Pretentious, Self-Righteous Essays

Risk, Favours, and Misrepresentation

When opportunities come, before you accept or reject them, it’s important to ask yourself ‘why’.  If I reject one, I do it without regret of missing out on the pros, and if I take it, then I do it fully cognizant of the cons.  There is a lot of consideration to be taken.

I’ve done aggressive sales.  Opportunities can be sold as a big picture, a logical path, an opportunity for personal growth, etc… depending on the person you’re selling it to.  People are differentially satisfied, and what’s important is that that person’s concerns are satisfied.  A ‘pro’ for one person may be a ‘con’ to another.  Decision-making is very subjective.

In searching for advice, I’ve found the best question to ask myself was “What do your instincts tell you?”  It’s a great question.  I can draw out all of the trees of possibilities, but in the end, I have an inclination.  It’s important to understand why that inclination exists, whether it be negative or positive.  The answer would be very telling.

It’s difficult to put yourself out there by going after your dreams and giving everything you’ve got to try to make them come true.  It’s similarly as difficult to put yourself out there and say what you’re really thinking, and feeling.

Well, life’s true pleasures can only be unlocked when we do both.  Here goes nothing… Or perhaps, rather, “there it went…”

Keywords

If you know me, then you know that I love to check my traffic sources.  If you know me well, then you know that I check referring sites, browsers, OS’, and keywords.

I occasionally learn of fun things, like people visiting and spending time on my site after googling “remarks on the self karl popper”, “leathercraft process of america”, “analogy between faraday and ampere”, “entity realism”, “the problem of induction genuine problem philosophy”, “the experiment as mediator between subject and object”, and the closing words of Sucker Punch.

As of late, I’ve been getting hidden messages in the keywords from an ever-so-brilliant person who knows that I will check.  Yes, I read them, and yes, you have found a new way to say ‘hello’.

Mostly, I get to see how often people google my name, my name + my city, my name + facebook, my name + my country, find my blog, and read it.

I … just … don’t quite know what to make of that.

Factoid

On May 8, 2011, some anonymous reader googled “essay for my self:iusually worry about”, found my blog, and read 42 pages of it over a period of about an hour.

I don’t know who you are, and why it was that you stayed on my blog after googling “essay for my self:iusually worry about”, but I hope I helped.

Making It Memorable

“Put your hand on a hot stove for a minute, and it seems like an hour. Sit with a pretty girl for an hour, and it seems like a minute. THAT’S relativity.” ~Albert Einstein

How do you slow down time?  That is, the perception of it.  I speak not of time dilation…at the time being.

I declared this past New Year’s (or was it the one before…) that my attempt at slowing down time would involve making it memorable.  How best to hold onto a moment than by making it impossible for forget?

This has basically involved saying ‘yes’ and being open to new adventures, and saying ‘no’ to anything less.

What’s curious is the reception of this new attitude of mine: since adopting it, I’ve developed something of a following…

I don’t think life was meant to be spent unhappily.  I don’t think that my new outlook should be rare.  …but so few people ever even consider what makes them happy, and of those that do, significantly fewer actually do something about it.

This life is a short one.  Don’t waste it.  Go after your dreams with everything you’ve got!

Plans, Hopes, and Dreams

Since my dad passed away, everything’s changed.  He was a big part of my “why”: why I work, why I study, why I manage my life the way I do.  We talked about life – plans, hopes and dreams – every time we got the chance, which was usually during a drive.  He would drive me from home to UTM to study because it was one of my favourite places to study.

When I was a child, I felt as if he spoke to me as if I were an adult.  He would ask for my thoughts, and valued my opinions.  He let me reason out my own decisions, and taught me to be strong and live with all of the consequences, whether good or bad.

As a teenager, when things got busy and all we had was breakfast, then breakfast was what we did together every single morning.  He’d share a story from his youth, or talk about current affairs, and I would dribble on about my plans, hopes, and dreams.  I talked to him about what I wanted out of life, and how I planned to get there.  I talked to him about any obstacles I was facing and how I planned to overcome them.  I told him about my principles and how I’d never betray them.  I talked about my shortcomings and how I planned to address them.

I loved my father, and every day that he’s gone is a reminder that I need to carve out my own path without him.  A lot of things became startlingly clear following his death, but none more so than the fact that I built a lot of my plans, hopes, and dreams around his being here to share them with me.

Maybe

In my first salaried job, whenever I got tired, there were two coordinators who always told me that sleep was for the weak.  “You can sleep when you die!” they preached, and when I thought of the thousands of participants who counted on our efforts, I would buckle down and power through.

