I would imagine many people have been wondering why I write this "series of why I'm awesome" or whatever you want to call it. "Self-centered," "self-important," "egotistical," "full of myself," and "too much time on the hands" are remarks that I'm sure have surfaced in some minds at some point.
But why DO I write about why I'm awesome?
The answer is simple.
Because if I don't continuously remind myself by writing it all down, I'll forget.
That, and I like to write. A lot. And the easiest thing to write about when you get that itch is something you know, and something that I know fairly well is myself.
P.S. Anyone who actually thinks I really am self-centered and self-important and egotistical or even the slightest bit full of myself after reading any of the past 10 entries (or hanging out with me for longer than half an hour) probably isn't actually reading.
P.P.S. Okay that's it.
P.P.P.S. No really, that's it. Short and sweet.
P.P.P.P.S. It's really me you guys I swear I just wanted to write something short for once.
P.P.P.P.P.S. No, the act of resisting the urge to slam out another 2,000 words of high-minded bullshit did NOT cause me physical pain. Smartass.
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
Monday, September 10, 2007
Why I'm Awesome (Part 9 of 7,412): CITYSCAPE
One of the niftier and lesser-known things about me is that I do not "hate" anyone. I am an angry bastard of a woman with a lot of pent up rage and aggression stemming from all kinds of environmental and internal stimuli, but even in spite of my more-than-frequent pissiness (haha Word tried to autocorrect that to "prissiness" DON'T TELL ME WHAT TO DO MICROSOFT YOU ARE NOT THE BOSS OF ME) and the endless string of snide quips and jabs and verbal diarrhea that hurls from my wrath-infested self, I do not hate people.
Before I continue, I'm going to go ahead and introduce a new concept I will be working into my blog entries, which is a one-line explanation as to what inspired me to write this post. Ready GO.
[[This post is brought to you by Greg, better known to most of you as Quetzi, even though there is nothing remotely Quet or zi about him, and a brief exchange of comments on my previous blog entry.]]
Hate, to me, is a very strong word that I would only ever use in jest. I don't think I can remember the last time I actually used the word and meant it, whether to address an object or a person. Objects don't deserve that level of emotional intensity. When it comes to people, well, that's another story entirely.
You see, I am a cynic. I'm sure you've plucked that fact out if you've been reading my blogs. I have a hard time seeing the good in people at large; generally speaking, I find the human race quite abominable and abhorrent and do not expect us to last very much longer (in the grand scheme of things). I mean, humans are really the only ones who can think that their 10,000-year existence on a planet that's 5 billion years old is really anything particularly significant.
But while my macro-view of people is less than favorable, on a mano-a-mano basis I am much more amenable to thinking better of people. That aside, however, on a more personal level, I generally try to find things about the other person that I find likable (yes, even when I'm being mean, I'm looking for the good things about them), rather than going balls-to-the-wall out and trying to find something I don't like.
The bad stuff almost always surfaces eventually…no need for me to go poking around for it.
It is scientifically and emotionally impossible for me to hate something or someone. Something that I dislike to such an extreme degree isn't worthy of notice or attention, let alone any amount of intense emotion. Why waste my energy hating something when I can channel that same energy into something or someone I like?
My emotional state is like a giant lump of Play-Doh that may or may not be brown in color owing to the mixture of all the other, prettier Play-Doh colors over the course of my childhood. Put in a more scientific way, my emotional state is basically the Third Law of Physics, which talks about conservation of mass (I don't know if that's the third law for real but it's one of them goddammit).
The amount and total mass of Play-Doh cannot be increased or decreased, and in my case let's say it's a very soft, very LARGE lump of Play-Doh. On the ground in front of you, there's an asterisk drawn on the ground (a big one), and at each point of the asterisk there is an emotion (angry, sad, happy, etc.). The lump of Play-Doh is placed in the center of the asterisk and then pulled and flattened and punched until it accurately reflects my current emotional state, so if I'm angry, the Play-Doh pulls more toward the asterisk point labeled "angry" and if I'm also a little sad, it pulls a little bit along the "sad" part of the asterisk but not so much.
(If you're a Naruto fan you know EXACTLY what I'm talking about here in terms of this diagram.)
IT'S CALLED A RADAR CHART YOU BUNCHA JAPANOPHILE WEEABOO CHILDREN GOD GO THE HELL BACK TO SCHOOL.
But basically, I am capable of feeling intense happiness just as much as I am capable of feeing intense anger, and if I'm mixing two or more emotions, that dilutes the intensity of them overall because there's less mass left over to distribute to the rest.
My ability to like or dislike something isn't so much a lump of Play-Doh as it is a series of graduated cylinders and a giant bucket of love. When I first meet you, you get 100 ml worth of love in a 1000 ml cylinder just because I am a nice person and I give everyone my respect at first. (Even if I appear to be being mean to you, the love is there, buried beneath the snide quips and harsh words.) Depending on how our interaction goes over the course of time, the amount of love in your graduated cylinder is reduced or increased. Any love going out of the cylinder is returned to the bucket of love, while additional love comes directly from the bucket.
As a general rule, anything below 100 ml means I dislike you more than I like you.
In some cases, the overall size of your graduated cylinder can be upgraded if I feel like the original one cannot possibly contain all the love I have for you.
After a period of time the amount of love in your graduated cylinder stops changing, and this means I've got a good handle on you and my relationship with you. (The love inside it solidifies into a Jell-O-like substance; less likely to change and of very high viscosity but still removable if necessary.) Some people have such a staggering amount of love that their graduated cylinders are the roughly the size of an office tower (it's a really big bucket of love) and the contents within have basically been cemented. Naturally, the bigger your graduated cylinder (and the corresponding amount of love inside it), the closer you are to me. The more solid the contents of your cylinder, the less wavering our relationship is (and the better I know you, which is sometimes a time thing).
