Dream bigger, 2012

And so another year ends. I didn't actually plan to write this year-end post until after my final paper, but the fireworks here has been going on since last night (and yes, the whole day today as well), and a huge party has been planned down the corridor. I doubt I can do much else tonight.

2011 has been amazing for me. There were ups and downs - and really sharp ones as well at that - punctuated by bouts of boredom and restlessness. But overall, it was perhaps the most surprising year of all. 

The year began with tons of responsibilities and lots of pressure to perform. There was a research project, a paper to submit to a forum, three events to organize, a magazine to publish and of course, my actual studies. All in one semester. It was rather crazy, and by the time I received confirmation of an exchange spot, I couldn't wait to get out of that pressure cooker. I have written about my drive to prove myself before, and perhaps I took on too much, or perhaps I didn't have good time or stress management, I felt slightly burnt out by the time the semester ended. I just didn't want to do anything. And I didn't really recognize who I had become - what are my dreams? What do I want to do with myself? What jobs should I apply to? Should I keep on studying? 

When summer came I buried myself in my indulgences - in books, TV shows, movies. I don't think I did much else. I expected my parents to chide me for not doing anything useful or getting a job for a second summer straight - I think I'm just about the only one among my peers who have never worked in a real job before - but surprisingly, they didn't. I'd like to think that perhaps they have seen me working hard and thought perhaps I deserved a break. 

That thought gave me a strange urge to cry. I don't really know why. But my parents have always treated my brother and I as adults, and we have always made our own decisions. In fact, if they insisted on anything at all about our upbringing, it was 'independence'. It was a phrase ('独立') that we heard over and over again. It cultivated in me a strong instinct to go against the herd - though I didn't realize that going against the flow doesn't necessarily mean I'm not influenced by it until recently. 

Perhaps it was due to that that I've always felt as if I was on my own; I know that I'm responsible for who I want to be, and if I mess up it is no one else's fault but mine. That thought is both empowering and scary at the same time, and knowing my parents won't interfere made me feel like I sometimes walk a lonely road. Maybe that urge to cry came from the realization that they are watching, that amid the physical aloofness and adult treatment and lack of conversation about matters of the heart, my parents are always watching my back. 

Thinking back, I was quite silly to doubt them, wasn't I? Don't worry, it was a very happy realization; that urge to cry was out of happiness, not sadness.

And so, with a little bit of reluctance to leave my family just when I realize or relearn how they express their love, but with a lot more excitement about the months to come, I set off on my exchange semester in the Netherlands. 

Perhaps I merely wanted to go away, and not towards anything, I didn't have too many expectations about the semester. I figured I would travel a bit during weekends, do some sight-seeing and get some cliche tourist photos at the major landmarks. I didn't expect to do so much, go to so many places, meet so many people and learn so many things in the space of a few months. Needless to say, my exchange semester has been wonderful and inspiring. 

And that inspiration is what I want to hold on to for the new year. I want to remember this feeling of awe at the wonders of nature, art, humanity, the whole world. I want to rediscover the part of me that creates and connects - much like my fourteen-year-old self who wrote fanfiction and participated in various forums.

Funny how I yearn to be a bit like a fourteen-year-old again in the year that I will approach my twenty second. But what I did then was just things I enjoyed, and crappy as they may be, those stories were something I could really call my own. And when I see the intricate architecture, the breathtaking pieces of art and even Jamie Oliver recipes on youtube, not to mention the effort and care most people in Europe put in their craft, I feel intensely inspired to create something beautiful.

I know I have a long road ahead of me, but even if I write only unpublished stories or draw copycat anime figures for the rest of my life, they would still be more than I thought I could do before. And that is more than enough.

So here we go, 2012, may you be filled with many new stories, drawings and paintings and new projects. Be more imaginative about what you can achieve. Dream bigger. 

