Monday, January 16, 2012
Cliffhanger
With the weight of the world on my shoulders, sometimes I forget that I'm on the verge of tears....
Friday, October 28, 2011
Lesson from a bird
It has been a long three years spent away from home and I feel like I am ready to return.
I have met a lot of people who have left and never looked back. Some people have never left and cannot wait to leave. While it is difficult to know what compels people to leave their home, I can truly say there is no place like it.
I remember a time when I was frustrated with living at home. I would not be able to go and leave as I pleased without the constant nagging of my parents. There was a lack of freedom in living at home. What I received in return, however, was all the amenities of a child’s life -- two meals a day (at least), a clean place to live, clean laundry every week (whether or not I was too busy to do it), caring and nurturing (if bothersome) parents, and numerous other little things I gave up when I moved out.
The ironic thing is that I did not want to leave in the first place, but because I had enrolled in UC San Diego, I had no choice but to pack up a part of my life and move out. In contrast, my brother could not wait to leave the house, but was unable to because he was not accepted into a distant school. Over the years, I have only returned home for breaks -- rarely more than a few weeks at a time -- to visit my family and friends. What compelled me most were my friends; I looked forward to hanging out with them every time I came back. This year, a handful of them have entered their third year as transfer students and have consequently moved elsewhere. So when I return at the end of this academic year, I would have no one to see except my family.
I have grown fonder of my family over the past three years, so I would be content with simply that. I do not think the sole reason for my longing is the time I spent separated from them. One of the reasons, I believe, originated from my time caring for birds.
A little over a year ago, when I still lived with my ex-girlfriend, she pleaded to get a pair of budgies (formally, Budgerigar or Parakeet). I did not fully understand her compulsive behavior at the time, and though I did not find the idea of raising birds attractive in any way, I conceded to her request so long as she paid for the whole endeavour. We went to PetSmart that day and bought two wonderful budgies. We were like children, fascinated by new toys. We spent all day with our budgies the next week or so, trying to pet them and pampering them in general. Although it seemed forever until they warmed up to us, in retrospect it was much faster than any of the budgies we bought afterwards.
Both were very young and subsequently we were unable to discern what gender they were. The shop assistant who helped us purchase the birds indicated that the yellow one was male and the blue one was female. We did not name them until much later, but eventually called the yellow one “Little Brother” and the blue one “Big Sis.” This was because Big Sis seemed more aggressive and pushy than Little Brother, who was often easier to warm up to. They also occasionally fought, which reminded us of two siblings. The implication was that we were their parents, and we spent a lot of time invested into their welfare. It is hard to describe the amount of time, commitment, and love to someone who has never owned a pet, but it was very akin to raising children of our own.
We eventually trained them to perch on our fingers comfortably, and soon we would let them out of the cage to fly freely. We initially had difficulties returning the budgies to their cage, but after a few weeks of training we were able to effortlessly let them in and out of the cage. We also trained them to fly to us from the cage and back. We adored our budgies and felt very content with them.
Then school started and we rarely were at home. Suddenly, we went from spending nearly the entire day playing with the budgies to only an hour or two a day. This had a noticeable effect on the way our budgies interacted with us, but we spent as much time as we could spare. The excitement of new birds was also wearing off and many days it was a chore to take care of the budgies. Still, interacting with our budgies on a day-to-day basis brought some inexplicable joy. We would put them to sleep every night by draping a white cloth over their cage and wake them up every morning by removing it. Sometimes they would fall asleep before we were able to put them to sleep and there was an intense feeling of love watching them sleep peacefully.
One day, as my ex-girlfriend came home from school, she found Big Sis dead at the bottom of the cage. We were shocked and heartbroken at her sudden death. We were even more frightened that we did not know the cause. We gently removed her body from the cage and disposed of it. I had never in my life ever imagine I could feel such sorrow at the loss of a simple bird. My own grandmother had died early that year and I felt no remorse at her passing, yet this bird which I had known only a few months crushed my heart. To see her lying dead and lifeless invoked such intense feelings I did not realize I was capable of.
After that event, we could not bear to replace her. It is said that when a budgie does, the other budgie calls out to it constantly to return. It does not realize that the budgie has died, but has simply abandoned it. It made me incredibly sad to see Little Brother calling for most of the days following Big Sis’s death. We tried to make the best of it by showering Little Brother with attention, both for his benefit and ours. Losing a budgie that we had raised as our own was gut wrenching and I hoped I would never have to experience another death again.
