Lately I've been having issues expressing how I currently feel.
Maybe it's because I've been having lots of conflicting points of view and it's seemingly impossible to practically describe them in common language, but the amounts of writer's block I've been experiencing points more towards the aforementioned sentence. I know how I feel, but I do not know how to say it.
Whether it's songwriting or journal-ing or even writing the myriad papers I am constantly assigned by my soul-less professors, I appear to have this same problem.
Even as I am reading over this I cannot help but agonize how vague and non descriptive this blog is so far. My apologizes.
One of the reasons why I am so in love with Jimi Hendrix's song "Bold As Love" is because Hendrix seems to effortlessly control every single aspect of his soul in this song. And he doesn't even manage to do so with everyday imagery. He does so with colors.
Example: "Anger he smiles towering shiny metallic purple armour."
"Her fiery green gown sneers at the grassy ground."
"Blue are the life giving waters taking for granted."
Not only does he shred the guitar, but he has such a gift for expression.
Perhaps my favorite line in this song is, "My yellow in this case is no so mellow.
In fact I'm trying to say it's frightened like me."
This is a man who truly understands his soul.
I'm not surprised that John Mayer covered this song on his album "Continuum." It may seem atrocious to even conceive, but Mayer and Hendrix are similar in a lot of ways, including their lyrical ability to express effortlessly. Want a Mayer example? Listen to "Slow Dancing in a Burning Room." Just that title deserves a Grammy.
I wish I had this talent. To Hendrix the air and atmosphere around him is his artistic canvas, and his guitar is his musical palette, just waiting to fill in the empty spaces. What a gifted artist.
Perhaps I will overcome this issue. Hopefully. Writer's block sucks.
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Falling Up
Today I decided to sell my collection of books from over the years at the local bookstore. I hated losing some of these precious novelties that are impossible to find nowadays, but I also hate the sound of my mom nagging at me to get rid of them in order to create more space in my room.
Little does she know that the newly created space will soon be filled with something just as useless again. Probably another instrument or something.
I almost snapped my lower spine in half just carrying the huge box-load of books to the store. A random lady was kind enough to get out of her way to open the door for me to the bookstore, but she couldn't help me walk down the flight of stairs to the buyer's desk in the basement, even if she wanted to.
As I slammed the box of books on the desk, the lady behind the desk glanced over, took a quick scan of the heaping amount of books, and started to examine each book. This was a good time to awkwardly meander throughout the store.
As I was flipping through an anthology of John Donne, the lady called me over to the desk. Apparently there were some dried up four-leaf clovers in my copy of "Falling Up" by Shel Silverstein. No, a leprechaun did not sneak those in there along with a pot of gold while I wasn't looking. Although that would have been legit.
I softly laughed as I remembered how these little dried up wonders ended up in this book. It was years ago when I was too young to stay at my house alone, so I had to accompany my sister to her soccer tournaments with my mom in such atrociously hot, empty, and boring cities around Nor-Cal. In one of these places I found a patch of four-leaf clovers peacefully swaying in the warm wind near a baseball field. An refreshing oasis in such a scorching plain. A reminder that gifts and blessing are always present even in the most unpromising places.
Using my mom's tip of drying flowers in old books, I slid them in between the pages of "Falling Up." I apparently forgot about them and didn't realize that they were still in there until this day, just how I often forget to give thanks to what He has given me, even for the most simple aspects.
She asked if I still wanted them, and I nodded, carefully placing each delicate clover in my palm. I made my way upstairs and outside the store. I looked over each clover one last time, and allowed the wind to scurry them away, being carried by the wind's breath, away to some other place where perhaps another young fellow like myself a few years ago will encounter these same clovers. It was time to realize the blessings and simple memories that even those torturous soccer tournaments could bring, and often I forget about them until it is too late.
Hopefully those clovers will bless someone else's life, someone who will actually realize the beauty around him/her.
And to my luck, when I turned around to walk back in the store, I immediately saw a familiar face that I haven't seen in many months.
;)
Little does she know that the newly created space will soon be filled with something just as useless again. Probably another instrument or something.
I almost snapped my lower spine in half just carrying the huge box-load of books to the store. A random lady was kind enough to get out of her way to open the door for me to the bookstore, but she couldn't help me walk down the flight of stairs to the buyer's desk in the basement, even if she wanted to.
As I slammed the box of books on the desk, the lady behind the desk glanced over, took a quick scan of the heaping amount of books, and started to examine each book. This was a good time to awkwardly meander throughout the store.
As I was flipping through an anthology of John Donne, the lady called me over to the desk. Apparently there were some dried up four-leaf clovers in my copy of "Falling Up" by Shel Silverstein. No, a leprechaun did not sneak those in there along with a pot of gold while I wasn't looking. Although that would have been legit.
I softly laughed as I remembered how these little dried up wonders ended up in this book. It was years ago when I was too young to stay at my house alone, so I had to accompany my sister to her soccer tournaments with my mom in such atrociously hot, empty, and boring cities around Nor-Cal. In one of these places I found a patch of four-leaf clovers peacefully swaying in the warm wind near a baseball field. An refreshing oasis in such a scorching plain. A reminder that gifts and blessing are always present even in the most unpromising places.
Using my mom's tip of drying flowers in old books, I slid them in between the pages of "Falling Up." I apparently forgot about them and didn't realize that they were still in there until this day, just how I often forget to give thanks to what He has given me, even for the most simple aspects.
