It is actually not a stereotype if you hear that Asian parents are strict and over-protective.

Lately, I have been listening to radio shows sharing some private conversations between sons/daughters with moms/dads. Some stories shared and conversations published were so touched that my eyes got blurred a little. I got to think about my parents. I thought about whether I had talked to them enough, shown to them enough or been with them enough before it is too late. From the bottom of my heart, I know I love them and miss them as much as any kids living abroad. I am only not used to showing my emotions to them. That was not how I was raised.
Anyway, I was reminded of an old post I wrote on Tumblr when I first started with this all-public-blogging thing.

Continue reading “It is actually not a stereotype if you hear that Asian parents are strict and over-protective.”


And, not or.

The blog’s inspiration is dedicated to #Millennials podcast and the book I am currently reading, Alchemist. 

If you ever know me outside, I think your impression of me here will be shattered. 

I don’t usually share so much with others. I do appear as a happy girl. Many times when I actually sit down and tell people (whom I actually trust enough) what really is going on with me, they claim to be quite surprised. So, okay, I don’t share much. 

I wrote before how I started my writing and my blog here. I did explain to you quite in details how I chose this online environment to be my sharing corner, with people I don’t even know. I probably don’t even tell my closed friends these many thoughts. Heck, they don’t even know I have a blog. 

That was what made travelling appeal to him – he always made new friends, and he didn’y need to soend all of his time with them. When someone sees the same people everyday, as had happened with him at the seminary, they wind up becoming a part of that person’s life. And then they want the person to change. If someone isn’t what others want them to be, the others become angry. Everyone seems to have a clear ifea of how other people should lead their lives, but none about his or her own.  – Alchemist book, Paulo Coelho. 

There is the reason. Because you don’t know me, except for me here through my romantic, long and over-shared style of writing. This is me. But there are also other me(s) in real life. There is also me who I am myself searching for still, there is me who I am waiting to rise up sometimes and there is me who I force to change. My friends know almost all of those versions, once they have certain images, it is hard to break. I am not sure if I even want to change how they look at me. 

Even so, I have a lot of other me versions to different types of friends. I can be emotional and cheesy. I can be the opposite. I can just be your drinking partner. I can also be the hard-working teammate/colleague of yours. I can stay quiet if you don’t like talking. I can also talk more to maintain the conversations with you. 

I work in Marketing, have had experiences working with social media promotion and I love researching about those stuff. Marketing to me is a combination of many evolving things that it becomes really difficult to catch up. To connect and understand your customers is another big challenge. With digitization, marketing now has developed much into digital marketing. My daily lives involve many hours being on Internet and in front of computers. When I used to work voluntarily for AIESEC Youth Organization, my daily life was 30-40 notifications on Facebook. That was quite brutal, I would say. 

I also dislike and get tired with Marketing. Because it is changing so much, everyone claims to know the best way to reach customers. Many advises and articles written on the topic remain to be from US perspectives. This rises a tough question for other different culture and environment, how to pick up and adapt for suitability to their own cases. Then, as a consumer myself, I cannot deny the fact that occasionally, marketing comes as manipulation and deceiving customers. I don’t like to be sold to; but I am also the person trying to make sales.

I don’t like to spend long time on Facebook but sometimes, I just have to. 

I am also a person who enjoy being outside, hiking, walking or running and not being tied down on a chair.

But on some days, I’d like my relaxing time, being cozy watching series, staring at computer and just typing down a new blog, maybe. 

I used not to like Marketing, but now I do.

I used to have everything planned out, but now I very much go with the flow and cannot handle the pressure of tight schedules. 

I love nature, I love silence but I also like cities and urban life. 

I’d like to read. I love words but I also enjoy going straight to the point, being simple now and then. 

I love the sea, I always felt like it was a part within me when I was in France even if I didn’t grow up by seaside. But I cannot swim. 

I used to think my blog is not going to be read by anyone anyway (which actually make me more reassured to have my writing published), but now, well I have 20 followers. 

The list goes on, not to mention about my changing mood. 

And that is how I changed my blog name to Contradictory. My blog domain still remains as randomwandering, as I have not yet reached moments to have to invest financially into this blog. 

