Trying so hard to be vain.. it’s ridiculous.
I admire Charlotte Brontë’s ability to express the loneliness, hardships (especially for women at her time), episodes of love failures, and the utmost sense of darkness—which she must have endured throughout her lifetime as a woman in the Victorian period, who resided with her Dad for most of her life, spending a lot of time in a house having nothing to do but be alone with her thoughts—all inclusively and in an excellent manner in her books, particularly the two most autobiographical novels, Jane Eyre and Villette. Both are dark and heavy to read through. I believe it to be important for one to not “scan” through her books and helplessly create a vivid image throughout the Brontë experience.
For people who live an almost hedonistic lifestyle, Brontë's books seem to act as a recap—bringing one back to the dark side of emotions: the sadder, more honest, realer, more naked self.
Though it may not be necessarily the healthiest or a moral thing to do so, I am glad to be born in an age of extended liberty and feminine rights, when, as a girl in her early twenties, is fully acceptable to choose her own lifestyle, even one that would be considered slightly hedonistic. When I say “acceptable,” meaning whatever choice I please is not to be attacked or criticized upon by any (personal) opinions.
Being hedonistic is a form of game, like a chase. One with a clear sense of conscientiousness who chooses to do so, suffers episodes of internal struggle that I am perhaps not skillful enough to put in words, however I will attempt. It is almost as if one has his own character under control—how he portrays himself, what he chooses, and how he deals with the consequences of such lifestyle. There is fun, there is artificiality, which are also integrated with emotions and feelings made complicated, due to the presence of conscientiousness. It is an experiment of earthly and hopeless pleasure-consuming while pertaining a bright mind with understood morals; it is a test that follows with battles between the devil and the angel on the shoulders. A hedonistic lifestyle is like a chase in the physical sense of addictive pleasure-seeking, in the psychological sense of continuously battling between thoughts and actions. Those without a sense of explicit conscientiousness who pursue a hedonistic lifestyle are fools, because they will only lose for there is no game. They fully believe in such lifestyle’s privileges and the physical satisfaction of being a hedonistic individual, and thus will never have to fight with any moral thoughts and merely go downhill.
All men are fools at times—fooled by emotions, confused with feelings, and wasted with self-brought agony. However, hedonistic fools are men without having to go through these struggles and are hence the epitome of “fool:” without grounds, without senses—completely silly and wasteful as a human being.
Monday, November 21, 2011
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
September
I’m sitting at Starbucks, having my first cup of coffee twenty minutes to five in the afternoon; it hasn’t been much of a pleasant day.
If I were to investigate in why it hasn’t been a great day other than the lack of caffeine until now, one thing to take into consideration is that I am a prospective exchange student, leaving to a university in Germany from old Vancouver in just a bit more than three weeks. Mixed feelings are all over the place.
I’ve been in school since forever, and I have never stopped. Every September might have been dreadful, but it was always routine. However painful, the dreadfulness eventually vanished and then we, as students, realized that months were just passing by, and there went another school year. This September though, I continued on my summer by sleeping in till ten in the morning while all my friends return to school, because fall semester starts in late October in Germany. I am in a place where I have time, but I don’t really have time—with no job, no school, I am turning my activeness into waiting, waiting for October to come, when I travel to the country where I will be spending my third year university in. It certainly feels strange, this limbo, pending period. I discovered that I am not even able to acquire a pass for local transit from my home university because I am no longer “registered.”
Sitting here, watching high school girls and boys in their backpacks walking and chatting, September seems not so bad after all. They look awfully young and fresh, I think I can sense jealousy oozing out of my eyes. Seeing younger people only makes you reflect upon your own age, that was when I remembered that I’m already third year into undergrad.
Where has the time gone?
