Misery is a choice.

Starbucks, 755 Boylston Street, Boston, Massachusetts
55° F and sunny.

Once upon a time, my life revolved entirely around Christianity. Though I have traveled far from that life, privately, I feel I am forever seeking... a quiet yet intimate relationship with the Creator. Knowing well of my own inadequacies, I haven't felt worthy of such relationship for what seems like an eternity.

Don't get me wrong. I'm not one of those strict-God-fearin'-street-evangelist types. But, I am deeply religious in my own way. I am very private about my beliefs because I don't want Him to get the bad rap for being associated with me. I'm not perfect. I make (quite a few) mistakes... and I have my vices, but these mistakes and vices are my own and they are not reflections of Him or His teachings in any way. The only reason why I'm disclosing what is a very private aspect of my life is to share this statement:

In life, pain is inevitable. But. Misery is a choice.

- Rev. Dr. Wesley Roberts

This morning, I had the privilege of hearing Rev. Dr. Wesley Roberts of Peoples Baptist Church in Boston. I have been living with the guilt that I have let Him down... I broke the solemn promise of a marriage and I am, at this very moment, neglecting my duties as a father. These are some of the things I couldn't, and still can't, bring myself to forgive. Reverend Roberts touched on the very subject that has been haunting me for the last few years: GUILT. He reminded me that living in regret and guilt isn't the answer to redemption; it will never undo what has been done, but it will drag us down a darker road.

Though some of us choose to revel in our own anguish, Dr. Roberts suggests the following if we ever decide to stop wallowing in our own puddles of misery:

Let go

1. of your guilt
2. of your grief/regret
3. of your grudge

It boils down to this: regurgitating the above 3 aspects of life does not change what already happened, but prevents us from moving forward... and, more importantly, it fills our lives with misery.

So... Will I relieve myself of my guilt and regrets? I am not sure... Not being there for my little ones is a tough one to forgive...

Note: I would like to offer my sincere apology to Rev. Wesley Roberts for stripping down and butchering his sermon.

Eating In Shame...

48° F and sunny...

It seems my tongue has been plotting an escape from its confinement. Or, perhaps it has just wanted to renovate its home to create more leg room. Whatever the reason, the gaps in my front teeth have been becoming more visible over the last few years. I never thought I would need braces, but my tongue saw fit to put me through this misery. According to my orthodontist, "the tongue is a great orthodontic force" that can override heredity... and my tongue certainly has proven itself worthy of that statement.

I would have allowed my tongue to keep the additional real estate it had claimed if it weren't for the years of brainwashing I had received via the popular media. Gaps in the front teeth somehow screamed of conniving and treacherous villain... always thinking and laughing -- alone -- about some brilliant evil schemes. You know what I'm talking about. Well... so I succumbed to the stereotype ingrained my brain and began dreaming up evil schemes. No. Not really. I decided I would rather get the dreaded braces in my ripe old age of 33 than to become a villain. So, last Monday morning, I got my braces installed. I say "installed" because it looks like some mechanical device that belongs inside some high tech gadget with its springs, thin wires, and nodes. Though the process was not at all pleasant, I was ever hopeful of the day I can "MWAHAHahaha..." without being mistaken for a villain. That is... until I had to eat for the first time since my teeth have been assimilated by the collective (my small tribute to Star Trek).

Eating with braces... Not only it hurts from metal scraping off small layer of skin inside the cheeks and lips each time I chew, but also the braces are magnets for big chunks of food. After my first meal, I went to the bathroom to clean my teeth (I say "clean" because brushing just doesn't cut it anymore). When I surveyed my mouth, I understood why my hunger wasn't satiated; a good portion of my meal was still hanging on to dear life between my teeth and braces. I began my first excavation with tools the orthodontist had given me. After what felt like hours, I was staring in awe at the collection of food chunks; there were enough chunks to put together a small meal. At that moment, I realized my days of public food consumption were over.

From that moment on, I no longer eat in restaurants or any public places for that matter. I pickup food from restaurants and scurry over to wherever I can devour food in shame with ready access to excavation tools. I'm going to miss dining in a restaurant with a good book and a glass of wine.