She asked if I still wanted them, and I nodded, carefully placing each delicate clover in my palm. I made my way upstairs and outside the store. I looked over each clover one last time, and allowed the wind to scurry them away, being carried by the wind's breath, away to some other place where perhaps another young fellow like myself a few years ago will encounter these same clovers. It was time to realize the blessings and simple memories that even those torturous soccer tournaments could bring, and often I forget about them until it is too late.
Hopefully those clovers will bless someone else's life, someone who will actually realize the beauty around him/her.
And to my luck, when I turned around to walk back in the store, I immediately saw a familiar face that I haven't seen in many months.
;)
Thursday, August 12, 2010
"When words fail, music speaks"
Just the other day (last Monday I believe) I ventured down to Guitar Center on Van Ness Ave. in San Francisco with a couple of ol' high school chums. Despite Guitar Center being the Wal-Mart of guitar stores, I still find it guilty-ly (I just created my own adverb. Take that Shakespeare) entertaining to meander to a given Guitar Center and not only window-shop at high-quality and pricey guitars that I cannot even own in my dreams, but to even grab at them with my pudgy paws and play the living life out of them hours at a time, getting my smudgy fingerprints and drool all over them in the meantime. Seriously, even Donald Trump would gaff at the prices of some of the guitars they sell in shops.
Thinking this was going to be another such given day in Guitar Center, I hide over in the bass guitar section in order to avoid the nosy and useless guitar salesmen(women) trying to sell me a way overpriced instrument. It's ironically funny how clueless and oblivious these people are to the instruments they're trying to sell. $3000 for a guitar I haven't even heard of? Just get a MIM Fender, upgrade with DiMarzios, throw on some D'addarios and you're set.
After funking around with the basses, I decide to head into the acoustic guitar room. I've always loved the atmosphere in these rooms. A nice sliding door that cancels most inside noise out, leaving me and some pretty nice guitars to create some beautiful music. Not to mention the slightly romantic dim lighting and wooden floor just add to the majesty. I'm quite a happy camper in these rooms.
I immediately grab the most expensive guitar on the rack (must have been at least $3500) and start jamming as usual. I'm totally enthralled in the moment until some random dude walks into the same room. A little thing about music store manners: if you see a person in the acoustic room already, being in there as well will just create awkwardness.
When he walks in, I immediately stop (out of embarrassment) and slightly groan to myself. While fumbling over a Breedlove guitar, I start strumming some Pearl Jam chords to myself. His ears all of a sudden perk, and he responds to me in a French accent, "Pearl Jam? I love them!"
"Yeah, good ears!" I say to him, slightly sheepishly. He grabs the Breedlove, and jams along, following my progression. He then starts to sing, in such a deep yet beautiful and soothing voice. Imagine Elvis with some grit in his voice. Yeah, he was that good.
We jammed for a good ten minutes, just us, and I discovered that he was a French tourist in town for a couple of weeks. This initially awkward encounter ended up being one of my most magical musical experiences. It really made me think of the reason why I loved music; because music has no judgments, and is able to universally communicate and speak to everybody and anybody, whether you're a Frenchman who's married and in his late 20's or a teenage Asian-American from the Bay Area. It was the first time I didn't mind anybody else in that acoustic room.
"When words fail, music speaks." - Hans Christian Andersen
Thinking this was going to be another such given day in Guitar Center, I hide over in the bass guitar section in order to avoid the nosy and useless guitar salesmen(women) trying to sell me a way overpriced instrument. It's ironically funny how clueless and oblivious these people are to the instruments they're trying to sell. $3000 for a guitar I haven't even heard of? Just get a MIM Fender, upgrade with DiMarzios, throw on some D'addarios and you're set.
After funking around with the basses, I decide to head into the acoustic guitar room. I've always loved the atmosphere in these rooms. A nice sliding door that cancels most inside noise out, leaving me and some pretty nice guitars to create some beautiful music. Not to mention the slightly romantic dim lighting and wooden floor just add to the majesty. I'm quite a happy camper in these rooms.
I immediately grab the most expensive guitar on the rack (must have been at least $3500) and start jamming as usual. I'm totally enthralled in the moment until some random dude walks into the same room. A little thing about music store manners: if you see a person in the acoustic room already, being in there as well will just create awkwardness.
When he walks in, I immediately stop (out of embarrassment) and slightly groan to myself. While fumbling over a Breedlove guitar, I start strumming some Pearl Jam chords to myself. His ears all of a sudden perk, and he responds to me in a French accent, "Pearl Jam? I love them!"
"Yeah, good ears!" I say to him, slightly sheepishly. He grabs the Breedlove, and jams along, following my progression. He then starts to sing, in such a deep yet beautiful and soothing voice. Imagine Elvis with some grit in his voice. Yeah, he was that good.
We jammed for a good ten minutes, just us, and I discovered that he was a French tourist in town for a couple of weeks. This initially awkward encounter ended up being one of my most magical musical experiences. It really made me think of the reason why I loved music; because music has no judgments, and is able to universally communicate and speak to everybody and anybody, whether you're a Frenchman who's married and in his late 20's or a teenage Asian-American from the Bay Area. It was the first time I didn't mind anybody else in that acoustic room.
"When words fail, music speaks." - Hans Christian Andersen
Sunday, July 18, 2010
So We Beat On
I apologize for not updating this blog in a long time. I've been suffering from the worst case of writer's block lately that I've not been motivated to update the blog. The irony is that I know what I'm thinking, saying, and feeling. I just don't possess the literary gift of translating all of these dilated and sporadic emotions and ideas into a vernacular that can be easily understood and utilized. In other words, I don't know HOW to say it. I strongly dislike (good ol' euphemism for hate HA) forcing myself to write something for the sake of updating a blog, but I feel like if I don't write something here soon I won't be able to relax or focus until I do so. My desire to write and express is beginning to overcome other aspects of my life.
