88) Forsaken Reflections

As a blogger whose activities in blogging have waned, I'd like to look back on these past and solemn posts I've written to write a few notes to myself on what I've done here. In the process, maybe update and write up on what exactly has been happening to me these few months on hiatus.

I need to have some validation on why I started this blog and why, painfully, I try to update it but never seem to get around to it. YOM's original purpose was for turning in homework for my high school English class for Mr. Sutherland, whom I sincerely thank for starting me on this path. I convinced myself that it was to provoke thought for those who read my posts, and perhaps I still hold this belief. Long after the class has ended and I have moved to further my education in college, I realize more and more this blog exists as sort of a personal diary more than anything else. More often than not, this blog has existed as a barometer, a gauge of my desire to express myself and reaffirm my hope in humanity (or lack thereof) and see the value of debate and words.

It all started with the important questions. I was always interested and became seduced with sociological and existential ones because they forced me to think very carefully about my perspectives regarding the world. I had to decide, or in many cases, remain neutral as to what my views were. I do less and less of it these days, which really does explain my lack of updating this blog.

I think, perhaps more than anything, this blog is a legacy of a younger time in my life, when I was less jaded and more hopeful of the world.  I no longer hold the views I once did, and I see this world in a much more somber and depressing tone, not worthy of my writings and ramblings.

Since I'm such a believer in absorbing experiences and moving on, I can honestly say in simpler terms, that I was a lot more hopeful when I was in high school. Reading my past posts, that in itself was a miracle. I guess it's time for me to move on out of my stubborn little megabytes of data that comprises this page and the pages before it.

Regardless, I am grateful for all the things I learned about myself and others. I will never forget how this blog all started and came crashing down at the very end. I hope future me will someday come back and look at all of this as proof of my growth, at a time when I would have otherwise refused to believe in my own development as a person.

I think I've "grown" out of blogging. That's a debatable statement, but I no longer possess the energy to coherently debate and think about it. My personality has been drained out of writing anymore. I need closure on this chapter of my life. For everyone who's kept up with me over the years, I thank you for your time. I might come back someday and pickup where I left off. Humans are indecisive like that.

Until then, good night and good luck.

85) Packed to Jump

Having been on hiatus for the better part of the summer, I haven't had the time to try and update this blog. I've been busy having fun, e.g. being lazy and not caring about anything. I imagine it's the last chance I'll have to be like this for a long time. I'm about to jump off into college and earn a degree at the glorious UCSB.

However, there are four experiences I want to share with you. Four neat and compartmentalized points that highlight my summer and give way to my pandering rhetoric. They are, in chronological order: a party, an orientation, a trip, and a bank account.

1) A Party That Defined A Class

It wasn't really a party as it was a way for Alameda High School to drain money from you. Seventy dollars earned you admission into a redecorated gym that housed endless food and drink, and tons of ways to amuse yourself. Not to mention the free arcade machines and rock wall. It lasted from eight at night to five the next morning.

It was a last meeting, one last chance to sign yearbooks and play games with the people you knew before splitting off toward your various life paths. I never saw any tears, but the tight hugs at the end betrayed some sort of solemn sadness.

We were celebrating the end of a chapter of our lives. We were letting go of the small and trivial games we played as teens and reluctantly jumping off into adulthood. It was the last night for us to understand that being young does not last forever. One last night of a few hours to do what we had been dreading since we started high school.

We had to let go.

By the time it was over, I had climbed the rock wall twice, ate some hot dogs, played too many rounds of ping pong, and had laughed the hardest I could as a high school senior. So I took what I could from that, and walked away understanding one of the very many lessons you learn as an adult:

You have to know when to move on.

2) S.S.D.P.

College is always a scary experience to those jumping in for the first time. Or so I've heard. At least, that's what the intro speaker at UCSB tells you when he's explaining all the support services they have on campus. He says it's okay to be scared, and that usually everybody has an emotional breakdown the first month where they break into tears and call home to their parents. He also says, if you're going to have sex, talk to him first in the university center so he can hand you free condoms.

Other than that, getting to know your campus is quite an experience. Most college campuses cover more than two square miles minimum, making it a little city for you to explore. Hint of advice: find a good reference point. It could be a belltower, a church spire, or a very tall tree.

Not to mention that UCSB is a very beautiful campus. The place is a jewel by the sea, sporting twenty miles of bike path, and long beaches with high waves that smack the cliffside. On a sunny day, it's a haven for surfers, joggers, and perverts who want eye candy.

You should be able to pick up the general aura of your campus on the first day of orientation. What I picked up was a very crude lesson in cultural spacial displacement.

In other words, you should not be surprised when you find yourself muttering S.S.D.P.

Same Shit, Different Place.

I guess it's one of those things you have to learn as an adult when you start traveling further and further away from your hometown. The people and the culture may be different, but you'll always notice things that won't surprise you. It teaches you not to assume anything new just because you're a couple hundred miles away from home. People will still be late, attitudes won't change, and burgers will still taste surprisingly good.

It's just another way of saying that no matter where you are in the world, stay true to what you know about people and places. You might be more right than you think.

3) The Trip Back Home

My trip to Hong Kong was in tradition to my family's wishes to come and visit them every other summer or so. My grandmother doesn't have that many years left, and I really owe it to her to sit down and have dinner with the extended family every now and then, even though there's a language barrier.

And there lies my dilemma. To properly understand my problem, I have to tell you a little about myself. I came over to the United States from China when I was barely four years old. Ever since then, I've grown up in California mastering English as my primary language. However, I still understand Cantonese since my parents communicate through it. I can understand them, but I can't write or read it.

This is the crux behind my identity crisis. Where am I supposed to feel more comfortable in, the hometown where I don't speak the language, or my new American home where there aren't many Asians?

I think it pains my grandmother to know that I can understand her but that she can't understand me. It's just not convenient to have a translator buffer my stories to my family, hoping they'll understand American situations and adventures.

And here, in the United States, I hardly feel at home. Sure, California has a large smattering of Asians, but you have to understand that only two percent of the American population is made up of people from Asia. It really sets up the illusion that I can't fit in anywhere, even if it is just the language barrier. The cultural identity I have is a volatile mix of two countries I don't feel comfortable with.

