tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9827841406523882802024-03-19T04:45:27.065-07:00Path Of ProgressThe Kulahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12784605393692696671noreply@blogger.comBlogger82125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-982784140652388280.post-52910904704518837522015-02-27T09:56:00.002-08:002015-02-27T11:32:23.120-08:00Picture-Shows From YesteryearIn what's starting to be a unsatisfactory trend, like a lover who forgets your birthday or a friend who is always late to the party, I begin this post by saying what I've been saying more often than not: It's been a while since I've written anything. There are several reasons for that, which are mostly not worth getting into. Last semester was quite hellish, and this year seems to promise that it will pull no punches. Consistent postings from me seem unlikely. If you'd like to hear from me, consider checking out my twitter @MrManter.<br />
<br />
It says something that the first thing I tried to do when I ended my last paragraph was to give it an indent. I'm so used to writing something according to the confines of the format expected of me that it's become internalized. I've always figured that one of the most important things you can take away from your degree is your way of thinking. One could say that's the goal of education - because everything about us is a result of our way of thinking. On that note, I've been reading an economics textbook, it's pretty great. A particularly memorable moment was when it started talking about how scarcity is the human condition - how no matter what we have, we'll always want more and as a result we'll never have enough to sate our desires. It's worth thinking about.<br />
<br />
I've been trying my hand at self-expression in different formats. I wrote an <a href="https://medium.com/@kulamanter/no-more-heroes-357ca1011feb" target="_blank">article that I posted on Medium</a> recently, that's worth checking out. I've been posting in bite-sized form over on Twitter for a while now. It's a lot easier than writing here, because it doesn't eat up my time as much and by keeping it succinct a lot of what goes on behind the scenes can be obfuscated. There's a certain panache to mystery.<br />
<br />
Long ago, I told myself that I wouldn't attempt to write anything significant until I had lived enough to understand life itself as a story. I feel like that time has come to pass - I've been throwing ideas around for a short story to submit to Hungry In Ipoh (It's an anthology) for a while. Whether I'll actually send anything in is another thing, but it looks like I won't be. It seems like I've moved onto putting off my writing for a different reason - that I want to focus my efforts on the now, on achieving all that I can achieve in this plane. I can understand now why there are writers whom would prefer work that is by itself mind-numbing - something to pay the bills with. It's unforunate, because I know what I want, and I'm willing to put writing off to get to it. It makes me wonder - if I ever achieve the American dream - picket fence, wife, couple of kids - would I have to put off my dreams until the nest is empty and my life draws to a close? Maybe. I would hope not. I've no idea what the future holds, but I get the feeling writing's going to be in there somewhere. So I hope, at least.<br />
<br />
Recently, I've been exploring my past - more specifically, the media I've consumed in the past. It's a side project that's been going on for the last year or so. I recommend you try it. A lot of your preferences make much more sense when you compare them with the type of media you consume. You gain a new albeit different appreciation for the media you used to adore. Try it out and see what you learn. I'm currently reading through the entire Warriors series. Of all things, it made me think about the importance of ritualized warfare. It's something worth thinking about - how ritualized warfare has always been a part of society, with its role being transplanted into sport, politics and our views on issues in general. To me, that's always been the most sensible explanation for why we so vociferously defend our positions, particularly positions we've no reason to feel so personally about. For an example a lot of us would be familiar with - People who argue that the book was better than the movie or the movie was better than the book. For anyone who's seen me talk about this, it's very easy to observe this in how I see A Song Of Ice and Fire / Game of Thrones. I can always feel the specter of irritation encroaching on my thoughts when I speak to someone who says they love GoT but they haven't read the books. To me, that's like saying you love your parents but never making any effort to spend time with them beyond what you're obliged to. Do you ever feel that your mind is subconsciously dividing people into groups? If you notice, you can stop it, but sometimes these positions seem so... innocuous. Like preferring the book over the series.<br /><br />Life has been on the upswing, and I forecast that it'll continue to be that way. This year is going to be both busy and interesting, as the years preceding it were. I'm gonna be spending time with my thesis. Doubt I can really write much. I recommend looking back into the archives of this blog - I was doing that earlier today, which is what led to me writing this. I was reading Red Letter Day.<br /><br />I've always felt that if there's anything the world wants me to know, it'll tell me through media - books, movies, video games etc.<br /><br />Here's something that I read recently, it touches on what I spoke about in my previous post, all those months ago:<br /><br /><span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;"><b>"If wishes were prey, we'd feast like lions come leafbare. But we'd die of boredom. You know that's not what the life of the Clans is like. The warrior code guides us through the dark times, the cold, and the hunger. And the good times seem all the greater for it." - Whitestorm, Bluestar's Prophecy, Warriors Super Edition, Erin Hunter.</b></span><br />
<br />The Kulahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12784605393692696671noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-982784140652388280.post-85169728094664306992014-09-13T12:14:00.001-07:002014-09-13T12:14:35.878-07:00Temporary TemerityI keep telling myself I'll write, but I never actually get around to it. Writing is intrinsically satisfying to me, but it's also taking a piece of me and putting it to paper. I haven't written in a long while because the parts of me that were most present the past few months weren't the parts of me I wanted to write about.<br /><br />So I've been living in temporary temerity. My days were whirlwind. The good thing is that I got introduced to a lot of new things in the meanwhile, and I like the direction my life is heading in, now.<br /><br />The other thing that's been keeping me off writing a post is the amount of time it takes for me to string together a collection of words to form a collection of sentences to form a collection of paragraphs to form a post. Unless I'm writing straight from the heart about something I feel strongly about that I don't need to ruminate on, it takes me anywhere between 3-6 hours to write something out. Usually because I end up researching something else in the meanwhile and checking my assumptions. It's good practice, though.<br /><br />I started blogging because I want to practice my writing. Stephen King said that if you were serious about being a writer, you should write 2000 words a day. I don't know how legitimate that advice is, since even though I enjoy what he writes, he does tend write... prolifically. I feel bad for anyone whom ever had to carry around a physical copy of The Stand.<br /><br />I'm interested in seeing the different shapes my mental representations take. Today, while I was walking around, I was struck by the image of a dead tree in my mental landscape. That tree, to me, was my ability to write. I felt as if I was losing part of myself. These past few months, my ability to express myself has deteriorated, or so it felt. It felt more like an emotional block than a mental block, but whatever it was, it's gone now. I'm glad. I'm glad to be writing this, even though I should be sleeping. I'm glad to be writing this, even though it means I'll wake up tomorrow not being able to do all the things I set out to do. I'm glad because it means I'm staying true to myself.<br /><br />Recently, I asked a friend of mine for some advice. To put it simply:<br /><br />He advised me to do the... less objectively nice thing in order to make me seem nicer than I was, because he reasoned that me doing the actual honest thing would probably result in my failure.<br />(What I describe here is not what he actually said, but it helps illustrate the situation tersely.)<br /><br />I realized that he was entirely right - his logic was sound. But I still chose to do the latter anyway. How it goes remains to be seen, but it'll probably show that he was right. I don't mind, though. There's no point in doing something if your heart's not into it, even if it might lead you to success or profit. I'm not going to do something that conflicts with my moral compass. Not now. Not ever.<br /><br />Here's to conflict, strife and all the other things that keep us growing and keep us thinking.The Kulahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12784605393692696671noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-982784140652388280.post-51891982803990774472014-06-04T04:15:00.002-07:002014-06-04T04:15:33.102-07:00Running In CirclesAll my deeper fears have one thing in common - loss of control. Being unable to meaningfully affect my environment, and more importantly, being unable to affect meaningful change to myself, personally.<br /><br />For a very long time (and even now), I find my eventual death to be a very hard thing to really accept. If you told "Everyone is going to die someday, even you." I'd readily agree with that. Hell, I even /say/ that. But if I really think about it, really really think about it, it bothers me. I try not to really think of it anymore, it doesn't serve a purpose.<br /><br />But whenever I'm faced with a definite, I've notice the distress that comes with it. I don't like working in definites. I like living in that world of possibility, where some things are more probable and some thing are less probable, but everything is possible. It's curious.<br /><br />The semester is winding down. I don't have much to say.<br /><br />More than a year has passed since I entered university. I'm very proud of some of my choices, regretting some of the others. Learned a lot and became a better person than I was. But the feeling that is starting to pervade me is that I really need a change of scenery.<br /><br />A different horizon to look at, something else to do. God knows, I feel like giving up often. Like everyone else in this world, I have to endure, because enduring is preferable to languishing.The Kulahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12784605393692696671noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-982784140652388280.post-39013159541047108822014-05-27T15:31:00.001-07:002014-05-27T15:31:35.406-07:00Measures of ScalePersonally, I've always enjoyed the use of fire and water-based imagery. I've discussed how much I like fire-based imagery before. Water is a nice counterpoint. Water is a nice symbol. It is gentle but forceful, conforming yet unyielding. I've always been attracted to bodies of water, which is funny, because I can't swim. The serenity that water has to offer me is contrasted by the danger it presents to me. My relationship with water is a good symbol for my relationship with life. It fully encompasses the range of action and emotion present within my life. Perhaps, if they ever made my life into a short film, it'd be just one long take of someone in a swimming pool. Flailing into a master-stroke. It sounds quite poetic, actually.<br /><br />The river of my thoughts feels like it has been dammed, lately. It's as if I am surrounded by a field of thorns - nothing I face can kill me, but this constant progression of irritation is blocking the peaceful flow of mental activity. Instead, my experience of consciousness seems to surge and fade, resulting in bouts of irritation and impatience followed by feelings of lethargy and helplessness. It's a toxic cycle. I consider myself to be a resilient person, but I feel like I've managed to force myself into an impasse that will end up grinding me into nothing, both through my own actions and the machinations of my environment. The simple solution - cutting the Gordian knot - is untenable, because the heart of this knot is guarded by the crux of my moral identity. How then do I escape my situation if doing so means betraying what I am? The most reasonable solution is one of endurance, but I'm not sure if I am up to task.<br /><br />I feel like I don't believe in myself nearly enough. At the same time, I believe in myself too much. I am more capable than I believe myself to be. I am also less capable than I believe myself to be. I would benefit from a more realistic view of my strengths and weaknesses. I normally consider myself to be quite grounded, but lately, my sense of self is up in the air. Simply put, I think I'm going through a moderate mental health crisis, set off by external events, continued by internal conflicts. When I look at it clinically and distance my rational self from the rest of me, it's actually quite interesting. The rest of the time, it's quite distressing. My psyche is in a vulnerable state, and I'm too busy to really focus on fixing it.<br /><br />We should be careful not to anchor our definitions of ourselves in things that go beyond ourselves. It's something I used to do and something I'm sure most people did or still do. Some part of your self-worth, some part of your identity, rests on something external. When that external thing no longer sways in your direction, suddenly one of the pillars of your identity collapse. It's not a nice feeling. I've been trying my best to allow my identity to be self-defined and to be rooted within myself. This idea of self, of course, is not for anyone else. This idea of self is for yourself. For your own sanity. To keep you centred.<br /><br />All my life, I've been looking outward. I thought I wanted external success, be somebody, involve myself in society and make the world better. To be at the forefront of societal change. Aping this ideal is costing me, internally. I feel like my soul is dying a little, day by day. You can put your nose to the grind, but putting your soul on the grind is something else entirely. I don't see the point in becoming successful if it means that I will end up being a shadow of my former self - smarter and richer, for sure, but with every ounce of passion I ever had hung out to dry.<br /><br />It's always been a question of scale. For all my life, I've been looking at the bigger picture. It's great when you want to think rationally, when you want to consider everything. That scale of consideration is paralyzing. It's an addictive method of analysis. It's strategic, definitely, but having to consider all those variables all the time can get so draining. I realize now why intimacy is so appealing to me. Precisely because I've been always thinking about the bigger picture. These moments of intimacy, moments of microcosm, are the counterbalance to a relatively all-encompassing thought process. These moments of microcosm ensure that thinking in the plane of relative macrocosm exists without knocking you off-balance. I realize that I've been seeking these moments of microcosm all my life. I found it in fantasy, in romance, in escapism.<br /><br />I realize that my own urge for romance began when I had to engage with society meaningfully - that romantic relationships and the role I played within them served as the opposite of my role as a member of society. The moments I'll always remember are the moments that made me forget everything else - perfect moments of societal microcosm. These moments come from a range of situations, definitely. But the ones oft-spoken about are always about a special someone. Here's to perfect moments of microcosm, whatever their source.<br /><br />The Kulahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12784605393692696671noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-982784140652388280.post-43977714432932895382014-05-16T09:09:00.003-07:002014-05-16T09:09:37.287-07:00So Many PeopleEverything looks likes it matters until you find out it doesn't.<br />
