Sweets

The idea of sweets always appeals to me more than the actual consumption of them. I think this is a prime example of how easily affected by media I am. When I think of chocolate, particularly dark chocolate (my preferred type of chocolate), I think of that initial bite - the burst of flavor, the smooth texture and way it coats my tongue with bittersweet flavor and the decadence that I associate with it and it makes me want to buy the dang thing.

When I do buy it, the reality is, I take like two bites, shudder in disgust of the cloying sweetness and put the bar of chocolate away until it either melts and becomes unappealing to eat, or gets really old and inedible.

I think part of it is psychological, but I don't like sweets anymore. I like the idea of sweets. I rather enjoy the idea of sweets. The decadence, the buttery, sugary goodness and the gratifying flavor that immediately seems to make the world a brighter, better and happier place. However, when I think of the actual consumption of such sweets and I think of what the butter and sugar will do to my arteries and blood sugar levels, not to mention my belly, butt and thighs, I just can't do it. It's so unhealthy. Bleah.

Stuck

What's really annoying about these essays I'm writing is that I can see the essays in my head - at least from an ideological standpoint. However, writing the dang thing is just so much harder.

It's like trying to run in sand or water. There's no fluidity and I keep going in circles, negating my arguments and overturning what I was going to say. It all sounds better in my head.

*sigh*~

Expectations

I think one of my greatest fears is disappointing someone.

I don't think it in the sense of someone who expects me to be a certain way and I completely end up being the complete opposite of what was expected. I get that a lot actually ("You're so different from what I imagined you to be like!" I never understood that. What do I look like I'm supposed to be?). This is pretty much in terms of my personality and who I come off as, I think. My image, or whatever you want to call it. In the end, I am who I am, and most of the time, I quite like who I am. The weird, quirky, capricious me. My personality, my very being does end up backfiring on me because I can be forgetful, not make connections that are supposed to be made ("When's your birthday again?") and I think it makes it seem like I don't care, but really, I don't care for the rules that tell us that we have to celebrate a person's existence or their awesomeness on a certain day. I do what I feel like. That's just who I am. I'm random. I like being random. That's also how I process life (in bunches, much like picking apples off a tree, rather than in any real logical order, as one would imagine picking apples off an assembly line).

However, I realized that I'm in many ways, very very much afraid of what people expect of me in terms of my skill or what I'm supposed to be good at. So if someone goes to me, "I heard you were really good at math," then it's pretty much guaranteed the next time I'm supposed to show off my math "skills" I will totally and utterly fail them. It's something about that expectation that makes me like freeze or something.

So I prefer it if no one expects anything from me. I'd rather people think me to be idiotic, blind and able to do nothing than have to worry about meeting the expectations people have of me. I suppose it stems from my fear of failure (because I'd be failing to meet those people's expectations) and I think everyone feels that to a certain extent, I just take it to another level. It definitely affects my confidence.

It's an unfortunate vice because I belittle everything I do, yet somewhere in the back of my head, I think I'm right (but then I realize that I can be wrong and what I said could be overturned) so it's this weird duality that doesn't quite seem to reconcile itself. I think that from this stems a lack of desire to be responsible because that means that I must meet someone's expectations to be responsible. :\ Hm.

I don't know. It's something that I need to work on. I am what I am. I am capable of what I am capable of - nothing more, nothing less.

I wonder if that's why I like pursuing music and art - there's no pressure in it because I know I suck and it's established that I suck so no one (including me) expects anything of me.

I suppose it also has to do with working under pressure. I need to work on that too. So it goes.

Is this what being an adult is all about?

The unfortunate reality of adulthood is that friends are never as close as you want them to be.

With some people, they are blessed to be surrounded by those they love, working the job that they're happy with.

I think that it's just one of those things. People pursue what they want. They don't think about what they're surrounding themselves with or what they aren't surrounding themselves with. Friends, family and the general environment are factors that are only secondary to career.

I mean is this an absolute truth? No. It isn't. However, it makes me wonder how prevalent such thinking really is. So many people move for their careers, and the successful ones will tell you it's the "best decision they ever made" because look at them now. They're living the good life.

