Oh so completely unsurprised

If there's anything that I've learned about myself, it's the fact that I unconsciously take on the characteristics of whatever I may be aspiring to, seeking, or just plain find important.

Normally, this would be a good thing. But remember, this is me we're talking about, so I fucked it up in at least one aspect. I'll give you one guess as to how.

Ok, time's up. I seem to only do this selectively, with a standard of selection that seems to possess a conscious volition to fuck up my life, or at least to prevent me from gaining any real value.

For example: I love cooking. Result: I am exponentially expanding my culinary repertoire and technique. Unwelcome side effect: I still only cook (as in for real with pots and pans and cutting boards) maybe twice a week, otherwise opting to microwave or bake pre-made offal.

Another example: I'm on the job hunt. Result: I'm discovering what I'm truly good at and what I could enjoy doing for a career, and consequently, I'm expanding those skills on my own outside the classroom. Unwelcome side effect: I'm still applying only for positions because of potential salary and nothing else.

This seems to apply to all aspects of my life. It's only recently that I've noticed that I've taken on some of the mannerisms, quirks, fashions, etc. of the most important people to enter my life. Some of them are still visible to me even years after my last interaction with these people.

And it's a bittersweet curse/blessing with which to be afflicted. Some of these inherited traits are positive... some negative. Some of these things never fail to make me laugh, smile, and think of good times. And some of these things seem to make me cry at the drop of a hat or incite molten rage within my heart.

Either way, it's an indelible way of forcing me to remember these people. I can only wonder if I have had the same effect on them.

More than a whim

Thomas had his 23rd birthday today. Appropriate hell was raised. I have pictures, but for some reason I can't upload them. Maybe later!

In other news, I eavesdropped (unwittingly and unintentionally) on some conversations and have decided that I am not fit to run for any MC positions in AIESEC US. Did I not mention that? I was seriously considering giving it a shot for the next year. But it's not to be. I'm not even going to get into the details, because there are too many. I'm just not ready or as qualified as I thought I was.

But on the bright side? Those individuals already exist within the country, not to mention the potential applicant pool from abroad. So even if my personal ambitions have been foiled, it's good to know that the MC will be fine anyway.

This came out a lot more emo than I intended. Oh well.

Sometimes always, sometimes never

I received this message from a fortune cookie today.

"Someone in your life is in need of a letter from you."

First of all, I think it's incredibly ironic that I'm blogging about letters, since they've all but been replaced by internet media.

That aside, I can't help but wonder if this is implying that there is someone in my life that I need to reach out to. I feel like it's saying that I've been too superficial in my interactions.


I need to stop right there or else I'll launch into another diatribe on the merits of the lost art of letter writing.

Vexing sense of futility

Watching someone for whom you care suffer is difficult.

But knowing that there is nothing you can do to ease their pain is agony beyond comprehension.


Postscript: Wow, talk about a premonition. Seven hours after the original posting, it actually happened. Before careful what you wish for, especially when the collateral damage extends beyond yourself.

Minor falls, major lifts

So I've been failing to blog ever since starting this entry over a week ago. And now that it is 6AM on a Sunday morning and I STILL haven't fallen asleep, I'm going to pound this one out. It's going to be an interesting Sunday/Monday. But anyway, regarding my lack of blogging output:

Symptoms? Starting to blog about something and then either losing interest or having my vocabulary evaporate into a cloud of illiterate idiocy.

Diagnosis? Possible ADD or a (more likely) case of too-much-crap-going-on-at-once-itis.

Prescription? Bullet points.

So here goes.


1. Stress. How it affects us differently, and how we have learned to deal with it differently. Specifically, how I'm starting to worry that I don't worry about certain things.

2. Housing. Shenanigans all around. Finally found someone to sublease my place, but now the scramble begins to secure housing for May. Additional woes of transportation and the lack of car.

3. Travel. China with Katie basically confirmed. To do: plan itinerary, buy plane tickets, suck up to relatives and polish off that Mandarin. And I don't mean cleaning oranges.

4. Employment. Shit. I haven't done jack, and if I don't find some (gainful employment), I will be woefully idle for the month of May.

5. Food. Trying to learn how to cook Korean. Examples, tteokbokki:
Delicious. Trust.

6. Love. Or rather, lack thereof. Interpretation of my (apparent) dismissal of all things romantic has garnered interestingly mixed responses (read: shits all over the map). Not sure how to interpret these interpretations. Why don't people talk to me instead of about me anymore?

7. Diversions. Relaxing into old (bad) habits and failing to turn helpful academic activities into normalized routines. But I still have the rest of the year to work on this particular resolution.

8. Whimsy. This one goes out my girl Maddie who is our self-proclaimed bus driver to the burning place. Well, Maddie dear, I have found your vehicle:

Stolen from Ms. Sewell.

My testament by proxy

If you ask the average AIESECer what is implied by "AIESEC work" and request specifics, you should be prepared to field completely unique responses for each and every person. While job descriptions float around out there for the formalized roles within LCs, MCs, and AI, the ultimate goal across all of them is the central mission and vision of the organization. And, I think, this is the measure that's used to determine one's success and effectiveness during their AIESEC career.

But what does this imply?

People always ask whether you remember experiences with your bodies of work more or if you remember the people more when talking about past experiences. Anyone that equivocates with a "both of them equally" is a liar and not in touch with reality, to put it bluntly. I suspect we feel an unconscious guilt in choosing one over the other, so we reason with ourselves to the point of elevating our memory of the lacking experience to something equal in worth to the greater one. If one thinks clearly about their past, they can define a clear front-runner, the one from which they draw the conclusion of "I was a success" or "I was a failure" regarding their time with the experience in question. Similarly, trying to explain this away with a mutually inclusive system where one has to focus at both in order to be considered successful is just being perfectionist and defeatist.