This summer in particular, felt extremely unproductive, and hazy in remembrance. There is this question that friends ask each other when they meet up: “What have you been up to these days.” Nowadays, this question appeals to me to be more dreadful than when-September-come. In this limbo period, when I am pending for my life to begin again in Germany once October comes, I witness many friends not only returning to school, but exceeding their normal activities as to participating in multiple jobs and volunteer works. I believe that is where the difference between university and high school students lies: when adults go back to school, time is a precious matter and we know that to our dear hearts. It is no longer just about picking out a new backpack, new stationary, and a new locker, but about how to utilize this time as a new beginning; to change old habits into improvements, to extend our network by reaching out and meeting more people, knowing the fact that there is always someone out there, even just within one university or college, who is more successful than ourselves, and from whom we can learn a ton from. Adult students see that time is ticking; there is not always another test to make up our marks or another meeting with the counsellor to figure out what we want to do in life. It is indeed interesting to be a bi-stander for once; be the one who is not returning to school just yet, and therefore able to witness my friends’ changes as September approaches. I only have three more weeks to do so, then it is time for me to hustle, for another year, but one that is much more challenging, different, and eye-opening.
Jericho Beach, Vancouver, B.C.
Recently as my friend and I were discussing and agreeing with each other about how time seemed to be passing by much more quickly this summer and yet it felt so helplessly unproductive, she suggested something very interesting: since technology is so advanced now, we all have our own cell phones, computers, and therefore different time indications, which obviously do not show exact congruence with every other electronic device in the time zone. Because of that, time is possibly passing by faster, literally.
I am sorry to disappoint you but I have no answer to if that is actually happening or not, however, what an intriguing thought it is.
I hope time slows down a little so we can catch up to it.
I have no words to describe the change in my perspective of time’s preciousness in this past summer, I certainly hope however, that I will not forget how this change feels—then I can at least remember and be proud of how I spend this valuable little thing called time, even when it is going at a seemingly faster speed than ever.
If I were to investigate in why it hasn’t been a great day other than the lack of caffeine until now, one thing to take into consideration is that I am a prospective exchange student, leaving to a university in Germany from old Vancouver in just a bit more than three weeks. Mixed feelings are all over the place.
I’ve been in school since forever, and I have never stopped. Every September might have been dreadful, but it was always routine. However painful, the dreadfulness eventually vanished and then we, as students, realized that months were just passing by, and there went another school year. This September though, I continued on my summer by sleeping in till ten in the morning while all my friends return to school, because fall semester starts in late October in Germany. I am in a place where I have time, but I don’t really have time—with no job, no school, I am turning my activeness into waiting, waiting for October to come, when I travel to the country where I will be spending my third year university in. It certainly feels strange, this limbo, pending period. I discovered that I am not even able to acquire a pass for local transit from my home university because I am no longer “registered.”
Sitting here, watching high school girls and boys in their backpacks walking and chatting, September seems not so bad after all. They look awfully young and fresh, I think I can sense jealousy oozing out of my eyes. Seeing younger people only makes you reflect upon your own age, that was when I remembered that I’m already third year into undergrad.
Where has the time gone?
This summer in particular, felt extremely unproductive, and hazy in remembrance. There is this question that friends ask each other when they meet up: “What have you been up to these days.” Nowadays, this question appeals to me to be more dreadful than when-September-come. In this limbo period, when I am pending for my life to begin again in Germany once October comes, I witness many friends not only returning to school, but exceeding their normal activities as to participating in multiple jobs and volunteer works. I believe that is where the difference between university and high school students lies: when adults go back to school, time is a precious matter and we know that to our dear hearts. It is no longer just about picking out a new backpack, new stationary, and a new locker, but about how to utilize this time as a new beginning; to change old habits into improvements, to extend our network by reaching out and meeting more people, knowing the fact that there is always someone out there, even just within one university or college, who is more successful than ourselves, and from whom we can learn a ton from. Adult students see that time is ticking; there is not always another test to make up our marks or another meeting with the counsellor to figure out what we want to do in life. It is indeed interesting to be a bi-stander for once; be the one who is not returning to school just yet, and therefore able to witness my friends’ changes as September approaches. I only have three more weeks to do so, then it is time for me to hustle, for another year, but one that is much more challenging, different, and eye-opening.
Recently as my friend and I were discussing and agreeing with each other about how time seemed to be passing by much more quickly this summer and yet it felt so helplessly unproductive, she suggested something very interesting: since technology is so advanced now, we all have our own cell phones, computers, and therefore different time indications, which obviously do not show exact congruence with every other electronic device in the time zone. Because of that, time is possibly passing by faster, literally.
