Errrrrrr hi, this space! So foreign! Testimony to how negligent I've been!

An end to a relatively successful albeit a little disappointing (my goals were high) quarter met a start to winter break which I, honestly, was not looking forward to that much. Yes of course family but that was it. Winter break meant distance and solitude and grant proposals and internship applications--schools might as well have taken the liberty to place quotation marks around "break," just like that. Winter "break." "Winter break," "break, Winter," et cetera.

I also forgot that my family doesn't really celebrate Christmas. We're also not big on movies. So no, we didn't give each other gifts, and no, we did not catch the Les Mis premiere. Thanks, Facebook, for letting me know once again what I missed out on in life! Wouldn't be here without ya.

So tonight I am thinking about how much I miss the autonomous lifestyle I enjoy in Evanston, and how much I miss school, classes, the learning environment, and friends. I miss my room. I miss my speakers. I miss my clothes. All the clothes at home are from middle school and earlier, and they all reek of bad choices.

Tonight I am also thinking about arguments. How do people get into arguments, and why is it so hard to be the bigger person and say, hey, we're wonderful people and I love you otherwise, let's stop this nonsense and make peace. It's so easy to stoop to whatever level anger drags us down to, but so difficult to remind ourselves of our capacity to be lovely. Sometimes it's especially frustrating when you see a specific argument coming. You think in your head, please don't say that one thing I know you'll say. And when they inevitably say it, it's as if they punched some part of your body you just got surgically repaired.

Lastly, I'm thinking about cover letters. Absolutely abhor them. Also abhor requests for letters of recommendation. WHY must you make things difficult? Is commonapps for internships ever going to be a thing?

If it's not invented during my time I'll be insanely jelly and bitter

Guichanaso

RIP 1993-2012.

What does this make me think?


Mothagesso.

I generally had problems liking anyone more than liking them.
In hindsight, nothing I called love seemed to be love, and nothing aches me a bit.
Everything seems a little contrived. Commitment problems. Destroying to its roots.
No girl, no woman, no actress, no anyone really impacted, influenced, affected, altered,
or whatever, me, I'd say. Not enough for anything. This, not as a voice of pride, but tragedy.
But I can say, though, I do, really, really, really, really, really like Ann Hathaway.
Just, so, so, deeply, in, deeply, in, love.

Ugh.


Mothagesso.

Ridiculous 5.5 credit course load this semester, really no one will or should sympathize nor understand. Regret rather than celebration creeps up after everything, for not having learned as much as I can, just like all the other semesters, for not having lived up as much as I can, like all the other semesters, except this time around this I'm actually getting close to the end. This is scary. When did time fly, and what did it leave me? Classic dilemma. Anyway, really no use to being sad about the past. At least this semester I feel like I have learned a lot more about, about myself and about how to actually work hard. I am sad that these precious college years are being spent to learn what some others learned in high school or were equipped with when they were born, but it is what it is. A takeaway: work when there is work to do. Also: give at least 3 days for any paper more than 6 pages.

Here's to a better semester next year. Talk to more professors, make more friends, do more interesting things in my free time, indulge in my passions, moderate all passions, work out, participate more in extracurriculars, get a fucking internship, do the readings and turn in everything on time, write better, love my family more-- my sister and my mother, think and do something big, pick up interesting interests and hobby.

All this, assuming that the world doesn't end. I do hope there's some minor apocalyptic weather at one point just to thrill these people who were prepping for this.


Mothagesso.

"Ugh. All these conversations I have."

A particular lifestyle, a peculiarly satisfying appreciation. There seems to be some hierarchy. So good that I feel so convinced I'm better.

Mothagesso.

"In Scipio's dream, Africanus tells Scipio, that what you do, the political life you lead and honors of statesman you will get, will be rewarded by the contemplative life in the afterlife. You will learn the harmony of cosmos. And in the face of such eternity, the honors and riches of political life do not seem to be significant."

'But doesn't that go for philosophy as well? That honors of a statesman have not survived through time is no different than that thoughts of a philosopher did not survive because none of their texts survived. It's only by some freak chance these thoughts were passed down.'

'The fickleness of becoming 'eternal' to our collective human consciousness of something, that's merely by chance. But besides that, in the face of eternity, everything seems useless anyway. "What for, what for?" '

'Why do we long so much to be eternal? I think it's probably precisely because we are not, and probably never will be. We are mortal. Eternity is not what we can neither be nor understand. To fight that, I conjecture, we write, we think, we conquer, to be, in ways, remembered. Even if you didn't seek social recognition, you wrote to remember and to communicate. That's an attachment to memory and thought.'

'But nothing we write, we think, and we conquer will let us be eternal- because we are mortal. We will die, and what we have produced will only survive by chance, and then it will only be understood to less and less relevance as well as reverence as time moves on.'

'So what do we do? Mortals desiring eternal to no avail? Nothing that life has allowed us to know, nothing that life offers, is eternal. So how are we to, within our lives, attain or even deal with eternity, even the idea of eternity? How do we break out of our own very existence?'

'Creativity?'


Mothagesso.

A while ago, I used to wish that I would be who I was.

"This semester has been just, my general happiness level was never so higher. I was just happy most of the times, even when I'm sad. I would feel stressed out for a second, and just think, 'but hey, it's alright.' So I just always didn't mind."

"Listen to this song. It's just such a happy song. My mother likes songs like this, except it might be a little too bassy for her. She just likes simple songs. She says, 'I don't like sad songs. The world is tough and sad already, why would I want to listen to listen to something that will make me sadder?' She listens to simple songs. Simple happy rock from the 90's, Mozart, just piano and nothing else, ambient song you'd expect to hear ta Disney Land. She loved happy songs."

"Listen, mayne."

Appreciating is just a habit once you get your awe-switch on. Hah.
Sunny, jeans cold, shirts slacked, cigarettes, talks about life's and thoughts.


Who am I now?


Mothagesso.

My friend used to say, "get over yourself."

How frequently am I the only obstacle between me and my other self?

"Get the fuck over yourself."

Mothagesso.

I talk about my problems here. My moods change about the same damn problem I have had for a while, and it's pretty evident what kind of mood I am in. My writing is only really fully intelligible for me. I skip around. Uses the terms I used in my mind to make sense of things. It's essentially my own language. It's faulty.

One problem I didn't talk about is love. I am having an awfully hard time falling in love. Or falling in like, or whatever, for god's sake. Commitment problems come down to their self-destructive roots.

Mothagesso.

"I heard that manic depressives are naturally better writers. When they are manic, they write, write, write. When they are depressed, they become the harsh critics of their own writing, and edit, edit, edit. So their natural polarity makes their writings better."

For the things you don't like about yourself, naturally you make more comparisons with other people just to lucidate your inadequacy, and the shape of inadequacy only gets uglier and uglier.

But action and change is hard, to know how to change or what to change is difficult, not to mention the immense effort it requires. So do not take action to change, and rather just feel bad about the inadequacy until you decide to ignore it wholly, or comes to terms with some smart argument.

But they won't ever disappear. Other people will remind you. You will remind yourself. There are certain things that life seems to call for. The thing I feel like I should be doing. The thing that feels correct. These are things that, ironically, happen to be the best exercise for me, because I come up with elaborate explanations and excuses to refute the whole idea. Reversal of arguments, feigning knowledgeability, a sophistry of sort. But these certain things never will disappear and will one day like today tear off and burn down the thicket of smart arguments I have. Then there will be no excuses, like the last time this happened. Take option 1, ignore the perpetual problem and deal with the present. It might just be something I don't like, but not necessarily should change. It might be wiser to come to terms with it. Repeat until feeling better. Repeat again when the ugly inadequacy reveals itself and subverts the serene surface of the reservoir of consciousness and morality.