<br />
Everyone seems unimportant until you find out how they aren't.<br />
<br />
Things that sound correct the first time come out wrong the second.<br />
<br />
This isn't pointless pontification, but it certainly sounds that way.<br />
<br />
In the last 3 years, I have grown much and achieved quite a bit. I could definitely have achieved much more and the things that I've achieved are mostly part of normal development as an individual, so it's nothing worth bragging about, but it's still worth mentioning. I have steadily chosen to make my life more complex, spinning a web full of unspoken obligation.<br />
<br />
Now, I feel more alone than ever. I feel like I've cut myself off from the sources of joy inherent in my life. I'm always into something, there's never a moment where I can lay back and enjoy that which I have accomplished and the state that my life in. All I can see is potential areas of improvement, places where I could be doing so much better if I could commit the time or the effort. I've developed as an individual greatly since, but I got it at the cost of losing my contentment. Even now, I wonder if that was a price worth paying.<br />
<br />
I feel strangled by the negativity of the people around me - if it weren't for the positive people I associate with, I would have given up a long time ago. I know people whom are beginning to model all that which I hate - but the one thing they have on me is contentment. Here I thought I wanted the moon, the stars and everything - but all I've ever wanted was contentment.<br />
<br />I'm watching season 7 of Mad Men now and I feel like it speaks to me about my current state of life.<br /><br />"I feel like I'm so many people."The Kulahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12784605393692696671noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-982784140652388280.post-77689347025199032722014-03-28T10:37:00.001-07:002014-03-28T10:37:26.594-07:00Father, Father.It seems like I'm getting into the habit of this 'one blog post a month' deal. It's not exactly intentional, but it's something that I am conscious of and have the power to change if I really wanted to - isn't that the case with a lot of things? We let a lot of things slip away because of our own laziness. Certainly describes my life.<br /><br />Normally when I go a decent while without blogging, I write small notes in my phone to remind me about what I want to write about. No such thing this time, because the real world has held my attention lately. It's.. different. It's nice to keep your problems grounded in the here and now instead of trawling the internet and worrying about a future that may never come.<br /><br />Recently I had a business dealing with a middle-aged Indian guy. Every time I interact with a person who physically resembles a father figure, I feel the lack of a father figure in my own life more acutely. It's just something I've noted over the years. Perhaps I feel the same way in regards to religion - my parents never really tried to indoctrinate me into any one religion, which I'm quite thankful for, but at times I wonder if it was the right thing to do. It is wise after all to do the thing that is most ethical if it will make your life difficult from a societal point of view? I am repulsed by fanatical devotion - whatever it might be. As I go through life, it is becoming more and more evident that I'll have to start playing favourites - I've already had to, and I can only see life forcing me to do so to a greater extent. It's... really too bad. Perhaps I'll start living the lie someday. One of the endings I see for myself - living within myself, masking myself in false beliefs.<br /><br />Looking at things practically and looking at things ethically at the same time often puts me at odds within myself. It's an unpleasant feeling. Often, if the problem isn't pressing, I'll end up not addressing it. Of course, what I call problems aren't what a lot of people would call problems. My problems are only problems because they're situations that do not sit well with me ethically.<br /><br /> My preoccupation with ethics - ensuring that things are done the right way - is something that I feel will always inconvenience me. However, I'm glad to have it, as I feel that is it an essential part of my identity. It's something worth noting - there are some things which are never proper, and I will therefore never agree with. They're probably not what you think, because I don't believe in morally policing other people unnecessarily. Most of my ethical concerns come to fore when it comes to planning events and other stuff like that. I say this because for the past few weeks a lot of my complaints have been on what I would call an ethical basis. (The what I would call is there because there may be some people who disagree with me.)<br /><br />In the present, I'm in a situation that I believe will end somewhat messily. It is merely a belief and I have the hope that it will not in fact come intro fruition, but the possibility of that is somewhat low. Best thing to do is to grin and bear it. So that's what I'll do. Life's an adventure, and what's an adventure without difficulty?The Kulahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12784605393692696671noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-982784140652388280.post-53046757840797553492014-03-01T09:17:00.003-08:002014-03-01T09:17:53.321-08:00BirthdayIt is my mother's birthday today. She's approaching retirement age. She tells me she can't sleep. I can figure why - she's thinking too much. I wonder if she realizes that despite our difference in generation, we're probably thinking about the same things.<br /><br />Perhaps we have more in common than we thought.<br /><br />Birthdays are usually a sombre occasion for me as well. I haven't celebrated my birthday since I was 12 and the idea of celebrating it now feels peculiar.<br /><br />We both sit here, rooms apart. Awake. I should have slept a couple hours ago. I couldn't.<br /><br />Looking back, you never really expect your life to turn out the way it does, do you?<br />Things just come your way and you have to deal with them. All of us.<br /><br />Some of us win, some of us lose.<br /><br />I would think my mother has faced all the great challenges in her life already.<br /><br />I would presume that I am one of her last tasks - she does not care if I marry, she only wants to see me self-sufficient and somewhat successful.<br /><br />It's something I think about, from time to time.<br /><br />There were times when I entertained the thought of killing myself, either from an existential crisis or life issues.<br /><br />Would it be surprising if I said the thought of my mother was at the forefront of preventing me from doing so? To be completely honest, it was my own spite that was at the very front.<br /><br />I am one of my mother's last challenges. My failure or success in this world is something she will remember and will eventually take to her deathbed.<br /><br />Because of this, I must prevail.<br /><br />Because of this, I have to keep going.<br /><br />I have no love for money - I only want enough to maintain my lifestyle. But you can bet I'm going to chase paper like everyone else.<br /><br />If only to show my mother that she passed her final test as a parent with flying colours.The Kulahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12784605393692696671noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-982784140652388280.post-12334442516450162132014-02-01T15:26:00.001-08:002014-05-27T15:36:27.380-07:00...And Now For Something Completely DifferentThere and back again, huh?<br />
<br />
I've kept myself from blogging for some time. Whenever I had the time, I chose to do something else. Something more appropriate to say would be "I'm too busy for blogging." I know a lot of people hate that phrase, because it's a phrase you can diplomatically throw out and the other person usually just has to accept it.<br />
<br />
After all, "I'm too busy" sounds a lot better than "I'd rather spend my time elsewhere."<br />
<br />
I don't like telling people I'm busy, because even if I have stuff to do, I try to make time. I could do this with ease when I was younger because I knew less people and there was less to do in general. It isn't so easy anymore. Guess I should have listened to folk wisdom and spent more time looking out for #1. Let's see how it goes. I've been writing and rewriting parts of this for a bit and I've come to realize that I can't articulate my thoughts on this subject the way I want to. It's particularly irritating in a piece of writing, because you never know at what point people will stop reading. I wouldn't want to state an incomplete or poorly worded thought.<br />
<br />
I started running a storytelling role-playing game. World of Darkness, right here in Selangor, Malaysia (Yeah, I typed that out just so if anyone googles it, they'll get sent to these parts and spend a lot less time in fruitless Google searching than I did back in the day.) So far all my players tell me that they're enjoying themselves, and I've got quite a few interesting ideas to throw at them. Let's see how it goes.<br />
<br />
Psychologically, I'm not surprised that people are into role-playing if their GM is fair and semi-competent. Think about it. It's a social activity that allows you to take on another role and forget about your mundane life and participate in something greater. Small wonder that every tabletop role-playing game has a fantastical component. It gives you the joy of creation. It's like being able to directly influence a show you enjoy. So far I've run about 3 sessions worth of games, and a thought that keeps reoccurring to me is this: Is this what writing a show somewhat feels like?<br />
<br />
When I was 5, my dad showed me a videogame that he had bought from somewhere. It was a game called Lords Of Magic. It sounded very typical, but it was a game that I really did enjoy. I still fire it up and play it sometimes. That game, I think, was the first major influence on my life.<br />
<br />
(Mood/nostalgia music from said game: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sseb0Z59zt4 )<br />
<br />
I credit that game for my.. tenuous hold on reality. Every time you tried to exit that game, it would ask you this question.<br />
<br />
"LEAVE THE MAGICAL WORLD OF URAK AND RETURN TO YOUR MUNDANE LIFE?"<br />
<br />
It was meant to be more of a self-deprecatory joke, but I was young, and I took it a bit more seriously than I should have. Perhaps that's why my expectations of adulthood are more in line with a high-fantasy adventure than reality. Perhaps that's why I'll always be somewhat dissatisfied. I suppose that's good. It keeps me from being complacent. It also keeps me up at night, after hours, when I look in my eyes and ask: "Is this it?" Like it's some kind of marathon. 40 or so years to go, right? No doubt, there are things I enjoy experiencing, but it feels like there's no overarching goal to my existence. I've accepted that life has no meaning a long time ago, but it doesn't exactly mean that I have to enjoy it.<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span data-reactid=".x.1:3:1:$comment599259543481483_3624716:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.0:2" style="color: #333333; line-height: 12.799999237060547px;"> "</span><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" data-reactid=".x.1:3:1:$comment599259543481483_3624716:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.0:3" style="color: #333333; line-height: 12.799999237060547px;"><span data-reactid=".x.1:3:1:$comment599259543481483_3624716:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.0:3.0"><span data-reactid=".x.1:3:1:$comment599259543481483_3624716:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.0:3.0.$end:0:$0:0">Fantasy is silver and scarlet, indigo and azure, obsidian veined with gold and lapis lazuli.</span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" data-reactid=".x.1:3:1:$comment599259543481483_3624716:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.0:3" style="color: #333333; line-height: 12.799999237060547px;"><span data-reactid=".x.1:3:1:$comment599259543481483_3624716:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.0:3.0"><span data-reactid=".x.1:3:1:$comment599259543481483_3624716:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.0:3.0.$end:0:$0:0"><br /></span></span></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" data-reactid=".x.1:3:1:$comment599259543481483_3624716:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.0:3" style="color: #333333; line-height: 12.799999237060547px;"><span data-reactid=".x.1:3:1:$comment599259543481483_3624716:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.0:3.0"><span data-reactid=".x.1:3:1:$comment599259543481483_3624716:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.0:3.0.$end:0:$0:0"> Reality is plywood and plastic, done up in mud brown and olive drab."</span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" data-reactid=".x.1:3:1:$comment599259543481483_3624716:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.0:3" style="color: #333333; line-height: 12.799999237060547px;"><span data-reactid=".x.1:3:1:$comment599259543481483_3624716:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.0:3.0"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br data-reactid=".x.1:3:1:$comment599259543481483_3624716:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.0:3.0.$end:0:$3:0" /><span data-reactid=".x.1:3:1:$comment599259543481483_3624716:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.0:3.0.$end:0:$4:0">- George R.R. Martin</span></span></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" data-reactid=".x.1:3:1:$comment599259543481483_3624716:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.0:3" style="line-height: 12.799999237060547px;"><span data-reactid=".x.1:3:1:$comment599259543481483_3624716:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.0:3.0"><br data-reactid=".x.1:3:1:$comment599259543481483_3624716:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.0:3.0.$end:0:$3:0" /></span></span></span></span><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" data-reactid=".x.1:3:1:$comment599259543481483_3624716:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.0:3" style="background-color: #edeff4; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10.909090995788574px; line-height: 12.799999237060547px;"><span data-reactid=".x.1:3:1:$comment599259543481483_3624716:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.0:3.0"><br data-reactid=".x.1:3:1:$comment599259543481483_3624716:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.0:3.0.$end:0:$3:0" /></span></span><br />
<span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" data-reactid=".x.1:3:1:$comment599259543481483_3624716:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.0:3" style="background-color: #edeff4; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10.909090995788574px; line-height: 12.799999237060547px;"><span data-reactid=".x.1:3:1:$comment599259543481483_3624716:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.0:3.0"><br /></span></span>
I'd be happier if I spent less time in my head. This much is true. Sometimes it's better to stay in the dark than to see where you really are. I can't help myself, though. I can't stand not knowing. Or rather, I find too much intrinsic enjoyment in finding out stuff to prevent myself from doing so. I have a certain envy for people who can willfully stay in the dark. It's certainly an easier way to live, because the only thing you'll get out of your answers is your self-made satisfaction, and that'll be replaced by questions soon enough. Life has a way of making you question things.<br />
