Stress

Remember that guy/ girl you have crushed on at some point in your life? You may have met him/ her at a bar, in the hallway between classes, across the aisle at a grocery store, or even in the next cart on a train. You remember him/ her? Do you recall the flight of fantasies you have about him/ her? More importantly, do you remember that sudden blossom of shyness, that well of insecurity that prevented you from ever making a move to actualize those fantasies. Do you know why you didn't? Let me give you a hint: it's because you have idealized him/ her so much that you don't see that person as simply another individual. Instead you have this romanticized version of him/ her; raising them upon a pedestal so high that you dare not scale, for fear that you are beneath them. Or, even worst, discovering your dream is a mirage, and the disappointment devastating to your quiescent soul. I want you to dwell on that sensation for a moment... because that is exactly the same phenomenon that makes stress so poignant.

How the heck did I go from dating to stress? Well, think about it: the things which triggers our stress, like the target of our crushes, are usually things we care about (whether or not they care about us or not in actuality). We project our hopes, our dreams unto them; meanwhile praying for recognition. Whether we realize it or not, when we look upon that person, or that exam we want to get an A on, there is inherently a desire for us to succeed. In the case of a crush, you want to impress them, coming across suave and awesome, subsequently winning their attraction. In the case of an exam, you want to ace it. Both outcome really is geared towards feeling good about yourself.

As part of that process we tend to overshoot on our regards so that in our mind it will be worth the effort. It is a defense mechanism of ours to over-project, otherwise it would all seem silly- to approach someone randomly, to take a class and study. Sort of like the guy who threw in 100 bucks into the toilet after he dropped a quarter in there, so that it would be worth his while to fish out both.

Simple enough, right? Make that person look great in our heads, dream that we will pass the exam with flying colors. Envision success, and then go for it. Yet, somewhere along the way, we over did it, and stop ourselves short. We make the object so damn good, so much so that in contrast we feel like crap... and eventually gave up.

What I am getting at is this: stress is good. We stress because we care. That being said, we must be realistic about it. Don't let it become fear that builds upon itself. Don't allow it to take on a life of its own, succoring itself upon our insecurities so that instead of using it as a motivator, we allow it to become our greatest obstacle. Go for it, ask the guy/ girl out. Study your heart out. I am willing to bet whatever notion you have in your imagination is no match for the real deal, so why not just go for it, and leave fear behind where it belongs: in the gutter with its throat slit by the garrote of decisive action.

That being said, back to studying I go.

Disoriented Oriental

Here is how I do it: Every morning, I get up. I put on my intensely geeky Asian make-up. I put on my thick dorky glasses. I look at the mirror, smile, and say to myself, "It'ssssss SHHHHHHOWTIME!!!" Then I get here, acting all happy and nerdy as if I am in heaven and learning is great. And I am so believable, that you will fall for it, and think to yourself, "wow, there goes another stereotypical Asian, the outlier, the guy who is going to pull up the curve." Meanwhile, the reality is I am just a really dumb kid who works extra hard hoping to dear G-d that he will not mix up his r's and his l's. Because you know what, I am so messed up that I even have to work hard at being Asian. So there, be jealous all you want, but I am telling you, I am just like you, I am not any smarter, I just know how to appear so.

Audiology Humor

Pick-Up Lines

1. Want to come over and study forced oscillation and resonance factor?
2. Trust me, I am a doctor.
3. I bet no one can put you in a supine position faster and better than I.
4. Want to learn the log roll?
5. Two words: Fixation denied
6. Ask me about down ten up five
7. I know the Sabine's Reverberation Equation. Want to come and test it out in my boudoir?
8. I am good at using Log to find Intensity.
9. We do it periodically with frequency and great amplitude.
10. You give me a stiff lesion with your mass.
11. Three words: Simple Harmonic Motion
12. Between you and me, we can make Longitudinal waves and Transverse waves
13. I need your help to study the mass and elasticity of my bed.
14. Let's measure how loud and how far your voice can propagate via simple means of compression and rarefaction.
15. May I measure our immittance?
16. Bone oscillation. Need I say more?
17. Audiology. We bring the "Oooo?!" in Otolaryngology
18. Did you know that a stiff lesion can result in a shift in natural frequency of a system towards the higher pitches? Don't believe me? Allow me to demonstrate.
19. Allow me to find your natural frequency
20. You, me, rotary chair, dark room... get the picture?
21. Ask me about up-beating, down-beating nystagmus.
22. Swallow, it's part of the test.
23. Audiologists do it with frequency and intensity (E. Breitling)
24. Audiologists stimulate aurally (e. Breitling)
25. Does the word tinnitus ring a bell?

Audiology Humor

1. Audiology is like sex. What more need I say? We audiology students like it up (5) and down (10), while supine, with vision denied. We stimulate aurally with intensity and frequency. We manage your stiff lesions, and we make deep impressions. We do it deep, we do it slow, and we make sure we plug/fill up the hole.
2. How are some nystagmus like boyfriends? Well, there is the typical jerk, and then you have your rebound types. How are nystagmus like camp counsellors? They can be upbeat and spontaneous.
3. As I gazed deeply into her ears, I saw light, and I am reminded of just how open-minded a person she is. She was very compliant, with good reflexes. No aural fullness to boast of. She spoke audibly and clearly; not annoying like tinnitus. She responded well to the sound of my voice; there and then I knew I have found the one. She trusts me, she listens intently. What more can I ask? I shall make her world spin.
4. Audiologist: like bank tellers, we check your balance.
5. Audiologists: like Flo Rida (or Dead or Alive for us old folks)...we spin you "Right Round".(Amy Goodwine)
6. Studying for my vestibular test has given me the following:

• Blurred vision from reading all my notes
• Lightheadedness from being indoors all day
• Vertigo from being spun around by copious facts
• Hearing loss from the loud music that I need to put in my ears to keep me pumped
• Tinnitus when the music is gone
• Aural fullness from the ear plugs
• These symptoms are highly consistent with a diagnosis of Man Ears’ Disease

7. Audiology, we don't care for feedback
8. I keep hearing things in my head... I suppose that just means I have a sound mind.
9. I imagine there shall come a day when one of my vestibular patients will befriend me on facebook, and her relationship status would read "It's compensated".
10. If you look at it closely enough, the TM resembles a condom.
11. Audiology: Where ""let's take you out for a spin" means being strapped into a chair and spun in a dark chamber rather than a joyride on the freeway with the wind blowing in your face.
12. is studying implants, can you guess which kind? Here are some clues: it is partially made of silicone, can be very magnetic, and extremely stimulating.
13. Poor patient, he was so dizzy from his vertigo that he didn't know where to go.  Luckily I was around to take him out for a spin.
14. Someday I will find the cure to tinnitus (that ringing noise you hear in your ears) and win the "No Bell" prize.
15. We don't care for feedback
16. Although it may not be original, we love our SIN nonetheless

Mirror, mirror on the wall

Dear Image in the Mirror,

How I hate you so. You who lack substance, and of little consequence. You who frolic about in your two-dimension-light-dependent world. You know not the suffering of the corporeal world, to you everything is just a mirage. You could look like crap and not feel any worse for wear because of it; whereas I... I would feel the blunt of it. Every morning, I have to get up and look at you... and golly gee I wish there is someone else more beautiful, more wholesome to look at than you. What good are you? A mime, a doppelganger, a charlatan. You are more worthless than my shadow, at least that follows me around wherever I go.

Ah, but perhaps I am being too harsh. Perhaps there is use for you yet. Perhaps you can smile at me more often, perhaps you can remind me of my existence. Perhaps you can stare deep within me, and allow me to see through your eyes. Show me my many faces, let me know of my masks; which ones to keep, which ones to toss. I can add dimension to your perception.

Make a funny face, make me laugh. Mimic my every expression, my every move, so that I know at least someone thinks me worthy a role model to follow. Show me what is ugly about me, show me what is nice, show me how to control my features, show me how to master you. Show me that when I cry, I cry not alone, for my tears are on my face as they are on yours. At the end of the day, help me to be a better person, for if you can be what I pretend to be, than I too can perfect my act, and grow into my many roles.

