Resolution Shaming

I hope all my readers (yes, all THREE of you) had a wonderful Christmas. And as we draw to the end of the calendar year, I wonder how many of you are going to make New Year's resolutions.

Perhaps people have become more cynical (or maybe it's just me), but theses past few years, I've noticed a lot more instances of people "shaming" New Year's resolutions: mocking unrealistic goals, doubting others will be able to keep theirs past the first week (I hear gym trainers make the most profit in January of every year), and ridiculing the idea of New Year's being some sort of magical day that will instantaneously change us all into better human beings.

Now, I can see where they are coming from, and in a way, I agree on all fronts. If there's anything I learnt this year (by the hard way of failing at it), it's that saying you'll change is a world's difference from becoming that change. And so making resolutions does not equal to achieving them. However, I don't like all this resolution shaming. Some may argue it's a stupid excuse to base personal resolutions on some random date in the year. But isn't any reason at all a good reason to start some positive change?

Don't get me wrong: I like the idea of creating the reason to change out of will (like I did with turning twenty-two). There's something particularly self-empowering about making an active and conscious decision to alter the direction you are heading in. As puny little humans, it's so easy to get caught up in the fact that we can't control very much individually. Circumstances force obligations upon you, time decays your options, and luck will randomly deny you entry of certain doors - and that's ignoring all the people in your life that will fiddle with your fate. However, if we can grasp the mentality that there are certain aspects in our lives that we can indeed influence, that's a very powerful driving force.

I haven't personally created my own New Year's Day this year, so to speak. Like many, I will be relying on the 1st of January as an excuse for my resolutions. But I don't think that devalues them in any way. I won't dive into the explicit content of my list (in the sense of detail, not in the sense of being x-rated), but much like the other times that I've tried to generate some change in my life, I want to base it on two visions: the person I am now, and the person I want to become. As much as that may seem like it makes sense, it's a rather unreliable process because it relies on me having clear vision of both of those people, so that I may decide what I should let go of and what I should hold onto. And I'm not known for having the best eyesight - literally and metaphorically.

Regardless, I hope I'll be able to implement and maintain these new personal goals and changes in my life stepping into 2014 - the whole "new year, new me" pizzazz, hopefully without the narcissism. I'll also be ignoring all the naysayers; let their predictions be just that - predictions. There's nothing wrong with wanting a little positive change in your life, whatever your excuse may be. I say, any motivation is good motivation.

Besides, what else would I rather be doing counting down to the New Year? Watching fireworks? Partying it up? Waiting to kiss someone at countdown? "Sleeping before midnight" - that's on my list.

Locked Out

I'm pretty forgetful. I mean, my memory's not terrible, but at the same time, it's not uncommon for me to forget the odd name or chore. Sometimes I'll say the same thing repeatedly, simply because I can't recall if I had mentioned it before or not. I don't mean to, really. And it doesn't mean I don't care about that person or thing in particular. My brain just isn't very good at its job. So I guess it's rather surprising that after living on my own for 15 months, today is the first time I've forgotten my keys and locked myself out.

I'm currently sitting in a McDonald's next to my house. You'd normally never catch me even near one of these establishments (I wouldn't survive the self-imposed dietary guilt), but you know: desperate times call for desperate measures. And it's also raining and windy out; I had to seek shelter.

Thankfully, my phone's at 71%, and I'm getting some good signal here. They're playing Michael Bublé Christmas tunes - I approve. With a hot choc at hand, I'm sat down alone and beginning to wonder what I can do to burn half an hour before my brother gets back. 

Normally, when I do something this stupid, I beat myself up over it. I put myself through a lot of unnecessary hell sometimes, because I feel like I deserve it. "Well done, Einstein. You've really done it this time". But tonight, I'm surprisingly calm. Yes, I gave myself a mental facepalm, but at least I didn't torture myself over something as benign and irrelevant as locking myself out.

I guess I just don't like making stupid mistakes. As much as I try to avoid them (poor memory-related or not), no amount of endless self-nagging stops me from falling into these ditches. I just make stupid decisions, in varying aspects of my life. It's like I'm almost programmed to make these mistakes. But right now, all I can say is: "meh".

I'm told I overthink and worry too much. I guess these kind of moments is when that would kick in usually. But an important lesson I learnt a while ago is that you have to pick your battles. Ultimately, I'm human, just like everybody else. Some things are worth panicking, worrying and pulling your hair out for. This is not one of them. If you let every little thing get to you, come the time life throws the big stuff at you, you won't be able to cope. You'll have to go the next level of self-loathing, and honestly, I've had enough of that as is.

So instead of worrying my little head off, I'm just going to enjoy this hot choc and blog about my stupidity on my phone.

Besides, my brother should be back any moment now. Thanks for sharing this idiotic moment with me, Internet.

My Big Boy Pants

This past year, I've tried to make a very conscious effort to grow up, ever since I "turned 22". In my pursuit to understand what it means to be 'adult', intellectual maturity, emotional maturity, spiritual maturity, and general lifestyle maturity have all been serious thoughts I've wrestled with. Part of that process is writing about it here on my blog. How mature am I now? Have I matured over the past year? How can I become more mature? Am I mature enough for my age? Am I too mature?

So am I mature? Psh. Probably not. I'm a long shot away, but I do want to be.

It's a heavy topic, and I do realise my last few posts have been rather dense and hefty. As much as the concept of maturity is a substantial part of my thoughts nowadays, perhaps I'll leave the topic(s) to be discussed another time. Instead, I want to present to you a rather more curious (and light-hearted) oddity I've noticed about myself.

As I had written about earlier, I come off as rather childlike. You could read this if you want to know why, or I could save myself from proving it by just showing you a picture of my current bedsheets:

When the ladies get on THIS bed, you can be damn
sure it's... Adventure Time. Bam.

Anyway, as easy as it is to point out those aspects of me, I've noticed I have also picked up a few traits that don't seem too familiar or in line. So here are the top ten signs I've put on my big boy pants:

1. Not only do I receive wines instead of chocolates as gifts during celebrations, I openly welcome and prefer the alcoholic option. I'm also watching my waistline, mind you.
   
2. In my mental cookbook of things I know how to cook, I have more than instant noodles and fried eggs available to me. I can now also scramble eggs.
   
3. I hate Monday mornings because they are Monday mornings, and not because they are just any morning.
   
4. When a friend suggests that we go to a "club", I genuinely and wholeheartedly hope they mean a book club as opposed to a nightclub.
   
5. I have four levels of waking up: when my alarm goes off and I am no longer asleep, when I actually open my eyes, when I finish my morning shower, and when I have my first coffee.
   
6. I have a "first coffee".
   
7. I spent way too much time adjusting my office chair because I am deeply concerned about sitting posture and the future wellbeing of my lower spine.
   
8. I count my days off like Scrooge McDuck counts his money, except I have the opposite of an abundance.
   
9. I used to envision the bachelor life as lots of partying, being free of consequences, and picking up lots of chicks (with the help of a trusty wingman, of course). My bachelor life now consists of hosting dinner parties and playing board games, thinking about how many kids I want, and owning two pet rabbits. I regret none of these.
   
