Little tips and tricks for happiness

After a semester of being burned out and after not having been able to write anything for what seems like too long, I woke up surrounded by 2015, floating in the seemingly unreal air of blitheness.

Sometime during my teenage years with superfluously agonizing but typical teenage problems, I learned an important lesson: human memory is selective. You remember what you choose; and your experiences are shaped accordingly.

Here comes another key to happiness.

I’ve since been learning to master the act of selective memory. When I speak to my friends now, I’m often surprised at how much they remember, or, in other words, how much I’ve forgotten. The very fortunate me has been training my own brain to forget the sorrowful pieces, let it be people, remote incidents, or periods of ongoing pain. Half-consciously, I’ve handpicked the silver linings in the storms and discarded the rest. Regarding happy periods, I revisit them often to ensure they are preserved in pristine condition as best as my flaw-ridden human brain can provide.

I don’t believe in revenge, perhaps because I am too plain to work out an elaborate revenge plan, and because I know too well how little I control the universe. Sadly, I witness – and am myself a victim of – cruelty that bitter individuals exercise when they themselves suffer in the past. No, I’m no longer too naïve. Dreaming of changing them would be too ambitious; but I have been breaking the cycle when it gets to me. All the resentful hatred, worded vaguely as “I suffered in my time, so I shall make you guys suffer” ends at me. My motto becomes "I suffer now, so I will never make someone suffer like me." Making some people smile again surely adds to my “silver lining playbook.”

Isn’t the best revenge to repay evil with blessing?

Tell you what? It works. If there’s one thing I know, it is that I am happier than I could ever be had I chosen to bear the grudge.

Truth is: We all have some power in putting an end to our own misery and building our own happiness. No one can be sad forever. And that’s how the world goes round.

Let Life Lead the Way

An incredible lesson that I’ve heard uncountable times but eventually sunk in this week: Life will never, ever go as planned.

Life won’t turn out how I picture it– and that’s ok. In fact, that’s wonderful! Every time my friends and I reminisce, it amazes me how I spent hours, days, and weeks planning my future just to have things spiral completely out of control, and then falling together more beautifully than I could have arranged. All those worrisome and sleepless nights with “I can’t” and “I hate” and “It will always be this awful” and “what ifs” proved themselves nonsense. It took many dark periods of failure, thinking I would never be ok, and seeing changes in front of my eyes, for me to learn this.

Looking back, I’ve got almost everything I’ve wished for when I was younger: avidly traveling throughout South East Asia, studying overseas, pursuing higher education (and kicking its butt!), learning more than I ever thought I would be able to, living in New York City while I’m young and zealous, riding elephants, bungee jumping, zip lining, backpacking on a ridiculously rock-bottom budget, spending all day spoiled rotten in five-star resorts, sleeping all day, not sleeping all night, eating food and meeting people from all over the world...

So why worry?

Then there are people who, God knows why, have been fond of me enough to teach me priceless life lessons. I didn't plan on meeting them, did I? Am I grateful they showed up? You bet. 

I’ve also only what I ask for, no more. I joke sometimes about being broke; but the truth of the matter is I’ve never asked for a lot of money anyway.

I’ve asked for a loving and supportive family and friends. I’ve asked for fiery adventures. I’ve asked for moral values and a brain – but not too much to tower my ability to let loose, have fun, and laugh uncontrollably until my whole body aches and until I’ve got the whole room’s attention on me.

Thus things I ask for today will come true one day.

Rambling aside, bottom line is I would never trade my life for anyone else’s (sorry people).

…All while I was frying tofu to serve with fish sauce and stir-frying basil chicken. The hearty aura of home-cooked food filled the room. Suddenly I realized I loved myself dearly, so dearly that I had to grab the phone to tell my friends…

…That I’m busy loving myself and I will let life work itself out.

Grad school: I'm dumber than I thought

Halfway in my first semester of graduate school, I affirm the truth: I am as lazy as a sloth and as dumb as a brick.

Let me first start by saying I don’t usually complain about work. Sure, to my loved ones, I whine occasionally, not because I hate things, but because I enjoy having them tell me they love me anyway.

But graduate school has taken the daylight out of me. Never in my life have I felt so incompetent. I’ve become so much of a nerd that now I talk about classes on my blog. Yikes! How exciting! I mean, who does that?

