n. the exhilarating dread of finally pursuing a lifelong dream, which requires you to put your true abilities out there to be tested on the open savannah, no longer protected inside the terrarium of hopes and delusions that you created in kindergarten and kept sealed as long as you could, only to break in case of emergency.
n. frustration that you’re not enjoying an experience as much as you should, even something you’ve worked for years to attain, which prompts you to plug in various thought combinations to try for anything more than static emotional blankness, as if your heart had been accidentally demagnetized by a surge of expectations.
n. a phenomenon in which your lived experience seems oddly inconsequential once you put it down on paper, which turns an epic tragicomedy into a sequence of figures on a model train set, assembled in their tiny classrooms and workplaces, wandering along their own cautious and well-trodden paths—peaceable, generic and out of focus.
At a reception in our flat, four men—a Swede, a Thai, a Korean, and a Filipino—were discussing the indicators for measuring quality of life.
The Thai said: ” Well, gentlemen, my Filipino friend here and I have settled the matter.
We have agreed that the quality of life for us Asian men is better than it is for Western men. And we have one clear indicator for this: we can lie to our wives.”
Pressed to explain, he said: ” Well, when we come home late from a night out with the boys, our wives ask us where we have been. We know that they don’t really want to know the truth, so we lie to them. They know that we are lying, but they also know that we are lying out of consideration for their feelings. It is a sign of love for them, and is accepted as such. They are happy. We are happy. What better life is there?”
After the laughter had subsided, the Swede said wrily, ” You probably have a point there. In my country, we tell our wives the truth and they divorce us.”
This provoked more laughter, as the Swede’s wife had just decided to leave him as a result of having discovered that he was having an affair with a Korean girl.
Then the Korean spoke up: ” l don’t understand all this. What is this business about lying to your wives? In Korea, there is no need to lie to our wives. They never ask us where we have been.”
Think twice about that Kpop star. :P
from “Jottings”,Skyscapers, Celadon and Kimchi: A Korean Notebook by Cristina Pantoja Hidalgo
To travel is to relearn the particular; to possess the leisure to once again see the particular in itself, in a context all its own. As children we learn from experience what each word means (tree, rock, lef, cold and warm, fast and slow) and then, growing up, we turn to abstraction, in what must be a retreat from the sensory world into the realm of concepts. We become removed and intellectual, forgetting the unbounded variety each concept in truth denotes.
We travel, then, partly to find the meaning of words again: we come full circle (or full spiral, as we ever expand) from word to thing and back again. The slowness of a Galapagos tortoise, the stillness of a Komodo dragon. This is what slowness can be; this a facet of still.
And one of the interesting things about success is that we think we know what it means. If I said to you that there is somebody behind the screen who is very very successful, certain ideas would immediately come to mind. You would think that person might have made a lot of money, achieved renown in some field. My own theory of success — and I’m somebody who is very interested in success. I really want to be successful. I’m always thinking, “How could I be more successful?” But as I get older,I’m also very nuanced about what that word “success” might mean.
Here’s an insight that I’ve had about success. You can’t be successful at everything. We hear a
lot of talk about work-life balance. Nonsense. You can’t have it all. You can’t. So any vision of
success has to admit what it’s losing out on, where the element of loss is. I think any wise life will
accept, as I say, that there is going to be an element where we are not succeeding.
Thought it was @doctorjanberry ‘s early christmas present. Teehee.
Papa: Watch Flight, Gela.
Gela: Why me in particular?
Papa: It’s about an alcoholic. He saved the plane because he shot cocaine after getting drunk.