   

   

   "What do you mean I'M your date for the evening?!"

   
   
10. I realise it's okay to consciously try and make an effort to grow up, but there's also no need to rush anything. 

Whilst I still constantly challenge and question myself whether I'm doing the right thing to evolve into whatever an 'adult' is (this isn't even my final form), noticing that I've unknowingly picked up these subtleties over time has taught me that sometimes, you can't choose or force yourself to grow up - it just happens to you. 

Perhaps all my thinking has made myself convinced that mental metamorphosis is something I can keep progressing by simply building upon piece by piece, when really a lot of it is out of my hands. There's only so much 'figuring out' I can do on my own in my head, until it comes down to just becoming 'mature'. And there will inevitably be a time for that, whenever it may be - exactly like the way I have picked up these seemingly big boy habits.

Now if you'll excuse me, I need to get to bed now. It's getting late; it's just past 10 pm. Plus, this rigid chair is doing my lower back no favours. 

Emanations

I've always thought that if I had not studied Law at university, I would've enjoyed studying English Literature instead. I've always had a passion for language and literature, and the unlimited power and effect that can be communicated through words. But recently, I've also wondered if I would've enjoyed studying Sociology (the study of human social behaviour) or Psychology (the study of mental functions and behaviour) instead.

It doesn't take Sherlock to identify the pattern of subject matter throughout my posts. I focus heavily on interpersonal relationships, and many of those posts are just brain spillages of my day-long thoughts. And the reason why I do put so much thought into it (and actually enjoy the personal discoveries I make, correct or incorrect) is because it really does occupy the utmost importance to me.

Hopefully without sounding artificially profound (I get the sense I give that impression), I like to think of myself as an ever emanating existence. I constantly emit these ethereal strings that tie me to every person that comes into my life. Some will latch on, most will probably fall through. But for those that do, I slowly learn what each line of string means. What kind of string is it? How strong is it? How is it changing? Do I want for this piece of string to exist? I'm not always thinking about all my relationships constantly (it's mentally exhausting just thinking about doing that), but once in a while, someone or some event will trigger the thought of a particular connection within me.

Now to take the idea a further step, if I remove myself from the equation completely, and leave behind only the emanations I have made throughout my life, what kind of picture would they paint of me? How close would that image be to what I think of myself? Is that what I want to be seen as? Is it a representation I am proud of?

You could argue that I'm being incredibly shallow by only caring about what others think of me, and that would be a perfectly valid argument. But what's more important, I feel, is why I care about particular impressions. The string I share with some stranger I talk to for five minutes at a party is but a thread, and I wouldn't give it a second thought if that person loathed me for no particular reason. But the string I share with my parents, my brothers, my closest friends... those are the chains that matter to me. These are the people I care about, I respect, I look up to, and I love. I am very much a product of all the wonderful people that have entered my life, and what makes me who I am are the decisions I made as to which aspect of each person I try to absorb. In that sense, I'm not ashamed to say I wholeheartedly care about what these people think of me.

But there is a confession I have to admit at this point: my thoughts around this topic are very self-involved. I'm trying to do what I can on my end to develop these chains and strengthen them. But I have failed to realise the key emphasis in my own analogy: these chains are two-way. Mutuality and balance is another (hefty) topic I'd like to explore further in another post, but for the sake of this piece, I'll leave it at this: relationships are lines drawn that link two points together - emphasis on the 'two'. As much as I can affect what happens on my end as one point, I must also equally and mutually rely on the other person. And this in turn, made me realise that there is an equal amount of thought that goes on at the opposite side, whether that be concious or subconscious, and that is something I need to take into account.

So what triggered this plot twist? Those exact people. Recently, they've taught me that no matter how closed off I may think I've become (something I'm wilfully trying hard to learn how to appropriately adjust), these people are still tugging on those chains. I was quite literally surprised by how well they seem to know me and understand me. It's an odd reaction, especially after how I've said how much I connect with these people, but it does go to show that's how segregated I view myself as of late. However, ultimately, these people have taught me the chains I have attached to them are just as equally attached to me, and so is each and every other chain in my life, no matter how distant they may be.

I don't want this to be a post where I ramble on pointlessly (again - if you feel that way!), and this time, I'm not going to suggest you to give the same level of thought about your own personal chains as I have. It just might not be the type of thing for all of you. Instead, this is just an insight into the kinds of things I think about, and hopefully offers a little context as to why I write what I write.

As for me, these inner investigations will continue. I'll keep doing what I can on my part to affect my chains through my own actions and thoughts towards these people: supporting them, caring for them, communicating with them, learning about them and bonding with them. In a way, I think that's the only way I know how to relate to them. If I can't do these things, I feel that I'm weakening my own chains into strings - and to me, they are far, far too important for me to ignore. However, I hope to turn a corner and take heed from my own analogy by accepting that I need to learn to receive too, and to depend on the person at the other end to keep the chain strong.

Now, if there's anyone that can tell me where I can fit a Thresh joke into this post, that'd be great, thanks.

Bored Games

Recently, I've been a bit obsessed with board games and card games, especially of the newer generation (so none of that endlessly rehashed Monopoly malarkey). Through thorough review research, multiple games shop visits and convention trips, and prolonged perusing for price comparison, I've just started my collection with a few games. Namely, they are: the dungeon-crawling, friendly back-stabbing card game, Munchkin (and subsequent, awesome gift from a friend of the spin-off Axe Cop version); the co-operative, medical countdown-to-doom board game, Pandemic; and finally - my personal favourite - king-of-the-hill-style, dice-rolling mayhem, King of Tokyo (and the two expansion packs - and eagerly waiting the standalone sequel game). It's a tiny collection, but each one was the culmination of a lot of elimination and hunting.

Mandatory 'rawr rawr rawr' to be said throughout the course of the game.

So why board games? Surely when it comes to gaming, the modern day has a lot more to offer. I myself love to play video games, on consoles and the PC (calluses on my hands are from all-nighter Street Fighter IV sessions at a friend's, and the broken mouse was the result of a few bad games on League of Legends), so surely board games are a bit boring and backwards by now? No groundbreaking graphics, no fancy animations, and no advanced tech to boot. But isn't it odd how social gaming has to be put back into video games (Candy Crush Life Requests, I'm looking at you)? You don't see many games nowadays that only boast a purely one-player experience; they all include some sort of social element to share your gaming experience with others, however minute or core it may be. I only played League of Legends so that I could team up with my friends, and I only played Street Fighter IV so that I can kick said friends' asses. "Come at me, bro." 

However, as we all started getting jobs, moving to different time zones, and generally just getting busier with life, gaming together online slowly started to fall by the wayside - and so did my interest in it. Chalk it up to growing up, but if you know me well enough, that's probably not the case. Even when online gaming means we can still play together no matter where we are in the world (pending working out time differences), I just don't game that much any more - not even on my own. But on the other hand, board games at its essence demands to be played together. I also love the strategic thinking, the expansive imagination, and the engaging role-playing. But at the core of it, the togetherness is why I still love board games.

