The peril of pessimism and other morals involving Manny Pacquiao

It's so easy to sulk. Seriously easy. It's so easy to feel shame and wallow in sadness. Seriously easy. It's so easy to give up. Seriously easy. This is the peril of pessimism: it's so easy, when everything else in our lives is so difficult. Compound the peril of pessimism with the false notion that it's easy to get anything we want in life, and...well, we have a problem on our hands.

I'm writing this post tonight partially to prevent my own nervous breakdown before the LSAT, and partially as a reminder that things eventually work themselves out. Because, you see, I too often err on the side of pessimism. But at the same time, when I look at the grand scheme of my life so far, I have no reason to be pessimistic.

I guess I have a variety of mental metaphors I turn to in times of intense frustration. My personal favorites are my mental images of Pacquiao boxing the hell out of someone. This is gonna sound super cheesy, but I like to remind myself that Life, that big, bad boxer, is gonna throw some tough punches. Face it, it's inevitable - we'll all have to take some big hits, some that land straight on the jaw, a couple punches right in the gut, and that rare, occasional hit that will knock us down. It didn't cross your mind, yet there you are, unable to do anything but fall. The crowd gasps in anticipation, and the only sound in the stadium is you hitting the floor. Yet, in all that dizziness, there's a certain something, a certain fighting spirit, if you will, that keeps us in the game. That certain fighting spirit is keeping us going right now, in this moment. You feel the urge to fight back, give it all you got, and shake off your failure.

And then, you get back up. Somehow, you always do. You're back on your unsteady feet, blinking your eyes a couple times, regaining your composure while the referee keeps you separated from your opponent. And the important thing is, it wasn't easy to get back up. In fact, it was incredibly difficult to even conceive of going forward. Yet, the feeling of being back on your feet, despite the wooziness and intense pain, is worth the struggle. The crowd applauds your extraordinary effort, claps and cheers in appreciation, and chants your name. I consider it inevitable, really. Now, time for Round 2...

Ok, so admittedly, Pacquiao wouldn't be K.O.'ed in the first round. But maybe next time, next Round, you'll learn to avoid that punishing left hook, and maybe be a little more nimble on your feet so you can land a couple of your own hits.

On the Train Platform

A short little tidbit of writing I did this evening. Enjoy.

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Tokyo.

On The Train Platform. Friday night 9:55pm.

Indistinguishable palates of black to dark grey fill, flood, and cleanse the valley. Only a rare spark of youthful, stunning pair of high heels seemed to break the curse of the middle-aged salaryman. For a moment, his mind, slightly dazed from beer and sake, remembers the green fields on a Saturday afternoon, the lone tree for miles, and a former love. If only this stupor, though faint and tainted from the wistful after-effects of another evening of ritualistic drinking, could last just a second longer.

Once again, the salaryman blinks to see only a world colored in greys and blacks, hearkening back the obligatory blank state of mind that accompanies the veteran commuting masses. It’s too late, it’s Friday night, and the salaryman is one hour from home.

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On The Train Platform. Friday night 9:56pm.

She deliberately chose “the pair” today. Would people notice? Of course, she reminded herself that morning; Of course, she reminded her self that morning, "the pair" of high heels would bring about “the pain.” No matter, the day was over. But she had to wonder, why was it o.k. for New York women to walk around with running shoes, while she, like all other Tokyo women, had to suffer in heels?

Instinct, if not boredom, called for her phone’s awakening from 2 minute hibernation. Her boss, again, with the only message since two minutes ago. “Good presentation today. Friend from Sony said you will make a great assistant if you work there.” An unwarranted, disappointed sigh escaped from her.

“Assistant,” what an insolent, degrading word, she thought.

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On The Train Platform. Friday night 9:57pm.

Somber spirits are replaced with the sounds of joviality and youth. The muted, business oriented masses herd into a train on one side of the platform; the slightly drunk, chattery twentysomethingyearold masses alight on the other side of the platform. A girl, most probably belonging to the twentysomethingyearolds crowd, walks past a woman with a stunning pair of heels.

