Last night, Chris and I went for a run and we discussed two quotes that I feel surmise the most valuable lessons/outlooks I’ve learned/embodied during the course of my undergraduate experience.

The first, by John Wooden:

Don’t mistake activity for achievement.

The second, an old African proverb:

If you want to go fast, go alone. If you want to go far, go together.

The days are winding down pretty quickly and I’ve found myself engaging in long periods of pensive behavior, more often than usual. A whole world lies ahead, and it feel good to be thrust in to the abyss of pseudo uncertainty, once again.

I was packing my backpack this late afternoon, gearing up for a long night of thesis writing. As I walked in to my bedroom, the glint of the sunset caught my attention from the corner of my eye, piercing through the shades of my apartment window. I couldn’t help but compare its reminiscent resemblence upon those same sunsets I would watch as I’d head to swim practice in high school during those late spring time afternoons.

I sat, perched upon the edge of my bed, and could hardly believe how quickly college was coming to an end. I never thought I’d feel this sentimental towards the bonds of made – the love/hate relationships I’ve had the privilege of developing over the course of two and -what is now- almost 2/3 years. Only yesterday were we stalking each other on Facebook and sneaking alcohol through the halls of our residential halls.

Leaving high school, I could hardly believe what the next chapter of my life was going to be like. We would say that we were off to the “real world.” We couldn’t have been any more wrong. The last two years have been a dream – a whistful break from the realities of life. And its all coming to an end at an alarming rate.

I’ve found myself in this place before, fighting so urgently to hold on to what I’ve got now. But I couldn’t be more ready for the next chapter of my life. My father tells me that its in our blood, that motivation to keep moving forward and that disposition of impatience.

Three years ago this time, I found myself driving home from swim practice. I drove by my Junior high school and my elementary school. I drove by every place contributing to my development. Its a bit more intimidating this time around.

Here’s to the curious, inspired, impassioned ones. Here’s to those that live their lives beyond limited spheres of existence. Those that advance the human propensity for creation & the amelioration of suffering, the unselfish and  insatiable for societal intellectual and social advancement. Limited reckless abandon. Limited. Abandon. To questioning the antiquated, all and everything. To inspiring curiosity and challenging ourselves beyond measure.

I took only a class and a half with him. And he continues to inspire me to this day. “He understands how to film a woman,” he would say, divulging in to the passions and derivatives of what I can imagine drew him to film in the first place. And he would challenge us to challenge them, the world and all the expectations bearing down upon us teenagers and twenty-somethings. Maybe it was his French upbringing. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. Regardless of how disgruntled and irritated he seamed with each passing class, I understood him as happy. Happier than the happiest professors I’ve ever had.

I just made a brief playlist of songs covering the course of music defining periods of my life ranging from the inception of my musical awakening to now. I find the linear representation of the physical disconnection between then and now-or how far not removed I am from others- fascinating, for lack of a better descriptor, phrase, or less pretentious means by which to organise a sentence. A broad distinction exists between a Kevin that looked to the future, sitting in his stuffy blue room, shielded by the naivette and eagerness of youth that couldn’t quite grasp that the future was so near and the Kevin that is well aware of the daunting momentum  of the speed at which two years between now and law school are going to pass. No relative scope existed then, trying to understand time in terms of years. It comes easy now, standing at the helm of the completion of two major chapters of my life-high school and college. It goes without saying that I definitely miss many people in my life, those that have riddled my emotions, confusing me in understanding concepts by way of connotations of ultimatums. And the songs progress, marking shifts in time underscored by optimism or cynicism. And that which defines now? The most recent song, tied to saying goodbye to a close friend only a few days detached from moving an indefinite period of time to Korea-what does it mean? I feel as if I stand amongst the helm of the wisdom of the elders: days turn to months and months turn to years before we’ll be reunited with those that we love.

