124 - Numb, sorry and done.

Recently, I've been getting a lot of criticism from several friends and family members, concerning some of my actions, and some of the words I've used. In some cases, I behaved as an idiot and I deserved to be condemned, so I have taken action to try and demonstrate my sincerest apologies, for I am an imperfect person who sometimes, indeed, makes foolish mistakes.

In some other cases, I fail to recognize the crime I am being charged with, however, I have also expressed how sorry I am to those involved, for I never meant to hurt anyone's feelings. Sometimes, people see flaws in you that you're just completely unaware of.

Some of these debacles are still ongoing, and the effects of some are still being felt. However, after taking six or seven blows in the past two weeks or so, I am now numbed by the number of indictments that have been earnestly bestowed upon my conscience. All I can do is apologize, express the guilt that I feel, and assert that I will try my best not to commit the same crimes again. I cannot afford to buy anyone a new boat, or car, or even delivered flowers. Saying sorry is all I've got.

I have only ever expressed my anger at someone once in the past four months, and I assure you that this is honest truth. It was resolved the next day, they said sorry to me. And I moved on. That's all that's needed with me. I don't get angry easily, and if I do, I can forgive quite quickly. Believe it or not, even as the author of Do you hate it too?, I don't like being judgmental, I don't like making people feel bad about themselves. I tolerate the idiosyncrasies, then have a little rant on my blogs, and then get over it. This accomplishes patience.

We are all people here, imperfect, flawed, and capable of error... all I can ask for is forgiveness. If time or distance is needed, then a simple request for it would do. I don't like to dwell on things. I don't want to experience any hard feelings. I may still do so every now and then... but even so, I still wouldn't like feeling that way, obviously.

I'm done with apologizing. I've done all I can to attempt to rectify what's gone wrong. I'm tired. I'm numb. I need to spend some time now with a few people that acknowledge and appreciate my patience. I'm too tired of sitting here, bottling up everything wrong with the people around me, and letting them pour all of their hurt on me. Take your scrutinous microscope, and examine yourselves. Sometimes, it's just too darn easy to blame it on me. It really is. And that's your weakness, not mine.

123 - The idea process and guest posts

I have a little notebook, with a space for each day, in which I enter my blogging ideas, and what I write down in this journal ends up being what I talk about on my blogs throughout the week. I spend about an hour or two every weekend, and think about what might be good to discuss on Do you hate it too? and "If you're going through Hell, keep going." I do this to prevent cases of writer's block that may come up if I instead wrote my entries on the spot, in the moment, each day. After a year of not planning ahead for my posts, I really understand how hard it can be sometimes to think of something to say, and what a detrimental effect it can have on the quality of my blog.

Also, there may be some instances when I'm simply too busy or too tired during the week to sit and think of my ideas slowly and carefully. So, in the weekend, I spend time jotting down titles, and then some bullet points underneath each one, as a general guideline I can follow when the date arrives. It makes my writing easier, makes me more efficient and organized, and guarantees better content, because I actually spent time thinking my topics through, doing research if necessary. Plus, on the actual day I come to put these ideas on Blogger, it's kind of like my second chance to self-critique my ideas, and I feel like I've got a little bit of an editing process going on.

If there's one day you go on Do you hate it too? and don't see new content, that means I'm not doing the job I intended, because I ultimately aim to do one entry every day. When I miss one day, it can only mean I was too lazy to blog that day, even if it meant I had an idea written down already. In fact, I already have ideas written down to last me 'til the end of February. I have no excuse to miss any day, so if I do, I'm slacking off, and I apologize for that. Trust me, I hate the lazy pig I am just as much as you do.

As for this blog, my personal blog, I give myself Tuesday and Wednesday off, a bit of a holiday on the busier weekdays. So if I'm missing some days out, it again means I was being slothful, and if I'm blogging on the Tuesday and Wednesday, it means I had some thoughts/feelings I really wanted to publish.

I can't say it's easy to come up with substantial subject matter. In fact, brainstorming interesting stuff is more often difficult and time-consuming than it is fast and smooth. If I didn't go through the process I outlined above, I'd be lucky to even produce just more than five posts in a whole thirty days.

Someone told me that I could ask people to do guest posts on both my blogs, more so on Do you hate it too? as it's the more popular one. As difficult as the idea process can be sometimes, I still don't think I'm going to open that door of opportunity any time soon. These blogs were started by me, all by myself, and it would be like I was giving up a part of me, my own integrity, and in my mind, ownership, as the sole author of all the posts that have been written so far. I'm proud of what I do by myself, and as much as I would like to share the space on Do you hate it too?, I don't think I'm ready to welcome anyone else's work - that of my friends, my family members, my fans, the people I go to school with, and all the bloggers I've come to meet through Blogger.

