My Infinite Year

In just a few days, I will be turning the ripe age of twenty-three. As I've written before, I don't think this'll lead to some sort of instantaneous transformation or magical metamorphosis. But without a doubt, this past year has definitely been hugely significant to me. I think the twenty-third year of my time here on planet Earth has seen more growth as a person more than I could ever imagine. This doesn't necessarily mean improvement exclusively, but rather... change. And it was all due to one tiny flick of a switch in my head.

If I were to summarise all my experiences this year with one word, it would be "new".

From where I was sitting,
the candles show 2 and 3.

The new city I now live in.

The new places I've visited.

The new hobbies I've picked up.

The new healthy lifestyle pursuit.

The new career path I've taken.

The new friends I've made.

The new sense of love.

The new vision of faith.

The new goals I have for myself.

The new pet rabbits.


And the one thing that allowed me to have all these experiences was simply... choice. Ostensibly, nothing changed on the day I turned twenty-two. Nothing shifted in the equilibrium of the universe, and the stars did not align to shine favourably upon me. But this year, I did start to make more conscious decisions. And I realised how wonderful that simple power is.

That very basic thought of personal choice is unbelievably empowering, and it can be found in just the simplest decisions. It can truly be the most liberating feeling. And this year for me was pretty much dictated by such choices. I decided to quit aimlessly pursuing Law and changed careers to something I had a passion in and felt where my strengths could be put to best use. I decided to try to live healthier and be more comfortable about being in my own body (a continuing struggle). I decided to meet new people, even though every single time, it would make me a nervous wreck on the inside. I decided to open up more and try to be more honest, even if it left me feeling vulnerable. I also decided to write more.

Ultimately, I decided to say 'yes' more, even to the situations that I would normally shy away from. (Note: "more", not "always".) Why? Because life is pretty damn awesome, if you think about it. I mean, don't you agree? Just for a moment, think about the infinite possibilities of your life. Not life in general, but your life specifically. Do it.

Sure, you might not get to be an astronaut. You might not discover the cure to cancer. You might not marry Emma Watson. But you might make new friends if you went to that dinner or party with all those strange new people - friends you'll have for years to come. You might discover your new love for music even though you awkwardly have no clue how to act at a concert (seriously, someone tell me once and for all: what am I supposed to do with my hands?!). You might find the dream career you want, even though you'll have to start from scratch. You might fall in love. You might discover the person you truly want to become.

Some like to say life is like walking a path with forks in the road every now and then that command you to make a choice. But what if for every step you take in life, you could turn left or you could turn right? What if you could also choose to go straight ahead? Or backwards? Or even up? I also used to think life was like a path; now I think it's more like an open field.

This may be The Fault In Our Stars speaking, but you have infinite potential as a person because you have an infinite number of decisions you can make to determine who you are. Sure, you might just be this one person, and your life has its limitations; the same goes for everyone else. But within those boundaries lies your own set of infinite possibilities, different from anyone else's. And only you have the power to make those decisions.

I have hardly reached any of the goals I have set for myself, and I'm still bound by the responsibilities and constraints of my situation. I also understand that I have been incredibly blessed to have so much in my life, which has opened up many opportunities for me. But more importantly and more than ever, I feel in command of my life. Without a doubt, I have made some bad choices this past year - deplorable, regretful, horrid decisions. But I also made a few good ones. And that sense of reward is definitely worth the risk.

With my blog posts, I hope that I can intrigue a reader enough to plant a thought. I'm not looking to change lives with my writing, but for me, it's infinitely awesome that words I write might make someone think differently, even if just the tiniest bit. I can't imagine that anyone that finishes reading this will run out the door, quit his/her job, and dedicate his/her life to being the first person to ever breakdance on Mars. But I do hope that maybe this will persuade someone to own their decisions, good or bad. Be responsible for your own happiness and your own sadness - every decision you make is your decision. And if you feel like there are elements of life influencing that decision, it is because you allow it to. You regard it as important/relevant/necessary enough to impact your decisions, and that makes a lot of sense. But I hope that you can appreciate that it is still your decision. Because if it ends up well, it'll be infinitely more rewarding when you own it.

Despite the numerous pitfalls I stumbled upon this year, I'm pretty satisfied with my twenty-third year. It was far from perfect, and me even more so, but maybe that just leaves room for more awesome this coming year.

Here's to twenty-three.

A Love Letter To Plain Jane

Meet Plain Jane. 

She's pretty plain. 

