La Douleur Exquise
A cafe cashier read me on Saturday.
As I reached out to grab my 2nd cup of whip cream, with latte on the side, the cashier confronted me about my nails. I have decided to omit a picture and let you have the liberating luxury of imagination, how magnanimous of me. It used to be my right thumb, which now observing it carefully, will probably remain concave forever. I've been working on this one since high school (or was it middle), it is not likely to heal. What surprised me, and her too obviously, was the left thumb. I was so good for a while, devoting all my energy to the right. But if I learned anything from a solid education, it's the importance of consistency. Yea that's probably not funny. My left thumb is more bumpy than concave, but it looks worse.
"Your nails are missing, did you do that yourself."
"Oh, yea, I did--I do."
"Are you some kind of a masochist. Do you get pleasure from ripping the nail off your bare flesh like that."
"Pleasure? I--It's more like I'm trying to fix and smooth out the uneveness. Even when I had nails, they were so close to perfection but not, it really bothered me."
"And now?"
"Well I guess I'm still trying to smooth them out...I dunno."
"I don't buy it, I still think you enjoy the pain. Maybe you like the sensory shocks."
Afterwards.
I stared at my thumbs. There was almost no nail on either one to smooth out. I had chewed it all off in vain, in a quest for perfection? Maybe I WAS addicted to the pain. I racked my brain for examples. A string of them, in which I derived some kind of pleasure from inflicted pain. A piercing, a high stress job, exercise, self indulgence. So isn't almost every activity at risk for some kind of pain? As long as I continue to put myself out there, to make conversation, I am subjecting myself to one of the worst kinds of pain, rejection. Yet social interactions are indispensable. Pain is here to remind me that I am very much alive.
So how do you tell. Are there such things as good pain and bad pain? Then surely, chewing my nails would be filed under bad pain, but apparently I secretly enjoy it. On a even larger note, what about the infliction of mental anguish through other means. Say attempting to attain the unattainable. There are those of us, who walk the earth, silently wishing for someone or something. Aggravated and exhausted, knowing deep down that they'll never succeed. Maybe I started out really believing that I could fix the blemishes on my nails. But down the road, when it became clear that I was doing more harm than good, I still didn't stop. Somewhere along the way, I must've gotten addicted to the exquisite pain of failure. For lack of a better word.
As I reached out to grab my 2nd cup of whip cream, with latte on the side, the cashier confronted me about my nails. I have decided to omit a picture and let you have the liberating luxury of imagination, how magnanimous of me. It used to be my right thumb, which now observing it carefully, will probably remain concave forever. I've been working on this one since high school (or was it middle), it is not likely to heal. What surprised me, and her too obviously, was the left thumb. I was so good for a while, devoting all my energy to the right. But if I learned anything from a solid education, it's the importance of consistency. Yea that's probably not funny. My left thumb is more bumpy than concave, but it looks worse.
"Your nails are missing, did you do that yourself."
"Oh, yea, I did--I do."
"Are you some kind of a masochist. Do you get pleasure from ripping the nail off your bare flesh like that."
"Pleasure? I--It's more like I'm trying to fix and smooth out the uneveness. Even when I had nails, they were so close to perfection but not, it really bothered me."
"And now?"
"Well I guess I'm still trying to smooth them out...I dunno."
"I don't buy it, I still think you enjoy the pain. Maybe you like the sensory shocks."
Afterwards.
I stared at my thumbs. There was almost no nail on either one to smooth out. I had chewed it all off in vain, in a quest for perfection? Maybe I WAS addicted to the pain. I racked my brain for examples. A string of them, in which I derived some kind of pleasure from inflicted pain. A piercing, a high stress job, exercise, self indulgence. So isn't almost every activity at risk for some kind of pain? As long as I continue to put myself out there, to make conversation, I am subjecting myself to one of the worst kinds of pain, rejection. Yet social interactions are indispensable. Pain is here to remind me that I am very much alive.
So how do you tell. Are there such things as good pain and bad pain? Then surely, chewing my nails would be filed under bad pain, but apparently I secretly enjoy it. On a even larger note, what about the infliction of mental anguish through other means. Say attempting to attain the unattainable. There are those of us, who walk the earth, silently wishing for someone or something. Aggravated and exhausted, knowing deep down that they'll never succeed. Maybe I started out really believing that I could fix the blemishes on my nails. But down the road, when it became clear that I was doing more harm than good, I still didn't stop. Somewhere along the way, I must've gotten addicted to the exquisite pain of failure. For lack of a better word.
posted by Mix at 12:32 AM
3 Comments:
I always wondered how your nail biting habit started. Do you do it when you're anxious? Is it kind of like how babies suck their thumbs in order to calm themselves down?
I used to chew pencils when I was in middle school, but then I stopped when the dentist told me it was bad for my teeth. What were the circumstances that started your chewing?
I think pain is a biproduct of life and I don't think it should be taken that seriously (the pain, that is). It's just a way of communication. If you fall down, you'll feel pain and that's your body telling you something is wrong.
I think people do strive to overcome challenges. I don't think people were born to be passive. People are going to try to change things and pain is just a biproduct.
I think a lot of pain is unnecesssary and can be avoided.
r u admitting tht ur a little masochistic, maybe ur just ocd nd cant help it anymor.
btw, nice photo on flckr, lik th faux polaroid
once more, your eloquence is killing me. an entire story revolving the addiction to failure told through the strange allegory of nailbiting.
you know there is a dearth of good Chinese American writers. on the top of my head, i can only think of two people...maxine hong kingston..the other one is amy tan.
pearl buck wasn't chinese.
and there's another one, some writer of young adult fiction. i never read his stuff though.
you can be a chinese Judy Blume.. writing about the coming of age experiences of a young chinese girl. a few novels or something, using your own experiences with your own family for inspiration for characters and such.
i had always wondered where the chinese american talent went. there are black, latino, even korean american comedians. where are the chinese american comedians?
where are our maya angelous? significant actors and actresses who take on serious roles and win oscars?
all we end up producing are musicians who play well but probably can't compose and really good students with high GPAs.
i partly blame it on chinese parents and culture. in another post, you said that your parents made you study and fulfill what they wanted you to be. although, they had your best interest at heart, it probably did a lot to damage your own creativity.
suppose you had parents who were wiser and sensitive enough to notice the great writing abilities that you do have. what if they helped you nurture those abilities, gave you opportunities to write, sent you to writing classes or made you join one of those writing cliques where amateur authors discuss and critique each other...
then maybe you would either be published already or working towards the goal.
all the truly great writers had tremendous practice and took tremendous pains to nurture their ability.
i'm just thinking, it's never too late. you're only 23 or 22. reading your entries, i feel you were meant to be read . who knows, maybe someday, you will be a famous chinese american author who will inspire other young kids to pursue thier own creative dreams instead of living out the safe dreams of their parents.
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