Our office moved way out to Pudong from Hongqiao. For those who don't know, we basically moved from the most western area of the city to the most eastern area of the city. For those who DO know, we are now located in Chuansha, which is fifteen minutes northwest from the Pudong Airport.
[ This post is brought to you by Element Fresh's wireless connection. ]
It takes an hour by car to get out there every morning and an hour and a half every evening to get back (traffic, yay). We get picked up and dropped off and lunch is on the company, but it is an undeniable bore. Today was our first taste of this...and we had no furniture or internet access set up at the new office. Splendid!
I have, however, been trying to make a concerted effort to focus on as many of the positive aspects of this change as I can.
By far, the best part is the simple fact that we really only need to have one meeting a day, and that cuts our work day in half.
For instance, a meeting in the morning means we don't go into work until after the meeting is over, but since we would miss our morning ride out there, it's best to schedule a meeting in the afternoon. A meeting in the afternoon generally means it takes an hour for us to get there and an hour to get back and then another hour to go home afterwards, which makes little logistical sense, so that means we just get to go home after the meeting is over and work from home.
Well, not exactly.
I am currently sitting in Element Fresh finishing up a day's work and let me tell you, a refreshing atmosphere (free of my boss and graced with an awesome glass of fresh carrot-apple juice and with lots of eye candy) makes all the difference in the world.
No, this is not an ad for Element Fresh (which, for those non-Shangers, is a new age sort of western restaurant with locations all over the city), but I'm just saying how easy it is to get work done when you don't have a boss like mine literally haunting your every single move.
It's easy to recharge when I am getting work done (and, better yet, WANTING to get work done) at a faster pace than I would if I were in the office, even with distractions like carrot-apple juice and ridiculously hot men sitting at the next table.
Tomorrow the plan is to sit on the balcony of the office (where the only table in the whole damn place is located) and enjoy the sun while working. The farther away I am from my boss, the more productive I am, and the ultimately, the happier I am.
I just wanted to say that I wouldn't have been able to make this attitude change if I didn't have all of your support and many e-hugs and donations of e-love. Thanks for everything, even if it was just letting me know you were there for me. I really appreciate it, and I am so lucky to know you.
I am a firm believer in the fact that you're never meant to handle anything alone. I always thought that in my case it meant that I would never let anyone else walk alone, but I guess it took something like this and people like you to help me realize that it's a two-way street. Thank you, sincerely.
TL;DR - how is that long? My god you are lazy. Go the fuck back up there and read the whole damn thing you BUM.
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Why I'm Awesome (Part 16 of 7,412): LIMITS
Everyone's got them. I hit mine.
[ This post is brought to you by my boss. ]
I am a strong individual, particularly in the emotional department. Sure it looks like things get to me easily and whatnot but the truth of the matter is that these things seldom bother me once they're done flitting in and out of my vicinity. I find this to be healthy, because if I don't express my feelings about something immediately, I tend to hold onto it and not let go until I've had the satisfaction of letting the world know how I feel about it... and this is ultimately more destructive.
Anyone who's hung out with or been around me over the last couple of weeks knows full well that I have had a song stuck in my head pretty much every day. I hum it, I dance to it, I try to sing it in my undoubtedly brutal, songbird-butchering voice. That song is The Sweet Escape by Gwen Stefani.
If you don't know the lyrics, here they are:
If I could escape/and recreate a place as my world/and I could be your favorite girl forever/perfectly together/now tell me boy wouldn't that be sweet?/If I could be sweet/I know I've been a real bad girl/I never meant for you to get hurt forever/we can make it better/now tell me boy wouldn't that be sweet?
While I know how unawesome it can be to use a song's chorus as a springboard for the breaking of a dam of verbalized emotion, you are all pretty aware by now that I never do it, so there's a damn good reason I'm doing it now.
Honestly, most of the song's appeal exists only in the very first few lines of the chorus.
I would dearly love to escape and recreate a place as my own world. I don't really to be anyone's favorite girl (forever, perfectly together), but it would be pretty sweet all the same. The rest of chorus I guess is less self-explanatory, so you're going to have to plow through what promises to be a lengthy divulging of my burdens on the written word.
Over the last three weeks, I have been thrown under the bus of life's fagatronics. I know I used that word in last time's post, but here it is again, if only to establish an allusion to that post.
Those same things listed in that previous post (the breakup, the tragedy involving a friend, the effects of that tragedy on a larger circle of friends, work, multiple emotional upheavals involving friends both close and distant) have been trying to beat me down over and over again, trying to crush and bury me under an enormous, steaming pile of life's best work.
Now, I'm not trying to imply that my pain is anymore extreme than anyone else's; everyone has their own little defeats that they take harder than other people would. Your pain is individual, and the degree you feel it given an incident is solely up to you, and no one can judge you for how bad or how well you are taking it. No one knows just how hard that fist hit you, no one knows just how much you loved that dog, no one knows how much of your own pain and sadness you internalize for the sake of the people around you.
I recognize, however, that I am a strong person. After everything happened, one after another, I was still standing. More than standing, I was doing pretty damn great. Hardly anyone remembered what happened unless I told them flat out that it was on my mind. Many people would've been down and out after the breakup. Most certainly would've hit the ground out cold after the passing of a friend on top of it.
And yet there I was, going strong, recovering quickly, with a positive attitude. I took all the positive things about my relationship and learned something from them while recognizing why he broke up with me. I didn't blame myself for it, I didn't blame him for it, I simply understood the reason bounced right back.
As for what transpired after the breakup, well, there isn't much you can do with news that arrives in your Inbox telling you something you just can't believe you're reading. You certainly could not have prevented it, and even if you were not as close to that person as you wanted to be, you still recognize the true impact of what has happened. So what do you do instead? You offer to help the ones who were close to him recover. You are there for them when they need you, and that is all you can do given the circumstances. It is perhaps a small gesture and maybe it doesn't make a difference, but it makes things easier to deal with when you know that you are doing what you can to help others lighten the load.
Honestly, that was the only good thing. I love helping people, I love being there for them, knowing that I am helping them through something they can't get through by themselves.
Please understand when I say what I'm about to say next that I love that people come to me and I would never blame them. It's just that I've been dealing with so much emotion coming from all sides that it's been overwhelming. The irony is, I called it! I knew February was going to be a crazy month and I was fully geared, waiting for it, bracing myself so that I can be everyone's shoulder. But I guess that with all my own shit going on, it takes a lot more to stay sane and stable. Do not apologize for this; if I didn't want to help, I would never have offered. In fact, helping people is what literally kept my head above the water for so long. It's draining in the process, sure, but it is also refreshing and recharging when it's over. I love doing it, please don't deny me that pleasure.
Then there's work. I don't need to tell you guys anything more about just how much bullshit work generates on a daily basis. If it weren't for my coworkers, I don't know how I'd make it through the day.
And, ironically, even though these are the people who help me through each individual day just by being there, even though these are the people I see the most, they are somehow the ones on whom I shit on the most. I resolved to correct this, and tried to approach work with an increasingly positive attitude.
For the past weeks, through the Frogger-like dodging of boss-generated obstacles, my coworkers made it bearable simply by being around. There wasn't anything special they needed to say, they were just there, probably thinking the same things I was, and that made it so much easier to survive yet another day in the office.
Still, one can only take so much bullshit. There's only so much a (unwitting) shield can handle before it buckles, splits, and breaks. I think my shield lost its effects yesterday, and I was pushed into and past my limit into the realm of what I like to call "Armageddon." I tore up a draft of a Powerpoint printout right there at my desk, tearing it to shreds, while I was sure my boss had a clear view of my desk. I snapped at a coworker when, really, all he probably wanted was to get that breath of fresh air I myself was craving. I yelled and screamed when I got home, breaking down in front of my sister and her boyfriend.
It feels easy, even to me, for me to get over things like those mentioned in my previous post. To an outsider and that third eye inside my brain that tries to process everything I do, it is generally surprising how little effort it seems to take for me to recover and come back with a vengeance.
It's not actually easy.
So when you've been doing it a while with no sign of respite to let everything bleed out of you, you just get too tired. Too tired to fight another round, too tired to defend against yet another onslaught of bullshit, too tired maintain the thickness of your shell. It's easier to give in and explode.
