October 2016 – Part II

Tuesday, October 18th
… I feel like I’m figuring out myself all over again, but with the comfort and a little more ease of the past experiences. It’s funny how I thought just a week ago that I Was trapped and my whole life already mapped out, and today I can see the vast, unwritten future in front of me. …

Thursday, October 20th
There is such a discontent in me that it spoils every pleasure.
There is such a hunger in me that cannot be abated, no matter how much food is put in my stomach.
There is such a weariness in me that no amount of sleep can get rid of.
Pain. There will always be pain. The fear of pain has made me resist the cracking of the soul. The breaking of self.
But to not break! How can I prevent it when I have already been marked? How much longer can I hold myself together before turning into a living corpse?
A surrender, if you will. A step forward with eyes closed, not knowing whether I am standing on a cliff. To stop questioning everything.
Solitude is a hard thing. Loneliness is even more excruciating.
Ideas are dangerous things. Even when we know we should be critical of each and every one of them, once they are planted, they just take roots and worm their way into the deepest parts of our mind. Especially when certain ideas resonate with you, or they explain your flaws in such convenient ways. When it’s such a relief to accept them. We can lament the fact that all we can do is to construct, deconstruct, and reconstruct our personal truths over and over again in our lifetime. It will probably drive us mad.
A descent – or ascent? – to madness. Why should I stop myself?
You know when the relative truths clash and burn and explode? Politics. Society. Because we don’t live alone.

Friday, October 21st
I realized that I don’t know how to love people who are 8000 km away. I tried to pretend that the distance wasn’t there, masking it with modern technology, but it’s an empty substitute, because the distance is there.
Jeanette Winterson – as she tells it in the book Why Be Happy When You Could Be Normal? – hadn’t given up. She had always pursued life – love of life, love of self, however clumsily.
Nowadays “giving up” is associated with a task, a goal. But “giving up” really means stopping whatever you are doing. When you give up on life, you stop living, literally or metaphorically (I haven’t experienced the former, so I can’t really compare, but the latter is bad. It feels horrible, because you can’t feel anything.).
I thought I wanted security. Stability, guarantees. But what I want now is “just” to live – I want to love life, and everything in it. I am and have been lonely, no matter how hard I try to distract myself from it. Yes, there have been sunny days, days of warmth – but they passed. They will come, and they will pass again. But it’s a comfort to know that you can be lonely and still be in love with life.

Sunday, October 23rd
… So what was I coming home to? No one was waiting for me; I didn’t feel connected to anyone at the party. It was a difficult emotion to feel – that loneliness, unwantedness, fear and hopelessness. But then I thought of the heating mat that would warm me up; when I walked in and saw my familiar things, I began to settle down and felt centered enough. They gave me the strength to stay on hits path of unsteady present and unknown future.

Tuesday, October 25th
… Reality clashed with longing and bore a fruit that is unrecognizable, tart and sweet at the same time. …
For life has no meaning, and no reason. It consists of a series of present moments, and you can delude yourself into thinking you can prepare yourself for them, but you can’t.
Time is a gift and a curse. If you treat each moment with precious care and concentration, time does not exist and you are floating in the universe, and you are constantly creating your life. Even when you pause, you are creating pauses in your life. Your creation is not built to last, because if you hang on to the past because you do not want to let it go, then you stop creating. You stop being in the moment. The same thing when you worry about the future and the tasks that you have to do. So your creation lasts only for the moment it has been created in, then it fades away and gives way to your next creation.
We invented the clock, so that we can be at a certain place at a certain moment. We surrendered ourselves to be the clock’s slaves.
… I have never been an orphan. I have a beginning to trace back to, a family that is not hidden. A mother who loves me without reason, just with her whole heart. … I have not created myself from nothing, so I have a path to trace back to, a life story in which I encountered many creatures of the day and night.
A head wants confidence; it wants guarantees, it wants to understand so that it can plan.
A heart only knows what’s right right now. It accepts and it lives in the quiet, knowing way, without having to think about it.
A head wants to assess and evaluate and theorize and – improve. It strives for the best, without knowing what is good or better or best.
A heart is the true survivor. It accepts and it is immersed in the reality of now.
… It’s no wonder I don’t want to be an academic. Pursuit of knowledge isn’t my highest goal. It always comes back to humans. I want to reach out to people through my writing. It would be wonderful to reach that goal, but I think – I hope – that the process itself will be worth while.