Family members or people who have attained family-like status basically form the central business district of the giant city (that looks not unlike Hong Kong) that is my heart, with the CBD itself populated with towering skyscrapers of fully solidified concrete. These are the people who can do whatever the hell they want and it will take an act of god for me to reduce the affection I have for them. My unwavering loyalty to my closest friends is evidence of this.
Business associates and casual acquaintances generally do not get upgraded past the original cylinder. They're like the little tiny glass "people" that fill the streets of the mega-city, looking up at the towering people that I hold dearest to my heart, some of them hoping to reach that place of magic and wonder and elite status, others not particularly caring so long as they have at least 100 ml of love in within them.
Now, if I dislike you to the point where the amount of love in your graduated cylinder hits 0 (which is a very difficult feat to achieve), your graduated cylinder is unceremoniously plucked out of the city of my affections, brought into the wilderness beyond, and smashed as a last act of anger against you, the remains ground into fine powder that is then scattered into the wind. You no longer exist in my city, you are forgotten, it's like you never even entered my life.
As such, my dislike for someone isn't really recorded or even remembered, especially when it gets that low. My love is returned to the giant bucket (which is my heart, you idiots who need to read more), ready to better serve the filling of the cylinder of someone slightly more awesome than those whose powdered cylinders are the stuff of legend.
It should be noted that as a general observation, the contents of an individual's graduated cylinder is likely to be more solid if there's less in it; that means that the less I like you, the harder it is for you to get back into my good graces and I don't think about you enough for my dislike to go any further unless you force it in that direction.
On the flipside, the higher the amount of love in a cylinder, the longer it takes to solidify. That means that you are very likable to me, but you haven't yet earned my loyalty.
Metaphors are so much fun.
I am more likely to love the people I like than I am to hate the people I dislike. As I've said before, when you are one of my closest friends, you are in for life and there is very little that I will not do for you or forgive you for.
Doesn't mean that if you fuck me over I won't knock your glittering tower over, not unlike God reaching down out of the heavens and jamming that almighty thumb of his into the top of a building and smushing it right into the ground (picture that if you will for a moment). It just means that it'd have to be a pretty serious betrayal and I would need to see lots of evidence against you before I could ever be capable of writing you out of my life for good, let alone actually to it.
Plus it leaves this giant pile of wreckage and rubble right in the middle of my city that, unlike the glass powder of insignificant graduated cylinders, doesn't blow away because you meant that much to me…and the cityscape is forever marred by your departure from it.
D'awwwww.
Before I continue, I'm going to go ahead and introduce a new concept I will be working into my blog entries, which is a one-line explanation as to what inspired me to write this post. Ready GO.
[[This post is brought to you by Greg, better known to most of you as Quetzi, even though there is nothing remotely Quet or zi about him, and a brief exchange of comments on my previous blog entry.]]
Hate, to me, is a very strong word that I would only ever use in jest. I don't think I can remember the last time I actually used the word and meant it, whether to address an object or a person. Objects don't deserve that level of emotional intensity. When it comes to people, well, that's another story entirely.
You see, I am a cynic. I'm sure you've plucked that fact out if you've been reading my blogs. I have a hard time seeing the good in people at large; generally speaking, I find the human race quite abominable and abhorrent and do not expect us to last very much longer (in the grand scheme of things). I mean, humans are really the only ones who can think that their 10,000-year existence on a planet that's 5 billion years old is really anything particularly significant.
But while my macro-view of people is less than favorable, on a mano-a-mano basis I am much more amenable to thinking better of people. That aside, however, on a more personal level, I generally try to find things about the other person that I find likable (yes, even when I'm being mean, I'm looking for the good things about them), rather than going balls-to-the-wall out and trying to find something I don't like.
The bad stuff almost always surfaces eventually…no need for me to go poking around for it.
It is scientifically and emotionally impossible for me to hate something or someone. Something that I dislike to such an extreme degree isn't worthy of notice or attention, let alone any amount of intense emotion. Why waste my energy hating something when I can channel that same energy into something or someone I like?
My emotional state is like a giant lump of Play-Doh that may or may not be brown in color owing to the mixture of all the other, prettier Play-Doh colors over the course of my childhood. Put in a more scientific way, my emotional state is basically the Third Law of Physics, which talks about conservation of mass (I don't know if that's the third law for real but it's one of them goddammit).
The amount and total mass of Play-Doh cannot be increased or decreased, and in my case let's say it's a very soft, very LARGE lump of Play-Doh. On the ground in front of you, there's an asterisk drawn on the ground (a big one), and at each point of the asterisk there is an emotion (angry, sad, happy, etc.). The lump of Play-Doh is placed in the center of the asterisk and then pulled and flattened and punched until it accurately reflects my current emotional state, so if I'm angry, the Play-Doh pulls more toward the asterisk point labeled "angry" and if I'm also a little sad, it pulls a little bit along the "sad" part of the asterisk but not so much.
(If you're a Naruto fan you know EXACTLY what I'm talking about here in terms of this diagram.)
IT'S CALLED A RADAR CHART YOU BUNCHA JAPANOPHILE WEEABOO CHILDREN GOD GO THE HELL BACK TO SCHOOL.
But basically, I am capable of feeling intense happiness just as much as I am capable of feeing intense anger, and if I'm mixing two or more emotions, that dilutes the intensity of them overall because there's less mass left over to distribute to the rest.