<br />
----<br />
<br />
I got a camera a couple months back and I've been using it a bunch of times. It makes you think about the whole death of privacy deal. Works of art are sealed in glass, because carbon dioxide can ruin them. Carbon dioxide reacts with water (vapour) to form carbonic acid - CO2 + H2O = H2CO3. It's interesting, that you can ruin things by dint of your presence. When I was younger, I used to think that it was selfish for some people to restrict the access of other people to something - call that conventional morality. Do you think we're ruining the beauty of everyday life through over-sharing? Used to be you could cook dinner and be happy with it, now you gotta take a picture of it and everything. Used to be that you could surprise your significant other with something special without them immediately turning around and putting it on Facebook. Some moments are like works of art - keep them encased in the glass of your privacy to preserve their beauty. A consequence of our rationality is our tendency for comparison.<br />
<br />
What am I trying to say?<br />
<br />
Well, to put it succinctly:<br />
<br />
I miss the days where our memories only played in our minds and in our stories. Nostalgia's one hell of a drug.The Kulahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12784605393692696671noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-982784140652388280.post-14225345186019005932013-11-21T09:45:00.003-08:002013-11-21T09:50:22.061-08:00Feel My TruthsI stare at the clock, bleary-eyed. I have been awake for around 40 hours.<br />
<br />
8:30AM. From the couch, the TV stares back at me, my silhouette reflecting what I already know.<br />
<br />
I am tired. So tired. Broken, almost. Yet, I am somewhat satisfied.<br />
<br />
A somewhat kind of satisfaction. The semi-charmed kinda life. Bittersweet.<br />
<br />
It's the kind of happiness that makes your failures more poignant.<br />
<br />
I rest my head in my arms. I have done very little in the past 24 hours to accomplish my goal of studying for my finals. I study psychology incredibly slowly. I can't help but to reflect on my life as I study. But that's why I love doing Psychology. I'm always realizing something new. Always thinking. Always discovering.<br />
<br />
Freud says that you can look into your childhood to understand the problems you have now. A lot of people see Freud as a cigar-smoking crackpot obsessed with his mother, but he was right. Partially right. In Psychology, partially right is the best you can hope for in terms of theory.<br />
<br />
"Who are you, that does not know your history?"<br />
<br />
Never in my life have either of my parents told me they loved me - this doesn't bother me, but it sets the scene for what I'm going to say. More strikingly, never in my life have my parents told me they loved each other. Of course, I've seen some old letters, yellowed memoirs of a time long past, when my father would wax poetic to a love he was dying to meet again. What meaning does the past hold if it doesn't affect your present? I always wondered what happened to the people I read about in those letters. More importantly, I hoped that I would never end up like my parents did, a shadow of the people that I saw in those letters.<br />
<br />
Before I continue, I feel it is important to clarify, once again:<br />
I am not trying to be one of those kids who whine about how their parents don't love them etc. I know that my parents do like me very much and that they respect and care about me. I'm merely observing that they never directly stated it, because it sets up this paragraph:<br />
<br />
After 40 hours of wakefulness, I received a phone call from my mother. She yelled at me. Told me that I didn't care and that I showed her no courtesy. I'm very used to bluntness, to being able to say what I want. Being unable to say what I want bothers me greatly. I replied noncommittally, a barrage of "okays". It wasn't ideal. We left that phone call without accomplishing anything. I was frustrated. My mom thinks that I act the way I do because I don't care. That's untrue. I act the way I do because I do care. I rather my mother think me apathetic than to hurt them by telling them what I really have to say.<br />
<br />
I harbour no resentment for my parents. Not anymore. My parents. My situation. They're shackles. That's not a nice thing to say, but in my case, it's true.<br />
<br />
Nietzsche said "If a man does not have a good father, he must create one." And so I did. I am my own father. I don't need people to tell me what to do - I don't need someone who presumes they know me better than me, when I know they don't. Everybody needs somebody, this much is true.<br />
<br />
Back to Freud:<br />
No man is an island. Everybody needs somebody. My inability to express affection to my parents and my overall... strained relationship explains a lot about my life. Why I value my friends as much as I do. They are my family. The best kind of family, too: A family chosen, not forced on me. That's also the reason why failed relationships affect me the way they do: I don't make my choice in women lightly, maybe because I've been at the ground zero of a divorce and I go after women I respect, women that make me want to be better than I am.<br />
<br />
I've been told several times that I'm wise beyond my years. I don't think it's a sentiment you can repeat without sounding like a self-absorbed jackass. So it goes. I don't know about being wise beyond my years, but I know that I certainly look at a lot of things differently.<br />
<br />
In April, I was talking to a good friend of mine. I still remember what we talked about quite clearly:<br />
<br />
I had told him that I met a girl and that I had told her my story, the good, the bad, and the ugly. She seemed accepting, though later I got the impression that she felt as if I was telling her my story to gain sympathy. I told her that story so she knew what she was getting into. I'm big on choice, and what is a choice if it isn't an choice made with all the available information, right?<br />
<br />
Don't get the wrong idea, I didn't write her a book or anything. Mostly, I told her the bad and the ugly, she saw the good on her own. I appreciated that.<br />
<br />
My intent is best described by this:<br />
<br />
"<span style="background-color: white; font-family: proxnov-reg, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 16px;">If you knew my story word for word, had all of my history</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: proxnov-reg, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 16px;">Would you go along with someone like me?"</span>- Peter, Bjorn and John, Young Folks.<br />
<br />
It is my friend's response that stuck out in my mind. He said to me:<br />
"You don't tell her your entire story all at once, man. You've got to give it to her bit by bit, draw out the sympathy a little."<br />
<br />
I was surprised and a little disappointed by that way of looking at things. I don't tell stories about myself for compliments or for a stranger's sympathy. Every story has a purpose and by telling you about the past, I'm telling you my neuroses. I only tell sad stories in detail to people special to me, to everybody else I only tell funny stories. (Because those are my favourite kind) I tell sad stories so that these people special to me get to know me better. I admit that I get disappointed when people attribute my actions to reasons I'd describe as petty.<br />
<br />
I exhibit a bit more caution in my writing these days. I don't want to write something I'll end up regretting in five years. Regret and caution are obstacles to true self-expression. I've been holding back on writing this post for about two weeks or so.<br />
<br />
Now that we've got the more introspective side of this done with, let's go for something a bit more inspiring:<br />
<br />
You've seen it happen everywhere:<br />
<br />
Your teacher asks "You see a homeless guy on the street, what would you do?"<br />
<br />
Suddenly everyone's a hero. A hero in theory.<br />
In practice, most people would do nothing. I'm no exception. I would probably do nothing, too. In fact, I'm almost certain I'd do nothing and just walk by, the 'probably' is just there to ease the dissonance and because I don't know the future.<br />
<br />
The Social Identity theory was proposed by Tajfel & Turner in 1979. It proposes that our identity is always at some point in the personal versus social identity continuum. To over-simplify things for the sake of clarity: We have two identities, a personal one that defines us as an individual and a social one that defines us as a member of a group.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
Nietzsche said that "In individuals, madness is the exception, but in groups, nations and epochs, madness is the rule."</div>
<br />
I believe everybody has the innate capability for good, that everybody, deep down, is nice. I'm no flower-bearing hippie, though. I realize there are bad people out there. But they aren't innately bad. They're just people who have fallen to their weaknesses, whether zealotry, hatred or bitterness (frustration).<br />
<br />
When people challenge that view with skepticism, I can't help but feel somewhat personally offended - I'm very unattached to most of my views, but my belief in the goodness of people is one I'm quite attached to. I can't stand to see someone only see the bad in the people around them.<br />
<br />
Phenomenon like conformity and the diffusion of responsibility often make people lose hope in humanity. But why should it? Look at it this way: People are innately good, it takes external circumstances to make us act harmfully.<br />
<br />
I'm not saying that humanity is all sunshines and rainbows, but for the most part, everybody's a good person. Good, but lazy. That laziness is what we all need to overcome.The Kulahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12784605393692696671noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-982784140652388280.post-81584182595340568492013-11-02T10:58:00.002-07:002013-11-02T10:58:26.674-07:00EgocentricismI overestimate the depths of other people's understanding. This isn't their fault, it's mine. Because I'm being egocentric.<br /><br />This leads to a variety of consequences, some worse than others. Like.. when I explained things to people and they didn't get it, I used to get irritated because I thought they were being difficult on purpose.<br /><br />Likewise, I've been told I put girls up on a pedestal. I always found this idea strange and honestly, offensive. I didn't understand why I was told this until I realized that people can't magically read my mind and see what I'm trying to mean when I say things. I admit that the root of the problem here is the fact that I tend to exaggerate things for fun or novelty. I expect other people to understand that, but I realized that it's unfair to expect people to understand how I look at things, because they can't read my mind. Still can't help getting irritated from time to time, though. Mostly when people assume unwanted or unnecessary implications.<br /><br />I figured that due to all this time of saying I appreciate frankness and sincerity, people would get that and so they would be frank with me if they had a problem. (I think my sentence structure there is quite messed up.)<br /><br />I'm not sure if it's because of this or other factors, but I feel like my ability to hold a conversation is dropping lately. Probably just my mind being on other things.<br />
<br />On another note:<br /><br />I really feel like Twitter is ruining my ability to blog. Whenever I want to blog, I tweet a much shorter version instead and I leave my blog only for stuff that I can't/won't tweet. It's too bad. Makes me feel like the quality of my blog is depreciating and that I'm just making a blog full of feel-posts. I don't want that. I want to write more things of substance that don't have a direct connection to events in my life.<br /><br />Sadly the version that I said at the talk was mangled, but this was what I meant to say:<br /><br />"Humanity has always been plagued by the fear of the unknown. We're afraid of the dark, afraid of the future, afraid of death. In the face of our fear, we're willing to accept any explanation that makes things better, even if those explanations are.. illogical. The prevalent fear or presumption of transsexuals is a result of this fear. The explanations attached to this phenomenon are just as absurd - that transsexuals are some evolution of prostitute, that people who want to be transsexuals want to be used as sex objects. We're here to dispel that misinformation. To help realize the truth that all people are the same - that we just want to be loved, left alone and be allowed to live. "<br /><br />The Kulahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12784605393692696671noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-982784140652388280.post-13213869828097348172013-10-26T19:04:00.003-07:002013-10-26T19:04:47.240-07:00Hands To The UniverseProgress in general shouldn't be something you think of as getting from point A to point B. It's not like buying a train ticket to somewhere else. It's more akin to getting thrown into a jungle. It's a jungle that goes on forever. In it you'll find everything you (n)ever wanted.<br /><br />This is a very self-directed post - I don't like sending subliminals. (At least, not anymore. I admit, I was a terrible font of passive-aggressiveness before, something which I think I've gotten rid of. But we'll see.)<br /><br />Personal growth is something I measure loosely. My yardstick for personal growth is this: Do I hate the person I was a week/month/year ago? Most of the time, the answer is yes. There's so much I could have done better, so many things I could have handled more delicately, so many things I should and shouldn't have said. Honestly though, when you're a sucker for sentimentality, regrets come easy. A lot of my regrets are very slight - my inability to sleep comes from my penchant to overthink everything.<br /><br />Most of the time, now, hate is too strong a word. At worst, I feel disappointed. I take that as a good sign, that I'm growing towards becoming the person I've wanted to be. I think I'm always a bit too self-depreciating, which might come off wrongly to some people, but to me, it's something necessary. It keeps my pride in check. I don't think I'm a terrible person - I think I'm an okay guy.<br /><br />Panentheism is the belief that God is everywhere and in everything, that there's a little bit of God in all of us, in everything. I've .. struggled with my religious thoughts for quite some time. Maybe because I tend to come off as quite an anti-religion guy. I've said that I'm against religion many times. I'm not going to say that again. It's not really true. I'm a religious person myself (Shock, horror!). It's not something I realized until recently.<br /><br />That doesn't actually mean anything has changed about me - I'm still the same person. I really don't like evangelists. I still have a distaste for people who cling to God. I still feel like religion has held back society a lot. I still appreciate religion for the positive changes it has brought, in people and in culture. I still enjoy reading scripture. I realized I was a religious person when an atheist friend of mine started asking me about things and I realized I mentioned God a lot and that I wasn't joking. I mean. We weren't having a religious argument. I was more conscious of my mentioning of God because he was an atheist, and so I realized that I referred to God quite a bit as we were talking about life.<br /><br />I know it's possible to be subconsciously sexist/racist but is it possible to be subconsciously religious? Evidently, yep.<br /><br /><br />But yeah. Personal growth. I still stumble. I still falter. I don't know where 'there' is, but we'll get there. It's interesting to notice the difference in how I react to similar situations. I'm more poised now. More direct. I'm also getting less bitter. Not by a lot, but by a little. Which is great. I started this year as a bitter piece of shit, it's nice to end it as a better piece of shit. Here's to the eternal march of progress.<br />The Kulahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12784605393692696671noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-982784140652388280.post-1528083103463332852013-10-25T09:49:00.000-07:002013-10-25T09:49:10.515-07:00Something DifferentHe strides in. He thinks this will be last time.<br />She smirks. She knows this is far from it.<br /><br />"I want something different." he says.<br />She shakes her head. "Here we go again."<br /><br />He looks away.<br />She plays along. "What do you have in mind?"<br /><br />He shakes his head. "I don't know."<br />She smiles mockingly. "The usual?"<br /><br />He keeps quiet.<br />She frowns. "Go ahead, we're all waiting."<br /><br />"I want.. something different. I don't care what." He sighs.<br />"You do care." She says pointedly.<br /><br />"No I don't." he insists.<br />She stares daggers.<br /><br />He meets her gaze.<br />She looks away. "You have a problem."<br /><br />He starts his speech. "Everybody has problems."<br />"Shut up." She's heard it too many times.<br /><br />"What?" He feigns offense.<br />"You're fixated on possibilities." Her eyes light up. "That's your problem."<br /><br />"There's nothing wrong with that." He frowns. "It's interesting to think about."<br />"There's everything wrong with that." She sighs. "And you know it."<br /><br /><br />
