Variable sense of humor

I've noticed that your sense of humor is not intrinsic to you; it's largely determined by who you're with at the time.

I first played Cards Against Humanity two nights ago with my high school buddies (Tristan, Leon, Kazi, Bang), and given the fact that our collective maturity level is right around the negative digits, the game turned into a massively inappropriate mess of sexual implications and graphic images. It was awesome to say the least.

Then last night I played the game again, but with family friends; I was the youngest of the group, and except for me, all of them were either graduating from college later this year or already did. Since the cards are all the same (and that I had just played the night before), I naturally remembered what kinds of messed up things we (the high school guys) had come up with earlier.

It was odd: things that I found hilarious with my high school friends just didn't seem that funny anymore. Simply mentioning anything remotely sexual did not automatically win you the black card. Putting down a white card that wasn't quite relevant, even if it was ridiculously funny, was a surefire way to lose.

As the game went on, I found myself gradually adopting their sense of humor, and by the end, I was picking the best white cards based on the criteria they had been using. But it wasn't a conscious decision by any means; my sense of humor just melded into theirs on its own volition.

This shouldn't have come as a surprise, though. Stick around any group of somewhat immature teenage guys and you'll eventually observe the "circlejerk effect." One guy says something mildly funny, some people laugh, then someone says something else, and more people laugh. Said cycle continues until everyone is yelling inside jokes and rolling on the floor bawling, while onlookers silently judge them with bewildered looks on their faces.

Given that, I don't see why the process couldn't go the other way -- the "anti-circlejerk effect," if you will. In other words, the all-too-familiar "no one else finds it funny so I shouldn't either."

Funny how I never realized until now that our sense of humor is really just another offspring of peer pressure. We laugh at things that others find funny because we want to fit in; we don't laugh at things that no one else is laughing at because we don't want to seem out of place.

And just like most things involving peer pressure, eventually you start to internalize it -- you adopt their sense of humor.

Laughter isn't just contagious because its in our nature: it's contagious because we are insecure.

A card

During the plane ride back home, I wrote a card to my mother, having finally summoned the courage to say everything that I had wanted to say.

There I sat, in between a middle-aged man and a young mother, crying as I moved my pen.

I don't know what to make of that.

Going home

As people started finishing their finals and packing up to head home, it occurred to me that I wasn't as excited to leave as everyone else. Most of my friends were full of impatient anticipation -- I sure didn't get the impression that anyone felt the least bit sad about the semester ending. I'm finally leaving. I can't wait to go home.

It's difficult to say whether their attitude was simply a response to the stress of finals (I don't think anyone can seriously say they like the finals part of college), but regardless, I found it a bit disheartening just how eager everyone was to leave.

To already be thinking I'm finally leaving after just the first semester is a bit sad, sure. But that second line, I can't wait to go home is what stung me.

I suppose it's only natural that people would rather be home than here; home is where we've spent the majority of our lives, and it's where our friends and family are (if only during break). But the thing is, while my friends continued to rave more and more about how excited they were to go home, I gradually realized that I might actually feel more at home here than in California.

I guess that says a lot about me, doesn't it.

But I will digress for a moment.

Over Thanksgiving, my sister pointed out that my mother had raised us to be independent; that meant learning to take care of our own problems, and first turning to either our peers or ourselves when the need arose. I can understand why: for someone as perceptive as her, I imagine it quickly became annoying to have to deal with her friends coming to her with their problems all the time. It was better to train us to become our own crisis-solvers than to spoil us with her own advice.

But I wonder if this upbringing affected how I develop friendships. In particular, I've noticed that I am remarkably whimsical about my attachments to people; it may not be hard for me to get attached, but given a little physical and temporal separation, my sense of attachment evaporates.

It's almost as if I only keep friends while they are useful to me -- once the situation disappears in which I had purportedly needed them, I don't see a reason to continue feeling attached.

I first noticed this on the last summer that I did CTY (which I wrote about before). But in a very disturbing turn of events, it may actually be happening for my own home.

In a way, I'm not that attached to my home anymore.

Well, shit.

That's why I felt so disheartened when my friends kept telling me I'm finally leaving. I can't wait to go home. It wasn't because I felt sorry that they hadn't enjoyed their first semester, but because I was so disgusted with myself.

Is three months all it takes for me to start making some other place my home? 

If so, something tells me I have much reason to be concerned.

Divine intervention

The more I learn about biology, the more I feel like the world is just too perfect to have evolved without any divine intervention.

I guess that makes me a deist.

Newtown

Social media has evidently granted everyone a detective kit and an ego to go with it.

"Yeah, I'm an asshole."

There seems to be a belief that calling yourself out as an asshole gives you permission to be one.

