there are people that you are friends with because you are sharing life with them, and then there are people that you are friends with because they allow you to share your life with them. do you see the difference?
the first one is out of convenience. we share the same school, workplace, yoga class. so we become friends through the things we have in common. but the second one supercedes these petty commonalities. you don't have to eat at the same restaurant.
every time i think about that party, i laugh when i think about what he said about looking around while i talked with people. it makes me wonder if there is some characteristic deep inside of us that has brought us together. a petty commonality? i don't think so.
horace is the second kind of person.
i always have plenty of time to wonder that because the month to the next meeting can sometimes drag on. many things can happen in a month, and in time i start to find that i don't want to discuss the deeper issues in my life with the first kind of person, but the second kind. and there are so many firsts that the seconds get lost in the crowd. i close my eyes and search through the multitudes of faces, but so many of them read first that i cannot find second. there is horace.
you see, lately i discovered a problem. there's this girl that i met that...
"a girl eh? so who's the lucky lady, victor?"
even interrupted in my thoughts expected in a world of firsts. spare me, subconscious.
anyway, i just met this girl, but we seemed to hit it off quite well. but i don't know whether i should go for it. horace is a studier of human behaviour, so i thought i'd ask him for his opinion, but i'm worried that by the end of the month, i'll run out of courage.
the coffee shop. i entered, and he's already there. he always beats me there, some other obsession of his.
"horace."
he reaches into his jacket pocket, a simple black jacket showing off no flair.
"can i ask you about something? it's about a girl."
"you don't have to. here." he hands me the letter. he picks up his coffee and heads for the exit.
i signal to him in silent protest but i could think of no words that would have kept him. a bit of resignation on my face, i open the letter.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
dear victor,
this is my second letter to you. i dedicate my time exploring the mysteries of the world, but never do i get the rewards for my discoveries. i will take advantage of the world by exploiting its needs and weaknesses. the world will fight back, but you must stand against him with no weaknesses.
does anyone have no weaknesses? i am not conceited enough to claim that i have no weaknesses. but i do know who knows how to hide their weaknesses. illusionists. illusionists have the ability to veil their weakness with their power. and i have that power.
part of that is understanding humans. people never bother to observe themselves. they miss out on a wealth of knowledge about our species. how we can exploit. but people are sensitive. they defend when they discover they are exploited. maybe it is the despondent path to defense that leads them not to observe.
what do humans desire? look around and it is obvious. what is a movie, what is a book, what is a relationship? what is student or a worker? very simply, humans desire a good story. we all look for an opportunity to write our own story with the happy ending. every moment is the happy ending. the illusionist won't tell you, "reality check, not every moment is going to be amazing". the illusionist will agree with you. why shouldn't every moment be the happy ending? why else would you watch a movie, read a book? it is your right to grasp that happy moment for yourself.
the human is addicted to the story. and when you understand what characteristics in a person makes for a good story, then you can massage your way to creating the perfect story for the people around you. not yourself, the people around you. you cannot create your own perfect story. but you can charge the people a premium for what you give them.
the perfect illusion.
horace.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
i can't decide whether this idea was genius or diabolic. i also can't decide whether it was a fluke or his premonition that the letter did answer my question about the girl. what is the good story to her? a question more complicated than it seemed. i began to see my mind forming and reforming known stories, overlapping with more stories, creating new stories for myself and for other people. it is the magic of story that life moves forward. the magic of story that makes the illusionist.
but i sure don't want to charge her money for it all.