As the weeks pass, Little Brother grew steadily reclusive. Where before he was an active, cheery budgie who was secretly our favorite, he became sullen and quiet. He shied away from our presence and became generally fearful of us. I wished I could somehow comfort Little Brother, but there was nothing I could do for him. Eventually we just stopped giving him attention beyond the bare minimum -- feeding him, replacing his water bowl, etc. This continued for a couple of months until I could not stand seeing him so lonely. I told Beverly that we need to get him another companion, so we went to PetSmart again to look for a friend for Little Brother. At the store, we could not decide between two budgies, so we decided to get both. We were unsure how much time we could devote to training two new budgies, but we decided that having a companion for Little Brother was the best solution.
We named them on the way home -- one was a blue one like Big Sis but the other one was a milky blue white that looked like an owl. We named the milky blue white budgie Owl and the other one simply “Fatty” because it seemed fatter than the other budgies. We underestimated how difficult it would be to train new budgies and we never were able to train them to properly come out. They would constantly fight and bicker as well but overall it was jovial.
Inexplicably, Owl died overnight. Again, I was intensely sorrowful and confused. Clearly, something is killing the budgies but with no idea what and not really the money to go visit a veterinarian to find out, we could not do anything but dispose of Owl’s body. Looking back at that period now, it is hard to evoke the same emotions I felt coming home to a lifeless bird. I would never know if Owl suffered or died quickly because they would always be dead when I find them.
Fatty and Little Brother continued on, unaffected by Owl’s disappearance. They continued to bicker from time to time but were otherwise uneventful. I was glad Little Brother was still with us because though he had become quiet, reserved, and fearful of us, he was still secretly our favorite bird and all we had left as a reminder of those wonderful times when Little Brother and Big Sis would fly freely and play with us.
I remember waking up one morning to the sound of a single crash in the birdcage. It was not uncommon for budgies to jump around and, in general, cause noise in the morning. They typically woke up much earlier than me or Beverly, but I felt a general uneasiness in the air so I got up. It was a bright morning and light flooded through the blinds. Beverly was waking up slowly as I got up so I decided to wake up the budgies. As I pulled back the covers, I see Fatty perched atop one of the high branches near the back of the cage, staring silently at me. I returned her stare, for I was not much fond of Fatty anyway, but immediately wondered where Little Brother was. I looked down expecting to see him peering up at me in his curious budgie look and found him face up staring pitifully at me. I cried out his name inadvertently and quickly opened up the cage to pull him out. His warm, fluffy body fit in the entirety of my hand as I brought him close to me to quickly find out what was wrong. He was clearly ill, but still alive. Beverly startled awake and looking at me, rushed over to see what was wrong. I told her, “he’s dying Bev.” I was so overwhelmed with emotion that I could not speak. We just stood around him, his small, yellow body weakly moving up and down, gasping for air. I thought to myself, this was the first time since Big Sis’s death that I have held Little Brother in my hand. I had never gone more than a few inches close to him before he would fly away. Here I was, holding and caressing Little Brother while he was dying in my hands. We could do nothing but watch, and within a few minutes he quietly left us.
I understood then, profoundly, why we grieve for others. We grieve not their passing, but the fact that while they are with us, in our arms, there is nothing we could do to hep them. Standing there and simply watching Little Brother, I wanted to yell at him, cry at him, anything to stop him from dying, but it was no use. There was nothing I could do to reverse what was happening and soon after it was over. At the very least, during the last few minutes of his life, me and Beverly could be with him and hold him one last time.
None of the other budgie’s death had been so powerful. We loved every budgie we had owned, but never had I been forced to watch my bird die in my hands while I did nothing but look on. Truly, a parent should never have to bury their children. While these birds were not even human, I thought of them as my children. I nurtured them and cared for them in much the same mindset as I would any child of my own. My capacity for empathy left me troubled and disturbed, but I had acquired a great lesson.
Just recently, Beverly let Fatty go. Fatty would make a lot of noise and some of the neighbors began to complain, so we took her outside and let her go. There is a very low chance that Fatty would live in the outside world, but unfortunately we had no choice. The cage is still in Beverly’s apartment; empty, but full of painful memories. When I gaze upon the cage, I long for some activity inside, some new budgies to flesh out that corner of the apartment, but it is better that the cage remain empty.
I think that my increased understanding and appreciation for parenthood has resulted in my desire to return home and see my family. If I was moved by a simple group of budgies, how much joy and suffering do my parents endure as I stumble through life blindly?
I have met a lot of people who have left and never looked back. Some people have never left and cannot wait to leave. While it is difficult to know what compels people to leave their home, I can truly say there is no place like it.
