entry
My Motivational Speech to Phil

I wrote this back in 2010 to my brother Phil before his, if I recall correctly, USMLE Step One.

I read it now and I’m still pretty proud of this piece. I feel like I’d simply be unable to pull this off again today with my present, dwindling supply of creativity.

Anyhoo, enjoy:

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Hi dude,

The darkness spreads…

Mordor awakens.

The Eye of Sauron grows in power every waking minute.

But you should fret not Frodo.  Fret not for you are in the company of friends and family with every step of your journey.  The long and arduous path is but a few steps away to the end.  It has been tough. It has been hard.  But I see it in the Palantir, I see it as bright and clear as day.  You will make it.  You will get through.  And by the beard of Gandalf the Wise I guarantee you that whatever the outcome, by the time you walk out that door, you’ll feel as right as rain.  Have a cookie.

Well maybe not right out the door, but time shall heal thy pain.  And if not, you will become a Queen. As treacherous as the Seas.  With your Sting sword in hand and a mythril vest adorn, you will rise to the occasion and defeat the Uruk-hai or fugly ass Christopher Lee (take your pick).

You have chosen the road less traveled, full of bumps, twists, and turns, but what awaits you on the other side, be it the Hand of Midas or the Touch of Mark or a spot on your very own Grey’s Anatomy, the outcome will be worth it.  And if not, the Ring that is your heart, your very soul and life essence, remains intact.  You are alive.  You are well.  You are young.  Success will be yours at one point or another.

So fret not dear Frodo.  For your meeting with Sauron is imminent, but guess what?  However the Battle for Middle Earth ends, it is not truly “The End.”  The movie does not end.  This is but one chapter in your life.  You will live long and prosper.

You have done what you can, you have been all that you can be, and frankly, that’s all that anyone (including yourself) can ask for.  I believe in you.  Mommy and Daddy believe in you. Mark and Xem believe in you. Henry believes in you. Gandalf’s beard believes in you.  This shitty, not-so-motivational email believes in you.

So when you step up to the fiery pits of Mordor and are tested to your very limits, remain confident.  Remain true.  What you know is what you know.  If you don’t get it, you don’t get it.  We are who we are.

Tonight, dream of glory.  Let your mind roam free in the fields of gold, playing to the theme of Gladiator.  Ho-nee-na-eee-yaaaaa.  Upon my signal, unleash hell.  It may take your life, but it will never take your freedom. After tomorrow, you will celebrate…your Independence Day.  Fight the goodfight.  Stick it to the Man.  Wax on, wax off.  Listen to your heart. It is calling for you.  Remember, you are a cleva girl.

I bid you adieu, dear brother.

I’ll see you on The Other Side.  Never save anything for the swim back.

Goodnight you prince of Maine, you King of New England.

02:50 am: wtawtaw1 note

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Wouldn’t it be crazy if my middle initial was “A”?

Then my name would be VAG!

V
12:51 am: wtawtaw

entry

I always want more time.

I feel like I never have enough time.

I don’t have enough time to study.

I don’t have enough time for myself. I don’t have enough time to play any games, to watch any movies, to live life.

I don’t have enough time for my girlfriend. I don’t have enough time to spend with my brothers and my family.

I don’t have enough time to spend with my friends. I lose friends when they finally give up on reaching out to me.

I feel like I’m living a life I was never meant to, on a road that I’m afraid of taking further, of where it’ll lead me, and whatever future destruction or toll it’ll have on any/all relationships I have with people.

I feel selfish for wanting more time to myself, to do the things I enjoy. 

I feel like I will never be fulfilled, and the more time I want for myself, the more time it takes away from spending it with others.

I feel stuck. I feel hopeless.

And at this point, all I can do is type these words out, lay down quietly, close my eyes, and hope that sleeping and tomorrow will somehow make things better.

01:58 am: wtawtaw

entry
How I Became a FINALIST (I’m the Sackboy) in Amazon’s Costume Contest!

So a few years back, I saw a big box and decided I would do something special for Halloween.

I never thought I’d be very ambitious with any sort of costume or project, given that I had no prior experience with sewing, constructing, or any real type of cosplay or art project.

Fueled by my love for Sackboy and all things Little Big Planet, I decided I would undertake making a costume from whatever materials I had lying around or could get my hands on. Being a full time college student (not to mention pretty much being almost completely on loans going to Cornell), the budget I could muster up was a measly $50.

And that $50 pretty much went all to the burlap material I used to cover up the whole costume (yards of art fabric is crazy expensive, especially their eye-gouging shipping costs). The rest was whatever I could gather from friends, departments, and materials I would borrow from my classes (glue, tape from engineering/art, aluminum foil from the dining halls, etc.)

