Time flows by in the blink of an eye. I heard this line often from my parents growing up. Yet, never before had I felt its commanding truth this strongly until now. It has been nearly four months since I wrote anything substantial for myself. Time passed like a dream. Somewhere between four months ago and now, I found myself in love and swamped with school work. And while my circumstances have not changed, at the very least, I wish to take a little time to write and digest the events of my life. I feel rather lost without it.
The course of my life seemed to have taken an abrupt turn when I rededicated myself to school work. I wanted to care about it, because everyone else cared about it. And to be honest, I really did care about it. In the face of many of my friends talking about marriage, or actually getting married, I found (and still find) myself wondering about my future. Particularly, I tried to imagine myself as a husband and a father.
Upon doing so, I discovered that the lifestyle I lived in the world my imagination conjured differed greatly with the lifestyle I lived then. In my imaginary future, I was a responsible husband who had a good income and could provide for the whims of my family, while I still retained some of my positive nature. However, four months ago, I was rather irresponsible and I lived mostly for myself. Writing was my hobby, as well as my life goal.
When confronted with this discrepancy, I decided that I needed to refocus on school. I wanted to be able to provide for a family, and doing so by writing felt like a risky venture. I neither believed in my writing abilities nor had courage enough to pursue such a course. Thus, throwing myself into school, I became so very busy. Falling in love further reinforced my thoughts on this matter. Feeling the full effects of being in love, I understood that in the future, when I had a family, I could not gamble with their happiness. In short, I needed a good job to provide the people I loved with the freedom to be happy.
Yet now, while I'm still fully smitten with love, I find my previous thoughts to be rather arrogant and disdainful. My thoughts implied that, in the future, I was solely responsible for the happiness of my family. In particular, my income determined the happiness of my family.
What happened to love?
I had become trapped to thinking like the rest of the world. Particularly, I had become trapped to thinking like my parents. Money equaled happiness to them, and school equaled money. Although I cannot disagree with the idea that school allowed me to have a better income, I really need to get away from thinking that money will equal happiness.
For me, love equals happiness. When I love, I give. When I love, I live. God is my love. Life is my love. Family is my love. Friends are my love. Shirley is my love. And writing is my love.
I had plunged myself so far into school work that I had started to lose sight of all of this. It felt odd because I was becoming restless and discontent even while I was in love. I didn't know why. Until I slowly realized that I had stopped writing. Somewhere in my brain, I had set aside writing as purely a past time, unimportant and useless.
No, fortunately I realized that writing is far more important to me than most things that I do in daily life. It gives me an exuberance that I cannot describe. And while the words and the creative flow comes less smooth than it used to be, I cannot help but still relish in the rush. I need to keep on writing.
I like where I stand now because I realize the importance of school, but I am not overly zealous for it. At the same time, I can also see the importance of my hobbies. I need to find a good balance between them, so I may live my life to the fullest.
I am an idealist at heart, and any straying from that discontents me and depresses me. If I start buying into a "realistic" view on life, and working like everyone else and thinking like everyone else, I am afraid that I will become very much like everyone else. Lifeless and unhappy. If I keep plunging myself into work, I may end up very miserable in the end. Life happens in the now and I must take advantage of it. I shall write and study and love.
And who knows what the future will bring?
Perhaps, I can write my way into a comfortable life.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
China
I took a vacation to China about three weeks ago, and I have just returned. I cannot immediately describe all the thoughts and revelations that I had while in the country. However, I can share, perhaps, an overview.
China on the outside looked like an overpopulated, polluted, and disorganized world. As the country that gave birth to me, and as a country I had learned to fear through American politics, China evoked mixed feelings within me. I felt love and resentment, happiness and discontentment, pride and humility all at once. And because I had been gone for so long from it, the place felt both familiar and foreign. Yet, as I traveled through China and marveled at its rich culture, its different people, and its sense of direction, my views on it changed.
I love my homeland.
