I often find it hard to adjust between isolated living and socialized living. Take this weekend as an example, or any weekend for that matter, excluding the 5 day weekends I had in Netherlands. I had to endure a whole week of mental and physical stress and engagement before the long overdue weekend approaches me personally. So before the coming of this significant event, I had in mind many plans of personal improvement, including reading four chapters of my psychology textbook, finishing the left over material in the native American novel Waterlily, which was due the previous week, as well as trying to get ahead in the forthcoming reading for that class as much as possible. On the peculiar side, I also recently acquired the taste of sitting in front of a TV screen and filtering out as much relevant pop culture information as possible by juggling several channels simultaneously while avoiding obnoxious commercials. It turned out that I left one important ingredient out of this grand scenario of pivotal edification. I no longer have the option of eating at the dining halls, which close during weekends, to my eternal chagrin (or as long as the semester lasts). So cooking became a major problem, and in the adventure of imitating my roommate’s undeniable feat of fried beef flake with green peppers, I accidentally smoked the room and ran into a havoc of smoke detector protestation. This saturated the latter half of my Saturday. I became diligently engaged in disgorging the smoke that I inhaled during the painful period of sustained cooking. So how does this relate to my inability to adjust between the two types of living as mentioned in the beginning? Well it is not that I do not cook during weekdays. Rather I manage subconsciously to decide what is the most important thing to grapple with, under the pressure of imminent deadlines such as class schedules and the need to adjust mindset or physical condition for the PE course in the afternoon. And in the process of such selective sacrifice I will temporarily suppress the mental trauma incurred by the failure to be perfect in such trifling matter as debunked cooking experiment. If others are in the habit of procrastination due to propensity of fun-seeking in the form of partying or other interactive activities, I tend to relapse myself into a state of mental shutdown-ness or at least slowdown to resume my habitual contemplative state of mind. This may seem a virtue to many people who are habitually restless and mentally divergent, but to me it’s something of a woe simply because I am often debilitated from resuscitating myself out of a certain state of functioning. That is why I am so at a loss when the real weekend lays her favoring hand on me. All my hypothetical planning either turns out to be unrealistic, or yieldable to more lucrative and primordial adventures. I have little sense of timing, be it long term or short term. By long term I simply mean the process of subdividing apparently insurmountable task for future relay. Short term timing failure includes susceptibility to temptation originating from either the id or the superego. My egoistic intuition has been reduced abysmally since middle school, due to adolescent traumatic experience.
Now the transition failure from isolation to socializing is more apparent, and perhaps has been observed in many people, partly because it’s more readily observable. Those who have undergone banishment usually return with a period of cultural shock, which has been evident in me personally when I moved from Europe back to America. The lack of exposure to the English language, as well as the American way of competitive thinking temporarily numbed my social performing skill. But even smaller intervals such as the transition between weekends and weekdays could interfere with the fluidity of my behavior, sometimes in a positive way. I often perceive those around me as nicer and more tolerant when I re-emerge into a society which supposedly has adopted me 7 years ago. The positioning of my societal role appears more as a venerated guest rather than an unsolicited intruder. I perceive myself more as patronizing than utilizing the resources. In general that distance creates beauty works with mathematical precision on me. Yet such illusion only get sabotaged later, about one third of the way through an anticipated period of cultural mingling, when I rediscover my vulnerability as human being, and susceptibility to many of its temptations and undesirable traits. I have come to the conclusion that such discomfiture following an initial euphoria results in part from the inconsistency of my goal-oriented-ness. Occasionally purely biological drives do come into my sense of priority and interfere with some preconceived scheme of consummation. It takes a seasoned Buddhist monk to overcome run-time error like this, and it is my goal to visualize the passage of time and make prudent personal allocation conforming to its nature accordingly.