In my attempt not to look like a villain, I feel I have become... Quasimodo.

Chicken & Shellfish

52° F and sunny.

"What happens if you accidently ate chicken/shellfish?"

I puff up like a balloon and die within 20 minutes.

I'm kidding. I have a slow and delayed allergic reaction to chicken. If I eat chicken, I swell up gradually over several hours and the swelling doesn't go down for two to three days. With shellfish, I get severe headaches and I can't think for several hours. There is a whole story behind how I found out I was allergic to these delicious items.

Food Journal

About... four years ago, my physician, Dr. Hermanns, told me I needed to lose weight. I was about 225 pounds (102 Kg) and it was beginning to affect my health. I used to think it was vain to care about weight, but when it began to affect my thinking (and health) I decided to take his advice seriously and lose the weight. One of the things I did was to keep a food journal.

It was somewhat simple. Each day, I would record my weight and what I ate that day. After a while, a pattern began to emerge; every time I ate chicken, I would be 5 to 10 pounds heavier for the next few days. It seemed ingesting chicken had a temporary effect of making me retain more water(?). I had to test my hypothesis. Here's how I tested it:

1. stop eating chicken for 1 month
2. eat chicken
3. observe body condition

The result was consistent, except my body weight increased 10 ~ 15 pounds for a period of two to three days. After repeating the above test one more time, I went to see an allergy specialist to confirm my findings. Well... according to the medical community, only immediate and noticeable responses were considered allergies. But he did mention that there is no reason for me to start eating chicken again if I am absolutely sure doing so has negative impact on my health. So, I stopped eating chicken... and dropped quite a few pounds. To think, I've always thought I was predisposed to fatness... all I had to do was stop eating chicken.

After finding out that I've been eating what was bad for me all my life, I thought I would go further and test other foods as well. That's how I found out shellfish causes severe headaches.

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Sweet Paint Fumes & Kung Pao Beef Chicken

46° F and drizzling whenever the weather remembers it's supposed be raining.

Note: This post was supposed to happen last night (Sunday 2005.04.23), but I passed out from exhaustion and hunger...

It's been a looong weekend. For the last 8 days, I've been painting my room and today, I'm done... for now anyway. Once you become used to certain things (clean room for one), it's tough to let them go. So, knowing well the return on my investment of time and money will never be monetary, I went ahead with it anyway. So, my journey began innocently enough with a trip to Johnson Paint Company on the posh Newbury street... Little that I knew what dark road lied ahead.

Plan was simple enough:

1. pull out all nails and unnecessary fixtures from the wall.
2. patch all the holes
3. sand down the walls
4. (repeat step 2 and 3 until walls are even)
5. wipe down all dust or particles from the walls
6. tape up
7. apply primer
8. tape according to color
9. paint... wait.... paint
10. clean up

OK. So, it's not so simple. But, I was trying to accomplish this over the 3 day weekend. With the today's latex paints that dry within hours, I figured I would spend 1 day for prep work, 1 day for taping and priming, and 1 day for painting. This is what actually happened:

• pull out all nails and unnecessary fixtures from the wall - the previous tenant owned a hammer and she knew how to use it. The wall was full of nails. She never bothered to pull out the ones she didn't use. She just nailed them further into the wall. Removing the nails took hours.
• patch all the holes - not only there were holes in the wall, there quite a bit of irregularities which I had to try to even out with putty.
• sand down the walls - with the holes and irregularities, I was sanding for HOURS. It would have been helpful to have my power sander with me, but I haven't been able to retrieve it yet. I spent 2 days on patching and sanding repeatedly. I finally had to convince myself that perfection is not required. That took some convincing.
• wipe down walls - I was too tired to used a damp towel; I used Swiffer Dusters and it worked great! (I have a fascination for all things Swiffer).
• tape up - Well... being the attic room and all, it's not exactly a box. Taping took a lot of work. Since the walls are not too even, it makes taping that much harder.
• apply primer - had to put 2 coats on to cover up to glossy paint.
• tape up according to color - First the ceiling paint. After it dries, tape up the ceiling. Tape up everything that may come close to brush / roller when painting walls.
• paint... wait... paint - Since I work for a living, I painted at night. By morning, I would realize I missed certain spots. I ended up painting over and over... and over...
• clean up - Finally. I finally removed the last piece of tape for the walls this evening.