For two weeks, along with studying for my exams, I worked at that costume for hours on end. The final product doesn’t look terribly impressive by other cosplay standards, but I’m damn proud of what I did given my constraints and the limits of my costume making abilities.

The biggest challenge of the costume was obviously the head. I basically wrapped the burlap material around the giant cardboard box as a preliminary framework of the rounded shape I wanted to achieve. I then stuffed as much free Cornell Daily Suns (that’s our newspaper) that I could find to puff up and fill out the form. But problems arose when I started the stuffing. You could see the newspaper coming through the little holes of the burlap, so I ended up having to wrap the material around the box a second time. To keep the whole box on my head, I attached it to my bike helmet underneath the box. To see, the burlap material was already porous enough to look through.

The rest was a matter of wrapping cardboard into cylindrical shapes and attaching them to some throwaway pants and shirt I would specifically wear on Halloween. What was most time consuming was the fact that due to my budget and how the roll of burlap material came in as, I had to use every bit of the fabric to ensure it would fully cover the costume - that meant patching little bits and pieces that I had cut and luckily decided not to throw away.

The other issues were the cardboard cylinders I used for the limbs - they gave the bulkier shape I wanted for the arms and legs of Sackboy, but they were highly immobile and stiff. I worked around this by splitting the cylinders at the joints and connecting the pieces with the burlap material (think of the fabric as a ligament over a joint). The zipper was yea you guessed it, more cardboard, but wrapped in aluminum foil. When Halloween came around, I was ready to hit Collegetown and see how people would react.

A crapton of girls thought it was cute and gave me a hug. A bunch of other students gave me very odd and questionable looks. Many more simply laughed. I’ll tell you this: being under burlap material is like asking to to be baked inside an oven. It was a chill October night in Ithaca but that didn’t matter underneath that head.

In the end, I had an amazing time with my friends and lots of praise from random passerby. Obviously no one knew what the heck I was (only 3 people from the whole night guessed correctly, or at least said, “You’re that guy from that PS3 game!”) but it was worth it. I think I had more people thinking I was Domo-kun than anything else.

When my parents came to pick me up at the end of the school year, they threw out my costume thinking it was trash - that I wasted my time on complete nonsense instead of studying for my exams. I was devastated and frankly, infuriated.

The only remnant I have is the picture you see above of me standing by a fridge.

Little do they know that I entered it into the facebook Amazon Costume Contest and am now a finalist.

I’m in the running for a $1000 Amazon Giftcard, a Kindle Fire HD, and a 5 lb. Hershey bar. I’m hoping if any of you guys out there could vote for my costume (the one without boobs), I would be so appreciative and thankful to the community. Voting ends 11/6 at midnight.

Vote!

I’m under the Finalists tab as the Sackboy (and pretty much one of, if not, the only fully video game character represented…besides the Joker).

I was so proud of that low budget costume - something I had poured my love and dedication into. I was more proud of making that costume than any grade I got in a course at school. When I hit a snag, the experience taught me to be creative, to be innovative with what I had and what I could do with the resources I was given.

Maybe after winning, my parents will realize how much video games play a role in my life, or how much they mean to me. 

06:37 am: wtawtaw8 notes

entry
Back to tumblr.

It’s interesting when for years on end, you’ve been holed up in your room, the need to have a social life decaying, reverting to a shell, swamped and occupied with your own thoughts churning in your head night after night.

It’s nice to contemplate on one’s own.  But it’s a closed system.  It’s biased, it’s unchecked, and there’s no additional insight from another point of view.

Which is why I noticed being in a relationship with V has changed that.  It’s enlightening to hear her thoughts.  It changes my perspective, it forces me to realize my assumptions and things I’ve missed.  She levels my overreactions, the thoughts that I keep cycling in a positive feedback loop that become unruly and out of control, too narrow-minded for my own good.

This has led me to my decision to get back to tumblr and write on a blog the thoughts that belong on a medium that’s more suitable than something as trivial and fluffy as facebook.  Wordpress might be even more suitable for writing but I’m still a fan of tumblr’s prettiness/UI.

In any case, V helped me to come back to this idea after I kept posting thoughts, opinions, and ideas that weren’t meant for the likes of facebook.  

So that’s what I’ll be doing from now on.

05:15 pm: wtawtaw2 notes

entry
Lance.

Taking a step back.

Lance has in fact, never failed a drug test. But many have noted that doping techniques always advance and are ahead of the drug testing curve by year(s). Taking away his titles is retroactively unfair, regardless of whether he doped or not. He passed the tests for those wins, he “played by the rules” as he has said, and it should be left at that.