*

In my second salaried job, everything was about balance.  Family – work – self.  Balance.  Workshops, courses, mantras were all centred on finding the right balance, and how balance was the key to achieving our dreams.   Life is a marathon, and you have to learn to pace yourself.

**

In a short stint in a miserable environment, there were no motivational words.  Neither words to keep me going when I was tired, nor words to slow me down to keep me from burning out.

Each day was neither busy, nor slow; neither interesting nor boring.  I stopped learning, and growing.  I stopped thinking, and feeling.  I stopped being passionate.  I stopped being me.   The position was neither fulfilling nor worthwhile.  Monetary gains could not make up for the personal losses.

***

I was in DC this past weekend, and I had dinner with a friend that I had made on my trip there the weekend prior.  I told him that after two weekends in the Baltimore/DC area, I didn’t ever want to leave.  I admitted that the only reason that I may have felt this way was because I was running from everything back home.

My friend told me that it’s running when it’s irresponsible.  Maybe you’re running to something, he said.  Maybe.  Maybe you found something you’ve been looking for, something you’ve needed but never knew you did.

Maybe, just maybe, he was right.

Sucker Punch (2011)

Who honors those we love for the very life we live? Who sends monsters to kill us and at the same time, sings that we’ll never die? Who teaches us whats real, and how to laugh at lies? Who decides why we live, and what we’ll die to defend. Who chains us, and who holds the key to set us free. It’s you.

…deliciously atheistic sentiments, if ever there were any!  Well, they’re certainly existentialist, but that’s all besides the point..

The message was motivational, even if the movie wasn’t.  Our minds are powerful.  We can control that power.  We can either take what comes at us passively, or we can be creative and do what we can to participate in the determination of any outcome, even when all that means is how we handle it.  The final words resonate with me:

You have all the weapons you need.

It’s true.

Now fight!

All Of The Lights

Turn up the lights in here, baby
You know what I need
Want you to see everything
Want you to see all of the lights

This song strikes a chord with me.  It isn’t so much the the lyrical content, because I can barely relate to the verses, but the timbre of the instrumentation, layers of vocals, and the chorus all get to me.  They remind me of .. something.

For one thing, the song has the sort of bounce to it that you don’t hear in the mainstream so much anymore.  It has an anthem-like quality, and is emotional.

And although lyrically, it doesn’t reflect anything I’m going through right now, or have been going through for the past couple of years, it strikes a strong chord with me.  I get lost in it the way I used to get lost in music, in love, or in life.  It reminds me of when I used to feel passionately about things, and how I would get excited about things.  When I blast it, I remember that I really did used to feel alive, and not just like a zombie making my way about.  It wasn’t a dream.  It was real.  I used to feel things.  I wasn’t always this cold and dead inside.

I know I can’t relive my naive youthfulness and be moved by people, music, and experiences the way I did when it was all new, but neither does that mean that I must continue to feel so empty.

Ready or Not

I was writing to myself in my journal the other day, and stopped when I scribbled the following:

…always being ready for the worst makes you miss out on all of the best.

It’s so simple and yet I didn’t see it.  I’ve always seen the opposite of optimism as negativity, but I never considered how destructive paranoia and over-preparedness can be…  Sure, I didn’t expect the worst, but I considered and planned for it the way I planned for ‘best case scenarios’.  It seemed like the most reasonable way to go about planning.  It still does…

I suppose there’s a reason why they say ‘ignorance is bliss’.

Worry

In high school, I usually had crushes on the smartest boys, but in my OAC year, I had a crush on one of the average guys.  Everyone knew, too, not because it was obvious but rather because I had a big mouth.  I wouldn’t have admitted it then, but I told people because I figured that if word got around that I was interested that he’d be confident enough to make the first move.

Anyway, one day after school, he was in the gym playing soccer.  I think it was tryouts, but it could have just been a pickup game.  I was with a bunch of our friends outside of the gym doors peeking in and watching the game.  After much coaxing and teasing, my friends convinced me to go and talk to him when he was benched.  So, I took a deep breath, and walked into the gym.

My heart raced as I walked along the side of the gym towards him.  He was at the opposite end.  My palms got all sweaty.  The yells and screams of the teams on the floor and their audience grew increasingly muffled behind the loud, clear sound of the beating of my heart.  I tried to play it cool by casually averting my eyes from his gaze until I got closer, walking at a steady pace that was neither awkwardly fast nor peculiarly slow.  And when the perfect moment came for me to raise my head (that is, when I was close enough to say ‘hi’ without having to scream it), I looked up, made eye contact with him, and smiled.  I raised my right arm to wave, opened my mouth, and BAM!  The soccer ball whacked me on the left side of my head.  One of my friends, who was playing, accidentally kicked it right at me.

