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[danceswiththedaring]

no context needed

Today in things you never thought you'd hear while watching soccer:

“Real Madrid have been as hot as the hinges of Hell’s gates!”

“His finish is ruthless as Henry VIII! And that one might have just decapitated Real Madrid!”

“King Arthur comes swinging in like Tarzan on a vine!”

“The Mohican, King Arthur, awakens his sleeping sword of war for goal #5!”

“He didn’t just torment Real Madrid, he Hannibal Lecter'ed them!”

[danceswiththedaring]

beer pong party foul

"You know you're at an Asian party when you spill something and everyone stops to clean it up immediately."

-- a girl observed, as three people were on their knees wiping the floor, assisted by two others handing them paper towels, and one rinsing the soaked hand towel.

[danceswiththedaring]

“Timeline Remnant”

This concept came from “The Flash,” but it doesn’t seem to exist in any scientific papers, so take this all with a grain of salt.

So here’s how the story goes.

Barry’s Past Timeline

When he was a child, Barry witnessed his mother’s death, after two streaks of red and yellow lit up his house one night. As it turns out, the red streak was The Flash (AKA Barry) from the future, and the yellow streak was The Reverse-Flash (AKA Thawne) from the future. More on that later.

With the future Flash protecting young Barry, Thawne fails to kill the child, so he kills Barry’s mother instead. However, after the fight, Thawne is unable to time travel back to the future (the time in which he’s from), so he ends up being stuck in this time. With no other choice, he blends in by taking over a Dr. Wells’ body.

Barry’s Present Timeline

As an adult, Barry is struck by lightning during a particle accelerator explosion, becoming The Flash. He eventually becomes fast enough that he can time travel. With this ability, he decides to save his mother; he time travels back to the night of her death. As present-Barry is about to save her, his future self (AKA future Flash) motions him not to enter the room, and present-Barry watches future Thawne murder his mother.

Without saving his mother, Barry then returns back to his present time. Thawne (disguised as Dr. Wells) is eventually killed, after his ancestor Eddie Thawne kills himself, preventing Eobard Thawne from ever being born.

The Return of Reverse-Flash

A year later, the Reverse-Flash reappears. Barry engages in a brief fight with Thawne, but Barry realizes something is off; Thawne doesn’t know The Flash’s real identity.

I finally figured out which time period you are from, Flash. One day, I’ll find out your name.

-- Eobard Thawne

But wait, Thawne was killed, so how could he still exist? The show attempts to explain it as such:

It’s possible Eobard was in the Speed Force, protecting him like a bomb shelter, keeping him alive and his time line intact. It's what's known as a “timeline remnant.”

-- (the real) Dr. Wells

In simpler terms, this is because in Reverse-Flash’s timeline, this is the first time he had time traveled into the past. Hence, to Reverse-Flash, this event occurred before Barry’s mother’s death. So sure, while Thawne is eventually killed by Eddie, that is in the future to Thawne, even though it is in the past to Barry.

The important thing to note is that Thawne has yet to time travel back to kill Barry’s mother. In fact, he doesn’t even know that Barry is the Flash. And so, Barry tries to prevent the Reverse-Flash from occurring by capturing Thawne in the present. However, this Thawne is destined to escape, time travel back to the future, and then time travel back to kill Barry’s mother. That much is certain.

As if by destiny, Barry has to free Reverse-Flash to prevent Cisco’s death, allowing Thawne to return to his time.

And then from there (from Thawne’s perspective), that begins Barry’s present timeline.

Conclusion

Technically, this is the grandfather paradox: Eddie kills himself, which prevents Eobard from being born, which means that Eddie should have had no reason to kill himself.

But it’s a TV show.

And it presents interesting time traveling situations.

[danceswiththedaring]

Time Travel

Is time traveling possible? (in theory, not in science/practicality)

To the past? No. The past already accounts for time travelers who have visited.

Example 1: Time Machine

Let’s say I manage to build a time machine. After I finish building it, I take a photo of it, and then I step inside and travel back 10 mins. I emerge just in time to watch past-me take a photo of the time machine. But before past-me can step into the time machine, I (future-me) go and break the time machine.

I argue that this is not possible. Let’s look all the timelines. In past-me’s timeline, a future-me shows up and breaks to the time machine. Hence, past-me will never be able to time travel back to then go break past-past me’s time machine. Hence, there will be two of me walking around. But the cycle doesn’t just end like this.

One thing we forgot is future-me’s timeline. I argue that is not possible for future-me to have constructed the time machine without future-future-me coming and breaking the time machine as well. If we argue that we can go change the past, it must be that the changes we make there are also reflected in the current timeline, altered during our future timeline. And then this is a cycle. Each timeline must be modified by its future.

It’s hard to explain and I don’t even understand what I do believe. But in essence, if time traveling to the past were possible, there exists no timeline in which that time machine can be built without an interruption from a future-me.

Example 2: Abraham Lincoln

To start, please forgive my historical inaccuracies.

