actuality.log

Alone. That word is beginning to bug me. I do feel pretty alone. And the irony in all of this is, I have been pretty much alone for a huge portion of my life, why does it bother me now? Sure I lived in a normal happy family, went to school like other kids, played with them on the street and that sort of thing. But all of that was superficial. I was alone, and I was quite ok with it.

I exist, and yet don’t exist to society at the same time. My presence will be (obligatorily) noticed, but my absence will not be terribly missed.

Ok, so what does any of that have to do with anything? I am 99.73% sure I am going to sign a lease before Monday, which will result in me moving (in the fall) to my own place in a much more happening part of town. Sure, the new place is about as large as the kitchen(ette) in the place I’m currently at, and sure it costs 3 times as much, but I think I want to try this. I am desperate to make changes. Doesn’t matter where they come up, or how I make them. All I know is that I am not entirely ok with how everything is right now, and I’m vaguely shooting for something like “change everything slowly or drastically, until you eventually reach a point where you’re happier.”

Of course, the only flaw in this is, what if I am quite ok now?

I’ve lived with:
Asians
  Indian
    Northies
    Southies
      People from Madras
      People from Kerala
      People from Karnataka
  Pakistani
  South East Asian
Americans

I’ve lived with people my own age, to people 10 years older or more. I’ve lived with people who’d get queasy when they saw someone crack an egg, and with those who’ll gladly pick up a worm off the ground and put it in their mouths. Clean people, not so clean people. Smart people, idiots. Party animals, loners. Smokers, non smokers. Undergrads, masters students, phd wannabes, and post docs. Homophobes and bicurious folk. …

I think it’s safe to say I have tried. And I really have, over a couple of years. Though I have no (non superficial) problems, cultural issues, communication issues, or anything with any of these people, I wouldn’t claim I particularly derived a great deal of happiness (or comfort, or level of bonding or anything really positive) living with any of them. Sure, the kind of cultural insight I have gained is immeasurable. But is that what I am really after? I seriously doubt it. It’s not like I have this “feeling of loss” attached to any of them when they leave. I think the timeframes I’ve spent with them are too small for me to actually bond. Everyone knows I take a very very long time.

And yet, the bonds break like they were forged with poor quality glue.

The constant in all of this? Me. My room, my space, my home. For whatever it’s worth, this for a couple of years has been my homeworld. I am comfortable here. I “just know” a few people around. I know how they will respond when I greet them in some way, I know their routines, and I know who bakes the best pies. This works both ways. I can walk into a get-together sort of thing and they’ll always be someone who’s taken the time to make sure things like my dietary preferences were considered. I can walk into a cafe say, and I’d immediately get my regulars without me having to exert myself too much by asking for anything.

Mundane, and peaceful. Known, calm, predictable and… stagnant.

That is what this is about. That is what I am trying to fight here. Peaceful is ok, stagnant is not. If someone has any major insights on hermitism and living alone and anything related, and how it could irreversibly damage my social skills (even more I mean), speak now, or forever hold your silence.

There are some obvious cons. It’s a lot smaller and a lot more expensive, like I said. About a quarter BJ per month for the number junkies. (Where one BJ is a fancy unit of currency I use, which I am not going to get into.) And I will be alone, meaning I have to manage all the nitty gritties on my own (not like I don’t do all of that myself right now, however).

Pros are numerous too. It is in a very happening (relatively anyway) area with theaters, restaurants, stores and things like that. The median age of the people around is a lot less. The median activity level of the people seems to be a lot higher. It is more diverse, and not clearly 80%+ Asian. I don’t have to worry about stupid things like “Oh, but what if random roomie’s made his smelly dish today?”, if I plan on inviting someone over. I can decorate or change furniture and not have to go through “But did you really need to spend so much on draperies? And why do we have to partially pay for it?” style dialogues. Returning home dreaming about the last stick of chocolate, just to find an empty wrapper instead. Just a whole lot of stuff involved with being around other people all the time. I am sure this would be different if I felt differently toward these people, but I don’t.

I’d really like to know if there is a bigger picture negative to all of this which I cluelessly failing to notice.

Because they’re a lot easier than photos.

