Thoughts on Trash

I think that the concept of "full" in reference to trash cans is a social construct invented by overzealous anal-expulsive people who need to move beyond their fixation and learn to be patient.

Justice

There is no such thing as justice.

Yes, I did just type that.

In our world today, the justice system is preoccupied with catching criminals and making them pay for their crimes. Murder gets 25 years in prison; armed robbery around 10. The convicted do their time, and at the end are released. The world would have us believe that this is justice.

I can understand that a family shattered by an untimely death suffers loss. But suppose that the murderer is caught, convicted, and is then forced to spend the remainder of his life in prison: does the family gain any direct benefit from this action? As the saying goes, two wrongs do not make a right.

The family may get feelings of joy and peace to see someone pay for their crimes. But the family isn’t the one on the receiving end—the criminal does not pay years of his life to the family. If anything, the whole justice system experience teaches the family how to extract happiness from someone else’s suffering, a trait that is hardly positive.

True “justice” would mean for the murder victim to be restored to the family. Anything else is not justice but a twisted, evil idea that has somehow wormed its way into human thought for the last few thousand years as a positive trait.

Vengeance is not justice. Forcing someone who has wronged you into the dust at your feet is a manifestation of every evil that has plagued the Earth for the duration of human existence—pride, anger, materialism. Justice makes us lesser people.

You may argue that without the justice system, there would be no deterrent for breaking the law, and therefore no one would keep it: and this is a point that I will not contest. But don’t call it justice—once a wrong has been done, it cannot be made right short of undoing it.

Shoving someone into the dirt only lowers the mean height of all humanity.

"An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind." (Mahatma Gandhi)

Childhood

I'm sorting through boxes of my things that I have stored away from my pre-college years right now. It feels like I'm invading on the privacy of a different person.

I hold in my hands the most precious possessions of a younger version of myself. Stickers, stamps, subway transfers--things that are completely meaningless to me now. I fear that my adult-self is polluting the innocence of my childhood.

There's something sacred about childhood--and I can't quite put my finger on it. The dreams are brighter, the goals higher, the motives simpler. Perhaps it is that innocence that I want to protect from a world of darkness.

Human Equilibria?

On returning to old habits, I'm wondering whether human psychology is an equilibrium.

Basically, imagine that chart of the Earth's temperature steadily rising. One year could be really up and the next could be really down. But overall, the 30-year average line is going to remain steady as a rock, and if that fails, the Earth gets put under a lot of pressure.

Here's the application: suppose that someone wanted to change themself. Maybe they've been a poor student for a few years, for instance. So one day, they wake up and for that entire day, they are the model of the perfect student, taking notes, studying, and finishing homework by 6pm. The equilibrium theory allows this because it is just one day--anything can happen during one day.

The next day, our imaginary student continues, and he pulls it off again, and the next day as well. But as the trend continues, the running average line begins trending upwards, and our student begins to feel a strong pull downwards back to their norm. The further the average leaves the norm, the stronger the discomfort and pressure.

That's why it is easiest for young people to change. At 12 years of life, there isn't that much of a history to pull someone back to, so it is easy for young people to change. But the older you get, the more pull each person's history has, meaning the harder it is to change. All of which means that the time to change is now, and not some set upon future point, because each day we live adds to the strength of the equilibrium.

Is it possible to change? Certainly I've seen it done, as have you. The movement of the running average line is not what hurts a person--it's the fact that it is different from the past, aka unfamiliar.

Change is hard. And if anyone has any tricks that can help with making change permanent, I would love to hear them.


"We do not grow absolutely, chronologically. We grow sometimes in one dimension, and not in another; unevenly. We grow partially. We are relative. We are mature in one realm, childish in another. The past, present, and future mingle and pull us backward, forward, or fix us in the present. We are made up of layers, cells, constellations." (Anais Nin)

Fighting For Yourself

Yesterday morning, I was watching a video at my grandparents place while waiting for breakfast. Mom came down and asked if I wanted to eat downstairs. I've probably lived a few months of my life at that "farm," and never once ate downstairs. After all, we're only ever down there for a few days at a time; being there is all about seeing my grandparents; and eating a meal together is one of the best ways of socially interacting with them.