We all know Lincoln was assassinated in a theatre by James Wilkes Booth. Let’s say I want to go back to the past and change it; let’s save Lincoln.

I time travel back to April 14, 1865, the day of the assassination. I tail Booth all day, and right before he enters the theatre, I tackle him down. I manage to subdue him and inform the officers, and he is arrested. Lincoln watches the rest of the show undisturbed.

I argue that this is not possible either. Let’s take my timeline. To me, Lincoln was shot and killed; that is history. When I go back to fix that, everything I do was already part of that history that I had known. In other words, that assassination occurred with future-me already there. Whether I time travel back and do nothing or whether I go and inform an officer that Booth will kill Lincoln (and upon hearing that, the officer assigns John Frederick Parker to sit and protect Lincoln, who ultimately left Lincoln when he was killed AKA I got Lincoln killed), that is history in my timeline. That is the one I know and will forever be history in my timeline, because that history already accounts for the fact that I was there on April 14, 1865.

You can’t change the past, even if you did time travel back.

Conclusion

So in my opinion, no you can’t time travel to the past. It creates a cycle that quite simply doesn’t make sense. And even if you manage to do it, you wouldn’t be able to change anything; the present remains the same.

And of course, nothing I said is scientific or supported, just theory and thoughts.

[danceswiththedaring]

Fork in Time

Time is linear. It moves forward, never slowing down for regrets or 2nd chances. It just marches onwards, day by day, on and on and on.

Naturally, I wonder how it could all change if we could fork time. Perhaps go back and create an alternate reality—time in parallel with this one. Just live as if some past decision was altered.

What if 7th grade changed? What if it was more than just a dance floor that night? What if the glow sticks we all gently waved in the dark symbolized something beyond our glowing youth back then? Or that they represented all the knowledge and perspective we had yet to gain? What if we were both older? More mature?

Let's be honest: we were both sure. Or, at least, that's what I like to tell myself. But the thing is, we weren't sure enough to ask the other. Alcatraz and zoo and parties later and yet we were both still too scared and uncertain.

Then maybe in this reality, 8th grade wouldn't have happened. You. Me. School. Life. None of it went right. You made me question everything I believed in. Many nights I laid sleeplessly, staring at the ceiling wondering whether or not my eyes could lie, or whether my mind could see the truth. I'd wake up with an answer no closer. Yet in this reality, this would all change.

And maybe this is something I'd want—to live out a past made right for a future defined by that one instance. That this fork in time could be my new reality, all through the satisfaction of one altered moment in the past.

Yet, there's a beauty in living out the past and letting time run the way it is. All the struggles. All the sleepless nights. All the mistakes and regrets. From the vantage point of retrospect, all seemed necessary to get to now—to wonder, to reflect, to think about all the times that could have changed the present reality. They all let me reflect and regret to make tomorrow better so I can make my own fork in time. I get to change my reality to my own satisfaction. That I can live with.

I'll admit: sometimes, I wonder where you are, which shows you're on now, what life you're having and what reality you're living in. For our sake, I hope it's the same as mine. That way, we can grab some ramen again, reminisce and laugh at our dumb 7th grade selves, and talk about everything that life has taken us through from 7th grade to that day we meet again.

See you soon llama.

[danceswiththedaring]

To Tomorrow We Go

I'll miss everything. I'll miss the frosty air. I'll miss aimlessly wandering around the city finding places not on maps or travel guides. I'll miss being in awe at same thing over and over again. I'll miss us yelling "so cold!!" when a cold, biting wind races past us and numbs our faces. I'll miss us waddling around in the frigid temperatures—laughing, giggling, telling stories, reliving the days of old, laughing again. I'll miss the hot chocolate, the seafood, the hotpot, the adventures, the cheers, the wine, the throwbacks, the solidarity, the tours, the snow, the beauty, the subway adventures, the photos, the pastries, the bars, the dormitories, the houses, the familiarity, the friendship, the bonds, the relationships, the good times. I'll miss it all.

“You get a strange feeling when you're about to leave a place. Like you'll not only miss the people you love but you'll miss the person you are now at this time and this place, because you'll never be this way ever again.”

I'll miss you. Not because I won't see you again, but because this will be our last time together as college students. Eight years passed and suddenly we're adults. From now on, we'll be different. We'll be busy... with life. We'll have significant others. We'll have work. We'll have things and people that will keep us preoccupied and busy and stressed and—just gone. We'll just never be this way ever again... to explore a new city like this... to get lost in crazy adventures... to actually see winter wonderland... to endure the coldest of cold together. Maybe by a miracle we can do this again, but it will be different, even if it is the same place.

I don't know when I'll be back. A few months? A few years? I don't even know who I will be as a person. I don't know who I'll be with. A girlfriend? A family? Kids? I don't know. I don't know if I'll get to roam the streets like I did yesterday... or to just pace along the snow-sprinkled sidewalk marveling at the breathtaking monuments and trees and grass all blanketed with a layer of soft snow... to find myself in snow heaven. Maybe I got lucky.