What I should have done was not move, and perhaps nurse my head.  What I actually did was awkwardly run right through to the other exit at the opposite end of the gym in utter embarrassment – an exit, I might add, which was just past him.  Eye-contact was broken.  Opportunity lost.  Confidence shattered.  My friends and the teams, all came running after me to see if I was okay, and they remarked on how odd it was for me to run away, but no one seemed to pick up on my actual purpose: going and talking to the guy.

I never did try again.  He and I remained friends for the rest of our high school careers, and all of it is of little consequence.

Months after the incident, on our graduation night, after the ceremony when everyone congregated in the courtyard for hors d’oeuvres, pictures, and good-byes, when he and I were saying our ‘good-bye’ to each other, he said something to me that has stuck with me ever since, “I don’t worry about you.”  He went on to talk about how I’d be fine, and that he never wondered or worried that I’d go on to do ‘great things’, and how I’m “just that kind of person”.

This comes to mind now because these are words that I have heard many times since.  They are words that have been spoken to me by so many different people recently.  They are words spoken to me all too often.  When I’m down, they feel insulting.  When I feel better, I see it for what it truly is: a nice compliment.

I don’t worry about you.

Thank you, everyone.  I guess I don’t worry, either.

Pride

The older I get the clearer it becomes to me how affected I was by the opinions of everyone around me while I was growing up. It affected my definitions of success, goals, and dreams. It has taken me years to realize what really makes me happy, and to have enough humility to swallow my pride, accept it, and go after it.

But as much of a barrier our pride can be, we still need it. Without it, we may crumble. What is ‘dignity’ if not a sense of pride?

So, to what degree do we concede? Or to what extent do we persist? What’s sad is that there is no chosen point on the spectrum of answers that can be defined as the optimal spot. “Success” is relative, and not necessary for “happiness”. Okay. But if this is the case, how do we set a goal and aim for it? The answer must be subjective, but that’s not really settling. It feels arbitrary.

I hope all of you find this as troubling as I do.

Greg Hilado’s Manila Hair Design

I had met Greg Hilado one fateful day when I was fifteen while wandering around downtown looking for a hairstylist. The sign read “Manila Hair Design”, and being Filipino, I thought I’d check it out. When I walked in, he asked me if I had ever modeled, and on the spot, he invited me to be a model for his hair designs. Long story short: below is a video of my first hair show.

I was thinking about getting highlights when Greg Hilado came to mind. I googled his name to see if I could find him, and what I found was this video posted on Youtube. I never thought I’d see this again.

Apathy and Agnosticism

Voter turnout is affected by a variety of socio-economic and hereditary factors, but I’ve always taken Canada’s ever-decreasing rate as a sign of its general political stability.  What is political apathy, after all, if not a symptom of a content society?  and what better way is there to celebrate contentment than to not take action (i.e. vote).  No vote is a vote for the status quo.

Ah sweet indifference.  What does it matter if it is a Conservative or Liberal government if our general standard of living is upheld?  What about ethics and morality?  Questions surrounding freedom of speech and disclosure?  Privacy?  Rights?

It’s easy to be indifferent when the consequences don’t noticeably affect your life, or anything you think about.  Holding an opinion becomes an intellectual exercise.  What would I do if… ?

All it takes is one unfortunate event to throw you into a circumstance where politics noticeably and negatively affects your life.  When that happens to you, how can you go on being indifferent?  How can your opinions remain only intellectual exercises?  They become your reality.  You can either rise to the challenge, or cower in shame.

I hid for months out of a confused and misguided sense of remorse.  I’ve been terrorized into silence.  Well, silence won’t speak the truths that need to be heard.

Social Atmosphere

It’s Spring 1999, and a bunch of twelfth-grade girls are congregated in the hallways after class.  Carolyn starts to walk down the hallway while the rest of the girls remain.

One girl says “Carolyn, we’re all going to hang out at Sherway.  Where are you going?”  Carolyn turns to respond, but just as she opens her mouth…  another girl exclaims “Carolyn would rather be alone!”

Carolyn smiles, and continues on her way.

//

True story.  It came to mind following a session with my counselor where we discussed how “sensitive” I am to the people around me.

I find counseling sessions interesting because we bring to light my unspoken assumptions and force me to critically look at them.  I find the sessions to be a nuisance when we highlight seemingly meaningless truisms about my personality.  I am sensitive to the dynamics of the relationships that I hold with people.  So?  I know that.  So what now?