While I was going up, my father used to say "how can you think in a pigsty?" He was referring to the seemingly chaotic yet perfectly organized piles laid out neatly in random fashion. Back then, I used to think nothing of it. But now that I've grown older, I've become my father. I need predictable order in my room; I need to be able to find anything with my eyes closed. I was so stressed out with all the stuff piled into the closet and herded into the center of the room... I broke down and binged... on chocolate, nuts and pizza. I pigged out and passed out.

Any how, when the long drawn out days of chaos was over, I wanted to celebrate with Kung Pao beef, The Sopranos, and Big Love. Everything was perfect. The room was finally back in relative order. I dropped by my favorite Chinese place and came home with the food. The Sopranos was about to start... I was reveling in the sweet enticipation of comfort food, good TV, and ... OH~ NO~! Chicken! All of it! If I haven't mentioned this before, I'm allergic to chicken and shellfish. I was so hungry that I seriously contemplated devouring the Kung Pao chicken and suffer the consequences later. Of course, the appetizer that was included in the dinner special had to be Crab Rangoon. I thought for a brief moment and feasted on Crab Rangoon, steamed rice and one fortune cookie; Crab Rangoon rarely ever contains any actual crab meat.

Voluntary Insomniac

Beacon Street, Boston, Massachusetts
45° F and still smelling of paint fumes...

At some point in my adolescence, I began to feel that time was just flying by me. There was so much to do and so little time. I wanted to slow time down... I began doing the math. No. Not quantum physics. Just plain old math.

There are 24 hours a day. 8 of which we spend on sleeping. 1/3 of my life spent with my eyes closed. I guess that's why I didn't like Los Angeles all that much. With average of 3 to 4 hours of driving time, I was only left only with 12 hours. Anyhow, back to 8 hours of sleep. I figured if I slept less I figured I would have more time... creating the illusion of longer days. By the time I was in college, I averaged at 4 hours of sleep per night. Whenever exhaustion overwhelmed me, I took power naps and I would be right back on my feet.

I know it sounds all stoic and spartan, but as I reached my late twenties, the sleepless lifestyle began to affect me. All scientific research suggests I should be sleeping more... but I just can't. I feel as if life is passing me by. I feel I need to do something. I want to extend the day for another hour... I fight the urge to sleep. Once the initial phase of fatigue passes, it's hard to fall asleep. I often stay up 'til 3 or 4 in the morning, only to awake a few hours later to get ready for work.

I am exhausted.

(IQ ≥ 132) = MENSA ≠ Success

Beacon Street, Boston, Massachusetts
The 2006 Boston Marathon Day: 48° F and just started to rain a bit.

I was at Thai Basil enjoying my beef rendang and pinot noir while reading "Me Talk Pretty One Day." I was chuckling quietly in my corner; David Sedaris had taken the same MENSA entrance IQ test and the way he described the whole experience was hilarious. All of a sudden, it upsets me. Here he is, an author of national best sellers (not just one), an accomplished and recognized man in his career... and his IQ score was... let's just say it was well below MENSA's requirement of 132. This is why I discredit IQ tests. It measures nothing of importance. I don't know if I mentioned this before, but I took the MENSA entrance exam just to beat my brother's score. And I did. I used to think it was a freak accident though that thought never stopped me from rubbing it in my brother's face. However, I recently took another online test for fun while watching Law and Order SVU and talking to Catherine all at the same time; again, I scored in the top 1 percent. OK. STOP GAGGING. I'm not trying to boast how smart I am. I'm just trying to tell you these IQ scores mean NOTHING.

The first IQ test I ever took was in elementary school where my brother had the highest score in the entire school and I had the second highest. It meant nothing to me. I used to think I was really dumb all my life... surrounded by unfairly over-achieving sibling, father, cousins, uncles, on and on... I never had the highest scores (OK. I was too lazy to study or do any of my homework) and I knew plenty of people who were way more smarter (<- see what I mean?) than me. I was genuinely surprised when I was accepted to UCLA and UC Berkeley (didn't think I deserved it and thought affirmative action was working on my behalf). I was quite weary; it was just a matter of time before the board of admissions of these schools would come to their senses and retract their offer.