Wednesday, October 26th
… I am alone and lonely and I have zero interest in opening up, because I know that my insides are empty. … I am not comfortable with not having an identity, because that’s how we establish relations with strangers – either social position (daughter, friend, employer, etc.), current profession/passion, or at least a weird, distinguishing quirk to set us apart. When has it become our job to entertain others with our identities?

Monday, October 31st
… I wish I could do the “practical” thing and enjoy it. But I can’t. I feel this pressure and misery when I ignore my inner voice. It doesn’t give me any specific direction or a grandiose goal to pin my hopes on. I only know that I’ve gotta take these next steps, even if they end up making me smack against a wall. Hard experiences are parts of what I need to experience. As for the rest, I suppose I am an anxious optimist.
In a strange way, my happiness seems to lie in getting lost. I don’t know if I will ever find myself or if anyone will ever find me. I used to read these books with stable, happy endings and anxiously imagine my future like that.
But fear and anxiety are two different things. I have learned that whatever makes me anxious in that pit-in-the-stomach, dreading kind of way, I should avoid at all costs. What I dread now, I might not dread in a few decades, but that’ll be because I’ll have changed by then. And the only way I can change into that person who does not dread X anymore is by avoiding X while I still do dread it.
Logical. My anxiety came mostly from the fact that I wanted my life to be logical and orderly. In a way, I think it takes a greater logic to accept that there are some things beyond the logic. It took me a long, long, looooong time to fully embrace this instinct, this heart, this being. Of course I will falter at some points. But even as I waver, I think back to the moment I found my heart, and I will steady myself. … Feeling right is not the same as feeling good. Feeling good is a temporary high. Feeling right encircles hardships, heartbreaks, tears, sweat, depression, as well as laughter and joy and contentment. …

Advertisements

November 2016 – Part I

Wednesday, November 2nd
… It’s strange, but I sense some learning curves (or growth spurts, or whatever-) some of my friends are going through. Things that you don’t realize you are in the middle of even though you are up to your neck in it. Freeing yourself from parental expectations struggling to stay vulnerable; recognizing that there will always be certain space between humans that can’t be bridged; learning to live with uncertainty instead of seeking certainty. …

Thursday, November 3rd
… I go to the trees when my head feels too big and time is slithering through my fingers like water. Gazing up at the ancient lives who have witnessed events from the far past and who will live to see the far future. My head shrinks back and I am enveloped by the life bigger and vaster than I could ever be. Smelling in the damp earth, my inner animal stops growling and settles back, content for now. …

Friday, November 4th
I decided to follow my heart and be a writer, but I haven’t been writing.
I knew the road wasn’t going to be suddenly smooth, and I have to make the decision again and again, every day. It’s hard to find the heart, and a lot harder to keep it, because it’s helluva easy to lose it.
The human interaction between fictional characters (movies, books, etc.) – Erich Fromm was spot-on. They are imitations of the real thing, and we turn to them because it’s easier, more accesible, and less risky. But they also don’t linger. These quick bursts of warmth and humor are fleeting and they leave you feeling emptier than before, thus starting and enabling a vicious cycle. …

Saturday, November 5th
… I feel lost. Lost and scared, even though I know what I want to do. The decision to trust my heart was just the first step, perhaps the highest point for a long time to come. I did say I was descending (or ascending, or maybe it’s just straight ahead) towards madness.