To be fair, my limit is very high. Very. I am able to plow through and contain an incredible amount of bullshit. It's just that it's been so much crap happening in such a short span of time and I have had absolutely no time to recharge my batteries. I have kept angry outbursts to a minimum at work for the sake of maintaining good morale, trying to stay positive, and at home I distract myself because I don't have the energy to think about anything more serious beyond "will my little red tanks do enough damage to the big blue tanks to kill it when I have 7 little red tanks and they have 2 big blue tanks?" (The answer is yes, but only if my little red tanks were attacking from the woods.)
On another level, I guess in my efforts to stay positive, it further drained my energy, nor did I afford myself the time to deal with what was requiring me to stay positive in the first place. It's ironic that I know how to take good emotional care of myself, but because I didn't want to step on anymore toes, I internalized everything, which is basically the polar opposite of what I need to be doing, as it does nothing to help me recover from the draining process of getting over everything. I was trying so hard to stay strong that I ended up so unbelievably weak that I am disgusted with my failure.
The breakup does not bother me. Nothing really bothers me, per se, as everything that has happened has been dealt with, recovered from. I just haven't had to time to restore my arsenal back to maximum, and my boss's idiocy has basically quintupled over the last week, leaving me so uncertain about my career, about what I do in my day-to-day life. You can only take so many hits in a row before you finally crumple; even if your injuries are healed, if you haven't eaten or rested, you're going down in the 7,412th round whether you like it or not. I took as many as I could, and I guess my only comfort is that it's a hell of a lot more hits than most could've taken.
I am just so, so, so tired.
TL;DR - oh here you are again hey go fuck yourself
[ This post is brought to you by my boss. ]
I am a strong individual, particularly in the emotional department. Sure it looks like things get to me easily and whatnot but the truth of the matter is that these things seldom bother me once they're done flitting in and out of my vicinity. I find this to be healthy, because if I don't express my feelings about something immediately, I tend to hold onto it and not let go until I've had the satisfaction of letting the world know how I feel about it... and this is ultimately more destructive.
Anyone who's hung out with or been around me over the last couple of weeks knows full well that I have had a song stuck in my head pretty much every day. I hum it, I dance to it, I try to sing it in my undoubtedly brutal, songbird-butchering voice. That song is The Sweet Escape by Gwen Stefani.
If you don't know the lyrics, here they are:
If I could escape/and recreate a place as my world/and I could be your favorite girl forever/perfectly together/now tell me boy wouldn't that be sweet?/If I could be sweet/I know I've been a real bad girl/I never meant for you to get hurt forever/we can make it better/now tell me boy wouldn't that be sweet?
While I know how unawesome it can be to use a song's chorus as a springboard for the breaking of a dam of verbalized emotion, you are all pretty aware by now that I never do it, so there's a damn good reason I'm doing it now.
Honestly, most of the song's appeal exists only in the very first few lines of the chorus.
I would dearly love to escape and recreate a place as my own world. I don't really to be anyone's favorite girl (forever, perfectly together), but it would be pretty sweet all the same. The rest of chorus I guess is less self-explanatory, so you're going to have to plow through what promises to be a lengthy divulging of my burdens on the written word.
Over the last three weeks, I have been thrown under the bus of life's fagatronics. I know I used that word in last time's post, but here it is again, if only to establish an allusion to that post.
Those same things listed in that previous post (the breakup, the tragedy involving a friend, the effects of that tragedy on a larger circle of friends, work, multiple emotional upheavals involving friends both close and distant) have been trying to beat me down over and over again, trying to crush and bury me under an enormous, steaming pile of life's best work.
Now, I'm not trying to imply that my pain is anymore extreme than anyone else's; everyone has their own little defeats that they take harder than other people would. Your pain is individual, and the degree you feel it given an incident is solely up to you, and no one can judge you for how bad or how well you are taking it. No one knows just how hard that fist hit you, no one knows just how much you loved that dog, no one knows how much of your own pain and sadness you internalize for the sake of the people around you.
I recognize, however, that I am a strong person. After everything happened, one after another, I was still standing. More than standing, I was doing pretty damn great. Hardly anyone remembered what happened unless I told them flat out that it was on my mind. Many people would've been down and out after the breakup. Most certainly would've hit the ground out cold after the passing of a friend on top of it.
And yet there I was, going strong, recovering quickly, with a positive attitude. I took all the positive things about my relationship and learned something from them while recognizing why he broke up with me. I didn't blame myself for it, I didn't blame him for it, I simply understood the reason bounced right back.
As for what transpired after the breakup, well, there isn't much you can do with news that arrives in your Inbox telling you something you just can't believe you're reading. You certainly could not have prevented it, and even if you were not as close to that person as you wanted to be, you still recognize the true impact of what has happened. So what do you do instead? You offer to help the ones who were close to him recover. You are there for them when they need you, and that is all you can do given the circumstances. It is perhaps a small gesture and maybe it doesn't make a difference, but it makes things easier to deal with when you know that you are doing what you can to help others lighten the load.
Honestly, that was the only good thing. I love helping people, I love being there for them, knowing that I am helping them through something they can't get through by themselves.
Please understand when I say what I'm about to say next that I love that people come to me and I would never blame them. It's just that I've been dealing with so much emotion coming from all sides that it's been overwhelming. The irony is, I called it! I knew February was going to be a crazy month and I was fully geared, waiting for it, bracing myself so that I can be everyone's shoulder. But I guess that with all my own shit going on, it takes a lot more to stay sane and stable. Do not apologize for this; if I didn't want to help, I would never have offered. In fact, helping people is what literally kept my head above the water for so long. It's draining in the process, sure, but it is also refreshing and recharging when it's over. I love doing it, please don't deny me that pleasure.
Then there's work. I don't need to tell you guys anything more about just how much bullshit work generates on a daily basis. If it weren't for my coworkers, I don't know how I'd make it through the day.
And, ironically, even though these are the people who help me through each individual day just by being there, even though these are the people I see the most, they are somehow the ones on whom I shit on the most. I resolved to correct this, and tried to approach work with an increasingly positive attitude.
For the past weeks, through the Frogger-like dodging of boss-generated obstacles, my coworkers made it bearable simply by being around. There wasn't anything special they needed to say, they were just there, probably thinking the same things I was, and that made it so much easier to survive yet another day in the office.
Still, one can only take so much bullshit. There's only so much a (unwitting) shield can handle before it buckles, splits, and breaks. I think my shield lost its effects yesterday, and I was pushed into and past my limit into the realm of what I like to call "Armageddon." I tore up a draft of a Powerpoint printout right there at my desk, tearing it to shreds, while I was sure my boss had a clear view of my desk. I snapped at a coworker when, really, all he probably wanted was to get that breath of fresh air I myself was craving. I yelled and screamed when I got home, breaking down in front of my sister and her boyfriend.
It feels easy, even to me, for me to get over things like those mentioned in my previous post. To an outsider and that third eye inside my brain that tries to process everything I do, it is generally surprising how little effort it seems to take for me to recover and come back with a vengeance.
It's not actually easy.
So when you've been doing it a while with no sign of respite to let everything bleed out of you, you just get too tired. Too tired to fight another round, too tired to defend against yet another onslaught of bullshit, too tired maintain the thickness of your shell. It's easier to give in and explode.
To be fair, my limit is very high. Very. I am able to plow through and contain an incredible amount of bullshit. It's just that it's been so much crap happening in such a short span of time and I have had absolutely no time to recharge my batteries. I have kept angry outbursts to a minimum at work for the sake of maintaining good morale, trying to stay positive, and at home I distract myself because I don't have the energy to think about anything more serious beyond "will my little red tanks do enough damage to the big blue tanks to kill it when I have 7 little red tanks and they have 2 big blue tanks?" (The answer is yes, but only if my little red tanks were attacking from the woods.)
On another level, I guess in my efforts to stay positive, it further drained my energy, nor did I afford myself the time to deal with what was requiring me to stay positive in the first place. It's ironic that I know how to take good emotional care of myself, but because I didn't want to step on anymore toes, I internalized everything, which is basically the polar opposite of what I need to be doing, as it does nothing to help me recover from the draining process of getting over everything. I was trying so hard to stay strong that I ended up so unbelievably weak that I am disgusted with my failure.
The breakup does not bother me. Nothing really bothers me, per se, as everything that has happened has been dealt with, recovered from. I just haven't had to time to restore my arsenal back to maximum, and my boss's idiocy has basically quintupled over the last week, leaving me so uncertain about my career, about what I do in my day-to-day life. You can only take so many hits in a row before you finally crumple; even if your injuries are healed, if you haven't eaten or rested, you're going down in the 7,412th round whether you like it or not. I took as many as I could, and I guess my only comfort is that it's a hell of a lot more hits than most could've taken.