<br /><br /><br />The Kulahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12784605393692696671noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-982784140652388280.post-83988722210492523792013-10-19T14:37:00.001-07:002013-10-19T14:37:50.801-07:00Blue YarnThere's no feeling quite like a good book read halfway. It's a potent mix of a lot of emotions. There's one book that still bothers me - I don't even remember the title, but I remember what it was about. It was a beautiful book. I loved it. But I didn't even read half - at best, I read a quarter.<br /><br />Every person who reads a lot knows the feeling of being completely absorbed in a book. Mundane life can't compare, sometimes, especially when life ain't going so well. So the saying goes, a person who reads lives many times over, a person who doesn't lives only once.<br /><br />I have a penchant for a lot of things. What I want to mention here is my penchant for saying the wrong things. That in itself is a wrong thing - it's not that I say things that are inherently terrible or cringe-worthy (Though I do that from time to time just like everybody), it's just that I express myself inaccurately. It's not really on purpose, a lot of the time. It's just something that happens. It's unfortunate.<br /><br />So it is that today at 5am I started looking through old pictures I took and I came across a picture of that book I never got around to finishing. I took that picture because it perfectly described a feeling, a feeling I wanted to feel and have since felt.<br /><br />Once, when asked, I said I had no feelings. That's not entirely inaccurate, but for the most part it isn't true. I thought about it and realized that my feelings come wrapped up neatly in a box - easy to pick up whenever necessary, easy to throw away, easy to forget about. I wanted to say I have mood swings, but that's not true. It's more akin to closing one box and opening another. You open the happy childlike box, and then you open the bitter vindictive cunt box. Each one is much better for the presence of the other. Bittersweet.<br /><br />I went off on a tangent, but back to the point - the picture I took of that book perfectly describes a feeling, and I feel that feeling now. I'll quote it. If it helps, the narrator is a socially awkward Japanese record store clerk who's more into jazz music than people.<br /><br /><i>" ... Their hair was the same length, their lipstick the same colour, their bodies curving in the same way beneath their same uniform. Their leader demanded in a voice cutesy and spoilt the newest hit by the latest teen dwoob.</i><br /><i> But I didn't bother hearing them. I can't describe women, not like Takeshi or Koji. But if you know Duke Pearson's 'After The Rain', well, she was as beautiful and pure as that.</i><br />[She was]<i> Standing by the window, and looking out. What was out there? She was embarrassed by her classmates. And so she should have been! She was so real, the others were cardboard cut-outs beside her. Real things had happened to her to make her how she was, and I wanted to know them, and read them, like a book. It was the strangest feeling. I just kept thinking, well, I'm not sure what I was thinking. I'm not sure if I was thinking of anything."</i><br /><br />So it goes. I want to read you like a book, to know every story you've graced, for better or worse.The Kulahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12784605393692696671noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-982784140652388280.post-52416259217547483322013-10-05T07:48:00.001-07:002013-10-05T07:49:52.960-07:00A Fistful Of SunshineSomething bad is going to happen. You can feel it. A lifetime of bad decisions stares back at you, eagerly awaiting your next move with a knife-like smile. You stare daggers at your mirror. Running won't help. It's time for... a fistful of sunshine.<br />
<br />
Give no mercy, for you shall receive none. When interacting with the world, one must strive to move like the river, to glide over all through the path of least resistance. Water is a beautiful way to describe life as we know it. Water adapts to the shape of its container, so to is our perspective shaped by our material trappings.Water collects all the muck it runs through, but with stillness and effort, all water can become pure. So it is that no man is beyond redemption, either.<br />
<br />
I went off on a separate tangent, so let me go back and complete my sentence:<br />
When interacting with other people and the world, one must strive to be like the river. Do not impose your will upon others. Do not challenge their personal autonomy. Do not assume superiority. However, when interacting with your self, be forceful. As a person, you don't need a treatise on how beautiful life is, nor do you need a haiku telling you to help others or a purple-prose poem talking about the wonders of love. What you need is a fistful of sunshine.<br />
<br />
Punch your life into shape. Everything is malleable when you apply enough force. People or things will not make you happy - a girlfriend, a million dollars, a loving family.. none of these will do anything for you if you haven't beat life up yet. The river takes the path of least resistance - do not focus on bettering your circumstances in an attempt to find happiness - focus on bettering yourself. That's the path of least resistance. There's a very real difference, there. Zeno of Citium (I did an English project on him heh) said: A true Stoic will be happy regardless of his circumstances. (Paraphrased.)<br />
<br />
Being happy when life is good is easy mode. Everyone should be able to do that. The real skill comes from being happy when life is terrible. And I guess that's why I appreciate having been born in Indian culture because there's a lot of great examples of that in Indian media - being happy even though life is terrible. (That's why a lot of Indian movies are corny love stories, because it takes the edge off real life.) The Indian philosophy - that life is one big joke, so you might as well laugh at it, especially if the punchline is at your expense. (It usually is.)<br />
<br />
In slaughterhouses, they make sure the cow doesn't see its death coming - they say its fear taints the meat. Unfortunately, you're not a cow. Life is a slaughterhouse - the sounds of life and death surround you, so you can never really tell when your number is up. Everybody knows what's coming, just not when. So you've gotta practice a willful kind of ignorance - life is a trap, and you walked in the moment you were born. Even though you know - you can't let on. Don't let your fear taint the meat. Take life with a glass of wine and a fistful of sunshine, because the danse macabre continues.<br />
<br />
A (hopefully somewhat) inspiring message brought to you by your friends working in the mind of Kula.The Kulahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12784605393692696671noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-982784140652388280.post-60867758357038193492013-09-10T12:12:00.000-07:002013-09-10T12:12:07.195-07:00Red Letter DayLemme ask you something, dear reader. Where do our words come from? All of us have that need to express ourselves - why does the inspiration come and go? Why do some words come out effortlessly and others words stick to your throat, choking you with their unsaid weight? Why is it that whenever you give the opportunity of writing to a mass of people, the resulting text often looks like an excerpt from a daytime soap?<br /><br />Let me jump to a tangentially related thread:<br /><br />There are those that dislike the Sunway Confession page because it's constantly filled with posts about love and that cute so-and-so with their endearing such-and-such, people moaning about how they've been left by those they felt like they could keep forever, people expressing their dirty pleasures, ranging from checking out that attractive person to.. sniffing random women's hair while they're asleep? What can I say, it's a weird place.<br /><br />I've always been drawn to places that offer anonymity - not really for the opportunity to be anonymous, but more for the opportunity to watch others anonymously.So it is that I feel a certain affection for Sunway confessions - it's nice to pick the brains of the people around me, even if for the most part, most people say the same things. That's okay for me - What is novelty if not reflected naivete? Of course, there are a lot of times where I'm really disappointed in the ideas that some of my peers hold - but hey, you gotta take the good with the bad.<br /><br />Back to the original thread:<br /><br />The reason why I haven't written as much recently is because my thoughts have been plagued by a woman. I did not want to write about her - perhaps I saw it as an admittance of further defeat, perhaps I felt like it was pointless to do so, or perhaps I just didn't want people to read what I would have wrote. All of the above. Before I started writing this post, I was struggling to write another, having gone half an hour without any real words to show for it. But here I am again as the night draws on. The sound of your fingers tapping against the keys are the writer's only true companion, or so it would seem on a night like this. <br /><br />So here's to one last soliloquy for a potato.<br /><br />If you were to ask me when was the last time I was truly happy, I'd probably point you to a day like this around last year. Except then I would be reminiscing happily instead of nostalgically. But ah well, people change with the seasons.<br /><br />Often times, I am told:<br />"Kula, you're still not over her."<br />To which I insist:<br />"For real, I am over her."<br />To which I am told:<br />"No, you aren't."<br /><br />When do you define yourself as being over somebody else?<br />Is it when other people enter the picture? Is it when you realize that you don't mean as much to them as they did to you? Is it when you no longer have trouble sleeping? Is it when you stop thinking about them? Is it when you forget the memories you made? Is it when you forget how they look when they smile? When exactly are you over someone?<br /><br />I don't really want to admit it, but I suppose it's obvious. Whatever over is, I'm not there yet. They say you have to make a conscious effort to let go of everything etc. That's the funny thing - I have. I've accepted things as they are. I'm glad to have moved on with my life. I'm myself again. But seemingly my subconscious likes bringing me back.<br /><br />That's my problem. I can't forget. I want to, but I can't. I don't listen to the songs she likes because they remind me of her. The smallest, unrelated things reminded me of her - that's why at first I hated going back to Sunway, because all around me I only saw things that would prime my memory to think about her. Over time, I broke quite a lot of these memory cues, but I've still got a lot more. Used to be that I couldn't even walk back to my car without thinking about how I used to walk her back to hers. So I buried myself in work - part of the reason why I studied quite a lot in Sem 1, I think. It was easy to concentrate on work and forget about life. Maybe that's why I've a family full of workaholics - we're all fools prone to sentimentality, addicted to the one productive thing that keeps us from remembering things. Don't get me wrong, of course. I don't have life bad. In fact, I have life pretty damn good. But that's besides the point and it kinda detracts from the overall thematic arc of this - so excuse me if you will.<br /><br />I'm glad I don't have to go to the library anymore - and if I do, it's rarely the second floor. I avoid that corner where I spent the tail end of last year.It's full of happy memories, and I wouldn't want to taint them with the bitter taste of nostalgia.<br /><br />She was never much good at origami as far as I knew, but she really loved folding things into hearts. Most of the time, whenever I gave her anything that came with a wrapper, I'd get the wrapper back, heart-shaped. Well, not really. She kept the big hearts. But she liked giving me the small ones she made out of the foil that she got from chocolates I would give her. Never asked why - maybe it's because the small ones took more effort to make and were quite a bit more subtle - but that's wishful thinking. I kept those little silver-foil hearts with me for quite a long time. Threw them away several months ago.<br /><br />I remember how I could bother her so easily with little things - that I could easily incite her into a playful kind of anger where she was at her most adorable. People have told me that she was arrogant and mean and so on - but when I was with her, I could never see any of that. I remember that once she threw something (Okay, full disclosure, I even remember what she threw at me, but I don't want to go into that much detail) at me in public because I irritated her. I managed to dodge and it almost hit some random college-goer. She apologized profusely to that person and retrieved the thing and then she stared daggers at me for a couple seconds before going back to herself. I also remember that I used to irritate her by tousling her hair. It was worth it just to see her expression.<br /> It's funny, the things you miss. It's not really the big things - it's the little things that make 'em special.<br /><br />Around the time we first started to get to know each other as like.. friends, she did something that changed the way I looked at her forever - but I bet if you got to know what it was, you would probably laugh at me. So here goes:<br />We were eating ice-cream and she spilled some in like the middle of a walkway. Feeling personally responsible, she went into a nearby shop to ask for tissues so she could wipe it up. I always told her that the first day I saw her I knew she was something special, but I suppose the day that confirmed it would have been that day. Strange? Yeah. But hey, all's fair in love and war and 3AM blog posts.<br /><br />I've been forgetting - or trying to forget - since. But a lot of the time, you can't help but wonder. You can't help but to be reminded, whether you want to or not. Those little foil hearts? I was reminded of them when I saw a crushed foil wrapper on the ground. How she threw stuff at me? From Halls Lemon-Honey candy. (Two things: 1) Those things can pack a punch, if people throw things at you, just hope they have bad aim. (Yeah, that's what happened for me.)<br />2) They're really good for staying awake in exams, which is what I used them for.)<br />The little things will bring you back, whether you want to or not. I'm still reminded of how proud she was of her car whenever I see the model she drove - unlucky me, she wasn't a rich girl who drove a BMW or a Beetle or something, instead she drove a car that's pretty common to the roads of Malaysia.