I cannot say that I love every part of it. The sanitation could definitely be more improved, there could be more orderliness to the country, and of course, the government of the country could allow for more freedoms (like facebook...), but it feels like the government is trying its best under the extraordinary circumstance of its immense population. China has 1.3 billion people in its country. Comparatively, America has 300 million. If we took all the problems America has and multiplied it by a factor of four, I wonder how we would compare?
In fact, it was precisely this type of thinking that had made me appreciate China to such a degree. As a whole, it felt like China ran everything much smoother. They have better public transportation, very efficient customs which even included screening for foreign diseases (a moot point, but one I like because of the incredible hassle American customs put me through, like losing a luggage of mine, and they didn't screen for foreign diseases), China's food was much more healthy and better tasting, they provide ample things to do for all ages (most of them free) and their services had much more understandable hours. Whereas everything in America closes at 8 or 9, except for bars (which seems like the only place one can hang out after a long day of work) China has many many things to do and places to eat especially after work hours, for all ages.
Of course, as Americans, we associate night life with bars and other adult entertainment, but for China night life meant a time where neighbors can come out and socialize, people can eat, and everyone can relax. I have seen the night time for three major cities of China, and Hong Kong, every time I felt relaxed, safe, and happy. The city government had provided wonderful, spacious places for people to gather and play badminton, hackey sack, learn to sing, learn tai chi, and other social activities. In every city we went, the city had even provided a scenic walkway for couples to be. It usually was a very spacious walk along a major river or along a near by hill. Sometimes music will play along these places. Much more of a romantic setting than I have ever found in America.
These are just a few of the thoughts that struck me as I traveled China. Some other thoughts were verbally said by friends. Like: "Almost everyone in China looks fit and slim. When I come back to America, sometimes whole groups of obese people would walk by me." Or: "There is so much to DO in China, if I lived here, I might be on the computer or vegetating in front of the TV ALOT less!"
Through all of this trip, I had always said one line: "I do not understand! America is supposed to be the best country in the world."
A part of me just could not comprehend it. We judge other countries so very critically. We adopt a very patronizing tone when talking about other countries. I had really believed that we were just better than everyone in the world. It really did not compute for me.
I do not say this to demean America. It's mostly my dear wish and want for America to do some things like China.
America, in many ways is almost the inverse of China. On the outside it has a wonderful incredible image. It's streets are orderly, it believes in freedoms and prosperity, and seem wholly superior to other countries in terms of morals and honor. Yet, when we experience America and live in it, we quickly see some incredible details that shouldn't exist so much in such a wonderful country. Depression, divorce, discontentment, crime, low education levels. I stay away from political or economic troubles because I cannot say, at this moment in time, what country does not have its share of those troubles.
Yet, on a wholly social level, America has many issues that seems to point to a larger feeling of unrest. Is the reason simply a lack of state sponsored, sustainable places for people of all ages to gather? Or is it something deeper within America? Is it because we are just now starting to develop a culture as a country, and as a country so young, we have metaphorically entered our teenage years, full of doubt and questions?
I wonder about this country I call home, and think about the country that gave birth to me. It seems each time I visit my mother country, a larger piece of me wants to call it home.
China on the outside looked like an overpopulated, polluted, and disorganized world. As the country that gave birth to me, and as a country I had learned to fear through American politics, China evoked mixed feelings within me. I felt love and resentment, happiness and discontentment, pride and humility all at once. And because I had been gone for so long from it, the place felt both familiar and foreign. Yet, as I traveled through China and marveled at its rich culture, its different people, and its sense of direction, my views on it changed.
I love my homeland.
I cannot say that I love every part of it. The sanitation could definitely be more improved, there could be more orderliness to the country, and of course, the government of the country could allow for more freedoms (like facebook...), but it feels like the government is trying its best under the extraordinary circumstance of its immense population. China has 1.3 billion people in its country. Comparatively, America has 300 million. If we took all the problems America has and multiplied it by a factor of four, I wonder how we would compare?