Sunday, November 6th
Connection/Disconnection. Lately, that’s all I’ve been thinking about. That precious moment of shared human-ness, striking that space in us that is full of longing for belonging and of the need for connection. …
But also the disconnection – the dissonance in the melody of relationship, the surface of ego demanding spotlight. It’s time to step back, take care of our inner child, and ready ourselves for another meeting on the level of the spirits. …

Monday, November 7th
I am scared. I am scared shitless about the future. … I am afraid of turning out to be a mediocre writer, although I don’t see what’s wrong with that – perhaps it’s the social pressure of finding the dream job right away, the idea of our jobs representing who we are. … I realized that I don’t have many – any? – concrete, tangible fears. I am afraid of abstract things such as the future/uncertainty, and also of not being understood/accepted/loved by other people, but I can’t think of scary experiences in my life – for me, it’s a perpetual, long-term fear, not a moment of fear bursting into a flame and extinguishing itself just as quickly. I don’t want to play the victim card again (but I probably am), but when you have already experienced being an outsider, when you have already gone through several identity crises, perhaps your fear of spiders or operations cease to have such a huge influence on you.
In my melodramatic moments, I fancy myself an orphan – which is a slap in the faces of all the people who really do not have family, or parents who are so bad that being an orphan would be the better option. What I had refused to see, however, was how many people were trying to be my temporary family in small ways. But I never really let them, priding myself over my emotional independence, telling myself that while they were nice, I didn’t need them. Then, being a hypocrite that I am, I bemoan the fact that I am alone with my actual family far away.
Why do we isolate ourselves? Why do we push people away? Why do we punish ourselves?

Tuesday, November 8th
… I was feeling discouraged, and I did what might not have been such a good idea: I called Mom. My security blanket had been ripped off me, I felt hypersensitive and raw all over – like everyone was staring at me & judging me -, so I wanted to slip back to the role of a child and seek the comfort of my mother’s lap. Only she could not provide it anymore. So I start keeping things from her, and from my family. …

Friday, November 11th
… I don’t know how to love people whom I can’t see, touch or hear. I am constantly seeing only parts of their lives, and call me a perfectionist/purist/extremist, but I can’t love like that. I want the physicality of love or nor love at all.
… Is family a structure in which the members need each other or want each other? Is it both? Or neither? Or does it depend on the individual family?
… Maybe I don’t feel confident enough yet to face my family’s opinions. Maybe, one day, I will be able to comfortably share all of myself without worry or fear or anxiety. Until then, I’ll keep my life to myself.

Saturday, November 12th
Behind being torn about the future lies a fountain of feeling inadequate and the lack of my belief in myself. The fear of not knowing myself. Not trusting myself to be strong enough to survive the world outside of the academic bubble.
… I am afraid to trust my words, as if they are an entity to themselves, as if I could mangle them if I touch them. Maybe that’s because they seem to just pour out of me when I enter this zone of beauty – no, of life – and thus seem sacred. It must sound very pretentious to say that my writing seems sacred, but it’s not the really the words themselves; it’s the experience. …

Monday, November 14th
… I think it’s our human need to be understood & accepted that leads us to tell the people in our lives all sorts of things. We want to unload our most selfish, self-indulgent, and shameful thoughts on them, in hopes that they will absolve us from our burden, so that we can be light-hearted again, just like children after having confessed that it was us who has broken that glass jar.
But humans aren’t gods. We aren’t all-accepting, all-forgiving. We are often impatient and pre-occupied with our own lives. Other people unburdening on us feels intrusive –
I know all this and yet – and yet I find myself wanting to revert to being a kid and dump all of my problems on someone else’s shoes. The first person I think of is my mother, of course, perhaps also b/c I’m reading To the Lighthouse for my class and I am fascinated & daunted by Mrs Ramsay. …

December 2016 – Part I

Friday, December 2nd
… Our relationships are fragmented. Friendships aren’t bound to geographical locations anymore. We literally have friends from all over the world, friends whom we see maybe once a year if we are lucky. … We are still able to build on these friendships. Time may chip away at the foundation little by little, but we can renew a coat when we see each other again.
But we are always so busy catching each other up on the major events that have happened. As consequence, I have no one to turn to with the everyday tales – no one to fully share my life with. When I need a warm shelter from an emotional turmoil, I have no immediate number to dial, because first I’d need to renew some intimacy bridges with my friends before I pour out my woe to them.