<br /><br />During my AusMat finals, I think I ate like 4-5 packs of Halls in about as many days. I drank a lot of coffee. Slept in a lot of weird places. I didn't get nearly enough sleep because I was living it up. Most of it was completely worth it, I was living the life I wanted to live with the people I wanted to live it with. All my hours spent sitting alone at places like the foyer, library etc staring at my phone with a smile on my face were completely worth it - maybe because I spent it with her, maybe because for that time, I was very happy. I don't think this is something they tell you - but it's nice to have someone who cares when you're awake and when you go to sleep, and it's nice to do the same for someone else. It's nice to have someone to while away the hours with.<br /><br />We both really liked the movie 500 Days Of Summer - she used to tell me something to the effect of:<br />"Watch out, Tom - Your Summer is here." something like that. It's been awhile, memory's fuzzy. Only after things panned out the way they did could I fully appreciate the humour in that. It's an apt description - You meet a girl who blows your mind and then leaves you high and dry, hahahha. I did find it genuinely funny when I realized that.<br /><br />I don't really have much of an objective in writing this, beyond giving the thoughts swirling in my head an outlet. For the past couple of months I've been having dreams of her - just short ones without much meaning - like short dream conversations. It's.. quite disconcerting. So I'm hoping that by writing this all down I can forget about it and by extension stop dreaming. It's no fun to have dreams without really knowing what they mean.<br /><br />Once, I asked myself - is sentimentality a vice? After writing this, I can tell you that it most definitely is. Life probably would have been much smoother if I found it easier to forget like most people - and apparently she - did.<br /><br />I always used to ask her: "How are you?" usually a couple times a day. She always used to ask me in return: "Why do you want to know?" Eventually I said to her "Because it makes me happy to know you're happy."<br /><br />She's probably happy now, but well.. Bruno Mars put it best:<br /><br />... Now my baby's dancing, but she's dancing with another man.The Kulahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12784605393692696671noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-982784140652388280.post-89864227506220578112013-08-14T16:27:00.001-07:002013-08-14T16:33:50.801-07:00No Church In The Wild<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
I wanted to put this story up in all its glory because it legitimately creeped me out - good writing. I've had supernatural experiences of my own, but they aren't really worth talking about. Hard to describe other than perceiving this sense of evil. I used to see this figure out of my peripheral vision, this sort of shade that hung from the ceiling and just stared at me from about 10 meters away. Of course, I was tired and young etc and it's quite plausible that it was all in my head, but I never really forgot it because it creeped me out on some subconscious level. It's one of those things your lizard brain knows but your regular brain doesn't. Maybe the reason I like this story is that it isn't very extreme - just a little worse than what most of us have probably experienced. Makes you wonder how many supernatural phenomena you've witnessed without realizing.<br /><br />(Alright so it's a big image and Blogspot keeps resizing it so I went looking for it and here's a link to it:<br /><a href="http://creepypasta.wikia.com/wiki/Anasi's_Goatman_Story">http://creepypasta.wikia.com/wiki/Anasi's_Goatman_Story</a> )<br />
<br />
Alright, now that we're done with all that:<br />
At 5AM today, while I was getting out of my car, I was listening to No Church In The Wild. It's a nice song. Realized I could effectively sum up my personal morality with song lyrics. Strange, that. The last line doesn't really count for much literally, but I left it there because it highlights something important - the need for honesty, especially when it comes to your failures.<br />
<br />
How it goes is:<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
"We've formed a new religion;<br />
No sins as long there's permission;<br />
And deception is the only felony;<br />
So never fuck nobody without telling me"<br />
<br /></div>
The Kulahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12784605393692696671noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-982784140652388280.post-73007940030215320722013-08-09T11:25:00.002-07:002013-08-09T11:25:49.052-07:00Blood In The Water05:03. It's not a particularly climactic time - but that's because I set the clock in my car five hours late and ten minutes early, or so I tell people. It's actually 11:53pm - the night is dark but there are no terrors. My friend sits in the passenger seat. He cocks his head and stares at me. He says "Kula, what I'm going to ask you is going to sound very weird." I look at him and I respond: "Go ahead, you know I'm cool with anything." We're stuck at a traffic light and the radio's playing something forgettable. He seems unsure, but he proceeds anyway. "If you got married, who would be your best man?" I can see what he wants me to say. It isn't about weddings and best men. He wants reassurance that our friendship will hold despite the ravages of time and tide. I have nothing to offer. I tell him the truth: "I haven't thought about it." He is unsatisfied. He does not like this answer. It is non-committal and doesn't reciprocate any information. However, it is also the truth. He tries again: "I mean, I've thought about it. I can.. imagine what my wedding would be like." I nod. I decide not to bite. But he still needs an answer. I make an attempt: "I haven't thought about it because.. I guess I doubt I'll get married. I don't think I will, so I don't really see the point in thinking about a best man." "Oh." "Bigger things to worry about, you know?" "Yeah, even I don't know who I'm going to marry, but I still like to think about it anyway." I understand where he's coming from and what he's getting at, but I don't want to play, so I just shrug and concentrate on driving. Thinking about the future in people-oriented ways is something I avoid doing. I used to do it a lot - used to wander the realm of possibility for the sake of it. The real world, however, is a lot more concrete than possibility. So when you set sail for the realm of possibility, remember that sharks love feeding on false hopes.<br />
<br />
I have a lot I want to write about, but this is neither the time nor the place. What I wrote up there? Just something I want to remember. Nighttime conversations are my favourite - if you're important to me, we've spoken after midnight.<br />
<br /><br />The Kulahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12784605393692696671noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-982784140652388280.post-72398632132067109402013-07-22T03:09:00.002-07:002013-07-22T03:14:28.104-07:00ElephantLet me set the scene:<br />
The interior of an all-American car that wouldn't look out of place in a 1950s infomercial, Don is talking to his son, Bobby.<br />
<br />
Bobby: Dad, how old are you today?<br />
Don: 40.<br />
/Don looks thoughtfully at his son<br />
Don: When you're 40, how old will I be?<br />
Bobby: You'll be dead.<br />
/Don looks at his son resignedly<br />
<br />
I've always liked that scene in Mad Men.<br />
<br />
Mood music: <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VbHcfounpbw">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VbHcfounpbw</a><br />
<br />
<br />
In wake of recent events, I've come to see that life makes fools out of us all. I don't mean in the sense of the consequences of our actions - though Lord knows I've seen a lot of that. I'm talking about the process of degeneration we all undergo, one way or another. I've got one parent who's currently blind in one eye (With recovery in a few days if things go well) and I've got another parent who's probably going to die of lung cancer. Meanwhile, for me, I've got a tooth rotting in my mouth, right underneath my nose, so whenever I go to sleep and wake up the next day, I can smell its miasma. I gargle with Listerine about twice a day to get the taste/smell out of my mouth. Chuck Palahniuk had a really fear-inducing way of describing aging, it was in one of his books, but I don't remember which ones. Palahniuk was always good at being morbid and inducing disgust. It went something like "Gradually, as you get older, the pouches of fat in your cheek start to sag as the collagen of your skin starts to weaken. The lateral lines of your mouth are pulled downwards, until you have a permanent frown." I forgot the whole spiel, but that was a part that stayed with me.<br />
<br />
The experience of smoking in itself feels similar to that - let me clear the air and say that I'm not a smoker. I don't smoke as a habit and I never intend to, but I've tried it a couple of times. It's enjoyable enough, really clears the mind. It relaxes you in a way that gets you kicking to go back to work. And it even helps you reflect on life - I always found that funny, cause they averaged it out and said for every cigarette you smoke, you lose 11 minutes of your life. Your first time smoking really simulates what it's like to be sick as hell - you cough a lot and your lungs hurt - then you get used to it and you feel alright. It's interesting because you have to ride it out - it isn't like alcohol or drugs that you inject/consume, where you just fire and forget and just deal with the consequences. Each puff you take is a conscious choice - my favourite description of the act of smoking comes from Chuck Palahniuk too: A passive act of suicide. I was feeling terrible on the day of my last exam (16/7) because I was being choked by mucus in my throat (Isn't that funny - I couldn't run up a flight of stairs because I couldn't breathe because I was being choked by mucus) - so I smoked a cigarette to get me coughing like hell so I would be okay. What's worse, the pain or the hangover, right? So smoking helps clear your throat by irritating your throat - but career smokers always have something at the back of their throats - if you notice, people who smoke lots always clear their throats, and when it gets worse, they develop this constant hacking cough to get mucus out of their throat, and this constant hacking cough is the herald of emphysema - and then you're coughing up blood all the time and then it's game over.<br />
<br />
Life feels to me like a no-win game. You can still lose, of course, and the 'good' outcome is making it until your body itself fails you. Basically, your victory lies in a stalled defeat. Isn't that funny? I'm not a suicidal or depressed person. My suicidal thoughts come from that train of thought - that in the end, whatever I do, whatever I achieve, I will end up dead, same as the next person. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. The thoughts that keep me living is the idea that I need to use the time I have to collect life experience. But perhaps infinite creation does exist - perhaps we do get to leave a permanent mark on this world. But only in the form of our collective effort and in the form of our children. The idea of children is interesting to me - based on two concepts, epigenetics (How our experiences alter our genetic structure) and parenting. Epigenetics, from what I remember, is really quite interesting. Here's a good example of it at work: Identical twins, one raised rich and one raised poor - the rich one will probably be more attractive (Speaking from a purely physical perspective). Why is this? Apparently people from better socioeconomic backgrounds get more symmetrical faces (Remember, physical attractiveness is often based on symmetry) because when they're young, they undergo less life stress. Remember, life stress alters your hormonal activity, and if your mom had a stressful time when she was pregnant with you, it will cause hormonal changes in the fetal version of yourself. Basically, even before you're born, you're getting messed with by things completely beyond your control. But hey, that's life.<br />
<br />
As for parenting, well, perhaps the only true way for us to leave a legacy that will last as long as the human race is to have and raise kids. They're both equal parts of the equation, and you've got to do both right. One demands the right biological systems and the other works optimally with good people. I mean, barring major misfortune, by raising your kid right, you've left a legacy that will continue to grow and continue to get better - assuming you did your job right. And well, if your parents fucked up the job, it's up to you to do it twice as well, to pull their weight as well as yours. Better than making your kid deal with it, at least, that's the way I look at it. I find parenting to be a very interesting phenomenon, and I look forward to being a father if I get the opportunity (and if I meet the right kind of woman.) It's when your life no longer becomes your life, it's when your life becomes part of something bigger - when you become responsible for a life. Being responsible for the sick or the dying is completely different from being responsible for a kid - because with sick/dying people, well, they're already on a path - if you screw up, they die a little earlier, if you do your job right they either get better and continue on with their lives or well die anyway. But with a kid, you're creating an individual that will impact other individuals, groups and societies. You're creating the future. And if you fuck up the kid, you're fucking up part of the future.<br />
<br />
I call myself a semi-sapiosexual for a reason - I don't really think I am one. I am not attracted to raw intelligence - you can crunch numbers all day if you like, but I don't think it'll get anyone into you. Perhaps you could say I'm attracted to wisdom. I'm attracted to the type of person who'd make a good parent. I'm not looking for the girl with the body (without the brain) nor am I looking for the girl who's wrapped up in the ivory tower of academia. I'm looking for the girl I can build the world with. I'm not looking for someone to take care of or someone who'll make me feel like the most interesting man in the world (You know the type, those slack-jawed girls who'll be wowed by anything you say. I don't know if they're easily impressed or they think you like their attention, but whatever it is, I don't like it.). Man, put simply, I'm looking for someone I could live through the apocalypse with. That's a tall order - I don't settle. It's far better to die alone than to wake up every morning with a resigned look on your face, having to deal with a woman you don't love who takes care of kids you don't even like because you already didn't like half of what they're made of.<br />
<br />
I often feel like I'm a sociopath - I don't say this because I think it conveys me any particular prestige, it's nothing to really be proud or ashamed about. It just means that you lack a conscience - at this point some of you may disagree and say that I do in fact have a conscience - of course I do, but it isn't innate. It is artificial, self-created. I say this because I feel like all my moral compulsions are learned, that my talk of ethics and my need for a consistent internal code all come as a result of my personal education. I have a hyperactive conscience because my conscience isn't natural - it's artificial, and because of that, I hold myself to a higher standard because I naturally feel nothing. Because of this hyperactive artificial conscience, it's very easy to inspire guilt within me. I'm not complaining, though - I'd rather have it this way than to have no conscience at all. I say this because I constantly feel the temptation to play people like games - because it's not that hard once you know people, because people are simple once you get rid of your illusions and preconceptions. And the more people you meet and talk to, I mean really talk to, the more you notice the similarities and are thus able to act on them. Even though playing people gets you what you want and is thus the logical option, I abstain because it isn't right. I'm glad I have been put in the position to be able to avoid doing the smart thing in favour of doing the right thing. This is the reason why I call the people I particularly dislike - my rivals, as it were - Moriarty, because they work like me, but they lack all the ethical compulsions. Of course, they're far more successful for it - girlfriends who really don't know how deep the rabbit hole goes and friends who nurture their self-delusions. How quaint. I confess, sometimes I wonder about the road not taken, but it sure as hell feels better being Sherlock.<br />