In fact, it was precisely this type of thinking that had made me appreciate China to such a degree. As a whole, it felt like China ran everything much smoother. They have better public transportation, very efficient customs which even included screening for foreign diseases (a moot point, but one I like because of the incredible hassle American customs put me through, like losing a luggage of mine, and they didn't screen for foreign diseases), China's food was much more healthy and better tasting, they provide ample things to do for all ages (most of them free) and their services had much more understandable hours. Whereas everything in America closes at 8 or 9, except for bars (which seems like the only place one can hang out after a long day of work) China has many many things to do and places to eat especially after work hours, for all ages.
Of course, as Americans, we associate night life with bars and other adult entertainment, but for China night life meant a time where neighbors can come out and socialize, people can eat, and everyone can relax. I have seen the night time for three major cities of China, and Hong Kong, every time I felt relaxed, safe, and happy. The city government had provided wonderful, spacious places for people to gather and play badminton, hackey sack, learn to sing, learn tai chi, and other social activities. In every city we went, the city had even provided a scenic walkway for couples to be. It usually was a very spacious walk along a major river or along a near by hill. Sometimes music will play along these places. Much more of a romantic setting than I have ever found in America.
These are just a few of the thoughts that struck me as I traveled China. Some other thoughts were verbally said by friends. Like: "Almost everyone in China looks fit and slim. When I come back to America, sometimes whole groups of obese people would walk by me." Or: "There is so much to DO in China, if I lived here, I might be on the computer or vegetating in front of the TV ALOT less!"
Through all of this trip, I had always said one line: "I do not understand! America is supposed to be the best country in the world."
A part of me just could not comprehend it. We judge other countries so very critically. We adopt a very patronizing tone when talking about other countries. I had really believed that we were just better than everyone in the world. It really did not compute for me.
I do not say this to demean America. It's mostly my dear wish and want for America to do some things like China.
America, in many ways is almost the inverse of China. On the outside it has a wonderful incredible image. It's streets are orderly, it believes in freedoms and prosperity, and seem wholly superior to other countries in terms of morals and honor. Yet, when we experience America and live in it, we quickly see some incredible details that shouldn't exist so much in such a wonderful country. Depression, divorce, discontentment, crime, low education levels. I stay away from political or economic troubles because I cannot say, at this moment in time, what country does not have its share of those troubles.
Yet, on a wholly social level, America has many issues that seems to point to a larger feeling of unrest. Is the reason simply a lack of state sponsored, sustainable places for people of all ages to gather? Or is it something deeper within America? Is it because we are just now starting to develop a culture as a country, and as a country so young, we have metaphorically entered our teenage years, full of doubt and questions?
I wonder about this country I call home, and think about the country that gave birth to me. It seems each time I visit my mother country, a larger piece of me wants to call it home.
Wednesday, August 05, 2009
True Feelings
So some time has passed, and I have indeed discerned my feelings amid the confusion of fears and hopes. And though I know that I am in love with the idea of love, I can rest my fears on this and truly say that my feelings for the person drove my actions and emotions rather than just the mere wish to be in love.
I am very glad and thankful to understand this part of myself, for it would not have been very fair to me or the other party should this be murky.
Now, I can be content in my happiness, smiling goofily, and contently be the object of friendly ridicule among my peers. I think this fair.
I am happy. In my happiness, I can only wish for everyone else around me to be happy as well.
=)
I am very glad and thankful to understand this part of myself, for it would not have been very fair to me or the other party should this be murky.
Now, I can be content in my happiness, smiling goofily, and contently be the object of friendly ridicule among my peers. I think this fair.
I am happy. In my happiness, I can only wish for everyone else around me to be happy as well.
=)
Monday, July 27, 2009
Love
I finally have internet after not having it for awhile. Consequently, the whole of June and alot of July has no posts. I suppose that's ok. Nothing had been too noteworthy. I moved into a new apartment and started summer classes and met an interesting girl. My thoughts on her distract me through many days and I think I may have feelings for her. Yet, as always, I am simply too analytical about myself on the subject. I fear that I am in love with love or with simply the idea of love, and thus, I love too simply and easily. Perhaps it is not the girl at all that I am interested in, but rather the feelings of being in love.
