My flippant attitude towards life is being seriously challenged. A girl who cheekily named her blog "breathe in, breathe out" (a punch line from my favourite blonde joke), I've been convinced that I'd breeze through life. Plenty of people (many whom I rather consider dumber than me) have done it, so there's no reason I won't be able to.
However, this lifelong belief is crumbling around me, and I'm not sure what I'll be replacing this cherished philosophy with. My academic fervour (which I'd hoped would magically reignite upon going back to school) shows no signs of return, I seem incapable of maintaining a routine (read: my waistline is expanding), my disgust at both of the above is mounting. Oh, and the fact that I’ve been well and truly DUMPED is beginning to sink in. Most disturbing of all, it seems the one thing I’ve taken for granted is not what I thought at all. It’s enough to make my head spin. Let me explain:
My housemate, an avowed environmental(terror)ist and my new life coach, swears by a yogaic breathing technique. Whenever I ask her how she manages to audit a billion other classes on top of the regular workload, she says, “it’s the breathing technique!”. When I complain about my headache, she replies, “try the breathing technique!” So, it seems I haven’t been breathing right all along, when all this time, I was convinced it was the one thing I had down to a tee. Does this mean that I’ve been doing it wrong from Day 1? Can I trace the wrong turns of my life back to Dec 25, 1986?
Interesting thought, although probably not one worth pursuing. I like the “blame it on the parents” approach just fine, thank you. However, because I have made a conscious decision to grow up (when I realized that I had my last growth spur quite some time back, both literally and figuratively), I’ve decided to be honest. The problem is most likely me. I. Am. The. Problem. I can’t keep using the breakup as an excuse to mope around. In the grand scheme of things, it’s not the worst thing that could ever happen to me, and if it throws me off my groove this much, I’m not going to be breathing through life, let alone breezing.
I love writing. It’s so therapeutic. It really helps clear things up. I know what I need to do: breathe. And breathe well at that. The moments in between inhaling and exhaling will work themselves out. I think. I won’t hold my breath waiting to see if I am right.
Friday, September 17, 2010
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
On negative pragmatism, cautious optimism and pre-emptive self-sabotage
On Negative Pragmatism...
I started a Masters in Public Policy to get away from the woolly concepts of poli sci (my unfortunate choice of poison in undergrad) so that I could pursue something that seemed imminently practical and practiceable. What do I land straight into? A philosophical assignment, apparently.
In one of life's great ironies, I find myself back in the thicket of the intractable and tautological thought processes that I had spent my entire undergrad trying to avoid (Confucius v. Mensius, anyone?). Just my luck.
So what did I learn this week at this imminently sensible, professional school? NEGATIVE PRAGMATISM. I tell you, life is a cruel joke, and I am at the butt of it. So, a bright bloke named Karl Popper (he must be bright, as he fancied himself an expert at philosophy, that unending train of thought that seeks status as an avademic discipline) sought to practice negative pragmatism. In lieu of maximizing personal happiness--a woolly concept that he thought was too elusive to bother pursuing--he advocated minimizing suffering. (The pill-)Popper justified this depressing (though probably true) turn of events in light of "the absence of any moral symmetry between happiness and suffering". If Popper had his way, the US' Declaration of Independence will read that we should have the right to "life, liberty AND THE MINIMIZATION OF SUFFERING." It just doesn't have the same ring to it, eh?
On Cautious Optimism
Nevertheless, I have decided to give optimism a try, since my mother insists that I try to live by "The Secret" (some fancy self-help book she got on discount). Shame she doesn't let me on the great secret.
Thus, I will give the Public Policy thing a fair shot.
Another side-effect of the cautious optimism? I decided to try and extend an olive branch to THE EX. I really should know better. In an ideal world, all exes should part with a "well, we tried, what else can you expect?" sort of shrug. The aforementioned exes should also keep in casual contact (a sort of cyber booty call) and laugh about the entire experience ("youthful passions," "puppy love," etc) at some socially-accepted juncture in the not-so-distant future. Alas, it was not so. My olive branch was spurned. No, in fact it was burned. If Thomas Friedman has anything to say about it, I should start a protracted conflict in my indignation resulting from the dismissed olive branch. I hope it lasts for generations, and a pair of star-crossed lovers crops up somewhere down the line of our descendants, just to add some garam masala to this whole humiliating experience, if only so my romantic misadventure will look better by comparison.