Plain hair, plain eyes, plain face

- much the same. 

She has plain friends, and a plain job - all tame.

Leading the life of the exceedingly mundane.

I suppose there isn't much else to say about Plain Jane,

like picking out a droplet in a torrent of plain rain. 

-----

I overheard (read: not eavesdropped) on the Tube the other day a conversation between two guys, discussing their ventures of the previous night:

So are you gonna see her again?

I dunno. She's kinda plain. 

Although engrossed in my book (John Green's Looking for Alaska, if you were wondering), that word just stuck with me for a while - plain. What's so wrong about being plain?

I think too many people might be overlooking Plain Janes. I'm not judging those two gentlemen on the Tube in any way - to each his own, I say. I totally understand that everyone has their own preferences. But I've never understood why 'plain' every ought to be unappealing. In fact, I very much like plain.

I guess for me, plain connotes comfort. Comfort in the sense that there is a certain simplicity in beauty - a sort of quiet radiance. Homely, even (and even that word carries a negative physical connotation - why should something of the home be deemed unattractive?). Some girls scream hotness; some girls hum with prettiness. I guess I just always imagined myself with the latter (not that I don't really, really appreciate the former). You grab someone that's hot, but you hold someone plain. You hug someone hot, but you embrace someone plain. You make out with hot, but you kiss plain.

With Plain Janes, they look better dressed in baggy pyjama pants and your ill-fitting t-shirt than they do in a strapless, backless, midriff-less, and whatever-the-heck-is-left-less dress - not that they couldn't rock one, of course. They tie their hair up (because let's be honest: it's just more practical) over burning in curls, and they shuffle in bunny-shaped slippers rather than tiptoeing in 9-inch heels. They don't need make-up, because that stuff gets in the way when you peck them on the cheek ("Mmm... your blush tastes like chemicals. The good kind."), and they look better barefaced anyway; it's just easier to see more of them without the make-up hiding it all.

You don't have to take a Plain Jane fine dining every weekend, and have to pretend to enjoy delicately minuscule portions on humourously gigantic dishes, because she'll be willing to dig in with her hands the overcooked chicken wings you made whilst you watch stupid movies like The Hangover with your legs criss-crossed on the bed - AND she'll tell you it tastes good. But when you're not cosying up, Plain Janes also enjoy a little me time now and again, and you do your bit to protect that little sanctuary she so needs, as will she when you go "hang out with duh bros".

Plain Janes never tell you you're perfect just to stroke your ego, because she knows you're smart enough to know that's not true. Instead, she'll tell you straight up what you're not good at, because she'll follow up with how you can change that about yourself, and that she'll be besides you along the way. Plain Janes will never tell you you're invincible - but they will certainly make you feel so.

And the best thing about Plain Janes is when things are at their worst. When you fight, Plain Janes never scream, or throw things at you, or furiously and dramatically storm out the front door. They fight because they care. And when the fury dies down, you know you can sit down with Plain Jane at the edge of your bed and talk things out. You can apologise to a Plain Jane, because Plain Janes forgive and never hold grudges. And then you learn to treat Plain Jane better because you don't have to decipher some cryptically hidden message behind her "I'm fine. Really.".

I get that the impression I might be giving is that I only like Plain Janes. But my message is quite the contrary. It's really that we (me included) should be open to all Janes: Plain Janes, Hot Janes, Nerdy Janes, Cute Janes, Smart Janes, Quiet Janes... and all the Janes in between. Some Janes are even both Plain and Hot! Everyone has their own Jane. But I think the Plain Janes mostly get overlooked - and I'm here to say I, for one, like Plain Janes.

Because, after all, I'm pretty Plain James.

-----

But one fine day, along came Plain James,

Who saw Plain Jane - but not quite the same. 

As he tried to conjure something poetic and witty,

All he could think was how she's just plain pretty.

Her hair, piano black,

with a scent on your pillow stays.

Her eyes, deep hazel,

translates her heart with its gaze.

And a face unforgettable, 

not even willpower could erase. 

Her friends are her family, that she fights unconditionally for.

Her job is her passion; a pursuit not a chore. 

She was waiting for someone with better vocabulary

(or at least someone who writes poems that are a little less ordinary).

But to Plain James, none stood out more than Plain Jane,

like picking out constellations from a sky of plain planes.

If you're wondering who wrote the abysmal Hallmark doggerel that sandwiches this post: yes, it was me. I am not a poet, nor do I intend to be. The entire thing wouldn't fit on a public restroom wall. 

