Five Ways to Know You’re Growing Up

Everyone thinks of changing the world, but no one thinks of changing himself.

- Leo Tolstoy

If you could travel back ten years into the past and meet your younger self, what would you tell them?

Time has a funny way of speeding up as we get older. When we’re young the years crawl like the infants we are, in terms of experience. They start picking up speed as we enter adolescence; time learns to walk. By our twenties, the years are taking long, manly (or womanly) strides into adulthood. We look back in vain at childhoods tinted with nostalgia; we see children shooting up like bean sprouts. They grow up so fast! We exclaim. And to our eyes, they do. It didn’t feel that way when we were young, though.

Time has a way of changing things.

There are some lessons you can only learn with perspective. Success comes from failure, wisdom from ignorance. You have to do the wrong thing – sometimes for years – before you can understand what’s right. Last year was all about epiphanies. I learned and grew a lot.

So far, this year seems to be about putting those lessons into practice. To quote Bruce Lee, knowing is not enough; we must apply. Willing is not enough; we must do. We all start out as children in life, innocent and unschooled, tripping up and making mistakes that will later define us. We’re all young and stupid sometimes – until we learn.

Today I’m talking about five ways to know you’re growing up.

1. Becoming self-aware.

I suppose the simplest way to define this is being aware of your own bullshit.

All right, all right. The less pithy definition is knowing who you are as a person. Not just your likes and dislikes, but your knee-jerk reactions and emotional tendencies. Self-awareness is the capacity to look at yourself from the outside, flaws and all. To examine yourself from all angles. Invoking David Foster Wallace, to recognize the currents and eddies and blackest depths in our minds and know that this is water.1

Easier said than done. Our upbringing, our environment, our egos; all of these contribute to the way we see ourselves. All of these blur the face in the mirror, forming a mask that doesn’t always match reality. There’s a reason so many coming-of-age stories talk about ‘finding ourselves’. It’s because figuring this stuff out doesn’t just happen. It takes experience and effort. Often to discover who we are, we must first figure out who we’re not.

2. Learning the patterns of the past.

The definition of insanity is doing the same things over and over again, but expecting different results. I guess we’re all crazy, then.

One of the most crucial forms of self-awareness is examining the patterns in our lives. What have we been doing over and over, forever disappointed with the results, yet still expecting different outcomes? What are we constantly making excuses for? What do we secretly desire, but never seriously attempt?

What are we afraid to change?

A couple months ago, I got off Instagram. It was getting too addictive. But then I started spending too much time in internet forums on Reddit. I cut down on that, only to spend hours reading articles on Quora. A couple weeks ago, a personal problem was bothering me. I had some time off work, so I read a 500-page novel in two days. Because I could.

Do you see the pattern yet?

Books, television, video games, the internet.2 I’ve always been someone who’s found solace in his own mind, in ideas and stories and fantasies. But this can be taken to extremes. Far too often, I dive into other worlds to escape my own. One of the great truths of life is that avoiding your problems is easier than facing them. In today’s world of likes, virtual playgrounds and constant connectivity, where avoidance is as easy as pulling out your phone, this is more important to recognize than ever.

Because while we’re caught up in the same patterns, it is frighteningly easy for life to pass us by. Without even realizing it, we cage ourselves in comfort. You don’t want to look back one day and see that the door was always open.

We just need to have the courage to step outside. The courage to tell yourself, no more.

3. Gaining self-discipline.

The Stanford Marshmallow Experiment is a famous study on self-control. Back in the 60s, researchers gave children a choice between eating a marshmallow now, or getting two after a certain period of time. They then observed as their subjects grew into adults. The findings were clear: children who could resist temptation got better grades, ate better, behaved better, and were generally more successful.3

This makes sense. Quitting an addiction; studying longer; working on that personal project you keep putting off. These require persistence and consistency. They require discipline.

Mine is lopsided, you might say. I do well at upholding external obligations. For the sake of others, I have discipline. But when it comes to myself, I fall short. And that’s a problem. Because I’ve slowly come to see the value of self-control.

Like Steve Jobs said, we can only do a few things in our lives. (Yeah, I’ve got quotes for everything.) We only have so much time. And the difference between wasting that time on pleasant distractions and working towards your goals isn’t inspiration, because you won’t always be inspired. It’s not motivation, because you definitely won’t always be motivated.

It’s discipline. Making the effort, over and over, even when you don’t feel like it. This stuff isn’t cool or sexy or what have you. It takes courage. It takes dedication. And most of all, it takes the ability to manage yourself effectively. That, more than anything else, is the difference between success and failure.

The idea here isn’t just to break unhealthy patterns, but to build better ones.

4. Acquiring healthier habits.

How hard is it for you to brush your teeth?

Do you need to talk yourself into it every night? Lecture yourself about the benefits of dental hygiene, along with horror stories about gum infections and rotted teeth?

Of course not. Who does that? If you’re anything like me, you brush your teeth and barely even think about it. You don’t need to think about it. It’s a habit.

Good habits are the patterns in our lives done right. (And vice versa.) Although we perceive everything we do as consciously controlled, the reality is that our brains conserve processing power for important decisions. Everything else runs on autopilot. And that’s important. We think new behaviours will require major effort. And they will, until they become normal. Then you’ll barely even think about them. Acquiring better habits will literally change your life. 

But they’ll do it one step at a time. 

A common flaw in our efforts is thinking that change must be all or nothing. If we fail once, or twice, even a dozen times, we’re doomed. This is absolutely false. Personal growth is a process. We take a step every day. Maybe we sometimes take one or two back. But we learn from our mistakes, and keep moving forwards. And one day, we’ll look back and be amazed at how far we’ve come.

We just have to want to change in the first place.

5. Understanding that change comes from within.

The last great truth I’ve realized is that you can’t force someone to change. People have different levels of perception, different forms of life experience. We can argue and advise all we want, but you can’t batter someone into believing. It doesn’t work like that. True growth comes from within.

