FRO 2012: BWA

Since this assignment is supposed to be about myself and nothing really comes to mind, I decided to talk about procrastination for my monologue, after all it describes my attitude pretty well and I am sure that most people here have the same problem. See procrastination boils down to one thing, if something is due tomorrow then do it tomorrow. I don’t think there is anything else that could better describe me, I don’t like to do anything until I find it completely necessary to do so (yes, that even includes this monologue) and if not doing an assignment now means I have time for my precious naps then I am damn sure I’m putting my work off for some other time. I know this has been short but I think I’ll have to end it here since I don’t have much else to talk about; when I was thinking about what to add on to this I decided to put it off for some other time and never got to it.

I am not normal.  I have an unseen ridiculous sense of humor that most people don’t get, and I’m a pretty sure Akhtarul thinks I have Tourette’s or some serious condition because of the way I constantly say his name.  I’m a small suburban kid living in the most amazing city in the world, and I’m a person who despises the lack of ethics in business, yet attends one of the best business schools in the area.

I have the greatest amount of difficulty telling someone where I come from, on several levels.  To start with my ethnicity, my Dad is part Burmese, Indian, Portuguese, and Dutch. My Mother is English, German, Italian, and Austrian. So that makes a whole mess of the old and new age Aryan races; all compiled into one dude….me. I’ve been mistaken as Dominican, Hawaiian, Brazilian, Greek, Mexican, Native American; the whole nine yards and then a few more.  On top of that I tell people I live in Connecticut but I commute to a NYC school, which brings on even more confusion.  I am a foreign-looking kid who was nurtured in a rich conservative township.  I seem to act so very different than anyone I have ever encountered.  I am almost 20 years old, yet I am a freshman in college.  I am small, yet remarkably athletic.  I am focused on academics and athletics, yet I enjoy what they like to call “binge” drinking on the weekends.  I have pretty exceptional people skills, yet I can be really awkward if I try. I think you guys get it.  And please accept my disclaimer that I don’t intend to be self-centered in the manner I speak about all of this.

My favorite question in the world is “why?”  Not in the manner of the irksome second grader, but more along the lines of a deep, though provoking hunt for unseen answers, waiting to be unveiled.  My philosophy is that there is an answer or multiple answers for every question we can ask.  Saying, “oh, that’s impossible,” is just a cop-out for people who don’t want to spend the time or energy on problem solving.

All of these oxymoronic dualities in my life spawned some sort of identity crisis that I had to get to the bottom of.  Not necessarily a crisis, but an extensive pondering about myself.  Who am I, how did I get here, where do I come from, and where am I expected to go?  The investigation was on.  Luckily, I came upon some answers in my father’s native land, Burma.  For about three weeks last winter, I spent my time on tours, in hotels, and traveling from sight to sight, city to city.  I quickly realized that I was not seeing the truths of this place.  I needed to escape the perspective of the tourist, which someone had unjustly predetermined for me.  Equipped with my longboard, I escaped into the city.  I spent time with children, farmers, city workers, and the old and wise.  I found that they all appreciated the interactions, and were fixated on the words, “Made in California” written on my board.  When they realized it was bamboo, it gave them a good chuckle, as bamboo is so abundant in the region.  Most importantly, they were beyond appreciative of my efforts to speak the native language, which I had a knack for.  The word for thanks literally translated to, “I am forever in debt to you.” Hospitality was a must in these parts.  At every relative’s house, food was stuffed in my face.  I was lucky enough to endeavor in a round of golf, during which four caddies assisted me all at once.  I recorded all of these findings in a journal.  I titled it: “There and Back Again; A Young Man’s Journey to the Lands of Myanmar and the Realm of Profound Thought.”  One hell of a title, eh? I had quite the time, dressing up in my preppy New England attire, getting massages and exploring the third world by day, while putting beers on the hotel tab and recording my discoveries by the poolside at night.  Let me share with you a quick excerpt.  (Reads Excerpt).