Nature vs. Nurture vs. Soup

The classic 'nature versus nurture' debate basically centres around the question of what determines an individual's traits: are they innately preprogrammed into the person's mind at birth, or are they products of environmental and third party sources? Essentially, the question is: what makes each of us the way we are? Well, I don't fully comprehend the debate, but I'd like to think of myself like a soup. Yes, a soup. Because I'm composed of a multitude of delicious ingredients, all thrown into one big pot and mixed into a scrumptious blend - yet I am still the chef. Here's why. 

Not so much chef (or soup, as a matter of fact),
but I am at least wearing an apron.

I've often attributed most of the successes in my life to others. I'm not sure when I first unearthed the thought, but I have said on a number of occasions that "I surround myself with people that are better than me". By that, I don't actually think people are directly comparable. And that statement is in fact very important to how this little theory of mine works.

You see, no one person is better than the other. But that person might be better at something specifically. So, the way I like to see those around me is that each and every one of them is better than me in one way or another (and in most cases, many ways). Sometimes, I'll know right off the bat what that might be - I'll notice they're consistently hardworking, or that they are very knowledgeable about a certain topic, or they're undoubtedly passionate about their craft - and sometimes, it might be something hidden that becomes increasingly evident over time.

Whilst this applies to everyone I meet to some degree or another, there are a handful of unique individuals I've come across that are apart from the rest. I've had the utmost honour and joy of meeting some incredibly wonderful people in my life. Four of them I've known since birth, and have had a hand in raising me and shaping me as a person ever since, to this very day. But others I've met along the way. They are all extra special to me, and even though a few of them have come and gone, they mean the world to me. These are the people that I know for sure, without a doubt, are better than me in many, if not all, respects. I love, respect and look up to them, because I know they have and are so much more than I am. These are the people I always have in my mind, and always hope to emulate. 

How this all ties into the nurture argument is that all of these people influence me. When I see these great qualities, I hope that I too can embody them. But does that mean that by just being around these awesome people, I can just absorb and photosynthesise their awesomeness? Hardly. 

Here's where I think nature kicks in. You see, it takes that thing in between my ears to determine how I can mimic these qualities. Seeing is one thing; doing is another. That is what I like to think what my personal growth is about essentially: seeing what I want to achieve, and going on to achieve it. The first part is easy-peasy when you see the good that people are capable of. The second part is the real uphill climb. 

My nature also determines which elements I choose to absorb. Just as everyone has redeeming qualities, so do they have darker ones. I myself am certainly no exception. No-one is perfect, and sometimes, the distinction isn't as clear as day and night. What makes each of us unique, I think, is how our nature distinguishes those grey areas, and then goes on to let nurture influence us. 

I'm quite sure I've taken the whole nature vs. nurture debate completely out of context, but I hope you can see the good in the mess that this post might have been (see what I did there?). Keep in mind that we can always learn something from others, and that everyone is great in their own individual way. If we can pick and mix qualities we like, then we should always try to see the best in everyone we meet. But when it comes down to it, what you specifically choose to allow to influence you, is what makes you... well, you.

Everyone in my life has been giving me these wonderful ingredients to work with. But the chef's hat is still on my head, and what makes it into the final dish is my say. And I'd like to think there's something quite wonderful about that sentiment.

Also, if you're wondering, the soup I happen to be is a lobster bisque. I'm fancy like that.

What kind of soup are you?

The Love Currency

Apparently, today's Valentine's Day.

Apparently, that means I should be spending it with a loved one.

Apparently, that requires a loved one.

Apparently, I shall be blogging instead.

Here's one I made earlier.

We all love differently. Yes, it is true that we have similar relationships, such as the ones we have with family, friends, and partners, and we do all share love with those people. We care about them, we trust them, we want to make them happy... the whole shebang. But when you say "I love you" to these people, what does it really mean?

There is no single definition of love (put away your dictionaries, please). When we each love another person, that connection we feel is very personal and unique. So how do we then go about valuing love? How can we say that we truly love someone, or are truly loved by someone?

The titular character from the Pixar short, The Blue Umbrella, which I made.