You see, the key to change lies in the concept of identity. We subconsciously cling to whatever we feel is a part of ourselves. A part of who we are. This is why guilt- and punishment-based approaches are so ineffective. By driving home that we are guilty of something, we actually reinforce it, and ensure that whatever it is remains as part of our psyche. The key is to forgive ourselves, and move on.

If you want to quit smoking, you can’t think of yourself as struggling against the urge to smoke. You have to tell yourself that you don’t do that anymore. You have to tell yourself, I am not a smoker.

Because the work of becoming better is just that: work. It takes a thousand tiny choices, day after day, to let go of what holds you back. Sometimes we choose not to. We’re only human. We lie, we cheat, we take the easy way out. We think we can get away with it – until we learn otherwise.

So the best advice I can give is don’t change. Be like Peter Pan; stay young forever. Keep doing the same things, day in, day out, until they make you sick. Until you think, there must be a better way. Until you hit rock bottom. That’s where the true, innermost desire to change is born.

That’s when you start growing up.

***

If I could say one thing to my younger self, it would be to trust the journey. Appreciate where you are in life. You’ll screw up, make mistakes, go through all kinds of angst and pain and anxiety. There’ll be good times too, shining moments that will make it all worthwhile.

And someday you’ll be a little older, a little wiser. You’ll look back and know all of this brought you closer to the man, or woman, that you were always meant to be. 

You just have to take it one day at a time.



1 I dedicated another post to this article alone. It’s an outstanding examination of self-awareness from an author who died too soon. If you haven’t already, go read it.

2 This is all on one device, remember. So convenient.

3 Interestingly, researchers at the University of Rochester later repeated the experiment, but with a twist. The researcher who gave out marshmallows acted either trustworthy or unreliable. The number of children who held out for the second marshmallow rose and fell accordingly. This suggests that it’s not a matter of nature, but of nurture. The reliability of a child’s experiences will help determine whether they have faith in future outcomes, or choose to seize what they can while they have the chance.

Crucially, it also means that self-discipline can be taught.

Brotherhood

You'll find your way

And may death find you alive

        Take me down the line

                 In Gem City we turn the tide

                          - 'Uma Thurman', Fall Out Boy5

A boy in a hooded red coat walks through a scorching desert.

He takes out his water bottle, only to find it empty. He stands there surrounded by endless dunes. He is utterly alone. 

The boy drops to his knees. He puts his hands together, then spreads them on the sand. The sand glows - and a geyser of water blasts up in front of him.

This scene was the first that brought my attention to Full Metal Alchemist. 

The story of Edward Elric, a boy with touch-based magic and robotic prosthetics, and his brother Alphonse, a disembodied suit of armor, trying to regain the body parts and body they lost struck me as pretty weird at first. But based on its popularity, I eventually gave it a shot - and discovered one of the best anime, and best stories, I have ever seen.

Now, before you roll your eyes and browse elsewhere; there is a point to this. Bear with me.

If you didn't know, 'anime' refers to Japanese animation. It's a genre far different from Western animation, which maintains that cartoons are for kids. Western styles and stories do have more variety. But the content is simplistic. The few exceptions, like The Simpsons, mostly deal in comedy.

Anime has rather less variety. There are only minor variations in art style, and cliches like high school settings and teenagers who save the world crop up time and again.1

But it tells bigger, more interconnected stories. Episodes often resemble chapters in a novel. Comic relief is common, yet so are more mature themes, e.g. existentialism, bigotry and shades of morality. Not to say it's all serious, there are plenty of anime aimed at children too. And that's the point. Japanese studios don't limit themselves to a single age group. They inhabit the entire spectrum. 

I watched a lot of Western cartoons as a kid. And the only one I would still watch today was inspired by anime.2

So, yeah. I'm biased.

Having said that: I understand that anime isn't to everyone's taste. All the series I've enjoyed do have something to be said against them. Bleach is too long. Attack on Titan is too bloody. Sword Art Online is too...romantic? 

What? There are fight scenes too.

Except this one. I really can't think of any major flaw in Full Metal Alchemist: Brotherhood.

Which is not the same anime as Full Metal Alchemist.

Confused?

There is a point! I'm getting to it. But first, a history lesson.

Most popular anime are derived from successful manga (comics), including all of those I just mentioned. A single episode will comprise several issues worth of content. If the manga is still being written at the time, the show will, inevitably, catch up.

And so arises the dilemma currently facing Game of Thrones. The producers could pump the show full of filler for however long it takes the artist to finish the story, potentially alienating their fanbase. Or they could just make up their own.

This happened waaaay back in 2003, when the original anime, Full Metal Alchemist, was created. The manga was nowhere near finished. So the creator gave her3 permission for the show to veer off in its own. Which it did, spinning a smaller, more personal story.

Six years later, in 2009, the manga was nearly finished, and the time was ripe for a more faithful adaptation. This was named Full Metal Alchemist: Brotherhood.

As is usual in these cases, there's a debate between fans over which version is better. The first series - which I admit I haven't seen much of - has more character development and backstory. More 'heart'. 

Whereas Brotherhood has a better plot, pacing, animation and absolutely, hands down, a better ending.4

Again: I'm kind of biased. 

I suppose that could just come down to nostalgia. But either way...

Part of it was the way magic is treated. There are arcane symbols and fantastical transformations, to be sure. But alchemy, the power to change something into something else, is a science. It is actually called that. Researchers study it in laboratories. Though miraculous, alchemy is viewed as a natural process, integral to the modern world. Something along the lines of electricity - or perhaps nuclear fusion. 

Then there's the religious subtext. At first glance, FMAB seems rather anti-religion. The main villain is a robed, bearded man aspiring to become a god. His 'children' are named for the seven sins. The hero even calls himself an atheist. 

Yet there is a higher power. And while never stated, it is implied that alchemy, that same phenomenon being treated as a science, is divine. 

Look familiar?

