Day 487: Inspiration from Bruce Lee

An excerpt from The Art of Expressing the Human Body by Bruce Lee & John Little:

Bruce had me up to three miles a day, really at a good pace. We'd run the three miles in twenty one or twenty-two minutes. Just under eight minutes a mile [Note: when runing on his own in 1968, Lee would get his time down to six-and-a-half minutes per mile]. So this morning he said to me "We're going to go five." I said, "Bruce, I can't go five. I'm a helluva lot older than you are, and I can't do five." He said, When we get to three, we'll shift gears and it's only two more and you'll do it." I said "Okay, hell, I'll go for it." So we get to three, we go into the fourth mile and I'm okay for three or fout minutes, and then I really begin to give out. I'm tired, my heart's pounding, I can't go any more and so I say to him, "Bruce if I run any more,"-and we're still running-"if I run any more I'm liable to have a heart attack and die."

He said, "Then die." It made me so mad that I went the full five miles. Afterward I went to the shower and then I wanted to talk to him about it. I said, you know; "Why did you say that?" He said, "Because you might as well be dead. Seriously, if you always put limits on what you can do, physical or anything else, it'll spread over into the rest of your life. It'll spread into your work, into your morality, into your entire being. There are no limits. There are plateaus, but you must not stay there, you must go beyond them. If it kills you, it kills you. A man must constantly exceed his level."

Day 484: Parental Guidance

Author: Nancy Gibbs (TIMES Essayist); May 17, 2010

Cancer hands you red-hot shoes and makes you dance with death every day for the rest of your life. So the question is, Who gets to lead? And what can the rest of us learn from watching?

Bruce Feiler is a writer with diverse interests and an adventurous spirit. His best seller Walking the Bible, about his 10,000-mile trek through the Holy Lands, became a hit PBS series; he wrote a book about his year as a circus clown and one on Abraham--nine books total, but none like his latest, The Council of Dads. It was basically born the day doctors told him there was a malignant, aggressive 7-in. tumor in his femur, a cancer so rare fewer than 100 adults get it a year. He was 43 years old, lying on his bed, wrapped in sudden uncertainty, when his 3-year-old twin daughters raced in, twirling and laughing. "I crumbled," he recalls. "I kept imagining all the walks I might not take with them, the ballet recitals I might not see ... the boyfriends I might not scowl at, the aisles I might not walk down."
(See the Landscape of Cancer Treatment.)

From that dark place came the need; a few days later came the notion, when he began making a list of men who represented, in concentrated form, all the qualities and memories he most wanted his girls to encounter, which they might not get the chance to absorb from him. One of those men he had known since the sandbox, one had been a camp counselor, another a college roommate, another a business partner, six of them in all. My girls have a great mom and a loving family, he told them. "But they may not have me. Will you help be their dad?"

And thus was born the Council of Dads, the friends he hoped would teach the lessons, send the signals, say the things he would have when his daughters fail a test, win a prize, fall in love. Proposing membership, Feiler recalls, felt like proposing marriage. The conversations defy the image of awkward men allergic to sentiment. Cancer was "a passport to intimacy"; it drove him to tell his friends why they mattered, ask them to be more involved in his life and particularly in his daughters'.

You could say that he reversed the normal arc: having close friends and having children is like trying to play hopscotch and knit at the same time--theoretically possible but requiring more dexterity than most of us can manage. During our prime parenting years, juggling work and home is hard enough; few of us are so emotionally double-jointed that we can manage much more than a book group, a chat with the other parents in the bleachers, intimacy on the run.

Reading The Council of Dads made me wonder at the great opportunity we miss. Sometime after you have kids, you are told to make a will, name some guardians, and on that occasion you wave, politely and formally, to your mortality as you carefully cross to the other side of the street. It's natural to avoid thinking about what your children would do without you. But being a parent involves planned obsolescence. We actually want children, as they grow, to expand emotionally, explore independently. Teenagers especially need advice from women who are not their mother, guidance from men who are not their dad.

This was once the province of godparents: in Renaissance-era Florence, a child could have a dozen of them--an extended family of providers and protectors. But since then, the role has evolved from spiritual mentor to social fixer. In some ZIP codes, preschool admissions officers find they get a lot of requests to serve, and Hallmark now makes a couple dozen Christmas-card designs for godparents to send, which is a sure sign the relationship has lost much of its meaning. "Always a godfather, never a god," lamented the much recruited author Gore Vidal.