I have told a few friends of mine what I learned from this one particular Interculturalist during one conference in Brussels. And since I have always been over-shared with you, I am going to tell you too. 

You are not this or that. You are this AND that.” 

If you are lost in knowing yourself, as much as I have been, I hope you will give this sentence certain amount of time to actually absorb. It has helped me a lot. 

Imagine on your worst days of life up to this point, you even recognize you cannot even understand yourself anymore. Anything you have done, have believed and have claimed to be you, is broken into pieces. As each of those things got you into this place – the place you would have laughed at anybody telling you that you would be here eventually. Well, because you were not supposed to reach here. You had plans of reaching somewhere else. 

So, the feeling would pretty suck, right? 

The sentence has helped enormously in a sense that I don’t have to be exactly one person. I don’t have to be that person everyone thinks I am or how I should be. I don’t have to be the person I promise myself to be. I just simply can be all. I can be outgoing but I am also very scared of starting conversations with strangers sometimes. I am brave to move to new places, getting to know new people, breaking out of my bubble but really, I only wish to have time just to be within my room and not socializing. Changing is a natural force of life. And if life changes, time passes, buildings appear and disappear, why do you have to be only one version? 

I know now, I am at such a phase in which I will feel lost continuously. You know, being 20s and millennials and stuff. Perhaps, somebody tells you to be very careful of what path you should choose to go in these ages, since it might determine your identity.

I will risk telling you, don’t be careful.

Our identity is not stable. And I would very much disagree to people always using their job as their identity; except when you got to do the job you always dream for. Just, the next time you introduce yourself to someone, how about not including what you do for a living to define you, and instead what you like to do in your pastimes? 

The only permanent thing might be a core value you admit to yourself when you were much younger, before you stumble upon many obstacles that push you over. I cannot tell you what this core value can be. I am one of you too, seeking for answers. But I do know, this value has to be something I would always go back to, and would never lose despite all odds. 

Shooting stars

What do you think about when you lie under a sky filled with stars, waiting for the magical sight of shooting stars? 

What parts of your life flashes through your head when you are on top of a mountain which is nearly 1000 meters and you can see a whole wide view of Provence Alps and a bit of Italy?

What does your mind and your heart tell you? 


I would never get bored of looking up at the sky and seeing all the stars shining up. I recalled in “The Shadow Years” of Hannah Richell, it said:

The lightsglimmering up there in the sky are probablt nothing more than the residual flare out of stars burned out of many millions of years before, beamed at them from light years away. She gazes up at them and wonders how something so lovely can be nothing but a lie–an illusion–a dark deceit.

That is true. But it is still hard to remember about such illusion when all one can see is the sparkling beauty. I and B went up to the mountaines again, searching for shooting stars. It was windy, and colder after staying there long enough. We did not carry tents or sleeping bags with us, except for one cover to lie down on. So, basically, we were partly lying on rocks. But everything was worth it.

Everything else was worth those moments, for you totally forgot about how scary the space out there could be, how stars could actually be just dark deceit; for the only thing you might have was your sense of romance, of poet, of silence and of wonders in being alive.

So, what do I think about during moments like those?

First, I really did not think about anything. I think too much normally sometimes. When these priceless moments come, I simply stared. I kept trying to keep my eyes opening and staring at that vast beauty of the sky.  All I had was me and the stars up there.

But the desert is so huge, and the horizons so distant, that they make a person feel small, and as if he should remain silent. – Alchemist, Paulo Coelho.

Slowly later, I was brought back to what happened to me recently. I thought about another adventurous place I was in couple of days ago, and a week ago. I thoughts about me on the frozen lake in Finland months ago too. I always thought about those days, as if I tried to examine myself whenever I was brought back to that past chapters & how I would or would think. How I coped with those memories this time, I would question.

Moments after, I was brought back even further to the past, to the points where I could not get accustomed to the fact they were my memories. They all felt like they belonged to someone else. But maybe, they did belong to another girl.

I sat up, and walked further to the city view in front me, as I knew this could be my very last moment for now to be there, at that exact spot.

Who would one hope to be with in these moments? Who have I lost in life to exchange for these moments?