And I've had this easily excitable passion of mine since I was a little kid, as I'm sure is the case for most of you. Why? Because back then we didn't have access to all the video games we do now. We couldn't just take out our smartphones from our pockets and jump right into a first-person shooter. But more importantly, it was a family thing. I remember how excited I was as a kid, opening up a box of Risk and having the family gather 'round the table for games night. It was never a routinely thing, but boy, was I hyped when it was announced that we'd play - even though I lost every time. My dad would nonchalantly pretend to not care about the game (before suddenly turning the game with a surprise strategy), my brothers would gang up to eliminate me as quickly as possible (...the jerks), and my mum would comfort and cheer me up when I got massacred. But I loved it in all its entirety, because we were all present in the room and present in the experience.

Nowadays, it's too easy to be distracted. There's always a notification to check on our phones, always a page that needs refreshing, and always a show to watch on TV (as a side note, turn off your damn TV when you're on team chat!). We're so used to multitasking, that we never really actually do any one thing. Your eyes are staring at one thing, your fingers are clicking on another, your listening to something else, and who knows where your mind is at? We don't actually do four different things; we just end up doing none of them. But with a board game, you're all gathered around the same table, in the same room. Whether you're competing against one another, or working as a team to win the game, you're all present in the moment and your attention is on one objective. And that is a rare thing nowadays - all with just a bit of cardboard and plastic.

I gifted Summoner Wars, a mage-duelling card game, to a friend at my job so that we could always have an excuse to catch up after work. I recently played King of Tokyo with my brother, his girlfriend and her brother, late into the evening, instead of watching a movie. I'm currently trying to hunt down a way to get a copy of the card game, Boss Monster, possibly before Christmas time so that I'll have a chance to play with the family. But I know very well that just owning these board games won't mean that I'll be magically transported to where my friends and family are, or that we'll all suddenly have a summer holiday's worth of time to burn. I'll be the first to admit that I rarely get the chance to play any of the games from my collection. But for me, they're the representation of that childlike excitement that lives in me, and the hope that when I do get the chance to hang out with my family and friends (which is quite sad to say, rare), I'll have something for us to do together whilst we chat and catch up - without all the distractions pulling us in different directions.

I'm the Alienoid - fear my tentacles! 

But I get it; board games and card games aren't for everyone. After all, I am a bit of a geek. So I've included here a game I can suggest for you all to play. I read about it somewhere, and have played it on a few occasions, with great results. There aren't many requirements, and there'll be many opportunities for you to play, so give it shot when you next get the chance:

Stacking

Requirements:
- A sturdy table
- A meal (the more courses, the riskier!)
- Phones from players

Players:

- 2 - Unlimited (the more players, the more exciting!) 

Play length:

-Time of meal

Instructions for play:
The next time you're out with family or friends for a meal, everyone is to take out their phones (or handheld gaming devices, if applicable). Everyone then stacks their devices, facedown one on top of the other, at the centre of the table at the beginning of the meal. Despite any ringing, vibrating or blinking, you're not allowed to use your device (in fact, I highly encourage turning all devices on loud, as it makes it that much more tempting). If anyone cannot resist the urge to take their device, they can do so - at the cost of that meal's entire bill. The game ends when someone does so, or the bill is paid as per usual. As an optional side objective, you may want to partake in actual conversation with others at the table - maybe even enjoy the food and company! This game also makes for excellent thief bait.

Game variations:
- As a special rule, you may nominate one person before the game begins to be "Designated Instagrammer". That person is allowed exclusive access to their phone solely for the purpose of taking pictures of food and/or the party. Photos are to be shared later. Any other use of the phone will result in loss of the game, and a public stoning and humiliation.

- Make it into a continuous drinking game throughout the evening. Every time your phone sounds an alert, you must take a shot. You're allowed to then respond to that text or call if you want, but you must first take another shot before you take your phone from the stack. Your phone is then returned to the stack, and the fun continues.

Give it a try next time! I guarantee the first time you play this with your friends, you will be able to see people at the table literally squirm with the need to check their phones - it's hilarious. But at least it's not Monopoly, right? I mean honestly: who ever plays to the end of a game of Monopoly!?

A Guide To Conversing With Doctors

Following my previous post about growing up with a doctor as a father, even though I've moved out since, doctors are still somehow prevalent in my life. Don't get me wrong - I have nothing against them. They are all heroes in my eyes. But through some way or another, I've found myself amongst the ladies and gentlemen of the medical profession.

In fact, I ended up in such a predicament just the other weekend. I had dinner with my brother, his girlfriend, and my best friend - all of whom are doctors. If I had choked on something during the meal, not only would I immediately receive the Heimlich manoeuvre, they'd probably sterilise utensils on the dining table and slice me open, right then and there. And as you can imagine, the flow of conversation quite naturally drifted towards the topic of their occupation.

Thankfully, I've had the social training to blend in amongst them, and nod along just enough to get by in the complex discussion. So here's my personal guide to surviving a conversation with doctors:

1. No body part, male or female, seen or unseen, inside or out, is off-topic. Guts, scrotum and anuses are all fair game. Get used to this, and try to hide your gag reflex.
   
   
   
2. You will not understand any of the acronyms mentioned, nor be able to pronounce most of the medical terminology used. And if such a word or acronym is the punchline to a joke (... and then I said to the nurse, "I said give the patient the ACCTS before the surgery!), just laugh when other doctors laugh.
   
   
3. Doctors see more penises than you see clouds. I don't know what kind of diseases are popular amongst men these days, but someone, the penis is always involved. Always. The inevitable willy or two will pop up (pun intended), so mask your shock (or giggles, if you're a 12-year-old like me). Also, if you're a guy and the word "catheter" is mentioned, don't ask what it is. Just don't.
   
   
   
4. Any chance you get, curse the NHS or the administration. They're the lawyers of the medical world - play it safe by insulting a common enemy. Feel free to be creative here (e.g. Screw the NHS! They can suck my testicles! Using the correct anatomical names gives you bonus points).
   
   
   
5. Never have a thick or slushy drink during such conversations. For some strange reason, bodily fluids always make their way into stories (whether intentionally or as an aside). Avoid chocolate milkshakes at all costs.
   
   
   
6. At any instant in the conversation, the topic may become very dark and grim, so be prepared for that. Having said that, also be ready to jump right back if it becomes black humour, and making fun of someone's misery is socially acceptable. It's a fine line, I know.
   
   
   
7. NEVER in ANY circumstance complain about the hours of your own job.
   
   
   
8. Nurses can either be a doctor's best friend or worst nightmare. So, listen in on which kind they're talking about, and on cue, either say "Awww..." or "That bitch!".
   

   

   
   

9. If by any chance you are ill or experiencing any pain whatsoever, don't bring it up. 90% of the time, it's something minor and insignificant, and you will be prescribed a "Man-the-hell-up" pill.
   