I don’t agree with Lance stepping down without fighting (even if he would end up losing in court), if he was truly innocent. It’s the whole reason why suspicion has arose.

This leads to essentially this: Lance probably doped, as did the many others in the world of cycling, as it has been the norm for the sport. On his part, I think he should admit it. As for USADA’s part, they shouldn’t be such assholes about stripping everything the man has done with questionable retroactive practices. The damage is done, his reputation tarnished. And what’s left are the detractors and those who hark of his innocence through and through.

Both camps need to realize no one is really “clean” about this whole investigation.

04:35 pm: wtawtaw

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DIS.
I WWANT DIS CREATURE.

DIS.

I WWANT DIS CREATURE.

(Source: dontforgetwheni)

12:03 am: wtawtaw31 notes

entry
LDRs, Empathy, and Facebook

I can cry all I want.  I can lay down on my bed and go into endless rants, endless yelling, endless arguments of what should’ve been or what I should’ve done differently, but at the end of the day, it doesn’t matter.

Life’s tough.

There are no easy solutions.  There isn’t really even a solution sometimes at all.

Outsiders don’t understand (that sounds like the teen angst I’d write all the time on my Xanga in high school).

They can hear all the words you say, they can read the words you write and all of it will fall silent on them. 

I have written a long time ago about what it is to empathize, and whether we can truly relate to others.  

And I still stand by that when it comes down to it, we can’t.  

Everyone’s experiences are unique.  A person can feel like they can relate, and there are degrees to how much closer one person can get to feeling the same way as the other person, but the sum total of experiences, the emotions, the separate, unique encounters and day to day happenings leaves us further apart than we think.  

Sometimes all you can do or say is that you “feel sorry” for the other person.  What does that even mean?  

I think about my problems.  I think about all the jokes about “1st world problems.”

I love those jokes.  

But everyone’s problems are unique and personal, and we often fall victim to diminishing the significance of someone else’s problems on account of trying to compare it to others.

But everything is relative.  It’s all relative.  One man’s trash is another man’s treasure.  

Well, one man’s feelings and sorrow is another man’s I don’t fuckin’ know, inconvenience and annoyance.  Or apathy.  

Doesn’t matter the nature and/or details of the problem.  It matters on the impact of the problem on the person, the severity, and how or whether it can be remedied.  

I think what bothers me the most is when someone thinks it’s funny to laugh at someone’s problems even after knowing how much it means to them.  Humor can get people through a lot of things, but when someone makes light of the shit they themselves aren’t even close to dealing with, well to that, I’d say, 

Fuck you, you insensitive, immature prick. 

Long distance relationships are a piece of shit.  

Long distance relationships while you’re at med school are even worse.

When you get into a fight, when the other person feels like shit, you can’t wrap your arms around that person and console them.  All of that physical contact, all of the unspoken emotion and love and care that can so easily be transmitted via the warm touch of someone else is gone.  

Everything ends up being communicated through words, through IM text, through audio and video on a 2-D computer screen.  It’s not the same.  It’s like trying to filter your emotions into some other medium, trying to grind and emulate and strain it into the only form of communication you have — a fuckin’ computer.

Can you imagine doing that for half a year nonstop? 

And then to hear someone laugh about it when they have all the luxuries of seeing that other person daily, they don’t even realize any of it, they don’t even try to empathize.

Facebook is not the place to vent.  I continually find myself turned off by how impersonal it really is, how all it is just a public space to show how happy and normal everyone seems to be.  It’s to look and speak and ask for attention and social acceptance.  

It’s to be “liked.”

There is no “dislike” button because no one likes to read about another person’s misery - in fact, most of everyone’s facebook friends probably don’t give a shit about their problems.  Everyone is so quick to comment or enjoy pictures of food, photoshopped-up-the-ass profile pictures, pictures of puppies and babies and booze and drunken revelry and other brotastic moments and status updates.

I was wrong to share something that personal on there.  I wanted to vent to someone, anyone.  I thought that “friends” would be more understanding than a random schmuck out there.  

But facebook is all just a big ‘ol circle jerk of insensitivity.

Whatevs.  

06:24 pm: wtawtaw3 notes

entry
What Med School Has Taught Me.

Med school has taught me to be cold.

To be an empty shell.

To push away others.

To forget how to love.

To forget how to live.

To be selfish.

To fight for grades, rather than for relationships.

To stifle creativity.

To diminish my health, rather than promote it.

To hate myself.

To grow more distant.

To compartmentalize every action into a set time period, an allocated number of minutes that I can only afford out of my day.

To not give a fuck about anyone else.

To change who I am to the point where I don’t even know myself anymore.