You don't know when you'll be back either. Sure, you live closer, but will you be the same person? Will you have adventures that are just as fun? Will you laugh and smile and explore and yell "so cold!!" as much as this time?

I don't know when we'll have an adventure like this again. Circumstances aligned. Time and place, four dimensions in the universe, allowed it to happen. And we had fun. Lots of it. Too much of it, to be quite honest. But it won't happen again—not like this, anyway.

You reminded me of everything we were eight years ago. There's this comfortable aura with you, yet now, also a hint of unfamiliarity I never felt before. Nevertheless, we bounced and hopped and talked and laughed and waddled our way through the entire adventure. It was a part of the past we had begun to forget, but from the cold, back it came and we built upon.

I'll miss me, too. I'll miss my perspective, my vision, my aspirations, my motivation. I'll miss being young and wild and caring about "making the most of college." I'll miss thinking that these kind of trips are okay, because missing a few classes is not insurmountable. I'll miss thinking that adventures like these are what define a "young man's life." I'll miss doing these things with friends and finding adventures and freezing and exploring and searching and eating and... being free.

This isn't a death sentence. We will have our adventure again, whether separate or together. But it will not be the same. I will not be me. I will be a new me. A new life. A new perspective. An older mind seeing the future that much closer and seeing the past that much farther. The same goes for you. We'll be different. Perhaps we can come back and throw it back to this random adventure and laugh about it again. And then maybe plan another one. And then we'll have a new adventure to throw it back to and laugh about. Same place. Same temperature. Same people.

But for now, I'll miss you. I'll miss this place. But most importantly, I'll miss me and the person I am. We'll be different, and I'm fine with that.

So on to tomorrow we go.

[danceswiththedaring]

happy

i remember sitting on the steps with you

just waiting for time to pass until we needed to go home

you turned on your phone to check the time

it wasn t that default flower background you ve always had

instead

it was two people

just you and me

just like my picture

and just like yours

for us to show the world

and i was happy

because i know i matter in your life

and you matter in mine

[danceswiththedaring]

Relationships → Weddings

I grew up mostly around people older than me. My larger family comprised of twenty or so cousins, some of whom are now married and some who have just entered high school. It was a nice range of ages—to be able to learn from the oldest, yet also able to revert back to our younger, more childish selves and fit right in. Needless to say, my childhood was heavily shaped by having my older cousins as role models. They were whom I aspired to be—athletically, socially, academically, intelligence-wise. I learned everything I know about the world—the older, adult, more mature world—through their mistakes, their experiences, and above all, through them. They were my foresight, so I could prepare, learn, and grow before I too entered that world.

They introduced me to video games. To sports. To soccer. To college. To jobs. To board games. To go-karting. To relationships. To love. To heartbreak. To being single at 30. To anything and everything this world had to offer. They learned it the hard way at 25. I learned it at 15. And most recently, they've introduced me to weddings.

I've attended four weddings so far; most of my friends have attended zero. For a while, I didn't understand why there was this discrepancy. We're all the same age, after all. But I guess I never realized how fortunate I was to grow up around people who were older. They were 28 or 29; they had a stable job; they had been dating for two or three years; they were preparing to move out and live together. And so marriage was the next logical step. That's how they saw it, and as I observed them, that's how I began to see things too.

I attended my first wedding eight years ago as an oblivious, little kid. My cousin E was getting married to his fiancée J. My mother made me dress up in this nice fancy suit, and on the day of the wedding, all my other cousins and I pranced into a hotel reception venue for this special occasion. It was very simple; we signed cards upon entering, there were 40 or so chairs adorned with flowers and soft fabric all facing the front. If anything, it felt like a piano recital. I ran around this meticulously decorated environment with my mini point-and-shoot camera, played with my cousins, and took pictures with everyone dressed up so fancily. After all, this was a new experience to me.

And then the actual ceremony began. As the vows were being read, J broke out in tears. She could no longer contain her emotions—the excitement, the uncertainty, the thought of future, that this day had finally come. We watched in silence, hearing her deep breaths and occasional sniffs under the deep voice of the officiant. Meanwhile, outside the gentle rain drizzled against the glass door, knocking on it gently with an audible pip pat with every word. Somewhere within the audience, someone else was sniffling too—the parents, presumably, seeing their eldest child begin a new life. Finally, the officiant stopped and slowly turned towards J. "Do you take E to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health?" We all looked at J. Only the soft rain outside masked the silence. With her trembling hands, she wiped the tears streaming down her face, as she gradually regained her composure. She exhaled twice, raised her head and looked her fiancé in the eyes and whispered, "I do," just loud enough for everyone to hear. And the rest is history.

I left the wedding feeling nothing. It felt like any other day—just hanging out with my cousins and getting together to eat food, talk, play, have fun. The only difference was our attire and the environment. Sure, we were going to see J at every party from then on, but nothing else would really change.