Implications aside, I came to realize that the series' message isn't against religion per se. It's against blindly following any philosophy you haven't thought through yourself. That speaks to me.

Then there's the setting. In contrast to most anime, which are (understandably) set in variations on modern or feudal Japan, the central nation state is based on various European countries over the last few hundred years. Like England during the Industrial Revolution, and Nazi Germany. Thus the powers of alchemy exist alongside cars, trains, firearms, skyscrapers and yes, robotic prosthetics. It's a heady mix that, at the time, was unlike anything else I'd come across.

And it's just a really good story. The drama! The comedy! The action! The twists! The hand that turns into a sword!

Never gets old.

And the reason I've gone on for so long about this series is that it was my primary inspiration for Wraithblade.

Well no, not exactly. My first inspiration came from Pirates of the Caribbean. Remember the cursed pirates who were revealed as skeletons by moonlight? I liked that, but wondered. What if it wasn't all villains and scoundrels who were cursed, but someone good? 

What if it was Elizabeth?

Exactly.

So emerged the character of Istara. A floating, skeletal spectre who, when seen in the spirit world, still looks like the girl she used to be. 

Though you won't see the latter in the free sample. Sorry about that.

Yet the dynamics of her relationship with Aeron owe a lot to Edward and Alphonse. Two characters scarred by the supernatural, one of whom is no longer human. A deeply personal quest turning into something much larger.

And most importantly, their backstory, how Aeron raised her from the dead, came from wondering: what if the brothers' tale had begun just a little differently?

What if they hadn't failed?

You see, the one great taboo of alchemy is working with human souls. As a boy, Edward Elric broke it twice. The second time was to bring back his brother's soul and tie it to that suit of armor. It cost him his arm.

Their original sin, so to speak, which cost Edward his leg and Alphonse his body, was an attempt to tie another soul to a body of their own making. The result was a horrific, zombie-like creature that barely managed a few breaths before dying.

They were trying to bring their mother back to life.

Don't tell me you didn't feel something there. 

To conclude: I loved this series. It's been an inspiration. And isn't that the mark of a great story?

I don't suppose you'd be interested enough to watch it, though.

Although if you are...

But no. I understand. 

That's too serious. Here's a more fun version.

All right, all right. I could go on forever here. Enough.

For now.

1 - There are various subgenres. Naturally, my own preference is shonen - action, powers, primarily for young males. That sort of thing. But you can also find romance, historical, slice-of-life, comedy, all the way up to gay, lesbian and, well, erotic fiction. Yes, really.

2 - It's also funnier than it looks. The sequel series isn't bad either. Really, this deserves a post in itself.

But stay far, far away from the live-action adaptation. Not only is it a horrible movie. Both as a fan and a Eurasian, the blatant racism still pisses me off. The series has an obvious basis in Inuit, Indian, Chinese and Japanese culture. Why the director - an Indian guy, no less - chose to whitewash the cast is beyond me. 

But I digress.  

3 - Yes, a woman. Surprised?

4 - The first series' denouement could best be described as bittersweet and open-ended. Whereas the canon storyline finishes in an escalating, multilayered climax comparable to the ending of Harry Potter. I would not say this lightly.

5 - If you didn't understand the title and/or lyrics, don't feel bad. No one else did either. Apparently it's about wooing a violent woman, like the kinds of characters Uma Thurman plays. I chose it because my first impressions were of a woman; death; obsession; and an empowered protagonist. And the final battle in Brotherhood does take place in a city.

Deep Thoughts

Like random thoughts, only deeper.

This is just going to be a quick post – really, I mean it. Mainly because the essay(s) I’m citing are long enough already.

I’ve been reading Mark Manson lately. This guy is my new favorite blogger. He writes about relationships, psychology and personal development. He’s refreshingly straightforward, talking about how much of what we’re taught by popular culture/society/our own misconceptions is not necessarily true. Why we act the way we do, and how we can do better. This sort of thing fascinates me, when done well.

Plus, he swears a lot. That’s always fun.

One post featured a speech by David Foster Wallace, a postmodern American author you may or may not have heard of. I read The Pale King a few years back and came away with mixed feelings. That’s not the case here.

Maybe it’s because I can relate to the day in, day out, and how easy it is to let my mind default to negativity. Maybe it’s because when I read it, I’d been assuming the worst about something unrelated, and the content seemed suspiciously well-timed.

Maybe it’s just a really good piece of writing.

This is an excellent, eloquent explanation of how our perceptions shape reality, and how the way we see the world is always a matter of choice. Without further ado –

This is Water.

David Foster Wallace killed himself in 2008. Parts of his speech seem hauntingly prophetic. In the end, he couldn’t master his own mind.

Go on.

Read it.

Why I Love Video Games

I remember a scene from The Simpsons Movie. Springfield is about to be destroyed. The fat, balding, single guy who runs the comic book store looks around and says, "You know, I've devoted my entire life to comic books. And now that it's about to end, all I can think is..."

*embraces pile of comics*

"Life well spent!"

I have the disturbing feeling a part of me might actually say that.

Not about comics, though. I have nothing against them. But the pantheon of superheroes, in its original form, is a little arcane. Where do you start? And though they are flashy, I can't summon enough interest for books of pictures compared to books without. I'm weird that way.

We all feel a certain way about treasured elements of childhood. And comic books weren't a meaningful part of mine. Other forms of media were - two in particular.

One of those was regular books. I've already waxed on about those extensively, and will continue to do so. (If that wasn't obvious.) I'm already planning another post in the same vein as this one, examining just why I love to read.

This would be the other.

Looking back, I have wondered just how healthy my hobby is. I mean, it's not like this is all I do. But I have spent a fair amount of time on it - time that could have been used for other things. Learning a new language, or a musical instrument, or working on that fantasy novel I'm always talking about. 

But then again - I've done those things too. 

I enjoyed them all. I think a key decision in how we live our lives is choosing whether to feel bad about what we didn't do, or to feel good about what we did. And life is too short to neglect the things we enjoy - including this one.