I remember a time when I was frustrated with living at home. I would not be able to go and leave as I pleased without the constant nagging of my parents. There was a lack of freedom in living at home. What I received in return, however, was all the amenities of a child’s life -- two meals a day (at least), a clean place to live, clean laundry every week (whether or not I was too busy to do it), caring and nurturing (if bothersome) parents, and numerous other little things I gave up when I moved out.
The ironic thing is that I did not want to leave in the first place, but because I had enrolled in UC San Diego, I had no choice but to pack up a part of my life and move out. In contrast, my brother could not wait to leave the house, but was unable to because he was not accepted into a distant school. Over the years, I have only returned home for breaks -- rarely more than a few weeks at a time -- to visit my family and friends. What compelled me most were my friends; I looked forward to hanging out with them every time I came back. This year, a handful of them have entered their third year as transfer students and have consequently moved elsewhere. So when I return at the end of this academic year, I would have no one to see except my family.
I have grown fonder of my family over the past three years, so I would be content with simply that. I do not think the sole reason for my longing is the time I spent separated from them. One of the reasons, I believe, originated from my time caring for birds.
A little over a year ago, when I still lived with my ex-girlfriend, she pleaded to get a pair of budgies (formally, Budgerigar or Parakeet). I did not fully understand her compulsive behavior at the time, and though I did not find the idea of raising birds attractive in any way, I conceded to her request so long as she paid for the whole endeavour. We went to PetSmart that day and bought two wonderful budgies. We were like children, fascinated by new toys. We spent all day with our budgies the next week or so, trying to pet them and pampering them in general. Although it seemed forever until they warmed up to us, in retrospect it was much faster than any of the budgies we bought afterwards.
Both were very young and subsequently we were unable to discern what gender they were. The shop assistant who helped us purchase the birds indicated that the yellow one was male and the blue one was female. We did not name them until much later, but eventually called the yellow one “Little Brother” and the blue one “Big Sis.” This was because Big Sis seemed more aggressive and pushy than Little Brother, who was often easier to warm up to. They also occasionally fought, which reminded us of two siblings. The implication was that we were their parents, and we spent a lot of time invested into their welfare. It is hard to describe the amount of time, commitment, and love to someone who has never owned a pet, but it was very akin to raising children of our own.
We eventually trained them to perch on our fingers comfortably, and soon we would let them out of the cage to fly freely. We initially had difficulties returning the budgies to their cage, but after a few weeks of training we were able to effortlessly let them in and out of the cage. We also trained them to fly to us from the cage and back. We adored our budgies and felt very content with them.
Then school started and we rarely were at home. Suddenly, we went from spending nearly the entire day playing with the budgies to only an hour or two a day. This had a noticeable effect on the way our budgies interacted with us, but we spent as much time as we could spare. The excitement of new birds was also wearing off and many days it was a chore to take care of the budgies. Still, interacting with our budgies on a day-to-day basis brought some inexplicable joy. We would put them to sleep every night by draping a white cloth over their cage and wake them up every morning by removing it. Sometimes they would fall asleep before we were able to put them to sleep and there was an intense feeling of love watching them sleep peacefully.
One day, as my ex-girlfriend came home from school, she found Big Sis dead at the bottom of the cage. We were shocked and heartbroken at her sudden death. We were even more frightened that we did not know the cause. We gently removed her body from the cage and disposed of it. I had never in my life ever imagine I could feel such sorrow at the loss of a simple bird. My own grandmother had died early that year and I felt no remorse at her passing, yet this bird which I had known only a few months crushed my heart. To see her lying dead and lifeless invoked such intense feelings I did not realize I was capable of.
After that event, we could not bear to replace her. It is said that when a budgie does, the other budgie calls out to it constantly to return. It does not realize that the budgie has died, but has simply abandoned it. It made me incredibly sad to see Little Brother calling for most of the days following Big Sis’s death. We tried to make the best of it by showering Little Brother with attention, both for his benefit and ours. Losing a budgie that we had raised as our own was gut wrenching and I hoped I would never have to experience another death again.
As the weeks pass, Little Brother grew steadily reclusive. Where before he was an active, cheery budgie who was secretly our favorite, he became sullen and quiet. He shied away from our presence and became generally fearful of us. I wished I could somehow comfort Little Brother, but there was nothing I could do for him. Eventually we just stopped giving him attention beyond the bare minimum -- feeding him, replacing his water bowl, etc. This continued for a couple of months until I could not stand seeing him so lonely. I told Beverly that we need to get him another companion, so we went to PetSmart again to look for a friend for Little Brother. At the store, we could not decide between two budgies, so we decided to get both. We were unsure how much time we could devote to training two new budgies, but we decided that having a companion for Little Brother was the best solution.
