On Connection

I was walking along the street one day when I saw a short prisoner climbing down a ladder. As I passed, he turned towards me and gave a me a little smirk.

I thought to myself, "Well that's a little condescending."

My friend and I play this people-watching game where we make up stories -- or just one giant story -- about random strangers. We try to make each individual's story fit his/her actions and appearance as closely as we can. We also mix in a lot of connections between the different stories. That guy over there is looking so worried because he lost his wallet, and -- look! -- there's the thief that stole it. The two females standing near each other, talking on their cell phones, are actually long-lost sisters. That group of people are long-ago college friends, getting together for a reunion. One of them is a construction worker; that one is a model; another one deals drugs. The woman with a clipboard over there is a political strategist who rose to the top by having sexual relations with that man.

(We tend to get carried away pretty quickly.)

Picture unrelated.

Anyway, it's fun. My favorite part is when we connect two unrelated stories -- there's something cool about watching the tales of these random, unaffiliated people intertwine. Sometimes, we'll introduce a character into our narrative, forget about her, then bring her into the story much later. Sometimes, two big arcs collide and form a single, overarching drama.

As I'm inventing stories, I think about human relationships and connection. I think about the fact that it's likely I'll never meet the people I'm talking about, that I'll never even see them again, yet I am, for the moment, connected to them. I picture every person's life as a nondescript white line, flying around, intersecting and interweaving with other lines, parting ways, rejoining. I like the idea of two stories merging into one, each retaining their own originality and uniqueness, but still influencing the other. I like the idea that we can spontaneously become a part of someone else's story. I like the idea that two stories can separate, each having made the other one better.

I think about the fact that each of us is the main character of our own story.* So many different lives, all distinct, all with different struggles and failures and redemptions and romances and intrigues, yet still the same on some fundamental level. Connected, if by nothing else, by our humanness. Connected by our mere existence.

I think about the power and necessity of compassion. I think about the tangled, complicated mess of a single human life. I think about how many people there are in the world: Plumbers, musicians, painters, writers, teachers, archaeologists, religious fanatics, Democrats, paranoid schizophrenics, h8erz, Zionists, magicians, pundits, collectible card game designers, failures, Vegas high-rollers, Buddhists, Wal-Mart employees, swimmers, vampire hunters, quidditch players, people who park in the handicap spot even though they're not handicapped, locksmiths, people who clog up the hallway at school, pet store owners, parents, skydivers, trapeze artists, people who blog, and I realize they're all in the same position I am. We are all trying to make sense of life in our own ways. And I realize it's the connections between us that make life meaningful.

Then I realize, damn, there are a lot of people in the world.

According to Wikipedia, Kumbh Mela is the largest gathering of people in the world. Over 100 million Hindus gather to bathe in a sacred river. This is just a small fraction of the crowd.

I'll leave you with this Youtube video.

-Me

*Sometimes, when I watch a movie, I make up a story about an extra. That flower shop owner in The Room, for example. She's sure to write an intriguing autobiography.

On Desert Bus

I wrote this post at the behest of a friend, who also blogs. You can find his blog here, and you should go check it out. (I'll wait. This post ain't goin' anywhere.)

I want to describe Desert Bus, but I can't.
It sort of defies description.
People have called Desert Bus a video game; they misrepresent it. It's less of a video game and more of a holistic experience. I could call it "beautiful", "mesmerizing", or "compelling", but these words don't do it justice. It's so good it transcends my ability to praise it. I am in love with everything about it.

Perhaps I'd be better off talking about not what Desert Bus is, but what it does. It explores the deepest, most precious aspects of our human nature. It delves into the mystery of the psyche and emerges unharried. It reminds us of the beauty of existence, and it makes us weep by speaking to our own inexorable mortality. It depicts life. It encourages us to question, it empowers us, it shapes the way we see things. It is a landmark of human achievement. What else can I say? DB is simply the most immersive, intense, incredible game I have ever played. I cannot sufficiently convey to you the awesomeness of the white-knuckle action, gripping realism, or mind-blowing plot.