Tuesday, December 6th
Return to mindfulness, Day Zero. …

Thursday, December 8th
… My body and I have a difficult relationship. At most, I tolerate my body. I have not grown to love it in all of its angles and varieties. I still hate my body in photos. My immediate thought is, no one will want to hug this ugly body.
Bodies are so… messy. So loud, burpy, slick with all sorts of liquids and semi-liquids. Bodies smell, sometimes terribly so. They make all kinds of noises.
But bodies are also wonderfully soft and comforting. Surprisingly agile and adaptive. They are an extension of ourselves, because they are so expressive. They are very intricate and delicately balanced out. The tip of our tongue leans against our palate and teeth to create sounds that have the tremendous power to release us from this agonizing isolation.

Friday, December 9th
… The best thing about the performance was this incredible and instinctive connectedness. As the showtime came nearer, we started to open up more, to rely on each other, to support each other. Audience didn’t really matter, only to the fact that their presence helped to bring us closer. Before, during and immediately after the performance – we were close and connected in ways that differ from the immediate & almost automatic love of family, or the easy and comfortable friendship, or even the quick surge of love between lovers.
Our connection was more instinctive. Intuitive. A smooth flow of bodies and consciousness. There was no judgment, only compassion. No one hid or shied away from the group. It was a big, warm hug, cozier than a sunny wintry morning with a cup of tea and a good book in front of a fireplace, safer than being in my mother’s arms.

Tuesday, December 13th
… Being strong means going through the life being who you are (or who you think you are), trying to not kill your heart but instead trying to feel its every beat. Being strong means allowing your heart to be torn into pieces and putting them back together, and letting that change you. Strength is the humble acknowledgment that we can’t control all of our lives, that unfair things will happen, that by chasing after happiness, we lose the present moment. …

Wednesday, December 14th
What is gender? What does it mean, in this 21st century, to be a woman? A man? By now, these have become personal questions for each of us, since there is no generalizable answer.
I find myself torn between wanting to assume the “traditionally male” behaviors and wanting to keep the integrity of femininity, whatever the fuck that means. Perhaps I should stop labeling/gendering everything I do, and just do whatever strikes my fancy.

Friday, December 16th
… I was afraid to have opinions, because none of them were “fully” informed, and I feared people would criticize me for it. The only thing that has changed is that I have begun to just acknowledge the shortcoming in myself & everyone else, because our opinions are always going to be partial, incomplete, subjective, unfinished.

December 2016 – Part II

Sunday, December 18th
I can already feel it happening. The slipping. The slide into conformity. The strange metamorphosis that takes place inside me at this strange place called airport. …

Tuesday, December 20th
…An oppressive force that kills my creativity and causes me to be (or at least try to be) the Angel of the House. It’s no wonder my sister can’t create anymore. Her time and energy are demanded and allocated already. The scary thing is that this culture? system? makes you want to be the Angel, so you give up your time & energy voluntarily.
… I don’t want to hide who I am, but I am camouflaging already, on auto-pilot. As my grandma went on about finding a husband & etc., I didn’t have the heart to tell her that I have met a person who is making me feel all these tender feelings, and that she’s a girl. …

Wednesday, December 21st (Yule)
… Family is all-consuming – you are a part of the bigger puzzle; each of us has a role to play and burden to share (we all lay out our burdens and divvy up). Opinions to ask for, advices to be sought after, even if you have no intention of heeding them. Even when you are far away, physically, your place is reserved for you. Once you come back, you are expected to slide into your role seamlessly. The only alternative, so I feel, is to alienate yourself from the web so much that you are finally cut off, and the gap you leave behind is filled quickly enough.
There are things that I have to necessarily hide, but these deceptions/half-truths don’t torment me as much anymore. Perhaps because I’ve finally accepted that demanding from my family to accept me unconditionally will create too much of a weight on this fragile web. …

Thursday, December 22nd
… I was thinking about whether ‘angel of the house’ is an appropriate term cross-culture, then I realized that there already is a Korean term for this phenomenon: 착한 여자, or ‘good woman’.’Good woman’ has, in the Western societies, a sexual connotation, but in Korea, ‘착한 여자’ is a woman who neglects herself, denies herself rest and pleasure, and spends all her time and energy on taking care of others’ needs. Critical voices have already commented on the toxicness and impossibility of such an ideal, but the truth (as I see it) is, our [Korean] cultural expectations breed such women. It’s couched in terms such as kindness, discipline, filial obedience, but the result is the same ‘착한 여자’. …