Some day, maybe, I'll be open to offers, but I'd like to see how much more I can do by myself. I'd like to really be confident in my own style, and have the appropriate mindset for sharing, before seeing if anyone would be interested.

122 - Thank the gods for true friends

I can be one of the most tolerant, patient, generous, considerate, romantic, and carefree people you can ever meet in your life. The problem I have with most people, though - the only reason I am not being torn in different directions by multiple groups and cliques constantly craving my presence - is the fact that I don't know what I myself truly want. And in my confusion, I make big moves that affect myself and other people in an attempt to bond and belong, fueled and rationalized by my emotional partiality, that ultimately end up in other people and myself getting hurt.

My displays of affection are sometimes viewed as inappropriate, because I think overstepping boundaries shows the courage to be romantic. I am devious and gossipy because I think sharing secrets and meddling in other people's lives means caring about other people's secrets and other people's lives - even though it blatently is snaky and dishonest. The term 'arrogance' crops up occasionally with me, because in some sick, self-centered place in my mind, I think putting up an appearance of confidence attracts people who lack self-esteem and maybe want to get inspired. At times, I'm told that I am insensitive to other people's lives and feelings, and this can largely be attributed to my focus being geared towards romance, or confidence, or whatever I think is completely justified to do.

I've always known that if I kept to my own business throughout my entire life, people would always love me and appreciate me for who I am if I happen to be there sitting beside them in any number of circumstances, but the problem is I just cannot control my innate, human inclination towards social interaction. I have to talk to people. I have to find people to trust. I have to find people to share my life with. And this tendency makes me do crazy, mean things.

And then there are those few that see that I don't mean to mess up anything, that I am actually very accepting of differences, and embracing of common traits, that I am good company, with interesting opinions and a very generous heart. I am grateful to the gods that these people can see past my bullshit, and can forgive me if I wrong them, and can stick by me, even defend me sometimes, while I continue to screw up my relationship with the rest of the world.

Without them, I'd be gone by now, 'cause I really drive myself crazy.

121 - How do we know that's the right thing to do?

Every few months or so, I get told that I think too much, that I'm over-complicating things and I should learn to just relax and let the little things go. My defense mechanism to counter these claims is substitution by alternative phrasing. Instead, I call it logical reasoning. I call it careful assessment of my situation. I call it elaboration. I call it attention to detail. I call it keeping a critical eye. I call it making an informed decision. I call it wisdom. I call it not judging a book by its cover. I call it an evaluation. I call it reflection. I call it effective writing. I call it a rant. I call it a simple train of thought. I call it the pursuit of clarity. And last but not least, I also call it my blog.

I call my obsessive-compulsive infatuation with specification by a great number of titles, all with the aim of shrouding my immoderate committal, my limitless passion, my exorbitant ambition towards the practice of rationality, due to which I strive to act in the most sensible, practical way possible, that reaps the most benefit with the least hindrance, but truth be told, I'm a walking, and way too often, talking, load of bullshit.

Because somehow, despite my incredibly analytical mentality, bad things still happen. Call it fated by the wrong pantheon of gods, call it rotten luck, call it the very consequence of my excessive contemplation - bad things happen to me, around me, because of me, anyway, in spite of the fact that I try so hard to avoid setbacks and tribulations and the other half of reality that doesn't go the way I want it to. And the only thing that seems right to do at this point, is to push myself harder, and harder, and harder, and harder, until the finish line brings a peace and harmony to my life that took years, and decades, what feels like my entire life to reach.

But that's not the way it works at all. The way it really works is one never truly feels completely matured. One never feels old enough. One never feels like they're one step ahead in life. One can never learn the ideal combination of life lessons that will allow for pure faultlessness of existence. We are forever young and inexperienced. We are forever surprised, and unprepared to face the obstacles on our journey. Just when you think you have it altogether, one tiny little thing screws up, and then another thing gets spoiled as a result. And then it's like the house of cards just came tumbling down, just as you were putting down the last 7 and King for its roof.

I feel like it's time to start all over again. But then again, it's always time to start all over again. There's always something going wrong, just as there's always something going right. There's always something to mend, and once you've fixed it, something else has shattered, something else fell off the table, or that first thing was vandalized after you had just cleaned it up. There's never any time to simply stop. There's never time to feel perfect. It's always something - something that makes you look and feel like an overly complacent idiot.

I wish I could mean it when I say that the trick is not to get too caught up with it all. But I don't think I, or anyone else, can perform that phenomenal trick. That is actual magic.

So I don't know what to do. And I forgot what my initial point was. I hope this was enthralling literature for you nonetheless. For the seventh time tonight, I'm going to go to bed, and try and fall asleep.