Wednesday, September 01, 2010
Tuesday, August 03, 2010
the story of the illusionist, part two
it only takes me minutes to read the entire letter, but as i leave the coffee shop, there was already no sign of horace. i check every time, but he always manages to run faster than i read. if his letters weren't so cryptic, i would skim the letter and then rush out the door to watch him flee from nothing.
horace tries to keep a routine to our meetings, and whenever he feels the need (or desire) to meet up, he would set the meeting to the upcoming first sunday night of the month. if i was busy that night, i would have to wait until the next month. it feels like he is training me to clear every first sunday night of the month. and it's definitely working, because i'm no longer missing our meetings. our next meeting is a month from now, so i have more than enough time to think about his letter and what i want to say to him next time.
since there is such a long break between the next time i see him, that gives me some time to tell you how i met horace. judging from what you know about horace, you would never guess where i met him.
i met him at a party.
it was at a place of socializing where i met the reserved horace. a friend of mine had invited me over to his place for his farewell party. he was preparing to leave the country to work, and wanted to have one last party with all his friends before he had to leave. there were some people that i knew, but a lot that i didn't. i said my fake hi's to people passing by while looking for a familiar face to talk to. i found my friend mike and started some menial small talk. but even when i'm talking to people i know, i tend not to give them my full attention. instead, i give direct eye contact to the person periodically, while looking around the person for other interesting things.
so while i alternated between the face and the food table, the house decor, the unknown people talking and laughing and yelling, what was on TV, the grey striped cat trying to get its head under the sofa, i noticed the only person sitting on the sofa not talking to anyone. i continued to spy on him while discussing the complexities of the green energy industry. he looked both comfortable and out of place at the same time. he fiddled with his empty plate of food not with discontentment nor satisfaction. he didn't look for potential people to talk to because i saw that he didn't care. did he not care to talk, or did he not care about the people? i couldn't tell. but whichever it was, i saw at least that he couldn't decide between sitting and standing by the way he fidgeted in his seat.
another thing i also noticed was that he too was looking around. his head wasn't darting around like a parrot, so it took me some time to see his eyes resting on various parts of the room (also relieved that assuming i look around the same way, that i don't look like an idiot). the fact that he was doing the exact same thing as i was astounded me. it was at that moment when he made eye contact with me. if i wasn't looking directly at him already i would have missed it. but the way he looked at me felt like he just said something to me, but i didn't know what. i wanted to know what.
i excused myself from my current conversation and began to walk to him. immediately my tongue dried up and my mind raced for suitable small talk to start off. but seeing we had the one thing in common, i decided to take a risk and see if we had one thing more: hating small talk.
"you see anything interesting?" i asked.
"i haven't, but you apparently have," his voice smooth but monotone.
"you noticed me looking around?" i was a bit surprised.
"like how you noticed me looking around." he was terse. he was to the point. he made sure his words said more than they appeared, as if more words would cost him.
no one has ever noticed me look around before. i did it so well.
"do you look around all the time?"
"i listen too. from listening to you talk, i knew you would come over." he listened to me talk to mike.
"how did you know that?"
"because i think you and i are the same kind of person. we are both people that only talk about important things, only to the people that are important. i can hear that that guy wasn't important to you." he was right and i was embarassed.
"my name is victor."
"horace."
we talked some more, but i started getting the feeling that even with me, he did want to talk for long. i got the message and we exchanged contact information. his willingness to exchange information meant that he had a lot he wanted to say. but we did not talk for the rest of the night.
some weeks later, i gave him a call. he demanded a place and a time. and he said he wanted to meet the first sunday of next month. it was the middle of january. i was confused as heck but i didn't argue. and we've been meeting ever since. of course we also started doing the letter thing.
i can't wait to ask him what's the deal with him being an illusionist.
horace tries to keep a routine to our meetings, and whenever he feels the need (or desire) to meet up, he would set the meeting to the upcoming first sunday night of the month. if i was busy that night, i would have to wait until the next month. it feels like he is training me to clear every first sunday night of the month. and it's definitely working, because i'm no longer missing our meetings. our next meeting is a month from now, so i have more than enough time to think about his letter and what i want to say to him next time.
since there is such a long break between the next time i see him, that gives me some time to tell you how i met horace. judging from what you know about horace, you would never guess where i met him.
i met him at a party.
