This was my elementary school. The Catholic institution I attended during the first few years of moving here. Where I used to offer best-friend status for a mouthful of Big League Chew. Old, familiar four-square courts are still painted on, unmoved. The T-ball poles are rusted out and missing their tethers. Countless feet jumping, running, skipping during recess have caused the pavement to warp and crack. Even the old portables are anything but, their familiar beige tones still inhabiting the back of the school, built out of concrete and plastic foam when the town was budding, and the classrooms couldn’t handle all the students. Walking up the wooden stairs, I bet they even have the same groaning creaks.

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Leaving by bus, in the rain and in the dark, is something special.

The perfect album to put on is Ágætis Byrjun by Sigur Rós, with songs like Starálfur and Olsen Olsen, but especially Sven-G-Englar and Ný Batteri. Sounds are distracting all around with the people talking, the battering of raindrops on the windshield, the thud-thump of the uneven highway road, but they gradually fade to a lethargic pulse. The unrecognizable timbres of each distinguishable instrument take over.

This is the moment. The exact purpose of the song. The notes are pure, amorphous colours in the darkness, a dulcet damper for the outside world.

Soon the rhythm of the passing city lights will become more and more sparse, and all that will be left in the windows are the reflections of those with their overhead lights on, reading books or keeping eye-contact.

It’s been ten months since the last time you did this.

How has so much happened since then?

I wasn’t planning on writing until next Monday, but I can’t seem to get away from this.

With the falling temperatures come late mornings. Stepping outside earlier, the sky was still dimmed with the street lamps on from the previous night. It felt like the sun had already set, and it was only going to get darker. I was in the mood for some jazz, so I fidgeted on my iPod until I found a Duke Ellington collection. Unfortunately, most of it is comprised of big band swing songs, fast moving, major keys, a sound that didn’t quite match the mood. I settled on Going Up, a calm progressive jazz piece featuring brushes instead of drum sticks, harmon mutes in the trumpets, and Les Spann on flute. Four years of private lessons, with four different bands in high-school, have made me appreciate the polished, roundness of his sound. He travels chromatically with utter smoothness on the woodwind, and unlike on the piano, which the fingers can move across in one sweeping motion, each note is played with a seemingly random combination of fingers. In his head, he’s four bars ahead of his fingers, allowing his intonation remain precise with each purposeful note.

Sometimes it feels like music is the only thing that can bring out my emotions again. Most of them have been replaced by simple determination. Everything is business business business because the world is cold cold cold.

I’m going home for the Thanksgiving long-weekend. A much needed break that I’ve been planning for a while now. Funny that I still call it home when it’s a five hour drive away, and I own my own house in this city. Home isn’t where you grew up, it isn’t where you live now, home is where the parents are.

Three pictures.

Patience is the greatest advantage. Time brings all answers. Knowing that the sun will rise again tomorrow puts the mind at ease.

Sometimes you just need to wait.

After the last housewarming party, Pita stayed the night, having come all the way from Montreal, not wanting to drive back after a few hours of drinking. I asked him to stay on Sunday, and we ended up playing all the old Gamecube games that we used to play and master, back when we lived together. We never had the chance to do this since he moved to Taiwan and back to Canada over two years ago, so it was quite a reminiscent experience.

Discovering I had a free weekend, I invited him over a little while ago for two days of pure gaming. The invitation was extended to his roommate, after Pita said that I should meet her, being a hardcore gaming chick who apparently can kick his ass in Soul Calibur 2. I have yet to observe this ass-kicking chick phenomenon for myself, and unfortunately, I haven’t had any time to practice with Kilik or Raphael, so I’m prepared to get my ass handed to me. I’m hoping to make it up in Super Smash Brothers Melee.

This is the last weekend of fun before I start to get serious about work (aside from a LAN party I have planned for the first week of November). I decided not to take the job at the bookstore, and put my full focus on a web solutions business that I registered this week.

They should be here any minute.