A note to a dear friend after he suffered the lost of his beloved pet

My heart goes to you. I know I am far from you at the moment, and perhaps my lack of experience in this life does not allow me to provide you with the solace you so richly deserve. Still I want you to know that how ever little I can carry, I carry with you.

Initially I had hope to ask Him to grant you a certain degree of numbness to help you get by. Yet, as I think about it more, it would have been an insult to you to ask G-d to provide you a cowardly way out. I don't know how to put this right, and you may perhaps heard this before... but I would be damned if I don't confess that it is apparent G-d has more faith in you than I do. For while I most surely would have begged Him to take this cup away from you, myself and all those whom I hold dear... you have shown yourself time and time again worthy of His love and His challenges.

Most importantly, despite all that you have been through you still care so damn much... and while it hurts like hell each and every time, the very fact that you feel it still with such breadth and depth, as if a wound anew.... that speaks highly of who you are, and I only hope that I will be the same, never losing my sincerity, and my ability to feel each cut as deeply as you do now.

I can not explain, justify nor reason why it must happen this way. It further pains me to know that regardless of what other may try to say and comfort you, the reality for you at the moment remains that it was unnecessary, that Sammie deserves better. I am incline to agree with you wholeheartedly... but this I will contend, in the short years I have walked upon this transitory earth, I am thoroughly convinced that no death is untimely. Regardless of the manner, Death is perhaps the one thing that is on time. It is tragic that Sammie has to endure such a passing, I too would have loved to see him grow old and die in comfort having given his life, adoration and dedication to you for some more years. But it is just that... regardless of how short his life span was, how painfully and tragically it end for him, he has not failed in giving you his all... and while we mourn for the passing of a loved one... we must stop and ask ourselves, if we truly believe in what we believe in as Christian, then can we truly mourn? For to be who we are, then should we not rejoice in knowing that those who pass on is in a better place? Yes, it is incredibly tragic that no longer shall we feel the brush of their being upon our senses, nor shall they benefit from the riches of this earth. But here is the kicker... it is our lost not theirs that we mourn for... I know not exactly where I am going with this.

But this I will admit, I hope that each and everyone of us can live so that we will be as sorely missed as Sammie, as Roxy and the many who have come before. And that each grief I feel will be as deep and hurtful as that you feel for it only means after all this time we still care, and that speaks of human triumphs that few have the courage or capacity to claim.

I applaud you, and I wish to stand by you in these times of trouble. I don't know if I have succeed even in a little bit to comfort you. I strive to speak from my heart in hopes that it will connect with yours. Should I failed, then I beg for your forgiveness. Know that you are not alone.

Dominus tecum.

Smile! You are on Andy Camera!

To say I am a photographer would be an insult to the profession, for I have nowhere near the dedication nor discipline to master the art and science of photography. What I am is someone who loves to take pictures of random things; a nostalgic nut who loves to capture 3D experiences in a 2D medium. It doesn't always turn out the way I envisioned it, after all there is a huge disparity between the stoic mechanics of the objective lens, and the idyllic musing of a subjective mind. In addition, I am not as quick as I thought, so those fleeting moments that I attempt to capture remains so ever elusive. Still, there I am, clicking away like your stereotypical Japanese tourist (only I am Chinese); trying so very hard to document each moment as I see them.

I know at times, such behavior is disturbing, especially when I am taking picture of something seemingly insignificant. Yet, I cannot explain to you the compulsion... maybe it stems from the deep realization and fear that the one thing that I truly own and afraid to lose are my memories. I have moved around so much, that I never felt I could hold onto anything corporeal, even the act of owning furniture feels foreign to me. Whatever earthly possession I have, there is an unspoken understanding that they do not belong to me. I will be moving on, leaving things behind. The one constant in my life is perhaps the knowledge that nothing is certain.

Therefore, to me, my dream isn't owning some grandiose house, earning some glorious title. No, my dream is simple, that some day I shall have scrapbook upon scrapbooks that document the adventures within my life, of people I have met, of experiences shared, of common anecdotes to be regaled with gusto in years to come. My dream is someday to be able to go through those albums and rejoice because even though I may be physically absent from a majority of those photos, I know I have been a chief architect behind the smiles, a blessed witness to the beauty of the moment that I attempt to capture.

I hope that someday you and I will sit together, to point and laugh at the photos of our relative youth spent together at one point or another. I pray that even if I should develop amnesia, that should I be mentally lost to you most of the time, somewhere deep in the recess of my mind lies the spark of recognition that triggers a smile, and you will know I recall. It would be like finding a hidden treasure in the attic, behind the cobwebs... and perhaps then you will smile with me.

For now, I shall go about, doing the best I can to bring about, and/ or capture memorable moments. Be goofy with me, humor me, for when I am in the room, you are no longer the strangest person there, so get weird and we will make wonderful memories together, you, me and everyone we know.

Unfinished?

There is a poem that all men sought to write. Yet, a poet's life is short, all he has is a fleeting glance to land a glancing blow. And so it is with my poem, for where do I start, where do I stop? Are you even reading, are you even piqued? If not, why bother. If so, then I may as well stop here lest I should lose you down further

Scared

Remember when you were a kid and you have those bad dreams. Not dreams even, but revelations to the harsh realities of life. Like that one night when you suddenly realize that people die, that loved ones may leave you. You don’t know why, you were a happy kid, no pressing worries, not a care in the world until that point – 2am in the morning. You woke up, drenched in sweat, dazed, scared, off-balanced. You probably won’t recall the whole thing the next morning. You would probably move on as if nothing has happened. But for that one hour, that one hour, it was all too real. The fear, oh that overpowering fear, it clinches you ever so tightly. You don’t know what to do , where to go, except to feel it, face it. You don’t even realize you were whimpering until your parents overheard you and came to your room. Ah, what a saving grace that was, them materializing just when you needed them to. Just by being there, their presence calming, their words soothing, the depressing gloom was shattered. Eventually you would nod off, faith restored.



How I wish it was so today. Today, I can no longer tell what is bad dream and what is not. Life… life feels like a dream, especially the good stuff. It’s a house of cards. It’s karma, with each additional card to the stack, the desire for it to stay intact becomes greater. And the impact, no, the fear that it will all tumble down becomes even more salient. I know this is true because here I am, living a fantastic life. I know I have not taken it for granted. I know I have worked hard to show my appreciation for it. Yet, it doesn’t change the fact that there are moments when I am just terribly afraid, paralyzed that all this will be taken from me like G-d to Job. There doesn’t need to be rhyme and reason, but there it is, the revelation that everything is ephemeral- friends, career, school, opportunities. Despite the many blessings, I cannot shake off the fear. It is so real at times… too real even. The irony, the better it gets, the more seem to be at stake, and one day, just like today, I find myself scared it will all crumble down like it was never there before.

Circular struggles

There are things that you want to say, but afraid to simply because you are not sure how it would come across. So you hold back; biting your tongue, putting on a poker face, trying not to think about it, hoping it will go away. But it's still there, and the more you suppress it, the more it threatens to burst out. What do you do? Part of you just want to spill it all out, lay it there on the table, get it done and over with. A larger part of you is terribly afraid you will blurt it out at the wrong time, wrong place and ruin everything.

There are no guidelines, or whatever guidelines there were, you missed it because when they were teaching it in school, you were probably out sick. All the awkwardness that you were supposed to get out of the system a long time ago, well, you never did, it's still there, all of it. You could be fast approaching 30, established in something; nonetheless when "it"comes up, you are relegated to being that tongue tied, self-aware, internal monolog spewing, antsy kid that you were throughout middle school to college.

As dashing, or charming or confident as you may come across, or believe yourself to be, the reality is you are still that insecure teenager when it comes to such matters. A kid hoping fate will bat its eyes at you and say today is your lucky day. But there are no such signs... or is there? Some say you will know it when the time is right... but what if you are prone to false alarms, and false starts? What if you have grown so accustomed to ignoring or over-reacting, so much so that you missed the real thing when it comes by... then you are left there standing alone in a crowded room feeling lonely, not sure what to do, holding back, hoping the "next time" it will be more clearer and you will act more readily upon it.