120 - Why I solve my own problems

Throughout the course of my life, I have gradually gravitated towards an independent, individualistic way of life. I stand on my own two feet and face the world alone, most of the time, on my own accord. I don't ask for help, I refuse to admit I need help, even in the most drastic of conditions. If a problem is presented in front of me, you can be sure that I will try any and every possible way in my physical and mental capacity to solve that dilemma. If the issue persists, but I have the time to, I will venture to learn the skills, whether they be technical or cognitive, to do so on my own.

I hate to admit defeat. I am a competitive person. I want to reach the top.

And I don't ever want to ask for people to support me on my way. It would take away from my personal glory, my own accomplishments in life.

However, people like my mother and a few good buddies of mine have helped me throughout my entire life. They've stuck by me through thick and thin, in both times when I was very sure of who I was, and times when I was lost and confused. At this stage in my life, they only know all too well to simply wait for me to ask them for help if I need it. I manage to find trust in them somewhere inside me because they've proven for years that they can help me. I ask them because I'm not afraid of being disappointed by them. They live up to their roles as my closest family and friends.

At university, let's just say that there are a group of people that I have been trying to work with for the past four months to bring together something really fun, really educational, and really good. I put my heart and soul into this little project, and on my return to university from my winter holidays, I was extremely, extremely disappointed to find out that the other people in this group just didn't want to do it anymore. They gave up. And they don't give a rat's ass about what I feel.

And that is exactly why it is so hard for me to trust and depend on people I've just met. I cannot tell you how many times I've been disappointed by the people around me. Too often in my life, different people have done things to demonstrate how they are just so flawed and unworthy of my trust. I wish people kept the same personalities throughout your entire time of knowing them. But the real world makes it work differently. Friends become enemies, and enemies become friends. A social life filled with good friendships is a slippery slope on the summit of a mountain, and although reaching the highest point on that mountaintop gives you a great sense of pride, the natural inclination is to go downwards, because hiking up to the peak requires too much hard work.

One of these days, I'm going to stop giving new people I meet a chance. One of these days, I won't trust anyone new ever to help me with certain matters,  because I feel like nobody can get things done right besides me. I'll ponder this a bit more - and I'm sure I'll come to some conclusion as to why I should give people chances.

But for now, for just these next few minutes, I want to be mad - mad at the people who let me down, mad at the inconsiderate, self-indulgent, power-hungry people that don't even care. It's not fair. It's not right.

119 - Fighting against spontaneity

The greatest obstacle I have had to overcome since employing my brand new, to-the-half-hour, timetable is the phenomenon of spontaneity, in all things that just happen to happen to me throughout the course of my day without my preconception or any preparation. These things come in the form of friends asking me to go out to get drunk with them, waking up to a hangover, not waking up at all, and impetuously saturating feelings of boredom, hunger and tiredness, and unexpected urges to go meet up with someone and have a chat, and simply 'hang out' with them for hours.

These things can't be planned, and my time management skills have suffered a hit due to it.

There is also the problem of prioritizing in my head. Even though I allotted a time to finish this heap of work later today, I cannot do anything this morning or early afternoon, without worrying about what a heap it really is. I feel like I should probably ditch everything else and get straight to the work, finish it, and then I can go back to my schedule. After all, it's for university, it should take priority.

But after thinking about it, I think it would be better to fight that worry, and learn to let it go until it is the time I set aside for work. Because after all, blogging here, having an hour for lunch, having time to read, and go on Facebook, all of this that I've also set aside time for, is meant to help me achieve some sort of balance between my leisurely and working hours.

And what's stopping me from saying to myself, "Oh, my God, I really want to finish the rest of this book", or "The new episode is finally out, I've got to watch it now!" Those hasty impulses are no different from the work I have to do for university. In the same way, I would be prioritizing the way I want to prioritize it in that moment in time. And by taking that approach, I would then find myself in a situation where I managed to finish reading a book, but completely missed the deadline for my work. Or maybe a situation where I did do all of my work to the best of my ability, but then stayed up later that night to watch that new episode - only to find myself tired and sleepy when I have to get up the next morning.

And so the key to all of this is to just stick with the schedule. Always stick to the schedule that you, in your right mind, had planned for earlier in the weekend, knowing yourself, knowing the kind of person you are and the things you like to do, knowing how lazy you are on Monday evenings, knowing how hard-working you could be on Saturdays after lunch, knowing how much you like to sleep in on Sundays, knowing how long it sometimes takes for you to have dinner, or to log off Facebook once you go on it.

So here is my post for today. It said that I have to today. And now that I'm finished, I have half an hour free. Maybe I could go see what my friend is doing. Or I could get started on my lunch. Have a shower? Do some reading? Get some work done?

Before I even realize it, the schedule will get me to be so efficient that I will then free up a lot of time to actually do whatever, like going out to get drunk, or having a quick nap before a lecture. The golden rule of thumb, I think, is to always follow the schedule.