I wonder though, why does success have to be based on how much money you make? That's what it really is, isn't it? How much money, how much prestige you can buy, how good your reputation is, how famous you are.

Is that really what life's all about?

Is that what society is telling us should be the main focus in life?

To preach otherwise is to deny the true facts of life. "Follow what you love." Bullshit, look at where it got us. We're the generation that thinks that we're somehow entitled to happiness because we followed our passions and we worked hard for it. Reality is that you can work your butt off and nothing can come of it. If you're smart about it, you position yourself in a place where you can grow, and you're lucky enough to know people that'll help you along the way, maybe you'll be that person that lectures at the hopeful faces of the future who want to be just like you.

To go against these currents that told us what kind of life to lead would be to face the crushing judgement of others, who don't understand or aren't willing to understand that everyone around us has told us to live a certain way, to desire certain things and to want a certain lifestyle when if you really think about it, may not be the right or the best way for a person to live. So what if I want to become a traveling gypsy? Is there really anything wrong with that? What, a lack of stability? Why is that so bad? Okay, I know I'm setting myself up for a terrible argument with no solid evidence behind it, but I just think that the restrictions that we've placed upon ourselves because of what is considered socially acceptable is irritating and, well, confining. It's limiting. There's so much more to life, I feel.

Bleh. I just don't like that all my closest friends live so far away from me. These are the people that I can truly be me around. I'm not yet comfortable being me here. Stupid reverse-culture shock. Stupid America too, with all it's rebellion, subversion, and ignorance.

Oh, I just need to get over it. I'm sure I will recognize America for the great country it is as I had ironically felt when I wasn't here.

"It is useless to pretend..."

"It is useless to pretend that religion and tradition and honor always win the day." - G.B. Shaw


Of course, as with any quote taken out of context, the meaning seems to be much deeper than it really is. This particular quote makes it seem like the world is a horrid place to live in and that evil prevails.  Basically, the reason why this quote is so awesome is because Shaw is arguing that when the options women had if they wanted to be independent from men were to work their butts off in a factory (and risk getting poisoning) for pennies or to prostitute themselves for culture and far better pay, that "Capitalism [sic]" is setting women up to choose the obvious (if one takes out moral standards and the like). That's why he said the above quote. I just thought it was cool. Interesting man, this Shaw guy is.

Rant about the mundane and seemingly useless

I suppose this is a form of glorified complaining but I'm going to do it anyway (despite my half-hearted attempts at trying to reducing such drivel).

So I'm taking this American Literature class. It's pretty much early American Lit - from Puritan writings to I think Emily Dickenson and Walt Whitman (whatever era they're supposed to be).

There's a lot that could be gleaned from these writings, I'm sure. Have I gotten anything from this class? No.

What's the format of the class? You read the text. You answer these ridiculous, tedious, time-consuming but mind-numbing questions that simply confirm whether or not you understood the text, or what you think the significance of something is (What do you think the forest symbolizes in Hawthorne's Young Goodman Brown?).  These are the types of questions you give to middle-high school students to get them to think about the text. You can bullshit your way through these questions. And I mean the latter question is better. It at least requires some thought. However, there's no deeper analysis, no deeper thinking. There's no analytical slant (e.g. how would you look at the text from a feminist point of view? Marxist? Historical? And so on.). So from this point, you're like, well the questions may be tedious but they can't be that bad. They're to ensure that the students have read the text so that when the class discussion takes place using the questions as a starting point, the professor can ensure an engaging and in-depth discussion about the text. That would be so ideal.

Instead, what is it?

Professor: "So... From the homework, #1. 'Describe Anne Bradstreet's life.' What did the text say?"
Student 1: "Well, the book said [insert random facts from text]."
Professor: "Okay. Anyone has anything else to add to that? Okay! Number two...."

And so the class goes on. Where's the discussion?! -_- Answering questions about what the text is about, something that was painstakingly done at home, is simply regurgitated back in class. There's no point to the class.

I call the class uninspired. Everyone's bored. I could do a better job teaching the class. Once, I asked about how the text related to the author. "How religious was Hawthorne?" Professor's answer?