Moral of this story: You have to come up with your own identity to understand who you are. It's a personal culture that transcends country or language. When someone asks you who you are rather than what you are, this is the identity that you have to show. Because in the end, if you're not Chinese, French, German, black, white, or purple, you have to be somebody. And that somebody should not be classified into any easy categories.

4) Everyone Loves Money

My last point concerns me sitting there in a bank while my parents do the talking in setting up my bank account. Seeing as how I'm going to be in college soon, I'm going to be have to be fiscally responsible, and take on the role my parents do on a weekly basis.

The way I see it, there are three main types of responsibility you go through in life: emotional, fiscal, and parental. You learn emotional the earliest, understanding the cause and effect your actions have on your emotions and the emotions of others at any given time. It helps you understand social rules and etiquette. Then you learn fiscal responsibility, which is simply taking care of your finances. You have to understand how to earn, save, and spend. Finally, parental responsibility is you taking care of your children, should you choose to have them. Having kids means you have to feed them, teach them, and basically make sure they don't die on your watch.

I think I've mastered emotional, but still, having access to money is a daunting thing. In college, I'm guessing it's an uphill battle to balance the budget, provided you're not too drunk or busy "studying".

In conclusion, bullet pointing your summer into four little anecdotes is probably how you should organize your life when you get the chance. Analyze life moments when you have the time, and pull from them the knowledge that helps you grow and succeed.

Or something like that.

84) Perspectives of Horror

After finally getting over my summer laziness and deciding to start reading obsessively again, I managed to finish Studs Terkel's celebrated novel, The Good War.

The entire book is an informal collection of interviews Studs Terkel recorded in the decades following World War 2. The interviews flow freely from all different perspectives, including soldiers that were in direct combat from both sides, to regular civilians caught in bombings.

The interesting parts of the novel are in the divisional split of opinions concerning the war. You have shell shocked veterans who will tell you that the conflict was a terrible atrocity that should never be repeated, while another battle hardened soldier will tell you it was the best thing to happen to America.

Of course, many of these opinions have similar backgrounds depicting young gung-ho teenagers with a patriotic streak. Many of them end with horror stories of detached limbs and lost friends.

The book ends with interviews of young children on a Chicago street, their lives no longer looking forward to their lives, but to expect an unnatural death. Although these kids were interviewed at the height of the Cold War, many of their fears still ring true with today's youngsters. The same understanding, the same expectation, still exists.

Children are now raised to be desensitized to violence in the American culture. Although they may not understand the horrors of war in person, they understand better the perspective of death and its inevitability through the world conflicts that occur today. Our culture of death obsession, our fear of the end in relation to war, is vastly different and detached than the views of our grandfathers. With an almost unstoppable flow of images and videos from the nearest battlefield, we now grow up understanding that human suffering is a much more normal and unstoppable condition, rather than being a simple blight of human nature that befalls the innocent. We've grown to understand that it's much more complicated than black and white when it comes to war and death.

But I digress.

The real point, the real moral of this book, is the simple cliche war is bad. It is very bad. Bad along the lines of an H. G. Wells quote stating "If we don't end war, war will end us."

World War 2 was what really changed America into a unstoppable war machine. It spawned the shift from civilian control of the military to the government. It birthed what Eisenhower so famously stated in his farewell speech: the military-industrial complex.

America can't complain. The government really can't be blamed for starting daily wildfires around the globe if the people allow it to happen. At least, that's the idea.

Part of what I've come to understand about American government is that the peoples' mistrust in Washington stems from their lack of control over what goes on. In a democratic republic like ours, we vest our power into representatives that work around the clock in a white building that is a symbol of power rather than practicality. We can't trust that our representatives will comply with any of our requests. When we vote for them, it requires a leap of faith.

Following this form of government, it's not hard to understand how people become upset when their representatives go rogue, and well, don't represent. That's what drives a lack of interest in Capitol Hill for the average Joe. It fuels discontent, mistrust, and anger when the government makes big decisions we have a disturbing lack of control over.

Before World War 2, we could have a say in going to war. There wasn't anything like the Presidential War Powers Act (and the more recent War Powers Resolution) to give the President leeway in deploying troops carte blanche.

What really disturbs me is the real lack of understanding, the lack of knowing just how little control we exert in the decisions that shape whether or not we go to war. All our leaders have to do is pick up the red phone and whisper a single codeword, and the next world war could start. Not long after, a nuke could land on your house and kill you and your family.

Isn't that the real modern understanding of death? Knowing that as an ordinary citizen, you won't live to see tomorrow just because someone at the top disregards your opinions? Is deciding your fate without your consent?

Then again, I did say that electing your representatives takes a lot of faith.

82) Iuvate Liberatem

(Above: This author receives his high school diploma)

As I reflect upon the words: "time flies by when you're having fun", I've come to realize that my time was not fun, and did not fly by at all. My high school career has come to an end, and I've been granted a reprieve before I'm shipped off to another fight in college.

Such struggles of life we must endure. And the world keeps on turning.

I know I'm right when I say I've had a unique experience different from everyone else in my graduating class. I don't float this as some horrendously apparent fact. I say it in comparison to the norm of what is expected out of ordinary high school students.

Now that the pomp ceremony is over, I can say in solitude that high school is an experience I will miss. But I won't miss it because I enjoyed the ride. I'll miss it because of the pain.

You see, pain keeps you alive. It reminds you that you're human. It spawns the problems that we must struggle through to survive.

And all those problems spawned from high school can be summarized as a learning experience for me. As my senior year English teacher would agree, I am now a master of pessimism, and all the practical advantages it brings.

Beside that huge and overarching lesson, I'd to share with you a list of what I really learned:

- School crushes your hopes and dreams. That's why no one likes it.

