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.