118 - Time to get organized

So, it's my first day back at university and it's time to put my New Year resolution into place. Time to get organized, and manage my own time, money and the millions things I want/need to do. I've made a schedule for myself to follow, labeled with time slots for things like "Sleep", "Dinner", "Do you hate it too?", "TV", and "Facebook and other online crap."

Now that I'm nearing the halfway point of my day, I can only say that the scale of whether this plan of mine is effective or not, is teeter-tottering on half-working, half-not working, but I think that's to be expected. New Year resolutions don't always come into effect so speedily and personal changes and forces out of habit require time.

Like last year, I said to myself that I would stop being so emotional and learn to handle my impulses a bit better - not to fall in love too hard, not to get angered so easily, not to think about loss and heartbreak and yearning so that I end up in a chronic state of misery, and not to worry about everything so much so that I can enjoy the life I'm living.

Although I made this resolution on January 1st, right after the countdown, it took me until mid-November to really feel settled, calm, and to really feel like a sane, rational person who doesn't let his emotions consume him.

So, although I didn't finish off this blog post two hours ago like I said I would, and although I'm not going to be having lunch now 'cause I just don't feel hungry, at least I got up at 6am, at least I had breakfast at 8, at least I did resist the temptation to go on Facebook before the time I allotted to go there, and so I must thus conclude that it isn't all that bad.

By mid-November, I'll have everything in my life arranged so neatly and to the minute. I'm sure of it. I believe in making your life the way you want it to be. The critical key is to never, ever feel pathetic, and to have confidence in the fact that you can do something for yourself.

I'm going to stop typing like a motivational speaker now.

I didn't allot any time in my schedule for being cheesy and annoying.

117 - That feeling, like your head's about to explode

Sometimes, (and by 'sometimes', I mean the many times in which I'm sitting about just contemplating life or writing an essay, as well as the off-chance that I'm actually in the middle of working out or some other intense activity,) I suddenly stop doing whatever I'm doing, and feel like time is standing still, and everything around and within me has stopped moving, and the only thing that continues to run is the train of thoughts in my mind.

And then I feel like my soul is emerging out of my body, and I'm watching myself, criticizing everything I have going on in that moment in time, from what I chose to wear that day, to how high my expectations are for tomorrow, from how yesterday's actions have changed me for better or for worse, to how what I'm doing at that moment in time is relevant and beneficial in the bigger picture called my life.

This out-of-body experience only comes about when I have too much to remember at one time. It's kind of like an automatic system reboot that follows a system overload to prevent it from overheating. I just felt like that a while ago. And I feel the weight of the world on my shoulders right now.

Too often, I burden myself with too much to handle - and I spread myself too thin and end up with a couple pieces of very bland toast. A very good example of this is how I say I will blog everyday, but actually don't because I want to catch up with some television shows. However, I'm still not up-to-date on those because I have some work for university to get done. And I haven't gotten that done yet because I have some personal networking to do on Facebook - catching up with long-time-no-sees and photos to "like" and leave a "comment" under. I haven't got round to that because there are TV reviews to read. I haven't gotten round to that because there are webcomics to catch up with.

But my music playlists need serious updating. And a friend told me to check out this new anime series. Wait, my cousin asked me to read this book. And this other friend told me to watch a series of videos on Youtube. Now, I'm hungry. Now, I feel dirty, let me go take a shower. Now, I'm sleepy, I'm going to go to bed.

Oh, shit, 7am already?

Darn it. 

...I didn't get to finish yesterday's blog post.

I seriously need to get more organized.

Or maybe I should throw away some parts of my life.

I don't want to, though. I wish I was more high-powered. I wish I did things more efficiently. There never seems to be enough time in the day...

116 - Destiny?

Do you believe in destiny?

If you've seen that episode of Friends where Phoebe thinks a British cheese factory owner and Monica are soul mates, you'll know the two sides of the argument clearly. When you see a well-established couple together, you may wonder if whether their seemingly natural compatibility sprouts from having a strong, deep-seated chemistry, or whether it is a testament to how much they tolerate each other's flaws and learn to appreciate each other's differences.

It's hard for me to say whether I believe in fate bringing people together or fate bringing good things to my doorstep. Think of it like agnosticism, replacing God with the concept of destiny. (I am agnostic in the common sense of the word as well, though.) I just don't know.

On the one hand, I believe in working hard at relationships, tolerating people and obstacles in my life, from my best friend's suppression of his inner feelings when I ask how he is, through my mother's repetitive reminders to maintain my own good health and safety, to the long, hard hours of work I put in to my summer job to afford myself an iPhone.

On the other hand, there are friends that I have that are so chemically compatible with me that it's incredibly difficult for me to say that that came about by random chance. There is no need to work hard at anything, because it naturally works so well. How is it possible that these people who have been brought up differently, in a different place, by different parents, can get along with me so unbelievably well right from the getgo?