- Schoolwork only tests for bare memory skills, nothing more.
- Alcohol above 40 proof usually requires a chaser.
- If the teacher's not on time, why should you?
- Tolerance is not acceptance.
- There's no difference between a nerd and a idiot, they'll both pass the class.
- Break convention, and prepare to face unforeseen consequences.
- Earning an education and deserving it are two very different things.
- If you think it's a waste of time, it probably is.
- Do everything last minute; the pressure works miracles.
- Suck up to the teacher. You'll always win.
- It's only illegal IF you get caught.
- Trusting your friends to do their part is resigning yourself to fate.
- It'll probably/might/will go wrong. (Murphy's Law)
- The simplest explanation is usually the right one. (Occam's Razor)
- Work hard, play much harder.
- Hope for nothing, fear nothing.
- It's not a lie if everyone is telling it.
- Truth is so relative that nothing is true.
- Don't speak unless it improves the silence.
- Assume nothing, question everything.
- Math teachers use calculators too.
- Idealism has no practical value if you're not going to act.
- Don't hesitate. Ever.
- Losing the battle is not losing the war.
- As long as there is light, there will be shadow.
- First impressions make all the difference.
- Love is pitifully overrated when you're young.
- Stay away from drama. It's like throwing the pin and keeping the grenade.
- There are situations where the bad choice is the only way out.
- Chances are, less than five people will ever really care about you.
- You're nobody. Deal with it.
- Thinking is not doing. Doing is both.

Just a few of the life lessons. Academically, I didn't learn anything that I haven't already forgotten past the chapter tests. What I do remember are fragmented tidbits that won't really carry me anywhere useful.

So just like that, I can say I learned something, although I'm not sure it was worth the sweat and tears.

And when situations like this arise, I find it easier to just let go and move on.

Goodbye, high school. Nice knowing you.

80) The Impossible Life of Lady Liberty

With end of the year finals approaching and college issues to sift through, I haven't had time lately to do much of anything I'd enjoy. Alas, much of my free time consists of sleeping and video games anyway.

But as Memorial day dawns upon us once more, we recognize the sacrifices and the hardships that American men and women overseas have endured to ensure our continued freedoms and liberties. We do not forget all they have given to help keep alive the country that is the United States.

In the midst of our war, the war that has been the keen cause of all our problems, I've seen a broad spectrum of ideas and actions that define what battle and warfare really means. I've seen the people who are eager to fight, the peaceful protestors that have lined the streets, and the normal worker who couldn't care less.

I've always believed in the firm idea that the hardest part of a battle is not being out on the front lines, but being in the waiting room back home. The hardest part of a war is the mothers worrying about their husbands, the young teens who worry about their big brothers, all wishing for a safe return for their loved ones.

I don't personally know anyone in the war, but that doesn't stop me from worrying about the thousands of soldiers over there, facing a hostility of bullets and rockets that barely conforms to reason and sense.

With my military mind, some would call me a young patriotic that doesn't know any better. They wouldn't be completely wrong. I have no qualms about joining the military, war or not. The puzzling part of it, the piece that you're going to love, is this:

I hate the military. I hate war with an almost insane passion.

I firmly believe the only reason a country should have a military is for self defense. Many militaries around the world serve this purpose, the most notable example being Japan. However, this in itself was forced, a legacy of defeat following an American victory in World War 2.

The Japanese Self Defense Force is the American equivalent of the national guard. It's a defense army, the only army that exists for the nation island of Japan. They've got a handful of air fighters and a sparse number of soldiers to prepare for the invasion that might never come. With North Korea showing signs of overeager hostility, the JSDF is becoming more important these days.

But you see, in Japan, it's almost a mark of shame to join the military. The JSDF is restricted from international warfare, making them a pretty inactive and dull organization. Their real purpose is really just to stand guard in the watchtower. If an invasion actually occurred, Japan's allies would most likely bear the brunt of the work, helping to repel the invaders and clean up the mess.

Which is why most Japanese turn to the JSDF as a last choice. There's no honor or glory to be gained. The pay and the regular meals are pretty much the only incentive to join. Not to mention supporting an organization that was built around obeying the bigger world powers.

Or, from America's perspective:


Yes, you guessed it, the JSDF is an American legacy of war. It's how the United States decided to handle the Japanese 'situation'. It was a way for Washington D.C. to keep tabs on Asia and the spread of communism. It was a way to deter those who would dare fight against Uncle Sam.

But, what I find most interesting, and what I believe most anti-war Americans would love imposed on the U.S. military, is one of Japan's basic policies concerning national defense:

2. To avoid becoming a major military power that might pose a threat to the world.

And look at Japan nowadays. One of the greatest powers after the the Cold War, with an economy and workforce that emphasizes honor and efficiency. They haven't instigated a war in the past seventy years and have done just fine.

The United States? Not so much.

Here in the U.S., you're shunned for not taking a violent stance, whether it be for or against a war. Ironic, no? Here we emphasize that individuality and debate, the spirit of unity, and the fairness of politics, is the right way to approach domestic and international problems.

Not a problem, except for the fact that it's caused a couple dozen wars, the most recent collapsing the American economy, and in turn, the international economy. Not to mention a discontent population reduced to focusing on the wrong things, all the while waiting for a Deux Ex Machina that will never come.

On top of all that, I have to worry about paying for college and finding a job that probably won't be there in a couple of months. If all else fails, my backup plan is to join the U.S. military, thus advocating the agenda of a superpower I don't believe in.

If you ask the United States, I'm sure they'd tell you we're all for world peace, and then point you toward the nearest military quagmire. But then again, we don't all do as we say, right?

So congratulations, U.S of A, for instilling on me a hopeless and bleak future. But if you ever need more victims for the next war, be sure to call me. I know my college degree will be worth less everyday.

This is really important to me, because I've thought about it in terms of my life. Even though it shouldn't be a shock to me, I've reached their age. The soldiers over there fighting in the Middle East could not have been older than me when the war started and they signed up to go overseas. We're that same age now. They had just barely finished high school when they decided to delay college and go out to fight.

They were my age when they took a bullet to the head and died.

Ten years have passed and now here I am, in their position. That's how long the war has been going on. I've grown up with it. I'm so sick of hearing about, so sick of it shaping my life and warping my plans for the future. I'm sick of it not ending, and being completely helpless to it's whims.

Well, not completely helpless. I could always sign up and help the war end faster. It would help make me die earlier, which at this point, seems to be more productive than getting a college degree just so that I can go bankrupt over student loans and starve to death on the streets.

