So here I am, in the library, where I am prone to be. Studying, or making some futile attempt towards it. And I'm listening to all these new artists. More and more frequently, these artists are my age or even younger. And, I look at my own life. I see that the last seven years have been the same drill: class, study, volunteer at some places (generally to build up my resume to some self-theorized ideal).
As one can imagine, the question pops up asking why I'm choosing to go through this routine (which has become troublingly more and more tiresome as of late). What am I aiming for? Well, the short-term answer is obvious, to get the degree and work in its particular field. But looking at the bigger picture, I have to wonder what I really want out of the few productive decades that I have. And to that, I have no answer. I've probably never really had a solid answer. As far as I can remember, I've been semi-mindlessly following through with my routines relentlessly (a friend whom I hadn't seen in a long time commented that I was always a very routine person). It seems there has never been a very clear, defined goal that I've been working towards.
I mean these existential questions are nothing to me but I suppose it's been a while since I've poked my head above the water's surface to steal a glance of the horizon. I keep saying to myself that once I'm through with this phase of my life that I'll begin living life for myself. But I wonder if that will truly happen. What will that look like? I'm definitely excited to move onto that phase of my life (after spending the better half of decade in the same post-secondary institution). Although I seem to be chained to the same routines right now, I really hope that that will not be my ultimate fate in my next life. I don't want to be a machine.
Well, I guess that's enough of that for now, I really ought to get back to struggling so as not to drown under the weight of these crushing self-imposed waves.
12/06/2012
ಠ_ಠ
The defensive look with the scrunched eyebrows. You know what I'm talking about. That casual look of disdain and disapproval momentarily breaching through the other party's normal social inhibitions. Maybe it's just me being a little oversensitive but that look somehow seems to be finding its way into my conversations much too frequently for my liking.
Ponder and obsess as I may, I still have yet to isolate the precise conditions required to precipitate that cold lifeless look with its piercing eyes. Was it my choice of words? The content of my message? My tone that seems to have become lost in the spaces between irony and insincerity? Maybe it's my tired unengaged look or maybe that shit-eating grin that I greet you with? Well, I have no idea.
But since those instances have been piling up, my desire to make small-talk with effective strangers has reached near-zero levels. And so, I'll have to ask earnestly that you forgive me if I "don't seem to notice you" and don't say hello. It's nothing personal.
Ponder and obsess as I may, I still have yet to isolate the precise conditions required to precipitate that cold lifeless look with its piercing eyes. Was it my choice of words? The content of my message? My tone that seems to have become lost in the spaces between irony and insincerity? Maybe it's my tired unengaged look or maybe that shit-eating grin that I greet you with? Well, I have no idea.
But since those instances have been piling up, my desire to make small-talk with effective strangers has reached near-zero levels. And so, I'll have to ask earnestly that you forgive me if I "don't seem to notice you" and don't say hello. It's nothing personal.
12/05/2012
Hubris
I watched "Into the Wild" yesterday. The rest of the post will be a giant spoiler if you haven't seen the movie, read the book, or are generally unfamiliar with the story upon which those two are based.
It's 5 a.m. and I am awake and I find myself bothered by several aspects of that movie, that story, ...ultimately, that person upon which it was all based, Christopher McCandless. And I mean no disrespect to the family. I realize this must have been a huge loss for them. But, still, I think this story serves well as a precautionary tale, one that others have undoubtedly already stated in the past but I think would be pertinent, if only for my own edification, to work through.
I guess the heaviest aspect of that movie was the suffering, both of Christopher himself near the end of his ordeal and of his family whom was completely unaware of his whereabouts until after the fact. The part that hits me the most is the aspect of self-infliction. From what little I've skimmed on the issue, it seems that McCandless' ultimate demise can be traced to the inadequacy of his supplies and equipment. The last person to have seen him alive was the person driving him from Fairbanks to the trail where McCandless began his stay in the Alaskan bush. Apparently, that person had tried to convince McCandless to reconsider his trip due to a perceived inadequacy of his supplies and equipment, to no avail.
