Thank You, Universe

Well, I got into college. Yessir. I am happy. Oh boy, oh golly gee. Yup. Going to a good college that I chose that has architecture and is filled with intelligent people. CalPoly Pomona. Oh yes. I am happy as can be.

…

Well, at least I’m supposedly to be happy.

Somehow, my parents keep hoping that  I can write an appeal letter to the CalPoly SLO, which I got rejected to, and somehow worm myself up into a better college. This as seems to me, to be rather blunt about the entire business, pathetic. Desperate. Maybe I’m just being prideful, but I don’t believe you should re-apply for a school that rejected you without good reason.

When I got my acceptance letter to CalPoly Pomona, what made it feel special was how I feel like I earned it. My entire high school career had managed to produce a single acceptable crop of college. I felt like I deserved it, and that made me so proud. Thus, when I got my rejection letter from CalPoly SLO later that night, I could deal with the situation maturely. I simply shrugged and moved on with life.

Somehow, sending an appeal without good reason seems to be sort of like throwing a tantrum. It’s making more noise and complaining in hopes of changing your situation. Yes, your chances of acceptance may go up slightly, but the college will utterly despise you for it. Kind of like begging a girl to go to prom with you. Even if I got in, it would leave a bad taste in my mouth, like I knew I didn’t deserve it. Like I knew that the world just gave me what I wanted because I put up such a fight to get it. Even then, I don’t think my parents would be happy. They want the best for me. I understand that all to well.

My dad had a look in his eyes as he glazed over my acceptance letters like they were not enough. He is hungry for my success. I don’t think he has ever been truly proud of me. He has always had a sagely look as if he saw through me, to what I might have been or could become. He holds his praise on his tongue for that version of me, but is otherwise silent, like an apprehensive judge casting the decision on whether I meet his standards.

My mother has always played the tentative opposite to my dad. She has always been encouraging to the point that she will encourage an action that you did not intend on making. Equally unnerving, but in a way that almost cuts the feeling of victory down to a simple checkpoint on a much larger goal. In sophomore year, she said that colleges cared most about those classes because the classes stop being so generically easy like freshman year. In junior year, she said only the junior year grades mattered because the colleges saw that as the time at which most people are in the hardest classes. In senior year, she says colleges weed out procrastinators by checking up on your grades. Her story changes to the situation to catch my fleeting approval.

Of course I want to be the best. Who wouldn’t? Still, I feel like sometimes, trying to hard to get something better is unappreciative of all the gifts you already have. Sometimes, I have to draw a line where I actually feel like I have enough. Hopes and expectations are two things that diminish and blend together when found in high quantities. Too much of a good thing can lead to a sense of entitlement. If I didn’t get into a school, then it was probably got the best. Thank you, universe. I really like all that you’ve done for me so far.

When I was a baby, I learned that many times, whining got me what I wanted when I wanted. However, as I got older, I realized that the goal was achieved at the cost of expectation for yourself and tolerance from others. Slowly, I tried to complain less and control my own emotions. Isn’t that a lesson that should be kept for a lifetime? I mean, I do have hopes for what I want to be, but sometimes I feel like I should just lay down on the grass and smile for what blessings I have.

The Attraction Threshold

I like to have friends that are girls. Not girlfriends, but friends. That just happen to be girls. It’s nice sometimes because the presence of girls tends to make me happy. I don’t know if that is a legitimate biological phenomenon, but it happens to me to often to be arbitrary.

I like talking to girls with no intention of hooking up. They bring up a different set of topics from my guy friends, which can be great because sometimes talking about video games and eating food can get old. Girls also have a more whimsical demeanor in my opinion. They are much better at the small talk. Many times they are more innocent than guys their age.

I really wish I was not so utterly handicapped by my infatuation with girls. I think there is a certain point at which when I am talking with a girl, I discover that like gravity, she draws me in and I realize I am falling for her. I think this happens to most girls that I have empathy for or communicate with about anything beyond school, school-friends, and school-related events.

Sometimes, it is sudden, and I will realize that we are talking about our passions, and I am startled at my openness and probably enthusiasm when I talk. I try to exercise restraint. Still, I know at that point, I was close to stepping beyond the safety net of friendship into the free-fall of having a “crush”. My theory is that they are called “crushes” because having one tends to lead to having broken hearts.