It really doesn't. You're still an asshole. And if anything, it's worse because even though you're aware that you have a problem, you still don't give a shit.

I should listen to my own advice.

Feelings

I fear those who can change their feelings to what they know they should be feeling.

Giving Thanks

Pretty ironic how I only began to appreciate my life once I realized how meaningless it was.

The nice guy loses

"I was late to understand that chaos and intensity are no substitute for lasting love, nor are they necessarily an improvement on real life. Normal people are not always boring. On the contrary. Volatility and passion, although often more romantic and enticing, are not intrinsically preferable to a steadiness of experience and feeling about another person. These are beliefs, of course, that one has intuitively about friendships and family; they become less obvious when caught in a romantic life that mirrors, magnifies, and perpetuates one's own mercurial emotional life and temperament."

Is it odd that I never found instability to be appealing?

Praise

Praise from your family or your friends doesn't necessarily mean anything. They have a social obligation to lie to you.

Connecting the dots

"When she was young, Kate's mother pressured her away from eating unhealthily. If Kate asked for dessert, she would respond 'Are you sure about that, Kate?' and Kate would drop the issue."

It's implied that Kate's mother was a major factor in Kate's eventual development of anorexia. The authors point out that such a strict eating lifestyle must have damaged Kate's already-low self esteem (her sister and mother were thinner and prettier), and as such, may have led to her eating disorder several years down the road.

They cite a few other small, similar incidences, where Kate's appearance was called into question by people she loved. And these little events, they claim, were what contributed to her anorexia.

But I call bullshit, thanks to a little thing called confirmation bias.

Because when you've already seen the outcome, it's a hell of a lot easier to connect the dots.

This incident at age 6 was her first incidence of eating-related stress.  
Her boyfriend suggested that they go running together in the mornings, and 4 months later she started skipping meals. 
She chose to write her high school psychology paper on anorexia.

My point is, if you give me enough dots, I guarantee you I can pull something out of my ass that will connect the story from start to finish.

Who knows how many mothers have said that exact same line to their daughters; what mother doesn't want their child to eat healthily? I know my mom used to tell me that all the time.

But that sure doesn't make me, or virtually every other child in this country, anorexic.

Neither does writing a paper on anorexia serve as a precursor to the disease. If that's true, then I'm screwed. I've got cancer, Alzheimer's, and hepatitis, along with practically every nameable mental illness, coming my way.

If you know what you're looking for and you've got an entire lifetime of history to search through, it's pretty damn easy to prove whatever you please.

Depressing thoughts

The weirdest thing happened today in my seminar.

We were watching a taped interview of a patient suffering from depression, and everyone else was commenting on how seriously depressed she was. They were saying things like, "Wow, I didn't know people could think about things so coldly," or "She talks with so little emotion, it's like she's the living dead."

There was clearly the bias of knowledge (they already knew she was clinically depressed), but even still, the professor thought that their comments were fairly precise.

But eventually the circle comes around to me, and all I'm thinking is Well, shit. I thought she seemed perfectly normal.

If anything, she reminded me of myself.


I think of depressing things. But being depressed is another thing.

Rosebush

I finally got around to rereading The Little Prince, and perhaps unsurprisingly, the rosebush story stuck out to me once again.

A lot has happened in the three years since, however.

After seeing an entire wall of roses, the fox tells the Little Prince that his rose is unique because he has tamed her. He was the one who watered her, protected her from baobabs and shielded her in plastic. For that, so the fox says, she is special to him and unique to all the world.

But then I started to wonder: what's stopping him from taming any other rose? What if not one, but two roses had miraculously appeared on his planet?

Hell, what's stopping him from taming all of the roses in that rosebush?

Because if he really wanted to, the Little Prince could have just gone ahead and installed a sprinkler system. He could have just as easily killed off baobabs for the sake of one rose or two roses or twenty roses, and as ridiculously stupid as it sounds, he could have just built a bigger plastic dome.

There really isn't anything intrinsically different about one rose to the next, and the Little Prince is well aware of that; the only difference is that she just happened to be the one he tamed first.

Then again, nearly everything is a matter of chance.

I still don't think that anybody is truly unique to all the world, like the fox suggested; there are far too many people on this planet for that to be true. Somewhere, somehow, you can find someone else similar enough to take your place in society.

With that said, there is a distinction between being unique to all the world and being unique to a certain time and place.

It's safe to say that the rose magically appearing on his planet was nothing more than random chance; any other rose could have landed there and the Little Prince wouldn't have known the difference.

That's the thing, though; it was by chance that it just so happened to be her.

And it just so happened that he was there to take care of her.

It's for this reason that I no longer think life becomes any less meaningful or precious once you accept that nobody is unique. If anything, the true beauty of it is the fact that out of all of the infinite possibilities, you happened to meet the people that you met.