it was at a place of socializing where i met the reserved horace. a friend of mine had invited me over to his place for his farewell party. he was preparing to leave the country to work, and wanted to have one last party with all his friends before he had to leave. there were some people that i knew, but a lot that i didn't. i said my fake hi's to people passing by while looking for a familiar face to talk to. i found my friend mike and started some menial small talk. but even when i'm talking to people i know, i tend not to give them my full attention. instead, i give direct eye contact to the person periodically, while looking around the person for other interesting things.
so while i alternated between the face and the food table, the house decor, the unknown people talking and laughing and yelling, what was on TV, the grey striped cat trying to get its head under the sofa, i noticed the only person sitting on the sofa not talking to anyone. i continued to spy on him while discussing the complexities of the green energy industry. he looked both comfortable and out of place at the same time. he fiddled with his empty plate of food not with discontentment nor satisfaction. he didn't look for potential people to talk to because i saw that he didn't care. did he not care to talk, or did he not care about the people? i couldn't tell. but whichever it was, i saw at least that he couldn't decide between sitting and standing by the way he fidgeted in his seat.
another thing i also noticed was that he too was looking around. his head wasn't darting around like a parrot, so it took me some time to see his eyes resting on various parts of the room (also relieved that assuming i look around the same way, that i don't look like an idiot). the fact that he was doing the exact same thing as i was astounded me. it was at that moment when he made eye contact with me. if i wasn't looking directly at him already i would have missed it. but the way he looked at me felt like he just said something to me, but i didn't know what. i wanted to know what.
i excused myself from my current conversation and began to walk to him. immediately my tongue dried up and my mind raced for suitable small talk to start off. but seeing we had the one thing in common, i decided to take a risk and see if we had one thing more: hating small talk.
"you see anything interesting?" i asked.
"i haven't, but you apparently have," his voice smooth but monotone.
"you noticed me looking around?" i was a bit surprised.
"like how you noticed me looking around." he was terse. he was to the point. he made sure his words said more than they appeared, as if more words would cost him.
no one has ever noticed me look around before. i did it so well.
"do you look around all the time?"
"i listen too. from listening to you talk, i knew you would come over." he listened to me talk to mike.
"how did you know that?"
"because i think you and i are the same kind of person. we are both people that only talk about important things, only to the people that are important. i can hear that that guy wasn't important to you." he was right and i was embarassed.
"my name is victor."
"horace."
we talked some more, but i started getting the feeling that even with me, he did want to talk for long. i got the message and we exchanged contact information. his willingness to exchange information meant that he had a lot he wanted to say. but we did not talk for the rest of the night.
some weeks later, i gave him a call. he demanded a place and a time. and he said he wanted to meet the first sunday of next month. it was the middle of january. i was confused as heck but i didn't argue. and we've been meeting ever since. of course we also started doing the letter thing.
i can't wait to ask him what's the deal with him being an illusionist.
Sunday, July 04, 2010
the story of the illusionist, part one
it isn't every day that you meet someone that is willing to share his story with you. on any given day, people come and go in our lives, and we catch fleeting moments of time with them. the value of such moments varies between the seller, and it is only the top sellers where gaining these moments are most valuable.
that is backwards thinking, you say?
so it was by chance that i met someone that thinks like this. this person's name is horace. horace is a quiet and eccentric individual that is doing what you and i seek to do in our lives: make a living. but instead of doing this by any conventional method such as earning an education and applying for a job and such, horace has some different plans. horace has plans to become an illusionist. when i asked horace whether he got the idea from the movie "the illusionist" starring edward norton, he said he didn't know what i was talking about. i found that surprising, but i also didn't put it past him.
one of the interesting things about horace is that he is quiet. not quiet in terms of volume, but quiet in terms of.. not talking much. that sounds normal enough, but as i mentioned earlier, horace believes that a seller has power to increase value of his commodity. and so he does, limiting his communication to the absolute bare necessities. he shares very little about himself, even if you attempt to pry it out from him.
so why does he think so highly of himself?
i can certainly answer that, but it will first take a bit of time to understand the person of horace.
seeing that communication is limited with horace, would you think that he is a boring, uninteresting, and unengaging person to be friends with?