My ability to like or dislike something isn't so much a lump of Play-Doh as it is a series of graduated cylinders and a giant bucket of love. When I first meet you, you get 100 ml worth of love in a 1000 ml cylinder just because I am a nice person and I give everyone my respect at first. (Even if I appear to be being mean to you, the love is there, buried beneath the snide quips and harsh words.) Depending on how our interaction goes over the course of time, the amount of love in your graduated cylinder is reduced or increased. Any love going out of the cylinder is returned to the bucket of love, while additional love comes directly from the bucket.
As a general rule, anything below 100 ml means I dislike you more than I like you.
In some cases, the overall size of your graduated cylinder can be upgraded if I feel like the original one cannot possibly contain all the love I have for you.
After a period of time the amount of love in your graduated cylinder stops changing, and this means I've got a good handle on you and my relationship with you. (The love inside it solidifies into a Jell-O-like substance; less likely to change and of very high viscosity but still removable if necessary.) Some people have such a staggering amount of love that their graduated cylinders are the roughly the size of an office tower (it's a really big bucket of love) and the contents within have basically been cemented. Naturally, the bigger your graduated cylinder (and the corresponding amount of love inside it), the closer you are to me. The more solid the contents of your cylinder, the less wavering our relationship is (and the better I know you, which is sometimes a time thing).
Family members or people who have attained family-like status basically form the central business district of the giant city (that looks not unlike Hong Kong) that is my heart, with the CBD itself populated with towering skyscrapers of fully solidified concrete. These are the people who can do whatever the hell they want and it will take an act of god for me to reduce the affection I have for them. My unwavering loyalty to my closest friends is evidence of this.
Business associates and casual acquaintances generally do not get upgraded past the original cylinder. They're like the little tiny glass "people" that fill the streets of the mega-city, looking up at the towering people that I hold dearest to my heart, some of them hoping to reach that place of magic and wonder and elite status, others not particularly caring so long as they have at least 100 ml of love in within them.
Now, if I dislike you to the point where the amount of love in your graduated cylinder hits 0 (which is a very difficult feat to achieve), your graduated cylinder is unceremoniously plucked out of the city of my affections, brought into the wilderness beyond, and smashed as a last act of anger against you, the remains ground into fine powder that is then scattered into the wind. You no longer exist in my city, you are forgotten, it's like you never even entered my life.
As such, my dislike for someone isn't really recorded or even remembered, especially when it gets that low. My love is returned to the giant bucket (which is my heart, you idiots who need to read more), ready to better serve the filling of the cylinder of someone slightly more awesome than those whose powdered cylinders are the stuff of legend.
It should be noted that as a general observation, the contents of an individual's graduated cylinder is likely to be more solid if there's less in it; that means that the less I like you, the harder it is for you to get back into my good graces and I don't think about you enough for my dislike to go any further unless you force it in that direction.
On the flipside, the higher the amount of love in a cylinder, the longer it takes to solidify. That means that you are very likable to me, but you haven't yet earned my loyalty.
Metaphors are so much fun.
I am more likely to love the people I like than I am to hate the people I dislike. As I've said before, when you are one of my closest friends, you are in for life and there is very little that I will not do for you or forgive you for.
Doesn't mean that if you fuck me over I won't knock your glittering tower over, not unlike God reaching down out of the heavens and jamming that almighty thumb of his into the top of a building and smushing it right into the ground (picture that if you will for a moment). It just means that it'd have to be a pretty serious betrayal and I would need to see lots of evidence against you before I could ever be capable of writing you out of my life for good, let alone actually to it.
Plus it leaves this giant pile of wreckage and rubble right in the middle of my city that, unlike the glass powder of insignificant graduated cylinders, doesn't blow away because you meant that much to me…and the cityscape is forever marred by your departure from it.
D'awwwww.
Why I'm Awesome (Part 10 of 7,412): SPOON
I was talking to my uncle on Saturday night over the many courses of a superb French dinner at one of Shanghai's finest restaurants (called La Platane, near Xintiandi, if you know it). This uncle is my mother's younger sister's husband and he also happens to be the uncle with whom I get along best. For reference, he is father to the third-oldest grandchild on my mother's side of the family, with Lilienne and I holding the top two spots. There are many reasons why he is basically my favorite uncle, but the one that really stands out is the fact that he and I have probably spoken the most over the course of my more formative years.
[ This post is brought to you by foie gras, whose pronunciation is so heinously butchered by non-French speakers around the world, yet we still insist on trying to pronounce it the French way because "goose liver" just doesn't sound quite as appetizing. ]
My mother's family consists of her being the oldest sister, then her younger sister, and then her two youngest brothers (henceforth called Aunt #2, Uncle #3, and Uncle #4, which is approximately what we call them in Chinese). My mother has contributed two granddaughters (my sister and I) to my grandmother's quest for world domination, while her siblings have contributed a total of four granddaughters and two grandsons.
That's probably more information than you will ever need about my pedigree.
I pointed out to this uncle (who was in town on a business trip) that at one point, I felt there was a lot of pressure on me as the oldest grandchild. If you recall tales of my woes prior to this year, this was not uncommon for me; I felt pressure from all kinds of sources, with family sounding the loudest. Whether it was pleasing my parents, worrying about impressing my friends, or other such "voices" that I felt I had to answer to, I put an ungodly amount of pressure on myself.
I had to set an example for the younger grandchildren, I felt. However distant we were in upbringing or parenting styles, we were still linked by blood and I felt that I would be used as an example by my uncles and aunts to say, "Look at your dai biu ze ('oldest cousin who is a girl'), she has done well with herself. Successful career, etc."