That is fine, I suppose. The answer that clarifies this whole thing is simply to explore it further, and thus, at the moment, all roads lead down the same path. This is not to say that most of me is skeptical about my feelings and thus, I must enact some sort of plot to distinguish clearly all the jumble. It probably is simply my fears getting the best of me. Fears of getting hurt or whatever. So, I have to rationalize this fear somehow. The best ways seems to question the logic of my feelings entirely.
It is, as they say, how I defend myself.
It's strange the subject of love. People catogorize it in so many different ways. Some people have this thing called "friendship love" and "mom and dad love" and "relationship love". I never really understood all of that too well. Let me illustrate.
Some people tell me I'm a nice person by nature, or that I always have some tendency to see the good in people (generally). I know people also wonder if I am mostly like that or is it simply a face I put on to meet people with, because of course, I can't always be like that. Without any pride, and just a little partiality, I would like to think that I am mostly nice.
But that's not how I think about it. It was kinda weird explaining how I looked at the world to people. Alot of people who know me, and especially the girls that I had been romantic with, say that I use the word "love" a lot and too liberally. I say "I love you" too often to too many different people. So that when I say it, it probably has no value.
I did alot of thinking and I realized that is completely false. I really mean it when I say "I love you" to my friends - even if I say it with a smile and to escape from trifling guilt. I think about them all the time. From my old friends back in North Carolina, to the friends I had met just as I moved to Vancouver (even though we started out being morel like rivals), to the friends I had met each school year, to the ones who broke my heart, to the ones that made me laugh, to the ones who listened to me, to the ones I listened to, to the ones who still talk to me and the ones who don't... I think about them all. And some way or another, somewhere in my heart, no matter the history I had with them or the present circumstances, I still love them.
That's probably why I have more lady friends than guy friends. Guys think I'm gay when I say stuff like that.
I recently read an article that had a study of human nature. In most humans the wish to do "evil" is much more compelling than the wish to do "good". As calvin and hobbes illustrates good simply doesn't put up a fight sometimes. In alot of cases, this is true for me.
Yet as the writer of the article says, the cracks of this type of thinking show up when we add love to the equation. He says: "We are often good simply because we love."
I love that quote. That explains me so simply. I like to love, and thus, I am kind.
It may be a virtue to some, and I am thankful for that. Yet, now, as the strings of romance start to sing once again, I am at odds with my personality. Girls like to be loved (as with anyone I suppose), and they wish to be loved solely. Yet, to come back to the point, there are times when I cannot answer the question: "What makes my love for her any different than my love for my best friends?"
I would die for them all. Put down whatever I was doing to help any of them. Simply, I love everyone. So, the love I have for them are different simply because one is for one and the other is for another? Hmmm....
As always, with the subject of love, I am a confused mixture of happiness and questions. Hopefully, I can be content without needing to find answers, for like I said in the beginning, perhaps my wish to rationalize everything comes from my fears.
I hope the one who is Love will give me guidance. I will put all my faith and trust in Him.
That is fine, I suppose. The answer that clarifies this whole thing is simply to explore it further, and thus, at the moment, all roads lead down the same path. This is not to say that most of me is skeptical about my feelings and thus, I must enact some sort of plot to distinguish clearly all the jumble. It probably is simply my fears getting the best of me. Fears of getting hurt or whatever. So, I have to rationalize this fear somehow. The best ways seems to question the logic of my feelings entirely.
It is, as they say, how I defend myself.
It's strange the subject of love. People catogorize it in so many different ways. Some people have this thing called "friendship love" and "mom and dad love" and "relationship love". I never really understood all of that too well. Let me illustrate.
Some people tell me I'm a nice person by nature, or that I always have some tendency to see the good in people (generally). I know people also wonder if I am mostly like that or is it simply a face I put on to meet people with, because of course, I can't always be like that. Without any pride, and just a little partiality, I would like to think that I am mostly nice.
