rakkauden ja epätoivon laulu

Woke up at 4. Felt sick. Waited for the sun to rise. Went to bed.


Woke up at 12. Felt sick. Fricking BEEPing outside. Ate some PB&J with the remnants of the loaf of rye bread I bought for last weekend's camping trip, of which some had promptly gotten mouldy over the week and had to be discarded. Lit candles and incense in living room. Put away laundry. Continued following the news out of Norway. Felt lonely and lost. Wished I was at the lake this weekend, but that would have meant not knowing about the tragedy. Put out candles. Suffocating, shallow breath. Am I sensitive to smoke? Read Guy Delisle's Burma Chronicles. Went to bed.


Woke up at 18. Felt sick. Ate steak and pasta. Steak was tough; it had been in the freezer for far too long anyway. I still feel empty. And sick. Sick as in the headaches I've had all week, but also sick as in disgust, an empty feeling in my stomach that food cannot fill.

There is sadness and anger in the confirmation of my belief that the human fascination and attraction to fire and explosions (outside of those which are necessary for light, warmth, food, and industry) is motivated by the primal, all-too-human aspiration to be as gods, to possess the power not only to create but also to destroy.

What does that make me, one who decries these spectacles of light and noise?

There will be people who will try to dissuade me from spending my future in Finland. Here is anti-immigration/anti-multiculturalism terror in the Nordic countries, they will say. You may not be brown, but you are visible minority. Do you not fear violence against yourself?

This changes nothing. I'd rather a place where I can be proud of being Finnish despite my race, than a place where I'm expected to be proud of being Chinese because of my race.

Going to bed for the third time, now.

Confucius thought that the Good Man should cultivate the "Six Arts". I'm not sure if this fact is explicitly taught to modern Chinese people, but if you really think about it, it seems as though the tradition has been passed down to the modern stereotypical Chinese mother and the kinds of things that they expect their kids to do:

• The Rites: Good character, proper manners, modest dress, respect for elders, stuff like that.
  
• Music: Piano, flute, violin, etc.. Must be classical instrument. Classical music is civilized, you know.
  
• Archery: Any sport that emphasizes dexterity and finesse over strength. Badminton is a good example. Or martial arts. You don't normally find Chinese kids in hockey. That's why.
  
• Charioteering: It's imperative that you get your driving licence as soon as you're able to. If you prefer to think of charioteering as a military skill, play chess.
  
• Calligraphy: YOU BETTER HAVE NEAT HANDWRITING. I think painting/drawing lessons fall under this too, since calligraphy is an art form.
  
• Mathematics: Math tutors, Kumon...this one speaks for itself. Falling under this category is also the emphasis on science-based fields in university.

When Hong Kongers heard that the area around the Fukushima reactors were being evacuated and some people there were being given iodine treatments, they were quick to jump on board the panic game and cleared supermarket shelves of table salt and soy sauce.

Wait, soy sauce?

Not only is the iodine content of table salt fairly insignificant in the grand scheme of things, nor that iodine treatment when not necessary is really bad for you, they seemed to miss the point that the iodine in table salt is ADDED in and has nothing to do with its saltiness. OH BUT SALT IS SALTY! SO LET'S HOARD SOY SAUCE.

Hong Kongers LIVE on sensationalism and blowing things way out of proportion. I'm not sure whether there's even a SERIOUS newspaper there (South China Morning Post, maybe?); the major daily papers (and heck, all the media) are really tabloid-y. (FYI: A Hong Kong tabloid mogul started that company in Taiwan that makes all those hilarious news animations.) Imagine a Finland where no one really reads anything but Ilta-Sanomat and Iltalehti. Or a Canada where everyone just reads the Sun and watches FOX News.

Especially for relatively educated diaspora in Western countries like me, HK can seem like a perpetual facepalm.

Been feeling really troubled since last Thursday. That day and today, psych class was about habitual procrastination (and by extension a lack of study skills), and while my prof started off a little bit more clinically last week, today he really turned on his psychologist/counselor mode and, well, saying that the lecture really hit close to home is an understatement.

I mean, habitual procrastination. I've sat here all afternoon daydreaming aimlessly, while I have a short assignment to write for tomorrow and a research essay for FAILCLASS due Thursday. I've started neither. There is a small pile of books on my desk. They've been skimmed through but nothing's been marked off for the essay.

My professor's talking about self-discipline and self-accountability, whether it's locking yourself somewhere without distractions and not getting dinner until work is done, or getting a friend to hound you about staying on task -- and I think of how I lock myself either here or at the library and vow not to eat until I'm done. But I think that my depression saps whatever little motivation is left even after that isolation and deprivation that, no, even hunger isn't incentive enough. I've even ceased to feel ravenously hungry after a long fast. I have the discipline to leave behind the body and keep just the spirit. It's a weird feeling.

I was a bit surprised to learn that procrastination as a habit/addiction is actually such a big area of concern for psychologists. The idea of it isn't new to me, of course. It's something that I've been aware of in myself for a long time and have felt guilty for every single minute of it. So often people think it's just laziness, which completely ignores the origins of habitual procrastination (in schoolwork, anyway) in the person not having been challenged in school. The accusation of laziness assumes that effective studying is something that, once we know what the skills are, we can turn on or off at will and that we just don't choose to turn them on. But it's so much deeper than that. Having goals helps, but they can't be too far-sighted, because then you can't see how getting that essay or assignment done is supposed to be a step towards it.



Anyway, this looks interesting for grad school. I think it's a discipline that I can get behind and really pick out research interests in (something about identity formation, eh? The concept of "identity" seems to play a huge role in my interests and life).

