Twenty Twelve

I brought Princess Nell home to San Jose, with the promise of taking her biking around the beautiful, chilly scenery of northern California. Of course, then it rained torrentially for a few days, and then winter hibernation laziness kicked in... so Nell has been neglected for two weeks :( 

The sun was finally out for an extended period of time today, and I seized the opportunity to do some neighborhood exploring. Biking by myself always leads me to thinky thoughts; something about a little solitude in motion gets my mental cogs turning like pinwheels. 

So here are a few casual thoughts on my year 2012, inspired by some lovely sights from my afternoon bike ride. 

bridge that crosses over to the neighboring golf course and explorable areas

some tall grass

I LOVE CRUNCHY LEAVES

Leaves

When I was little, sometimes I used to pretend that leaves were paper currency. (leaves and bills are both green, ok, kid Elaine wasn't that crazy). At recess, or at the park, or while camping, I would collect leaves of all types until I had stacks on stacks... and when I was content with the amount of money I had laboriously "made", I would just leave it in a pile, wherever I was. 

Looking back, either I really was crazy as shit or this was my little child-minded way of paying back nature... saying thank you via a tangible offering. As I recount my 2012, I realize that this year has brought me many amazing feats of nature to be thankful for. 

     --There was the Honors camping trip... where I witnessed the brightest moon I had seen in a long time, and the sheer grandness of giant boulders heaped upon each other all the way to heaven.

     --There was the beach escapade in Laguna...where I witnessed the strength of the ocean as it pulled at my legs and the strength of the sun as it glared a vibrant orange during sundown.  

     --There was the summer I spent in the remote beauty of rural Taiwan...where I witnessed silent fog blanket lush green mountains, a lake inspired by the sun and moon, and the whispered secrets of a bamboo forest. 

     --There was the weekend I spent camping in Joshua Tree... where I witnessed stars falling to earth, and the fairylike trails that they leave behind them. 

So with this pile of leaves, I offer my thanks. Thank you, nature, for making my 2012 wonderful with scenery and trees and meteor showers and seasons and sunlight and the carbon dioxide cycle. You're the best. 

Nell stops to commune with nature

a winding path

Pathways

I've come to notice that most walking paths are curved. Why? My theory is that it ensures a more interesting and varied range of vision for the person doing the walking. If you're walking, and you can see straight ahead of you to where exactly you're going to be in 10, 20, 50 steps... then your walk suddenly becomes a lot less exciting. The thrill of what's around the corner is lost, and you'll probably find yourself turning around and going home a lot quicker than if your path looked like the one pictured above.

It's like why paragraph breaks exist- nobody really enjoys reading a wall of text.

So if most literal paths are curved, why do we so often demand that our metaphorical life paths be direct ? Why are we in such a hurry to know what the next big thing in our lives is ? Why do we demand straight answers from a God who is creative and artistic in nature ? These are all things that I had to come to grips with in 2012. With college graduation just around the riverbend one moment, and behind me the next, the natural question is "what now? what next?" In 2012, I learned how to be inquisitive, not demanding. I added a double major out of pure enjoyment of the subject. I dropped everything and went to Taiwan for a summer. I went on night drives along winding roads to calm turbulent thoughts. I let God speak to me in mountains and forests and smiling faces, and he answered many of my questions in answers phrased just as beautifully as the surroundings I had stopped to listen in.

Creeks

As far as I'm concerned, creeks are pretty much awesome. They're kind of like classrooms, but more interactive. A creek can teach any range of things that young kids learn in an elementary school science class, like the food chain, buoyancy, tadpole metamorphosis... all in a very organic manner. Sometimes it's just easier to learn something when you're directly immersed in it. 

