The Future

Ok, so I tried reviving this blog with mostly positive content, but this is just too much of a deal for me to overlook.

Japan.

When are you going to start taking me seriously?

Last week, I started taking a class outlining the basics of differential equations, pretty much. The teacher seemed younger than the others, but very well spoken, good at math and had the skin and gums of someone well into their 30's or starting on their 40's.

I do my thing; sit at the front and solve whatever problems come my way. Nothing out of the ordinary.

However, when the teacher has filled up about 3-and-a-half blackboards of diagrams and equations, he turns to me, and asks, loud enough for the entire room to hear: "you can't read this, can you?"

I glance at the Japanese word problem in front of me and answer patiently: "I can read this."

He adds: "Oh, I see. I can translate it for you if you need me to. Do you?"

Feeling insulted, and in a bit of a passive-aggressive mood, I counter: "... hmm, actually. Please do."

So I watch him struggle through a completely useless attempt at a translation of a simple word-problem. It was pretty good effort for a Japanese in general, but bear with me as I make this generalization as I am clearly not doing the same thing he was doing to me. The reason why this is so upsetting can be summarized in the following points.

• I'm pretty god damn good at Japanese. In fact, I know few (less than 5) non-natives that are as good as or better than me (that includes Asians)
• I am a student at a university where all the education is done in Japanese, not to mention at the very top (two years completed)
• The man's proficiency in English is worse than mine at 3 years of age (which clearly says something about what he expects of me)
• I had to help him find words

Now, I've been in similar situations in Japan before. It's just not expected of anyone who looks like they're not Asian to be able to read their moonspeak. I was at the school doctor/nurse's office the other day, saying I was considering taking a break from my lifts due to a pain in my hip and the nurse wanted to fuck so bad but anyways, I read one word on her computer monitor and she was literally throwing all of her panties at me.

Moral of the story? Unless I become nationwide famous, Japan will always assume this stupid shit about me, that I can't read or even understand what they're saying, until I actually prove it (and even then a lot of times, it's like their self-image doesn't allow them to accept that someone who looks so western can do something so eastern).

I can think of so many times where I have been at a counter or met someone new and had an Asian with me and the Japanese person tries really hard to have the conversation through the Asian (oh wow, this reminds me of helping a Taiwanese girl find an apartment where a guy was confused as fuck when I was translating for her).

You know, stuff like this is fun and trivial when I don't give a fuck about the person in question, but it's a little alarming to think it will always be like this.

These past few weeks have been absolutely great.

I guess I never mentioned it here on the blog, but I have been unhappy with my education for a while. If there was a difficulty level for it, it would be something like Easy mode with auto-aim and hints enabled. Being raised on and inspired by Dragonball, in love with technology and addicted to challenge, I would much rather not play Easy mode. It was an insult to the child in me, burning with passion to change the world for the better.

The start of this school year, I was asked to join the teachers in front of my class of about 90 students. I did it; I won. My grades were the best.

I had proven something.

At the time, I didn't think much of it. It was something a part of me expected. I was probably thinking about my calorie intake or what I had for breakfast or something. What surprised me, though, is how much better everything felt after that. Everyone knew now, including me.

This education is not suited for me. I am better than this.

I think the hardest part was knowing this for a fact, but not being able to prove it.

So school got more bearable. I take a lot less credits than the first two years, lift three days a week and make a little money on the weekends. I find out about "A State of Trance" and "Trance Around the World". My brain is flooded with novelty and it's like a piece of a 23-year-old puzzle I have been trying to assemble magically appears in my pocket.

The best part is how a cute nerd-girl from the US matriculates in my school, like the prayers of all 5000 students were answered. Wonderful; I can't complain.

---

So I bet you're wondering, how does all this relate to alcohol? Well, my dorm had a welcoming party for the freshmen the other day. Being literally the only non-Japanese, and pretty much the only drinker, I was helping myself to beer; lots of it. I also had a little reunion with some exchange students from a few years back, so one thing led to another, and before you know it we were drinking and reminiscing.

It was great. It's times like this it's maybe the easiest to go overboard with alcohol. You start off with a good feeling; a touch of apathy; gluttony; lust.

The chimes of the universe had synchronized with my will for the past few weeks, and I was ready to disregard all reason and enjoy whatever came my way. Before I knew it, I had way overestimated and overshot my limits.

So I go to class the morning after, finish whatever assignment we're handed in about 5 minutes, and that's when I realize how hung-over I actually was. The following 20 minutes are then spent staring myself in the eyes in the bathroom mirror, regretting my carelessness the day before. The nausea is killing me.

Is this perhaps the worst I have felt in my entire life?