Maybe you will grow out of it, get over it, settle for something else... or maybe not, who knows? But it would be a sad commentary wouldn't it, to feel so resigned. And so, we are back to square one, there are things you wanted to say, but you are not sure how it will come across...

Praying in stolen moments

For the better part of the past 19 months, I functioned without a radio in my car. Well, let me back up a little, I do have a radio but it went dead after I had a power outage, and I couldn’t reactivate the radio’s connection without the proper password (granted, even if I did, the buttons weren’t working…). At first I was upset. I missed the preset stations, I missed having the ability to choose different music to fill out the void that is my 20 minutes commute (I know, I know… only 20 minutes each way). I missed the power (did I mention to you that I am a control freak?) to change the stations and alter volume level with the buttons on my steering wheel (oh yeah, I am so in love with that particular feature of my car… opposable thumbs baby, it’s awesome). I have grown so accustomed to having a radio that the concept of not having one made me feel disconnected from the world. You see, the only time I get the news, listen to the latest songs, or pay attention to social commentary was through the radio on my drive to work. NPR, morning talk shows were my daily source of talking points as I venture to interact with the people around me; the springboard to my foray into the actual world if you will. Without it, I have no idea what’s cool. I am reduced to that awkward individual who is utterly clueless as to who is the latest American Idol, who got voted off some reality TV show, what character of Grey’s Anatomy died off in the season finale, who got lost in LOST.

It was an isolating experience; the silence in the car as I sat through traffic lights was almost unbearable. I became bored, and I don’t do well in monotony because I started doing stupid things. I would sing as loud as I could on long rides so that I won’t fall asleep. I would bob my head up and down to non-existence music whenever a hot chick, or a cop, drives near me so as to come across suave (hey, no one said I actually knew what being smooth looked like). What is more, I find myself mumbling to myself. Yep, one of the tell-tale signs of becoming crazy is when you start talking to nobody- and there I was, talking to nobody. Gradually, however, I did began to direct my monologues to another source… G-d. It was an interesting transition. I don’t quite know how it happened, one minute I was driving nonchalantly down the highway, the next I found myself reciting the Lord’s prayer. Just like that, I found a new routine, I pray during my commute. It was weird at first, because when I was first taught to pray as a child, I was taught to do so reverently, in a sacred space, in a time set aside especially for G-d. For me, that meant in front of an altar, beside the bed, or at the table. Not driving 70 mph down a stretch of highway, doing shoulder checks, merging left and right (although, looking at it now, there isn’t a more appropriate time and place for it). It almost felt sacrilege at first, as if I am simultaneously g-chatting to a friend and talking to my parents on the phone while sitting on the commode (not that I really do that, but I know people who do…).

How am I supposed to devote myself whole-heartedly to G-d in prayer if I am at the same time trying to avoid a collision? Is there a repercussion for flipping someone the bird while praying for forgiveness? It raises certain theological dilemmas, prayer in cars. What happens if I get pulled over, and the cop asks me do I have any idea how fast I was going? Could I then answered “I was so moved by the spirit?” Can I use the HOV lane, after-all I am traveling with G-d the father, G-d the son and G-d the holy spirit? Anyway, these are the kind of things I think about after my commute. But more importantly… I pray during my commute. Someone once said to me that we pray during stolen moments. And this was a stolen moment, the silence granted by the lack of a radio became my sacred space for me to commune with G-d. What I thought at first was a nuisance became a source of my comfort as I sought to start and end my day with G-d, a prayer for a great beginning in the morning, and an evening prayer of thanks for a decent ending. My prayer life, which was almost non-existence after college became vibrant again as I found myself filling the void with prayers and thoughts sent randomly to G-d. I began to make good use of the silence to list out the things that I am thankful for, and the things that bothered me, and I present them equally. Sometimes, G-d would even reply, like when I am feeling particularly unhappy about my current situation, he would show me a car that got pulled over, and that often serves to brighten up my day significantly. Or if I feel vengeful, he would show me ugly looking pedestrians and squirrels so that I may… just kidding.

In all seriousness though, I have no idea how much I took for granted the things that I have. It made me realize that in every little negative experience, there is an opportunity for an even better one. I complained about not having a radio in my car, when in reality I needed the silence to get in touch with my deeper humanity. We have all become so accustomed to having distractions in our lives, every moment filled with activities of some sort that we forget sometime what we really need is to slow down, quiet down, sit down and just be. We drive with radios on full blast at times, but it is probably worth our while just to shut it off and listen to the wind billowing by. We bob our heads up and down, when we really should be gazing from side to side to gain a better sense of our surroundings. Driving is not just about getting from one place to another, but it is about experiencing the scenery as we go by, feeling the freedom that we are behind the wheels. Don’t be distracted, instead, enjoy it, and once in a while, say a little prayer because you may never know if those little prayers could save others from praying seriously on your behalf.

George Bailey Moments

"Have you ever had one of those days where nothing all that monumental happens, but by the end of it you have no idea who you are or what the hell you are doing with your life? Do you ever have one of those days?" ~ Robin from the TV series How I Met Your Mother

In my years of studying psychology as an undergrad, nothing really prepared me for moments like these-when I would find myself stopped so abruptly by seemingly nothing at all, and be confronted with the sensation that I am insignificant. I have come to called these moments my George Bailey moments, more or less because I find myself pondering what differences am I making, and what it would have been like had I not existed at all. Do I matter at all?

Is it, then, a question of ego? The desire to know that one's efforts have not be in vain? That one has indeed made a difference in this transitory world? I know that the world was revolving long before I arrived, and that it will continue to do so long after I am gone. But wouldn't it be nice, even if just for a little bit, especially in these moments, that I would be comforted with the knowledge that I am not sand on stone, or another autumn leaf.

Am I doing something wrong, because if I am working as hard as I perceive I am, why then this feeling of insignificance? I guess in the end human existence is never easy... and to each their own set of problems. we can only hope that we dare to test the limits of our individual strength. So that when the day of judgement arrives, when we judge ourselves, we can say without hesitation that we did the best we could with what we have, and that what little regrets we may have, our accomplishment suffice to overcome it. That, regardless of how insignificant it may feel at the time, that in the grand scheme of things, we played one of three roles: the originator, the facilitator, and the benefactor of some action... and that it was necessary.

In the time of nick

If you have ever shaved using a razor blade, be it your face or your legs, chances are at one point or another you may have accidentally nicked yourself. Without going too much into the gory details and grossing people out, it is very likely that there were a lot of blood, and your first instinct may have been to panic slightly. After all, in this biblically oriented society, there is this underlying notion that fluids should remain in the body, and that the expulsion of any fluids is either a cause for alarm, and/or considered unclean.

Needless to say, for those of you have experienced such nicks, you would have probably come to realize that as bad as it may look, a nick is a nick is a nick. A mere abrasion of the epidermal layer resulting in the rupture of skin capillaries at a microscopic level, which in the grand scheme of things is no big deal. That is unless you are on blood thinners, lacking in calcium pectate and/or are an anemic... if that is the case, then seek medical assistance immediately. If not, then... after applying pressure, ice, vaseline and/ or alcohol to the region, you will find that life moves on.

Why am I bringing all this up? Because it has occurred to me that much of the drama in our daily lives is very much like these little nicks we gave ourselves from time to time. First, one must understand that these nicks have a higher probability of happening if your blade is dulled, and your reflexes slow. Similarly, when drama occurs, it is very likely because we are caught unprepared. So, be prepared, sharpen your tools, hone in your skills, and quicken your wit.

Also, in that singular moment when a small inconvenience occur we find our world suddenly narrowed to just that one thing. We become enraptured by the theatrics, so much so that what is in actuality a mere trickle becomes a gushing volcano of molten larva threatening to inundate all else. Due to our lack of preparation or vigilance, our mind is incapable of coming up with a better response other than "Oh my god, I am bleeding, I am bleeding, I am bleeding". You are frozen there, at once fascinated by the fountain of blood that is bursting forth from so small a wound, your entire being transfixed by an exaggerated internal commentary aimed to evoke an even greater emotional response, usually in the form of distress under duress.