This is something that was the core foundation of my beloved small group, Skittens. As the standalone co-ed small group in the entire ministry, and with no real paradigm to model our studies after, we were definitely an ongoing live experiment. My dear co-leader and I wanted to create a place of openness, of inquisitive minds, and of occasionally reckless behavior. Essentially, we wanted the group to be like a creek: a place to be curious, to poke around and ask questions, to learn how to skip rocks, and to get your feet a little wet. Time says we succeeded, because we ended the year with a cohesive and loving family of small group members, and I wanted to let each of them know that they've also taught me so much in return. 

wise-looking tree

dendrites !

Branches

This year, I learned that the word "dendrites" comes from the Greek word for "branches". (this piece of trivia came about from having a boyfriend who looks at slices of brain cells all day) Dendrites are those little gangly things in your neurons that listen to all the incoming thought traffic that goes on in your brain. Without them, your kidney or eyelid or whatever body part could be knocking all day, and no one would ever answer the door. 

The aforementioned gentleman and scholar that enlightened me to this piece of information is another significant happening of my 2012. He gave me the opportunity to branch out-- to speak up, to take a risk, and to be vulnerable with emotions that I might otherwise have kept on lock and key. Once I started extending those branches, I was then given even more opportunities-- to explore places I've never been, to speak a language I've never spoken, and to experience love from a different spiritual background.

I found some mushrooms here

heading up to the terrace!

Fences

Every time I come home to San Jose, I go from Elaine the young, wild, and free...to Elaine the 22-year old with a curfew and mandated bedtime of 12 midnight. This is, of course, absolutely maddening. I graduated college this year ! Shouldn't that count for something ? I'm practically an adult, right ? These imposed boundaries have occasionally led to me stewing under the covers at the click of midnight, knowing that my peers are out living the night.

However, just because my diploma is labeled 2012, thus releasing me from the constraints and burdens of student life, it doesn't necessarily mean that I've been released out into the metaphorical adulthood pasture. These restrictions that my parents place on me are not meant to deprive me of the joys of life; rather, they are there to keep me close to home, so I can continue learning how to be patient, observant, and appreciative of what is on the other side.

peace out 2012! thanks for the good times!

Teaching Myself Photoshop

I got an old version of Photoshop from Lucas for Christmas :)

To fulfill something I've always pondered, but never followed through.. I shall now actively attempt to teach myself how to use it ! Of course, this is much easier said than done... as someone with zero experience in digital media, everything seems to be on hard mode...

But as they say, any great journey begins with a single step... and in this case, any art piece begins with a single click ! ...hopefully a click that isn't followed by other clicks that accidentally undo the first one.

Other than just messing around with the various buttons, I did actually figure out how to do a few productive things. For example, I learned how to put text on top of a picture ! Yes, I know, this is rather self-explanatory, as well as something that a third-grader could do on Microsoft Paint... but I proudly did this using LAYERS !!! (the concept of layers is still fascinating to me)

So without further ado, here is my first n00b Photoshop creation...

On the long drive to the Joshua Tree campsite, we were stuck on a stretch of long, dark road... to document the eeriness of our surroundings, I had attempted to capture it with my camera. It turned out to be too blurry of a photo to really have any show value. Now, with the addition of text, it gets instant hipster points, and new meaning to live ! The text I chose is a quotation I read recently that really stood out to me.

Hoorray !

Home(less) for the Holidays

A few days ago, I had the opportunity to perform some last chance good deeds before the rumored "end of the world." In small, cramped office quarters, I made myself useful as a member of a very efficient assembly line, putting together bags of basic necessities for the homeless of San Jose. Plastic bags contained socks, scarves, beanies, gloves, towels, a rain poncho, and oral hygiene products, all bought with generous donations from kind families and individuals. Other donated funds were allocated to the purchase of food and warm bedding; brown-bag dinners were tied with festive green ribbon, and rolled sleeping bags and blankets were piled up to the ceiling ready to be distributed.

Once we had finished packing our goods, we loaded them into cars, along with crates of instant noodles and water. We visited a few different drop sites- walking through the darkness, along narrow sidewalks and under bridges- looking for people to receive our gifts. We were approached by a few wandering individuals, and also found a entire homeless communities nestled underneath an overpass and camping in a run-down park area. 