I’ve always known what social situations made me feel comfortable, and which didn’t.  I don’t think there are general classifications of what I enjoy.  I suppose it depends on what I’m looking to get out of the investment of time, whether it be catching up with an old friend, getting to know a new friend, or just be silly and have fun.

So yes, I am sensitive to the dynamics of my relationships with people.  I pay close attention, and am conscientious about how I proceed with anyone…  It matters to me that the people around me are comfortable, and it is absolutely paramount to me that I am comfortable.  As a consequence, I am always careful to put together the right ‘recipe’ for each of my events: the right people, place, and time can sometimes result in something spectacular!

Leathercraft Process of America

Back in what I surmise was the Fall of 2003, I purchased a maroon vintage leather trench from Brava on Queen St. (before they stopped being an awesome store for vintage items).

I was conditioning the leather today.  I was curious and thought I’d Google the information on the label:

This is what I learned: “the leathercraft business moved to NJ many years ago and was sold just a few years ago. The new owners have nothing to do with the original business and are fairly new to the leather cleaning side of the business. One of the original owners son, that was trained in the leather industry by his father for 20 years has his own leather cleaners in Cranford, NJ. He does all the work himself on premise and is very meticulous with everything!!!”

I enjoy hunting down vintage clothing.  There’s charm in finding something precious amidst piles of used items.  Knowing that the items have a history gives them so much character.  There’s also excitement and mystery in investigating where it came from.

Here are some pictures of the coat:

Blame

Imagine a clumsy person with her hands tied behind her, standing on one leg, and holding a spoon in her mouth.

You ask her to hold an egg in the spoon and promise to not drop it.  She agrees.

When she drops it, do you blame her?  or do you blame yourself?

Perspective

Consider walking into a clothing store that sells clothing that you don`t typically wear.  Initially, you don’t want to buy anything.

BUT!  What if you were trapped in that store indefinitely (perhaps because there was a snow storm that rendered all shoppers unable to leave, or because of some other such unlikely reason)?  All of its inventory becomes your only lot to choose from.  At some point, would *something* start to look relatively`wearable`?

I say ‘yes’.  You can’t be equally as disinterested in every item in the store.  At first, you dismiss them all, but eventually for some reason (such as boredom), you begin to carefully examine each item, and realize that there are degrees to your disinterest.  That point may come sooner for some, and never for others…

I think this idea can be applied to situations in life that we put ourselves in (such as jobs, or schools).  We may walk into these situations that, when fresh, we realize we don`t like, but after some time, if trapped in it, we start to see some good in it.  We are, after all, taught to find the good in things; that every cloud has a silver lining.

Sometimes we get trapped for so long that we forget our initial instinctive reactions to it.  Consideration of visiting other “stores” begins to happen decreasingly often.  We find contentment in what relatively satisfies us, and no longer strive for what independently does, in and of itself.  And worst of all, we continue on in the delusion that this ‘relative’ sort of happiness is all that is attainable.  Perhaps all the other stores are only equally as good, or worse.  Perhaps I have already stumbled upon the best store.

Why?  Fear, I imagine.  Fear of the unknown.  This store may not be filled with all of my favourite items, but at least I know everything inside it.

Well, everyone, I have recently remembered what all of my favourite stores are.  Time to go shopping!

Rogers

For the last month, according to Rogers’ records, my phone has sent upwards of a 1000 sms’ to shortcodes 89824 and 89825.  This would be fine, except that I didn’t send these messages, and there is no record of my sending them on my phone.

Three days, 5 Rogers Tech and Customer Service people with 5 different recommendations (including the addition of costly Rogers Wireless features, a factory reset, and changing my phone number) later, still no fix that has worked.

All I want to know is:
1.  What these shortcodes are
2.  How it would have started so that I can prevent it going forward
3.  A surefire fix

Until I have answers, I don’t know who to hate.  Rogers?  RIM?  a third-party application?  all of the above?

I just got another recommendation from a tech person.  Here’s hoping it actually works…

Wayback Playback

The Daniel and Carolyn functions

Me: That’s because there isn’t a bijection or 1-1 mapping. It couldn’t possibly be shown. I knew that then.

There were 3 important/amusing assumptions:
1. Daniel is a constant negative
2. I’m exponential
3. Daniel and I never meet.

On a separate matter, Daniel never responded to this post because … he thought Dennis posted it. I didn’t know if I should have been flattered or insulted.

>>You can’t just randomly reassign values of x in a function.