But it could be otherwise. It could be that I should take the bitter medicine, face the horror like you used to long time ago, and rejoice in learning and overcoming. The ugliness only worsens if not dealt with. Changes are slow but sweet. They are the small berries from day to next, the small motivation accumulating that causes changes.

Both of these are arguments come and go, take turns and switch, as the mood frequency hits its apex and falls to its trough. I love myself, I hate myself, my life is great, my life is undeserving. A perennial vicious cycle that gets less vicious every time, because I learn how to be less affected by it as well as become better at move on and not get bogged down. That's one thing I'm good at, becoming more constant.

Never upset. Always conceding. Mostly happy. Rarely a downer.

If you give enough time, this trick itself goes under scrutiny. The fact that I'm more stable is great, no it sucks I'm just being lazy, it must be my natural temperament, no it is being practiced excessively, excessively. And it tears down my mechanism of defense, knocks on my door and tells me,

Shape of happiness that breeds unhappiness or affects further gains is an incomplete one. Nothing but a few things are 'who you are', everything is at best 'who you are now' and it being a temporal symptom, you cannot use it as the unchanging basis point. If you do, then you will become stagnant, weighed down with its own set of burdensome excuses, drowning. Most things are just 'what you feel like doing', and such inclinations are not 'who you are' but simply distractions, 'who you could become'. As I said, only few things are 'who you are', and such is when the soul is arranged properly with what was there and what was found. Keep on searching. Go out and find things to align your soul.

"He used to get really upset about feminism and stuff. He was angry that he could never possibly be a true feminist, given that he is a male, grown up in a certain way, and whatnot. He would be depressed, he would stay in bed, just distracting himself from the bad mood." No will to be productive or anything. There was no creativity engendered by pain. There just was pain. It wasn't a helpful disease.

"I was jealous that he could feel so passionate."

Nosce te ipsum.

Mothagesso.

I sometimes hate myself. "People here are smart, we're funny, smart, witty, nerdy people. Like my friend once said, there are 'wholesome' people here. But that means we're not necessarily academic. We're intellectual, but not academic. We've got too many other things that we're interested in. Too much fun, too many good people, too many good things to be cherished that we explore less in a way. It's possible also because we're in Maine. Fucking Maine, not in the middle of the city or at a university where people know what they are doing and they're really aggressive. We're just bunch of lost kids, all together, figuring out what we want to do. A lot of us at least." I feel inadequate. I'm 3 out of 5 smart, 2 out of 5 committed, and I might be totally misdirected right now. I might regret the whole thing although that seems impossible given the amount of fun and happiness I stroll upon here. "See we are all smart enough to know how we would be as smart as possible. We know what our perfect academic semester would be like. All of us. Wake up early, review class materials, have meetings and lunches and coffees with professors, participate in class, turn in essays two days earlier, take notes, review notes, recreate notes, we'd be all Rhode Scholars." I sometimes hate myself. Everything I do seems like the wrong decision, the unimpressive ones, the indulgent, the despicable one. I always look back to find  my past self so foolish. I might just be doing the same thing soon enough. 'Fool.' 'I didn't know anything then.' It has always been what it has been. It is what it is. Can it be something else? Can I be someone else and should I be? Do I want to be? As schizophrenic as I sound, I shizophrenically wish I am more like this, and simultaneously wish I would just be peaceful and well. Low frequency waves. Low frequency waves.


Mothagesso.

I don't know what I want to do anymore. I don't know if any of the things I'm doing now are things I'm exceptionally good at. I can't say for certain that there is anything I'm better at doing than anyone else. I've lost conviction in myself, belief in my talents, and all I seem to have is just some baseless learnt confidence in what I have the potential to become. Reiterating thoughts like this dramatizes the issue, yes. Yet this is perhaps the one time in my life where I really feel asking for advice might be necessary. Friends of the world, share with me your thoughts. I'm not equipped for this.

Nothing feels more disorienting than the illusion of direction.

Guichanaso.

Can I say-- that my personal life mission has been to align what I want to do as a career, what I want to be as a person, and what I want to accomplish here with my life--? Everything seems to have been a blessing and satisfactory--more than satisfactory-- circumstances. Probably because I just don't care about a lot of things, in a great way. I just hang aloft peacefully, but because I'm in this world there's a constant tension. World offers a myriad of things, and bothers me in myriad of ways. The mountain pile of options and inspirations crush me flat.

It makes me not enough.


Mothagesso.

I used to take a negative stance against people who studied things that I deemed shallow. I shit on them for their myopia. The only thing shallow there was probably my own knowledge and crucially respect for the field. If anything, my own myopia. I don't have the world down. I frequently used to think that I know the world. It was just my world.

It also didn't help that I was reading bunch of political philosophers from hundred years ago who shit on the essence of fields only at its advent. Conservatism of sorts. Bad one to have, hundred years later.

I remember when a girl in my class shared why she studies psychology. 'Social sciences are annoying,' I thought, 'they are value-free. Sociologists seem to ever pick on problem of contemporary society, without much historical understanding of the issue. One-sided railing against issues, with no particular solutions. Just problems, problems, problems. Or just really irrelevant note on how different everyone is. Just bunch of stuff that I wish was just made as a B-rated documentary. Psychologists also talk too much about obvious things. Obvious things that all people do. Nicely systematized with words and stuff, but what's the deeper rigor here, besides trying to fit people into little block shapes? Trying to prove the obvious, trying to come up with proof. What does this add? Valuable findings of psychology become pop science bestsellers or documentaries.'

"I was really fascinated when I took psych 101, unlike many other friends who hated it. I just thought it was fascinating that people, who are so diverse and different, have these commonalities."

Oh.

Oh, oh, oh. People are different. And at best we can create anything and fathom nothing.


Mothagesso.

Winter is cold if without any distraction.


Mothagesso.

The day after a wonderfully delightful Thanksgiving night, I find myself ticked off by people and careless things they have to carelessly say on-line. I guess it might have always been that way. But crude, unreasonable, irrational, irresponsible, base, despicable! But it's probably not advisable for me to really feel or speak this way if I want to-- I don't know, not become them myself, and to somehow influence them? World seems like a place that requires a lot of work that requires a lot of courage.

Mothagesso.

WHY DOES RAMEN SEEM LIKE A GOOD IDEA AT TIMES WHEN I CANT FOCUS

Lacking motivation, and consequently reason or interest to do things-- I thought was because the secret me knows-- or at least think of as--'better life'. 'Doing things' is just one answer to one part of reality, and my way of 'enjoying things' is another. I simply get ground between the two because I can't abandon the former, and I don't want to the latter. If we relabel 'enjoying things' to 'not doing things', the tension grinds more people. Exhibit one is my roommate who raised the question, "why should I do anything?" Mine would have been, "why do 'real things' matter more than my secret enjoyments (a.k.a., not doing things that matter in the real world, not just this moment in your life)?" Exhibit two could be Guichanaso is similar to the first one, ground between similar tensions.

The case of Guichanaso builds on this to ask, "why am I not, doing things-- like I used to?"

I said, 'yes, it makes sense to say that we start questioning this way when we have lost fascination, our why.' Although, I personally don't think I have had my 'why' yet. Perhaps this is why I have a hard time holding myself from asking 'why am I doing this?' and then feeling the blind passion seep out, leaving my body cold, disinterested, and relaxed. But I should go out and find this. Reading Aristotle and Socrates and shit, I sometimes feel like I have found the why and the appreciation, but not yet the whole set of answers and results of life. No house, no income, no tax. Well, I'm young, and by nature, my life is largely unknown. So I should go find this. I think this gets harder to find as you get older, and get bolted into the structure you've set up for your sustenance, and can't get out to stop procrastinating and find that fascination.