I fluctuate. Sometimes I believe there are ghosts watching our every move. Sometimes, I think we just die. Sometimes, I have faith in an almighty God, and I really, really do a few good deeds, in fear of going to Hell. And at other times, I think microbiological and astrological evidence prove that there certainly is no Lord. And sometimes, when I'm thinking about the close friends I've had, or the good life I have, I believe that that has to be fate - in no way did I earn that, it came to me like a blessing from God. And at other times, I think destiny is a load of poppycock. I worked hard to get to where I am, I made an effort to keep all my relationships healthy and intact.

Destiny. What an interesting idea.

115 - What is the point of a relationship?

Hmmmmmmmmmmm.

Why do people bother with the expensive phone bills, sharing the popcorn, and the highly stressful situations like introducing your partner to your family?

A few people I've asked this question to told me that the whole dating scene is a quest for stability. They want the undivided attention and commitment, and they want to feel the longevity of a mutual loyalty towards one another. But I still find myself asking why? Why not be loyal to a friend, instead? What is it about a wife/husband/girlfriend/boyfriend that is different from, say, your best and oldest friends? Are they not as loyal?

To which the people I asked replied by stating that with your friends, they come and go. Whereas with a partner, you will never feel alone and you always know that they're there for you. You're not meant to be that codependent with friends, who have their own lives to lead. I mean, we imagine ourselves spending the later parts of our life with a wife and kids - not a group of five same-sex chums, right? So, I ask them, what about your relatives? Aren't your parents and siblings just as 'constant' as a partner is? Your family are also always there for you. So what makes a wife/husband/girlfriend/boyfriend any different from, say, your sister, your uncle, or your mother?

Someone answered me by saying that they want to feel be proud of 'working on a relationship'. Establishing a relationship with someone means that you both make suggestions, criticisms, sacrifices, and changes in personality and lifestyle, so as to create something impressive to others, and impressive to ourselves - confirmation of the fact that you can do something in this world, live in a house together and have children, contribute to the national consumerism in your purchases, to the real estate and education industries - while continually helping someone in particular better their life and, in turn, have your own life changed for the better by them. A very good argument, I must say, but I must ask, is that not what we do at school and at work? When we work on individual projects, we make suggestions and criticisms to steer a project in the right direction, we work just as hard, to improve business, and to give back to society. A lot of people can say they love their job. A lot of people can say they feel important in the line of work they do. Just like in a relationship. So what makes a wife/husband/girlfriend/boyfriend different from your co-worker or your company then?

One of my friends responded by saying that they want erraticity. They want to feel that thrill of a roller-coaster-like experience when dating another person. They want to fall for someone, and they want to 'feel', mutually, 'in love', to feel that rush, that sense of having no boundaries. Sometimes it's not about commitment and stability, it's about surprises, a pair of earrings on the pillow, an unexpected candlelight dinner at home, a new car parked outside with a bow tied on top of it.

I'll admit it - my best friend and my mother would never surprise me with a car, but a future wife might. I cannot think of a logical explanation for why this 'rush' is not really why we go into relationships, other than pointing out the reality that predictability often trumps unpredictability in this world. Those tacky surprises are only seen in romantic comedies and sitcoms and unrealistic. A majority of couples that exist around us are definitely not that exciting - teenage couples just go to the movies and fuck, middle-aged couples just have dinner dates and then they might fuck afterward, and the elderly, well, they just... read the newspaper.

Sure, she may be cute, but why not just get a dog?

He certainly is very, very smart, but why aren't you making a move on your professor?

She 'gets' you, you say? Get a shrink, who can psychoanalyze and understand you better than any girl will.

Yeah, yeah, he's really funny indeed - but, are you saying I'm not funny?

These reasons are superficial, all of the ones I've listed so far. Love is something felt, and not thought about. It's hard to explain why people bother with relationships.

One of my friends suggested that it was animal instinct, an uncontrollable compulsion that ultimately is meant to provide you with a mate with whom you can reproduce and propagate your genes with. Can you imagine using that as your answer when people ask you what makes your partner so great?

"Why do you love me so, honey?"
"Because I want my genetic material to be passed down to the next generation."

114 - Sans, Saints and Ports

 There's a game that I've played around seventy times - and the challenge of the game lies in naming all the countries you possibly can. For me, it no longer is about the number of countries I manage to get, but a race against the clock to try and beat my own record of guessing all 195 nations correctly in 4 minutes and 8 seconds. (If you'd like to try, here's a link.)

