186: Goals

People change; we all change.

Time is like a constant force that shapes and molds us, without any pre-planned expectations of the end result. So it's in the way we use time where we have the most control. Growing into the person who I want to be tomorrow, in a week, a month, a year, or until the day I die, lies with me.

But of course the old serenity prayer still holds true. I'll need to accept the things I can't change, I'll need courage to change the things I can, and most certainly I'll need the wisdom to know the difference.

The wisdom teaches me that action is better than inaction. Failing is better than not trying. Being rejected is better than staying anonymous. Living is better than existing.

So here I stand, without any irony or sarcasm, weary and vulnerable, calling on anyone, from those who might give a damn to those who might be mildly curious, to bear witness in my quest to be someone.

Goals:

1. When I'm in my death bed, I want to look back at my life and pray, "Dear God, thank you for my life's abundant riches." (Monetary riches would be an added bonus, but not required. Those who know me should know that I've never equated my happiness to material gain.)
2. One of my long term goals is for those who've invested their time to me to know me as kind and good, reliable and loyal, generous to a fault, and loving, but strong enough never to take shit or abuse from anyone.
3. As for short term goals, by next year, I want to hold up a medical school acceptance letter to my boss and quit my job.
4. In six months time, I would like to have made two more new friends, not acquaintances but true friends. It sounds cheesy, but I'm no longer ashamed to say, I need to be supported and I need to support. Fuck pride, I need to belong!
5. By the end of October, I'll have submitted at least 15 copies of my resume to prospective employers, and interviewed with at least one, since I do need a contingency plan, should the medical path does not pan out. But I concur, the said numbers are far too low. But I need to be realistic: I'm lazy. But then, I guess you can say one of my long term goals is not to be so damn lazy, or rather is to be diligent.
6. Following in line with the goal to be diligent, I want to gain at least 10 pounds of lean muscle by then, which means going to the gym will have to become a habit. I hate feeling tired and unfocused. My body is seriously craving some good stresses and endorphin rushes.
7. By the end of August, I'll have submitted the AMCAS (the American Medical College Application Service) application.
8. By next week Monday, I'll have an outline of the AMCAS essay I need to write, and perhaps even a paragraph I can post here to be critiqued.
9. And by next week Monday, I'll have gone to the gym at least once! One has to start somehow, even if the start is slow, you know?
10. And also by next week Monday, I need to come out with some sort of exercise and diet regiment that I'll follow, so that I can achieve my goal in gaining at least 10 pounds of lean muscle by the end of October. If any of my readers have suggestions, I'll love to hear them.

I'll routinely amend my goals and post my failures and accomplishments. I'd like to see how I'm growing, and I want you to see my progress. I'm excited!

185: Seen on the Subway

If you'll give up your seat for a pregnant woman...

You are a Mitchum Man.

If you're careful who you assume is pregnant...

You are a "sensitive" Mitchum Man.

Where's my camera when I need it?! Bah.

184: I Totally Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest

I *heart* Steven for bringing this wonderful site into my life.

It starts out innocently enough. While Steven and I are IMing, he randomly declares that he might be "possibly mildly depressed" and sends me a URL for this test. I take it, and what joyous news, I am depressed; I'm so depressed, I'm four points away from being "severely depressed!"

Seriously? Seriously?! Seriously!

The wheels in my depressed head start turning: 'I refuse to believe I'm only unipolar!' I declare, 'if I believe there's a yin, then there's a yang. I should be bipolar!'

And lo and behold, I am manic. Well, I have a manic tendency that ranges from mild to moderate. So, I'm slightly more depressed than manic, but I'm bipolar nonetheless.

But I'm still left feeling empty. I should be more fucked up than what this wonderful site is telling me. So, I click and click away, like a man possessed with the urge to pick his nose when he thinks no one's looking.

Anxiety disorders? Maybe... There are several kinds! Agoraphobia? Nope, it's not me. Panic attacks? Never had them. Come on, I should have some sort of anxiety disorder. Social phobia?

"A marked and persistent fear of one or more social or performance situations in which the person is exposed to unfamiliar people or to possible scrutiny by others. The individual fears that he or she will act in a way (or show anxiety symptoms) that will be humiliating or embarrassing."