If this is true, I'd hazard to say that a major determining factor of his demise may have been sheer arrogance. And I say this not completely as an outsider to that facet of humanity. It is something of which I have been sensitive ever since my childhood. Whether it's because of misguided actions on my part or that of someone close to me, arrogance seems to be a larger contributor to the hurt that goes around my block (not just me, I don't mean this in a self-pitying way). There's definitely something to be said about having good knowledge, especially when entering into foreign and novel situations. I guess, ultimately, I see the potential of an uninhibited version of myself doing something this audacious and paying the consequences for it and then forcing that payment out of those close to me. And, really, it just scares me that that potential is always there and that that part of me can rear its ugly head at any time after a mere momentary lapse in attention.
There's a photo of McCandless that appears at the end of the film (it's the first thing that comes up if you Google his name), a self-portrait taken sometime during his Alaskan stay. Something about that picture just creeps me out to no end, maybe something about seeing the dead, maybe something about knowing what he'll have to go through between that photo and his unfortunate end. Rest in peace, Christopher McCandless.
It's 5 a.m. and I am awake and I find myself bothered by several aspects of that movie, that story, ...ultimately, that person upon which it was all based, Christopher McCandless. And I mean no disrespect to the family. I realize this must have been a huge loss for them. But, still, I think this story serves well as a precautionary tale, one that others have undoubtedly already stated in the past but I think would be pertinent, if only for my own edification, to work through.
I guess the heaviest aspect of that movie was the suffering, both of Christopher himself near the end of his ordeal and of his family whom was completely unaware of his whereabouts until after the fact. The part that hits me the most is the aspect of self-infliction. From what little I've skimmed on the issue, it seems that McCandless' ultimate demise can be traced to the inadequacy of his supplies and equipment. The last person to have seen him alive was the person driving him from Fairbanks to the trail where McCandless began his stay in the Alaskan bush. Apparently, that person had tried to convince McCandless to reconsider his trip due to a perceived inadequacy of his supplies and equipment, to no avail.
If this is true, I'd hazard to say that a major determining factor of his demise may have been sheer arrogance. And I say this not completely as an outsider to that facet of humanity. It is something of which I have been sensitive ever since my childhood. Whether it's because of misguided actions on my part or that of someone close to me, arrogance seems to be a larger contributor to the hurt that goes around my block (not just me, I don't mean this in a self-pitying way). There's definitely something to be said about having good knowledge, especially when entering into foreign and novel situations. I guess, ultimately, I see the potential of an uninhibited version of myself doing something this audacious and paying the consequences for it and then forcing that payment out of those close to me. And, really, it just scares me that that potential is always there and that that part of me can rear its ugly head at any time after a mere momentary lapse in attention.
There's a photo of McCandless that appears at the end of the film (it's the first thing that comes up if you Google his name), a self-portrait taken sometime during his Alaskan stay. Something about that picture just creeps me out to no end, maybe something about seeing the dead, maybe something about knowing what he'll have to go through between that photo and his unfortunate end. Rest in peace, Christopher McCandless.
12/03/2012
Much Ado About Nothing (and not the euphemistic kind either)
There seems to be a pattern forming wherein the absurdity of the things I worry about hits me like a wave when they are juxtaposed to what goes on outside of my protected bubble.
So I parked at the mall today to use the subway. I parked pretty much right next to the entrance, despite the sign saying it was customer parking only, despite the other sign pleading transit users to park on the upper levels only. I've done it numerous times in the past so I didn't think anything of it. Until I left my car and some dude was eyeing me (no it was definitely not because I was ridiculously good-looking, though I'm pretty sure I was at the time). Some part of me thought for sure he was some person employed by the mall to catch transit users parking in customer only areas so as to enact punishment for those who would dare to violate the directions of the sacred signage. And, as you can well imagine given the preamble, I pretty much was freaking out inside about it all day (also, I'm aware that this is pretty overt paranoia but I assure you that I'm not typically this deranged).
