Days of My Life

So many things to write about, so little time. First of all, Merry Christmas Eve! It's hard to believe that one week of winter break has already passed and, more importantly, that 2012 is almost over. This past year has seemed like such a blur: I'm confusing this London summer with last Shanghai summer, this quarter's education course with last year's theory courses, this year's one-job schedule with last year's two-job juggle. Even though I'm confusing and blending so many things altogether, 2011 seems like a lifetime ago. Heck, all months previous to this seem like a lifetime ago. ___________________________________________ I suppose I should start with a fall quarter reflection, since I didn't really provide an in-depth one last time. The first several weeks, I felt that the quarter couldn't end fast enough. Thankfully, my mind wasn't stuck in summer vacation mode the way it was perpetually stuck on winter break mode last year. It was,

I knew you were trouble when you walked in So shame on me now Flew me to places I've never been Til you put me down, oh I knew you were trouble when you walked in So shame on me now Flew me to places I've never been Now I'm lying on the cold hard ground, oh And the saddest fear comes creeping in That you never loved me, or her, or anyone, or anything I knew you were trouble when you walked in

Another fall quarter concludes as another winter break approaches. Although I still haven't decided whether to graduate this or next year, I am mentally preparing myself for the former. A few days ago, it occurred to me that this could be my last fall quarter at UCLA, one of my last research papers, one of my last everything here. Last week, as I was reading at the columns/ seats outside of Royce Hall, I realized that after I graduate, I probably won't hop onto the seat, stretch out my legs, read a few pages for English, glance around at passersby, and fall asleep again there again. I won't see the setting sun illuminate its last rays of light on Powell again. Everything will be so different once I do graduate, whether it's this year or next. I don't think I've ever appreciated UCLA more. While I have been exhausted from and tired of studying (on the rare occasion that I do, I guess), I do enjoy school. There are professors I want to take more classes with; cl

I figured it out. When it comes to relationships with people--whether friendly or romantic--I wear my heart on my sleeve. Too quickly, I de-compartmentalize my life and reveal detail after detail. I expose everything about myself, hoping that maybe some day, the other will start  to do the same, hoping that my exposure will encourage the other to reciprocate. I understand that not everybody works this way and that some people need a lot of time before they can trust somebody with their life stories like that. Notwithstanding this, I can't help but feel the protruding imbalance in the relationship, and eventually become extremely bothered by it. If I wear my heart on my sleeve--out for the other to see, to touch, to love--I would want the other to at least take steps to develop a relationship together. I do not want to hang my heart out to dry (or break). But often, that's exactly what happens. Maybe it's just me, and I make myself too emotionally vulnerable to whoev

I wish I knew what I wanted anymore. I wish I knew what other people wanted so that I could decide how to act. But that means that my actions are contingent on others' desires--and they really are. It doesn't mean I can't be independent. I think it means more that I care more for what others want than what I want. Or maybe I'm so good at adapting and assimilating that whatever they want simply becomes what I want, too. At the very least, whatever they want becomes what I try to attain--most likely for them. I wish my decision-making process could be based on solely me, because at the end of each day, I have only myself. If I keep making decisions to make others happy, where will I end up? Surely, I could be happy with them, but only momentarily, because by achieving their happiness and desire, I will somehow have neglected my own. But what if my happiness is completely contingent on others'? How sad is that? Or how selfless is that? But that's exactly it...

Some people act like they're the only ones with things to deal with. Well, those people need to build a bridge and get over it. Or at least over themselves, because everybody around them has things to deal with, too. But not everybody is complaining. So suck it up and deal with it. Silently and privately, please. I don't really mean that. I'm just feeling very bitter right now, and my stomach hurts from stress even though my "stress day of the quarter" (I really have only one or two every quarter) is over. But seriously, some people act like they're the only busy ones and like they're the only ones with things to deal with, but that's not the case. They just keep displacing blame from themselves to whatever tasks they have, but it isn't like other people don't have similar--if not the same or more difficult--tasks. Why can't they just man up and admit that they forget plans or they simply don't want to make plans? Why can't the