There, you are, a dolt- a hopeless, hapless, shivering, whimpering pathetic dolt. And for what?! A nick. The remedies to fixing a nick is simple, as mentioned before... cleanse it with alcohol, apply pressure, ice it, put on some vaseline, and simply let time mend it. Same with those little dramas in life. You can fix it by sterilizing the situation, riding the situation of all unnecessary emotional quotient. Put some effort into it, do what you can, then live it on the back burner for time to resolve it. It's simple, it's easy. Drama is over, back to life.

Just a thought

Dear Teenage Girl with A Lot of Make-up,

Did anyone ever tell you that you are beautiful? I have a feeling that you probably don't get complimented very often, which would explain the layer of mascara that you have on. The eyeliner that threatens to overflow, and the lipsticks which makes you look like you cater especially to clowns. See, you have all the makings to be a stunningly beautiful woman someday, I can see it; you possess the kind of beauty that make-up is not required to enhance. Yet, there you are stunting your growth potential by covering your face with product so that your beauty, and your self perception (of it) becomes almost dependent on it.

That's not how it works. You don't grow beautiful legs by leaning on couches. No, you let them grow at their own pace. Your beauty is there, waiting for you to grow into it. It awaits for you to claim it as your own. There is no need to "speed" things up by applying layers to it before its time... that actually slow things down, if not suffocating it. Your beauty is like a flower waiting to blossom in the sun; don't cover it, don't hide it, don't pluck at it. It will bloom when the time is right; in the meantime, do what you must to nurture and nourish it, but don't over do it, otherwise the whole world can see it was forced.

No, be patient, and just know that you are already beautiful. Yes, there will be those whose beauty is like a wild fire, raw and overwhelming. That's just it, it is a flash of lightening, and then it is gone. Yet, the reality is most beauty is like a pork tenderloin slowly roasting in an open pit. No amount of seasoning can add to the quality of deliciousness that comes from heat applied over time. It is like a cake, slowly baked to rise; or a bottle of fine wine aged over time. Done right, it leaves an everlasting pleasant after taste.

Similarly, own the fact that you don't need tons of make-up to feel better about who you are, or to hide your "perceived" iniquities. Face the world as you, without enhancement, and you will grow to be more beautiful than you dare to dream. Remember, beauty unaware, a genuine smile, kind eyes, and dimples do more wonders than eyeliners and mascara combined.

Becoming an Audiologist

The following is a mock transcript of an interview done years down the road, when Andy has become a world renowned public figure. H stands for Host. And A stands for Andy. Enjoy!

H: Our next guest, often referred to affectionately by his colleagues as the Oliver Sacks of Audiology, is the Director-General of the World Health Organization, and is the first of his profession to hold such office. He has gained much recognition for his humanitarian efforts in promoting global awareness of hearing loss. You may know him as the author of the bestsellers titled: “Does Tinnitus Ring a Bell?”, and “”Vendi, Vidi, Vertigo: I Came, I Saw, I Got Dizzy”. Please join me in welcoming Dr. Andy Lau!

(Andy walks onto stage)

H: So Andy, tell us about what you do, I gather it is a profession that few have heard about.

A: What? Oh, right! Sorry, old audiology humor. Well, it’s very simple; I mainly studied the science of hearing and balance. I test people’s hearing, and I try to come up with new ways to help them improve their hearing. I also work with the vestibular system, that’s the system which monitors motor balance. People with dizziness issues, motion sickness usually have a problem in their vestibular system, and I work to help correct it.

H: Sounds interesting. So how did you get started? Did you grow up knowing that you would become an audiologist?

A: Well, no, actually. To be perfectly honest with you, I didn’t know what audiology was until sophomore year in college -

H: - What?

A: - Ha-ha, yes. I went to college without the foggiest idea of what I want to major in. I remember being quite envious of my peers, dedicated individuals who knew from the first day as freshmen what they wanted to be. I was enjoying learning so much that my academic advisor worried that I would not graduate in time. Like any good professional, she referred me to the career’s center for further testing. They threw quite a battery of tests at me and were able to narrow me down to fields that were people-oriented with emphasis on nurturing and healing. Audiology, psychology, ministry and teaching came up. Then, they gave me one final test called the Kuder Occupational Interest Survey.

H: What is that?

A: Well, think of it as the eHarmony or Match.com of the occupational world, it compares your personality with those of people in various professions and tries to match you up with the best fit.

H: So, did it paired you up with audiology, and was it like love at first sight, you two hit it off right there and then?

A: Yes, and no… Audiology did come up as my top choice. But you know how it is in those romantic stories, where the guy either chooses to ignore his instincts, or didn’t think he is good enough for his true love meant to be, and went after the second best instead?

H: Yeah… but this story has a happy ending, right?

A: Yes, yes. But being the fool that I was, I went ahead and “courted” other fields instead before fate finally put me back on track again with audiology. I graduated with a degree in psychology, and landed a job as a research assistant at a coordinating center for clinical trials. I figured it was a good match, behind the scenes of healthcare and all. And it was, to some extent, but it was kind of passive. I needed something more hands on; something that would spark my enthusiasm, and allowed me to be truly empathetic. Luckily, I was staying with my best friend’s family at the time, and his mother is an Audiologist. You may have heard of her, Dr. Tomi Browne.

H: This is her right here (shows her on screen in pamphlet about Hearts of the Village).

A: Yes, that’s her. You can say she changed my life, she taught me what it means to be blessed and the philosophy of “pay it forward,” More importantly, she began to expose me to the world of audiology. Actually, to be honest, there is no way you can live with the Browne family and not being infected by the audiology bug. But it was through her that I fell in love with audiology for real.

H: So she was matchmaker and re-united you with audiology.

A: You can’t get away from something that is meant to be. I remember staying with the Browne’s family, and at the time they were very active with mission work involving this orphanage in Nairobi Kenya for HIV positive children.

H: (flashes photos of the Browne family visiting Nyumbani)

A: Anyway, one particular child from this orphanage, Mungai, had a profound hearing loss since birth. And it was determine that the situation could be rectified only with a cochlear implant – a procedure not available in Kenya. Mungai stayed with us, and over the course of four months, I witnessed the miracle unfold as doctors from Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia worked hard to help this child hear. It was simply awe inspiring.

H: (shows picture of Mungai)

A: I was really moved. Bit by bit, I became more interested in the field of audiology. It was around this time that I met another giant in the field of audiology – Dr. George Osborne.

H: George Osborne, as in the George Osborne College of Audiology from where you graduated?

A: Yes! Incidentally, that is the first time a college has been named after an Audiologist. Dr. Osborne was a good friend of Dr. Browne, and he visited with us often. I got to talk to him about audiology a lot, and we shared many spirited conversations on the subject. He was quite the visionary, and erudite. He was very passionate about the field audiology, and envisioned that it would grow into something big someday. He really believed in me, and strongly encouraged me to pursue audiology. It meant a lot to me that a man of his stature saw greatness in me.

H: Kind of like Dad giving permission to date his daughter, to continue in the analogy.

A: Right! I remember him employing his now famous lines on me “just go for it… you can do it!” I remember being really impressed with that attitude and his dedication to promoting the field of audiology to anyone and everyone. His life’s work was to spread the gift of hearing to as many as possible, and I share in that same vision.

H: So, it was history from that point onwards, right?

A: Yes, really. I started giving serious thoughts about becoming an audiologist, and during the winter of 2007, things started to fall into place. It started off with an invitation from Dr. Ken Henry to join his practice to see what it was like.

H: Wait a minute, Dr. Henry as in the director of Professional Hearing Services, one of the largest audiology practices on the Northeast coast-- Also one of the leading experts in vestibular rehabilitation?

A: Yep, that’s him. He is another good friend of Dr. Browne, and when he learned of my interest in audiology, he said to me “well, you have been on the sidelines watching all along, how about getting into it and see if you like it?” So I signed up to become an audiometric technician under his supervision. Let me tell you, it was an amazing experience. I never believed I could live everyday being so motivated, empathetic, and enthusiastic. Hearing aid technology still fascinates me. I loved working with the patients – young and old and watch them smile when they realize their hearing improved. I really wanted to become part of it.