It's amazing that people can sink so low

Ok, wow, it's been a while since I blogged. I'm here again, though, because I'm hoping I can get some advice. (Erm, some bitching ahead, so if you happen to be having a good day until now, don't read it because it might spoil your day. If you're feeling gossipy, do read on)

You see, I'm on exchange now and I'm living in an 'apartment' style building where I share the floor with 16 other people. Most of the flat-mates are decent enough people, even if some don't really clean after themselves in the kitchen. Those are a bit irritating, but ultimately tolerable.

What has been really, really vexing us (and by us, we mean most of the female population here, all of us ethnic chinese) was this guy who has amazingly low sense of self consciousness. Right from the first conversation he already acted very condescending, bitching about how the place was really dirty and how some people smoke and don't go to church - while standing very close and resting his hand on the wall, effectively blocking my way - and not giving me any chance to reply. He's the kind of guy who talks at you, not to you and certainly not interested in having a conversation with you.

Fine, we all felt the initial condition of the flat was disgusting enough; sure, a few smoke, but they don't do it in the flat and they're very decent people; but did he have to be so condescending about it and act as if I don't know anything or am not civilized because I'm an Asian girl, who 'probably come from some third world country where people live on trees'?

I was still civil with him after that, because unfortunately we are stuck in the same flat for the semester. My flat-mates have worse first impressions: he asked one of them, another Asian girl, what she thought about one-night stands while standing in her doorway, the first time they met. He kept wanting to touch us - once to my friend who just came out of the shower, still wrapped in a towel.

He seems to have a thing for Asian girls. He pretty much ignored the other girls (one white and one latin american), though he called one of them a slut. (which she is not, at all, she's a good flat-mate, and just imagine how you feel when someone calls your friend a slut) He kept harassing us Asian girls, and when he talks at us, not only is he condescending, he also smile in such a way that makes you feel really disgusted. Eventually, we all started ignoring him, even when he hovers around - oh gosh, does he know how to hover - while we cook and keeps talking nonsense.

("Do you know that the weather is beautiful today? Look at the sun! Did you know that the sun provides vitamin D? Whenever there is sun I just go out and enjoy, you know, and I will be energized."

I was seriously tempted to say, then why are you standing in here bothering us? Go out and get your freaking sunlight!)

He doesn't care if we're doing something else, he just demands attention by interrupting whatever we are doing. Once, one of the girls had a guy friend visiting, the creepy guy went to her door (and he doesn't even live on this corridor!) and saw him. She told him that her friend is visiting and thus can't talk to him now, and he just turned to the guy and asked, 'What is your relationship with her?' WTH?

Sometimes he tries to acknowledge that he was being ignored, by saying things like, "You know, it is not polite to ignore me when I'm talking to you. You have to respect me." Him? Talking about respect?

Oh, we had several confrontations with him, both alone and together. He thinks we are freaking shy because we are ignoring him. Once, he tried to enter a friend's room without permission, and she told him very, very firmly that it was disrespectful of him and what is actually respectful behavior. He laughed it off and didn't change one bit.

Another friend told him flatly that she doesn't want to talk to him, and he laughed it off as well. Today, he tried to touch me again (not at sensitive areas) and I told him very firmly that touching people when you have no right to is rude, and that respect has to be earned, not demanded.

Guess what? He laughed it off again.

In fact, what really vexes me is that he seems to get a high out of being scolded. The way he smiles/laugh it off, it's as if he's like, "Ah, see, this doggie is finally responding to me". And he just go back acting exactly as if the confrontation did not happen.

How do I deal with a guy like him???

Ignoring him didn't work as a strategy. Confronting him is like talking to a wall that laughs back at you. Getting authorities (housing agency?) involved is rather premature, because we don't have any evidence against him and he didn't commit any criminal offense; he's just being a condescending jerk that is making most of the girls here uncomfortable (even the guys don't really like him, but it's funny, he talks about how he feels lonely because we don't talk to him, but he doesn't seem to try and talk to the male residents) And none of us can run away or hide because we live here (and he always, always try to be in the kitchen when we cook).