Because of this, I felt an overwhelming need to succeed, not just at a career that would impress me, but that would impress them. I wanted to inspire my little cousins to strive to be the best, not because I wanted to be that inspiration, but because I felt that is what was expected of me: my duty as the first grandchild.
Then came 2007 and a very serious, honest, heart-wrenching look at who I am.
Ever since a particularly loud, aggressive, angry, argument-screaming, solid-objecting-throwing, tear-filled summer in 2005, I learned that my parents never wanted anything for me but happiness. I used to think that they wanted me to fill a certain mold: doctor, lawyer, engineer, consultant…something that sounded high-powered and impressive. When I was lost in my college years as to what I wanted to do, they would throw these suggestions at me and I mistakenly thought it was them trying to push me in those directions. In the end, I graduated with a Bachelor's of Science in Finance because I felt it was a fair compromise: it was a technical skill I could use in any career and it was something that my parents seemed to be all right with.
Turns out it was because they just felt I would genuinely be good at any of those careers and were just wondering if I was confident enough in my ability to consider pursuing them. Wracked with doubt and second-guesses, I couldn't quite see it that way.
Even with the shouting that took place that entire summer, it took a little under two years for the message to sink in: they really just wanted me to be happy. They weren't saying it because they felt they had to because they wanted to be good parents (which was my original thought, sickening as it is for me to think that badly of my parents), they were saying it because they meant it.
With that realization came an incredible overhaul in my personality.
I went from an individual who cared entirely too much about what everyone thought to becoming someone who really didn't give a shit anymore. I looked back on everything that my parents had ever said to me about my future, and instead of second-guessing them, this time I took it to heart with no strings attached.
They wanted me to be happy. I owed them nothing except the joy of seeing me be happy. I need only answer to myself.
I used to want to stay with my old company because I could picture my parents telling their friends who I worked for and being impressed…and my parents swelling with pride. That is, put very simply, a "Hong Kong" way of looking at one's career and parental pride. It's always based on how other people perceive and judge your status, never what you think of yourself.
So my internal renovation shrugged that cloak of shallow materialism off my shoulders and proceeded to hack away at anything that even came close to answering to anyone but myself. And it worked.
I now have a level of self-confidence that, two years ago, was probably the same level but in the other direction. Sure, I still feel insecure about my physical appearance, but I no longer worry myself to death over what goes on in my head, over where I am in life, over how I interact with people, over what people think of me, over my future. Yeah, maybe after meeting someone new I wonder if it could've gone any better, but I no longer obsess over it or punish myself for it. I simply make a note of it and improve the next time.
It wasn't easy, though. It hasn't been easy. There have been many nights where, doubt-ridden, I cried myself to sleep, wondering if what I was doing to myself was really worth it. If it was right for me to do it. I fought old mental habits viciously, damaging and healing myself with the same strike, sometimes to disproportionate degrees. I will not ever deny that it was hard. I don't say it because I want to impress you with how hard I tried and how I came out the other side in one piece. I say it because it's true. It's what it took for me to break twenty-three years' worth of mental barriers akin in size and scale to the Hoover Dam, armed with nothing but a spoon (an admittedly resilient one with a level of tenacity not unlike the stuff that lines my very thick skull, but just a spoon nonetheless).
And even after all that, I'm not done. I still feel intimidated by people who are of a higher "rank" than I am, be it career-wise or by socioeconomic status or by IQ score. But I can feel it changing. It's not as bad as it used to be. Instead of shaking hands and being scared to death about how I'm going to screw up, I'm shaking hands and approaching the situation with increasing confidence.
I remember that one day in May when I was just hanging out, walking down the street, and almost stopping in my tracks to say to myself, "Viv, you're done all right. I'm proud of who you are right now, of what you've become in such a short period of time. I'm happy with you." That was easily one of the very best moments of my life, to know that at that point in time was the first instant wherein I was truly happy with myself in all aspects. It was my own personal reward, I guess, for having come so far.
I didn't do it alone. I couldn't have done it alone. Sure, most of it was a conscious realignment of my point of view, but I did have the help of my friends, in whose eyes I saw a hint of they could see, and they made it possible for me to claw forward. I had the will and I made the start, and they helped me get ever closer to the finish line, even if they had no idea they were helping me out all along. Sometimes, when I stumble in my stride, they're the ones who put me back on track, usually with little more than just being around me.
My uncle told me he was so very proud of me for everything that I'd accomplished, and even while he said this, my mind was thinking "Pffft that's not so great, I can list so many people way better than me in that respect." Realizing that this was an old habit starting to surface, I gave myself a proverbial kick in the forehead, told myself to shut up and just listen to what my uncle was saying. He was proud of me, and he was telling me how proud my parents are of me.
And I promptly found tears in my eyes, because I guess everyone's always looking for a little validation from the people they respect the most; even if it's not needed, it's always nice to have.
I do still care about setting an example for the younger cousins because I know that my cultural heritage expects it of me. It is not for me to judge how my uncles and aunts raise their kids, but it is for me to do my duty by them as the oldest grandchild and be happy. If I am really out to set an example, why not set one where I live a happy life, doing what I enjoy most to the absolute fullest extent I am capable of reaching?
You could probably argue and tell me that I'm still under pressure to live a happy life, that I'm doing it because my parents want it for me or because it's expected of me. Sure, there's a small part of me that knows it's somewhat true, but that's no longer the only reason I am doing what I'm doing. I am the biggest reason why I do what I do.