you would think so, but horace is full of surprises. my main method of interaction with him is through letters. since having the pleasure of meeting horace (which i will also discuss with you in the future, sorry!), we have met up on occasion for a coffee or something of that nature where we exchange a few words, and he would hand me letters. the meeting would end quicker than the time it takes for the sugar to melt in your coffee. on a good day, we would talk for half a cup of coffee.
but it is not in the talking where the spirit of horace comes alive. it is in the letters. this person of horace has affected me so much that i though i would share it with you. i've asked for his permission to write his story, and he responded in terse words: "if it's worthwhile". you may not agree with all the things horace says or believes in, but we will ultimately see if it is worthwhile.
so as i unfold the first letter, i invite you to join me in delving into the world of illusion.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
dear victor,
this is my first letter to you. let me tell you now that you are living in a world of decline. it is an information age, and information is true power. one that reveals their true power will lose all their power. but the other that holds back will have the final word. these letters are my way of holding back. it is my way of monitoring what form of the information was released. if you do not agree with me, then you can give me back my letter right now.
let me tell you now that i have plans for the future. i decide that money is what you need for the future. so to have a future, i must have money. there are multitudes of methods to gain large amounts of money, but i believe that i have found my method. i will become a magician. an illusionist. i know everything there is about illusions and people. i am willing to share with you my secrets. if you do not betray me, then i will share my secrets with you. if you do, then i will destroy you.
the life of an illusionist is a frugal one. you don't understand the meaning of frugal until you have lived the life of an illusionist. it is having complete access to resources, but choosing to use as little of it as possible. it is cutting as many corners corners as you can cut. spend money for your bare necessities. you save that money. save it and invest it into something. the illusionist must invest it in the illusions. the best illusions are still to be discovered, but you need to have resources to do it: time and money. and when you find them, the illusions pay for themselves in multitudes.
horace
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
the letter ends abruptly. many times i would stay behind at the coffee shop to read the letter while enjoying a cup of coffee. i fold the letter and put it in my pocket. the coffee is strong but not sweet enough, because i can never get the right amount of sugar. i will have to wait till my next meeting with horace to increase the number of sugar packets to three.
that is backwards thinking, you say?
so it was by chance that i met someone that thinks like this. this person's name is horace. horace is a quiet and eccentric individual that is doing what you and i seek to do in our lives: make a living. but instead of doing this by any conventional method such as earning an education and applying for a job and such, horace has some different plans. horace has plans to become an illusionist. when i asked horace whether he got the idea from the movie "the illusionist" starring edward norton, he said he didn't know what i was talking about. i found that surprising, but i also didn't put it past him.
one of the interesting things about horace is that he is quiet. not quiet in terms of volume, but quiet in terms of.. not talking much. that sounds normal enough, but as i mentioned earlier, horace believes that a seller has power to increase value of his commodity. and so he does, limiting his communication to the absolute bare necessities. he shares very little about himself, even if you attempt to pry it out from him.
so why does he think so highly of himself?
i can certainly answer that, but it will first take a bit of time to understand the person of horace.
seeing that communication is limited with horace, would you think that he is a boring, uninteresting, and unengaging person to be friends with?
you would think so, but horace is full of surprises. my main method of interaction with him is through letters. since having the pleasure of meeting horace (which i will also discuss with you in the future, sorry!), we have met up on occasion for a coffee or something of that nature where we exchange a few words, and he would hand me letters. the meeting would end quicker than the time it takes for the sugar to melt in your coffee. on a good day, we would talk for half a cup of coffee.
but it is not in the talking where the spirit of horace comes alive. it is in the letters. this person of horace has affected me so much that i though i would share it with you. i've asked for his permission to write his story, and he responded in terse words: "if it's worthwhile". you may not agree with all the things horace says or believes in, but we will ultimately see if it is worthwhile.