I was watching the Sopranos one day and Tony Soprano was going on and on about his IQ of 128. He said something about that number being close to qualifying him as a genius... 'yeah...' I thought 'for a gangster.' You see, I used to think average IQ score was 131. Why? I thought the artificial MENSA requirement of 132 meant just slightly above average. And since NO one I know talks about their IQ scores, I have NO points of reference... well except, of course, my brother who is actually smarter than me (according to achievements) and Tony Soprano who doesn't really exist. So, when I realized someone with much lower score can publish best sellers... it just got to me. These damn IQ tests. It measures nothing of importance. It measures how well I take these tests and THAT'S IT. So. Here it is. My IQ score, according to the American MENSA, is 168. And it means absolutely NOTHING in life. It doesn't get me discounts at stores, get me into schools, increase my salary, and most importantly, it definitely does not get me girls (no. I don't mean "jail-baits." You know what I mean).

I am the living proof that IQ tests and scores mean NOTHING!

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Blogging Hammered...

At home... all alone... and intoxicated beyond reason
60° F

Note: This entry has been edited after I've had the chance to come to my senses.

I've always wanted to blog intoxicated... and I figured tonight is as good as any. Well... Dave had invited me to a social gathering in Cambridge at The Plough & Stars. I was a bit weary of going since I've had all but 7 hours of sleep in the last 48 hours and I was exhausted. But being a good friend, I couldn't refuse (Dave said "YOU SUCK!" when I informed him I might not attend). So, I went thinking I would only have 2 drinks and hit the sack by 10 PM. Boy, was I wrong... I ended up staying 'til midnight. Having had way too many drinks, I blabbered on as I always do when I've lost my good judgement. I don't like myself when I'm drunk, but people seem quite entertained by my foolishness. I also get very.... pseudo-intellectual with imperfectly rational argument for anything and no topic is taboo. As alcohol is known to... liberate certain urges from inhibition... let's just say everything seems more "sensual" than it should.

I'm thinking I would probably delete this entry once I sober up (I opted to edit it instead), but for those of you who get the chance to see this entry before I do... enjoy my foolishness. Did I ever blog about how I've always been fascinated with women ever since I can remember (but not to a point where I want to be one)? I've always been reading and learning to understand and please a woman... What can I say... I'm hammered. Everything is mobile... in harmonic and circular motion...

I shyly turned my head...

Beacon Street, Boston, Massachusetts
55° F and about to rain...

"Turn your head toward me" she said... as she held my head firmly next to her bosom. She caressed my cheek as I shyly turned my head away. Her thumb traveled down my cheek and touched my lower lib. We talked of the past... the last time I had my teeth cleaned, how many times I floss a day, etc. etc. She admonished me as she plowed away my calcified deposits and threatened me with a DEEP cleaning session if I don't shape up. I felt ashamed and dirty, but very clean all at the same time.

I spent most of today doing maintenance. Long overdue health/body/teeth maintenance. After a quick bite to eat, I picked up my first Zipcar so I can get my ass over to Lexington to see my doc. I miss my supped up / toned down all black MINI Cooper...

On my way home...

Beacon Street, Boston, Massachusetts
48° F and clear skies

As the work day comes to a close, I feel the urge to stop by Chacarero to pickup dinner on the way home. I've never been there... but she used to... 'stop!' I tell myself. 'Just stop...' I step toward the counter to order, only to realize they close at 4 PM.

I decide to walk through the park. The park is invigorating and soothing as always... that is until invisible army of plant sperms raids my nose and my immune system doesn't quite know how to handle the situation. I start to sneeze... in doubles and triples. The beauty of the park is long forgotten and I curse the plants and trees for this unwarranted hostility. I can't wait to put some distance between me and loathsome green creatures that spew out toxins.