I'm thinking of telling him very, very honestly and concisely that he is a condescending jerk. (So far we confronted him about specific issues and about the need for respect, but 'respect' seems to be a hard concept for him) I don't think he'll get it, though.

Just try and live with it for another two months? Oh well. Just hope he doesn't do anything drastic, like putting stuff in our food or something.

How can someone be so oblivious? Someone who cannot see that the problem lies with himself? Normally if people ignore you or tell you flatly that they are offended by you or don't feel that they're being respected, you'd at least try to do some self-examination right? He seems to think the problem is us being shy. Because we're Asian girls from backward countries.

(His favorite question the past few days, "How many inhabitants do you think live in China? 100million? 200 million?" Seriously? Do you read the papers? How can anyone not heard of the statistic at least once? And why can't he just google?)

Oh, and because we don't go to church. I mean, I have nothing against any religion, but he acts as if his religion is supreme and the only valid one - he once asked, 'Why don't you go to church?', I replied, 'Why do you assume everyone is Christian?', and he actually told me, 'Because there is only one god.'

I was speechless, because I never encountered anyone with such lack of respect for people who are just different. (And I really appreciate how I'm brought up in a multi-cultural community, by the way, now more than ever)

Trust me, I'm not the only one having issues with this. The girl who told him (very early on) that she didn't want to talk to him is a Christian herself, and she is especially vexed by the fact that he is giving her religion a bad name.

I really wonder what kind of environment he grew up in that makes him someone so lacking in self awareness and inter-cultural communication skills. He either grew up in a super tiny community with homogenous population and no internet access, or he is filthy rich and is used to people clamoring for his attention. Or he is just plain spoiled.

I have never, ever, met someone who sunk so low. I think I might just pop by the counselor's office to try and find a way to deal with this. Or just tell him he is a condescending jerk, and hope he doesn't explode and make things ugly.

*

But seriously, though, he is just the worst part of my exchange. Otherwise, I'm having fun, so don't worry too much. I just feel ggaaaaarrrrhhhh!!! when I come back from class and have to deal with him when I cook.

Just Do It

I have been quiet the past few months and even on FB, because I didn't really know what to say. I have been rather conflicted about who I have become and who I want to be, and whether these vague projections of the future that I'm chasing is really me or if I'm chasing someone else's dream.

But it's a funny thing, school has started again for most of my classmates, and I will be heading off to someplace really different, and really be by myself, in a few days. I suddenly feel motivated to just go ahead and do things again (which happen to include blogging, obviously).

I am reminded of something Mr Hsieh Tsun-Yan (a director at McKinsey & Co, and a Singapore President's Scholar in the same year that LSL got the scholarship) said in a talk I attended last semester. He talked about how he once mentored a brilliant new hire, an Ivy League grad, who spent a lot of time trying to 'find herself'. He said that she was too intellectual about it, and that a key ingredient to actually finding oneself is to put yourself out there and live. Glad that I actually had the foresight to record the talk, I listened to it again and reproduced the relevant parts here:

"The sculptor doesn't spend 5 days looking at the stone. He has an image, and he starts chiseling. And it is the chiseling that finally gives him the details of what the image will be. In other words, it is not sequential, that you do the freaking out and panicking and some linear equations and at the end of it, you go 'Ah-ha! That's me!'. It doesn't work that way. You have to get out there, and experience life. You have to get out there, notwithstanding your fears. You have to get out there, and put yourself at risk. 

... You have to goddamn live, basically."

And also, regarding expectations:

"The important thing is, at some stage of your growing up, you gotta make up your mind to be courageous enough to step outside of what other people want you to be."

There.

I made up my mind. I'm going to apply for an internship in the banking industry. Not because other people expect me to, but because I owe it to myself to try it out before making judgements about the industry. Either way, in the course of researching the industry, it turns out that I know shamefully little about it, or finance in general. I may be majoring in the big picture side of things, but the details, the nuts and bolts of how money flows and how credit helps businesses, are rather alien but very fascinating to me.