<br />
I'm going in circles - I'm just writing to express myself, with no particular topic in mind:<br />
(I wrote this in relation to something I thought about while writing this post, but I forgot what it was, so let me take it and branch off in a different direction)<br />
<br />
(Kula factoid: I like tattoos aesthetically, but I don't like them because I feel they take away from the natural lines and curves that form the aesthetic of the body.)<br />
<br />
People say the name Howard Hughes like we're supposed to know it - imagine him to be like the Tony Stark of the 1900s, except he made planes instead of robots/weapons and despite bedding many women, he never did find his own Pepper Potts. Instead, he had several failed relationships and died in the 1970s, an eccentric recluse who scared the living shit out of his caretakers, but hey, that's life. In his later years, Howard Hughes would sit naked in a chair all day, paper napkin on his privates, rewatching the movies he had funded in his earlier years repeatedly.<br />
<br />
I've heard people say that Howard Hughes is the example of why human beings need friends - they say the atrophy of his sanity as it were was the result of not having any close confidantes - I find that to be an over-simplification. Five minutes into his life on Wikipedia, you can see things are a lot more complex than they seem. As he got older, I think, Howard Hughes spent too much time looking back. He had a lot to regret. We can't do that. We have to keep looking forward - not looking at the destination, which is death, but looking at the journey - where can we go from here. There is really no point in looking at the mistakes of our past beyond reflecting and learning from them - one must be careful not to shroud one's self in regret and shame as a form of self-flagellation. Keep your eyes on the road.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-style: italic;">"He pulled the mirrors off his Cadillac, yeah;<br />'Cause he doesn't like it looking like he looks back"<br />- Tame Impala, </span>Elephant.</div>
The Kulahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12784605393692696671noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-982784140652388280.post-24534644811007875762013-07-14T13:01:00.002-07:002013-07-14T13:01:26.632-07:00Degrees of Sincerity<span style="background-color: white; color: #020202; font-family: Georgia, Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22.390625px;">"I am not educated, nor am I an expert in any particular field—but I am sincere, and my sincerity is my credentials." - Malcolm X, A Declaration of Independence.</span><br /><br />There is a type of insect, colloquially known as the assassin bug, that catches its prey by decorating itself with the corpses of the fallen. This usually works because most of these swarm-type insects (ants, termites etc) identify each other through their sense of smell. So this assassin bug, a relatively large, gruesome-looking creature, casually strolls through termite mounds, grabbing a termite when it so pleases. It then injects the termites with its digestive juices and drinks up the resulting liquefied mess. The assassin bug by itself is a creature to be reckoned with, but it stands no chance against the wrath of the swarm should it be found. It balances on the thin line between strength and weakness. If its disguise falters, even for a moment, the assassin bug will likely be ripped to pieces before it can escape, dogpiled by righteously angry termites.<br /><br />
My case is not as dramatic as that, but sometimes I feel like an assassin bug. And that's not a very nice feeling. Erikson states that in our development, we face a series of crises that serve as critical periods in our development as human beings.Perhaps I am facing one such crisis right now. I do realize, though, that the two most important things to keep with me this entire time is a degree of sincerity and the belief that I - and by extension, all the people around me - are worth fighting for.<br /><br />I will spare myself and spare you all the platitudes - we don't need to hear them. Let me instead tell you about how I broke my teeth. It was raining, and I was running to avoid the rain because I didn't want to get sick - I usually don't get sick from the rain, even when I've been thoroughly soaked, but I didn't want to risk it this time. So I ran. I stepped onto a tile floor, regained my balance and just when I thought I had made it, I slipped and fell face first. My first instinct was to turn, for my shoulder to take the impact - I've had a bunch of horrible falls before, but I always made it through without any permanent damage (made me believe a little more in my own invulnerability) - but this time I was too slow, and I took a bite of the floor. I'll never forget the sound my teeth made when they crunched into nothing - in hindsight, I'm quite proud of my teeth for being able to take my entire bodyweight + my momentum and only breaking a little. That'll do, teeth.<br /><br />Even though I've gotten into a lot of stupid situations - car accident, motorcycle accident, bicycle accident, running accidents, walking accidents, just standing still accidents - I've never broken a bone. I once fell from a first storey building - I was trying to get off and my controlled descent turned into free-fall - everyone thought I had broken my leg, but I came out fine. When I was a kid, I once got my thumb stuck in a bus door. Thought it was gonna get cut off, but it wasn't, thankfully. So you can imagine my surprise when I broke my teeth - I expected to break an arm or a leg, but que sera sera. You don't get to choose what happens to ya.<br /><br />So I break my teef and I'm just lying there, mostly in surprise - I always liked my chompers. This guy picks me up and gives me a pat on the back and I go 'Well shit. Ain't life a kick in the head?"<br /><br />Long story short, I broke my teeth, got my fang filed down so it wouldn't poke me in the teeth, I think I'll be able to eat solid food properly in a couple of days but for now chewing hurts too much. The loss of my teeth bothers me for three main reasons:<br />1) It was my first injury.<br />2) It impedes my ability to talk, sing and eat. That's like 2/3rd of what I do.<br />3) It makes me feel like a dependent - I feel much less competent now that there's a persistent whistling/retarded sound whenever I talk, and I feel stupid because I can't eat solid food and because whenever I smile I look like some five-year-old who got punched in the face.<br /><br />I try to lessen the effect of that last one by sticking to things I could eat before this - which is why I drink at least a litre of Milo daily now, because it's something I enjoy drinking instead of something I consume because I have to.<br /><br />More than anything, the thing that bothers me (Beside plans that are longer viable) is the fact I'm a burden on my mom. I mean, I was always a burden, but now I'm more of a burden.<br /><br />I guess this incident brought about a revelation that I /have to/ take care of myself, because I have nobody. I'm supposed to be the shield, not the one hiding behind it. So here's me hoping for a speedy recovery.<br /><br />Since I can't chew, I can't really enjoy my food as I'm kinda forced to swallow it as soon as it gets on my tongue. That being said, make sure you enjoy your food. Bone appetit.<br /><br />Life can be a real kick in the teeth, sometimes.<br /><br />(I'm sorry, it's just that I don't know if I'll ever get a chance to say things like that again. Hahahaha.)The Kulahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12784605393692696671noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-982784140652388280.post-58339658430662971542013-07-05T14:15:00.000-07:002013-07-05T14:15:24.010-07:00Can of FishI am going to tell you the story of Kula VS a can of sardines (spoiler: The sardines won). This story began around 3am, when I walked through my front door after a long day at college, attempting to study but failing. It was 3am, and I was hungry. I was feeling lazy, and my usual lazy meal of peanut butter + bread didn't seem appealing because I was nearly out of bread. My usual 3am meal of tuna + tomato sauce seemed too passe. As I rifled through the kitchen cabinets, I was presented with a stack of red cans, loudly declaring their presence. "Sardines IN TOMATO SAUCE" the can yelled. That sounded alright. I liked tomato sauce. I liked tomato soup. Sardines are okay. Why was the idea of eating sardines out of the can so aversive? Keep in mind the following: I couldn't sleep and I had just studied Research Methods. With these two facts in mind, the following makes perfect sense.<br /><br />I grabbed the can and rolled it around my hand, liking the heft of it. According to the nutritional information, what I had in my hands was 420 grams of sardines and 'tomato sauce'. I locked eyes with the dead fish on the can and decided that it was on.<br /><br />I opened the can, greeted by a smell you'd expect from sardines soaked in a questionably-coloured liquid. The slightest bit of disgust filled my heart. James-Lange were right, bodily reactions did precede emotional response. I couldn't help but feel pity for the sardines after appraising the situation, because I could relate to the sardines. Like the sardine, I knew what it was like to be enclosed inside tight places. Like the sardine, I too had been discriminated against for being who I was. And maybe, like the sardine, one day someone would chop me into pieces and put those pieces into a vacuum-sealed can. But these were thoughts too philosophical for my post-midnight encounter with the sardine.<br /><br />I steeled my heart and drank a bit of the 'tomato sauce'. It tasted like what you'd expect diluted tomato sauce to taste like after having absorbed the essences of sardine for god-knows-how-long. Despite my distaste, I forced myself to drink more of the tomato sauce by strengthening one of my consonant beliefs - that some of the nutrients contained within the sardine would have leached into the sauce. Didn't change the fact that it was disgusting, though.<br /><br />I paced the room, can of sardines in hand, staring out the window into the dark expanse that was the night. I ate the sardines while actively trying to ignore my sense of taste, focusing on my thoughts. For a time, I chose to become the sardine, imagining what it was like to swim alongside my fellow sardines (Don't judge me - it was 3am and I WAS EATING SARDINES). I then wondered if sardines have naturally fragile bones you can eat or if this was a product of their processing. My mom cooked sardines from time to time - she usually made some sort of sambal, and I found those sardines palatable. I realized that part of the reason why sardines tasted bad out of the can was because of the temperature and because it was wet - drenched in 'tomato sauce'. I felt no disgust for my mom's sardines but I did for the ones I was currently consuming. Why was that? This was the question that kept me from tasting the sardines.<br /><br />Three sardines later - it was a three-sardine problem - I realized that my disgust was mostly dependent on the temperature the sardines were served at. This realization in combination with my disgust made me theorize that I had been conditioned to respond in this way. Sardines straight out the can are slightly cooler than room temperature. They feel slimy and taste slimy and the 'tomato sauce' tastes more like sardine sauce. All of these characteristics - sliminess, bleh taste, cool temperature - are shared by food that more often than not gives you food poisoning. In my 19 years of experience as Kula, I would think I am quite experienced in matters of food poisoning. <div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The emotion of disgust serves to energize and direct avoidance behaviour, which was why feelings of disgust began to ramp up when I ran out of things to actively think about. It's hard to think of things to think about when at the same time you're trying to consciously ignore the taste of sardines. I started gagging. I have vomited far too many times in this life for a non-bulimic person. Half of that vomiting was during a really bad stretch of food poisoning last year that I got from the pau in Asia Cafe. Let me tell you that there's nothing quite as humbling as holding on to a toilet for dear life as you try to retch your guts out. I say try because there's nothing left to puke out because you've been puking all day. So you just retch and retch, until even your organs feel like they're moving. There aren't words I could use to properly describe how it feels like.<br /><br />That being said, I told myself to man up and just swallow the damn sardine - because I had finished 6 of the 8 sardines contained in the can and had in my mouth the last mouthful of the seventh. I couldn't do it, so I spat it into the trash. I looked at the nearly-empty can of sardines resentfully. I had been so close, only to be bested by part of fish. Kula 0, Sardines 1.<br /><br />Eating tuna out of the can was something, but eating sardines the same way was a whole 'nother can of fish.</div>
The Kulahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12784605393692696671noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-982784140652388280.post-84763191527404092342013-07-01T12:35:00.001-07:002013-07-01T13:24:26.698-07:00B-Sides and B-52sFunny the things that can inspire you to write - for me, for today, for the writing I'm doing when I'm supposed to be asleep, I'd like to thank Frank Ocean and the girl with the evocative writing. Brings memories to mind, maybe because our respective burdens sound like flip sides of the same coin. Sounds like a cumbersome sort of coincidence.<br />
<div>
<br />
As the year grows older, I find myself comparing my present self with who I was exactly a year ago - as days go by, the comparisons become clearer. Sometimes I regret coming to Sunway-U, cause it meant having to trudge through a field of memories daily. Ghosts of people past become a whole lot more real when you're in the same place at the same time. So you shoulder through it, and eventually the repetitive nature of life barrels through whatever memories you thought you had - at least, until the bustle of day is replaced by the quiet of night, and memories steal into one's heart once more.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The thing that strikes me most about who I was a year ago? The naivete. I would stride up to her and confidently say "It's okay, whatever happens. We'll ride through it - to whom much is given, much is tested, and I've been given a lot." Of course, looking at it right now, it begs the question - what exactly was I given? Same thing I've always had, I guess, unrestrained hopes, a plethora of illusions and little else.<br />
<br />
I always found it funny that on my first time, it wasn't enough to push me down and leave me grasping at broken threads. Nah, I got an uppercut and a sucker punch to match. Whatever the intent, let me be the first to tell you that whatever the angle, it's the unexpected hit that hurts the most. That always struck me as unfair. But expecting fairness from a life is a lot like expecting the truth from other people - you may get something that resembles it, but rare and lucky is the person that gets the real thing. </div>
<div>
