Dvorak

On August 22 I forced myself to learn how to type on a Dvorak keyboard. It's been a week and I've made some progress, but I still type very slow. Dvorak is supposed to help you type faster while cutting down on the amount of mistakes you make. In one week my typing speed dropped from 80+wpm to 22wpm. In a week's time my typing has become more erratic and I make more mistakes now as sometimes I revert back to qwerty subconsciously. It's debilitating going from qwerty to dvorak. I can't even type in qwerty well anymore as I sometimes confuse the two while typing fast. Right now I'm typing with my eyes closed because it helps me concentrate. I make fewer dumb errors this way.

It took me a whole year to learn how to type in 5th grade. By the end of 2001 I was able to type 35 words per minute. I expect the same results in 51 weeks. Sigh

I wish I was this disciplined in other areas of my life. I wish I could give the same amount of patience and attention to learning other things as I've given dvorak. I know it'll take more than a week to perfect, but I know this is one skill that I'll use for the rest of my life. If only I had that devotion for something like language. Or economics. Or piano. Or towards God.

Its hard typing a well thought out blog when you're constantly thinking about what letter comes next. Its like talking in another language: you struggle with coming up with ideas in your head while making sure the words coming out of my mouth are correct.

40 and Reminiscing

I listen to a podcast by Bill Simmons from ESPN. He's a funny guy who loves Boston teams and reality TV shows. He also talks a lot about being 40. "Forty is the age when your warranty begins to run out," says recently interviewed Rich Eisen, and Bill Simmons agrees with him. "You wake up in the morning and your body starts to ache unlike when you're 30." Forty is also the age when you wake up at five in the morning and it feels perfectly natural. I'm not saying I've turned forty, twenty years ahead of schedule, but there's something else about turning forty. You're able to look back on every experience you lived through and say, "I remember when..." You're filled with stories about the OJ Simpson trial, the Bird vs Magic era, and the years of losses that led up to the 2004 World Series. You recount these stories with friend who know exactly what you're talking about. I'm twenty years his junior and feel like I've missed a life time's worth of events.

I'm fascinated by stories. I can sit through hours of podcasts listening to guys talk about the differences between the late 80's athletes and today's superstars. It intrigues me how they come up with comparisons about context between two strangely similar guys. It marvels me at how different things were before I was even born.

This evening I sat at Starbucks for four hours with a 25 year old and a 42 year old man. These two guys went to the same Bible college and they shared their stories about their phases of rebellion and resentment towards the college administration during their time in college. They shared stories about their successes and failures and how it felt like every moment in the past led up to today, and now it's like the fog has parted and he knows where his life's path was leading.

Me? I'm still struggling to find my purpose in life. I'm still searching for that thing that I'm passionate about. I sat there drinking coffee feeling jealous that this guy knew exactly what made him happy and he knew exactly what he wanted to do for the rest of his life.

I'm about to graduate from college and I feel like my life is just beginning. Yet I don't know where to go. I lack direction, I lack purpose. I'm starting to doubt whether life begins at 21; life for my friend seems to begin when you hit forty. I wish I was forty and reminiscing.

Say What You Mean

Sometime back in May 2009, I told my family I needed a new wallet. The one I currently held was soaked with rain and sweat and it had already started peeling away at my IDs. I've had it for over three years and I was hoping my family would replace it. One day as I was browsing through Bratpack with my sister and brother-in-law, we saw a very black wallet that was self-proclaimed to be slasher-proof. We looked at the price and it was way more than I was willing to spend. There were other wallets displayed and my sister offered to buy me one, but I declined.

Come September, my birth month, my friends surprised me with an A3 sized birthday card. It was awesome and I enjoyed it immensely. Attached to the birthday card was a white Adidas bifold wallet made of polyester with an attractive penciled design. It was awesome and I used it right away.