I am humbled, in short. And I now groan at my previous arrogant attitude about it all.

I don't know if it is the 'right' choice, whatever 'right' means that this stage of my life. I just know that I really, really want a job. I want to work at a good company, learn how a business, the industry and the economy really works. I don't want to spend more time in classrooms and have people tell me 'You don't know how things really work in the real world'. And I want to have an income, to buy nice things every once in a while (like a new box of crayons and a sketchbook; or buy my parents a meal; or to give some money to charity that is actually mine to give, for once). If I can get good pay, that's a nice bonus.

Why worry so much about being wrong? I wouldn't be the first one to be wrong, and it won't cost me much beyond a few years of my life. I realize that life is precious and we should never waste even a second of it, but if I spend even more of my life worrying about living in a wrong or less optimal way, I may not live at all.

And about giving back to society, saving the world? I'll volunteer. I'll separate my trash and recycle. I'll keep myself updated on the latest developments and arguments and policies. And when one day, when I actually know how things work and have the contacts, when I can do something beyond petitioning politicians and make a real contribution, I'll do it.

But for now, I'm just gonna give my best and try my hand at something that is truly fascinating to me.

I'm gonna just do it, 'kay?

*

P.S. In a related topic, this article about the worst career advice made me think about a job in a different way. Especially this part:

If you are lost, and lonely, and wondering how you’ll ever find your way in this world, take a job. Any job. Because structure, and regular contact with regular people, and a method of contributing to a larger group are all things that help us recalibrate ourselves.

Even with these awkward wings, I'm sure we can fly

Just finished rewatching Digimon Adventure.

In the last episode (54), when Takeru cried out loud because they had to leave the digimons, I had to chuckle at his lack of restraint, slotted so abruptly among all the rest who were trying to hold the tears in.

Then the urge to copy him followed.

Digimon, Digimon. What a fine work of art it was. I don't really get those fine arts stuff, whether they are abstract messes of paint or those weird 'modern' sculptures. Even Literature, a subject I took in high school, requires much effort even when I'm in the mood for it.

But Digimon (strictly season 1 here), I get. Beyond a good story and great characters, it has so much more: It showed how people are all different, and we need each other, even if sometimes we can't stand each other; it showed how it is all right to be who you are and walk your own path; it showed how it is important, and often not as hard as we'd like to imagine, to face our weaknesses and try to be better.

And of course, it has digimons, evolutions, crests and all the rest of the bells and whistles. And a damn good soundtrack.

But I guess what really got me was how it really is about growing up. About sometimes facing the things you don't want to face, and becoming responsible for something you believe in. I love how intelligent the show is, and how it doesn't treat kids like they can't take more grown-up things.

And thus, at the ripe old age of twenty, I relearn what it means to grow up. And that sometimes, even as we set out for the next adventure, there are things we have to leave behind.

There is also, of course, the urge to cry.

Let's be young about being older again

If I could let my 16-year-old self talk to my 20-year-old self, she would be very shocked to learn about what I have become. Oh, nothing terrible, not like that. Just... you know, unexpected.

When I was 16, I was extremely optimistic, and all about becoming the best of the best and earning big bucks and writing great books and saving the world. These days, you know, I study to get As, I work damn hard to pad my resume in preparation for future job searches, I think about what kind of investments to make to build a passive income, and perhaps start a small business by the time I'm 35. Nothing terrible, or even terribly bad.

Just terribly... ordinary. And self-serving.

What happened to the big dreams?

What happened to giving back to society? What happened to bringing meaningful change to the world? What happened to writing, at the very least, a story that makes people laugh and cry, and touches their hearts?