For the few years afterwards, what I remembered most vividly from that wedding was the moment J started crying at the end of the ceremony. I simply could not understood why she was crying. I was confused. They already knew they were getting married; it's not a surprise. They already knew what marriage entailed. They already bought rings for each other. Why was this one day so special? I mean, they already knew it's going to happen. All they had to do was host a "birthday party" to make it official. So what made it worth crying over? That was the question I asked for years. That was the image that I remembered: J holding E's hands, fighting back tears, yet still making out a smile. I simply did not understand.

It took several years for me to truly comprehend the significance of a wedding day. By then, I had just finished attending my second wedding. It was at an extravagant venue in a stunning environment with a new Ferrari, expensive wine, a breathtaking view, and a gorgeous ballroom with high chandeliers and dazzling decorations. And in a break from tradition, my cousin C and her fiancé J chose to read their own vows to each. Halfway through, their voices started cracking and both started fighting back tears. Yet somehow, they still broke out into glistening smiles whenever they made even slight eye contact, as if the tears rolling down their cheeks were nonexistent. They finished, kissed, and became husband and wife.

Through that unforgettable experience, I finally learned what a wedding day meant. It wasn't about "making it official." It wasn't about the actual ceremony. It wasn't about the kiss that seals it or all the wedding pictures. Instead, it was about celebrating a new life together—the start of a new journey. It was about having friends and family, all of whom have been there from the start, to come and watch this momentous occasion. But most importantly, it was about experiencing all of this with your lifelong partner—the person who makes you smile, laugh, and cry.

My outlook changed after that day. Now when I look at dating, I see marriage. Two of my other cousins met their wives at the age of 28, and so from the onset, they were committed to their relationships long-term. They frequently traveled together before marriage, visited their S/O's family, and even traveled with their S/O's family. That's how they saw it. That's how their parents saw it. That's how my aunts and uncles saw it. And that's how I began to see relationships, even while 10 years younger than them. In my eyes, that was the adult way of handling a relationship—traveling together and just interacting with their S/O's parents as a future extended family. Because eventually, they will become family, right?

Even more so, I never understand why people do not consider the future while in a relationship. How do you not think about the effects of post-college or long-distance on the relationship? How do you not think about moving in together? How do you not think about marriage? Why commit and pour so much into a relationship if the ultimate goal is not marriage? For me, I consider everything. Day 1, day 365, and day 41571. Because if you don't consider the future, why does the present matter? If you can't see the same relationship five years from now, why waste the time?

I had always thought this was common knowledge—that the future dictates the present, even if the future is just a few months away. It sometimes still flabbergasts me to hear people completely neglect what happens to current relationships in the future: "I'll think about it when we get there." "I don't know what will happen to us post-college." "I can't see marriage with X yet, but maybe in a few years." Astonishing. But, what I have never realized is that I have been lucky enough to observe my cousins transition into adulthood; they are the root of my more adult mindset. Through them, I have shaped my own vision and expectations of the future, relationships, and marriage.

And so, that's how I see relationships—not as a playground to experiment and dabble, but as an avenue for the future. I do admit, sometimes I look too far ahead to where my cousins are right now—10 years in advance. But, I don't mind looking that far away, so 10 years from now, I can look back and be content with the decisions I have made in the current present.

[danceswiththedaring]

To be Human

Live. As simple as that. Just go out and explore and do things that you want. Whether they render you speechless while in awe, make you giddy with excitement, or make you tremble in fear, just do it. Live a life with no regrets because some opportunities are truly once-in-a-lifetime. What will you remember?

One of my favorite quotes is, "Experiences are created about not seeing—about what you never intended to see, in order to see something else." You'll never know what you'll find along the way. Perhaps a new passion. A new vacation spot. A new activity to share amongst friends. Maybe even someone special to share all of these with for life. You wouldn't know if you didn't live and do.

So just let go. To be human is to be free—free to live and free to explore. Opportunities and activities and the world beckon us to do. Let us follow and commit—not with a distinct, conscious effort to seek them, but with a subconscious freedom tugging us along to people, places, and things we've always wanted to do.

So just live.

[danceswiththedaring]

Tidal Waves

I like to think of things as tidal waves. Gravitational forces create a push and pull. That's how it's always been since the dawn of time. The moon tugging on Earth. The Earth tugging back. This avenue works, and it's amazing to observe and participate in it. It's so simple and so fluid, as if there isn't much effort at all. wish wash wish wash. With every day, there's something new and unique; waves are slightly higher, less rapid, farther inshore. Ultimately, they are never the same because the push and the pull change with time. The gravitational bodies grow older, the forces weakens. Yet, wish wash wish wash, tug back and forth they go, no matter how much time has passed. As long as one tugs, the other will too. That's the beauty of it. There's always something to push and pull both ways.

There also exist rivers. They flow in one direction, an endless stream with seemingly no beginning or end. But, somewhere it's gotta start, wherever it may be. You could send things down the river. They will be received, but nothing will be given in return. There is no push and pull; there is no back and forth. Just push. Just the Earth tugging on the moon. There is no avenue, just a one-way street. Yes, this works too, but is it sustainable over time? Pushing onwards without receiving something similar? Perhaps. There are still rivers today, albeit with significantly less water in them.