Christmas rolls around the corner and my parents give me an assortment of small gifts, one of which is a wallet -- the same black wallet I saw at Bratpack at an exorbitant price. Was I grateful? Not exactly, I asked my mom why she bought me a wallet when I had told her I was given one for my birthday. I think I caught her off guard with my remark because she was expecting gratitude. And really, she deserved gratitude. I noticed my ungrateful attitude right after, but it was too late. No matter how much thank you’s I pour on my mother, I'm sure she still felt the pang of regret for getting me a gift I didn't want.

I still regret that Christmas morning.

Earlier today I was chatting with a friend online. She asked what my plans were after college and I responded by saying I'd look for work. She questioned me with "right away?" in which I responded "um. what else am i going to do?"

friend: do something to celebrate the fact that you've just graduated?

me: like get a job? isn't that the point of college? just kidding. hm. i should go to taiwan. but i don't know if my sister is pushing through with her christmas visit

friend: what does that depend on? ticket prices?

me: um. yeah. i don't mind not being rich, but sometimes it seems like life would be much different if travelling wasn't so costly. brb.

While I was gone it hit me how ungrateful I am. Is it in my being that I make these comments without thinking? I thought about what I said and questioned myself for writing off all the opportunities I've had to travel. Three years ago my whole family went to Africa. In the past two years I've been to Taiwan twice. In the past year I've traveled all over the Philippines. I am ungrateful.

I came back online and apologized right away for what I said. "i am rich. and i do travel a lot." It's a truth in my life that I take for granted. I know people who haven't even been on an airplane before, and I'm complaining about the cost of travel. I make trips to Taiwan every year for a fraction of the cost it takes my American friends to make the same trip, yet I'm still the one complaining about the cost of travel.

I sometimes say things I don't mean. And every time, the words I say can't be unsaid. The tongue is a rudder, it says in James chapter 3, it steers the whole ship. The tongue also is a fire, it corrupts the whole person. Our tongue sometimes says things that are hurtful to others, other times it neglects God’s blessings and says ungrateful things. Sigh.

[Supplemental reading: Jonah 4]

Nearing the End

I’m currently enrolled in class entitled Leadership in Organization (LEADORD). The class demands a lot from the students in terms of time and effort. We’re routinely given assignments, online activities and quizzes. But I guess what makes it so hectic is everything is essay based and the assignments are already posted so you know what you have to do today, and on Monday, and next week. It’s frightening, but I do well in that class. Just don’t let it get to you – like in a dream.

Last night I dreamt I was in LEADORG. Everything seemed normal until my teacher announced we had a midterm on that day. A Midterm? This wasn’t good news for me because I was clearly not prepared. I didn’t have the test booklet that we were required to use on such occasion. I looked to my pal in the front row who usually brings with him an extra copy but he didn’t have one either. I panic. Everyone else is scribbling away while I sit with my arms at my side not knowing what to do. Fortunately, C. was sitting beside me and he had an extra booklet.

I start with the cover. Name, ID Number, Section, Type of Test, Name of your Pet. Wha-whaat? I skip to the next page and answer the first problem. The quiz is much harder than I had expected it to be. My answer to the first essay question was only two lines long. A sigh and my dream shifts to something else. In my hand I hold paper, glue, and scotch tape. I make a binder for sheets of paper but it turns out terribly. My teacher walks up to me and reprimands me for wasting time and tells me to start answering the questions. I look at question two and draw a blank. I turn back to question one and realize that I answered the question in the wrong format – there was supposed to be double-spaced, but mine was not.

I look at the clock my bedside clock and realize it’s 9:01AM and yes, it was all a dream. Two more months until I graduate!!!

[edit] apparently this happens on August 8 or 9 because that's the date i wrote on the test booklet

A Casual Trip to the Hospital

I don’t know why, but whenever I come back from the hospital I feel compelled to blog about it. Wait! Don’t be alarmed that I mentioned the word hospital, I was only there to get my ears cleaned. I know people tend to think of something horrific when "hospital" is mentioned in a sentence, but it’s actually a relatively pleasant place from my experience (just avoid the emergency ward, worst place on earth).