so as i unfold the first letter, i invite you to join me in delving into the world of illusion.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
dear victor,
this is my first letter to you. let me tell you now that you are living in a world of decline. it is an information age, and information is true power. one that reveals their true power will lose all their power. but the other that holds back will have the final word. these letters are my way of holding back. it is my way of monitoring what form of the information was released. if you do not agree with me, then you can give me back my letter right now.
let me tell you now that i have plans for the future. i decide that money is what you need for the future. so to have a future, i must have money. there are multitudes of methods to gain large amounts of money, but i believe that i have found my method. i will become a magician. an illusionist. i know everything there is about illusions and people. i am willing to share with you my secrets. if you do not betray me, then i will share my secrets with you. if you do, then i will destroy you.
the life of an illusionist is a frugal one. you don't understand the meaning of frugal until you have lived the life of an illusionist. it is having complete access to resources, but choosing to use as little of it as possible. it is cutting as many corners corners as you can cut. spend money for your bare necessities. you save that money. save it and invest it into something. the illusionist must invest it in the illusions. the best illusions are still to be discovered, but you need to have resources to do it: time and money. and when you find them, the illusions pay for themselves in multitudes.
horace
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
the letter ends abruptly. many times i would stay behind at the coffee shop to read the letter while enjoying a cup of coffee. i fold the letter and put it in my pocket. the coffee is strong but not sweet enough, because i can never get the right amount of sugar. i will have to wait till my next meeting with horace to increase the number of sugar packets to three.
Sunday, May 23, 2010
a particular word of advice for marriages apply to other relationships in life as well:
"if a marriage realizes that their conversations revolves around reminiscing past memories, then there is a problem. instead, the marriage should be creating new memories."
my environment should not dictate my behaviour, but i find myself seemingly devoid of the ability to create. i agree to that principle very much that i rarely think about the past. without either the past or new creation, it looks like i'm running out of options.
i was at my friend's fellowship a few weeks ago and someone came to me and prayed over me and said that i had these a great burden of expectations for myself that nobody would think was fair for me to have on myself. and he prayed that this burden would be taken away, and then i felt better. but i think about it now and i know that i still have a lot of expectations of myself. that i have to be at this certain level and not do a number of things and be constantly thinking of ways to improve and be super mature and it's sounding more and more like essentially changing the person that i am. it hurts somewhere between my chest and my stomach because i think that i have to change to become better but if i changed then i am abandoning all of me but then i won't be better.
curse the measuring sticks. dark lines of varying lengths spaced evenly apart. and sometimes the long lines were darker than the shorter lines. and there would be numbers under the longer lines, usually in increasing increments. oh, the bewilderment of measuring sticks with lines spaced not evenly apart; the length of the measuring stick is not linearly related to the spacing of the lines. that there isn't enough stick before all the lines are reached.
i play a game of polar opposites. it's like in grade school, when you like the girl, instead of actually telling the girl that you like her, you make fun of her and you punch her and you laugh at her. except not quite like that because that's only for grade school. how i play my game of polar opposites is that most people behave within a number of standard deviations of acceptable behaviours within a behaviour normal distribution. but i operate in the very corners of the distribution, and i operate damn well in them. but then it becomes a problem when everyone is in their big chunk of normal curve and there's no opportunity to pull out my corners. and when i do pull it out, then it would in contrast be highly inappropriate. and then i would lose out on the comedic timing and everyone would just think about how inappropriate i am. it would leave a bad taste in my mouth because i also do a damn good job being the classy right corner of the curve but nobody knows that.