Friday, December 23rd
This is the place where I stopped growing. Each time I come back, no matter how much maturity I have gained in the mean time, I revert back to an 11-yr-old, all irrational irritations & too easily bent under the family pressure (while exerting the same pressure on sb else and so keeping the family “together”).
You are to take up a free-time activity that can be put down at a moment’s notice. Nothing that requires your concentration, for that’s needed somewhere else. Grandma never had the leisure to write any of her thoughts down, so she resorts to speaking. Whenever she lies down to rest, when any of her children/grandchildren are over for a visit, she tells us stories – but more often grievances. There are so many unvoiced stories inside her. …
Sorrow. There is so much sorrow here. Sorrow and guilt. …

Monday, December 26th
… It is funny – almost scary, even – how one becomes attuned to the moods of the others in the same microcosmic community. There was something off about Dad tonight, he didn’t plop himself in front of the TV as usual. Whether he knew it or not, he craved human connection, so he sought it from us – his gezin. And perceiving this, it was impossible to leave this island of community to attend to my own things. …

Tuesday, December 27th
Saints are boring. They certainly aren’t humans. To sacrifice oneself – the body, the mind, the soul, the time – for others is very ego-less, but it also lets one off the hook about developing oneself. …

Friday, December 30th
… It’s a curious culture, ours. Or theirs. Or anyone’s. I think there is a certain advantage to living with their primary family, i.e. the family they are born with, until they found a family of their own. There’s less loneliness, for one. A certain psychological stability. But certainly, there are also disadvantages – not using all the years (20s, 30s, 40s even!) to develop their own identity, to experiment, to find out who they are, to grow used to solitariness (even if they never get married & live with their primary family forever, some day their parents are going to die).
… It still feels like my heart’s being torn, that moment of saying goodbye, the instant of physical separation. The moment when the reconstruction begins, the self dissolves, and my head enters the schizophrenic zone again. …

I am enough, not good

What does it mean to be a good person?

Twice in the last seven days I have heard that I am a “good person”. My first reaction in both instances was to deny it. Inside, I was screaming, You just don’t know all the selfish, indifferent, careless sides of me!

It is dangerous for me to get attached to other people’s evaluations of me. Their praises are like drugs – an instant reward to my system, and after the rush has abated, I crave another. Soon my “good deeds” turn into making other people approve of me by becoming whomever they want to see.

For a long time I thought being good was to be selflessness itself, to devote yourself to other people until your body, mind and soul broke. This was the model of goodness I picked up sub-consciously in my culture. During my teenage years and beyond, I would fall into bouts of deep-seated self-loathing because I couldn’t or wouldn’t be this kind of “good”. I felt inadequate, a waste of space and resources. I still fall back to feeling this way sometimes.

It is easier to hate myself than love myself. Easier to criticize than accept. Better to be miserable than happy and guilty.

Because all I had ever wanted was for my imperfect self to be picked up by other people, and soothed, accepted, and loved by them. By displaying a textbook attachment behavior, I was hoping to receive unconditional love. If I couldn’t get love, I wanted pity, or sympathy, or something. That’s a lot of burden to place on any human being, let alone on fellow thirteen-year-olds.

In the end, when I was swimming in the misery and drowning, I started accepting the idea of being enough. That I was enough, just the way I was right now. I picked up my own screaming inner child, soothed her, held her, and promised her I would be with her. I realized that I was the only one who was fully responsible for taking care of myself, and I was also the best candidate for the job, since the need to wear a mask was considerably weaker.

With this new resolution, the definition of being a “good person” also changed. Now the priority lay in taking care of myself first. If I didn’t, I’d be a burden to others, and it would be unfair of me to expect them to pick up the slack. What this “taking care of oneself” contains is different for everyone and you have to decide for yourself. For me, it translates into taking care of my physical needs – sleep, nutrition, exercise (although I am very flexible with this one, haha), health -, setting a boundary to other people’s needs, learning to recognize when I am stressed out and what to do about it, and forgiving myself for being a human.