Serving the homeless isn't a novel activity for me; I used to go out help out with the church's Skid Row Ministry to downtown LA. On Fridays we would distribute food to the hungry and simply talk with them, offering a small slice of human interaction in the midst of their difficult weeks. Out on the streets of The Row, I interacted with people who, despite such different lives, are often just as normal as any random, amiable stranger you might meet... and I was certainly able to witness that in these run-down areas of San Jose too. These people were so grateful, offering smiles and thanks in return... all that they really had to give back to us. 

So other than locational differences, what made this charity mission different than serving with the Skid Row Ministry ? This trip was funded and backed by the Compassionate Service Society, which is a Buddhist organization. I found out that Lucas' family was volunteering their time in service this holiday season, and I offered to join them. No one ever performed unwelcome good to the disadvantaged; besides, I thought it would be a nice thing for the new boyfriend and I to do, as opposed to going out on a dinner date or something. 

As we trekked the cold streets and were met with warm thanks, I was again comforted in something I had initially felt insecure about: the implications of a bireligious relationship. I know some may disagree with me on this subject, but I've found dating a Buddhist to be tremendously worthwhile. Service is service and compassion is compassion; does it matter what language we speak if they are both love languages ?

Of course, this is a question that can only be fully answered over time. However, I do know that as of now, it has only given me more opportunities to love on others. Many of the homeless we encountered responded to our gifts with murmurs of "God bless you too," and none of the Buddhist volunteers stopped to correct them. To these weathered individuals, it doesn't matter under what or whose name we distribute our charity- what truly matters is that we are taking the time and effort to reach out to them. 



(and my dear Trisha- since I noticed that you've subscribed to my blog- you can expect to see Lucas and I at Skid Row sometime in the near future :) 

Erasure

"Please, sit down," the white-coated nurse instructed, gesturing to a thinly cushioned examination table in the center of the tiled room.

Avie sat as she was told, feeling the black leather press against the backs of her thighs. She slid her hands under her legs, providing a barrier between her warm skin and the cold seat. If she was nervous at one point, she no longer was.

The nurse handed her a rectangular tablet, and told her to read it thoroughly and then provide her thumbprint in the box at the bottom of the digital form. She slid her finger across the screen, and it scrolled. A list of bulleted liabilities and legalities flew by, their meaning barely registering in her mind...merely blurred formalities. Avie pressed her thumb to the box and held it until the border flashed green, confirming her authorization. She handed the tablet back to the nurse with what she hoped was a smile, before averting her eyes back to the patterned tile of the clinic floor.

The tile was white and lavender, colors meant to be soothing to the clients of the Memory Erasure Clinic. However, to Avie they only reminded her of why she was there. Lavender hospital walls, the place where she had lost Jule forever, as well as their darling little girl. In one painfully long millisecond, the future had been shattered into pieces, just like the glass windows of their car upon brutal impact, just like 143 miles per hour in the wrong lane.

Avie no longer had this future, so what what she doing with its ghost ? One decision, and her slate would be wiped clean. She would have no recollection of burning headlights and the stranger who got away with it. She would have no recollection of Lilly, and no recollection of Jule. How could she continue to dream of her green eyes and his loving words, if she never knew them in the first place ?

The nurse came back with a syringe of clear fluid and an oxygen mask. She instructed Avie to lay down, and with an almost motherly nature, tucked a few stray strands of hair behind her ears.

"The formulas are designed to only target parts of the brain that contain the memories you aim to remove," the nurse spoke as she slipped the mask over Avie's face, cupping her nose and mouth. "However, side effects often include some loss of recent memory, as well as nausea and lightheadedness."

Avie nodded solemnly. None of her recent memories were worth keeping anyway; one should not preserve nightmares. The nurse turned Avie’s wrist upward, exposing the tattoo that criss-crossed it. She inserted the needle right above the lyrics of Jule’s favorite song, and plunged the cold fluid into Avie’s veins.