For you older readers out there, be thankful that this decade of war is just another footnote in your lives.

For younger people like me, we can't ever forget the negative impressions of the war that has taken so much of our hope and happiness. It is an integral part of our lives that we can't forget, shaping the people we will be.

It's a war that has decided the new economy, the chances of us getting a job, the chances of us pursing our dreams. A war that has forced us to give up our thinking for guns. Forced some of us to be killed.

If you're an adult, you should know better than to advocate and imprint war on the young. We fight because you fight.

But, if you're a young adult like me, I only have one thing to say:


Godspeed. I'll see you on the other side.

79) The Priceless Victories

With the news of Osama Bin Laden's death, many people are quick to assume that justice has been served and that the war is closer to an end. I'm inclined to follow the victory train, but his death is much more symbolic than most of us are willing to admit.

A good friend from my AP Government class helped me spin up an interesting conspiracy: Obama knew for months and waited on this operation to kill Osama when the political opportunity was right. "Oh, the poll numbers are down? Launch operation 'Best thing we're ever going to do overseas'. Don't forget the DNA samples, or they'll be ripping us down for weeks."

It' hard for me to honestly believe he's dead. Or for that matter, that it might really be his body. Skepticism runs high these days, and let's just hope that the death of a martyr is not the death of hope.

For the families of those who lost their lives to Al-Qaeda, I'm sure that they've been waiting a long time for justice to be served. But I can also understand why many of them weren't jumping for joy in the streets like those at Ground Zero, waving American flags and singing the anthem. I don't know. Maybe they were.

And in that lies justice. Or is it revenge?

Revenge is like a ghost. It takes over every man it touches. Its thirst cannot be quenched until the last man standing has fallen.

-Vladimir Makarov, Modern Warfare 2

And quite the revenge we've gotten. It's only cost us the lives of several thousand U.S. soldiers and a few trillion dollars. Nothing that couldn't have been better used.

Truth is, we always find it easy to associate our hate and anger towards one person. It give us an image to despise, a name to curse.

But we don't ever seem to look beyond a person's actions. We don't understand their motivations. We don't sympathize with the situations that make a rapist kill several young teenagers, or a terrorist from blowing up a school.

We fear understanding these things. We find it so repulsive to look from another person's perspective because it is much, much easier to give into the societal cues of hate and xenophobia.

The blame is easy to place, but the understanding is hard. And if we can't understand our faults and what they were shaped from, how could we possibly be able to fix them? How could we possibly try and prevent evil like this in the future?

I'm not a psychologist, so I'll simply say this:

There are many ways to resolve disputes. Revenge is not one of them.

78) Kilroy Was Here

I've always been a military mind, and people around me never cease to bring up how much I actually scare them. With a "unique" mind like mine, I don't imagine "normal" people know the name of Hitler's plan to invade Russia, how far your heart can pump blood out of an open neck artery, or the strength of the most dangerous nuclear weapon ever built.

In case you're curious, highlight the answers: 1) Operation Barbarossa, 2) 30 feet 3) Tsar Bomba, 10-30-1961, ~50 Megatons TNT. Explosion produced 1.4% output of the sun and shattered windows 560 miles away.

But in the end, it all comes back to my morbid fascination with death. Such a powerful force that seems truly inevitable and infinitely unquenchable. It is the one thing every person in this world knows, regardless of faith, color, and creed.

Perhaps more interesting is the intricacies that lace a military that deals such death in a glorified manner. Every country, every state, has some sort of armed force, if only for the sole purpose of defense. Some countries, like Japan, operate by such a doctrine, constrained by an inherited legacy. Others, like the United States, have no shortage of patriots being led to any battle, anywhere, anytime.

But it's the little things away from the battlefield that interest me. More specifically, what war forces people to because of the circumstances in front of them. Atomic weapons, flameless ration heaters, or military theory grabs my attention because it requires the greatest discipline and innovation humankind has ever produced.

And then there is the camaraderie, whimsical intrigue of inside jokes, national pride, and everything else in between. I'm sure Kilroy would agree:

Kilroy, in his natural habitat.

And then there is the soldier. Hollywood knows the lowly grunt all too well, along with his more popular relative, the crew-cut cigar smoking general.

It's all representative of a much more savage truth, the one we lie to ourselves about, because it's such an contradiction that everyone is ashamed of.

We kill in battle for "peace". And that cycle can never be broken.

And that truth drives militaries to prosper, backed by the many politicians who have never been shot at, egged on by the masses who are too naturally xenophobic.

We train the young to continue the cycle. We break them down to nothing and build them back up into something that they should be repulsed at. But humans are malleable, and they know how to bypass ethics in the name of peer pressure.

The U.S. and its increasingly violent tendencies follow a spiral of sustained operant conditioning. In Colonel David Grossman's On Killing, he puts it bluntly, even on the back cover of the book:

In World War II, only 15 to 20 percent of combat infantry were willing to fire their rifles. In Korea, about 50 percent. In Vietnam, the figure rose to more than 90 percent.

And what I find most amusing is the little things we do to try and cover up our ethical indecencies. As evidenced by General George S. Patton in World War 2, you can march them off a cliff, order them into suicide charges, but for some reason, you can't slap them.

With all the things a regular soldier represents, I again found it interesting how far we've gone.

So imagine my curiosity when I come across this article:

Photos show US soldiers in Afghanistan posing with dead civilians

'Trophy' pictures show US soldiers posing with corpses of Afghan civilians they are accused of killing for sport

The face of Jeremy Morlock, a young US soldier, grins at the camera, his hand holding up the head of the dead and bloodied youth he and his colleagues have just killed in an act military prosecutors say was premeditated murder.

Moments before the picture was taken in January last year, the unsuspecting victim had been waved over by a group of US soldiers who had driven to his village in Kandahar province in one of their armoured Stryker tanks...The pictures include a similar photograph of a different soldier posing with the same victim and a photograph of two other civilians killed by the unit.

I've always thought that there was a limit to human depravity before people simply went insane. Then again, we as humans are not considered insane when we go to war for almost anything, even over dead pigs.