But then again, she thought, every girl in Tokyo has a stunning pair of high heels...

that post about Autumn

above: backyard tree color about two weeks ago

(Taken from my notebook)

On my desk, I'm looking at two leaves right now. The first one, from my backyard tree, was, at one point, a deep sunburst yellow. About two weeks ago, late afternoon reflections from the kitchen had this nostalgic sort of amber glow to it, and just outside would be our tree, in full regalia, shining yellow into the kitchen. The second leaf is from one of our hedges near the front steps. The hedges haven't fully changed their color just yet, but some of the leaves are finally revealing their deep crimson fall wardrobe. A little eccentric for some hedge? Possibly.

Also on my desk at the moment: a moleskine notebook and a recycled glass mug (filled with Jasmine Oolong green tea mixed with Rooibos, courtesy of mom's Teavana stash) sitting on a red, kimono-shaped coaster. My iPod is playing the new Belle and Sebastian album, and my macbook power cord is invading the corner of the desk. My description sounds so typical hipster faux philosophical writer. If I was in a coffee shop somewhere in Brooklyn writing this...haha.

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Onto more important things. If Summer is the season for epic adventures, carefree days, and the glory of sun, then Fall is the season of the little things. You know what I'm talking about. Pumpkin Spice lattes, watching leaves fall and gently glide towards the ground, crunching old leaves as you walk down the sidewalk, the 10 second lament about the shortening days, an afternoon sun with a cool breeze warranting a new fall jacket and scarf. All the warmth of summer nights turns into fleeting moments of afternoon light, followed by a fresh round of hot drinks in those mugs you haven't touched since February. And if you don't know what I'm talking about, you're missing out :)

I feel like Fall is the time where we can finally reflect on what happened to all of the time we wasted in spring dalliances and lazy summer heat. Don't ask what winter's for, I haven't figured that out yet. Sometimes, we pace our lives to the point where we learn, erroneously, to dull our senses, power-hour the drinks, consume our caffeine and work towards our personal goals. At some point, we'll all get to where we're headed, but for now, take a moment and enjoy autumn while it lasts. It's beautiful out there.

at the moment

At the moment, impossible is not a word in my vocabulary.

Caribou Coffee musings

studying at Caribou Coffee, wrote down some thoughts on two napkins. Don't mean to be so emo, I just like jotting down what's on my mind.

Translation:

My resolve is shot, confidence weak. I am alone and isolated with only my future ambitions and current dilemmas in front of me.

Yet, I feel like something good will happen soon. I have my future planned out, but I need to endure this test to go any further. Anything less than success equates with utter failure.

I have only one option. So I must choose it and move on.

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Things I like

- Caribou Coffee

- seeing steam rise from a hot cup of tea

- Fall weather in the mid 50s to 60s

- late afternoon sunlight

- the quietness of a grey, drizzly saturday afternoon

thoughts 09/02/10

(taken from my ipod touch notes)

LSAT class was dreadful tonight. Compound failure with the drenching rain and an undersized folding umbrella. As I waited for the bus to arrive on Madison Street, I looked up at a seemingly nondescript building, the rain slanting sideways in a series of long, straight lines. The glow of neon signs accentuated the vacancy of the dark floors above. This feels like a movie scene; this feels like loneliness.

I heave a heavy sigh, my canvas pair of Converse submerged in water. In the rain, every city feels the exact same way: desolate. Where there was once hope, the rain has washed away any remaining glimmers of futures into the gutter. Yet, there is a cleansing peace in the city streets. The pitter patter of droplets slowly washes away the grime of a hot Chicago summer. Somewhere, someone is staring outside their apartment window, hot cup of tea in hand, watching the droplets slowly make their way down the window pane. As for myself, I am reminded of my completely soaked shoes and whether I will catch the next train home.