Other times, it will creep up on me (or us?) that somehow, it’s already the end of class and we are still talking. We talk until our paths diverge to separate ends of the parking lot. As I walk home, I think to myself, “Oh dear. It must be happening again.” I’ll be smiling, but conflicted inside whether that is the right girl for me, or whether I’m good enough for her.

I wish this didn’t happen. I am a simple man with simple desires. Sex is not one of those desires. I love talking about philosophy and dreams of the future. I love when someone else tells me something I hadn’t thought of. I love fantastical hypothetical arguments and inside jokes. I love having casual friends you can speak freely with.

But all of that is lost in the throes of having a “crush”. When I’m around girls I like, I am either more silent or exuberantly loud. Either I am gathering the courage to speak, or I am bragging. There is no middle ground, and that is the problem. I wish I could hear her thoughts instead of just staring at her face. I wish I could muster up courage to just speak freely. I wish I didn’t feel obliged to show off in front of her and make myself look stupid. As a matter of fact, I wish I didn’t have to think about whether I look stupid or not. Having a penis is very hard. Wait, no. What I mean is being an average guy not looking for a relationship is very hard.

(Oh, by the way: If you’re reading this, Steph, I’m really sorry about what happened. For what I said, but also for myself. I wrote those things, and yes, I meant them, but I feel bad about the entire thought process. I don’t think there are words to try and apologize for thinking what I did. I try to hide it and keep it undercover. Guess I wasn’t good enough. Apologies.)

In conclusion, sometimes I’m not sure whether it’s okay to smother your feelings in the void inside yourself. I am afraid of dying an old man with so much I wanted to live for, but at the same time, I want to keep my friendships as they are, casual and free and strangely innocent. It is the strange contradiction of the world that sometimes, we don’t get to choose why we like who we like.

Refuge in Anonymity

Oh dear. Someone else from real life found my blog again. As a matter of fact, I wonder if she’s reading this right now.

I like blogging. If anything, I suppose it would be my guilty pleasure. I enjoy the fact that I can say what I feel and no one will judge me online. Probably like you. You’re not judgmental, are you? Well, even if you were, I could probably unapprove your comment. So there. I don’t mean to be a fascist dictator by any means, but this is to me, a sanctuary: I prefer to keep it pure. And by pure, I don’t mean inoffensive. Most of my writings are VERY offensive, one way or the other. What I mean by pure is I want everything on this blog to reflect my true perception of issues relevant to me. It’s selfish I understand, but I write this blog for myself.

In real life, you have to watch your mouth not to offend people, and I suppose the same would occur on social networking sites. I have alternate personas for such situations. They are much more conservative. However, at some point, I need to speak my opinions. Is it too naive to think that I could do that on my own terms online? I understand there are very sophisticated search functions these days for pinpointing information, and certainly I know my blog is public. I wonder now though whether it is intelligent to gamble on the odds that of the people that visit your blog in particular, none of them are people you know. Although the odds of staying disguised is usually relatable to that of finding a needle in a haystack, when found, it’s practically being found with your pants off.

I want to write what comes to me naturally, but that’s hard when you can’t include any details. Certainly there is no problem with abstraction of topics, but I feel that if the purpose of writing a blog is for yourself to recall information from the past, removing details is somehow self-defeating of the entire purpose. And while I try my best to include the entire story, I suppose that every time someone I know tells me they’ve found my blog, I have to assume that they will read it, and start to edit my work, even if simply subconsciously.

I remember the first time I wrote online. It felt like yelling into nature, spouting free thoughts to a listening, but ultimately non-influential force. Somehow, it seems that someone heard my echo, and I am left ashamed of the things I’ve written.

There’s a Moral In All of This…

I grew up on Disney. I grew up knowing instinctively that every episode of life came with a message, hidden or otherwise. Every experience was a fortune cookie, giving somewhat-ignorable advice that could potentially alter your perspective on every subsequent event in your lifetime.

Sometimes, I would leave a video game saying to myself, “Never underestimate the value of perseverance”. Other times, I would sulk home with rotten grades, mumbling to myself, “Gotta roll with the punches”. And my personal favorite, sometimes I would just smile, scheme, and think to myself, “Revenge is a dish best served cold”. Most of the time though, these lessons simply pass by unnoticed.

However, this time, I see the experience approaching in all its entirety: college acceptance/rejection letters. I know that sometime next week (by the 15th of December), I will undergo a strange metamorphosis. Right now, I am trying to decide on possible interpretations for my success/failure.

