To Bring Order into a Chaotic World

To bring order into a chaotic world,
Is to see with a distant eye, filled with acute observation.

As children we are naturally self-centered.
So be ruthless in your rejection of emotions while evaluating the world,
For we are born with imperfections.
We are born into this world, with an ego that does not match our capabilities.

Be careful of your negative emotions, as that is why lions eat their young.

As animals we see the world as a battlefield, and us the king.
As wise mens, we see the world as a soccer field, and us bounded by the equality of brotherhood.

Conquer your self, but not that of others.

The World is yours if only you let go.

Character of the Day: Osho

Zero as a number

Zero is but a symbol, representing what isn't, but could be.
Zero represents possibilities.

So with the concerns of our mind, if you count it, it exist. 

If you acknowledge it, it manifests.

That is what is called, free will.

The Universe operates in such a way that leaves nothing to chance. Even the Chaos theory, stems from a series of solid fundamental mathematical proofs that draws us towards Chaos. We found chaos in structure, it is not to say that we will find structure in chaos.

Through sheer will, we can see more of a situation by how we are focusing our attention.

Break me down to the basics, we are merely cosmic stuffs made of carbon. There is no separation between you and I, other then our will. What we will to see, dictates the reality we create along with the Universe.

Our physical bodies might be extremely limiting. But everything it touches brings us closer to the truth we analysis of this physical world.
So should we relay merely on our senses to guide us, is to hinder ourselves from all the possibilities of the world. Therefore, it is always critical to live with an opened mind.

Zero is a number, if you will it to be.
There is nothing more exhilarating than to live opened and freely.

Now if you would pardon me,
I will for some nice and warm Barley water.
And I am certain I'm gonna get it.

Character of the Day: Carl Sagan 

Phonies

I want to speak about the things most of us aren't willing to talk about.
Or at least, I desire to be that sort of blogger.

Anything else besides my desire and my language skills is beyond my control.

It has come to my realization that alot of times the things we aren't speaking about is where the pain is. And by coming to terms with them, by speaking the truth, perhaps we heal.

I grow up in major cities all my life. Might it be in Taipei, Singapore, or New York City, as a wide-eyed child time and time again I have seen people putting up shields of social mask and persona's because we believe that is what is expected of us. It isn't that I could not understand the need for Defence Mechanisms. It is the fact that I couldn't understand why we can't be honest or comfortable with ourselves.

I have always wondered why we find being a "phony" (in the words of Holden Caulfield) to be synonymous with conditions such as being an adult, or being mature. I used to think Holden's cool (with a captial C). He was the rebel, the cool kid, and the deviant. I guess as a teenager, I just appreciate the authenticity of his thinking-outside-the-box.

Today we live in a very phony-driven age. With the advancement of technology, we take pictures of ourselves everywhere. I like many others, try to leave the best mark on our profile because it is human nature to do so. But beneath the image, how align are we to the photographies? Does the gap causes significant dissatisfaction? I hope it doesn't. While taking pictures of myself, I am highly aware of my phony behaviors, yet at the same time, I seem to enjoy it.

 "You're too honest Phoebe", and "You speak without thinking." has always been the criticism I get from my dearest friends, for they believe that I would be hurt by the ones who couldn't handle the truth. And there are times when they are right. Overly speaking my mind is the equivalent of being brainless or insensitive to other people's emotions. But ironically it has also been due to the same criticism that my friends have chose to stick by my side. I am the fortunate kind.

You win some you lose some.

There are always somethings that we can't change isn't it? Our personalities, our sexual attraction, our parents, or our strengths and weaknesses. , sometimes our health, or our physical appearance. We might improve them, but can we truly do a complete change? The cruel answer is no. So that leaves me wondering how much of our phoniness is perhaps an innate trait? Perhaps Holden was wrong in his judgments. Phonies might not have choose to be phonies. They are simply "born this way." And to think right now, how much hurt and suffering we have inflected on others by forcing a change on someone?

Forcing a lefty to use their right hand, forcing a gay child to dress a certain way, forcing obedience and order. How many of us do we truly know what we are doing? How many of us have lost ourselves in our self-declared certainty? Despite my phoniness, I am also just a person, filled with sound and fury.

And whenever I am in a mood like this, pondering and debating with myself. At the end of the day as I look upon the night sky, watchful of that rising sun or that full moon leaves me certain that I am but a minuscule dust residing on this very vast galaxy, that I will never completely understand. Knowing how small I am reminds me of how even smaller my phoniness matters.

And that, deserves a large size selfie.

A Mother

The revelation of a sin is the turning point of the sinner.

Or so I was told. 

Yesterday I had the great privilege of speaking to a relentlessly strong mother. Not only is she a founder of her own company, a semi-professional Tango dancer, a cheerful lady, but she also struggles to come to terms with having a son with drugs, alcohol, and gambling addicts. A bad divorce, and a failing health. Her life is nothing that resembles mine,  and I do not credit myself as being capable of saying "Yes, I understand."