I am not a good person. But I am enough the way I am.

I try to treat other people the way I want to be treated; I try to be open-minded and understanding; I remind myself that I can’t know what others are feeling or thinking since I haven’t been in their shoes; I try to be helpful where my help is wanted or welcome.

I think there is such a comfort in helping others. It feels good to be needed, because being needed somewhat confirms that our existence isn’t useless or meaningless. However, I don’t want to help others purely to feel good about myself. That’s a selfish ego-gratification. It’s also not true that some disasters will happen without my help. The only thing I want is to make the world a teeny tiny better place, or at least not to make it worse. But the moment my actions become all about pleasing others, I will lose myself.

I am not an emotional person – at least not anymore. I tend to panic and forget myself when I am overwhelmed by emotions. Maybe that’s why I am wary of human connections, although at the same time I crave it, because my need for connecting with other people is a very human one. Thankfully, I have met great people in my life with whom I can be open and vulnerable each time our paths cross. It’s like a series of connection/merging and disconnection/individualization, and it suits me just fine. A long-term connection is quite another matter, and I am not sure whether I can tolerate it.

First Year Is Over

I haven’t been blogging in the past six months or so. Every now and then, the desire to keep my life private creeps up on me and makes me hate the sight of my blog, which has been up and running for more than three years now (a fact that always manages to dumbfound me).

What happened in those six months is largely irrelevant now. I visited family, met old friends and made new ones. Learned a skill or two, forgot a thing or three or fifteen. I wrote diligently in my diary, re-read a lot of old favorites, watched TV series and movies whenever I could.

A semester has passed. Instead of feeling smarter, I am filled with a mixture of dread and indignation at the realization that I am very ignorant and there are so many things I don’t know about, and there won’t be enough time to learn about them all. (Also, my brain wouldn’t support me in this endeavor anyway.)

I think in the first semester I was filled with motivation and the self-conscious need to prove that I made the right choice. So I purposefully overbooked my schedule, struggled to keep up the course reading (at least 100 pages a week, which, admittedly, isn’t a lot), ended up skipping quite a few classes, and my attention was always trying to be everywhere when really, everyone knows I suck at multi-tasking.

I decided to try a different approach in the second semester. I cut my class load in half, made sure I had enough time to prepare classes and go to library and plan large assignments weeks ahead. This approach left me more relaxed and allowed me to go in-depth with the subjects. At least, it did in the first few weeks. Then life happened, my time and effort were needed elsewhere, too, and I ended up falling behind on the preparations, and the deadlines for the big assignments had already snuck up on me. So, re-prioritization happened, then exams happened, then the semester was over.

Mentally speaking, I had my annual winter blues in the first semester, but on the whole I was so happy to be alive and to be studying what I wanted.
How fast humans get used to being comfortable, and seek for more “comfort”! I am still happy to be alive and doing what interests me. But I am also filled with self-doubt even though external evidence suggests otherwise, and I have to think about what happens after my B.A. degree, and whether I want to have an exchange semester. This feeling of inadequacy is probably a universal human feature.

Of course, by writing only about my academic life, I am not telling the full story. Or at least a fuller story, for no one – not even me! – can tell everything about my life. I started growing my own herbs. I’ve been good at taking care of myself, and I am learning to be more accepting with self-care and self-love.
When it comes to other human beings, my growth undergoes more rollercoaster-like changes. I often find myself in loneliness. It is not a loneliness that seeks a specific role to be fulfilled. I am not aching for a concrete person, either. It is a more general loneliness, the kind we can rarely escape from. Even when we are connected with other people, there are parts of us that feel disconnected, estranged, neglected. This is of course totally normal since we are individuals and all differ from each other. This spot of loneliness becomes a danger zone when it begins to spread and take over our perception of everyone and us. Its toxins are uncertainties and crippling doubts. Is the person really with me because s_he wants to be? Are they tolerating my presence just because they are bound by social norms? Would they meet me on their own volition if all social duties were stripped away from them?
The “dangerous” part of deciding to be authentic is that you always run the risk of people glancing at the vulnerable, real you and carelessly moving on, because they decided you don’t look interesting. This isn’t really anyone’s fault. No one can force anyone to like or be interested in anyone. But especially when you are not sure who you are yet, when you find that you don’t have strong opinions about many things because you realized that you know so little and you want to be open-minded, having your plainness confirmed can be devastating. Even though you resolve not to let anyone’s opinion determine your self-worth, your wound still bleeds.