"What did your book say?"

What?! I mean okay, yes, this is a very large overview of American Literature and we live in an era where degrees are extremely specific so the professor may not know. However, if you're teaching the class, wouldn't you know a little more than whatever's in the freaking book? I mean really?

I suppose it's unfair of me to say that I expect the professor to do extra reading on what we're reading in class when he 's probably got a ton of other things going on - other classes to teach, papers to grade and all that. However! I keep getting the feeling he doesn't know anything more than we do - he only reads the texts as we read it (well a little earlier than we do since he has to post those extremely mundane and once again, uninspired questions on the readings). Otherwise, he has no idea what he's doing.

How irritating. He probably thinks I'm a slacker because I did well on the midterm but I don't always do the homework.

I'm not a slacker. Your class just sucks.

Hmph.

[edit]

In his defense, I do realize that I'm being really hard on him. It just annoys me because there are so many directions one can take the class, and he just barfs all over any kind of teaching methodology that would engage the students. And I just suck at doing things that are necessary but seem pointless to me.

[edit2] 10.30.2012

So today's class was considerably better. Seems like he knows a little something about Poe. Perhaps he doesn't want to be teaching this class but was forced into it. ^^ Well, things are getting better. I shall try to be less critical.

Glorified Complaining

Really it's just a bunch of excuses. Sit down, shut up and do it, right?

I recently saw a comic and I think it speaks to my inability to be productive.

Why is thinking so counterproductive sometimes?

Bleh. Sleepy.

Art

I used to think I had potential in art. I look back at some of my drawings from when I was 12 and I think to myself, that's not half bad. I look at my art now - anything recent I've done and I cringe.

I've decided that I suck at art. I don't mean it humbly like those people who go "I suck at art" because the tone of the tree bark they painted was slightly off. I mean I suck at art in the fullest and deepest aesthetic sense, where I look at my creations and go, ew. There's no balance, the colors are all off and the technique, well, given my background, is nonexistent.

Eh. In the end though, I think I'll still pursue it - not because I think I'm any good at it. I just like it. I like how it makes me feel when I'm doing it. I find it relaxing. Perhaps if I work at it long enough, it'll amount to something. I kind of secretly hope that, but honestly, I doubt it will.

Music I like

I think the best way to describe it is folksie indie.

I realize I (at least lately) like songs that are clean sounding. The melody, guitar, lyrics, bass, drums are distinguishable. Things like Postal Service and Mumford and Sons. There's this nostalgic melancholy to it that speaks of purer times. It's Romantic (and not in the sense of romantic that people think, but from the Romantic Era, when industrialization started to happen and the poets and writers started to look back to nature and to a time when things were less tainted and more beautiful).

I suppose that arguably things that are "tainted" can be beautiful. I think though, that if things pure and things beautiful are something of the past, we are definitely missing something in the present. And I mean pure and beautiful as separate things. There are things that can be beautiful and unpure, things that are pure and unbeautiful and so forth. I don't know perhaps I'm talking about them together. Lately all my thoughts have been a jumble. I wonder what that means. ADD? Schizophrenia? Insanity? Oh, psychology. Such an interesting study. Perhaps I've just been studying too much. My brain's completely fried.

At any rate, I suppose going back to music and Romanticism, it's true. I like songs that evoke the past. Of feelings, thoughts, experiences that are no longer new. The full enjoyment of life without a worry about the future or the consequences of one's actions.

I just want to be irresponsible again. It's a terrible thing, really.

That's what the music I listen to reminds me of, I think. It helps me think too but I think I'm going crazy. Though, in thinking so, I'm relieved at the proof that I'm not crazy.

아휴~~ 모르겠다. It's such a steep slope to get to where I want to be.

Art supplies

Y'know what I like about art supplies?

Art supplies, with its many colors and blank sheets of white or whatever other color, are pregnant with possibility. I suppose it's somewhat cliche, but cliche for a reason. Perhaps we subscribe to cliches because they define life in a way that resonates with all of us. Though with overuse it becomes hackneyed. Quite unfortunately so. I've been re-experiencing some of the simpler joys in life. Something I keep getting the feeling my generation has forgotten to do. It's weird.