Fast forward to the evening when I am driving home (in the car that was obviously not towed) when I'm listening to a Yemeni journalist who had won the Canadian Journalist Freedom Award last year. One of the questions revolved around the person's daughter who had taken, akin to her father, a keen interest in political journalism. She was said to have frequented protests in the protester's square (I think people refer to it the "Change Square") and report on revolutionist women. The journalist said that though supportive conceptually, he, as a father obviously would, worried something would happen to her daughter, having bore witness to actions that were occasionally used against protesters.
And so, in retrospect, my parking violation, even if it somehow did end up with my car getting towed, just seems completely petty and inconsequential. There are just so many worse things than simple disruptions in my routine. I really should worry less about these potential disruptions. Maybe then the grey hairs that are beginning to accumulate on my head will cede some of their territory back to its once more luscious and full-bodied occupants.
So I parked at the mall today to use the subway. I parked pretty much right next to the entrance, despite the sign saying it was customer parking only, despite the other sign pleading transit users to park on the upper levels only. I've done it numerous times in the past so I didn't think anything of it. Until I left my car and some dude was eyeing me (no it was definitely not because I was ridiculously good-looking, though I'm pretty sure I was at the time). Some part of me thought for sure he was some person employed by the mall to catch transit users parking in customer only areas so as to enact punishment for those who would dare to violate the directions of the sacred signage. And, as you can well imagine given the preamble, I pretty much was freaking out inside about it all day (also, I'm aware that this is pretty overt paranoia but I assure you that I'm not typically this deranged).
Fast forward to the evening when I am driving home (in the car that was obviously not towed) when I'm listening to a Yemeni journalist who had won the Canadian Journalist Freedom Award last year. One of the questions revolved around the person's daughter who had taken, akin to her father, a keen interest in political journalism. She was said to have frequented protests in the protester's square (I think people refer to it the "Change Square") and report on revolutionist women. The journalist said that though supportive conceptually, he, as a father obviously would, worried something would happen to her daughter, having bore witness to actions that were occasionally used against protesters.
And so, in retrospect, my parking violation, even if it somehow did end up with my car getting towed, just seems completely petty and inconsequential. There are just so many worse things than simple disruptions in my routine. I really should worry less about these potential disruptions. Maybe then the grey hairs that are beginning to accumulate on my head will cede some of their territory back to its once more luscious and full-bodied occupants.
11/28/2012
Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind
How I wish I could excise these memories and those paralyzing, gut-wrenching emotions they seem perpetually to evoke. How much more unhindered, unshackled, would our lives be without these festering wounds, these artifacts of times long past, that linger in the backdrop of our consciousness? Of course, of course, these spiritual eviscerators serve as cautionary reminders of what it means to be "doing it wrong". But, what of times when they are intent on intruding arrogantly into those private spaces where they have no place, when those knives have seemingly forgotten their context and begin to enact their gruesome massacre upon the undeserving? They are merciless and, tragically, inevitable. Like my own shadow do they follow me, stalk me, cruelly. And though I run with all my breath, all my might, I cannot escape that eventual end. Slowly bearing down, knowing fully that its approach is fully known, savouring even the apprehension that comes before the insidious act. As it takes hold of my mind, it sends its corrupting roots into the very core of my being where it binds tightly. And there I ... am ... and, flail as I may and wish as I may to extirpate this vile growth, I am powerless. And, so, it is here that I must be still, awaiting for the violence to end, until the noose is lifted so that I may breathe once again.
How happy is the blameless vestal's lot!
The world forgetting, by the world forgot.
Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind!
Each pray'r accepted, and each wish resign'd;
How happy is the blameless vestal's lot!
The world forgetting, by the world forgot.
Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind!
