It's dangerous, but I always have failure in the forefront of my thoughts. Whenever I'm handed an an article to write, there's always this comforting thought at the back of my mind that whispers: "It's alright if your sources refuse to answer your calls, you can just tell your editor that the story failed, and it's none of your fault."
How delusional that thought is!
Why isn't it my fault? Of course it is my fault. There are so many different methods to procure information now- failure to seek for even one contact is shameful. I know that myself, but that whispering devil just wants to make me hide from the truth and find excuses.
I realize that whenever it comes to asking favors from others, I fail horribly. Right now I"m lost in writing my article- they aren't responding to me at a rate that I would like, I don't know who I should look for, and the information is scattered everywhere. How should I summarize it all, extract the essence from the bulk of data and present an enticing angle?
Just the data itself is boring to me.
What should I do?
I hate failures.
2014年1月31日 星期五
2014年1月26日 星期日
Private lives
The 1920's have always been a point of interest for me, but now more so than ever. Seeing the two psyches juxtaposed against each other in this play, even prominently exhibited by their different dress choices and conversation topics is a joy, especially when it becomes the butt of the joke.
Elyot and Amanda are flamboyant, liberal, free, careless and "flippant" while their new spouses belong to the old, rich class- prim and proper, obsessed with codes of honor and gender roles inherited by ages of the past. When they come together, everything explodes- literally- as they tear the stage apart.
We see Amanda's husband in beige suit, ready to engage in a duel of honor trying so hard to understand Elyot's superficiality and slickness. Then there's Elyot's wife, a sweet young lady who tries to pursue this man of whom she doesn't understand.
What ensues is a hilarious mix of comedy and romance.
Another theme present is on the definition of "love". What is love? Something that torments its victims? Elyot and Amanda's relationship is explosive and stormy- their love is thunderous- beautiful yet lethal. Their new spouses, who eventually fall in love with each other as well, become such monsters as well in the end. I suppose this is in response to the dawn of a new era, one of liberation whereby girls are free to love and boys to woo. They no longer had to have the relationships that their parents have- solemn, serious, proper and more like an obligation than something as exciting as romance. They could now have passionate, wild love! They could be themselves and care not for codes of conduct!
Yet such freedom comes with its own price- you've got to deal with each other, confront the ugliest monster in you and in the partner you love in order to enjoy such ecstatic love. That's what the couple had to discover.
I suppose my obsession with the jazz age has to do with the rapid changes that surround the times, bringing in confusing mix of ideals and culture as everybody tries to learn about themselves.
Some profiles
Facebook: To socialize
Blog: To release
Twitter: I can't be bothered
Pinterest: Likewise
Tumblr: For quotes
Instagram: For photos and sharing thoughts
2014年1月25日 星期六
Communication
I think that's the key. Having searched for so long the essence of communication, I think the crux of connecting with others is sharing. Telling others your problems, your stories and your daily encounters, and then listening patiently to theirs. It involves bringing your dilemmas to others to be solved together instead of wrecking your brain in desire to resolve the issue by yourself.
How did I never notice that?
Maybe because that action has always left me the feelings if I were troubling another, that others are uninterested in listening to my trivial problems. Who had time for others when they themselves were riddled with frustrations of their own? Yet it didn't seem so here- everybody is so ready to share their feelings and seek for opinions. Rather alarming on the level of openness and tendency to chatter incessantly, but still rather sweet and in many cases, helpful.
I've noticed how my suitemates, especially my roommate connect with others. She always takes time to talk to others, even in expense of her own already scarce time. They all share with each other little details of their lives, talking even when they've got pressing deadlines. I admire that, and I'm trying to learn that quality.
The problem is, I find myself inherently uninteresting at times.
It's as if I don't have any interesting stories to share, I'm not funny, nor do I have exciting conversation topics to contribute. Am I that boring? Sometimes I think not, sometimes I'm convinced of my dreariness.
I guess that's a reason I'm enticed by the art of storytelling. Just the idea of sitting around a bonfire, telling stories of our lives, or sitting in a library filled with people of distinct backgrounds and passions sharing openly their ideals and principles of life seem so inviting.
The definition of friendship used to be an indistinguishable goo in the past, but I daresay it's getting untangled gradually.
Soon, it shall see sunshine and the blue sky!
How did I never notice that?