I am sorry to disappoint you but I have no answer to if that is actually happening or not, however, what an intriguing thought it is.
I hope time slows down a little so we can catch up to it.
I have no words to describe the change in my perspective of time’s preciousness in this past summer, I certainly hope however, that I will not forget how this change feels—then I can at least remember and be proud of how I spend this valuable little thing called time, even when it is going at a seemingly faster speed than ever.
Saturday, July 23, 2011
Safety net
This old lady on the bus today looked like she’s done.
Done, with life. It almost seemed like everyday is a tasteless task that she is reluctant to do. I, silently sitting with my aviators, was imagining the reason being loss of her husband and perhaps lack of love from family and relatives. I almost felt cruel to be making all these things up in my head, though her facial expression screamed nothing else but renouncement.
It brought me to think about relationships and sacrifices. Dedicated mothers giving most of their lives to their children; their kids come before themselves. Blinded lovers surrounding their focus, thoughts, and time with significant others; some to a point where their lives are not of their own. Ambitious workers working all their energy and time away for money and satisfaction that don’t seem to ever be enough. Though these relationships take on different perspectives, the givers are common in that they are living for somebody or something else.
If our world ran on a system in which we were born designated either the role of the giver or the receiver, I think I would be more than willing to be a giver who spends all her life doing things purely for another person. In reality though, our intelligence is trending towards individualism, especially in feminism. We’ve been taught to put ourselves first, ultimately. As a girl, I’ve always been taught by my mother to have a job and a life in the future even after I get married, because it is unimaginably easy for a person to leave, to just “ditch”. When someone else is your literally everything, you have nothing if this someone left you, and that is no longer romantic.
So, what happens when we fall in love? My mother would say, you must have a passion in life, something that you can do regardless of what falls apart around you.
Is it true? Get yourself “insured” with something constant, something that doesn’t fade on you... Better safe than sorry, right?
Life patterns such as these are such a tease. One can have a person whom he is free to dedicate all his love to, but he still got to “back himself up”, just in case.
You just can’t have the cake, and eat it too.
Done, with life. It almost seemed like everyday is a tasteless task that she is reluctant to do. I, silently sitting with my aviators, was imagining the reason being loss of her husband and perhaps lack of love from family and relatives. I almost felt cruel to be making all these things up in my head, though her facial expression screamed nothing else but renouncement.
It brought me to think about relationships and sacrifices. Dedicated mothers giving most of their lives to their children; their kids come before themselves. Blinded lovers surrounding their focus, thoughts, and time with significant others; some to a point where their lives are not of their own. Ambitious workers working all their energy and time away for money and satisfaction that don’t seem to ever be enough. Though these relationships take on different perspectives, the givers are common in that they are living for somebody or something else.
If our world ran on a system in which we were born designated either the role of the giver or the receiver, I think I would be more than willing to be a giver who spends all her life doing things purely for another person. In reality though, our intelligence is trending towards individualism, especially in feminism. We’ve been taught to put ourselves first, ultimately. As a girl, I’ve always been taught by my mother to have a job and a life in the future even after I get married, because it is unimaginably easy for a person to leave, to just “ditch”. When someone else is your literally everything, you have nothing if this someone left you, and that is no longer romantic.
So, what happens when we fall in love? My mother would say, you must have a passion in life, something that you can do regardless of what falls apart around you.
Is it true? Get yourself “insured” with something constant, something that doesn’t fade on you... Better safe than sorry, right?
Life patterns such as these are such a tease. One can have a person whom he is free to dedicate all his love to, but he still got to “back himself up”, just in case.
You just can’t have the cake, and eat it too.
Friday, June 24, 2011
She says, “It’s something for myself.”
Epiphany.
After hearing words that I thought would only come out of my mouth to my boyfriend but not the other way around, along with an accident, I finally found an exit for myself.
All this time, I’ve always perceived myself as a dependent girlfriend—the half that gives all the emotions, that keeps no secrets, and is more afraid of being left behind. Simultaneously, I’ve always known somewhere deep down, I hated being like that. I wished I was stronger, less attached, and even less emotional.