I might as well embrace it.

Today I'll be talking about why I love video games.

What gave me the idea for this post in the first place was thinking about my choices of entertainment. I'll sometimes go online to Google random things. Occasionally I'll still watch TV, or go see a movie, or read a (local) comic. But I spend far more time reading books and playing video games.

And since I tend to ask odd questions - my first reaction to a refrigerator water dispenser was to ask how it worked; a cousin said I have a curious soul - I thought, why is that?

I realized it comes down to interactivity.

Those other things I mentioned are all static. You take them in without needing to give anything back. I find them shallow. There are a few exceptions to that, but not many.

Well okay, you do interact with the internet, and I just said I'm naturally curious. So it makes sense that that takes third place.

Yes, books are interactive. They're blueprints for your imagination - you're required to visualize the information presented. But I'll make that argument elsewhere.

And video games are all about immersion.

Which is stating the obvious. But let me go on: it's immersion in the things that interest me.

I have another cousin who's also into video games. He prefers racing games with real cars, shooters based in the real world, and sports games. Realism appeals to him, and he admits he finds more fantastical titles boring.

And that's fine. We all have our own interests. But in my case, I have to admit - I find realism boring.

Well, no, not exactly. Realism in fiction is important; it provides contrast for the things that aren't real. Part of what made Skyrim so appealing was that it looks like Norway. But a Norway where you run around fighting dragons and shooting lightning out of your hands.

Watch the skies, traveller.

To put it another way: I value imagination. I like sci-fi/fantasy because it's not real. It's the legacy of people with stories to tell who actually told them. People who wanted to create new worlds, and did. That's pretty inspiring, don't you think?

And video games are the closest you can get to exploring those worlds for yourself.

Another part is, quite simply, the rush. 

Now, that can mean a lot of things. Different elements appeal to different kinds of people. I just said I like exploration. I also like action and shooting, and dislike stealth. Other people love stealth. I'll be the mage, the fighter, the super-soldier; other people want to be assassins. Or tacticians, city planners, vigilantes, F1 racers. Building armies, solving puzzles, killing zombies or flying starships. Very different activities, yes? But they can all be satisfying.

Video games are meant to be played. A game can have pretty graphics and an amazing score. But if the gameplay is tedious, frustrating, or simply cliché, the enjoyment fades fast. 

Which often comes down to taste - what it is, exactly, that you enjoy. Fans are fickle creatures. 

But if asked what my favourite games are, I would answer: the ones where I had the most fun.

Besides. For better or worse - I'm good at them.

All right, all right. I probably wouldn't win any awards. But I'll usually know what I'm doing.

I remember testing out someone else's copy of Middle-Earth: Shadow of Mordor a few months back. He commented on how I was already doing better than he was. It wasn't that I'd ever played the game before. I just knew that the key to any action game is learning how to block and dodge.

I did mention that I've spent a lot of time reading and playing games. And just like my reading speed is off the charts, I've learned a few tricks in video games. Utilizing cover in shooters; timing your movements in platformers. It's the little things that make a difference. 

I admit it. I like exploring new worlds because by now, the experience is familiar. 

And finally: they create the illusion of freedom.

For me at least, books and video games are the closest you can get to stepping into a story. Any one you like. From a modern-day soldier fighting in the Middle East, to an explorer searching mythical jungle ruins, to a much darker take on Alice in Wonderland.

Off with their heads.

                 
To quote George Martin, 'A reader lives a thousand lives before he dies. The man who never reads lives only one.'

I think that applies to games too. I like being a part of the stories they tell, the sense of stepping out of your life and into another. That can be taken too far, and is probably the most valid criticism towards video games. You really can lose yourself in them. All good things in moderation.

But at the same time, I think objecting to the experience because it's 'not real' is the same as saying that if man was meant to fly, he'd have been born with wings. 

Writers still write. Developers still make games. The Wright Brothers still dreamed up their aircraft.

How can they say we don't have wings when in our minds, we soar?

So think about it. Tell me in the comments, if you have time. Why do you like the things you like?

The Winds of Change

I can’t go back to yesterday, because I was a different person then. 

– Lewis Carroll 

Change.

Our greatest hopes and deepest fears revolve around it. Finding love and losing a loved one. Achieving our dreams and watching them die. Rising to glory and falling from grace. In every life, both the storm and the soothing breeze are born from the winds of change.

When I was younger, my life was static, directionless. I was horribly afraid that this was the best it would get. This was all I would ever amount to: nothing much of anything. All those feelings I struggled to escape by losing myself in fantasies. When, I kept asking. I was alive, but when was I going to start living?

I look back fondly on that younger me now. If only he’d known.

Once again, we find ourselves at the beginning of a new year. I thought of listing out my various lessons learned in the old one for your edification and amusement. But nah, screw it. This time I’m doing something more holistic. As I look back over 2018, the year that was, I sense a common theme. A lot of boundaries broken and milestones achieved, but it was all the same, really. Isn’t that ironic?

For me, 2018 was about change.

Stuff happened in 2017. After an arduous two years, my uncle died of colon cancer, the first death in our family in over a decade. He had 62 years, and it struck me that that wasn’t very long at all. My first real relationship ended in a breakup. I’d finally found someone, and it didn’t work out. My mother was then diagnosed with the same cancer, requiring an emergency operation. I signed the form authorizing life-saving surgery and recognized that most painful of truths: our parents aren’t going to be around forever. The operation was a success, but complications led to a stay in the ICU. She almost died.

I suppose it was the perfect storm. I realized that in so many ways, I’d been wasting my life. Going into 2018, I had to start using it wisely. I had to become a better person.

First and foremost, I gained a newfound appreciation for my mother. Our history wasn’t the best. I’d long kept myself emotionally distant from her, wary of getting too close. But keeping track of blood tests and chemotherapy appointments, sleeping on hospital floors at her bedside, I realized that I had to let go of the past. To embrace her for who she was, not who I wished she could be. This was the time; someday soon, it would be too late. Even the thought of that kind of regret was haunting.