I have hope for myself. This LSAT is slowly chipping away at my sanity, yet onwards I go. Maybe I'm just tired. My watch says 10:20pm, and I'm 1 hour from home.

fear

"I only fear change when I'm not the one who instigated the change."

Above, a mental thought, about 5 seconds ago.

our inaction

(a short ramble)

Instant replay, rewind. What happened, what did we do wrong, what could we have done to correct our errors? It's so easy for our minds to look back on what happened, and imagine a rosy scenario of what could have been.

Instant replay, rewind. Why is it that all the memories we want to forget replay again and again?

Instant replay, rewind. Can we learn to replay our happy memories without a sigh of nostalgia?

Instant replay happens when we're truly alone with our thoughts. There are those of us who can only dwell in the past, pressing replay over and over and over. And then, there are those of us who press replay, laugh, and continue onwards.

Lesson to be learned: stop hitting rewind. stop hitting pause. start hitting "play."

things that should not exist

(thanks to Greg for letting me use his iPhone camera)

look at this picture, taken at Crate and Barrel (CB2) at North and Clyborn. This, my friends, is a giant green clothespin...

Wait, no, that's a pair of chopsticks. Cheaters style. As in, let's bring the host from the Cheaters show and spy on these chopsticks 'cuz they be cheatin'. If you should find yourself wanting this pair of cheaters, ask yourself this: (WWAD) what would Asians do?

me: at optimum levels

I'll be back to optimum fun levels soon. But first, the LSAT. Just you wait...

what tomorrow brings

A year ago, I couldn't fathom what Tokyo looked like; A year ago, I couldn't fathom what spontaneous adventures I would undergo; A year ago, I couldn't even begin to fathom the wonderful friends I would soon meet. I made the most wonderful of friends while at Ontakesan and TUJ. A year has now passed, and I still can't fathom how amazingly talented and unique you all are.

It's amazing how we reflect on the past. Memories sometimes flow like a quiet stream, or rush and mesh together like anxious waves battering the coast. Most importantly, when we reflect on the past, we realize that our flaws, our imperfections, make us perfect. Our memories of each other and of Tokyo, including the difficult memories, make our experience in Japan perfect.

For those of you who studied abroad, try to recall your earliest memories of Tokyo. I can close my eyes right now and relive the taxi ride to Ontakesan dorm, staring in awe, dreaming of what was to come next in my journey. Recall the food you ate, the simmering heat of the yakiniku charcoal, steam rising from a fresh bowl of ramen, cuts of shabu shabu meat, the textures of fresh sushi. Recall the drinks, the surprisingly warm can of vending machine coffee, Asahi and Sapporo beer, pre-gaming with chu-hi outside 7/11. Recall the sites you saw, the walk across Shibuya, the drunk walk across Shibuya, the stops of the Yamanote line, the myriad of characters in Harajuku, the cherry blossoms in spring. Recall your friends, the ones who were there to experience everything you just remembered; Recall your friends who were right there with you until your last day in Japan...These are memories that are exclusively yours, yet memories that also belong to the friends you hold dear. My best memories of Japan are because of the friends I made there. I have a feeling you feel the same way too :)

At this point, a wave of Japan nostalgia should have already set in. You will now realize that a flood of memories is flashing before your very eyes. Random moments of joy, tranquility, bouts of laughter, bouts of sadness sink in and out of memory. Soak it in, let your waves of memories crash into the coast. Let the waves dissipate, form again, and knock you off your feet as you wade in the surf.

So, what does tomorrow bring for you, for me, for all of us? As we reflect upon the past, don't let your memories drag you down to the bottom, for we are creatures bound for the future. We all have to keep moving on, no matter how dull or how stressful life can get. Tomorrow may bring sorrow, pain, frustration, happiness, or joy, but tomorrow will always bring the future along with it. The past, we cannot change. The future, tomorrow, is up to us to shape. To all my friends and acquaintances I met in Japan: ganbatte! see you all soon in Tokyo!