As some of you may know, my mom and I was recently in Taiwan and South Korea. My godmother, who I have only met a few times, resides in South Korea, so naturally my Mom and I visited her a couple of times for dinner. One of these dinner dates we encountered some strangers. However, they didn't seem like any old strangers to my mom. I can't understand a word of Korean (embarrassing, but I'm only 1/4 Korean, so judge as you like), but I could still tell that these people have known each other for quite some time. How, I did not know then because of my lack of comprehension of the Korean language. It was times like these that I wish my mom taught me Korean as well as Chinese.
When we were eating dinner together, a couple of more people decided to join our party. Like the first man, it seemed as if my mom and these people were good ol' chums. The first man also very friendly with me. He seemed to really care about me, despite just meeting him. Still unaware of who these people were, I couldn't hide my curiosity any longer and whispered to my mom in English who these people were. Of course, my mom didn't take the hint of secrecy and embarrassment (as always) and loudly exclaimed in Chinese for all to hear, "Who? These people? They're my old friends from high school!" They all then turned their heads towards my beet-red face (not from my helpings of beer and soju that dinner) and gave hearty laughs as if they haven't laughed in forty years. My mom always manages to find a way to embarrass me. It's really a gift of hers.
They then switched the language at the table to Chinese, so I was re-leaved that I could at least understand at least most of the conversation. They chatted about their current lives (as my mom hasn't seen these people in over 30 years) and how much things have changed since high school. The dinner was full of genuine laughter, brimming curiosity, and nostalgic stories. I learned a lot about my mom that dinner, as her friends kept on telling me stories about her in high school. Apparently my mom was very popular during high school, and was also "very pretty." I also discovered that my mom was actually the subject of the first serious crush of the first "stranger" that we ran into, which occurred during middle school (I then realized why he treated me so well: my mom was his first crush! You never get over your first crush). I also later realized that meeting with my mom's high school friends was no coincidence; my godmother informed these people of our arrival, and they made no hesitation to being in town during our stay.
This whole conversation got me thinking about my past and future again. Listening to their long-lost tales of their glorious high school moments made me reminisce my high school years, which was only a year ago! It made me realize that high school memories and experiences are more memorable and crucial than I thought. My mom always stressed that many times it's not high school that shapes people, but college. Eavesdropping into her conversation made me question her prior statement. It also made me regret breezing through high school with such apathy. A lot of the memories and adventures that I shared during high school are now only in the form of nostalgic memories, and will remain that way until I forget them. I wish I cherished those moments with more gratitude and not for granted.
The conversation made me ponder upon a topic that continues to be one of my greatest fears: the future. A reason why the future is such a haunting topic is because of its uncertainty. Although I have a good grasp of where and what I want to be in the future, there are still many gaps and holes that are still free and unclogged, sucking in my hopes and security that come within its circumference. A related reason is my inability to specifically comprehend the portrait of my future self. Will I actually be what my goals will lead me towards? Or will I end up somewhere else completely different and forever despise my life? 10 years ago I had no idea that I would be attending UCLA, who I would meet along the journey, and end up typing this blog as I write and you read. Who knows where I'll end up 10 years later? 20 years? Even 30?
Being 19-turning-20 seemed like an impossible realm when I was 7 years old. At the time I thought I would be 7 forever; time was such an imaginary concept that its inevitability seemed to be nonexistent. I refused to believe in aging; I lived for the present, not the future. And here I am, in the intake of a single breath; 19, turning 20 in a few months. I vividly remember watching with my cousins TV shows that included teenage characters and wondering what I would be like when I hypothetically turned that age. To this day I still look in the mirror and try to remember if this is how I expected myself to look when I was 7. I have yet to re-discover the answer. And now I'm beginning to construct templates of what I'll look and act like 10 years later. Will I be wearing a white button-down shirt with an accompanying black tie as I head over to the 12-story office building in San Francisco? Or will I still be sitting here typing blogs?
I also began to imagine who I would still remember and connect with years later. Who will I still be with? Who would still take the time and effort to reconnect and chat with me over coffee when I would be in town? Who would made it a habit of keeping in touch with me instead of letting me slide like an old action figure or pair of jeans? The dinner that night seemed so much beautiful than it appeared to be in the old smoky Korean BBQ shack because my mom was surrounded by people who kept her in their thoughts for these 30 years to the degree that they were still willing to catch up with my mom after not interacting since high school. During their many shared laughs I smiled while recollecting my favorite memories from high school. Finally understanding why the first "stranger" treated me so well, I began to reminisce my past crushes and significant others and how I would act towards them and their possible children years later. If there's something I'm afraid of it's letting memories fade away like eroding cliffs. And it happens without you even realizing; that's the point of forgetting.
Enough about fear and uncertainty though. A strikingly amazing moment was when I actually began to feel excited for the future. I anxiously wanted to see my future self, where I would be, who I would talk to, who I would possibly marry, and most importantly where God would have directed me after all of these years. The fear began to slip away as I became excited for the future. I wanted to share these same laughs with my old high school friends and even college friends, discovering where they ended up and what their lives are like. I wanted to attend my 10 year high school reunion, 20 year, and so on. I wanted to play pickup basketball with my old basketball teammates during high school. I wanted to jam again after 10 long years of disbanding old garage bands, reunited by the power of rock. I wanted to put on my fresh new set of spikes and spring off of the runner blocks like a rocket while dashing towards the finishing tape 100 meters ahead. And I hated track.
