In case you’re wondering where http://edonn.com has gone, well, it has now moved to http://donn.wordpress.com!
The move is permanent, so you might want to update your links. All the previous permalinks to my writings will still work, however.
Why the move? Well, let’s just say I have other plans for edonn.com.
Do you know what day it is? It’s LiShya’s birthday! Happy Birthday ger ger!
And do you know what other day it is? It’s our monthlysary! Yay!
I’d heard that absence
Made the heart grow fonder, but
Never thought I’d think it to be so true;
I’d always found it too corny and clichéd,
But then… I met you.
You’ll be back next week.
The months, in hindsight, seem to
Have just melted right away.
But as the 29th approaches, Every second
Till then feels like a bloody day.
I was reminded of the concept of retiring young but not necessarily rich while reading the book Your Money or Your Life (by Vicki Robin and Joe Dominguez, one of the best books on personal finance I have read so far), and thought some of you who are into personal finance may find it interesting.
You may have heard of the term “financial independence” before. It’s one of the current buzzwords in personal finance literature. But though used so often, its meaning is not entirely clear to most people. Unseasoned journalists, for example, tend to use the term synonymously as “rich” or “wealthy”. But financial independence does not mean being rich or wealthy.
Rather, financial independence refers to having enough income apart from that obtained from paid work to be able to cover all your living expenses. In other words, if your expenses are $900 a month, and your investment income (say, through fixed deposits, stocks, bonds, unit trusts or the like) is $900 a month, then technically you’re financially independent, even if your assets do not typically classify you as rich or wealthy.
This concept of achieving financial independence early in life therefore means:
Personally, financial independence is more important to me than becoming rich or wealthy. I’d like to choose how I make my money and how I spend my time, and not let money concerns dictate what I have to do, and when I do it.
I had always had this notion that the concept of the “best life possible” — of living the “good life” — was real. I never quite qualified it with reasoning or investigation, and just took it as it was. Then one day, hit by inspiration, I decided to do some research on what the living the best life entailed. What I found was that few seemed to have any concrete idea on what the best life was, and those that thought they did had different ideas from the rest.
Everyone’s concept of how life should be lived was different; some promoted material success, while others abhorred it; some praised religion, while others the secular life; some said the best life simply meant being happy, while others claimed happiness was transient and illusory.
And so I stopped for a while, and wondered if asking what’s the best way to live life was like asking what the colour blue was really like — would it all be a matter of semantics and circular arguments?
In the end, I decided that I’d leave this question for another day. Maybe there are just some things that can’t be known.
He had always been to me – to a certain extent – the epitome of success at work. But though excellent at what he did – often earning top honours – he never appeared satisfied or genuinely happy with what he had. A smart strategist, he always chose his environment carefully, opting for where competition was less intense. I think this allowed him to consistently perform above his peers wherever he went; even if he always claimed he didn’t care much for it, you could see it in his eyes that he did.
I recalled the times I’d occasionally see that he really wished he didn’t care for it so much. He’d tell me that “this was it”, that he was going to let go of his strivings and finally relax for once. I’d sense the jaded man in him disappear. His eyes would light up, and he’d have this infectious, sincere smile as if all was well and good with the world. And I’d smile and think “finally!” along with him. It was unfortunate, however, that these episodes didn’t last long. Like a baby’s need for love, without his striving for success at work he never looked comfortable. And before long he’d return to it, often with a renewed fervour, perhaps making up for lost time spent letting go.
I read an article about how evolution may be able to explain the spread of the flu virus, and I must say that it does seem to make some sense: virus strains that kill their hosts quickly will not be able to spread as far and wide as those that simply make their hosts sick (allowing them greater opportunities to cough, sneeze, and/or secrete bodily fluids that aid in the spreading of the germs from one host to another).
The high mortality rate seen in Mexico was due to its being the origin (or close to) of the disease. The most potent strains killed their hosts quickly, while the less potent ones remained in their hosts who were then well enough to help carry and propagate the disease.
As an increasing number of people begin to get infected, reports are showing that the flu’s mortality rate is decreasing and may well become just another seasonal flu.
Who do you think are the happiest medical professionals?
Give up?
Heart surgeons. Because 他们常常开心。
There was this time I was in the car, when my mom mentioned that it had rained.
“Maybe some trees had fallen and it’d cause a traffic jam,” she said, in reference to a recent traffic jam caused by fallen trees.
“Well,” I said, “depends on what kinds of trees those were.”
Without thinking, I added, “if they were strawberry trees then it’d be a strawberry jam.”
Just before I got on the MRT, I reconsidered my choice of book once more. I always read on the train; but even though I had brought a book out, I had been mulling over that fact throughout the day that I had only brought out one book: John Grisham’s The Partner, and had been regretting it almost from the moment I stepped out of the house. I considered it trash fiction and a bubblegum book — something enjoyable but ultimately valueless — and wished I had brought an alternative.
You could say (and I honestly did think so at that time) that it was the book being perceived as a waste of time that ultimately made me put it away; but such reasoning borders on the ridiculous. Considering how limited my scope of activity was cooped up in the train, saying that it wasted my time made little sense — anything would be better than nothing, which was the something I eventually did. It must have had to do with something more than simply wanting to avoid wasting time reading a trashy novel.
Generally, in the past the only fiction I read were the classics, though this has changed somewhat over the years. Now award-winning, critically acclaimed, contemporary works have become my fiction of choice. All these are and were, I have had myself believe, works of literature that made you think about deeper issues; works that allowed you insights into the human condition you couldn’t get otherwise; works that changed your life.
But let’s be honest here; saying that I only read these books because I totally believed in the power of these books would be flattering myself. I remember countless instances where I read a book not so much because I wanted to learn its lessons, but more because I wanted to be able to tell others that I had read the book. On that train that day, what I really wanted to do was to whip out one of these great book to let others see what I was reading and think, what a fine young man to read such a fine book.
At the start of our relationship, being new to this game of love, I sought all avenues of expertise asking what I had gotten myself into. One thing that was mentioned more than once was that we were going to go through a honeymoon period and that I should enjoy it while it lasts. Reality will set in soon.
Eighteen months hence, soon still hasn’t arrived, and may it never. Happy eighteen months monthlysary ger ger!