Maybe because that action has always left me the feelings if I were troubling another, that others are uninterested in listening to my trivial problems. Who had time for others when they themselves were riddled with frustrations of their own? Yet it didn't seem so here- everybody is so ready to share their feelings and seek for opinions. Rather alarming on the level of openness and tendency to chatter incessantly, but still rather sweet and in many cases, helpful.
I've noticed how my suitemates, especially my roommate connect with others. She always takes time to talk to others, even in expense of her own already scarce time. They all share with each other little details of their lives, talking even when they've got pressing deadlines. I admire that, and I'm trying to learn that quality.
The problem is, I find myself inherently uninteresting at times.
It's as if I don't have any interesting stories to share, I'm not funny, nor do I have exciting conversation topics to contribute. Am I that boring? Sometimes I think not, sometimes I'm convinced of my dreariness.
I guess that's a reason I'm enticed by the art of storytelling. Just the idea of sitting around a bonfire, telling stories of our lives, or sitting in a library filled with people of distinct backgrounds and passions sharing openly their ideals and principles of life seem so inviting.
The definition of friendship used to be an indistinguishable goo in the past, but I daresay it's getting untangled gradually.
Soon, it shall see sunshine and the blue sky!
I feel so stupid
I guess it's a good thing that I'm learning new things here in university.
As my history professor told me, "Isn't that the point of college?"
I was telling him about my visit to the museum of history and the state capitol, where I saw ex- confederate soldiers step out in full uniform to celebrate their old general's birthday. He laughed, remarked on how they seem to be of another era, joked about the United States being the only place where people still celebrate birthdays of traitors and talked about the Chancellor's poorly written e- mail response to the athletic scandal.
Now, I am not a smart girl who is too informed about history. For instance, I know the the old confederate general Robert E. Lee is a hero, but not a traitor. What did he mean by his supposed joke? Nor have I read the chancellor's e-mail at that time, so I didn't actually know how to respond.
So I did what ignorant people do. I laughed and pretended that I knew.
How horrible it is to discover the extent of your limitations! Sitting in my sustainability class gives me that precise feeling of inferiority- why were these students so clued in about the details of zoning and environment related technology? I am still a layman's term user!
Journalism class is worst. How did they know so much about different companies and have so much experience in everything? Have they lived ten years longer than me? What have I been doing all my life? Wasting it on wasteful things?
Most probably.
Anyhow,recognizing my deficiency should be the first step to unlocking a larger realm of knowledge. There's no space to feel inferior here.
Just keep pushing forwards, girl!
As my history professor told me, "Isn't that the point of college?"
I was telling him about my visit to the museum of history and the state capitol, where I saw ex- confederate soldiers step out in full uniform to celebrate their old general's birthday. He laughed, remarked on how they seem to be of another era, joked about the United States being the only place where people still celebrate birthdays of traitors and talked about the Chancellor's poorly written e- mail response to the athletic scandal.
Now, I am not a smart girl who is too informed about history. For instance, I know the the old confederate general Robert E. Lee is a hero, but not a traitor. What did he mean by his supposed joke? Nor have I read the chancellor's e-mail at that time, so I didn't actually know how to respond.
So I did what ignorant people do. I laughed and pretended that I knew.
How horrible it is to discover the extent of your limitations! Sitting in my sustainability class gives me that precise feeling of inferiority- why were these students so clued in about the details of zoning and environment related technology? I am still a layman's term user!
Journalism class is worst. How did they know so much about different companies and have so much experience in everything? Have they lived ten years longer than me? What have I been doing all my life? Wasting it on wasteful things?
Most probably.
Anyhow,recognizing my deficiency should be the first step to unlocking a larger realm of knowledge. There's no space to feel inferior here.
Just keep pushing forwards, girl!
Wall of dreams
Thus this "wall of dreams" facing my desk.
It's quite effective really, when you're in the dumps and some phrase that you've got up on your wall reminds you to stay optimistic, have an adventure or face your fears. Nothing beats visual motivators!
My side wall which is decorated with postcards serve as another source of inspiration as well- I want to travel, explore the world and learn new cultures! How good it is to wake up to a world of wonders, literally, by your eyes.
The benefits of having artistic friends is this- you get handmade cards with exquisite art that you can show off on your wall. It doesn't even matter if it's ugly. As long as there are loving paragraphs of handwritten words, all value of a card is redeemed.