The excitement and anticipation for the future completely changed my mindset for the future. At that moment I was no longer afraid of what was to come. I was venturing into my unlit future armed with a flashlight and God's advice and guidance. In that darkness I thought I saw a 6-figure future job. I'm not completely sure if I saw right though. I'll hopefully remember to let you know 10 years later.
Ha. A motif of this blog is memory. Oh Justin, you are so clever.
Another important concept I learned that dinner was that people rarely change. Even after all these years. However, the settings and ideals around us change so significantly and quickly that we often become disillusioned with the idea that we are actually changing but we are not. It's what's around you that's changing, not yourself.
And so I will end with Nick Carraway's famous closer of his narration of the amazing Jay Gatsby, "So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past."
As some of you may know, my mom and I was recently in Taiwan and South Korea. My godmother, who I have only met a few times, resides in South Korea, so naturally my Mom and I visited her a couple of times for dinner. One of these dinner dates we encountered some strangers. However, they didn't seem like any old strangers to my mom. I can't understand a word of Korean (embarrassing, but I'm only 1/4 Korean, so judge as you like), but I could still tell that these people have known each other for quite some time. How, I did not know then because of my lack of comprehension of the Korean language. It was times like these that I wish my mom taught me Korean as well as Chinese.
When we were eating dinner together, a couple of more people decided to join our party. Like the first man, it seemed as if my mom and these people were good ol' chums. The first man also very friendly with me. He seemed to really care about me, despite just meeting him. Still unaware of who these people were, I couldn't hide my curiosity any longer and whispered to my mom in English who these people were. Of course, my mom didn't take the hint of secrecy and embarrassment (as always) and loudly exclaimed in Chinese for all to hear, "Who? These people? They're my old friends from high school!" They all then turned their heads towards my beet-red face (not from my helpings of beer and soju that dinner) and gave hearty laughs as if they haven't laughed in forty years. My mom always manages to find a way to embarrass me. It's really a gift of hers.
They then switched the language at the table to Chinese, so I was re-leaved that I could at least understand at least most of the conversation. They chatted about their current lives (as my mom hasn't seen these people in over 30 years) and how much things have changed since high school. The dinner was full of genuine laughter, brimming curiosity, and nostalgic stories. I learned a lot about my mom that dinner, as her friends kept on telling me stories about her in high school. Apparently my mom was very popular during high school, and was also "very pretty." I also discovered that my mom was actually the subject of the first serious crush of the first "stranger" that we ran into, which occurred during middle school (I then realized why he treated me so well: my mom was his first crush! You never get over your first crush). I also later realized that meeting with my mom's high school friends was no coincidence; my godmother informed these people of our arrival, and they made no hesitation to being in town during our stay.
This whole conversation got me thinking about my past and future again. Listening to their long-lost tales of their glorious high school moments made me reminisce my high school years, which was only a year ago! It made me realize that high school memories and experiences are more memorable and crucial than I thought. My mom always stressed that many times it's not high school that shapes people, but college. Eavesdropping into her conversation made me question her prior statement. It also made me regret breezing through high school with such apathy. A lot of the memories and adventures that I shared during high school are now only in the form of nostalgic memories, and will remain that way until I forget them. I wish I cherished those moments with more gratitude and not for granted.
The conversation made me ponder upon a topic that continues to be one of my greatest fears: the future. A reason why the future is such a haunting topic is because of its uncertainty. Although I have a good grasp of where and what I want to be in the future, there are still many gaps and holes that are still free and unclogged, sucking in my hopes and security that come within its circumference. A related reason is my inability to specifically comprehend the portrait of my future self. Will I actually be what my goals will lead me towards? Or will I end up somewhere else completely different and forever despise my life? 10 years ago I had no idea that I would be attending UCLA, who I would meet along the journey, and end up typing this blog as I write and you read. Who knows where I'll end up 10 years later? 20 years? Even 30?
Being 19-turning-20 seemed like an impossible realm when I was 7 years old. At the time I thought I would be 7 forever; time was such an imaginary concept that its inevitability seemed to be nonexistent. I refused to believe in aging; I lived for the present, not the future. And here I am, in the intake of a single breath; 19, turning 20 in a few months. I vividly remember watching with my cousins TV shows that included teenage characters and wondering what I would be like when I hypothetically turned that age. To this day I still look in the mirror and try to remember if this is how I expected myself to look when I was 7. I have yet to re-discover the answer. And now I'm beginning to construct templates of what I'll look and act like 10 years later. Will I be wearing a white button-down shirt with an accompanying black tie as I head over to the 12-story office building in San Francisco? Or will I still be sitting here typing blogs?
I also began to imagine who I would still remember and connect with years later. Who will I still be with? Who would still take the time and effort to reconnect and chat with me over coffee when I would be in town? Who would made it a habit of keeping in touch with me instead of letting me slide like an old action figure or pair of jeans? The dinner that night seemed so much beautiful than it appeared to be in the old smoky Korean BBQ shack because my mom was surrounded by people who kept her in their thoughts for these 30 years to the degree that they were still willing to catch up with my mom after not interacting since high school. During their many shared laughs I smiled while recollecting my favorite memories from high school. Finally understanding why the first "stranger" treated me so well, I began to reminisce my past crushes and significant others and how I would act towards them and their possible children years later. If there's something I'm afraid of it's letting memories fade away like eroding cliffs. And it happens without you even realizing; that's the point of forgetting.
