Guest Post – Passion


I went to Japan for five minutes and thirty-six seconds. I’m not talking about a virtual trip on the internet. I’m not talking about astral projection. I’m talking about an eleven day trip which included 25 hours of flying time from Toronto to Tokyo and back for the sake of a five minute and thirty-six second long song.

I fell in love with it the first time I heard it. It moved me to tears and I knew deep inside that I HAD to hear it and see it performed live. I was that passionate about it, about the man who wrote it and sings it – about the deep meaning in the lyrics and just the way he sings it and how utterly beautiful it is… So I made it happen. I couldn’t not.

Before you write me off as insane, please consider…

Merriam-Webster’s definition of Passion, ganked off the internet:

pas·sion
noun \ˈpa-shən\

: a strong feeling of enthusiasm or excitement for something or about doing something

: a strong feeling (such as anger) that causes you to act in a dangerous way

: a strong sexual or romantic feeling for someone

Passion is something we humans share. It’s responsible for much of the world’s most beautiful art in all its forms; it is the cause of some of the most heinous crimes. It gives us the ability to love deeply and to hate with seemingly every fibre of our being. It’s something that our children have also. And how scary can that potentially be?

You can say to a ten-year-old, “Son, there are things you will be passionate about when you grow older. You may feel like killing someone one day. Don’t,” but what’s the use? Because in the heat of passion we lose all reason. Logic goes off into the stratosphere and all that is left inside of us is pure emotion.

Passion is one of the things I believe we can only teach our children by example. For instance, if we talk about killing the guy in the car that cut us off, they will learn that passion can turn us against one another. If we follow our passion and turn it into a career, we will teach our children to follow their dreams.

And so I come back to my adventure – my trip to Japan. Aside from personally needing to make the trip, I feel in doing so I showed my children that if they want something badly enough, they can make it happen, no matter how unlikely. And no matter how insignificant it might seem to someone else and no matter how they may be judged for going for it; just do it.

The song? It doesn’t really matter. But here’s another one by the same band. It is appropriately called “Passion.”

The lyrics, in English, can be found by clicking here. But if you read them, don’t do the stuff he sings about – just sayin’ ;)

If you’d like to visit my blog and read about the absolutely incredible experience I had at the concert, click here. The post includes a picture of me, taken by the lead guitarist of the band from the stage during the concert!

Thanks very much for reading,
Linda

“Jason is a white person’s name… you can’t be Asian!”


I have heard it all. I had a recruiter look at me hard for a full three minutes and say “are you sure you are Jason Cushman?” I of course looked down at my hand like I was reading something and then looked up and said “yep, it is still Jason Cushman.” Honestly I like my name. It really doesn’t get much whiter than Jason Chandler Cushman though, but recently I did have cause to celebrate. I have worked hard at my Google SEO and finally gotten my website linked to the top search for the name “Jason Cushman.” Now considering there is Cushman and Wakefield, Cushman golf carts, and apparently a Jason Cushman that is a drug dealer in prison… it took some time to gain that top spot. I did a happy dance.

I’ve had liquor store clerks take their thumb and rub the corner of my license to see if it is fake. Because obviously an Asian running around with the name Jason Cushman has to be the stupidest fake ID holder in the world right? I sure hope no one is counting how many times I name drop… because I am going to do that a ton in this post on purpose.

I have my father to thank for my name. My father is Dr. William Cushman and he is one of the top research physicians in the study of hypertension in the world. He is also a priest, a loving husband, and a caring father who has given everything to his family. I am not ashamed of my family or my name and you can feel free to google us. We have nothing to hide and are an “average” family that likes to drink together, laugh together, and live. My mother is Susan Cushman and she is an author, iconographer, and writer. She inspires me to want to be better.

I have begun to share more of who I am. I do this partially because I want to, but also because this blog needs to always be connected to the author. It has to be. I hope by showing a little of my life people realize a real guy writes the crap they read each day. A person with feelings, emotions, good and bad days, and obviously opinions on every little thing he encounters on a daily basis. It is easy to forget that a “human” is on the other side of the screen. I hope that people that choose to read this blog always keep that in mind.

I have become attached to the name Opinionated Man. It started as a joke… I mean “opinionated man” isn’t exactly original. And yet being opinionated is what “we” all are as people right? I do find a small sense of satisfaction that some here have begun to call me by my real name. I don’t normally get called “Jason” by friends though, so that is a bit strange. But we will roll with it and you may all call me whatever you wish. I don’t know about “OP” though… that one feels strange, but at least you aren’t looking at me and questioning if I am “sure I am that guy” or not. Small victories people… small victories.

