In my last year of high school — which was also my first year at that school, so no one really knew me — I had a creative English class. We were given 15 minutes of free writing time at the beginning of each class, of which I mostly spent making verbal doodles to any kind of cinema stimulation I had recently seen at the time. Around then, it would have been quotes from Monty Python and lines from Casino. Anyone could put a CD in the stereo for everyone to hear, so one week I put my most recent mix in.

In the middle was Creep by Radiohead , and another guy in class suddenly exclaimed, “A great song!”, amidst the silence of our working minds. Everyone looked at him, then at me, and I felt a redness flush on my face.

That was followed by One by Metallica, and again he said, “Another great song!”, and the same chain of events happened as last time.

He was that edgy kid with bleached blond hair and always got in trouble for wearing walking shoes with his uniform. He did his own thing, had his own tastes, and fit in with the crowds he wanted, not necessarily the crowds that wanted him. I was that awkward kid who had no real friends, had a mop for hair, and a perpetually taciturn demeanour. To have him acknowledge my taste for two songs in a row had suddenly given me some kind of street cred because he was far more popular than me.

Some of the other kids started looking at me differently from then on.

I found this picture at my uncle’s house. It is:

1. Hilarious
2. Hilarious
3. Hilarious
4. All of the above

How weird is it that I didn’t even recognize myself. And look at those glasses! They were my first pair, which probably means I was around 14 or 15. Apparently, I was still wearing my calculator watch at that age.

I’m still not sure if I feel like a man.

I always imagined that it’s a mindset you suddenly develop (or a way people view you) once you have kids, or pass 30, whichever one comes first. There’s this idea stuck in my head that adults are these people who don’t have fun. They don’t watch (and enjoy) stupid movies, or play Warcraft, or talk on the phone for hours. It’s probably from growing up with my parents, who never did anything that made them laugh or smile. Or maybe I’m having too much fun and freedom to really feel like I’m grown-up.

There was definitely some point between getting my first job and house, and now, that I started to feel like an adult. It was never a distinct line though.

For now, the only thing I do that makes me feel like I’m a man is when I’m paying and filing my bills.

A deeper look at an old topic

Some time when I was a child, I asked my mother if she loved her nails more than she loved me. She had this kit full of nail tools — clippers, files made of metal and emery, toe separators, fake nails separated in little boxes, even a small hand-held, battery-operated dremel with different attachments used to grind, sand, and polish — that she would carry with her around the house. When I asked her this question, she picked me up in her arms, and vehemently denied it. I didn’t believe her though, not in my heart. She had always paid more attention to her nails than to me.

My dad was no better. One time I googled his name to find his work number, and came across an audio/visual site where he had written a small paragraph as a review on a projector he had. I was crushed. It was more effort than he had ever put into my life, sitting in a couple of short sentences in front of me. It would have been okay if he had been so uninterested in everything, but he wasn’t. He loved his car, he loved his home theatre, he loved his karaoke, but me he had no interest in.

So, before I had become a teenager, I started to look for some kind of approval from other people. At that point, it was Andrew and Alex. They were my best friends in grade 3 and 4, but I changed schools in grade 5. Even after this, I tried to hang out with them but they seemed to be more interested in school, and we lost touch.

Pretty soon, I realized that I wasn’t anyone’s “best friend”. I cried and I cried and I cried. I felt like I needed this to define myself. I needed be a priority to someone because I certainly wasn’t a priority to my parents. Without being someone’s best friend, I was worthless.

As an adult, you may feel insecure about certain aspects of your life. You lack self-confidence in areas where you feel vulnerable — intimate relationships, social situations, or work. Within your vulnerable areas, you feel inferior to other people. You are hypersensitive to criticism or rejection.

I still feel this way now. The problem is that the need isn’t being met. Everyone puts other people first, and the one foundation I believed I had in my life has crumbled. I’m never important enough.

Two things keep me from killing myself.

The thought that one day, I may mean something to someone. Or the thought that one day, I’ll be able to stop defining myself through others, and simply be content with who I am.

Either way, something’s gotta give.

I remember Christie once telling me that she always wanted to bring presents to someone’s house at Christmas. We were waiting at the train station to Toronto, our exams finished, doing exactly that. Carrying bags with a fondue set, maybe a candle holder, and other assorted miscellany for my parents who already had everything.

As a seventeen-year-old with an adorable baby-face, she was rarely taken seriously as a mature and responsible person. I could tell that having this holiday tradition was her way of feeling like an adult. Not the grocery shopping we would do, not the lingerie she would wear for me, or even the act of love itself, but a family to go to, gifts to give, a house to stay in, a little piece of maturity.

For me, it’s this car.

Not the bills. Not the house. Not the mortgage.

It’s being able to get anywhere. It’s feeling these keys in my pocket and knowing that they’re mine. It’s driving home after class when it’s dark out, blasting a night mix on the stereo. It’s even looking for a parking spot downtown on a Monday afternoon, or getting stuck in traffic.

It’s having all these things that I’ve never had before.

I often explain to people that Karaoke to the Chinese is like drinking to the British. We don’t pour pints at our parties, we sing. It’s part of the culture. The Chinese-Canadian dream is a Toyota in every driveway and a Karaoke machine in every house.