Hillary Clinton said it takes a village, and she was mocked, but she was right. Is there any greater gift we can give our children than to be loved and lifted by as many adults as possible, beyond immediate family? Single and divorced parents do this informally all the time. Feiler, whose latest tests show him to be, for now, cancer-free, is working with the National Fatherhood Initiative, which has kiosks in 1,500 military bases around the world. The plan is to distribute literature about The Council of Dads and invite soldiers to convene their own; these are men and women who live with mortality and separation.

But maybe it's an exercise for everyone, not just in parenting, but in friendship and self-discovery. I'd like my daughters to have a Council of Dads, a Council of Moms--not, God willing, to replace my husband or me, but to remind us which values we value most, and help us make sure we transmit them.

Read more: http://www.time.com/time/magazine/article/0,9171,1987596-2,00.html#ixzz0pZByapVS

Day 470: Empire of the Sun - Walking on a Dream

Walking on a dream
How can I explain
Talking to myself
Will I see again

We are always running for the thrill of it, thrill of it
Always pushing up the hill searching for the thrill of it
On and on and on we are calling out and out again
Never looking down I'm just in awe of what's in front of me

Is it real now
When two people become one
I can feel it
When two people become one

Thought I'd never see
The love you found in me
Now it's changing all the time
Living in a rhythm where the minutes working overtime

Catch me I'm falling down
Catch me I'm falling down

Don't stop just keep going on
I'm your shoulder lean upon
So come on deliver from inside
All we got is tonight that is right till first light

Day 465: Best Thing I've Read All Year

The Best Thing I've Read All Year

Published on May 04, 2000

Sunday, April 30, 2000

By SHARON UNDERWOOD

For the Valley News (White River Junction, VT)

Many letters have been sent to the Valley News concerning the homosexual menace in Vermont. I am the mother of a gay son and I've taken enough from you good people.

I'm tired of your foolish rhetoric about the "homosexual agenda" and your allegations that accepting homosexuality is the same thing as advocating sex with children. You are cruel and ignorant. You have been robbing me of the joys of motherhood ever since my children were tiny.

My firstborn son started suffering at the hands of the moral little thugs from your moral, upright families from the time he was in the first grade. He was physically and verbally abused from first grade straight through high school because he was perceived to be gay.

He never professed to be gay or had any association with anything gay, but he had the misfortune not to walk or have gestures like the other boys. He was called "fag" incessantly, starting when he was 6.

In high school, while your children were doing what kids that age should be doing, mine labored over a suicide note, drafting and redrafting it to be sure his family knew how much he loved them. My sobbing 17-year-old tore the heart out of me as he choked out that he just couldn't bear to continue living any longer, that he didn't want to be gay and that he couldn't face a life without dignity.

You have the audacity to talk about protecting families and children from the homosexual menace, while you yourselves tear apart families and drive children to despair. I don't know why my son is gay, but I do know that God didn't put him, and millions like him, on this Earth to give you someone to abuse. God gave you brains so that you could think, and it's about time you started doing that.

At the core of all your misguided beliefs is the belief that this could never happen to you, that there is some kind of subculture out there that people have chosen to join. The fact is that if it can happen to my family, it can happen to yours, and you won't get to choose. Whether it is genetic or whether something occurs during a critical time of fetal development, I don't know. I can only tell you with an absolute certainty that it is inborn.

If you want to tout your own morality, you'd best come up with something more substantive than your heterosexuality. You did nothing to earn it; it was given to you. If you disagree, I would be interested in hearing your story, because my own heterosexuality was a blessing I received with no effort whatsoever on my part. It is so woven into the very soul of me that nothing could ever change it. For those of you who reduce sexual orientation to a simple choice, a character issue, a bad habit or something that can be changed by a 10-step program, I'm puzzled. Are you saying that your own sexual orientation is nothing more than something you have chosen, that you could change it at will? If that's not the case, then why would you suggest that someone else can?