We named them on the way home -- one was a blue one like Big Sis but the other one was a milky blue white that looked like an owl. We named the milky blue white budgie Owl and the other one simply “Fatty” because it seemed fatter than the other budgies. We underestimated how difficult it would be to train new budgies and we never were able to train them to properly come out. They would constantly fight and bicker as well but overall it was jovial.
Inexplicably, Owl died overnight. Again, I was intensely sorrowful and confused. Clearly, something is killing the budgies but with no idea what and not really the money to go visit a veterinarian to find out, we could not do anything but dispose of Owl’s body. Looking back at that period now, it is hard to evoke the same emotions I felt coming home to a lifeless bird. I would never know if Owl suffered or died quickly because they would always be dead when I find them.
Fatty and Little Brother continued on, unaffected by Owl’s disappearance. They continued to bicker from time to time but were otherwise uneventful. I was glad Little Brother was still with us because though he had become quiet, reserved, and fearful of us, he was still secretly our favorite bird and all we had left as a reminder of those wonderful times when Little Brother and Big Sis would fly freely and play with us.
I remember waking up one morning to the sound of a single crash in the birdcage. It was not uncommon for budgies to jump around and, in general, cause noise in the morning. They typically woke up much earlier than me or Beverly, but I felt a general uneasiness in the air so I got up. It was a bright morning and light flooded through the blinds. Beverly was waking up slowly as I got up so I decided to wake up the budgies. As I pulled back the covers, I see Fatty perched atop one of the high branches near the back of the cage, staring silently at me. I returned her stare, for I was not much fond of Fatty anyway, but immediately wondered where Little Brother was. I looked down expecting to see him peering up at me in his curious budgie look and found him face up staring pitifully at me. I cried out his name inadvertently and quickly opened up the cage to pull him out. His warm, fluffy body fit in the entirety of my hand as I brought him close to me to quickly find out what was wrong. He was clearly ill, but still alive. Beverly startled awake and looking at me, rushed over to see what was wrong. I told her, “he’s dying Bev.” I was so overwhelmed with emotion that I could not speak. We just stood around him, his small, yellow body weakly moving up and down, gasping for air. I thought to myself, this was the first time since Big Sis’s death that I have held Little Brother in my hand. I had never gone more than a few inches close to him before he would fly away. Here I was, holding and caressing Little Brother while he was dying in my hands. We could do nothing but watch, and within a few minutes he quietly left us.
I understood then, profoundly, why we grieve for others. We grieve not their passing, but the fact that while they are with us, in our arms, there is nothing we could do to hep them. Standing there and simply watching Little Brother, I wanted to yell at him, cry at him, anything to stop him from dying, but it was no use. There was nothing I could do to reverse what was happening and soon after it was over. At the very least, during the last few minutes of his life, me and Beverly could be with him and hold him one last time.
None of the other budgie’s death had been so powerful. We loved every budgie we had owned, but never had I been forced to watch my bird die in my hands while I did nothing but look on. Truly, a parent should never have to bury their children. While these birds were not even human, I thought of them as my children. I nurtured them and cared for them in much the same mindset as I would any child of my own. My capacity for empathy left me troubled and disturbed, but I had acquired a great lesson.
Just recently, Beverly let Fatty go. Fatty would make a lot of noise and some of the neighbors began to complain, so we took her outside and let her go. There is a very low chance that Fatty would live in the outside world, but unfortunately we had no choice. The cage is still in Beverly’s apartment; empty, but full of painful memories. When I gaze upon the cage, I long for some activity inside, some new budgies to flesh out that corner of the apartment, but it is better that the cage remain empty.
I think that my increased understanding and appreciation for parenthood has resulted in my desire to return home and see my family. If I was moved by a simple group of budgies, how much joy and suffering do my parents endure as I stumble through life blindly?
Monday, August 22, 2011
Idolization
A recent conversation with my friend touched upon the idea of idolization. They found the idea of idolizing Korean pop stars as disgusting, revolting, and just plain stupid. I nodded in agreement, though it never occurred to any of us why people do it.
Why DO people idolize anyone? I personally found it unhealthy, because there is a difference between respect, having a role model, versus adoration and idolization; one is constructive and the other is obsessive. Is it possible to both respect someone or some group as a role model AND adore them for what they do? Perhaps. I do not think these things mutually exclusive, but I think any sort of idolization may be indicative of an unhealthy mind.