Been playing around a bit with a free real time effects editing system, Jashaka. Different is a word that comes to mind. I need some time to adjust.

Also been playing around a lot with Povray, because drawing in real life is for creative talented people.

Now for some random links from the news over the recent past.
Student sells virginity on web
Brits Going at It Tooth and Nail
Alleged rape under investigation (On this campus. *shudder*.)

Links, cheesy but have to do.

Spending two out of the past three nights at work isn’t fun. No it isn’t.

:/

Because they’re a lot easier than typing.

Catch a sneak preview of the latest iteration of the all new photo page here. It’s essentially the same thing as the older one, but with the text slightly rehashed and freshened, photos posted on journal linked to, and new albums included. Of course, all this in theory, and none of the links really work, yet.

Anyway, braving along. On to today’s photolog. I have pretty much signed the lease for a new home. This is some of the stuff I noticed on the way to the leasing office.

In the bus.

On a car.

On the footpath sidewalk.

Ahh yes, I can’t even say anything and attempt to be PC. So I won’t.

My tickets to go to India are confirmed. I definitely assumed I would be more excited when it was finalized. It should be a very big deal, and I should be all excitedly jumping around, but I am not. Nothing seems to matter. Probably if this were some exotic portion of Europe? Hmm.

Hmm. Maybe, when it sinks in in a month or so from now, and I’m not carefully picking up some apt thing for someone back hmm home. There are a couple of things I assumed I’d be buying which I’m definitely not going to need. I am not in a mood for any more “not my place” conversations.

I have found my first official hostee. Anita now maintains her journal here.

After over a year of answering clueless email related to admissions and aid, like it was some karmic duty, I actually responded to a couple of really funny people yesterday. And I must say I wanted to give them as much info as I could.

I’ve been drooling in my sleep. That coupled with generally unkempt and untied hair results in this ambiguous muck (ahh yes, the joys of not arbitrarily selected words) in the morning. That is definitely not good. But on the plus side, I love the texture of my hair today.

I’ve been sick to my stomach after I saw how good a bunch of performers were together. They were bonding, they were having fun, they were doing something they enjoyed. Well. And what’ve I done in the recent past? Shut myself away from most things pining everything on some arbitrary point in the future. I need to pick up an instrument or a mikkeeeee.

Old, but apt.

I’ve been feeling old and like I’ve let life pass me by lately. For one, I manage a bunch of bank accounts, handle any and all bills, and I’m preparing my own taxes. Yes, I’m feeling old because I am old. But� I mean, if you are “this old” you must be at “this point” in your life.

I am nowhere near there. Just old.

NP. Third Eye Blind – Third Eye Blind

:/

Imagine the (ultra cute) Marissa Tomei in My Cousin Vinny stomping on a hard wood porch and screaming (in all her nasal glory) “My biological clock is ticking like this!” BAM BAM BAMM.

Except remember the world we live in is different, for we are not cute.

According to my clock, I am physically, intellectually and emotionally awake between some 4 and 10 in the morning. This was all very good for a bulk of my life as I used to wake at 3-4 AM, do whatever I needed to do before 8 or so, head off to school/college to sleep (intellectually) and return home eventually to chill out some more before I sleep (for real).

Like I said, all of this was fine and dandy. Except, now I wake at fishing 8-10 AM after not going to sleep until 1-2 AM at least (this is when I do sleep of course). But magically, the clock (through changing time zones, age, diet, intellectual activity, emotional damage, change in general physical activity patterns etc) still sits at the same extreme frame. 4-10 in the morning. What this means in real world units is that I effectively have between 8 and 10 in the morning (if I’m lucky) to get what I need done for the day done, done.

Yes, the days are just packed.
(Arguably, the coolest 400 bucks or whatever I spent on a comic, ever.)

Now all we need is some pasta to drown this down with.

Ahh yes, an update on my inherent lonerisms and consequent lack of social skill. There was a bit of confusion brewing between a bunch of people when I tried to step in and chip in my (not necessarily warranted) two cents. And now:

Party A –

“pundit,
Thanks for being a voice of reason. I’ll never claim that I am a saint and like most folks I loose my temper every now and then.
…
An overly idealistic view in retrospect :)
…
I hope I can give back somehow.

