The great escape

I have an addictive personality. By that I do not mean everyone I have ever met incessantly follows me around begging for more time in my presence. Only one person does that, and I am currently looking into a restraining order. Rather, if personalities were addictive like that, I would probably be the one shooting them up my arm.

Unlike many aspects of myself, which all you are probably bored with by now, I uphold that having little obsessions-hobbies, if you will-are actually normal. In this world of exams and 20-page papers, where you are constantly working toward the next stage of your life under the scrutiny of your teachers, families and friends, a little bit of escapism can keep you sane.

Of course, a bit of emotional balance and proper time-management skills could serve the same function, but let's be reasonable.

My addictiveness was nurtured at a young age when I, like many of my peers, was swept up in wave after wave of childhood fads. POGs. Crazy Bones. Tamagotchis. Beanie Babies. Pokemon. Neopets. I fell victim to them all.

One of the happiest days of my early childhood was when, as a first grader, I was recognized as student of the week and allowed to choose a prize from a giant, glass cabinet in the front hall of the school. Among some of the coveted and practical prizes in the cabinet were a large art set with markers, paints and pastels and times-tables flash cards.

I went home with 200 POGs. That's 200 small cardboard discs, the perfect size to get lost in and under the couch and the perfect number to scatter between all the rooms in the house. My parents were thrilled.

To understand the extent of my happiness, you have to know that my household discouraged any interest in these fads, and any interest other than schoolwork in general. (You also have to know that I am Asian.)

Though I earnestly watched my friends play on their Game Boys or sift through their albums of Pokemon cards at school, video games and similar nonsense were banned at home. Indulging myself in these crazes was a special treat, and when allowed, I might have gone a bit overboard.

When my fourth-grade self refused to be separated from my Nano Baby at a piano lesson (again, Asian), my mother dealt with the situation on the car ride home. Worried that neglecting my pixel pet would cause him to run away? Easy solution, she said. And then, still driving, she threw him out the car window.

It was traumatizing.

So with the stress and freedom of college combined, I am now more than ever turning to "a little bit of escapism" and now more than ever going a bit overboard.

I do not just like things. I love them. I do not watch one episode of a favorite television show to end the night. I watch an entire season, get three hours of sleep and then wake up early to watch the next. And most recently, I do not accept leveling once or twice when restarting my favorite online RPG. It is only after passing 25 levels over the weekend that I reluctantly climb into bed with eyelids drooping over reddened eyeballs early Monday morning.

And this is where little obsessions, like any type of addiction, become unhealthy.

"Psychologically, it's a disease only if it troubles you," says a student, who (no joke) is discussing addiction with her friends at a table near mine as I type this column. "If it doesn't trouble you, it's not a disease."

My obsessions don't trouble me. I enjoy them, but I can also recognize when these addictions are working their way into the rest of my life and restraint is in order. Whether you are obsessed with a certain television show or game or even the Duke basketball team, after a certain point you need to reassess. Once Duke's basketball performance dictates your emotional state of being, you need to back off. Once your gaming starts to affect your eyesight, maybe it's time to take a break. Otherwise, your obsession is a disease, troubling or not.

As much as I hate to admit it (a decade later and still bitter about the Nano Baby incident), my mother was right.

How to actually strike a healthy balance is more difficult, and given that my column word count is dwindling, I would say that is a problem for another day. For now though, there is a certain level-25 rogue who needs my complete attention....

Lysa Chen is a Trinity sophomore and wire editor of The Chronicle. Her column runs every other Thursday.

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