For those of you who are unaware, Desert Bus has you drive a bus from Tuscon to Las Vegas. In real time. It's a straight, 8-hour journey, during which you are incapable of going over the 45 mph speed limit. The scenery is minimal (as in, it doesn't change at all). The sound doesn't change, either. If you attempt to hold the gas pedal down and do nothing else, you begin to slooowly drift off the road, so it demands your constant attention. If you ever drop to 0 mph, you stall out and are towed back to Tuscon -- also in real time.

Once you get to Las Vegas, you score one point. You then get the opportunity to drive back to Tuscon, for another point. There is no save function. That's the entire game.

Well, maybe not. Legend has it that six hours into the drive, an insect will splat against your windshield. I do not know if anyone has ever witnessed this event... but I can dream.

A charity called Desert Bus For Hope started in 2007. The group behind the effort, LoadingReadyRun, streamed nonstop DB gameplay in exchange for a steadily rising cost per hour (i.e. the first hour cost $1.00, the second cost $1.10, the third cost $1.21, etc.). That year, they raised $22,805. They've continued the charity for seven years now -- Desert Bus For Hope 7 raised over $500,000. In total, the group has raised nearly 1.8 million dollars for charity. That means that Desert Bus has made more money towards charity than most people make in thirty five years (assuming a salary of $50,000).

It's times like these when I think back to Mantra One. To me, DBFH perfectly exemplifies the truth in "People are awesome; people are stupid."

I'll leave you with the following Neil Gaiman quote, because (a) It's brilliant and witty, and (b) I think my posts have been leaning a little too much on the cheery side:

"Life is a disease: Sexually transmitted, invariably fatal."

-Me

On Simplicity

Here's a mental exercise I've been doing for a few months: I take some a vast concept, or a difficult idea, and try to express it in as few words as possible. Some of my best are listed below -- I've taken to calling them "mantras" in my head, which is probably a little too self-indulging, but we all indulge a little sometimes.

1.) People are awesome; people are stupid.
2.) Simplicity.
3.) Think; learn.
4.) Be compassionate.

For those of you who don't know, I have a giant whiteboard, which in my head I call "The Whiteboard" (capital T, capital W), in my room. I draw/write ideas/plans/quotes/random things/nonrandom things on it. Most things that go on the whiteboard leave rather quickly. These four mantras currently occupy space on it, and I don't expect them to erase them anytime soon.

When a sentence is short, each individual word possesses more power. Whenever the meaning:text ratio ("text density") is high, your sentences are more compelling, more powerful, more meaningful. High text density is a trend I've noticed among skilled writers. In the same vein, it's much more impactful when a person who doesn't curse often, curses. (This idea is something I'm going to term "swear scarcity".*)

Let's talk about the first mantra I have up there. To me, it succinctly summarizes human achievement, brilliance, and passion, while also addressing our inherent ugliness and stupidity. It describes the extremely complicated nature of a human being. It makes us think about our faults, insecurities, and admirations. It gives us hope and takes it away. Its paradoxical nature reflects our own paradoxical nature. The more I confront everyday life, the more truth that statement holds. The same is true for any other mantra I've shared. They all distill some element of life to a basic, memorable aphorism. I encourage you to think about them a little. Or a lot. Whichever.

Another topical idea is Occam's Razor, which says that the simplest explanation is usually the best. As a principle, it shines. Indeed, liberal usage of Occam's Razor is not often a bad thing -- although it you can cut yourself with it at times. That's why I recommend Occam's Shaving Cream, which is just one word (and which, incidentally, I just came up with on the spot): "Think." Occam's Razor and Shaving Cream, when combined, form a dynamic, exhilarating critical thinking package. Try it out. It'll be the smoothest, cleanest problem solving you've ever experienced.

Make things simple.

-Me

Bonus video

*I tried to do a portmanteau but "swearcity" just doesn't look right, for some reason... I also tried to do a pun with "Keynesian Economics". You can guess how that turned out.

On Death

This is a really cool comic. It's called "Fleep". (Seriously, go read it.)



Why do we fear death?

Do we fear death?

I think, on some level, we all do. But why?

