Posts in category "Thoughts"

A Trip to Zone Closer to Perfection

On a whim, I went to Zone after work. I’ve been in a dec­o­rat­ing mood late­ly. I spent about an hour in there, just gath­er­ing design ideas with what they had.

Thumbnail: Potpourri plate

Thumbnail: Potpourri plate closeup

I picked up a pin­cush­ion plate and some pot­pour­ri for my cof­fee table, replac­ing the glass bowl I had before, and lined it up with the edge of the chaise lounge.

Decorating my house has always been impor­tant to me, but I’ve nev­er rushed into it. Part of the rea­son why it’s so emp­ty right now is because I want to put up my own pic­tures, and I nev­er had enough with which I was sat­is­fied to fill the walls. I don’t want pho­tos of mem­o­ries — what I have at work — I want pic­tures that set a cer­tain mood. Another thing that makes it hard is that I’ve nev­er liked non-func­tion­ing dec­o­ra­tions; can­dles you’d nev­er burn, baubles that don’t do any­thing, knick-knacks that clut­ter shelves don’t make sense to me.

Part of me wants to go out and buy every­thing at once and be set­tled, but anoth­er part of me nev­er wants to fin­ish.

Otherwise, I’d lose the thrill of the hunt, and the plea­sure of adding anoth­er thing that’s just right to the right place.

Long to Belong

Among the shots and the rounds, the friends and the fun, I found a grad­u­a­tion pho­to framed on his shelf, a can­did shot of the Class of ’05.

Every one of my “clique” was among the faces. There were oth­ers as well, peo­ple I knew from class, even though I nev­er talked to them. How dif­fer­ent they all looked — all prim and prop­er in aca­d­e­m­ic regalia — yet famil­iar.

I was the only one not in co-op, and grad­u­at­ed a year before every­one else. My con­vo­ca­tion was insignif­i­cant. I only went because my par­ents want­ed to see me make that walk that stage, a return on their invest­ment. I don’t know who the dean of my fac­ul­ty was, or who hand­ed me my diplo­ma. I was just anoth­er num­ber in a prof­i­teer­ing insti­tu­tion. It meant noth­ing.

But see­ing that pho­to struck a chord in me.

It made me real­ize how I’ve nev­er real­ly fit in. How I nev­er belonged to a group. For some rea­son, I still long for that, or, per­haps, to have had that at one point in my life. Last time it was ele­men­tary and high-school. This time it was uni­ver­si­ty. I don’t know why. I have my own group of friends now. Not a clique, because they don’t hang out with each oth­er, but a mot­ley crew I’ve built through the years.

I know it does­n’t make sense. There’s a rea­son I was nev­er tru­ly a part of any group.

The log­i­cal side of me under­stands that it isn’t sig­nif­i­cant. That it does­n’t, and should­n’t mat­ter. That noth­ing is more bor­ing and pedes­tri­an than fit­ting in.

But anoth­er part of me feels like I missed out on some­thing.

And I don’t know if I’ll ever let that go.

A Taoist Dilemma

Over some cab­bage roll and peach juice, I asked a sage, “Taoism teach­es me to accept every­one and cast aside my purist ways. Yet how can I do this if it’s in my nature to refuse to accept peo­ple’s flaws? I must accept myself as I accept oth­ers”.

He told me, “If you are hap­py with your­self and the deci­sions you make, then there is noth­ing to wor­ry about”.

Then he took my bowl, washed it, and we played Warcraft III for eleven straight hours.

Pat Doesn't Need Me

Sometimes I feel like I don’t offer any­thing to Pat. I call him for advice all the time, ask him to give me rides (gro­ceries, fur­ni­ture, large items on which he bar­gains), vent to him. He grew up rely­ing on nobody but him­self, so he nev­er asks me for any favours, and I sup­pose he has Jen with whom to express his feel­ings.

Maybe this is the root of my inse­cu­ri­ty. Pat’s friend­ship with me appears dilut­ed. We’d both take a bul­let for our friends, but mine is a far more exclu­sive club than his.

Pat does­n’t need me.

But I need him.

Creatures Of Our Cultures

“One or sep­a­rate bills?”, the wait­ress asks us. She has a slight Japanese accent, but aside from her raven hair, her fea­tures are dis­tinct­ly Occidental.

“One please”.

“We’re treat­ing, Jeff”.

“Nope. You guys are in my town.”

“What does that have to do with any­thing?”, they ask, and threat­en to leave if I pay. It does noth­ing to con­vince me or change my con­vic­tion.

“You guys are a lot more behaved than when I was your age”, says the man sit­ting next to us.

Thumbnail: Teppanyaki Flare 

When the bill comes around, we wrench the tray from each oth­ers hands.

“Must be odd”, the man whis­pers to his wife, who’s laugh­ing at us.

But it’s not odd to me. It’s the Chinese way. Like hav­ing too much food when you’re host­ing a par­ty because to run out is the ulti­mate embar­rass­ment.

To me, it’s odd when some­one does­n’t offer to pay.

The same way it’s odd to hear North American peo­ple com­plain about their jobs. To the Chinese, a job is how you take care of your fam­i­ly. It does­n’t mat­ter that it’s mind­less, stress­ful, or hard phys­i­cal labour. You’re just hap­py to have that oppor­tu­ni­ty. All my Canadian Chinese friends feel the same1.

This is how we were raised. It was­n’t a rule that was spo­ken. We learned it by watch­ing our par­ents, who would clip coupons for gro­ceries, only buy clothes on sale, re-use paper by writ­ing over again with dif­fer­ent coloured inks, but go out to feast with ten peo­ple then fight to pay the bill. Sometimes, they’d even get up to find the serv­er to make a pre­emp­tive, sur­rep­ti­tious pay­ment. Occasionally there were spilled drinks and soiled clothes, as the fight became phys­i­cal2. I think it’s nice part of the cul­ture to be so adamant about friend­ship and com­pa­ny.

And I’m glad to be a part of it.

  1. Aaron is prob­a­bly one of the few peo­ple I know who under­stands. He’ll fight with me, not just over a bill when eat­ing out, but for movies, gro­ceries, and oth­er sun­dries. [↩]
  2. I remem­ber a child cry­ing once, a rel­a­tive of a rel­a­tive, think­ing the par­ents were argu­ing with anger. [↩]