But that's not how I think about it. It was kinda weird explaining how I looked at the world to people. Alot of people who know me, and especially the girls that I had been romantic with, say that I use the word "love" a lot and too liberally. I say "I love you" too often to too many different people. So that when I say it, it probably has no value.
I did alot of thinking and I realized that is completely false. I really mean it when I say "I love you" to my friends - even if I say it with a smile and to escape from trifling guilt. I think about them all the time. From my old friends back in North Carolina, to the friends I had met just as I moved to Vancouver (even though we started out being morel like rivals), to the friends I had met each school year, to the ones who broke my heart, to the ones that made me laugh, to the ones who listened to me, to the ones I listened to, to the ones who still talk to me and the ones who don't... I think about them all. And some way or another, somewhere in my heart, no matter the history I had with them or the present circumstances, I still love them.
That's probably why I have more lady friends than guy friends. Guys think I'm gay when I say stuff like that.
I recently read an article that had a study of human nature. In most humans the wish to do "evil" is much more compelling than the wish to do "good". As calvin and hobbes illustrates good simply doesn't put up a fight sometimes. In alot of cases, this is true for me.
Yet as the writer of the article says, the cracks of this type of thinking show up when we add love to the equation. He says: "We are often good simply because we love."
I love that quote. That explains me so simply. I like to love, and thus, I am kind.
It may be a virtue to some, and I am thankful for that. Yet, now, as the strings of romance start to sing once again, I am at odds with my personality. Girls like to be loved (as with anyone I suppose), and they wish to be loved solely. Yet, to come back to the point, there are times when I cannot answer the question: "What makes my love for her any different than my love for my best friends?"
I would die for them all. Put down whatever I was doing to help any of them. Simply, I love everyone. So, the love I have for them are different simply because one is for one and the other is for another? Hmmm....
As always, with the subject of love, I am a confused mixture of happiness and questions. Hopefully, I can be content without needing to find answers, for like I said in the beginning, perhaps my wish to rationalize everything comes from my fears.
I hope the one who is Love will give me guidance. I will put all my faith and trust in Him.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
The Thought that Counts
I received some pretty amazing gifts this year for my birthday, but most important to me are the smiles of my friends and the time they spent with me or wishing me a happy birthday. Just a few words doesn't seem like much, but to me, it can mean the world.
Everyone gave me just a little bit of time that day, and thought of me. Nothing is more precious to me.
I thank God for moments like this. May He keep me always like I am: appreciating all the little thoughts.
They count more than gold.
Everyone gave me just a little bit of time that day, and thought of me. Nothing is more precious to me.
I thank God for moments like this. May He keep me always like I am: appreciating all the little thoughts.
They count more than gold.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Learning to Write
I sat down today meaning to read a book about how to write. The book, entitled Bird by Bird, came highly recommended to me. When I took it down from my shelf, I looked at it, just simply looked at it. I did not read a single word from within the book chapters. I scanned the table of contents instead. At that moment, I thought to myself, closed the book, and put it back on my bookshelf.
I decided I will not read a book that teaches me how to write until I finished writing my own book.
This sounds foolish and silly, so perhaps I should back up a bit and put things in context. I had been scratching out notes to myself for most of the day about how to write. This was not something new to me. I do this almost all the time. I have notes saved on my computer, notes written in notebooks and note cards and even notes on my iPhone. I have them everywhere.
Somewhere during the day, I thought I was approaching writing like I was approaching any other subject I try to learn and master. Scientifically. I would examine anything related to the art of good writing, be it an example of good writing or bad writing, and I would make observations. I would jot down techniques such as the use of simile's in prose or, if my subject matter was a visual medium, techniques on plot and character development. Today's subject was the TV series Bones. (As a side note, I must say, the show impressed me.)
