A strange dream occurred today, a gist of which I remember.

I had a different face. In my dream, I was a young brown skinned Asian man, perhaps Filipino looking thoroughly baked in sun. It was so strange. I was looking at the mirror, making faces at myself. I raised my eyebrows and opened my eyes wide, frowned and saw deep wrinkles appear between my brows, smiled to reveal straight teeth that were much whiter than mine, and then I blankly stared into my alternate reflection. I rotated side to side trying to take in the features of my new face but it just wasn’t right.

The face wasn’t my face. It smiled when I smiled, it moved when I moved, but it wasn’t my face. I understood that and I had a thought that I’ve never had before “I miss my face”. I’ve never had that thought before. “I miss my face”. It’s certainly a thought I may have when I’ve grown old, but it had never occurred to me thus far.

Perhaps what it meant was that I miss myself. Anyway, I’m having a strange morning waking up with a dream like that. We’ll see how the day goes.

——–

One was about the diversity of dog breeds, and how their greatly varying features only rely on fifty or so genetic switches. One particular gene switch determined whether the dog’s coat was long or short, while another single gene caused the size difference between a Pug and a Great Dane. It’s fascinating, the idea of genetic traits that determine our every feature, our skin and eye color, tone of our voice, length of our legs, size of breasts and strength of muscles, intelligence, vulnerability to to certain diseases, even our personalities, like a tendency to keep a promise or to lie, or to be imaginative or hard-working.

The very idea that these traits that make us individuals rely on a biological code structure that we share, is indeed remarkable. I wonder, if I were to be presented with an opportunity to improve my genetic code by a genie in a bottle, would I? And if it were for another person? It’s too big of a question for me to fathom right now. It’d be like playing God.

——-

Another was about a recently discovered work by Leonardo da Vinci. The work, a portrait of a Milanese girl named Bianca Sforza,  changed hands multiple times, each previous owner oblivious to the fact that it was a da Vinci. An instinctive hunch of the latest owner led to him contacting a professor who might know more, which turned into a collaborative research, revealing more and more evidence that until finally being confirmed that it was an original work. Again, I was fascinated. These people had a drawing that was over 500 years old, and they were able to look into the painted girl’s clothing and hairstyle to find what city and era she was from, which coincided with the place that da Vinci was at in that time, Milan. Then they looked at lists of patrons of da Vinci and found the family and their family heirloom book, and the painting fit right into that book. Detective work at its best.

——–

The third extensive article focused on tsunamis. I live in the bay area, an region known for its tremendous terrestrial tremors. As I read the article, I envisioned an earthquake.

Twenty minutes past midnight, I lay on my sides tucked in my bed half-asleep. My eyes see a familiar shade of black-nothing, thinking about occurrences of the day and possibilities of tomorrow. I begin to drift into fantasy, envisioning a sweet kiss and a loving embrace, projections of my subconsciousness. I look into a pair of  beautiful eyes that understand my soul, looking right back at me. It is a divine moment, a frozen moment in time that will surely be ingrained in my brain. I would love to stare forever into those eyes  but suddenly I am jolted back into reality when the window starts to rattle. First, a quite rattle, as if struck by a gust of head wind. But I do not hear wind. he moment I finish that thought, the room begins to shake violently. I lose all train of thought as my entire existence is fixated into my room as the startling sound of shattering glass, objects falling off my desk, and the low-pitched groan of my walls adds  more terror to the fact that the world is shaking. A shrill scream of a woman and a dozen car alarms add to the panicked chaos in my mind

That is not an angry smiley. That is a sad face wearing a beanie.

I made a bet with John, an old friend of mine. John is a 22 year old fellow who likes to maintain a healthy list of to-dos, and abides by them with religious discipline. To him, being lazy is a form of harming oneself, and simply unacceptable. It’s an ideal that is backed by solid reasoning, and one that I respect. He is an orderly-man, a do-it-now kind of guy, who likes to take action sooner than later when an idea presents itself. I regard him highly for possessing those traits.

However, he is also a troll.

That’s right, a troll. John is able to pull off the “troll face” with respectable accuracy and maddening results. John is a formidable troll, armed with wits and a solid vocabulary, and perhaps ADHD,  and he uses the power of trolling to make his lazy friends (Me) feel like shit.

This is the Trollface. Punch it the next time you see one.

His effort (I say effort because there is no way a person could act the way he does without putting in deliberate effort to be a fucking asshole) is usually well-intended. His goal is to make a person do something by annoying the crappers out of a person: challenging their integrity, spewing a merciless series of put-downs, spittling on you, greeting you with an hideous face, ignoring them if they should attempt to defend themselves by deliberately cutting you off, sputtering incoherent things loudly before one could finish a sentence, and generally just ruining your day. That’s just a taste of the arsenal that a troll possesses.