H: So that did it for you, huh?

A: YES! It was one of those moments where you see things clearly. Well, that is what audiology was for me. I could see myself being with it forever, and I wasn’t scared, I didn’t feel trapped. If anything I was excited. Audiology embodies everything I was searching for…the human contact, nurturing and healing, the prospect of doing important research. I found my niche and who I was all at the same time. I realized I could be a nerd and human at the same time, how cool is that! It was excellent! I found my bliss.

H: Wow… that’s quite something.

H: Well, folks, that’s about sums it up for us. Dr. Lau, thank you so much for your time. It was great to hear what made you who you are today. You are living proof that the kindness of others can go a long way.

Something I Wrote About Fridge Clean-up Duty

First e-mail to colleagues informing of the upcoming clean-up

1 And on the eleventh day of the sixth month, David spake unto Andy in the room of 69 saying,
2 Write ye electronically to the patrons of the kitchen near room area 70, saying, On the fourteenth day of this month they shall take upon them means to label things and mark that which they safe keep in the icebox.
3 For ye shall pass through said icebox on the noon of the fifteenth day and smite down all unclaimed items.
4 Ye shall sanitize and purify with cleaning agents this place of sub-zero temperature; making it suitable for the storage of victuals once more
5 All that is unaccounted for shall forever be banished to the realms of refuse.
6 Therefore, the labels shall be for them a token of where their provisions are: and when you see the labels, you shall pass over them, and the sanitization process shall not be upon their rations to destroy them


Response from my colleague

Pledge of Cleanliness

I pledge allegiance, to the labeling rule,
of the George Washington University Biostatistics Center.
And to the refrigerator, for which it stands,
one Work Force, under G.W.,
more responsible, with cleanliness and freshness for all.

We the people, of the Biostatistics Center, in order to form a more perfect refrigerator,
establish cleanliness, insure sanitary tranquility, provide for the common prevention of spoiled food,
promote the general welfare, and secure the blessings of a clean refrigerator to ourselves and our posterity,
do ordain and establish this labeling process for the George Washington University Biostatistics center.


Shapla Choudhury



E-mail reporting the aftermath of the clean-up

Subject: Cleaning, the aftermath!

This just in folks,

Tropical Cyclone Andrew blew through the once quiet town of Icebox 70 around 12:00pm Eastern today leaving much devastation in its wake. Ranked by meteorologists as a Category 5 storm, TC Andrew seemingly just pop up out of nowhere on the radar screen this noon, and without much warning made its way through this once populated town at a nautical speed of 95 knots, later disappearing without a trace. It is still early to determine the exact amount of damage inflicted, and officials have so far refused to comment on the situation. Our local correspondent Andy reports,

(Turns to show disheveled Asian with the abysmally vacant fridge in the background)
Yes Diane, as you can see behind me, Hurricane Andrew has done quite a significant amount of damage to this once populated town of Icebox 70. At one time, dozens of ethnic foods had coexisted peacefully in this quaint neighborhood; but now, as you can see, only a few remain.

(Camera pans to earlier interviewees)
It all happened so fast, one minute we were chilling on our shelves, the next we were tossed about and thrown into this box says a jug of Lowfat Kifir Cultured Milk Smoothie.

He and a couple of items were caught off guard by the sudden intensity of the storm. Wrenched from their homes in a blur, they are now currently displaced into a box just on the outskirts of Icebox 70 awaiting relocation.

(Camera slowly fades out from the box, and pans to the garbage bin)
Sadly, they are just some of the fortunate ones. We drove around to the refuse dump on the corner where the clean-up crew has removed some of the unfortunate casualties of this storm- it was a gut-wrenching scene to behold. The victims were mostly cheese that didn't age well, carrots who were past the prime, and even a family of Chinese takeout who were simply caught unaware. Many did not see it coming, and had not taken the necessary steps to protect themselves with labels

Its tragic when these sort of things happen, says Pizza from the freezer who were amongst the few that were sheltered by magic markers, we were tight, you know. We used to joke around a lot... about who is going next? Whos got more culture and such? Now, they are all gone. (breaks down profusely)

Indeed, the remaining victuals are a sad bunch tonight, the empty and bare shelves a silent tribute to those that once stood there. My report here is done, back to you.

(Studio)
Thank you, Andy. That was Andy reporting live at the scene. If you want to find out if your rations survived the storm, please go to the box right located outside Icebox 70. Local residents who were displaced during the storm will be housed there temporary for the day before being shipped off to a more final destination. Thats all for now, we will bring you more updates as they come along..

INFJ

分析：您的性格類型是「INFJ」( 作家型 )

尋求思想、關係、物質等之間的意義和聯繫。希望瞭解什麼能夠激勵人，對人有很強的洞察力。有責任心，堅持自己的價值觀。對於怎樣更好的服務大眾有清晰的遠景。在對於目標的實現過程中有計劃而且果斷堅定。 INFJ型的人生活在思想的世界裡。他們是獨立的、有獨創性的思想家，具有強烈的感情、堅定的原則和正直的人性。即使面對懷疑，INFJ型的人仍相信自己的看法與決定。他們對自己的評價高於其他的一切，包括流行觀點 和存在的權威，這種內在的觀念激發著他們的積極性。通常INFJ型的人具有本能的洞察力，能夠看到事物更深層的含義。即使他人無法分享他們的熱情，但靈感對於他們重要而令人信服。 INFJ型的人忠誠、堅定、富有理想 。他們珍視正直，十分堅定以至達到倔強的地步。因為他們的說服能力，以及對於什麼對公共利益最有利有清楚的看法，所以 INFJ型的人會成為偉大的領導者。由於他們的貢獻，他們通常會受到尊重或敬佩。因為珍視友誼 和和睦，INFJ型的人喜歡說服別人，使之相信他們的觀點是正確的。通過運用嘉許和讚揚，而不是爭吵和威脅，他們贏得了他人的合作。他們願意毫無保留地激勵同伴，避免爭吵。通常INFJ型的人是深思熟慮的決策者，他 們覺得問題使人興奮，在行動之前他們通常要仔細地考慮。他們喜歡每次全神貫注於一件事情，這會造成一段時期的專心致志。滿懷熱情與同情心，INFJ型的人強烈地渴望為他人的幸福做貢獻。他們注意其他人的情感和利 益，能夠很好地處理複雜的人。INFJ型的人本身具有深厚複雜的性格，既敏感又熱切。他們內向，很難被人瞭解，但是願意同自己信任的人分享內在的自我。他們往往有一個交往深厚、持久的小規模的朋友圈，在合適的氛 圍中能產生充分的個人熱情和激情。

您適合的領域有：諮詢、教育、科研、文化、藝術、設計等領域

您適合的職業有：

特殊教育教師
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編輯／藝術指導（雜誌）
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大學教師（人文學科、藝術類）
心理學、教育學、社會學、哲學及其它領域的研究人員
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設計師

On Faith, Take 1

I find it almost remarkable how a singular "tragic" incident can seem to marred the plethora of good ones. It becomes a harbinger of progressively worst events. Or is it the other way around, that our lives are ultimately tragic, that those little glitter of goodness are made more endearing and radiant simply because they are rare and contrasted to the sheer destitute about it. I don't know, it is just so arbitrary. Ultimately, I like to believe that each event has equal and inherent potential of goodness and evilness in it. Or, maybe they have neither but mere reflection of our whims at the moment of encounter.

Regardless, we oscillate in the medium of life. Sometimes it is sinusoidal, and all is well in the world. Simple harmonic motion unhindered by any form of friction. Other times, it becomes irratic, forced even. The phenomenon in of itself is meaningless however, until someone steps in to decide. Someone who is removed enough to observe with clarity each instance in time; and yet close enough to be an agent of change.

To the particle that vibrates within the stream, there is nothing it can do but be subject to the flow of things. Yet, to the supreme observer there is a precise science to predicting where the particle will be from one time frame to another. There is a sacred knowledge of where the nodes and anti-nodes are located, and an acceptance that these are just mere facts of life, cosmic vibration which are in of themselves random but governed by laws of physics.