At first I was ashamed and frustrated at my sudden realization of what I was doing. I dislike the thought of containing all the tools of such a dynamic and creative art with labels, formulas or what have you. I had written labels for every note that I wrote: techniques, analysis, references. Looking upon it, I shuddered in disdain and fear. Writing was the only liberating study I had ever discovered. Science and math had always seemed dead and lifeless. I could study biology, the very basis of life, and feel it limiting me and trapping me. The sciences may let me quantify life but writing let me experience it. More than that, writing allowed me to share life as well.
Writing was alive to me, the sciences dead.
The horror of me turning something alive to something lifeless really paralyzed me. Thankfully, however, it only lasted for a moment. It did not take me long to realize that writing will always and forever be alive to me. It always fills me with a rush. Each moment so sublime it transcends almost any joy that I have ever felt. Inspiration will always be its breath of life, and the feelings I put in will be its heartbeat. Writing is truly the subject for me. I can study it an analyze it, and the more I do so, the better I can write. And the better I can write, the better I feel like I can experience life.
So why did I put the book that taught how to write away? Because writing is my craft. My own from learning it the way I want to learn it to creating it the way I envision it. I do not wish for someone else to take me by the hand to show me how to go about it. It is not ego and pride that makes me like this, it is simply fear. I fear that if I follow someone else's path, I will be writing just like someone else. No matter how famous they are, or how much I may like their writing, I cannot allow my writing to become a copy. It means too much to me. At this point in time, I feel I am quite impressionable and I do not trust myself in reading literature about writing literature with distance. For now, I want to study it on my own in my own way and produce writing on my own with my own means. So that one day, when I publish, be it good or bad literature, I know that it is unique and original.
Although, with a very fond smile, I can say that the stories I write, however, will never be just my own. They contain pieces of me, pieces of stories I heard, and of course, pieces of every person that has walked in my life. No, I would say rather, the stories I write may wholly belong to those I have been so very fortunate enough to meet. It is their enjoyment that brings me inspiration and their support that keeps me going.
Writing may be my art, but stories will always be everyone's.
I decided I will not read a book that teaches me how to write until I finished writing my own book.
This sounds foolish and silly, so perhaps I should back up a bit and put things in context. I had been scratching out notes to myself for most of the day about how to write. This was not something new to me. I do this almost all the time. I have notes saved on my computer, notes written in notebooks and note cards and even notes on my iPhone. I have them everywhere.
Somewhere during the day, I thought I was approaching writing like I was approaching any other subject I try to learn and master. Scientifically. I would examine anything related to the art of good writing, be it an example of good writing or bad writing, and I would make observations. I would jot down techniques such as the use of simile's in prose or, if my subject matter was a visual medium, techniques on plot and character development. Today's subject was the TV series Bones. (As a side note, I must say, the show impressed me.)
At first I was ashamed and frustrated at my sudden realization of what I was doing. I dislike the thought of containing all the tools of such a dynamic and creative art with labels, formulas or what have you. I had written labels for every note that I wrote: techniques, analysis, references. Looking upon it, I shuddered in disdain and fear. Writing was the only liberating study I had ever discovered. Science and math had always seemed dead and lifeless. I could study biology, the very basis of life, and feel it limiting me and trapping me. The sciences may let me quantify life but writing let me experience it. More than that, writing allowed me to share life as well.
Writing was alive to me, the sciences dead.
The horror of me turning something alive to something lifeless really paralyzed me. Thankfully, however, it only lasted for a moment. It did not take me long to realize that writing will always and forever be alive to me. It always fills me with a rush. Each moment so sublime it transcends almost any joy that I have ever felt. Inspiration will always be its breath of life, and the feelings I put in will be its heartbeat. Writing is truly the subject for me. I can study it an analyze it, and the more I do so, the better I can write. And the better I can write, the better I feel like I can experience life.
So why did I put the book that taught how to write away? Because writing is my craft. My own from learning it the way I want to learn it to creating it the way I envision it. I do not wish for someone else to take me by the hand to show me how to go about it. It is not ego and pride that makes me like this, it is simply fear. I fear that if I follow someone else's path, I will be writing just like someone else. No matter how famous they are, or how much I may like their writing, I cannot allow my writing to become a copy. It means too much to me. At this point in time, I feel I am quite impressionable and I do not trust myself in reading literature about writing literature with distance. For now, I want to study it on my own in my own way and produce writing on my own with my own means. So that one day, when I publish, be it good or bad literature, I know that it is unique and original.