Reading the mind-blowing 'Small is Beautiful' by E.F. Schumacher made me think about many things. Not just conventional economics' non-sensical assumptions and models, but also about the problems the world faces today, and the direction that things are going at. I can't help but wonder, the book was first published in the 1970s, why are we still here today?

What were people, especially those intellectuals who are supposed to be advancing the frontiers of knowledge, doing for the past 30 years? I'm still at Part I of the book, but already it's making me feel like shaking those intellectuals and asking them, 'You knew there were problems, they're so clearly spelled out in the book! Why didn't you all gather to figure something out? You had 30 years!'

Rationally, I know that the world is a big place, and momentum is a powerful thing. Without a viable alternative, an alternative kind of economics to replace the one we have, it's hard to digress from the current path. And even if there is one, it would take a while - which could even be decades - before the whole world switch to it completely.

For now, people have to work 'within the system'. Society has few choices.

It made me think about what can be different. It made me think that, if I continue to care only about my own life and my own little circle of concerns, if I end up working only for a paycheck, then I would be part of the reason why things are still the way they are.

It's exactly like what that saying said, 'If you're not part of the solution, you're part of the problem'.

I don't want to be part of the problem.

*

For the past year or perhaps longer, I had dismissed my younger self as naive. She didn't understand the weight of family responsibilities or expectations; she had never really had a taste of financial independence, or how that is something one cannot give up on after one had a sample; she didn't understand what she would be up against at all.

But you know, my younger self, ignorant as she is, had something that I seem to have lost sight of - the ability to believe in a better world.

She is a dreamer, and the world is a place where everything is possible. She dreamed that when she grows up, she would be changing the world because she would be older and wiser and trained, she would learn how to do it. That was what growing up, what being older means when I was young.

Yet how I let her down. Instead of learning how to reach that better world, I learned skepticism and made excuses. Instead of learning what can be done, I learned why things are the way they are, and how hard it would be to change. Instead of changing the world, I let the world changed me.

I can't even call those my dreams anymore, because to be very honest, I never fought for them. Fighting would mean marching on even when the going gets tough, but I gave up because things have become hard.

Admittedly, times are good again now. My summer vacation has begun, and my coming exchange semester means the academic and job search pressure is off for now. It seems quite... predictable to think about dreams again. It's easy to dream big when you only need to do the dreaming.

But I'd like to think I really am wiser, because now I know what went wrong the first time round, when things got hard. Now, I want to be part of the solution.

And this time, I am not letting go.

You may be inclined to doubt me, and you would have every reason to. But what matters now is I won't doubt myself. I'm not as naive to the challenges along the way like my 16-year-old self was; but I'm also no longer naive to the value of believing in something better like my recent self was.

It's true that I don't know a lot. It's true that I can never know everything. But you know, I'll learn along the way. That's what happens, when one grows older.

Let's all be young about being older again, shall we?

I will finish a story

I like to think that I have no regrets. Sure, I made tons of mistakes, many of them rather embarrassing. But I learned my lessons from them, and given a choice, I won't go back and change things because that might mean missing those lessons.

I kept telling myself that. But I do have one, one that made me really want to go back in time to change things.

I wish I had finish at least some of the stories I started. I started so many.

And yeah, I just reread some of them, and some were quite surprising. Both surprisingly bad, and surprisingly good. And it was pretty funny to notice for the first time how what I wrote revolved around the issues I was unconsciously dealing with in the corresponding periods of my life.

Or maybe I just didn't admit them to myself. The earlier pieces revolved a lot around having a super close-knit group of friends (it was, after all, Power Rangers), and then it was about exploring the what-ifs and sci-fi/fantasy worlds. In recent years, there was this story about the post-SPM months, and then one about the identity issues of someone who grew up in a border town. Even though I know people don't like authors making characters their mouthpiece, I seem to keep doing it.

Sifting through all those unfinished works brought back so many memories. But I wish I have a lot more to read. I finished them so fast.