Tears welled as Avie realized she would wake up in a few hours, and only recognize the lyrics as the opening lines of a pleasant melody. The ceiling lights began to swim on their own accord, and her thoughts began to swirl as well. How long had she waited for this procedure ? Weeks had become months, and months had become years. Years that had been spent seeking, questioning, chasing answers that had never come...

...and now they never would, because the questions would soon no longer exist.

[Inspired by "The Truth" by Seven Lions. The only lyrics to this song are the repeated phrase, "getting over you"] 

Vocabulary Volume #5

People are often surprised to discover that I've never actually read George Orwell's famous dystopian novel 1984. So, to legitimize myself as a real English major, I finally picked up the book and have been thoroughly enjoying it. My love of science fiction and thinky thoughts really comes alive in this eerily foreseeable, paranoia-infused text.

The following are some words I have learned thus far.

         persiflage (n): light and slightly contemptuous mockery or banter

         concertina (n): an older model of accordion

         remonstrance (n): a forcefully reproachful protest

         wainscoting (n): wooden paneling that lines the lower walls of a room

As a graduated English major, I also believe my degree also grants me the authority to make up new words... (whether this really is within my powers is up to you to decide). The following is a term that Lucas and I coined this past week, spawned by his feelings about upcoming medical school interviews. We couldn't think of a particularly fitting word that already existed, so we decided to create one.

         aliloquate (adj). a state of being equally nervous and excited.

For example...

I was feeling very aliloquate before my interview.
The way she was looking at me made me too aliloquate to say anything in return.
Once I was actually on the road, that's when I really began to feel aliloquate.

Please feel free to spread the usage of this word; neologism is a strange and wonderful thing, and should certainly be shared :)



In other news, today is significant because it's the last triple-number-day of this century ! The next time we have another will be January 1, 2101... a date that won't pass in my lifetime, unless some crazy medical advancements are made between now and then.

I wonder what civilization and society will look like on 1/1/2101. Any ideas ?

Spruce and Deer

Vivian-T79 had no idea what a forest was. She had never set foot upon the soft ground and heard a twig snap beneath her weight. She had never brushed aside a sprig of young spruce, gotten moss underneath her fingernails, or teetered her way across a fallen log over a brook. She had never caught a centipede off the musty forest floor, and never caught a deer out of the corner of her eye.

In fact, she had no idea what half of those things even looked like in real life. She only knew they existed because somewhere, a scientist had decided that it was important for a robot girl to know what spruce and deer were, and had written those little details into a packet that was downloaded directly into her brain. Even though her primary function was limited to fashion modeling, her engineers clearly thought that a pretty face and perfectly ratioed body were not enough.

She had seen such green environments before, but only in digital form- when they downloaded educational packets into her brain, she saw nature documentaries and cross-section diagrams of ancient redwoods, concentric circles revealing their great age. The entertainment packets brought with them various recent and older films; scenes portraying quaint little cabins protected by tall, majestic trees. This silent mysteriousness of the forest is what made it so alluring to her. 

How she longed to experience the shaded, serene environment of these forests; the hush of those chartreuse mosses and dark green pines. 

However, when she looked outside her window, all she saw was white. Shiny, pure, white. White of porcelain sinks and operating tables. White of her first memory- the sterile assembly room in which she and her sisters, Vivian-T70 through Vivian-T78, were brought to life, and where they were likely going to be retired when their time was up- when their drives began skipping and their data began slipping away- when they simply began to forget. 

Vivian-T79 did not want to forget. With unblinking hazel eyes, she stared out of the window to the window at the end of the hall, and through that window, she saw the door. She had only ever seen human handlers go in and out that way; the regulation packet clearly stated that models were not allowed to leave their indoor duties. However, she couldn't help treating herself to some curiosity, a glitch trait that her developers were having a hard time overwriting. 

How could she forget a forest, if she never really knew what it was in the first place ? 

Snapshots with Princess Nell

Nell is ready to go :) 

An overcast day is perfect for thinky thoughts.

