Arguments: what they bring and how to avoid them

Currently, I’ve been reading How to Win Friends and Influence People by Dale Carnegie. I’m reading a chapter called How to Win People to Your Way of Thinking. What does this mean for you? Carnegie does a fantastic job of illustrating a universal skill which works to your advantage when you’re trying to influence others, and that is to avoid arguments.

There are many ways in which we can avoid arguments, but “avoiding” them does not mean we should never disagree. In fact, I believe disagreeing should be welcomed more! Arguing happens when we don’t listen to each other, when don’t consider each other, and after a while, it perpetually continues just for the sake of our pride and self-esteem. So here’s how we avoid arguments. Some of these tips are more a mental practice and others are more external.

Don’t argue, because you’re not going to win. Have you ever started out disagreeing, and then experience your disagreement escalade into a huge mess; an argument? I certainly have. But once your little disagreement turns into an argument, sometimes we argue not for the sake of proving ourselves right…we argue to defend our self-esteem. I have also felt similarly.

In fifth grade, I was in a class with another girl, who shall be known as XYZ. We weren’t the greatest of friends. I was merely acquainted to her through one of my best friends in that same homeroom. Yet XYZ and I had much in common: we both enjoyed drawing, math and music. One day, our teacher announced that some supplies in our classroom was missing. I knew XYZ was an artist and I had seen her, with my own eyes, put classroom supplies into her own pencil case by accident. I talked to her that very day and told her that I thought she should check her pencil case. She denied it of course. I asked her politely again. You know the answer. And finally, after much convincing, she took her pencil case out, and found some of the supplies. Embarrassed, she returned the crayons and markers. Then, during recess, somehow we got into this huge argument. She began to pick out every single awry or errant detail in my conduct. Annoyed, I kept telling her I was fine, that I wasn’t bad. And as predicted, this friendship didn’t turn out the strongest. I may have “won” the first argument about the supplies, which bought me a slight elevation in my self-esteem. But in the end, I learned I hadn’t won any self-esteem: I had just lost a friendship with someone who challenged it.

Try to view the disagreement from the other person’s perspective. This is pretty self-explanatory, but give a day, maybe sleep on it. When you take sometime just to distance yourself from the argument and the person you’re arguing with, you are more likely to see why they feel the way they do. Carnegie mentions in his book that average people are correct only about 55% of the time. Assuming this percentage is accurate, I don’t think any person in the present, future, or past has the right to completely disregard another person’s opinion, because chances are, they are also 55% of the times correct.

Admit you’re wrong…and do it sincerely. Again, I’m picking on the word “self-esteem.” When someone covets self-esteem and you admit you did something wrong quickly and genuinely, they will often times try to elevate their esteem by defending you! It’s weird, but often times it builds stronger friendships. And come on, who’s going to criticize and argue with you if you say “I’m sorry. It was wrong of me to do x, y and z etc.”? But on the argumental perspective, this is a powerful skill, to be able to admit you’re wrong, because often times it will symbolize to the other person that it is a safe environment. They are more likely to forgive you and admit they may have been wrong in areas as well, after all, we’re only 55% of the times correct!

In seventh grade, I remember working on a history project with my partner who was adamant and obdurate against memorizing the note cards for our presentation the following week. He swore he wouldn’t do it, saying he would add stuff onto what we said during the presentation and manipulate all the computer related things. I disagreed with that. I began to show anger towards my classmate. I was truly very irritated by his lack of motivation for getting a good grade. But that night, I felt guilty and vowed to apologize. I’ve shared this story before, but I must repeat, after I apologized, he admitted that he may have been wrong as well, and memorized the note cards. In fact, he probably wouldn’t have consented to memorize the cards if it hadn’t been for my genuine apology, and appreciation for a second chance to rectify my mistake of being critical, but also, just the fact that I opened up and admitted that I was wrong, showed this kid that it was safe for him to admit his mistakes as well.

Departing question: What tricks do you use to avoid arguments?

First Impressions

You can only make a first impression once. I’ve always known that. Yet today, I became more sentient of yet another fact which correlates to this “first impression” idea.

I just thought this picture and quote kind of illustrated my point well!