As bare as my dorm room is, I feel energized by all the love and dreams scattered on the walls.
What a lovely room I've got!
2014年1月21日 星期二
John Green
I wish I read his books when I was a teenager, rather than all those trashy teenage chick- lit books. They fed me such unrealistic notions of life subtly that I didn't realize until those miserable years have already taken their toll.
Those days when I was struggling with feeling different from everyone else, when I always felt out of tune with ordinary people, those days when I regard myself an abnormal freak who needs fixing badly.
Who knew it was alright to be different, to entertain daydreams, possibilities, questions of life and people daily, then wishing to discuss such issues with friends?
The restlessness of feeling nothing, thinking nothing, inspired by nothing can be tormenting. I regard that restive impulse as the culprit of making me lose motivation to strive but instead aim for an ordinary living when I could have had much more.
I imagine reading Green at those turbulent times- I would have been introduced to new realms of thoughts, exposed to poetry and quotes, my mind could have been occupied with thoughts of different sorts instead of being tortured by nothingness!
His books always seem to follow the arc of an ordinary character meeting an eccentric one, then they both go on a journey where they both learn from each other. Adventure, life's questions, death, depression and literature, always literature. Maybe I would have had a different outlook in life then, if I had read Green when I was young.
It's too late to lament about unchangeable facts of course. I shouldn't be ashamed of my past.
But one can dream right?
What if I meet someone as eccentric as Alaska Young or Margo one day? Or someone like Chip or Gus? What would it be like? Would they find me too mundane? I'm not even as cool as Miles who memorizes last words. Shouldn't it be great fun to talk to people like that? People who have such strong passions and strong personalities that they will never cease to amaze you?
Or what if I've already met such people in my life? I like to think so. I certainly have a few friends who possess unique characters and memorable traits as well as good taste in art.
Maybe they're my Alaska?
Or maybe I'm their Miles?
I'd like to think so.
A friend once called me eccentric, and I was secretly overjoyed to being assigned that adjective. Call me ordinary and I'd feel offended.
How vain and conceited I am! Desperately clinging on to that little bit of distinction between myself and others to prove that I am unique, I am special, I am different. A defense mechanism to protect myself from the prickly truth.
The more I convince myself that I am different, the more I find myself mundane.
I shan't wreck my mind pondering upon all those vain and meaningless thoughts now. A professor once taught me to be "unapologetically yourself".
So that's what I'll be. Unapologetically myself.
Those days when I was struggling with feeling different from everyone else, when I always felt out of tune with ordinary people, those days when I regard myself an abnormal freak who needs fixing badly.
Who knew it was alright to be different, to entertain daydreams, possibilities, questions of life and people daily, then wishing to discuss such issues with friends?
The restlessness of feeling nothing, thinking nothing, inspired by nothing can be tormenting. I regard that restive impulse as the culprit of making me lose motivation to strive but instead aim for an ordinary living when I could have had much more.
I imagine reading Green at those turbulent times- I would have been introduced to new realms of thoughts, exposed to poetry and quotes, my mind could have been occupied with thoughts of different sorts instead of being tortured by nothingness!
His books always seem to follow the arc of an ordinary character meeting an eccentric one, then they both go on a journey where they both learn from each other. Adventure, life's questions, death, depression and literature, always literature. Maybe I would have had a different outlook in life then, if I had read Green when I was young.
It's too late to lament about unchangeable facts of course. I shouldn't be ashamed of my past.
But one can dream right?
What if I meet someone as eccentric as Alaska Young or Margo one day? Or someone like Chip or Gus? What would it be like? Would they find me too mundane? I'm not even as cool as Miles who memorizes last words. Shouldn't it be great fun to talk to people like that? People who have such strong passions and strong personalities that they will never cease to amaze you?
Or what if I've already met such people in my life? I like to think so. I certainly have a few friends who possess unique characters and memorable traits as well as good taste in art.
Maybe they're my Alaska?
Or maybe I'm their Miles?
I'd like to think so.
A friend once called me eccentric, and I was secretly overjoyed to being assigned that adjective. Call me ordinary and I'd feel offended.
How vain and conceited I am! Desperately clinging on to that little bit of distinction between myself and others to prove that I am unique, I am special, I am different. A defense mechanism to protect myself from the prickly truth.
The more I convince myself that I am different, the more I find myself mundane.
