(no subject)
It's becoming a rarity for me to even think about writing here. Though it was the case before, that was mostly due to the fact that I had nothing to write about. But I do now, and I don't have the time or the mental capacity to distill my thoughts into something worth expressing. I always liked to worry about things, to allocate mental energy to tasks not requiring such effort. Things such as organizing my desk and room, watching TV, or a problem sets that have little bearing on the final grade, I loved to spend time on. But now, I've encountered something that'll go right ahead and drain the soul out of me if I let it while I greet it with open arms: work.
No matter how smart I work, how much I manage my time, there's always more work. When I was a small, not grasping the enormity of the universe I used to wonder how outer space can be so cold despite the hundreds of millions of stars like our sun burning at thousands of degrees spread across the universe. And a mere 6 months ago, I wondered how people can possibly get 'stressed out' from work
My grandfather died last week, and I've been asking myself what is the point of all of this anyways? So I get a job, work like a dog for the first 3 or 4 years to establish myself in the company and then continue to do for 40 more years because that's what'll be expected of me for the future? Do I continue to take my work home with me, work 10 hour days weekends sometimes, answering emails on weekends, and do all those things that a successful up and comer is supposed to do? Or do I play it like the stereotypical Gen Y willing to hold the forces of work at bay in exchange for a flexible work schedule, less stress, and thus less opportunities?
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My grandpa passed away last Wednesday on December 19, 2007. I got the call in the morning and flew to LA the next day. On the plane, I struggled to write something meaningful. I spent Thursday and Friday with the entire Chan clan, all of us in denial, talking with my cousins about everything else under the sun: Bubble tea, the health care system in Canada, SATs, ACTs, arts vs engineering, cellular plans. It was a bit of a relief to leave the stress of the funeral plans to the adults, who did a wonderful job.
On Saturday December 22, 2007, we had the funeral. The whole event reminded me of something out of Six Feet Under. I felt a tinge of shame as the adults had gone with the big box funeral company akin to the show's Kroehner International. When the family walked in to the chapel, we all saw the casket... open. One thing I remember from the show was that the viewing is supposed to provide closure to the family. The sight of one's passed family member with their eyes closed, their arms crossed, appearing in peaceful slumber is supposed to provide closure. It's the brick wall that's supposed to hit you to tell you that he is now dead, confront it and deal with it. It's the catalyst that triggers the tears so you can cry it all out so you can begin to move on.
Well, it works. It was the first time I cried in almost a decade, with actual tears and not the pain-tears that shoot out when I drop a 40 lb piece of beam on my foot or accidentally grasp a red hot heating element. I didn't realize there was emotion within me. I had been so wrapped up in the suddenness of it all, of getting the plane tickets, re-arranging my work schedule, renting a car, finding living arrangements and so on that I didn't have the chance to grieve, to feel the impact of what happened, to mourn the loss of my grandpa. He is never coming back. I'll never hear his hearty chuckle that he gave at all of our trivialities and the way that his big round belly rumbles when he does so. All I have now are memories and photographs. I regret not getting to know him better. Never getting the chance to hear his stories of escaping the Japanese invasion and then the Cultural Revolution. I had always heard these second hand through my dad, and it was something I'd always wanted to ask grandpa about. Now it's gone.
There's a finality in death that seems unnatural and unfair, much like the feeling I get after I make a horrible first impression. It is something that is gone forever. No matter the fairy tale expression that he'll 'live on forever in our hearts', he will not live on because he is dead and all of him that was living is gone forever. And now we are to live on. I don't think the human psyche was meant to deal with something the concept of death. It's like looking into an endless chasm that is so black, empty, and silent... at something so devoid of feeling and purpose, it makes me want to go mad when I approach the edge of this concept.
No matter how smart I work, how much I manage my time, there's always more work. When I was a small, not grasping the enormity of the universe I used to wonder how outer space can be so cold despite the hundreds of millions of stars like our sun burning at thousands of degrees spread across the universe. And a mere 6 months ago, I wondered how people can possibly get 'stressed out' from work
My grandfather died last week, and I've been asking myself what is the point of all of this anyways? So I get a job, work like a dog for the first 3 or 4 years to establish myself in the company and then continue to do for 40 more years because that's what'll be expected of me for the future? Do I continue to take my work home with me, work 10 hour days weekends sometimes, answering emails on weekends, and do all those things that a successful up and comer is supposed to do? Or do I play it like the stereotypical Gen Y willing to hold the forces of work at bay in exchange for a flexible work schedule, less stress, and thus less opportunities?
-----
My grandpa passed away last Wednesday on December 19, 2007. I got the call in the morning and flew to LA the next day. On the plane, I struggled to write something meaningful. I spent Thursday and Friday with the entire Chan clan, all of us in denial, talking with my cousins about everything else under the sun: Bubble tea, the health care system in Canada, SATs, ACTs, arts vs engineering, cellular plans. It was a bit of a relief to leave the stress of the funeral plans to the adults, who did a wonderful job.
On Saturday December 22, 2007, we had the funeral. The whole event reminded me of something out of Six Feet Under. I felt a tinge of shame as the adults had gone with the big box funeral company akin to the show's Kroehner International. When the family walked in to the chapel, we all saw the casket... open. One thing I remember from the show was that the viewing is supposed to provide closure to the family. The sight of one's passed family member with their eyes closed, their arms crossed, appearing in peaceful slumber is supposed to provide closure. It's the brick wall that's supposed to hit you to tell you that he is now dead, confront it and deal with it. It's the catalyst that triggers the tears so you can cry it all out so you can begin to move on.
Well, it works. It was the first time I cried in almost a decade, with actual tears and not the pain-tears that shoot out when I drop a 40 lb piece of beam on my foot or accidentally grasp a red hot heating element. I didn't realize there was emotion within me. I had been so wrapped up in the suddenness of it all, of getting the plane tickets, re-arranging my work schedule, renting a car, finding living arrangements and so on that I didn't have the chance to grieve, to feel the impact of what happened, to mourn the loss of my grandpa. He is never coming back. I'll never hear his hearty chuckle that he gave at all of our trivialities and the way that his big round belly rumbles when he does so. All I have now are memories and photographs. I regret not getting to know him better. Never getting the chance to hear his stories of escaping the Japanese invasion and then the Cultural Revolution. I had always heard these second hand through my dad, and it was something I'd always wanted to ask grandpa about. Now it's gone.
There's a finality in death that seems unnatural and unfair, much like the feeling I get after I make a horrible first impression. It is something that is gone forever. No matter the fairy tale expression that he'll 'live on forever in our hearts', he will not live on because he is dead and all of him that was living is gone forever. And now we are to live on. I don't think the human psyche was meant to deal with something the concept of death. It's like looking into an endless chasm that is so black, empty, and silent... at something so devoid of feeling and purpose, it makes me want to go mad when I approach the edge of this concept.