   
   
10. They lead incredible lives and they have really interesting stories to tell, so enjoy the conversation.

I'll admit, at first, some of the stories are difficult to stomach (har har har). But soon enough, you get past the gore and intensity of the job, and you find out that these are admirably hardworking and astoundingly smart people that save lives for a living. And they too have regular job problems: working overtime, office politics, stressful deadlines (really dark pun not intended), and the like. But if you ever find yourself in such a conversation, sometimes it's just nice to sit back and listen to their fascinating stories, just as I do.

Plus, it's hilarious trying to count how many times they say "penis".

A Longing

When I started this blog, I promised myself this would not be an angst-ridden, teenage outlet for my woes. I know how dreadful and boring it is to just read misery that has no goal or point. But with this post, I hope there is a deeper meaning. I write to express, but I also write to affect. The goal of my blog is to question your thinking, to raise insight, and to leave an impact. If even just one person experiences a change in thought after reading one of my pieces, that will be the success of this blog. So with this piece, as any other, I express, but I also seek to challenge. This post is for myself, as well as all those that are longing for something or someone.

Last night, I attended the Pentatonix concert. At one point, Avi brought the pace of the show down for their peacefully melancholic original song, Run To You (I highly recommend this song. I've posted it above as I feel it would be fitting to listen to it whilst you read the rest of this post, if you wish to do so). He introduced the piece as a song of longing, and explained that everyone longs for something in life. He then directed the crowd to close their eyes, and to imagine the one thing or one person we each longed for. Without closing mine, I saw the person in my mind's eye right in front of me, and I continued to see and sense her throughout the performance.

There is something I dislike about the word 'longing'. Longing implies a sense of helplessness and hopelessness. To long for something is lonely, desperate and endless. It's a long distance run you can't finish. It's the long wait for an unanswered question. It's a drawn out and long ordeal of agony. I instead prefer other words, such as to seek, or to chase, or to reach. See, if you seek, you can find; if you chase, you can catch; if you reach, you can obtain. But when you long, you only continue to yearn.

And yet, I still long. I wilfully climb the insurmountable mountain. But why? Perhaps it is my human condition to sadistically desire the forbidden and the impossible. But I rather think that we long because the object of longing is a symbol of perfection. Nothing is perfect in this world, except for what we perceive. We choose what we wish to see as perfection. And perhaps, I long because I've witnessed my personal perfection. I believe in my heart the object of my longing is someone worth longing for and the inevitable torment that entails, even when the odds are stacked against me, and it seems the end is ever further. But it is crucial to remember that to long for something is a choice and a concious decision, just as it is to personify someone as perfect. I have no one to blame for my predicament but myself. And so I seek, I chase, I reach because I don't want to long any more.

But I am running a race I have lost before I even started. I may be the fastest, but there is no finish line I can cross. It is a never-ending marathon, destined never to amount to anything. Yet I ran and I ran and I ran. Run To You provokes heartfelt emotions, but it is not the song that reflects best how I feel. I don't like posting songs or lyrics on my Facebook as a way to tell everyone how I feel. Not only does it feel cryptically attention-seeking, it feels stagnant. As much as I do listen to particular songs to match my mood, there is something hopelessly defeating and depressing about listening to a song as an expression of misery, because the song never changes. The lyrics never alter to show signs of progress or the hope of a happy ending. And just like the sense of longing, it only drags on and repeats the same inescapable chords. 

However, today, as I listen to Run To You, I realised the opposite of longing: to accept; to succumb; to surrender. I accept my fate, I succumb to the pain of the unending chase, and I surrender to my defeat. 

My antonym of to long is to stop.

Sunk Costs: An Economics Lesson In Moving On

In economics, a sunk cost refers to a retrospective cost that has already been incurred and cannot be recovered. Traditional economics suggests that sunk costs should not influence business decision-making, as it would not be rationally assessing a decision based on its own merits. But, as behavioural economics proves, this is not always the case in real life. Business decision-makers are after all humans, and humans are prone to loss aversion - i.e. they have a tendency to prefer avoiding risks rather than acquiring gains. All in all, this means decision-makers end up taking into account these irretrievable costs, despite the fact that it is irrational to do so.

I didn't do Economics as my undergraduate degree, but a lot of my friends did. A few in particular love this "sunk costs" inside joke, where they'd use its theory in day-to-day decisions. They'd try to describe to me what it meant, but usually to my confusion (thankfully, Wikipedia is a thing). Basically, it just teaches that you should just accept that some things are hopelessly gone - just because you've gone down a certain path does not necessarily mean you should keep going the same way, so stop living in the past.

For example, if I had already spent money in the game League of Legends, that is a sunk cost (true example) - I cannot get that money back. Now, I have another chance to spend even more money, and as a stupid human with stupid feelings, I feel like since I've already invested money in the game, it would almost be a waste of that first amount to not spend more (also a true example). WRONG. The mere fact that I had spent money in the first place should not affect whether I spend more. It would not be rational. Result? I spend more money. Why? Because, as I said, I'm stupid.

So what other sunk costs do we fail to ignore? What about time? Time is definitely something we spend (literally, every second of our lives), and it is definitely irretrievable. No man on this world has the power to take back the time he has lost. So when we invest time into things in our lives, should we be rational and not let it affect our future decision-making?

Something I made in reference to the Cantonese song, 
Tourbillon (陀飛輪) by Edison Chan (陳奕迅).

Instead of Economics, I studied Law at university. About halfway into my second year, I realised I had made a grave mistake. Not only was I not particularly interested in my degree, I was no good at it. At all. Now, I had the option to either a) change subjects, possibly even university, or b) carry on with my chosen degree. Sunk costs dictate that time lost is lost; there's no going back. Given my projected trajectory with the degree, I was predicted to defeat. So what did I do? "I've already come so far. It'd be a waste of the last one-and-a-half years to not do the rest." - I carried on. Economically irrational? Yes. The wrong decision? Retrospectively speaking, I have no regrets whatsoever. I got my degree in Law in the end, but it took my everything to do so. But I would do it all over again given the chance.

This got me thinking about other things we spend time on - like relationships. We invest time into them, to build and foster a bond with that person. But when a decision needs to be made, shouldn't we ignore time as a sunk cost? If we were smart, we would assess the situation on its own merits. Weigh up the pros and the cons, without the sunk cost in the picture, because what's happened won't change.

But in the end, we do take it into account. Because we're irrational and stupid? No - because it matters. Time in a relationship is what makes the connection deeper and more meaningful. I don't really believe in "love at first sight". What I do believe is that relationships of love require time, work and effort. Ask any experienced, married couple. Time does add value, and it does change the decision outcome. What I do agree with however is that it is only a single consideration. Obviously, there is always a lot more to take into account, and you can't be blinded by sunk costs like time. I hate the idea of 'settling' with someone (not to be confused with 'settling down') just because you've been together for a certain period of time. You're not going to get any of that time back by investing even more, so there's no point in 'sticking through with it' if that's you're only argument.

