It's been a while since I've written anything. I guess things just haven't felt right. I don't really like writing unless there's something I really want to say. Besides that, I find writing difficult. When I talk with others, I find it easy to convey my thoughts because it's a two way experience. I can see the other person's reaction and explain myself more or less base off how they react. The experience is more tailored to each person, whereas in writing, what I want to say can be misunderstood or not understood at all. In writing I have to create a piece of static text that everyone can understand. And given that each person's background is different, different people will interpret what I write in different ways.

But today especially I have a decent amount of thoughts. Maybe just enough to write about.

    But yeah, a while ago, maybe two or three years ago, I read this quote. It went something like "When you're happy, you hear the melody. When you're heartbroken, you hear the lyrics." It struck me as quite true and anytime I feel down and listen to sad songs, I really do find myself noticing what the songwriters are writing. I think this is especially true for foreign music, like Korean or Japanese music. Since I can't explicitly understand the lyrics, I go out of my way to seek the translation. And even though I'm reading the lyrics through the veil of translation, some of the words to these songs are really powerful. In a sense, not being able to understand the song lyrics allows them to convey their meaning through the emotional performance of the artist. I kind of attach the meaning of the lyrics to the artist's performance. It's pretty hard to describe, but I think the most impactful song I've had this experience with is "The Reason I Wanted to Die" by Amazarashi, performed by Nakashima Mika (turn CC on)

    The lyrics are honestly genius and convey a certain feeling I can't really describe. The singer's performance is also extremely powerful and you can honestly feel the full weight of their emotions in the performance. The words just resonant with their voice and even though you can't understand what they're saying, you can understand how they're feeling. The emotion in the singer's voice is understandable because they had undergone tremendous pain and in a way, the singer, Nakashima, chose the song to perform because the lyrics also spoke to her. Even though the studio version is really good, my favorite version of the song is Nakashima's live version. It's so raw, and even though she's off tune at times, her performance has a wild, primal vigor to it, almost as if she's sinking her entire being into the song. When I first heard it, I couldn't really understand where the emotion was coming from, but I saw a comment that explained everything:

"That's what makes this version perfect, at the time of the show, she was suffering from an incurable disease that [was] deafening her. She was known for her perfect voice but of course when she can't hear it, it becomes completely trashed. Any other person would've announced their resignation but nope, she came back with a travelling live show half a year later. That is, after her new songs were relentlessly trashed on by media and everyone else simply coz she can't control her voice. So that's what makes this song great for me, coz you know at this point she's singing with her heart, trying desperately to catch the rhythm with steps and touching the speakers. I would agree skills and presentation-wise she's not doing her best, sometimes going too fast and other times just breaking her voice, but somehow with that imperfection you can just feel her energy booming across. I did cry listening to the song after learning the story behind it, this video also cut out a bit of talking before the song. Essentially she said she was really moved by it when she listened to it, and she understands how it feels to be completely alone in the dark with no hope to be seen, that's why she chose that song to conclude the concert."

    It also makes you think about imperfection. For some reason, a little bit of imperfection can often be better than pure perfection. Why? I think humans just aren't used to perfection. Perfection is also kind of boring. Because in a sense, there is only one way to be perfect, so if everything is perfect, things quickly begin to look the same. There are, however, multiple ways to be imperfect. For example, in the art world, once cameras came into existence, art became less about capturing a perfect representation of life, but instead about expressing emotion or feeling. And yet, despite drifting away from the idea of "perfect representation", art became even more expressive and representative. The art by great painters can make you feel things about a scene that a picture can't. It truly is strange, how we all kind of strive for perfection, yet in reality perfection isn't what we want.

    But anyway I really wanted to talk about cities. Remember how I said "When you're heartbroken, you hear the lyrics"? I've been listening to some RM. He has a song about Seoul where he talks about the city. He describes his love hate relationship with the city, almost talking to the city as if it were a person. But while listening I became cognisant of the fact that cities really are quite magical. They are almost alive. When I think of certain cities I think of certain things. I relate them to different things, even though aren't all cities kind of the same? It's just buildings, cars, and people, yet each one is so uniquely different. I guess it's the same with people. People are all the same biologically I guess right? I guess it's the same with cities as well. For example, when I think of Los Angeles, I think of the late night drives going back to UCLA, highways with music, walking around Westwood, nighttime and freedom. When I think of Shanghai, I think about the river, humid nights and air conditioning, how alive the city is, the people, the parks. When I think of Seoul I think about salmon roe, Korean BBQ, the airport, and the cold lonely air. When I think of Tokyo I think of back alleys, sake, the seaweed rice buns, warm ramen, and trains. Each place is alive in a different way in my mind.