I shan't wreck my mind pondering upon all those vain and meaningless thoughts now. A professor once taught me to be "unapologetically yourself".
So that's what I'll be. Unapologetically myself.
2014年1月20日 星期一
Organize!
Finally! My idea is half- baked, but ready to be formed into a pitch. Where and how should I start? This is the struggle for me whenever I write anything. The lead is where I expend most of my energy, wrecking my brain to produce an interesting lead. Without a good lead, my article will never be out of the oven.
Something that thumps your heart
I daresay when you find something that widens your pupils and gets your brain juices flowing, you'll have found your passion and dream in life. Reading all about land use and urban planning has that effect on me, although I'm not sure how that would fit into my future plans. Which, I must say, is very vague and empty right now. There are only a few scribbled lines and sketches, nothing solid.
Is it possible that I can spend my life reading, writing, exploring, researching, talking to amazing humans and taking photographs?
Is it possible that I can spend my life reading, writing, exploring, researching, talking to amazing humans and taking photographs?
Pitch fear!
It has come down to this again, hasn't it? The moment when you have to stand in front of your boss and pitch your idea for a mere 90 seconds, hoping, desperately hoping that you will be able to get all your ideas out on the table with clarity. The last time that happened, I stuttered, forgot what to say, faltered at the confused and half- mocking face of my boss and failed to answer any of his questions rationally.
Please let that not be the case on Wednesday!
My lesson learned from the previous experience was that I should keep things simple- be clear on the goals of your product, answer the few main questions, and then just deliver it with full conviction. No need to add flowery frills or inventive methods of deliverance. It's not as easy as it sounds of course, since that I am not even sure of what I should and should not say! My nerves are failing me and it's going to trip up my words.
I hate that moment when my mind goes blank and you can see the stars falling out of my eyes.
Anyhow, I:m diligently (not really, since I'm here typing away) researching on my product idea now, only to find that every single idea I have has already been used, albeit hideous interfaces.
Public spaces app? San Francisco and New York beat me to that.
Sustainable cities app? Nevada and Virginia were ahead of me.
Real life city planning stimulation? SimCity! Who would've thought they've become realistic!
Crowd-sourced community project app? Thrdplace, thank you for developing the idea.
Vote with your wallet? Not really my idea, but I definitely found it enticing, only to have buycott and pocketbookvoters doing the job already.
Imaginary city planning game or app? Placemaking's been there, done that.
I somehow feel that the gem of an idea is hidden somewhere within the mountain of information I've collected and deep inside my mind. I've just got to cut through the clutter and find that shy little treasure.
So... where should I start?
Please let that not be the case on Wednesday!
My lesson learned from the previous experience was that I should keep things simple- be clear on the goals of your product, answer the few main questions, and then just deliver it with full conviction. No need to add flowery frills or inventive methods of deliverance. It's not as easy as it sounds of course, since that I am not even sure of what I should and should not say! My nerves are failing me and it's going to trip up my words.
I hate that moment when my mind goes blank and you can see the stars falling out of my eyes.
Anyhow, I:m diligently (not really, since I'm here typing away) researching on my product idea now, only to find that every single idea I have has already been used, albeit hideous interfaces.
Public spaces app? San Francisco and New York beat me to that.
Sustainable cities app? Nevada and Virginia were ahead of me.
Real life city planning stimulation? SimCity! Who would've thought they've become realistic!
Crowd-sourced community project app? Thrdplace, thank you for developing the idea.
Vote with your wallet? Not really my idea, but I definitely found it enticing, only to have buycott and pocketbookvoters doing the job already.
Imaginary city planning game or app? Placemaking's been there, done that.
I somehow feel that the gem of an idea is hidden somewhere within the mountain of information I've collected and deep inside my mind. I've just got to cut through the clutter and find that shy little treasure.
So... where should I start?
2014年1月19日 星期日
Return!
I've decided to return to blogging. Expressing oneself is a form of art, one that I am horribly in want of. Somehow I even suspect if there is even a funny bone in me. Anyhow, writing more wouldn't be of harm.
Life has been quite kind to me lately although it's tugging at the tail of my shirt urging me to do things. Too many things demand my attention, really. How am I suppose to treat them all with equal attention? One can only have that much time.
Life has been quite kind to me lately although it's tugging at the tail of my shirt urging me to do things. Too many things demand my attention, really. How am I suppose to treat them all with equal attention? One can only have that much time.
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