Except that professor noted there? Most BORING lecturer I've EVER had (who knows, maybe he's more interesting speaking Finnish). And dang if I ever have to listen to that guy lecture about the Internet as an ART medium. AGAIN. And him setting up video games at the front of the classroom and inviting us to make fools of ourselves trying to play a dance game or swatting virtual ninjas off a screen. (Hey, his lab hadn't quite managed to acquire a Wii yet.)

In reminiscing, though that course may have been somewhat forgettable, it was EPIC. I chugged out pointless essays in short periods of time; I think the first I wrote over two evenings; the second one in less than half a day (it was more like half a day, but I took a long break in the middle). Both were five pages, 1.5 line spaced, and I had really no idea what my point was in either of them (maybe that's why I only got a 4/5 in that class? Ha ha). The utter breadth of the topics we were given to write about leads me to think that, perhaps, Finnish standards aren't as rigorous in the same ways as what I'm used to. Or maybe they're just more post-modern, and anything goes. :P

I really can't believe I once managed to research and write a five-page essay on a pointless topic in less than 10 hours, BUT MAN DO I WISH I COULD DO THAT FOR FAILCLASS RIGHT NOW.

(In terms of 'Finnish' essays, "Into the Mirror" was written much more quickly, but then, it was something personal.)

*headdesk*

Here we go again.

Ville:      How can society break down so badly that this happens?
kyrasantae blames america
Ville:      Well, the idea comes there but it is our societys fault 
            that there is some jerk that applies it. 
            I mean, crimes used to have reasons. 
kyrasantae: well i was chatting with a finnish girl the other day
            who was saying that she didn't like the 'boringness' 
            of finnish culture 
            didn't like the meditativeness 
            so it's conceivable 
kyrasantae: it's always been my belief that a certain amount of 
            constructive self-reflection (not 'waaaaaaaaah i'm so sad 
            or [why do] i hate the world' but 'why am i the way i am')
            is beneficial to peacefulness 

[previously]

My parents returned a couple of weeks ago from Hong Kong, where they were visiting my aunt (paternal; by marriage) who had come down with lung cancer (non-smoker) and was undergoing chemotherapy.

And now last night my sister messages me on Facebook: "Are you coming to Vancouver?" She studies there and is supposed to move out and fly home on Wednesday.

"Depends on when... I mean, I'd like to actually have time to work and earn some money once I come back from Finland," I replied.

"No... I mean, this week."

"I don't know anything about this... is this to bring your computer back?" She's upgrading to a MacBook this summer, you see. Well, whatever was going on, I think she assumed that my parents had already phoned and told me about it, which they hadn't.

Anyway, Mom and Dad came to pick me up and move out my stuff this morning (and I made it a really easy job for them since I moved everything out of my room and outside the front doors before they even showed up - what, I had nothing better to do - so all we had to do was load all of it into the car). On the way back to Calgary they let me in on what the heck my sister was going on about. After all, she got the information second-hand (as opposed to third, fourth, etc...).

One of my uncles (maternal side) has just been diagnosed with rectal cancer, and went in for surgery yesterday to get the tumour removed. Turns out that the cancer is quite advanced and they couldn't just cut it out, so now he has to get radiation treatment. He's currently still in hospital.

Now, this is the uncle who was always the family outcast and rebel... who never really gave up his childhood. My sister and I are his youngest nieces and so we always got special treatment from him. He'd buy us books and toys all the time and he was the one who did his best to buy and smuggle to me D&D books and M:tG cards to feed my covert hobbies in high school.

And now, I just get home to Calgary tonight and I'm flying out to Vancouver with my mom tomorrow afternoon to visit my uncle and to help my sister move her things, since my uncle was originally to help her move and take her to the airport. She'll be flying to Calgary on Wednesday still, but Mom and I will be staying until Saturday.

Less time to fret about preparing for Finland and stuff, I guess. Even though I haven't even begun to pick out the items in my belongings that I plan to take there. And I finally got to play with my new phone. And shiny electrical socket adapter plugs.

I think that, all through grade school (and still a bit now), I was inclined to be known for my abilities rather than my character. My parents would see this as clearly the fault of my character, but I think it's from being so good at some things that your description is reduced to those things since they are easier to remember you by.

And I remember being so tired of compliments on those things, that I went in search of comments that would actually raise my spirit, but never finding them.

Constantly lavished with praise, those abilities became detached; approval and attention to them no longer meaning approval and attention to you. The search for meaningful encouragement asks, then: what can I do that no one thinks I can do?

And here we get now figments of going down in a blaze of glory, a last defiant call for help and meaning, a final gesture of "there's more to me, but you never wanted to know and now it's too late for you to find out, and time to face my wrath."

But the difference is that I would not do so in anger. For even though they have failed to know me, I do not hate the world for it, but I am disappointed by it. I would not act in vengeance, but to command fear and guilt, a tragedy of a martyr without a cause that anyone cares about. The price to be paid for reducing a vibrant character to nothing.

Yet the knowledge that my morals will never allow such a thing to come to pass torments rather than comforts me. [13/11/2007 Appended the following (here to end):] And I feel conscience laying her heavy hand on the relentless assault of fatal lust. For whom do I hate enough to bless this world with their end anyway? No one.

Still I wish that the hand was not there - for some reason envying those who were able to give themselves to their hate that broke free - for it is clear now that it is far more difficult to let it out than to keep it in.

</emo ranting>

all this weighs so heavily on my mind.

How long will it be until even my homeland is no longer a safe haven from the ill plague of American moral evils? And then - where is there left to run?

I must save my people from the evil false reputations that will befall them.



Edit: It is highly unlikely for me that any tragedy in the news affects me; and I think now we understand what it is for something to "strike close to home". My home.