Perhaps since my day-to-day life now revolves around the classrooms, my office, and my apartment, there is little to distract me from the pile of unfinished work that relies solely on the knowledge I long ago had forgotten.

I was oblivious enough to spend a third of my paycheck on Sephora before realizing I will be spending 90% of my waking hours facing a computer screen and textbooks. Such ideal candidates to look fabulous for, right?

      --> Bottom line: Think twice about graduate school. Just because you rocked in undergrad means nothing here. Nothing.

…

There was a time when I was creating so many memories in so little time, hastily, hungrily, zealously, with a burning flame inside my heart. I wanted to make every second count. Now, gone are the extraordinary life stories of New Yorkers, infused in emotions that made my soul swell, ebullient with all I was learning.

In this small Midwestern town, it’s simple to the point of confusion: I don’t know what to think and how to feel most of the time except for a mild dash of nothingness. No adrenalin rush. Inside me is a starved songbird longing to hear and feel people.

Having said that, consciously or not, I’ve been adjusting. I sometimes find time to do everything to remind me that maybe, just maybe I’m not a dumb ass. I pick up meditation. I read. I learn to love not with what I have, but with who I am.

…

Some things in this universe are too beautiful to pass up: the eternal blue sky, the first reddening leaves of fall, the first bite of cheesecake I haven’t savored in a while, my lovely friends who are never too busy to hear me whine, Juliette.

And me. 

Moved. I know nothing and no one.

First week in Akron

It’s been way too long since I last posted – moving and farewell parties got in the way. This is possibly the shabbiest piece I’ve written. Rather than a thoughtful blog post, this is a scribble of my first feelings and impressions upon moving from New York City to Akron, Ohio.

Things I miss about New York:

Food: or precisely, SEAFOOD. Juicy, sexy salmon overflowing in supermarkets. Sushi joints all too close and convenient whether it’s eat-in, take-out, or delivery. Oysters lying on ice invitingly, seducing my taste bud. Lobsters curling their red-hot bodies as if to summon me inside Chelsea market. Fatty, creamy bagels for $1.25 for breakfast. Korean pancakes at 2AM. Trader Joe’s. Organic stuff. Farmers market. The “TACOS” truck by my old place. All the ethnic restaurants that make me browse endlessly through Yelp, pondering: “Should I have Indian, Egyptian, Italian, or Cuban for tonight?”

Convenience: everything was a subway ride away and was available 24 hours. Here I’d have to bug someone with a car if I need something

Shopping, shopping, shopping baby

The noises, the city lights, the breathtaking beauty

The overwhelming amount of things to do that too often results in the inability to attend so many events

The nights of me walking and taking the subway alone, “laughing in the face of danger.” The nightlife unmatched by any other in the world. Now I sit in my room every night, writing stuff like this.

My ex-roomie and her dog, Pie

Art. Music. Comedy shows. Broadway plays. Free performances in the park. Live bands in Lower East Side bars. Street performers. the fact that I could go see any concert I could afford (except for a couple of times where tickets sold out in 10 seconds and the website crashed, which I still resent).

People speaking a hundred languages I don’t understand

Spicy food that makes me weep in my eyes, my nose, my tongue, my throat, and my stomach

Compliments (harassment? Self-claimed feminists nowadays make it so confusing) from random strangers

People who work 3 jobs. People who work 14-16 hours a day. People with the work ethic and ambitions I had never seen before living there. People I admire and use as role models.

The list goes on….

**

Things I like about my new place:

Clean air

vs New York: The subway smell; the smell of trashcans, of smokers, of drunken folks doing the disgusting stuff on the sidewalk. C’mon, the entire city smells like piss!

A spacious bedroom, furnished at little to no cost (again, thanks to my amazing new roommate). A comfy mattress. No more squeezing in a closet-sized room.

Cheaper prices on everything (duh); and no tax on food!

Feeling just ok. Back in the city, I was flipping back and forth between hysteria and a feeling of helplessness. Paradoxically, feeling ok feels strange.

People seeming to be more willing to help you out

Cleaner public bathrooms – yay!

**

In short, on one hand, this feels like a retreat from the city life. On the other hand, I feel like a hermit/an exile who tells herself: “everything is temporary.”

Will update soon, preferably in a more organized manner, so stay tuned.

Introverts

(This post is inspired by and takes information from Quiet, so your best bet is to grab a copy yourself. But read on nonetheless)

I am an introvert.