Each pray'r accepted, and each wish resign'd;
11/22/2012
TCB
All throughout that interminable commute I was plotting the words I would use in what was supposed to be a cathartic post about these feelings of meaninglessness and impotence that have been creeping up on me for the past bit. I was going to draw similarities of how I am right now and the person I was five years ago: how I go to sleep and wake up in the same bed, how I walk down the same streets everyday, actually, I'm still volunteering with some of the same people at the same soup kitchen as five years ago.
But, something happened on the walk back that, though in itself wouldn't necessarily have meaning, did bring on a momentary sense of comfort.
I was listening to Starálfur by Sigur Rós, which starts with the lyrics "blue night over me". Of course, I was singing with it because it's one of the few ways I know how to relieve my stress effectively, but that's unimportant. So midway through the song, I hear the familiar calls of the beloved Canadian Goose. I look up and, sure enough, there's a flock flying right over me in the classic V formation. And, in the backdrop, was the dark blue shade of the clear evening sky with a gracious guest appearance of our moon.
In itself, it doesn't mean much. Geese flying over me doesn't push me to drastically alter my previous way of thinking. But I guess it does help to put into perspective. The world is bigger. And, even though I might not feel like I am where I want to be right now, there's an entire beautiful world of possibilities out there and, one day, hopefully, I'll be able to explore that beauty.
But, for now, I guess I'll continue (fortunately, less begrudgingly now) to take care of business (as I do everyday).
But, something happened on the walk back that, though in itself wouldn't necessarily have meaning, did bring on a momentary sense of comfort.
I was listening to Starálfur by Sigur Rós, which starts with the lyrics "blue night over me". Of course, I was singing with it because it's one of the few ways I know how to relieve my stress effectively, but that's unimportant. So midway through the song, I hear the familiar calls of the beloved Canadian Goose. I look up and, sure enough, there's a flock flying right over me in the classic V formation. And, in the backdrop, was the dark blue shade of the clear evening sky with a gracious guest appearance of our moon.
In itself, it doesn't mean much. Geese flying over me doesn't push me to drastically alter my previous way of thinking. But I guess it does help to put into perspective. The world is bigger. And, even though I might not feel like I am where I want to be right now, there's an entire beautiful world of possibilities out there and, one day, hopefully, I'll be able to explore that beauty.
But, for now, I guess I'll continue (fortunately, less begrudgingly now) to take care of business (as I do everyday).
10/21/2012
The problem with first world problems
Preamble: I guess I got a little mad at the end there, but it's a good type of righteous anger .. right?
So, I saw the original photo of the "Afghan Girl" juxtaposed with a photo of her taken in 2002, 17 years after the original iconic image (link here). The original photo was taken at a Pakistani refugee camp, during the Soviet occupation of Afghanistan. In 2002, a team from National Geographic caught up with her in a remote region of Afghanistan. She had said that didn't know the photo of her taken back in 1985 had become such a well-known phenomenon (I personally don't know much about it but I presume it meant much more to those living during the Cold War-era). Importantly, when asked if there was anything she wanted, she said she just wanted her kids to have a chance at getting an education.
So, here's this woman who had experienced the death of her parents due to war and had been displaced to live in another country, and what she wants is for her children to have the chance to be educated.
Juxtapose this with my life ... one that was been marked with extreme comfort and provision, completely insulated from all the conflict that seems to afflict so many parts of the world, never have I truly worried about resources, about where my next meal would come from, about the possibility that my life, due to external forces, could be drastically altered in the next day.
No, I've had, and literally still have, everything provided for me, including education. So what is it that this is my 7th year in university? So what if I'm a little more busy now than I'm used to? Does that somehow give me the right to act like the total asshole I've been the past couple of days?
Fuck no.
And when the "dust settles" (obviously metaphorical because I don't live in a goddamn warzone where people actually suffer and die and see others suffer and die on a regular basis), I'll still be completely insulated from the world. I'll still have all my meals and a nice warm bed to retire to. So that raises the question... what the fuck do I have to worry about?