A popular theme in your letters is that Vermont has been infiltrated by outsiders. Both sides of my family have lived in Vermont for generations. I am heart and soul a Vermonter, so I'll thank you to stop saying that you are speaking for "true Vermonters."

You invoke the memory of the brave people who have fought on the battlefield for this great country, saying that they didn't give their lives so that the "homosexual agenda" could tear down the principles they died defending. My 83-year-old father fought in some of the most horrific battles of World War II, was wounded and awarded the Purple Heart.

He shakes his head in sadness at the life his grandson has had to live. He says he fought alongside homosexuals in those battles, that they did their part and bothered no one. One of his best friends in the service was gay, and he never knew it until the end, and when he did find out, it mattered not at all. That wasn't the measure of the man.

You religious folk just can't bear the thought that as my son emerges from the hell that was his childhood he might like to find a lifelong companion and have a measure of happiness. It offends your sensibilities that he should request the right to visit that companion in the hospital, to make medical decisions for him or to benefit from tax laws governing inheritance.

How dare he? you say. These outrageous requests would threaten the very existence of your family, would undermine the sanctity of marriage.

You use religion to abdicate your responsibility to be thinking human beings. There are vast numbers of religious people who find your attitudes repugnant. God is not for the privileged majority, and God knows my son has committed no sin.

The deep-thinking author of a letter to the April 12 Valley News who lectures about homosexual sin and tells us about "those of us who have been blessed with the benefits of a religious upbringing" asks: "What ever happened to the idea of striving . . . to be better human beings than we are?"

Indeed, sir, what ever happened to that?

"Sharon Underwood's e-mail is: sundervt@hotmail.com. I had the chance to speak with her yesterday. Her son is doing fine now, the first in his family to graduate from college.

If you have friends who think Jesus would have been a Republican -- on the side of billionaire Pat Robertson, et al, in opposing Hate Crimes Legislation, opposing the Nuclear Nonproliferation Treaty, and, yes, opposing Vermont's extension of economic benefits to same-sex couples -- please feel free to forward this column to as many of them as you like. Can't you just see it? Jesus arm-in-arm with the NRA trying to maintain the gun-show loophole? Stumping the Holy Land in favor of a massive tax cut for the rich, while opposing a hike in the minimum wage? Somehow, I think not."

Source: http://www.andrewtobias.com/newcolumns/000504.html

Day 462: Underachievers

"We were underachievers. That's why we came to Middlebury. Chuckle."

-C Burleigh

Day 457: Worship of the Intellectual Mind

Listening to Deadmau5 - I Remember
Feeling like time's runnin out!

Health.

My mother always told me to prioritize my own health (and among others) over schoolwork and GPA's. No matter how many times I would nod in agreement but just do my own thing, she still never ceased urging me to get a good night's rest and finish the rest of my work early in the morning. She would tell me that by overly occupying myself with schoolwork, I would lose out on the good things in life - my health would suffer, and I would miss out on precious relationships with other people. Really - who knows what amazing relationships you could have built if you have devoted more time into them.

One thing I complain too often about Middlebury College is the agonizing difficulty in forming meaningful relationships with people. People here in general are just obsessed with "success". Without trying to sound too naive, what if everyone prioritized other good things over academics? How differently would people behave, and what kind of community would we see?

Kids should listen to their parents, and even more when they have important things to say.

Day 453: One Time We Lived

One time we lived
Like the time would never leave
What time we had
The luxury to breathe
I couldn't see an end
There was no end in sight
Time has risen up time has pulled us down
Bringing darkness to the light

I remember the way you looked
The sun had set
The lights were down
I remember the light in your eyes
Do you remember at all?
Do you remember at all?

Isn't that what we wanted?
Isn't that what we wanted?
isn't that what we had?
Do we know what we need?
Now that its gone anekatips.com
Isn't that what we wanted?
Isn't that what we wanted?
Isn't that what we had?
Do we know what we need?

One time we lived
Like the time would never end
And now it breaks
Those left alone again
And while the waters course
By the old and pale light
See just what I've lost
And die into the night

I remember the way you looked
The sun had set
The lights were down
I remember the light in your eyes
Do you remember at all?
Do you remember at all?