Until today, because I found an exit. By exit, I mean an outlet where there is a little crawl space, a sense of privacy, and most importantly, a big part of myself.
It’s my pride. My pride in myself as a person who is so perfect and especially thoughtful for him; the kind of pride which brings me, and I never realized or was honest with myself (I’m not sure which), such high level of difficulty to admit it when I’m wrong, when I make mistakes. Back when I was young and when I told lies, I was the kind of kid who would lie and lie to cover previous lies, until I got completely busted. It wasn’t fully due to the consequences, but more because I didn’t want to be the wrong one; I didn’t want to be the kid who lied and had to be punished. I didn’t like the title of mistaker, and I disliked it so much that till this day, I denied the very fact in my trait that I am a prideful person who does not like to admit my faulty behaviors nor mere mistakes.
I didn’t want to admit to him that I too, do hurtful things to him, and I didn’t believe that I would be too, one who makes him feel insecure like how the dependent girlfriend feels, whom I always saw myself in. I didn’t want to tell him about my accident due to my carelessness, because I believed I was better than that—making careless yet rational mistakes, even though mistakes are mundane and forgivable.
It is in my pride where I finally saw myself as myself, where I saw my flaws, where I was facing the relationship with myself. I had a moment to think, because this is so interesting; the fact that there is almost like a double-self in me. I had the time to create this image of myself being so great of a girlfriend who was simultaneously insecure and incredibly attached was because I never admitted the other side of me—prideful, no matter with what.
Well, it’s not a secret anymore, at least not with myself.
After hearing words that I thought would only come out of my mouth to my boyfriend but not the other way around, along with an accident, I finally found an exit for myself.
All this time, I’ve always perceived myself as a dependent girlfriend—the half that gives all the emotions, that keeps no secrets, and is more afraid of being left behind. Simultaneously, I’ve always known somewhere deep down, I hated being like that. I wished I was stronger, less attached, and even less emotional.
Until today, because I found an exit. By exit, I mean an outlet where there is a little crawl space, a sense of privacy, and most importantly, a big part of myself.
It’s my pride. My pride in myself as a person who is so perfect and especially thoughtful for him; the kind of pride which brings me, and I never realized or was honest with myself (I’m not sure which), such high level of difficulty to admit it when I’m wrong, when I make mistakes. Back when I was young and when I told lies, I was the kind of kid who would lie and lie to cover previous lies, until I got completely busted. It wasn’t fully due to the consequences, but more because I didn’t want to be the wrong one; I didn’t want to be the kid who lied and had to be punished. I didn’t like the title of mistaker, and I disliked it so much that till this day, I denied the very fact in my trait that I am a prideful person who does not like to admit my faulty behaviors nor mere mistakes.
I didn’t want to admit to him that I too, do hurtful things to him, and I didn’t believe that I would be too, one who makes him feel insecure like how the dependent girlfriend feels, whom I always saw myself in. I didn’t want to tell him about my accident due to my carelessness, because I believed I was better than that—making careless yet rational mistakes, even though mistakes are mundane and forgivable.
It is in my pride where I finally saw myself as myself, where I saw my flaws, where I was facing the relationship with myself. I had a moment to think, because this is so interesting; the fact that there is almost like a double-self in me. I had the time to create this image of myself being so great of a girlfriend who was simultaneously insecure and incredibly attached was because I never admitted the other side of me—prideful, no matter with what.
Well, it’s not a secret anymore, at least not with myself.
Monday, May 30, 2011
The Best Day of My Life.
“ I woke up feeling very happy today because I knew it was gonna be the best day of my life. As I went to bed, I carried a joy that a child has as if he was about to experience something exciting the next day, because I knew tomorrow is gonna be the best day of my life.”
That’s a paraphrase of what I heard from sermon this morning.
I have to say, I haven’t had such a nice day in a short while. And I haven’t meant what I say as much as everything that I said today.
I spent my day in separate sessions with three good friends, and it was purely pleasant. We shared thoughts and caught up with each other’s life, we helped and heard each other out.