It is unfortunate to be the victim of the troll, as it is physically and mentally draining. After a series of sleep-deprived nights and days spent with an aching back and nothing to show for it, one does not want to be the target of a troll.

Here’s a scene for you. The setting is CSU East Bay campus, a sunny day on a red-brick colored picnic bench shaded by a single Eucalyptus tree,  in front of the business building as students walk by with their backpack on their backs and books in arms, after a two-hour session of linear optimizing.

Me: Man… I. Am. soooo. tired.

John: You’re a fag!

Me: What? Why would you say that?

John: Because you’re hella weaksauce. WEAK SAUWCE!

Me: Dude, I just got like 3 hours of sleep and worked fiftee-

John: YUBO!

Me: What? What the fuck is yu-

John: “Y” “U” “B”itching “O”ut?! Yubo! YYUUUUUBOOOOOO!!!!!

Me: I’m not bitching out! I’m just—

John: YUUUBOOOOOOO!!!!!

Me: Dude…. st-

John: YUBO!

Me: Com-

John: YUBO!

Me: Please sto-

John: YUBOOO!!!!!!!

Me: ……….

John: …………

John: OYEEEEEE! *trollface + spittle*

I got mad, and at that very moment, I knew. I’ve been trolled. It sucked because I couldn’t even express my anger  because of that “U MAD BRO?” bullshit, but let’s not talk about that. The basis of trolling is, if you got mad, you got trolled. That’s the whole point of trolling. To piss someone off simply because it’s possible. It’s an art in a way, though I wish it wasn’t.

Anyway, I’ve made a bet with this trolling bastard near the beginning of the Quarter. A Lunch bet for each of the two classes we were taking simultaneously. I lost both of these damned bets and now I have to FEED THIS FUCKING TROLL SO HE CAN TROLL ME EVEN MORE.

Ugh.

I didn’t want to eat it after that.

Just for fun: Google Nuthella.

———–

What do people do when they’re bored at home?

I just spent the entire day at home. I’ve got to say it was mostly a waste of a day. the morning started off with corndogs in the microwave. Yes, the oven makes them taste 3 times better, but it takes nearly 10 times longer and when you’re hungry, nothing matters. Anyway, after that, I chomped down a peach to wash down the corndog batter grease clogging at my throat. For a moment, I wondered what they put into batter so that grease rubs off on my fingers when I touch the batter, then I decided not to explore that thought.

And when that was done, it was lounging in front of the computer. A movie. Few episodes of a sitcom. Youtube clips. Blogs. Facebook. Email. More youtube clips. round and round. All of these things were mere distractions. I couldn’t sit still. Throughout the day, I found myself pacing back and forth in the room, up and down the stairs, circling the living room, in and out of the house, more restless than ever. My mother looked at me with confusion and suspicion in her eyes as she lifted a spoon of fermented bean soup from her bowl. “Go out or something” she said. “Go out where?” I thought. It was one of those days where all your friends were out doing something. I was getting annoyed at having nothing to do at home, but didn’t want to go out either. What do you do when you’ve got nothing to do and nothing you want to do? I was reaching the peak of boredom, and couldn’t bear much longer.

—-

I dug through  my dresser drawer. The handle was evidently dusty. I took a look at elementary school yearbooks, notes and letters from kids I knew in Korea, all my parking tickets I kept for no reason, love notes, prom pictures, all things I hadn’t seen in a long time.

I had sent letters to classmates in Korea from El Paso, Texas, soon after I immigrated. I tried to revisit the blurred memory of my final day of school in Korea. I remembered I left a love note for a girl in between stacks of homework on the teacher’s desk, but I couldn’t remember what she looked like. I remember reciting the English word “Apple”, but I couldn’t remember what I sounded like.  Strange how memories disappear. It’s like a part of me is gone. Anyway, they mailed me back within a month. It’s those letters I found in my drawer. Through the letters, I re-learned the name of my 3rd grade teacher from Korea. There was also a picture of a girl whose name and face I didn’t recognize, and a note, written in childish scribbles, expressing hopes that I do well in the States. Another letter was of admiration as I was a good presenter who spoke up when teachers asked questions, and yet another letter apologized for bullying me. I don’t remember any of  it. I don’t remember presenting in class. I don’t remember getting bullied, what the fuck? Actually, I do recall getting punked by a 4th or 5th grader when I was in 1st or 2nd grade but the letter couldn’t possibly be from him.  And it didnt help that half of them didn’t write their names in their letters either. I never bothered to reply to any of them. I wish I had. I don’t have contact with anyone from Korea aside from my aunts and uncles, with whom I speak with maybe once every 2 years or so. and those were the first 10 years of my life.

