Eric Tian

One of my favourite things about Melbourne is its unpredictable, wildly fluctuating weather. You might begin crossing a street with clear, sunny skies only to find yourself running for cover from run and hail halfway through. It can be annoying at times, but more often than not it results in a good story.

Such an incident occurred last week. We were crossing as a group of four strangers and rain began to fall, gently at first, then heavily, followed by hail. Within seconds we were soaked and running for cover.

The closest shelter we could find was the entrance to a strip club, one I had walked past many times in the past but never inside. As we huddled together, sharing in each other’s warmth, the bouncer said something in a thick Italian accent which nobody heard: we were all too wet. Eventually, he noticed that a member of our party was shivering, a middle-aged woman in a singlet, so he offered her his thick black jacket. She took it gratefully, though it was immediately apparent that the jacket was too large for her. It nearly went down to her ankles and looked more like a blanket.

At this sight, one person began to chuckle. Then another, then myself, and soon the sound of laughter rang out into the depths of the building. All of this had transpired in less than 30 seconds, and only now were we beginning to see the absurdity of the situation. Outside, the hail was assaulting the roofs of cars like little bullets.

And so the five of us huddled, watching the weather unfold in front of us. All that sustained us were the body warmth and clothes of strangers in an unusual building, laughter ringing through its walls.

In gaming, “Power Creep” refers to the phenomenon where updates to a game that make existing skills and combat stronger render older content obsolete. Where one boss on release might require ten minutes to kill, power creep over years might make this only five. This is a problem as making bosses too easy makes the point of the encounter – to fight a difficult and worthwhile boss – meaningless.

Similarly, “Comfort Creep” is the idea that suggests that as modern society becomes richer and more comfortable, there are hidden consequences on, perhaps ironically, our wellbeing. Proponents argue that struggle is intimately tied to meaning and by optimising our lives for convenience and comfort, we lose this deeper sense of potential insight.

I personally feel that the most rewarding days are not the ones that are spent in complete luxury, where I can sleep in, have zero responsibilities, and eat whatever I want, whenever I want. Instead, the greatest and most memorable days are ones that involve struggling with some challenge – fitness, writing, work, or whatever domain – and overcoming it. While the comfort days feel nice, have too many and it’s easy to wonder – what’s the point of it all?

Inspired by the blog of Matthew Dicks, here is my list of things I want to be better at. The idea is to revisit this list every year to track progress. Today is Sunday 15 September 2024, and in no particular order, here we go: 

1. Dancing
2. Calling my family
3. Completing tasks in a timely fashion
4. Waking up early
5. Singing
6. Remembering names, faces, and facts about people 
7. Languages, especially Mandarin
8. Exercise, especially plyometrics and distance running
9. Regularly cleaning my desk and room
10. Being more assertive when something wrong is transpiring
11. Leadership
12. Small talk
13. Organising catchups or checking in with old friends
14. Overcoming social media and gaming addiction
15. Saying “I love you” to people I love
16. Memorising quotes, poems, and speeches
17. Consistency in writing 
18. Consistency in reading 
19. General knowledge on topics I should know but never learnt, especially history and politics
20. Admitting I do not know something when I feel like I should know it or have recently forgotten
21. Spending less time on email
22. Discipline with all of the above

I was riding my bike the other day while carrying two banners for a work event, when one of the banners got caught in my front wheel and I fell over in the middle of the road.

My left shoulder felt the asphalt first and I felt no pain, simply a wave of numbness. A searing pain then shot through my left leg. When I looked down, there was blood oozing from three areas of peeled skin. My pants were already stained red. Next to me, my bike laid in the middle of the road, banner still caught in its wheel, ready to be run over by incoming traffic.

Thankfully, it was a Sunday morning and few cars were out. In fact, it was oddly quiet. All the shops around me were closed and the street parking was empty. There was a green traffic light ahead but no vehicles drove by. As I laid there, waiting for my shoulder to regain sensation, an immense sadness suddenly came over me.

The feeling reminded me of my niece, who would cry whenever she fell while learning to walk. She would never be in danger – she usually fell on carpet and there were always adults around – but no matter how harmless the fall, she would always burst into tears. It initially struck me as silly, but as I laid there on the street, I began to understand her anguish.