Green flourishes in the algae-populated wastewater.

Day 29: They still think I am a real tree.

Those two distant dots in the concrete are a man and his dog.

There is so much going on in this backyard... 

To the right, we have the secret garden...

Pink, white, red, and purple bougainvilleas.

Maybe these birds are spelling out a song... too bad I can't read music. 

Little white dove, you came to the wrong neighborhood... 

Homeless people live in those cement dugouts... 

Pigeons in flight.

We arrive at the city of Cypress. 

Some little details that could not be captured by photo were

The intimidating glare emitted by a mob of gangster-looking ravens, strutting their avian swagger. 

The wall of air that hits your face, taking you aback, when an entire flock of dusty gray pigeons suddenly takes flight at the first sense of a threat.

The gaze of an old man as he slowly pulls the strings tighter on the hood of his wife's fleece jacket, and then cocoons her face with his warm hands. 

The concrete and soda-can smell of wastewater, flowing into the artificial stream from car washes, commercial plazas, and nonexistent rainfall. 

The pruned hands of a young woman standing in her backyard, furiously hand washing a load of laundry in a large white plastic bucket. (Twenty minutes later, when I was on my way back home, she was still washing.)

The feeling of nervousness when you suddenly stumble upon a bearded homeless man, and immediately wonder if you can outrun him. 

The feeling of guilt when he merely looks at you with tired eyes framed by deep wrinkles, and you look away. 

Desert Fairytale.

Without warning the wind picked up again, bringing a slight chill to the rocky desert landscape in spite of the bright morning sun. It raised goosebumps and loosened a strand of hair from her braid, blowing it across her face. She quickly brushed it aside before taking the next step from one boulder to the next, following closely behind a pair of scuffed white chucks and the adventurous boy that was wearing them.

“Let’s stop here,” he pointed, “up on this rock.”

They clambered up to a large boulder to take a quick breather and take in the surrounding scenery. Scattered across their view were piles and piles of bulky, dust-colored stone, some stacked in almost precarious natural sculptures and some caught mid-fall down the mountainside. Thorny plants and shrubs, proving hardy against the difficult environment, thrived in little crevices between the boulders. Their spiny leaves and branches reached up toward the sun, which was currently burning a white-hot hole in the azure sky.

The two sat quietly for a moment, just taking it all in. Suddenly, their silence was punctuated by a distant sound.

“Did you hear that?” he asked. She looked around, scanning the rocks and trying to locate the source of such a bizarre noise. In contrast with the rigidness of their surroundings, this was soft, clean, and melodic, like the musical twinkling of--

“Bells. It sounds like bells,” she said. “but why are there bells in the desert?”
“Maybe this is how the desert people lure tourists into their traps,” he said with a straight face, followed by a teasing smile, “this is how we die.”
“You have such a wild imagination.” They stood, trying to hone two pairs of small ears on the direction that the twinkling was coming from.

“There ?” she pointed, and then looked toward the right “...or there ? It almost sounds like it’s coming from two different places.”
“Let’s go investigate.”

They paused every couple steps to listen again for the sound, and reevaluate the direction it seemed to be coming from. Not too long after, they were standing on top of another boulder when suddenly--

“I see it!” he exclaimed, “do you see that thing over there ?”

Tucked in a gap between larger stone, there was a small copper plate hung on a wire, swinging back and forth in the wind. With their target in sight, the two treasure seekers hopped and crawled their way over more rocks, closing the distance between them and this oddly placed musical object. 

Upon getting closer, they realized that it was not only a copper plate on a string, but a set of windchimes-- five long, cylindrical metal tubes and two copper plates, fixed to a coffee-colored wood base. As the wind blew gently, the tubes clinked and clanked against each other, producing a lovely pentatonic melody. 

“So this is what has been serenading us,” she remarked, satisfied at having solved the mystery. Standing on her toes, she leaned forward and swung the copper plate back and forth, releasing a louder and more frantic blend of notes. The sound echoed across the rocks. 