To deem ourselves such a being is laughable. No longer is it a matter of being conscious, but a matter of ego. Perhaps therein lies our problem as sentinent beings, our internal struggles to be Human and Children of G-d. We are made in His likeness, but likeness is where it stops. We may master our humanity, but never should we see ourselves as judge of nature, supreme decider of good and evil.

Faith is such a vehicle. It is the coefficient that remains changeless in times of turbulence and disturbance. It is that which anchors us, even as we scale the height of a peak, or drop to the depths of a valley. It is the one constant that we must hold on, because we as particle moves in place, it is the wave of life that changes.

On Dating

The topic of dating keeps coming up.. so I figure I may as well say something about it. I am not good at this dating thing. Chiefly because I suck at initiating things. Show me a girl who is broken-hearted, messed up, in need of moral support, and I am your man. I will make her whole, and prepare her for the world of men, or relationships and such again. But show me a perfect girl, who is beautiful, and whole in every way, and I shut up; I dare not approach her, because inevitably I have formed this perfect notion of her that I cannot overcome. The thing is, I am always going to be that nice guy; the sweet, corny guy with the self deprecating humor who can bring a smile to any damsel in distress without fail. I am good at that kind of stuff. But if you want me to chat up a girl, forget it.

In the end, I value being a friend too much. The moment I let go and charmed a girl, then chances are we will have a good time, and she would like me and mistake her tenderness for me as some sex drive. Then, I am just another asshole who wants to get in her pants... I don't want that. I don't want to be the smooth guys whom I envy from time to time. I want something more than that. I like to believe that most girls are out of my league... what is wrong with that? That I admire women, I adore them, I cherish them. I feel great knowing that despite their perfection, they still need people like me to remind them just how awesome they are, and that they are the best. Do I feel some form of sadness knowing that they will never see me in similar light. Sometimes... but what is that compared to being the one who can help them actualize their potentials for a greater relationship with someone better. The reality is I believed even more dearly that the one for me is out there. That if I work hard at helping others actualize their romance, then my time will come too.

I know I may appear the lesser male, because males are supposed to be confident beings who bang their own drums and sing their own praises. But screw that... I may not be the manliest of men... but I know what I will be good at, and that is all those things that comes after courtship. I know I will be a great dad and husband. Just for now, this dating thing is not working for me. Least of all the casual thing. It isn't me. If some hypothetical girl would bear with me through the roses and corny phase of dating, I know I will not fail her. Oh, I will be the sappiest man alive, but I think I will be the happiest one too because I will have fun making her happy. But for now, I am just going to be me... despite how pathetic it may sound. I suck at being single, but I am learning about myself, and I am ok with it.

Me

The topic of dating keeps coming up.. so I figure I may as well say something about it. I am not good at this dating thing. Chiefly because I suck at initiating things. Show me a girl who is broken-hearted, messed up, in need of moral support, and I am your man. I will make her whole, and prepare her for the world of men, or relationships and such again. But show me a perfect girl, who is beautiful, and whole in every way, and I shut up; I dare not approach her, because inevitably I have formed this perfect notion of her that I cannot overcome. The thing is, I am always going to be that nice guy; the sweet, corny guy with the self deprecating humor who can bring a smile to any damsel in distress without fail. I am good at that kind of stuff. But if you want me to chat up a girl, forget it.

In the end, I value being a friend too much. The moment I let go and charmed a girl, then chances are we will have a good time, and she would like me and mistake her tenderness for me as some sex drive. Then, I am just another asshole who wants to get in her pants... I don't want that. I don't want to be the smooth guys whom I envy from time to time. I want something more than that. I like to believe that most girls are out of my league... what is wrong with that? That I admire women, I adore them, I cherish them. I feel great knowing that despite their perfection, they still need people like me to remind them just how awesome they are, and that they are the best. Do I feel some form of sadness knowing that they will never see me in similar light. Sometimes... but what is that compared to being the one who can help them actualize their potentials for a greater relationship with someone better. The reality is I believed even more dearly that the one for me is out there. That if I work hard at helping others actualize their romance, then my time will come too.

I know I may appear the lesser male, because males are supposed to be confident beings who bang their own drums and sing their own praises. But screw that... I may not be the manliest of men... but I know what I will be good at, and that is all those things that comes after courtship. I know I will be a great dad and husband. Just for now, this dating thing is not working for me. Least of all the casual thing. It isn't me. If some hypothetical girl would bear with me through the roses and corny phase of dating, I know I will not fail her. Oh, I will be the sappiest man alive, but I think I will be the happiest one too because I will have fun making her happy. But for now, I am just going to be me... despite how pathetic it may sound.I suck at being single, but I am learning about myself, and I am ok with it.

In memory of Kate Puzey

All seems futile in the face of a tragedy- the words of comfort, a note of sympathy, attempts to extend one’s condolences to the family of the deceased; it all sound so trite.

It is almost surreal, the world keeps on going at a blurry pace, but there you are halted abruptly, ensconced in your own individual reminiscence. Little things becomes salient, things that were before trivial, are now triggers to memories. Each memory tearing at your heartstrings, unraveling until raw emotions lay bare for all to see, vulnerable, weakened, disheartened. It's like you are sitting there playing a game of Jenga against yourself. With each reminder, the extraction of a memory, the world threatens to crumble.

Perhaps it has already crumbled and you find yourself at ground zero. How do you go from there? What words of wisdom, what acts of comfort can lift you from the rubble of having suffered the lost of someone so special? The candle snuffed out prematurely in its prime, you are left to stumble about blindly in the dark.

Maybe it's true we mourn selfishly for our lost, for if we are to believe what we believe, than the dead is in a far far better place than what we can provide on this transitory earth. Yet, what of us, what of the beauty the departed has instilled within us. It hurts to look at it, but we can not let it fade. It is a plant passed on to us to nurture.

For now, we cry, but we will rejoice that such a radiance was once in our midst. Her presence a firework of stardusts, and we each carry within us a bit of her dreams, her hopes; just as she carried a bit of ours when she soared to new heights. She dared us to aspire to higher places when she herself went for the stars. When we fell short, she lifted us by her example, telling us it is possible.

Dear Kate, you will be missed...

My friends

I am no poet, far from it. To consider me a poet would be an insult to the true poets out there, the Neruda, Gibran and Hughes of our times. What I am is a fortunate individual who exists in the presence of inspirational people. People whose very lives are a never ending source of brilliance. People whose fond regards of me, despite their esteemed stations, raised me upon a pedestal that I never dared myself to scale.

You may perceive the wonders of an eclipse in the pond, but that is nothing compared to the real one happening in the sky. Such is the greatness of those who surrounds me, that by mere proximity alone, you mistake me for their awesomeness.

I am no poet, but a mere sounding board resonating their beauty. I am a prism to their light. A bystander may mistake me for the origins of a rainbow; but in truth, that spectrum is inspiration amplified. I am nothing and my aspirations delusional in their absence. So you see, all these imagery, all the poetry, they are but mere reflections of true greatness emitted by those around me.I am just fortunate to be close by to grasp a few crumbs; the residual of their grace is sufficient.

Heart and Mind

Have you ever listen to the conversations between the heart and mind? I find they bear striking resemblance to those shared between a concerned parent and his/her teenage child. 

One day, the heart would sidle up shyly to the mind and say, "I think I might have met someone."

The mind, alarmed, would reply, "What do you mean you may have met someone? Who is it? How did you two meet? How do you know if this is the right person?"

The heart shrugs and mumbles, "Well, you know, you just do, gut feeling sort of thing. I can't give you the details, not just yet. I just want your support in this. "

"I don't know dear, I think you are still too young, and I worried that you might get hurt."

"You worry too much, it's not like we are going to get married or anything. We are barely seeing each other as it is, it's nothing serious yet."

An impasse would then be reached, with the "why not"s and "so what"s being thrown back and forth. The mind worrying that the heart would get hurt; the heart upset that the mind could be right. It's an age old tale, the protective parent versus the free willed teenager. One day though, these two will come to an understanding of sorts. 