Take for example, my friend. He is strong-willed, content, intelligent, accomplished, and has a very bright future ahead of him. I have no doubt that he will aspire to whatever his dreams are. He is confident in himself and his abilities, even though he is not in a prestigious school. He tells me that opportunities are everywhere and I agree an ambitious person in a poor school may very well be more successful than an apathetic person in a prestigious school. Certainly there is some advantage to studying at a prestigious school, but he does not consider that a setback.
Another friend I have is studying at what I consider a prestigious school. They have high academic ability, lots of extracurriculars to complement their grades, and is more or less set to become successful. Intelligent, ambitious, and also very accomplished. However, they are also unsure what direction to take, unconfident in their work, and in general what I consider weak-willed.
That particular friend, coincidentally, also adores Korean pop stars.
Is it truly coincidental? After some discussion, I hypothesized that self-esteem may be the driving factor in idolizing others. Looking at myself, I feel confident in where my life is headed and have already considered myself successful in what I do. I must admit there have been days where I feel utterly alone (which have occurred more frequently lately), or where I feel completely inept, but they are typically far and few in between.
I do not adore Korean pop stars or anyone. I have never showed more than a fleeting interest in those who have achieved so-called "greatness." It is not due to lack of respect, but it simply generates a shrug response from me. There are always going to be great people, and good people, and bad people. While it is great that some 13-year old has discovered the fibonacci sequence in trees and used it to improve solar panel efficiency (though I doubt his claim), it has no bearing on me that someone so young can accomplish this. I have my own ideas for my future, and whether or not they contribute to society in the long run is irrelevant. The question is, can I do what I want to?
There is an interesting quote at my school, that goes something like this: It is an interesting experience, this dual-vision, constantly seeing yourself through the eyes of others. I interpret this quote as calling up the fact that so often we live our lives by how others think of us. Damn what other people think of you! What do people know about you? How can they judge you like they judge a movie or a game. Movies and games remain static, at their core, unchanged. As a human, you constantly change, even day to day.
That is not to say you should ignore what other people have to say, and live in your own fantasy world. There must always be balance in everything you do. Do not live your life through the eyes of others, but do not live your life in isolation. Use their feedback to improve your evaluation of yourself, not define it.
I feel that those who do the latter succumb to acts of idolization and adoration. If there is any one thing in this world that we should do, it is understanding ourselves. Our limitations, our strengths, and our style. So many people have gaps in their understanding that they fill it with the first they can find. They are unconfident, unsure, and unable to believe that they are equals as human beings. A person should never have to believe they are lesser than anyone else -- at the core we are all humans. Until someone starts sprouting wings and a halo, we will continue to be human and continue to be equal. Respect others for their skills and abilities, but do not idolize them. To idolize someone means to put yourself beneath them.
Why DO people idolize anyone? I personally found it unhealthy, because there is a difference between respect, having a role model, versus adoration and idolization; one is constructive and the other is obsessive. Is it possible to both respect someone or some group as a role model AND adore them for what they do? Perhaps. I do not think these things mutually exclusive, but I think any sort of idolization may be indicative of an unhealthy mind.
Take for example, my friend. He is strong-willed, content, intelligent, accomplished, and has a very bright future ahead of him. I have no doubt that he will aspire to whatever his dreams are. He is confident in himself and his abilities, even though he is not in a prestigious school. He tells me that opportunities are everywhere and I agree an ambitious person in a poor school may very well be more successful than an apathetic person in a prestigious school. Certainly there is some advantage to studying at a prestigious school, but he does not consider that a setback.
Another friend I have is studying at what I consider a prestigious school. They have high academic ability, lots of extracurriculars to complement their grades, and is more or less set to become successful. Intelligent, ambitious, and also very accomplished. However, they are also unsure what direction to take, unconfident in their work, and in general what I consider weak-willed.
That particular friend, coincidentally, also adores Korean pop stars.
Is it truly coincidental? After some discussion, I hypothesized that self-esteem may be the driving factor in idolizing others. Looking at myself, I feel confident in where my life is headed and have already considered myself successful in what I do. I must admit there have been days where I feel utterly alone (which have occurred more frequently lately), or where I feel completely inept, but they are typically far and few in between.