    I often talk about want to live a simple life but I think I love cities too much. I guess I'm an introvert but for some reason the energy in cities, the hustle, and the proximity with people excites me to no end. I think just the feeling of "being lost in the crowd" is one that I greatly enjoy; just being another person contributing to the life of the city. I think that's why people can fall in love with cities. Each one has it's own personality, and each one is exceedingly complex in a way the suburbs can never be. I remember in Tokyo there were so many back alleys to explore. The buildings stretched into the sky, each one holding who knows what.

    In many cases I let my imagination get the better of me. I like to reminisce and think about things that don't really make sense. I like to think about alternate lifetimes. Think about growing up in different places and imagine how the city would shape me. What kind of person would I be if I grew up in Seoul? Tokyo? New York? Cities also really make me think about human lives, and our interactions within them. Whenever I try to describe this particular idea, I always go back to the same example because it's something I remember so vividly. Back two or three years ago, I was in Han Zhou, where my grandparents live. Even though Han Zhou is a relatively small Chinese city, there are still people everywhere. I specifically remember this one rainy day. I was out with my mom and we were walking somewhere. In the rain everyone is huddled close to those they know; rainhoods are pulled over everyone's heads and everyone is looking down. In the rain everyone is just trying to reach their destination. My mom and I had to stop at a crosswalk and as we waited for the light, a bunch of people eventually arrived and started to wait with us. Everyone was looking down, and all you could see was the sides of rainhoods and umbrellas. But in the tangle of soaked bodies, I saw a pair of eyes. This boy about my age was standing maybe a few meters away, but in the forest of people, he seemed so far away. We looked at each other, contemplating each other for a second. And I just remember being struck with this strange feeling and thought. Almost surreal, I realized that this boy had lived a life, perhaps very different from mine. Yet somehow, through fate, through luck, through whatever, he had arrived at this crosswalk on this particular rainy day for us to share that moment of connection. His presence had touched my life, and perhaps my presence had touched his. Even more surreal was thinking that he would go on to live his life, and that likely we would never meet again. For a brief moment, our paths had crossed. It was then I realized just how hard it is to appreciate the lives of others. We really can only understand our own lives, but truly every single person has lived a unique life that only they can understand.

    I guess it was maybe this experience that really made me think about how different people live. If I had grown up in Tokyo, how would the city shape me? How would I shape the city? What happiness and sadness would present itself in my life? Who would my friends be? Who would I be? What would I take for granted? It really is quite interesting to think about. And honestly, you can expand the question in many ways. Who would I be if I was born 500 years ago as a peasant? thief? warrior? king? I think at the heart of what makes the question so interesting to me is that it makes me think about who I really am. What I am. It also makes me ponder the infinite multiplicity of choices and paths in my life. I'm here because of my choices, but what if I'd made different choices? Even a simple change in my life like going to Cypress instead of Oxford would probably change who I am drastically.

    And thus, I truly feel that who I am now probably isn't who I actually am. I honestly don't know who I actually am. I've been shaped by the experiences specific to this life. If I had been born as a King, I like to think I would retain the rationality and compassion I feel I've gained living this life. But honestly, I can't say for sure. Perhaps I'd be a tyrant, letting my jealousy get the better of me and executing people I don't like. Perhaps I would be a weak king, ruled by fear and eventually overthrown. These kinds of thoughts are why I really like things that can give me the feeling of temporarily living another life. I can explore myself more deeply and get more in touch with who I am.

    I remember I showed some people some videos from this guy called joonpiter. He posts songs but they are altered in a way to represent a real life event. The people I showed the videos to couldn't really understand why I like them, because honestly it just feels like the videos are just lower quality versions of real songs but the appeal to me is that it lets me imagine a life where the events in the video could have actually been a real event in my life. It allows me to build up a life where I would actually be able to experience the event in the video.