Party A”

Party B –

“(To me)
Indeed. Your efforts are appreciated.
…
…
And thank you pundit, for being respectful and constructive throughout this whole thing. If only there were more people like you, and less people like Party A, the world would be a better place.

Party B”

Maybe I’m not so “inherently flawed” at this people thing. There is hope.

Yes there is.

Update:

Party C –

“
…
> New contributors should follow pundit’s example and not Party A’s.
…
pundit is awesome, no debate there.”

Hmm. Just what is it that’s going on?

Today was amazing. I’ve felt this way after a very, very long time, and I’m loving it. I’m writing this (yes, of the pencil and paper kinds) at a café over my second (extremely large) glass of hot chocolate. Mmmm.. chocolate. I’ve spent most of my evening here. No mucking around with broken meshes, no classes, no coding, no SGI annoyances, no homework, no music, no reading, no talking, no writing, no cute little kiddies running around, … no nothing.

Just me, thinking. Me, my pencil, and bits of scrap paper. Made some leaps in thought and it feels awesome. Finally.

Which now leads me to a very scary thought. Self sufficiency. My apparently apparent self sufficiency to be more precise. Why is it that some people are quite happy being all alone and fully capable of keeping themselves entertained/intellectually engaged/sane and productive and so on while there are others who’re in constant need of company/someone to talk to/spend their time with and that sort of thing?

I am not entirely sure if this is a sort of thing that people are born with, or whether it’s their life circumstance that drives them to behave in a certain manner. As with everything else, I am sure it is a linear combination of the two. But I think, for me anyway, it started out with me not having too much of a choice, and being forced to “evolve to handle it” strengthened some inherent ability to keep myself entertained.

For whatever reasons, when I was a kid of <insert insanely teeny age here>, I lived in this home in an area that didn’t have anybody else in my age group to play with. I had a bunch of toys, a TV I couldn’t understand, a mom, and me. I dealt with it the way I knew how. Contrary to the “awww, poor baby” tone I’m trying to pull off, this had some odd advantages that had begun to crop up even at that time. Stuff I noticed, and still remember. I had gotten into attempting to make stuff. Crafts and that sort of thing, within the bounds of my age limited dexterity.

There was this very nice teacher in pre kindergarten, whose name I obviously don’t remember, but her face I do. (I think I last met her when in fifth grade, when she comes up and goes, loosely paraphrased, “So young man, does your handwriting still suck?” Her only peek into my handwriting previously being those pre alphabet squiggles we did as kiddies.) We had some time to play with clay. The usual kiddies were doing usual kiddy things. Attempting to eat the clay, breaking it up into bits and throwing it all over the place, or struggling to roll it into a small (highly non spherical) ball.

I made her a (blue) necklace with a flattened yellow disc functioning as some sort of medallion. Sure, it broke as she was thanking me and attempting to wear it, (you have no idea how hard it is to control your hands to do what you want them to do when you’re 2–3) but it was the thought that, I think, counted. I was thinking about stuff. I was planning, I was practicing, I was trying to create. I’d begun losing the ability to say, fight with another kid over a crayon, or feel sad that someone didn’t want me as their friend.

Yes, things (my “social setup”) soon got better as I was just a little bit older. But by then the damage, and I’ll call it influence, had left its mark. I had realized I was capable of being perfectly normal all alone. I’d begun to do, and still do, different things to keep me occupied. And alone.

Learning multiple instruments, singing, dabbling in arts, craft and photography, baking, composing, a couple of PhDs, … maintaining a fairly useless journal? It is quite obvious what is going on here.

Of course, none of this makes too much sense without getting into why this topic scared me.

How can someone who’s in a similar state ever unequivocally prove to someone else they need them to be happy? I know for a fact, “Yes, I am quite happy alone, but I know I will be happier with you” doesn’t cut it. But then again, why do they have to? Might not someone exist for them who gets this without proof?

When people think your writing is so cool that they should periodically check in (aka send you reminders aka be desperate enough to ask more than once aka attempt to force/beg?) on how your contributions to their magazines are going along. Ones they requested for in the first place.

*me does the I am not worthy bow.* Of course, I did have legit reasons, which I elaborated.

Greetings again.