Maybe we all of us are lonely beings, and our imaginations of a tightly knit community of people who understand us perfectly and love us tenderly are just that – imaginations. Even if you were lucky lucky lucky enough to be part of such a group, sometimes time and distance place even the strongest bonds under strain. Maybe this is why we are so much more vocal on social media about our relationships with others. The photos, the updates, the comments, the tags – they all hint at such fun, heaps of intimacy, best friends foreva.
Have I become a cynic who doesn’t believe in any relationship anymore? Actually, if possible, I’d like to think I am developing a more positive attitude towards human relationships. Maybe the reason we focus so much on our relationships with others is to escape from the fact that we are lonely beings at core. As much as we might like someone, we cannot understand everything about them, or maybe even accept all of their faults. We’d like to believe our own pretty words when we tell someone that they will always be special to us. We take better care of others in hopes that they will in turn take care of us. At the end of a day, we simply might not have the energy to take care of anyone.

Does your heart grow with exertion or is a heart’s capacity more or less limited?

Being temporarily (I hope) ill

I woke up last Thursday morning and puttered around in the kitchen to get my breakfast ready. No doubt wondering whether I will finally pull my shit together and get my ass in gear. I ate something small and simple. Probably an apple and a piece of toast or whatever. I put the dishes in the sink, went to the bathroom to wash my face…

And then. The world tilted. There’s really no better way to describe the sensation. I was overcome with sudden dizziness, only it wasn’t the usual light-headedness you get after standing up too fast or seeing black dots for five seconds or ten. No, my bathroom moved in front of my eyes. It tilted to the left, and then to the right. My head felt too heavy for my neck, and I was overcome with a strong nausea that made me want to barf.

I stumbled to the bedroom, and since the world was still swirling around me, figured it must be some sort of a migraine minus the headache. I decided to take some pills for the common headache (plus a small dose of sleeping pill) and I was determined that it would be gone when I woke up after a good sleep. Never mind that it was only 11 in the morning.

I slept. I woke up and tried to sit up. Whoa, not a good idea. Vertigo (like, serious vertigo), nausea, frustration, and a sneaking sense of fear. What if it kept for longer than 24 hours? What if it becomes a permanent situation?
I couldn’t move my head, not even to lie on my side, or another wave of nausea would plague me. But since LED-screens did not make my condition any worse, I Googled “extreme dizziness” using my iPad. The closest self-diagnosis I came up with is vestibular neuritis. Basically, my balance is screwed up because the nerves in my inner-ear(s) have inflamed or something. The recovery time? A few weeks. Maybe a few months. Sometimes it becomes only the first of the many recurring episodes.

The first two, three days were bad. I was scared, I couldn’t sit much less walk so I couldn’t go to a hospital (and I absolutely refused to let an ambulance come to me), I couldn’t eat thanks to the nausea. Really, the first day, all I could stomach was a chocolate bar because I didn’t have to chew. I drank lots and lots of water (I finally mastered the art of drinking by lying down!). I tried to sleep a lot because I was bored out of my mind. The only way to read was to lie on my back and stretch out my arms up in the air, holding a book. I tried to sit and not move my head but not making any movements while sitting was impossible, and the small waves of nausea eventually built up to a headache.

My family fretted and worried but they were unable to fly up on such a short notice. My friends worried but I didn’t want anyone to play the nurse because… I still have trust issues? I’ve gotten comfortable talking about the hard stuff after it happened but I’m still having problems telling them and asking them for help when it is happening right now.

The thing with this condition is that it came very suddenly but is healing very slowly. It’s frustrating and a little bit scary. It has been six days, and I still haven’t regained my sense of balance fully.