However, I think we should consider time invested, but only as equally important as time to be invested. Jumping back to economic theory, prospective costs are future costs that may be incurred if an action is taken. And these do matter to business decision-makers, because that loss can be avoided if the right decision is made - it's a risk. So when we consider our relationships, it's worth also thinking about the potential time we're committing to. After all, all time in the future eventually becomes irretrievable, too.

In the end, economics and love don't mix very well (no matter what my friends say). Love just isn't an economical decision - it's too hard to be rational with it. Heck, we can't even do it right and avoid loss aversion when we're making business decisions, let alone ones that the heart is involved with. Ultimately, we dwell on the past, whether we mean to or not. But hopefully, we try to think ahead as well. We might not get any of our time back, but in the end, aren't we all really just trying to avoid bankruptcy?

Bad Day

I had a bad day today. Actually, I've been having a few bad days recently. But as I begin to pity myself and internally mope and gripe, I think of my role model and lifelong idol, Mr. Leslie Chow, where he once posed:

Did I die? Nope. Did I come close to dying? No, not really. So does that mean I didn't have a bad day?

I've been trying to keep tight-lipped about these negative feelings. No one enjoys listening to someone else grumble. Heck, even I get tired of listening to myself whine. Besides, I'm just dealing with the so-called "little things": work hiccups, annoying chores, uncontrollable feelings, etc. The usual stuff. But in the grander scheme of things, aren't these simply irrelevant? There are a lot bigger struggles a person could face. Like being homeless. Like not having clean water. Like not knowing whether there will be food on the table tonight. So on this spectrum, doesn't that just make me a whiney little bitch?

Perhaps I'm being too hyperbolic. However, even at a closer level, it seems like the things I worry about don't really matter that much. So I had a bad day at work, but what does that really entail? A simple mistake? Having to re-do a small portion of my work? My brother is a doctor; he works to save lives. When he has bad days at work, he doesn't come home until past midnight because he's staying behind to make sure all his patients are thoroughly and properly attended to. That spreadsheet mistake I made suddenly doesn't look so problematic anymore.

As much as it makes me feel stupid and small, in the larger context of everything around me, I'm not struggling very much - I'm getting by just fine. For most, I'm not having a bad day at all; things could be a lot worse. And whilst I think this is a good view to take to humble myself and keep my feet on the ground, I'm not everyone else - I'm only me. Which means the problems I face affect me in my own context.

I think we tend to give people a hard time about their issues because we are in hopes of making them believe that there are greater battles to face - ones that they may notice if they weren't so burdened by "the little things". For instance, it's often said that parents tend to misunderstand their teenage children easily. They assume that their high school worries are trivial at best:

"Jess said Sarah told her that she heard from Vicky that I told Hailey that Hannah called Liz a bitch. And now it looks like I'm the bitch!"

"He pushed my tray of food right off the table as I was walking back to my seat. Everyone in the cafeteria was chanting and laughing at me." (true story, bro)

"I fancy him, but he doesn't even know I exist." (not a true story, bro)

And yes, maybe sometimes we make mountains out of molehills. It's very easy to be blinded by something that is too close to you, and I'm no different. But in the context of our own world, these things do matter. My apocalypse may be someone else's walk in the park, but that doesn't change how it affects me. I still experience that bad day, and all the emotions that come with it.

So the next time you see someone having a bad day, ask why (I'm very thankful for the friends and family that do notice and ask, even when I'm trying to keep it on the inside). The little boy that dropped his ice cream, and the guy that just lost his job with a family to feed might both be going through hell. But as an outsider, provide to them both sympathy for their personal context as well as the grander scheme of things. Sometimes, it helps them move on because they needed to step back, look at the bigger picture, and realise there's more to it. And sometimes, it helps to just have someone pat you on the back and tell you: "Yeah, that really does suck, dude."

So, am I really having a bad day? Well, I've had worse days, but I've also certainly had better. I think I'll chalk this up to a bad one, because after all, bad days only last one day. I'll feel like crap for a bit, eat something not on my diet, and get to bed earlier. Here's to a better day tomorrow.

And for all those that might be having a bit of a downer right now, here's me dressed up as none other than Mr. Chow himself for Halloween:

Toodaloo, mudafuckaaaaaaaawowowowow

My First Ever Cosplay Experience

During the course of this past year of living in London, I've taken the attitude that I should be doing more new things: watching plays, going to concerts, meeting new people, etc. I'm in a really amazing city, and I think there's so much to be taken advantage of - not to mention, now that I'm leading a more independent lifestyle, I really should explore more. And it is with this hearty attitude, I decided to do something I've always thought about: cosplay at a big comic convention.

To briefly sum up my interest, I love the idea of comic cons. I've never attended one before, but I've read and watched a lot about the ones in the US. A gathering of all things nerdy and awesome just seemed like the ideal event for me to attend.

Now, admittedly, I attended the much smaller London Film and Comic Con a couple of weeks back, but that was nothing compared to the extravaganza of MCM London Comic Con that I just attended. Simple put, I just wasn't prepared for what was to come. I could go over the details of the actual convention, but I'm sure that aspect is covered elsewhere in more detail than I could possibly try. To sum up my point of view, it's a hot, crowded and busy mess. Incredibly fun, but also incredibly overwhelming. When I go next year, I will definitely be more prepared. Instead, I want to capture my first cosplay experience.

My costume was very simple, and was a reimagining of this following version of a character, Almost Prom King Amumu:

Sad Amumu is sad.

As backstory, this is a character from the immensely popular game League of Legends. Amumu is known as the Sad Mummy, and is often the focus of sympathy. All his versions are of him in unfortunate predicaments, and in this case, of him almost becoming prom king - but not quite. So from the get-go, quite an antisocial character to play. But here's how it went down...

My Almost Prom King Amumu cosplay - plushie not included.
Someone just handed it to me for a photo!

I was having trouble finding the League of Legends meet-up point (as arranged via the Facebook Group), but fortunately, noticed a very familiar top hat and sniper rifle. As it turns out, a fellow League cosplayer was also looking for the meet, and with the kind assistance of this Caitlyn (whom later was so friendly, offered to add me on Facebook), we had managed to track down the already amassed team (as it turns out, it's hard to miss a scarecrow on stilts and a dude holding a massive golden bow). They were all lining up for a big group shot, so as the two of us approached late, we were openly welcomed to join in the photo. And this is where the surrealism begins.

As I nervously approached the side of this (much larger than expected) line-up, people were cheering. But not only for all the other cosplayers, but also for me. I heard from the crowd taking photos:

Look! It's Amumu!

Aww! He even has a tear on his face!

And most excitingly:

Don't worry, Amumu! You'll get to be prom king next year!

Without skipping a beat, these people knew who I was cosplaying. And they were fans of it. As the feeling of exuberance began to take a hold of me, I mustered, in character, a loud:

Okay...

And for me, the best compliments I heard on the day weren't "That's an amazing/impressive/accurate cosplay!", but rather: "Aww..." or "Don't be sad!" - even though I was beaming underneath my mask, because they understood and appreciated my cosplay.

