The Rice And Wrongs: Learning The Rice And Wrongs

Story by Dan Nguyen 

| Published Sep 30, 2008

Living my life consistently has never been an expertise of mine.

If I died tomorrow and my friends and family had to come up with some clever motto to put on my headstone, it’d probably read, “Routine: not his thing.”

And everyone who would happen to stumble over my grave would then obnoxiously point out the irony that I lived a life of inconsistency above ground and now lay immobile six feet below.

Hey there DailyER reader!

It’s so great to be writing for you again. It’s Dan Nguyen, your pessimistic multi-cultural columnist, back to add absolutely no value to your life. How do I accomplish such pathetic infertility?

By analyzing the unobtrusive insights and unorthodox morals I find from my monotonous Dailyer dilemmas. What a paradox -- and for all the campus to see, thankfully only once every other week.

This week’s predicament: my constant battle to live a life of unpredictability. Why did I choose this topic?

My perpetual efforts to consistently change my lifestyle have lead to my paradigm shift, which has me now believing that I don’t really like change that much.

Shitty.

My life has been such a whirlwind lately.

Normally, this would be exhilarating for me! But it has been too much of a good thing.

Now I’m finding every turn off my normal path, if I have a path, as a direct result of my own decisions, and there is no way I trust myself to make good decisions that many times in one day. It’s bewildering how far off the traveled path your life can wander just by a split-second decision.

The complete goober I am, I recently decided to check my phone for a text while riding my bike off the 10th Street bridge into the North Bottoms where I live.

Who knows why I did this, maybe to look suave to a potential cutie that might have been walking out of the gas station.

Nothing screams polished stud more than a speeding biker steering with one hand, texting with the other to his many phonebook connects.

Needless to say, a middle-aged woman decided to turn into the Kabredlos at the exact moment I was about to cross the entrance.

In her anguished state, she slammed on her brakes, leaving me with a perfect shot at her passenger door.

(Damn it, I wish someone would have videotaped this.)

I flew over my handle bars, slammed my knee into the top of her car and proceeded to chaotically wail my arms in the air as inertia took over, providing me with a half somersault straight to the hard concrete.

I don’t know if it was the adrenaline pumping in my system, but I’d like to think the reason I handled the situation so calmly is because I’m a nice guy.

Or maybe I’m just a moron, because as she opened the door screaming, hoping I was alive, I couldn’t help but think over the throbbing pain in my knee and exhort to her “Your door! Oh my God! I think I scuffed up your door!”

As a direct result of just one simple decision, my life has changed.

On top of my perpetual fear of middle-aged women who choose to drive the Ford Taurus is an bicycle, out of alignment, that needs fixing, a compulsive behavior to never go past the second gear on a 24-speed bike and an undignified limping walk that people find a bit unnerving.

To me, the biggest injury of all is my pride.

My pride has been scorched by the fact that I have been proven wrong.

Constant change is not always a good thing, and I can say this with full confidence in my pride-torn, depressed state.

Please, if you see a solemn Asian fellow walking to class with a limp, don’t think badly of him. Maybe comfort him, let him know that changing perspectives is just a part of growing up.

Show him that to think he is alone on his ever-changing path is foolish. Please be kind to him.

Unless of course it’s not me, but instead that first-generation paraplegic student from North Korea.

Then you can be a dick to him all you want.