(And hey, if you're reading this - I know you're thinking I'm doing this to get a rise out of you, like others less erudite and much more irritating, but lemme reassure you, I'm not. Stop reading and go ahead and live the good life, cause if you've got it, enjoy it. )</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Sometimes I wonder if I'm paranoid by temperament or by experience - I dunno. I'm living on a prayer, maybe because I don't want to be the guy who's looking over his shoulder more than I already do - it'd be funny to be a guy who talks about the importance of truth who's unable to trust anybody. I've got my family, that's strike #1, I've got a girl who could (un)intentionally create a cocktail of events that'll leave you spinning months later, strike #2. (It's true that they say to, it's always the ones you don't expect to who'll mess you up the worse - knife in the back being worse than a sword to the face and all that because at least you're expecting the sword). You know how it goes, 3 strikes and you're out. That's the part that keeps me awake, having had my trust betrayed - both by you and by myself, of course. I'm by no means innocent, as you remind me. I'm hoping to make it - but hope has never really brought me anywhere outside of the heights I aspire to in my head.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>"To me it's nothing but a one-man cult,</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>And cyanide in my styrofoam cup"<br />- </i>Frank Ocean, Bad Religion.</div>
</div>
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
I really like this song now, maybe because I have the personal context needed to appreciate it. I've nursed a conflicting set of emotions - ambivalence - and it bothers me. Feels like I'm alternating between my id and my superego. I tell myself it's all a learning experience and I came out better for it. Then I laugh bitterly at my own naivete and harshly mock myself and the words I said and meant. Maybe the fact that I meant it all was the worst part. Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me, yeah? Well, shame on me twice over. Fate always had a way of making a fool out of me - here I am, still, stuck with memories that haunt me and a mind that harangues me for being an idiot.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Only bad religion could have me feeling the way I do, haunted by the ghosts of people I once knew.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>"It's a bad religion; </i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>to be in love with someone who could never love you,</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Only bad,</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Only bad religion,</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Could have me feeling the way I do."</i><br />
- Frank Ocean, Bad Religion.</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
The Kulahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12784605393692696671noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-982784140652388280.post-90829238428016322142013-06-30T01:37:00.002-07:002013-06-30T01:37:57.243-07:00Held Down<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<span style="background-color: white;"><div style="text-align: center;">
<i style="font-family: inherit; font-style: italic; line-height: 26.390625px;">"So quick to place blame and deny the shame we bring upon ourselves;<br />So many names held accountable for my own account;<br />When a large amount was weight - that I made and shaped;<br />When I climbed I found;<br />It was hard to find others around to point my fingers at;<br />Which made me realize the truth;<br />The biggest suppressor could be your own ego looking for an excuse;<br />To plant roots, in a field of self-sorrow."<br />- De La Soul, </i><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 26.390625px;">Held Down</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 26.390625px;">When you finish reading that, go back and read it again. Slowly. A lot of the things I wanted to write about are contained in that verse. It's good to keep in mind, and it's a lot easier to have it expressed up there instead of in a wall of text.<br /><br />I used to find the idea of "Hate the sin, love the sinner" really stupid. Of course, it was because I misunderstood what it meant. I always imagined it as: "Oh, concept of murder, how I despise your existence! The world would be a much better place if the concept of murder was non-existent!" which is why I found it all really stupid. I confess, when I was younger, I had a very inflated sense of self-importance - something that I only got around to managing because I ate a bakery's worth of humble pie.<br /><br />Now, of course, tempered by humility and sharpened by experience, I can see what they were really trying to mean - taken together, hating the sin while loving the sinner and 'Let he who is without sin cast the first stone' creates an often unused idea of how we are to treat the people around us, and most importantly, ourselves.<br /><br />It's too easy to wallow in self-pity, to cloak yourself in guilt, to wreathe yourself in bitterness (Guilty as charged), so we've gotta move forward. Realize we're on the constant path of growth - and failure will teach you a whole lot more than success. I've been blessed with a multitude of failures and for that I am grateful (At the same time I wish I'd get a break so I could sit back and live the good life because this whole growing as a person shit is tiring).<br /><br />So here we are now, part of a protracted exercise in turning negatives into positives. Because turning positives into negatives is way too easy and we all want something a little more challenging. Stoicism as a philosophy is not the lack of emotion - it is the control of your emotions. And the essence of controlling your emotions is being able to turn every negative into a positive - you're not trying to make yourself happy, we're just finding contentment in our flawed state, to prevent yourself from becoming:<br />a) A self-righteous shit<br />b) A dyed-in-the-wool pessimist<br />Neither type of person is any fun to be around. So long that you have the persistent belief that you're:<br />a) Better than other people<br />b) Worse than other people<br />You will always be unpleasant to be around.<br /><br />If you were to ask me what makes the /idea/ of God special, I would tell you it's the fact that God is said to be all-accepting. I'm not gonna say that God forgives everyone of everything - maybe because I wonder if there is truly anything to forgive us for - every mistake we make serves a purpose, teaches us to be just a little bit better. But the point here is - the most holy thing about the idea of God is the fact that God is said to be all-accepting. We've gotta aspire to that ideal.<br /><br />Maybe that's one of the main things that drew me to psychology - Psychologists are meant to be impartial, to be all-accepting, to withhold judgement. I dunno. I'm rambling. I just wanted something to write about. Last year, I wrote about how I was at a crossroads, and well, here I am now, twice as bitter. That should tell you enough. But the thing which I don't think I've mentioned yet is that I'm twice as happy.<br /><br />So wherever life takes me, I'm ready, armed with a whole new philosophy, the result of sleepless nights spent staring at my window, wondering if I should save myself the trouble and just jump out. There is no cry for attention here, no 'look at me and see that my life is terrible' because life fucks everybody - just differently. Here we are, being accepting of our strengths, and more importantly, our flaws. So yeah, I have seriously considered killing myself a lot of the time, I often give off false impressions especially in regards to being an egotist unintentionally, I have a shitty home life, I have no patience for people who try too hard, I hate people who are overly competitive, I have a burning hatred for the self-righteous, I have the constant naive pull to help the people around me, though I recognize more often than not they don't want my help - that's not gonna stop me from offering, though. I say I have no feelings about anything or anyone because it's easier than admitting that I feel burned, more often than not I don't know what the hell I'm doing or what the hell I'm saying. I have an intense fear of drowning that makes me panic whenever I put my head underwater that I can't get over despite trying. The thing that bothers me most is that life doesn't work the way it does in books and movies.<br /><br />All that aside and accepted, life is alright, looking forward to it whatever happens.<br /><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 26.390625px;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
</span>The Kulahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12784605393692696671noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-982784140652388280.post-50994281345740787122013-06-23T03:03:00.000-07:002013-06-23T03:03:17.767-07:00Reflective Papar(Wrote in a stream-of-consciousness style, not going to edit. If it's nonsensical or weird, you know why.)<br /><br />I feel like I've been cursed with a blessing - I see great meaning in every little thing. It makes living much more interesting - bad days become worse, good days become better. That's how it goes.<br /><br />I wanted to write some stirring text that will make you marvel at the beauty of life - but there's too much of that out there, and I really wonder how much of that was written sincerely.<br /><br /> So it is with matters of God and matters of the heart that people rarely say what they mean, instead they say what they think you'd like to hear. Can you fault them for this? I don't know. It certainly feels convenient - but you've got to remember that they just wanted to make you happy. Then again, good intentions are a cold comfort. Sadly, life ain't like the movies - there's never a clear answer.<br /><br />Like I said earlier, I tend to see life like a movie. There's always meaning to be gleaned from everything. My English teacher Ms.D said:<br /><br />"Everything in that shot was put there for a purpose. The dog is not just a dog. The director didn't just go 'Let's put footage of a dog in there.' The dog is there for a reason! So class, I want you to tell me. Why is the dog in that shot?"<br /><br />While I hold delusions of grandeur, that every event I've experienced is leading up to a conclusion that will tie everything together, that this is all some plan shaped by divine will, that I'm meant to learn and grow from my experiences to become the person that will face the challenges of my future - I've come to realize that most of this is nothing more than cognitive dissonance. We idolize rationality - but if we were truly rational, most of us would be dead by now. Hell, if I were fully rational, I'd have been out the window a year ago.<br /><br />That's why certain things put me in a tight spot - people like Nick Vujicic and ideas like feeding stray cats. Nick Vujicic, cool dude and everything - but by his own admittance, he wanted to die. He didn't see the point in living. He said he stopped himself from committing suicide because of how bad his parents would feel about it - guy was basically guilt tripped into living. I'm not saying that someone should have shot him in the face as soon as he was born - that's wrong. I'm just saying that he was never allowed an impartial choice between life and death. That's the thing I've always wanted to find out - was Nick Vujicic the product of massive cognitive dissonance? Don't get me wrong, I like that the guy gives people hope and so on, but I guess sometimes I wonder if his worldview is because it's much nicer to believe that God put you on this Earth to spread the Word rather than to believe you lost the genetic lottery.<br /><br />As for feeding stray cats - it's a good idea in theory, but in reality, there's so much more to consider. It's very easy for us to throw out short-term solutions and deem problems done - this is nothing if not selfishness.<br /><br />I was about to leave my house when I turned to my mom and said to her quietly:<br />"I might lose my scholarship."<br />She said: "Then study harder."<br />"You don't understand - it's not that simple."<br />"You're just doing this on purpose, to inconvenience me."<br />When she said that, I knew there was no point in trying to explain - so I walked out the door.<br /><br />Sometimes, there's no point in explaining certain things to people - not because they don't deserve to know, it's because they don't make the effort to understand - they jump to the conclusion that requires the least thought, and this is what makes them not worth talking to. Remember that everything you offer someone beyond not being an asshole is a privilege, not a right.<br /><br />The path of progress is often lonely, and you'll sit up at night wondering what the hell you're doing and where the hell you're going, but someday it's all gonna be worth it. At least, that's what I tell myself. There's the fantasy, and then reality ensues. They say everybody gets a happy ending, that everybody finds the person they're supposed to love and you get married and you get to live happily ever after. The truth is the moment you start slacking this world will take everything you've got. The truth is if your idea of happiness is rooted in the thought of someone else, you will forever be unhappy. What we're talking about is self-sustaining happiness, happiness that is sustained by the self and happiness that keeps the self sustained. Happiness rooted in anything other than yourself is temporary, clinging onto it will leave you EMPTY and bitter. I've seen it happen, and it's not going to happen to me. Simple as that.<br /><br />And that is why even when I can't sleep at night, when I think about all the times I've failed, my faith becomes yet stronger. Happiness is a state of mind, don't question it too much, but the pit that is bitterness is very real. We are not fighting a battle in which the victor become happy. We are fighting a battle in which the loser becomes hollow. That's why you have to live hard, go big or go home. The meek will inherit the earth, but they'll be inheriting it after the outspoken and the brave are done with it. That is why every day we must strive ever harder towards an ideal we will never achieve. The ideal is irrelevant - it is the striving that is important.<br />
<br />The Kulahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12784605393692696671noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-982784140652388280.post-14342685158080329162013-06-16T03:03:00.003-07:002013-06-16T03:03:48.487-07:00Thoughts From A Balcony<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
" I told my story, put my life inside this ink pen;</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Said I'll make it big when everybody knows me;</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Well I made it big and everybody phony;</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
So could you pour me, I need a cup;</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
No, none of that liquor, mixing purple stuff;</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
...</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Go 'head judge me, hate costs money but this love free."</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
- Mac Miller, Thoughts From A Balcony<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<span style="text-align: left;">I realized I favour certain forms of imagery in my writing - particularly that which pertains to falling, flight and fire. Freedom. I would say that freedom can be more easily seen in destruction than in creation. Life is squandering yourself for a purpose - we destroy ourselves to build that which we love. </span><br style="text-align: left;" /><br style="text-align: left;" /><span style="text-align: left;">I want you, dear reader, to watch this video: I'll explain soon, but I need your first impressions. Read this song based on what you can hear - it's even better because you don't understand the language:</span><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/xRqI5R6L7ow?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Watched it yet?</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Ben introduced me to this song.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I'm only including more lines so as to make sure you can ignore what I write under it without me having to use some sort of atrocious filler.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I've always liked listening to music in languages I don't understand - the only exception is in rap, where I feel understanding the wordplay is important.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