"if a marriage realizes that their conversations revolves around reminiscing past memories, then there is a problem. instead, the marriage should be creating new memories."
my environment should not dictate my behaviour, but i find myself seemingly devoid of the ability to create. i agree to that principle very much that i rarely think about the past. without either the past or new creation, it looks like i'm running out of options.
i was at my friend's fellowship a few weeks ago and someone came to me and prayed over me and said that i had these a great burden of expectations for myself that nobody would think was fair for me to have on myself. and he prayed that this burden would be taken away, and then i felt better. but i think about it now and i know that i still have a lot of expectations of myself. that i have to be at this certain level and not do a number of things and be constantly thinking of ways to improve and be super mature and it's sounding more and more like essentially changing the person that i am. it hurts somewhere between my chest and my stomach because i think that i have to change to become better but if i changed then i am abandoning all of me but then i won't be better.
curse the measuring sticks. dark lines of varying lengths spaced evenly apart. and sometimes the long lines were darker than the shorter lines. and there would be numbers under the longer lines, usually in increasing increments. oh, the bewilderment of measuring sticks with lines spaced not evenly apart; the length of the measuring stick is not linearly related to the spacing of the lines. that there isn't enough stick before all the lines are reached.
i play a game of polar opposites. it's like in grade school, when you like the girl, instead of actually telling the girl that you like her, you make fun of her and you punch her and you laugh at her. except not quite like that because that's only for grade school. how i play my game of polar opposites is that most people behave within a number of standard deviations of acceptable behaviours within a behaviour normal distribution. but i operate in the very corners of the distribution, and i operate damn well in them. but then it becomes a problem when everyone is in their big chunk of normal curve and there's no opportunity to pull out my corners. and when i do pull it out, then it would in contrast be highly inappropriate. and then i would lose out on the comedic timing and everyone would just think about how inappropriate i am. it would leave a bad taste in my mouth because i also do a damn good job being the classy right corner of the curve but nobody knows that.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
thoughts from a day of play
i'm not one to just write what i did one day.. but today just seemed like life was talking to me so i'm gonna write it down.
it started so simple. one tone of.. beep. my eyes slowly opened.. and burned. it was dark of course, which was a huge contrast to the usual low sun that i was used to. i had previously decided to snooze for 10-15 more minutes before getting out of bed to pick up my friend to drive him to the airport. i also had decided not to brush my teeth or anything, and to keep my blanket in a covered position so that it would keep the warm in when i came back.
i managed to drive to the airport and back in half an hour, because traffic was tolerable. i got home, eyes burning less, and checked the blanket to find that it was.. still a bit warm. satisfied i crawled back into my cocoon in expectancy of a once again screwed up sleep schedule.
i ended waking up at 11 and getting a text message that i was being visited in half an hour. i eventually got up, with the previous 5 hours of memory surprisingly hidden and remote. maybe hidden by what was to come? lunch with old friends? softball with people you've never played with and also with those you've played with? then i learned that anticipation of good things clouds judgment.
i always wonder whether digging from the past was a good thing or not. over the past year it has felt like the answer was that it wasn't, and that i should hold onto the present and live in the present. all good things come to an end, and lingering in the past will do me no good. my anticipation for hanging out with old friends clearly denied that principle, and as lunch went along, i was sliced by the feeling of time flowing past me, without me. slices sting, and those old moments of strength, of reaching to people that needed that reaching, seemed to melt away into spectatorship. so is it a good thing to hold onto the past? does the disjoint actually matter? that is just the same question as the first one.
with time on my mind, it was about time to check for the next moment i will get incredibly angry. before i went for lunch, i was told to come back as soon as possible to drive my family's friend back home. not asked.. told. i went to lunch, and got two more phone calls demanding that i go home to drive her. anticipation clouds judgment. the aforementioned slicing was soon accompanied by the familiar rush of anger adrenaline through my blood. then a myriad of questions arise, such as where is the respect, who do they think i am, why should i listen to them and what inanimate object can i destroy to get the anger and disrespect out of me.
i did what i was asked.. i mean told. if the person that i was driving was not someone i considered a friend, and someone that i RESPECTED, i would have been unagreeable to converse with, but i was not that way. anticipation clouded my judgment, but there was enough sun peeking through to help me see respect. the sun helped me realize that it wasn't the extra effort that i was fighting for, because i gave my extra effort all the time. what i was fighting for was my own choices and choosing for myself instead of demands disguised as choices. as i dropped my friend off, we engaged in some small talk about my looking for work, and my explaining how more school doesn't actually help me. by the time it got to her house some 5 minutes from the field, she was telling me her experiences in life and how much difficulties she's had to deal with in her life related to work. that in life, we need to get used to not having things go our own way. so there is no use being stubborn and fighting so much for your way. then i thought about how the asian way is a dictatorship, and no fighting means never getting what you want or deserve. then she said to remember that everything is created and owned by God. our skills and our money and resources are all from God, the Father of lights. if He gives it to us to use, then we can use it.