The only reasonable answer to that question is no, of course not (I'm pretty sure malaria was worse, for one... oh and the allergic reaction I had to being bitten by a common viper... the list goes on). But growing up, I think vomiting was my greatest fear, right next to the wrath of god or my father in a mood-swing (that's right, I was religious as a child, but enough about me). So I'm in a corner here, figuratively; literally. Either I suffer the pain of nausea or I suffer the pain of vomiting.

Anyways, I'm fine now, I did my lifts and everything, but it's silly how one can experience something like this only to end up in the exact same situation a few months down the road.

Never again? Never again.

It has been a few months since I started lifting, and felt that it would be nice to write about it now that I officially missed my first day. I wonder if I'm going to get DOMS this week.

So here are my stats, and a few things I've learnt.

Squat	120, 5rm
Deadlift	150, 2rm
Bench press	80 (BW), 5rm
Pull-ups	7.5 weighted, 8rm
OHP	50, 5rm

Apart from that I do upright rows, weighted sit-ups and barbell curls. I squat and bench three days a week, DL once, the rest twice.

• If you work out through DOMS, it goes away within a week (how did I not realize this before)
• Eating 3500 kcal a day is a bitch
• Every single time I squat 110 kg+, there is a part of me that doesn't believe I can do it
• Every single time, that part is proven wrong
• Coffee pre-workout increases performance, but can cause blood-pressure dips and nausea
• Coffee post-workout isn't really necessary after DOMS stops
• After a challenging day at the gym, I can easily sleep 9-12 hours straight
• A max attempt will most likely bring my lifts up by the next day

I noticed pretty quickly, that I was bringing down my body fat, but not really putting on muscle. Sure, I have bigger muscles in general, especially ones I hadn't worked before, like traps, forearms and chest. However, I have only put on about 1 kg in mass during all these months. It makes so much sense why, but it's surprisingly difficult to deliver on this point. See, every day I miss my 3500 kcal goal, my body burns muscle, pretty much, to lower its energy needs. The only way I can have any significant gains, is by working as hard all day, eating, as I do in the squat rack.

In the beginning, I was asking myself whether it was worth it. The diet alone means more work, more money spent and less time in general. Now, however, I don't see how I could live with myself if I wasn't lifting. I mean, I have always been active, and in shape, pretty much. Only now do I know what it is like to be strong. And that's me being really nice to myself, because I'm not really strong yet; I'm only getting warmed up.

I've spent 27.9 hours in the past two weeks playing Borderlands for the first time. A few hours in, I got the hang of the gameplay, realizing how to manage items, skill-points and quests. It was a lot like Diablo II, only in this futuristic, mystical landscape called Pandora.

As with most works, be it films, books or whatever, I have a very close-minded approach. I make effort to know as little as possible beforehand, achieving an experience that wouldn't have been possible otherwise. Rather than a third party, I let the developers tell me what kind of a game it is, through the game.

Once I got the hang of the gameplay, I quickly realized what made it such an addictive game. It carefully balances challenge with reward, making both you and your enemies stronger. You create a character of godlike power, while maintaining a fair level of difficulty.

I obviously enjoyed the game for the characteristics mentioned above, but what really intrigued me was the story and the artwork. Pandora is a lawless world, full of adventure and mystery. There are few humans, and Earth as we know it seems to be a long since abandoned or destroyed (or even forgotten) homeworld. The main interest on Pandora is a so-called "vault", full of countless treasures of some sort. While I thoroughly enjoyed the quest for the vault, what did it for me was the setting; exploration on this barren wasteland, far removed from mankind, in the depths of space and in the distant future. Listening to the logs of Patricia Tannis, a human faced with solitude in this distant world, I really got the feeling of immersion into this unique world; into Pandora. It was mine to explore and I had all the time in the world, or at least, the time my mortal form would allow.

This brings me to another point that hit me only once I finished the main story of the game, and that is that this vault only can be accessed every 200 years. So whatever is guiding you, obviously has some way of surviving for several of these cycles, awaiting access and/or control of the vault. My first thought was, that this probably was some future sentient being, capable of rejuvenation or cryopresevation, but only when I saw that cut-scene of the satellite peering down on Pandora, did I think A.I.

Immortality.

The reason why I decided to write about this, was that I was feeling kind of low. I knew that the odds of being able to explore a planet, like Pandora, and going on a quest like the one I experienced through this game, were very much against me. This game gave me a glimpse into a reality that I honestly believe I would prefer over what I have. It saddens me that it is not real, and even if it were, it is grossly out of my reach, or the reach of technology as we know it in this day and age.

So yeah, I don't want to end on such a depressing note, but this game really is that great. Only 27 hours in and I realize that it is so good, it makes me depressed to compare it with real life. Borderlands: Only 27 Hours.