When we have a passion, we don't need to ask why. Sometimes stopping to ask why to the passion helps revitalize the passion, but for me, I think I realized that I don't have a passion when I was asked to ask myself 'why' or when I thought I figured out my secret, happy 'why'. At any rate, I guess what I said to my nihilistic roommate still stands. If we stop asking 'why bother' to everything, we can see many to appreciate.

I also think, why not, I'm going to collide that 'why' with 'passion'. Creating something, bash it to itself.

What made me so interested in my own life?

Mothagesso.

In the shower I always think to myself, this is what I'm going to write about today. And then I get out of the shower and dry myself and forget what I was going to write about. It's got to do with the moisture. The slipperiness is quite nice. Once the dry air hits, I forget everything.

Mom and I had a conversation today about how boys can be so predictable. We were talking about dad. Dad is an open book. Brian, less so. And then I hung up and thought, yes, but sometimes not, and some boys not. It's hard to generalize an entire half of the world's population. I'd love to, but I'd hate to be wrong so I refrain.

I lack motivation. Brockovich came to our campus on a very strange time of my life, when I had been suffering from lethargy, lack of motivation, feeling down, the likes. Then she went on stage and told me all these things. I tried my best to jot them down on my notes app, and thus none of these are verbatim.

"Motivation requires positive thinking. As for negative thinking, we all do it. We get sucked into life. We have less time and energy, fewer reasons to get up the next day and repeat the things we love doing."

"Stop, breathe, and reboot. When was the last time you stopped and smelled roses?"

"You will find your voice. Don't you lose your why."

"Don't lose your why" was an interesting way of putting it. Mothagesso is right. I instinctively think of ways to not do things before I think of ways to do things. I'll give myself excuses, or I'll flat out decline offers, or I'll arrive late after hours of conflicted thought and cost-benefit analyses. I think it's because I've lost my why. It must be, because I wasn't always like this, I don't remember being this way growing up. I always had ambitions and achieved them like a champion and raised that self-expectation bar up to different stratospheres and look where I am, constantly disappointed and frustrated with how mediocre I've become. The instinctive me and socially constructed me seem to have become frenemies. Also, I don't think people understand the degree to which I condemn the things I do. I'm my worst critic. And yet, I'm tired. I need breaks. Lots of them.

College tells me to go to classes and get shit done. Professors expect me to arrive to class, do my assignments, go out and report, be that proactive. Lately I haven't been able to perform (or even when I do, perform with gusto) and I'm starting to wonder whether I've just reached a limit. It's a shitty thing to have to think about. Me? Limits? I'm goddamn 20. And here I am. I have limits!





ON second thought, I just need to be stronger.

Guichanaso.

Yeah if I never had to do anything I probably would do just that

We're all people with peculiar, and particular, understandings.

This may not be true at all, but I am always amused by thinking that Guichanaso and me are people who have the less active kind in us. That part is the laid-back-ness, sprinkled with disinterest, relaxation, and non-commitment-- but it arises from some grounds of thought, because that's another 'thinking' part we seem to have of our personalities and habits. However, most people think in order to do something. While, part of us think to do something as well, part of us think in a way makes us not do anything. Our thinking is wired weirdly. It perhaps is not unlike the nihilist friend of mine I wrote about sometime ago. A un-'productive' application of thinking capacities.

This lazy part of us is in tension with the other part, the 'normal' part, the 'hardworking' part, the 'socially-constructed' desires and goals. They don't go along well with our lazy part. The awe for life in general helps us to keep on thinking, the drive for life we believe we should uphold keeps us tugging towards future, but our natural temperaments or acquired inclinations dispose us to stay and celebrate the present.

The result of this set up for me is a smart kid who underutilizes his smarts, is happy and relaxed and not stressed, but also is stressed because he is underperforming by his measures. The happy life I am leading right now can easily be a delusion from the blessed life I have, which will expire soon.

I feel like a terrified, internally-conflicted snail.


Mothagesso.

Dear Clean People of the World,

You make me uncomfortable. I tiptoe around you. Its weird because I first typed "I have to tiptoe around you", but that's not necessarily true. I'm just always worried you're silently judging. You probably are.

You make me feel weird about being my messy dirty self. And this is unfair because we don't do that to any of you. We usually provide you with validation, whereas you provide us with criticism. Oh how I wish it were the other way around! Life would be so much easier if I could walk into a clean room and frown and say, "This room is clean. Can you mess it up a little?"

Also weird is how modern culture projects you all to be the better of the batch. This makes little to no sense to me. Whoever decided you were better was probably a neat person. When I imagine a clean someone in my head, I imagine you with slightly bigger eyes than everyone else, so it's easier for you to spot out every speck of dust and misalignment in the room. And always nervous. Fidgeting with your fingers. Runs to the bathroom every five minutes to wash your hands, et cetera. Can you tell? I don't like you.

I mean, what's so bad about messy people? We're easygoing, we don't judge! And any harm that actually comes from being messy are things we have to deal with, not you. For example, sometimes it does get a little difficult to be organized. When I'm in a rush and I need to find something but it's under a pile of arbitrarily stacked objects, it can be frustrating, and I think to myself, this weekend I'm really going to donate some clothes I haven't worn since 2008. This weekend I will vacuum (so daunting). And then I don't. But that's okay, because I can deal with it. But you? Nooo-oo.

This is a passive aggressive letter of complaint to all the clean people in my life. Ironically enough, all the closest people in my life are super clean neat freaks who love coming into my room and commenting on messes I've made throughout various stages of my life. Especially my parents. They're both clean, and yet the combination of their genes created me. Is genetics a myth or are my clean genes waiting till I turn 30 to spring up? I hear women go through a complete 180 in their thirties. Oh and my friends--they are all very organized people too. Which leads me to inquire: is it that I attract them, or that I'm attracted to them? The latter makes no sense because of everything preceding this paragraph.

OR, SADISM?

I don't know how to end this. If it's meant to be, it'll be.

Guichanaso.

It seems like life is not all for the fun.
But happiness does seem to be the goal.

So, what is the difference between happiness and fun?

Dear me, I wish I knew me.
Mothagesso.

Spent a lot of time this quarter hating me. Some frowns, tears, calling people for encouragement. Pathetic. Coming to terms with things I can and cannot do, learning limitations to what I can "pull off", fumbling about--I realize its not that bad things happen to me, its that I deal with them badly. I wish I werent this way. Nothing is good. I cant do this. Never meant that before.

Guichanaso

Do you remember the most delicious dish you have ever had, and can you recall the sensation and re-experience the memory?

I remember amazing things I have had, but none that I can vividly recall for myself. It's hard to do this for even a powerful auditory or visual experience, so how would I, the farthest thing from an established cook, remember a gustatory sensation?

There seem to be emotions and experiences in the brain you can fully, vividly recall, and you just have to find them in your mind. Senses that are real and true. You don't need to try hard to trace back to it. 

Some of my knowledge, some of my personality, character, and belief don't feel as genuine as these simple senses are.

This might be because most of these require some reason, and reason may not be as impressive to our memories as senses are. It might also be because reason is able to reflect critically on these that it obstructs the full-fledged, undeterred, and pure personality are hard to be felt. It might be the disparate natures of these 'senses of being'-- personality might be the way my experiences are connected and way I try to act, a more constantly active sense, unlike sensory experiences that are momentary. This might just even be the fiction created by the constructed notion of 'genuineness' and not-much-so equivalent-- had I not known what concept of 'genuine' and not is, I might not have even worried about these two seemingly different senses. 