A while ago, I did think about what I wanted to say, and wrote out a few pages of a rough draft. I soon realized I hadn’t read the magazine before, and had no way of knowing what kinds of articles are acceptable for publication. I had originally planned on an article embracing our inherent curiosity and drawing on it to get a better understanding of the world around us. But before I knew it, it stepped out of that framework and quickly plunged into how deterministic we implicitly assume the world is (through schooling, and to a large extent as scientists). It quickly got more philosophical as it questioned the reasons for existence of higher powers, as everything was purely determined from its previous state by strict classical physics laws. I then gradually introduced the notion of quantum physics, as a saviour from this grim outlook painted by previously non-probabilistic frameworks, by introducing the notion of “chance”.

As you can see, it wasn’t very coherent and just an idea that was beginning to form. I was, I think, shelving it till I got access to a few issues, so I could see what was the norm. However, I would be lying if I didn’t admit the words “… electronic format, preferably in MS Word.” acted as a deterrent to some extent.

I will read a few issues, and get back to it as soon as possible.

Thank you for the reminder.
wahgnube

What is wrong with these people?

Said “people” are subpoenaing the UofM for students’ names involved in file sharing.

In other news, working on favicon.ico. Which for some reason only seems to show up on mozilla. Anyway, working with 16 colour 16×16 images is the worst thing ever. Even worse than DFTs. Gah. I could literally go to each pixel and set the colour I wanted.

I hate times like this. I love choices usually, but am quite annoyed by the actual choosing process. Firstly, I kinda like more than one home, and don’t know what to do. But that is a relatively minor thing on my mind right now. There are a bunch of other fairly life path determining choices I need to make. And that sucks.

Without getting into any details, I’ve got a bunch of paths to cross a bunch of hurdles that are coming up. There’s the usual person’s way, which involves seeing the goal, and trying hard and making it accross. Fine, and will 97.934% work, but not very me. I could con the system, and still cross said hurdles. But that has like a 34.523% probability of working. There is no middle path, because middle paths aren’t me either.

If you’re wondering, “Just what is there to decide? Just try hard and make it to the end point”. I’ve thought long and hard about it. I know how glorious I will feel if I make it to said end point without trying. But is it worth the 65.477% risk?

I’ve pulled this stunt on other major battles and lost. But then again, I’ve won some too. Why am I like this? Don’t I get the world owes me nothing?

Decisions decisions. Sigh.

Totally unrelated. Thank god I haven’t had to know things like signal processing or whereever DFTs and FFTs are used. Good god they’re insanely horrid. As if continuous space Fourier transforms weren’t evil enough.

NP. Third Eye Blind – Blue

For whatever reasons (and I think I do know them, but will stick with a generic whatever anyway), I’ve had this splitting headache that’s lasted a reeeaaally long time. I decided to try to sleep rather early last night, but couldn’t. It was sort of beginning to hurt then, but not major enough to bother. A few hours? of lying there later, I wasn’t any closer to sleep, but bits of our current story began to materialize in my head. There have been a bunch of things I’ve been meaning to say lately, but hadn’t quite found the right way to say it, till then. I lay there for a bit hoping the urge would go away, along with the slowly growing headache, but no such thing happened. I was up a little while later. Grabbed my generic scribble pad and penned down a good chunk of hSirah’s life.

Though it is fiction, any similarity of names, attitudes or circumstance to that of real people, living or dead, is purely deliberate.

hSirah is in no way connected to She-Ra, Princess of power. She is not a cartoon character, and definitely not the twin sister? of He-Man. (Why am I so ashamed that I knew that? And shouldn’t she be called She-Woman?) hSirah isn’t very strong, and doesn’t have her own unicorn. Really.

I was hoping I could get to sleep after that. No such luck either. So I decided to start typing it in. Transfering from paper to the computer is one of the most boring and irritating tasks, ever. At one point I really was beginning to feel sleepy, and my head was slowly getting worse. I stopped, and slept. It hasn’t gotten too much better over today.

What I’m trying to say is, those waiting for the sequel(s), yes you, will have to wait a bit.

Allegories – Now with 100% less animal analogies!
As a result, no horsies were harmed in the production of this piece.

