Reflection

Wow it's been eight months. I've been posting more on livejournal lately, though having just come back to this I think I like this site too. There's something different about it... I feel more like I'm typing up a draft of an essay or something when I'm writing in this, so I guess my writing comes across in a more structured manner here?

Erm... well maybe not, but I do feel like I'm writing on different impulses right now. And I realize how depressing the title of this journal sounds. Even though it is taken from my favorite Broken Social Scene song, Cause=time, just in a rather different and more personal context.

you come in, check my time
you've got fornication crimes
i've seen your hope on television

The music video of that song is kind of weird. Last I recalled it involved a bunch of men in masks and soldier uniforms praising some KKK leader while randomly jumping around and dancing. And I remember the user comments on that video on youtube saying that it sucked and that the song by itself was good on its own. Well, I like the song.

Lately I've been getting into more of a Psych mood right now, particularly since taking that first midterm (42/50, not bad... though I made at least 3 stupid mistakes) and consequently watching Memento (good movie by the way) and now reading about memory in my textbook today

Memory is a pretty intriguing concept. Especially how much it can shift away from reality.

and it
made me wonder, how much of our lives really do matter that much anyway? Granted, our memory may be fairly accurate, but a lot of our actions and impulses tend to derive from our self-altered perception of reality anyway. We like to remember the good times and forget the bad times (or vice versa once in a while) and then manipulate, whether consciously or subconsciously, the memories we've made to a point where we suddenly believe in events that never really happened. I mean right now, I'm starting to wonder about my own memories... how much of it really was real? Or otherwise was really just the product of some heightened state of paranoia, like this summer.

This summer... I don't really know what happened. Things just came and went, and now I'm up here at Berkeley acting like nothing ever really happened. Well. I can tell something sort of happened, maybe, after comparing my memories of then and now. Or maybe that's just the result of me oversensitizing whatever that did happen. I don't really know anymore. I don't really want to care either, but little doubts like this bug me once in a while, since I feel as though I can't force myself to ignore the fact that something happened. Something that doesn't really matter to anyone else, since as far as I know, it's possible that nothing ever did happen. (and I'm starting to sound redundant now) But I'm in no position to do anything about it anyway.

I've mostly been paying attention to other people's problems as of late, acting like the carefree person who has no problems in his life apart from schoolwork and simply listens to other people when they're willing to talk about their own problems. Because honestly, that's basically all that my life is right now. Nothing but schoolwork and listening in on other people's problems.

Sometimes it feels nice, to be able to revel in my own problemless life (apart from making stupid mistakes on math 1b quizzes) and move on like nothing big ever really happens. But at other times, it makes me feel as though I'm careless more than I'm carefree, something that's been bothering me for a long time now. Ever since that one conversation I had with Josh in middle school... and now looking over my actions since then. I liked being that one person people could turn to when they felt like talking about something... but that was more because I liked the feeling that came with knowing I was someone people could confide in, not because I really wanted to help them that much. And as a result, I started making mistakes in the way I treated them accordingly...

I remember back in sophomore year, the last time we all hung out together as a group (and before Peter starting hating on him...), when I asked him for his screen name, since he was the kind of person to change names every 2 weeks and I hadn't talk to him on AIM in ages. And he distinctly said to us, "like hell I'd tell you guys."

Was that a fake memory? Peter doesn't even remember ever hanging out that day; bring up Josh's name and he'll just start talking about the stupidity of Korean people.

Sometimes I feel like blaming myself for that... Even though it wasn't really just my problem, or it probably was even less so. Danny and Ashley might know something but I don't feel like bothering them about it... They've had it worse than me.

I look at it now, and he's a completely different person... Always smiling now, as opposed to back then when he (and Peter, incidentally) used to frown a number of the pictures our class took. Maybe he was better off without us after all.

I have this tendency to reminisce about things other people have probably forgotten because I have nothing to talk about in the present. Except for things whose factual existence I have no evidence of, apart from the observations I took when I was paranoid about everything. But I guess that's my way of understanding them... putting them into the context of something else I remember experiencing, of which I have no idea what happened either (woot, I just read about this in my textbook today!).

Sometimes I wish I had eighty pairs of eyes to see with, to be able to walk in someone else's shoes and know what they were experiencing at the time. Because the two major social histories of my life have both consistently ended with me not knowing what the hell happened. And that uncertainty leaves me wondering whether or not I really am a careless person for not knowing.

Or maybe I'm just too nosy for my own good.