But I do worry, and I would rather prefer the consciousness of my existence to be alive and present freely as itself, not a conflicted and divided self. I wonder, can we make ourselves so genuine, without being dumb? Or maybe I mean to say, make ourselves so alive, without being crazy? Without religious sense of duty or submission. Without, or with a well-aligned, 'double consciousness'. Without any doubts, doubts, doubts.

I'm searching. Am I searching the wrong way? Is it even possible to reach it if I'm searching for it, or would searching just lead me astray and lost in thoughts and experience.

Mothagesso.

 The two times I went to therapy I really liked it. I liked being asked questions and having someone else listen to them and I liked that she made it okay for me to have problems. I think I also felt I were the lesser crazy, and therefore felt better about myself. Like I wasnt in tears or anything. I didnt need medication like the loonies on tv. I was just a girl who had most things put together, who knew enough to consult when necessary. It made me feel weirdly responsible.

I'm never sure what I want. I'm negotiable, malleable, adaptable. Today at a speaker event one of the panel members asked me if I had any specific questions. I'd gone prepared--I had a list jotted, bulletpoits, key words and all, and her question totally threw me off. I mean I could ask you a specific question. But what about all the other questions? Like if I ask you about red, I'm afraid it'll lead me to ask about pink and magenta and purple, when, I didnt know anything anout blue either! Tell me about blue, too! But theres only a limited amount of time, and its sometimes awkward to jump from red to blue to yellow. I let their answers guide me and thats what I find fascinating, none of this going down the list of questions bullshit. Converse with me please. Maybe I've got the wrong approach.

It is my belief that even the dumbest people have a point. Criticisms of all kid rub me harder than they do others, I think, because I can't brush things off. I mean if even that idiot has something bad to say, I must be fucking sub-par, I can do better.

On a bus,
Guichanaso

For the first time in quite a few years,

I didn't know that today was 11/11, November 11th, the Pepero day in Korea.

This was the photo right next to the image above that Google had for me.

It ain't so bad.

Mothagesso.

En route to meet you!

Guichanaso.

Guichanaso and I are friends, but we really haven't met each other that much. There aren't that much evidence either. We meet each other with the frequency that cousins would have.


Mothagesso.

Will I have ever gotten appreciation of this place and grew to love what suburban idyllic New England is, had not I gone to this place?

Am I doing enough to love this place and time? I always wonder how I should be living, the ways of living that I had forgotten that others inspire or remind me. Not how my life is, but how should I live? How should my life be?


Mothagesso.

Chicago was one of the first cities I learned, and I live here.

Guichanaso.

My skin had an allergic reaction two weeks ago and it EES KEEEELIINNG ME. I cannot. Sometimes when I want to grin I have to stop myself and think, wait, is this going to fucking hurt? Just imagine, smiling = a painful experience! I wonder if this is what Bane feels every time he wants to laugh. I assume his mask gets in the way of a lot of expressive facemaking. That's just sadism, whoever made him like that. Why don't you have Batman fucking tickle him to victory. Five minutes will do the trick!

Today I called dad to ask for support. It was more than apparent I just wanted to hear his voice. Usually when I want comfort I turn to mom; dad is who I go to for tough love. But his tough love is nice because he asks all the right questions. He thinks about what he says, about how I may take his words, about my fragility, susceptibility, endurance, courage. He also morphs into a softie whenever he speaks to me. Often I feel as though I'm being babied, but not to a condescending degree; he actually pulls off babying with a degree of respect. It's when he speaks to Brian he's less soft, and I feel bad because I feel as though I'm hogging all the delicate, sweet words. It's also weird because I have a feeling Brian's the one dad really babies.

He's also curious. But his curiosity is different from mom's curiosity. Mom asks specific questions. Who is that friend? Where did she grow up? What are his parents like? How did she reply when you said this? Dad's questions are more like, what do your friends think? How is school? Does this activity make you happy? What kind of adult do you want to be?

Dad forgets nothing. Mom's more forgetful, and I have to remind her to keep her eye on the big picture. Dad considers risk and advises me to consider them too. Mom looks at hope and admires the idealist in me.

Until I was five, I told everybody I was a daddy's girl. Like to neighbors and distant family friends and mom and Brian. In winter of 1996, dad brought back a giant stuffed animal on his way back from work and gave it to me as a gift. I still have it, like I have all his other gifts, because he and I both never throw anything away. I grew out of it but I didn't grow apart from it. Does that make sense?

Then after 1996 I went through a childhood phase where I didn't really want to talk to dad anymore. It was nothing severe I think, and dad probably knew it was a phase too, because he was so patient throughout. I'd go to mom with troubles and grow up with her, and whenever I started to like a boy in school I would tell her all about it but not dad. Now I wonder if he wanted in on the details too, if he wanted to know all about what I saw. I never asked you, but maybe I should ask now. Do you?

Last spring, I introduced him to my former roommate over dinner. He spoke to her in broken English. I predicted we would discuss culture or politics or history, until he told her he only knew 5% of who I really was.



His daughter,
Guichanaso.

It was constricting, in a way. An uncomfortable air, not too bad, but like 55% humidity. Some of it was contrived internal guilt of not having grown much interest in politics, some of it was annoyance about the myopia or radical (any political impulses are radical for such uninterested person like me) passion, some of it was upsettingly repetitive, uninformative, and dumb national broadcasts, and some of it must have been sadness that people are only so excited and filled with awe for few things--and basically once in four years have that political ability and passion. (More latter than former?) Life of passion, awe, curiosity. In a way, hasn't capitalistic regime's politics become much more about self-interest of the individuals than about promoting mutual understanding? Aren't we more capable of being reasonable enough to explain to the constituents the compromise that happened-- if the elected leaders are to be capable of self-judgment, not just sheer reflection of the 'fickle' will of the masses? Aren't we more capable of being that than hyping up the division and collecting votes by creating many of that divisions? Can this even be changed because it can be thought about or is it just mere fiction? Fucking politics. A fucking perennial and inherent mess. Why cannot I just live outside the history? Some part of me wants to do well in history, I guess.

I'm just not going on Facebook for the next 72 hours for my own sanity.

Politics, Mothagesso.

As much as I would like to be patriotic, I find it admirable how politically involved my American peers are--or at least seem to be to the layperson. I am wistful and jealous and sneakily participating. Excited for perhaps no reason, heart beating in vain, and I say in vain because whatever Obama or Romney choose to do have no direct consequence on me. I am not American. (insert "yet" here, perhaps)

Oh and also, I think my public admission of diminishing interest in photography has revived something in me. Today, I liked it like I hadn't in a long time. Maybe I just needed that to happen as to trigger some guilt. Humans are so fickle!

Guichanaso.

"Whereas for the philosophy of knowledge, the fundamental kind of rational learning is acquiring knowledge, for the philosophy of wisdom the fundamental kind of rational learning is learning how to live, how to see, to experience, to participate in and to create what is of value in existence."

Nicholas Maxwell

All the same anthology of things that inspired me to realize the value of existing, thus life, and life of constant awe. This one ends this chapter of that book instructing me not just to experience but to go ahead, experiment and create.

It's always a pursuit, and as always, nosce te ipsum.

Man, perhaps, if he is an island, is at least not a lonely one.

Mothagesso.

Many of the few political theory alum I have talked to likes the classics the best. It talks of virtue, its lingo and knowledge are not all from history and puns from complex social structures and tracings. Its more about the fundamental human ways that still seem to resonate after a few millenia, and the virtue that even we feel like we could reach for. Although, this is only for people who want that, like that dumb old men Socrates or Kongzi, or who were cheesy enough to be made curious by Strauss. It's not like that any more. For good?