More than a week ago, I returned to Jyväskylä. It was a returning trip similar to any other trips I had done before. This time, it was a big thing for me. To return to my past and face it.

Being here, my mind wandered back to a life I built in France. 4 months being there appeared as an illusion that I just doze off into in a very long nap. Everything here is the same, yet very different. Walking past the streets here which I took almost a thousand times, I imagined myself as someone with special power, jumping back and forth between here in Finland and there in France. That was what actually happened in my head. The transitional moments are always the weirdest. I always feel like I don’t belong to any particular places when my soul is split.

But before my Finnish soul within the lakes & forests rushes back, I want to be high still with the shooting stars and my crush for France. Just some warming up steps. 

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Gourdon Village
Auribeau Villahe
Port de la Rague beach
Along the coast to Cannes
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St. Raphael

 That is what I do, and that is what almost every of us does at least once.

Present is what you are told to focus on, but without past and future, your present is not wholly. There are ghosts from the past you avoid, there are uncertainty in the future you cannot handle. My present will not be real if I refuse to wander back or plan ahead.

I know it sounds cliche. But I have done that, I have done my part of avoidance. And I am telling you, no matter how far you run, it will catch you eventually. There is one thing to do is facing it. You might be more prepared than you think. 

The things I hold onto

-Written in May 2016, in France. 

Surface of water was sparkling. But not that kind of sparking, in which glitters are combined and reflected shining effect of colors. And maybe not that kind of sparkling like “little twinkle stars” on the sky at nights. How I saw it, and would try to express them in non-physical way: was thousands, millions and billions of moves on the surface. Because of the wind, beaches here were not having still surface as lakes in JKL. They always moved. Big waves made those thousand small moves lasting endlessly. One wave after another. One wave touched stones, then bounced back and collided with another wave coming up. Waves came from movements of people on the left. Waves come from me throwing a stone onto it. If one looks further away enough, that’s how the sparkling outlook starts to show. 

Water is transparent, but to me, it doesn’t mean you cannot notice its color. Its color comes from beneath, like where I am sitting now, its reddish followed by the stones’ colours. A bit further from me to the right, it looked greenish. On my left, it became brownish as hills standing right up on water are brown. Some other more sun-shining days, water will wear a green-blue jacket. Flexibility, I say. Water does not need to have its own colour identity. The flexibility or such adaptation is its identity. 

I started to think about the poem “Small Boy” I posted many posts ago, while throwing one stone after another…”if his hand can just be unclenched and let go“. 

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Le Trayas
Le Trayas

I was wearing that dress, the dress on that fourth official date we had. I wore it then, and got compliments by him. He liked it. And I was never getting bored of his adore. I wore the dress when we were standing in center of JKL city. I wore it when he closely placed his hands on my face, pulled me closer. Around us, the sound of church bell ringing echoed. Those moments. I thought they were too good for me to receive. I have never stopped being afraid the moments as such will be stolen from me soon, eventually. I forgot about the dress when I had to think of what to wear today. I opened my drawer to see it lying there. “Well, maybe you need some fresh sea smell as I do“. 

I got to run to the sea, or go somewhere new at some point. I mean I was already in France, moving to a new place, I know. But I had figured out new place doesn’t erase my past. They only distract it. If the problem is your head, there is no permanent way to hide from it

The distraction though, is already good enough. People don’t understand what’s in my head. It’s okay sometimes, because I don’t either. But when people look at me as if this is my choice, I got angry. Maybe I got angry for wrong reasons. But I am anyway. And I give up trying to lean on someone for support. It’s getting more cruel, each individual just have to deal with our own problems for so long, we forget how to become compassionate for others when they need.

We kept thinking to ourselves “I’ve gone through it, you will too. Now i have other problems of my own. I cannot do anymore for you. It’s your choice. Gotta do it on your own.”


Anyway, so going to some new places, even just a new area, give me this tiny bit of excitement, wonderfulness and willingness to win my battles. Such feeling is my drug. Whether it is an addiction, or a wooden piece I hold onto for not returning to bad feelings, I don’t know. I do know I don’t want to feel bad always anymore.