Of all misfortunes that exist, there is something uniquely awful about self-induced pain. If a misfortune occurs from a clear external force – bad boss, bad weather, bad traffic – there is clearly something else to blame. But if you fall while walking, or fall off a bike from your own stupid decisions, there is nobody left to blame but yourself, and with blame follows shame and pathetic self-pity. When you suffer and know yourself to be the cause, I think you come close to hell.

As this mix of emotions began to stir and mix and threaten to explode, a woman’s voice came up behind me.

“Oh my God, are you okay?”

I said nothing as she pulled my bike off the road and removed the banner from its wheel.
“Jesus, that is heavy.”

She dropped my banner on the sidewalk and looked me up and down.

“You’re bleeding,” she said. “Do I need to call an ambulance?”

“No,” I finally replied. “But thank you.”

As I looked up at her, emotions ready to overflow, something in her eyes made me pause. What I saw in her eyes was genuine concern. She had been carrying a grocery bag, but I now saw it lying behind her on the floor next to my bike. She must have dropped it when she saw me.

“Here, let me help you up,” she said. And as our hands met, my negative thoughts were dissipated by a more powerful emotion: hope.

When my niece cries from a fall, there is a moment when her attitude shifts from raging despair to simple discomfort. It is when she sees her mum. Her mum represents hope, a light out of the hell she has found herself in. When her mum picks her up off the floor, cooing her name and showering her with hugs, some physical pain may persist, but the greatest spiritual torment has been cured.

As I stood face to face with my saviour, she said some words I didn’t hear. The hope that suddenly flooded my body drowned all other sensations. Before long, she was gone. The whole time, I had been too moved to ask for her name, or even say thank you.

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James Baldwin once wrote, “I have always felt that a human being could only be saved by another human being. I am aware that we do not save each other very often. But I am also aware that we save each other some of the time.”

For the longest time, I did not understand what he meant. But I think I now do.

Earlier in the year, I observed three points about myself:

1. Most of my melancholic moments are caused from poor social interactions.
2. I become irritable if I do not exercise every day.
3. I feel extraordinary playing team sports.

It only recently clicked that the third observation is the obvious conclusion of the first two.

For most of my life, I grew up playing single sports: table tennis, badminton, or running. Single as you generally compete by yourself, usually against another individual. These sports, while tremendous opportunities for growth, can become lonely.

Team sports offer the benefits of exercise but additionally the wonders of teamwork and social ties. These cannot be understated. The exhilaration of working together to achieve a shared, communal goal is incredible. Combine that with the endorphins of exercise and… you get ecstasy.

It is curious that the popular running anime ‘Run With The Wind’, is meaningful in a large part due to the athletes training as a group and overcoming struggles together. Perhaps there is something in shared struggle that is inherently beautiful.

While watching the Olympics, a commentator said something I found insightful. It was the fifth set of the Women’s Singles Bronze Medal Table Tennis match and a time out was called. The Japanese athlete had won four points in a row, clawing their way back from a previously enormous deficit. The opposing Korean coach called the time out to halt the Japanese player’s momentum. As the athletes retreated to their corners, the Korean athlete looked visibly shaken, while the Japanese athlete looked fired up.

The Japanese coach spoke rapidly to his athlete, giving serving instructions and where to aim the ball. The athlete listened intently, nodding her head and providing him her own thoughts and strategies.

The Korean coach, on the other hand, said very little. He simply handed his athlete a towel and a water bottle and signalled for her to breathe. They stood there silently facing each other for most of the time out. But by the end, the Korean athlete looked back to her usual self.

The commentator noticed this juxtaposition between the two corners and said:

“The role of a good coach changes from one moment to the next. Sometimes, your job is to fire instructions on tactics, ball placement, or service. Other times, your job is to provide an encouraging word to lift your athlete out of a slump. And occasionally, as we see here, your job is to simply be with your athlete and give them the quiet space they need. It is a highly personal and subtle role that few can do at a high level.”

In the manga Haikyuu, Ryūnosuke Tanaka is an average volleyball player.

He has teammates who are taller, stronger, smarter, better on defence and offence. The teams he competes against have national level representatives. Compared to these giants, Tanaka is average.

At nationals, his team faces a monster of a team, Inarizaki. In the first set, Tanaka has not played well, having missed spikes and been blocked multiple times. Inarizaki begin targeting serves towards him as they recognise the pressure he is feeling. And yet, at set point, he begins a monologue that contains my favourite line of all mangas.

“Once or twice a year, I get these really big depressive fits and get seriously down on myself… And that’s when I can’t help but think I’m just totally average.”