i don't know when the next time i will see her again. whenever i talked to her, i've appreciated her wisdom, though i couldn't follow everything she said. i drove back to the field confused about whether to still feel angry about being bossed around, or be at peace at some of the wisdom i just received. i returned to the field and played some softball.
it approached 4 o clock. i saw teenagers with baseball gear approach the field, and memories of my softball gathering from last year's surfaced. those memories were simply that bayview village park is a permit park, where leagues can reserve the field. i knew that we will have to relocate, and i eventually came up with seneca hill. clearly my previous year's choice of elkhorn public school was a disaster, as the field was tiny as well as kid covered. i racked my brain and came up with seneca hill, a park which i haven't gone to in years, and secretly hoped for good results from.
the phone rang. the most dangerous part of talking on the cell phone while driving is pulling it out of my pocket. i reached and pulled for my phone and looked to see that i was being called by my tutee.
my goodness it was tuesday afternoon.
all that anticipating clouded my judgment. i picked up the phone, and already started saying frick. i completely forgot i had to tutor today, do you want to just reschedule for thursday? yes that would probably be best. see you thursday. i hung up, and the feeling of disappointment and unprofessionalism washed over me. i couldn't believe i was so stupid to forget something that was consistently scheduled on the same day every week. i ran out of words to say at my mistake, while others in the car consoled me.
softball restarted again. things seem to calm down as things seemed to finally settle down. i got no more surprise phone calls, and the group of people playing came to equilibrium. the clutter in my mind cleared away just a bit for me to realize what i was doing. i looked around and saw that i was the only university graduate among a big group of students playing softball because they just finished a difficult few weeks of exams. and i've been looking for work for approaching a year now, and people that have jobs don't play softball during the day. was this an embarassment? or is this a time to appreciate friends who happen to be in a different life stage from me, and that this is my time to share with them? which one is it? should i be proud of myself or embarassed at myself?
maybe it was all these questions going through my head that made me make mistakes during softball. it's all psychological i'm telling you.
i have more thoughts come to me for the rest of the night when i was at fairview, when i ate dinner by myself, and when i watched kickass (why do i have deep thoughts after watching kickass?), but when the day finally ended and i stopped to think about how overwhelming a simple day was, i realized that everything was the same.
everything asked me who i am today.
it started so simple. one tone of.. beep. my eyes slowly opened.. and burned. it was dark of course, which was a huge contrast to the usual low sun that i was used to. i had previously decided to snooze for 10-15 more minutes before getting out of bed to pick up my friend to drive him to the airport. i also had decided not to brush my teeth or anything, and to keep my blanket in a covered position so that it would keep the warm in when i came back.
i managed to drive to the airport and back in half an hour, because traffic was tolerable. i got home, eyes burning less, and checked the blanket to find that it was.. still a bit warm. satisfied i crawled back into my cocoon in expectancy of a once again screwed up sleep schedule.
i ended waking up at 11 and getting a text message that i was being visited in half an hour. i eventually got up, with the previous 5 hours of memory surprisingly hidden and remote. maybe hidden by what was to come? lunch with old friends? softball with people you've never played with and also with those you've played with? then i learned that anticipation of good things clouds judgment.
i always wonder whether digging from the past was a good thing or not. over the past year it has felt like the answer was that it wasn't, and that i should hold onto the present and live in the present. all good things come to an end, and lingering in the past will do me no good. my anticipation for hanging out with old friends clearly denied that principle, and as lunch went along, i was sliced by the feeling of time flowing past me, without me. slices sting, and those old moments of strength, of reaching to people that needed that reaching, seemed to melt away into spectatorship. so is it a good thing to hold onto the past? does the disjoint actually matter? that is just the same question as the first one.