A prayer

From a far I hear you calling, in the recess of my mind I felt your gentle prodding.
In some remote corners of my heart there lingers a sense of yearning, a tinge of longing. Oh, my dream, my hope, be far not far from me as I have strayed from you. Do not forget me, even though I have been preoccupied with things less significant. Oh, I know of your presence, bubbling beneath the turbulent waters that is my life. I breathe each breath only because I know I am destined to achieve you, but how or when I know not. Only time can reveal. I only wish I can have the courage to pursue you, the wisdom to discern how and the will to endure the chase. Yea, would I love to feel once more the adrenaline course in me as I rediscover my purpose. I pray that I can pick up your scent and follow it with alacrity. Be not vague, be not far from me this day forth. Oh, have clemency upon this wayfarer's weary soul, and lead him home to you. Let him wander not in the wilderness too long, let not thorns prick his side and the thistles tear upon his flesh. Retrieve me, receive me from this wasteland that I have blundered into. Wait for me and wait upon me that I may attain the greatness that you have set for me. Forgive me of my mortal weaknesses, my feeble attempts, and my seemingly ephemeral memory of you. Remind me of you, ensconce me once more in your awesome radiance. 

Misere Mei. In spiritu humilitatis, et in animo contrito suscipiamur a te, Domine: et sic fiat sacrificum nostrum in conspectu tuo hodie, ut placeat tibi, Domine Deus.

Tired

I missed the days when I would wake up early on my own volition. When I would greet each new day with an unfettered ebullience. I was a morning person without any assistance from caffeine. Gosh, I miss those days when nothing carries over, it is a blank slate. I could have gone to bed the night before crying (usually because I was punished for something), comes morning all is forgotten, I am happy again, ready for new adventures that await. 

Those days are ancient history. Now, waking up early becomes a chore. I have become dependent on the steady beep of the alarm clock to guide me out of my slumber. And even when I am up and seemingly functional, the reality is I am not. My soul barely clinging to my being like a shirt half-dressed- unbuttoned, untucked, ruffled, wrinkled and flailing in the wind.  

They say it takes more muscles to frown than to smile, I don't know if there is scientific proof to that, but I can tell you that I consciously feel my face sag as the day progress. So much so that I may began the day with a plastic smile (yes, plastic, because it stops just below the eyes, and the cheeks twitched with the effort), and as the day progresses, it will slowly melt to a grimace and eventually a frown by the end of the day. That is unless I reactivate the facial muscles again with the aid of some coffee or red bull. No joke.

It is quite unbecoming to be honest. Everyone should be entitled a fresh start, to be free from previous day's burden. Yet, that is not the case. As we grow older, we seem to take on more; the residuals of yesteryears weighing us down. Accumulating, sedimenting like an unchanged baby's diaper- ready to burst and spew all nearby with Class A toxic human waste. There has got to be a way to regain that youthful zest. 

I am searching for it, if you have found the method, let me know.   

Porcelain goddess

We sat across from each other. Me just down to my pants; dazed, a touch of vertigo, completely inebriated. She, sitting there seductively, intoxicating with a come-hither look upon her face. It took every ounce of my will power not to succumb to her alluring power, what with her porcelain skin and wide smile. So there we were, on the verge of something wonderful. How the heck did we end up here…

It started out just like any night, happy hour following a long day’s work, just me and the guys. The bar was crowded as usual, people all about, each trying to chatter above the din, each raising their voices until it all clashes into a cacophony of “what?”s and “I said…”s. I, sitting there with my drink, looking all dorky and nerdy as befitting my role.

Let me back up a little bit. Ladies, you know sometimes when you go to the bar, you go in a posse of sorts. Most of the time, it is a harmless gathering, ladies night out. Other times, it serves a defensive purpose – a buffer to prevent the wrong guys from hitting on one or two amongst you. Just on a side note, it’s a very effective system because it ensures that only the most qualified can get through. Those who breached that line of defense are usually individuals of great personal charisma, or have amazing wingmen who are in of themselves positive reinforcements of the guy’s image. I digress.

For guys, there is an alternative to the wingman. There is the bring-a-sap method. Let's pause for a second, you go to a bar, you see a nice looking guy who looks kind of cool and detached. He can be sitting alone drinking a Bud, or he could be surrounded by other guys. What goes through your mind? If you are like most girls, you probably think he is kind of cute, but possibly inaccessible, his friends are probably vulgar, and as a result the guy himself could possibly be a total jerk, just like any other guy. Now, what if it's the same guy, but this time he is drinking with this timid, soft-spoken, average-looking geek, someone who looks like that little brother everybody is compelled to look out for. Now, I am willing to bet he is coming across as much nicer because he is hanging out with a lesser being. "Aw, how nice of him to be hanging out with average people."

Enters me, I am that average bozo. I am homely enough to make any guy I sit next to a male model. I am dumb enough looking to make him look the man-of-the-world type. When I am there, he becomes the nice older brother who is out showing his kid brother a good time; the kid brother who inherited none of the looks and literally or figuratively hit the books a little bit too hard.I am the cute baby or pet equivalent. I am better though because I am disposable, you don't need to change my diapers or pick up my "uh-oh"s.  I can get you in, break the ice and extract myself without making  a scene. 

Suddenly, that same guy we talked about earlier is approachable, charming, and nice. He could walk over to the female posse, dragging me along, play the "Have you met my friend" game. The girls would laugh, they start a good rapport, he winks at me. Insertion complete, mission accomplished. Me being actually shy and all would slip away quietly unnoticed. I would go and drink by myself. I keep drinking until I get a slight buzzed, and realize it is time to go home.

Which brings us back to where I am now, sitting across from her, the one constant in my life. As wild a night and as late it gets, I know she will be up waiting for me, ready to embrace me. To her I go, ready to pour out all the loneliness that I try to drown out by downing one too many. Yet, in the back of my mind I know this is not healthy. I can't just throw myself at her mercy everytime I don't score elsewhere. So here I sit, trying to hold it all back, unwilling to pounce myself upon her.

Alas, my flesh betrays me... and everything comes hurling out. The two beers, one cocktail, five shots of tequila plus whatever it is that I have chewed and churned on the past 24 hours. She awallows it all, taking it all in with a chortle until I can vomit no more. Spent, I collapse at her feet, shivering, feeling dirty, hating myself. Yet my porcelain goddess, she is my sole comforter, I worship at her altar. She clears my head, cleanse my system, and because of her I am ready to face a new dawn with no hangovers.

Waiting

I find myself constantly waiting. Just waiting; waiting for people, waiting on people. It never bothered me before, the whole game of waiting. I can wait; I have no where else to be, I have nothing better to do. Waiting is good for me; it builds character I am told, it teaches patience, it strengthens compassion. Yet, as of late, I seem to have lost my capacity to wait.

What changed? What has changed that I have become impatient? What has changed that I am now hesitant to wait on people? From whence came this sense of urgency; from what spawn my reluctance? It troubles me, this knowledge that I am no longer as willing to wait and serve with alacrity. It feels very unbecoming of who I am, deviating greatly from the person that I envision myself to be, ultimately going against my instincts. Yet, here I am a lesser waiter in all sense of the word.

It's me, isn't it. I have changed. More importantly I have become first person singular. That's it... isn't it? Before it was just about waiting, there was no notion of "I" in there. Waiting was waiting, just a verb, an action to be completed. It was neutral, business as usual. But then "I" came along, and all of a sudden the dynamics changed. No longer is it about completing a task or helping someone out. No, suddenly there is a matter of self-preservation, an avoidance to becoming subservient. The question "What about me?" comes up, and I am stop dead in my tracks. I have allowed doubt to seep in.

It has been said that there is only a fine line between serving and being a servant. As Eliseo so eloquently puts it in the movie Life is Beautiful:

"Think of a sunflower, they bow to the sun. But if you see some that are bowed too far down, it means they're dead. You're here serving, you're not a servant. Serving is the supreme art. God is the first of servants. God serves men, but he's not a servant to men." I find that I have lost sight of where I stand in relation to that line. I have become a servant, servile to extrinsic factors. No longer can I claim that I am master of my own faculties. No longer is there altruism.