I'm far beyond being convinced that the primal urge to kill is in the human genome. But sometimes I am skeptical. Are we raised to kill, or are we just simply born with it? What is it that draws us to death?

Is it the aesthetic beauty in playing chess with death? The adrenaline in grazing the inevitable constant of the universe?

Is it the desperate need to know about the one thing that unites us all in the beginning and the end?

To understand our deathly addictions, let me introduce Exhibit A, Francis Ford Coppola's classic film Apocalypse Now, where we are treated to a surreal journey into a Vietnam warscape that few see, and even fewer understand.

At it's near climax, we are treated to a speech about the perverse beauty in war:

I remember when I was with Special Forces. Seems a thousand centuries ago. We went into a camp to inoculate the children. We left the camp after we had inoculated the children for Polio, and this old man came running after us, and he was crying. He couldn't see. We went back there, and they had come and hacked off every inoculated arm. There they were in a pile. A pile of little arms. And I remember … I … I … I cried. I wept like some grandmother. I wanted to tear my teeth out. I didn't know what I wanted to do. And I want to remember it. I never want to forget it. I never want to forget.

And then I realized … like I was shot … like I was shot with a diamond … a diamond bullet right through my forehead. And I thought: My God … the genius of that. The genius. The will to do that. Perfect, genuine, complete, crystalline, pure. And then I realized they were stronger than we. Because they could stand that these were not monsters. These were men … trained cadres. These men who fought with their hearts, who had families, who had children, who were filled with love … but they had the strength … the strength … to do that. If I had ten divisions of those men, then our troubles here would be over very quickly.

You have to have men who are moral … and at the same time who are able to utilize their primordial instincts to kill without feeling … without passion … without judgment … without judgment. Because it's judgment that defeats us.

My judgment? I'll reserve it. I won't judge those poor soldiers and whatever forced them to pose with dead bodies.

Let's not be afraid to be ashamed about death. What we need is an open discussion, an acceptance of what is final to help us appreciate our very temporary lives. It might not end war, but hell, it's a much better alternative than giving into the law of temptations. That's when the real killing starts.

Or maybe it's completely the other way around. We know too much about death. Our constant wars and desensitization to violence on television and in the movies has forced us to delve deeper into ourselves. It's a desperate attempt to find feeling and meaning using the extreme ends of pain and suffering.

As for me, I can say that understanding death reaffirms something I've been saying for years:

You're not ready to live if you're not ready to die.

My own obsession with the end isn't a excuse for what I really think death is. I know many classmates who have that gleam in their eye, that cautious glare of transient curiosity when I openly talk about death and how it relates to almost anything.

You can't be blamed for wanting to know about what's natural. It is one of those subjects that is annoying and difficult to explain. It makes people uncomfortable in front of others, where I don't think it should be. It carries such a stigma of negative connotation.

When I'm older, maybe I'll have less of a skewed view about death and fear it for potentially taking away the things I care about.

But when teenagers start talking openly about dying, I'm not sure it's something we should be proud about. The American indoctrination schedule is right on time.

So, let's go back to where we started:

I'm a military mind. I'm a deathly mind.

Should I be proud of that?

What about the human war mind? Our death wishes?

Should you be proud of that?

77) Lack Of Words

As a classical pessimist, It's not hard for me to spin world events into a collection of indicators revealing the end of the world. Besides the regular news of war and disaster that have become increasingly vital in the past few weeks, I'd like to share my take on what it all means.

As I'm currently trying to enjoy my spring break, I'm plagued by writer's block. Not because I have nothing to write about, but because I have failed to find a satisfactory method to express my feelings toward world events. It would be easy to blame school for my lack of inspiration, but in the end, there are some things that need to be said, regardless of circumstance.

There are never enough words to express thought. The English language is varied and ambiguous, with a lexicon that can sometimes perverse meaning. The opposite is also true, allowing for simple shades to dictate powerful and specific words like "red" or "liquid". And don't even get me started on describing metaphysics.

As the aftershocks in Japan continue to take lives, and another war is being born in Libya, I would like to describe the state of affairs using a simple word:

Human.

Now, this isn't me being lazy by lacking specifics, which I will get to in a second. It is, ironically, me being highly specific by using a word that is very general, yet describing lone concepts present in everybody that are easy to understand.

When I first heard of the earthquake in Japan, my eyes were glued to the screen as I watched houses being swept away, wondering how many bodies were underneath all that rubble. The only thing my mother complained about was how she had just lost money by buying Japanese stocks that were now destined to lose value. As I pointed out that there were people dying on the screen, she told me about her frugality: "It's human nature."

As news stories unfolded about the devastation, I continued to watch in horror, angry at mother nature for killing innocent lives for some cruel and unjustifiable reason. I wanted to help.

On Facebook, a help Japan group sprouted overnight, which would give a cent to the Red Cross for every person that joined. It reached its numbers goal overnight. Support like this, along with help from many other countries, poured in to aid Japan in its time of need.

On the other hand, I came across a picture compilation of Facebook statuses saying that the tsunami was payback for Pearl Harbor. And then there was that one religious girl who claimed she had prayed for the destruction and death of the nonbelievers. She was promptly forced off of Youtube in the face of death threats when her address was made public.

When it was reported that aftershocks would sweep across the Pacific, I worried for my good friend in Hawaii. Luckily, he was okay when the weakened waves hit. I worried for my own life when the tsunami advisory warning was issued for the West Coast.

But I'm here today, still in shock over the devastation that has occurred. It gave me a glimmer of hope to hear that even the Yakuza in Japan had ceased their crime operations to keep order and provide disaster relief. It was a quote along the lines of: "Sometimes, we are just human beings trying to help each other."

I feel sadness for many of my friends who have relatives in Japan. One of them is an angry and bitter sadist now reduced to constant worry, streaming Facebook statuses that fears for the safety of a certain person. I don't know who it is, but I hope they are alive and well.

Not too many days after the quake in Japan, the world's spotlight became shifted, and now rests on Libya as war unfolds. Gadhafi is vowing to fight to the death as UN coalition forces converge to protect innocent civilians from the line of fire. As Benghazi and Tripoli burn, we are again reminded for the human compulsion to fight and die.