Stories written for NaNoWriMo are the most surprising. I never finish one, and most drafts just sit untouched afterwards, and I won't even remember what I wrote. But they can be rather comforting. In the sense that if I read them in sequence, I would wince lesser and lesser as I progress. That's... progress.

Just for fun, here's a short recap:

2004 - Dragon Girl (wince) - Chapter 1

ALL her life Alanna had been really fond of dragons.

Once, sitting on her grandmother's lap, she was told, for the first time, the great legend of the Chinese Zodiacs. With the noisy old fan from her grandmother's room whining and shaking dangerously above them, she had listened with an intense concentration that no four year olds could have.

You are born in the year of dragon, dear, her grandmother told her, her fingers pointing at a dragon sewn on a piece of cloth. The mighty dragon!

Staring at the scaly creature for the first time, she had imagined how great the dragon must be, with its strong claws and mighty grip, and that she must be special, to be born in the year of dragon.

All her life Alanna had been really fond of dragons. And all her life she had thought it must have meant something.

The name is one I stole from a favorite character. And the entire paragraph is based on the opening paragraph I read sometime earlier. Blatant plagiarism.

2005 - Fanged Guardian (wince) - Chapter 2

No one was in sight. She scanned the whole area again slowly. Maybe her guardian was testing her. There could be something that she was supposed to notice... something out of place. Her eyes widen. The only thing that was out of place was her. And she wasn't attacked yet.

"Hello?” she called out, her voice squeaky and out of place in the silent night. If she wasn't attacked by now, there was a good chance that whatever vampires that were out there were already taken care of.

There was a sudden noise somewhere to her right, about ten meters away. Kayla's hand closed on the sword strapped behind her waist. She inched closer steadily. “Hello?”

Someone was there alright. She could see two balled fists reaching up behind a broken wall, as if the person was stretching, accompanied by the a loud yawn. She stopped, staring incredulously. That guy, who was more probably her guardian, was sleeping in a place like this? Is he nuts?

The shadow suddenly shot up to the sky, its bat-like wings opened wide and clear against the moonlit night. Kayla felt her heart almost stop.

The shadow took a sharp turn and was standing in front of her in an instant. Its wings folded itself. He was shirtless and only wearing a pair of dirty ripped jeans. The pale moonlight shone on his skin that was equally pale, bringing out the surprising blue of his eyes, hiding behind bangs of black hair. He cocked his head and stared at her. He looked about eighteen. Slowly, he grinned.

Pale, shirtless guys. Do you realize what this mean? If I had finish this, Edward Cullen would be a mere wannabe.

(Right)

2006 - Skyward - Chapter 2

“What has the world gotten into,” Edward began with an elaborate gesture using both arms, not knowing how comical he looked holding a stick with a dangling bottle, “when the warm, beating hearts of humans are cheaper than cold hard metals?”

The bottle struggled, and fell to the ground with a very undignified pluack. Aayla laughed. Silently, though, she quite agree with him. It was one of the many things that did not make sense, to her, at least.

“For one thing, they are much more efficient,” Heather pointed out. Edward stabbed the bottle. It squeaked one last time, before falling into the dark murky depths of the big black plastic bag with a dying sigh. “And they don't complain.”

"Undignified pluack". "...falling into the dark murky depths of the big black plastic bag with a dying sigh."

Must have been desperate.

2008 - Untitled - Prologue

If I could meet the author of the book 'The Little Prince', I would tell him that the Prince came to me that year, during those listless, misty months after the end of high school. Time changed the Prince, much like it does to all of us; he was not blond, nor did he ask for paintings of sheep or talks about his flower. His hair was a rich dark chocolate, and even though he reaches only until my elbow when he stands on his toes, his eyes sometimes betrays a certain wisdom that could only come at the expense of innocence, a kind of knowing that was earned in the course of heartbreak and in the face of the unflinching truth of life's realities.

