Rebirth. And a rant about tiger moms.

The old branch twitches,

Bursting with verdant blooms - life

in a spring refuge.

I believe I have heard this said before. If this is not out there, then I suppose I should get "props" for original theory.
A man's life consists of not just one life, but many. After all, who says that one person remains one and the same from the start to the end of his life? (Excuse my sole use of the masculine pronoun. As the analogy will be referring to me, I will use only the masculine pronoun for the sake of simplicity.) Didn't the Buddha discuss this theory about having multiple lives? About how in order to achieve nirvana, he must lay to rest all those other parts of himself.
For instance, he was an ascetic in the beginning, being too strict on himself and his lifestyle for the sake of personal gratification. It made him think he was "better" than anybody else and the pride associated with asceticism did not help him achieve nirvana any better. Thus, he had to put the ascetic to rest, and die and be reborn.
At a different stage of his life, he was a profligate, a hedonist. He would go to parties, have sex with women sent to his palace, and eat and drink to his heart's content. This lifestyle too blocked his way to nirvana, so he had to die as a pleasure-monger and be reborn. His "deaths" only helped pave his way toward his true goal; his experiences aided his search for the middle path and the road to enlightenment at last.

Therefore, I consider an old self to be dying at the moment. I am trying to healthily get over my previous girlfriend, and it is working! Being on FL has also helped. A change of mindset and an influx of experience has brought me to nearly solve some of the confidence issues I used to have. Confidence is good for the mind, and good for the soul. I know I'm reasonably good-looking (no hubris over here - I don't think I'm a super-star) and I know I hold my destiny in my hands, once again. The old me is dying. And a new one will rise up for a new time.

The ivy that wraps

Around the autumn oak tree,

Chokes the hope of spring.

I may or may not have written about my family. I maintain correspondence with several people and sometimes lose track of exactly what I have written where. For this reason, I forget if I mentioned my mother on this blog. I apologize for that. The point that I was about to make about my mother is the fact that I receive an irrational, sickening aversion to doing whatever she advises me to do. Because she played a role like that of the well-acclaimed but utterly misguided "tiger mom," she and I have been at odds about independence and about worldviews so often that I become turned off to any idea she proposes.

For instance, I got into Harvard when I was applying to college, with a bunch of other schools. I must say that I greatly enjoyed all of my visits, except for Harvard's, probably because my mom was such a big advocate for the school that it just became a dull place with lame architecture and utter "tools" walking around everywhere. Maybe that is actually how it is. Whether the view is true or not, I never gave it a fair chance because I subconsciously come to hate anything my mother likes. So, take that, "tiger mom"! You think beating your kids and forcing them to play piano until they urinate in their stockings is a good idea? Think again! Maybe the original "tiger mom" had fantastic children that were incredibly pious to their elders. All I know is that despite being in a great school and probably doing what any Asian parent dreams their kids are doing, my mother and I have a terrible relationship, because she was so brutal in my childhood that I considered her an enemy from age seven to age eighteen. Even now, I consider my interactions with her necessary, and not desired.

Now, why am I ranting? She was in a state that my incredibly biased mind calls "being nosy," and queried about what I am writing. I was forced to tell her it is a blog, and now that she put it through her "approval process," I became disgusted at my writings and nearly put an end to it. However, because I know myself somewhat well and know that my aversion is a temporary state, I've decided to put my rage away by writing and ranting. It has worked. Fortunately, my mother is the only one who excites these feelings of savage anger, as she is at the same time my main protector and my nemesis.

The fact that this Yale "tiger mom" actually advocates this kind of twisted parenting, I absolutely abhor her.
Parents and children, remember to treat your child with love. If you love your child, he or she will grow up to love you back. Being a tiger mom is a risk: unless your children love you unconditionally, there are bound to be some feelings of resentment lurking within, something I now have to deal with.

Temporary withering.

The yellowed leaves fall

off the trees in deep autumn,

Shriveling crisply.

I am sick like a dog. For about two weeks, I'd been incessantly sneezing, thinking that I had major allergies. However, now I've found out: they were not allergies. As I rolled over in my bed this morning with a throbbing, parched throat, my assailants were revealed to be ferocious viral invaders. You suck, germs!
Avaunt, ye fiends!