It is intriguing, being able to describe periods of my life with more nuance, being able to describe blocks of time in terms of that “time in during freshman year” or that “time as a pledge” or “during the first part of high school” or “in junior high” instead of the simple juxtaposition between “then and now,” more often than not referring to a dichotomous period of time between sophomore and junior years of high school. And does it feel good to move past non-sequitors, operating instead under the hope that accompanies years of experience and carefully triangulated over-analysis of every encounter with the opposite sex ever? Yes. I feel that a lot of my life has been spent seeking to realise the lyrics in The Spill Canvas’ The Night Will Goes as Follows: The August sky will then bare witness/ To a brand new chapter with torn up pages/ When the planets align, I can feel the gates opening/ To my courage /As I proceed to run my fingers through her hair/ And forget everyone who’s jaded, ’cause they don’t matter/ And I don’t care. I assume that I can safely say that the benefit of growing older is the privilege of doing instead of seeking. To adventure until the sun rises or to transcend the bounds of curfews or to stay up for 48 hours straight or to go running at 2am or to watch the sun rise on an administrative building or to consume illicit substances or drink below the legal drinking age or giving very few fucks regarding the extent to which I smell like I’ve been bathed in a bath of whiskey or to regard culture with a sincere regard instead of a forced appreciation. Or to feel really free from dogma and in legitimate control of not only the course of a life but of even a moment.

I once convinced a friend to see a show with me despite having seen many similar to it. And I explained to him that the intention of experiencing the show is in experiencing each other, in the events that came either before or after the show, whether it be in transversing a fence, trespassing on city owned property just to get a better view of the nighttime Los Angeles skyline, not only to see the Los Angeles skyline but to know that I did it with you. In knowing that an irremovable aroma of you has ultimately permeated the mundanity separating another day and a lifelong memory, distinguishing this song, this location, this piece of clothing, this picture or even this habit of re-organizing the structure of every other sentence when writing a blog post such that it inhabits a more active tense-just as you had encouraged I do as you revised my college essays- as an unforgettable remnant of you. And the playlist continues condensing the period between the time I fell for you and the time I sat in the backseat of my friends car and felt helpless and felt that I couldn’t truly influence everything in my life and that some things were out of my power and that I just lost this battle of optimism and was becoming an adult with this empty feeling in his stomach within a matter of minutes. And the playlist nears its end, approaching replay, and instead of thinking “the cycle just repeats itself” as I have commonly done, I embrace the future of this playlist with optimism, the same optimism with which I tried to make a girl fall for me by explaining to her that I don’t believe that theres a such thing as a bad high school dance because whats more important is the connection shared between my date and me. That I have no control over the music that plays or the decorations that adorn the gymnasium and that I ultimately do have control of the capacity I have to make her smile.

I look forward to the nuance that 2013 will bring and I understand that even though one song may sound like another one or that certain events in my life will resonate synonymously with those of the past, they will more often than not crescendo emphasising a different dissonance or beat with the deliberation of a different time signature. And I beg the reader to become consumed by the novel-esque atmosphere of this connotation, as I write furiously against the backtrack of what I believe to be a timeline of my life condensed in a matter of minutes-very fitting, I know-coming to the conclusion of this post as Martin Solveing’s The Night Out begins to come through the speakers as I every now and then focus my view outside a window inhabiting a scenery reminiscent of my dorm room during my freshman year that emanates a familiar breeze-a ghostly similarity really.

And I’m thankful for this summer, one my peers would regard as “doing nothing” but one I’ll always remember as exploring the depths of information technological innovation and social media has afforded my generation. Of understanding the dopamine reactions driving our addictions to the internet or of exploring why China is great and why it is not. Of questioning my moral fiber and the internal struggle of finding a balance between an efficient system that honors meritocracy that also strives to put minority groups on a path of equal opportunity that prepares them to engage with the more privileged on a more equal playing field. Or the summer I could run downstairs at almost any hour of the day and wrap my arms around my mom to so simply convey my affection for her. Or I took it upon myself to spend more time with my brother to impart with him the values of brotherhood I have learned from my friends and my fraternity. Or the summer I smoked a cigarette with a friend even though I don’t smoke cigarettes on the roof of our apartment to let him know that I do so for him and that I’ll miss him. Or of the summer I embraced sincerity, the muse, and the futility (or use conclusion) of filing ideas to use later or to do later in favor of doing things that define now, that which I care for now  Or of the summer that resounded with optimism.

For I now understand that if I dwell on times 5 years ago 5 years from now, I’ll be nothing but a man that has been left behind by the momentum of 10 years past.

