For most of my life, I’ve felt the weight of inferiority, often wishing for the confidence of superiority. Being on the “inferior” end has always carried feelings of inadequacy and low self-esteem, while the idea of superiority seemed to promise security and self-assurance. I believed that inferiority was the source of suffering, and superiority was its relief.

As I start to question my obsession with chasing episodes, it reveals to me that the storylines mirror an inner yearning, a sense of lack within myself. The movies become more than entertainment; they are a means of indirectly experiencing what I feel I have missed in my own life. They fill a gap, a longing for the idealized love I felt I did not encounter. Watching these illusions feels like reliving my life, as though I could rewrite my personal story through the lens of these fabricated narratives.

Oftentimes, despite everything we've learned, when defilements strike, it can feel like we're helpless—completely at their mercy. Recently, a particular insight from Teacher Tuck Loon’s sharing has helped me tremendously in this area.

As I turned my gaze inward, I began to realize that we are perpetually engaged in dressing up our lives. This “dressing up” takes many forms—excitement, fear, joy, and sorrow—but at its core, it revolves around the self: “I,” “me,” “mine.”

Standing up against injustice is something many of us feel drawn to. It is about pushing back against unfairness, mistreatment, and harm because something inside us says, “That’s just not cool”. It is speaking out when others are misunderstood, taking action when people are mistreated or denied their voice. 

The fable of Sai Weng Lost His Horse is one I’ve reflected on often, especially during moments when life felt unfair or inexplicable. In the story, an old man loses his horse, and those around him call it misfortune. But the horse returns, bringing with it a herd of wild companions, and suddenly the same people see it as a stroke of luck.