I do not adore Korean pop stars or anyone. I have never showed more than a fleeting interest in those who have achieved so-called "greatness." It is not due to lack of respect, but it simply generates a shrug response from me. There are always going to be great people, and good people, and bad people. While it is great that some 13-year old has discovered the fibonacci sequence in trees and used it to improve solar panel efficiency (though I doubt his claim), it has no bearing on me that someone so young can accomplish this. I have my own ideas for my future, and whether or not they contribute to society in the long run is irrelevant. The question is, can I do what I want to?
There is an interesting quote at my school, that goes something like this: It is an interesting experience, this dual-vision, constantly seeing yourself through the eyes of others. I interpret this quote as calling up the fact that so often we live our lives by how others think of us. Damn what other people think of you! What do people know about you? How can they judge you like they judge a movie or a game. Movies and games remain static, at their core, unchanged. As a human, you constantly change, even day to day.
That is not to say you should ignore what other people have to say, and live in your own fantasy world. There must always be balance in everything you do. Do not live your life through the eyes of others, but do not live your life in isolation. Use their feedback to improve your evaluation of yourself, not define it.
I feel that those who do the latter succumb to acts of idolization and adoration. If there is any one thing in this world that we should do, it is understanding ourselves. Our limitations, our strengths, and our style. So many people have gaps in their understanding that they fill it with the first they can find. They are unconfident, unsure, and unable to believe that they are equals as human beings. A person should never have to believe they are lesser than anyone else -- at the core we are all humans. Until someone starts sprouting wings and a halo, we will continue to be human and continue to be equal. Respect others for their skills and abilities, but do not idolize them. To idolize someone means to put yourself beneath them.
Sunday, December 19, 2010
Alone
Maybe not all the time. Maybe not even some of the time.
Maybe less than one in a million moments.
But right now, I definitely feel alone. My parents left not an hour ago, and my brother is just outside my room, playing his games. At least two different people online who I could talk to; whom I usually talk to, but I don't. A missing-you message lighting up my phone from a girlfriend hundreds of miles away.
Yet still alone. Still not anyone whom I can connect with emotionally.
Every once in a while I let myself think that the people I interact with can provide that; a cure for my inexplicable hunger. I let myself hope too much.
And then it happens.
My illusions are shattered. I fall back into a darkness that I have known for years. A bittersweetness that I am intimate with; even enjoy. Maybe it is this season. Maybe it is my situation. When I go back to San Diego, I will forget about all of this.
But for how long? A few months, or half a year, and then I slowly return. Like clockwork. More and more I believe that I am being treated, and not cured. That I am ignoring my problem; this problem, by throwing myself into the company of others. How many people know that I am not the one they see, or like to hang out with? How many people have dismissed my true self as a condition of who I am, and not realize the truth.
I think there is some fundamental problem. Something I have yearned to cure, but have only learned to alleviate. I am looking for something; someone, to help me. But I don't know who, or what. Or how.
I hope I found out soon.
Maybe less than one in a million moments.
But right now, I definitely feel alone. My parents left not an hour ago, and my brother is just outside my room, playing his games. At least two different people online who I could talk to; whom I usually talk to, but I don't. A missing-you message lighting up my phone from a girlfriend hundreds of miles away.
Yet still alone. Still not anyone whom I can connect with emotionally.
Every once in a while I let myself think that the people I interact with can provide that; a cure for my inexplicable hunger. I let myself hope too much.
And then it happens.
My illusions are shattered. I fall back into a darkness that I have known for years. A bittersweetness that I am intimate with; even enjoy. Maybe it is this season. Maybe it is my situation. When I go back to San Diego, I will forget about all of this.
But for how long? A few months, or half a year, and then I slowly return. Like clockwork. More and more I believe that I am being treated, and not cured. That I am ignoring my problem; this problem, by throwing myself into the company of others. How many people know that I am not the one they see, or like to hang out with? How many people have dismissed my true self as a condition of who I am, and not realize the truth.
I think there is some fundamental problem. Something I have yearned to cure, but have only learned to alleviate. I am looking for something; someone, to help me. But I don't know who, or what. Or how.
I hope I found out soon.
Sunday, November 14, 2010
Taken ahold
Were it so easy,
that I lay down my head and sleep,
Dreaming of that which may never come.
Of things long gone,
or never have been.
I wander day to day
cherishing. Not a drop of regret.
Not a tear of relief.
Faces of people I once knew,
Feelings I could never have,
they manifest themselves, as
Apparitions.
I reach out and touch them,
and begin what has already been forgotten.
A great sorrow was planted,
and its seeds I cultivate.
The best nutrient is time
for a soiled memory, lest it grow
thorns and gnarled.