My dad was no exception. Like all his hobbies, he took Karaoke seriously. He had singing lessons from a famous teacher. Sometimes, he would record himself and listen to the tapes to analyze his singing when driving me to school. We would never talk on those hour-long rides, I would only hear him singing, sometimes along with his recorded voice, sometimes practicing the parts that he didn’t have quite right.

When I was young, about seven, I would sing one of the English songs from his collection. I couldn’t tell you why. Karaoke didn’t particularly interest me. Maybe it was a way for me to be a part of his life. He had nothing to do with me otherwise.

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With presents that come folded to perfection, boxed in white wrapping paper, and special washing instructions. This is the safest gift for someone my age, unlike the guessing game that music, toys, or games has become.

This specially processed, pure cotton fabric is designed for easy care and a crisp, confident look that lasts. The softness, absorbency and breathability of cotton, enhanced with innovative care features, ensure optimum wearability. Engineered for no-fuss, express handling. Requires almost no ironing. Today’s quintessential business shirt: time-saving, energy-saving, travel friendly.

We recommend using a mild detergent. Spin briefly, then hang to dry. Gently pull collar, cuffs and seams into shape. Touch up with a medium iron.

Not that I’m complaining. If it’s one thing my parents have been able to give me, it’s financial freedom. Never having to worry about how I’m going to pay for rent, or board, or education. It’s not easy for Chinese parents to show affection, an influence of the culture they grew up in, so they buy me things instead.

The dog they can love and take care of and want around, but not have to actually talk to or spend time with.

These are my treats.

For most of my life, I felt like I was young for my age.

I remember the later years of elementary school. I would be the one wearing things like jogging pants on the civies¹ days. The other kids would be smoking under the bridge, starting playground fights over girls, contracting gonorrhea through sexual contact. Even in high school I was eating lunch on the bleachers with John while others were ODing on rat poison, winning worldwide math competitions, or being featured on cover articles of Macleans.

I had never really understood how people grow up. Most adults I know have been the way they are for their entire lives. Due to the fact that I can only figure out the changes I’ve made in six month cycles, I’ve mostly grown in small, undetectable increments.

It’s only in the last six months that things have changed. I’ve reached my (previously life-long) goal, not gradually, but rather suddenly and unexpectedly. Interestingly enough, this was due to three different factors, and I suspect that I wouldn’t have been able to reach this point without every single one of them.

Now I feel old for my age.

The Trinary Maturity Series

1. Introduction
2. The Job
3. The Girlfriend
4. The House
5. (In)Conclusion

1. Days where we didn’t have to wear uniforms, a short form of “civilian” [↑]

When people ask me what my favourite novel is, I tell them, “A Hero of Our Time”, and that’s been true for more than eight years now. It’s a prime example of Russian Romantic Literature, and I can appreciate that. It’s brilliant, not only in it’s lyrical style but also for the complexity of the mindset captured by the protagonist, which makes it such a pleasure to read through. It’s intelligent, it’s interesting, it’s creative, yet none of these things make it my favourite. It’s not even the book I’ve enjoyed reading the most.

It’s simply been the most influential.

Lermontov’s novel once offered me guidance (albeit blindly) when I needed it the most. His words have shaped me more than anything else I can think of, even though I’ve cast off most of my former self related to this. I still see his work as being an integral part of my development, in making me who I am at every changing moment, and that is why I hold so much importance in it.

All of it was a matter of timing. Otherwise, I’d probably think that it was just another boring book I was forced to read in grade 10 English.

The same goes with my relationships, something I would never have thought was related to timing. It’s funny to think that my most significant relationship was also my shortest by far, with a person who is most likely to think nothing of it at all. And everything that made it important to me was a combination of a very specific mindset I had at the time and the fact that this person was such a change from my previous girlfriend.

The same goes with my favourite movie and my favourite band. I’ve become a person who holds more significance in the things that change me than the things that please me.

And change is a product of time.

Out of the storm of life I have borne away only a few ideas — and not one feeling. For a long time now I have been living, not with my heart, but with my head. I weigh, analyze my own passions and actions with severe curiosity, but without sympathy.

—Pechorin, A Hero of Our Time

When I was younger, I decided that I wanted to cast all my emotion aside, because at the time I knew nothing but pain. I set this as my goal, and started to work towards a sterile, cerebral mindset. I wanted to feel nothing, and this idea followed me through to university.

At this time, I never believed that I was completely successful; I still felt too much. However, as my situation changed, as I met new people with good hearts and minds, I experienced what happiness was like. I was never satisfied though, never happy enough, and always wanted more but could never achieve it. Suddenly, it felt as if my cerebral goal was too successful, and I was stuck, I was numb.

I’ve gone from one extreme to the other, from wanting nothing to wanting everything. In both cases I was a failure, but it’s only now that I realize that success would have assuredly meant no turning back. I believe that when a certain extent is reached, one becomes ignorant to anything that could possibly change oneself. Now I understand the balance, the dichotomy that absolutely must exist in order to have a healthy mind.

And things are much better this way.