“By the way… Mr Average Me. Do you really have the time to be lookin’ down right now?”

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I have always believed that high level athletes require just as much mental fortitude as physical prowess. When one moment rides on years of training, hopes and dreams, will you make the safe play or the winning one that could lose it all? Now add in the choking pressure of the opponents, hours of fatigue, and the expectations of your teammates. How will you perform with these weights on your shoulders?

In these moments, what matters is not how high one can jump, or hard one can hit. What matters is their courage to look these moments dead in the eye and declare, “Bring it.”

Here is Chapter 263 and 264 of Haikyuu.

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Henry died on April 26, leaving behind a pregnant wife, two-year-old son, and $50,000 in debt.

As Henry’s spirit left his body, the last thing he noticed was his neck: how it was crooked at an awkward angle with shards of window glass sticking out, blood running down his chest.

Henry’s spirit floated out of his car, into the sky, past the skyscrapers, clouds and the sun, until he came face to face with God.

“Where the hell am I?” Henry slurred.

“You are dead,” God said.

“What do you mean, I’m dead? I was driving when I…” He paused.

“You mean I died there? Off the road?”

“That’s right,” God said.

Henry paused, sobering up. He was 41, and though he had known people who had died younger, he always expected to reach at least 90. The realisation that his hopes and dreams would never transpire suddenly overwhelmed him with regret.

“Don’t worry too much,” God said. “It was a quick and painless death. Plus, you had metastatic prostate cancer growing inside you – explains your back pain. Accidents suck, but all things considered it wasn’t too bad.”

Henry went into a deep think. He could see Earth in the near distance, the size of a golf ball. Surrounding him was a vast space of void with no sound to be heard.

“So what happens now?” Henry asked. “Do I go to hell or something?”

“Nope,” God replied. “That only applies if you have heard the gospel, which you haven’t. My job is to reincarnate you.”

“Oh.”

“So what do you think?”

“What do you mean what do I think?”

“Do you think you have lived a good life? You know, for your reincarnation and all.”

“Oh right. Yeah,” Henry said, straightening up. “I have. You know, I treat everyone with respect. Pay my taxes and have never been in jail. Volunteer here and there, have never beat my kid and stuff.”

God stared at Henry and waited for him to continue. When nothing more was said, God cleared his throat.

“Henry,” God began. “You were driving drunk tonight to sleep with that girl from work, Claudia remember? How can you say you respect everyone when you have a wife?”

Henry said nothing.

“And even though you’ve never beaten your son, you neglect him for your gambling and alcohol addiction. He has even started to resent and fear you. Do you even know his birthday?”

Henry realised he did not.

“So what makes you think you have lived a good life?”

Henry looked back on his life and realised that God was right. He had not lived a good life. He had squandered opportunities, betrayed the few people who loved him, and took far more than he gave. At that moment, he looked back down on Earth and saw the few people who mourned for his life, not for what it had been, but what it could have been.

He saw his parents toiling as immigrants, hoping for their children to have a good life. He saw his wife, who believed in him more than any person should have. He saw the moment she found out she was pregnant and the dreams she put on hold for the baby, despite feeling unprepared for motherhood. He saw his few coworkers who appreciated his talents but hated his erratic behaviour more each day. With time, all these people would leave him. With time, he would have nobody left.

Henry wished for nothing more than to be able to go back and change it all.

“Please give me a second chance,” Henry cried. “I can do better.”

“Too late for that,” God replied. “I think you deserve nothing better than a termite.”

“No, please God, I promise.”

God had a glint in His eye. “Off you go.”

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Henry woke up tying his shoelace.

“Where are you going, honey?”

The voice, as well as the surroundings, were familiar. His leather shoes, the neatly furnished home, the smell of roasted pork wafting in the air. It couldn’t be. It felt like… home.

He hurriedly took out his phone and checked the date. April 26. The day of his death.

“Are you going out to the pub again?”

As he turned, he came face to face with his wife. And when he saw her, he shuttered at her beauty. She certainly had more wrinkles than when he had first met her, but she was still a beautiful person. She wore an apron and gave a tired but kind smile. She had tolerated far more than any woman should have but was now close to her breaking point.

Behind her, a small head poked out. He almost did not recognise the boy if not for the eyes which shared his tint of green but now bled contempt.  Henry prayed it was not too late to repair.

“No,” Henry said, taking them both in his arms. “I am staying home tonight.” And he wept.