I also enjoyed today and those individual sessions so much because I was in a way forced to be independent. I’m thankful for that, because it feels like it has brought me to another level in my relationship with myself.
It’s so nice to have different people in your life, and it’s amazing how things happen in such bad ways that turn out to making you stronger and become more familiar, comfortable, and confident with yourself.
Perhaps this is the pattern of life.
This is a temporary life, therefore things will not be perfect, but that’s the point of life—imperfections and problems. It only affects you deeply if you were so attached to it, it being this temporary life and everything that comes along with it.
I realized, everyone needs these issues, these imperfect relationships in life for things to get better and for one to work it out. It is all for you to develop, for your own sake.
So next time when you encounter problems—any problem—frown, but don’t frown for too long. Learn to embrace and accept the fact that there are problems in life and they are never one-sided, as in you are usually part of the problem as well. Learn the lesson, then move on and enjoy yourself. Feel free to indulge in imperfections, because they make life perfect.
That’s a paraphrase of what I heard from sermon this morning.
I have to say, I haven’t had such a nice day in a short while. And I haven’t meant what I say as much as everything that I said today.
I spent my day in separate sessions with three good friends, and it was purely pleasant. We shared thoughts and caught up with each other’s life, we helped and heard each other out.
I also enjoyed today and those individual sessions so much because I was in a way forced to be independent. I’m thankful for that, because it feels like it has brought me to another level in my relationship with myself.
It’s so nice to have different people in your life, and it’s amazing how things happen in such bad ways that turn out to making you stronger and become more familiar, comfortable, and confident with yourself.
Perhaps this is the pattern of life.
This is a temporary life, therefore things will not be perfect, but that’s the point of life—imperfections and problems. It only affects you deeply if you were so attached to it, it being this temporary life and everything that comes along with it.
I realized, everyone needs these issues, these imperfect relationships in life for things to get better and for one to work it out. It is all for you to develop, for your own sake.
So next time when you encounter problems—any problem—frown, but don’t frown for too long. Learn to embrace and accept the fact that there are problems in life and they are never one-sided, as in you are usually part of the problem as well. Learn the lesson, then move on and enjoy yourself. Feel free to indulge in imperfections, because they make life perfect.
Thursday, May 5, 2011
Are You Somehow Waiting for Your Life to Begin?
My first published article on traveling, via Vashti Magazine.
http://www.vashtimag.com/2011/05/are-you-somehow-waiting-for-your-life-to-begin/
http://www.vashtimag.com/2011/05/are-you-somehow-waiting-for-your-life-to-begin/
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
People come and go.
It’s true. And just when you want to ask if any of them could stay, you’d realize plenty of them did—all those people around you did.
Even if they were just there, like that list of “friends” that you entitle to on Facebook, they stayed; you might have grown up with them, were best friends at some point, never liked them, or have had an almost-complete conversation with once or twice.
They were there all along, and they are still around.
So what does it mean when one says “people come and go”? As in...in and out of one’s frame of life? By that, does it mean within everyday, school, work, neighborhood, internet, or a phone number?
At the end of the day, how is one supposed to feel connected to anyone without physical interaction or technical communication; when will people actually “stay”?
How is it possible, for this flow of relationships to go by so casually, so mindlessly, and so heartlessly? Or is it in itself, realistically and entirely, merely casual, mindless, and heartless?
Is it more appropriate, or shall I say, beneficial for myself, to not be affected with the idea of “casual relationships” because people do come and go, which is a social pattern that many people live with? Otherwise, my emotions would be too all-over-the-place, for people come and go while I am not capable of letting go, of forgetting, and of forgiving myself.
What to do, what to do. Nothing to do.
People come and go.
Even if they were just there, like that list of “friends” that you entitle to on Facebook, they stayed; you might have grown up with them, were best friends at some point, never liked them, or have had an almost-complete conversation with once or twice.
They were there all along, and they are still around.
So what does it mean when one says “people come and go”? As in...in and out of one’s frame of life? By that, does it mean within everyday, school, work, neighborhood, internet, or a phone number?