So, regarding me, that sorely negative me in the past few days, fuck that stupid insignificant prick and his bullshit sense of entitlement. You're too busy? Too busy getting educated and much-needed experience from other activities? That's like going grocery shopping and getting upset that you bought too much and can't fit everything in the car (yes, it's a reference). It's not a big fucking deal. Get over this minutia, see that the world is so much bigger, and move the fuck on.
So, I saw the original photo of the "Afghan Girl" juxtaposed with a photo of her taken in 2002, 17 years after the original iconic image (link here). The original photo was taken at a Pakistani refugee camp, during the Soviet occupation of Afghanistan. In 2002, a team from National Geographic caught up with her in a remote region of Afghanistan. She had said that didn't know the photo of her taken back in 1985 had become such a well-known phenomenon (I personally don't know much about it but I presume it meant much more to those living during the Cold War-era). Importantly, when asked if there was anything she wanted, she said she just wanted her kids to have a chance at getting an education.
So, here's this woman who had experienced the death of her parents due to war and had been displaced to live in another country, and what she wants is for her children to have the chance to be educated.
Juxtapose this with my life ... one that was been marked with extreme comfort and provision, completely insulated from all the conflict that seems to afflict so many parts of the world, never have I truly worried about resources, about where my next meal would come from, about the possibility that my life, due to external forces, could be drastically altered in the next day.
No, I've had, and literally still have, everything provided for me, including education. So what is it that this is my 7th year in university? So what if I'm a little more busy now than I'm used to? Does that somehow give me the right to act like the total asshole I've been the past couple of days?
Fuck no.
And when the "dust settles" (obviously metaphorical because I don't live in a goddamn warzone where people actually suffer and die and see others suffer and die on a regular basis), I'll still be completely insulated from the world. I'll still have all my meals and a nice warm bed to retire to. So that raises the question... what the fuck do I have to worry about?
So, regarding me, that sorely negative me in the past few days, fuck that stupid insignificant prick and his bullshit sense of entitlement. You're too busy? Too busy getting educated and much-needed experience from other activities? That's like going grocery shopping and getting upset that you bought too much and can't fit everything in the car (yes, it's a reference). It's not a big fucking deal. Get over this minutia, see that the world is so much bigger, and move the fuck on.
4/01/2012
Stimulants (or melodramatic musings regarding mundane matters)
It's no revelation that alcohol can temporarily change the way people act. Specifically, the depressant is thought to exacerbate underlying behaviours via the dulling of certain social inhibitions. And from anecdotal evidence, I would agree: after a drink or two, I speak more freely, I'm generally more comfortable with my surroundings, my typical social reservations seem to .. go away for a bit.
Interestingly, an opposite effect seems to happen when I drink caffeine (a stimulant). Consistently, a few hours after I drink a decent amount of caffeine, my mind races for a bit and I find that I am hit by a wave of anxiety. This is then followed by a bout of self-loathing, an episode which I'd obviously prefer to be absent.
It worries me. I mean, it wouldn't if these were just primary effects of caffeine. What worries is me that these effects are secondary to caffeine wherein my stimulated psyche propels me through a pocket of negativity normally shrouded by my mental defences. That perhaps, under the placid surface of which I am conscious, there are secret woes, deeply seeded in dark recesses. I worry that there are hidden demons lying in wait, biding their time until my normal barriers are temporarily weakened so that they may burst out into the light to pillage and plunder mercilessly all that I have carefully ordered over the years.
But.. I might just be being melodramatic, as I am oft to do. Merely making a mountain out of a molehill in an otherwise plain and mundane life.
Interestingly, an opposite effect seems to happen when I drink caffeine (a stimulant). Consistently, a few hours after I drink a decent amount of caffeine, my mind races for a bit and I find that I am hit by a wave of anxiety. This is then followed by a bout of self-loathing, an episode which I'd obviously prefer to be absent.