In short, I’ve scrawled through four paragraphs of this 21st century literary creation to thank you. To thank you for helping me believe in myself and for having a sincere faith in me.

The trees whirled past, punctuated by patterns created alongside the rows of crops that played optical illusions on fifth grade me. I rewarded myself with the comfort of the backseat of our Honda Odyssey, letting my legs sprawl across the length of the back seat . Kanye West’s College Dropout spun through my Sony CD player as Family Business and Last Call played on constant repeat-two tracks that constituted 16 minutes of muse-laced music goodness. And I thought of her, elated-ecstatic-by the news that the girl I had had a crush on for so long did indeed feel similarly to me. It was me and my thoughts, me and my CD player- me and my puppy love ridden heart. The trip up the 5 freeway could not feel any shorter.

And with one hundred Christmas dollars in hand, my Mom took me to Best Buy and I browsed through the music section, eager to expand my music collection. Bands named Good Charlotte, Blink-182, and Ludacris adorned my shopping cart. I discovered the angst of Good Charlotte’s Hold On, Blink’s I Miss You, and the humor of Ludacris’ Splash Waterfall. Inevitably followed the days of making mixes for the girls I had crushes on-a compilation of my favorite love songs, including but not limited to Andre’s Prototype, or Brett Dennen’s Desert Sunrise. I would sit in my dark room illuminated by the blue glow of our old Panasonic stereo system as I untirelessly let tracks play on repeat. Sixth grade me would lay on my bed, blinds drawn only so slightly as to welcome a few slivers of light through the window from the light post outside, cooled by intermittent summer breezes- thinking about a girl.

I would watch MTV’s TRL to discover new artists and would always be tuned in before school and before I slept, hoping to find new inspiration for the next CD I would buy. This is how the past existed, operating under moderately less convenient circumstance. A part of me yearns for these processes, a part of me hopes to be consumed by something other than existential sentiment.

His book was dedicated to a reckless, impassioned youth. A thin ray of light shone through the four paned cafe window, casting a soft shadow upon the strands of his slowing thinning hair. Glowing under the reflection of the cool overcast skies, passerby’s strolled leisurely in and out of the coffee shop while Bach’s Cello Suite number one reverberated from the deep brown body of the street musician’s oak cello.  He was a foreigner here, and the warm buzz filled the cafe with a welcoming persona. Absent was the deliberate tone of hurriedness that masked his perception of home, a place the locals understood as absurd and aloof, consumed by dispassion and constructed notions of happiness. He scrawled a note across the edge of his barely kept notebook. He would look up every now and them, observing the crowds of people that filled the confines of this Renaissance-age establishment. He would watch their lips move, deciphering the nuances of each shared exchange.  The language barrier provided a comfortable disconnect, privileging him a sense of intimacy previously unknown.

He focused again on the recycled, coffee stained page that awaited his next move. Not much separates you from me, he wrote. Different words drift past the edges of our tongues, its cadence and melody reminding me of the expanse of the world and all that is to be explored. He continued to write as the ambient hymn of conversations bounced off the beige tiled floor. I understand that you yearn not for a life absent of consequence, but rather one consumed by it. Chances await, opportunities un-mined. The delirium set in, caused partially by a sense of hatred, partially by a sense of remorse. He wanted to feel sorry for her, but he knew that he was just as lost as she was. Who was he to judge her? He knew no better. An air of confusion lay ahead, obstructing her from the rhythm of the tides below. The wind blew gently through the air, pausing only to accentuate the emptiness of the cool November evening. She wanted to jump, and he wanted so desperately to arrest himself to the forces of gravity that chained them together. A tear rolled down her face as she allowed him to consume her. He stepped outside, lit a cigarette, and rolled up his sleeves. The rain poured down the back of his neck, just as it used to. He remembered the days they would saunter off, veiled by the temptation of the playful winter rains. A group of schoolchildren passed hurriedly by as if being lured by the auspice of untainted optimism. Who was he kidding? They were. He reveled in his pseudo intellectualism and his capacity to recollect and refurbish lies from the past. Unlike most young men his age, he was able to distinguish the bad from the good. Droplets of rain flowed from his brow, his thin hair now drenched with precipitation. He focused his attention again on those inside and wondered why he wasn’t privileged the luxury of floating through life under the circumstance of ignorant satisfaction.