Second, I’d long indulged in a certain bad habit from my youth. One of many forms of escapism, like my books and video games and fantasies. All attempts to avoid a reality I wasn’t happy with. But coupled with the internet, this vice was particularly harmful (and sadly common, even touted as ‘normal’). Reluctantly, I accepted that I was addicted.1 I’d made scattered attempts to quit over the years. Now I joined a recovery-based forum and started implementing what it would take to stay clean. 

And third, I realized that I had to start taking my writing seriously. I’ve talked a lot about dreaming of becoming an author, but a dream without effort is just a wish. Was I putting in the work, actually writing my novel on a consistent basis? No, I was not. I’d already dabbled in Habitica for self-improvement. Now I joined a writing guild and began keeping myself accountable through the community. 

Meanwhile, the world was changing too. On May 9th, in a shocking upset, Malaysia’s ruling regime was voted out for the first time in the country’s history. Fed up of corruption and draconian authority, the people changed the government. And they did it peacefully, united despite underlying racial and religious tensions. I played no part, but I’m still proud of that. I’m proud that this country is my home. On a smaller scale, my workplace underwent some much-needed, ongoing renovations, with an increased focus on animal welfare. My schedule was also reshuffled to some extent; suddenly I was busier than ever. But I digress.

By the middle of the year, my mother’s cancer markers were going down. The chemo was working. I’d been clean for months and found my whole mindset changing. Confidence and social skills were so much easier without guilt. For so long, I’d believed that my vices were things I couldn’t live without – and now I was proving to myself that I didn’t need them.  

I’d also quit Instagram earlier in the year, realizing that social media was just one more time sink on the internet. (It’s a good thing I never got on Facebook.) To my surprise, I even found myself losing interest in video games. I still loved them, but felt no desire to play for hours on end. I’d taken up meditation, was spending more time making artwork, began learning Japanese as a third language and had gotten back to playing the piano. And of course, I was writing. There were better things to do.

I was starting to appreciate real life over the one found in fantasies.

My mother finished her chemo in July, with excellent results. The cancer was in remission. Words can't describe my gratitude for that. But I was also finding the writing frustrating, getting bogged down in the second act. And the high of staying clean was fading fast. This was the new status quo, after all. The novelty had worn itself out, and my motivation faltered.

I’d been driven by the thought of becoming a better man. But I started to wonder: had I really changed? Wasn’t I the same person, with the same flaws?

So I slid back into my old habits. The next few months were a struggle to stay clean again.

I wasn’t exactly moving on in the romance department, either. Even post-breakup, I still clung to my old relationship like a security blanket. We consoled each other that we could still be friends. And we are. I’m forever grateful to her, and still am. But I was afraid to let go, even though the core problems persisted, and my own feelings were increasingly ambivalent.

Sometimes we have to learn the same lessons over and over again.

If the first half of the year gave me the drive to improve myself, the second half taught me something equally important: self-acceptance. We’re all human. Sometimes we screw up. I struggled, failed, went back to the same cycles. And that was fine.

You see, I realized that I’d been approaching this the wrong way. As Mark Manson put it, trying to change ourselves is a waste of time. What matters is our actions, how we behave. We all struggle sometimes. But as a wise old wizard as flawed as any of us once said, it is our choices that make us who we are.2

I am a better person now – because I choose to be.

Which brings me to today.

A few weeks ago, three years after I wrote that first chapter in a blaze of inspiration, I finished the first draft of Wraithblade. There’s still much to be done, but this was the first year ever that I sat down and put in sustained effort towards writing a book. I made more progress than in the previous two years combined. Discipline and accountability make a difference.

I met someone new in December, who showed up in my life out of nowhere. Compared to before, it’s a different story in every way. I appreciate that. Funny how someone can make you rethink everything you thought you knew about relationships; it doesn’t have to be complicated. Sometimes people just click.

My mother is still with us. I’m still putting my thoughts into words, drawing order out of chaos. And I’m nearly a month clean, which is better than nothing.

There is a Buddhist saying that my father told me. ‘Before enlightenment, chop wood, carry water. After enlightenment, chop wood, carry water.’ I’m certainly not enlightened, but it is apt. In many ways, I’m living the same life as before: working during the day and writing at night and spending too much time on my phone (the struggle is real). But now I enjoy it all more. I’m committed to living in the moment, instead of wasting time picking over the past or worrying about visions of the future. Life is here and now.

I’m not a kid anymore, and that’s okay. It’s time to embrace being a man. I am proud of all I accomplished in 2018. I still have my demons, just like everyone else. I’ve just gotten better at fighting them.

Here’s to turning the page to the next chapter of our lives.

Keep moving forwards, everyone. Have a great 2019. 

1 - That post wasn't really about video games.

2 - Or as another wise old wizard said, all we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to us. Bonus points if you can name both.

Wraithblade

And I'm back.

I know I haven't posted anything for a while. But I guarantee this was worth the wait. 

*wipes away self-satisfied grin*

After getting some perspective on my first story, I started thinking of things I could change, cut, rearrange and improve. I had a lot of ideas. But it would take a lot of work. And objectivity. And right now, I just don't have the energy for it.

There is still a good story in there. But the amount of effort needed to draw it out...

I remember reading an interview between Brandon Sanderson and Patrick Rothfuss. Both are wildly successful fantasy authors who've done just this, spending years and years reworking their first projects into publishable material.* They compared writing a new book to building a house from scratch.

Writing The Story, they said, was like building a house out of another house.

Yeah. That sounds about right.

Instead I decided to take the experts' advice, and go write something else first.

This is an idea I've had bouncing around in my head for a few years, always intending to write it someday. That someday is now. And you know what? The experience I got from working on my first story, which I mentioned so gloomily before - it's really helped.