At night it will blossom
but for a fleeting moment.
A sweet nectar will flow
and privileged are those who drink it.
I have tasted the sweat of my labor.
It is by far sweeter
than all of my waking days.
Yet tinged with a bitterness I cannot describe.
It would be simpler to just write and not compose, but through this medium, I am somehow able to channel my feelings directly. What you read is garbled, erratic, and unsophisticated, but at the same time, the purest form of thought and emotion I can bring to bear. It is an outpouring of my current state of mind, to which even I cannot explain. I only try to capture it in the moment. What you interpret is up to you - it is simply a window that you may peer inside. Perhaps you will walk away seeing something you had not seen before.
More likely, you will walk away with nothing, confused.
I would like to end my post here, but will supplement with a little more - if only to provide some context. Lately I have been dreaming again. I do not associate my dreams with anything physical (e.g. subconscious desires), but I often develop very strong emotional responses. Sometimes they linger for days. They interfere with my day to day life, but I cannot say with any certainty that it is constructive or destructive.
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Humility + Integrity (old draft)
I was watching myself play guitar on YouTube and felt very embarassed. Most of the comments were favorable for what I still think is a subpar performance. I am not going to link to those videos here, nor shall I ever actively do so, but it is simple enough to search my name on YouTube, if you are really interested.
You might wonder why I keep them up. It is a reasonable question - if I am so embarassed, why not just remove them? I have removed personal information from the internet before (two Xanga accounts, my Facebook), but very few people frequent those pages, if at all. Letting them mothball on some web server somewhere might one day come back to hurt me, considering how sensitive some of that information was.
A lot of people (or maybe, the same few people) have viewed my videos. Some are more embarassing than others, but at the time, I was going to showcase all the songs I knew on YouTube. I was proud of playing guitar, especially since few others deviated from strumming and linking chords together. But very few of my friends were impressed, I think, with my performance. They have usually never heard of the songs I play, and listen with polite interest. It does not rile them up as much as someone playing their favorite pop song while singing the lyrics.
The internet was a much easier audience to entertain - especially those who could appreciate it. I was surprised to see that a song or two I thought very simple meant a lot to some people. I believe they still listen on a typical basis, so for those I leave my videos up.
I have not played as much as I used to. Perhaps I have lost interest, but I mainly blame college. Growing up. I do not remember the last time I enjoyed a relaxing summer.
(old draft - revised for publication)
A while back, I was late to my class (as usual). The reason I am perpetually late is because I have to walk about 0.7 miles across campus within 8 or 9 minutes. I arrived at the lecture hall behind a girl who was also in my class.
Lecture halls, for those of you not well versed in college life yet, are huge. There may be over a hundred to a hundred and fifty students. I certainly did not know this girl, nor did she me. Nevertheless, she held the door open for me to go in first.
Has it been so long since I have seen kindness from other people? That I was taken aback at her gesture speaks volume. College students, I have come to conclude, are one of the worst people in the world. Loud, obnoxious, arrogant, ignorant, inconsiderate, short-sighted... if I could go on, I would, but it would no doubt fill the entire Internet. It is depressing, sometimes, to have to live in such a toxic atmosphere. It weighs down on you; it makes you think it's okay to be like them.
Perhaps this is the change Jenny referred to years ago. It is hard not to change when you're surrounded by people who challenge your every moral fiber. Who cheat and drink and smoke, who waste money irresponsibly; who are irresponsible themselves and to their families who put them in college. It is certainly NOT okay to be like them. Were I so blinded in youth that I missed the signs? Where were we four years ago? Did we think it okay to ever drink? It is not narrow-mindedness that precludes this accusation, but moral integrity.
I admit I have changed, too, but only to seclude myself from such people. I have become more withdrawn and disinterested with the general populace and their wellbeing.
It would be simple to declare that I have no more interest in the world itself; that humanity is naught but a gigantic cesspool of college students. Daniel and I discussed this as well. But ultimately, there is a world beyond college. No doubt a world equally, if not more, depressing as college was, but still unknown.
I eyed her curiously throughout the first part of lecture, but did not pursue. In retrospect, I wonder if she would have been another being I dare call a friend in this world, but it is moot now. I do not even remember what she looked like.
You might wonder why I keep them up. It is a reasonable question - if I am so embarassed, why not just remove them? I have removed personal information from the internet before (two Xanga accounts, my Facebook), but very few people frequent those pages, if at all. Letting them mothball on some web server somewhere might one day come back to hurt me, considering how sensitive some of that information was.