I’m fairly certain that my perception upon the scale of optimism and pessimism will be shifted considerably whatever the decision. However, to sort each effect for each situation would be a major hassle.

Were I to get in to my first choice school, I am sure that my look of life would be more carefree and optimistic. I believe that it might kindle a fire within me for architecture knowing that I had seized a rare opportunity to seriously approach architecture. I would be enthusiastic about potential prospects and life would be happy, at least for a while. However, at the same time, I also acknowledge that the experience might cause me to not take the “rigorous college admissions” that seriously. After all, if someone with grades as mediocre as mine could get in, then is the entire system just over-hyped? It might even influence me to tell my kids that college is scary before you reach it, but essentially nothing to be afraid of, like the monster in their closet. I fear this might cause bad repercussions on the education of my children, but it might also cause them to live with less stress. Having never lived like that before, I wouldn’t know if that is the preferred option. Such is the case with all hypothetical situations.

and then there’s the other possibility…

In the event that I would be rejected from my first choice school, I believe I would become more neurotic and in general more pessimistic. I imagine that there would be little difference between a college telling you that they’re just not that into you and a girl saying the same thing except one has a bigger effect on your life than the other.  In that case, I imagine that I might get defensive and immunized from expectation for quite a while. It would be such a depressing situation, but I can imagine it quite vividly. It would not hit me like a soap opera or a soul-crushing depression filled with weeping, but rather as a long and somber silence filled with isolation. It would validate my innate fears of inadequacy and cause a lot of general grief for what children I have. I would probably press hard on their education as my parents tried to do to me, only harder, considering my parents would then not have been successful. I would try hard to correct the errors of my own education in my children. They would end up similar to me, endlessly questioning their worth in comparison to other applicants, faithful members of the meritocracy. More faithful than me.

The second impact probably sounds exaggerated, but I assure you that it could very well happen. I want my kids to live better than I do. Whatever that means. I can’t say I know now, but I can assure you what happens to me will determine my personal definition of living better. I know my parents wanted that much out of me. They knew the trials of poverty, and so encouraged me to find a high-paying stable job. I do not blame them for that, even if they were overly zealous in their pursuit. I do not blame them for not knowing to help me. All of these mistakes could not be helped. I think that my role in this cycle is to determine whether they were correct, and then teach it to my own children. I am fairly certain that I won’t quite understand their struggle, but I have no choice. That is what a parent does: They try to get their kids to live well.

In less than a week, I’ll know the result. I know that whatever the result, I will never be the same. The moral will teach me something about myself, and I’ll know it to be true from my very depths. It will be an enlightenment, casting aside old ideas in lieu of what appears to be absolute truth. It is a strange sensation to know that your state of mind is under attack, but I have no doubts that after receiving the result, I will think and act differently for better or worse. The me of today will no longer exist as is. These are the times that drive people to religion, but I have long since abandoned such hopes. Of the few hopes I have left, I pray to not lose hope entirely.

Running With It

I used to think that teachers usually know what they are talking about. It’s why they have their jobs. They usually know why you did something wrong, and how you were supposed to do it. That’s also why they have their jobs.

Now that I’ve grown up a bit, I realize that view is consistent only about 60% of the time. Teachers always act like they know what they’re talking about, but most of the time, they don’t.

I remember I first found out about this in Chinese school. We had to play recorders, but I had no idea which note was which and was bad at memorization, so I simply covered all the holes and changed notes with my vocal chords. the teachers congratulated me on all my hard work. I didn’t want to ruin their thinking, so I left it at that.

But the more I thought about it, the more it seemed to come up. Some teachers would award me on my participation more if I was louder or spoke longer despite the actual amount of times I spoke in class. Art teachers were notorious for having no sense of what I actually put effort into. The dentist never knew when I had actually put on rubber bands.

What was up with these so-called professionals? I have come to think now that even people who were supposed to know what they are doing and do it well more often then not just bullshit their way through. They just figure that they know enough about what they are doing that they just don’t sweat the small stuff. As a society, we have all collectively accepted this notion. We acknowledge that while we preach opposite, corrupt governments still exist, police officers are not perfect, and school doesn’t really make you that much smarter. No one else seems to mind, so nothing changes.