My ideology, from start to finish, has been that while I still can and while I'm still young, I'm out to live my life for me. If I ever get married, if I ever have kids, they will then come first, so goddammit, I am going to put myself first for as long as I can, until I am good and satisfied and ready…then I can focus on my family, free of resentment or regret, prepared to make the sacrifices I know I will need to make for the good of their happiness, and put them first, where they belong. It's what my parents did for me, and it'd be pretty shitty of me not to do the same for their grandkids.
Really, all of this would explain why I'm very intolerant of people who bitch and moan and ultimately do nothing to solve their problems. I'm not talking about whining about the person on the subway who blocked your way as you got out of it. I'm talking about your own deep-seated issues that you can't seem to get over because you feel like they own you. You identify it as an issue but you don't do anything to change it; you surrender that this is how you are and that's just how it is and it's a necessary hardship, blah blah blah.
I will never, ever agree with that. If you don't like something about yourself, then get the fuck out there and change it. (And before you argue the point, it is entirely possible to keep what you DO like about yourself while changing what you DON'T like.) It's not easy, but nothing worth having ever is. It's hard and you may think you can't do it alone, but then, no one ever said you had to.
Sure you can frown at me and say "Look at Viv, tooting her own horn because she could do what she thinks no one else can, she should just get off her high horse. This is all part of growing up, god, it's not that big a deal." My response to that will be, "Hmm? What? And I should care…because I'm over here conversing with the people I give a shit about, and you are clearly not one of them, so just run along please, you're blocking out the sunlight because your horse is ever so much higher than mine?"
If it were really that easy to change, then why did I spend endless hours writing to or talking with so many people aged eight to forty-seven for so many years, helping them as best I could, listening and learning to what really goes on in people's heads?
Never once will I ever tell you to change something about yourself, because I will always think you are just fine the way you are (even if I appear not to think that, I really do think that), but if you don't like something about yourself, if YOU are the one who wishes that part of you was different, then I will always be here to help you make whatever change you want, even if it's just a shoulder to cry on if the tears come, even if it's just a few rows of comforting text popping up on your IM screen, even if it's just a hug or a winning smile.
[ This post is brought to you by foie gras, whose pronunciation is so heinously butchered by non-French speakers around the world, yet we still insist on trying to pronounce it the French way because "goose liver" just doesn't sound quite as appetizing. ]
My mother's family consists of her being the oldest sister, then her younger sister, and then her two youngest brothers (henceforth called Aunt #2, Uncle #3, and Uncle #4, which is approximately what we call them in Chinese). My mother has contributed two granddaughters (my sister and I) to my grandmother's quest for world domination, while her siblings have contributed a total of four granddaughters and two grandsons.
That's probably more information than you will ever need about my pedigree.
I pointed out to this uncle (who was in town on a business trip) that at one point, I felt there was a lot of pressure on me as the oldest grandchild. If you recall tales of my woes prior to this year, this was not uncommon for me; I felt pressure from all kinds of sources, with family sounding the loudest. Whether it was pleasing my parents, worrying about impressing my friends, or other such "voices" that I felt I had to answer to, I put an ungodly amount of pressure on myself.
I had to set an example for the younger grandchildren, I felt. However distant we were in upbringing or parenting styles, we were still linked by blood and I felt that I would be used as an example by my uncles and aunts to say, "Look at your dai biu ze ('oldest cousin who is a girl'), she has done well with herself. Successful career, etc."
Because of this, I felt an overwhelming need to succeed, not just at a career that would impress me, but that would impress them. I wanted to inspire my little cousins to strive to be the best, not because I wanted to be that inspiration, but because I felt that is what was expected of me: my duty as the first grandchild.
Then came 2007 and a very serious, honest, heart-wrenching look at who I am.
Ever since a particularly loud, aggressive, angry, argument-screaming, solid-objecting-throwing, tear-filled summer in 2005, I learned that my parents never wanted anything for me but happiness. I used to think that they wanted me to fill a certain mold: doctor, lawyer, engineer, consultant…something that sounded high-powered and impressive. When I was lost in my college years as to what I wanted to do, they would throw these suggestions at me and I mistakenly thought it was them trying to push me in those directions. In the end, I graduated with a Bachelor's of Science in Finance because I felt it was a fair compromise: it was a technical skill I could use in any career and it was something that my parents seemed to be all right with.
Turns out it was because they just felt I would genuinely be good at any of those careers and were just wondering if I was confident enough in my ability to consider pursuing them. Wracked with doubt and second-guesses, I couldn't quite see it that way.
Even with the shouting that took place that entire summer, it took a little under two years for the message to sink in: they really just wanted me to be happy. They weren't saying it because they felt they had to because they wanted to be good parents (which was my original thought, sickening as it is for me to think that badly of my parents), they were saying it because they meant it.
With that realization came an incredible overhaul in my personality.
I went from an individual who cared entirely too much about what everyone thought to becoming someone who really didn't give a shit anymore. I looked back on everything that my parents had ever said to me about my future, and instead of second-guessing them, this time I took it to heart with no strings attached.
They wanted me to be happy. I owed them nothing except the joy of seeing me be happy. I need only answer to myself.
I used to want to stay with my old company because I could picture my parents telling their friends who I worked for and being impressed…and my parents swelling with pride. That is, put very simply, a "Hong Kong" way of looking at one's career and parental pride. It's always based on how other people perceive and judge your status, never what you think of yourself.
So my internal renovation shrugged that cloak of shallow materialism off my shoulders and proceeded to hack away at anything that even came close to answering to anyone but myself. And it worked.
I now have a level of self-confidence that, two years ago, was probably the same level but in the other direction. Sure, I still feel insecure about my physical appearance, but I no longer worry myself to death over what goes on in my head, over where I am in life, over how I interact with people, over what people think of me, over my future. Yeah, maybe after meeting someone new I wonder if it could've gone any better, but I no longer obsess over it or punish myself for it. I simply make a note of it and improve the next time.