I could certainly sit here for several hours, lecturing you all about my findings.  However, that it not my style, for I must be brief and conclusive.  The answers to all my riddles were far more understandable than I could have imagined.  They were a presentation of the facts.  I drew so many parallels between the way I act in American society, and the natural tendencies of the Burmese people.  There it was.  I had Burmese ideals, shaped by the elitist society that I grew up in.  To this day, I am proud to have the best of both worlds; a full spectrum of view.  I’ve been here, there, up and down, as there is far more to my story that I am capable of explaining.  For one thing, I am definitely not normal.  But what is normality.  It became obvious that being different was normality in itself.  I have been shaped and molded into the human being they call Jon Hla, a title that I have grown to love for what it contains.  I have learned to embrace instead of question, without failing to continue the intricate thinking processes that I so enjoy.  Not all my questions have been solved.  I always continue to ask who I am in attempt to prevent myself from slipping away, in the manner of a checks and balances system.  Further, I have not established where I am expected to go, or where I want to go.  Sure I have an end game, but the middle is what brings about the most anxiety.  “Who will I be?” is another outstanding question.  Each experience I will have by the day will shape me to be more different than any other human being, yet more relatable at the same time.  It is quite interesting to me how we represent the culmination of people and events that come and pass in our lives.  Sure, sometimes I do wish I put a cap on all of this excessive postulating, but I have truly derived the most happiness in life by scribing witty remarks, profound thought, and ridiculous situations on pen and paper.

Sandy

Numerous days after the disaster

The sky shines so bright

Just on this past tuesday not a soul could tell

Mourning to night

Thanks to dear Old Sandy

Halloween was like no other

Scared to leave their places

Left to comfort my lover

The fierceness of the sky

With the cool soothing breeze

Disturbs the thoughtful mind

From the now-fallen trees.

It hurts to watch the news

From what is left of the beach

Nothing will be the same

This is not an informative speech

Inspiration is what gives us the drive and motivation to do anything we want. It would be irrational for me not to talk about the person who inspired me and the person who also made it possible for me to even attend college. This person is my mother, as cliche as is may sound it is a hundred percent applicable to my life. My mother for the entirety Of her life was a hard worker whether it be in her home country of Trinidad and Tobago where she helped tend to acres and acres of land or in America where during her beginning years worked multiple jobs as a cashier or a baby sitter. No matter what the challenge she would never falter, knowing that she was doing her children the biggest favor. Coming from another country with next to nothing is a task most of you aren’t familiar with. Being thrown into a new culture where people dress speak and act completely different. Should you fit in or not, do you keep your customs or leave them. It was hard but she worked hard and from taking buses she now has multiple vehicles from barely having much to wear she has a large wardrobe with sufficient amounts of clothes to live in a village in Trinidad to now owning her home in America I commend her. The drive from the immigrated generation to the first generation degrades immensely we know what it’s like to have clothes food and shelter so much so that we throw it away. There is no real sense of urgency we all just try to have fun because we only live once. But there are generations ahead of you hanging in the balance. Also we have all been given an opportunity to be here whether it be in this school or country we need to capitalize because people have made much more with much less.

In all stages of my life, art has played a significant role in helping me in so many ways– in expressing my feelings or thoughts, understanding concepts, or simply enjoying what is presented to me, the list goes on. As a child up to the middle of high school, drawing played a tremendous part in my life. Well, sure other kids drew their house with a tree next to it on command or they doodled in their notebooks, and I confess that I did the same. But, as narcissistic as it may seem, I felt like I had a deeper connection with art, specifically drawing, at a younger age. Geometric shapes used to and still do intrigue me in their most basic forms, they were simplistic yet vehicles for so much more. Drawing with a pencil in my hand literally soothed me, so I couldn’t stop my wrist from viciously sliding and rotating from point to point. No blank canvas was safe from me. Even my school desk was such a nightmare that I can not even visually fathom it anymore, they were absolutely enveloped in that soft graphite color so that it was hard to even see a tinge of that beige desk color anymore. It was so bad that teachers would have to purchase an alcoholic solvent or something to wipe it down because an eraser was easily out of the question. But, fortunately for me, all that meant was that they gave me a new canvas to work with. This drawing stage lasted for quite a while although the desk drawing habit stopped abruptly after my middle school mentioned that they really did not appreciate it. Although the drawings were not exactly sophisticated in any way, it is to blame for leading me into so many directions like photography, graphic design, painting, and animation that allowed me to express myself and to enjoy myself on heights that could not be achieved in any other way.