“What a strange item to find while hiking in the desert...” she said. “I almost feel like we are in a video game, and that we have to collect this item in order to continue the quest!”
“At least it wasn’t a death trap,” he joked. “I’ve played enough games to be suspicious of such entrancing things.”

The chimes calmed from their earlier disruption, returning to their original swaying motion. They rotated slowly in the wind, and settled back into a gentle, musical twinkling.

“This is almost magical. I swear, stuff like this only happens in movies...” Reaching out to hold his hand, she said, “...yet here we are, and suddenly, life is like a fairytale.”

“Well that means it will end happily ever after,” he smiled. 

The 2012 UCI Medal- A Celebration of Stars

 A few weeks ago, I had the privilege of spending an evening in the gorgeously transformed grounds of the Bren Events Center, volunteering at the annual UCI Medal. Upon entering the building, I could not even believe that I was inside the Bren. The last time I was in the building was for my own commencement ceremony back in June, and it was completely unrecognizable.

Of course, my camera phone does not do the interior justice.

A luxe white carpet ushered guests into the lobby, where they were greeted by a small waterfall, bouquets of white orchids, and shimmery, peach-colored satins. The inside of the gymnasium was even more beautiful; the room was filled with a hundred round tables, each perfectly set with formal diningware and accented with long, cylindrical vases of white florals. Long, tasseled curtains were hung from the ceiling, creating a tenuous wall of white fabric between the banquet hall and the dancefloor. Faux chandeliers made of large gold sequins were hung from the ceiling, reflecting glittering lights across the room as they turned slowly in the air. Even the restrooms were decorated to fit the theme, with smooth river stones lining the sinks, and glass orbs hanging from the ceiling, each housing one or two delicate flowers.

Yes, I took a photo of the ladies' restroom

I can only think to describe the Medal as the Nobel Awards of UCI, a chance to recognize the greatest contributors to the success and prestige of the University. As a student ambassador with AAN I was not formally invited as a guest, but as a volunteer, and was thus committed to being on my feet and on call for the duration of the event. I had no issues with this at all, however, as I was still able to experience much of the glamor of the night, as well as engage with various attendees while carrying out my duties.

As photo assistants, Kevin and I were among the first guests to see the medalists. Upon their arrival they were ushered into a private photo room to have portraits taken with their friends, colleagues, and of course, their medals. I got to meet Chancellor Drake's very charming wife for the first time, as I held onto some of her personal belongings- a plain black tweed clutch, and a navy blue folder containing drafts of her husband's speeches- during the picture taking sessions.

The entire night proceeded like a charm. Entertainment was provided by UCI's very own, as musicians, dancers, and singers from the Claire Trevor School of the Arts took to the stage to present their tributes to all our University stands for- light, leadership, innovation- through song and dance.

Official UCI photo

The most emotional moment of the night for me was hearing the very poignant and thankful speech given by medal recipient Professor Elizabeth Loftus. She began by recounting her experiences at her previous school, and the often difficult nature of her line of research. True, heartfelt appreciation for the nurturing and supportive environment of UCI showed through as her voice cracked, explaining how even as a young University, UCI not only accepted but fervently supported her research findings. Now one of the most celebrated professionals in the field of psychology and memory, Professor Loftus still cried tears of joy as she proudly exclaimed how glad she is to be part of such an inspiring community of University colleagues and students.

It was not only the words of her speech itself that touched me, but also the fact that her words made me look back at my own experience at UCI. In my second year, I took an Honors Social Science course that touched upon the research of Professor Loftus. I remembered staying up a few late nights in ripped sweatpants and t-shirts, furiously studying her texts for an upcoming exam... Learning about the great strides she had made in the field: planting memories, getting people to vividly describe things that never happened, and dramatically transforming the way witness questioning is performed and recorded.