I was discussing this topic with a good friend of mine, and the analogy of money as love came to mind that I found easy to understand (I know it sounds cold, but bear with me). For each individual connection we have with another person, wealth would represent how much love we have to give, and the spending of the money would be expressions of love, whatever that may be. Say for example, two people are dating. The man tells the woman, "I'm filthy rich, but I can't show you my bank account or tell you how much money I have". The woman only has this man's word to believe, so she can only depend on what he is willing to spend on her. Sadly, he replies, "Sorry babe. All my money is locked up in bonds right now. I can't tell you for sure when I'll be able to spend money on you, but it might happen in the future. But I really am rich". Now the woman is a little more unsure. What if he ends up never spending any money on her at all? But this woman is devoted, and decides to stick around with this supposedly 'rich' man. Some time down the line, that fateful day arrives. "Honey," he says, "the bonds have opened up! I can now finally spend my money on you!". Fantastic - it was what she had been hoping for. But to her dismay, he continued, "I can spend all of my £10 on you now!".

It's a bit far-fetched, I know. Relationships of love are never easily simplified (and how dare I compare precious love to cold, hard cash!), but the point I was trying to bring forward was that the man was not actually lying about being rich. Sure, it would've been better if he were able to express his love earlier on, but these things take time to learn. But he certainly didn't lie about being rich. See, because in his eyes, having £10 could mean being 'rich'. You can't blame him for having different values of what counts as being 'rich'. And yes, maybe the woman did expect more, but she also did no wrong by valuing 'rich' as more than £10.

Sometimes, it's not even about what you value as the love you can give, but how you value love. Because we all see our own form of love from our own angles, it's not entirely impossible for someone that is selfish, demanding, or even abusive, to think that they are in love with their partner. To them, their words and actions are suitable of a loving relationship, and in their minds, they are being as loving as they can be. They can still say "I love you", and fully mean it. But in actual fact, it really depends on how the other person values and receives this love, and what it means to them.

The other takeaway I was trying to make with my analogy is that wealth does not equate expenditure (I have a feeling my economics friends are rubbing off on me). You can be the richest man on earth, having all the love to give to devote to one person, but what does it mean if you can't spend any of it? Why would it matter if you are fully capable of endearing love if you can't express it to that person? That person wouldn't get anything out of that belief. Furthermore, as I discussed before, what is to say that that wealth exists if there is no proof of it? Could you be lying to yourself and others?

I know this all seems very doubtful of those that say they love and I come across as very bitter (Bah! Bumhug! That's the phrase, right?), but I don't mean it that way. Some people find it easier to 'spend' their love more so than others; we're all different in our expressions. And at other times, believing in someone that they love you is enough. The woman in my analogy wasn't being blind or foolish - she was being faithful and committed. Maybe for most people, they would want and ask for more money. But maybe for her, she only needs a little expenditure, and that would be sufficient to make her happy.

And there are certainly different ways of expressing our feelings for others. Where one man may employ elaborate and grand gestures of adoration using timed fireworks, choreographed dancers and synchronised flying doves, the simple embrace of another man may mean equally as much to their respective partners. All this talk about money spending might make me sound very shallow, but these expressions might not even be physical actions. It could be the emotional support when things get rough, the little considerate thoughts and time devoted to listening and understanding, or the kind words that make their day. And as receivers of love, we may seek and ask for different things too. But the important balance in relationships is to understand both the capabilities of giving love, and the desired expectations of receiving love. When two people are in a bond where their capabilities and expectations meet for one another, that is when you have a strong, healthy, and wonderful relationship.

And don't think I'm only talking about lovers (that word somehow makes me cringe); this goes for all types of relationships. Whether you're relearning what your mother would like to hear you say on Mother's Day, or you've got your friend's back in his time of need, or you're looking to take your relationship to the next level of commitment, we need to grasp and accept our counterpart's values of love. How should they see me as a person? What types of responsibilities should I uptake for them? What can they trust me with? What can I do to make them happy? How should I support different aspects of their life? What do they regard as expressions of love?

So I think back to my own wealth and my own spending with each person that I care about. I have been very lucky to have such giving people in my life, so I try to consider what ways I can spend my love on them, and wonder if I have enough to give. But the truth behind my analogy is that we are all rich. We can all be billionaires, with plenty to spare. As humans, we are all capable of being rich with love. It just depends on whether we allow ourselves to be full of love, whether we can learn how to express it in the right way for each of our counterparts, and whether we are willing to when we do know how.

So... anyone have any spare change?

Home Sweet... Where?

I'm currently halfway through my two-week-long holiday back in Hong Kong. I haven't been back in about a year and a half, and it's good to be home. Or should I say, "home". It's an odd sensation, but of all places in the world, I feel a bit... out of place.