To the naked eye of the unobservant bystander, these two are the same. There are the little things that they miss. Pushes and pulls don't always have to be even; directional water flow doesn't always have to go at the same speed. But onwards they still go, without caring about your opinion or mine. They just happen. whoosh. But how long do they last?

[danceswiththedaring]

unappreciated

Why do we help others? It seems rather paradoxical given our ultra-competitive society, where everyone is ferociously fighting to the top, stepping over and on anybody to do so. Yet, even in this rather bleak portrait of the world, we still help each other out—do favors for one another, without asking for anything in return. The earth still spins, we all still have friends, and we all get along as a species (for the most part).

However, what some fail to see is the reason(s) behind helping others. What makes us walk five blocks further to buy cookies for friends? What makes us allocate two hours of our busy day to converse with a friend about their relationship issues? What makes us go all the way to the airport just to say goodbye? What is it?

Perhaps it's internal satisfaction. We feel good because someone is better off afterwards. Friends support one another, and friendship, above all, is what makes life so worth living. It's this unwritten rule of give-and-take among friends that balances everything out. "I'll be there when you need me, and you'll be there when I need you." And that's how friends acknowledge their gratitude for each other to each other. With hugs, bro hugs, thanks, I-got-you-next-time's, I-owe-you-one's, and the occasional overexcitement and elation, the reaction is genuine. And one really feels happy that this friendship exists.

The problem comes with those who fail to understand know why others are helping them. Some think it's because they're special, as if they're this king/queen on a pedestal that everyone should be honored to help. These "acquaintances" will only talk to you when they need something from you. Then suddenly, you're a friend—a best friend even! They'll flatter you with compliments in the hopes of prying your precious time dedicated from your life to theirs. And when you have finished helping them, goodbye! Gone. Without a word. Until they need you next.

Perhaps the worst is with friends who fail to grasp the concept of a friendship. Friends help each other not because they expect anything in return, but because they genuinely want to. They do it because they want to know that someone's day brightened like a lightbulb turning on for the first time—and to know that they were a part of it. To watch it. To marvel at it. To cause it. That's why friends do what they do.

But when they don't respond, it's hard. You help them, but they don't care for you. They don't care about what you did. They only care that they got that help. Sure, they might acknowledge your presence for a short while, but that's not what matters to them.

And it sucks to know someone doesn't appreciate what you do for them. Not even a "thank you." Not even a smile. Not even an acknowledgement or a sign of thanks. Just... nothing. As if it's expected rather than appreciated.

And that's where it all goes wrong: assuming others will do favors on the mere basis of friendship. Even something as simple as appreciating each other's company while eating or hanging out. That's the least friends can do.

"If someone doesn't appreciate your presence, make them appreciate your absence."

Maybe that will change the tune of their song. Because that's not how friendships or relationships should work.

I don't expect a gift. I don't expect you to fist-pump with exuberance. I don't expect any favors to be done in return. I expect only some sign of appreciation—anything—so I know my time and efforts are worth something to you. Because if I feel shittier than I did before, then we have issues.

And I don't think the problem is me.

[danceswiththedaring]

UC Berkeley Confession

How hard is it to date after leaving Berkeley?

College in general is a great time to meet people your age, for obvious reasons. And Cal is a good place to find other smart people, so keep your eyes peeled.

People can suck here; because they study too hard, because they're weird, because you're weird, and because we're probably less attractive in aggregate than a lot of other schools (i.e. "Berkeley goggles").

Yes you get "out in the world" and exposed to more people when you graduate, but it's harder to make a connection unless they have a mutual friend, you're super hot, or really social/outgoing.

Don't expect to find the one here, but definitely date people and actively try to be social with people of the same and opposite sex. Go to parties and clubs and everything, and hit on people, hook up and date. You'll learn a lot about yourself if you commit to people; just don't be scared to break it off if it doesn't work. You will find another, and your experience as a significant other will only get better with time, trials, and failures. Maybe you'll find the one, maybe not, but always keep your eyes out because you never know where you may run into them.

-- a wise Facebook commenter

[danceswiththedaring]

Stories

What are stories? Why do we remember them? I think both are fascinating questions without clear answers. They are just a way for us to represent our feelings. To encapsulate them into something memorable and tangible. That's why there's a beginning, middle, and end. It feels more real that way. We are always fascinated by our capacity to remember.

There's a reason I have such an affinity for Wong Fu Productions. Never mind that people label their work as "sappy dramas for teenage girls" or "only love stories and nothing else." Maybe that's true; I don't know. But regardless, I admire Wong Fu because of the stories they tell, what they tell them, and more importantly, how they tell them.

I was reading a book one day, and I stumbled upon this quote that I found to epitomize just what it meant to live:

"Experiences are created about not seeing—about what you never intended to see, in order to see something else. And maybe that's what we mean by an experience."