Isn't that what we wanted?
Isn't that what we wanted?
Isn't that what we had?
Do we know what we need?
Now that its gone

Day 441: Silence Within

How is it possible to reach inner silence? Sometimes we are apparently silent, and yet we have great discussions within, struggling with imaginary partners or with ourselves. Calming our souls requires a kind of simplicity: "I do not occupy myself with things too great and too marvellous for me." [Ps. 131:1] Silence means recognising that my worries can't do much. Silence means leaving to God what is beyond my reach and capacity. A moment of silence, even very short, is like a holy stop, a sabbatical rest, a truce of worries. ...

Brother Roger

I remember the feeling of being forced to stay awake for an hour, sometimes two - even three - by voices that repeatedly resound in my head. Sleep, sleep! Where is it. Restlessness that comes to find me usually before I lay down into slumber keeps me captive, in the weakest state that it can find me. I struggle, I fight.

Will we find inner peace? Silence? Is it something achievable?

Day 426: Napalm Sticks to Kids

A viral video of a US Apache (a helicopter gunship) massacring a dozen Iraqi innocents has been going around since early this morning, thanks to Wikileaks.

We shoot the sick, the young, the lame,
We do our best to maim,
Because the kills all count the same,
Napalm sticks to kids.

Chorus: Napalm sticks to kids,
Napalm sticks to kids.

Flying low across the trees,
Pilots doing what they please,
Dropping frags on refugees,
Napalm sticks to kids.

Gooks in the open, making hay,
But I can hear the gunships say,
"There'll be no Chieu Hoi today,"
Napalm sticks to kids.

See those farmers over there,
Watch me get them with a pair,
Blood and guts just everywhere,
Napalm sticks to kids.

I've only seen it happen twice,
But both times it was mighty nice,
Shooting peasants planting rice,
Napalm sticks to kids.

Napalm, son, is lots of fun,
Dropped in a bomb or shot from a gun,
It gets the gooks when on the run,
Napalm sticks to kids.

Drop some napalm on a farm,
It won't do them any harm,
Just burn off their legs and arms,
Napalm sticks to kids.

CIA with guns for hire,
Montagnards around a fire,
Napalm makes the fire go higher,
Napalm sticks to kids.

I've been told it's not so neat,
To catch gooks burning in the street,
But burning flesh, it smells to sweet,
Napalm sticks to kids.

Day 425: Blatant Racism

As I was walking down the sidewalk from the dining hall, a guy in a passing car stuck his head out and yelled a racial slur at me.

A few minutes later, the same thing happened again, but this time, they yelled a horrible attempt at Chinese.

Thinking back to it, I didn't like it.

But, seriously, why?

Day 394: Procrastinator or Incubator?

A story that I picked up from the interwebs...

As a university instructor, the close of each academic term is always the same for me: I get a flurry of apologetic e-mails from panicked students who have put off their homework and term papers until the last possible moment. They beg for an extension.

Procrastination is a phenomenon that is familiar to everyone, even outside of academia.

Who really likes to wash laundry, balance checkbooks or fill out complicated tax forms? Most folks put these activities off in favor of more pleasant pastimes like socializing, going out to eat or reading a good book.

Procrastination is the result of having very little motivation for a boring or unpleasant activity and it is something everyone experiences. The real problem is that procrastination can sometimes overshadow a hidden strength.

Incubation is not procrastination.

I once coached an extraordinary young man, whom I'll call Mark. Mark was at the tail end of his training at a prestigious medical school. When we met on a Monday of his last week, Mark told me he felt the stress of a number of weighty assignments, all of which had pressing deadlines.

He had only a handful of days to write applications for internships, turn in final papers and secure letters of recommendation. It was a tremendous amount of difficult work to be completed in a short period of time. Mark asked me to check back with him midweek to crack the whip and make sure he was still making progress on his work.

When we spoke again on Wednesday, Mark had fallen into a deep funk. Not only was there no progress, but he had frittered away hours in meaningless pastimes like downloading music and walking in the park.

Mark uttered the all-too-familiar phrase, "I am such a procrastinator!"

He vilified himself for checking e-mail, having lunch with his wife and other activities that appeared to be in the service of avoiding his more pressing tasks.

Something about the word "procrastinator" just didn't fit with what I was seeing. Here was a young man about to graduate from an elite medical school with a flawless academic record extending back into his middle school years.