The eighth grade took a field trip to Boda Borg today. One of Boda Borg’s missions is to subtly portray for us the power of teamwork. How is this done? Quests. Which are close to impossible to complete without another two to three people. Players walk through a door, which is either green [mental challenge], red [mental/physical challenge], or black [very physical quest] door, with no instruction. All you see before you once the lights from the hallways dim with the closing of the door, are props, glass, ropes, chains, lights, tiles, red paint etc. Pretty much anything out of the ordinary. Your job as the quester is to solve the challenge. If you do, you level up and go into a connecting room. Quite an enjoyable, challenging way to spend the majority of the day.

Yet what really reminded me of the “first impressions” was before the bus ride to Boda Borg. One of the teachers in my grade, whose name shall not be mentioned, but we shall refer to him as Mr. X, came onto the bus. He reminded us “that we represented BB&N, we represented our motto: honor, scholarship and kindness. Therefore, we should remember these values everywhere we go today, because our actions reflect and impact those who are coming to BB&N, those who are part of this community, and those who have graduated or moved on.” Those words struck me. I had never paid much heed to that thought…our actions reflect even those who had graduated or moved on from BB&N. Mr. X’s words supplemented an already large audience of people represented, to an even larger number: those who had graduated included. When I first heard these words, I was struck. I felt almost a slight hint of importance…like my actions today impact people beyond those who I interact with daily. And yes, I understand that first impressions don’t always appear the way I will envision them, but when I can control some part of it, I aspire to make them worthy.

Every morning when the sun rises…

Every morning when the sun rises, we are given a new day. Given a new day. We didn’t necessarily earn this day. We were given it as a gift. I believe someone somewhere thought we could do something good for the world…today. And that’s also the reason why

Sunrise in Naples, Florida

we’re given tomorrow. Sometimes, observing the countenance, demeanour and conduct of people, I find we take this for granted.

During this summer, when Massachusetts was in a heat wave, I went swimming nearly every afternoon at our local public swimming pool. I frequently encountered kids I knew from my old public school who still remembered me. I would bring a book and read at the pool, laying on my stomach on my towel. Just for the sake of vexing my peace and serenity in the book, they would come and splash water in my face or talk to me. When they did, something like “you should just go and kill yourself” would always come up in the conversation if the kids didn’t agree or understand what I was saying. I couldn’t apprehend their purpose in saying this just because they thought differently, or just because they couldn’t understand. Did they not realize how precious life was? That someone somewhere gave us this day so we could do something good for the world? I know one thing for sure: telling your frenemy to kill herself sure isn’t making any progress.

Every morning when the sun rises, we have choices to make. These may not be life determining choices. Should I wear red or blue? Should I bring my science binder to school? Or they may be crucial to the success of doing something good for the world, today. Am I going to smile at my foe? Am I going to kind to the homeless people I see on the road? Am I going to let any contagious, negative attitude inflict upon others? Well, I suppose these are all some decisions we’ve got to make as humans everyday.

Last week, I walked to one of my favorite bakeries. It’s small, cozy, homey, and it’s merely over 1 miles distance from my house. Every time I visit this bakery, the same petite, blue-eyed, blonde ladies serves me. She grabs the cookies I want. She puts the frosting I like on my cupcakes. Yet last week, I noticed one thing different about her: she put her hair in two ponytails, instead of in a tight bun on her head. It looked almost more cheerful and youthful. I wanted to comment on it, but somehow, and for a reason I still cannot comprehend, my tongue tied up and no words would come out. And that’s a wrong decision I made that day, not to compliment a person and to show genuine appreciation. But that’s a decision I could have made, to compliment at least three people I saw everyday.

Every morning when the sun rises, we are given second chances to rectify those we’d done wrong before. We shouldn’t hesitate. We shouldn’t hold back. Push our true selves into what we correct and purposefully remember to thank whoever presented that second chance. Sometimes, we’re timid. Other times we’re shy. Sometimes, we don’t want to share. Other times we don’t want to admit our wrongs. But I insist we do, because problems can only precede to a brighter side of the grass as a result.

