Why I hate nightcore

If you haven’t heard of nightcore, just avoid it if you ever come across it.


I think nightcore is a perversion of music.

  • Nightcore remixes are worse than originals, so why do they even exist?
  • Modern nightcore is not a genre. It’s a style linked to a form of remixing that can be applied to songs of any genre. If nightcore is a genre, then anyone can violate any existing music in a certain way and call it their own genre.
  • When a song is remixed, vocals conveying serious emotions just become cute, and the beat becomes hyperactive. While I do like some cute anime songs, what kind of person tries to turn random stuff into that? I don’t hate nightcore songs specifically—as bad as they usually are—I hate what nightcore stands for. People who enjoy nightcore support taking stuff that they never liked and twisting it until they do like it. That’s not art, that’s catering towards people with less civilized tastes through deformation of art.

The Bridge

by Joy Cowley

There are times in life
when we are called to be bridges,
not a great monument spanning a distance
and carrying loads of heavy traffic
but a simple bridge
to help one person from here to there
over some difficulty
such as pain, fear, grief, loneliness,
a bridge which opens the way
for ongoing journey.

When I become a bridge for another,
I bring upon myself a blessing, for I escape
from the small prison of self
and exist for a wider world,
breaking out to be a larger being
who can enter another’s pain
and rejoice in another’s triumph.

I know of only one greater blessing
in this life, and that is
to allow someone else
to be a bridge for me.


Playing and singing

I’ve never been a natural at playing the piano. I’ve never been a natural at singing. When I try to do both at the same time, it means one has to go to autopilot or else both go to custard. A while ago, I concluded that if I can’t master one then I can’t master both; I’m just not one of those people who can sing and play at the same time.

But then I surprised myself despite having given up. It’s as if my brain wanted to prove me wrong. I’m starting to discover the balance. Good singing requires more control, so it always has to be piano that goes on autopilot. If anything, the piano is just an afterthought to the singing performance. The voice does not accompany the piano after all.

Easing back into WaniKani

My main challenge for today was to force myself to sit down and knock out 200 reviews on WaniKani without taking breaks. Since I used to use WaniKani as a form of “productive procrastination,” I think my focus eventually degraded to the point that it had no connection to any specific goals. Furthermore, I’m not sure I currently give much of a damn about that box containing the fantasy called “Japan.” But learning a language is still a long-term investment that I see many subtle benefits of making.

200 reviews took me just 58 minutes. I wasn’t even rushing. But if I hadn’t set a specific time for it with a specific measurable goal in mind, it would have taken much longer. Or more likely, I wouldn’t have gotten very far before quitting. But after this session, there won’t be any more legitimate excuses, because it’s not a serious time commitment as long as I learn to discipline my mind.

I won’t give up. I refuse to give up. I will fight for what I believe in. I will fail everyday until I succeed, if that’s what it takes. I won’t let the things I care about slide away due to procrastination. I promise to be more mindfully selfish; I pledge it by my livelihood. I will transcend fleeting emotion; my heart will vouch.

Movie Moments: Train to Busan (2016)


Train to Busan (2016) is a Korean zombie movie that falls into my favorite category of mindless action. There’s nothing remarkable about it, and yet it’s the first zombie movie to:

  • make me feel *something* about multiple characters (usually there’s no context to, in my opinion).
  • think about real life at all. There’s a lot of serious good in this world that goes unnoticed. Most of it makes no difference in the long run; these contributions are lost within the span of days, years, or centuries. Even so, it’s something that within our lifetimes we can appreciate around us without necessarily seeing. Who knows which of your fellow train passengers might be heroes in a parallel universe?