I thought about this for a while today. Then, I figured that no one else would really care, so I just ran with it too.

Faustian Pact

Recently, as early decision college results come out, I keep entertaining the thought of what I would give up in order to go to college. I understand the admission process isn’t a trade or exchange, but this “deal with the devil” so to speak, would be more between me and whatever omnipotent force, be it fate, god, or devil, that is willing to bargain with me. I remember this began when I was thinking to myself,

“I’d give anything to go to Cal Poly San Luis Obispo.”

But I quickly retracted that thought. Because I don’t think many people realize what that implies. To give up anything and everything is a terrifying experience. I remember thinking that if I gave up an arm, I wouldn’t be able to make architectural models as well, which would degrade my experience there. If I gave up my mental sanity, the entire process would be useless.

These are all hypothetical situations, but I still sort of like the idea of a fantastical con-man running the world rather than an omni-present judge or watcher. The thought of cutting a deal gives the impression of free will, and let’s face it: It is more religiously consistent to say that the world is run by the devil, were God to even exist. (I still consider myself a pocket agnostic, though. Even with religious consistency, I believe that it would be impossible to prove the existence of any possible god or devil, nor do I believe that catering favors to either deity would result in any effect.)

There is an age-old saying of “Be careful what you wish for”. I like to think that I have accounted for this. If such a devil existed as to distort reality, I imagine he would derive pleasure from the irony of human emotions by giving people exactly what the ask for with unintended consequences. With this notion, I realize that the things that I would be willing to give are relatively limited. I would give one kidney, and perhaps my left hand, or my right eye. I would give up my car, laptop, computer, watch, etc. I would give up what constitutes as the family fortune, but none of my family members (even Lisa).

However, what is more unsettling is the thought of what I will have to give up if I get in. When I accept any college letter, I say goodbye to my idyllic time here in the hills of Saratoga with my parents and my friends in a little California high school. I realize my current state of life is simply transitory to bring me to college and that even if I remained, my friends would go, but the mere thought of leaving behind an entire period of my life is breathtaking.

Somehow, the thought of a cost is almost settling in that it validates progress. “Well, since I lost an arm to get here, I must continue forward. Otherwise, why would it have been worth it to give an arm to be here?” I search for meaning as often as I draw a breath. It is not as strange then that this week I find myself very conscious of every possible permanently damaging accident or problem I might encounter, half-anxious and half-eager.

College Application Anxiety

Don’t get me wrong. I know the worst has yet to come. Anyone who reads this after having reached college will be sure to inform me of how uneducated I am.

However, right now, just applying to get into college seems to amount to an overwhelming amount of trouble already. I have a dead-set school already, for better or worse. I keep getting these dreams lately alternating between receiving acceptance letters and rejection letters. It’s terrifying to think you have passed a hurdle and wake up to reexperience the terror. I scarcely want to believe anymore.

I can’t wait for a straight answer as soon as possible. I want this anxiety to end. Education is shortening my life on account of stress.

What Is Required

I have been thinking about an amazing movie that I have heard about before called Primer, and in the trailer, the characters ask what is needed in life, and what is wanted. It is an interesting subject to me, so I have taken my time to try and narrow the discussion of what is needed to the most basic components. Let me know what you think.

1. Sustenance – As a human being, operating without material sustenance is generally a bad idea. Pretty simple. I’m talking about food and water and vitamins and minerals. Essentially chemicals. This also includes things that sustain your life such as the atmosphere, gravity, and oxygen. Generally understated, but definitely necessary. Moving on.

2. Meaning – This covers more material than you think, but this isn’t Pokemon: You don’t need to collect them all. Everyone has their own meaning in life, be it romantic, reproductive, religious, societal, familial, etc. The issue is, if you don’t have a meaning in life, you tend not to have initiative, and without initiative, statistically, we tend to live neither long nor well. We all seek meaning from our environment and from each other, so the possible descriptions are endless. Most of us have at least a meaning in life in the form of survival instincts and often societal restraints. We often try to justify our own existence and when we do, we look to our meaning to measure out our achievements to date. Meaning can be replaced with the word initiative or purpose, but it doesn’t matter. The important thing is that meaning is what makes life worth living.