So far I've gotten great reviews from beta readers. Not to say there weren't flaws to be found, of course there were. But the overall response has been positive. The best comment I got was someone saying they felt like they'd 'fallen into a genuinely new world for a change'. That made my day.

And then I realized the best way to get people to read this would be to put it up here. I'm posting this partly to show off - hey, at least I admit it - but also because I do want feedback. Say something in the comments! 

Or get back to me some other way if you actually know who I am.

The first chapter only, mind you. Here's your free sample. Buy the book when it's ready.

All right, all right. Without further ado, here's the beginning of something I'm tentatively calling 'Wraithblade'.

*I just finished The Wise Man's Fear a few weeks ago, and yes, Rothfuss is that good.

***

The sunrise burned him.

That faded as the light grew. Imagine your skin stinging the entire day. No wonder shades preferred darkness. Aeron shifted where he sat cross-legged on the rooftop. The city lay golden below.

He remembered not being so sensitive. It had been cold that bothered him then. He was slender, always had been. A spring breeze used to cut like a blade. Now the cold was natural. The warmth was not – but Aeron could pretend it was.

It was why he liked to watch the sunrise.

He let his eyes slip close, savoring the heat, feeling his death approaching.

He’s here.

A shadow fell over him.

Aeron’s eyes snapped open.

A skeletal figure in ragged green hung in the sunlight. The skull, trailing strands of yellow hair, was intimately close. Scattered bits of flesh and sinew still clung to bone. Her lower half was submerged in the tiles as though she’d risen through the rooftop. No doubt she had. 

Where? Aeron asked.

Below. A bony hand pointed. Only a few others in the street.

Good. We’ll surround him, like always.

I know, Aeron.

Aeron smiled as he stood. Sorry, Star.

His morning star. She rose, slowly. The remains of her dress and hair floated in the wind of the half-world. Her skeletal feet still dipped into the tiles, so Aeron remained an inch taller. She did that for him. Maybe it was a way to cling to the life they’d lost.

Aeron stepped over to the rooftop’s edge. They were in the heart of the city. Magewrought buildings, like the one he stood on, towered everywhere. Istara drifted after him. Together, they looked down at the street hundreds of feet below. 

Aeron saw only dots from this height. The moving one?

The bleeding one.

Aeron looked at her sideways. Shades gathered for lifeblood spilled. His teachers hadn’t been entirely wrong. From what?

The skull turned, sunlight pouring into empty sockets. He was attacked by thieves.

You watched? 

I waited for you.

Aeron nodded. She was stronger than other shades, but blood could still affect her.

The southwest end?

Yes. Star – He turned to face her. What was there to say? Be careful.

She floated there a moment longer, not speaking. Then she flickered, making that eerie ripping noise, and vanished.

Aeron breathed in the musty smell of old bones. He never mentioned that, knowing how she’d react. Did she hate him for it? For all of it? He’d never dared to ask.

He breathed out, slowly, and stepped off the edge of the rooftop.

The street rushed up with exhilarating speed. Wind whistled in his ears, battered his face and hands, pressed his clothes to his skin. Once, doing this had terrified him.

Aeron called up the half-world. His fall slowed, the golden sunlight fading against a white mist that darkened buildings but revealed vague figures floating all around. Some followed as he drifted down. Aeron had time to watch them coming, familiar as old friends. Perhaps a few really were.

He snapped back to the living world and dropped the last ten feet, hitting the paved street in a crouch. The few people in this street at dawn gasped, pulled back, the usual reactions. Aeron straightened facing his quarry, who stared, one hand pressed to his bloodstained shirt.

Aeron smiled as the man recognized him. He gave a cry and ran back the way he’d come. Aeron called back the mists.

The passersby – and his quarry – faded to near-invisibility. Their movements slowed, the man running through water. Aeron ran too. Time moved slower in the half-world. He could have walked, but for the shades. They followed faster now. They smelled blood.

Right behind the running silhouette, Aeron burst back to the sunlight – and the man threw himself sideways. 

Aeron frowned, watching the man race down a dark alley. He shouldn’t have felt Aeron coming. Unless…

He reached out. The sunburst halves on the back of his hand flared white as he twisted the mists through the veil. They touched the man and unraveled into nothing.

Aeron grunted and ran on. Of course he had Vowsteel. Who didn’t these days? There was shouting up ahead. Istara, no doubt.

His quarry turned a corner, and Aeron entered the mists again, sprinting down the brightened alley. The shades didn’t drift to him now. They flew. Shades weren’t predators, but running prey excited them nonetheless. Aeron turned the same corner, spotted the right silhouette not far up the sloping street. The only silhouette. This street was deserted.

After leaving now, he couldn’t afford to enter the half-world again so soon. The shades would be waiting for him.

No other choice, then. Still running, Aeron pulled a glass dagger from his belt and threw it. 

The shades swirled down around him with whispered screams, just as Aeron banished the mists.

Time moved faster in the living world.

The thrown blade blurred forwards, just missing the man’s thigh. He flinched as it shattered in the street before him, and ran faster.

Aeron swore and kept going. But he was tired now. His legs were stiff with weariness. The man’s lead was growing.

Until he pulled up short before Istara, floating in the street a head above him.

With a frantic glance at Aeron, the man pulled out a Vowsteel dagger, the golden runes on the blade gleaming in the shadows. He straightened with visible effort, brandishing the weapon. “You can’t touch me, shade!”

Her skull tilted to one side, an expression Aeron remembered well.

The man shouted and charged her.

Her arm snapped down and seized his throat with bony fingers, squeezing until he dropped the dagger.

The skull turned as Aeron staggered up, breathing hard. Your aim needs work.

I was trying to graze him, he grumbled. He could feel her amusement. We need answers, remember?

Of course.

“I-I won’t –” Their quarry was choking, scrabbling at her grip. 

Aeron considered him. He glanced to Istara. She let the man collapse in the street, where he struggled to his knees. He was quite pale now. Fear, exertion, blood loss?

Aeron grabbed the man’s hair, picked up the dagger and laid it against his freshly bruised throat. 