Enough about fear and uncertainty though. A strikingly amazing moment was when I actually began to feel excited for the future. I anxiously wanted to see my future self, where I would be, who I would talk to, who I would possibly marry, and most importantly where God would have directed me after all of these years. The fear began to slip away as I became excited for the future. I wanted to share these same laughs with my old high school friends and even college friends, discovering where they ended up and what their lives are like. I wanted to attend my 10 year high school reunion, 20 year, and so on. I wanted to play pickup basketball with my old basketball teammates during high school. I wanted to jam again after 10 long years of disbanding old garage bands, reunited by the power of rock. I wanted to put on my fresh new set of spikes and spring off of the runner blocks like a rocket while dashing towards the finishing tape 100 meters ahead. And I hated track.
The excitement and anticipation for the future completely changed my mindset for the future. At that moment I was no longer afraid of what was to come. I was venturing into my unlit future armed with a flashlight and God's advice and guidance. In that darkness I thought I saw a 6-figure future job. I'm not completely sure if I saw right though. I'll hopefully remember to let you know 10 years later.
Ha. A motif of this blog is memory. Oh Justin, you are so clever.
Another important concept I learned that dinner was that people rarely change. Even after all these years. However, the settings and ideals around us change so significantly and quickly that we often become disillusioned with the idea that we are actually changing but we are not. It's what's around you that's changing, not yourself.
And so I will end with Nick Carraway's famous closer of his narration of the amazing Jay Gatsby, "So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past."
Saturday, June 5, 2010
Thnks Fr Th Mmrs
I wish those days when we ended school and we got to celebrate by having a party, not dumb, meticulous finals to study for. Bleh.
As Finals are approaching faster than ever before, I feel like this would be an appropriate time to reflect upon my first year at UCLA. Plus this gives me an extra excuse to not study for Finals yet. I mean, nurturing my mind is just as important as my grades, right? I guess my grades will pay the price later.
What a first year it has been.
Just wanted to get that off my chest.
Now I can finally write in honesty. This year has definitely been an interesting year, little to nothing what I was expecting while I was still a little innocent high-schooler sucking my thumb while pondering about waking up at 3 pm every day, attending every single basketball game, and lounging on the bright green grass while sipping iced tea reading Kurt Vonnegut novels.
Yeah, not exactly what I expected.
Yet I can say that I didn't expect some of my greatest memories and moments to happen here.
As cliche as it is this year has really been a rollercoaster; I've been up higher than any man has been, living off my adrenaline while never wanting to fall back down, and I've been so low I've felt like no one was there but me. My heart has been revived this year; my heart has been broken this year. I have felt revived; I have felt shut down. I have succeeded; I have failed. I have felt loved; I have felt hated. I have had confidence; I have had regret. I now really know what Charles Dickens means by his opening lines famous opening lines of A Tale of Two Cities: "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times."
I have had some of my greatest and most heartwarming moments here at UCLA. It was here where I rediscovered my love for basketball after it was long forgotten. It was here where I improved my guitar skills and gained the confidence to sing in public places. It was here where my faith in God has grown like wildfire. It was here where simply going to a Bowling For Soup concert and meeting the bassist still regularly replays in my head. It was here where I was able to stay up and see the sun rise in the company of friends just talking honestly. It was here where I discovered how much of a joke some classes could be like MIMG. It was here where a simple night bowling turned into a game of laughs, hugs, and love. It was here where a Thanksgiving far away felt so much closer.
I've met some pretty interesting people here, yet at the same time I've also felt that I've met people who could care less about me. I've gotten to grow closer to a few significant people, and I've felt like I've gotten to talk to some people who I feel I can grow with next year. I want to reserve this paragraph in my blog that no one will read to just thank those people who were there for me, when I needed it the most. I may have only known you guys for nine months but you guys mean everything to me. Thank you so much. I hope you guys know who you are.
Not to say that there were moments that I would not like to think about. I'll be honest; there were times where I felt rejection, like the world was going to stop spinning, where I felt like one mediocre being out of a vast sea of geniuses, where I've felt socially out of place, where I felt that I had nothing going for me.
But I feel what kept me going to this point was God steering me towards the right direction. I would be nowhere without Him. Praise God for what he has given me and taken away.
For the most parts the adjustments were pretty smooth. Academically there was almost no transition period; going from a small, 20-30 size room to having 100 people in one class where you didn't know most people didn't feel intimidating at all. In a way I kind of prefer it this way.
Living in a dormitory also proved to be pretty smooth. Sure there were a lot of people, and I didn't have the most privacy, but I have actually grown to like the dorm lifestyle.
I would say my biggest challenge was adjusting socially. Going from a place where I knew most of my peers to not knowing a single soul (there are only a tiny handful of others I knew from my hometown) proved to be more of an issue. This meant making new impressions, making new friendships, making new bonds, inside jokes, connections, you get the picture. All in 30 weeks.
Which led me to a new realization; it's super easy to reinvent yourself in college. No one knows (except those who knew you before) your past life, your past stereotypes, your past experiences, and no one ever has to know. It's almost too easy to become a new person in college. I've noticed that this is both good and bad.
As this year went by much, much too fast, I feel like I'm not ready to end my first year at UCLA. I'm not ready to become labeled as a second year. I feel that part of this reason is because of the numerous regrets I have this year and the desire to make them up. There is this unexplainable attachment that I have to this year that I still want to keep, despite the negatives of this year. It still hasn't even hit me that I'm done with my first year. I feel like we're going to go on another two-week vacation, come back, settle, take more classes, live on the same floor, etc. For the first time, I'm not sure how ready I am for summer. This is the first summer that I've spent after college.
I feel like I missed out on a lot of things I still want to say. I also feel like this is a bad way to end a blog. But I feel like I have to end it like this. I will say, though, that I hope God continues to guide me through next year, and I pray that He will help me solve my regrets throughout my next year, and make miraculous improvements that I've suffered through this year while retaining all that I've cherished this year.