The woman who sang it was a prominent activist who only wasn't shut down by the government due to her immense popularity - the backlash would have been too much to handle. She was a mother of three(I think, could be four.) She had a husband and they later fell out and she married her producer. She died when she overdosed on drugs. Unfortunate, but when you're living the self-actualized life, your death is someone else's tragedy, because it's much better to die in the heat of the moment than years later as a unfulfilled has-been.<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Somehow I don't really feel bad when people like her or Mitch Hedberg, Bill Hicks, Heath Ledger etc. die young. It's kind of a pity on our end, but I get the feeling they stared death head-on and accepted it. There's a price to pay for everything, and sometimes that price is an early death. It's a shame, but it's a reality you gotta deal with. The candle that burns brightest burns on both ends. If I got to write a few books first, I would be completely okay with dying young. Would be a bit of a shame since I wouldn't be able to experience things like parenting but I can deal with it because I got my shot at greatness. Dunno if that makes sense. In a sense, I feel like their deaths aren't tragedies because they lived like romantics, they were in a love affair with life, and love affairs are always tumultuous. I guess that's what I'm trying to do - not to worry too much about how long I'll live and focus on living well. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
On a somewhat related note, whenever people say drugs are bad, I always got kinda annoyed because everything is bad for you - some things worse than others, but a substance's legality shouldn't be the benchmark for that. I agree that some substances are bad, but I make my choices based on physiological effects, not legality. We're on that post-conventional morality.<br /><br />For about 3 months now, I've been wanting to write a post about how there are no heroes - at least, when it comes to the people we normally idolize. I chose not to because it sounded too negative. The reason why I don't put anyone on a pedestal is because I have seen enough of them crumble to know that people and heights don't mix. That's not to say that people are bad, it's just that our strengths are matched by our flaws. When I was a kid, I idolized my parents, sorta, what kid doesn't? That pedestal broke, and I've been breaking them ever since. The simple reason why idolizing people and idealism in general doesn't work is because the shit just keeps coming, so eventually, everybody has to get their hands dirty. Nelson Mandela was fully prepared to start an armed insurrection if he wasn't heeded, he had already secured both weapons and the promise of military training from China. When Gandhi was young, he was more angry that he couldn't sit in the white part of the train than he was that black people couldn't sit there. This does not make their achievements any less great - Mandela and Gandhi were still greater than many people would ever aspire to be.<br /><br />I like Christianity for the imagery and the parables, Islam for the caliphate and the religion's sense of sensibility, Hinduism/Buddhism for the culture and the complexity/simplicity and Taoism for the philosophy. Spirituality aside, I'll always be non-religious. There is truth in religion, but humanity as a whole would benefit a lot more from a philosophy of Humanism. So that's the agenda I'm going to advance. Most people are humanists without really realizing it anyway. If you:<br />1) Trust your reason above all else<br />2) Question everything<br />3) Believe that God helps those who helps themselves<br />You're practically a Humanist already.<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
In Kanye West's latest album, he refers to himself as Yeezus. A lot of people find that sacrilegious. I don't.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">
"I just talked to Jesus;</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
He said: "What up Yeezus?";</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I said, "Shit I'm chilling;</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Just tryna stack these millions";</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I know he the most high;</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
But I am a close high."</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
- Kanye West, I Am A God</div>
<br />He's right. He resurrected hip-hop. Hip-hop was in a slump in the early 2000s. Crunk rap and the type of rap most people stereotypically think of when you ask them about hip-hop dominated - Lil Jon, 50 Cent etc.<br />Jay-Z released what he promoted as his last album in 2003. As for people who say that Jay-Z isn't that much better, well:<br /><div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
"I dumbed down for my audience;</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Doubled my dollars;</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
They criticize me for it;</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
But they all yell holla."<br />- Jay-Z, Moment of Clarity.<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Then Kanye released his debut album in 2004. His most semangat single from that album was 'Jesus Walks' (linked because apparently a lot of people don't know about this song) </div>
</div>
<br /><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/TpzRPa1I81o?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Personally my favourite from his first album was We Don't Care because a bunch of kids singing:<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">
"Drug dealing just to get by; </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
stack your money til it gets sky high, </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
we wasn't supposed to make it past 25, </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
joke's on you we still alive, </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
throw your hands up in the sky and scream, </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
we don't care what people say."</div>
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<br style="text-align: left;" /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Kanye was responsible for the resurrection of hip-hop. He moved the rap genre away from the popular trappings of gangster rap - Kanye had no need for macho posturing like those before him. He's still egoistic as hell, but he let the genre mature and we gotta appreciate him for that. He revolutionized the genre and brought it back from its near-death. The name Yeezus is apt. I've always liked Kanye because despite his egotism, he's real. He says what he means and means what he says. And I appreciate that.<br /><br />Consider yourself somewhat educated on this subject that nobody really cares about.<br /><br />I have no real idea on how to end this post, because it kinda jumps here and there, so lemme just say:<br /><br />Life is goooood, and it can only get better.<br /></div>
<br /></div>
The Kulahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12784605393692696671noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-982784140652388280.post-49917583792586917892013-06-01T03:28:00.001-07:002013-06-01T03:28:21.359-07:00Path Of ParadoxEvery morning, this man would begin his day with a cup of coffee, five sugars, no milk, and a cigarette. On a daily basis, he handled stocks equal to the value of a small country's GDP. He would end each day with three lines, another cigarette, and a woman he met five minutes ago. Livin' la vida loca wasn't 100% hookers and coke - it was more like 75%.<br /><br />His wife would begin her day similarly, staring sleepily into the mirror that was polished to a sickening sheen. She would paw worriedly at her waistline, weighing her options. That was her self-consciousness speaking; she already knew that her husband was only interested in her as something to put on his arm. She opined that it was a lot like being a prostitute, except prostitutes actually got to have sex.<br /><br />---<br /><div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Likewise, here was a man who viewed his life paradoxically - his life was objectively pretty decent, but subjectively terrible. The external events in his life would confirm both views. This man quickly became miserable - the why of which being hard to quantify, as words can only express so much. Sometimes it's easier to say more by saying less so I'll succinctly say: Incongruence.<br /><br />I loathe people who write about themselves in third-person, it feels pretentious. (Wait, what, Kula talking about other people being pretentious? Huehuehue hypocrite) But I'll let this one slide, because it served a purpose.<br />(Wait, Kula, now you're holding others to a high standard while excusing yourself from that same standard? Dress a little douchier and you'd pass for a plebeian in no time.)<br /><br />A third-person perspective is helpful, especially when you write about yourself. Ramana Maharshi would probably say something to the effect of it distancing yourself from the I-thought. When I first delved into spirituality, it was in the teachings of Ramana Maharshi that I read up on. He talked about self-enquiry. Interesting stuff. I just started reading it again while writing it again, except this time I've twice the cynicism. I suppose he failed to take into account the fact that most people don't want to ask difficult questions. Simple lies often suffice. That's not to say, of course, that everything that's all sunshine and roses is a lie. How can you take something to be the truth until you put it under a microscope? I have great respect for truth-seekers, people who would undergo internal torment in order to question their own beliefs. For someone who exists, contemplating the idea of non-existence must be quite scary. (At least, it was for me.) That said, seeking the truth is more often than not painful - it's a crown of thorns, if anything, but then again, nothing worth having ever came without suffering.<br /><br />In Malaysia, it often seems like the idea of not asking difficult questions is ingrained in our culture. They say<br />" Don't la ask difficult questions, you'll hurt our national unity and cause chaos." Bad for national security. Bad for economy. Not our culture. Makes us look bad. Whenever you speak your mind, they'll charge you for sedition. It's all bullshit. It's funny how this is the sort of corruption that began from the bottom-up, because if you would ask me to pinpoint exactly where, I would say it's the idea of filial piety. Filial piety quickly morphs into the idea that people who aren't in charge should sit down and shut up no matter what happens. Seems like it's an idea that's been forced down our throats - the whole "Obey your parents, obey your church, obey your government" thing. They accustom you to accepting the viewpoints of others as your own. All the sheeple seek the steeple? I would end that last one with a punctuation mark but it leans a little too anti-religion for me.<br /><br />I confess, being born a much maligned minority in Malaysia, a conservative country with dumb-as-fuck politics and many people who have a worldview that can best be described as "childish and contemptuous", has often made me wonder "Truly, does God hate me?"</div>
<div>
I mean that in a more "How lucky can one guy be?" kinda way instead of "God, you have truly forsaken me by allowing me to be born in a country where I was fed, clothed and educated while some people die for no reason other than having been born in the wrong place, truly God, you are incredibly mean to me and I'm going to go cry and then listen to Justin Bieber and pray that you help Jelena happen again."<br /><br />I admit that while I love Malaysia, I also hate Malaysia. It is my hate of Malaysia that allows me to love Malaysia. And it is that hate/love dynamic that makes me want to change this country for the better instead of running off somewhere where I would be able to find more like-minded people and suffer less discrimination. This coexistence of love and hate, I think, is hope.<br />"Hope has two beautiful daughters. Their names are anger and courage; anger at the way things are, and courage to see that they do not remain the way they are." - St Augustine<br /><br />Whenever possible, I try to mean what I say and say what I mean, but as someone who likes to joke around, it usually means I have to look like I'm arguing with myself - but then again, I have practically been in a constant internal argument since the beginning of the year. It's easy to maintain congruence when you're by yourself, but the reality of course, is much different. As of late, I've been trying to minimize my internal incongruence by avoiding everyone, or at the very least, by speaking as little as possible to a singular person. Were it up to me, I'd move into a cave with a library, a gym and a cinema for about a year and come out much changed. Since it's not up to me, I gotta make do. And I'll do so. Til then, the Kula abides.<br />(With reference to previous blogpost, I was feeling /really/ low but then I sat down, really thought about things, watched The Big Lebowski [a movie most people wouldn't like, I admit that while I can appreciate it on a philosophical level - The Dude Abides - I didn't enjoy it.] and now I'm here, writing things.)<br /><br />The /fun/ part of having an overly active mind and an overly active imagination is that there's always something to think about. How lucky can one guy be indeed. If I get married, I'm going to play that song at my wedding. Then if I get hypothetically divorced after said hypothetical marriage, I will play that song again. And if that day comes I will laugh and go, "Kula, you magnificent bastard." and anybody that's watching would look at me and say "Kula, you're hypathetic."<br /><br />That went off-tangent. So let me wrap this all up:<br />Incongruence is bad because it causes conflict. Conflict causes suffering. It is through incongruence that you learn and you develop. The path of paradox is the path of incongruence. The path of paradox is the path of progress. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
So here's to future suffering, because like it or not, a lot of it is coming (knowing my life), so you might as well celebrate it.<br /><br />And it's a song that I've used a lot but it fits so well here that I'm going to use it again:<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">
" That's life;<br />That's what all the people say;</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
You're riding high in April, shot down in May;</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
But I know I'm gonna change that tune;</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
When I'm back on top, back on top in June;</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I said that's life,<br />And as funny as it may seem;</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Some people get their kicks stomping on a dream;</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
But I don't let it, let it get me down;</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
'Cause this fine old world, it keeps spinning 'round "</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
- That's Life, Frank Sinatra.</div>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
The Kulahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12784605393692696671noreply@blogger.com0