A Taoist Dilemma
Over some cabbage roll and peach juice, I asked a sage, “Taoism teaches me to accept everyone and cast aside my purist ways. Yet how can I do this if it’s in my nature to refuse to accept people’s flaws? I must accept myself as I accept others”.
He told me, “If you are happy with yourself and the decisions you make, then there is nothing to worry about”.
Then he took my bowl, washed it, and we played Warcraft III for eleven straight hours.
Summer Days Alone
It’s 28°C outside. It’s hot, but there isn’t a touch of humidity in the air. I can’t help but take my time. I’m supposed to be thinking of where I’m going, what I’m doing, but it’s too nice out. Another beautiful summer day.
And no one to share it with.
Interpol and Cat Power
I gasped when I found out that Interpol was coming out with a new album. Then I threw up a little in my mouth when I heard the first single.
Why, Interpol, why? What happened to the minimalist, sparse guitar riffs? Why did you have to sell out with lighter, more accessible music?
Turn On The Bright Lights remains one of the most mysteriously affecting albums of my life. Antics was crap. Our Love To Admire is worse. Interpol needs a return to form.
Oh yes, and I’m in love with Cat Power. Not from her new stuff, which I find pretty boring (her material was a lot more interesting when she was a drunk), but from the way she dances in the Cross Bones Style video.
[youtube:http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wXWvjkX446A 480 380]
And while it doesn’t exactly make me go out and buy Kleenex at Costco, it does make me rub against the corners of walls and door frames in a felonious manner.
Don’t worry, Mel der Maur, no one will ever replace you.
Pat Doesn't Need Me
Sometimes I feel like I don’t offer anything to Pat. I call him for advice all the time, ask him to give me rides (groceries, furniture, large items on which he bargains), vent to him. He grew up relying on nobody but himself, so he never asks me for any favours, and I suppose he has Jen with whom to express his feelings.
Maybe this is the root of my insecurity. Pat’s friendship with me appears diluted. We’d both take a bullet for our friends, but mine is a far more exclusive club than his.
Pat doesn’t need me.
But I need him.
An Emotional Day, Reminding Me
Today I woke up and felt uneasy, reminding me that I’m human.
Tonight I read that People who lived through Yenan remembered seeing caves in valleys crammed with people, “many of whom had gone mad. Some were laughing wildly, some crying” and I felt disillusioned, reminding me that human comprehension is limited by the human mind.
Tonight she put her hands on another man, I was summarily dismissed from the group, and it made me jealous, reminding me that I’m alive.
Tonight I sat on a rickety wooden bench and fingered the yin-yang engraved in the middle, reminding me that it’s all part of the Way.
Are You In A Lot Of Pain?
People wonder how it got so far. They ask me if something happened and I tell them, “Yeah…my childhood”.
They ask me if I hate you, and I tell them “hate” isn’t a strong enough word.
It hurts, doesn’t it? Are you in a lot of pain? Cause I was in a lot of pain.
I’m still trying to fix your damage. Still trying to cover up the scars.
You deserve this. You did this to yourself.
And I fucking hope it hurts.
Creatures Of Our Cultures
“One or separate bills?”, the waitress asks us. She has a slight Japanese accent, but aside from her raven hair, her features are distinctly Occidental.
“One please”.
“We’re treating, Jeff”.
“Nope. You guys are in my town.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”, they ask, and threaten to leave if I pay. It does nothing to convince me or change my conviction.
“You guys are a lot more behaved than when I was your age”, says the man sitting next to us.
When the bill comes around, we wrench the tray from each others hands.
“Must be odd”, the man whispers to his wife, who’s laughing at us.
But it’s not odd to me. It’s the Chinese way. Like having too much food when you’re hosting a party because to run out is the ultimate embarrassment.
To me, it’s odd when someone doesn’t offer to pay.
The same way it’s odd to hear North American people complain about their jobs. To the Chinese, a job is how you take care of your family. It doesn’t matter that it’s mindless, stressful, or hard physical labour. You’re just happy to have that opportunity. All my Canadian Chinese friends feel the same1.
This is how we were raised. It wasn’t a rule that was spoken. We learned it by watching our parents, who would clip coupons for groceries, only buy clothes on sale, re-use paper by writing over again with different coloured inks, but go out to feast with ten people then fight to pay the bill. Sometimes, they’d even get up to find the server to make a preemptive, surreptitious payment. Occasionally there were spilled drinks and soiled clothes, as the fight became physical2. I think it’s nice part of the culture to be so adamant about friendship and company.
And I’m glad to be a part of it.
Memories Of My Own
They’re out now, the lot of them. Out-of-towners who drove five hours to celebrate with one of their own. People I haven’t seen in years. Seven maybe? God, I feel old. I’ve known a few of them since grade three.
But bar hopping isn’t my scene. There’s also this dull, nagging headache from staying up yesterday into the early morning. Catching up like old times. I’m reminded of the sleepovers. Summers putting on plays and learning how to make piñatas at Camp Creative. Catching minnows and crayfish in the streams back home.
I’m a different person now though. I was a different person from them then even. I never really fit in the group.