So when the work you do is so grounded in the personal relationships that you create, how do you reconcile the two and ultimately decide which one to prioritize? Is it even possible? Could it be that to attempt such a conscious decision is futile?

Let's bring it home for a moment. If you're involved with ICX and sales, which would you value more: the experience in working with companies to source traineeships, or that first moment when you spot the trainee from Cairo coming through the terminal gates? If you're involved with OGX, which would you value more: expanding your LC's role within your university and city and becoming the premier internship venue, or those late night conversations with your trainees on Skype? If you're involved with TM, which would you value more: the creation and execution of a mentoring and training program, or those dinner dates with your mentor/mentee? And if you're an LCP, which would you value more: coordinating all the work in your LC into a harmonious melody, or seeing your members grow and develop into something more than the sum of their parts?

As I said before, I don't think it's reasonable or possible to think you can place equal value on both at the same time. But conversely, I don't think the two have to be mutually exclusive.

It's a difficult question.

In the end, I could just be rambling about nothing. But I think everyone should take the time to perform a little introspection and figure this out.

Trial by grace

I've been thinking about my audioblogging lately. I'm honestly astonished that I didn't draw this connection sooner.

One of my secret indulgences has always been the first couple seasons of Felicity that I have on hand. I ran into some more insomnia last night and instead of reading like I should have, I watched some old episodes. (By the way, just to illustrate how evil and bizarre Wikipedia can be, I went from the link above to the page about Janeane Garofalo, and from there to the page about that frigid bitch Katherine Harris)

Anyway, dusted throughout the first two seasons of that show is something of a cultural anomaly. Felicity communicates long distance with her friend Sally through audio cassette taped monologues, which are essentially letters spoken out loud. It's been years since I've watched this show, and now that I think about it, this is remarkably similar to the audioblogging/podcast revolution that's slowly sweeping the blogging world. In hindsight, the seed in my mind that has blossomed into this audioblogging frenzy was probably planted by these once-nascent episodes.

For awhile, I used to want someone to trade tapes with, and it didn't matter if I knew them or not. The promised therapy of making the tapes wasn't the only reasoning that went into it; even though there was some solace in knowing that an understanding soul would unwrap each tape to commiserate, there was added comfort knowing that the same person trusted you in the same capacity with equal fervor, and you could expect similar tapes from them.

I think the advent of the internet and the birth of the blog created somewhat of a strange beast. Previously, people kept diaries and journals to keep track of their personal thoughts. If they wanted these thoughts to be shared, they either had to write letters to specific people, or just talk about them in person. Albeit of minimal effort, each action was its own. Now, someone can perform the same diary-writing action on their blog and with a click of a button, make it available for anyone in the world to view. To me, the entire thing feels like it's lacking emotion. It's like a hospital almost: cold, hollow, and static... I can almost feel the fluorescent lighting.

I'll admit, it fills a void that some may have difficulty filling otherwise. You write a blog entry and publish it, and if its public, you assume everyone will have read it by the end of the week. In a way, you free yourself from the responsibility of divulging your history to those you wish to tell. Accountability shifts to them instead, because after all, they have access to it. Why wouldn't they read it?

The difference these have from letters are the personal touches that go into them. When you write a letter, you're writing to one specific person, or at most one specific group that will share the letter, and you've emotionally invested yourself into this fact. You pour more of yourself into it, because unlike an email, letters take more time. You hand write the words. You doodle in the margins. You speak familiarly, but probably don't use familiar speech. You're more willing to say some things, but less willing to say others, depending on the letter. Everything about this letter simply drips with your personality and being. But more than anything, letters are returned. Even if the time between each letter is longer than mere hesitation, there's a rapport that's created there. And as warm as that connection is, it's still lacking. Because as symbolic as each letter is of who you are, that's all it is. Just a scrap of paper.

And then there's verbal conversation, a common occurrence. This kind of communication goes one step further in that it brings in the range of subtleties contained in human interaction. It's dynamic, it's unpredictable, it comes from the heart. Things are communicated that don't necessarily come from words. But not all of us are as perceptive as we'd like to be. And the sad truth is that, in a way, we all censor ourselves around people. There are things that we feel we can't say, not to anyone, to the point where it's hard to even say to yourself in the dark. But every part of you inside is screaming to say something, to come clean, like the proverbial shaken bottle of soda that's about to explode. Sometimes, it's because we're in denial, and to say it out loud is to acknowledge the fact that it exists and is true. But usually, it's because we fear reaction. There's no telling how someone will receive what you tell them. You're caught in this self-inflicted trap. "I broke the vase last week." "You actually do look fat in those jeans." "I love you."

I'm not trying to tout any of these three mediums as the best option. Indeed, they all have their individual, optimal usages. But for now, I think I've found a happy medium, if you'll pardon the pun. This talking-to-myself thing has turned out to be pretty cool. I'd still love to have some anonymous confidante to trade tapes with, but the truth is, life isn't a TV drama. Our lives feel as complicated as the figures we see each night and in the movies we watch, but in reality it's all very simple. The entire basis of such a relationship would be grounded in the cathartic release associated with each tape. When you strip away the overblown, romanticized versions of yourselves and when your respective lives even out and calm down, what's left? Do you resort to small talk, or simply cease communication? It's just not feasible.

Hah, I feel like I've spent the past half hour typing/talking about absolutely nothing. I guess that's striking in a way.

Some damage control

Note to self: I should not be allowed to be anywhere near a keyboard while intoxicated. Especially when I think I'm being hilarious.

Oh well.

One of the tamer shots from last night (what the fuck am I doing with my left arm):