nanowrimo is killing me
I haven't had any time to write anything I want to write about
All I can do is crank out more words toward that rediculous word count
It's driving me up the wall
I'm not feeling it at all right now
But I need to write 5,000 words today if I'm going to make it
Even though I really need to rant and vent out my extremely turbulent emotions
I'M SO FREAKING STUPID
That would have been the thesis of my rant
So I guess I'll go back to writing words and words and words
Friday, November 27, 2009
Saturday, November 21, 2009
The Greatest Man on Earth
I am the greatest human being that I know. Every word I speak, every move I make, and every thing I touch holds an atom of my greatness in it.
I am the most important person in this world. Therefore, I am entitled to everything that benefits solely myself.
I am not bound to any promises, obligations, or expectations from the others. I exist only to please myself.
Don't get me wrong. I am not a hedonist. I mean to please myself by following my passions.
Am I selfish? Yes. Am I egotistical? Certainly. Am I arrogant? No.
Allow me to explain. Contrary to popular consent, there is a difference between ego and arrogance. When an individual acknowledges his self-existence and develops deep self-respect, he lays foundation to his ego. His ego further develops as he discovers his passion and pushes on to perfect it. The perfection of human capabilities, or at least the progression towards such a goal, is what constitutes to ego.
Arrogance is the embodiment of insecurity and low-self esteem. I sense it in every arrogant person that I meet, a sort of lurking emptiness and depression. Arrogant people have no self-respect. Their actions are the results of what other people think of them. They don't have anything of their own to be truly proud of. They hate what they do, but never relinquish their position in fear of losing their place in society. They solely rely on their arrogance to remind themselves that their existence on Earth holds some value.
Arrogant people are one of the most tragic and despicable beings in this world. Their understanding of their low-self esteem is so tremendous that they develop a fake identity and devote their lives to impressing other people, instead of doing what they truly enjoy doing. In their meaningless quest for acceptance, arrogant people make a lot of sham friends, but even more true enemies.
People with ego, myself included, have many enemies, but close, true friends. I couldn't really care less what the others think of me. I do not care if I appear to be different. I do not care if I sound obnoxious. I do not care if my actions establish me as an arrogant individual. All that matters is that I see myself as who I am and that I respect myself.
If you think this is just another embodiment of the thoughts of a typical, idealistic, nonconformist adolescent, think again. I am not idealistic. I am not nonconformist. I only think what I tell myself to think. I only do what I think I should do. I do not force myself to conform or not to conform to society's demands. I am me. I do not represent any collective reason or ideal. I live only for myself. I live only to enjoy life.
My goal in life is to prove to myself that I can live it to the fullest and utilize my capabilities to the maximum. All else do not matter. Life is too short to get immersed in self-pity or pessimism. I am selfish. I am egotistical. I am ambitious. I am passionate. I am the greatest man on Earth.
I am the most important person in this world. Therefore, I am entitled to everything that benefits solely myself.
I am not bound to any promises, obligations, or expectations from the others. I exist only to please myself.
Don't get me wrong. I am not a hedonist. I mean to please myself by following my passions.
Am I selfish? Yes. Am I egotistical? Certainly. Am I arrogant? No.
Allow me to explain. Contrary to popular consent, there is a difference between ego and arrogance. When an individual acknowledges his self-existence and develops deep self-respect, he lays foundation to his ego. His ego further develops as he discovers his passion and pushes on to perfect it. The perfection of human capabilities, or at least the progression towards such a goal, is what constitutes to ego.
Arrogance is the embodiment of insecurity and low-self esteem. I sense it in every arrogant person that I meet, a sort of lurking emptiness and depression. Arrogant people have no self-respect. Their actions are the results of what other people think of them. They don't have anything of their own to be truly proud of. They hate what they do, but never relinquish their position in fear of losing their place in society. They solely rely on their arrogance to remind themselves that their existence on Earth holds some value.
Arrogant people are one of the most tragic and despicable beings in this world. Their understanding of their low-self esteem is so tremendous that they develop a fake identity and devote their lives to impressing other people, instead of doing what they truly enjoy doing. In their meaningless quest for acceptance, arrogant people make a lot of sham friends, but even more true enemies.
People with ego, myself included, have many enemies, but close, true friends. I couldn't really care less what the others think of me. I do not care if I appear to be different. I do not care if I sound obnoxious. I do not care if my actions establish me as an arrogant individual. All that matters is that I see myself as who I am and that I respect myself.
If you think this is just another embodiment of the thoughts of a typical, idealistic, nonconformist adolescent, think again. I am not idealistic. I am not nonconformist. I only think what I tell myself to think. I only do what I think I should do. I do not force myself to conform or not to conform to society's demands. I am me. I do not represent any collective reason or ideal. I live only for myself. I live only to enjoy life.
