I almost did something stupidcrazyexciting adventurous tonight. But I didn’t. Maybe it was too last-minute. Maybe I was feeling too shy and introverted. Maybe I’m complacent. Maybe I’m too comfortable where I am right now.
Maybe the consequences of failure were greater than the potential gains of success.
Sometimes I wonder when the scales will tip that balance. When — if ever — will I be unsatisfied enough with things to step out of my comfort zone and take those chances?
Sometimes I question whether or not I really know what suffering is. Reading back on my last entry, it struck me that in many ways, my life wasn’t that bad.
A Hero Of Our Time was written during great military conflict, where people were frequently “exiled” by being sent to remote places along the front of the Russian-Circassian War, where Russia had already been fighting for over 40 years. Some may argue that I don’t truly understand suffering, because my culture hasn’t been through something like this, whereas such pain is already in the blood of Russians. Even in popular culture, such as Babylon 5, the Russian character Susan Ivanova (whom I quoted in this tweet) seems to follow this stereotype.
So can I truly relate to this without having gone through any of it myself?
If you look at Aya Nagatomi’s performances of Chopin, specifically her interpretation of his Étude Op. 10, No. 12, you can tell that it’s technically amazing — certainly a virtuoso in the making as she’s only 19 in this video — but you don’t feel the rubato with which Chopin intended it. As such, it sounds like it’s being performed by a computer. You have to wonder whether it takes a certain degree of hardship experienced to do it justice, perhaps going through the political turmoil of the November Uprising in Warsaw that inspired Chopin to write this Revolutionary Étude.
Could Leonard Cohen have been able to pen a song like Famous Blue Raincoat without having suffered through a few lonely nights in New York City? I think not.
I don’t know enough about Chinese history to know what my ancestors went through. The relatives I know of in previous generations escaped the Cultural Revolution — where they would have been subjected to unbelievable hardships — to Hong Kong. Maybe it’s not in my blood, and I’m just drawn to the idea of Nihilism on a superficial level, never truly understanding it any deeper.
But a long time ago, I remember reading an entry by Tina where she felt disturbed by other people’s opinions on how jaded she was feeling, as they were saying she had nothing to feel bad about. I told her not to compare herself to others. That one person going through heartbreak is a different kind of suffering than a person going without food, and that one can’t said to be more “painful” than the other.
I may have been well-fed, healthy, and from a middle-class family in my childhood. But none of things mattered to me because it was the emotional connection that I was seeking, but could never find.
I’ve always had the bad habit of comparing myself to others. I should probably just follow my own advice and enjoy the comfort, beauty, and inspiration that Russian literature gives me.
After all, if I can acknowledge that my suffering is my own, no one else would truly understand anyway!
Often, when someone thanks me, I find myself saying “Don’t mention it” or “No need to thank me”. Yet when someone doesn’t thank me for a favour, I feel like I’m being taken advantage of.
It’s a funny thing that I feel like a thank-you is unnecessary only after someone has said it. Maybe it’s because as long as the person appreciates the favour, that’s all that matters.
It’s similar to the way Pat once offered to let me stay with him and Jen if I ever find myself without a job and a house. I’d probably never take him up on the offer because I never want to be a burden anyone. At the same time, he knows this and doesn’t expect me to take him up on it, but he offered anyway because he knows I wouldn’t take it for granted, and would still be happy to take me in if the situation warranted it.
Perhaps such acts become more of an acknowledgment than a practical gesture. As long as I know that someone is appreciative and recognizes a favour, that’s all that matters. But really, isn’t that what a thank you is — an acknowledgment through thanks? At the same time, without a thank you, how would we know that someone is appreciative?
It’s like the act itself is simultaneously necessary and unnecessary.
When I was young, my dad had a fight with his brother over opening a convenience store next to a pharmacy (my uncle is a pharmacist) in a plaza that my grandmother owned. Both types of stores have lots of competing products, so the argument was about who would be the one to open their store. I guess my dad won, because he bought the convenience store and ran it for quite a few years.
After that, I didn’t see my uncle or his family at all. For so long that I completely forgot that I had a cousin, Crystal.
When my grandmother came from Hong Kong to visit one year, she reunited the families again, and I saw them for the first time in a long while1.
At that time, the popular thing to do was play cards. I had the reputation as being the fastest, most dexterous dealer out of all the kids. But when I went over to my uncle’s house one day and we were playing Asshole, I noticed Crystal dealing exactly the same way I did, except faster, without even paying attention.
It was at that point that I realized, “This person is my family”.
The only other time I had such a stark realization was during my trip to Hong Kong earlier this year. At an international buffet, we grabbed some dessert from the cart and ordered some tea. My uncle, aunt (both siblings of my dad), and I were sitting at the table, with delicious pastries in front of us, but none of us were touching them. When someone asked my uncle why he wasn’t eating his dessert yet, he said that he has to have tea with his sweets. And it turns out that was the exact same reason me and my aunt were waiting too. One of these little quirks that one never expects someone else to have, and sometimes we’re even ridiculed for it, and yet here we were, three people doing the exact same thing for the exact same reason.
I generally believe that humans are more likely a product of their experiences, with a touch of inherited qualities too. After all, I’m almost nothing like either of my parents. It was only these two experiences that made me admit that there’s a little more of us that’s inherited, that we’re a product of our genes, than I would have believed.
I even discovered that I had a new cousin, Darren, who was Crystal’s brother. [↩]
It’s been a relaxed existence here. Aside from spending time with my grandma when she’s awake, making sure she eats throughout the day, and the occasional visit to the hospital, there’s no set schedule for anything. I’ve only been to this house a handful of times in my life, but I feel remarkably comfortable. There’s no formal need to sit at the dinner table until everyone is finished eating. There’s no obligation to talk to someone. No one feels the need to entertain me. I can nap when I want. I can raid one of the three fridges when I wake up at night and can’t fall asleep. I can walk around in my pajamas all day. I can disappear for hours to write. Like we’re actually family, even though I barely see these people.
My grandma tells me feel at home because we’re “our own people” as it’s said in Chinese. Even though I always understood the expression, I’ve never really felt it until now.
