— the laid.back buddhist —

Practicing Some Practical Idealism

Sometimes, I like asking people whose opinion I value and respect what they think. Although most times, I ask after the fact just to get a different point of view. And almost always, I end up doing what I want to do anyhow, taking into consideration what I feel to be the most important. No wonder my grandmother told my mom I’m a willful child. Or maybe it’s just a self-fulfilling prophecy, hmm…

Anyhow, this is particularly true for matters of the heart, since I’m not one to hide it. For one thing, I can’t do that very well, as one of my good friends from high school can help illustrate:

“Ok, ok, let’s practice.”

“Shoot.”

“So, I show up at your door with flowers, what are you gonna say? I’m him.”

“Hmm, I guess I’d get real quiet because I’d try not to show my emotions.”

He laughs at me, “You can’t do that!”

“What!?”

“That shows the most!”

“Oh. Well, that’s what I did last time, damnit.”

“No, do something that you know he wouldn’t expect. What would he not expect you to do?”

This is tricky, so after contemplating it for a moment, I finally say, “I guess I’d whack him for doing something that’d make me cry.”

“No, no, no…” He gives an exasperated chuckle, “You can’t do that either!”

“Darn.” This is hard.

He goes on to explain, “’Cause then it’ll show him he can make you cry.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” But ever the Hopeful Heart, I charge ahead, “Let’s try another scenario? Maybe?”

“Haha, okay. Let’s say he calls you and asks you to do something with him—“

“I don’t pick up!!!” I say excitedly before realizing, “But then it goes to voicemail, and I’d have to call back…”

Unsurprisingly, we never really did resolve my issue to a satisfactory conclusion, although I definitely felt a lot better. And started seeing the lighter side of things, so to speak.

I suppose if we’re really going to analyze the situation here, I don’t believe in hiding emotions (professionalism excluded, of course) of my heart because I don’t want to ruminate about those What Ifs or swallow bittersweet regrets.

Or maybe I do regret some things, and am only in denial. But I figure if I know that I wouldn’t have done things any other way (even if looking back I probably should have), then at least I can let go and move on.

Then again it can very well be the utter lack of control over certain situations or knowing beforehand it’s really gonna hurt me something terrible that causes me the most stress. Either way, all I know is that I haven’t felt this much stress since my laptop took a swim a few weeks ago. Which, get this, got fixed for FREE by an on-site Sony technician!!!! I mean, there’s a slightly faded 1” vertical strip that wasn’t there before, but they extended my warranty 90 days…so, I’ll be getting a new LCD screen, too!

And sooo, who totally ROCKS? *raises hand*

Alright, I ought to stop my blogging and start all those papers I need to do, all of which are currently nonexistent. Well, unless you count blank Word documents with saved titles…

…in which case, they’d only be nearly nonexistent, right?

Montreal Men

^yuck! okay, am well-aware that the above is a lame-ass excuse for title, quite unfortunately a lame explanation for that awaits you below…

I’m drowning in all the writing papers I’ve been doing and still have left to do…I almost miss my days of only multiple-choice exams. Except THEN you’d hear me lamenting how re-writing my notes to make study guides and/or notecards is killing my hand, hah!

Either way, it’s a lame (yes, I throw at you yet another!) excuse for lagging in my blogging, I know.

I’d try to remedy this and whip up a post beyond rationalizing excuses, or at least disguise it better (as if that ever works). BUT a part (read: most) of my mind is still in Spring Break vacation mode. Speaking of which…!

Montreal men are damned handsome, WOW.

That is when I was able to look up from making sure I didn’t slip up from all the slush on the sidewalk. Which did happen once! And, of course, at a major intersection…but I like to blame the heavy groceries from the Jean-Talon Market for throwing me off balance. I wonder if a person can fall flat on her butt gracefully. The Eternal Optimist in me likes to think so, but I also happen to have the type of family who laughs first before asking if the bananas and I are okay in the same breath.

I really enjoyed my time in Montreal, though. It’s like the Canadian-French version of Kyoto: unforgettable food, clothes to kill for, very clean, a nice mix of old and modern architecture, and expensive-as-hell more expensive than hell. I feel like the city of Montreal is friendlier than Kyoto, but people in Japan are always super-friendly when you speak Japanese, even if it’s as simple of a phrase as “Mizu kudasai!” (Water, please).

So, anyhow. I got to practice my French (this includes blatantly staring in envious wonderment whenever I overhear an Asian converse in fluent French), gorge on amazingly delicious foods (aka gain 5 pounds, aie!), be mistaken for a Japanese family (twice! Even when we spoke in Chinese to each other at the table!), and oh yeah, admire all the well-dressed, gorgeous men in Montreal. Yum. I def. look forward to going back when the US dollar isn’t being clobbered.

