Friday, April 23, 2004
random thoughts


What's mujo?

In the mental rotation: Life is short. I made a wallpaper out of the sakura picture I posted here as a sort of carthasis... yet I still feel half-purged lately.

If you like it, feel free to DL a version in glorious 1600x1200 here. Bonus points if you know where the text is from... but by the file name, it should be obvious.



Recently, I've been faced with many difficult choices, mostly in regards to both my future, my job, my relationships, and my time here in Japan. I find I'm becoming paralyzed about making a firm decision - the stress is probably also in relation to the fact to what I mentioned above: life is short. Gotta get crack'n. Circumstances and people in my life are starting to put me into position where I must choose something, and I'm not sure how I feel about that. Maybe my feigned indifference is a defense mechanism.

Mukashi, mukashi (long ago, long ago)...

...I used to be a decisive person. Honto? (Really?)

Honto-da. (Really.)

I think my decisiveness was at its peak in high school. During then, things were much more straightforward in life (go to UW, go to church, yada yada). Another big factor I suppose was my devotion to kendo at the time. Kendo training pretty much beat indecision out of me... when you're engaged in fighting somebody full-contact, one-on-one, with a weapon... you don't have the luxury of thinking a lot. In fact, you're conditioned to make fast decisions.

Hey there, Vince! Would you mind dropping your guard and standing still while I think for a few minutes where would be the optimum place to hit your body with my sword?

Since kendo / high school, the trials of college and post-college life have enshrined my once small peasant of indecisiveness in a vast castle of procrastination. From his new home, King Indecisiveness, regularly makes his presence felt in my life. Maybe it's because now, I see the world is less black and white terms, and they vast expanse of gray that I see, both in myself and the world... it's troubling. Lots of shades of gray.

For me, discovering what my life is supposed to be specifically about is sorta like this analogy:

I receive in the mail some keys to a room in my house where a machine is: super-duper-wonky-widget-version-Garrett's-Life. I walk into the room, see about over a hundred different levers, buttons, dials, and switches, all with descriptions written in vague descriptions like "thingie" and "other thingie". Taped to the chair in front of the machine is a handwritten note in English to me that reads:

"Dear Garrett,

Please use your device (super-duper-wonky-widget-version-Garrett's-Life). Feel free to manipulate the controls how you see fit, but be sure to help your fellow man via its operation and not cause pain, death, destruction or harm... as outlined in your general instruction manual, the Bible.

When a manual specific to the operation of your own personal device is developed, rest assured, I will mail it to you too. Maybe.



The Guy Upstairs."

Stupified, I just stare and make the choice that requires the least effort or risk: Do nothing. Choices, choices... I guess lately, I have doubts about my ability to make (good) choices.

I wish the general operation of my life was a little bit less complicated... why can't the operation of my life be more like a Glock or something?

Clip in, slide back, aim, pull the trigger... bang.



Laugh, and the world laughs with you;
Weep, and you weep alone.
For the sad old earth must borrow it's mirth,
But has trouble enough of it's own.

The above is quote from the poem "Solitude", which I remember from "good 'ol" high school days, where daily subjects mostly revolved around dead people and the stuff they left that you, the ig'nant child, should know about. Being the anti-stereotypical Asian American person I was, my interests in high school tended to literature, history, and poetry... NOT math and science. Once, liking poetry was considered equivalent to wearing a pink tutu or being a hairdresser, but because of hip-hop / emceeing, I can breathe a sigh of relief that my manhood is safe.

On a related note, according to this article posted by Doc Lot, being a poet is a ticket to an early grave. Joy.



A student told me recently they found my webpage with - what else? - Google. I wonder if he and others read this blog?

To all my English students: My apologies for my frequent, casual, and completely brutal abuse of the English language. Native (Chinese American) son speaking in his native (Chinese American) tongue, here.




I watched copies of MySassy Girl, Face/Off and best of all... Kill Bill Vol. 1 a few days ago. Thanks, Chong. Holla at me if you want anything from Japan.


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in?scrip?tion (n-skrip-shun)n.
1. The act or an instance of inscribing.
2. Something, such as the wording on a coin, medal, monument, or seal, that is inscribed.
3. A short, signed message in a book or on a photograph given as a gift.
4. The usually informal dedication of an artistic work.
5. Jeremiah 31:33

the facts.
name. Gar AKA "that Chinese guy" "Sleepy.McSleeping"
ethnicity/nationality. Chinese/American, 4th gen.
location. Sea-Town, WA, USA Kawanishi, JAPAN
occupation. less-cynical poor grad student
age. younger than you think, older than you know



UnseenGC @ AIM
(myname) @



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