Monday, July 27, 2015


Truth is stranger than fiction, but it is because Fiction is obliged to stick to possibilities; Truth isn't.
- Mark Twain, Following the Equator: A Journey Around the World

I couldn't believe my ears today when Prof asked us who wrote that quote. It was my moment of *ahem* glory. HEH. Peons. Just kidding. Actually I guessed.

And when he asked me "What was Einstein's famous equation?"

Long silence. ".....Uhhh is it the one where the apple falls from the tree?"

"No that was Newton!!!!"

Guess which moment I boasted about to my mom? Haha.

I guess my education is greatly skewed. Or rather it's not what I wasn't taught; it's what I cared about enough to remember.


When fifty year olds speak of what happened when they were five, which till today they can't forget, and which still hurt them even when the perpetrator (their parent) has passed away...

it makes me wonder how much of what we do today is part of all that. That being...our hurts. Our assumptions. Our fears that we aren't loved, or won't be loved unless we achieve, we score, we excel. The 'why did you love him/her, why not me?'.

The dark thoughts we don't allow to swim to the surface, so we never ever actually think them aloud: if I wasn't smart, wasn't sweet, wasn't funny, wasn't this or that, would I still be loved?

And when we're 50 - when I'm 50, will I have come to the inevitable conclusion of these thoughts, will I have walked down a path of assumptions and self-beliefs I wasn't even aware I had, and finally find myself sitting in a consultation room speaking about what happened then? With 'then' being today?


I had a really good dinner with my mom today and I met ZHONGY! Now I just had to write that down.


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