It wasn't easy, though. It hasn't been easy. There have been many nights where, doubt-ridden, I cried myself to sleep, wondering if what I was doing to myself was really worth it. If it was right for me to do it. I fought old mental habits viciously, damaging and healing myself with the same strike, sometimes to disproportionate degrees. I will not ever deny that it was hard. I don't say it because I want to impress you with how hard I tried and how I came out the other side in one piece. I say it because it's true. It's what it took for me to break twenty-three years' worth of mental barriers akin in size and scale to the Hoover Dam, armed with nothing but a spoon (an admittedly resilient one with a level of tenacity not unlike the stuff that lines my very thick skull, but just a spoon nonetheless).
And even after all that, I'm not done. I still feel intimidated by people who are of a higher "rank" than I am, be it career-wise or by socioeconomic status or by IQ score. But I can feel it changing. It's not as bad as it used to be. Instead of shaking hands and being scared to death about how I'm going to screw up, I'm shaking hands and approaching the situation with increasing confidence.
I remember that one day in May when I was just hanging out, walking down the street, and almost stopping in my tracks to say to myself, "Viv, you're done all right. I'm proud of who you are right now, of what you've become in such a short period of time. I'm happy with you." That was easily one of the very best moments of my life, to know that at that point in time was the first instant wherein I was truly happy with myself in all aspects. It was my own personal reward, I guess, for having come so far.
I didn't do it alone. I couldn't have done it alone. Sure, most of it was a conscious realignment of my point of view, but I did have the help of my friends, in whose eyes I saw a hint of they could see, and they made it possible for me to claw forward. I had the will and I made the start, and they helped me get ever closer to the finish line, even if they had no idea they were helping me out all along. Sometimes, when I stumble in my stride, they're the ones who put me back on track, usually with little more than just being around me.
My uncle told me he was so very proud of me for everything that I'd accomplished, and even while he said this, my mind was thinking "Pffft that's not so great, I can list so many people way better than me in that respect." Realizing that this was an old habit starting to surface, I gave myself a proverbial kick in the forehead, told myself to shut up and just listen to what my uncle was saying. He was proud of me, and he was telling me how proud my parents are of me.
And I promptly found tears in my eyes, because I guess everyone's always looking for a little validation from the people they respect the most; even if it's not needed, it's always nice to have.
I do still care about setting an example for the younger cousins because I know that my cultural heritage expects it of me. It is not for me to judge how my uncles and aunts raise their kids, but it is for me to do my duty by them as the oldest grandchild and be happy. If I am really out to set an example, why not set one where I live a happy life, doing what I enjoy most to the absolute fullest extent I am capable of reaching?
You could probably argue and tell me that I'm still under pressure to live a happy life, that I'm doing it because my parents want it for me or because it's expected of me. Sure, there's a small part of me that knows it's somewhat true, but that's no longer the only reason I am doing what I'm doing. I am the biggest reason why I do what I do.
My ideology, from start to finish, has been that while I still can and while I'm still young, I'm out to live my life for me. If I ever get married, if I ever have kids, they will then come first, so goddammit, I am going to put myself first for as long as I can, until I am good and satisfied and ready…then I can focus on my family, free of resentment or regret, prepared to make the sacrifices I know I will need to make for the good of their happiness, and put them first, where they belong. It's what my parents did for me, and it'd be pretty shitty of me not to do the same for their grandkids.
Really, all of this would explain why I'm very intolerant of people who bitch and moan and ultimately do nothing to solve their problems. I'm not talking about whining about the person on the subway who blocked your way as you got out of it. I'm talking about your own deep-seated issues that you can't seem to get over because you feel like they own you. You identify it as an issue but you don't do anything to change it; you surrender that this is how you are and that's just how it is and it's a necessary hardship, blah blah blah.
I will never, ever agree with that. If you don't like something about yourself, then get the fuck out there and change it. (And before you argue the point, it is entirely possible to keep what you DO like about yourself while changing what you DON'T like.) It's not easy, but nothing worth having ever is. It's hard and you may think you can't do it alone, but then, no one ever said you had to.
Sure you can frown at me and say "Look at Viv, tooting her own horn because she could do what she thinks no one else can, she should just get off her high horse. This is all part of growing up, god, it's not that big a deal." My response to that will be, "Hmm? What? And I should care…because I'm over here conversing with the people I give a shit about, and you are clearly not one of them, so just run along please, you're blocking out the sunlight because your horse is ever so much higher than mine?"
If it were really that easy to change, then why did I spend endless hours writing to or talking with so many people aged eight to forty-seven for so many years, helping them as best I could, listening and learning to what really goes on in people's heads?
Never once will I ever tell you to change something about yourself, because I will always think you are just fine the way you are (even if I appear not to think that, I really do think that), but if you don't like something about yourself, if YOU are the one who wishes that part of you was different, then I will always be here to help you make whatever change you want, even if it's just a shoulder to cry on if the tears come, even if it's just a few rows of comforting text popping up on your IM screen, even if it's just a hug or a winning smile.
Thursday, September 6, 2007
Why I'm Awesome (Part 8 of 7,412): AWESOME
I've been on a blog-writing spree lately, for which I feel I should apologize on account of me nagging half of you guys to read it and subjecting you to wasting a good hour or so of your own time just to plow through my long, long, long, long, long rambling. I feel like I should apologize, but I won't. Generally speaking, I apologize too much. No time to change like the present, eh? I actually started writing this blog entry about two weeks ago, but thanks to the hectic moving and other recent developments at work and in my personal life, it's been a bit delayed, but here we go.