    I guess it's kind of bad that I try so hard to escape my life but honestly I don't know if it is. I guess maybe it's not that I'm trying to escape my life, instead I'm living lives maybe I could have had? I don't know if there's much of a difference there but it is what it is. To be honest, it really is hard to explain so I guess I'll try to provide an example. I often think about how my life would have turned out if my parents didn't come to America and stayed in Shanghai. This is what I imagine:

    I would have grown up in Shanghai, perhaps going by train to visit my grandparents every few months or so. I would have gone to the park regularly, maybe talked to the old men there, watched their card games. In the mornings I would roam the streets with my parents, looking for street vendors to buy breakfast from. When I got old enough I would enroll in school. I would have met my peers, learned mandarin instead of English. In the mornings, the entire school would go out to the yard and do exercises in the main square. I would attend classes and go home for lunch. I would probably live in some apartment in a high rise, and on the weekends perhaps my friends and I would run around the city. We'd run along the banks of the Huangpu river, shopping around the little shops by the banks. Maybe I would play League still and go to PC bangs. Once high school rolled around, I would study all day and go home very late. I would visit my cousin more regularly and maybe get to know my extended family a bit more. I would eventually take the GaoKao and maybe I'd get into a good university. I'd leave home and study there. Then I'd live out the rest of my life in China, perhaps meeting my wife in college. We'd move somewhere, have a family and I'd grow old. I'd begin going to the park more and more, eventually retiring becoming one of those old men that I had talked to in my youth.

    There's many things I would have missed, but also many experiences I would have gained. It really is hard to imagine a separate life when we've been so immersed in the life we already have, but in a sense it's rewarding. Don't get me wrong, I don't wish I could have grown up in China, in fact, I appreciate a lot the life I have, but I guess I just like to explore "lost" possibilities.

    These types of thoughts occur more often when I get lonely or sad. I guess maybe it's a coping mechanism for me to escape my current life. When I can live other lives in my mind, it triggers that wistful nostalgic feeling I get remembering memories. And to be honest, why can't those lives be real? I think I'm gradually becoming a believer of the many worlds theory. The theory basically states that everytime the wave function collapses (something in quantum physics), the universe splits into two. This basically means that every single choice made (by you, and for that matter everyone), causes the universe to split into two: one where the choice was made, and one where it wasn't. You, the you in this universe continues living on this "timeline" ruled by the choice you made, while the separate "you" created from the universe splitting lives in its own alternate timeline. If this theory is true, it explains a lot of things I think, even in religion. Like the problem of free will. If God knows everything you do how can there be free will? Well, if you eventually do everything because there are alternate timelines, then God knows you do everything, but the real you is just following a path along the infinite multiplicity of yourself. It really is strange to think about but I think it's by far the most interesting way to view the universe and yourself. Think about it, there's a world in which you become a famous movie star, a billionaire, a supermodel, a k-pop star, anything. But of course it works the opposite way too. There's a world in which you are tortured to death, run over, cheated on. There's a world where every person you love is murdered and you commit suicide. In the multiplicity of possibilities it's really sobering to realize just how ordinary my life is.

    But as I've always told myself, an ordinary life isn't too bad. "There's no such thing as a free lunch". It's an old adage, which my Operating Systems professor used to explain that in life, there are no perfect solutions, only compromises. Billionaires have money, but perhaps they aren't able to spend time with friends or family; in that case what's the point of having money? Movie stars are famous and loved, but they can never have a normal life because of their fame. I've always thought that the world has a strange way of balancing things so that they're equal. And given that happiness is relative, who can say that an American billionaire is happier than a Nigerian farmer? And if you aren't happy what's the point?

    You know what makes me happy? Seeing the stars. The universe is really so beautiful, but as we've gained cities, we've lost the stars. The city lights drown out the galaxies above. But in a sense the cities themselves shine too. And either way, the night is just magical. It hides away the dull, ugly things, and allows only the bright to shine. I miss driving back to Los Angeles at night; seeing the city lights glimmering as we approach the city. I miss the cozy back allies in Tokyo, walking back to the hotel slightly drunk with my mom. I love the city lights and the cities too much to give them up. So I guess that means I'll have to go somewhere else to see the stars.