The reason why they, and I, like the classics and the ancients is because it reaches for something grandiose, like Marx's communist idea. Human greatness. Even if that was just a cool word that we deceive ourselves with and uselessly mellow. Other ideas and stories and writings that came later were less fundamental. More about the constructs we live in. More only about the temporary and internal struggles we have, than about some fundamental-sounding greatness we could reach for.

Something beyond history.

Or maybe just of history, as it always was. Those few who were always there, suffering from manic illusions and pursuing something until the end.

Mothagesso.

I would be the best. dog. ever.

I realized that I am happy about who I am. Or maybe I am just always happy enough most of the times to just be cool with whoever I am. It's quite fortunate either way and it's about myself. Good. I'm awesome.

Mothagesso.

I have long thought no one read this crap. No one in the right sense of mind, at least no one around me (because everyone around me is busy and important with shit to occupy their minds) must read this, therefore I am free to write whatever I want! I realize I've been wrong. This is public territory. By writing on this blog, I am disclosing certain thoughts out to the world--full of wolves and info-hijackers, loved ones, stalkers, and my future self. How embarrassing!

As sentiments of humiliation creep up onto my face, I also feel responsible. When I hadn't assumed an audience, I felt no pressure to be intelligent or consistent and basically treated this space as a garbage chute for emotional diarrhea. A toilet for feelings? If said readers will be gracious enough, I'd like to describe the current state of this blog as an unflushed toilet. I didn't know it was on display all this time? JUST ONCE MORE, OKAY? Maybe a few more times?


Photography has changed.

Just a year ago I would carry my camera all around campus and be overjoyed to photograph the lake as a backdrop, some plant (what does one call that brown grasslike thing that grows in farmlands) in the foreground, maybe some ducks; or the arch against the sky at sundown; friends, family, myself; strangers. I no longer feel that. Editing photos was an activity I would end my nights with. I still do the same things but the feeling is gone. Should I stop saying this?

When things are bad, I often feel conflicted because I don't know whether I should acknowledge it and risk it self-perpetuating the problem further--or if I should pretend everything is okay and prevent that perpetuation. Maybe if I kept telling myself I loved photography and nothing has changed, I'll like it again. Maybe I'm getting sadder about it because I'm reinforcing a vague feeling with a negative statement, making the negativity concrete, legitimizing it. This is why I'm so afraid to talk about negative things, because words have conclusive power. Acknowledging is the first step to building an explanation.

Like, if I were to explain why I no longer like photography as much as I did, there are so many logical explanations. It's been three years. Working as Photo Editor made me grow sick of it. The mystique is gone. I'm not taking a photo class and thus am not constantly challenged to produce better work. I don't think my work is particularly good.

But that starts with the premise that I no longer like photography. If I never permitted that premise, none of the statements that follow will be true. Right? Right? I don't know! Stop it

Guichanaso.

I have to pee.

THE sense of urgency I get when I have to go to the restroom makes me wonder if I'm not squandering time in other contexts. Am I making the best of today, did I make the best of yesterday, will I make the best of tomorrow?

A cup of coffee, a warm coat, a nice scarf, going-to-McTrib music.

Guichanaso

'There's a whale, there's a whale, there's a whale.' A sip or two of chardonnay you taste in your orange juice. In the little crystal-cut cheap plastic cups. 'There's a whale, and it's going to eat all the monsters in your little gut!' 'Is that what he says?' 'No.' It's super sunny out, all the curtains are down and we have the lights warming the room. It's chilly out, have the friends over, they'll all come. Coffee, hash-browns, ham, profuse amounts of egg, pepper, and cinnamon rolls fresh out of the oven. 'Does anybody know a word that ends in F, E, or a J?' 'Oh, but could you send me that photo from your phone to my email, love?' 'Yois.' Pour some more, take some more, do some more. Why not. Why not. Not why! 'Lazy sunday.'

'Dude, can one of you guys call Tim and ask him when he's going to go to the flea market?'


Memories of indulgence.

Mothagesso.

Relaxation by celebrating.

항상 생각하건대 슬프고 피곤하고 답답하고 화나봐야
즐길 줄도 안다.

Mothagesso.

He says, "Guichanaso, you should write!"
Photo credit to my sister

"I need some positive energy in my life. Give me high five."

Perhaps optimism boils down to lowering the threshold of thought or emotions needed to overturn your own psychological vicious cycle. Stress is a psychological construct, right?

A psychology professor at my school does research against rampant optimism. She argues that pessimistic people feel more 'comfortable' being stressed out, and performs better when they are worried like they are. Let pessimistic people be themselves. Imposing optimism to them makes them perform worse by making them 'just close your eyes, take a breath, and don't worry', instead of letting them 'I'm going to worry about this and think of all the worst case scenarios that can happen so I can be prepared'. They may never be prepared enough to satisfaction, but they are probably more comfortable that way.

As always, people just seem ever-complicated and variegated. But high fives, in my experience, are universally popular.

Mothagesso.

Being a bad student sucks. Because I still am a student at heart. Works pile up, no satisfying piece of intellectual works produced, dissatisfactions all around in the standard of any student.

'But other things are important!' The 'other thing' is just procrastination in terms of academic attainment. But the 'other thing' is the other parts of life, the other measures of success in life, perhaps. It's what I feel like indulging in-- being me around people, listening to music, cooking food, smoking cigarettes, talking fashion, dancing freely, dressing hippie, celebrating wit-- the indolent list goes on. I could be lying to myself about how valuable all these things are-- since for me, much introspection is a hobby and inspiration a snack. I don't seek to 'create' something, let alone create any 'value'. I like doing it, so I do it, without much other purpose. It's like a videogame in my mind.

Look at me writing this post and not doing work.

If anything, introspection is a double-edged tension. Gets me real happy about myself sometimes, and gets me real down about myself other times. Makes me moody and greedy.

Introspectively looking back, I never had much moderation for anything. I did what I wanted to, and found myself disappointed at times, and found myself telling myself to moderate more, only to realize that I won't. I am only here as who I am because of the things I indulged in. Experiences shape ways of thinking, nurture was to develop emotions, and tell you about yourself. But I also know I missed out a lot by indulging and not really having changed anything with self-discipline.

I just don't have much drive for self-discipline.

Why is that indefensible? Like a greedy little child, I want to disprove it. Why do something else if one thing will make you happy? Why sacrifice the best--the best--of present for the fictional future?

But I know I should go do the 'right' things and be 'successful.' I know I want it. It's part of me.


"You're too greedy," my friend told me once.

"In a good way."


As long as I believe it to have value, it has the utmost value.

Mothagesso.

A Greek investigative journalist released a list of two thousand something Greeks who have bank accounts in Switzerland, a possible sign of tax evasion.

Everyone will not fail to hear the echoes of Julian Assange. Investigative release megaphoned through the internet and social media, the sounds multiplied in ways that we had never imagined. Masses started to talk directly with these megaphones that only journalists held. Journalists started to incorporate this faceless mass-talk. Everything echoes now. And these sounds got the government not just debunked but desecrated. Is this encouraging heroism of the individuals, or is it finally the age of collective intellect, and the power of the masses finally? What is happening, is this good, should this be encouraged or should this be a one time thing? It was a new power with old, raw morals. We didn't know what appropriate responsibility and limitations to give this new power. History rolls forward in the mud pile.