I am just so, so, so tired.
TL;DR - oh here you are again hey go fuck yourself
Monday, February 18, 2008
Why I'm Awesome (Part 15 of 7,412): PHVIV'N
So hey let's recount the last week, shall we? I got dumped, my boss returns with full force stupidity, a bunch of friends (and myself) went (or are going) through severe emotional trauma over a recent incident, and heartbreaks abound!
I did get a real sweet haircut that I can't stop talking about though. I AM STAYING POSITIVE. GO ME.
(That is semi-sarcasm.)
[ This post is brought to you by the fagatronics of life. ]
Before I go on, I just wanted to clarify that there are no hard feelings between Iping and I and we are still friends. Some people aren't suited for a long distance relationship and that's nothing against them, it's just how they are.
I have said time and time again that people need to be positive, secure, stable, and trustworthy to make an LDR work. If you are not those things, then it's just not for you. This doesn't make you a BAD person, as physical closeness is of course a significant factor in any relationship, it just means you're built a little differently from the way I am. (If it helps, people who can't make LDRs work tend to be more sensitive and show their feelings through gestures rather than words. As far as I know, I am neither of these things.)
But moving on; as it is, my personal problems tend to be the ones I focus on the least. This is solely because I am so good at managing my own emotions and taking care of myself. Ask anyone who's seen me since the breakup: bounced back and better than ever within 48 hours, positive attitude bubbling over. I mean, honestly, outside of bitching about work (which is a fixable problem that I am working on), there's little to complain about.
What prompts me to write this particular entry is the fact that one of the less appealing features of my personality is my severe "anger problem." I put those in quotes because quite frankly, I don't see it as a problem. Yes, I have little outbursts of rage that snap out of my mouth and lash right at the back of some poor little guy's head, but hey that is what he gets FOR GETTING IN MY WAY AS I GET OFF THE ELEVATOR JESUS CHRIST.
The thing is, I express my anger just as often as I express my happiness, my surprise, my fear, or my tears. It is perhaps the idea that anger is such a negative thing that makes people focus on that the most. (The fact that I have to contain it for 8 hours out of the day while at work might be a driving factor as well.) I doubt I feel anger more than any other emotion, it's just that its presentation is usually the most explosive and the most visible.
I do not like to hide what I am feeling, though of course I recognize when it is necessary. I believe that, for me, a frequent expression of emotion is not only healthy, but pretty much necessary. Why is that?
The reason is simple: I am incredibly empathic. It is just one of those things about myself that I recognize to be both a strength and a weakness, and I endeavor endlessly to ensure that it is a good thing while minimizing its ill effects.
This means that I am very capable of identifying with how someone else is feeling, internalize their emotions, and process them in my brain while looking through their eyes. I am not the BEST at this, but I am a damn sight better than most people I know.
At the same time, as I feel what I myself have a right to feel in day-to-day life, the sheer amount of emotion I contain inside myself is full to bursting. To avoid breakdowns, explosions, gratuitous acts of mindless violence, or moments of severe hyperactivity, my solution is to wear my emotions on my sleeve, letting them out in small to moderate bursts in order to prevent a meltdown of epic proportions.
Some people have pointed out that maybe I don't have to be so empathic when it comes to other people. Others have mentioned that by firing my anger off at someone, am I not caring what they think or feel of it, thereby making me a hypocrite?
The first question is easy to answer. I do it because I want to. I do it because it is what helps me understand the people around me and in so many ways it is also why I am so damned good at my job. I do it because I care, because in knowing how and why someone feels the way they do, I am able to help them should they need it—whether it is to help them see a solution to their problem, or to help them understand (or be understood by) someone else.
This particular need of mine (the need to be the person that people go to for help and advice, when asked, of course) has earned me an online nickname that explains the title of this post: "Dr. Phviv," a tongue-in-cheek mashup of the infamous, moustached, balding Dr. Phil and, of course, my beautifully hair-styled self.
It goes somewhat beyond the simple shoulder leaning; I offer not comfort, but understanding and solutions. You all know as well as I do that I am heavily opinionated (see Part 13), and that generally means I will always have something to say about one's situation. Still, I listen and try to speak only when asked to do so. I do not judge, I empathize, and put my advice in a form that they will understand. When it does come time for me to talk, my honest and upfront nature (as evidenced in pretty much every single one of these posts) is what has people believing that I am not saying what I'm saying to make them feel better. I'm saying what I'm saying to help them understand and solve a problem.
This is a part of myself that I refuse to give up; a part of myself that I recognize is fueled by my empathy, and I have accepted it and all its implications in the form of a necessary evil.
What about the second question, then? "...By firing my anger off at someone, am I not caring what they think or feel of it, thereby making me a hypocrite?"
This is one of those things that makes me wish I were a significantly better person, but then again I do realize that I am only human. I can't help everyone, and were I to sensitize myself to making sure I don't tread on any toes at all, I think I would lose a lot of my passion and character. There is no "magic personality" that makes someone the very best of the best. This, I recognize with a heavy heart, is a flaw that I do make an effort to minimize, but never to eliminate, as it is the cost of being someone I love being.
A lot of that thinking comes from the fact that while I am always willing to help (and give my all when doing so), I do pick and choose to whom I afford that privilege. Past experiences have taught me rather harshly that you cannot please everyone and, perhaps most importantly, that going all out for just anyone will only have you end up a heavily trodden doormat.
Rather than seal myself off to people who might hurt me, I simply scare the weak ones away, keeping the stronger ones, the ones who know who I really am, by my side. It is for these people that I will do absolutely anything for; they need only ask.
Natural selection, if you will. To be fair, though, I am almost always nice at the outset and I am so good at making a good first impression if I wanted to do so. I just quickly turn into a bit of a bitch and then switch back to sugarcoated goodness when I think the receiving party has had enough.
I will help as many people as I can, but I can't help everyone. It helps that people know they can come to me without even asking, because with the people I like or am close to, I am so very open with them about my thoughts and feelings that they know they can be just as open with me. I am honest and upfront with them, so they know they can be the same way with me without fearing any negative repercussions. If you see me in this light, then it means I like you, because I have shown you that side of me.
Call me a hypocrite or something synonymous if you like, but I will have you know that I have helped so many little girls and boys find their parents while lost in a supermarket or mall or store simply because I wanted to. And because if I didn't, no one else was going to do it.
Knowing that I am a nice person at heart, that I am a nice person a hell of a lot more often than I am a mean one, is what makes me glad that I have come to terms with both the very best and the very worst of myself. The people who think I am mean more than I am nice are, quite frankly, perhaps the kind of people whose opinion I don't particularly value, so hey, why the hell should they have any kind of impact on my self-image?
If you are reading this, rest assured that you are one of those people I would be there for, no questions asked, if you needed me. It doesn't even matter how well you think you know me; more often than not, if you find me approachable and want to talk to me, then that means that I am more than willing to talk to you, no matter the topic. There's very little we can talk about nowadays that will freak me out, and I will never, ever judge you. Trust me. I am here for you.
You know where to find me if you need me.
TL;DR: Dammit you SE++ fags (Javen and Sil I am looking at you dudes so hard right now) it's not THAT long you lazy bastards! (Oh ok I actually I just scrolled up and it IS pretty long but it is me being soft and squishy and everyone loves THAT right, RIGHT?)
I did get a real sweet haircut that I can't stop talking about though. I AM STAYING POSITIVE. GO ME.
(That is semi-sarcasm.)
[ This post is brought to you by the fagatronics of life. ]
Before I go on, I just wanted to clarify that there are no hard feelings between Iping and I and we are still friends. Some people aren't suited for a long distance relationship and that's nothing against them, it's just how they are.
I have said time and time again that people need to be positive, secure, stable, and trustworthy to make an LDR work. If you are not those things, then it's just not for you. This doesn't make you a BAD person, as physical closeness is of course a significant factor in any relationship, it just means you're built a little differently from the way I am. (If it helps, people who can't make LDRs work tend to be more sensitive and show their feelings through gestures rather than words. As far as I know, I am neither of these things.)
But moving on; as it is, my personal problems tend to be the ones I focus on the least. This is solely because I am so good at managing my own emotions and taking care of myself. Ask anyone who's seen me since the breakup: bounced back and better than ever within 48 hours, positive attitude bubbling over. I mean, honestly, outside of bitching about work (which is a fixable problem that I am working on), there's little to complain about.