This latest rampage of optical abuse is brought to you by Romain Hefti, whose comment on Part 6 of Why I'm Awesome prompted me to explain a little something-something to the masses. And by masses I mean people who have the free time or low resistance against nagging to read it.
I feel like I need to define the word "awesome" here. You see, "awesome" in my mind is defined as something positive, attractive, memorable, unique, and that has an impact of some kind (i.e., "impressive"). Whether it's a person or an object, it has to include all of these qualities to be awesome, otherwise it falls into the not-so-awesome category of "cool" or "nifty" or "neat" or "meh" or "not very awesome at all."
"Awesome" is not quantifiable by anything beyond those traits. That is, it doesn't matter what it is that makes a person memorable, so long as they ARE memorable (and also meet all that other stuff listed up there).
This means that anyone with any kind of interest has the potential to be awesome. No matter what "subculture" you're from, no matter what you're interested in, you are probably still awesome because you are definitely all of those things to someone out there.
Therefore, if I play way too many computer games for it to be healthy and conducive to a productive lifestyle, that alone doesn't make me unawesome. Nor does, say, a frequent flexing of my mathematical muscles which, since those bygone years of high school, have fallen into disrepair and now suffer from saggy old-woman syndrome. If you're into cars, sports, finance, medicine, obscene amounts of porn, pocket protectors, or your Nintendo DS Lite (which I still lack because this country really blows balls sometimes), none of that particularly matters. It's not WHAT you're into that makes you awesome (or totally not awesome)…it's who you ARE that makes you awesome (or totally not awesome).
Let me break down what each of those traits means as far as my definition of awesome goes.
The one trait that most people tend to lack is their ability to be unique. With all things awesome, generally the most awesome of the awesome is that the most awesome thing is the one that is head-and-shoulders apart from the rest. Copycats are never quite as awesome; the more copycats there are, the less awesome each copycat is and, generally, this only highlights how unique the original act of awesome really was. Pioneers into the field of the never-done-before, well out of the range of simply "weird" or "quirky," will almost always satisfy the need to be unique. When it comes to people, then, the person who's going to satisfy this trait best is someone who is very much an individual, rather than a cookie-cutter type that identifies him or herself as being part of a subculture…rather than simply as being who they are. I don't mean that you cannot RELATE to these people, that's different. It's not that you have nothing in common or don't share any interests or that they are loners…none of this is true. Someone unique is someone who is very individual and someone whose personality you are not likely to meet ever again.
Next up you have to be attractive. Now, this qualifies as general attraction. Are you magnetic? Are the things you do magnetic? How well do you grab and hold someone's attention? Are you able to get other people interested in you (not for sexual or relationship purposes; what I mean is, are you able to intrigue people)? Your looks do not matter. Your ability to have mass amounts of sex does not matter. The only thing that matters is your general appeal to the people around you.
Memorable is also key, as plenty of cool things happen around us all the time but we generally forget them moments later because they just weren't THAT cool to begin with. As a person, you have to be remembered. If you've met someone before, they have to be able to remember you the next time you see them. The reason doesn't matter…they just remember who you are and at least something specific about you.
"Impressive" has been in quotes all this time because I don't mean it in the way that "wow, that was pretty cool." I mean it in the sense that something or someone left an impact. What separates "regular" awesome from "super" awesome is just how well someone leaves an impact on you. Did they change your life? Change the way you looked at something? Made you think about something deeper and more abstract? Got you interested in something new? The method in which they left the impression doesn't matter…that they had any impact at all means they meet this requirement of being awesome.
Positive is likely the most important of the bunch, as this means that you are not out to hurt anyone and are generally a contributor to the betterment of society as a whole. You don't go out of your way to screw someone over, and the things that you do don't involve coercing someone into doing something that they wouldn't otherwise do, and they don't directly or intentionally hurt someone. This means that if you're the kind of person that does some pretty memorable and "impressive" stuff but it comes at the direct cost of someone's well-being, you are probably not very awesome at all. This alone probably eliminates 70% of all potentially awesome people, because so many people just aren't awesome enough to know how to be all the things above without taking advantage of someone else.
Of course, all these traits vary depending on the individual trying to gauge the awesomosity. One person might find you very memorable while someone else goes "who what." You could've left an impact on one person but had zero effect on someone else. This is normal, as awesome is a purely subjective sort of concept.
What if, you wonder as you remember something I mentioned about how much people suck a few blogs ago, people just aren't paying attention to you and therefore you are not memorable…when you otherwise might have been, and thus awesome? Well my answer to that is that if that person doesn't remember much about anyone, there's a good chance they don't think anyone is particularly awesome…or maybe you just didn't leave enough of an impact to make them stand up and pay attention to you.
All these traits of awesome feed into one another and influence each other, but in different ways depending on the individual. Some traits directly boost one another as one is boosted, while others counteract and must be balanced. Which traits behave in which way relative to one another depend on the kind of person you are.
Generally speaking, because of this definition, very many people are awesome to me. It helps that I pay attention to what everyone says as closely as I can, and it helps that I naturally try to find something especially unique about them, so most people get two of the traits right off the bat. I don't always look for the good in people, being the awful cynic that I am, but generally speaking I don't assume the worst of people, either (just don't go around calling my best friend a pussy when he's lying on the ground, bleeding from his torso). Essentially, everyone I meet has my respect right from the get-go, regardless of rank or file, and it only goes up or down from there.
Man I just reread this thing and I wanna say that a drawn-out, logic-supported definition of awesome is slightly asinine. I wanna say it. But I won't. You can think it, though.