I also took a look at my elementary school yearbook. There was a little section on there where I wrote my favorite things, books, songs, website, subject, movie, band, celebrity, whatever. My favorite celebrities were wrestlers triple H and the Rock. You remember triple H? He was a bad guy. Anyway, Eminem was my favorite band (nevermind that Eminem is not a band, I was a kid and kids don’t give a damn) and “None” was my favorite subject. www.Iwin.com was my favorite website. My best friends then are now people I don’t see or hear from, or even think about. It was a trip down memory lane, and at the same time, an unsettling first visit. It got me thinking about time. Again.

Time really doesn’t stop for anything, I know. I think about that sometimes, usually during my heavier moods. All my joys and woes are belittled by it. I feel wonderful and alive, and then I wonder, what’s it matter to anyone in a thousand years? Perhaps we can relate to our parents or mentors, for those who had had the privilege to be know them. We can relate to them as we grow older and learn! And the appreciation for the little things as we learn: what happiness is? and what love is? and what pain is? We are able to relate. I think that is mind-blowing! Extraordinary, for you to genuinely sympathize with a friend as he tells you how rough it is for him. Or for you to be glowing giddily in exuberance and excitement when your longest friend finally finds a job. Their emotion is transferred to us. That’s amazing and that’s the greatness of life. I like to think about things like this. At times I have epiphanies. I think about the way I should act or think, how to be a better person, how to live a better life, or sometimes I reason myself into thinking things are not as bad as they seem, or that things are great and that life is wonderful. Cause it is. It really is.

—

It’s an abstract concept, Time. To us, it’s a given and a constraint. It’s something we accept as is without second thought. Of course time goes on. Of course you can’t go back. Life goes on, the past is gone, you move on. You snooze you lose. Tell me something new or I’m thru. Time is the subject of a hundred wise quotes. “Know how to live the time that is given to you”. “Men talk of killing time, while time quietly kills them”. “Waste your money and you’re out of money. Waste your time and you’re out of life.”.  Quotes about time are hard-hitting. Really, it’s talking about mortality. It’s a reminder for us to live life to the fullest, but it takes only one twisted thought to for us to despair.

And despair has weight to it. I’m going to peer in from the other side.

—-

Why does it even matter?

—-

Why does anything matter?

—-

No matter what you do, time will erase you.

—-

Never mind that your flesh will turn to soil. A thousand years later, no one will remember you.

—

Everyone who ever knows you will be dead. It’ll be like you never lived.

—

Do you know your great grandparents? You do?

—

How about their great grand parents? And theirs and theirs?

—

Do you care about them? You do?

—

Do you think your neighbor cares about your great great great grand parents? Do you care about theirs? The lives they had? Their trials and difficulties and their greatest moments?

—

What does it matter to you? You tell yourself that you care and say you do, but you just want your own life to be better. You do charity because it feels good. People will like you or hate you, but ultimately, they’ll forget. You and me both. All the wrong and evil I do, no one will remember. All the grace and good you’ve done, no one will know.

—-

That’s what time is. It’s an unstoppable cosmic eraser.

—-

And back to reality. He has a point. A damn good one too. We’re enveloped in our own immediate surrounding, aren’t we?. We’ve got to watch the latest movie that came out. And listen to the new track that’ll blow your mind. We’ve got to attend the funnest parties. We’ve got to hang around the coolest people. We’ve got to. We’ve got to. And then 10 years later, I look back at my past and I don’t remember triple H. I don’t remember listening to Eminem. I remember that my family was torn apart and being lost and how long it’s taking me to get over it. I don’t remember what movie I went to go watch with my friends 10 years ago or what parties we went to. I remember that the true friends were there before and they still are. And really, my great great great great sons aren’t going to care about all this. I won’t matter to them. They will care about themselves, their family, and their lives. And that’s ok.

That’s the trick. Believing “That’s OK”. You know, it’s ok that we’re going to be forgotten. The 100th generation ahead of us will call us as “ancestors” or “forefathers” and have no idea what kind of lives we lived or what sort of world we lived in. And so what? Just live your life the best you can. Yea, you’ll be forgotten in the future. Yes, all the difference you’ve made in other peoples lives won’t matter. Your heartbreaks and woes and achievements and disappear like a dream. In the future though. That’s in the future. Not now. Now, it’s the time for us. So face your demons. Find your angels. Know what matters to you and set your priorities straight and live. All those wise wisdom quotes, they’re all fuckin true. I’m having the same thoughts over and over aren’t I, and I’m wrapping this up too fast. I just wanted to remind you and myself that ‘everything is ok.’ That’s why I sit and think about shit like this, ye know? Cause for some inexplicable blessed reason, I always come to the conclusion that life is good, love and peace is all around me, and that I’m fine and things are going to be ok, and I always believe it like a dumbass. And you should too. Everything’s alright, so have a good morning and do your thing.