What prompts me to write this particular entry is the fact that one of the less appealing features of my personality is my severe "anger problem." I put those in quotes because quite frankly, I don't see it as a problem. Yes, I have little outbursts of rage that snap out of my mouth and lash right at the back of some poor little guy's head, but hey that is what he gets FOR GETTING IN MY WAY AS I GET OFF THE ELEVATOR JESUS CHRIST.
The thing is, I express my anger just as often as I express my happiness, my surprise, my fear, or my tears. It is perhaps the idea that anger is such a negative thing that makes people focus on that the most. (The fact that I have to contain it for 8 hours out of the day while at work might be a driving factor as well.) I doubt I feel anger more than any other emotion, it's just that its presentation is usually the most explosive and the most visible.
I do not like to hide what I am feeling, though of course I recognize when it is necessary. I believe that, for me, a frequent expression of emotion is not only healthy, but pretty much necessary. Why is that?
The reason is simple: I am incredibly empathic. It is just one of those things about myself that I recognize to be both a strength and a weakness, and I endeavor endlessly to ensure that it is a good thing while minimizing its ill effects.
This means that I am very capable of identifying with how someone else is feeling, internalize their emotions, and process them in my brain while looking through their eyes. I am not the BEST at this, but I am a damn sight better than most people I know.
At the same time, as I feel what I myself have a right to feel in day-to-day life, the sheer amount of emotion I contain inside myself is full to bursting. To avoid breakdowns, explosions, gratuitous acts of mindless violence, or moments of severe hyperactivity, my solution is to wear my emotions on my sleeve, letting them out in small to moderate bursts in order to prevent a meltdown of epic proportions.
Some people have pointed out that maybe I don't have to be so empathic when it comes to other people. Others have mentioned that by firing my anger off at someone, am I not caring what they think or feel of it, thereby making me a hypocrite?
The first question is easy to answer. I do it because I want to. I do it because it is what helps me understand the people around me and in so many ways it is also why I am so damned good at my job. I do it because I care, because in knowing how and why someone feels the way they do, I am able to help them should they need it—whether it is to help them see a solution to their problem, or to help them understand (or be understood by) someone else.
This particular need of mine (the need to be the person that people go to for help and advice, when asked, of course) has earned me an online nickname that explains the title of this post: "Dr. Phviv," a tongue-in-cheek mashup of the infamous, moustached, balding Dr. Phil and, of course, my beautifully hair-styled self.
It goes somewhat beyond the simple shoulder leaning; I offer not comfort, but understanding and solutions. You all know as well as I do that I am heavily opinionated (see Part 13), and that generally means I will always have something to say about one's situation. Still, I listen and try to speak only when asked to do so. I do not judge, I empathize, and put my advice in a form that they will understand. When it does come time for me to talk, my honest and upfront nature (as evidenced in pretty much every single one of these posts) is what has people believing that I am not saying what I'm saying to make them feel better. I'm saying what I'm saying to help them understand and solve a problem.
This is a part of myself that I refuse to give up; a part of myself that I recognize is fueled by my empathy, and I have accepted it and all its implications in the form of a necessary evil.
What about the second question, then? "...By firing my anger off at someone, am I not caring what they think or feel of it, thereby making me a hypocrite?"
This is one of those things that makes me wish I were a significantly better person, but then again I do realize that I am only human. I can't help everyone, and were I to sensitize myself to making sure I don't tread on any toes at all, I think I would lose a lot of my passion and character. There is no "magic personality" that makes someone the very best of the best. This, I recognize with a heavy heart, is a flaw that I do make an effort to minimize, but never to eliminate, as it is the cost of being someone I love being.
A lot of that thinking comes from the fact that while I am always willing to help (and give my all when doing so), I do pick and choose to whom I afford that privilege. Past experiences have taught me rather harshly that you cannot please everyone and, perhaps most importantly, that going all out for just anyone will only have you end up a heavily trodden doormat.
Rather than seal myself off to people who might hurt me, I simply scare the weak ones away, keeping the stronger ones, the ones who know who I really am, by my side. It is for these people that I will do absolutely anything for; they need only ask.
Natural selection, if you will. To be fair, though, I am almost always nice at the outset and I am so good at making a good first impression if I wanted to do so. I just quickly turn into a bit of a bitch and then switch back to sugarcoated goodness when I think the receiving party has had enough.
I will help as many people as I can, but I can't help everyone. It helps that people know they can come to me without even asking, because with the people I like or am close to, I am so very open with them about my thoughts and feelings that they know they can be just as open with me. I am honest and upfront with them, so they know they can be the same way with me without fearing any negative repercussions. If you see me in this light, then it means I like you, because I have shown you that side of me.
Call me a hypocrite or something synonymous if you like, but I will have you know that I have helped so many little girls and boys find their parents while lost in a supermarket or mall or store simply because I wanted to. And because if I didn't, no one else was going to do it.
Knowing that I am a nice person at heart, that I am a nice person a hell of a lot more often than I am a mean one, is what makes me glad that I have come to terms with both the very best and the very worst of myself. The people who think I am mean more than I am nice are, quite frankly, perhaps the kind of people whose opinion I don't particularly value, so hey, why the hell should they have any kind of impact on my self-image?
If you are reading this, rest assured that you are one of those people I would be there for, no questions asked, if you needed me. It doesn't even matter how well you think you know me; more often than not, if you find me approachable and want to talk to me, then that means that I am more than willing to talk to you, no matter the topic. There's very little we can talk about nowadays that will freak me out, and I will never, ever judge you. Trust me. I am here for you.
You know where to find me if you need me.
TL;DR: Dammit you SE++ fags (Javen and Sil I am looking at you dudes so hard right now) it's not THAT long you lazy bastards! (Oh ok I actually I just scrolled up and it IS pretty long but it is me being soft and squishy and everyone loves THAT right, RIGHT?)
Thursday, January 24, 2008
Why I'm Awesome (Part 14 of 7,412): BACKS
Yes, friends and acquaintances and people I met once fleetingly and have never seen again, the age-old mystery is about to be solved. No, there will be no "summing up" of 2007, I've been doing that all year, if you wanna hear about it, go back and read about it.
[ This post is brought to you by everyone who ever asked me why I like backs and shoulders, as well as Mr. Meissner, whose conversation with me today brought certain things to light. ]
First, I should clarify that it is both backs and shoulders that I find appealing. Just a back or just a shoulder simply will not do.
Second, Iping possesses a stunning specimen of the perfect combination. I just wanted to say that before people started whining about how terrible a girlfriend I am. HE HAS A GORGEOUS BODY AND HE KNOWS IT BECAUSE I ALWAYS TELL HIM ALL RIGHT. Have you felt him flex? HAVE YOU? It is awesome right? Damn straight. (Hands off, Chuck.)
Third, it certainly does not mean that other parts of the body are not appealing, it just means that these parts are the BEST.
This all said, it has been revealed over the past year or so that my favorite part of the male body is their upper body, specifically, their backs and shoulders. I do not find pecs particularly attractive, as they start to resemble boobs after a while and I will be damned if a dude I like has boobs better or bigger than mine.
Most people find this odd. Well, okay, let's be fair: most guys find this odd. Girls generally know what I'm talking about.
Let me explain, as briefly as I can force myself to (the blinking IM thingy in the taskbar helps, Meiss), why this is the sexiest part of the male anatomy. I couldn't really put my own finger on why I have this particular preference until today, so I now impart that knowledge to you.
Those of you who have read previous entries in this series know that I am basically the warmest, softest person you can possibly imagine once you penetrate a veritable fortress of Prince-of-Persia-style traps and walls and such.
On the exterior and in day-to-day life, I generally like to take care of myself. My armor is thick enough to withstand most forms of punishment in this sense, barring a particularly well-aimed attack.
However, in my most private of moments, when I am alone with someone special, I like to be taken care of. I, like anyone with the double-X-chromosome combo, like to be coddled, cuddled, snuggled, held, hugged, spoiled, and protected. You could say that after spending so much time looking out for myself, so much time spend wearing that body armor, I just want to take it all off when I get home and be held nice and tight and be treated like a little princess.
This admission does not come easily but I am hardly ashamed of it. Jaya knows what I'm about. In fact, I would imagine most girls out there do.