This latest rampage of optical abuse is brought to you by Romain Hefti, whose comment on Part 6 of Why I'm Awesome prompted me to explain a little something-something to the masses. And by masses I mean people who have the free time or low resistance against nagging to read it.
I feel like I need to define the word "awesome" here. You see, "awesome" in my mind is defined as something positive, attractive, memorable, unique, and that has an impact of some kind (i.e., "impressive"). Whether it's a person or an object, it has to include all of these qualities to be awesome, otherwise it falls into the not-so-awesome category of "cool" or "nifty" or "neat" or "meh" or "not very awesome at all."
"Awesome" is not quantifiable by anything beyond those traits. That is, it doesn't matter what it is that makes a person memorable, so long as they ARE memorable (and also meet all that other stuff listed up there).
This means that anyone with any kind of interest has the potential to be awesome. No matter what "subculture" you're from, no matter what you're interested in, you are probably still awesome because you are definitely all of those things to someone out there.
Therefore, if I play way too many computer games for it to be healthy and conducive to a productive lifestyle, that alone doesn't make me unawesome. Nor does, say, a frequent flexing of my mathematical muscles which, since those bygone years of high school, have fallen into disrepair and now suffer from saggy old-woman syndrome. If you're into cars, sports, finance, medicine, obscene amounts of porn, pocket protectors, or your Nintendo DS Lite (which I still lack because this country really blows balls sometimes), none of that particularly matters. It's not WHAT you're into that makes you awesome (or totally not awesome)…it's who you ARE that makes you awesome (or totally not awesome).
Let me break down what each of those traits means as far as my definition of awesome goes.
The one trait that most people tend to lack is their ability to be unique. With all things awesome, generally the most awesome of the awesome is that the most awesome thing is the one that is head-and-shoulders apart from the rest. Copycats are never quite as awesome; the more copycats there are, the less awesome each copycat is and, generally, this only highlights how unique the original act of awesome really was. Pioneers into the field of the never-done-before, well out of the range of simply "weird" or "quirky," will almost always satisfy the need to be unique. When it comes to people, then, the person who's going to satisfy this trait best is someone who is very much an individual, rather than a cookie-cutter type that identifies him or herself as being part of a subculture…rather than simply as being who they are. I don't mean that you cannot RELATE to these people, that's different. It's not that you have nothing in common or don't share any interests or that they are loners…none of this is true. Someone unique is someone who is very individual and someone whose personality you are not likely to meet ever again.
Next up you have to be attractive. Now, this qualifies as general attraction. Are you magnetic? Are the things you do magnetic? How well do you grab and hold someone's attention? Are you able to get other people interested in you (not for sexual or relationship purposes; what I mean is, are you able to intrigue people)? Your looks do not matter. Your ability to have mass amounts of sex does not matter. The only thing that matters is your general appeal to the people around you.
Memorable is also key, as plenty of cool things happen around us all the time but we generally forget them moments later because they just weren't THAT cool to begin with. As a person, you have to be remembered. If you've met someone before, they have to be able to remember you the next time you see them. The reason doesn't matter…they just remember who you are and at least something specific about you.
"Impressive" has been in quotes all this time because I don't mean it in the way that "wow, that was pretty cool." I mean it in the sense that something or someone left an impact. What separates "regular" awesome from "super" awesome is just how well someone leaves an impact on you. Did they change your life? Change the way you looked at something? Made you think about something deeper and more abstract? Got you interested in something new? The method in which they left the impression doesn't matter…that they had any impact at all means they meet this requirement of being awesome.
Positive is likely the most important of the bunch, as this means that you are not out to hurt anyone and are generally a contributor to the betterment of society as a whole. You don't go out of your way to screw someone over, and the things that you do don't involve coercing someone into doing something that they wouldn't otherwise do, and they don't directly or intentionally hurt someone. This means that if you're the kind of person that does some pretty memorable and "impressive" stuff but it comes at the direct cost of someone's well-being, you are probably not very awesome at all. This alone probably eliminates 70% of all potentially awesome people, because so many people just aren't awesome enough to know how to be all the things above without taking advantage of someone else.
Of course, all these traits vary depending on the individual trying to gauge the awesomosity. One person might find you very memorable while someone else goes "who what." You could've left an impact on one person but had zero effect on someone else. This is normal, as awesome is a purely subjective sort of concept.
What if, you wonder as you remember something I mentioned about how much people suck a few blogs ago, people just aren't paying attention to you and therefore you are not memorable…when you otherwise might have been, and thus awesome? Well my answer to that is that if that person doesn't remember much about anyone, there's a good chance they don't think anyone is particularly awesome…or maybe you just didn't leave enough of an impact to make them stand up and pay attention to you.
All these traits of awesome feed into one another and influence each other, but in different ways depending on the individual. Some traits directly boost one another as one is boosted, while others counteract and must be balanced. Which traits behave in which way relative to one another depend on the kind of person you are.
Generally speaking, because of this definition, very many people are awesome to me. It helps that I pay attention to what everyone says as closely as I can, and it helps that I naturally try to find something especially unique about them, so most people get two of the traits right off the bat. I don't always look for the good in people, being the awful cynic that I am, but generally speaking I don't assume the worst of people, either (just don't go around calling my best friend a pussy when he's lying on the ground, bleeding from his torso). Essentially, everyone I meet has my respect right from the get-go, regardless of rank or file, and it only goes up or down from there.
Man I just reread this thing and I wanna say that a drawn-out, logic-supported definition of awesome is slightly asinine. I wanna say it. But I won't. You can think it, though.
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