'Yeah, I am also not the biggest on the argument that claims the riches of the rich should be used to solve all the problems.' This political argument mixes heated moral sentiments and numbers into the hallways of what Rawls perhaps envisioned. 'It's understandable on an individual level. But the individual's interest is not always of the public's. And it's not about sacrificing your individual interest, but more so modifying it. In South Korea, they had the biggest foreign exchange crisis in the early nineties, so there was a campaign to donate gold for the country, and people donated all their gold jewelries, and even gold crowns. South Korea got out of it faster than anyone in the history of IMF, and IMF records our success. Noblesse oblige?' More a temporary unification of all will, all parts of the soul of the republic. 'It was just the power of the people, not people of the power.'

'I think I'm more a Jeffersonian meritocrat.'

'Ew, categories are disgusting.'

'Well, I think you just sound like a person who ignores and condescends on other people, and think that they are somehow smarter than the rest of these people.'

'I mean, I guess so. Perhaps the potential I can consider, but the reality is that some people are smarter.'

What I am part of refuted what I am.

So, it's, maybe, about being able to be the meritocratic individual I am and being the humanized individual of pan-sympathy or something. Because human is capable.

'I don't like it. It's auto-tuned.'

'But it's so soothing. It's so soothing.'

Complexity and capability, for the future.

Collecting voices,
Mothagesso.

1. Twitter
2. Cleaning up after
3. Asking questions
4. Small talk
5. Checking the weather before I go out
6. Scheduling
7. Numbers, dates, time, money
8. Decision-making
9. Italian
10. Confrontation
11. Embarrassment
12. Anything in the kitchen
13. Things involving vibration (singing, vibrato)
14. Taking criticism I never unasked for
15. Dealing with nitpickers
16. Taking your mama jokes
17. Bring crass
18. Restraint
19. Giving advice
20. Committment

"I've always indulged in my life. If you want to do something, and you know that you shouldn't, that just means you want it. It means that if you don't do it this time, you're going to want it the next time. It's going to knock on your door." 'It's funny because I've been bombarded with readings for classes that unanimously voice that moderation is the highest virtue. This is also funny because when I was asked, 'what is the highest human virtue?' I answered that it's moderation of desires.' "But I've always indulged. In tenth to eleventh grade, I was in a relationship, and I let it subsume myself. I used to just get back at one and do homework until three, just barely doing it. During senior summer, I just partied. My life consisted of drinking, socializing, playing billiard and video games, and drinking more. I wanted to, and I could, so I did. To oblivion, literally. Then now I find myself hoping to indulge in this, and I consciously thought to myself that I will indulge. I had a little crisis and aversion to plunging too deep, then I am yet again steadily sinking into it. At one point it will become easier. After indulgence you can always say, 'I've been there, done that and felt this,' and just be done with it." This is my self-consolation for not working hard in college. There are too many beautiful things about being with people and creating memories. Something too beautiful and limited to college that I cannot spare. This might be a foolish hypothesis. This is a self-justification for my indulgence and I am quite at terms with it. I'll be done with the indulgence in less than two years regardless of what I want. 'This long and foolish way works for me. Besides, indulgent desires make me feel alive and content.' It's a drive void of connotations of responsibility. It's more satisfying than liberating. I think the former is cooler.


Mothagesso.

I'm easily overwhelmed this month. A few things pile up and I freak the fuck out. Lists help.

Guichanaso.

Reading old letters gives me an uncomfortable tingle in my belly because they're all so full of honesty. The kind of honesty I'm now too embarrassed to express, like, the kind that used to fill my journals in grade school, oh the feeling they give me when I read them! It's like revisiting an old home that is now too small to contain me. And sometimes when I found things so warm or hilarious or sad I'd comment on them with different colored pens, only to realize those very comments may prove to be funny later too, so now when I open my crimson journal from seventh grade there's a chain of different colored pens commenting on each other's opinions like a choo choo train, hands on shoulder, following one path down to where I came from.

When I was moving into my new home I reread all the letters I'd received. It must have been at least a month ago, if not longer, that I plopped on my beige chair and started reading.

Perhaps it was what the letters said. Perhaps it was who wrote them. Maybe it was because some of those people had drifted from my life and could never write me a letter like that again. Maybe it's the sense of emotional impermanence I got from them.

It could also just be my imagination going wild. Something about imagining a person sitting down with a pen and letter paper to write evokes an incomparable sense of sincerity.

I thought to myself, do I deserve that? I didn't think I did. That made me sad, guilty, and when I cried I felt as though I was crying for all the lovers who had cared enough to write.

Guichanaso.

'What- what if love was just a word that was invented to trick us? If we hadn't known, we would have felt a feeling like it less, or even create this fictional feeling by ourselves. That the identity and interpretations of love are so diverse that just by saying it the word has a soul to evoke so many broad categories of things. So many that we just create these emotions and feelings for ourselves. That love is not a natural entity, because its perfect form is not even something understandable. Therefore a infinite source of self-perpetuating inspiration.'


Mothagesso.

I'm just super tired all the time, yet I'm restless, so I keep moving. My mind is restless yet my body is tired. My body is restless yet my mind is tired. Either way I am pulling myself in different directions at the same time and it makes me focused yet disjointed, but listening to Portishead helps because I like Portishead. At times like these I keep searching for the things I know I like. There are so many things I know I don't like that when the things I do like end up disappointing me, I feel like running away and giving the fuck up. But because I have no choice but to keep searching for that one solution I KNOW has worked each time. I'm also fucking drunk. And upset for no reason? I'd like to step outside and get some fresh air but I cannot for unspeakable reasons.

Its strange to think about things that upset me because that would also entail admitting that I am heavily affected by them. It's admitting that something you dislike is way under your skin. It kind of has the upper hand, you know, instead of you being able to control its effect on you. Not so fun.

But when you finally do admit it's kind of liberating too, I think.

Hey, I'm nonsensical!

Guichanaso.

"Without a full and profound experience of the phenomena, the intellect is a void."


Mothagesso.

"My friend and I were having this ridiculous discussion about how nothing matters, while laughing the entire time. We just talked about how nothing really matters. At the end of it, we were both just saying, "dude, I don't want to do anything," "yeah, there's no point." Then he said that he liked me because I know that I don't want to do anything. It's really depressing, but if you argue for it, nothing really matters."


"That's actually very interesting because I was talking with this kid the other day about how one's religious faith in political terms, in political theory, cannot really be resolved. You cannot prove your faith to be true to everyone because you can only prove things to others with rationality. It's not in the same realm. It's between natural reason and supernatural experience. The former cannot explain the latter because they aren't even in the same category. Thus the separation of church and state is one of the best methods of compromise for coexistence. We then also did talk about how amazingly William James 'proves' the real effect that the latter possess nonetheless.

But anyway, it's similar to what you guys discussed. (The naturally existing) Meaning of life is not accessible to rational inquiry. In a way, it makes sense because we are given reason as a result of life. It just came with our brain. So the meaning of life is a concept that includes and presumes the idea of life itself. So not unsurprisingly it is more or less impossible to be garnered through reason that is made accessible to us only after our lives start. Like the religion discussion, meaning of life cannot be deduced with logic."


"The question of 'what is the meaning of life' already presupposes the existence of 'meaning of life'. The right question should be, 'is there a meaning of life, and if so, what is it?' We cannot prove that there is a meaning of life out there, universal or tailored individually. So the discussion of 'what is the meaning of life?' necessarily is possible to be led to the answer that nothing in life matters, because we couldn't prove if it existed or not, even."


"Yes. We can construct the meaning of life with logic. 'Hey, we have these constructed unique human values, and we can uphold and follow them because it feels good when we do it. That should be the meaning of our lives.' But that doesn't have to be. It's a constructed possibility. We cannot deduce anything down to 'thus, the meaning of life is...', or 'the meaning of life exists.' Is that right? Deduce?"