Now, over two years later, I am sitting in black-tie formal attire, in a luxuriously decorated room that once held a thousand of my fellow Humanities colleagues and their families, listening to a moving speech by the very same inspiring woman whose works I pored over in the dim light of my VDC Norte bedroom... and I experienced such a feeling of fulfillment, as if things had come full circle.

How great it is that UCI so enthusiastically supports its own, and makes its students aware of the amazing work that is done by its professors and faculty... and how great it is that UCI so enthusiastically brings back its sentimental alumna- like yours truly- to experience the pride and joy of the University at such an event as this.

AAN volunteer team

Vocabulary Volume #4

I'm studying vocabulary for the GRE, and one of the tips for studying vocab is to come up with creative ways to remember them. Of course, such methods are unique to the individual.

I remember learning vocab words out of these little books when i was in middle school/high school, but the one year that I remember the most was sophomore year. Our English teacher, Mrs. Avilucea, made us draw silly pictures for each vocab word that week, as a way to help the visually oriented students in the class (such as myself). I thought I would bring back that strategy for my own study purposes, so I took out a few sheets of scratch paper and started doodling away. It wasn't long before I realized that I could simultaneously use this as a chance to entertain my readers, and perhaps teach them a word or two as well.

So I present to you the new and improved Vocabulary Volume: GRE Edition...featuring shitty drawings by yours truly !!

The Experience Collection

A human desire, a selfish one perhaps ? Preemptive stirrings of nostalgia, to collect the most valuable moments in our lives—the ones we hold dearest to our hearts. The ones that we want to remember forever; from the sly sideways glance that makes the heart flutter, to the life-changing decision that sets the course of a lifetime. The ones that we naively, futilely, and inadequately attempt to capture—once in paintings and Polaroids, and now in ones and zeroes.

All this seemingly in vain, for there is no possibility that a mere picture can capture an experience.

Where an experience is a feeling… a painting is an image.

When an experience spans a length of time… a photograph is only one second.

An experience is multi-dimensional… a painting, a photograph, only two.

An experience includes the chilly breeze that whips hair into your mouth and stings your eyes. It includes the strangely foreign but pleasantly comforting smell of your friend’s laundry. It includes your peripheral vision. It includes happiness, anger, sorrow, and déjà vu.

The experience is relative. Every experience yields a widely varying range of Experiences, as each individual perceives an event in his or her own personal way.

As a collective experiences a graduation ceremony, an individual’s Experience consists of joy, relief, and the swinging of multicolored tassels as he walks. To another: pride, anticipation, and the smell of a congratulatory orchid bouquet. Apprehension, appreciation, and the slight panic of almost losing her cap in the crowd.

Such a boundless multitude of Experiences, each one as unique as the experiencer, and all distinctly memorable. Memories so vivid at one point, but eventually fading as colors in sunlight.

...what if it were possible to capture an Experience ?

What if it were possible to view your life, frame by frame, and plant little orange landscaping flags around the moments that you want to collect ? To play the role of a movie producer, sifting through hours and hours of raw video, finding the best shots worthy of keeping as memoirs of a life well lived.

Then, to distill the Experience- whether it be three seconds, hours, or days- into a tangible, material substance. A substance like a liquid, like vanilla extract, I suppose… easily stored for safekeeping in bottles, ready for future use.

All the highlights of a lifetime, captured in little bottles of varying color and shape. Color-coded, even ? archived by date, or by emotion ? Aligned atop your fireplace, or laid sideways in a cellar latticework, as one does with fine wines ? Well, it depends on you. They’re distinctly yours, after all. Your hand-picked collection of memorable Experiences. Your life’s essence.

But to what end ? What use would it be to collect an Experience, and merely bottle it for display ?

If one were to expend the time and energy to capture an Experience, would it not be for the ultimate end of reliving it ?

Just as one injects, imbibes, inhales a drug, one could do so with material Experience… and just as a drug trip transports the user beyond the range of normal human perception, so does a dose of Experience. Take Experience, to experience it again. And again, and again…

Wouldn’t it be fantastic ?