And here I go again: another month passed without blogging. Guiltily, I admit that I haven't thought much about blogging in the past several weeks. But as usual, it isn't even because I have been that busy. As usual, I have just been lazy. But unlike usual, I will not go through the self-admonishment episode today. When I got back to my apartment from the gym yesterday, I started feeling strangely unwell. So I just relaxed, ate dinner, then napped. I felt so unwell that I already began to consider calling in sick for work this morning. But after a short driving adventure--during which we did absolutely nothing but drive and talk as I requested--I felt better. I even woke up with only one snooze of the alarm earlier! And made breakfast and got onto the first shuttle to campus. And I made it to work almost 10 minutes early. Thus far, despite my undoubted physical exhaustion and shortage of sleep, today is a beautiful day. Lately, there have been so many beautiful days--warm,

In the process of pursuing something or someone, how do you know when to stop? Per usual, what the heart feels and what the mind reasons most likely conflict. Per usual, what you guess you want to do and what your peers advise you to do most likely contrast. You seek one answer, but you find every way to dispute it, and vice versa, creating a virtually unending cycle of pursuit.  There are always other things and other people, bigger things to do, bigger fish to fry. But how do you know when to move on? Even if aware of all these possibilities, you're just stuck on one. If you haven't been pursuing it, maybe you simply should let it go. If you have been, maybe you should persist. Or maybe you should start and end, respectively. How do you know?! It's times like these--moments when I debate whether to continue pursuing an area of study or to continue pursuing a friendship--that I wish someone could just mandate me to choose. Better yet, tell me what to choose. I suppo

I returned from my five-week Europe trip yesterday at 10:25 p.m. and got home an hour thereafter. But even before that, when I was in Chicago O'Hare International Airport for my connect flight, I began to miss Europe immensely. No longer did I hear the English accent or the Catalan Spanish dialect. That was the immediate moment that I realized I was back in the United States. Don't get me wrong--I was glad to be back where I could pay with bills instead of coins and where most merchandise prices were in the single or low double digits. But it was just strange. Because I had begun to feel that London was home, I felt farther away from home than ever when I was actually en route to Los Angeles, which has been home for my entire life. It's safe to say that I love London like no other city in the world. Barcelona is a close second, but it'll always be London. An essential part of the reason it's so easy for London to feel like home is that everybody there speaks Engli

I know I'm sleepy, and I know I can fall asleep in just moments if I just lie down in bed. But I have an urge to just blog even though I did it last night and did some writing (on Yelp) earlier. Urges. How can you deny what the heart wants? What are the consequences of that? I have plenty of urges, plenty of cravings. Does this mean I'm impulsive and gluttonous? However, I deny most of those urges and cravings, often with much afterthought and analysis. Does this mean I'm reasonable yet conflicted? For the past few months, I've been conflicted, and I've said it here a number of times. Urge and reason collaborate to create conflict within me, and it's absolutely killing me. Talking hasn't help. Writing hasn't helped. Time hasn't been enough. I hope England will be enough to simply push me over this hump and rid my mind of all conflict and debate. I hope my only urges will be to read Shakespeare, stay awake in class, and have plenty of food and fun

I used to wish I was 20 years old already because I thought 20 was the best age to have fun and do whatever I want. I forget I'm even 20 years old, and often wish I were a child again, without a worry in the world. Living under my parents' roof as well as under my own inhibitions, I cannot do whatever I please, though I still do have fun. But there's work. Never thought I would have to work at 20. It makes me feel oh so old. I used to want to be a choreographer, a NASCAR racer, a doctor, a teacher, a lawyer, an actress... I changed my mind all the time. I wanted to be a writer for the longest time. Now I don't know what I want to be. I want to write, but even that is less clear to me nowadays than it used to be. I can't do choreography, acting, or NASCAR. I won't do medicine or law. Maybe education. The vastness of options leaves me lost, more so now than ever. I still change my mind all the time. I used to think adults had it so much easier than kids

Is it peculiar that I am afraid of doors? I have noticed that many new big homes nowadays have so many doors, and while these doors compartmentalize potential hiding spots for hide-and-go-seek, they frighten me. I'm always curious--but simultaneously wary--of what could be behind every door. The possibilities scare me. You know how people say, "When opportunity knocks, open the door"? Well, I wonder if my "fear" of doors is an indication that I am afraid of opportunity. Perhaps more specifically, I'm afraid of the infinite possibilities that accumulate from one door to the next, and of the subsequent uncertainty all of those possibilities might bring. Now that I have said that, perhaps that's true, as I have been so uncertain as of late that I'm just too tired and too unmotivated to open any more doors. I don't want to be even more uncertain than I have been. More concretely, I claim a fear of doors because when I go to sleep at night, every do