Think of it this way: a girl like me, who is accustomed to giving orders and making decisions and bludgeoning her way through barriers and asserting her presence and generating this visage of invulnerability for most of her waking day probably just wants some time to let all that go and go in the polar opposite direction. To let go and just be a GIRL.
How does this tie into backs and shoulders?
I view upper body strength as a mark of male dominance, as a symbolic representation of protection, or the ability to protect.
To be picked up, carried, hugged, held, etc.... these are all things that I absolutely enjoy when I'm with someone I am close to, and these are all things that solid upper body strength only help deliver.
To be hugged tightly, surrounded by well-sculpted arms with my hands feeling up a firm, solid back? A strong back that does not give way, that would protect me from anything?
I am basically ramming this metaphor down your throats, I know, but that is exactly why I find backs and shoulders so sexy. To me, I see a man who is capable of protecting me and taking care of me.
Now, don't get me wrong; I am not insinuating that I EXPECT these things from a man built this way. I simply mean that these are things I find appealing because my brain jumps a couple light years ahead of time sometimes.
This is perhaps the girliest I can possibly get without Iping physically being near me, but hey, that dude gives the best hugs EVER. THE BESTEST!
(No offense to past or future huggers but seriously the dude has you beat no contest.)
Hopefully, that clears up some confusion with regards to this "strange fetish" of mine. I HAVE A SOUL. I AM ACTUALLY HUMAN. I AM NOT AN ANDROID BUILT OF RAGE AND FUELED ON BABY TEARS.
I leave you now with a caricature drawn by Berk because Berk is pretty cool.
[ This post is brought to you by everyone who ever asked me why I like backs and shoulders, as well as Mr. Meissner, whose conversation with me today brought certain things to light. ]
First, I should clarify that it is both backs and shoulders that I find appealing. Just a back or just a shoulder simply will not do.
Second, Iping possesses a stunning specimen of the perfect combination. I just wanted to say that before people started whining about how terrible a girlfriend I am. HE HAS A GORGEOUS BODY AND HE KNOWS IT BECAUSE I ALWAYS TELL HIM ALL RIGHT. Have you felt him flex? HAVE YOU? It is awesome right? Damn straight. (Hands off, Chuck.)
Third, it certainly does not mean that other parts of the body are not appealing, it just means that these parts are the BEST.
This all said, it has been revealed over the past year or so that my favorite part of the male body is their upper body, specifically, their backs and shoulders. I do not find pecs particularly attractive, as they start to resemble boobs after a while and I will be damned if a dude I like has boobs better or bigger than mine.
Most people find this odd. Well, okay, let's be fair: most guys find this odd. Girls generally know what I'm talking about.
Let me explain, as briefly as I can force myself to (the blinking IM thingy in the taskbar helps, Meiss), why this is the sexiest part of the male anatomy. I couldn't really put my own finger on why I have this particular preference until today, so I now impart that knowledge to you.
Those of you who have read previous entries in this series know that I am basically the warmest, softest person you can possibly imagine once you penetrate a veritable fortress of Prince-of-Persia-style traps and walls and such.
On the exterior and in day-to-day life, I generally like to take care of myself. My armor is thick enough to withstand most forms of punishment in this sense, barring a particularly well-aimed attack.
However, in my most private of moments, when I am alone with someone special, I like to be taken care of. I, like anyone with the double-X-chromosome combo, like to be coddled, cuddled, snuggled, held, hugged, spoiled, and protected. You could say that after spending so much time looking out for myself, so much time spend wearing that body armor, I just want to take it all off when I get home and be held nice and tight and be treated like a little princess.
This admission does not come easily but I am hardly ashamed of it. Jaya knows what I'm about. In fact, I would imagine most girls out there do.
Think of it this way: a girl like me, who is accustomed to giving orders and making decisions and bludgeoning her way through barriers and asserting her presence and generating this visage of invulnerability for most of her waking day probably just wants some time to let all that go and go in the polar opposite direction. To let go and just be a GIRL.
How does this tie into backs and shoulders?
I view upper body strength as a mark of male dominance, as a symbolic representation of protection, or the ability to protect.
To be picked up, carried, hugged, held, etc.... these are all things that I absolutely enjoy when I'm with someone I am close to, and these are all things that solid upper body strength only help deliver.
To be hugged tightly, surrounded by well-sculpted arms with my hands feeling up a firm, solid back? A strong back that does not give way, that would protect me from anything?
I am basically ramming this metaphor down your throats, I know, but that is exactly why I find backs and shoulders so sexy. To me, I see a man who is capable of protecting me and taking care of me.
Now, don't get me wrong; I am not insinuating that I EXPECT these things from a man built this way. I simply mean that these are things I find appealing because my brain jumps a couple light years ahead of time sometimes.
This is perhaps the girliest I can possibly get without Iping physically being near me, but hey, that dude gives the best hugs EVER. THE BESTEST!
(No offense to past or future huggers but seriously the dude has you beat no contest.)
Hopefully, that clears up some confusion with regards to this "strange fetish" of mine. I HAVE A SOUL. I AM ACTUALLY HUMAN. I AM NOT AN ANDROID BUILT OF RAGE AND FUELED ON BABY TEARS.
I leave you now with a caricature drawn by Berk because Berk is pretty cool.
Thursday, November 22, 2007
Why I'm Awesome (Part 13 of 7,412): OPINE
The past weeks have been an interesting mix of frustration and joy, with one stemming mostly from my job and the other stemming from my overwhelming ability to find things to do that make me happy. I have, however, found very little to write about, because as long since mentioned, the boyfriend and roommate now receive the brunt of my bitching, which quite frankly leaves me with very little to write about. Those who find my anger to be entertaining will just have to wait for a two-day period wherein neither Iping or Romain are accessible to me and, rest assured, you will have something else jumping up my butt and vomiting rage out my mouth.
My choice of imagery is stellar, I know.
[ This post is brought to you by Victoria's Secret and my Xbox 360 and Social Entropy Plus Plus. ]
I am also well aware that my previous entry was so awesome that I have left myself a tough act to follow. That said, I do not care, I'm just going to write whatever I want goddammit and you are going to like it.
As those of you on SE++ may know (as I posted this twice in the same thread), I am currently riding the crest of the wave known as my self-image. At present, I could not be happier with my physical appearance, my personality, my relationship, and my career. Confidence is at an all-time high and while I am perfectly aware of the fact that I stand on the precipice of one hell of a nosedive, I am just focusing on enjoying this for as long as I can.
With a significant boost in confidence comes an increase in the opine aspect of my personality. While already upfront with my take on basically everything that enters my line of sight and beyond, the tendency to verbalize exactly what I think about anything has basically reached critical levels. It's actually gotten to the point where I do it without thinking.
Constantly expressing my opinion is a habit of mine, though I haven't yet decided on whether or not this is a good thing. Sure, it can be termed a "bad" habit in the sense that I clearly do it much too often, but as something that is "bad" or "good" for me, I remain ambivalent. In an effort to sort this out once and for all, I opted to put myself in the shoes of someone on the receiving end.
I remain as clueless as ever on this matter, as it does seem to come down to individual personality. There is no universal way to look at someone who is opine to the degree of helplessness, and by now you yourself have realized that I really like the word "opine." (It rhymes with porcupine and as such is awesome.) Depending on your own personality and experience, you will either find it refreshing, annoying, or you may not notice it at all.
I have been told by multiple people (both online and off) that I am an intimidating, aggressive individual, and that this characteristic is fueled by how opinionated I am on everything. I do not hesitate, they say, to fill others in on what I think of anything, from celebrities to the color green to the Republicans to relationships to South Park. In some ways, my very "animated" way of expressing these views is termed as being "scary."
While I secretly delight in being seen as such an intimidating figure, I do admit that I find myself confused as to why people would think of me that way. Yes, I have presence, which I personally define as being able to walk into a room and be impossible to ignore. I recognize this as a strength, but it is wholly separate from being intimidating. I am essentially a giant bundle of hugs and cuteness and pyrophobia, from whom there is little to fear. It was then explained to me that my intimidation manifests itself in the form of my upfront, confident, and often aggressive personality.
Let me clarify that I do not deny that yes, I do hide that giant bundle of giggles and teehees under a thick coat of booby-trapped titanium (see WIA Part 7: MARSHMALLOW), but this particular brand of fear is, according to experts (i.e., people I like), not what fuels the intimidation. It's just good ol'-fashioned fear.