She let him in, an experiment of sorts. Abandoned was the notion of the mysterious outlier, the outsider looking in. 

And one asks oneself, is it in the pursuit of the intellectual, of the wealthy, or of the religious that is the most fulfilling? Exactly in accordance with what variations -both in description and in delusion- of passion, materialism, and idealism does one find said happiness? She elaborated that it is all a matter of pleasing those in ones respective social group, of fawning over the fact that “he got me this” or “he got me bigger this.” But is it true? Are we to be reduced to such primacy-such lunacy? In what essence do we find satisfaction?

And some say that silence is the measure of the threshold of comfort between two individuals representing an acknowledgement of the beauty of the moment, a moment marked by acquiescence: I may be anywhere in the world, I may be with anyone in the world, but I am here with you. I must respectfully disagree. I rather believe silence to be a signal of stagnancy, complacency, and forfeit. The world we live in is one of poverty, of despair, of inequality of opportunity, of moral inequity. Our lives are not measured by an accumulation of wealth, an accountment of alms, nor a wide array of peer-reviewed publications. Our lives are not measured. We merely subordinate ourselves to the wills of others, to them-to society, to the community, to that sorority, to that fraternity, to my boss, to my dad. For what? By what standard have you succeeded? Here is a pat on the back. You have obtained my approval. Now be happy. We waste our time, we waste it seeking these titles,these degrees acknowledging our worth to a society, these material possessions that represent the level of success we have achieved along the duration of our lives. And we continue to run through this maze. Inside us burns this fear, that we are conditioned to fall in lieu with what others deem as societally acceptable. These preoccupations, these delusions, existing amidst this dissonent symphony of mallady resounding upon the world. And we feel no shame.

“Enlightenment is man’s emergence from his self-imposed immaturity. Immaturity is the inability to use one’s understanding without guidance from another. This immaturity is self-imposed when its cause lies not in lack of understanding, but in lack of resolve and courage to use it without guidance  from another. Sapere Aude! “‘Have courage to use your own understanding!”‘-that is the motto of enlightenment.

Laziness and cowardice are the reasons why so great a proportion of men, long after nature has released them from alien guidance, noetheless gladly remain in lifelong immaturity, and whiy it is so easy for others to establish themselves as their guardians. It is so easy to be immature. If I have a book to serve as my understanding, a pastor to serve as my conscience, a physician to determine my diet for me, and so on, I need not exert myself at all. I need not think, if only I can pay: others will readily undertake the irksome work for me.

The guardians who have so benevolently taken over the supervision of men have carefully seen to it that the far greatest part of them regarding taking the step to maturity as very dangerous, not to mention difficult. Having first made their domestic livestock dumb, and having carefully made sure that these docile creatures will not take a single step without the go-cart to which they are harnessed, these guardians then show them the danger that threatens them, should they attempt to walk alone. Now this danger is not actually so great, for after falling a few times they would in the end certainly learn to walk; but an example of this kind makes men timid and usually frightens them out of all further attempts.”

-Kant

And in the spirit of youth veiled by the bliss of ignorance-of this fear wrought with confusion and endless opportunity for failure, let us not take for granted the merits of optimism the intellectual mind affords. Let us delight in the array of technological innovations upon us that have granted us the luxury of freeing ourselves from these self imposed societal chains.

To gloss over that which we have the capacity to change but left unchanged as a matter of dignified ignorance is merely taking for granted the conglomeration of human triumph that has enabled us to privilege this standard of living. Kant believes that man needs to take part in a society as a means by which to measure his self worth, whether it be by juxtaposition of his title or relative socioeconomic status. Indeed, this pessimism has benefited societies over the ages, advancing the symbiotic growth of technological innovation and capitalism. However, I have come to believe that man exists in society because it is a means by which he can accomplish what he cannot do on his own. I would like to believe that social networks come together to form a superorganism, if you will, existing with force and influence not capable of the individual. And in this era of social connectivity-of wikipedia and trans-national communication, there is always something to be learned. It is a waste of existence to defer to the ignorance that proliferates hatred in this world. Friends should exist to constantly better their friends-through enlightenment. The barriers obstructing one from achieving a wealth of knowledge have deliberately been broken down by his era of information transmission. There is always something to talk about, whether it be an idea discussed, a model improved, or a solution to that which has triumphed over the capability of man. We simply have no excuse for silence.