Despite all this terror and tragedy, I still look at the word "human" and try to dissect its meaning. What I've found are people holding onto each other as their homes and lives are destroyed by a great flood. I see people worrying about each other thousands of miles away. I see aid flowing in from all directions for Japan, signs that the world shares a common bond in the face of unjustified death.

I see "human" in the revolutions that rock the Middle East, along with the continuing war in Afghanistan and Iraq. I watch as the Associated Press shows footage of a jet crashing into the ground after it takes a direct hit by a missile. It spirals into the ground, engine on fire, crashing with a large and booming explosion. I see a Tomahawk cruise missile launch from the deck of a coalition warship, streaming smoke and fire in its wake.

Yes, the English language struggles when I try to describe what "human" means. It is a careful mix of compassion, sadness, cooperation, anger, practicality, freedom, and everything in between.

And as a "human", I advocate that we continue to survive because of all these things. Humanity is a blessing when we can help our neighbor after their house is destroyed. Humanity is a curse when we turn against that neighbor after they've found a new life.

But in this desperate hour, we stand divided and united. We fight our petty wars, mourn our family members, and try to see the dawn after a long and perilous night.

So maybe it's for the best that the English language won't let me fully define "human" to a satisfying extent. To do so would take away from its unique and sacred qualities that dictate our abilities to survive, live, love, and die.

All I know is that we are human.

And most importantly, humanity survives. We will do what must be done, right or wrong.

74) Damn Robots

>>TO: UEF ULTRABAND (C-34928S)
>>FROM: CORPORAL FALL H. VALKYIR (UHF-98U-9ITY-78)
>>SUBJECT: BURN LETTER
>>READCON: READ UPON DEATH/MIA
>MESSAGE START<

This is one of those mandatory letters they make you write in restCON to make you think about the perspectives you have in life and make you more "human". God knows we need enough of that these days. Goddamn cams are watching me right now, so I guess I'll start from the top.

I was born in New San Diego, UEF. January 22, 2278. Blasted through school as one of those students in the back that never raised a hand. Hell, do they even do classrooms anymore? I don't know. Everything's a bit fuzzy since the last memory wipe.

Can't remember those days. Pushed it down further than I thought, specifically when I came out to my parents that I was gay. That was a nuclear firestorm to set me in the military anyway. Screw my parents. I was just being honest. Was that so wrong? I remembered a time when it wasn't illegal to be who you were. They proved the gay gene existed, and it still wasn't enough. Hell, I don't even know what I'm angry about anymore.

While we're being honest, I was scared shitless, bouncing around the streets. Stories and adventures not worth telling. Then the war. I was 22 then.

Everyone loves to praise technological advances, and then one day they gain sentience and decide to wipe out humanity. It's difficult to feel safe when every street corner has a microchip tracking you 24/7. They had to pull the plug on the entire grid. The chaos was incredible, humans so reliant on tech that they couldn't handle a blackout. Heard a couple thousand committed suicide because they lost access to the net.

But, back to honesty. That's all the rage these days. Ask the robots and they'll tell you the only truth is for humanity's extinction. Your coms always need you to be honest short of just reading your brain. No reason not to, but it's hard to tell the truth when you're fighting invincible machines that feel nothing. Find one guy who tells you he's not scared, and I promise you he's a lying sack of shit.

It's ironic really, that humans need to feel more robotic to fight them. You can trade your memories for rank promotions, replacing them with indoc materials. Suddenly you wake up and you can't remember where you were born, who your parents were, or how you got into this mess. Funny I can't remember what I chose to forget. That irony's overrated nowadays.

We're treated like them too, eating, sleeping, and fighting like we're machines. If you die, they throw your dog file into the heap, where it gets sent to whoever in the family still remembers you. My parents are probably dead, but I don't really care. Most of my family died when they took San Antonio. Maybe they turned into machines. I'd like to shoot through their metal skulls.

Yet here we are, part of the bullshit "Humanization Program" to emphasize our human qualities. We're amazing little people that went to the moon, cured cancer, and solved world hunger, all on our own, without the help of AI's. They make us have sex whenever possible to try and bring out those "emotions". Weird thing is, I think the machines wanna kill us because they don't understand human emotion. Maybe they're jealous? I wouldn't mind giving a robot a blowie.

Not to mention how hard it is for me to try. They make me pair up with a girl in the company, some beautiful little thing whose name I can't remember right now, mostly because I wish it was a guy and they don't allow that. I should be thankful they haven't taken me out back and shot me already, but I think it's because they need every last man. Breed kids for the war. Become sex crazed breeding robots so you can create more robots to fight robots.

Maybe the best part of this war is you're not actually killing other humans. Feel thankful that we're not like our grandfathers that used to fight each other, back when countries still existed. All we are is just a good little line of toy soldiers popping laser aimed shots into robot head plates like it was some sort of perverse fetish. The armor injects you with a combat high when you do it, like some sort of valtrix drug that gives you a euphoric burst. You get a high every time a robot gets phazed in the head.

That's the military for you. The protector of humanity. UEF goes a long way in a society that embraces violence and savagery. Take a guy like me off the street, and transform that rage into something you can't recognize.

The military for the savior. A soulless automatic construct that takes you and shapes you into what it wants. Humans are infinitely malleable, and they made me believe my commanders and bunkmates are the best thing in the world. Fighting for a common cause, dying for what's right, that's the good stuff. Can't complain, though. Get free meals, play with big guns, play with girls, and then play with the robots. It's all relative. Heaven if I ever saw one.

I think I finally remember what I told them to erase. Not that it matters. What was his name? Jacob? I don't know. Not worth digging back into.

I don't know that anyone's going to read this. Probably not. They don't tell you which burn letter they save. Anyways, I've passed the minimum word limit, so here's me signing off.

Any future people that read this, don't put blind faith in machines. They'll end up sucking you into death. Give human emotions some credit. We're not meant to be goddamn calculators.

Try being who you are. Or don't. They'll wipe your memory anyway.