My instincts told me that it was not a lifetime of chronic procrastination that led Mark to his current situation.

On a hunch, I asked him a crucial question, "When you get around to completing your work -- and we both know that you eventually will -- how will the quality be?"

My client seemed taken aback by the question. He answered with confidence, a single word: "Superior!"

I realized, in that moment, that there may be a subtle but important difference between the "back burner" mentality I saw in my client and the traditional way a procrastinator works.

Procrastinators may have a habit of putting off important work. They may not ever get to projects or leave projects half finished. Importantly, when they do complete projects, the quality might be mediocre as a result of their lack of engagement or inability to work well under pressure.

What Mark presented was something qualitatively different: a clear sense of deadlines, confidence that the work would be complete on time, certainty that the work would be of superior quality and the ability to subconsciously process important ideas while doing other -- often recreational -- activities.

I realized I was looking at a strength, one I called "incubator." When I shared this term with Mark, he felt as if the weight of the world had been lifted off his shoulders.

What does incubation mean?

One of the greatest difficulties with identifying an incubator is that they often look like procrastinators. People with both work styles tend to put off work until the last moment, and both seem to be best motivated by external pressures such as deadlines.

Importantly, people with both work styles are likely to be hard on themselves and consider themselves lazy.

In a pilot study with 184 undergraduate university students, we were able to isolate specific items that distinguished incubators from the rest of the pack. Incubators were the only students who had superior-quality work but who also worked at the last moment, under pressure, motivated by a looming deadline.

This set them apart from the classic "good students," the planners who strategically start working long before assignments are due, and from the procrastinators, who wait until the last minute but then hand in shoddy work or hand it in late.

For most incubators, having a label that is less pejorative than "procrastinator" can be a breath of fresh air.

Incubators tend to be bright, creative people with an amazing gift to work hard under pressure. As such, they can be very dependable in work situations that require last-minute changes or tight deadlines.

The other side of this coin is that they can be frustrating to work with because they appear to sit idle for so long. For incubators, it can be as helpful to appraise friends, family members and co-workers of your natural work style so the people around you can adjust their expectations accordingly.

Setting realistic expectations for yourself can let you off the emotional hook as you appear to waste time, solid in the knowledge that your projects will be completed when they need to be.

My former coaching client, Mark, actually built in "incubation time" during which he could watch movies, listen to music or other goof-off activities, knowing that -- below the surface -- his mind was preparing for work and that he would snap into action when the time was right. As for my students requesting extensions for their term papers, they should have planned ahead!

Day 381: Common Ground

What more is there to say?
I dont really want to know

Just wanna be here now
But you are not here now

Will we ever be on common ground?
So close, but so far away

Day 376: Pain

As humans, we are men of a myriad of things. One is a man of choice and decisions. With the exception of those affected by disorders one way or another, we all make choices.

One choice that surprises me is how we subconsciously choose our emotional state of being.... just so discreetly. We can choose to be sad, cheerful, surprised, or even fake whatever emotion we want to fake. Many people (mostly who are not yet mature enough) say that emotions are out of our control, but this is not true at all!

Think about when you were last disappointed by an outcome of an event - maybe a sudden and unexpected breakup with your girlfriend or your boyfriend. Our emotion may be of regret, sorrow, and/or loss... but remember that I said we choose our own emotions? We can totally block this out and treat it as something insignificant. It's possible... you just have to become aware of how you can control your emotions.

However, I want to express my deep sorrow in how people can be so used to controlling their emotions that they become less and less human over time. Sure, nobody likes pain - I mean who does? Pain is a part of life; it's inevitable, but remember that along with pain comes joy and vice versa. But you just can't numb your pain all the time... that's not real. And you become less real too.

.... I think I'm guilty of going far enough to judge people in order to block out at least some of the pain that I've been going through. With ability comes responsibility...

(Written two years ago)

Day 369: Third Culture Bolshevik

“In every generation there are a few souls, call them lucky or cursed, who are simply born not belonging, who come into the world without strong affiliation to family or location or nation or race. Those who value stability, who fear transience, uncertainty, change, have erected a powerful system of stigmas and taboos against rootlessness so that we mostly conform, we hide our secret identities beneath false skins of those identities which bear the belongers’ seal of approval. But the truth leaks out in our dreams; alone in our beds—because we are alone at night, even if we do not sleep by ourselves—we soar, we fly, we flee.”