Because an experience is defined by everything we don't notice in the moment. A story is everything we don't consciously remember, but what we subconsciously do. It's because of the feelings—the heart-pounding sensation, the butterflies, the feeling when everything is just right—that ultimately defines a story. We remember it because of those leaps in our chest and those skips in our heartbeat. And in turn, we build a story around it so we can reignite that feeling whenever we want to.

That's what Wong Fu does to me. Though they aren't my stories, they are someone else's, filled with their feelings, their butterflies, and their bundles of joy. It is something from their lives, whether recent or buried deep within their past. Must it be an accurate reflection of Phil's, Wes', and Ted's lives? Absolutely not. But the beauty of a story is that they can be intertwined, feelings can be infused, and you would get an even more incredible story, even if it didn't really happen.

In their short "Shell," Wes addresses this idea by posing a series of questions: "What if we could remember things we didn't experience?" In other words, what if people could buy memories—real or not? Because ultimately, what is more intimate and touching than a memory?

Now doesn't that rattle the mind? But before immediately rejecting such a notion, consider this: what if you could tell a story about some girl or guy that possessed every trait you had ever admired—all your crushes and what made each and every one of them perfect fused together, into a dream-like persona of your imagination. And you could talk about it. Share it. Because with each trait this person possesses, it's one more memory and one more feeling reignited from the depths of the brain and the heart. It's what and who you love, or in some cases, loved.

It's reasons like this that make me love Wong Fu. Their dramas are introspective; they make you think, make you observe, and ultimately make you re-evaluate things based upon an experience. Their stories have all of their feelings in them, and it is amazing to feel them too and to connect with those intangibles. As an audience, we watch and hear the dream-like personas Wong Fu creates. And we learn. We experience. We revisit our own stories and our own dream-like personas. Although we didn't experience these memories in our own lives, we can experience it through someone else's, and even if those characters aren't real, they feel real, and that's all that matters. As Wes wrote in the short, "It’s about the feeling, that’s what matters.”

Perhaps that's where all the Wong Fu hatred comes from—because they do tap into those feelings and reignite them. Perhaps guys are supposed to “act tough” and be "resistant" to such feelings. Live a little, I say. Open up a little. Experience a little. Don't be like Rick.

Yet, even if things don't happen, is it any less meaningful? Just because a date didn't go as planned, is that any less meaningful? I don’t think so. Perhaps that's why I consider most of my romantic memories to be happy, no matter how well/badly it went. In the end, they make a story and they add to that persona. I loved being in that moment, and even if it didn't work out, I still love it today. Because it was meaningful.

Stories aren't something we find only in books or only in movies. We create them, whether from a single memory or from multiple memories. They all serve the same purpose: to reignite some feeling inside. That's why we go out and do things, find love, have fun, enjoy life. All so we can remember them tomorrow.

So make today a great day so tomorrow can be an even better one—with stories to tell, experiences to relive, and most importantly, people to share them with. That's what a story's for.

[danceswiththedaring]

Just the Little Things

I appreciate the little things in life that you always do. The goodbyes, the hellos. The good mornings, the good nights. Even the sorrys and the thank yous. Though I don't tell you how much they mean to me, just know that they do. In fact, they mean the world to me.

Even something as subtle as a smile—both your genuine smile and the crooked, sly one you always throw at me whenever you sass me. Or even something like your laugh—infectious, bubbly, and unforgettable. Whether that was laughing at yourself, laughing at me, or laughing at the world—it didn't matter, because as long as I could see and hear it, it made me laugh as well.

The way you leaned on my shoulder—your head against mine. We’d hold our breaths and lay there quietly, waiting for the other to break the silence. If only I could capture that moment in time. That’s what I would treasure forever.

Yet sometimes, I forget to stop and appreciate these moments. I take them for granted, as if I could always hear you laugh, always see you smile, always hold your hand. But it's only when you're gone do I realize that I miss them. I miss you. And everything else. I've grown so accustomed to having you by my side that your absence is a void in my life.

So, for all the little things that you always do—whether you realize it or not, whether you intentionally do them or not, whether you remember them or not—thank you. They make my every day that much more memorable.

[danceswiththedaring]

Good Night

Who do you miss when you fall asleep?

I miss the person whose "good night" text is the last thing I read before I fall asleep every night. I miss the person whose "good morning" text is the first thing I wake up to every day.  I miss the person whom I stay up late for, lying down in bed texting into the early morning hours in the pitch black room, unwilling to be the one who says good bye first, unwilling to fall asleep. Otherwise, I feel empty. Incomplete. Lonely. Because it is you I miss. You, the girl of my dreams, who yet, could not follow me into my dreams.

I never thought of sleep in that way. Before I met you, it felt like bliss—a daily routine for me to leave all my troubles in the real world and explore the fantasy that is mine. I let go of everyone and who they are, and let myself dream. About stars. About places. About the impossible, because while I'm asleep, they are possible. These dreams become stories—stories to share, laugh at, and remember, even if they are not real.

It's only when you started appearing in my dreams that I began to re-evaluate everything. It was not simply your presence that initiated this. Rather, it's because in all of those dreams, I didn't want them to end. In them, I was happy—floating along on Cloud 9. And in them, I only wanted to be around you, and I never lost sight of you. That's why I wanted these dreams to continue on forever.