“Hello, Janis,” Aeron murmured. “Remember me?” He leaned down, smiled. “Remember her?”

Janis stared at him, then at Istara. His eyes bulged.

“Blood of the mother, you brought her back?”

Aeron didn’t answer, straightening. The shouts he’d been hearing were growing closer, as were the running boots. A lot of them. Guardsmen in red tabards streamed from the alleys and side-streets.

“Blood of the mother indeed,” Aeron said under his breath as their little reunion was surrounded.

“Release him, Halflight!” 

“Banish that shade!”

“Don’t even think about the half-world!”

That last made him snort. How could you not think about it? Still keeping Janis’s throat cold, Aeron glanced around at the ring of spears leveled at them. Vowsteel, of course; a golden rune on every head. The ruler of this city-state kept his guards well-armed. But their number and timing was suspicious.

Were they expecting us? He asked Istara.

Another mage, maybe?

Hmm. Rulers – the smarter ones, at least – often kept advisors from the guilds. Just his luck there’d be another Halflight around to sense him. He should have been more careful.

Aeron cleared his throat. “This man is a murderer! He was witnessed killing –” 

How many? 

If Star still had eyes, she’d be rolling them. Two.

“Two innocents! Somewhere that way, follow the blood. I’ve done you a service by catching him.”

“What?” Janis squeaked. “They attacked me!”

“The witness says otherwise.” 

“You bastard!”

“How dare you! I was born after the marriage.”

“Enough!” A guard in a more elaborate tunic snapped. “You think this a game, mage? The guilds serve our laws in Ringall! You attacked him, and summoning shades is forbidden. I could kill you right here.”

“Yet you haven’t, Captain."

“Lieutenant.” The man glowered at him. “Halflight Cerus has requested you be turned over to your own.”

“Wonderful.” You were right, Star.

Aren’t I always?

“As long as you cooperate,” the lieutenant added. “I said I could kill you, mage. Release the hostage. Banish the shade. And maybe you’ll come out of this alive.”

With a show of reluctance, Aeron dropped the dagger and stepped back. Janis stood, rubbing his throat and glaring at Aeron. He made to pick up the dagger, then hastily raised both hands as a spear was thrust at him. Aeron shook his head. Idiot.

“Bring him along, find out why the mage wanted him. Not now,” the lieutenant grated, as Janis began to speak. “Try not to let him bleed out on the way.” The man pointed to Istara, still floating a head above them all. “The shade, Halflight.”

The guards had to point their spears up at her. They flinched as she turned to the lieutenant, who dropped his hand a little too quickly. Everyone knew shades could hold grudges. Aeron looked to her. All right, Star?

I’m here if you need me.

I know.

Aeron held up a hand with its black sunburst halves for all to see. They flared white as he touched the half-world. Istara turned translucent, than disappeared completely.

One of the guards spat. “Faders.”

Aeron smirked at the epithet. “Shall we go, gentlemen?”

“Bind their hands,” the lieutenant snapped. “Both of them.”

Aeron smiled at Janis, who glared back as their hands were locked into Vowsteel manacles. Janis too, though his hands were unmarked. The guards were taking no chances. Aeron’s bonds tingled. For now, he was cut off from the half-world. 

They were prodded down the street. One of the guards took the dagger. Vowsteel was expensive. He wondered how Janis had gotten it. Stolen, probably. 

That went well, Istara whispered to him.

Didn’t it? 

They were led through the sunlit city streets into the Ariant Palace, seat of the king, guarded by the heaviest defenses in the city. It was a fortress in itself, but Aeron had seen larger fortresses.

Casually, he looked around as they passed through corridors furnished with intricate tapestries, colorful tiles underfoot and faded banners overhead. He watched as Janis was taken down a different hallway.

“Don’t get any ideas, Halflight,” a guard muttered.

“I’m getting some right now.” Aeron raised an eyebrow. “Would you like to know what I’ll do to you after I escape?”

You won’t even remember his face, Istara murmured.

How did you know?

The guard stiffened just a little. “You’re not going anywhere, mage.”

“I admire dead men with optimism.”

Another guard snorted. “Shades, Bar, the guild’ll cage him like any other. Don’t let him get to you.”

A third shook his head. “There’s something odd about this one. The way he moves, maybe.”

Aeron suppressed a smirk. “We could dance, guardsman. With blades. You’d see how I move then.”

“You want a blade right now, you little –”

“Shut up, all of you!” The lieutenant snapped.

They’d reached an ornate pair of doors as wide as the corridor. The lieutenant knocked, and a panel slid open for him to murmur through. Aeron stood straighter, adjusted his coat, ran a hand through his hair. Some magi thought they could impress while looking like beggars. Aeron wasn’t one of them. The guards eyed him as the doors were pulled open from within.

The throne room was underwhelming, in all honesty. Once he’d have been impressed. But the Council of Dawn sat in chambers vast enough for a shout at one end to be a murmur at the other. This was closer to a councilor’s bedroom. 

Aeron’s escort spread out around him, blocking the doors and watching him like the threat he was. They were, he admitted, well-trained. 

The bearded man on the throne leaned forward, the banner of the Ebon Hawk on red at his back. “This is your renegade, Cerus?”

“I believe so, Majesty,” said another, thin and greying, one of several who stood beside the dais. “He is older now, but –”

“I am Aeron Cale, Majesty.” Aeron sketched a bow. “It is true that the guild has branded me a renegade.”

“You will cooperate, then?” Cerus looked satisfied.

“Not at all. I simply believe in civilities.” Aeron turned to the advisor. “Have we met?”

“I was one of your teachers,” the man hissed.

“Your lessons made no impression, then.”

While the older mage sputtered, Aeron and the king studied one another. He knew nothing about King Gared besides his name, but the fact he had at least one mage advisor was a good sign.

Yet only one. None of the others standing around were Marked that he could see. Curious. From all the runed weaponry, he’d at least expected one of the Avowed.