At the end of the day, how is one supposed to feel connected to anyone without physical interaction or technical communication; when will people actually “stay”?
How is it possible, for this flow of relationships to go by so casually, so mindlessly, and so heartlessly? Or is it in itself, realistically and entirely, merely casual, mindless, and heartless?
Is it more appropriate, or shall I say, beneficial for myself, to not be affected with the idea of “casual relationships” because people do come and go, which is a social pattern that many people live with? Otherwise, my emotions would be too all-over-the-place, for people come and go while I am not capable of letting go, of forgetting, and of forgiving myself.
What to do, what to do. Nothing to do.
People come and go.
Saturday, January 15, 2011
Greetings from the awake
Morning is my favorite part of the day.
Evening to midnight are tempting because they are often spontaneous and fun, but I suppose it would not have been as much of a good night if I didn’t have a refreshing morning.
Do you have a big window at home, where there is a platform or some sort of space where you can sit by, and sip on your very first coffee or tea of the day? It is my (ideal) daily routine; to be close to the window with my drink very first thing in the morning, and maybe have a piece of toast.
If it was a nice day, the warm rays of light lift me up; acting like a reminder of the One who brought everything to me, to us. What grace it brings, what warmth and acknowledgement.
If it was a cloudy day, I would want to sit even closer to the window, so that I could get as much natural light as I could. Cloudy days might seem boring, but I’d say they are a sacrifice that contrasts on the sunny days and the rainy days. They are almost like the middle child, who is often not cared for as much and who looks for someone or something to be loyal to.
If it was a rainy day, oh it would be a time for indulgence in fragility. Rainy days make it just that much easier to self-pity, to reflect, to think, to be sorrowful, while being perhaps subconsciously aware of the fact that everything is okay for there is still a shelter shielding you from the rain. I often feel beautiful and elegant on rainy days, where there are lingering thoughts in my head—maybe denied and unrevealed regrets—yet I know that I have everything I need, and more is to come. I guess it is within this sense of security that I am allowed to become greedy in wanting more, and yearning for what I do not or cannot have. That is also the source to feeling especially pretty on such days; are not beautiful people beautiful because they have the power to be greedy while knowing that they can, or already, have it all?
In the morning, one is able to see all things still from the previous night that emerged to day; one can catch them off guard, see the very most natural, peaceful, and calming face of all. It is the time before things go wild preparing for the conscious and unconscious day, and after, for some is attempts of, rest in restlessness.
Evening to midnight are tempting because they are often spontaneous and fun, but I suppose it would not have been as much of a good night if I didn’t have a refreshing morning.
Do you have a big window at home, where there is a platform or some sort of space where you can sit by, and sip on your very first coffee or tea of the day? It is my (ideal) daily routine; to be close to the window with my drink very first thing in the morning, and maybe have a piece of toast.
If it was a nice day, the warm rays of light lift me up; acting like a reminder of the One who brought everything to me, to us. What grace it brings, what warmth and acknowledgement.
If it was a cloudy day, I would want to sit even closer to the window, so that I could get as much natural light as I could. Cloudy days might seem boring, but I’d say they are a sacrifice that contrasts on the sunny days and the rainy days. They are almost like the middle child, who is often not cared for as much and who looks for someone or something to be loyal to.
If it was a rainy day, oh it would be a time for indulgence in fragility. Rainy days make it just that much easier to self-pity, to reflect, to think, to be sorrowful, while being perhaps subconsciously aware of the fact that everything is okay for there is still a shelter shielding you from the rain. I often feel beautiful and elegant on rainy days, where there are lingering thoughts in my head—maybe denied and unrevealed regrets—yet I know that I have everything I need, and more is to come. I guess it is within this sense of security that I am allowed to become greedy in wanting more, and yearning for what I do not or cannot have. That is also the source to feeling especially pretty on such days; are not beautiful people beautiful because they have the power to be greedy while knowing that they can, or already, have it all?
In the morning, one is able to see all things still from the previous night that emerged to day; one can catch them off guard, see the very most natural, peaceful, and calming face of all. It is the time before things go wild preparing for the conscious and unconscious day, and after, for some is attempts of, rest in restlessness.
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