Philosophy empowers as a consolation and as the provider of clarity. I will contend that this is an objective benefit that we get; while I did subjectively choose the answer that provides consolation for me, everyone can do so for themselves too. For discussions on religion, it gives contenders of this debate understand the structural issue, and hence be able to work more efficiently and cooperatively to envision a solution instead of criticizing each other with the old arguments from old issues while no problem is ever solved. The clarity provides understanding. For contemplations on the meaning of life, it safely keeps us from misleading ourselves with the wrong question, ending with an answer that we somehow find flawless yet uncomfortable. Arguing against our existence itself is detrimental.


"Yeah. Wait. No, it cannot be 'reduced' down to that, instead of 'deduced'. It's irreducible."


This knowledge is a consolation for our existence by itself. We might then find much easier to cherish what our existence has allowed us.



Mothagesso.

Breathless, breathtaking, breathe-


Mothagesso.

I realized that these days, I can be stressed out, annoyed, and sad-- but I've also never been happier before. I'm uncomfortable because I am at loss, at loss as to how to even react to the happiness and appreciation and inspiration. You start to think and feel differently. I feel even like I don't deserve this, that this is just too good for me, and that I should work harder, work harder, work harder. Thank you.

Mothagesso.

"My fantasy is, if I can have one, me sitting in my room, with a lot of money, and having all the stylish people coming to me and telling me what to invest in." Busy, inefficient, forgetful; strict and stressed, but content, happy, happy, glad.


Dreaming,
Mothagesso

"Yeah, you should come on Thursday. Our topic is 'work hard, party hard' and we'll just be talking about how awesome that is."

"What. I would be like, 'hell no...' I mean, I haven't reached such perfect efficiency yet, and I don't think I can, so I will keep working on it. But if it was a point that can be reached, and had I the option to go for it, I'd never do it. I feel like people who are actually living by those principles are frequently weird. Too divided, too uptight, I don't know. If you are able to work hard and party hard, that means you know what both of them are exactly. I don't. I'm still figuring them out and I'm pretty sure the best work or the best parties I've had all came from unexpected things any way."


Mothagesso.

그 땐 지치다가, 나중엔 무덤덤하다가,

씁쓸하다가, 꽤 오래 잠잠하다,

익숙하기도 했고, 잊고 웃기도 하다가,

조심스레 무언가를 찾아보다,

허겁지겁, 허둥지둥.

다시 시작선으로 돌아가서,

편하게 마음먹고 해야하겠다고

설레며 다짐한다.

내가 원하고 편하는대로도 할 수 있지만,

조금 더 어렵고 노력해야하는 것들,

조금은 용기를 갖아야 하는 것들도 해야하지 않을까?

현명함을 변명으로 마음이 지혜를 흐린다.

모퉈겟소.

"We have a great slice of life. All we complain is about what we don't know."


Mothagesso.

You fall into it because otherwise it wouldn't work. Like if you said you were walking into it, or skipping, galloping, striding into it, the sentiment would be all wrong, no one in the universe would understand, because that's the thing about cliches isn't it, they're universally understood.

Not even asking for confirmation on that one, it's totally right and you know it.

If someone asked me what my least favorite feeling was, I'd answer right away: "vulnerability." If someone asked me what my favorite feeling was, it'd be: "security." It's funny that a relationship is the answer, the key, the fastest route, to achieving both my favorite and least favorite feelings. It's that peak and dirth you realize simultaneously that makes it such a fucking trip, unless you're half-assing it, which I...

"If you say things genuinely without arrogance, people will like everything that you talk about yourself."

Mothagesso.

"You can try to make the best choice possible, try to think about it as much as you can. But ultimately, you have to make a choice, take a risk. You don't know somethings until you go ahead and do it." And I understood it too; some choices are decisive, irreversible, and necessary.


Mothagesso.

Perhaps I am in a foolish worry that this happiness and relaxation will never be fossilized into a worthwhile past. I am not sure who this is for, what this is for, but let me say it here and now, remember it somehow. It was a great Summer day, well, except that it is Fall, because the trees are still green. I woke up not knowing the time, the location of my phone, or my other responsibilities. 11:47 AM, it always feels great to have some time, whether minutes or hours, before noon. Spend a little more than an hour cleaning the house to perfection, reminiscing the sheer number of people who were here, how much conversation and fun had been had in the room. Wipe the floors, vacuum the carpet, clean the ledges. Brew a cup of coffee, roll up the curtains and let the sunshine show, light up a cigarette. Dance to the 'Sunday afternoon' songs, never forget to get a cup of water and take your vitamins. Take a good, long shower, completed by a ceremony of shaving and lotions. Cook pancakes, set up the dishes, make a mimosa out of champagne, green tea ginger ale, half & half lemonade. The house is a studio, people are just as much a music as the  bossa nova we're playing along with the breeze and sunshine. Celebrate like in São Paolo, a city I've never been to. Indulge in savorous and behavioral niceties, clean, drink, talk, smoke. We're shooting an indie film, 35mm, ISO 800, exposure compensation +2.0. Nap as if you were dreaming. Wake up to the aroma of chicken cooked with goat cheese and exotic spices. Come, it's 6:30 but the time is not important. Light a candle, sit around the table, and feast on the food and the mood. You don't need to remember anything, because you don't even think about doing it, you're just there, content. Procrastinate the dishes to tomorrow, turn on an ambient album, sit down under the fluorescent bulbs softer than the candlelights, and back to reality, but not so roughly, not with so much regret or anything. You're still dreaming, gently take in the things you must do, steadily do them without distress, smooth yourself into another week. Keep this marble in your pockets, even if you forget it--


Dreaming,
Mothagesso.

실수

누굴 좋아하는 일이 왜 이렇게 힘든걸까, 싶다가도
생각해보면 누군갈 좋아하는 일이 쉬울리가 없다.
힘든일이고, 힘든 일이기 때문에 가치있는 일이고,
또 가치있는 일이기 때문에 힘든 거다.
가치있고 힘든 것이기 때문에 '일'이라고 부른다.

사람을 알아간다는 것은 생각보다 큰 노력이 따르는 것 같다. 여태까지 생각했던 연애는 뭐였는지, 여태껏 해오던 일들은 왜그렇게 쉽게 느껴졌던건지, 제대로 해오긴 한걸까, 난 연인을 진지하게 생각했던 적이 있던가, 그에게 내 진심을 보여준 적은 있던걸까. 얼마전 여태껏 받았던 편지들, 분명 전에도 몇번이나 읽고 또 읽어봤던 편지들, 한번 더 읽어봤는데. 과분한 진심.

그 진심에 응한적이 없기에 ... 나에겐 진심이 가장 어렵다.

힘들어 보이던 친구에게 조언을 해주던 중 '20대에 하는 실수가 가장 가치있는 실수' 라는 말을 했다. 어디서 나온 말인지도 모르겠고 또 내가 그대로 실천하고 있는지는 불확실. 말은 번지르르. 친구는 공감한다고 했고. 우리 둘은 이제 자신감보다 자존감을 쌓을 때가 왔다며, 화이팅 한번 외치고 각자 길을 갔다.

영단어 공부를 하다 보면 재밌는 단어가 많은데 그중 자주 고민하는 하나는 "deserve"다. 무엇무엇을 할 가치가 있다, 뭔가 받을 가치가 있다, 그만큼 받아야 마땅하다, 라는 뜻을 가지고 있는, 뭔가 엄청 많은 assumption 이 내포된 단어. 서양스럽지. I deserve better, or do you deserve better? 넌 나보다 더 나은 사람을 만날 가치가 있어. 난 너보다 더 좋은 사람 만날만한 대단한 놈이야.