>MESSAGE END<
>>ARCHIVED SU-897O

71) Legacy Of The Hopeless

Join us for a long awaited YOMcast as I rant on about America's war in the Middle East, explain a view on Don't Ask Don't Tell, reflect on the past decade of events (video), look at Korea's tension war, North Korea's willingness to open up, and prepare a message for the future...

70) And Off We Go

A musician always remembers their very first show in front of an audience. The anticipation, the sweat on your head, and the steady beat of the music is part of the mystical experience where the magic happens. The fear dissolves as you get into the flow. Even if you make a mistake, the crowd won't mind as long as you keep going.

I had this first experience just tonight, at my high school's annual winter concert.

As we group of thirty streamed out the chords for The Beatles's Let It Be, there was a lack of rhythm, lack of dynamics, and a lack of volume. It wasn't bad, considering that some of us had just started playing the guitar for the very first time three months ago. We had only recently mastered reading what was on the actual sheet music. Compared to the rest of the concert acts, we were terrible. A bad memory of an otherwise perfect evening.

While the other pieces lasted a good five minutes, we could barely hold cohesion for the shortened version of House of the Rising Sun for less than forty-five seconds. Disaster after disaster.

Guess what? It didn't matter.

Life is always unfair, and it certainly won't be the last time I might think to embarrass myself in front of an audience. What you take from it are two simple things:

1) You're not doing this alone.
2) "Good" is relative.

Which all but tells me what a show life really is. You never stop performing for life, or some other silent third person protagonist that may be God.

It's always your stage. But there is no sad music that comes on if you cry, and a rainbow will not appear on the set if you're having a good day. Sometimes, you're the only one watching your own show, and you realize what your own life really means.

And when the final curtain comes down, you may be left unsatisfied, or be glad that the show is finally over.

And, just sometimes, if you're really lucky, you'll understand that it's not always about pleasing the audience.

67) For The Fallen

A few years ago, when I was in a Current Life class, our teacher grazed over the topic of suicide and depression. She asked those who thought suicide was wrong to stand on one side of the room, and everyone else to stand on the other side. After a quiet moment of shuffling, it was clear that I was the only person on the shunned shore. Of course, they asked me why. I asked them: “If suicide is so wrong, why does it happen so often every day?”

It was the revelation of how humanity is a paradoxically fickle thing. We see small aspects of the things that make us proud of who we are: love, compassion, kindness, etc. On the other end of the spectrum, we are capable of horrific things: war, savagery, fury. It is the darker side that makes us cringe in shame, reflect on how we are, of the things we’ve done, the things we regret.

And for those of us who simply don’t want to be part of this world, we are ridiculed for our obsession with death. We are told that it is a moral sin, that suicide is an unworthy liberation of our lives. That we are cowards to our futures, our souls and our faiths.

We don’t open up. We are convinced that no one can understand the pain, the anger, the crushing weight of loneliness. But in a way, we know that others have felt like this. Some have moved on, while others have perished. It doesn’t matter what their circumstances were, even though we seem convinced that there is no way out. We know that others couldn’t last a day in our shoes.

No, no one told us it would be easy. But no one sure as hell told us it would be this hard.

No, it isn’t fair. We are envious of other people for a multitude of reasons. We wish we had their happiness, their love, their outlook on life. We know that some will smile every single day they live, while others won’t ever go to sleep without shedding a tear.

It is humanity. It is cruel, it is unfair, and sometimes, if you wait for it, could possibly deliver you the best day of your life. So I don’t see why we shun suicide as such a bad thing. If someone were in such brutal pain, do they not deserve a right to end it all? Many of us go through our entire lives searching for a kind of peace. It is a peace that some of us will ever seldom find. Do the suffering not also deserve to find this peace?

Yes, perhaps I am delusional. Perhaps my words are the false echoes of lies we have come to know for ourselves. You are perfectly capable of deciding what is right. Truth is relative.

But you, my friend, you and I both share a common end. Death. We will both perish one day, sucked into the abyss that has claimed so many others. We will wither into dust, remembered as faint memories held dear by those who still care to know our lives and our legacies.

But we cannot live if we do not know how to die. We must be ready to accept that fate, destiny, our time can end it all in less than a heartbeat. It doesn’t matter if you hold responsibilities, or any other position of interest that demands your Earthly presence. Death won’t care. Your name will fade away eventually, even if it is remembered for several centuries. We are not meant to clash with the invincibility of infinity.

So why must we continue to deny those who wish to see the end their right to die?

Because it is human nature. For those who cannot see the light, we know there is one simple fact.

As long as there is light, there will be shadow.


…Soon are eyes tired with sunshine; soon the ears
Weary of utterance, seeing all is said;
Soon, racked by hopes and fears,
The all-pondering, all-contriving head,
Weary with all things, wearies of the years;
And our sad spirits turn toward the dead;
And the tired child, the body, longs for bed.

- “Death, To The Dead For Evermore”, Robert Louis Stevenson

65) Crossing Horizon One

As Halloween rolls around, my childhood fears of monsters have turned into a legitimate fear of adulthood and life in general. It doesn't take a well educated person in the United States to figure out that the prospect for a happy future is a bit pessimistic right now.

Swamped by college applications and questions about my future, it's hard to think about what I should do. It's often a shock to your system when you discover that your parents have finally let go and given you command of your own destiny.

At the nexus of crossroads, you gain the ability to understand that you have to choose who you are and what you're going to do, then standing by that choice as long as you deem necessary. Some people can't conform to this ideology, finding it easier to live their lives in relative entropy.

For a person who hates mirrors, this is the hardest thing I could ever do. Core beliefs are hard to solidify on the spot. I believe it's a process that never ends. This is why we place such focus on education and growth. As we learn more about the world and its mysteries, we also learn about how it changes and impacts us individually. It shows us what we should do.

But where does this learning stop? As a rule, it probably never ends. As an old man we can look back on our lives and learn more revelations about humanity in general.

But perhaps a few of the things we should all learn before leaving school is that life is about respecting the will of others and believing in your own. That a person is as much valid in their beliefs as in their actions. That the different values and ideas defining us make us friends rather than enemies. That we are all created equal in our ability to live and to die.