3. Death – I vouch for death instead of time for a very definite reason: Time is a want. We can exist without it. As a matter of fact, time is a human invention. If we had time in our lives, but no death, humanity would be absolutely lethargic due to the inherent lack of drive provided by survival instincts. Additionally, and I know this will sound cruel, but we would run out of sustenance if no death existed to wipe out the outdated. Death is both a motivator and a timekeeper. It is the equalizer and guarantee on life.

I can think of no other necessary things. And thoughts, comments, or objections?

RE: The secret life of us (via The Mustard Jumper)

I don’t usually repost articles, but this one really caught my eye. It’s strange. When I think about the circumstances, I can relate fully. I don’t want anyone entirely close to me to know about this blog. It is a haven of mine. A perfect little place where I can bite, scream, and shout at the air and not care who is reading. Somehow, if one of my friends found this blog, it would almost be as if they had caught me masturbating or something illicit. It is strange how such a public medium is so secure in its anonymity. It is hard to pinpoint a tree through the forest.

I do not know how many of my friends read this blog. I have mentioned it a few times to others, but I try to assert that I write this blog for myself to reflect upon. I used to keep a personal journal, but I suppose this online diary has replaced that. It’s strange.

The one thing I regret the most about posting things online is that they lack the “slice-of-life” aspect found in journals. My journal is the ultimate reflection of my personality. Certainly, this blog is more fluent. However, without the time to consider my words, my journal ends up with all of my stupid jokes and writing style. There is no undo button with a journal and somehow that makes the journal more genuine. I have portions that I have written on a bus, and when my tenacity did not allow me to stop writing, I simply apologized in the journal for writing on a bus. The one part of a blog that is hard to manage is that it gives you the power not to lie (because most people choose not to anyway,) but the power to leave portions out.

My journal reads like a conversation. My blog reads like a keynote speech. It is hard to advocate the speech over the conversation. I have neither the controlled personality for a video blog nor the artistic hand for a comic blog, yet those are my talents that do not transfer digitally. Perhaps in the future, I’ll try to change my blog to better portray me, but for now, I simply self-dictate my autobiography.

I started my blog on a whim. I'd sporadically posted notes on Facebook for the enjoyment of my friends for years, but only when a subject grabbed me or I could be bothered putting down a couple of hundred words on a particular issue. It wasn't until I found myself temporarily in a role at work where I had almost seven … Read More

via The Mustard Jumper

The Wrong Questions

“Where did we come from?”

That is not the right question. Recently, I have been taking Language AP and have found that this question is insufficient to answer with God. I understand that everything had to come from somewhere. So let us assume there is a god somewhere. If that were true, then where did he go? I refuse to believe he lives in the clouds or that he is everywhere at once. Those are both insufficient answers and means of creating fiction.

Is it wrong to believe that whatever this god is, exploded and became the universe? I suppose that sort of justifies that he exists everywhere at once… Still, it is something that makes a great deal of sense somehow. Energy tends to condense itself until it explodes outwards, and following that whatever created the universe must have had a lot of energy, it holds that whatever created it must have had a combination of all that energy. Plus, there’s no way to refute universal law, so that holds water, too.

Still, pardon my sacrilege, I don’t think it is proper to worship the environment. The environment, be it God, Gaea, Mother Earth, or other, is constantly being shaped and remade for the sake of living with it. Certainly, it is to be cared for, but not worshiped. The environment is like a girlfriend or spouse. Compromises must be made for a healthy relationship. Whenever we build a house or pave a road, we reconstruct the Earth in our image. In this way, it is impossible to cater to our Earth’s every need. If we did that, we would be dead by now. Human beings have one advantage over animals, which is that we use tools to reshape our environment.

Green technology seems to be a good idea. However, most people don’t seem to understand that solar panels and wind turbines absorb heat and redirect wind respectively. When this happens, the environment will be subtly shifted. When heat is extracted from the atmosphere and from solar light, heat is lost in the process, cooling the air. Likewise, planting gigantic wind turbines not only takes up space, but also changes the environment with its presence. Everything has a cost (Thank you, Mr. Dwyer). Even FairTrade and all other donation gimmicks destroy the environment because while it does give the consumer the satisfaction of redeeming him or herself from pure consumerism, it also promotes consumerism with trade flourishing for every exchange made, forming a cyclical formation of events.

I want to just say that people should live however they choose. Government intervention is always a disadvantage, even for “saving the environment” as it is. AP Lang is fun. It’s philosophical and I think I fit in. And that is a nice way to end Senior year.