Wouldn’t it be lovely to relive that special moment. That joyous discovery. That carefree feeling. Lying in the middle of a parking lot at midnight, trying to catch shooting stars with your peripheral vision. Running along the beach with a butterfly-shaped kite, as the sea spray blows cold air and saltiness into your open mouth. Laughing at your grandfather’s silly jokes… because now you know that soon, he will forget the punch lines, and then he will forget you ?

Wouldn’t it be phenomenal…

…but at the same time, precarious ?

Consider this… as one’s Experience collection grows, does it also shrink ? Like a graph that plateaus, and then decays, does the number of collected Experiences decreases as your life cycles by, one day at a time ?

As you collect more and more memories to relive at your own pleasure and judgment, you are inevitably committing your time to reliving them. The graduation ceremony could have been condensed into half an hour’s worth of Experience, but that is still thirty precious minutes of lifetime that you are sacrificing out of your day for that rendezvous with nostalgia. That half hour could certainly have lived another life, as a loving phone call to an aging grandparent, a walk in the crisp night air with that special someone, a laughter-filled cooking lesson with a beloved daughter… it could have played out as any one out of a thousand opportunities to make new memories and experience new Experiences.

Ultimately, what is the human experience, if not to take in as much as we can in our brief and finite lifetimes ? 

Vocabulary Volume #3

The other day, I read a few excerpts from the book May this House be Safe from Tigers, by Alexander King. The author is rather witty and possesses a tongue-in-cheek style of writing, as well as quite an extensive vocabulary. The following are a few words I scribbled down on a scrap of paper while reading.


seraglio (n): sequestered living quarters of concubines and wives in a Turkish residence (SUPER useful in daily conversation)

ossify (adj): to turn into bone, to mold into a rigid pattern

morass (n): area of low-lying, soggy ground (like a bog, I guess ?), also something that hinders or engulfs (ie. a morass of details)

prophylactic (adj): preventative against something like disease

palaver (n): idle chatter, flattering talk

aegis (n): a shield/breastplate worn by major religious figures/gods in ancient Greece

mephitic (adj): poisonous and foul-smelling


[Currently listening to: Light a Roman Candle with Me- Fun.]

Nothing Better.

Because I'm an English major and I love words, one website that I occasionally visit is BetterthanEnglish.com. Guests submit their favorite notably untranslatable foreign words, and their best attempts at explaining them in layman English. Submissions often range from odd trivia, to words that span the entire human emotional spectrum and beyond. 

One such post from awhile back was a word known in the 1993 Guinness Book of World Records as the "most succinct word" in existence, because of its emotionally loaded definition. 

It is a touching and beautiful word to those observing on the outside, and a rather uncomfortable word to those actively engaged in it. Now I am sure many of you have experienced such a feeling before, and it is a difficult and complicated thing to process. You wonder, you look away. They wonder, they sit in silence. What am I waiting for, am I a coward ? What are you thinking ? Are you thinking the same thing I am thinking ? Do you ever wonder how you got to here ?

Then one day, one person takes the awkward initiative. One word leads to one response, then two statements, then three, then five, eight, thirteen, twenty-one... and before you know it, you've found yourself in a Fibonacci spiral of feels. 

Yup, life can really throw you for a loop sometimes... 

...and this is definitely one of those times. I never even imagined that we could ever arrive at this point... but this is here, and now, and there is nothing better. The feeling of mamihlapinatapai may be succinctly elaborate, but I'm sure it has nothing on the feeling that comes immediately after the turn. 

However, this is a rather recent posting on BetterthanEnglish, that I just noticed today. I think it speaks for itself quite well. 

Coming from a native-speaking Mandarin background, this is a word that, unlike the previous, I am actually familiar with. And I think that gives me the authority to say that the above definition isn't perfectly accurate either... but then again, I suppose the whole point is that there is a sort of beauty in its undefineability. 

However, if I was to add my own second definition, I would state that it is the joy that comes from pouring your feelings to your best friend, and having them fill your cup in return.