The author – a guy called St. Ex something, if I'm not mistaken – would perhaps deny vehemently and tell everyone that I'm a liar and that I could not be trusted. But how wrong he is! All of us know the Little Prince, and we all know that it was neither his looks nor his insistence on drawings of sheep to protect his flower (however misguided the attempt) that made him who he is.

It was his wisdom, his laughter, his soul – whatever you call it, that made him who he is. It was the truth that he learned from the Fox – what is essential is invisible to the eye – that made him who he is. It was the way he looked at the world, and the way he changed us and everyone he touches, that made him who he is.

It was the way he made us see what is invisible that made him the Prince. The blond hair, the paintings, the boots, those are not the Prince. What makes the Prince himself was – much like what the Fox said – invisible to the eye. So who can say that the person who changed my world is not the same Prince who went back to the stars?

My Prince never did make it to the stars though – he went back to the future.  

It sounded cool at that time. But there were serious logistical issues. 

2009 - Untitled - Chapter 1

So back to being practical. May understands ideals. She wants world peace. She wants to stop global warming. She wants to eradicate poverty and believes that everyone can get along and live in peace (well, with a few bar fights in between. But surely, human beings simply must be possible to live without dropping bombs – or hiding bombs and threaten to drop them – on each other. Even if testosterone backed violence seemed unavoidable). She does.

She respects the people who gave up high-paying jobs to work at some non-profit organization of some good cause or another. She admires people who could donate cheques with five- or four- or even three-figures donations to people who need surgery. Someday she would be in the position to do so.

That is the key, though, isn't it? At nineteen, no longer fresh out of high school and with the SPM results a strange, distant memory, she, like so many other of her peers, understood something much more important, much more pertinent, than ideals. She understands the value of a particular piece of paper called a Bachelor's degree (why Bachelor's, she would love to know – just so she can perhaps create a Bachelorette's degree when she has the power; perhaps). She understands the value of a good university education, of having titles like 'President' or 'Chairperson' on her CV, of internships and the fight for a good one at a good, reputable enough company and, most important of all, the price tag that comes with all these supposed value. 

Wince. This is... such a personal rant.

2010 - The 9 Names of May - Chapter 1: May

May was born in June, like a private joke that will only elicit weird eyebrow quirks.

Of course, she wasn’t called May then. She was referred to as ‘the baby’, ‘Da Jie’s daughter’, ‘Ah girl’; in that order, after she was born, by the nurse, her aunt and finally, her father. She’d like to imagine that great thought and consideration had gone into the selection of her name, and that somehow, somewhere, there was a very special reason why she ended up being called Mei Ling, a name so generic that it is the first choice of all nine year olds writing their very first story, with the politically correct trio of Ali, Muthu and Mei Ling.

May – the name, the dream, the proud tilt of her chin – came to being so stealthily and mysteriously that May herself could not put a finger to it. It must be some time after primary school, some time during those strange, lonely years where people all around her burst into chatter in different tongues – so different from what she was used to.

These days, it was that strange language of her early years, that naïve, innocent, tongue laden with the burden of five thousand years of broken hopes and dreams that she could not reconcile with. She treats it like some crying child that she did not know what to do with, while the rest of the world showered their love on the child. She should have been thinking in those shapes and tongues and sayings, she should have been much better in expressing her innermost thoughts in those sturdy, beautiful characters instead of letting her thoughts flow and take shape in this external, acquired thing.

It was as if Mei Ling died.  

It's rather obvious what I was or am dealing with these days. 

But really, what a journey it was. 

This summer, I swear I will write something. I really miss it. 

And I will finish what I started. I don't want to regret about them like I do with the above stories anymore. 

I want, but there is the I-have-to

I'm becoming sloppy. As a student, that is. Very sloppy. I can't help wondering where my motivation to study is.