Do we fear the total cessation of our senses, the idea that we will never again see a rainbow, hear a catchy melody, savor a delicious meal? The idea that we will have no more ideas? That our consciousness will die? This doesn't make sense to me. We go to sleep every night, where we lose every bit of our sensory perception, yet we have no fear. We lose our conscious minds. There is always the possibility that we will never wake up, and we would never know it. But this isn't a scary thing. It's a thing we face on a day-to-day basis, no worries whatsoever.

Do we fear the loss of our loved ones, the idea that we will never see them again? Maybe. But it seems to me that part of what makes love so beautiful and transcendent is not its permanence, but its impermanence. We forge our deepest, most passionate loves in the fires of transience, knowing that they won't last, maybe not admitting it to ourselves, but aware nonetheless. When we realize love doesn't last, we pursue it all the more intensely. Everything is so much more precious when it's mortal.

Do we fear the unknown, the dark embrace of a cold, forsaken void, the idea that something awful is waiting for us on the Other Side? If our consciousness doesn't disappear, then it recedes back to where it came from, or perhaps it goes somewhere else entirely. If it goes back to where it originated, then there is nothing to fear. We don't fear the time before we were born; there is clearly nothing horrible awaiting us there. Why would post-death be any different from pre-birth? We have no reason to believe it would be. The truth is, we can't have any knowledge of what it's like after we die. So why imagine it to be something horrible?

The point is this: Don't fear death. There are things far more worthy of your fear, like eugenics or ignorance or apathy or that guy in "Fleep".

-Me

On Compassion

Imagine that you're eating at a gourmet restaurant, because people who read my blog generally eat at gourmet restaurants. Now imagine that your waiter is one of the worst waiters you've ever seen. He seems like he's sneering whenever you speak. He's always slow. He gets your order wrong -- twice. His voice sounds like something crawled into his mouth and is dying in there. So you undertip him, or maybe you don't tip him at all, and you're not as nice to him as you might be. Later, when you tell the story to your friends, you have every justification for your actions. Your story elicits sympathetic laughs and groans, and you feel vindicated.

Now imagine being the waiter at a gourmet restaurant, and you're going through the worst day of your life. Your car and phone both break, simultaneously. Your soul mate has just left you. A beloved family member has died. You were just diagnosed with a rare disease, possibly terminal. You show up to work hating everything about the world. After a long, unfulfilling day, you have one customer left, and you decide to stop trying. You're unenthusiastic, you mess up the order, and you don't care. Later, when you tell the story to your friends, you have every justification for your actions. You were having a horrible day-- your friends give you their sympathies, and you feel vindicated.

It's weird that we can do this kind of rationalization in both cases. The only difference between them is who you are. The other party is just as human as you. Just as capable of emotion. But this didn't matter. It was just as easy to justify the first scenario as it was the second.

Suppose that you in the first situation pretend that the waiter you have was you in the second situation. (Hopefully that makes sense.) Or suppose that every time you get a bad waiter, you make up a story about him, putting him through imaginary torments and impositions in your mind. At the end of this unhappy mental journey, the waiter in you're imagining has gone through hell. It's a miracle that he even managed to get out of bed today, let alone get to work. This would entirely change the way you behave towards him -- instead of undertipping, you would be more inclined to overtip, as condolence for his hardships. Even if you're wrong -- that is to say, the waiter is actually just a terrible waiter -- your kindness may inspire change in his behavior.

The way of thinking I've just described is, I think, a powerful way of looking at the world. If you perceive others not as a gender, not as a profession, not as a means to and end, but a person, an actual, real-life, breathing, feeling human being, if you give them a story, you greatly expand your capacity for compassion. Certain individuals in history have exemplified this expanded capacity: Martin Luther King, Jr., Gandhi, Nelson Mandela, to name three. Maybe this quality is rare. Then again, maybe it isn't -- maybe you just have to train yourself to feel this way. I submit that showing compassion, regardless of circumstance, brings out the best in others.

On Public Transportation

My car and cell phone both broke this week. Worse yet, I made the decision to read The Road, by Cormac McCarthy. Protip: If you ever want to feel good about things, don't read The Road. The Road will destroy you. The Road will energize your soul in the same way chugging vinegar will energize your face. So yeah, my timing couldn't have been worse on that one.