My goal in life is to prove to myself that I can live it to the fullest and utilize my capabilities to the maximum. All else do not matter. Life is too short to get immersed in self-pity or pessimism. I am selfish. I am egotistical. I am ambitious. I am passionate. I am the greatest man on Earth.
Thursday, November 5, 2009
To My Comrade
My comrade is gone.
His rifle lies on the ground forgotten.
But remorse I have none.
My comrade is gone.
Holes cover his helmet.
But fear I have none.
My comrade is gone.
His body has been blown up to bits.
But loss I feel none.
For my comrade will live on.
He will march on endlessly,
And strike fear into those who try to stop him.
My comrade is gone,
but he lives forever.
My comrade is gone,
but sadness I have none.
To Jihoon
best of luck
-Minj
Monday, November 2, 2009
Fairy Tales
Once upon a time... A beautifully sculpted castle made of rainbow glass glistened in the ever-sunshiny world of fantasy. Towers and turrets competed with each other in a race to the sky. The ballroom was immense, with rich fabric and ornate mirrors adorning the walls. On the ceiling, murals of all her favorite musicians were watching from their larger-than-life vantage point. She had a wonderful prince waiting for her, the sort of prince who was sweet and caring and adorable and handsome and loved her more than anything else. She had a perfectly beautiful face and figure. Golden, shimmering satin and whispering soft silk draped over her in harmonious layers of skirts.
She had just come home the victor of epic battles agaisnt evil. The forces of darkness had been beaten again by the brilliance of goodness. Cute talking animals danced around her, making witty remarks, and ALL FAIRY TALES SOUND LIKE THIS!
For some reason, I read them, over and over again. It's never the same book but the story is always the same. I can tell from page one who will end up together, which side will win, and who will be the witty character that makes adorable remarks at the funniest times. I guess the reason these stories that have been engrained into my mind still appeal to me is because I really wish my life was like a fairy tale too. I want to be beautiful and wear glamorous dresses. I want to have a fantastical castle. I want to consort with adorable and witty people (or animals). I want to nearly-single-handedly defeat the forces of evil with my brilliance. And mostly I want a wonderful guy to love me more than anything else.
She had just come home the victor of epic battles agaisnt evil. The forces of darkness had been beaten again by the brilliance of goodness. Cute talking animals danced around her, making witty remarks, and ALL FAIRY TALES SOUND LIKE THIS!
For some reason, I read them, over and over again. It's never the same book but the story is always the same. I can tell from page one who will end up together, which side will win, and who will be the witty character that makes adorable remarks at the funniest times. I guess the reason these stories that have been engrained into my mind still appeal to me is because I really wish my life was like a fairy tale too. I want to be beautiful and wear glamorous dresses. I want to have a fantastical castle. I want to consort with adorable and witty people (or animals). I want to nearly-single-handedly defeat the forces of evil with my brilliance. And mostly I want a wonderful guy to love me more than anything else.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Transcendental Unibrows.
Draw in an eyeliner unibrow and suddenly the whole world never views you the same again.
This project has showed me in plain sight how shallow our school can really be : /
Nostalgia
I remember a time I found a dead bird. I was six years old, and my home at that time was a monolithic apartment complex that loomed over all other structures in the neighborhood. My best friends and I were darting about the proximity of our home, yelling, laughing, and making silly faces. Our bellies were full of rich ice cream and fried oden and the day was just splendid. Then I found a dead bird.
No, no. Not a roadkill. Just a bird. At first I thought it was only sleeping, because it looked so serene as it lay still on the cracked pavement. I stopped running and knelt towards the beautiful bird. Its feathers were of a lustrous blue and yellow, and its tail was shaped like a folded fan.
I had never seen such a bird before, let alone a dead one. I was usually frightened of animals for I was a rather jumpy child back then (I still am in someways), but something about this bird allured my attention.
But it was dead! What value does a dead creature have? Without a "soul" or "life" circulating within its body, an organism is a mere shell. Bodies are like machines. Just as a machine would have a malfunctioning component or a missing screw, a body is wrecked with flaws like allergies and cancer. Without an operator, the machine becomes a piece of junk. Without a soul, a body becomes a rag doll.
This bird was dead. Yet, how beautiful it looked! It's round eyes were closed softly, as if it were slumbering on a good dream. Its feathers were folded delicately to the side. I knelt towards the bird, and gently placed it on my palms. My friends shrieked, "You're touching a dead bird! You're touching a dead bird! Ew, ew, ew you're gonna get rabies!"