근데, 더 생각해봤는데.. 가치라는게 돌처럼 정해져있는게 아니야. 사람의 가치는 변한다. 내가 하는 행동에 따라, 혹은 내가 이뤄낸 성과에 따라, 혹은 노력에 따라, 나를 상대방에 맞춰 바꿔감에 따라, 내 마음가짐에 따라.

아, 내 하기나름이구나. 내가 결정하는거구나....

Guichanaso.

I hate when things I write doesn't sound right. I don't know how to make it sound right to others, or at least sit right within me.

So I envy the poets, but did they succeed in what they wanted to say, or did they succeed in creating this monster that whispers to people differently?

"If you had exactly what you wanted to say, you hire a lawyer. That's what they do. Poets do not know how else to express. They shoved all these clashing words in this little frame to bounce off each other like crazy for a reason," said a scholar of literature who knows that that's a framework of analysis and thought universally applicable to poetry, but also merely a framework popular and prevalent in our generation, that will probably sell to us. Everyone is sold in the present, aren't they? It's really hard to escape it.

I've been thinking about the sense of humor of the generation I am part of. "Everyone knows irony every since Seinfeld." 'Post-Seinfeldian irony,' said a domineeringly adorable and jocular professor of mine. 'Wit' is still a key ingredient. Sadly also is assholeries on other people. But perhaps sort of new, perhaps something that I don't always find in other things I read-- humor that has been part of the past established enough to be written not just spoken-- is the total randomness. Totally unexpected response. An irony. I find them funny. They're the most value-void and logic-mocking.

"The governor raped the child," said my friend when I asked him to say something random. All that movie that he watches at night.


Mothagesso.

I don't mind hanging my shirts anymore. Even re-hanging it to have the hook of the hanger wraps towards the right side of the shirt, so all shirts face left when organized on a pole. It is not anymore unbearable.

In a similar manner, I stopped talking about nothing as much as I can. In a similar manner, I might get to like oysters later. It's a process upcoming and ongoing, changing.

Mothagesso.

Figurative > Literal

Randomness is difficult to achieve.

I'll have these thoughts, and I'll want to explain. Make sense out of them, to others, and to others only because they already make sense in my head, so I'll start. Prelude the speech by telling them it probably won't make sense. Which underwhelms everything from the beginning I guess? So when they actually do make sense, listeners are pleasantly surprised? And when they don't, things are still okay?

But being an overthinker--I thought, maybe not starting out these explanations with a humble "Hey this may end up just a jumble of words (and showing them too early on a certain confusion is almost expected and something I'm used to)" isn't the best method. Maybe I should put on an air as if I know exactly what the hell I'm talking about so when my listener doesn't understand, it's no longer my responsibility to make sense out of them, it's theirs, and if they don't understand something its entirely their stupidity and naivete and simpleton-ness, and maybe that could reversely work to make myself more understandable. Does modesty confuse people? Does that make sense? Even in a monologue I feel as though I should make sure I'm being understood. I guess I am used to confused listeners.

Growing up I always found it odd how a facade could make real things come true.

So as to prevent all this overthinking and scrutinizing I've stopped trying to be understood. Maybe my feet just don't fit the comprehension shoe. Too much effort and frustration. So I resort to photos. Vagueness. I run and hide behind you two because I'm lazy and exhausted. Although "lazy" and "exhausted" seem mutually exclusive as a lazy person would never work till exhaustion; maybe I "have not been lazy until now" and have thus "worn myself out" and now am "lazy due to elongated fatigue." There.

 
Guichanaso.

"Fashion is a way of personal expression that people don't take advantage of enough"
"Yeah, but it's more than that. Expression is just to tell other people. But like the only way you can be fashionable is if you are introspective and self-inquisitive. Fashionable people are knowledgeable about themselves. That's how you come to have their own style and become stylish, you know? And I've frequently found myself easily befriending fashionable people. I like and liken to them so easily. It's not just an expression, it attests to who you are, or that you're in search of it."

In search of me.
Nosce te ipsum.


Mothagesso.

You know that you're having a great moment, when a fall of sunshine is pouring and fogging into the room, when little metalic structures seem to lend to you secrets about us, when the sound of wind splashing against the trees are soothing, each waves of sound from the speakers letting all of your body massaged. Humanoerotica. Nothing was being wasted, nothing was being hasted. Read books, helplessly attempt to do your homework, relax with great amount of work but no amount of worries. Everything is, perfect. A persona, incarnated into vibes, and then becomes a pebble of a memory, a great moment.


"Some of the fashion photography on Vogue Italia is just out of this world--  Yeah, they just take the ideas and thoughts that a little girl would have and just make it real."

Damn.


Mothagesso.

요즘 생각하는 것들.

Never settle. One can always get better.

Try to say no

Maple syrup is surprisingly good with lemon juice.

Crazy dreams--traveling in Tokyo via train, every compartment served a different purpose. Like one compartment would be for entertainment, and I'm talking video game stations. The next would be beds. The next would be restaurants. The next would be a newsreading cafe.

Another one I had was one in which a racist white old lady was trying to teach her grandchild to not come near me because I was Asian. Setting: playground. Sentiment: what?

And the last one I'll mention is one with my friend Kevin who apparently had an illegitimate child he birthed in 5th grade. He was showing me photos of his daughter in his dorm room. She had pigtails.

언젠가부터 부모님 뵈면 마음이 저린다

"I know you like it when I worry about you"

There is a difference between looking smart, being smart, pretending to be smart, sounding smart, getting good grades, and being diligent.

Spotted in St. Paul: "Hearmore hearing aid"

Get some mucho mango

For the rest of forever

Girls have the most banal conversations in dressing/fitting rooms

Selflessness. What is it?

Guichanaso.

내가 아무것도 못하는 이유는
고통 받지 않기 때문일까?


Mothagesso.

Many things can be put into words. Many things cannot be put into words.

Many words can create things that never existed. Many words start to make some more of itself and creates hollow things you never wanted.

Some of those things could be communicated through the foggy bridge, across the foggy river. Play the music, share a story. We have limited means of communication, limited time, and on top of it, we're shy about opening and feeling. But we try.

Sailing through that numinous night sea.

Mothagesso.

Momentarily,

I thought,

doing things in excess are great. It's like bungee jumping. It's the desire to touch the extreme, but constantly and precariously held together by the bungee rope of some sort of normalcy; some mix of reason, rationality, reality. In excess, you delve into insanity, touch the extreme, and bounce back at one point, craving to go back to normalcy, cease it by rationality, be pulled up by reason, to be in reality happily. As always, extremes exist and is so attractive at times thanks to normalcy, and vice versa. 

Maybe it was insanity that I wanted all the while, that I brandished all the while. To get to it, to come back, to tell the stories, to get back to it. Life as a roller coasater rather than a tightrope walking. Oscar, what were you thinking?

Mothagesso.

Lack of response is a response. Lack of choice is a choice. Lack of reason is a reason.

What did I think about today? "Things to do, things to do." I write things down because seeing my tasks materialize before my eyes makes them less threatening. I've stopped that, after high school.

The past few weeks, I felt as if I were carrying a huge tripod with lightroom equipment on my shoulders. It was a simple enough task that I'd been given--to create an advertisement for the cafe--yet I put it off for weeks, letting it eat away my mind, rot in the corner of my thoughts, wonderful, lovely things. I felt terrible every time she asked if I was done with them. It invaded other spheres of my job at Java. It wasn't the same, asking her when I was getting my pay. She had something on me as well.

So today after hours of doing nothing and loitering about in my living room with a friend, I finally sat my butt down to a chair, got out my bamboo tablet. Finished it. Finished seven of them, actually! So she can pick and choose.

Times like these are when I like myself least.

Guichanaso.