This winter holiday, I decided to take advantage of the extra time I have and learn all 195 capitals. (Again, if you'd like to try, a link) I only have around 15 African capitals left to memorize, and then I will have them all down. I am surprised at the number of countries that have a capital city beginning with 'B'. (Just to illustrate: Baghdad, Baku, Bamako, Bandar Seri Begawan, Bangkok, Bangui, Banjul, Basseterre, Beijing, Beirut, Belfast, Belgrade, Belmopan, Berlin, Bishkek, Bissau, Bogotá, Brasília, Bratislava, Brazzaville, Bridgetown, Brussels, Bucharest, Budapest, Buenos Aires, Bujumbura.) It annoys me greatly, as you can imagine.

My next venture will be to study a great number of the islands, rivers, lakes, seas, bays, streams, gorges, dams, volcanoes, mountain ranges, deserts, forests and rainforests in the world, then to memorize the three largest metropolitan cities of each and every country, then to familiarize myself with all the UNESCO sites around the world, and finally, to know the detailed geography of a handful of countries like the back of my hand, possibly just the G8, perhaps the G8+5, perchance the G20, maybe the G77 - Hell, maybe all of them.

Why do I want to do this?

I don't know. This is just one of those things that people do for no reason because it makes them feel good. Who knows whether one day this might come in handy on an everyday basis, or whether I will never implement this knowledge before the day I die.

Who cares?

It's fun to me.

113 - It's that time again.

I'm not that entirely sure of what I should type in this vast, white space that Blogger provides me with to rant, rave and ramble about my personal thoughts and happenings, my mind is quite blank itself, just like the canvas that I now imprint my words on to, empty like the plate I fed myself from an hour or so ago that's now in the dishwasher, cleared and cleaned, leaving the bare china for use once again. But I feel obliged to say something because it is New Year's Eve, and because 2010 arrives at my chronological doorstep in less than three hours.

So, I guess the standard action to take would be to talk about what I've done and learned in 2009. Honestly, I've done and learned a lot, but I don't wish to bore you with the details right now. So perhaps I will just give you a list, because I like lists:

 - I turned 18.
 - All of my friends turned 18.
 - I went through my high school exams.
 - I got paid for the first time, working a bartending job.
 - I said goodbye to everybody I knew.
 - I moved to England, and met a lot of people at university.
 - For the first time in a long time, I didn't spend my winter holidays in Hong Kong.
 - I found ways to deal with sadness, loneliness and confusing friendships.
 - My bond with my parents and my best friend grew even stronger.
 - I continued to blog and now have plans to publish a book next May.

2009 could've been a really emotional year. A lot more emotional than it actually turned out to be. But I think I fulfilled the resolution I made last year, which was to learn how to control my emotions, and be more positive in my everyday life. Becoming an official adult meant that I had to stop reacting so childishly and impulsively to bad things happening to me, moving to England and meeting new people tested my inner strength and forced me to find happiness and comfort from within, and working as a bartender in the summer meant that I had to practice customer service and be more tolerant of annoying people.

While going through all of this, I've now found a new set of challenges too. I've found that time management is something I'm really lacking. I don't know how to sort out myself to fit my sleeping time, my working time, my studying time, my socializing time and my relaxing time into the same schedule. With my current prospects to publish a Do you hate it too? book, and manage six or seven blogs by the end of next year, while juggling my second year of university, finding a house to live in next September, and starting to get serious about my trip around the world in seven years, I have to work hard at trying to comprehend the exact essence of which time is.

With the management of time comes the management of my money, my learning capabilities, my priorities, and my sense of responsibility. Basically, my New Year resolution, I think, will be to strive for orderliness and organization in my life.

All the while, making sure I continue to keep my emotions in check, of course. We don't want the past coming back to haunt me.

So, I've already prepared a fairly detailed schedule that gives me space to work, read, sleep, eat, blog, watch TV, and do other useless crap (e.g., Facebook, Sporcle, Twitter, sleep some more...). I'm confident that the schedule will be effective and that the idea of it being a new year, being a new chance, will keep me motivated enough to actually fulfill this resolution like I did with the last one I made.

If you've come over here from Do you hate it too?, once again, I say Happy New Year, my readers.

If you didn't, then I give you a virtual hug and wish you all the best in 2010.

Remember guys, if all is looking glum, there's always a way to work things out. E-mail me if you ever need to. Just keep in mind the message passed down to us by Winston Churchill: If you're going through Hell, keep going.

112 - The day my father dies

One thing that has never come up in my everyday ponderings is the prospect of my dad dying. I know it sounds terrible to think about my father's death, but let me just explain how my emotional system works.

I don't like watching people or hearing about people being stricken by tragedy. I don't like knowing people can feel devastated, or torn apart. Most of the time this happens, is when people get too used to taking life for granted. They take the people around them, they take the things they've got for granted, and it's only a matter of time before some unknown force takes it away, because the reality in this universe is nothing lasts forever.