with time on my mind, it was about time to check for the next moment i will get incredibly angry. before i went for lunch, i was told to come back as soon as possible to drive my family's friend back home. not asked.. told. i went to lunch, and got two more phone calls demanding that i go home to drive her. anticipation clouds judgment. the aforementioned slicing was soon accompanied by the familiar rush of anger adrenaline through my blood. then a myriad of questions arise, such as where is the respect, who do they think i am, why should i listen to them and what inanimate object can i destroy to get the anger and disrespect out of me.
i did what i was asked.. i mean told. if the person that i was driving was not someone i considered a friend, and someone that i RESPECTED, i would have been unagreeable to converse with, but i was not that way. anticipation clouded my judgment, but there was enough sun peeking through to help me see respect. the sun helped me realize that it wasn't the extra effort that i was fighting for, because i gave my extra effort all the time. what i was fighting for was my own choices and choosing for myself instead of demands disguised as choices. as i dropped my friend off, we engaged in some small talk about my looking for work, and my explaining how more school doesn't actually help me. by the time it got to her house some 5 minutes from the field, she was telling me her experiences in life and how much difficulties she's had to deal with in her life related to work. that in life, we need to get used to not having things go our own way. so there is no use being stubborn and fighting so much for your way. then i thought about how the asian way is a dictatorship, and no fighting means never getting what you want or deserve. then she said to remember that everything is created and owned by God. our skills and our money and resources are all from God, the Father of lights. if He gives it to us to use, then we can use it.
i don't know when the next time i will see her again. whenever i talked to her, i've appreciated her wisdom, though i couldn't follow everything she said. i drove back to the field confused about whether to still feel angry about being bossed around, or be at peace at some of the wisdom i just received. i returned to the field and played some softball.
it approached 4 o clock. i saw teenagers with baseball gear approach the field, and memories of my softball gathering from last year's surfaced. those memories were simply that bayview village park is a permit park, where leagues can reserve the field. i knew that we will have to relocate, and i eventually came up with seneca hill. clearly my previous year's choice of elkhorn public school was a disaster, as the field was tiny as well as kid covered. i racked my brain and came up with seneca hill, a park which i haven't gone to in years, and secretly hoped for good results from.
the phone rang. the most dangerous part of talking on the cell phone while driving is pulling it out of my pocket. i reached and pulled for my phone and looked to see that i was being called by my tutee.
my goodness it was tuesday afternoon.
all that anticipating clouded my judgment. i picked up the phone, and already started saying frick. i completely forgot i had to tutor today, do you want to just reschedule for thursday? yes that would probably be best. see you thursday. i hung up, and the feeling of disappointment and unprofessionalism washed over me. i couldn't believe i was so stupid to forget something that was consistently scheduled on the same day every week. i ran out of words to say at my mistake, while others in the car consoled me.
softball restarted again. things seem to calm down as things seemed to finally settle down. i got no more surprise phone calls, and the group of people playing came to equilibrium. the clutter in my mind cleared away just a bit for me to realize what i was doing. i looked around and saw that i was the only university graduate among a big group of students playing softball because they just finished a difficult few weeks of exams. and i've been looking for work for approaching a year now, and people that have jobs don't play softball during the day. was this an embarassment? or is this a time to appreciate friends who happen to be in a different life stage from me, and that this is my time to share with them? which one is it? should i be proud of myself or embarassed at myself?
maybe it was all these questions going through my head that made me make mistakes during softball. it's all psychological i'm telling you.
i have more thoughts come to me for the rest of the night when i was at fairview, when i ate dinner by myself, and when i watched kickass (why do i have deep thoughts after watching kickass?), but when the day finally ended and i stopped to think about how overwhelming a simple day was, i realized that everything was the same.
everything asked me who i am today.
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