So, back to the point. Apparently, the majority of people I know find the fact that I am very upfront with my opinions as being intimidating. This group of people are people I generally like but are not very close with, even though I interact with them on a semi-regular basis. These people also tend to find it refreshing that I am so upfront, particularly when people left and right love to hide what they really think behind masks of political correctness and apathy. I am also honest about my opinions, no matter how controversial. People closer to me generally don't find me intimidating at all (most likely because they know better) and they have grown used to hearing me spit out an opinion every five minutes (seconds). All agree, however, that I am aggressive and have a very domineering personality.
Then you have a pocket of people who say what I have suspected all along: their annoyance with how I have to have an opinion on absolutely everything. Generally speaking they tend to wonder why I can't just keep my trap shut and roll with it instead of having something to say about even the most mediocre, mindless topics.
Since these people are not my friends so much as fringe acquaintances, I find that people who think this way are not people I tend to like.
I also find that while I do in fact have an opinion on most things, there are key topics that I just don't care about and I certainly don't express these opinions at inappropriate times. For example, I'm not going to attend someone's very Christian wedding and then ramble on and on and on about how I feel about religion in general. Not unless asked, anyway, and even then I am very careful with my tact.
That said, I think being upfront and honest with your opinions falls under the same rule that most other things in my life tend to follow: I like doing it, I know when not to do it, so I will keep on doing it when I can be doing it.
For me, something that definitely pisses me off is being wishy-washy. Wishy-washiness is for pussies and wimps. Sure you can have those issues that you just don't care about, that's normal. But not having an opinion at all is something that rubs me the wrong way. You don't have to take a stand, you don't have to defend your point of view, you don't have to debate every damned thing that comes up in conversation. But have a stand, have a point of view, and be able to have a damned conversation that goes beyond the versatile yet overly-used utterance of "meh."
So someone might disagree with you. So what. You really want to go out there and please 6 billion people?
Naturally, the other edge of the sword (at least in my case) is the frustration that arises when I feel like the other person simply isn't listening or is refusing to grasp the point. So stubbornly locked into what they think that they refuse to let me finish making my point before interrupting and jamming in something that ultimately derails the conversation away from the original point. They "think" they know what I'm going to say and jump in anyway because to them it's all "recycled garbage" and they have a prepackaged response to it. This frustration, if built up to the point wherein I feel like the other person is absolutely convinced that s/he is right and I am wrong without even trying to see where I am coming from (and wherein I have afforded them that courtesy), I generally explode in a violent blast of impatience. This is also known as a tantrum. I am seldom proud of myself when this happens, but suppressed, seething anger is, in my case, infinitely more damaging.
I am well aware that I am not perfect and that I have very likely interrupted other people in such discussions, but I have gotten significantly better since I decided to put the focus on listening to what people say rather than what I am waiting for my turn to say. (You can't tell I know but the change is there and I like it a lot.)
My conclusion from this round of introspection is that, like everything else, there is a time and place for everything in moderation. Being that this is the policy I already adhere to, I've since decided that this particular aspect of my personality is a positive one. Some people will like it, others won't, but those that won't are probably not the sort of people I'd like to hang out with, in any case.
TL; DR - fuck you, Sil.
My choice of imagery is stellar, I know.
[ This post is brought to you by Victoria's Secret and my Xbox 360 and Social Entropy Plus Plus. ]
I am also well aware that my previous entry was so awesome that I have left myself a tough act to follow. That said, I do not care, I'm just going to write whatever I want goddammit and you are going to like it.
As those of you on SE++ may know (as I posted this twice in the same thread), I am currently riding the crest of the wave known as my self-image. At present, I could not be happier with my physical appearance, my personality, my relationship, and my career. Confidence is at an all-time high and while I am perfectly aware of the fact that I stand on the precipice of one hell of a nosedive, I am just focusing on enjoying this for as long as I can.
With a significant boost in confidence comes an increase in the opine aspect of my personality. While already upfront with my take on basically everything that enters my line of sight and beyond, the tendency to verbalize exactly what I think about anything has basically reached critical levels. It's actually gotten to the point where I do it without thinking.
Constantly expressing my opinion is a habit of mine, though I haven't yet decided on whether or not this is a good thing. Sure, it can be termed a "bad" habit in the sense that I clearly do it much too often, but as something that is "bad" or "good" for me, I remain ambivalent. In an effort to sort this out once and for all, I opted to put myself in the shoes of someone on the receiving end.
I remain as clueless as ever on this matter, as it does seem to come down to individual personality. There is no universal way to look at someone who is opine to the degree of helplessness, and by now you yourself have realized that I really like the word "opine." (It rhymes with porcupine and as such is awesome.) Depending on your own personality and experience, you will either find it refreshing, annoying, or you may not notice it at all.
I have been told by multiple people (both online and off) that I am an intimidating, aggressive individual, and that this characteristic is fueled by how opinionated I am on everything. I do not hesitate, they say, to fill others in on what I think of anything, from celebrities to the color green to the Republicans to relationships to South Park. In some ways, my very "animated" way of expressing these views is termed as being "scary."
While I secretly delight in being seen as such an intimidating figure, I do admit that I find myself confused as to why people would think of me that way. Yes, I have presence, which I personally define as being able to walk into a room and be impossible to ignore. I recognize this as a strength, but it is wholly separate from being intimidating. I am essentially a giant bundle of hugs and cuteness and pyrophobia, from whom there is little to fear. It was then explained to me that my intimidation manifests itself in the form of my upfront, confident, and often aggressive personality.
Let me clarify that I do not deny that yes, I do hide that giant bundle of giggles and teehees under a thick coat of booby-trapped titanium (see WIA Part 7: MARSHMALLOW), but this particular brand of fear is, according to experts (i.e., people I like), not what fuels the intimidation. It's just good ol'-fashioned fear.
So, back to the point. Apparently, the majority of people I know find the fact that I am very upfront with my opinions as being intimidating. This group of people are people I generally like but are not very close with, even though I interact with them on a semi-regular basis. These people also tend to find it refreshing that I am so upfront, particularly when people left and right love to hide what they really think behind masks of political correctness and apathy. I am also honest about my opinions, no matter how controversial. People closer to me generally don't find me intimidating at all (most likely because they know better) and they have grown used to hearing me spit out an opinion every five minutes (seconds). All agree, however, that I am aggressive and have a very domineering personality.
Then you have a pocket of people who say what I have suspected all along: their annoyance with how I have to have an opinion on absolutely everything. Generally speaking they tend to wonder why I can't just keep my trap shut and roll with it instead of having something to say about even the most mediocre, mindless topics.
Since these people are not my friends so much as fringe acquaintances, I find that people who think this way are not people I tend to like.
I also find that while I do in fact have an opinion on most things, there are key topics that I just don't care about and I certainly don't express these opinions at inappropriate times. For example, I'm not going to attend someone's very Christian wedding and then ramble on and on and on about how I feel about religion in general. Not unless asked, anyway, and even then I am very careful with my tact.
That said, I think being upfront and honest with your opinions falls under the same rule that most other things in my life tend to follow: I like doing it, I know when not to do it, so I will keep on doing it when I can be doing it.
For me, something that definitely pisses me off is being wishy-washy. Wishy-washiness is for pussies and wimps. Sure you can have those issues that you just don't care about, that's normal. But not having an opinion at all is something that rubs me the wrong way. You don't have to take a stand, you don't have to defend your point of view, you don't have to debate every damned thing that comes up in conversation. But have a stand, have a point of view, and be able to have a damned conversation that goes beyond the versatile yet overly-used utterance of "meh."
So someone might disagree with you. So what. You really want to go out there and please 6 billion people?
Naturally, the other edge of the sword (at least in my case) is the frustration that arises when I feel like the other person simply isn't listening or is refusing to grasp the point. So stubbornly locked into what they think that they refuse to let me finish making my point before interrupting and jamming in something that ultimately derails the conversation away from the original point. They "think" they know what I'm going to say and jump in anyway because to them it's all "recycled garbage" and they have a prepackaged response to it. This frustration, if built up to the point wherein I feel like the other person is absolutely convinced that s/he is right and I am wrong without even trying to see where I am coming from (and wherein I have afforded them that courtesy), I generally explode in a violent blast of impatience. This is also known as a tantrum. I am seldom proud of myself when this happens, but suppressed, seething anger is, in my case, infinitely more damaging.
I am well aware that I am not perfect and that I have very likely interrupted other people in such discussions, but I have gotten significantly better since I decided to put the focus on listening to what people say rather than what I am waiting for my turn to say. (You can't tell I know but the change is there and I like it a lot.)
