50 ways to leave your lover

     I’ve always disliked writing love articles. Or writing about it publicly for that matter. Those people with their love songs… I can understand why they do it. I can appreciate why they do it. But I can never do it myself. To me, love is something that I can only express privately, and never superficially – spending more money on an extravagant gift is no indication of my degree of romantic interest in you. Money and love are two separate things – one should not perpetuate the other. What I will give, however, is something much more valuable than money. My time.

     A human life is futile. We’re born, we live for a brief cosmic instant, and we die. I can set a countdown for how many seconds I have left to live on my laptop. If I choose to spend a significant fraction of those seconds on you, then I hope you realize that I’m paying you with a currency that is more valuable than anything else I can offer.

     Or at least that’s what I hope you’ll understand. If you want that diamond, you’re out of luck – I just bought myself the collector’s box set of Breaking Bad on Amazon.

Blind/Deaf Experience

The blind and deaf experience was jarring, to say the least. First of all, I never expected the experiment to be so jarring. I first experienced an unwillingness to put on the blindfold, a queasy, uneasing feeling. I was born with 500/500 vision, and never found out about glasses until I was 8 years old. By putting on the blindfold, I felt helpless, going back to the world that I used to live in.

Immediately, I noticed that I began overestimating the closeness of everything around me. Granted, this is to be expected – it’s only natural for the human mind to take the course of action that would result in the least “casualties by slowly walking into a doorframe.” My hands were constantly out, groping for something that I could build my perception of reality from, and I moved very slowly walking around. My sense of balance was slightly awry – I could no longer walk as comfortably, even without the threat of bumping into something. With this experience, admittedly, also came a brief sense of humiliation at being seen so helpless by other people – this must have larger implications on the perceptions society has on disabled persons.

I had one hand constantly tracing the wall. On instances where there was someone there, my partner would kindly direct me away from them. I realized that I required at least one hand to be constantly tracing a wall of some kind to be able to reliably move forward. Otherwise, I would be much to paranoid in taking another step forward, and instead just grope around me until I caught onto something. Surprisingly, walking down the stairs was not as large of a challenge as I thought it would be – mostly in part due to the railing right beside me, and finding solid footing below me was not that much of an issue.

Admittedly, the “deaf” portion of this experience did not work as well as it should have. Perhaps due to being blindfolded, I picked out any possible sound that could possibly help me walking along. Things were just a bit muffled as opposed to actually being silent, and this may have interfered with the full, intended experience.

Object Persona

I follow you wherever you go, always behind but never in front of you. I am commonly associated with maturity, exploration, and intelligence. So please, take more of me – in fact, the more you take of me, the more I become. What am I?

Footprints

ABC Story

      Apparently, today was different from normal, although it certainly felt that way. Bed sheets held me back from within their warm, loving embrace – until the repercussions of missing work one more day hit me. Carelessly throwing the sheets away, I grudgingly got up and walked towards the washroom.

     Depressing was a good way to describe the day; grey overcast skies only perpetuated my misery. 

Exiting my home, I huddled inside my jacket tighter to combat the cold. Frequently grinding my teeth, I trudged towards the bus stop until the thought of calling in sick hit me. Grateful for this one opportunity, I dial the phone. “Hey boss, yes it’s me, unfortunately I’m sick because of something I ate probably, it’s not sitting well for me, I’ll keep you posted.” Ill was my favorite excuse – plausible, but also vague enough to prevent further questioning.

     Jauntier now that there was no prospect of work looming over me, I decided to stroll through the nearby park. Kites flew overhead, perfect for the windy day, as families made memories with each other. Light on my feet, I made my way along the path when a breeze caught my jacket. My mind suddenly did a double take, and sunk into horrific revelation when I realized my jacket was, in fact, the only thing I had on. Naked and bewildered, I hustled myself into a nearby bush and tried to gather my thoughts.

     “Obviously this has to be a dream,” I thought as I opened my jacket and peeked down. Perhaps my timing wasn’t that good, however, as a family of five just happened to pass by. Quite horrified by the sight, they instantly fled the scene and alerted the local police. Running after them, I yelled, “this is a misunderstanding!” Sadly, it only seemed to exacerbate the issue, the family picking up even more speed.