At any rate, back to art supplies. I specifically mean implements used for drawing, coloring or painting, such as paints, pens, permanent markers, etc. Things that speak color. Or in my case, a bag full of those scissors that cut in different shapes. I suppose I can't call myself an artist though I like to think I am.

I like crafts. Perhaps I'm a craftsman?

Anyway, possibilities. It's a beautiful thing, though like writing can be intimidating by the sheer openness of it. I like that though.

In the mood

I have the be "in the mood" to do anything.

I have such difficulty understanding people how have the motivation to do the undesirable. It takes so much for me to get motivated to do something I don't want to do. And even then, sustained activity is rarely achieved.

Every time I'm analyzing or reading into something, I enjoy it. Yet, it takes so much for me to get to that point. It's like running almost. It seems like a chore when I think about it, but when I'm doing it, I usually enjoy it. It's always the getting there that's so difficult. I don't understand why that is.

I feel like I'm being so childish in thinking that way, but at this age, it makes me wonder if I really can change. Am I just giving up because age dictates that I can't change as easily?

I irritate myself at times.

Oh well, today's been a more productive day than most. I must try to sustain such productivity!

Ennui

Everyone is busy.

I should feel busy.

I keep busy but I don't feel busy nor do I feel my time to be filled up. It's an odd dichotomy because I feel like the days go by so quickly without me realizing the time. Yet when I think of the actual hours that I've filled doing who-knows-what, I realize how bored I am.

I suppose this is what being unproductive feels like but this stagnation feels like it isn't my own.

Again, there's that feeling of detachment that I feel is so prevalent in this generation. It isn't my stagnation but stopping from society. Everyone is moving but they aren't going anywhere. Is it the culture?

I need to stop being so influenced by my surroundings.

Writing essays

I wish essays would just flow out of my fingers onto the screen.

I can see the essay, the general structure and organization, but it's just so freaking hard for me to word the dang thing. There's flow to take into consideration, the general strategy in presenting my argument, then there's whether or not I'm actually making logical sense. Gaaah.

I feel like I put too much pressure on myself when I'm writing these essays. It sucks because I know my professors have higher expectations of me. They know that I already have a degree and that I'm supposed to know far more than I actually do. I see things in the literature that classmates are only beginning to see - I'm not tooting my own horn as much as simply stating a reality. I see these things because I've already been to college - that experience alone speaks for my ability to analyze at least a tiny bit better.

Gah. I've been stuck on and off this whole week. X.x

Public vs. private

It's interesting to see my writing - both in the "public" arena (i.e. my blogs) and the private arena (I have various journals and what not that I may or may not show to people... I'm still somewhat divided on that).

I think I'm a bit of a drama queen. Getting to be moreso with age. Not sure what it is (perhaps a heightened sensitivity towards people after realizing how different everyone operates?) but I've definitely changed. The carefree, happy-go-lucky, free-spiritedness is harder to bring out. It makes me wonder if it really was there or if it was contrived. Was that really me or was that me aspiring to be a "better" me so to speak?

I wish I could disregard such things but the unfortunate reality is that I'm self-conscious as heck. Eh. I'm slowly getting over it.

At any rate, going back to my "private" writing (it really isn't anything special - just me jotting down thoughts when I don't have an internet connection and sometimes, when I don't feel it all that important or interesting to share with others - or me just ranting about things I know are stupid that the public really doesn't need to see), it's considerably more... flowery. I can't quite put my finger on it, but I suppose because I know it's private, it's just a little more over the top. I wonder if that's what my true nature is and I just downplay it.

Perhaps it is. I'd rather it not. Get over yourself and move on with life. Many of the small things that one agonizes over is never worth it in the bigger scheme of things. Life is meant to be cherished in gratitude and joy. So easily said, yet embodied by few with great difficulty.

I suppose on the flip side, people need to know suffering to feel a greater depth and appreciation for the good things in life. But if you told that to someone who was suffering, he/she'd probably smack you. One always knows in retrospect, I suppose.