Last year, I remember working with another group of students on a project in history. It was challenging for sure, and frustrating for all sides of the group. I remember we were discussing one of our topics we were researching in order to prepare for a presentation. One of my groupmates decided to slack off on memorizing facts, just because he didn’t want to have to present in front of the class the following week. It’s a seemingly simple refusion, yet somehow the stress of the project, the pressure of time and the difficulty of managing it all together threw me off. I began to show anger and temper towards that student. When I returned that night to my desk, I realized one thing: that kid wasn’t going to get up off the couch and memorize the facts, especially when I’d just been angry at him. So the following day, during one of our last few class periods to work together, I apologized. I told how I knew I shouldn’t have yelled at him. I told him that I know the project is hard, but we have to work together to make it a successful presentation. I told him this, and he accepted it. In fact, he did more than accept my words. He memorized the facts on the notecards.  

I feel fortunate to know that someone had even considered my words after I’d been angry the previous day. But the only way I was able to send my message to him, was to show genuine appreciation for the second chance I was given to rectify my mistakes.

Every morning when the sun rises, what are you given?

A Visit From Australia: My Aunt and Cousin

Last week, I wrote about family. I mentioned my cousins and aunt who were visiting the States from Australia for the first time. Wow, what a fabulous three days it’s been for everyone.

I have found a fervent love for talking with my aunt. She’s a nurse at a hospital in Melbourne and I love having conversations with her. She advises me about chilling my anxiety. And I admire her for that. She shares and compares me to her two sons. I appreciate her for that. She always willing to answer my questions about university, life, marketing, and being a doctor. I ponder from that. And she gave me tips on growing taller. I laugh from that.

My aunt is truly someone I enjoy being around. I guess we help each other in some way. She often asks me about what I want to be when I grow up and asks me about my perspective on certain issues. She notices that I’m a self pusher, not a kid who needs parent pushing. I am thankful for her endeavoring to abet me in my journey to being less self denigrating. Self denigration only exacerbates when I compare myself to others. Being Asian, I can’t help but notice how many others participate and practice programs such as Stanford Online, the Art of Problem Solving, SAT practice and Russian Math. I have a tendency to feel almost a little less accomplished when I observe what they study. But she told me something, more or less an example than a story, about her experience being under pressure and following the lead of others. My grandparents were very intrigued with the art of technology. My father leads a career in engineering, as did my grandfather. So obviously, my aunt felt some pressure to follow a similar path. She said when she was younger, she felt exposed to technology a few years too early. Feeling uncomfortable and almost a little bit overwhelming, she said that was one of the sole causes for her deliberate distance from technology. You shouldn’t feel peer pressure and let that change your potential interest in a subject, for not everything is love at first sight, she told me. That’s one of the most important things I’ve learned from my past 72 hours.

My cousin, David, I would also nominate one of my greatest friends. He is great to hang out with! I think the key to this kind of success when dealing with me, with people in general, is his endearing asset of being a listener. He listens with his mind, not ears. David and I went biking this morning around Cambridge and he managed to endure my long, sometimes banal and monotonous, explanations of the places we visited. Sometimes he wouldn’t say a word for minutes on end! I seemed like an amaranthine chatterbox, never ceasing, never restless.

Similar to my relationship with his mother, my aunt, I think we help each other. On Friday, we went swimming together, well mostly I did the swimming and he acted as the coach. He is a very competitive swimmer, though he quit right before this trip. His greatest strokes are breaststroke and butterfly. I asked him if he could teach me the butterfly. We worked on it. And we drilled and he gave me several tips.

In retrospect, I think the greatest aspect I have grasped from David is to shut up more than sometimes, and listen. I’m currently reading How to Win Friends and Influence People by Dale Carnegie and one of the greatest principals offered is to be genuinely interested in other people. This is becoming a more congeal topic. It’s appears more blatant in certain situations I experience on a daily basis.

So thank you David. Thank you Auntee. For visiting my family and the States. For bringing me new values to practice.

My Greatest Goal as a Character in Eighth Grade

Seventh grade has developed me into someone I wasn’t before. It has taught me and opened up ways I interact with the world. My advisor, who I can’t thank enough, has encouraged me to ask for help when I need it. This year, I hope to continue this newfound asset, but develop better skills in interacting with myself.