Oh my God, that's me! I bounce up and down, gleefully clasping my hand. And I suffered worse in the early 90s when I was a mere dental floss instead of a stick.

What else? What else?

Any personality disorders? Let's see... there aren't any tests for them. Okay, it's okay, I'll just read what the symptoms are.

Antisocial? Dependent? Histrionic? Narcissistic? No, no, no, and no. But I will work on them.

Avoidant? (1) Avoids occupational activities. Hmm... There was a trip to a Yankee game that I first said I'd go and then at the last moment had back tracked. (2) Is unwilling to get involved with people unless certain of being like. Wait, people don't normally do this? (3) Shows restraint within intimate relationships because of the fear of being shamed or ridiculed. What? That's not the right thing to do? (4) Is inhibited in new interpersonal situations because of feelings of inadequacy. "Killing me softly with his song!" Totally. (5 & 6) Views self as socially inept, personally unappealing, or inferior to others, and Is unusually reluctant to take personal risks or to engage in any new activities because they may prove embarrassing. A new realization bathes me... Yes, this is so MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

And the icing on the cake is I'm also Borderline.

I'm totally fucked up!

More, more, more... I want more!

ADHD? They've a test for this one. And great news people, I'm... Hold on...

Why are "Homosexuality and Bisexuality," "Adoption,""Irritable Bowel?" "Irritable Bowel" in this Mental Help site?

And you know what? I think I have Irritable Bowel.

What was I talking about before? Oh, no, wait... oh yes, ADHD.

Ooo, there's an Alcohol & Substance Abuse test and Anger Management test... And, and, and, and, and there's also a video of penile pump implant surgery!!!

I've died and now I'm in glorious dysfunctional heaven.

Hallelujah!

***
By the way, I'm totally freaking angry, have a slight ADD, and I don't need the implant, which by the way is great news. But, but, but... I'm not an alcoholic. Me, sad.

183: Debbie Downer, Me? Never!

This summer brings the unbearable 100 degree heat, and the networks aren't doing any better to distract me from thinking, 'Oh my God, I'm melting.' Yes, the prime time line-ups are laden with some atrocious reality shows (except for So You Think You Can Dance, thank you very much) and uninspired reruns (except for Grey's Anatomy). But thank goodness I'm a dork (as my friend has aptly pointed out in her e-mail to me), because I can rely on cable TV for brand new gamut of shows. Yes, tonight, I'm gravitating towards SciFi channel, like how a horned up dog seeks a leg to violate, with unbridled glee, because of him:

Colin Ferguson. Woof!

Colin stars in a new series called Eureka...

It looks promising.

But anyhoo...

***

"Eureka!" exclaimed Archimedes, as he leaped out of his bathtub, and I, too, am exclaiming the same. You think of me as Debbie Downer! But, really, people, I'm an optimist.

Consider my last post. I started the post writing about how I'm addicted to smoking and about my craving for a good, long drag from a fag, which serves only to perpetuate the nasty habit. Then I segued into my addiction to self-pity. But, instead of stating that I crave to dawdle in its misery and continue on the downward spiral of negativity, I stated the opposite.

People, please! Let me quote Hedwig:

(Tear Me Down)

I was born on the other side
Of a town ripped in two
I made it over the great divide
Now I'm coming for you

Enemies and adversaries
They try and tear me down
You want me, baby, I dare you
Try and tear me down

I rose from off of the doctor's slab
Like Lazarus from the pit
Now everyone wants to take a stab
And decorate me
With blood, graffiti and spit

Enemies and adversaries
They try to tear me down
You want me, baby, I dare you
Try and tear me down

On August 13, 1961,
A wall was erected
Down the middle of the city of Berlin
The world was divided by a cold war
And the Berlin Wall
Was the most hated symbol of that divide
Reviled, graffitied, spit upon
We thought the wall would stand forever
And now that it's gone
We don't know who we are anymore

Ladies and gentlemen
Hedwig is like that wall
Standing before you in the divide
Between East and West
Slavery and freedom
Man and woman
Top and bottom
And you can try and tear her down
But before you do
You must remember one thing:

There ain't much of a difference
Between a bridge and a wall
Without me right in the middle, babe
You would be nothing at all

Enemies and adversaries
They try and tear me down
You want me, baby, I dare you
Try and tear me down

While I have Colin to ogle at, there's really nothing that tears me down.