-Salman Rushdie


After reading John H Quinley's post of Salman Rushdie's quote, I felt a need to confess about a few things.


Rootlessness - what is it? How is it so that one can define such terms without understanding its meaning? Why does society deem us as outcasts, just as any other foreigner, alien, outsider?


Sometimes at night, when I'm alone in the dark, comfortable solitude before going to sleep, a veil of uncertainty envelops me. It's not necessarily a sensation of ... pain one would feel, but rather one that strangles the rootless mentally and emotionally. Sometimes, you just discard them as you would with any problem when your life is on a high. Sometimes, you have no choice but to struggle with it; sometimes so long that it will keep you awake throughout the night... for hours.


But even night after night after night, how is it that we fail to find a solution to this problem in our lives? Isn't it supposed to be one of those problems where you have to think about it for a while, make a mental adjustment to your thought process, and get over it - just like that?


It's almost as if I've been running around in circles where you'd think you're getting somewhere. As a third culture kid in college, you're even more distinct from the "international" crowd in the school population - you're an international third culture kid. The first few months of your college career would go fine, because you're all so excited to be in a new country, new town, new school, in a new community. But then when reality hits you and when your heart starts to asks you strange questions, like- why is it so difficult adjusting? I thought I'm liking this place pretty fine? Why is it so hard to make meaningful connections with the people around me, even though these guys and girls are really friendly? Is it something that I'm doing wrong?


You swat those thoughts away, because they can only make you depressed and more self-conscious. But as time rolls on and you find yourself less happy and spending a lot of time THINKING, you can't help but start to take these questions more seriously and notice that you're a broken water jar (for a lack of better analogies). And the only sensible, sane thing to do is to fill up that jar that's draining all your emotional energy. So, what do you do - you do all sorts of things to make yourself feel content, happy, pleased. And that can be anything you can think of: overworking yourself in academics and getting a grade that makes you happy. Meeting new people in hopes that you'd find a best friend - that would make you happy. Smoking weed and doing shat with your friends so your problems won't haunt you for that night. Getting smashed at a party or social gathering so you would feel less worried. Finding a hookup buddy, working out in the gym, writing your feelings down on paper, obsessing yourself with video games... whatever. Whatever you can find. But I don't think it takes too long before you come to realize that there's not much you can do about it. Like I said, it's almost as if you're running in circles, only coming to know you really haven't gotten anywhere. You thought you were going somewhere, but you really haven't.


But even after thinking and writing and shedding tears and trying to find an answer for years and years, I still don't know anything! It's so stupid and fruitless, this whole thing. I don't know anything but one thing: that I am rootless. Like, yeah, I learned some things on the way, and I've built character from these social barriers that I had to face, and I've changed the way I would talk to people, but that's basically identifying the bolshevik problems that you were born into this world with - hooray.


I don't know. After a while, you become somewhat numb to this stuff, but I think you can still confess to yourself that you still have those times where this rootlessness issue keeps you awake at night and it makes you feel so, so, so homesick sometimes and so starved for that special something that you become emaciated. Not literally.


Again, I don't know. People react to such situations differently, but I'm sure a bunch of you out there can relate to this. Keep up the good work, and don't be afraid to be who you are. Most people we meet don't really give a dog's poo anyways. Let's just be the best rootless people.

Day 365: Anniversary?

“In every generation there are a few souls, call them lucky or cursed, who are simply born not belonging, who come into the world without strong affiliation to family or location or nation or race. Those who value stability, who fear transience, uncertainty, change, have erected a powerful system of stigmas and taboos against rootlessness so that we mostly conform, we hide our secret identities beneath false skins of those identities which bear the belongers’ seal of approval. But the truth leaks out in our dreams; alone in our beds—because we are alone at night, even if we do not sleep by ourselves—we soar, we fly, we flee.”

-Salman Rushdie

Day 287: Deep in the Fields

Feeling impatient
Listening to Death and All His Friends - Coldplay

When I'm left alone in the wee hours of morning, when I'm reflecting back on the events that happened throughout the day, when I'm faced with my bothersome troubles, why do I feel so vulnerable? Why am I so afraid? Why are we left to don our masks and be dancers to a senseless rhythm?

