Quarrel
A quarrel is a funny thing. Well, they're either funny or tragic, not that there's a big difference, or whatever.
They're funny because everything seems to make sense in the heat of the moment, and the next moment when all is settled, we find little rationality for quarreling itself. Certainly, the cause for dispute can be life-or-death, but when two people get into a quarrel, it takes a life of its own that almost seems disconnected with the original cause in the first place.
A quarrel between siblings is a prime example. Last year, Sherry and I got into a quarrel regarding who left the door open to my room. My room happens to be the most well insulated room in the entire house, for whatever reason, and I love to leave the door closed so that it's nice and toasty. Well, this argument quickly got out of hand (picture in your mind a 20 year old guy and a 15 year old girl screaming at each others' faces) and resulted in us not talking for the next half hour. Now, I'm not one to hold onto grudges (some would disagree), so I didn't remember this instance, but Sherry told me about it.
And she said something that we all universally feel about quarrels after the fact: "It was stupid."
But the thing that bothers me about quarrels is the need to not only vindicate one's position, but come out on top. For when we get into truly emotional and irrational disagreement, we develop an unquenchable desire to prove the righteousness of our own position, all the while attempting to impose our version of reality and truth unto someone else.
And while the wise will destroy the budding weed of pride, most often we unconsciously allow ourselves to falter to this sinister nature of man, this sin. And when all is lost, there is nothing to win. Nobody wins.
The Train Ride Home
On Friday, I got home at around 2:30 in the morning.
I've been taking the train home and back on a regular basis every few months for over five years now. Every time, the trip is a little different.
The nicest train rides are when I get to have two neighboring seats to myself. Honestly, who likes to sit next to a stranger for a 7+ hour train ride? When I have two seats to myself, if I felt like sprawling out and taking a nap, I have that option. Other times, it's nice to be able to just enjoy watching a movie or reading a book by myself for the entire time.
Of course, there's no denying that sitting in one position for such a long time is also a tragic experience. There's no alternative for cramps or restlessness other than to walk up and down the isles of the train, pretending to have some serious matters that needs attending. Likewise, other passengers on the car watch you as you stroll by, praying for the most interesting thing to occur, for you to trip or lose your balance. The mind numbs, the body wastes!
When someone does sit down next to me, they have a choice of whether to initiate conversation. The opportunity is quite interesting, because upon sitting down, the two parties are inescapably held next to one another for the next several hours, at a distance within the typical comfort zone of most North American males, especially me.
I've always felt that the other individual has held that choice of conversation -- I sure as heck avoid all chances to put at risk my emotional and mental well-being for the next several hours. And when they choose to talk, I always encounter some interesting individuals. In one home-bound trip my senior year of high school, a young woman spoke to me incessantly about her boyfriend, her job problems, and her family life. Another time, a senior business executive on his commute home from work spoke non-stop about his opinions of the government of China, his feelings about politics and health reform, and his love of Sarah Palin.
On Friday, the train was delayed two hours, and I got home at around 2:30 in the morning. I typically get home before midnight. Halfway through the trip, an old woman asked kindly to sit next to me, to whom I of course obliged. Her restless body shifted and jerked next to me for the entirety of the three hours of her leg of the trip. She asked about me, whether I went to school, if I was going home for the holidays. I spoke to her, and found out that she was a retired saleswoman for a paper company -- The Office came to mind. She was visiting her son's family for a week for the holidays. She lives alone -- with a caretaker who comes by occasionally because she has Huntington's disease. I helped her open her can of root beer, because her hands couldn't sit steady for long enough to open it. I helped her get up, because her frail legs would not push for long enough to support her body. And she confessed to being lonely. And despite all of this, I struggled at finding the right words to keep a conversation with her, to be a kind human being and engage in a warm conversation that would last a little bit longer than the first five artificial minutes.
And now I wonder if it's best for me to sit alone on the train.
Finally!
Finally, I decided to get away from my old domain, Magic Muffin. I've had that thing since middle school, more or less, and I used it mainly as a personal blog. It went through years of revisions, accidental deletions, and renewed attempts at becoming a personal home that deserved - nay - demanded an intellectually deep soul such as myself. Often times, I dragged my friends into writing a few posts for me, as if they were interested in contributing to some fledgling website, so named based on my childhood best friend's suggestion: tainted baked goods.
Well, I decided to bend over for my narcissistic impulses and registered a domain under my own name (including my middle initial, since apparently some Asian man in Naperville has the same name as me; however at the time of this writing the domain is not being utilized to its full potential). If my history in blogging is any indication for how this new site will turn out, then I might as well give up already. But if there is some hope that I can write consistently and write well, then perhaps this deserves - nay - demands greater attention.