Maybe it's because I wasn't really around when my parents decided to relocate off the main island of Hong Kong, but I don't think that's the biggest reason. Everything seems so unrecognisable, yet vaguely familiar - like a feint memory of a past dream. As I walk the same streets I have walked many a time before, I feel almost foreign in the city I grew up in. And I'm not entirely sure it's the city that has changed.

I guess it's struck me that I've finally branded myself as "international". Many people have provided me with clever insight about my past blog post regarding bilingualism. They have helpfully informed me that what I was describing was in fact biculturalism - something I didn't even know existed, and am slightly shocked that the autocorrect on my blog editor isn't underlining in squiggly red like crazy (it just goes to show how great a blogger I am that other people need to explain to me what my own blog post means). I might feel oddly misplaced in Hong Kong despite ethnically belonging and having grown up here (I don't think I can even confidently say I have spent the majority of my life here anymore), but I still wouldn't call London my home. So, have I become a permanent tourist wherever I go? Because let me tell you: that's a horrifying thought.

Not my original idea, but I resonate with the concept.
I mean, who doesn't?

Despite all this, these past few days, I have had the sense of "home" returning to me. But it wasn't a question of where, but rather with whom. I've realised "home" are my parents, my brothers and my friends. They are all family to me. They give me the sense of belonging, the comfort of familiarity and the snuggly warmth of togetherness. It's the simple pleasures of home-cooked dinners, catching up over drinks, and cracking up over stupid stories that makes me feel like I'm well and truly back. Their embraces are the welcome doormat; their smiles, the front door; our relationships, the rooms; their stories, the furniture; their laughter, the lights; their support, the roof; our wishes, hopes and dreams, the windows. These people are my home. And it has never felt better to be back.

It's easy to say that we'll keep in touch, but being in different countries (and time zones) takes its toll. Even the greatest bridges has its limits, and I don't blame anyone for the distance that was created. Life tends to be a busy occupation. But what reminds me that they'll forever be my home is how quickly we snap back to being... well, us. When we're back together, its like I never left. I'm still everyone's baby brother, and I wouldn't exchange that for the world. And even if my family have my best interests in mind sending me off again in a week's time, I know that every part of my home will always be there when I'm back next time.

You know you really love something when you miss it before its gone. And right now, I miss my home before I even need to leave. I'm very fortunate and grateful that my parents can visit me in London a few times a year, and I live with my eldest brother who has always looked out for me. But I miss my middle brother very much too, and wish that we'd be able to live together again. I miss my dearest friends as well, all of whom I regard as my siblings. It does suck to know that I've missed important phases in their lives, the good and the bad, and wish I could've been beside them when they experienced those moments.

But, whether the wind strikes hard, or the rain pours heavily, this is a home that will always stand strong. These individuals form the house that shelters me, and I know I will always have a place waiting for me to come home to, however long I may be gone for.

They are the only house that is invincible. And they are truly a home that will never change.

Lawrence & 阿諾

I'm a bit obsessed with the idea of duality. Not only do I find the concept very intriguing, but it has always played a large role in my life. Let me explain.

I've always seen myself with two personalities: one that speaks Cantonese, and one that speaks English. Whilst I base these two characters on the language they speak, there are inherent differences that stem from more than just how they communicate.

You see, ethnically, I'm from Hong Kong. But I was born in England. But I grew up in Hong Kong. But then studied at boarding school and university in England. But then Hong Kong had always been my home during my studies. But then now I've got my own place and work in England. But then my parents and brother still live in Hong Kong. What all this back and forth has meant is that I feel not only like an expat, but like a double expat - neither here nor there. I feel foreign in both countries: in England, my ethnicity quite obviously did not originate here, but in Hong Kong, I possess an inherently 'international' quality, derived from the Hong Kong international and overseas schools I studied at.

I'm bilingual; I was brought up learning English and Cantonese simultaneously. Whilst I write more fluently in English, I speak more naturally in Cantonese. And yet somehow, I still feel like I lack in my colloquialisms in both languages - a sign that I've never really been in full command of either. When I meet new people, it's easier for me to speak English. But with my closest friends and family, I fall into Cantonese. But in my most intimate and emotional moments (and when I'm drunk), I express myself in English. Strangely, I can comfortably say "I love you" (to the right person), but find it difficult to utter "我愛妳" (the equivalent). So which language do I feel most natural with? Neither. Oh, and did I mention? I have odd accents in both: I have a non-native Cantonese accent, and my English accent is a weird combination of a British accent (from boarding school) and an American accent (from all the US TV I watched growing up). Double whammy.