My conclusion from this round of introspection is that, like everything else, there is a time and place for everything in moderation. Being that this is the policy I already adhere to, I've since decided that this particular aspect of my personality is a positive one. Some people will like it, others won't, but those that won't are probably not the sort of people I'd like to hang out with, in any case.
TL; DR - fuck you, Sil.
Tuesday, October 9, 2007
Why I'm Awesome (Part 12 of 7,412): OMG
Every so often while at work I find a quiet moment in which to jot down a veritable onslaught of thoughts and opinions and, of course, bitching. Generally speaking, this salvo of aggressive typing is inspired simply by boredom, recent events, seething frustration with a lack of an alternate outlet, or writer's block. This particular instance is a combination of all three, as I simply cannot seem to write the latest part of my story in any fashion that I deem suitable to the rest of the book.
[ This post is brought to you by Andor, my fictional god of Might, named after a combination of Thor and the word "and." ]
When I started this tongue-in-cheek, fake-it-'til-you-make-it series of "Why I'm Awesome" proclamations, I promised myself that I would limit topics to those that tend to be less sensitive and emotional so as not to reveal my vulnerability and great insecurity. I have, naturally, failed in that attempt rather spectacularly, so there really is no point in further "censoring" such topics.
You may wonder, then, that with someone so emotionally volatile as myself, with an anger problem akin to a vicious, "all together now!" eruption of the Pacific Ring of Fire, why I have not written a particularly angry post for quite some time (see Parts 4 and 5).
The answer manifests itself in the simple fact that most of my bitching is now expressed in earnest to Iping the boyfriend and Romain the roommate, both of whom tend to be the most efficient receptors of the aforementioned bitching, as simply talking to them via messages or conversation does not warrant the composition of a literary firecracker.
Anyway, without the anger, I am left with controversy and thinking entirely too much.
Recent conversations with many friends, both offline and on, have basically led me to ask this question: do you believe in an afterlife?
I, for one, do not. I have not shared my religious beliefs in full up until now, but let's lead into this discussion with a sister question: do you believe in God?
For me, I am very indifferent. If he exists, great, if he doesn't, also great. This isn't even agnostic thinking, this is simply indifference to the idea of a greater power. (As background info, my mother was raised Catholic and my father believes that yes there is a supreme being but he'll be damned if he's told what to think by a book written by "guys like me who think they know it all but don't.")
Scenario A: God exists
So what? If God were to exist in the absolute definition presented by all religions who believe in one (or many), then "God" or "gods" possess omniscience beyond what we as humans can comprehend. This is, at least, what I am told over and over and over again. A supreme being isn't just a dude who happens to live forever and be able to make stuff, a supreme being, as defined by myself (and endorsed by many religious people I've spoken to) is all-seeing and all-knowing.
If God is all-seeing and all-knowing, he can also see what I like to call the Web of Causality. He can see this web of cause and effects, with all kinds of causes leading to all kinds of effects leading to all kinds of causes. It is not unreasonable to assume, just for fun, that he is able to see the entire web at once and, therefore, predict the future.
BUT FREE WILL! you cry adamantly. HE CANNOT ACCOUNT FOR FREE WILL!
How many of the choices you make are influenced by something you have seen or experienced? By genetics? Your own personality is sculpted by your genetic blueprint, your parents' upbringing, and your environment. Your ability to process what you see around you is directly influenced by everything that was used to make "you" into who you are.
Millions of causes can create one effect, and this effect can be anything in any moment in time of any scale. An effect can be a choice you make. It can be the location of a beetle on the street. It can be the weather.
So, theoretically, God could have predicted things a certain way and arranged events on his end to orchestrate an incredible complex web of causality that will eventually result in his end design. Why would he want to sit around watching when he knows what's going to happen?
Miracles? Miracles are just millions of threads in that web falling into place JUST RIGHT to produce a single effect that happens to be recognized as a "perfect" effect. They are extraordinarily rare, of course, which is why they are also "miracles," because if those kinds of things happen all the time then why do we call them miracles and not "everyday life?"
Chance? Say, why did you end up a girl instead of a boy? Chance, I think is also governed by cause. Say you roll the dice. The effect is a 5. The causes, then, are the weight of the die, the way it was made, the way it was rolled in your hand, and the way it was dropped onto the table. Say you shuffle the cards. The effect is that you draw an Ace. The causes are the state of the deck when you picked it up, how you shuffled it, how the deck was cut, and which cards are dealt. Even the act of shuffling is influenced by a series of tiny incidents, such as how many cards you pick up because your skin squeezes at a certain strength or angle.
My point here is that even when it comes down to chance, God can see the micro-micro-micro-causes that influence the outcome of an infinite number of causes. You really have to think outside the box here, folks. Way outside. Think beyond billions and trillions. Think beyond any number conceived by man, and now think smaller than anything you have previously heard of.
My personal conclusion is that if there is a God that is all-powerful, he doesn't really care about us anymore because he did what he needed to do thousands or millions of years ago and has since moved on to other pursuits like knitting.
If he isn't all-powerful, then what do I care, I can't tell him what to do, HE'S BIGGER THAN ME and knows more than me, so I might as well try to live with it, and honestly, why would I take him seriously to begin with if he were somehow fallible?
Scenario B: God doesn't exist
Well then the world is still governed by that web of causality, it's just that no one was around to set it in motion in the first place, it just kind of happened and I'll be damned if I make my brain explode by trying to theorize what "happened" when ultimately it doesn't particularly matter. I am here, now, and that is what matters to me.
That line of thinking governs my entire view on life itself: you are here, now, and that is what matters. You can prepare for the future, sure, but only insofar as you exist. You have no way of knowing what kind of impact your life may have on the future after you are gone. Really, the most direct influence you have is procreation, and even then, it's only in your hands for so long. That web of causality is so huge and what you do is such a miniscule, subatomic particle in it that why not focus on the things that you can directly influence, with your own two hands?
Similarly, I only have this life to live. I know I exist now, in this life. I don't know if I lived before and I don't care. I don't know if I will live after this and I don't care. What I know is in front of me and that is what matters. This life, not any other, is what matters.
I don't believe in an afterlife.
If there is a God, there's no guarantee that we're going to join him in his home after we die. If there isn't a God, there's nowhere to go ANYWAY.
I don't WANT an afterlife. If I get one, you can have it, I don't want it. I don't want to live forever. Why? Because the idea of living forever completely dilutes the value of the life I have now. It makes THIS life less precious because, hell, I'll live forever after I die anyway, so what's the point in valuing this life?
And seriously what the hell would I do for eternity?
Eternal happiness, to me, is unappealing because you only appreciate happiness when you have sadness worked in there somewhere. Always being happy is worthless if you don't have some bad times to experience to put things in perspective. So heaven and all heaven-like places can suck it. Eternal suffering? Sure, you can go the way of Tantalus and always be tempted by the good stuff but always have it out of reach, but am I really going to live THIS precious life that I have out of FEAR of punishment? Am I going to live a life governed by fear? (Fear, even, of something that might not even exist?)
No, I'm not.
I will live this life as a good person because this is the only life I have in which to BE a good person. I get no other chance. I will live this life as a good person because, ultimately, I live more happily as a good person. I am relatively guilt-free, I do not fear for my life, and everything I have, I owe to good people.
That's not to say I am purely good. No one is pure. Even unknowingly, unintentionally, you have screwed someone over, even though it might be a hundred hops away from your moment of causality. Think about the most and least significant thing you have done in the last 24 hours, and imagine how that might have affected someone close to you. Now imagine how that might have affected someone more removed, influenced by moments of causality in addition to yours.
It's not your FAULT, no, but had you not done X, then Y may never have happened, where Y is something bad to someone else.
No one is purely good, but you can be good in intention, which is what lets you sleep at night.
Yes, this belief does perpetuate discussions like "freedom fighters are killing for good intentions but they still suck at life." But hey, welcome to the state of the world. One man's trash is another man's treasure, right? Who are you to deem who is better than someone else?
This belief is also why I am an advocate of the idea that as long as you are not hurting anyone (in any way, not just physically), then go ahead and do what you like. I can't read your mind, I don't know what your intentions are, I don't know what the circumstances are, but if you can sleep at night and if no one has suffered as a direct result of your actions to the best of your awareness, then I'm not going to judge you. That'd just a waste of time.