It worries me. I mean, it wouldn't if these were just primary effects of caffeine. What worries is me that these effects are secondary to caffeine wherein my stimulated psyche propels me through a pocket of negativity normally shrouded by my mental defences. That perhaps, under the placid surface of which I am conscious, there are secret woes, deeply seeded in dark recesses. I worry that there are hidden demons lying in wait, biding their time until my normal barriers are temporarily weakened so that they may burst out into the light to pillage and plunder mercilessly all that I have carefully ordered over the years.
But.. I might just be being melodramatic, as I am oft to do. Merely making a mountain out of a molehill in an otherwise plain and mundane life.
3/28/2012
Boring
Fatigue, the day has worn down his well practiced exterior. Although he knows where he is heading, he meanders, his gait is inconsistent. His gaze wanders from object to object, taking up his surroundings, though, truth be told, he has already traversed through these very streets for what seems like a lifetime to him. Occasionally, his eyes will settle upon another soul but he is ever ready to dart away his glance in the unfortunate scenario that he is discovered.
"I am tired," his internal monologue says, "I should rest," though in the back of his mind he wished that he could somehow transcend beyond that particular physical limitation. With a sigh, he relents, "I am only human".
He enters the subway terminal and goes to the man behind the glass window. "Could I have ten tokens please?" he says with a voice that is in complete contrast to the speaker in his mind, which is more brutish and direct, impatient with the platitudes so often conducted by his external counterpart.
The exchange transpires unremarkably. "Have a good evening!" wishes the polite, well-meaning attendant to which he gives the only appropriate response, "Thanks, you too!" with the ever obligate smile that he employs far too often.
He descends further onto the subway platform and boards the train so that he may return home and find reprieve from his fatal companion.
"I am tired," his internal monologue says, "I should rest," though in the back of his mind he wished that he could somehow transcend beyond that particular physical limitation. With a sigh, he relents, "I am only human".
He enters the subway terminal and goes to the man behind the glass window. "Could I have ten tokens please?" he says with a voice that is in complete contrast to the speaker in his mind, which is more brutish and direct, impatient with the platitudes so often conducted by his external counterpart.
The exchange transpires unremarkably. "Have a good evening!" wishes the polite, well-meaning attendant to which he gives the only appropriate response, "Thanks, you too!" with the ever obligate smile that he employs far too often.
He descends further onto the subway platform and boards the train so that he may return home and find reprieve from his fatal companion.
3/19/2012
Jupiter & Venus
Jupiter and Venus have been paired together in the sky for the past while. Their light seems to be able to pierce through the early evening sky, a time when the normal stellar background is still muted by the Rayleigh Scattering. Well, anyway, I do gaze at them periodically as I walk home at nights and when my mind starts to wander, I find myself recalling one particular memory from well over a decade.
I'm in gym class and we're all taking turns to go up to the chalk board to write down something we want to do when we're older. For whatever reason, I decided to go up and write down "Go to Jupiter" and I distinctly remember part of the class cheering me on for writing that. Even the teacher smilingly gave me a nod of approval.
Why did I write that? Did I really want to go to Jupiter at the time? To be honest, I can't remember. Even though I did watch a lot of sci-fi back then, I'm pretty sure I had a solid grasp on the implausibilities of traveling to other planets. Anyway, what I'm trying to say is, it was most probably metaphorical for not limiting myself, following my dreams, or whatever else that's along those lines.
So here I am, it's been at least 10 years, and I'm currently getting my second degree. Am I en route to Jupiter? As of right now, probably not, if only because I don't know what my Jupiter is. Is that ok? I don't know. But, I'll try to remain true to myself and to be willing to pack my bags and go if and when I do find it.
I'm in gym class and we're all taking turns to go up to the chalk board to write down something we want to do when we're older. For whatever reason, I decided to go up and write down "Go to Jupiter" and I distinctly remember part of the class cheering me on for writing that. Even the teacher smilingly gave me a nod of approval.
