Do you spend more time thinking about the future or the past? Why?
When I was young, I used to think about my future, jotting down the years ahead and thinking about what I would be.
Now that I have reached the time from the wonder years, I look forward to futures, while setting my foot on present. Although I am not as faithful as I used to be, I still regard the Bible as the source of practical wisdom that has survived for thousand years:
Matthew 6:34Therefore do not be anxious about tomorrow, for tomorrow will be anxious for itself. Sufficient for the day is its own trouble.
Waking up every morning is like every birthday to us, and we can live these moments to the best we can, doing our daily tasks. I know I am also afraid of what tomorrow will bring, but it never knows, and honestly, I donât want to know. Saint Teresa of Avila knew it hundreds of years ago:
Let nothing disturb you, Let nothing frighten you, All things are passing away. God never changes. Patience obtains all things. Whoever has God lacks nothing; God alone suffices.
Those were my green salad days on the following Sylvan campuses with pleasantness on memory lanes.
Bergen Community College in Paramus, New Jersey– It was more of a preparatory school for me to prepare for a four-year university. English is my second language (âESLâ) – and the most beloved-and the college had an excellent ESL program equivalent for TOFEL or CELT. I was enrolled in an Honor Program, which helped me to transfer to the higher-level of university.
Rutgers University, New Brunswick, New Jersey – I lived in the dorm and loved everything about the school. My major was English, so you can guess my initial intimidation of the subject as an ESL competing with native speakers. But I was on a Deanâs List in my senior year, and I am very proud of it. I loved reading Renaissance and Victorian literature classes in their original forms, which were exhilarating. I joined Army ROTC as a student cadet and the NJ Army National Guard at Rutgers. I also joined the Color Guard and Scabbard & Blade, a military honor society. I was a very active student and miss those days.
New York University, New York, New York – While working as a legal secretary at Dorsey & Witney in New York, I attended evening classes for a certificate in Paralegal Studies at NYU. The instructors were all practicing NYC lawyers passionate about sharing their practical knowledge with us. I graduated from the six-month program with good grades, and it was an enriching experience.
Looking back under ever foreign palm trees in California, I miss the east coast where all my college years and my prime times are buried.
Without my subscription to the newsletter âLetters of Noteâ by Shaun Usher, I would not have known that today was âWorld Introvert Day.â In celebration of the Feast of Introverts, I want to share some of the scintillating comments on the solace of solitude relished by the great writers of all time, which are selected by Usher, the founder of the Letters of Notes series, now also presented as in live shows where famous thespians – primarily British – including the excellent Benedict Cumberbatch, narrate many of the great letters from the series.
Elizabeth Bishop must have felt the same as I do many times when I am forced to be in situations where I must pretend to be outgoing and all-around friendly to be with, joking and laughing in nonstop chattering: âAfter being so social⌠I donât feel like myself at all. Iâm exhausted all over but particularly the dace, which I suppose comes from wearing a horrible fixed grin for so long.â From her letter written on November 10th, 1948.
But Sylvia Townsend Warnerâs letter to David Garnett, written on September 2nd, 1970, won the olive wreath with a gold medal: âI live in a house too large for me, with three cats, and when the telephone rings and it is a wrong number, I feel a rush of thankfulness.â Itâs a witty felicity of comfort in the company of romantic solitude. No, it doesnât mean she is antisocial, but not everyone is outgoing, and outgoing people are not always positive, adept, or healthy. You canât put people on the polar ends of the continuum of personalities and see them only in black and white. Surrounded by the crowds of vocal extroverts at work, where quiet is synonymous with sullen and too severe, I cannot help but agree with the writers mentioned earlier, for my sentiment shares with theirs. Perhaps itâs because we write, and writers are different tribes of people who hear and see things not recognized by those who are not.
But for whatâs worth, it doesnât matter if you call yourself an Introvert or not because, as Ernest Hemingway chipped, just be content with what you are and how you are: âI donât know what an introvert is, but if that is what you are may all my children be then.â Ditto.
Do you play in your daily life? What says âplaytimeâ to you?
Toro the General and Camille the Puss in the Black Boots đ
I never get bored with my two cats, Toro and Camille, at home. Although my playtime is either in the Witching Hour or before dawn, I love our playtime together.
If I lose myself in reading or writing, they jump so agilely like Olympic athletes on my lap, bed, or desk to attract my attention that instead of feeling annoyed, I am amazed by their humanlike need for attention and care and thus drop what I am doing and play with them. Camille, the Puss in the Black Boots, is the most elegantly athletic cat I have ever seen; he flies in alwhither when we play, whereas General Tabby Toro prefers playing hide and seek with a toy bite.
Sigmund Freud said that times playing with cats are never wasted. Indeed so. Each time I play with my cats, I feel warmth and affection. The feelings I contemplate are what a mother might think of her children because sometimes when I awake in the middle of the night, I see my cats sleep in my arms or lie at my feet.
I find todayâs prompt topic, compared to what I am experiencing, seems too pat that it gave an extra fillip. The challenges I have to tackle are lifelong, and I havenât even half succeeded. I donât know if you want to read this litany of woes, but if you do, I will appreciate your kind soul because writing this post will be my logotherapy for the broken heart and wounded soul.
I have zero tolerance for incivility and any offenses that others regard as insignificant because I take it as a disrespect of my existence. In the office, the majority of them speak Spanish even if they were born here in the States. I am the only Asian, and more particularly Korean, so they always treat me as if I were invisible. They may act politically correct or pretend not to exclude me, even if I try to be as friendly as possible and am always courteous, offering help they donât appreciate. So I resign to aloneness and hopelessness in the crowds, withdrawing myself from their circle of sociability. How would you feel when everyone says hi to each other but you when they know you are there? Doesnât My Life Also Matter?
My other challenge is to be too soft-hearted, growing no apples of wrath for those who hurt me with acrid remarks and unkind gestures. Although my furies will arise from slumber when provoked, if the instigators show moments of human weakness or even an instant ray of warmth or kindness, they will retreat with steps back until they return to Valhalla.
This morningâs episode was an excellent example of this topic. After a morning mass for the Solemnity of the Blessed Virgin Mary, there was a communal breakfast prepared by the church ladies. I stood in a line to bring food for my mom, who had taken seats in advance. Then, these old ladies dressed up nicely cut the line in front of me with the friendliest faces! My indignation burst out, so I asked them how they could be so sneaky when we all had just heard the mass with the Holy Communions. They apologized to me but didnât bother to go back on the line. I was inwardly crying over the fact that these people disrespected me, and I fell to the pit of sorrow ever again.
People say to love thyself to be loved, but thatâs impossible because humans are, by nature, political animals, as Aristotle said. We donât live alone and shape our perceptions of ourselves mostly from what others see us. Itâs called a âLooking-Glassed Self,â a theory of sociology coined by Robert Cooley. Thus, I feel I was born in the wrong place under the wrong circumstances. Many claim they are ugly ducklings, swans among ducks, but I believe I am the one. Herculesâs Twelve Labors seems pale in comparison with my most demanding challenges in life.
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