Thankfully, I am getting better every day. Today I was even able to walk a short distance to a pizzeria to pick up my lunch/dinner. It was a small miracle for me – to be able to go out and feel the sun and the wind on my face! Yep, the appreciating-mundaneness-thanks-to-a-temporary-illness has occurred. I hope, but doubt, that I will cling on to this gratitude forever.
So for the future reference, here is something I noticed while I was out tottering around. Firstly, walking is not as easy as it seems. I had to walk very slowly and focus on something distant and still the surroundings moved around a little. I also had to cross the streets a few times, and I was extra careful because running wasn’t a good idea. All this made me think about older people who have difficulties walking and how navigating their walkers or opening a door could be a physical hardship for them. The second thing I noticed is that all this slowing down and being careful in my movements have made me more perceptible to human friendliness. Before picking up my Italian food, I went to the grocery store next door, all the while chanting silently you can do it, you can do it, you can do it, don’t puke, don’t puke, it’ll be over soon, okay you’re doing great, when another customer let me go first, when the cashier said a cheerful hello, when the owner smiled at me. We are nowadays so used to automatic politeness – the quick, fake smile at our neighbors, the murmured hello and goodbye at check-out lines, the fleeting waves of hand at fellow classmates. But today I felt the warmth that can only come from deep within us. Maybe my brain is a bit delirious. Maybe I decided I needed all the friendliness I can get and interpreted everything in my way. Maybe, maybe by slowing down and concentrating on the moment 100%, I was able to see what I normally couldn’t see because I was already thinking about what I should be doing next.

My sudden balance-disorder is teaching me mindfulness in a new way. It is also teaching me self-confidence by letting me take care of myself. I “screwed up” yesterday because my balance was wacky (an oven-heated ready-made frozen pizza ended up on my oven door the wrong way down) and I was so frustrated. ‘Look at the mess I made, and I can’t even clean up because I’m already close to bashing my face into the hot oven! Why, oh WHY does it have to happen to me?!’ Hot tears of frustration ran down my cheeks, but I cooled off and started looking at things in a rational way. It wasn’t my fault that I was sick (okay, indirectly maybe, if this balance-disorder-thing is the result of a built-up stress) and that I made a mess because of it. Right now, I was in no shape to do any real cleaning up (I’m still not, sadly).
But I can take care of myself. I can make plans and lists and even write (thank you, iPad) while lying on my bed, oh-so-paitently waiting for my balance to restore itself.

Making the best out of the situation, and finally building a layer of self-esteem and feeling good about it. Appreciating life.
I’m so grateful I’m alive.

People, knots of relationship, sexual chemistry

At first I stayed because I had promised myself I’d stay at least two hours. Then I didn’t want to be seen as the “serious Asian” so I stayed an hour longer. Then I was having fun, so I stayed another hour.

During the first phase, this really nice and naturally affectionate girl asked me whether I have a boyfriend (she having assumed that I was heterosexual), which I denied. She has a boyfriend who doesn’t seem to appreciate her love & affection as much as he ought (but not ending the relationship either) but then again, all my information is second-hand (although a quite reliable source). Anyway, then came a guy who is pursuing the same academic interest as I. We could have swapped horror stories, told inside jokesz whatever, but the general atmosphere (and his overall behavior) dictated that we don’t talk about university stuff. So we didn’t.

During the second and third phase, I notice the boy – sorry, young man, whatever – paying close attention to the girl/young woman. Now I don’t know whether there was anything behind it. But I fleetingly wished they would fall in love so that she can have a healthy, happy relationship.

But who am I to dictate about relationships? I’ve never been in one, and never made any attempt to. Most of the time I don’t feel comfortable enough around people to be completely myself. And if I do around certain people, it is too comfortable and there is no sexual tug whatsoever. Or it’s the wrong kind of uncomfortableness.
I don’t know a shit about relationships, romantic or otherwise. Unless circumstances are conveniently arranged for me, I am not capable of establishing and keeping a relationship. I just don’t care enough, I guess. But then again, the other parties don’t either, so we are all to blame, if we want to play the blame game.

I want to meet someone I can have intellectually stimulating conversation with and who at the same time shares a strong sexual pull with me. I still believe it is possible. I just don’t know when.