There was this lecture today for my International Trade course, and the lecture hall was barely half full. I was checking my mail, doodling on my ipad and basically doing anything but listening. Well, it's a fact that the lecturer is boring. His English is horrible, which is made worse by his monotone and thick accent. He comes very late for lectures, and on top of that, takes his sweet time in starting up the projector. He takes one hour to repeat exactly the lecture he gave the previous lecture. Then proceed to drone on mostly incomprehensibly about the new material (which he almost always cut short 'cos he ran out of time).

I love trade. Well, I think it's one of the wonders of humanity and how it affects countries are fascinating and very important. But I can't bring myself to put any effort into this course.

I used to think that it's the fault of the lecturer. But today, I looked around and realized that at least one quarter of those who attended were listening. Some even asked questions during the break.

I feel ashamed. Not that I didn't try to listen - god knows that is a futile effort - but that I didn't try to at least study on my own and figure it out. I don't even feel like I want to, I only feel like I have to, which makes it worse.

For all my grand words about becoming good at what I do and to be among the best, I couldn't even muster the will to at least try to do it. I had more concrete excuse at the beginning of the semester, at least - all three events I'm organizing were happening and there were a million things to sort out, I was grateful to have time to just finish the assignments, let alone do extra readings or studying.

Now I have time. But all I want to do is watch more Grey's Anatomy, read more books, write my own stories or even draw some manga. I want to immerse myself in stories, much like I did in high school. (I'm reminded of that quote, 'The more things change, the more they stay the same', but that is so cliche for me by now and I don't want to go down that road tonight)

But didn't I leave that world behind? That world of living in someone else's worlds, of fighting odds-defying battles with imagined bravery, of having virtual friends with whom I've survived life and death situations?

I remember making the decision to live my own life in the real world, to make my own story the best one I can. And also to give back in some significant ways to this world. It was why I chose Economics - I believe that life cannot be separated from it, and of all disciplines, this is the one that excites me the most with its relevance and potential for changing lives for the better on a much greater scale. And I love it, dammit.

But why can't I find the will to put more effort into it? Am I getting disillusioned by its limits? Am I too impatient? Am I just in need of a break, after back-to-back projects and competitions? Am I too greedy?

I'm pretty sure I'm being rather whiny, sigh.

I have other dreams, you know. Dreams of telling a really, really good story; even if it touches just one person deeply and make him/her cry and laugh, I would die happy. Dreams of making my parents really proud.

I could have just choose some straightforward career and write in my free time, but this highly insensible thing called ambition makes me want more. It makes me believe that the skills and talents I am born with - though proving rather elusive at the moment - should be put to good use and help make this mess of a world a better place.

I want more. I want to leave my mark, I want to be significant to the world, and I want to be dearly missed after I die.

Ah, yes. This want.

Will it make me happy if I get what I want? Am I wanting the right things? I don't know. But I can feel it again - that drive to do things. Wanting things drives people.

I wonder which is sadder, that I need to be reminded of what I want so often, or that what I truly, truly want - to tell a good story - is unlikely to be significant or useful.

Ok this is sadder - I just realized that my life is like an analogy to the whole GDP-as-measure-of-growth dilemma. Or the other way round: Ambition and significance are like GDP - they're not everything, but they can be measured and their value more or less universally acknowledged (if not universally agreed upon with regards to the magnitude of that value), and they won't guarantee happiness. But everyone wants them, and as long as some people want them, it's just very hard to not have them.

Is life, on an individual scale and beyond, always about this struggle between self and other people? About going back and forth between what we owe ourselves and what we are obliged to society at large? About choosing between being irresponsible to oneself or being selfish?

Do they converge at some point, or are we suppose to find a happy balance? The Taoist in me - actually I only know the symbol for certain, though you can tell its essence from the symbol itself - knows that balance is not stillness. It's more like a constant back and forth between the two extremes.

But that is very tiring, you have to admit.

It's also as useful as knowing that the things will tend to 'equilibrium' in the Long Run, despite whatever chaos in the Short Run.

And I have a feeling I will have to talk about faith at some point after this. Let's not. Not tonight.

Not when I want to do things again.