a different dimension of gratification
I think I was fortunate to have been born in the early 80s. I had my first computer at 15, a bit later than most of my peers. Before then, I had…
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I think I was fortunate to have been born in the early 80s. I had my first computer at 15, a bit later than most of my peers. Before then, I had…
I’ve been on a rabbit hole to learn more about the human memory after watching college kids perform seemingly impossible memory feats on a tv variety show. It has made me reflect…
I remember reading somewhere that just few decades ago we lived in small communities, unconnected by the internet. We would only need to cope with the happenings of this small community, and…
Our current minister of defence had made a public speech last week, stating that the US’s image has “changed from liberator to great disruptor to a landlord seeking rent.” Considering that Singapore…
a personal review of “A general theory of love”
Reward a child’s distress with attention, they said (and say today), and you increase the probability of recurrence. A child left alone at night, with no human presence to “reward” him, eventually stops crying and makes do without. But sleep is not a reflex, like the canine salivation a flank steak provokes. The dozing adult brain rises and descends through half a dozen distinct neural phases every ninety minutes, in gradually lengthening symphonic movements that culminate in morning wakefulness. Sleep is an intricate brain rhythm, and the neurally immature infant must first borrow the patterns from parents.
In this way, smartphones consume rest. I mean to defy the usual consumption metaphor—in which we (the users) consume whatever the device makes available. Instead, I think the devices (and their attendant systems and modes, the apps and news feeds and platforms and whatnot) consume us. We are consumed: our rest, our ease, our leisure, our breath—all are eaten up by the flickering and frittering and jittering of inconstant screens.
I used to get triggered really easily. Something seemingly innocuous would set me off – sometimes I was good at hiding my feelings on my face especially if it was in a…
To experience the everyday sublime requires that we dismantle the perceptual conditioning that insists on seeing ourselves and the world as essentially comfortable, permanent, solid, and “mine.” It means to embrace suffering and conflict rather than to shy away from them, to cultivate the embodied attention that contemplates the tragic, changing, empty, and impersonal dimensions of life, rather than succumbing to fantasies of self-glorification or self-loathing. This takes time. It is a lifelong practice.