Neither can I assume that we are “functions” that can be defined on a 2-dimensional space with “input” assigned at real values, but I did that anyway.

Time

Time, where did you go?  Why did you leave me here alone? We’re approaching 2011, and I’m approaching 30.

I was warned this past year (or was it the year before?) that time would come to pass ever more quickly at this age.  It’s true.

My “New Year’s Resolution” this year will be to find ways to slow down time. There’s only one way I can think of doing it – make every moment memorable!

See you in the new year.

Christmas

I was having a chat with a friend of mine today about Christmas, and the giving/receiving of gifts.  It brought to mind a post I’d written two years ago.  I still feel the same way.

If I want to make my friends feel important and special to me, I just do it. No holidays required. I love picking up things that I know they’ll need or want. I love writing them pleasant notes to get them through their days. I love being here when it is that they need me, and not when a holiday tells me I should be. I love being a great friend. I just hate doing these things for any other reason than because I want to.  Holidays feel like an excuse that I never needed… Click here to read more.

Christmas Shopping

I drove downtown to have lunch with a friend the other day. Our plan was to meet at the restaurant, so when I got into the area, I went to park in the nearest Green P parking lot.

I circled the lot before I chose a spot – I wanted to ensure that I got the best one. Anyway, when I got out of my car to go buy a ticket, I noticed a 2000-ish purple Chevrolet Cavalier that had its front passenger window completely smashed.

From where I was, I couldn’t see if there were still shattered bits of glass around. I thought, sure, there existed the possibility that it was cracked before being parked in that lot… but it was snowing, and if it had been, I’m sure the owner would have at least taped it up to protect the upholstery from the snow.

The way I saw it, the worst case scenario was that it was done that day.  Since it was by far the oldest, and least well-kept car in the lot, I figured that the vandal either targeted this person or was a thief and took something sitting in the seat.  So, I figured that my car was safe so long as I left nothing sitting on the seats.  Accordingly, I hid everything in my trunk.

After lunch, as I walked through the parking lot to my car, I noticed a bright blue Toyota Yaris that wasn’t parked there when I first parked, and whose front passenger window was completely smashed in.

Sigh.

Arsenic-Based Life

I had always planned to enroll in a class offered by the Astronomy/Astrophysics department called “Life On Other Worlds” as a fun elective.  With age and education, the prospect of the existence of extraterrestrial life only grew increasingly reasonable to me.

The course description is as follows: Scholarly discussion of the probability that there are planets with life elsewhere in the universe, from the perspective of current ideas concerning the origin and evolution of the universe, the solar system and life.

Based on historic course syllabuses, the Drake equation was covered almost immediately.  Reasonable, right?  After all, how can one proceed to discuss life on other planets without an equation used to estimate the number of detectable extraterrestrial civilizations in the Milky Way galaxy?

Hmm..

At least half of the variables in The Drake equation are affected by NASA’s recent discovery.

Heh. Fun.

Housekeeping

I wasn’t always so organized.  I only grew increasingly so with time and age.  With age came situations that required managing increasing numbers of tasks.  My level of organization became my safety net: it’s what made the hard times manageable.  So, few things annoy me more than disorganization.

Even when we keep up with daily tasks, it’s important to set aside time to audit your processes to maximize efficiency. I do hate to work backwards, but for the next while, I’ll only be reviewing my old posts.  I want to review my use of categories and tags, and I want to add in as many links and captions as I can.

Impressionable Youth

Someone recently asked me if I had ever considered becoming a teacher.  The truth is: I had always considered it. I was teacher’s pet all through elementary and high school, being given the opportunity to run sessions in class, and I successfully tutored numerous students on diverse subjects: math, physics, French, English…

Back then I knew I couldn’t teach in Ontario’s public education system because I didn’t think that I would be able to tolerate the children as an adult.  (Since, of course, I could barely stand them as my peers.)  If anything, I always imagined teaching early elementary school children in the twilight of my working years so that I could inspire impressionable youth when it would be most effective.  I still feel mostly the same way, except now I have more ideological constraints that prevent me from willfully being employed by that system besides my dislike of ignorant youth.

The other day, I audited an undergraduate course.  During the break, I chatted with some of the first-year undergraduates.  I discussed my situation, my ideologies, the reality of the educational system, the reality of the workforce, some studies, and how all of these factors came together as the ultimate reason why I made the choices I’ve made.

One young student appeared to be blown by my story.  He began to relay information about his situation and his opinions and how some of the facts that I’d mentioned were very useful.  I think I inspired him to follow-in my footsteps.

I guess I don’t have to teach children to inspire impressionable youth.