On Pre-emptive Self-Sabotage...
I am a sucker for causality. Drawing a line of causality through the random events of my life is one of my greatest pasttimes, allowing me to delude myself into thinking there is some greater pattern emerging from all the mis-steps.
Another such cause-and-effect sequence is my self-destructive behavior towards members of the opposite sex. I've decided to kill any chance of anything ever happening between me and all remotely eligible males by scaring them off with the scariest comments ever. I come off as a deprived, sadistic nymphomanic with cannibalistic tendencies. Charming.
I really needn't bother so hard. I'm pretty sure that the above description is pretty accurate, but if that is my true nature, it will creep out eventually without my advertising it.
Perhaps I am just going through the classic stages of a romantic meltdown. You know: denial--> angst--> self-destruction--> creative frustration--> amnnesia-->disastrous romance-->repeat cycle. It would really bring me great comfort to know that negative pragmatism, cautious optimism and pre-emptive self-sabotage will be coming around again.
I started a Masters in Public Policy to get away from the woolly concepts of poli sci (my unfortunate choice of poison in undergrad) so that I could pursue something that seemed imminently practical and practiceable. What do I land straight into? A philosophical assignment, apparently.
In one of life's great ironies, I find myself back in the thicket of the intractable and tautological thought processes that I had spent my entire undergrad trying to avoid (Confucius v. Mensius, anyone?). Just my luck.
So what did I learn this week at this imminently sensible, professional school? NEGATIVE PRAGMATISM. I tell you, life is a cruel joke, and I am at the butt of it. So, a bright bloke named Karl Popper (he must be bright, as he fancied himself an expert at philosophy, that unending train of thought that seeks status as an avademic discipline) sought to practice negative pragmatism. In lieu of maximizing personal happiness--a woolly concept that he thought was too elusive to bother pursuing--he advocated minimizing suffering. (The pill-)Popper justified this depressing (though probably true) turn of events in light of "the absence of any moral symmetry between happiness and suffering". If Popper had his way, the US' Declaration of Independence will read that we should have the right to "life, liberty AND THE MINIMIZATION OF SUFFERING." It just doesn't have the same ring to it, eh?
On Cautious Optimism
Nevertheless, I have decided to give optimism a try, since my mother insists that I try to live by "The Secret" (some fancy self-help book she got on discount). Shame she doesn't let me on the great secret.
Thus, I will give the Public Policy thing a fair shot.
Another side-effect of the cautious optimism? I decided to try and extend an olive branch to THE EX. I really should know better. In an ideal world, all exes should part with a "well, we tried, what else can you expect?" sort of shrug. The aforementioned exes should also keep in casual contact (a sort of cyber booty call) and laugh about the entire experience ("youthful passions," "puppy love," etc) at some socially-accepted juncture in the not-so-distant future. Alas, it was not so. My olive branch was spurned. No, in fact it was burned. If Thomas Friedman has anything to say about it, I should start a protracted conflict in my indignation resulting from the dismissed olive branch. I hope it lasts for generations, and a pair of star-crossed lovers crops up somewhere down the line of our descendants, just to add some garam masala to this whole humiliating experience, if only so my romantic misadventure will look better by comparison.
On Pre-emptive Self-Sabotage...
I am a sucker for causality. Drawing a line of causality through the random events of my life is one of my greatest pasttimes, allowing me to delude myself into thinking there is some greater pattern emerging from all the mis-steps.
Another such cause-and-effect sequence is my self-destructive behavior towards members of the opposite sex. I've decided to kill any chance of anything ever happening between me and all remotely eligible males by scaring them off with the scariest comments ever. I come off as a deprived, sadistic nymphomanic with cannibalistic tendencies. Charming.
I really needn't bother so hard. I'm pretty sure that the above description is pretty accurate, but if that is my true nature, it will creep out eventually without my advertising it.
