Florescent Lit Hallways

•August 7, 2015 • Leave a Comment

Cliches are words and imagery that are repeated often enough in stories that they become too familiar — such as the American Dream, a butterfly as metamorphosis, and offices filled with quiet desperation.

I go to an office filled with quiet desperation every day.

Maybe that’s only what it seems like to me. So then, perhaps I’ve become a cliche. Like every person who ever wanted to be a writer but never really came close to being published. I used to live vicariously through blogs of famous authors, trying to soak in all the details of how they push through the creative process, with all the editing and revising with their editors until the final work is a gem that sells millions of copies. That’s not where I am now.

It’s not that anything bad is happening. I recently found a cheap-ish apartment, it’s a stable job that pays alright. I’m with someone who also seems very steady and reliable. I am dissatisfied. It feels like I’ve learned enough in a place with rules that change ever so slightly all the time, but because it’s not that noticeable, will come to¬†hurt my work status. A lot of minutiae detail that don’t seem to matter. But they do, because they affect my credibility.

Nerd cred isn’t something I value, which is why I have pretty much none. The only cred I have might be travelers’ cred, which is not valuable in technology companies. But I don’t think I’m in the wrong industry, because I sincerely enjoyed building this computer. Where’s a technology company with less one-upping nerd culture when you need one? Am I qualified to apply? Is this a unique mindset?

Maybe it’s not that cliched after all? Maybe you can tell me.


•August 6, 2015 • Leave a Comment

Hello, my name is —, and my brain is very noisy today. It is this way for various reasons. I am not always this way; in fact, I am happiest when I am not this way.

The yogi would tell me to stretch out, shake all the stress from my limbs, and then concentrate on the sounds from my surroundings with a mental bookmark on my breathing. Part of me says that is what I should be doing. And yet… It doesn’t seem to be the time for that.

Family matters are strange. Sometimes, I think they are all strangers to me, that everyone I know is someone I barely know. Colleagues at work sometimes feel like an extended family, because I spend so much time there, except that’s not true. I find that there is almost no true way to convey the flavor and depth of any feeling adequately to someone else. Among these interactions, gift giving is by far one of the most strange.

There are so many modes of communication now. So many electronic devices to choose from, most with video and audio capability. But the words “I miss you” just don’t seem to do the feeling justice. There is really no other way to say it. The distance seems impossible to bridge.

Maybe it’s just me.


•July 2, 2013 • 1 Comment

and faces
fade out

I turn
at the alarm

another day
duties ahead
hours pass

every action
a drop
into ambition
keep learning

Fishing and Being Fished

•June 20, 2013 • Leave a Comment

The advent of the internet has changed human existence in a very drastic way. That’s something that no one can debate against. Recently, I’ve been caught up in two phenomenons that are directly spawned from the internet: job boards and online dating.

Local economies are much more linked to the global economy through the internet. Anyone who has applied for a job across long distances can attest to this fact. It’s a market that has a very basic and necessary function – to match people with the right talents and skills with companies that can use them well. All three sides win: the person gets a fulfilling career, the company gets a valuable employee, and the job board rakes in money from millions of people using it everyday. The only potential downside is that, since people have to relocate, that takes a lot of energy and effort, both monetarily and psychologically.

Online dating also takes a lot more energy than anyone who hasn’t tried it can guess. It is its own market, and its own economy, where one’s wealth is defined by one’s physical attractiveness, ability to write a creative personal essay, and carry on conversations with complete strangers. The idea is to match individuals with other individuals of the correct gender/sexual orientation, interests and outlooks about existence. Then everyone can date around for a while to find The One, if you believe in such a thing. Only people who used the system for longer than a few weeks can understand the decision-making processes behind sifting through people (unless you are a human resources manager, then you sift through applications all the time).

Both processes involve browsing people’s profiles. An online dater’s first message is akin to his cover letter. Then, if and when both sides meet, then people are evaluated. I find that both processes involve using similar skill sets, especially when people get to either the first date or the interview. It is a whole science based on the presentation of oneself. Self marketing involves fashion choices, a person’s demeanor, and finally, the way one’s words come across. As both a human being and a recent graduate, these things are very important for me to think about, because they will determine my future.

Now I suppose I may be a bit ambitious, reaching for both a great career and love at the same time. I believe my quality of life is heavily tied into those two pursuits, and so I’m trying my best – as, I assume, is everyone else my age (27). It is not just that the companies and these men are evaluating me, but I am examining them as well. It is like fishing: I serve as my own bait, cast out into the sea. I have so many profiles: Facebook, LinkedIn, OKCupid, Zoosk. Then I have edited my resume into three different versions and written so many cover letters. I put myself out there, fishing for the right company and right man. They are out there, fishing for perfect employees and the love of their lives.

Work hard, play hard. Cheers to our goals and desires! I’ll drink (orange juice) to that.

Searching for Nowhere

•May 15, 2013 • 1 Comment

in the busy eyes of strangers,
it is enormously easy to become
an organic machine:

when speech conveys only orders without
real regard for individual well-being
everyone is a cog in another organization
serving this entity named “society”

so I look to the sky, seeking
depth, soul, meaning, salvation
within the stars – giant balls of gas –
perhaps evidence of a higher power

and for a reminder that human strife
whatever we feel and do, our existences
are so miniscule to the universe,
the forces of chaos who control nothing

Contented Chaos

•May 1, 2013 • Leave a Comment

with a purple Bandaid sealing off
a hangnail on my ring finger, a metaphor
for my romantic life, to be sure
I mutter to the plentiful oxygen and
generous sunlight that, such wonder

no one could love me more
than the siblings loneliness and chaos
so practiced are they at surrounding me
that I feel I need almost no one else
for now, food, sleep and cleanliness
are enough, maybe a little more stimulation
but only of the mind and imagination

so very modern, to ride home to my cat
only he would I come home to,
as he decides to stare from his chair
or actually stretch his furry lithe body
to greet my excited tone and petting hand

the world is one’s oyster
so full of emptiness, beautiful sky
rolling lands of yonder
and oceans deeper and more vast
than anything a mere human like me
could ever understand
how could all of this not be enough?

Introvert Bubbled, Not Turtled

•April 22, 2013 • Leave a Comment

floating off of a shiatsu’ed stress
before a handful of hours of sleep
all the sound seems so far away
kicked outside the bubble of music

I fear this is my mind imploding
hinging on the lyrics of heartbreak
pausing on edge, another transition
it’s not that kind of drama
the world opens, and everyone is lost

to their own ambitions
don’t ask me, I don’t know
this building has held me
for over thirteen hours
a ghostly clutch, a siren of idealism

takes so much energy to dream
if allowed to sleep, I’ll hold hope
on my own


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