Why did I write that? Did I really want to go to Jupiter at the time? To be honest, I can't remember. Even though I did watch a lot of sci-fi back then, I'm pretty sure I had a solid grasp on the implausibilities of traveling to other planets. Anyway, what I'm trying to say is, it was most probably metaphorical for not limiting myself, following my dreams, or whatever else that's along those lines.
So here I am, it's been at least 10 years, and I'm currently getting my second degree. Am I en route to Jupiter? As of right now, probably not, if only because I don't know what my Jupiter is. Is that ok? I don't know. But, I'll try to remain true to myself and to be willing to pack my bags and go if and when I do find it.
2/12/2012
1/26/2012
Her words
So I recently asked my friend (though not in a particularly serious manner) why she was so happy. At first I was a little surprised that she would choose to respond seriously, but ultimately I'm glad that she did.
She said, "Oh yes, after all, what's the point in being miserable all the time? I know life isn't always easy. Sometimes you're put in difficult circumstances that you didn't choose. But being happy or unhappy is a choice you make, and I've chosen to make the best of things that I can."
At first I thought she was just trying to be corny but it was quite the opposite! I guess it's a good reminder of the importance of my attitude and how I choose to perceive things.
Thanks, Shahvee, for the words of inspiration.
She said, "Oh yes, after all, what's the point in being miserable all the time? I know life isn't always easy. Sometimes you're put in difficult circumstances that you didn't choose. But being happy or unhappy is a choice you make, and I've chosen to make the best of things that I can."
At first I thought she was just trying to be corny but it was quite the opposite! I guess it's a good reminder of the importance of my attitude and how I choose to perceive things.
Thanks, Shahvee, for the words of inspiration.
1/05/2012
The Lion, The Paper, and the Inside Reverse Fold
So, six years ago, my aunts got me an origami book and a bunch of origami paper. I think they intended for it to help me develop my patience or something like that. Well, regardless of their intent, I did fold a number of things, with the average quality of the final product varying somewhere between mediocre and pretty bad (though truth be told there were a few that really stood out).
After a year or so, I stopped doing it. Today, however, I decided to try my luck at folding something after a half-decade hiatus. Ultimately, I decided on folding a lion, a strong and confident animal.
It took twenty minutes to finish the first page (out of three and a half) and truth be told, I was starting to get a little frustrated. My folds were not that precise and subsequently the corners of the intermediate product were looking more than a little shoddy. After beholding the glory that was the product of the first page, my heart sank as I realized that all I had made through those 20 minutes of toil was a crane base.
After languishing for a minute or two, I continued, resolved to finish this lion thing. And, for another forty-odd minutes, I folded. Near the end, as I agonized over instructions for the legs (don't even get me started on the stupid mane), I realized that this was not going to end well. But, I finished and so present to you, the final product:
Ugh, definitely not one of my finer works. It actually looks more like a cross between a rhinoceros and a dragon than any lion. I remember now why I stopped doing origami...
After a year or so, I stopped doing it. Today, however, I decided to try my luck at folding something after a half-decade hiatus. Ultimately, I decided on folding a lion, a strong and confident animal.
It took twenty minutes to finish the first page (out of three and a half) and truth be told, I was starting to get a little frustrated. My folds were not that precise and subsequently the corners of the intermediate product were looking more than a little shoddy. After beholding the glory that was the product of the first page, my heart sank as I realized that all I had made through those 20 minutes of toil was a crane base.
After languishing for a minute or two, I continued, resolved to finish this lion thing. And, for another forty-odd minutes, I folded. Near the end, as I agonized over instructions for the legs (don't even get me started on the stupid mane), I realized that this was not going to end well. But, I finished and so present to you, the final product:
Ugh, definitely not one of my finer works. It actually looks more like a cross between a rhinoceros and a dragon than any lion. I remember now why I stopped doing origami...
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