Perhaps I am just going through the classic stages of a romantic meltdown. You know: denial--> angst--> self-destruction--> creative frustration--> amnnesia-->disastrous romance-->repeat cycle. It would really bring me great comfort to know that negative pragmatism, cautious optimism and pre-emptive self-sabotage will be coming around again.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
The F-word: Relationships, Nutrition and the Banality of it All
Day 1
Net weight loss: None
Number of cigarettes: 4
Exercise: light yoga, pilates and weights while watching the evening news
Book I am reading: Freakonomics: A Rogue Economist Explores the Hidden Side of Everything
Mood: de-motivated, wiped out
Revelation of the day? That food is such an integral part of modern life. I mean, think about it. You would think that a city like Seoul offers many entertainments, but at the end of the day, it all boils down to the f-word. And by that, I mean food; you meet friends for meals, business colleagues for coffee and potential love interests for drinks. If, like me, you can’t consume any of the above, you can kiss your social life goodbye.
The last time I detoxed—summer of 2006—I managed to beg out of all social obligations and went out once in 14 days. I don’t think that I will be so lucky this time round, which is worrying. Will I be able to sustain relationships with people when my mouth isn’t multi-tasking? I will really have to watch what I say now.
Speaking of relationships, I have received word from someone I’d rather not hear from, and still no word from the one person I was holding my breath for. The former was an email from a friend I fell out with a week ago. Can’t remember why I ended up becoming friends with him (he’s not exactly an interesting person, nor do we have anything in common) and am still none-the-wiser about why we fell out. This is roughly how it went down: I gave him some advice (which he had asked for), next thing I know, he’s throwing the f-word (not food this time) at me and threatening me. Today’s email was supposedly his idea of an olive branch, but didn’t include an apology, just a lecture and more self-rationalization. For all my grumbling about modern-day life, I will say something about modern communication: one click of my mouse sent his stupid email straight to the trash. I didn’t even have to dirty my hands ripping it up or anything.
The person I wanted to hear from, however, is still a no-show. I know there probably isn’t much left to say, but I can’t abide the thought of things ending in such an anti-climatic way. It is such a non-event there isn’t even any fodder for me to use when whinging to my gal pals over tequila (when I can finally booze again). I mean, isn’t closure good for the soul or something? That’s the funny thing about romantic relationships. One minute, you feel so close to someone that you feel as though you own them, next minute, you are supposed to go back to being strangers. My first foray into romance, and I have learned a valuable lesson: never let your guard down. The romantic relationship is the most tenuous bond of all. Your bond with your colleagues, or even with your neighbour is probably more bankable than the one you have with a boyfriend. If you can’t deal with such uncertainly, pay heed to the immortal words of one Beyonce Knowles: “If you like it, put a ring on it.”
Going back to the f-word (the nutritious one), surprisingly, it isn’t the insubstantial portions that are making me want to weep. Having lived in Japan, I can handle tiny portions better than most. What really depresses me is the type of f*** on which I must subsist for the next few weeks. My meals consist of boiled egg whites, cucumber and lettuce (both raw). The highlight of my day is when I got to eat a grapefruit. Yup, I really have hit the rock bottom if what I look forward to for hours is getting to eat a poor man’s version of an orange.
Net weight loss: None
Number of cigarettes: 4
Exercise: light yoga, pilates and weights while watching the evening news
Book I am reading: Freakonomics: A Rogue Economist Explores the Hidden Side of Everything
Mood: de-motivated, wiped out
Revelation of the day? That food is such an integral part of modern life. I mean, think about it. You would think that a city like Seoul offers many entertainments, but at the end of the day, it all boils down to the f-word. And by that, I mean food; you meet friends for meals, business colleagues for coffee and potential love interests for drinks. If, like me, you can’t consume any of the above, you can kiss your social life goodbye.
The last time I detoxed—summer of 2006—I managed to beg out of all social obligations and went out once in 14 days. I don’t think that I will be so lucky this time round, which is worrying. Will I be able to sustain relationships with people when my mouth isn’t multi-tasking? I will really have to watch what I say now.