Without saying a word, I walked to the playground across my apartment with the bird nestled in my hands. My friends trailed behind, still expressing their disgust quite frankly and loudly. When I felt the soft, sandy terrain of the playground, I knelt down once more, carefully placed the bird aside, and began digging a hole on the playground with my bare hands.
I dug, dug, and dug some more. With every scoop, a second passed, and my friends watched me tensely. The sun was scorching hot, and I began to perspire profusely. My shirt clung to my back and I felt wan from the heat. Still, I kept on digging.
I finally stopped when the hole was as wide and deep as a pot. I peeked in, checking for any extraneous material that may disturb the bird's rest. There were none. Then I picked up the bird once more, and gingerly placed it in the hole.
I stared at the bird one last time. Sweet dreams. I filled the hole with my bare hands. My friends helped me this time.
These days, I don't have time to appreciate the small things that make life meaningful. I don't "play" anymore. I don't even run around with friends. And if I were to come across a dead bird right now, I'd probably walk on or cringe. I would never, ever bury it with my own hands, let alone kneel towards it.
Thinking back on those days, I can't believe just how much of a fun-loving, radiant ball of energy I used to be. I was an angel, a sweet kid who had enough sympathy to bury a dead bird with his own hands. I am nothing like that now. My innocence has deteriorated and my compassion is no more. I've become a cynical egoist.
I wish we could go back and experience our childhood one more time, the time of our lives when we always knew each other, when we always loved each other, when we always forgave each other. The time of our lives when we never had to worry about anything, when our parents were truly loving, when our teachers were amicable. The time of our lives when we were really free, when we we didn't have to concern ourselves with conformity and nonconformity, when we didn't have to sacrifice anything for a cause. The time of our lives when play was available all the time, when ambition wasn't included in our vocabulary, when we were never hurt from our shenanigans.
What is this? What is this that we smell of? Nostalgia.
But it was dead! What value does a dead creature have? Without a "soul" or "life" circulating within its body, an organism is a mere shell. Bodies are like machines. Just as a machine would have a malfunctioning component or a missing screw, a body is wrecked with flaws like allergies and cancer. Without an operator, the machine becomes a piece of junk. Without a soul, a body becomes a rag doll.
This bird was dead. Yet, how beautiful it looked! It's round eyes were closed softly, as if it were slumbering on a good dream. Its feathers were folded delicately to the side. I knelt towards the bird, and gently placed it on my palms. My friends shrieked, "You're touching a dead bird! You're touching a dead bird! Ew, ew, ew you're gonna get rabies!"
Without saying a word, I walked to the playground across my apartment with the bird nestled in my hands. My friends trailed behind, still expressing their disgust quite frankly and loudly. When I felt the soft, sandy terrain of the playground, I knelt down once more, carefully placed the bird aside, and began digging a hole on the playground with my bare hands.
I dug, dug, and dug some more. With every scoop, a second passed, and my friends watched me tensely. The sun was scorching hot, and I began to perspire profusely. My shirt clung to my back and I felt wan from the heat. Still, I kept on digging.
I finally stopped when the hole was as wide and deep as a pot. I peeked in, checking for any extraneous material that may disturb the bird's rest. There were none. Then I picked up the bird once more, and gingerly placed it in the hole.
I stared at the bird one last time. Sweet dreams. I filled the hole with my bare hands. My friends helped me this time.
These days, I don't have time to appreciate the small things that make life meaningful. I don't "play" anymore. I don't even run around with friends. And if I were to come across a dead bird right now, I'd probably walk on or cringe. I would never, ever bury it with my own hands, let alone kneel towards it.
Thinking back on those days, I can't believe just how much of a fun-loving, radiant ball of energy I used to be. I was an angel, a sweet kid who had enough sympathy to bury a dead bird with his own hands. I am nothing like that now. My innocence has deteriorated and my compassion is no more. I've become a cynical egoist.
I wish we could go back and experience our childhood one more time, the time of our lives when we always knew each other, when we always loved each other, when we always forgave each other. The time of our lives when we never had to worry about anything, when our parents were truly loving, when our teachers were amicable. The time of our lives when we were really free, when we we didn't have to concern ourselves with conformity and nonconformity, when we didn't have to sacrifice anything for a cause. The time of our lives when play was available all the time, when ambition wasn't included in our vocabulary, when we were never hurt from our shenanigans.
What is this? What is this that we smell of? Nostalgia.
Sunday, October 25, 2009
The Key to Invincibility
"Do not be an unwise churl and rail at society nor so worldly wise as to condemn solitude. But use them as a condition. Be their master, not their slave. Make circumstance, all circumstance, conform to the law of your mind. Be always a king, and not they, and nothing shall hurt you."
-Ralph Waldo Emerson
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