The first step to making the world a better place, is to make yourself better. I think it’s that simple. If you haven’t developed yourself, what can you say from personal experience about how to move the world forward? Here’s how I want to develop myself this year, here’s a goal I am setting for myself: to be less self-denigrating.

This is how Merriam-Webster defines the word “denigrating.”

Sure is sounds a little austere, and maybe a little bit haughty, yet this is often how I find myself reacting to my own mistakes and imperfections. Now I know you going to say to me, “Ava, take a breather. No one is perfect.” I’ve been told this hundreds of times. No joke. No exaggeration. Hundreds of times since the day I started school. I used to overtly punish myself for petty things, by locking myself in my bedroom, or scrambling up the stairs to the study on the third floor of my house for peace and quiet. I would cry, cry and cry, even though Dad kept yelling at me, saying crying wouldn’t do any good and that I had to make a plan to attack my issues. Even though I knew I would walk into school the next day with big, swollen, puffy pinkish eyes. Now, I react a little bit differently. I’m less blatant about expressing my chagrin. I don’t like to cry in front of my friends or family. I don’t like to tell people as much. I’m finding myself to be much more introverted and reticent about my apprehensions. Sure, those who know me would claim that I’m quite extroverted, but it’s only because I haven’t expressed what I truly feel to them. In the end, I observe hatred centered with full force towards myself for the careless mistakes I had already rectified. I observe frustration from envy of other people. I also observe austere self-stricture from things that make me stressed.

The weirdest thing, is that often times I find crying helps. It’s almost…comforting. It’s a consequence of not having my life together, but the tears almost bind the wounds. I also find that exercise feels really good. It acts as a confidence booster. When I start at my doorstep and return to my doorstep after a three mile run, I feel like I can do anything I want in the world. I’ve written about this in my post about stress, but I’m really beginning to absorb the benefits of pacing, outside or inside. When my brain goes on “auto-pilot” with the stepping and the swinging of the arms, it really has all the room it needs to think about how to organize and plan the rest of my day, so that I may feel less stress, which occasionally lowers my chances of self-denigration. Yet I’m still searching for more ways to love myself, more ways to except my impurities, and more ways to be live without the incessant pressure of criticism.

So the goal of this post was not to rant, complain, condemn, or criticize. I think I do too much of that for myself already. This is simply a goal I’m setting for myself, to be less self-denigrating and to be kinder to myself. Maybe I should resume meditation. Maybe I need to create a new hobby. I don’t know precisely what I need to do. This is just another road I’m going to navigate in eighth grade.

Our Greatest Glory

"Our greatest glory is not in never falling, but in rising every time we fall." ~Confuscius

What if…

What if…

“What” and “if” I would deem both banal words of little significance. They are like tags, stuck into sentences, not as to enhance or vitiate its meaning. Yet when these words are implemented contiguously, they change the whole perspective of a sentence.

It’s almost like being a skeptic and questioning the morality of how the world turned out. What if this, what if that, happened instead of what we have been exposed to. How would our lives be different?

By power of example, one can comprehend how fortunate we are. Many people in Boston have multiple fair paying jobs to choose between. Most own a car from a satisfying brand. We have invented a profuse amount of technology and youngsters are presented options for levels of education. My point here is that we are given ample discretion and liberty to act upon our own will, to an extent where we often take this for granted. When I ponder about topic, I think about those who had to fight for this right, who forsaked their reputations, and those who sacrificed their lives for the futuristic vision of a society in which I indulge in everyday. What if that vision never existed or was never advertently considered? What if people never fought for their freedom?

Hurricanes have passed, earthquakes have struck. These natural disasters have formed and dilapidated countries and its people. They have taken away family members, and nothing, including time, could ever mitigate the devastating feeling of fear and loss. I feel fortunate enough to know that my family members are still here, and not swept away with the forces of Mother Nature. I live in a state where nature is usually in good relations with its residents. I admit that our winters are austere and take a great toll on our roads and houses, yet I am remain grateful for our generally predictable weather. What if the east coast was struck by a hurricane? What if a devastating earthquake with a magnitude of 7.2 hit Boston?

What if aliens invaded the Earth?

What if zika infected every pregnant woman alive and all babies were born with microcephaly?