Speaking of relationships, I have received word from someone I’d rather not hear from, and still no word from the one person I was holding my breath for. The former was an email from a friend I fell out with a week ago. Can’t remember why I ended up becoming friends with him (he’s not exactly an interesting person, nor do we have anything in common) and am still none-the-wiser about why we fell out. This is roughly how it went down: I gave him some advice (which he had asked for), next thing I know, he’s throwing the f-word (not food this time) at me and threatening me. Today’s email was supposedly his idea of an olive branch, but didn’t include an apology, just a lecture and more self-rationalization. For all my grumbling about modern-day life, I will say something about modern communication: one click of my mouse sent his stupid email straight to the trash. I didn’t even have to dirty my hands ripping it up or anything.
The person I wanted to hear from, however, is still a no-show. I know there probably isn’t much left to say, but I can’t abide the thought of things ending in such an anti-climatic way. It is such a non-event there isn’t even any fodder for me to use when whinging to my gal pals over tequila (when I can finally booze again). I mean, isn’t closure good for the soul or something? That’s the funny thing about romantic relationships. One minute, you feel so close to someone that you feel as though you own them, next minute, you are supposed to go back to being strangers. My first foray into romance, and I have learned a valuable lesson: never let your guard down. The romantic relationship is the most tenuous bond of all. Your bond with your colleagues, or even with your neighbour is probably more bankable than the one you have with a boyfriend. If you can’t deal with such uncertainly, pay heed to the immortal words of one Beyonce Knowles: “If you like it, put a ring on it.”
Going back to the f-word (the nutritious one), surprisingly, it isn’t the insubstantial portions that are making me want to weep. Having lived in Japan, I can handle tiny portions better than most. What really depresses me is the type of f*** on which I must subsist for the next few weeks. My meals consist of boiled egg whites, cucumber and lettuce (both raw). The highlight of my day is when I got to eat a grapefruit. Yup, I really have hit the rock bottom if what I look forward to for hours is getting to eat a poor man’s version of an orange.
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
30 Days of Abstinence from Everything
Ever wished for the ultimate luxury of having a month to yourself? Time to do all the things you’ve always meant to do, without being beholden to anyone?
I have, and seems like my wish has been granted. I have one month before I am due to start a new life in a new country. And for once, I don’t have any obligations. No deadlines. No money woes. No ringing telephones. You bet I am going to make the most of it.
I feel as though (in the space of my admittedly short life) I’ve rarely had any time for myself. It’s not that I am a selfless do-gooder or anything. It’s just that in between living up to others expectations of me and my own high standards, I’ve neglected the most elemental parts of myself. They will no longer be denied.
The task: 30 days to do all the things I’ve always meant to do. Among them:
1. Detox through a vicious diet of raw, organic food.
2. Quit smoking for good
3. Quit boozing (for at least 3 weeks)
4. Exercise regularly
5. Read all 10 of the books on my to-read list (which hasn’t been updated in the longest time)
The list has barely started, and it already looks like a wish-list rather than a to-do list? But who’s to say you shouldn’t try to kill as many birds as you can with one stone?
I’ve decided to blog my progress so that I will not back out, as I tend to do with any exercise in self-love. No doubt my entries will turn into rambling treatises on every topic under the sun. As my starvation drags on, I will become increasingly irritable and snappish. All of which makes for excellent diary entries. Let the games begin!
I have, and seems like my wish has been granted. I have one month before I am due to start a new life in a new country. And for once, I don’t have any obligations. No deadlines. No money woes. No ringing telephones. You bet I am going to make the most of it.
I feel as though (in the space of my admittedly short life) I’ve rarely had any time for myself. It’s not that I am a selfless do-gooder or anything. It’s just that in between living up to others expectations of me and my own high standards, I’ve neglected the most elemental parts of myself. They will no longer be denied.
The task: 30 days to do all the things I’ve always meant to do. Among them:
1. Detox through a vicious diet of raw, organic food.
2. Quit smoking for good
3. Quit boozing (for at least 3 weeks)
4. Exercise regularly
5. Read all 10 of the books on my to-read list (which hasn’t been updated in the longest time)
The list has barely started, and it already looks like a wish-list rather than a to-do list? But who’s to say you shouldn’t try to kill as many birds as you can with one stone?
I’ve decided to blog my progress so that I will not back out, as I tend to do with any exercise in self-love. No doubt my entries will turn into rambling treatises on every topic under the sun. As my starvation drags on, I will become increasingly irritable and snappish. All of which makes for excellent diary entries. Let the games begin!
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