On that note, I shall say good-night. And sweet dreams.

If Life were like Windows Mail

This is for the answers I search for but will never find. For the words I think but will never say.

This morning I was writing an email but couldn’t get past one sentence. It’s a sentence I want to say and feel like needs to be said, but I felt utterly ridiculous sending someone an unnecessary and unexplained one-liner. So, I click the “X” in the upper right corner to close the untitled, unfinished, and unaddressed (you know, just in case I accidentally hit “SEND”…hey, it’s happened before!) email.

“Do you want to save changes to this message?”

I stared at my screen, wondering at the subtle irony of the prompt: did I want to save changes? Ha! There are a lot of changes I can think of that I wouldn’t mind saving. A lot of changes I wouldn’t mind discarding, too, now that I’m thinking about it.

My mouse pointer jumped to click “No,” but hovered back over between “Yes” and “Cancel” before settling on the neutral “X” in the upper right corner.

As if changes in Life could be as easily saved or canceled with such clear-cut options like that.

But this is Life, and not my Inbox.

There are no pop-up warning messages with preset and familiar options including a universal red “X” simply because I’m not ready to make the decision (I mean, as useful as that would be).

And this isn’t just any Life, it’s my life. In which options include forgoing the probably wiser decision to let it marinate overnight…to swallow my fear and send the damn message.

Good to know that my Impatience trumps my Abulia.

Oh, and to set the record straight (before I am once again reminded that Buddhists are supposed to be the epitome of patience ): laid-back Buddhists do worry, are indecisive, think of impatience as impulsiveness (despite evidence of the contrary), and include “tendency to poke fun at ourselves/laugh at self-ironies” in our definition of “laid-back.”

Damn your dirty blonde looks.

Let’s take this moment to psychoanalyze ourselves for a moment, yes?

Speaking in a purely superficial sense, I’ve found myself instantly drawn to 2 types of looks. The first—which shall be oh-so originally dubbed as Type I—is the dark (like, dark-brown to black) and maybe slightly curly hair with brown eyes that twinkle.

Hell yeah, I am completely serious about the twinkling eyes part.

A couple years back, someone once asked me what I thought most attractive about a guy, physically. I immediately replied with, “He has eyes that twinkle.”

“What the?” The guy who asked took his eyes off the road to turn to me and exclaim, “Are you serious?!”

I nodded. In seriousness.

“How do you make eyes twinkle?” He gave a scornful laugh, “Walk around holding a mirror under your eyes? Always be seen in candlelight?”

I responded with a half-shrug, but I distinctly remember how I felt every one of my then 18 years because with extreme effort and embarrassment I bit back the words well, if you don’t know… you obviously don’t have twinkling eyes.

My guy friends always like to tease me and give me shit about this Twinkling Eyes Attraction of mine. Which in turn has caused me to ponder the roots of it. You see, I figure that people with twinkling eyes have great smiles. And people with endearing smiles by default ought to like smiling. And people who genuinely like to smile almost always like to laugh, too. Can you tell where I’m taking this? I like people I can share laughs with…ergo, I like people with twinkling eyes! At least, that’s one theory I cultivate to explain the unexplainable.

But back to the Types.

Type I

After re-reading The Count of Monte Cristo (quite possibly my all-time favorite book since the 8^th grade) over winter break for the umpteenth time, I realized that my long-time girlish attraction to the character of Edmond Dantés could be part of the reason.

Yes, I know what you’re thinking. Poor girl, Edmond Dantés is fictional, you kindly remind me.

But to my (uhh, generally) sane mind, it doesn’t matter because he’s also insanely hot.

Type II

Ugh. Well, Type II is a recent realization that I’ve developed an inclination towards dirty blondes with a slight scruffy look.

Allow me a moment to sound indignantly stereotypical: ha, me! like blondes?! pffft, as if!

However, one of the voices of sanity in my life confirmed my mounting fears.

“Darmstadt had dirty blond hair.”

“Yeah…I know,” I gave an internal wail of resignation, “Horrible, huh?”

“Well, I like big noses and beards.”

Even though that phase in my life is done and over with, it’s like I’m still judging all dirty blondes through these obsolete “darmstadt” rose-colored lenses. I won’t get new, updated ones until one day, I find myself genuinely falling for another guy.

So basically, it all implies that my basis for attraction depends on those guys I have or previously formed a serious attachment to.

And now before this train of thought turns full-out Freudian on me…

…let’s end this psychoanalytical moment here.