of all, I hate it when people don’t put price tags on their products. It’s hard to believe that there aren’t more important things a store owner can do rather than calling out prices (redundantly, I might add) every time a customer is nearby. What makes this even more ridiculous is how this usually happens in an expensive place. So when a customer ask for the price of an item, it’s usually some really high price that most customers probably can’t afford anyway, and now the poor soul who asked for the price in the first place had to find a way to back off without seeming like they can’t afford the item. Of course this is especially hard because the store owner would’ve assumed that the customer was already interested in the item, since the customer had the guts to ask for the price, and would start thinking up ways to persuade the customer. So now you have an overly excited seller and a nervous buyer. At this stage, whether the customer buys the product or not, someone’s still going to leave feeling slightly betrayed. So why not avoid all the hurting and let the price tags do their job?

I’m starting to lose focus here. So anyway I was at this stall, and I was looking at this necklace that has no price tag (obviously you would’ve guessed that, why else would I be ranting on about it?). The stall’s owner was busy manhandling a customer, a woman with heavy makeup and excessive use of hairspray. First clue this was an expensive stall. I recognize who the owner is right away because he was talking excitedly about the product (very rare to see a mere store keeper do that), and he was giving away name cards with a website address on it. Second clue this was an expensive stall.

I knew the necklace I had my eye on was going to be outrageously expensive, and if I asked, I was going to have to think of a way to graciously walk away, but I was still curious anyway. Plus the woman with heavy makeup was gone and the owner was approaching me. So I decided to try something.

I asked for the price in English.
And as I don’t live in an English-speaking country, this immediately startled the owner, causing him to stutter a bit before coming up with a coherent, and English, answer. The price was indeed out of my league, so I replied with long complex sentences, which startled the owner even more. At the silence moment of him figuring out what to do next, I escaped.

Bottom line, I love those moments when you pretend to be someone else and people believe it.

Now I’ve actually done this many times before. Sometimes I pretend to be a native English speaker in places where you don’t normally speak English, so I’ll stand out and get special treatment, or I pretend to be a native English speaker in places where everybody else speak English, so I’ll blend in and not get “special” treatment. And it’s not limited in language too. Once I told a guy at this salon that I was married, and the whole time he did my hair we talked about marriage life. My biggest lie was when I told my students that I was 23 years old (when I was really 19), and for the next one year, every time I walked into that class I was a 23-year-old teacher, minutes away from my bachelor degree, with a 2-year teaching experience (when I was really a 19-year-old freshman, and this class was the second class I ever taught).

I love doing this because in a different personality, everything you normally do would seem different. Just like the case of the necklace at the stall.

Before I go any further, I’ve had some complaints saying that I acted too much and people don’t know who the real me is. This is weird because I don’t even think this is something you can complain about. Why can’t it be that the real “me” is someone who likes to play someone else? Yes, I know that this may just be a phase of identity searching and ultimately I may have to settle being just one person for the rest of my life. I know that this may also be a form of denial, where I don’t want to accept who I really am, and I’m showing signs of immaturity, as in “unnecessarily trying out weird stuff”. I understand that all these complaints are logical, and I also understand that until I find someone who can accept my “condition”, it’s going to be very hard for me to be in a relationship. Why am I suddenly talking about relationship, you ask? Because I got some of these complaints from my ex.

Anyway. Change mood back to “excited”.

The biggest fun of pretending to be someone else is watching people then form their opinion about you. I find it really funny that when you go to your class wearing tomboy clothes for one day and ultra-feminine the next, people will get confused and ask me what my style really is. I don’t understand why it confuses people that I try out different things!

All this came to mind when I was going to this conference a week ago. Conferences are particularly fun because that’s the best place to try out being a different person. Nobody knows who you are, but everybody’s eager to get to know you. Perfect.
Strangely, I didn’t have to do much to confuse people at this conference. After 24 hours a guy actually came up to me and said, “You know, at first glance I thought you were a Filipino or Malaysian (which I’m not), but then you started talking about this exotic food (which happened to come from my country), and now you’re sitting at a table that says ‘Poland’(which I did because I was accompanying my Polish friend)! So where are you from, really?”
Now I’ve never met this guy in my life, and this question shocked me for two reasons: a) I didn’t realize I was creating such a varied state of persona, which confused people, and b) I didn’t realize there are people who care so much to be confused in the first place! Apparently, there's such a big expectation of you being one person only, that when you're not, complete strangers will notice.

So you see, all of this equals fun.

Let’s take it to another level. Every time I switched to a new school, I have the chance to be a completely new person, and if I succeed, everybody in the new school will automatically assume that this is the way I’ve always been. This last bit can be quite annoying. I’m a believer that the way you evolve over the years will add depth to your personality, so if I’m assumed to have always stayed the same, it felt like I’m assumed as a shallow person. During elementary years my family’s financial condition was not excellent, and it showed, and even though it’s much better now, people I know from elementary still looked at me with a certain state in mind. I find it equally annoying that in my university, some people assumed I had always been well off since I was little, which is not only totally untrue but also made me look like I can’t live below the standard in which I’m living now.
Annoying as it is, at this point you can still have fun by doing things people wouldn’t expect “you” (the way they know you) would do...like talking knowledgeably about Dominatrix videos if you always dress conservatively. Realize that you’re most likely to have all these contradicting elements inside you. Don’t suppress the minor elements, celebrate each one of them. Show your evil / angel side periodically. When you’re good at it, show it simultaneously. Watch your friends go, “Wow, I didn’t know you’re that kind of person”.

Honey, I’m always the kind of person you didn’t expect me to be.

Here's The Thing, Lady.

I recognize that reaction. You got that same look in your eyes as I do when I’m looking at you and him.
The truth is, a lot of people can tell you beautiful stories. You get to decide if it’s really that beautiful to hear.
Haven’t you realized this a long time ago? You can’t have it perfectly both ways. If you decided to enjoy what you have just like you’re doing right now, then you’ll never going to be that woman on top of the mountains who intimidates the hell out of everyone! And you don’t need to be that kind of woman anyway, who says life up there is better?

Why must you be jealous of people who strive for more when you’re already satisfied with your life now? They’re different from you. People who strive for more will never be satisfied with their lives now. How do you think they got their name in the first place?

I will always wish I have what you two have. That’s a fact, and that’s always a fact no matter what kind of person I turn into. I look at you and think, My God, why would you wish for anything else? You’ve got everything you’re ever going to need for the rest of your life right next to you.
And I know that sometimes you don’t think that’s enough. Sometimes, when you see people like, well, me, you’re reminded that there’s more to life to strive for than what that person next to you can give. Then you feel a little down for choosing such a....conformist way to live. Finally, after we parted ways, you left with a slight pout.
That was the end. A slight pout. Before you were looking around with a sincere smile that came from that warmth in your heart. Now you look around with a slight pout.

Wake up, honey. There’s always going to be people who do that.

Don’t let them get to you. I know you’re happy, I know you’re making someone else happy every single day. And I know that when you look at him, you’re happy. That’s something I’m still desperately yearning for, fully aware that right now I have an infinitely small probability to reach that. But as much as I want it, I know there are things I have to do in order to make my life (not necessarily yours) happier. And if doing those things means less chance for me to look for what you two have, then I’ll have to accept it and keep going, because that’s the kind of person I was born to be. Always wanting bigger things.

You realize that most people who want to fly do so because they don’t have a strong ground to stand on.
But you’re not one of them.

Allow me to raise my glass.

For the best week in my life.

Sorry, that's not quite true.

For the first week in my life, as it may had well been the first week of me feeling completely alive.

I don't want to go home!