Something as tragic as my father's death is undoubtedly going to affect me. I shouldn't even be allowed to blog if I thought his death wouldn't affect me, due to how disturbingly stoic and inhumane that kind of reaction would be. However, the one thing that I can reduce is the shock factor. The one thing I can control is whether I feel something has been taken away from me, or has merely been lost. I don't want to feel that God will have taken away my dad. Especially with the information I have, I shouldn't feel that way.

My dad takes drugs. My dad drinks. My dad smokes. One would normally take these facts, and say they worry about their father's health, and that would be the end of that train of thought. It would be a dark piece of information lodged in the back of their mind, and they wouldn't think of it any further because they would be afraid to think of that dreadful day. Everyone wants their parents to grow old, to watch our growth, and to live a long and prosperous life.

But being afraid to think of death is what causes that sense of surprise. Having faith in life lasting forever is what makes us overwhelmed by grief. Which brings me back to why I imagine how his death is going to go beforehand. 

I picture myself in my bedroom, at my computer, in the five-person house I will rent with the English friends I've met at university. Or perhaps I will be walking out of a lecture, and as I do so, checking my phone for any missed calls. Any way it happens, it'll probably be my mother who tells me how, where and when my father happened to die in Hong Kong. I would be surprised by the news then, but I will not feel dismayed, shaken up, or awe-stricken.

I would tell my mother when I would fly back to Hong Kong as soon as possible. I would notify my housemates of what happened, and what will happen in the next few months, and will probably shed a bucketful of tears as I do so. I would fly back on the plane, quiet the whole time. On my arrival back in Hong Kong, many days will be spent organizing and discussing with my family what will be done with my father's body, and how we will commiserate him. Nobody will really care to ask me if I want to talk about what just happened. They will just assume I do, when really I don't. It'll be annoying, but I can't and won't blame them.

A couple weeks later, his funeral will happen, and I will be there in the front row, directly in front of a portrait picture of him, with his ashes or coffin situated behind it. The suit I will wear will be the most expensive outfit I will have ever purchased. Outside, it will not be sunny that day. It won't be cloudy either. It will just be normal weather conditions, semi-sunny, semi-overcast. I won't wear a tie. My face will be blank. Maybe I'll wear sunglasses, like how my father wore sunglasses at his dad's funeral. The church would be silent, just the way I like it, besides the words of the reverend that will perform the ceremony.

Standing behind and beside me will my three half-sisters of which my father also beared, my paternal grandmother, my aunts, my uncles, and my cousins on my father's side, as well as my father's co-workers, my father's friends, and three of my best friends and my mother who I invited for my own moral support.

I might speak about my father to the people who attend that day. After all, I am his son and I am a writer. I don't know what I will say, but I don't need to start writing that any time soon.

But that's already past the important part.

The important part will have been when I stand in front of his picture and say goodbye in my heart.

And as the days go by from now until that day, whatever may change externally will be countered by some change in this image that I have constructed, promptly and appropriately. Like if it turns out that I get an apartment by myself next school year, then I suppose I don't have to tell those housemates I originally planned to live with. That's how the grief reduction program works.

This system works every time. The system prevented anxiety attacks when it came to my final high school examinations, because I prepared myself mentally for glorious success and dismal failure. The system helped me face my summer job, knowing how to balancing inner confidence and the idea that I might get fired at any point I was working. The system saved me months of depression in the last few weeks I was in Hong Kong, on the plane ride to England, and for the past four months in university when I had perfectly good reason to feel weak and lonely.

Before I came to England, I imagined myself crying every night, missing home. And I now imagine crying every night after my father dies. In doing so, I live the experience once already in my head. There will be no heartbreak anymore because I've already had it broken. It's not to say I don't care about my father anymore. I'm not saying he's dead to me. I still care about him, my mother, and all of my family and friends. But I feel that I need to be strong, and I need to take care of myself. As people sometimes say, you can't look after others until you learn to look after yourself.

That's what I'm doing. That's what I just did, today. I went through the day my father dies. I will be fine on that day. They will say, "Wow, Michael. You're handling this incredibly well. I can't even begin to figure out how you do it."

And what you have just read is my explanation in full.

111 - My maternal grandparents

Eighteen years and seven months ago, I was born in Hong Kong. My aunt accompanied my mother back to my grandparent's apartment, the 4th flat on the 7th floor. Our family has had 704 for over forty years. That place is not just home to them, but is home to all eight of their daughters too. After my parents got divorced, it became my home.

Somewhere along the way, I had the opportunity, or experience, of living with my father, which turned out to be rather awesome. While he was at work, I spent time with his personable wife and his three fun-loving, laid-back daughters. Dad's house (or Dad's houses as he always moved a lot) was home to me too.

Somewhere along the way, I attained, as lame as it sounds, what you could only describe as a 'best friend'. His parents know me, and trust me, his younger brother knows he can call me in times of trouble. I call their humble Filipino family my home as well.