The people you meet may not be special.

But it doesn't make them any less important.

Suicide

"There is but one truly serious philosophical problem, and that is suicide. Judging whether life is or is not worth living amounts to answering the fundamental question of philosophy.  All the rest – whether or not the world has three dimensions, whether the mind has nine or twelve categories – comes afterwards."

I like to tell myself that I've resolved this question for myself, but who knows if it will all just crumble in my sobbing face.

Character building exercise

I don't believe that man is inherently good. We only become good when we realize just how fucking terrible it is to deal with those who aren't.

It isn't out of decency or compassion that we build character.

It's out of pain.

Clouds

Midterms approach. I study.

Having studied the entire day, I went outside and walked around the yard. But other than briefly chuckling at yet another tourist-infested Saturday, it was quite a forgettable walk.

I sat down in one of those peculiarly neon chairs on the grass. I looked around at the the buildings and the trees, trying to tell myself how beautiful this place was. I even muttered the words to myself out loud, but I didn't process anything I was seeing or saying.

At that point, I saw a squirrel munching a nut a few feet away. I fixed my eyes on it. I tried to derive some significant message or meaning, but of course, I couldn't. There just isn't any meaning in a god damn squirrel that's hungry.

As any directionless person would do, I directed my gaze to the sky. I thought to myself that it was entirely clouded, yet totally bare at the same time. There were clouds, but then again, there was nothing.

I stared intently at the bleak atmosphere for what seemed like an hour. At one point, I convinced myself that I saw a fish, but shortly afterward it occurred to me that every fucking cloud looks like a fish if you want it to.

Then I wondered: what was I doing looking so seriously at the sky, pretending as if I was in the middle of some deep philosophical search? Who was I trying to fool?

I glared around at the swarm of camera-touting beasts. I sure as hell didn't give a shit about what they thought of me. I looked around to see if there was anyone in the yard that I knew. There was. But it's not like they would care about why I was staring at the sky.

I then entertained the possibility that I was trying to impress the prim and proper trees scattered about the yard. They had seen all those freshman walking across the yard, once upon a time. But after that brief moment of feigned insightfulness, I promptly laughed at my idiocy.

I'm the fool.
Stop trying to find meaning where there is none.

I started walking back to my room. My break had lasted long enough. And for some odd reason, the clouds seemed to look a little brighter, almost like shining silver.

But I didn't care. They were still fucking clouds.

Phoenix

No, I can't keep this. Can't keep that either. No. No. Definitely no.

He sighed as he looked around at his room, the floor strewn with torn envelopes and photos: what does it take to forget someone?

A crumpled slip of paper caught his eye. He walked over to pick it up, momentarily disregarding the mess he had made. It was blank, save for three faded words.

She had lied when she said she loved him.
He meant it every time.

And to think I had loved her.

But then, what was he doing now, falling for another?

For in truth, it was none other than she once again; a different face and a different smile, sure, but identical in all the important ways -- the things he had since learned to scrutinize more closely.

So why again?

He wondered as the flames engulfed his frozen heart once more -- does the phoenix possess the knowledge that it will be reborn, or does it relive the agony of dying over and over again?

Application

I think I found a new hobby.

Application for _____

• Tell us about yourself. What makes you unique? What do you think are your strengths and weaknesses?

I am unique in that I don't consider myself unique. My strengths are my arms and calves, while my weaknesses are my abs and hamstrings. Occasionally, I also wish I was taller and had fewer pimples, but I think those are fairly minor flaws.

• Why do you want to explore finance in this economic climate? What does ____ offer to you personally?

I want to make money and connections. Additionally, ___ offers me a nice bullet point on my resume, which is currently empty.

 

Resume

Ryan Chow - Class of 2016

San Jose, CA

Academic

• I managed to turn in my study card 3 minutes and 14 seconds before the deadline. I then went to Finale to buy myself a cranberry pie. It tasted pretty good, but not as good as the ones my mom made back home.
• I have only missed one class so far.
• I hope you're still reading this.
• I shopped Math 55 just like the 200 other tourists who showed up on the first day.

Social/Extracurricular/Other

• I summoned the courage to sit down next to a girl I didn't know in Annenberg during Opening Days. She got up to leave a few seconds afterwards though.
• I hold Thayer's record for most midnight trips to the restroom in a single night.
• I made the 100th purchase on the basement vending machine and got a free pack of Pop Tarts.
• I didn't choose the thug life; the thug life chose me.

Sympathizing 2

I refuse to sympathize for the sake of friendship.

If maintaining good relations with you requires mindlessly agreeing with you and backing you up on your inane fantasies and obsessions, go find someone else to talk to.

You don't need friends to repeat what you already believe. Your own voice is good enough for that.