Although, with a very fond smile, I can say that the stories I write, however, will never be just my own. They contain pieces of me, pieces of stories I heard, and of course, pieces of every person that has walked in my life. No, I would say rather, the stories I write may wholly belong to those I have been so very fortunate enough to meet. It is their enjoyment that brings me inspiration and their support that keeps me going.
Writing may be my art, but stories will always be everyone's.
Friday, May 22, 2009
A Note from my Past
I had been digging through my old writings today and I found a story I had written during the beginning of my senior year of high school. It was titled "A story loosely based on modern life" or perhaps "Aie Kaan". I remember at one point sending it out in e-mails to my friends as a series of chapters. They had enjoyed it, I believe.
Reading the story again after so long, I had expected myself to react with strong, vehement disdain like I usually do when reading past pieces. Yet, this one managed to escape this anger. In fact, I found myself enjoying the piece, admiring it, and at time, even finding life lessons in it. It joins the only other piece that I had written in my high school days that had managed to do this, Skip and Shuffle.
To be sure, the writing lacked some maturity in places. Some bits of grammar were wrong and some descriptions sub-par or even nonexistent. Yet, as a whole, the story and particularly the voice of the piece stuck out admirably. I was surprised that I could write such a thing. Even more surprising, as I had hinted at earlier, I managed to gain some deeper insight about life that I had perhaps lost touch with since then through this piece. In fact, I could almost say that though the piece was written in a very stream of consciousness fashion, the honesty of it and the inclusiveness of all my thoughts at the time seemed very much like a letter to me from my past to my present self written in story form. At times this simile seemed eerily true.
The story starts out with somewhat of a discourse by the main character about how life felt so very boring to him. He follows this by saying that he wished for adventure, even if, while on the adventure, he starts wishing for a normal life again. The main character understands perfectly well that stories of "wishing for adventure" oftentimes leads to the moral of "be careful of what you wish for", but he wishes to learn this lesson firsthand instead of suffering the monotony and mediocrity of everyday life. Perhaps, he stipulates, he would appreciate it more.
I cannot help but marvel at how clairvoyant the piece was about the future of my life from that point forward. I was indeed thrust into an adventure called college, and indeed, during the turbulent years I wished dearly to return to some ordinary, run of the mill, mediocre life. Truly, I have started to appreciate my past time in high school, and I would often think about it fondly.
Yet, here, the story of "Aie Kaan" seems to antipate this and within, a gem of insight rests for me to gleen here at 21 years of age. I shall not paraphrase here, but rather, just display it. Though I think the virtues of the followinig philosophy to be idealistic, I cannot help but to embrace it. So, in all its unedited, raw form, here is an excerpt of the story that was loosely based on modern life:
Life had these moments that I’d love to replay over and over again. I remember, quite vividly, one beautiful, sunny day. That gorgeous summer day probably could not have been more perfect. The sky shone a deep azure and the wind swept gently along the field. Most of my friends had found their way back from their various travel places. (We threw a surprise party for one that didn’t.) My friends’ eyes sparkled with genuine laughter. The world, full of its stresses, worries and noise, fell away. For that splendid time, the laughing faces, the bright blue sky, the green grass, that was my world.
Sometimes I think about those times or events like it. Sometimes, I’d wish those times would be my world again. I wished to take up that figurative remote control and rewind to those times. I would replay it over and over again. Yet, like I said, I would probably never use that remote control. An overwhelming principle stops me. To live in the past, to wish to go back to those times, can be defined as escapism. It implies a general belief that all that is good has already happened, and it inspires an apathetic attitude to the present. After all, if all my thoughts dwelled in the past, how could I possibly live in the present? By virtue of polarity, if all my thoughts worried about the future, I still could not live in the present.
