Notes to Self

Sometimes, I forget things. I forget to take the keys out of the keyhole when unlocking the front door and I forget to write down my password for online banking. Once in a while, I even forget my recipe for katsu-don. Does the flour come before or after the eggs?

Sometimes, I forget to write; luckily, someone reminded me this time.

Though, honestly, I don’t think I remember how to write. Somewhere along the past seven months, I seem to have lost several socks, a pencil, and my writing voice.

And what a hell of a past seven months it’s been!

In short, I accepted a job offer at a financial firm and have been busy learning to analyze risk metrics and read programming scripts. But while understanding derivative products and memorizing basic computer commands has been an awesome challenge thus far, I find myself thinking less and less about other things – like writing! So, before I forget, let me jot down a few thoughts and memories. At the very least, maybe this will help me get over my lost socks.

Things to Remember

Following graduation from my university last summer, I scribbled my goals and values on a few pieces of scrap paper:

“Don’t ever feel sorry for yourself and always hold yourself accountable…and be an athlete!” – Wise words from my lacrosse coach.

“Never forget the spirit that you started with.” – A reminder from a friend in Japan, whose artworks has always inspired me for that very same reason.

Remember family and friends, especially those far away.

Be optimistic.

Travels to Come

Between my friends and I, I think we spend so much of our 20s trying to figure out life that it can become a fleeting decade if we let it. And since the length of a minute is a bit difficult to stretch, I might as try to make the most out of what time’s available. So, in addition to gorging on cheesecake, here are some trips I must absolutely take!

Pakistan – An old roommate and I promised to travel there sometime in the next five years, as another old roommate will likely be getting married. Depending on the situation, we’ll either have to save him or the girl.

Nepal, Bhutan, India, Sri Lanka – If we’re in the area, might as well, right?

San Diego Comi-Con – To be clear, I do not own any homemade Batman costumes, but part of me thinks it’d be really cool to share an experience with about fifty other Ironman suits (which, to be clear, I do not own one).

Bora Bora – In another life, I’d like to think that I am enjoying the crystal clear waters of these French Polynesian islands, shamelessly sipping on a strawberry daiquiri and writing poetry. Well, at least I can start with one of these things…

Pour mon amie*

Mon amie,

Nous avons voyagé dans de nombreux mondes

Et chaque fois,

Nous avons vu les choses différemment.

Mon amie,

Ce que tu manges, ce n’est pas ce que je mange

Ce que tu portes, ce n’est pas ce que je porte

Et mon amie,

Ta religion, ce n’est pas ce que je crois

Ta couleur de la peau, ce n’est pas la même que la mienne

Mais mon amie,

Quand tu ris, c’est comme mon sourire

Et quand tu pleures, c’est comme mes larmes

Ça, mon amie,

Ça c’est pourquoi nous avons voyagé dans de nombreux mondes.

*I wrote this poem for a French class a couple years back. Only, it wasn’t my French class. It was for a friend who is my favorite person in the world.

But that’s a story for another time.

Dear Chaos: January 2013

If blogging were a piggy bank, I’d owe it a long post, followed by a continually compounded interest rate of words upon sentences upon paragraphs. In other words, I’m long overdue for writing some thoughts here. Apologies!

However, in lieu of one super long post, I am leaving a series of short reflections. Some may be humorous, others amusing, but all of it based true stories.

J’apprends une langue!

If French were a programming language, I would have never passed that Intermédiarie Français class. Instead, every grammatically incorrect statement would have led my French TA (au fait, il s’appelle Clément) to morph into Agent Smith, Matrix-style. Eventually, a swarm of Agent Smiths would build up to alter the definition of baguette and “pam-pleh-mousse” for some evil purpose. Yes, this is what I picture happening when typing a flawed line of code while practicing Visual Basics. No, I’m pretty sure the Chosen One is someone else.

A Real-Life Matrix Experience

To continue on the Matrix theme, I recently finished a book that reads like the film trilogy (in about 300 pages, give or take). The crazy part is it’s a real-life account. The crazier part is it’s written about financial industries while being a page-turner. 

Titled Dark Pools, author Scott Patterson provides an electrifying tale of how stocks became increasingly traded between algorithm-filled machines in the millionths and billionths of seconds. In less than an eye’s blink, trillions of dollars switch hands across the United States. Trillions! For anyone interested in equities and stock markets, this is a must-read. If you enjoyed the Matrix movies, I would also recommend this book.

Okay, I’ll stop making that reference now.

An Almost Love Poem

Can you write love poems without being in love? Is it like finding rain without clouds? Is that an entirely over-used parallel?

The following poem started out as a belated Christmas gift for a friend, in a sarcastic, inside-joke, kind of way. But it made me wonder how perspectives are shaped on poetry or art in general.

For example, while my friend “enjoyed” my poem, she also wrote “That’s it?” in response to a Neruda line: I want to do to you what spring does with the cherry trees. But that was before I told her who had written those words.

Before I ramble on, here was my poem. Be warned, it probably won’t be submitted for a Pulitzer Prize.

After-dark

And what of love

In my mind, in the after-dark,

But morning dew before yellow hues.

She holds her form, the only shimmer

That dots the blackened figure.

And what sparks shine upon lights

But that of love,

In my mind, in the after-dark.

So what did you think? And do you have any advice on learning French or computer languages? Better yet, do you have any good books to recommend? A curious mind would like to know.

Not For a Pulitzer Prize

Note to self: The word “erotic” is not interchangeable with “beautiful.”

It was a lesson learned the hard way when I wrote my first horror story – and wanted to describe the lead female character – in eighth grade. Since then, I like to think I've gained a bit more experience in writing through personal journals, research papers and magazines.

Unfortunately, at no point in time did I ever stop to acquire a love for poetry.

Partly, this is thanks to my inability to critically analyze any lines past “Roses are red, violets are blue.” During high school, interpreting the works of Emily Dickinson and Robert Frost was as difficult as AP Calculus!

But just as I have attempted to understand partial derivatives for the Lagrange multiplier, I am trying my hand at writing art. So, here is a short poem. It may not win the next Pulitzer Prize, but you have to start somewhere, yeah?

Just One Memory

So if you could know just one friend, who would you love?

And if you could love just one home, where would you dream?

And if you could dream just one moment, when would you see?

And if you could see just one memory, why would it be?

Let me know how you read it. And if you enjoy writing your own verses, please do share them!

Footnote: This poem was actually written many months ago, which means it’s been some time since I've tried poetry. I will have to get back into it!