Waking up to the real world and realizing how unrealistic this fantasy was stunned me. One moment I was sitting and talking with you along a beautiful hiking trail behind the city. The next moment I was lying in bed, alone, empty, and longing.

As we got to know each other better, we talked later and later into the night. Eventually, it went to the early morning hours—2 am, 3 am, 4 am. It didn't matter. As long as we were talking, I would never be tired. Your messages would be the last ones I read before I turned my phone off for the night. And you'd be the first person I'd text when I woke up. "Good night" and "good morning"—the hours between those texts were excruciating. And so, I'd fall asleep as fast as I could and hope that I would not dream. Dreams would only drag out my sleep.

Maybe that's not a bad thing—choosing reality over dreams. What if we were a thing? What if we weren't? Maybe that doesn't matter either. Being able to talk to someone for hours on end speaks to how close we are. That can never be replaced.

Now, when I fall asleep, I still dream. I still dream about the impossible, because here they are possible. I still dream about places we should have gone. And while in my dreams, they feel real. You feel real. Though you are not.

Even though you were at times a world away—across the globe in another country, in another time zone—we still talked, still said our good mornings and good nights. Except those hours in between were spent in daylight, as you slept and I woke and vice versa. We'd be having fun at different times, in different places, yet would always find a way to come back together.

And so, I'll miss you. Wherever you are, wherever you'll be, and wherever you'll go.

[danceswiththedaring]

A Good Day

Today was a good day.

Sometimes, you just don't want to sleep. You don't want the day to end. You want the day to continue on and on, because it was everything that you had wished for—and more. If there was a Cloud 10, that's where I'd be—floating above Cloud 9 in this endless dream. Dream. Maybe that's what it feels like. Falling asleep would just end it, and waking up would be a painful reminder that no day can be as high and amazing as today.

I don't always run around my apartment fist-pumping like Tom Brady does whenever he throws a touchdown pass (example). I am pretty good with keeping my emotions in check, acting logically and calm in all situations. I almost never have random outbursts of elation or misery. But it’s those good days that make me shoot straight up out of my desk chair and then passionately fist-pump around my apartment as if I had just won the Super Bowl. Of course, my “Super Bowl” is slightly different.

It is personal success—finding the internship of my dream and realizing that all of my hard work has finally been rewarded.

It is sports success—winning intense badminton games with my partner and making unbelievable comebacks to silence the other teams on their home courts.

And most recently, it is team success—hearing that our Andrenaline 2.0 miniset had been chosen for AFX Showcase Fall 2015. Never mind that our ragtag group of dancers just met this summer. Never mind that this miniset was rushed into production, just so we could meet the audition deadline. No. That’s not what matters. What matters most is that this was the culmination of the hard work, dedication, and heart of thirteen individuals beating together. Thirteen. Who says that that’s an unlucky number? If anything, thirteen is the perfect number—the perfect size, the perfect fit, and the perfect team.

It is just that all of those hours spent choreographing, practicing, learning, teaching, blocking, stressing—they are all worth something now. We get to perform on the biggest stage. We get to show everyone everything that we have given to this team. We get to show everyone why we love to dance and why we love this team. We are not just a summer team—we are a family that formed over summer.

And so, I smiled. I fist-pumped and rejoiced as I had never before. Wow. What a sensation it was. The moment of triumph. The moment of reward. That is what it’s all about. Because now, our creation can be more than just a video. It can be presented to the cheers and applause of nearly a thousand fellow classmates and dancers. What a moment that will be.

I am so, so fortunate to have met these friends. As I wrote in a confession, “Andrenaline was just 60 close friends jumping together, laughing together, and dancing together to the heartbeat between those headphones.” That is how I felt and still how I feel.

As we celebrate the selection of our miniset, there is one person among all that I must thank: my co-director. Though I met her only four months ago, she has become my best friend, my confidant, and my support system. It is because of her that I believe in myself for all that I do now. It is because of her that I could choreo without ever second-guessing myself. It is because of her that our miniset choreo to “Rather Be” got chosen first.

I will never forget that moment. Never. As she always seems to be, she was stressed that day from both school and dance. We had practiced quite a bit already, and while her confidence may not have been high, I still believed, no matter the competition. I believed not because our choreo was dazzling or anything. No. I believed because I believed in her. In her hard work and in her unbounded passion.

Finally, the moment came. When our choreo was chosen, her face lit up—lit up like the sun had woken from its slumber and risen above the mountains; like the stars shining in the dark night, beckoning us to marvel at them; and like a light bulb turned on for the first time—bright, exuberant, and beaming in pure elation. She smiled in a way I had never seen before, and that is what I remember. I will never forget her face in that moment.

Now, we get to perform the piece we both choreographed and show the world. I am so, so proud of our team for our hard work. And of course, I am so, so proud of my co. I admire the way she handles and balances everything, yet is able to finish, push on, and move on. All while under constant stress.