Now that I've created this image,
I hate it. Both halves.

So what is the result of all this? I feel like I have two personalities. It's a bit difficult to pinpoint exactly where one side of me ends and the other begins, but regardless, I do feel the disparity. I would say that the English side of me is more approachable, more comical and more of a crowd pleaser. On the other hand, my Cantonese side is a lot more relaxed, more uninhibited, and more of a coversationalist. I wouldn't say that either side of me is 'fake' or a façade I hide beneath; I am very much being myself in both capacities. I quite easily and frequently slip in and out of both. You'll often catch me switching between the two languages in the same conversation - or worst yet, the same sentence (another sign I've never fully grasped full expression in just one).

However, this leaves me in a rather frustrating predicament: I'm not either, but I'm also not both. As confusing as that is, I mean that I'm not solely the English or Cantonese version of me, yet I don't feel like I'm fully both. Essentially, "兩頭唔到岸" or "two ends not reaching shore", which is a Cantonese phrase that means to try two things but not succeed on either fronts, like a boat arriving perpendicularly to the shore and neither ends of the boat actually landing ashore. Whenever I am speaking one language, I feel like there is a part of me that is being set aside. Wherever I may be, I feel alien and out of place; I've never really been able to fit in.

Luckily, I've come to meet other bilingual people. Overseas students from Hong Kong have made for great companions that understand both my tongues and cultural surroundings - not to mention my family, of course. The important part, however, is not that they understand the language I speak, but rather the personality they portray. These are the people that have come to accept both my halves.

I had feared that my twofold composition would mean that only this small, distinct sliver of people would be able to truly understand me. Instead, I should actually be hoping that this duality is what allows me to connect to more people. I am very fortunate to have the opportunity to live in different countries and to meet such a variety of people. I should be focusing more on how I can represent each of my halves in the other language, and becoming more 'whole' whatever I may be speaking. Rather than constantly feeling half-baked, this dichotomy is what makes me, 'me'. Anyone that has come to know me has learnt this too, and for that, I'm very grateful.

Now to translate this entire blog post into Chinese...

Only At A Pentatonix Concert

A few months back, I went to a concert by Pentatonix in London. For those that don't know them, they are a 5-person a cappella group, which means they make music with just their vocals - no instruments whatsoever. They earned their uprising stardom through the millions of views on their YouTube videos and winning the TV a cappella competition, The Sing Off. If you haven't heard them, go learn you some right now.

From that premise alone, you can tell it was a bit of a musical nerd fest. I don't really attend concerts very much, mostly because I'm too socially awkward to know what to do at one. Do I dance? Do I stand still? Do I put my hands in the air and wave 'em around like I just don't care? But this concert I just had to check out. And let me tell you: it was mind-blowing. Their performance was absolutely adrenaline-pumping and their live vocal standard was just astoundingly impressive. But you can read about that everywhere; that's not what this blog post is about.

You see, a Pentatonix concert isn't like any other - even by a cappella event standards. Here's why:

Only at a Pentatonix concert will you find:

1. ... People singing accurate, part-specific renditions of the group's songs whilst waiting in queue. And I mean accurate - to the key and tempo.
2. ... The most synchronised audience participation. Those finger clicks and claps were precisely on the beat - all 300 of them.
3. ... That when a performer shouts "Any choir nerds in the house tonight!?", he gets a harmoniously loud response.
4. ... That the performers can sing dubstep.
5. ... That the phrase "drop the bass" is unexpectedly even more epic than usual.
6. ... The special performance involves a cello - and people go crazy for it.
7. ... The audience member serenade involves Marvin Gayes' Let's Get It On and a fake trumpet.
8. ... The performing group splitting the entire audience into three, and getting them to sing the individual parts to the song. And the audience gets it pitch perfect.
9. ... A performer asking someone to "give me an A", and an audience member produces a harmonica to give them that A.
10. ... An audience that is so passionate and in admiration of the group's musicality. 

I guess it goes to show that Pentatonix fans are really a breed of their own. An awesome breed, of course. I had a blast - Pentatonix were mindblowing, and the crowd was exhilarating. It turned out to be a lot more fun than I expected, and a notch I'm proud to have under my concert-attending belt.

Also, it gave me the chance to find out the answer: it was c) Put your hands in the air and wave them around like you just don't care.

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.