So, I let go of that remote control. It is not for me to use. God deemed me to be here and now and here and now I shall stay. Like a little toy boat at the mercy of a mighty river, so I float on the mighty river of time. Yet, this is my adventure, my excitement that I was seeking. I would never be able to find the pyramids if I stayed in the harbor of my past. So, I’m swept onward on this river, drinking in each moment.
Indeed, I am reminded by this note from my past to live life to the fullest at this very moment. This is my adventure and I need to live it.
Reading the story again after so long, I had expected myself to react with strong, vehement disdain like I usually do when reading past pieces. Yet, this one managed to escape this anger. In fact, I found myself enjoying the piece, admiring it, and at time, even finding life lessons in it. It joins the only other piece that I had written in my high school days that had managed to do this, Skip and Shuffle.
To be sure, the writing lacked some maturity in places. Some bits of grammar were wrong and some descriptions sub-par or even nonexistent. Yet, as a whole, the story and particularly the voice of the piece stuck out admirably. I was surprised that I could write such a thing. Even more surprising, as I had hinted at earlier, I managed to gain some deeper insight about life that I had perhaps lost touch with since then through this piece. In fact, I could almost say that though the piece was written in a very stream of consciousness fashion, the honesty of it and the inclusiveness of all my thoughts at the time seemed very much like a letter to me from my past to my present self written in story form. At times this simile seemed eerily true.
The story starts out with somewhat of a discourse by the main character about how life felt so very boring to him. He follows this by saying that he wished for adventure, even if, while on the adventure, he starts wishing for a normal life again. The main character understands perfectly well that stories of "wishing for adventure" oftentimes leads to the moral of "be careful of what you wish for", but he wishes to learn this lesson firsthand instead of suffering the monotony and mediocrity of everyday life. Perhaps, he stipulates, he would appreciate it more.
I cannot help but marvel at how clairvoyant the piece was about the future of my life from that point forward. I was indeed thrust into an adventure called college, and indeed, during the turbulent years I wished dearly to return to some ordinary, run of the mill, mediocre life. Truly, I have started to appreciate my past time in high school, and I would often think about it fondly.
Yet, here, the story of "Aie Kaan" seems to antipate this and within, a gem of insight rests for me to gleen here at 21 years of age. I shall not paraphrase here, but rather, just display it. Though I think the virtues of the followinig philosophy to be idealistic, I cannot help but to embrace it. So, in all its unedited, raw form, here is an excerpt of the story that was loosely based on modern life:
Life had these moments that I’d love to replay over and over again. I remember, quite vividly, one beautiful, sunny day. That gorgeous summer day probably could not have been more perfect. The sky shone a deep azure and the wind swept gently along the field. Most of my friends had found their way back from their various travel places. (We threw a surprise party for one that didn’t.) My friends’ eyes sparkled with genuine laughter. The world, full of its stresses, worries and noise, fell away. For that splendid time, the laughing faces, the bright blue sky, the green grass, that was my world.
Sometimes I think about those times or events like it. Sometimes, I’d wish those times would be my world again. I wished to take up that figurative remote control and rewind to those times. I would replay it over and over again. Yet, like I said, I would probably never use that remote control. An overwhelming principle stops me. To live in the past, to wish to go back to those times, can be defined as escapism. It implies a general belief that all that is good has already happened, and it inspires an apathetic attitude to the present. After all, if all my thoughts dwelled in the past, how could I possibly live in the present? By virtue of polarity, if all my thoughts worried about the future, I still could not live in the present.
So, I let go of that remote control. It is not for me to use. God deemed me to be here and now and here and now I shall stay. Like a little toy boat at the mercy of a mighty river, so I float on the mighty river of time. Yet, this is my adventure, my excitement that I was seeking. I would never be able to find the pyramids if I stayed in the harbor of my past. So, I’m swept onward on this river, drinking in each moment.
Indeed, I am reminded by this note from my past to live life to the fullest at this very moment. This is my adventure and I need to live it.
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