-Opinionated Man

 

Mixing Races? How I knew I would marry my Color


If you have read any of my previous work you have no doubt begun to garner some idea of who I am, or who you think I might be. You may have been able to piece together, detective that you are, that I am Asian (South Korean actually, we generally HATE to be called Asian), I was adopted and grew up with white parents, had white and black friends growing up, and really did not realize I was Asian Asian till I went to Korea in that long Summer of 2000. That being said, I really didn’t touch on the topic yet, but during this time period I also came to the realization that I would marry someone of similar color. This decision was based solely on race period, so we can go ahead and bypass the suspicion of racism, because that is what made the decision so easy.

Let me explain, I grew up “dating” girls that were mainly black and white growing up, though we use the term “date” loosely here because my father was both a Priest and a Doctor and the iron grip of communism might find a competitor in what I went through as a child. I laugh here, it really was not so bad, because who can really tell how suffocating a bubble truly is when a person has never known the freedoms of the “outside world?” That is why I was perfectly happy in my soft, protected, and comfortable world. A world of structure and organization, of coming home from high school and immediately cooking a whole DiGiorno Pizza and scarfing it all by myself because guess what… I could. The enviable bubble, enviable now that I look back at it and can compare to the hardships that might or might not have been going on beyond the boundaries of my own domain, that had clean and freshly laid sheets by a maid every Wednesday afternoon when I came home from school, which I would uncaringly threw my backpack onto. You never realize what you have had in the past until reflection.

This is the world that exploded in 2000 for me. It was not the Y2K bug, sorry to disappoint, if that was the inevitable word you were waiting for you can do a U-turn at the next stoplight. My world exploded due to internal torment and a new self-awareness that was more powerful than any terrorist attack or global catastrophe. My new ethnic and worldly identity left me broken and hoping to be mended at the same time. And in that moment I knew, I pieced together my past and my past hardships and I knew, I could never marry anyone that was not Asian.

When I journeyed to Korea, wide-eyed and excited, I went with the love and support of my girlfriend, who was black, whom I had been with for my whole senior year of high school. I left thinking that was perfectly normal and I was content with her at the time. She did nothing to change that outlook, far from it; she was not the cause of my ultimate reverse in personal preference. For some odd reasons when I learned of the existence of my birth sister and my birth mother it bred hope with the hate and anger. Something also “clicked,” I realized I was Asian. Perhaps some cheesy self-epiphany occurred here, if so I will spare you the audacity of trying to put it into words, but let us just say at this point I knew I was Asian and not white or black.

Growing up I dealt with so many trials and tribulations of being Asian, with no Asian friends, and being picked on by any and every race that it built a complex inside of me. I did not know who to relate to. I remember some days praying to God to change me, stop the suffering, I would rather be ANY race but Asian. Black, white, even Mexican it did not matter, I just did not want to be yellow with small eyes. Surely God has a sense of humor right? I saw the joke every day. I had the smallest eyes at my school and yet I saw the most pain. The humor only works if the joke saturates for a few… twelve years or so, so don’t be fooled if you just don’t see it.

I made a decision way back then; I would NOT allow my kids to have both the hardships of being Asian and also of being another race at the same time. It was hard enough being Asian, how could I ever want my kids to ALSO have the discomfort and shame of dealing with the mocking and jabs of being two races, not even fully one or the other. Some may look down on this, I am sure someone will even comment about “moving on and the end of racism and how this type of attitude empowers racist,” I don’t care, I simply know what I think, what I have been through, and what I want to save my kids from.

So to conclude, in a less lengthy fashion, yes I knew around that point I would always marry someone of like color. I would not mix races or mix hardships. If you are of mixed races and you dealt with any challenges you may have had and were stronger for it, kudos to you I salute you, I obviously would not have been strong enough for that additional obstacle, and perhaps God knew that.

-OM

10 Signs of a Bad Day


1. You yell out a complaint about being short at 5’10” and then turn around and run into a midget convention. They are not happy.

2. Instead of your caramel macchiato you get served a mocha nasty latte. That is always a sign of a bad day.

3. You hit every red light on the way to work. Apparently god hates you.

4. You walk out the door to work and run over a Jehovah ’s Witness.

5. Your Ex from five years ago calls you and immediately says “we need to talk.”

6. You read a post about “10 signs of a bad day” and you recognize a few of the signs from your own day!

7. You open it and there is nothing there.

8. You order a camel and it has no humps.

9. A polar bear calls you and informs you that someone has peed on your igloo and there is now a new door. This only happens in Canada.

10. You show up for a blind date and “Cindy” has an Adam’s apple.

-OM

Selena Gomez – The Heart Wants What It Wants (Official Video)


Well Selena maybe you should be more supportive of Bieber and all his awesomeness instead of making these Taylor Swift like songs? Your viral videos cause my heart to hurt for him. I am now in pain too! I may make a video myself. -OM