If there is anyone I would like to be, it would be her. People mention passion and admiration and dedication, but none actually do it. My co does. She is all of those, yet will never admit to it. “It’s fine,” she always says, in regards to any difficult situation. That is the greatest lie in the world and a lie I hope she never says again. Because it pains me to see her work so hard while others reap the benefits and act as if they are the leader doing it all. It is excruciating to watch.

And so, seeing her happy is my final definition of success. Whenever she is happy, I’m happy. That will be a good day, no matter how my day went. Some things are more important than others, and this is one of them. It is amazing to watch her grow and succeed. Because in that moment, there is truly no place I’d rather be.

[danceswiththedaring]

“Try Your Best”

"As long as you try your best, that is all that matters."

Since I have participated in competitive sports, that's what I've been told: "Try your best." Winning and losing are just part of the game. You win some. You lose some. Because at the end of the day, you learn something from it. In retrospect, yes, I did learn something. I learned that this is the greatest lie anyone has ever told.

Winning is everything. Even in practice, warmups, charity game, scrimmage. It's all about winning. The more I watch and play sports, the more I realize that winners give everything to win; they believe in nothing else and will do nothing less for the win. So now, I believe the same. Life is a game. Life is about winning. Accomplishments are about winning. Winning is beyond irrelevant excuses, passing the buck, or neglecting the faults. If winning was that easy, then losers would win. But that's not how the world works. Winners win and losers lose.

However, that's not what "trying your best" implies—instead, everyone's a winner! Hooray! Wait, WHAT!? "Everyone's a winner?" What a lie. What a disgrace. There can only be one winner. ONE. Second is the first loser, and it's the last word that resonates the most: you're a loser that day. You're a loser. It means you're not good enough. There's no celebration or any consolation prizes. Who cares if you're 2nd? No one, because you lost. At the end of the day, that's all that matters.

I read a tweet one time that just said the following:

"hard work = results"

Now this is the greatest understatement anyone has ever said. Hard work goes beyond giving your best. Only through hard work will the results come. And to me, the results are all that matter. Doing your best and winning are separate, not the result of one another. Sometimes, you just don't have your best for some reason, but winners find a way to pull out a win amongst the odds and through every adversity. Doing your best is just a statement of effort. A weak statement. Because you could still lose.

Kobe Bryant was asked that exact question: "What happens if you try your best, and you still don't win?" And in typical Kobe fashion, he responded succinctly, "Work harder."

This is certainly a paradox, isn't it? If you can work harder, then it certainly wasn't your best. Not entirely true. You can always work harder. Push further. Beyond any physical or mental limit. Beyond where others will stop. That's what makes a winner a winner. They don't just try their best and hope they win. No. They ARE the best. It becomes a fact.

Over summer, I joined AFX dance, an art form foreign to me, yet familiar as an athlete. I was asked on the first day why I decided to join dance. My answer: to be the best dancer on the team. Period. I don't commit myself to activities just to "do my best in it." No, I do it to become the very best at doing it. That is the same thing as winning. Anything short of that is considered a failure.

But why? Where's the fun in all of this? Well, I have fun by winning. Because that means I was challenged, I adapted, I learned, and I conquered. If you go with a mindset that accepts mediocrity, then that's exactly what you'll be: mediocre. It starts in the mind, and that's where it goes wrong.

But of course, I know I am not as good as seasoned dancers are. That is a fact as of this moment in time. But there's a difference between knowing you're not as good enough and having it shoved right into your face in utter humiliation. Casted for a grand total of ten seconds in the back row, when others (inferior dancers, in my opinion) got significantly more stage time. "It's because you're tall, that's why you're in the back." Well, the tall guys were front and center in the other piece. Instead, I am relegated to hiding in the curtains until running on stage for ten seconds.

I was humiliated, beaten, and essentially told I wasn't good enough—wasn't memorable enough to be someone other than the blurring faces behind the main stars in the front row. Have I given my best? I don't really care if I have or if I did. I didn't get the results I wanted, and that's all that matters. Placed in the back row. That's just another way of saying, "Nice try kid, you tried your best." Two pats on the head. Too bad I don't take that as a compliment.

Perhaps I do have a reason to feel frustrated and unappreciated. My hard work has been completely ignored and thrown to the side, just like me in our set. Put on a desolated island, while half the team watches everyone else perform in my piece; meanwhile, I stand idly waiting for my momentary time on stage. And then back to irrelevance.

I've thought about giving up on this team if that's how I will be treated. With too many people on the team, that was inevitable. But no, that's not what winners do. They don't give up in the face of criticism. Rather, they embrace it and use it as motivation—to drive that hard work beyond all limits.

And so, I'll push. I'll work harder. Train harder. I can only blame myself for this situation. I'll work so hard, train so much, and dance so much that I'll become memorable, so much so that they will be forced to recognize me for my hard work.

That's why I don't believe in the phrase "try your best" anymore. I believe only in hard work and believing that winning is everything. The results will follow.

Just watch me.