As I cross Arlington St. toward Copley, further along Boylston street, I spot an Au Bon Pain. I remind myself to disregard recent lack of appetite and grab a bite to eat. 'Anything hot would suffice' I thought. With my tuna melt, cheesecake brownie, and a bottle of water, I take a seat by the window. I devour my sandwich and sit... quietly... as if I were waiting for something... someone... I realize how beautiful Boston can be... Shielded from the deadly pollens, I am once again, myself.

State of My Room

Beacon Street, Boston, Massachusetts
51° F and raining...

Well, it's been a week since I moved into this new dump. I mean tiny closet in the attic. I mean my small room in the Back Bay. The previous resident has graced me with a pile of her shit. The "shit" is composed of a mattress and spring box, shitty furniture, and long list of unwanted items I had the pleasure of putting on latex gloves and removing. I've since defrosted the fridge, dusted out the closet, vacuumed five times. Five times. Apparently the previous tenant didn't believe in vacuuming. So, I'm living in refugee mode with badly treated and imposing bed leaning against one side, taking up way too much room. But I had my priorities straight; I bought a mattress and TV. They are both happily sitting on the floor hoping someday they will actually be placed on pedestal--or platform bed frame and TV stand.

Oh, yeah. Hurrah! The cable guy's coming tomorrow. As I said, I have my priorities straight.

Items remaining on my TO-DO list:

• Steam clean carpet
• Repair walls -- you would think an woodpecker lived here before me. The walls are fulll of nails and tiny holes
• PAINT! -- I'm thinking green. Light pastel green. The color of spring leaves plus cream. Or purhaps a little more mature color... to fit my old age.
• Drapes -- the one window I have fails me dreadfully and just lets all the wind from Charles river in.
• Buy more furniture: desk, chair, TV stand, shoe rack...
• Fix fixtures -- the fixtures are not very fixed around here. I need to get my tools back so I can fix these things.
• Get a side job to pay for all of the above.

Missing You...

Beacon Street, Boston, Massachusetts
38° F... drizzling... raining... cold.

I miss my little ones... The fact of the matter is, no matter what I do... no matter where I may be, there is always this longing. Every little child I come across on the street, every mention of kids, anything and everything seems to remind me of how much I miss them. It always brings tears to my eyes when I imagine them asking for me... There are nights when I just can't stop thinking about them...

I could have fought to bring them with me... but knowing well that they need their mother more than me... I just couldn't. I should be there for them... but their mother and I just cannot coexist in the same household. I wish I could have adjusted better to living in Seoul, but it just wasn't meant to be. I will never forgive myself for not being a part of their lives right now... right at this moment...

I've tried drinking... I tried reading... torture (hot yoga)... anything I could do to keep my mind off how much I miss them... but nothing seems to work. I love them so much... I wish I could show them how much they mean to me...

Requesting for an LCD Monitor

Summer St., Boston, Massachusetts
42° F with overcast and occasional drizzling.

I thought I would share what my day usually consists of at work. In between learning new technology and writing programs, I write emails. It usually involves me whining about or wanting something. Here's one of my strategically worded email:

Dear System Administrator:

Since you have been so kind as to respond in reasonable time to all my little requests, I thought I would burden you with another. Can you put me in line for an LCD monitor? I don't need two of them like most other developers here. Just one will suffice... though... bigger the better.

I will be sending you a reminder email every single day until I see an LCD moniter sitting on my desk with a kind note that says "you fricking frick. Here's your damn LCD monitor. Will you now PLEASE stop your craziness (emails)?"

Yours truly,

Sam
Senior (not very young) Software Engineer

Update [2006.04.06]: Just got the word that an LCD monitor is on its way to my desk.

chanson du mois: Gatekeeper by Feist

Beacon Street, Boston, Massachusetts
46° F and drizzling...

As soon as I heard this song over the Starbucks radio, I had to hear it again... and again (thank goodness for iTunes and iPod). There is something about this song that epitomizes the femininity that I seek in a woman... I will elaborate, but I must leave now if I'm going to make it to the restaurant/bar where my friends and I will be watching my alma mater beat the crap out of Florida Gators (NCAA Men's Basketball championship game). GO BRUINS!!!!

Update: Well... UCLA lost. I got to hand it to Florida. They really had a great defence. I must say their victory is well deserved.