What followed was a frenzy of photo-taking* and gleeful admiration of the people around me. Despite my costume being quite lacklustre compared to the absolutely astonishing standard of cosplay, people couldn't have been more friendly and accommodating. At first, I was trying to get a hold of other cosplayers to take pictures with because they all simply looked so amazing. I would shyly ask for their photo, before obsessing over the details of their cosplay. We'd strike our poses, not to one camera, but a plethora of cameras and smartphones (as I later discovered, there is no one single correct camera to look to at any one time). When snapping a pic with a Thresh, I knelt to the ground next to his lantern, and without a second thought, he loomed over me and latched his hook onto my shoulder in sync. When snapping a pic with a Vladimir, I offered to Bandage Toss him, and he instantly obliged with a stunning pose (pun intended). I started talking to a very tall Singed about how difficult his costume was to wear and carry around; I gawked at an incredibly accurate and impressive Aristocrat Vayne; and I discussed the Fifth Age with an absolutely fabulous and outrageous Taric.

Helping Singed with a loose piece on his shield

One of my most favourite cosplays at the meet:
Aristocrat Vayne

This Taric was too fabulous for words.

But soon enough, bystanders that were just at the meet-up were randomly coming up to me and asking: Amumu, can I get a picture with you? The idea that a stranger wanted a photo with me took me aback every time. And then other cosplayers wanted to take pictures with me. In fact, some random steampunk dude asked for - wait for it - a hug! I'll be honest, I certainly wasn't the most popular cosplayer at the scene, and I honestly wasn't expecting anyone even noticing me there, but I wholeheartedly appreciated every single person that came up to me and asked for a photo (even after the meet-up). All I can say is that it felt surreal the entire time. It's not just photo-taking; it's this collective energy that creates an atmosphere of sheer enthusiasm.

This Thresh cosplayer instantly Death Sentences
me as I kneel down

My Bandage Toss at Vladimir was a bit short.
But at least I landed the skill shot!

So what did I get from all this? Was it just a moment for me to narcissistically enjoy undeserved semi-fame? Well, I think it's much more than that. Before this entire experience, I thought cosplay was exclusively withheld for pretty people with sewing skills - a higher calibre of person than me in every aspect. And without a doubt, there were a fair few of these types of people at the meet-up that looked remarkable. But the reason why cosplay is so cool is because it's all about the coming together and acceptance of one another. It's like automatic entry into the cool club - except this is the cool club you actually want to be a part of. We were gathered together because we all enjoyed something really nerdy, and we were embodying it in a way that is the most fun for us. And when it comes down to it, that's basically why any other type of club or social circle is formed: common passion. Except, I guess ours is a bit more extravagant.

I was extremely nervous and self-conscious about doing my first cosplay. Mine was nothing of the level that was present. But I would definitely do it again - but perhaps with a bit more oomph. The cosplayers at the meet-up weren't some judging panel on their high horses; they were just guys and girls that liked dressing up as their favourite characters - much like me. Underneath the helmets, make-up, and blood red contact lenses, they were just cool people. And I got the chance to be a part of that community in an instant - no questions asked.

This experience has been eye-opening for me; it really wasn't just a matter of dressing up. It's the idea of being celebrated and welcomed purely on the grounds of a common passion. I just don't think that's found too frequently. And frankly, I can't speak for all the cosplayers at the convention, but I can definitively tell all those reading this now that the League of Legends cosplayers at the October 2013 London MCM Comic Con were all friendly, energetic, awesome people. And I can't wait to see them all again next May.

Getting ready for a group shot

So, I guess that leaves the question: who to cosplay next?


*As a side note, I can't post this without giving a big shout-out and thank you to my friend whom I dragged along with me to this meet. Without her help, these photos would not exist, and she gave me the confidence and push to actually ask other cosplayers for photos. So thank you!

Give Up Already

"If at first you don't succeed, try, try, try again."

We're taught from a young age that we should never give up; that we should fight for the things we want in life. We're taught to be dreamers, and to not let anyone hold us back - especially ourselves. You know: Pursuit of Happyness, "Impossible is nothing", and - dare I say it - Never Say Never. But as we grow up, and inevitably slip up a few times, we realise it's not so simple as just not letting go. We find that uphill climb never plateaus, and we never conquer some aspirations. We mindlessly chase after something that can't be caught, and we're so caught up in the chase to realise we're never getting any closer. And yet, we still regard those that do give up as failures.

"You just need to try harder."

"Why give up now? You will have wasted all that time."

"Quitters never win, and winners never quit."

Truth is, sometimes, we do need to give up. As simple beings, at some point, we discover that we just can't get everything we want, despite our best efforts. Everyone is capable of achieving greatness, but not greatness in all they come across - most of us just aren't born as Renaissance men. And that's okay. But we need to learn the lesson that sometimes, the losing fight is something we should surrender to.

So how do we know when we should let go? Well, that's the problem - we will never know. And herein lies why we convince ourselves to never give up. We push and push, and at some point, we stop to think: Am I really going anywhere with this? Am I getting any closer? But if I stop now, will I have lost all the potential progress I've strived for? Do I just need to try harder? And so we keep on pushing and pushing. But were we to step back, we might just realise that we haven't moved anything at all. Worse yet, sometimes we can't even tell retrospectively. So do we keep going? Or is this a lost cause? Do we carry on fighting? Or do we give up?

This is not me telling you to never try, or to never dream. Quite the contrary, you should always try first. Give it your all, and if that doesn't work, try something else. Exhaust your options, and do everything in your power. However, you must also come into acceptance that in life, you will win some, and you will lose others. And for the most part, that's not something you can control. Whether it's Lady Luck, or circumstances you can't hurdle, or that it just wasn't meant to be, there will be places in this world you'll never reach. However, it is our experiences, our wisdom, and our rationality, that allows us to distinguish these unknown battles. But most importantly, you need to take that first step and try. And if you've given it your all, then the rest is out of your hands. 

So where is this all going? Is this the confession of a defeatist? Not to me, it isn't. But when we were taught that we should try, try, try again, I call bullshit. Maturity is not about being blindly ambitious; maturity is about being clever enough to pick your battles. In that sense, we're all just continuously learning, because none of us know whether we're currently running in circles or not. Just know that you are not a loser for giving up. You will never waste time for trying, because as we all know, the battle that is never fought is already lost. These are the struggles that force us to develop our character; we're made of both our successes and our failures. My argument is that the point of giving up is to avoid wasting your time and efforts if and when you know you're chasing a lost cause - and sadly, sometimes, you just won't know. You will succeed elsewhere, but not if you are stuck in a ditch everyday. So refocus, and one day, you will triumph after tribulation. 

Should I Add My Children On Facebook?

To much dismay, I added my mum as a friend on Facebook a long time ago. On the verge of digital social suicide, I suppose it might not have been the wisest decision I've made, because let's face it - there's a lot to see there. There are pictures and videos no-one needs to see, least my own mother. But to be honest, if it's on the Internet already, it's not exactly hidden - so no loss there in my opinion.

But it does bring an interesting thought to mind: if and when I have my own children, should I add them on Facebook? Despite what you might be thinking, I'm not that concerned about what I may see on their profiles (like I can stop any of it), but I'm more worried about what they'll find on mine. Think about that for a second.