And in the apocalyptic event that you do ask for advice, there's no guarantee that you'll listen to it. You just want people to share in your private torments so that you feel more important, that you feel like the center of attention and the main player of an unfolding drama -- a manufactured drama.

You ask many questions. But invariably, those questions all revolve around you.

I see no reason to sympathize with you or to help you.
You don't even want to help yourself.

Frozen over

He was of tin and steadfast loyalty; she was of paper and ephemeral beauty. Nobody could touch them. Passion had consumed them; fire had swallowed them whole. But nothing burns forever. In the aftermath, she was gone without a trace, save the jewel she once proudly wore, now left behind. He, on the other hand, had been so malleable, so easily deformed by love that when the last embers were finally cooled, all that could be sifted from the ashes was a cold metal heart.

- L

What is attachment but a sense of dependency? You give and take, you lean and are leaned upon -- you need and are needed.

That's all it is. There isn't much to be afraid of.

I understand that we're incredibly different people in this respect, but I sincerely doubt that desperately gripping every part of your mind and refusing to surrender control to anyone else has done anything to help you conquer your feelings.

The tin soldier may have died with a heart hardened by the painful trysts of love. But at least he had known how it felt to have his heart engulfed by the feelings of another. At least he had faced the fires and valiantly danced in them, if only to be consumed shortly after. At least he had finally broken down his cast-iron box and let in the sun's warmth.

The tin soldier died in agony. But he didn't die alone.
 
And so I ask you:
Is your frozen heart really any different from that tin soldier's metal heart?

Umbrella

I don't know why I have this tendency to patronize people. It's not as if I know any better; I just happen to have a big mouth.

I'm still doing that here, unfortunately. I don't think I categorize people into archetypes as instinctively anymore, but still -- some people just seem to fit into the molds so well. There's the good old down-to-earth guy, there's the crazy asshole, there's the quiet Asian girl, and there's the arrogant douchebag. Appearances and slight mannerisms aside, we all seem to come from a blueprint.

But on second thought, I lied. I know very well why I can be so patronizing.

I'm arrogant.

I've realized that I gravitate towards the archetype that seems lost and needs help, not necessarily because I'm a nice guy who likes helping, but because it's also a way to boost my ego. It's like how some college freshmen love helping seniors with college essays; I'm sure everyone has their own intentions for wanting to help, but there's definitely a certain kind of satisfaction from being a "superior" authority on something (even if its a false sense of authority).

"Help" may be the ends, but various are the means. I could be walking you back with my umbrella because I don't want you to get wet, or because I thought you looked lonely and wanted someone to talk to. Either way, I'm holding an umbrella above you.

That's the thing, though; regardless of what I'm doing and how you choose to interpret it, I'm still putting myself above you, intentionally or not.

Perhaps this is a better way of phrasing it:
Do you volunteer at a charity to help people? Or do you volunteer to feel good about yourself?

Just something to think about, I guess. Maybe I'm being too hard on myself.

An analysis of a person in my life

Funny how I never noticed the irony of this whole philosophizing thing.

It starts with some realization, imposed or not, then gives way to a cascade of other realizations. For you, your existential crises were as generic as they come: we really don't have a purpose in life; nothing would really change if I disappeared; everybody has to die eventually.

As you went along, you reflected on what a mindless fool you were just a few weeks ago, leading you to think that you're special in that way, somehow apart and more aware than your unenlightened counterparts. Curious and confused, you wanted to tell people about it. Wake up, guys, you tried to tell your friends as subtly as possible.

You began constructing new friendships, unearthing different modes of thought and insight. You saw how complicated their lives were, and shared in their troubles as did they for yours. Now, in the span of an hour, you were able to get to know people better than your junior year self ever could when given an entire year.

But as a consequence, somewhere along that process, it dawned on you that your friends are actually not so different from you. There was no way it was sheer coincidence that nearly everyone you chose to build a bridge towards was fully able of returning the favor.

It occurred to you then that nearly everyone of your age has their philosophical moments, and they too have thought about much the same questions as yourself. You finally learned that you are not some being of higher sentience and cognition. And for many, it is a painful lesson to swallow. But you did, knowing full well that practically everything you believed about your existence would have to be thrown out and forgotten.

At that point, you had come full circle. You had returned with no answers and an endless stream of questions  -- precisely where you began -- save for one important lesson: that you're not special.

The irony is, that was the whole point from the beginning. All along, what you really wanted was confirmation that you weren't alone in your existentialist dilemmas. That's why you felt the need to talk to all those people, and that's why you strove to make every friendship a meaningful one. You had set out to awaken the sheeple, when in truth, all you really wanted was to find people who were just as lost as you.

After all, being special means being alone.

Now when I look at you and how far you've come, it seems that you've found what you came for.

I'm happy for you.