One last note. Seriously. I'm sure I'll still see some people regularly that I've met this year, yet I also feel that I'll rarely see some people I've met this year as well. Sometimes people just drift away unwillingly. It's inevitable. But for all of those people I've encountered this year: Good-bye and have a restful, blessed summer. Thnks Fr Th Mmrs.
As Finals are approaching faster than ever before, I feel like this would be an appropriate time to reflect upon my first year at UCLA. Plus this gives me an extra excuse to not study for Finals yet. I mean, nurturing my mind is just as important as my grades, right? I guess my grades will pay the price later.
What a first year it has been.
Just wanted to get that off my chest.
Now I can finally write in honesty. This year has definitely been an interesting year, little to nothing what I was expecting while I was still a little innocent high-schooler sucking my thumb while pondering about waking up at 3 pm every day, attending every single basketball game, and lounging on the bright green grass while sipping iced tea reading Kurt Vonnegut novels.
Yeah, not exactly what I expected.
Yet I can say that I didn't expect some of my greatest memories and moments to happen here.
As cliche as it is this year has really been a rollercoaster; I've been up higher than any man has been, living off my adrenaline while never wanting to fall back down, and I've been so low I've felt like no one was there but me. My heart has been revived this year; my heart has been broken this year. I have felt revived; I have felt shut down. I have succeeded; I have failed. I have felt loved; I have felt hated. I have had confidence; I have had regret. I now really know what Charles Dickens means by his opening lines famous opening lines of A Tale of Two Cities: "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times."
I have had some of my greatest and most heartwarming moments here at UCLA. It was here where I rediscovered my love for basketball after it was long forgotten. It was here where I improved my guitar skills and gained the confidence to sing in public places. It was here where my faith in God has grown like wildfire. It was here where simply going to a Bowling For Soup concert and meeting the bassist still regularly replays in my head. It was here where I was able to stay up and see the sun rise in the company of friends just talking honestly. It was here where I discovered how much of a joke some classes could be like MIMG. It was here where a simple night bowling turned into a game of laughs, hugs, and love. It was here where a Thanksgiving far away felt so much closer.
I've met some pretty interesting people here, yet at the same time I've also felt that I've met people who could care less about me. I've gotten to grow closer to a few significant people, and I've felt like I've gotten to talk to some people who I feel I can grow with next year. I want to reserve this paragraph in my blog that no one will read to just thank those people who were there for me, when I needed it the most. I may have only known you guys for nine months but you guys mean everything to me. Thank you so much. I hope you guys know who you are.
Not to say that there were moments that I would not like to think about. I'll be honest; there were times where I felt rejection, like the world was going to stop spinning, where I felt like one mediocre being out of a vast sea of geniuses, where I've felt socially out of place, where I felt that I had nothing going for me.
But I feel what kept me going to this point was God steering me towards the right direction. I would be nowhere without Him. Praise God for what he has given me and taken away.
For the most parts the adjustments were pretty smooth. Academically there was almost no transition period; going from a small, 20-30 size room to having 100 people in one class where you didn't know most people didn't feel intimidating at all. In a way I kind of prefer it this way.
Living in a dormitory also proved to be pretty smooth. Sure there were a lot of people, and I didn't have the most privacy, but I have actually grown to like the dorm lifestyle.
I would say my biggest challenge was adjusting socially. Going from a place where I knew most of my peers to not knowing a single soul (there are only a tiny handful of others I knew from my hometown) proved to be more of an issue. This meant making new impressions, making new friendships, making new bonds, inside jokes, connections, you get the picture. All in 30 weeks.
Which led me to a new realization; it's super easy to reinvent yourself in college. No one knows (except those who knew you before) your past life, your past stereotypes, your past experiences, and no one ever has to know. It's almost too easy to become a new person in college. I've noticed that this is both good and bad.
As this year went by much, much too fast, I feel like I'm not ready to end my first year at UCLA. I'm not ready to become labeled as a second year. I feel that part of this reason is because of the numerous regrets I have this year and the desire to make them up. There is this unexplainable attachment that I have to this year that I still want to keep, despite the negatives of this year. It still hasn't even hit me that I'm done with my first year. I feel like we're going to go on another two-week vacation, come back, settle, take more classes, live on the same floor, etc. For the first time, I'm not sure how ready I am for summer. This is the first summer that I've spent after college.
I feel like I missed out on a lot of things I still want to say. I also feel like this is a bad way to end a blog. But I feel like I have to end it like this. I will say, though, that I hope God continues to guide me through next year, and I pray that He will help me solve my regrets throughout my next year, and make miraculous improvements that I've suffered through this year while retaining all that I've cherished this year.
One last note. Seriously. I'm sure I'll still see some people regularly that I've met this year, yet I also feel that I'll rarely see some people I've met this year as well. Sometimes people just drift away unwillingly. It's inevitable. But for all of those people I've encountered this year: Good-bye and have a restful, blessed summer. Thnks Fr Th Mmrs.
Thursday, May 20, 2010
What A Wonderful World
This quarter has been such a major stress-ball.
Just wanted to get that out of the way first.
If you've seen me around lately, you might have noticed this. The sad part is that it's not even my work-load; ironically this has been my lightest quarter to-date. It hasn't been until a couple of weeks ago that I've been starting to feel the effects of procrastination. Frick.
However I feel that it is these dark moments where the greatest epiphanies and realizations are understood. Yesterday was one of those rare yet cherished days.