“In the town of Oz, there are two types of tennis players: wizards and imps. Wizards and Imps do not socialize, so it would be impossible to start a tennis club that both types would join. Imps have access to credit but a weak demand for tennis as follows. Because of their access to credit, they would be willing to pay an upfront fee to join the club. Wizards live from paycheck to paycheck and would be willing to pay for each tennis game as they go along.”

W.T. F.

My thoughts: Why don’t imps and wizards socialize? is that a racial issue or a social class issue?  also, why are wizards so broke?

I learned something in class called “Maslow’s hierarchy of needs”. It says there are five fundamental needs of a human being.

Physiological needs, security needs, love and belonging needs, esteem needs, and self-actualization needs.

It’s an idea worth pondering over, isn’t it? What do we as people with bodies and minds and feelings and souls, need to have a fulfilling life?

Physiological needs are our most basic needs, a need to breath, to eat, to sleep, drink, sex, and excretion. It’s our primal needs.

Security needs are next up in the hierarchy. We have a need for personal security, financial stability, health and well-being, and a safety net against accidents/illnesses. If these needs are not satisfied, we will tend to override other needs to satisfy security needs.

Of particular personal interest is social, esteem, and self-actualization needs.

A person needs friendships, don’t they? They need to be loved. A sense of belonging, the safety net that saves us from our darkest moments with the realization that there is someone who loves us. You. Me. We all need that. We long for it, don’t we? The feeling of being loved. To me, it’s a humbling yet empowering feeling that fills my soul belly with warmth and gratitude. I long for it.

A person also needs to be respected. With respect from others comes respect from self, with that comes confidence and self-esteem, and that releases you from doubt and opens you to take steps towards self-actualization. I have to think about where I stand on this level of needs. A need to be respected. How many people out there respect me? Why? Who respects me? Who do I respect? Do I respect myself? What is it about others that I respect that makes me respect them? What is it about me that earns respect from others? It’s been a long time since I’ve heard anyone talk about respect.

There are many qualities that I respect in people. Determination and consistency. Those two traits, I value highly, and people whose actions reflect those traits earn my respect. Like my friend John for example. He’s very focused on certain aspects of his life. When you take a strong desire to achieve something and combine it with consistent self-discipline, it creates a recipe for change. Someone who consistently adheres to personal morality also deserves my respect. Taking initiative to help others, being able to learn lessons from mistakes, having the grace to find beauty even when they’re stuck in a rut, all of these characteristics earn my respect. Each individual has their own frame of traits they hold to be important, shaped by their pasts.

Take a moment to think about the traits you value in people. How well do you align with these traits? If you reflect the traits you value, then it is likely that you have a good level of self-respect and self-esteem. We should always be striving to be a person we can respect. “What a man can be, he must be”. The physiological, security, social, and self-esteem needs lead us to self-actualization needs.

It’s a need to be everything we can be. To become everything that one is capable of becoming. To be the super-version of you. Imagine the most productive, creative, happy, energetic version of yourself. The potential is limitless. And it’s possible to be that person. Perhaps you’ve already felt it before, the self-empowerment you feel from being in total control of yourself and your life. I want that. Don’t you want that? To be all you can be? Yes. Getting there seems to be a whole another story.

Anyway. Mondays are notoriously slow,  the myth is not a myth. It was a slow ass day, super slow. Time passes really slowly when you don’t have much to do, you know what I mean? However, the TVs in the restaurants were providing a welcomed distraction for me. The Giants game helped. So did the Raiders game. But the icing on the cake? MISSS UNIVERSE CONTESSSTTTTT.

Miss Universe. Given only a slight thought, it’s just a bunch of dolled-up fione ass chicks standing and smiling, showing off the best pair of diddies (diddies in case kids read this) their country has to offer, and dudes vote on them, give them scores, and the highest rated chick wins. Simple. But damnit if it ain’t the best contest ever made! The glamor of it! and the scale! I mean this is Miss UNIVERSE. The chick that wins this contest, is the HOTTEST CHICK IN THE UNIVERSE! not a cute girl next door, not your local hooters hottie, not your sexy counselor, not your average insanely hot victoria’s secret model, but the HOTTEST DAMN CHICK in the ENTIRE GALAXY.

And really, all of them were pretty..hot. That’s two adjectives btw. I walked back and forth the restaurant, I was at work after all, but my service was shit today. I forgot to refill people’s water and tea, forgot their little spoons, forgot them entirely. I wished there were no customers today. They come in, all hungry and shit, ordering food and shit, asking for wasabi and forks and shit, IM TRYING TO LOOK AT SOME HOT GIRLS HERE.

But yea, in the end, I only caught like 20 minutes of it, but omg that woman from the Philippines. and Portugal. and Angola. and China. and all over the wooorld. I see why they made that song “pimping all over the world”.

Anyway. Accounting sucks.