Debbie Downer, me?

Never!

182: Withdrawal

Really, it all started when I was in Japan. It's not that I haven't tried it pre-Japan, but it was while I was there it became a habit. And honestly, it was more of a social thing: you're at a bar with your buddies drinking a few screw driver here and gin & tonic there, and to counteract the alcohol's tendency to depress, you light one up. The smoke flushes down to your lungs, the heat prickling, and the blood races up to your brain, the head rushing. A nicotine fix that's always never enough, soothes, alerts, only for a short moment, but again, it is never enough, and you hunger, you crave, for more, for more, more, more, Dear Lord, just one more drag.

And the thing is, let me just say, I don't have an addictive personality, period.

I don't.

Let's just say that I've been clean for the whole month of July thus far. Then again, I go through days, weeks, or months without smoking, but I'll admit that, yes, I have fallen off the wagon many times before, and there's no guarantee that this time around I won't fall.

And today, this sweltering day, I feel the craving...

This craving has me thinking about what other "things" I am addicted to.

Most of you, if you are reading this, I guarantee, are first time readers. Welcome, and I'm sorry for what's to follow, because you'll be reading a theme I absolutely love to write about, and if this theme were a person, I'd have swung a bat at him over and over again until he lost consciousness, then I'd have thrown a bucket full of ice cold water to revive him only to beat the life out of him.

I think, or rather, I know I am addicted to self-pity.

I'm ugly because I'm born a Korean, and you know what they say about Asian men (...that we're Mongoloids, a term that also can be used to describe people with Down Syndrome; you thought I'd say something else, right?); and I've a body that resembles a chopstick, that's why I'm unattractive. I'm boring because I'm shy; and most times I've nothing to say, that's why I'm dull. I'm lonely because I'm alone; and God hates me, that's why I'm unloved.

I'm an outcast; I always have been and I always will be.

And on and on I go...

But then again... Why do I continue to believe in hurtful lies of my own fabrication; why do I believe that I can't be loved? How is it that I continue to dismiss those who comment and praise this blog; how is it that I believe these people to be delusional for thinking that I've something to contribute to an on-going discourse on life? What kind of twisted ego must I have that I feel self-conscious about what strangers might say when they see me struggling to bench not even a quarter of my body weight; what twisted pride prevents me from going to the gym when I know the end result for hardwork is so much rewarding than the status quo?

Yes, I feel the craving. I crave to ride high in life, seeing the true beauty in me, fostering the joie de vivre (I must still have some and I must be brewing with some charisma, because if I did not, then the friends I have should be no more than a passing scenery one sees on a train, and the friends I have would not be called loyal); I crave to grab life by its balls, to intertwine, to mesh, to belong... I to you, you to me.

Yes, I feel the craving.

181: Can One Become Too Gay?

So...

I think I found one of the many Nurture's contributions to my gayness. Ladies and Faeries, I present to you Allison and Ivan:



Maybe it's just that they were dancing to Annie Lennox, but last night when I saw Allison and Ivan dance, I was moved almost to tears. So, tonight, after the result show, I did a search to find the dance on-line. And thank goodness for Veoh YouTube! Now, I can be moved over and over again.

Okay, I've no punch-line. But to answer my question: if you enjoy and watch So You Think You Can Dance, then yes, one can become too gay.

**
ADDENDUM (7/20/06) - YouTube has also removed the video. Oh, well.

180: We Lost

The Empire (State) is indeed siding with the Dark side.

Maybe the critics are right. If we are granted equal rights, then one day, as one of the most rational critics from FOX News has claimed and reported by the great Mr. Colbert (a rerun episode which aired last night), some Americans will want to do what some Indians do.

So, good for you, Empire, for striking back to progress and basic human rights! I say, BRAVO!