So yeah, I got back from the hospital after getting my ears cleaned. I had to make the trip because I had a mandatory school check-up and at the clinic the guy made a big deal about getting my ears cleaned. “Get your ears cleaned and then I’ll clear you.” My ear wax was so dire that apparently I couldn’t graduate until I do something about it.

But it wasn’t that bad because I was cleared without having them cleaned. But before I left the guy asked me, “You can hear me, though, right?” I would’ve said, “What?” but I got scared he’d revoke my clearance if I didn’t say yes.

So today I went to Capitol Medical Center. I’ve actually had my ears cleaned before at CMC when it was really bad (I was deaf in one ear – one ear was completely clogged… It sounds really gross just saying that). My first trip happened a year ago and it was terrifying, whenever I asked for directions I had to ask them to repeat themselves, explaining that I couldn’t hear them. I was directed to an ear doctor whose office was very blue, very spacious, and very cold. She had a terrific view of Quezon Avenue and I gave her loads of compliments.

The chair was located off-center of the room, but close enough to the middle that it was obvious you were supposed to lay your eyes on it upon entering. I explained my situation and she told me to sit down, then she took out a terrifying contraption – it was a huge vacuum. She sucked out the wax chucks stuck in my ears and was so impressed because I can hear again! She told me there were still hardened chucks that she couldn’t get out with the vacuum so she told me to come back in a week after applying mineral oil and some ointments so soften the wax. I returned the next week and everything was great. She was such a pleasant person. I was in such a good mood afterwards. But it did set me back 3000PHP (around 50USD).

This time around my ears weren’t clogged; I just needed to get them cleaned. I went to a different doctor this time. His office was orange and he had statuettes of Buddha’s head, a Singapore plaque, and figure I guess came from Vietnam. You can tell he was really into feng shui because he had a waterfall in his room (protected by glass). I guessed he had one for two reasons: 1) feng shui; 2) static background sounds so when he cures you of your deafness you can yell out “I can hear the water!”

His chair was located in the corner of the room. He told me to sit down but he didn’t use a vacuum like the other doctor, he did something much more frightening: he pulled out a syringe. He explained to me that he’d clean my ear out by water (sounds a bit like Avatar). He took the syringe, stuck it in my ear canal (is that the right term?), injected the water in two bursts. The first burst clogs your ear, the second one washes out the gunk. He does this twice to both ears. It was awesome. I prefer this ear washing to the vacuum, it tickles your ears and it wasn't super-duper loud like the vacuum (imagine a vacuum in your ear).

So there’s my journey to Capitol Medical Center. I can now hear. I met another pleasant ear doctor. And this time it only set me back 900PHP (20USD).

Lost in Translation

I'm currently taking a literature class about Filipino history. We've tackled books by Foucault, Ileto, and Rafael. Foucault's book, The Archaeology of Knowledge, criticizes our perception of history by deconstructing the discourses that were impressed on us (what? I didn't understand it either). Ileto's Pasyon and Revolution is about Filipino history from the perspective of the masses, or the lower class, taking into account folk Catholicism and Filipino literature and how it shaped their understanding of current events. Rafael's Contracting Colonialism is about language and how Filipino cultural conversion partially failed due to poor translation (...apparently. I've only read the book's introduction; we've yet to discuss the book in class). And that is pretty much the situation I'm in now -- completely lost in translation while my teachers throw around Tagalog words.

In chapter one of Contracting Colonialism Rafael lauds the humor of Jose Rizal in his work, Nole Me Tangere, where Rizal describes the fictional Catholic priest's Spanish sermon. The Filipino's can't understand him because they don't understand Spanish, but they do understand a few words here and there, so what they get from a sermon about obedience and loyalty to the government is instead a sermon about the King and punishment (okay, I forgot the actual passage -- but you understand the point Rafael was trying to make). This is how I am in my literary class: about 90% of the lesson goes over my head, with the leftover 10% I create my own lesson. But what's a little more interesting are the words I do know, the words that make my ears perk up when I hear them. But the English words that perk up my ear are actually Filipino terms. Unfortunately, those two don't translate very well. For example:

English

≠

Tagalog

trite = "banal" = holy

*sigh*