Ode to Monologue

Day by day, my blood pressure is rising. Day by day, my head aches something awful, unbearably so, in fact. The nights grow longer as I find myself awake, incapable of laying to rest my weary head. It has been days, nay, weeks, and I cannot help but stare as my delicate locks of hair continue to slowly drift downward, littering my once clean carpet. The moon is just a torn fingernail, and as the days go by I find myself sinking into a slump more and more; I gaze mindlessly at the television screen, the melancholy hum that is white noise sounding all too familiar. Quite awful winds have passed by, and I know now that the “world” is recovering. Yet, I find myself barricaded in my room once more, my gut expanding exponentially, and I don’t seem to be doing much about it. I recall the days when I was once above all this noise and confusion, when I was soaring ever higher. But, alas, it seems that I have flown much too high. I sit alone and in the dark, my mind drowning in thoughts and my chest ready to explode,  as I acknowledge my strife. For too many days, I have pondered just what it was I was missing from my life. I have never had the pleasure of loving or being loved. May that have been it? Oh no, much too trivial and cliche I mutter under my breath to myself. This pain, this everlasting pain having actually surfaced pretty recently, must be from something more meaningful, less mundane. I almost tear, but my pride prevents me from carrying out the unlawful act and so, mustering all the strength that remains in my legs, I rise. I rise.

I will find the source of my misery, of my new fallacy. For the first time in weeks, I rip away the curtains in my dank room, I want the light to flood in, to bathe me after so long. Well, darn. It’s nighttime. I should have thought that one through. Exasperated and beaten down once more, I slowly, with a morose expression on my face, open the lid of my sputtering laptop. Lo and behold, it stares me in the face. All this suffering, and it was right there all along. What, you, the reader, wonder. What is it that stares back at you? Why, it is none other than the Baruch Blog website. In the darkness, my laptop illuminates my worn face, a dark and evil glow lighting up my room. I dreamt of terrible things, of not having accomplished something very dear and important to me. Wooing the woman that I love? Being the son my decaying parents expect me to be? No. Worse. Writing this menial monologue. Holy hell. For three weeks my insides melted as I knew that I was missing something or, rather, forgot to do something? Jesus Christ, it’s almost finished, and I can’t help but admit that I am getting more and more lethargic as I near finishing this mind-numbing task. My writing is getting sloppier, my mind wanders despite the torment experienced. Kudos, monologue. In all seriousness, you have been in my mind for weeks, and have wasted even more of my time now. Congratulations are in order monologue, for plaguing me and being the burden you have been. Ode to you, you inglorious bastard. I am finished. Carpel tunnel strikes. Kudos once again.

If i was as small as a shoe
I could easily hide from you,
In a bush or a tree
You’ll never find me,

I’d hide in a small nook
Where you’d never dare to look
I would walk walk all day
Till I had nothing left to say,

I wouldn’t live in a big house
I’d move in with my friend the mouse
I’d have a very small bed
So I would never have to wed

I wouldn’t have to buy a car
Cause I would never go very far
I do however need a lot of food
Because when I’m hungry I’m in a bad mood

My life would be vey easy and chill
That I could never get ill
Some say my life is a bore
But I just choose to ignore

But next time your just walking around
Try to notice whats on the ground
Be Careful not to step on someone so small
Or you have a great big fall

The darkness of night and fog clouded our vision while we wandered in search of something. The area was horded with zombies. My friend made the four of us avoid them at all costs. She walked around the haunted circus while I ventured through. After being chased by their kind, she didn’t want to become the victim. Then I saw the Beast. I It was much larger in person but overall, it didn’t look that bad from a distance and we slowly made our way towards it. I conquered a few beasts before it, but none were of its caliber. But I planned to do it. It is the reason why I came in the first place.  After staring at the Beast for about forty minutes, I finally had my chance. But it was not at all what I imagined. I neared the Beast and climbed on its head, but it didn’t seem to care or notice. The silence stirred a little bit of anxiety as I remembered what it had done to the last people who attempted to conquer it.