A lot of people (or maybe, the same few people) have viewed my videos. Some are more embarassing than others, but at the time, I was going to showcase all the songs I knew on YouTube. I was proud of playing guitar, especially since few others deviated from strumming and linking chords together. But very few of my friends were impressed, I think, with my performance. They have usually never heard of the songs I play, and listen with polite interest. It does not rile them up as much as someone playing their favorite pop song while singing the lyrics.
The internet was a much easier audience to entertain - especially those who could appreciate it. I was surprised to see that a song or two I thought very simple meant a lot to some people. I believe they still listen on a typical basis, so for those I leave my videos up.
I have not played as much as I used to. Perhaps I have lost interest, but I mainly blame college. Growing up. I do not remember the last time I enjoyed a relaxing summer.
(old draft - revised for publication)
A while back, I was late to my class (as usual). The reason I am perpetually late is because I have to walk about 0.7 miles across campus within 8 or 9 minutes. I arrived at the lecture hall behind a girl who was also in my class.
Lecture halls, for those of you not well versed in college life yet, are huge. There may be over a hundred to a hundred and fifty students. I certainly did not know this girl, nor did she me. Nevertheless, she held the door open for me to go in first.
Has it been so long since I have seen kindness from other people? That I was taken aback at her gesture speaks volume. College students, I have come to conclude, are one of the worst people in the world. Loud, obnoxious, arrogant, ignorant, inconsiderate, short-sighted... if I could go on, I would, but it would no doubt fill the entire Internet. It is depressing, sometimes, to have to live in such a toxic atmosphere. It weighs down on you; it makes you think it's okay to be like them.
Perhaps this is the change Jenny referred to years ago. It is hard not to change when you're surrounded by people who challenge your every moral fiber. Who cheat and drink and smoke, who waste money irresponsibly; who are irresponsible themselves and to their families who put them in college. It is certainly NOT okay to be like them. Were I so blinded in youth that I missed the signs? Where were we four years ago? Did we think it okay to ever drink? It is not narrow-mindedness that precludes this accusation, but moral integrity.
I admit I have changed, too, but only to seclude myself from such people. I have become more withdrawn and disinterested with the general populace and their wellbeing.
It would be simple to declare that I have no more interest in the world itself; that humanity is naught but a gigantic cesspool of college students. Daniel and I discussed this as well. But ultimately, there is a world beyond college. No doubt a world equally, if not more, depressing as college was, but still unknown.
I eyed her curiously throughout the first part of lecture, but did not pursue. In retrospect, I wonder if she would have been another being I dare call a friend in this world, but it is moot now. I do not even remember what she looked like.
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
kevingoes.tumblr
So if you're here, it is probably because you came across my tumblr and then clicked on a link inside said tumblr.
Why did I make a tumblr?
I have been pondering on the idea that I may be suffering from slight cyclothymia, or a mild form of bipolar disorder. At the very least, I am quite susceptible to mood swings, induced or otherwise. I feel that one blog dedicated soley to reflection brings out a quiet - if not, depressive - state of mind.
I AM NOT CONSTANTLY EMO!
I have my ups and downs like a regular person, but probably TOO much and so I believe it is best served by another blog. A different kind - more rapid fire, short, and completely in the opposite spectrum.
Hence, kevingoes.tumblr.
I have been called bipolar from at least 2 or 3 people. I do tend to have abrupt mood swings sometimes, but nothing so severe as the aforementioned. Is it so strange? These swings tend to occur for specific reasons, but I seem more sensitive to them than others. Add to that my mood-resetting sleep patterns and I suppose you have an unstable person.
Oh well. I am in an elated mood today, so I will fret not.
Why did I make a tumblr?
I have been pondering on the idea that I may be suffering from slight cyclothymia, or a mild form of bipolar disorder. At the very least, I am quite susceptible to mood swings, induced or otherwise. I feel that one blog dedicated soley to reflection brings out a quiet - if not, depressive - state of mind.
I AM NOT CONSTANTLY EMO!
I have my ups and downs like a regular person, but probably TOO much and so I believe it is best served by another blog. A different kind - more rapid fire, short, and completely in the opposite spectrum.
Hence, kevingoes.tumblr.
I have been called bipolar from at least 2 or 3 people. I do tend to have abrupt mood swings sometimes, but nothing so severe as the aforementioned. Is it so strange? These swings tend to occur for specific reasons, but I seem more sensitive to them than others. Add to that my mood-resetting sleep patterns and I suppose you have an unstable person.
Oh well. I am in an elated mood today, so I will fret not.
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