I've never really been able to imagine my parents before they were my parents. To me, they poofed into this universe as mature and responsible 30-year-olds. But I suppose that's not too uncommon a thought. I've never heard many childhood stories, or flipped through old black-and-white photo collections. As for me, one of my life aspirations is to become a dad, but considering the kid that I currently am, I find it odd to believe I might someday father and be responsible for a child. But surely by then I would've become a sensible and stern man, and my children will be none the wiser? Well, I'll still have my Facebook.

If you're my "Friend", then you'll know that I use my Facebook. A lot. Call it procrastination, but I like to think of it as a modern, digital photo book. When I feel my future children to be old enough, I'll add them. Then they can flip through my youth: the friends I made, the university years I spent, my first job, and everything in between. Sure, they'll laugh their asses off at my questionable fashion choices and even more questionable poses, but they might actually be surprised that at one point, I was a kid too (at least, I hope it'll be a surprise). It's an interesting thought that all of us on Facebook now are almost documenting our lives, like digital autobiographies with guest writers - virtual timelines (or rather, "Timelines") from start to finish.

Excuse the grim thought, but I think when I pass away, I'd like my Facebook profile presented to everyone at my memorial service (I assume it'll be on the iPad Nano 65GS or something). Then people can quite literally scroll through my entire life. Of course, the relationships I had shared with every person I'd met throughout my life would mean much more, but sometimes it's nice to look back and feel nostalgic about a photo you were tagged in.

So, as I share this blog post on Facebook, I wonder if I'll see the plan through, and if this very post will be read by my yet-to-be children. I used to think time capsules were the coolest things as a kid, but just too much of an effort to make and bury. But in a way, Facebook is my digital time capsule. I have so much more to experience in my life, but as my memory begins to fail me (it's not even doing that great a job currently), it'll be a neat way to just remind myself how fortunate I have been to already have experienced so much.

Ah, who am I kidding? I'm just giving myself an excuse to procrastinate on Facebook. Refreshing News Feed...

More Or Less

I've recently been chatting to a friend regarding the idea of liking someone more than a previous partner. It struck me as an odd statement, but not because it hasn't been said before. In fact, I think the concept of comparing "likableness" is quite common. After all, this new person is still filling the "boyfriend" role, so it's not unfathomable that one would compare with previous candidates. Even with friends, why do we have "best friends" and just normal "friends"? Oh, and the god-tier of "BFF"?

The reason I found this odd was because I don't really think of relationships as being comparable, even when they occupy the same role. It's like saying that I like chocolate ice cream (which I do!), and then telling me to compare which is more chocolatey: my current favourite chocolate ice cream, or this brand new strawberry ice cream. They're two different flavours! Granted, they're both ice creams, but I like them for different reasons. Both are scrumptious to me, and I'd happily devour either (this is not me promoting polygamy).

I didn't have to look very hard in my phone for a picture
of ice cream. That says a lot about me.

Perhaps a more realistic example would be my two brothers. I love them both very much, and I couldn't ask for better people to my siblings. But I don't think of either to be the "better brother" - they're both amazing in their own right. My eldest brother, I see as the person I look up to the most. He is protective, responsible and caring, and a better man than I will ever be. My second brother is the most heart-warming and thoughtful guy I know. Truly a loyalist and always genuine, if I am ever half as fun-loving as he is, I'd count myself lucky. Both great people, both great brothers. But I wouldn't compare them. The relationship I share with one brother is completely different to the one I share with the other.

I can see how some might say you can be better friends with one person over another. You may see that 'better' friend more often, share more intimate secrets with them, and generally feel closer. To me, I see all my friends as holding a definitively exclusive space in my mind. They all mean something different to me, for their own special reasons. We will come across so many people in our lives. They will all occupy different connections with us; some will be friends, some will be lovers, some will be family, some will be enemies. But none will be better or worse than the other. The bond that ties two people together is unique, like two distinctive colours mixing to become a one-of-a-kind hue.

So instead of answering my friend whether I think it's possible that she may love this new person more than her previous partner, I told her she will just love him differently. In fact, I don't even think it's possible to love a single person the same way continually. That connection will evolve and change. It's why couples have "honeymoon phases", which then grow into deeper, more meaningful ties. It's still infatuation, but a different breed.

Life is transient. Things change with time, moments come and go. As we grow older, we aspire for different things at different stages in our lives - one of those things being our relationships. I'm not saying that your relationships should change with the seasons, but it is how that feeling develops and grows with you as a person that really puts it to the test. And don't be afraid to make new friends, and love new people; you'd be surprised how much capacity your heart has.

Right now, I'm a chocolate ice cream kind of guy. And it's sad to say, that I dropped mine recently. But who knows? In the future, I may grow fond of the strawberry kind. Or maybe even vanilla. But so long as I have ice cream in my life, I'm good to go.

If A Tree Falls In A Forest...

"If a tree falls in a forest and no-one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?"

This is a classic philosophical riddle that questions perception and the knowledge of reality. I didn't know this at first, but this little thought experiment actually probes into much bigger discussions, like the knowledge of the unobserved world, and the difference between sensation and reality, amongst other considerations in areas of philosophy and religious perspectives (I did a bit of quick research - I guess you can say I've slightly improved). But it is this particular thought that has piqued my interest:

"Can something exist without being perceived?"

I'm not even going to try and skim the philosophical considerations of the subject matter, but I am intrigued in its application to relationships (as you may have predicted from my recent blog topics). So, if I possess a certain feeling towards another, does it really exist without that person ever experiencing it with me?

I want to narrow it down to a very personal emotion, such as love - for ease of discussion, if anything. If I love someone, but never express it to that person, does it even affect our relationship? Even if it's stated as an absolute fact ("hey, by the way, he really loves you"), but neither my actions nor my words exhibit this emotion, do I actually love that person? Or does that emotion never exist to begin with if it's not something received, and instead, all that is happening is that I want to love that person?

The titular riddle can be solved pretty straightforwardly: obviously, if a tree falls, it still makes a sound, regardless of anyone's presence (or lack of). Science dictates that the soundwaves are created. But it is the separation of the actual sound occurring and the perception of that sound that brings up the question: what is to say it exists if the existence itself is unknown?

I'll admit I've rather forcefully applied this to a relationship context, and quite honestly, I don't know the answer. To me, relationships are not outward projectiles like sound; you can't have a relationship on your own (I've tried - it doesn't work). Relationships are bonds that connect people. So if you state that you have a feeling that alters or defines that interpersonal link, it cannot exist without being perceived by the other.

So what about hidden feelings that you don't express, like a secret crush? In my opinion, you aren't truly fond of someone without any expression of it. But even those little unappreciated words of kindness and subtle acts of generosity count towards that expression. She might not be fully aware of your crush, but she will receive those words and actions - and the subsequent feeling.

Does this also apply to presumed feelings? I am my parents' child, so does that mean I need not do anything to express that inherent love? What if I am already someone's spouse? Does that automatically mean that I no longer need to prove or display my affection? Not in my mind.