I had no idea what to expect. It was huge. As I stared forward gazing into its eyes, I felt some confidence. My fear was masked by my excitement and while waiting, I forgot to be afraid… until we started moving. My heart jumped into gear as the Beast lunged forward and almost immediately, without wings, it began flying with me on top of it. As we soared straight up into the sky, my eyes widened and I couldn’t help but to look at the atmosphere surrounding me. I was speechless above all of the other creatures. I’m not afraid of heights. I climbed a few mountains and jumped a few cliffs, into water, of course. But nevertheless, heights don’t frighten me. And neither does speed. Dirtbikes, downhill longboarding, and snowboarding are all fast. But when I sat on the back of the Beast, I couldn’t imagine how fast we accelerated. As we slowed down, I could look down and see my doom. I clenched my teeth and braced myself for the expected fall. The Beast turned around and shot towards the ground.

Once again, just like takeoff, my head shot back from the acceleration. We spiraled and I heard many screams from others who wished to conquer the Beast with me; I couldn’t. The screams that tried to escape through my bearing teeth were instantly pulled back. I didn’t fear for my life, but the adrenaline produced a feeling that I remember so clearly: that tingle in my gut that I used to get before cliff jumping. The same tingle that I felt the first time I jumped a wake while wakeboarding. The tingle I get before diving into unknown waters and taking my chances. Before I knew it, the beast was laid to rest, at least momentarily. After those endless eight seconds, I survived the clutches of the monster.

That was an amazing day. For eighteen years of my life, I had never been on a roller coaster. That all changed on Friday before Halloween when I went to Six Flags, Fright Night. The Kingda Ka was a force that I had never faced before. I took on the Nitro and the Batman earlier that day, but they had nothing against the force of Ka.

I’m sitting in my room trying to write this monologue, distracting myself by watching the election, playing the piano and listening to opera music. I don’t know why I’m even doing all that. Maybe I’ll write about one of them. The election? No that’s really boring to write about. Piano playing is fun. I do it sometimes, usually to procrastinate. Maybe I should become an opera singer, but I guess you have to know how to sing opera to become an opera singer. Wow this monologue sucks. As I’m writing this monologue I’m still trying to think of actual topics I could write about for another monologue, but in the back of my mind I know that I’m going to end up using this one. I wonder what kind of person or people will perform this if someone but me ever performs it… probably not. Now I’m tired and far too lazy to even consider starting another monologue, not that I could think of another topic, so this arbitrary mental rant will just have to do. Do you hear that listeners? That’s the sound of me wasting your time. Goodnight.

What appears to be a long lifespan for humansis actually just a cosmic blink compared to the age of earth. Why not make the best out of this brief phenomenal wonder named life?  According to Merriam-Webster’s dictionary, the meaning of life and living are similar with the mere difference in the part of speech. I strongly oppose to this with the belief that there is a vast gap between these two words. Simply put, the difference is that life is the beating of the heart while living is the enjoyment of every single moment which results in giving life its meaning. For me, living life to the fullest is traveling around the world to explore the different cultures and to meet the people who live there. I believe in living in the present always,thus leaving no regrets. As Mark Twain once said “Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you didn’t do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines, sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.”  Why waste time in trying to earn and save money for the afar old years of age? Of course it is necessary in order to survive in the cruel modern society, after all money is the foundation to achieving basic happiness. Unfortunately many of us have failed to understand and to execute the concept of enjoying life but instead weenslave ourselves in miserable jobs and situations. Personally I have spent most of my hard earned money on traveling and I do not regret this because each time that I traveled, I have greatly matured and further learned to appreciate the beauty of the world and life itself. And so traveling has always and will always be my motivation and joy in life.