Somewhere along the line, my mother moved out of my grandparents' apartment, in an act of great motherly sacrifice, to give me my own room - her room - as I was finally becoming a very demanding teenage boy. I've stayed at the place she now owns, and I also call it one of my homes.

Although I had all of these places for my choosing, the one place I always went back to at the end of the night, the home I yearned for when I had other obligations throughout the night, was always my grandparents' apartment. The sense of familiarity and familial attachment, I feel, was mutual. My grandparents wanted me at their place every night as well.

In the weeks leading up to my departure from Hong Kong, I could feel a general sense of internal struggle and hardship every time I was around them. I was working a bartending job too, that often meant I had to leave before lunch time and not return until late in the night. I barely even spoke to them for eighty percent of the summer holiday.

In the final two weeks I was in Hong Kong, I was often waiting for the moment when I would start crying like a baby, missing everything, wanting to stay, suddenly hating the idea of coming to England. I guess I built it up too much in my head that I had tired the emotions out. I remember I cried about leaving my mother's side, and as I sit here typing this, I actually cry. All the emotions that I had when I was alone in my room as I was still going to high school all come back to me the minute I think about it. I cried about my dad. I cried about leaving my 4-year-old cousin. I cried about leaving my job. I cried about leaving my best friend.

But when it finally came to the moment I had to take one last look at my room in 704, I didn't cry at all. I had already shared my final conversations with all of classmates, all of my friends, all of my coworkers, and pretty much all of my family.

And then as I was heading out the door, my grandparents were standing there in the corridor, waiting to send me off. And I could see the bittersweetness that rested in their eyes. I'm crying at the moment, because the love I get from them is so surreal to me, it's so incredible, it's so unbelievable. You would typically think there was a generation gap, and quite frankly there is, and we did not share anything much in terms of conversation or material gifts, but the one thing we did share was that apartment, and our time living together.

In the thirteen weeks I was having my summer break, I had not wept at all. But it was in that moment when my grandmother looked at me with teary eyes, telling me to study hard, make sure to eat healthy, and most important of all, be good, I finally found what what would strike my heart. My grandfather, at the door, told me to put in my best effort at university, and also, to be good.

The simplest lessons you learn in life are the least eloquently expressed, but are said by the wisest people. The words they share are like dying words to me, and it's so sad to think of it like that, but that's the truth. Both are over seventy years old, both have medical issues of their own.

And to hear them say things like that really touches my heart in a uniquely confusing way.

I took the elevator down from the 7th floor.

I put my luggage in the boot of the car and then got in.

I opened the window, and stuck my head out the window to get my last look at them. I waved goodbye until the car went round the bend and a building blocked them from view.

Today, I just received a box with Christmas presents from my 1st aunt, 4th aunt, 8th aunt, and my mother. I was grateful for the gifts, and I loved seeing my mother's handwriting on the cards explaining what everything was and who it was from.

At the bottom of the box, I found a jumper and a card next to it, and it turns out it was from my grandmother. She wrote 'Merry Christmas' in Chinese, and her traditional style of calligraphy was always so distinctive, and it made me picture her writing the card. That's what triggered the idea to talk about this here... I miss my home, so much. I miss my grandparents so much. I can talk to my parents and my friends whenever I want, but I can't talk to them because they don't know how, and it drives me crazy...

Ohh... let me get myself together...

Ahem. Well, my aunts are going to set up a webcam chat thing with them on Christmas Day, so I'll see my beloved grandparents then. It's just been a very hectic final week of university, and I reckon I'm a little stressed out. Good thing I get to sleep tonight without worrying about handing in any assignments.

Crying's good for the soul, it really is. When was the last time you cried?

110 - On a blogger I recently met

At some point in time a number of years ago, I had a friend who had a falling out with me over my arrogance and immaturity. I confess to this, it was all my fault, and I see it now. I was obsessed with popularity. I was a bully. I was unreflective, inconsiderate, racist, sexist, stuck up, and spoiled, not just in terms of money, but also when it came to the friends and family I, at the time, didn't realize I had to treasure.

This ex-friend of mine also writes a blog, and I check in on it every other day to get an update on his life. Whether he reads mine, or whether he knows I read his, I don't know. And I don't think I'll find out any time soon.

Unsurprisingly, we still share the same mutual friends. We were a tight group back in the day. Four guys, four girls, not necessarily a spider web of eight mutual bonds, but altogether, fairly harmonious, chill, fun company.

I find it kind of weird when my closest friends tell me about him, how he said this in a conversation the other day, or how they're going to meet up with him tomorrow. I feel a bit weird reading about his life without talking to him otherwise. I think it's weird just thinking about him.

For a long time, I've been thinking about meeting a blogger in real-life. I have a feeling that day's not far.

But here I am in a different situation. I knew this guy in real-life. And now I know him only through his blog.