Writing at 4am will never make any sense

Sometimes, I think that my best thoughts come to me when the room is dark enough to ignore the street lights and when the music is low enough to hear the clash of the tick tock tick tocks of the proverbial hyphen reaching its end. And in these moments of day-dreaming through the night, my mind goes off on several tangents till I drift off into the obscurity of the darkness. But once in a while, I get an "ah hah" moment that may not be one for you, but it satisfies me enough to rather sleep on it or write a blog entry about it.

The tangents can probably be tracked back much further, but my memory is limited. I believe I was thinking about different projects I want to accomplish and people I want to grow closer to as this semester comes to an end, but realizing that I do not really have time, I began to wonder what would happen if I just stuck myself in the library or my room for a good week, working my butt off to no end in my projects, papers, exams, articles, etc. The part that excites me is not so much that I will be making great progress in my academics. On the other hand, the part that begins to make me giddy is the idea that people will be wondering to themselves, "Where is Yih? I haven't seen him in a while."

So that idea begs the question: Why would be exciting about something so inconsequential as that? Because at the end of the day, my expectations of this world and of each other is so low that all I really want from my friends, my enemies, my strangers, and my family is for them to acknowledge my existence, that I am neither another number or another member, but a person that is remembered for being alive. May it is just me, but I often rather hear "Yih! I haven't seen you in a while" than the monotonous "hey" I've been getting.

I spend most of my nights with three to ten people on my mind, wondering how their day went or what they were doing right now, but do not attempt to ask as to not to pose a persona of loneliness, horniness, or a breach of privacy. Yet, there is a whole other population of people who if they began to act differently, I do think about, care about, or even really acknowledge their life or their existence. And I think it shows. I think it shows in the way I greet them, and in the way I treat them.

Sometimes, the commandment of "loving one another" seems so daunting a task that I neither believe in its capabilit or want to believe in its possibilities. But luckily enough for our ipod and laptop driven culture, where Times Square and the school cafeteria may be the two loneliest places in the world, people do not need you to buy them lunch, do not need you to ask them penetrating questions about their relationwhip with their father, wash their feet, or die for them. Instead, sacrificial acts of love in today's world can be as simple as simply acknowledge their existence, so that we may know that my soul's hot breath are connecting with another soul's cold breath. Through this orgy of oxygen and hydrogen, we may begin to realize that life is not limited to my limbs or even my heart, but life explodes when connected with another.

But too often, we forget that connections require more than one, so instead, we perform a sort of social masturbation that leaves us more alone than before.