Oh No You Fucking Don’t

I owe the inspiration of this post to you, bro.

I owe the inspiration of this post to you, bro.

I struggle to make myself give a shit about life. About my future career, my sex life, my health, my happiness. I find myself hard-pressed to care.

But god help me when I see generic shitbirds surpassing me in shit I’m supposed to be good at. A guy who watches sports for fun having a better academic record in a more difficult course. A guy who tweets about this sick kegger bro walking around with a beautiful, intelligent girlfriend. A guy whose idea of fun is getting blind-drunk at the beach and somehow drives a more expensive car than I do.

I refuse to sit here mired in bitterness while the rest of the world has fun. I am completely unable to maintain and justify a cynical outlook if everyone else is happy. I cannot stoke my narcissistic defense mechanism if the fuckwits who kicked the shit out of me in school are doing better than I am. My talent and potential means nothing if it is confined to the possibilities of what I could have done, would have done, should have done. The only way I can live with their success is if they have to live with the fact that, even though they did good, I did better.

At the very least, I won’t sit here overcome with sexual frustration while there are guys wearing tapout shirts and flip-flops still getting laid.


The Relapse – End of Week 2 – 25th of November 2013

Fourteen days.

It feels like ages since I made the commitment to get into an Ivy League graduate program by the end of 1029 days, ending on August 31st, 2016. It almost feels like I’ve forgotten about it. Digital binging does that to me.

This isn’t the first time that this has happened. I’ll pledge myself to finally change, to get my life in order, and then shit falls flat. In the past, I had such ridiculously high standards for what constituted ‘sticking to the plan’. So much so that if I screwed up once, I’d condemn myself and just give up. Recently, I’ve cut myself some more slack, being careful to recognize what I have gotten right. I’ve made substantial progress, even if it isn’t the monumental improvement I expected. Furthermore, I’ve become comfortable with the fact that mistakes and slip-ups are inevitable.

Failure should be a negative incentive and not a deterrent. I don’t want to fuck up, but if I do, it shouldn’t stop me from getting up and trying again. If I have one of my ‘black outs’, where I screw around for a few days and can’t remember what I spent my time on (except weed, alcohol, and random browsing on the internet), then yeah, I should feel fucking bad about it. However, that’s not going to stop me from going back, picking up the scheduling book, and planning the next day to be different, and then following through with it.

On the plus side, I’ve reaped the rewards of the one thing I did manage to do well: my studies of physiology. I wrote the exam yesterday, and it went well. Well, compared with the one I wrote last semester. An excerpt from my journal at the time: Continue reading


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Yes, I am, you illiterate fuck. Thank you for making my dot yellow, though.

So, as part of my procrastination, I came up with this gem (update: dereactivated; my ego doesn’t boost itself).

I found myself heavily influenced by delicioustacos and an earnest refusal to give a fuck when writing the profile. It makes me come across as a self-absorbed, narcissistic dick who is inappropriately preoccupied with sex and things relating to sex. And yet, I’ve had great success with it.

The only thing is: I don’t actually live in Boston. The ego boost and validation is huge, though.

Academics – Anki – Physiology

For me, the study of physiology effectively entails extracting a list of pertinent facts and explanations from a huge amount of text, and then memorising these one-by-one until they stick. In the examinations, 10 to thirty mark questions are asked on some kind of physiological phenomena. This is where the flashcarding comes in: I simply dump all the information I’ve memorised about the topic onto the page and bam, there’s my answer. Details and nuances are all included, ambiguities explained, reasoning made sound. All of those hours busting my ass with Anki, wading through metric fucktons of information constructing concise, comprehensive flashcards pay off in that one three-hour exam session.


An example of the use of Anki flashcards that I wrote: Continue reading

To the Girl on the Library Steps


The time was around 07:52. Though a veritable hurricane had been forecast, the morning was calm and bright. The shadows cast by the buildings stopped just short of where you were sitting, right at the top of the steps that lead down to the library.

I hesitantly glance over as I walk past you. I see you’re reading a book. Perfect, smooth black hair covers your back and shoulders. A denim top, white jeans, black blouse, and those brown pumps that are so goddamn fucking adorable. Your eyes are focused intently on the pages, you’re absorbed in them, lost in whatever you’re reading.

Of course, why wouldn’t you be? You’re not like the others. You’re intense; you find and pursue things that have depth. You favor meaning, challenge and growth over cheap thrills and mindless entertainment. This is why I want to find someone like you, someone I can drive through the desert with for hours, listening to music we both love, not saying a word. Someone I can make love to in a tent pitched in the Himalayas. Someone I can lean over to kiss on the Eurail train.  Coming back from the university, the gym, the mountain, the recital; I can come home to you, waiting for me, waiting to have me recuperate in your embrace in preparation for the challenge of another day. In that perfect future I’ve imagined, the light that will follow this darkness, you are my best companion.

Apprehension gripped me as I passed. A big part of me urged me to say something, anything, to just make some kind of connection, however vague, something that can be built upon.

But I keep walking. Inner turmoil accompanies me down the steps. I reach the entrance and look back, you’re still sitting there, at the top, not too far away. You look up.

Oh, shit. Continue reading

The Pain Period – End of Week 1 – 18th November 2013


I’m writing this on the 20th. I didn’t even know or remember that the first week ended on the 18th.

Week 1 was effectively a sine curve: time on the x-axis, general ‘degree-to-which-I-have-my-shit-together-‘on the y-axis.  I started, peaked at 10 hours of studying a day with exercise with guitar practice, then plunged into binging on the internet and the Frozen Throne (seriously, best RTS campaign ever made) for hours on end. The latter period sucked me in so much that I’d entirely forgotten about my 1029 days.

And now I’m back, a bit more lucid.

My conscience never allows me to completely fuck up for an extended period of time; it uses all kinds of mind games, or just plain outright psychological torture to whip me back into shape. Sometimes it’s a gentle reminder that naw, I shouldn’t go out tonight, I shouldn’t spend another three hours playing Warcraft because I’m already behind on what I should be doing. Sometimes it compels me with morbid curiosity to look up my ex on the internet, defibrillating me out of my indolence with a veritable panic attack. Sometimes it gnaws, sometimes it tears, but it never does nothing.

I don’t know why it’s there. Continue reading