This is the story of a princess. A poor misguided princess.
Princess hSirah (with a silent first ‘h’).

And yes, there is a good reason I didn’t name her Consuela Banana Hammock.
And no, the length of Consuela Banana Hammock had nothing to do with it.

hSirah had the perfect childhood. Well, not perfect (for what is reality but imperfection, or something insightful like that). She was a powerful king’s daughter and led a fairly protected life. She wasn’t free to roam about her land and play with the other regular kids, but she did get to be with a select few. The few nobles’ children, who all thought the same and were exposed to things similar to what she was. But she was the princess, the fairest and luckiest of them all. She had not a care in the world. Anything she would ever want was handed to her before she could feel want. Toys, expensive clothes, fine foods, the best tutors in the land… . She wasn’t allowed to roam outside her wondrous palace, and she honestly believed the world outside was just like the one she was living in.

Who can blame the poor child?

hSirah was extremely gifted and intelligent. She enjoyed learning, and got the most out of her royal tutors. She soon surpassed them in knowledge. She was talented. She had the voice of an angel and her extreme psycho-motor skills allowed her to handle any musical instrument or craft tool she was handed. She was creative, and was capable of making the most adorable little trinkets from anything and everything she found around her.

hSirah was the perfect little child. Caring, compassionate, curious, honest. Just your regular sweetheart. Yes, some might say she was a little lazy, but being almost spoiled, and having never experienced the need to work toward anything, either it being handed to her or it coming to her naturally, she can be excused.

(Hey, but the title block said “poor misguided”, hSirah doesn’t seem to be poor at all. Course not dummy, I didn’t mean poor as in monetarily. I meant poor as in hapless. Unfortunately, for all her perfection, and the “perfectness bubble” surrounding her little tower, she wasn’t exposed to a lot. Hence the “misguided” in the title. And HEY, am I telling this story or are you? Sshh, and listen.)

hSirah was one to form her own opinions on things, and rarely took anything told to her for granted. For a little while, as a young child, she wondered if extrapolating how the world is outside based on her rosy (but she didn’t know it at the time) life was the right thing to do. But she did what she could at the time given her state (couldn’t crawl yet, and was being pushed around in a (cute lavender and pink) pram); she made an intelligent assumption. “Well”, little hSirah went, “It must be nice outside too. I couldn’t be born and raised at some singularity could I? How probable would that be statistically?” So, before she learnt math and probability formally, she had started doing something that would stick with her for the rest of her life – Making assumptions about things she didn’t or couldn’t know yet.

hSirah is now a little older, and by now her beliefs about the world outside were very strong. She stopped being curious for a while. After all, there was so much to learn and experience here. Why not crawl before we fly? “Weee.. pretty flower.”

hSirah was the perfect little child. Caring, compassionate, curious, honest. Just your regular sweetheart. One evening, a long time later, she was setting up a telescope (No, not to look for flying carpets with singing genies. Do you mind? It is my story.) to study some constellation patterns to see which one’s the best choice for her to join to spell out a special message for her mom, the queen’s, birthday. She had it all planned out. She had the optics wired to shine a tiny laser on the inside that connected these dots based on coordinates she’d specified and she was beginning to plan phase two. She was beginning to fashion an idea in her head. To get her mom to look through the telescope on her own without her guessing what’s in store.

(Anywho, that diversion has little to do with the progression of our fine tale, so moving along.)

Unfortunately, for all her brilliance, she had unduly high expectations on the functioning of subsystems and had a bit of an absentmindedness problem. She hadn’t tightened the screws on the telescope stand tight enough (yes, she wasn’t as strong as the other princesses) and it slipped out of its position and was now no longer focussing on her carefully selected star set. Instead, it now gave her a brilliant view of the city outside.

(Again, did I have to make it so elaborate as to how she got to peek outside? Couldn’t she have just been curious and actually done this voluntarily at some point in the past? Sure, but hey, WHOSE STORY IS THIS?)

She was awestruck. (Yes, it was night, but a very well lit city. Good king, great civic utilities. Streetlamps included). It was so pretty, and filled with people. Bustling with activity.

And then she saw…

Continued soon…

(Yes, if big studios *cough* The Matrix guys can do it, I can too. Good night.)