Anyway, my car broke down, so one day I decided to walk home from school with a friend. It's a long, 3+ hour walk, somewhat mitigated by a ~30 minute bus ride.

While on the bus, I realized that I enjoyed public transportation. Not just taking public transit, although I enjoy that, too (an enjoyment which I expect would fade if I were to do it more often) -- I enjoy the idea of public transit. I like the possibility a random, spontaneous connection can form between two people, driven only by the fact that both of them want to be in a different place than they were before. It's an aggregate of human stories and experience, packed to near-maximum density. The reality, of course, is not nearly as idyllic as this description, but there's some element of my idealized view in every bus and subway.

Moreover, a public transportation seems to me to be exactly the kind of thing government is for. I get the same feeling whenever I walk into a public library. For a moment, I lose all of my fury and indignation at the stupidity of Congress* and marvel at the capacity for humans to do cool things. These government-made resources provide everyone with an opportunity to learn, to experience new opportunity. There is no place I would rather spend my tax dollars.

My friend and I discussed politics on the bus, because apparently life is too long as it is. Despite the fact that our conversation seemed to be an oddity among the usually silent travelers, we appeared to generate some interest. A young woman talked with us a bit, showing genuine investment in what we were discussing. I learned how to stand on the bus and not throw myself into someone else. (I confirmed Newton's laws anecdotally in the process.)

In all, it was a cool experience. I might even dub it an "adventure". Not in the normal sense, but in the sense that I liked it a lot, and it was out of the ordinary.

Go read The Road, because if you haven't, you don't know what a book can do to you yet.

-Me

My favorite Mark Twain quote: "Suppose you were an idiot, and suppose you were a Congressman -- but I repeat myself."

On Happiness

I saw a post on a social media website that asked the following question (paraphrased, of course):

Imagine that, at this moment, you got everything you want. You are as financially stable as you desire. Your personal relationships resolve themselves so as to be exactly as you hoped. You gain the possessions you wished for; you become proficient in abilities you've always wanted to be good at, but never practiced. The question is this: Do you think you would be happier? Or do you think you would find new things to hate?

Think about it for a while, and then I'll take you through my trains of thought when I initially read this question:

Train 1 (<1 millisecond after reading): Of course I would be happier. What kind of stupid ques--

Train 2 (Immediately after Train 1): Wait a minute. That second question at the end changes things. Surely I would find new things to hate. But would this mean I would be less happy?

A.) If I were to accomplish everything I want in an instant, then that would degrade their significance. A lot of what makes achieving your goals satisfying is the process by which you achieve them, so when you look back at the time you've invested, you feel proud. From that perspective, this scenario would decrease my happiness.

B.) I know for a fact that money doesn't equate to being happy. Instant money not only doesn't help, but actually makes things a lot worse. Scientific studies show that lottery winners are consistently less happy than non-winners. Here are 12 heartbreaking stories about lottery winners. One thing most have in common: Every winner ends up losing all of their money within 10 years. Another thing: Suicide attempts/murder are persistent themes. Perhaps financial security is a different matter, though.

C.) Out of everything the scenario gives me, improvement of my personal relationships seems most likely to increase my personal happiness. But would it? If my friends and family changed in the way I want them to, they wouldn't be the same people anymore. In effect, I am taking away some aspect of their individuality. I don't think I'd be okay with doing this -- however much I want my relationships to play out, the onus to change is as much on me as it is the other person.

Train 3 (A few minutes after Train 2): Am I maybe overthinking this?

I'm still not sure what the answer to this question is, but I think it points to a crucial element to life: It's really complicated. We often attach our own well-being to material objects or social desires -- "If I had that car" or "If I were more witty among peers" or "If I could just get that guy to turn his damned cell phone off" -- but it's often not that simple. (Well, maybe the cell phone one really is that simple.) The point is, being happy is not dependent on having or doing things. It's a state of mind, a conscious decision. Similarly, we often attach our bad mood to events or objects that we shouldn't. We give them power over us.

Stop doing that. Reevaluate your goals, and be happy.

-Me

On Apathy

Apathy bothers me. And not in a benign, that-guy-said-something-mildly-offensive kind of way. In a big way. It's the worst kind of emotional vacuum: A complete lack of anything that makes being alive, being human, worthwhile. I think it's one of the worst states of mind you can be in.