I woke up to Backstreet Boys' "As Long As You Love me" at 5:20 this morning (only a few hours ago now), and while I was brushing my teeth, I pondered the lyrics of the song as though it were the first time I had heard it, when really, I've listened to it umpteen times. Anyway, here are partial lyrics of the song: Although loneliness has always been a friend of mine I'm leavin' my life in your hands People say I'm crazy and that I am blind Risking it all in a glance And how you got me blind is still a mystery I can't get you out of my head Don't care what is written in your history As long as you're here with me I don't care who you are Where you're from What you did As long as you love me Who you are Where you're from Don't care what you did As long as you love me Every little thing that you have said and done Feels like it's deep within me Doesn't really matter if you're on the run It seems like we're mean

I can't believe it's July already. I don't believe that time has ever passed so quickly as it has since I began college. Add to that my utter uncertainty, and, well, there we have a disaster! (Okay, a bit of an exaggeration, but it's okay.) The past few weeks have been quite hectic, yet monotonous, in that I now feel that I live only two types of days: work and non-work. All my work-days are the same in that I wake up, eat something or get something to eat, and go to work. Then I come home in the evening, eat dinner, and maybe go out for boba, or just rest. Non-work days, I wake up and go out to eat, stay out, come back, go back out, et cetera. I've been going out too much, I realize, and I need to have some days of just plain staying at home and relaxing (i.e. not driving at all). This lifestyle is getting quite tiring. I don't know how adults do it! Maybe they do it differently? I don't know. No matter what my age, I still have such a difficult time co

Yesterday, one of my friends sent me a cover of this song and pointed out what a messy situation it is to not be able to live with or without somebody. I agreed wholeheartedly, but countered that perhaps this song captures exactly the complications of love. You can't live with or without him/ her. Whether you're with or without him, he drives you crazy. His little habits--from never washing hands to farting all the time, from staring at you funny to texting during a conversation--annoy you to the utmost. At the same time, when he doesn't call for hours, when he hasn't been home the entire day, when you haven't seen him in however long, your entire day is thrown off balance. While there certainly are things you hate about him, you can't help but love him, even if you know he may not be the best thing for you, and vice versa. My friend asked, then, what one would do in this "can't live with or without you" situation. Without hesitation, I said,

W  (12:40:00 AM) : oops. W  (12:40:04 AM) : typo. me (12:40:04 AM) : 's cool! me (12:40:05 AM) : my bad... me (12:40:09 AM) : perfect people make mistakes, too. me (12:40:10 AM) : i would know.   O:-)

"Hey, how are you?" "I'm good! How are you?" "I'm good, thanks." That snippet of conversational exchange happens unbelievably often in a work environment. I know so few of the faculty and staff that step into the office, but almost every time, one of us feels--or actually is--obligated to ask how the other is. It used to annoy me to the utmost because it seemed that the asker rarely seemed to care what the answer was, and that the answerer rarely seemed to care to give anything more than a brief "good" or "fine." And it still often annoys me for the same reason. I suppose that this exchange is necessarily an exchange of courtesy, even if not of sincerity. It seems that "How are you?" is the more adult, sophisticated way of saying just plain hello. But what's wrong with just plain hello? Is that not enough anymore? Do we really have to so often express false sincerity--and walking away while doing it, nonethe

I wish I knew, I wish I could Be as certain as I was years ago I wish I knew, I wish I would Just go ahead, I know I should But I'm young, uncertain Not sure what I'm asserting Thinking about the future's a burden If I could just sleep on it, draw the curtains Just for a while, maybe a few years To figure things out, brave my fears Maybe then I'll finally know, Maybe then I'll finally see Just what in the world I'm supposed to be.

11:04 a.m. today marked the end of spring quarter--as well as the end of sophomore year (by time, not units)--for me. During my Literary Los Angeles final this morning, I felt that although I was physically there, twisting in my swivel chair, I was mentally absent. Upon receiving the exam prompts, I thought, "Hey, this won't be so bad. I know most of these quotes!" But after writing two of six explanations, I realized that it WAS going to be bad, because I knew so much less than I needed to. Again, like for the poli sci final from Monday, I had forgotten all the details of everything I had studied. I merely remembered some of the broad, general ideas, but all of the smaller, important concepts just escaped my mind. So I just sat there and wrote what little I could, frequently looking at my watch and counting down the time. Even worse, the essay part was ridiculously easy in that we could have chosen to write about whatever we wanted. Given all of these options, I felt all