Yesterday didn't exactly being as a bundle of joy. I have been so tired these past weeks that my body decided to recover that previous night without any kind of discretion, so I ended up sleeping through my class that morning. Groggily I slowly roll out of bed, almost landing flat on my face during the process, get ready, eat lunch, lay back down in bed for a few moments, and grumpily head over to my midterm in Franz.
The midterm wasn't exactly deciphering the Da Vinci Code, but who likes midterms in general? Heading out I overlooked the direction heading back to the dorms, but then after a few steps I paused. I looked around above me, soaked in the slight breeze blowing north, and decided to take a quick stroll around campus before I headed back. What motivated me to do such a thing remains a mystery to this day, other than the fact that I enjoy walks once in awhile.
So I planted my headphones in my ears, put on some good tunes, and took a brief walk towards north campus, back south, and then down bruin walk before heading back. When I got back to my room I felt like a million bucks, assuming that a million bucks have tangible feelings and emotions.
What all of a sudden shifted my emotions and mindset from a grump, sleep-deprived college student to a newly recovered and renaissance-filled young man was just the divinity of a simple walk. Throughout my short journey I couldn't help but notice the subtle beauty that God has given us. Just looking at the towering trees dancing accordingly to the wind, the playfulness of two excited squirrels scavenging in a trash-can, and the clear blue sky gave me such an inexplicable surge of energy and confidence that I couldn't understand how such a simple ideology completely cleared up any foreign gray clouds in my fragile egg-shell mind. The walk I took that day was just what I needed at that moment; I felt so connected to God's grace and his simple gifts that at one moment I'll admit I got slightly teary-eyed. If someone were to ask then I would have told them that I have allergies. But that's besides the point.
Connected to the music, atmosphere, and environment at that moment, I became so grateful for where I was and for being able to attend a school like UCLA and enjoy the beauty that God has given it. Why I took attending one of the top schools in the nation for granted I do not know why. I am truly blessed to be able to study here, and I am thankful for the privilege that God has given me to grow at a campus like this. Thank you so much God for helping me realize this.
"So I think to myself, 'What a wonderful world.'" - Louis Armstrong
I can't believe I go here now. Praise God.
Just wanted to get that out of the way first.
If you've seen me around lately, you might have noticed this. The sad part is that it's not even my work-load; ironically this has been my lightest quarter to-date. It hasn't been until a couple of weeks ago that I've been starting to feel the effects of procrastination. Frick.
However I feel that it is these dark moments where the greatest epiphanies and realizations are understood. Yesterday was one of those rare yet cherished days.
Yesterday didn't exactly being as a bundle of joy. I have been so tired these past weeks that my body decided to recover that previous night without any kind of discretion, so I ended up sleeping through my class that morning. Groggily I slowly roll out of bed, almost landing flat on my face during the process, get ready, eat lunch, lay back down in bed for a few moments, and grumpily head over to my midterm in Franz.
The midterm wasn't exactly deciphering the Da Vinci Code, but who likes midterms in general? Heading out I overlooked the direction heading back to the dorms, but then after a few steps I paused. I looked around above me, soaked in the slight breeze blowing north, and decided to take a quick stroll around campus before I headed back. What motivated me to do such a thing remains a mystery to this day, other than the fact that I enjoy walks once in awhile.
So I planted my headphones in my ears, put on some good tunes, and took a brief walk towards north campus, back south, and then down bruin walk before heading back. When I got back to my room I felt like a million bucks, assuming that a million bucks have tangible feelings and emotions.
What all of a sudden shifted my emotions and mindset from a grump, sleep-deprived college student to a newly recovered and renaissance-filled young man was just the divinity of a simple walk. Throughout my short journey I couldn't help but notice the subtle beauty that God has given us. Just looking at the towering trees dancing accordingly to the wind, the playfulness of two excited squirrels scavenging in a trash-can, and the clear blue sky gave me such an inexplicable surge of energy and confidence that I couldn't understand how such a simple ideology completely cleared up any foreign gray clouds in my fragile egg-shell mind. The walk I took that day was just what I needed at that moment; I felt so connected to God's grace and his simple gifts that at one moment I'll admit I got slightly teary-eyed. If someone were to ask then I would have told them that I have allergies. But that's besides the point.
Connected to the music, atmosphere, and environment at that moment, I became so grateful for where I was and for being able to attend a school like UCLA and enjoy the beauty that God has given it. Why I took attending one of the top schools in the nation for granted I do not know why. I am truly blessed to be able to study here, and I am thankful for the privilege that God has given me to grow at a campus like this. Thank you so much God for helping me realize this.
"So I think to myself, 'What a wonderful world.'" - Louis Armstrong
I can't believe I go here now. Praise God.
Monday, May 17, 2010
Welcome to the Planet. Welcome to Existance.
As you may now know, I just started this blogging thing just now. I know little to nothing about blogging, but I do know that it pertains to writing, and writing is something I'm not new to. Writing and expression is perhaps one of my greater aspirations, yet it is something that I have not pursued in an extended amount of time due to the hectic and sporadic lifestyle of a typical college student. However I feel that having a blogspot will force myself to at least keep up something that I find comfort in... or perhaps create one more object to procrastinate on. I'm going with the later so far.
So this explains the title; I feel as if having a blog is a renaissance of my writing ambitions. I am being reintroduced to a long-lost personal friend of mine that I have lost contact with.
Although writing is something I find great refuge in, my main hobby currently revolves around music; for those who even slightly know me, you most likely know that I am a musician, and that I am an avid listener, analyzer, and writer of music, and I take my music pretty darn seriously. This being the case, I find it appropriate to discuss my very first blog on this topic.