So, in conclusion: afterlife cheapens the life I have now, I do not believe in it. I also do not believe in living in fear of punishment (hell) or want of a reward (heaven), I believe in being a good person as far as you can push yourself to be one. I'm not telling you to believe what I believe. I'm just telling you WHAT I believe and why because this is my blog dammit and I am writing about myself.
TL;DR: fuck you go back to SE++ and maek poast cuz seriously you guys are the only ones who would skip to the end to see if this little tagline was even here
[ This post is brought to you by Andor, my fictional god of Might, named after a combination of Thor and the word "and." ]
When I started this tongue-in-cheek, fake-it-'til-you-make-it series of "Why I'm Awesome" proclamations, I promised myself that I would limit topics to those that tend to be less sensitive and emotional so as not to reveal my vulnerability and great insecurity. I have, naturally, failed in that attempt rather spectacularly, so there really is no point in further "censoring" such topics.
You may wonder, then, that with someone so emotionally volatile as myself, with an anger problem akin to a vicious, "all together now!" eruption of the Pacific Ring of Fire, why I have not written a particularly angry post for quite some time (see Parts 4 and 5).
The answer manifests itself in the simple fact that most of my bitching is now expressed in earnest to Iping the boyfriend and Romain the roommate, both of whom tend to be the most efficient receptors of the aforementioned bitching, as simply talking to them via messages or conversation does not warrant the composition of a literary firecracker.
Anyway, without the anger, I am left with controversy and thinking entirely too much.
Recent conversations with many friends, both offline and on, have basically led me to ask this question: do you believe in an afterlife?
I, for one, do not. I have not shared my religious beliefs in full up until now, but let's lead into this discussion with a sister question: do you believe in God?
For me, I am very indifferent. If he exists, great, if he doesn't, also great. This isn't even agnostic thinking, this is simply indifference to the idea of a greater power. (As background info, my mother was raised Catholic and my father believes that yes there is a supreme being but he'll be damned if he's told what to think by a book written by "guys like me who think they know it all but don't.")
Scenario A: God exists
So what? If God were to exist in the absolute definition presented by all religions who believe in one (or many), then "God" or "gods" possess omniscience beyond what we as humans can comprehend. This is, at least, what I am told over and over and over again. A supreme being isn't just a dude who happens to live forever and be able to make stuff, a supreme being, as defined by myself (and endorsed by many religious people I've spoken to) is all-seeing and all-knowing.
If God is all-seeing and all-knowing, he can also see what I like to call the Web of Causality. He can see this web of cause and effects, with all kinds of causes leading to all kinds of effects leading to all kinds of causes. It is not unreasonable to assume, just for fun, that he is able to see the entire web at once and, therefore, predict the future.
BUT FREE WILL! you cry adamantly. HE CANNOT ACCOUNT FOR FREE WILL!
How many of the choices you make are influenced by something you have seen or experienced? By genetics? Your own personality is sculpted by your genetic blueprint, your parents' upbringing, and your environment. Your ability to process what you see around you is directly influenced by everything that was used to make "you" into who you are.
Millions of causes can create one effect, and this effect can be anything in any moment in time of any scale. An effect can be a choice you make. It can be the location of a beetle on the street. It can be the weather.
So, theoretically, God could have predicted things a certain way and arranged events on his end to orchestrate an incredible complex web of causality that will eventually result in his end design. Why would he want to sit around watching when he knows what's going to happen?
Miracles? Miracles are just millions of threads in that web falling into place JUST RIGHT to produce a single effect that happens to be recognized as a "perfect" effect. They are extraordinarily rare, of course, which is why they are also "miracles," because if those kinds of things happen all the time then why do we call them miracles and not "everyday life?"
Chance? Say, why did you end up a girl instead of a boy? Chance, I think is also governed by cause. Say you roll the dice. The effect is a 5. The causes, then, are the weight of the die, the way it was made, the way it was rolled in your hand, and the way it was dropped onto the table. Say you shuffle the cards. The effect is that you draw an Ace. The causes are the state of the deck when you picked it up, how you shuffled it, how the deck was cut, and which cards are dealt. Even the act of shuffling is influenced by a series of tiny incidents, such as how many cards you pick up because your skin squeezes at a certain strength or angle.
My point here is that even when it comes down to chance, God can see the micro-micro-micro-causes that influence the outcome of an infinite number of causes. You really have to think outside the box here, folks. Way outside. Think beyond billions and trillions. Think beyond any number conceived by man, and now think smaller than anything you have previously heard of.
My personal conclusion is that if there is a God that is all-powerful, he doesn't really care about us anymore because he did what he needed to do thousands or millions of years ago and has since moved on to other pursuits like knitting.
If he isn't all-powerful, then what do I care, I can't tell him what to do, HE'S BIGGER THAN ME and knows more than me, so I might as well try to live with it, and honestly, why would I take him seriously to begin with if he were somehow fallible?
Scenario B: God doesn't exist
Well then the world is still governed by that web of causality, it's just that no one was around to set it in motion in the first place, it just kind of happened and I'll be damned if I make my brain explode by trying to theorize what "happened" when ultimately it doesn't particularly matter. I am here, now, and that is what matters to me.
That line of thinking governs my entire view on life itself: you are here, now, and that is what matters. You can prepare for the future, sure, but only insofar as you exist. You have no way of knowing what kind of impact your life may have on the future after you are gone. Really, the most direct influence you have is procreation, and even then, it's only in your hands for so long. That web of causality is so huge and what you do is such a miniscule, subatomic particle in it that why not focus on the things that you can directly influence, with your own two hands?
Similarly, I only have this life to live. I know I exist now, in this life. I don't know if I lived before and I don't care. I don't know if I will live after this and I don't care. What I know is in front of me and that is what matters. This life, not any other, is what matters.
I don't believe in an afterlife.
If there is a God, there's no guarantee that we're going to join him in his home after we die. If there isn't a God, there's nowhere to go ANYWAY.
I don't WANT an afterlife. If I get one, you can have it, I don't want it. I don't want to live forever. Why? Because the idea of living forever completely dilutes the value of the life I have now. It makes THIS life less precious because, hell, I'll live forever after I die anyway, so what's the point in valuing this life?
And seriously what the hell would I do for eternity?
Eternal happiness, to me, is unappealing because you only appreciate happiness when you have sadness worked in there somewhere. Always being happy is worthless if you don't have some bad times to experience to put things in perspective. So heaven and all heaven-like places can suck it. Eternal suffering? Sure, you can go the way of Tantalus and always be tempted by the good stuff but always have it out of reach, but am I really going to live THIS precious life that I have out of FEAR of punishment? Am I going to live a life governed by fear? (Fear, even, of something that might not even exist?)
No, I'm not.
I will live this life as a good person because this is the only life I have in which to BE a good person. I get no other chance. I will live this life as a good person because, ultimately, I live more happily as a good person. I am relatively guilt-free, I do not fear for my life, and everything I have, I owe to good people.
That's not to say I am purely good. No one is pure. Even unknowingly, unintentionally, you have screwed someone over, even though it might be a hundred hops away from your moment of causality. Think about the most and least significant thing you have done in the last 24 hours, and imagine how that might have affected someone close to you. Now imagine how that might have affected someone more removed, influenced by moments of causality in addition to yours.
It's not your FAULT, no, but had you not done X, then Y may never have happened, where Y is something bad to someone else.
No one is purely good, but you can be good in intention, which is what lets you sleep at night.
Yes, this belief does perpetuate discussions like "freedom fighters are killing for good intentions but they still suck at life." But hey, welcome to the state of the world. One man's trash is another man's treasure, right? Who are you to deem who is better than someone else?
This belief is also why I am an advocate of the idea that as long as you are not hurting anyone (in any way, not just physically), then go ahead and do what you like. I can't read your mind, I don't know what your intentions are, I don't know what the circumstances are, but if you can sleep at night and if no one has suffered as a direct result of your actions to the best of your awareness, then I'm not going to judge you. That'd just a waste of time.
So, in conclusion: afterlife cheapens the life I have now, I do not believe in it. I also do not believe in living in fear of punishment (hell) or want of a reward (heaven), I believe in being a good person as far as you can push yourself to be one. I'm not telling you to believe what I believe. I'm just telling you WHAT I believe and why because this is my blog dammit and I am writing about myself.
TL;DR: fuck you go back to SE++ and maek poast cuz seriously you guys are the only ones who would skip to the end to see if this little tagline was even here
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
Why I'm Awesome (Part 11 of 7,412): BTW
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.
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.
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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