I’m also a bookworm. Yet although not every single thing written in Quiet applies to me, I've never seen a book that focuses on and speaks for introverts so well.

First, let me state the obvious: introverts are appallingly underrepresented. We make up third to a half of the world. Sadly, society looks down on introverts as if there’s something wrong with us and endlessly coaches us into extroverts. We’ve seen uncountable books that teach us to be more sociable, friends telling us to “go out more,” and teachers telling us to speak up. And don’t you ever dare telling an interviewer you are an introvert, because he/she will show you the door.

Introverts are often bullied. We are stepped on by the louder and the more aggressive because we are nice and quiet. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve listened to a friend who was annoyed but didn’t speak up. I’d exclaim: “How did you not even say anything?” then immediately realized I would have done the exact same thing.

However, introversion is an in-born trait, just like your sexual orientation. You can’t “cure” introverts, like you can’t “cure” gays. Most of us learn to “fake” extroversion to a certain extent; but deep inside, we are still introverts. Small talks tires us out; we need time away from crowds to recharge.

We are not less worthy; we are different. We observe the world more closely and notice details extroverts often bypass. We take more calculated decision as opposed to the hotheaded extrovert who acts upon his first impulse (and thus more likely to screw up). We are less likely to cheat and break laws. We sympathize. We find thinking deep stimulating and get lost in our own intellectual universe. We are writers, artists, and inventors. We are part of the world that also contains Bill Gates, Thomas Edison, J.K. Rowling, Eleanor Roosevelt, and Rosa Parks. We are the ones who shape the world, despite the world constantly trying to shape us into talking-screaming machines.

There is absolutely nothing wrong with you and me for being introverts. Sadly, society won’t stop stunting us any time soon. I find way to cultivate my own personality to thrive in this pro-extrovert world. I go out once in a while to fill my “quota” of social activities. I learn to be more assertive and confident when delivering my ideas. But I also strive a compromise: after some time of socializing, I curled up in my bed reading. Much-needed solitude enriches my soul so I can write, like I’m doing today, after getting lost in the noisy world. Alone time spent thinking like this makes me happy.

We can find a happy balance with ourselves. Make compromises, and follow your own instinct: don’t let the loud mouths of extroverts make you feel less worthy than you are. Remember that we are special. We change the world.

Money Never Sleeps: I Do

[A somewhat follow-up from Live Slow Or Why I’m Lazy)

In this money-money-money micro world called Manhattan, sometimes I feel inches away from insanity. I catch myself thinking: “I should be doing different things. I should at least be thinking more about money. Why do I have my weekends off instead of picking up a second job? Why don’t I love money as much as everyone? What’s wrong with me?”

I’m acutely perplexed as to if money doesn’t buy happiness, why is humankind so obsessed with it? (And why aren’t I?)

Now, I’m not arguing that money doesn’t improve lives: after all, wouldn’t it be nice if I could afford that ecotourism vacation to the Amazon while stopping by Rio de Janeiro to watch the World Cup? I’m simply stating in my experience, some of the grumpiest people I’ve met are multi-millionaires. Meanwhile, the happiest eyes I’ve ever witnessed belong to an old lady running a street vendor when I asked about her children, to my friend from a small town who can brighten anyone’s day, and to my mommy when she sees me at the airport after years apart: People who never have much money.

Neither do I claim overworking is bad; I believe a life of hard work and integrity brings sustainable happiness. A friend of mine works 2 jobs because that’s the only way she can afford school. My Statistics professor contested to working endless hours because he loves the flow state stats guides him in.

What I marvel is people secretly hating their jobs, yet working until they collapse and end up in the ER room so they can make money and earn a promotion so they can work longer hours and make more and more money… These people work for giant corporates that squeeze out 120% of their employees because they can. These employees work because they dream of being on the other end of the ladder, or because they know that if they stop, they’ll be replaced in a whim.

I’ve never resisted the idea that I’m a weirdo, but am I so in this case to not want to be part of that vicious cycle, to resist the trend? I value the little things in life, the precious times when I catch a glimpse of my family and friends on Skype, the moment when I go home and lie in my comfy bed, thinking of all the past mistakes and future possibilities. Why does valuing my personal time more than money make me sound so odd? I’m human; and I have dreams and hobbies different than making lots and lots of money – this shouldn’t be unimaginable, right?