And so it begins: the sneezing, the runny nose, the sore throat and the general moody depression that accompanies all sicknesses. I was supposed to get a lot done today. But while I did finish the book I was reading, I did not do any of my errands, did not feel like talking to anybody and sure as hell did not exercise. Thus, I linger, getting fatter for another day. I suppose I shall just get as much rest as I can. With a much anticipated visit from college friends tomorrow, I can't afford to show up looking like I rose from the grave.
Sounds similar to an air-horn in tone and volume erupt from yours truly at this point.

Now, regarding some not-so-temporary withering, I became one year older as of yesterday. I should say a birthday is a great cause for celebration: it's a reminder of the beauty of life and of the gratitude we probably should have for our lives.
Another paper wad falls into the nearby garbage bin.

However, what I got from my birthday was a bit different this year. I was fortunate in some years to be in the company of friends, who I consider closer to me than family. This time, I was isolated from friends, with only family nearby. I don't think I've ever posted in this blog about my exact relationship with family, but it isn't all that positive. One thing I will admit here, though: I hate going home for the summers. I hate being split up from my friends and I positively do not cherish spending a time with my immediate family. I've already spent 14 years (don't ask what happened to the rest - long story) growing up with a mother that identifies with that infuriatingly self-righteous woman known as the "Tiger Mom." And trust me, it has not been fun.
The result of a tiger mom, for those of you who don't have one and are considering becoming one, is this: I hate being at home, and I definitely do not harbor warm filial feelings. It isn't true that I don't care about her, but as far as son-mother relationships go, mine is pretty cold. I inwardly groan in college when the vacations approach.

Thus, with my fun, dysfunctional family, I celebrated my birthday and got to think about how different my birthday was from last year, when my ex-girlfriend M and I were still dating and spent time with each other. Did things turn out for the best? Only partially. Would I have done things differently if I knew what was going to happen? Maybe.
When I cheated on my first girlfriend, Y, with M, I didn't regret the event. I regretted the hurt I brought Y and wished I had broken up with her before I broke her heart, but I didn't regret the much better, much more fulfilling relationship I had with M. Now, however, do I regret anything I may have done in my relationship with M? Maybe I do. I can only hope things turn out well, now. I don't want to live a life with regrets.

That having been said, I now feel tired from the inner war being raged within my body, and need some sleep.
More shall come later.

Life pushes forward. Habit pushes back.

I haven't posted in a long, long while. Amid the torrent of finals and endless dorm room TetrisFriends sessions, I'd simply not enough time to post on this blog.
However, I thought some things that happened recently would be noteworthy enough to pop up in this angst-ful blog. BUT, before I engage in any writing, I have a passing interest in haiku. If you're on FetLife and like to follow my breadcrumbs, you will know exactly how this interest came about. :) (Especially Return to Sender members.) Therefore, I will use haiku as separators between different topics.

Winters pass slowly,

Warm spring is not far behind,

When all recover.

My life is slowly being pieced together after a bad break-up. (Of course, I mean bad as in "tons of sad feelings." We do not hate each other.)

Since our relationship ended, I had my first phone conversation with her about three days ago, and it was then that I happily found out she was still my best friend after all. The two of us were giggling like children for about five minutes before we began to talk. It felt relieving, joyful and reminiscent, all at the same time, and an hour and a half passed swiftly. I've realized that I would rather be just her good friend, and still be in her life, despite how painful it may feel, than to be cut out of her memories entirely.

We ended the night well with that conversation. Unfortunately, as people who know me very well can attest, when I fall in love with someone, as I did with her, I relapse easily. I probably relapse into things I love faster than any life-time drug addict goes back to crack cocaine. In this case, for a day, I fell back into the same old comfortable zone, thinking that we were definitely going to get back together. We told each other that if things work out right, we might be back together right after college. But three years' worth of time is no joke.
Funnily enough, I was simultaneously nonchalant and terrified of this time span. I felt as though I were living a sort of sped-up life, and that three years later seemed only a day away; yet, my brain continued to remind me of how large that length of time really was - hence the terror.

Fortunately, this story does end well. I brought up my feelings on a chat conversation (we wanted to use the phone at most once a week), and we figured out a path together.

Life is long, and the middle road is always the best one to take.
I will not forget about her, but neither should I want her badly.
I will not define myself by her, but neither should I reject that part of me that she created.
The healing has come along well.
I've been playing guitar, jamming out to old heavy metal songs from a band I haven't heard in three years, and teaching myself finance. Life is good. :)