So, I replied that I wanted to eat upstairs. Mom then said that there was only food for six people, and there were already six people at the table, so I would eat later. My video was just finishing, so I came upstairs to see how breakfast was coming for myself. It wasn't so much that I didn't believe Mom, but more that I needed to see it to understand it. Indeed, there were six people at the table, Mom being one of them. She seemed to offer to get up and give up her spot for me, something I wasn't going to do, so I returned to the basement and put on another half-hour video.

Coming upstairs a half-hour later, the table was vacated, my siblings were still asleep, so I had breakfast all to myself. Grandma offered to zap my food, suggesting it was cold, and I got confused. Didn't Mom say there wasn't enough food?

I went to her in the kitchen and complained, loudly enough for Grandma to overhear parts of it, and Mom got such a pained look on her face, like I was accusing her of starving me. Grandma stepped in, and to save Mom further trouble, I explained away the complaint as "microwaves are bad for your health." (Don't ask how that worked, it just did.)

I later found out that Mom had said there were places at the table for six, which was why she offered to have me eat downstairs in the first place. And this whole incident got me thinking.

I hate hurting other people. Having been somewhat accident prone as a child, it was something I did a lot, smashing plates, cups, test tubes, lamps, and occasionally some people too. I just can't bear the look on their faces when I've failed them once again. This was one of the biggest reasons I wanted to disappear a few years ago--at least then I would stop hurting all the people I love.

The only thing I could conclude from this incident was that if I hadn't been so interested in my self-preservation, nothing would have happened. Why did I complain to Mom? Because I didn't want to look like I was late to a meal. That I was slow. That I looked like I didn't care about spending time with the family. That I experienced a perceived slight at missing family time. And so I acted to shift the blame for this incident to someone else, as well as to inform the "guilty" party that I was slighted.

Maybe I was being heroic for taking things directly to the person involved, as opposed to announcing the wrong for all to hear; or gossiping to other people. But I don't view it that way. If I hadn't been so concerned about getting what is mine, no one would have been hurt.

Life does not owe me anything. I can believe that all I want, and yet when push comes to shove, I still act like certain things belong to me, such as a good reputation, warm meals, and people that care about me. When they suddenly disappear, I feel an injustice and fight back; and in so doing, I become exactly the type of person I despise: someone who toots their own horn.

I've always believed that if someone deserves honour, that someone else will accord it. If no one stands up for me, then I obviously have a higher opinion of what I've done than it deserves, and I should just be quiet. It's funny that way--I've always believed it, but never acted it. It's as if my spinal cord has been severed at the neck, and a complete disconnect exists between my mind and my body.

Still, I can dream. One day, perhaps... I will believe that nothing is mine, nor will be mine. Take quietly what is given, and murmur a thanks for every gesture, great or small. Accept what happens without fighting it, and remember that I am not judge, jury, or executioner, even for the things that happen to me. The five senses are too often deceived. And violence in any form--physical, verbal, or intellectual--will be abhorred at any cost to myself.


"Nonviolence is the greatest force at the disposal of mankind." (Mohandas Gandhi)

A Purple Car

So, I'm moving, and for some reason I'm moving from the beaches area of Toronto. I'm with my brother, taking a load of stuff, and as we drive through the maze of one-way streets, he wants to race me. So I pull over, he gets out and runs, and once I catch up to him I go a short ways then pull over for him.

He wants to race me again, so I pull over, and this time drive 2 kilometres, then turn around and go back for him. As I'm going through the same stretch of road again, my car stalls, so I pull in behind this light purple car, when I suddenly lose my brakes, and slowly roll into him 3 or 4 times.

I examine his rear bumper, and note two dings that go nearly through the plastic cover. For a moment, I'm tempted to drive off. The owner comes out, looks at it, and says, "I don't have insurance." Then he goes on, saying "It's only a small ding. I'll just plaster over it or something." I feel a little guilty, because I know from my summer of sorting traffic accident reports that any damage to the bumper that is more than just paint damage is between $400 and $1000 to repair. I consider whether to inform him, and decide against it.

I mumble a word of thanks, especially because now my parents won't find out about it, and drive to the new place. When I get there, I discover they already know, but they don't seem too upset.

Then, I woke up.