Why do I feel like I am functioning perfectly well, yet so broken? Why do I feel like I don't need anyone else to rely on, but feel like I need a shoulder to lean on?

Why do I feel my soul's empty like a dried up well? Why do I feel like I'm half a man? What is it exactly that keeps me awake at night?

Day 273: What Makes Me - You - Us - Them ... Human?

Feeling hungry
Listening to Edvard Grieg - Stambogsblad

I think everyone faces this question every once in a while, after taking a long, unbiased look at oneself and the people that surround him.

What makes that person as much as human as I am? What qualities of that person render them human? What makes them deserving of my good feelings?

Yeah.

Not a human, but human.

I think peace will come only when the whole world realizes that we are all the same beings. Beings with feelings, conscience, hurts, blessings, weaknesses, and a constant hunger to be cared for, listened to, and loved. But until then.

Day 257: Sweet Sunday

Feeling bitter
Listening to Turbo - 회상

Why is it that when I most need another one to talk to, I can't find anyone? Why do I present to the world a happy image of myself when I am bruising and hurting inside? Why do I feel so fine and well and yet my heart throbs, my face tenses, and the tears come? Why do I tell myself that I am doing alright when I am not so? Why is it that I tell myself a lie, and believe?

I feel happy, act happy, and yet then when I'm all alone, when it's late at night, and I'm left all to my own devices, why does everything dissolve and boil down to nothing? When I'm in the dark and broken apart, why do all my efforts seem fruitless and my good ambitions to have failed? Why does everything seem so hollow?

Why does it seem that I have nowhere else to run, and nothing else to hold on to? At the same time, why is it that I feel like letting go of everything and laying down wherever I may be to just hold my hands up to the sky and scream?

Why am I surrounded by kind people and friends yet I have no one? Sometimes I just want to hug someone and rest my head on them, but I can't. It doesn't matter who, even.

Why is the most comfortable pillow so much less comforting than another human, even without words? Why is a shoulder, however bony, softer than the softest feathers? How is it that we feel a sense of relief when we crumble under the pressure and unleash the tears we held up inside?

Day 252: Temporary Constructs of Feeble Human Intellect

Lies. I should go die. In the morning. Get run over by a car in the morning. All a lie. Vagaries of perception. Illusions. For what? An insipid existence of justifying the human intellect's temporary construct of one's significance in the world? Like an inventor knowing the meaning of his inventions, then what is our blueprint? Simple as from ashes to ashes, dust to dust? An endless cycle of pointless meandering?

Day 207: Shameful Financial Aid Letter

Feeling like a shamed, poor man

Listening to Kewlaid - Wild Berries

It's half past one in the morning

 

Autumn is just around the corner! My weather sense has been tingling for the past week, though I think it is arriving too soon. I really don't like taking ice cold showers in the morning. Ew.

Just now, I wrote this request letter for financial aid in this 2-week reading skill enhancement course that's being offered in Middlebury College this September. I just got to the information letter (in an envelope) just a moment ago, so I had no choice except to get on my hands and knees and literally beg in the format of an e-mail of the Center for Teaching, Learning and Research (Midd lingo - C.T.L.R.) department coordinator, JoAnn Brewer, for consideration.

So, I just want to share with you what I wrote. It's pretty shameful, I know, but I did enjoy the funny five minutes that I spent on crafting it. Ugh. I really need this aid! To be honest, it really sucks having to beg for help all the time. Feels like being a beggar begging for expensive things, like college education. Totally senseless.

Hello JoAnn,

I hope you're having a fine day!
My name is -----, Midd class of '12.5, and I'm writing to you about requesting much-needed financial aid for the Reading and Study Skills course that is offered this coming September.

Yes! I am fully aware that it is past the deadline, but I shamefully admit that I *now* just got to read the letter. It's a bummer, but I would like to go ahead and ask of you anyway. I want to tell you how badly I want to take part in this, but I don't quite think I can enroll without financial aid from the school! So, please, if you can consider this plea just for a second or two - be it yea or nay - I will be thankful.

Thank you for your time and consideration!

Much sincerely,
-------