     

     That was when I realized the predicament I was in. Ultimately, I knew I couldn’t survive in prison, so I decided to do a last ditch effort to save myself. Vindicating myself in my own mind, I made a mad dash towards the woods, my coat barely concealing my beautiful form, the police chasing me.

     When law enforcement was about to catch up to me, I knew what I had to do. X’ing out the last shadow of doubt within myself, I braced myself for my final moment. “YOU CAN TRY AND TAKE ME AWAY, BUT I SHALL NOT GO QUIETLY INTO THE NIGHT,” I shouted. Zealous fervor overtook me as I shed my coat, and tackled the unsuspecting officer with all my might.

Advice (free write)

It was a beautiful night.

Time stood still as my eight-year-old self gazed in absolute wonder at the sight above me. Fragmented, muted pinpricks of light suspended impossibly on the infinite backdrop of the universe, my imagination affected only by the gentle kiss of the evening dew on my exposed neck. It was a special place, something my father and I shared, a secluded field in the bustling city of Riverside, California. Each night, he would stand beside me, hands gesticulating wildly as he told extravagant stories of heroes past, and his optimistic views of the future to come. “Life is precious,” he would always say, with a broken mixture of English and Mandarin, “cherish it, and never waste even a single moment.”

When I was two, my father dragged me, my mother, and our livelihoods across the Pacific in order to provide me with the life opportunities he never had. My father would be the first to admit that he regrets being passive in his early years, and has since instilled a sense of purpose within me at a young age. The weight of his advice never went unnoticed; in our sanctuary underneath the night sky, I could only imagine the pain and sacrifice he had to endure for my future.

I clearly remember my father’s selfless cries of joy on the day he first turned a profit. His current success in running his own business reminds me that, no matter how bleak a situation may seem, time management is absolutely crucial in overcoming adversity. This proved invaluable upon arriving in Canada at the age of eleven. Like my father many years ago, the world that I grew up in was reduced to no more than just a figment of my imagination in this alien country. Rather than dwelling on the past, however, I looked towards the future; my time was spent making new friends, setting new goals, and I flourished, my perspective on the world now encompassing twice that of before. On nights where my heartache grew too much to bear, I always found solace in the silent spectacle above me; I would always leave, elated, at the plethora of possibilities the future holds.

Upon my entrance to high school, my father’s advice developed into an insatiable craving to feed my burning curiosity. My mental horizons widened to magnitudes I never thought possible, as my interactions with different people helped develop my own individuality. Within this vibrant learning environment, I discovered the limitless wonder of the natural sciences, and delved further into my passion for the business world. Every single day, I feel a sense of purpose, whether it be to explore a new idea, or to simply write an email with the expectation that it will make someone smile. It is now where my father’s advice truly shone to me; my life, indeed my time, is the most valuable commodity I can ever have.

As the clock ticks towards my graduation of high school, and as my father draws closer to his retirement, I cherish every second I possess. The importance of his words is remembered by me each night: his greying hair and exhausted smile serve as a memento of the hardship he once endured. After each achievement or award I obtain, my father embraces me as I silently promise to make the most out of the opportunities he provided. I’m not sure how I can ever repay him: his advice, based on the lessons of his own failures, has played a fundamental role in shaping who I am today. The first chapter of my life is only just starting; my father’s blood and sweat have given me the paper and ink, but it’s my own responsibility to write my future.

Now on my midnight walks alone, feeling the weight of the entire universe upon me, I take a deep breath, tilt my head back, and smile – I know my time has only just begun…

…and that my life is limitless

Why are we dressing our daughters this way?

Why are we dressing our daughters this way?

Response:

     Social justice articles oftentimes provide valuable commentary on a perceived social issue, but also tend to suffer from an overwhelming bias from one side or the other. In this specific case, it references the increasingly sexualized nature of marketing, specifically towards little girls. While the article does have its merits, there are some things that must be addressed.