Shortly after my last post, I made the educated decision to start drinking coffee again. The selling point was the increased quality of life. Human bodies are not designed things, nor are they the pinnacle of evolution. Perpetually changing, humans will forever evolve; forever adapt. I can't easily say what the best thing to do is, given the fact that we are the result of random interaction of particles in space and time. Nonetheless, I observed that the quality of life with coffee was greater than one without it, especially considering the lifestyle I was leading.

Whatever problems I had, or symptoms I experienced, can be derived from a less-than-optimal lifestyle and overuse (abuse) of the substance. What I decided to do on that day, is limit use of caffeine to the three times of the week I really need it. A cup of coffee will counteract the tremendous fatigue that kicks in after an hour of lifting. It will keep me feeling as alert and functional as I would otherwise. I will neither be high nor low, but in a state of equilibrium, and that will provide me with a higher quality of life than if I never ingested any caffeine.

I'm not looking to boost my performance in the gym, which I know to be possible, but only lessen the suffering of recovery.

So for almost a month now, I have been drinking a cup of coffee post workout. I never have cravings (like I did in my period of abstinence), and I don't drink so much that I develop a tolerance. I am having the cake and eating it too. Also...

SQUATZ AND OATZ AND SQUATZ AND OATZ AND SQUATZ MOTHERFUCKER

Drugs really helped give me perspective in life.

I'm not an avid user of any hard drugs, but I have a lot of experience with more household, easily overlooked ones. For about 7 years, my drug of choice was caffeine. Shit, man, I remember the first cup I brewed for myself, supervised by my mother. It tasted like shit, really. It took a bit of tweaking before I had a drink I could enjoy. I took my coffee with about a quarter cream, and lots and lots of sugar. Looking back, I don't think I could even drink it now without writhing my face up in disgust.

Anyways, coffee was a nice substance to have around when rest and inactivity were my greatest fears. I spent hours and hours on end every day on forums, spouting my (communist) ideals, and having fervent debates. I was modding games, tweaking; trying to understand. My computer was and to this day still is my most valued possession. Coffee wasn't even a choice, it was the only option.

Needless to say, coffee made me strong, it made me focused. I didn't even think much of the steep climb to the community gym about three times a week. It was never a challenge; it was never a problem. I would be appreciating the music blasting in my ears, thinking what to tell all the people online about my daydreams. Never did it occur to me what I was doing was difficult.

A few months back, I was living a rather hectic lifestyle. School was not stimulating enough, so I looked for a job. The best paying one I could do at the time was in the middle of the night, so I went with the graveyard shift, 2 to 6; I would just drink a bit of coffee before school in the morning and sleep in the evening. About a month in, I had to face the reality that it wasn't working. I wasn't feeling too good.

Fuck this, I thought as I quit that job. I'm not drinking another cup of coffee again.

And so I haven't had any in three months. In these three months, I've made it a point to appreciate what it is coffee does to me, and every time I think damn, I could really do with a cup of coffee now, I've questioned my decision thoroughly. Are we really better off avoiding these drugs? Is there a point to holding myself back? Is the quality of my life better without caffeine?

Frankly, I believe in such a thing as a meaning of life. I believe our time here is limited, as a species and as a universe. Living life to the fullest, having as many children as can be sustained and providing them with a life that has quality is what is morally right; it's what ought to be done.

Human life is precious. Knowing that it is limited, and perhaps only possible in a short period of the lifespan of the universe, we must make sure there are as many human lives as possible. Future generations will spawn more life, and the quantity and quality of future lives depends, obviously, on the quantity and quality of our lives.

So I wonder, as the fatigue of a hard day at the gym hits me, why am I holding back? I could do more. I could do better. It's really difficult to know what amount of substances to ingest to attain the optimal quality of life. In light of the nature of our lives and this universe, the finite nature, it would only be morally right to achieve that optimum. I think there might just be a balance that doesn't mean pure abstinence.

The way I see it, there are three options:

1. Not being introduced to the drug
2. Using it in blissful ignorance
3. Using it in moderation

Seeing as I have already been thoroughly introduced and acquainted with the drug, and know it fairly well, I think my only real option is using it in moderation. Maybe the craving will go away after a few more months or years. Heck, maybe I have to spend as much time without the substance as I did with it, but the question that remains is will it be worth it? Will I be all I could be?

Will the quality of my life be better?

I was listening to the Wipeout Fusion OST, and already in the first track, I had goosebumps and a nice high. The vocals had done it. It sent me back to the days when I was young, first introduced to high-speed, gravity-defying racing. It sent me back in time, to where all I could think of was the future. A time when my ideals meant everything and I was more sure of anything than I have ever been since; when I was sure I was going to change the world.