As much as a feminist as I am. I have to admit that the first woman we learn from, in terms of our self identity and understanding of femininity, is usually our mothers. Our mothers shows us how to deal with the world around us, and how to deal with the world within us. Stripping away her social status, I see nothing but a heartbroken mother. 

Our interaction was one of those precious moments when you are given the allowance to slip into the shoes of others, submerge in their life stories, and hopefully come out anew. Yes it's true. We all have our problems and our inner Dharma. Most are repetitive. But they are never the same, nor ever dull.

A mother's strength lies in the love for her children, so fresh and raw. As she speaks I sense her deep negativity and bitterness. Perhaps wealth was never her objective, but the acceptance of her child. The health of her loved one. Wishing for what God did not give her, is that a sin? Should she be content?

"Dream is a dangerous thing, don't dream."

Or so I was told. 

By the one who never had the chance to do so.

I hope that whatever she choice to dream in the future, will be hers.

For once. In her insufferable life.

Ethos vs. Pathos vs. Logos

Since a very young age, I have known that speech is not only a cure, but also a poison.  

Growing up listening to political panels and intellectual debates, I find myself tremendously fascinated by the champions of debates, and the eloquences of the peace makers. I am engulfed by people's power to use the tip of their tongues so lavishly. 

Solving problems has been my deepest obsession,  as I find myself drawing correlations and patterns in the ways people handle each other. Vividly I still remember as a child, I would come up with creative solutions to escape a room, to fix electronics, and to make someone feel better. But what turns out to be the most difficult to fix of all, is that of a broken heart.

It is always difficult to tell the mother of a dying son that everything is going to be okay.

It is always difficult to reject a friend who desperately need your help financially.

It is always difficult to come to terms with your imperfections and limitations. 

It is always difficult to let go of what matters so much to you.

Although it might be useless speeches, I will always try, gently. 

We have such social circles we call friends. Whom might not be able to solve all our problems, but can be there to offer some levels of comfort. Just to let you feel for the micro of a second, that you are not alone. That everything is going to past. That tough times don't last, tough people do. 

May we use Ethos, Pathos, or Logos in our speeches, hopefully the mind is always clear that what you're trying to achieve is healing. And not destruction.

May your heart always be filled with love. Gentle and pure. Kind and gracious. 

May you speak words truthfully, but with sensitivity and genuine care.

May you have no regrets in the way you live, authentically who you are.

Always bear in mind, that reality is far more complicated then we could ever imagine.

Character of the Day: Martin Luther King, Jr. 

A Salute to Assimilation

It has never been my nature to convey my thoughts and ideas in public, for I have feared of the none-existing judgement from imaginary enemies. 

That is until couple of days ago, when I have finally come to my senses that I am most impotently aging. If there is one thing society has taught me, is that unlike the youths, aging people don't matter. Ever.

I am good to go. (pun intended) 

Old is perhaps not the right word. Forever a merciless optimist, I do not see myself being anywhere close to death. Neither have I experienced extenuating hardships so legendary to qualify myself as an "old soul".

Mature probably does not apply to me either, for I am still the trouble making, loud mouth, and inappropriately smiley person that my colleagues find so annoying (or so adorable). 

The best way to put it, is that I am turning "assimilated". I have come to realise that in order to truly identify with my species, the homo sapiens, I must socialise ordinarily. I must keep my posture aligned with others of varying cultural backgrounds, social economical standings, dietary habits, and sleeping patterns. By meeting them half way, my cognitive world expends through these interactions, and from there I humbled. Life is teaching me a lesson, and that's a great course to take.

So here's a salute to a new beginning. 
One that I take my sneakers off, and place myself into the shoes of others. 
I solemnly pray that I've brought enough bandaids. 

I'm not mean, I'm just sarcastic

I can almost feel Joel Brouwer echo my title if I were to speak to him about his poem. Exceptionally brillant, Brouwer wrote the ultra unorganized Lines from the Reports of the Investigative Committees with such a tongue-in-cheek- sarcastic tone towards a serious issue, almost make you feel like you've been slapped in the face, then given a lollipop: So bittersweet it's addictive.

Don't get me wrong, Brouwer's tone is extremely professional, especially in his skills to keep his frustrated undertone hidden while delivering his narratives. However, it is the fact that I'm old enough to up pick up sarcasm, and also the stupendous nature of BP's fake attempt to try up clean up the ocean that gives me not choice BUT to laugh. It just feels good to see them as foolish and incompetent, it just feels good to demonize their lack of foresight and ignorance.

But when the sky turns from gray to black, and while you sit back and enjoy whatever you tend to enjoy while sitting,  and seriously consider the truth of the matter, you become fully aware of the "wholly black" of the ocean, the "snort of air" that rams and seabirds will never survive to take while trapped in that pit of tar, and the continuous incapability for us to do anything, but just tell Brouwer how useless you feel after reading his poem.