A question I consistently get pelted with is why am I so obsessed with music. Those who know me especially well understand that music is constantly surrounding my lifestyle, wherever I may travel, whoever I may encounter, at any given time. In fact, I am listening to the Jackson 5 as I meticulously type this, with cheesy and flimsy dancing included. Yes, I understand that this is an ugly sight for most people.
The main answer that I educate people with is the idea that music has no judgment. The music itself simply does not judge or perceive; if you listen to a song on your Ipod, the music isn't going to chastise you with absolutes and degrading expectations. If anything, it's going to make you feel even better for who you are. To me this is simply amazing and comforting to understand. Music is my best friend, and by best friend I mean that entity that allows you to be your absolute self. It is for this reason why music is my escape, especially in times of depression.
Not to mention that music is simply beautiful in such a divine expression. In my opinion, nothing can overcome the feeling that music can enthrall in a being, how the sense of listening can be touched in such an inexplicable manner that the rest of the senses perceive sensation, whether it be vision, taste, touch, or smell. My favorite moment in music is when I sprawl out on my bed, facing the ceiling, with my headphones in, with the music that whisks me away to a different environment. The music genres and labels magically disappear as it spins me around and around until I become completely absent away from reality and into the very realm that I yearn for daily. And by music genres disappearing I mean I can feel this same sensation whether I am listening to hip-hop or thrash metal.
Plus, music is the universal language, both formally (sheet music) and to the general public. I mean, there are songs for everyone and for all emotions and mindsets. If you're a girl, you'll eventually develop a phase where every Taylor Swift song becomes relate-able. And I guess a few guys out there too.
In playing music I attempt to recreate these same scenes and settings that music has given me. It is my goal to share my inner soul to other listeners through my music. Whenever I lock myself in my room and strum my guitar while singing, the whole world stops, everything tangible and imaginable vanishes, and nothing can forestall my return. I am on top of the world and don't plan on returning down any time soon. If I can accomplish this same reaction to the public, then I have done my job.
Not to say that all music has to be socially conscious in order to be effective (this is often the misconception). Sometimes the goal of music is to simply escape the imperfections of this earth and to just dance and relax. We all need a break sometimes.
There are so many explanations and clarifications, as well as examples that I can give, but a)the numbers are so myriad that I cannot recall them all at this very moment b) I don't want my first blog to bore the living heck out of people through my subjective and obscure musical adventures. So I will end with this: I love music.
Wow, I hope this all makes sense. I guess this isn't the most adequate time to be writing a blog. Although I would love to blame the lack of clarity on my combined total of 13 hours of sleep throughout the past 3 days nights, in the end I may just not be the next John Donne. Goodnight world.
So this explains the title; I feel as if having a blog is a renaissance of my writing ambitions. I am being reintroduced to a long-lost personal friend of mine that I have lost contact with.
Although writing is something I find great refuge in, my main hobby currently revolves around music; for those who even slightly know me, you most likely know that I am a musician, and that I am an avid listener, analyzer, and writer of music, and I take my music pretty darn seriously. This being the case, I find it appropriate to discuss my very first blog on this topic.
A question I consistently get pelted with is why am I so obsessed with music. Those who know me especially well understand that music is constantly surrounding my lifestyle, wherever I may travel, whoever I may encounter, at any given time. In fact, I am listening to the Jackson 5 as I meticulously type this, with cheesy and flimsy dancing included. Yes, I understand that this is an ugly sight for most people.
The main answer that I educate people with is the idea that music has no judgment. The music itself simply does not judge or perceive; if you listen to a song on your Ipod, the music isn't going to chastise you with absolutes and degrading expectations. If anything, it's going to make you feel even better for who you are. To me this is simply amazing and comforting to understand. Music is my best friend, and by best friend I mean that entity that allows you to be your absolute self. It is for this reason why music is my escape, especially in times of depression.
Not to mention that music is simply beautiful in such a divine expression. In my opinion, nothing can overcome the feeling that music can enthrall in a being, how the sense of listening can be touched in such an inexplicable manner that the rest of the senses perceive sensation, whether it be vision, taste, touch, or smell. My favorite moment in music is when I sprawl out on my bed, facing the ceiling, with my headphones in, with the music that whisks me away to a different environment. The music genres and labels magically disappear as it spins me around and around until I become completely absent away from reality and into the very realm that I yearn for daily. And by music genres disappearing I mean I can feel this same sensation whether I am listening to hip-hop or thrash metal.
Plus, music is the universal language, both formally (sheet music) and to the general public. I mean, there are songs for everyone and for all emotions and mindsets. If you're a girl, you'll eventually develop a phase where every Taylor Swift song becomes relate-able. And I guess a few guys out there too.
In playing music I attempt to recreate these same scenes and settings that music has given me. It is my goal to share my inner soul to other listeners through my music. Whenever I lock myself in my room and strum my guitar while singing, the whole world stops, everything tangible and imaginable vanishes, and nothing can forestall my return. I am on top of the world and don't plan on returning down any time soon. If I can accomplish this same reaction to the public, then I have done my job.
Not to say that all music has to be socially conscious in order to be effective (this is often the misconception). Sometimes the goal of music is to simply escape the imperfections of this earth and to just dance and relax. We all need a break sometimes.
There are so many explanations and clarifications, as well as examples that I can give, but a)the numbers are so myriad that I cannot recall them all at this very moment b) I don't want my first blog to bore the living heck out of people through my subjective and obscure musical adventures. So I will end with this: I love music.
Wow, I hope this all makes sense. I guess this isn't the most adequate time to be writing a blog. Although I would love to blame the lack of clarity on my combined total of 13 hours of sleep throughout the past 3 days nights, in the end I may just not be the next John Donne. Goodnight world.
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