And Lord Henry continues, “but we never get back our youth. The pulse of joy that beats in us at twenty becomes sluggish. Our limbs fail, our senses rot. We degenerate into hideous puppets, haunted by the memory of the passions of which we were too much afraid, and the exquisite temptations that we had not the courage to yield to. Youth! Youth! There is absolutely nothing in the world but youth!”

And I read beneath the shade of the FedEx Ground trailer, escaping the uncomfortable mid-day summer sun. I sat, consumed by this book, looking up briefly every few pages or so to make sure that the driver-trainee was executing the proper maneuvers between the tire-track ridden orange cones. He seemed proficient enough-smooth on the clutch,  commanding the p-1000 with safety and precision. He is not much older than me-a mere 7 years separating the two of us. He’s got a kid on the way and needs this job to support his family. His family.

It is a sad fact of existence-that our positions in this life are direct results of accidents. Religious affiliation, socio-economic class, familial dynamics, and the loss of loved ones are variables uncorrelated with will or determination. A former intern-friend of mine surveyed and documented the stories and lives of the homeless in Harvard square, and in a blunt, honest demeanor, a man explained that he lost all he had in a fire. Uninsured, familial-less, and with little money, he found himself that day homeless for a year and a half. I’m sure that-if given the opportunity-he would have done everything in his power to ameliorate the situation. He simply could not.

I may be the last authority to speak on this subject as I have been privileged to enjoy an easy life. My life to this day has been foreign to health-related mallady, familial loss, or financial burden. During the latter years of high school, I realized that the bane of my existence was rooted in the massive inequality in the world not deriving from a lack of will or a lack of courage but rather a lack of luck. Odd as it may seem, I did not connect with this feeling until today and at  the trivial time I stared at a John F. Kennedy campaign poster.

Great men of the past have gone beyond what societies have willed, bearing the burden of extraordinary challenges on their shoulders attempting to ameliorate the misery so widespread and inherent of this earth. Others have taken resolve in societal recluse, examining the works of other philosophers so sincerely devoted to making meaning of it all-or more succinctly, the time between wake and slumber.

And in this inspiration I find cause for my existence. I seek to alleviate the ignorance of hatred so prevalent in the world we live. Perhaps my efforts will amount to nothing but a dent in the discourse of societal development, but I am committed to putting forth the extent of my potential in helping my fellow man, or at least men that are willing to be helped.

And so it goes, a piece that was inspired by the wonders and joys of raising a child, evolving in to a piece describing the troubles plaguing our world. And by this, I digress-or rather conclude this conversation, on perhaps another: of raising a child.

In his treatise on education, Rousseau expands that on raising a child, a parent must isolate a child from society, giving him the opportunity to explore and to play, uninterrupted by the ignorance of the word “no.” A child is to discover for himself, a means by which a parent may impart on his or her child the love of philosophy. And at the conclusion of the development of his stable foundation, a child may then go forth and interact with society, but only when his skin is calloused and experienced enough -impervious- to the disingenuous will of society. And so it ends, this piece. I intend on following up with a more proper and reflection of Oscar Wilde’s Dorian Gray as well as reflections on Rousseau’s Discourse on Inequality.

When I watch a video that I’ve created, I simply think to myself, “thats what I saw.” When I view one of my videos, I look back on the day my Mom took me to the eye doctor to pick up my first pair of glasses. I was in kindergarten. We went to the grocery store shortly after, and I said “Mom! Look at all the colors!” It was a magical moment to me. At that time, I couldn’t believe the newfound clarity I was taking in. In retrospect, I could only imagine the joy my Mom felt, that she afforded me the gift of better sight.