To illustrate my point, I will introduce two imaginary people, who are named Adam and Phteve*.

I hate Adam. I really, really hate him. I despise every thought that comes into his brain, I concoct schemes to make him suffer, I cringe whenever I hear news of his success. Everything he does is annoying. He's never funny or interesting, either; he thinks he is, but everyone knows he isn't. He's arrogant, stupid, and ignorant. He even jaywalks.
Here's something that should be vividly clear to you: I have deemed Adam worthy of my attention. This guy probably consumes a lot more of my brainpower than do my friends, my family, my hobbies. I care about him, deeply -- not in a good way, of course, but I still care. I've invested a lot of time into my relationship with him. His very existence drives my actions, my attitudes, my well-being. He has power over me.

At the same time, I'm apathetic towards Phteve. I'm not even sure who he is, really. His actions don't matter to me. His story is meaningless. He is nothing but another face among the crowd. Phteve's personal legacy, his proudest accomplishments, are worth nothing in my world. The state of my left pinky toenail is far more important an issue than Phteve will ever be.
You may think that this isn't a big deal, and you're right, in a way: There are over 7 billion people on the planet, and you and I are indifferent towards almost all of them. They will all die. Yet to me, Pheve might as well have never have born in the first place.

Would you be more hurt by someone saying "I hate you" or "I don't care about you"? The former seems like something I'd laugh at -- I read it in the squeal of a 6 year old throwing a temper tantrum -- but the second one seems like an actual insult. When I read it, I hear a calm but dispassionate voice, slightly malicious, slightly egotistical. Then again, maybe that's just me.

In school, I've often been frustrated at people who don't care about their education or how they spend their time. That stuff matters. In fact, I don't think I'm overstepping any boundaries when I say it matters a whole lot. These people typically exhibit the same irreverent attitude towards their statistically lucky circumstance. They, out of random chance, enjoy a historically unprecedented opportunity for success, which they promptly squander. This attitude drives me crazy, and it's incredibly difficult to fight.

When I was younger, "awareness" campaigns didn't make sense to me (I'm already "aware" of breast cancer!), but now I think I get it. It's hard to get rid of apathy; awareness campaigns are doing their part. Once you cross the "people don't care" hurdle, it's much easier to get things going.

Apathy drives our actions, or perhaps our inactions, to a significant degree. It is the champion of social regress and ignorance, actively fighting against our desire to make things better. If you think of emotions as different kinds of cells, apathy is like a cancer, rapidly overriding anything good, transforming it into a useless tumor. It's the worst kind of "alive" there is. And, like a tumor, it's really hard to kill.

This statement by Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. really resonates with me: "Man's inhumanity to man is not only perpetrated by the vitriolic actions of those who are bad. It is also perpetrated by the vitiating inaction of those who are good."**

Try to care more about things.

-Me

*That's 'Steve' with a 'ph'.
**A question for you to think about, that I honestly don't know the answer to: Is it more infuriating to encounter someone who can help you, but chooses not to, than someone who openly hinders your progress?

Mandatory Introductory Post

Hi. I'm Wei. This is my blog. You'll probably like this blog if you like generic and unimaginative (but incredibly self-aware!) introductions.

I wanted to start by sharing why I'm starting this blog, so I can check if I'm meeting those goals every now and then.

1.) Self-reflection.

Mainly I want this to serve as a journal of sorts, so I can see how much I've changed over time. Maybe refer back to it for memories' sake. A quick anecdote on this: I recently scrolled through my Facebook timeline, expecting to be embarrassed at Old Me, but actually found myself chuckling at my own cleverness. I was just sitting there, laughing at my own stuff for ten minutes straight. So yeah, that's pretty much how awful I am.

Anyway, I'll try and write as honestly, earnestly, and thoughtfully as possible.

2.) To entertain you.

To wit: I will make my posts as funny, well-written, and intelligent as possible.

3.) To improve my writing skills.

Suggestions are greatly appreciated.

That's all for now. If you like my stuff, please stay! If you don't like it, then I refer you to the exhibits below.

Exhibit 1
Exhibit 2