      First off, the article certainly does seem to overdramatize aspects of modern culture. It paints a picture of morally depraved, perverted marketers taking advantage of a helpless public, attempting to fight them off, when this is certainly not the case. In everyday life, such advertising is nowhere near as ubiquitous and forced upon the average consumer. Consumers are becoming increasingly free to make their own choices with the rise of on-demand entertainment in lieu of cable programming, being able to choose what they want to see and when they want to see it. The examples presented within the article are also compose a very small fraction of the overall child market. While they may draw outrage and press coverage, the overall youth culture is seldom impacted. All in all, picture of the brainwashing scheme that the article paints is hardly congruous with reality. This cannot be stressed enough, as it affects the rest of the analysis of the article.

      The second thing is the implicit demonizing of advertisers. Rather than an orchestrated plan to prey on little girls, these marketing activities seem to be a natural by-product of a capitalist, free-market system. Within a system such as this, companies capitalize on social trends, largely determined by the population, in order to be able to maximize returns. If the social demand is non-existent, there would be no incentive for marketers to utilize it either. Such is the case for the “preying” on little girls – companies are simply adapting to the social landscape to fill market niches. The act of banning this kind of advertising puts us in a very dangerous position of free speech as well. It is fine for it to be ridiculed by the public, but making any expression of speech illegal, on the basis of a subjective moral measure, goes against the very concept of a free society.

      It is no secret that sex sells – It’s a fact used by many companies. And it is true that females are more often portrayed in these instances: males are, on average, much more susceptible to these ads influences. However, just like how it is the author’s right to express her feelings about these stunts, it is also the companies’ rights to exercise their freedom of speech, however deviant they may be. Such is the beauty of a marketplace of ideas: their values will be determined by the masses of people, and not by the influence of a few corporations.

Pick any two words that you would remove from the English language, and why?

1) "Like"

        This word has gotten on my nerves to many times throughout presentations, speeches, and even in normal conversation. It’s become a filler word, an obnoxious verbal tick that I cannot ignore whenever someone has a lapse in thought, and I find myself being unable to focus on anything else. Are there benefits to this word? Definitely. It has become a common component of so many conversations throughout the world. However, its ease of access has allowed for it to deviate from its normal usage, lurking behind every inarticulate moment of human speech. This word isn’t irreplaceable either – its versatility (which contributes to its ubiquity) means that there are often better, more precise terms to use in its place. Want to draw a comparison? Use “such as”. Want to express a favorable opinion towards something? Use “enjoy” or “love”, more precise language for whatever situation it is. Ultimately, the banishing of this word and replacing it with more precise, fitting terms will make both human speech and literature much more articulate and descriptive as a whole.

2) "Phlegm"

         Rated as one of the most hated words in the English language, and for good reason. In any situation where this word may be used, “mucus” already has you covered done and there. So why go for this disgusting word instead? Do writers really need to communicate that feeling of a slug crawling in the back of your nasal passage? (though, it may be the reason why you can’t pronounce the “g” in that word). Do they really need of you to think of a thick, vile, greenish slime excreted from an organic, pulsating orifice? The spelling of this word feels more redundant than the word “Queue” (there’s four extra letters in there) and honestly shouldn’t exist in the first place.

Ideal Room

I’m a simple man. I don’t like lavish furnishings, useless aesthetics, or unreasonably expensive mahogany tables. The name of the game is efficiency in comfort. The room is fairly compact: six by eight feet is perfect. Many will point out that it’s the same size as a prison cell. That may be true, but it’s my prison cell.

A bed sits at one end of the room. A standard twin sized bed is great, with a very comfortable semi-firm mattress. Large beds aren’t nice – they take up too much space, and tend to make people feel extraordinarily lazy. When you only have 24 hours in a day, lethargy in bed shouldn’t take up a significant portion of it.

Directly across from my bed will be a corner desk, positioned perfectly such that I can topple right into my bed from my chair whenever I want. A no-expenses spared speaker system will be ready for usage anytime, in addition to a 20” monitor stands in the center of the desk. Binders storing ideas for the next big thing will be filed neatly along the side, and a couple of small objects of sentimental value will dot the desk space beside it.

Beside this desk is a shelf of books and other paraphernalia I’ve deemed interesting, in addition to a mini-fridge chock full of enjoyable drinks and foods. A coffee-maker and hot water boiler will be there as well, in case I need a boost to whatever it is I’m doing. In essence, i don't want a uselessly lavish private chamber, I just want a den that I'm comfortable in.