When I look back at my childhood, my family didn’t have much, but we were always happy. I could see how hard my parents worked and I was aware of the strain on their faces, but I knew we were happy. We lived in a one room apartment and had one car. We had one TV. Friday night was always family night. We would go to Blockbuster, rent a couple “tapes” as we used to call them, buy some breadsticks from Pizza Hut, crank up the AC and watch a movie in the living room. My Mom and Dad always enjoyed each others company. I remember that they would drink wine in our small apartment on the weekends instead of going out, always content with the little we had. My Mom introduced me to a new world. We would spend hours in the public library, and she recounts that my enthusiasm for the library was similar to that of kids my age, except they held a fondness for toy stores. She enrolled me in Youth recreation programs and I experienced soccer and basketball but found an even greater attachment to swimming. In kindergarten, there were huge gaps in inequality. Some of my classmates lived in huge mansions on the hills of Silver Lake. She would arrange playmates for me, because even then, I was a very social kid. To put it in to perspective, my friend’s living room was bigger than our entire apartment. I didn’t feel bad that those kids had so much more. To me, it was just a way of life.

My Mom fondly recalls how I was always aware of our steadily improving standard of living. When we moved to Los Alamitos when I was in 1st grade, I told her, “Mom! Now we have two rooms! We have two cars! We have two TVs! We have two trucks!” In Los Feliz, at my old school, my Mom would give me cafeteria money once every two weeks so that I could experience pizza day with my classmates every other Friday. Eating at the cafeteria was a treat to me, but it cost too much money to eat there every day. At my new school with our added income, I could buy food every day. This prospect excited me as I always viewed cafeteria food as a luxury. I remember that I particularly enjoyed the bags of chocolate milk, yes, bags, that they served with our meals. I remember some of my classmates didn’t really like the cafeteria food and this was a rare concept to me because I viewed cafeteria food as a privilege.

My family moved to Chino Hills when I was in the fourth grade. On one particular night, I couldn’t sleep. I stayed up so late that I saw the Sun coming up. It was a night of anxiety. I thought of how we lived in a nice big house and had a brand new van. I even had a TV in my own room. For some reason, I was battling with the idea of whether or not I deserved all this luxury. I was distraught of the idea of world poverty and questioned why it was fair that I live with such luxury. I thought of all the times I had upseted my parents and I just wished I could turn back time and undo all my wrongdoings. At that moment in my life, I gained my awareness of the world.

The inequality we face today is more horrific than ever because modern innovation has exponentially exacerbated the gap between the rich and the poor. Countries like Brazil, Russia, India, China to the economic powerhouses  of the United States and Germany, only to name a few, have developed such integratively complex public infrastructures that it is impossible for poor nations in Southeast Asia and Africa to ever catch up. They are literally left in the dust. They lack food and water. They lack electricity. Clothing. Shelter. They lack the fundamental elements of survival. Alternatively, technological innovation has ignited a new wave of globalization, intrinsically solidifying interests between wealthy nations whilst leaving poorer nations behind. The freeway only becomes so advanced as the anthill at its edge continues to go unnoticed as it knows no innovation.

Its funny to read memes like First World Problems, but sometimes I sit, and I think, really? I think that far too many people lack appreciation for the standard of living they enjoy. This is a product of societal ignorance. When people realize that there is so much worse in the world, I’m sure they’ll be able to find more optimism. Most kids my age live very easy lives. As my friend Taylor put it, we don’t work. We sit in climate controlled rooms and read books. We take tests. The hardest things we have to endure are tests.

I’m glad that, knock on wood, I’ve never experienced legitimate hardship. I sometimes wonder how my friends find strength within to push through despite the challenges they face day in and day out. I admire their persistence. I hope that if I’m ever faced with the same situation that I’ll be able to cope with as much confidence as they do now.

My parents have sacrificed so much for my family and I’m deeply committed to showing my gratitude to them. I’m committed to living my life for them and doing amazing things. I know that I’m different and that I should take advantage of my unique qualities. I’ve lately been reading upon the profiles of Rhodes Scholars, US Senators, and ambitious filmmakers, constantly questioning what I can do to reach the success that these people have. I constantly question myself, asking what I can do to ensure that I can raise my children with as much love and influence that my parents showed me.

I’ve been blessed with a lot, and even relating to aspects of my life as simple as filming, I will take pleasure in everything it positively affords me. I will be thankful that I my eyes are well for me to see and to capture light. That my ears are healthy and I can hear sound and can creates works of art by combining different mediums of communication.