The king sat back. “Why did you just attack a man in broad daylight, Aeron Cale?”

“I wished to speak with him, Majesty. Janis was the one who ran.”

“You know each other, then.”

“He knows me.”

Cerus finally got his wind back. “Trust nothing he says, Majesty. Aeron Cale is wanted for five murders in four cities. This would have been the sixth.”

“I did not kill them.” Aeron glared at the mage. “Someone wants to stop me finding leads. Who else but the true murderer?”

“You are the murderer, Cale.” The older Halflight grimaced. “You seek only a twisted revenge.”

“Justice!”

The king looked curious. “What does he mean, Cerus?” 

The other mage made an exasperated noise. “Almost two years ago the entire Lukayne family, a minor noble house to the north, died in a fire. A tragedy, to be sure. Cale here was well-acquainted with the third daughter.” Cerus cleared his throat. “They were betrothed, I understand.”

Aeron’s insides writhed, remembering. Istara remained silent.

“Afterwards – we only learned later on, of course – he started delving into darker paths. The darkest, really. He was trying to bring the dead back to life. 

“It was learned he’d begun summoning shades. The girl’s grave was found desecrated before he fled. We still don’t know what he did with the body. He sent messages to the guild, spouted the same nonsense in various encounters. That the family was murdered, and now he hunts their killers. It was lucky we finally tracked him here. Majesty, the man is mad.”

Maintaining his composure with difficulty, Aeron spoke on the advisor’s heels. “Majesty, they were murdered. The fire was meant to destroy the evidence.”

Cerus shook his head. “You wished to see him, Majesty, and you have. Allow me to take him away. It is a waste, truly. Aeron Cale was once among our most promising students, but now –”

“Enough.”

The entire room flinched. Aeron glanced over his shoulder as Istara became visible once more, floating above them all. 

“I am Istara Lukayne.”

He couldn’t help a twinge of sadness. Speaking aloud wasn’t natural for her, not anymore. Her voice was hollow, distorted. But it was still her voice. Almost, he could pretend she still lived.

“My family was murdered. We were butchered in our own home. If my love had not brought me back, no one would have ever known. Yet still you refuse to believe.”

Most were transfixed. Cerus had the presence of mind to cast him a suspicious glance. Aeron lifted his fettered hands, showing the black sunbursts – he wasn’t doing anything. 

“I don’t know who did it. I don’t know why. But I will find them and make them suffer.” 

Amid gasps and cries, she swooped down to hover before the old Halflight. To his credit, he took but a single step back.

“You were half right, advisor. Aeron wants justice. But I want revenge.”

In the silence that followed, Istara floated backwards until she was beside Aeron. The guards were especially pale. No doubt they’d be blamed. He felt a little guilty at that. They couldn’t have known she could turn invisible.

“This is an abomination,” the advisor whispered. “An insult to her memory.”

“But do you concede –” Aeron bit off the word. “That she was murdered?”

“Shades can be manipulated,” Cerus snapped. “This – this thing you’ve made of her simply mirrors your madness. It proves nothing.”

In the corner of his eye, Aeron saw Istara flexing bony fingers as though thinking of strangling the man. He didn’t blame her.

Easy, Star. We had to try. 

It was the only reason he’d put up with this for so long. If they could convince even a minor king, or at least another Halflight…

This was a waste of time, Istara hissed.

With a deep breath, the old mage turned to the king. “Majesty, I apologize that you should see this monstrosity. It should never have been created.”

I know, Aeron thought to himself. He’d thought he could cheat death itself. When he saw what he’d done to her instead…

Though he missed the king’s response, Aeron saw the advisor turn and advance on Istara. 

Aeron smirked. “Try it.”

Cerus glared at him. “Excuse me?”

“Try to banish her.”

The older mage made no reply. Cerus raised a liver-spotted hand that bore its own split sunburst. The halves flared white. Aeron watched him twisting the mist-light around Istara, trying to force her to the other side – only they three could see it. He felt a strange mix of amusement and melancholy. 

Cerus’s brow wrinkled. He raised his other hand.

Minutes passed. King Gared shifted on the throne, his courtiers whispering to each another. Even the guards encircling Aeron and Star began frowning. Istara ignored them all, her eyeless gaze fixed on the mage below her. He was sweating.

“Are you done yet?” Her voice was mocking.

The advisor lowered his hands at last, the glow fading. He was panting.

“I don’t understand,” he muttered, just loud enough for Aeron to hear. “Those bones can’t bind her here. Souls need a living link…”

“Indeed,” Aeron murmured.

The old man pointed a shaking finger at him. “What have you done here, boy?”

“What I set out to do, advisor.”

Aeron felt Istara move to float at his back, close enough for an embrace. The king leaned forward, frowning. The courtiers looked horrified, the guards perturbed. Had any seen what she’d done to Janis? Either way, Cerus had proved Istara was more than a shade. And Aeron supposed he was more than a mage.

Normally, the touch of a shade was death – but not for him. Not anymore. 

Not yet.

Ready, love? Istara whispered.

Ready, Star.

Aeron gave a bitter smile. “I brought the dead back to life.”

He saw skeletal hands rising at his sides.

Cerus’s expression tightened in understanding. “Stop the sh-!”

Istara thrust both hands into Aeron’s. His blood turned to ice water; it would feel like fire to her. Aeron gritted his teeth. Istara screamed. Through the pain, he was aware of people flinching away from them. The runes on his manacles turned black as Istara pulled with unnatural strength. 

The Vowsteel shattered.

Istara jerked free of him and vanished.

Still catching his breath, flexing warmth back into his fingers, Aeron spread his hands. His sunbursts glowed white. Cerus had his hands up, but his own flickered after burning his strength on Istara. King Gared shouted for the guards to attack. 

Aeron smiled around the room. The king was on his feet, the courtiers falling over themselves in terror, the ring of Vowsteel spears converging on him.

He called on the half-world and dropped through the floor.