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.