Sometimes I look at the pictures of their trips and events and I think to myself, “I wish I was more social. I wish I had more memories.”
But I know it’s not in me to be social.
I have to hermitize or I get overstimulated. It took me until my early twenties to come out of my shell. Then I think of the parties I’ve been to, the times I’ve had, the pictures I’ve taken, and realize that I do have memories.
I have enough.
I have my own.
The Best Part Of My Day
She leans the chair back, my neck to rest in the cradle of the wash basin. The water comes out lukewarm. She knows it’s hot outside.
Shampoo. Lather. Rinse. Repeat. In small circles, her fingers work my scalp, massaging without too much pressure, scratching when there is no itch.
“This is the best part of my day”, I say.
“Mine too”.
The Part In My Hair Has Moved
It used to be on the left side of my head, now it’s on the right.
This does not make sense to me.
Chasing Amy
And while I was falling for you I put a ceiling on that, because you were a guy. Until I remembered why I opened the door to women in the first place: to not limit the likelihood of finding that one person who’d complement me so completely. So here we are. I was thorough when I looked for you. And I feel justified lying in your arms, ’cause I got here on my own terms, and I have no question there was some place I didn’t look.
I suppose I would have enjoyed Chasing Amy more if the dialogue had been more believable, but I couldn’t buy it.
We don’t live in a Dawson’s Creek world where everyone’s a psychologist, completely in tune with their emotions and the emotions of others.
People aren’t confrontational in real life either. They don’t say what they mean or mean what they say.
And when you’re trying to tell the girl that you’re in love with her, it doesn’t come out as some flowery, romantic verse, it comes out in jumbles. You’re tripping over your own words cause it’s the girl.
Maybe I was just hoping for a love story that worked out. I would have given in to the suspension of disbelief that people actually talk like that, had there been a happy ending.
This Was Written On A Saturday Night
I’m most productive on Saturday nights. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s because I’ve been doing nothing all day and I’m feeling guilty. I’ve never been one to work on Saturday afternoons, which were made for relaxation.
The nights are different though. It’s when I can concentrate on my writing. I’m tired. My guard is down.
The week comes pouring out.
This was written from the heart
With my back against the wall, I sit on the ground next to my back door, opening it to let the breeze drift in. Sometimes I turn my head to look outside and smell the night air. It’s cool, no matter the time of year. The street lamps are soft, and they bathe my back porch in warm light.
One can’t help but feel influenced by such serenity.
This was written out of order
I’ve become a slave to this blog. After some self-evaluation, I’ve come to realize that everything is inspired but forced. Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays, no more.
It’s time to start writing when I want.
Becoming One With The Tao
After 26 years, I’ve realized that I’m a Taoist.
I dabbled in Existentialism (after reading Huis Clos, revisiting it when reading Thus Spoke Zarathustra), atheism (when I was dating an Anglican), agnosticism (after we broke up), Nihilism (while reading several books of Russian Romantic literature), Buddhism (in early university), and Christianity (throughout my life). None of it ever felt complete.
In 2003, I happened to come across a few verses of the Tao Te Ching. The concepts were difficult to grasp at first1. Eventually, with the guidance of some Chinese elders, I came to a solid foundation of understanding, then approached it slowly and carefully. I had put so much hope in finding a system of beliefs in the past, that I was scared of hurriedly aligning myself with the first one that bared a passing resemblance to my own.
More specifically, I’m a philosophical Taoist. I don’t believe in any polytheistic aspects of the religious side, the divination of the I Ching, or any of the archaic sexual practices of retrograde ejaculation and the like.
This doesn’t mean that I’m a perfect Taoist, insofar as there are no perfect Christians, or perfect people. The Tao Te Ching is my bible. It guides me on how to live and behave as much as it is a label of my existing beliefs. There are things I have yet to learn, apply, or both.
I think I’ve always been a Taoist. I just never knew it. For as long as I can remember, I’ve lived by the principles of balance, emptiness (or receptiveness), and strength of flexibility. I’m glad that it’s a part of the culture of my blood. It makes me proud. Understanding Cantonese has certainly helped me appreciate the beauty of it all.
One doesn’t decide to become a Taoist. The Way is described as having no beginning or end. You must become one with it.
As such, a traveler is at his destination at every part of the journey.
- I’ve come to see that the ideas are easily lost in translation [↑]
Puddles
Puddles was the sole survivor of a litter of puppies left in the cold of Canadian winter, because the owner didn’t want to keep them. He stayed alive by burying himself under his mothers body to stay warm. At a couple weeks old he was taken to his new and permanent home, where he’s lived for over 13 years.
Puddles is currently suffering from allergies (he’s chewed through his fur), arthritis, and severe diabetes. He can’t even make it up the front steps without the momentum of a run. Once a healthy 110 pound dog, he now weighs 88lbs.
I was commissioned to take some pictures of him with the kids before he passes.
In return, I was offered dinner; a savoury pasta with tiger shrimp and lemon zest, along with apple crisp for dessert. All made from scratch.
This was a small exercise in shooting RAW (used for about half the shots). It’s great to not worry about white balance and to have an extra stop exposure adjustment, but I still find that getting the processing right is a bit tricky.