What if the new rule in the States was that every family could only raise one kid and those with more had to give them up for adoption?

What if Earth span out of orbit?

What if we had existed when dinosaurs did?

What if coffee wasn’t discovered and tea became illegal to drink?

What if the Americans hadn’t won the Revolutionary War?

I suppose that the future of the Earth could meander anywhere, yet on the contrary, the past shaped us into who we are today. I apprehend that if any one event hadn’t occurred the way it did, we would be quite different people. The result of any event in the future will be either another door, or a pathway to our progression, though many who experience these revolutions first hand will be incognizant of their effect their entire lives. We just have to unwittingly, yet not lacking acumen, live up to these as if we knew we fighting, working and hoping for the best.

What if…?

The Deeper Meaning of Family

Family. It’s a vague word, stirring various definitions and emotions with it. Many people define family as people you are related to by blood. For others, it is the definition, the category, the name, of the people they come home to, or love each day. I am still exploring how I feel about this touchy subject.

I think my newfound advertency towards the meaning of family appeared after my reading of Jefferson’s Children. This story tells of the disputes between Jefferson’s children from Martha’s line (the white line) and his slave, Sally Hemingses line. Accounts from both sides are included. I recommend you read this book if you have not…it is truly a wonder of two worlds.

And here’s why I bring up the discussion of family: Last Friday, my dad took me by surprise when he told me my cousins were visiting from Australia at the end of August. Doesn’t sound too singular or out-of-the-ordinary, does it? Though for me, it is indeed quite an extraordinary occurrence. It brings me bliss and anxiety. David (my cousin) and my aunt from Dad’s side are visiting the States for 13 days. Three of those thirteen will be spent in Boston. Still doesn’t sound too aberrant, does it? Well, what if I told you I’m calling them cousins, I am calling them family, though I’ve never laid eyes upon them myself? It’s a mystery to me what society has socially constructed as “okay” or “not okay” to call family. In retrospect, when I think about who society says is “not okay” to call family, I realize we often times eschew calling our life-long friends as family, and opting for the alternative who we may have never acquainted. This is no congeal topic to grasp and I still ruminating and challenging my own, and society’s, “standards” for who is to be considered family. For now, I just can't wait to meet my cousin. Maybe he will pull me one way or the other.

Pride and Vanity

Yesterday, when I opened my front door to go for a walk, I saw an Amazon Prime box on my doorstep. Curious, I brought it inside the house and cut the packaging tape to unveil a book. It’s quite a famous one, Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen.

Later last night, I lay on the sofa, legs propped on the coffee table, head rested on a pillow, reading Pride and Prejudice. I ought to share one quote that really stood out near the

end of Chapter 5, “‘Vanity and pride are different things, though the words are often used synonymously. A person may be proud without being vain. Pride relates more to our opinion of ourselves, vanity to what we would have others think of us’” (12). That’s when I began thinking, what do I take pride in doing? When has vanity overthrown the asset candor? So here, I’ve began brainstorming:

Things I take pride in doing:

1. Going for runs
2. Organizing community events at school
3. Sharing ideas through this blog
4. Being a member of Leadership Council
5. Practicing piano
6. Playing tennis
7. Developing my character

Departing question: What do you take pride in doing? When do you feel vanity overthrow your values?

Dreams.

Dreaming has always fascinated me. Whether they stultify my reputation at night, or remind me of something I had forsaken, they are usually interesting to experience. I’ve always been one to dream. I think this somehow correlates with my day-to-day, awake temperament: a peripatetic mindset. I find my mind frequently wandering to topics that I’ve stored in the back of my head for a long time, or to the future. The future meaning possible

vocations, ways to develop companies, how to end world hunger etc. Yet nothing in my dreams can match these thoughts. I have nightmares…frequently. At least once or twice every week. The most intriguing observation I notice is that the people who are in my dreams/nightmares are usually those from my old school, Belmont Day School, or those I knew since I was very young. Occasionally a celebrity will be seen in my dream and always, water. I don’t actually know what the water means, yet Huffington Post says the context of the water, and how you’re involved with it, play a role in its manifestation.