As for inconsistent expressions: say, you love someone, but you do something that hurts that person - like betrayal, an undeniably contrary expression to love - do you really still love that person? Because I would argue that in that context, saying "I love you" is just a farce - unless, of course, your following expressions go on to signal a change.

I suppose I'm not the only one that is torn. In metaphysics, opinion is split as to what the true answer to the riddle is: substance theory dictates that a substance is distinct from its properties, which means whatever the perceptions of the object may be, it will not affect the actual existence of said object; bundle theory on the other hand, dictates that an object is merely its sense data, therefore an object's existence is based solely on it being sensed by others. So when it comes to relationships, I guess some will think that love can exist without the object of adoration knowing, and others will argue that you don't love someone unless you can show it.

I'm way over my head now. But even if you don't agree with me, or just think I'm talking jibberish, think about when the last time was you expressed your feelings to those you love. You can tell me all day about how you love your parents and how they mean the world to you, but what does it really mean if you don't show it to them? You can pine over that girl or guy every waking moment, but that person is clueless and will never feel that love if you don't find a way to express it. So go out there, and let them hear you fall.

Perhaps I've forced the comparison a bit too much. After all, we're not trees. I'll just leave you with this interpretation instead:

"If a man speaks in a forest and no woman is around to hear it, is he still wrong?"

Specialist in Gastroenterology and Fatherhood

Growing up with a doctor as a father has implanted certain habits into my head (not surgically) that I've always thought to be second nature for everyone else too. It wasn't until relatively recently that I learnt that not everyone is as used to doctoral behaviour as I am. Here is a list of some of my discoveries:

1. There doesn't have to be a relatively high probability of you dying in order to justify calling an ambulance. But it is frowned upon, if that isn't the case.
    
2. Most people do not have drawers upon drawers at home full of colourful pills of different shapes and sizes. Those that do are either doctors or drug dealers (or both).
    
3. Normal people go to a hospital or clinic to get an injection. I, however, when discovering syringes in the freezer when looking for ice cream, know it's "Vaccine Time" that evening.
    
4. You should avoid taking your work home with you. Especially if that work is a video tape of the endoscopy of someone's intestines you performed that day. And you're playing it during dinner. And dinner is bangers and mash.
    
5. It's cute when you get your 9-year-old son in the office to do useless tasks like organising stationary on your desk. It's questionable when you have him playing with your sphygmomanometer or tongue depressors (don't worry - my dad threw away the ones I did play with).
    
6. Weighing yourself in the clinic waiting room is not a common pastime.
    
7. A scratch on your knee from falling over is a boo-boo. Being hit in the face with a hockey stick and requiring stitches inside your mouth is more than a boo-boo (my cheek swelled up to the size of a golf ball).
    
8. Most people have never napped on a bed that twenty minutes prior, was used by some poor fellow being probed in the butthole. But to be fair, it's probably the most hygienic nap I've ever had or will have.
    
9. Violent vomiting is something you can't just "sleep off", but it helps if you sleep near enough to the bathroom (this knowledge will prove invaluable during my university years).
    
10. It sucks not to have a doctor for a parent. 

I love my dad to bits, and I'm so grateful he's always been a great doctor as well as a great father. A lot of childhood panics were sidestepped, and I was ever confident that I would always be in safe (rubber gloved) hands. I now live with my eldest brother - a promising, budding, young doctor - and I wish him every success. After all, he has clumsy little me to take care of.

And I hope my future wife is a doctor, too; I've really grown to rely on the perks of living with one. I mean, where else am I going to source my Viagra pills from?

Talking To Myself, Part II: Letters

Previously, I had discussed the way in which I talk to myself, separating my emotional and logical faces, and attempting to resolve difficulties on my own. One of the inadequacies of this method is that I never have a real outlet for my feelings. The same thoughts circle my head, like a dog chasing its own tail, and I end up internalising the struggle. Granted, if I'm able to offer myself (or rather, uncover) some decent advice, all is well, and I've saved myself the trouble of explaining the dilemma to someone, and possibly becoming a burden. However, if I'm unable to untangle the conundrum on my own, I end up with two troubled people trapped in a locked room, both with no way to escape.

Not drawn by me

Writing is my best form of expression. I don't speak nearly as fluently, and I'm not really an 'actions-louder-than-words' type person. I've never found my singing or my dancing to be as descriptive, either. These are still ways I express my raw emotions, but they remain restrictive. With written words, I can craft. I can select specific synonyms that are closest to how I truly feel, I can control the flow and tone to mimic my internal journey, and most importantly, I'm not afraid when I write. 

So in some of my darkest times, I write letters - times like the one I am going through now. Most of my problems involve another party, so I'll usually address the letter to them, almost like a confession. If you're pretty close to me, chances are we've had our obstacles, and chances are I've written you a letter you will never read. Even if my letter has no addressee (I employ "Dear You" when my dilemma involves no-one else, but this is rather rare), the objective is the same: to have an outlet to get everything out of my system.

It's very important to realise at this point that I've never sent any of these letters. I do however write letters that I do go on to send whenever something is too difficult to say all in one go. But the ones in this context are locked away in my hard drive, never to be read - not even by me. It would probably help my situations a lot more if I let my addressees actually read the letters, but it would cripple the freedom of being completely raw and honest. I never edit, rewrite or read over - I just write, and write, and write, until I have nothing left to say, to the ends of emotional and physical exhaustion.

Writing one of these letters is sickeningly draining. As I tear my head open, I have to try and capture everything onto (digital) paper as my thoughts uncontrollably surge out. I never want to write them, and the process is far from relieving or relaxing. There's really nothing Zen about it. So why do I do it? To me, these words are like poison, and left in my system, circulating my brain, would devour me inside out. Most people talk things out - I extract feelings through a gaping wound.

So why do I still feel like I'm trapped alone in my dark room? I have my outlet, so surely all that pain should be exiting. Truth of the matter is, my addressees never write back. I can scream and shout all I want into this endless cave, but as much as I hope it, I will never hear a voice of answer come back. I've said all I can say, and yes, it's off my chest - but where from does the resolution come?

I'm learning these few days that these letters do me no good. The silence is painfully gruelling, and gnawing at my sanity. I have merely extended my capacity to hold onto these pains. They may have left my fingertips, but these pages upon pages of my emotions linger on in my hard drive - and they remain unresolved. There are plenty of bytes to burn, but how much more room does my heart have left?

I don't know when I'll learn to open up again. For someone that has "be open and honest" as a mantra, I sure suck at it when things get grim. And I'm not entirely sure why. Perhaps I've been in this dark room alone with myself for far too long. It's a very, very dark room indeed, and I'm so petrified of it, that I fear to let anyone in to see. So will I continue to sit alone in that room and write these letters, before sending them into the abyss? Yes, most probably, out of habit if anything. But more crucially, will I learn to let someone open the door, come in, and share my feelings so that I can finally have an outlet that reciprocates? I really don't know.

At least with this piece of writing, I'm allowed to edit.