Perhaps I'll never know what I want to be, but with morals and values, it's hard to imagine how I can realistically get anywhere. The entire world does not play by the same rules that designate our destinies.

So I guess part of growing up is understanding that none of it really matters in the long run. You live, you die, you laugh, you cry. The things you do define one small measure of a much bigger picture that cannot be easily changed. You will succeed, you will fail, and most of the time it's not fair.

I once came up with an internal quote:

"When most people are near old age, they wonder whether they've done enough to change the fabric of the world. They wonder if they've made a dent in anything. When I die, I never want to have that problem."

I just hope that my life actions will be for the better. However, I know that I plan to tread the world with conviction and fearlessness, dabbled with a healthy sense of hope and sacrifice. And if all goes well, I can accomplish a transcendence that can withstand the invincible destroyer that is time.

And perhaps, the one virtue I am proudest of:

"You, too...immortal?"
"No. I just don't fear death."

-Vamp and Raiden in MGS4

63) Dying's Easy, Living's Hard

After four measly hours of sleep and a retake attempt on the SAT today, I started thinking about how hard life really was for students before me. And while I wouldn't like to imagine nuns with rulers, I really don't know what it used to be like.

Both my parents never went to college, so I never hear old-timey school stories. In their native Hong Kong, college was a luxury afforded to those who had the time and money, for public education isn't free over there. It's easy for my parents to take education for granted, seeing as they were hired for work when they were of 'legal' age. They started earning paychecks at sixteen.

From what I could remember as a toddler before I immigrated to the U.S., school in China is a studious mind rape of hell, where you have to learn rudimentary algebra before you learn how to tie your shoes. Ask any student immigrant from Hong Kong and they'll tell you how much more relaxed it is over here in America.

It's not just the subjects and the assigned work. It's the school ethic the kids learn. They realize early on that failure is not an option, lest your teacher display your academic shortcomings in front of the class. They are trained from day one to do what they are supposed to when they are supposed to. Work comes before fun, if they understand the concept of fun at all. Whatever free time remains is devoted to personal research in another academic discipline.

It's this kind of atmosphere that brings up children into productive members of society. And now I wonder what my life would've been like had I stayed in Hong Kong. Would I be more successful? Would I have started working at the ripe age of sixteen? Or would I be valedictorian?

Schooling reflections aside, it's just another aspect of my life that makes things hard. We all deal with it in our own ways. The pressure, the pain, and all the mental and physical harm has made so very tired. Life doesn't get any easier.

Pessimism aside, the point of this reflection was to share my common mantras for living life, no matter how hard it may be. Since I remember them so often everyday:

- Don't speak unless it improves the silence.
- An open mind means being kind.
- It's only illegal if you get caught.
- Sometimes you don't have the luxury of ethics.
- Bend them or modify them, but never go over your limits.
- Everything and nothing are infinite.
- When in doubt, frag out.
- Never fear death; have it fear you.
- No use crying over spilt milk; it could've been beer.
- It's better to have people you know inside pissing out than outside pissing in.
- Nothing is impossible, only improbable.
- Humility saves lives.
- A cornered fox will fight with the ferocity of a tiger.
- Vanity knows karma better than you do.
- Truth is relative.
- One man's war is another person's peace.
- There are times and places for everything...which means you never have that luxury.
- You're not ready to live if you're not ready to die.
- There are more meaningful things in life than complaining about what you can't have.
- Nobody will remember you in a thousand years. Deal with it.
- The meaning of life often involves trying not to think about the meaning of life.

So take out a list and write down your mantras today! You never know; it might make your life easier.

59) Willow

A long time gone, in rolling fields,
Only once I came upon a willow tree,
In its shade sat an old man,
Who eagered me down for his story.

He gave tales of his heartbreak youth,
Of a time before I was born,
Of failed endeavors and greatest success,
Of old age and wonder of death.

Finally, he asked for my tale,
And I could not find the words,
So I told him in kindest respect:

For I am too young to know,
Much to convey my life in words,
As you have seen the sights I have not,
And hear the sounds I have not heard.

He closed his gray eyes and smiled,
Set upon a frail hand on me,
Faded away into whispering wind,
No longer alive could he be.

Echoes lost in the quiet wind,
A long time gone in the fields,
I once knew a man who told me,
Under the shade of a willow tree.

55) Bleeding Out

After a first hard day of my senior year, I lost more respect and patience for myself than I ever thought I would. It's a new record.

It was to be expected, the sudden moment of identity shock coming to me as I transitioned from a carefree lazy ass that couldn't be bothered to give a damn back into a slave of the system. The fleeting moments of summer are officially gone, and a part of me would give up my dignity to go back.

The inevitability of the situation did not help. After three years of seeing the same red tile hallways, I knew the teachers and the rooms. I knew where to go and what to do. Regardless, the seniority that I now claim is a bit of a misnomer. We're still just students, and after a summer of fun we barely remember how the system feels.

I found it a little bit funny that my comrade veterans in this education endeavor were still asking questions pertaining to when we got out, or where some of the rooms were. I couldn't blame them for their weary red eyes, but even if I didn't know the answer, I had to act with a bit of professionalism.

And that's when it all came flowing back. The American educational system as a method to turn us into little hopeful workers, striving for CEO. We get close to each other, only for self-interest in advancement. When we get a better grade, we smile devilishly on the inside as we stroke our egos in front of the low-scorers. We don't earn wages. We earn grades.

Along the way, we might even earn a little respect.

But when my respect sours for others on the first day, it's apparent that something is very wrong. I'm very fair and tolerant when it comes to emotional auras, but the disruptive presence of the laughing peer behind me kills my ability to concentrate.

I don't blame him for my first-day dilemmas. There are more important things to consider, like the homework I got from my three advanced placement classes on the first day.

Which is all fine and dandy when parents don't understand why we isolate ourselves from them when we come back home. They seem to have very little empathy when we tell them we can do it later, that our work will get done eventually. We need a few minutes to prevent some emotional suicide after being fed to the hawks for eight hours.

Some people can handle this pressure. Just hope I can. ODST's drop into hell and back in one piece. Here's to hope.

But for God's sake, it's only the first day.