Once upon a time, I waited because I can, because it is within me to wait. Now, I feel I wait because I must. I did not choose whether or not to wait, rather the wait is thrust upon me... and I suppose I feel frustrated at the helplessness it induces in me - to wait, to wait on others, to wait for others when I am not ready.

I feel I have abased myself, and debased the art of waiting. Ironically, I have done so by placing myself before others. That should never have happened... never should I have allowed my sense of self grow so prominent that I place my own happiness before others. It is a false sense of entitlement. Who am I to be impatient? Who am I to think others should wait? I am disgusted.

I see where I have strayed. From this time forth, I shall wait, not out of a sense of inferiority nor superiority, but rather because I am graced with the gift to wait. I shall cherish my ability to wait.

Wait for me.

Why some love can never be

I wish I could tell you how much I look forward to our conversations, however brief they might be. I wish I could compliment you to your face without fear of making things awkward for the two of us. But I can't, I mustn't. We can talk of anything and everything beneath the skies, but never are we allowed to broach the topic of "us". To do so would mean risking everything. The comfort zone which we have built around each other, the pedestals that have been raised, they would all come tumbling down, crumbling into pieces. It could mean the betrayal of a trust, the shattering of a sacred friendship.

Dare I risk what we have now, an easy flow of dialogues beyond time and space? Dare I face the possibility of being decimated should you find my advances unbecoming between two friends? You probably would find it so overwhelming that you need to withdraw yourself far away from it. That will crush me. Indeed, I value our friendship as I do to the last drop of water on this earth. I cannot allow myself to feel more for you. I shall be destroyed should you reject, as I know you will. No, I rather savor each moment we have together. I rather be disappointed that you never saw me as the one, than to live without your wit and your kindness.

I am honour bound to put aside my personal agenda. Friendship first and foremost. Perhaps my ardor will subside over time.





p.s. This is a fictional piece, not applicable to anything actual in the author's life. If there is, it is purely coincidential.

Salsa tips (written May 2006)

Being a beginner, it is always nice to have some friendly advice from experienced dancers. The other night I went dancing at this new place up in Rockville MD. It was a relatively new dance studio, spacious with nice wooden floors ( I suppose you would fine my fascination with the floor a bit strange, but having spacious wooden floor to dance on is kind of hard to come by in DC). The crowd there was really friendly, mostly middle age couples who truly enjoyed what they were doing, and were most willing to share their experiences. There wasn't a whole lot of "fancy" salsa going on like at some of the clubs I have been to, just people who were there to have a good time. It made the salsa they danced seem so much more rustic and fun to watch, possibly because it felt feasible, comprehendable by a beginner like me. 

Anyway, I had the chance to dance with a really nice lady there. She was very patient, and didn't mind at all that I was a beginner. Throughout the couple of dances that we were partnered, she taught me a lot of the little details that I have not noticed before. For instance, she pointed out that one of the most common mistakes that guys make is taking big steps. She said that what makes salsa so special is not the amount of space you cover, nor the wide turns, but in being subtle and sexy at the same time. One of the ways to achieve this is to do small steps, and move the hips more. When a guy takes rather huge steps, he invertedly restricts his hips from swaying as much because a lot of the movement is spent covering length. If he steps closer, smaller steps, he lets his knee bend more, and his hips can sway more. She said it is important to master the step-in-place, because when you take small steps, you don't waste time and effort covering area, thus you can spend more time focusing on rhythm. 

Also, the key is not in turning girls here and there. she said that girls actually don't like being turned that much, nor do they enjoy being maneuver around like a doll. There is no room for Latin machismo on the salsa floor, it is all about subtle, slow and yet deliberate touch. She said that salsa is like Zen at times, you want to make the most impact by doing the least. You don't need tobe flashy to be sexy. Like wearing a tiny black dress, it is not what is exposed that make the wearer sexy, but rather what is hidden underneath. Sexiness is not measured by how much a woman reveals, but rather by how much she covers. A scantily clad woman is not as attractive as a woman in a long flowing dress. The mystery is the alluring factor in salsa. When one dances salsa, one is exploring. If you show all, then there is nothing else to explore, the mystery is gone, and the tension is gone.  Paraphasing the instructor, salsa has a whole to do with flirting and teasing. The girl says "you are not getting any, but you can dance close to me". One of the false assumption is that the guys are leading - they are not. They are loving admirers, and they are admiring the woman in their hands by gently turning her every which way so that he can fully appraise her beauty.  

Tracing or slow fluid movements is key. Despite being a fast dance, salsa occurs in slow motion, and you want to produce the most effect with the slightest touch. Like a dragonfly touching on the pond. If a guy wants to be a better dancer, he needs to know the right spots to push rather than which hand to pull. 

Another thing she pointed out was communication. A lot of guys don't seem to know how to communicate with their partners. One of the key thing that a guy should remember is to look at his partner and smile. Often times, guys tend to look away from their partners, and try to steer their partners with the hands only. She pointed out that salsa, like sex, should be something that is done eyes wide open. Only in looking into your partner's eyes can you communicate at a higher level. The eyes, and the smile convey to your partner that you are having a good time. Interestly enough, she also pointed out that when a guy is practicing, he should close his eyes. She said this way, the guy can become more familiar with the right touch. 

There is no need to rush into doing turns and all, the quality of a good dance is not measured by how fancy you can get, but how much meaning you can convey as partners. It is an art, and art requires much preparation. Dancing salsa with a partner requires much patience, constantly looking for the right timing to execute a move such that it reachest its fullest artistic potential. If all one does are turns, then their effects become dull, the dancers and obervers alike would become numb. Instead, when dancing, be sure to look for tension and communication with your partner. Constantly re-adjust the tension in the hands so that when you feel it, you can do a move in all its glory. 

Welcome

I suppose I should preface here why I named this blog "Breakfast at the Midnight Cafe". For those of you who know me, I am somewhat of an insomniac. Actually, I prefer to call it being nocturnal, or to be more precise crepuscular. It's not that I don't sleep, I do, I love to sleep just as much as the next guy. It's just that I have a different circadian rhythm, one that sets me apart from the norm of a diurnal society. I guess I am the evening equivalent of the "morning person". The moon doing for me what the sun does for reptiles and most green leafy plants. 

I can't explain it, I just feel more alive during the night, especially during twilight hours. I may be physically tired from a day's work, but I find that my mental acuity is at its peak when night falls.  I attain a level of focus and awareness at night that is otherwise elusive when the sun is out. The clarity is refreshing, and things that are left on the back burner during the day are smelling pretty good by night. The way I explain it to people, its like the sun floods everything with light, so much so that it is hard to really look at individual items. Everything is bright, and equally catching. Then comes the night, and the moon is like this giant spot light that hones in on whatever you aim it at. It may be a narrower beam with a softer glow, but it does its job of contrasting things for me. 

So there you have it, I love the night, it is welcoming. There is something about it, a quality of intimacy that encourages people to shed their daily masks and reveal their truth selves. At least I have always found the conversations that lasted way into the night more enlightening. I guess it has to do with the fact that there is little distraction. Most diurnal people function on a minute-to-minute-hour-to-hour mentality, where things are planned on the hour, quarter hour and half hour, and intervals (in minutes) expressed in units divisible by 5. Comes the night, and that mentality is reduced, the need to move on abated.  It allows the mind to wander and reflect, as if it's saying "Hey, the night is young and I've got nowhere that I need to be." 

Another thing I like about the night is all-night diners that serves breakfast anytime. The staff and patrons at these diners are people after my own heart. They understand what it is like to be nocturnal, and they buy into the philosophy that breakfast is the most important meal of the day. I know the stuff they serve you at these diners may not be healthy per se, but it is often very satisfying. Talk with any great conversationalist, and they will tell you one of the best way to keep a conversation alive is a full stomach. 

So it is with this in mind that  I created this blog. I hope I can combine the effects of a hearty meal and timeless agenda to create a welcoming atmosphere. I hope you can join me from time to time, when your daily work is done, and you want to share thoughts and stories. Grab a mug and come hither.