Last night, I had another nightmare. This one included (of course) water, Victoria Beckham (one of my favorite fashion designers), and kids from Belmont Day School. Now, I’m not the greatest raconteur, especially when endeavoring to explain something that existed in my head, but I will try my best.

MY DREAM LAST NIGHT

Background information: Victoria Beckham has become the queen of England. There are three miscreants, roaming around on the streets of London, who have just assassinated somebody (I can’t recall who…). Posters were hanging all around London, “WANTED.”

All I remember is that I was hanging out a camp in London with three other classmates from Belmont Day School–Dona, Allan, and Keira–at Canoeing Camp (and no, I don’t think

A picture I took of Old San Juan coast.

canoeing camp actually exists and I’ve never been to London before) We were standing on the rocky, unpaved sidewalk, by the shore of the ocean. The waterfront walk was long, approximately three miles, and the palace where Queen Victoria resided was right in front of the dock at canoeing camp. Willow tree branches lolled in the gentle breeze. Birds chirped melodies while light green grasshoppers froliked across the sidewalk. What a splendid vista, resembling the shores of Old San Juan.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, the sky darkened, and ominous clouds drifted over the magnificent view. Rain began to torment the birds, and a tempest began. My friends and I had no place to hide, except for under a tree, which would have been just as dangerous, or in Queen Victoria Beckham’s castle. So without knocking, we barged in through the front door. Expectant of dismissal, we were shocked to see Victoria Beckham standing on a large, marble stairwell in the middle of the lobby in a stunning gown. She invited us to the highest floor of her castle, so we could converse about Canoeing Camp and the tempest. We followed her, up 32 winding stair cases. There were candles lit up along the stone walls, merely illuminating

the floors and stairs so that one could see the shadows of each step. The draperies on the 20 foot high stained glass windows we made of a red velvet, drawn back by thick, gold silk ropes.

Finally, after climbing 32 floors, we reached the highest chamber. It was small, round, and bare. Cold as well, bearing only 1 low, small window. You could hear the rain pounding down on the roof, as if the Zeus was pitching ice upon the Earth. Victoria talked with us, casually, of course, but with a rounded British accent. Sitting on the right Victoria and the left of my friends from Belmont Day, I was able to pay attention to both, looked both left and right. Then suddenly, the weirdest thing happened. Allan, one of my friends from Belmont Day and Canoeing Camp took out an eyeglass and held it to his face. It was a huge eyeglass, round and crystal clear. But the face reflected underneath Allan’s face was not Allan. I stared closer. I was too slow, for Allan, seeing my curious gaze, seemed to put down his eyeglass and stare at a corner of the wall. A flashback occurred in my head. WANTED. WANTED. WANTED. 3 miscreants on the streets of London. Allan. I thought. Allan’s one of the criminals. A murderer. IN MY SIGHT! Before I could even process this new information, a crackling sound vibrated through the chamber. The singular crackling sound in a storm of rain. Fire.

Allan, Keira, and Dona fled down the stairs, and I followed them. I was confused. Should I follow the criminals down the stairs? Or should I burn upstairs with Victoria? I felt my feet flow down the steps, about 20 feet behind Allan, Keira and Dona. Abruptly, they stopped moving at the window. Keira looked out the window, a proud smirk on her face. Allan checked up behind her and Dona peered out of the window. There, hanging just half a foot above the lowest sill of the window was the edge of Victoria Beckham’s gown. Was she

sitting on the ledge of the single lonely window in the chamber? Was she preparing to jump in order to escape the fire? Surely she would fall to her death. Allan took a candle, which still glimmered gleefully on its stand on the wall, and forced it through the stain glass. I watched the whole window, shatter to pieces. It was like the world stopped in motion. Tiny, specks of color flew to the ceiling, to the floor, across the stairwell. A rainbow. Then almost as quickly as Allan had broke the window, Dona reached out to grab the gown which hung over the edge of the window. She tightened her grip around the silk and tugged. All I could hear was an ear-breaking scream.

END

I awoke after this frightening moment. I can’t exactly pinpoint the exact details, yet I would still consider this one of my more vivid, frightful nightmares. I’m still curious, though, what do dreams mean? What do they symbolize?

Note: The names of the people in the story are pseudonyms. Real names have not been revealed.