The leaves start to turn before they drop.
It’s finally cool enough to sleep with the window open again. I wake up refreshed, a little chilly even, with my blankets wrapped to my face.
Maybe I’ve been single for too long, maybe I’m being romanced by the fall yet again, but there seem to be cute girls everywhere lately.
Though somewhat hectic, everything worked out in the end for Pat and Jen’s wedding.
I missed the wedding rehearsal because I had to close the books for the month at work. I didn’t get to Pat’s place until 9:30 that night, which went late into the morning as loose ends were tied up, and Jason and I stayed up until 3:00 am to finish the slide show.
The girls got even less sleep I’m sure; the last I saw them they were giggling in bed like a high-school sleepover.
Before leaving for Jason’s place to stay the night (leaving the house for the girls), Pat gave me God of War 2 and Ratchet and Clank: Up Your Arsenal as gifts for being in the wedding party.
In the morning we woke up at seven, had some muffins and coffee, decorated the cars, got dressed, and raced to the church.
oh yes there’s many a man or woman
that’s been put in the insane asylum
when this has happened to them
and they’re sitting there today, people think they’re insane
but they saw something that’s real
and they see it when they’re on drugs
the only thing is they see it
not through the light of godbecause when you see the face of god you will die
—Godspeed You! Black Emperor, Hung Over as the Queen In Maida Vale
I saw you through the window, in a coffee shop without a coffee in your hand.
At first I wondered why you were sitting so far away from your bags, as if you had put them down and forgotten where you were.
Then I realized that those bags were the sum of your possessions, along with your pink Dora The Explorer hat, and soiled orange overcoat you wore in the middle of a warm summer night. Everything about you screamed crazy.
You played with your jellybeans, tilting them back and forth in the clear plastic bag, watching them slide back and forth with eyes like stones in their sockets. You were lost to the world.
ENJOY YOUR STAY WITH US
BUT NO LOITERING PLEASE
20 MINUTE TIME-LIMIT
Then you got up and left. You wandered the street, pausing to peer in the windows of jewelery stores where there was no jewelery, like a child without a care in the world.
It made me wonder.
What got you high tonight?
Did you see the face of God tonight?
So I deleted your numbers off my speed dial. I took down your pictures. It was an in-the-moment thing.
I’m calm now, seeing things objectively, yet still undecided.
Part of me wants to believe we can still be friends. That we can still hang out without me depending on you for anything. But I’m not like that, and I don’t stay friends with those on whom I can’t depend.
I cried, not only because you weren’t there when I needed you, not only because you had a responsibility to my friends as well, but because I never allow those who hurt me so much to be a part of my life. Our friendship may be lost, and this is what upsets me the most. Perhaps it hurts so much because you were so important to me. I don’t want to lose that, but I’ll never forget what you did and I’ll never trust you again.
And if I can forgive you, you’ll know that I truly love you.
The best part of the bachelor party wasn’t the fact that it was Pat’s first time being drunk1. Or the fact that he was break dancing next to street musicians downtown (the video of which shall not be shown).
It was the fact that he was completely off his guard, too drunk to remember what happened the next day, but he was the same old Pat: fun, friendly, and considerate2.
He also said two affecting things, lucid in his drunken state.
The first, in slurred speech, he advised us bachelors, “Find the right one. Just make sure you find the right one. She might not be the perfect match, but she is the right one. Just remember that. If you look for your perfect match all your life, you might not find it. Just find the right one.”
The second was when he was going around the room, and he came to me: “Jeff, you too. You’re going to live a happy life. Sometimes it’s rough on the edges, but you know what’s good for you. You know what’s good for you, you know people will take care of you. Don’t worry, man. You’re going to live a happy life.”
“Life is rough on the edges”, he said. Not that my life is particularly bad, I just don’t handle things very well, and this is often when I turn to him. It’s nice to hear from someone — whose opinion which I respect greatly — that things are going to be alright for me, that people will take care of me when things get bad.
Because I knew in my heart that when Pat said “people”, that included himself.
Through all this, I’ve come to realize that I cut people out of my life as a defence mechanism.
When someone hurts me, I distance myself from them so they mean nothing to me.
Often it’s an easy choice — just one wrong word or action — but not all the time. Cutting off my mom was by no means a rash decision; it took years of consideration and plenty of chances before she finally went too far.
What surprises me the most is that even though I now know that I have this defence mechanism, I don’t see a problem with it.
I’ve been hurt by enough people, and I don’t want to be hurt any more.
Crank it. Loud, and maybe you’ll understand how I feel.
I’ve been in such a slump the last week. Maybe I’m over-worked, over-tired, and over-stressed. Things haven’t been going my way.
It’s filled me with such frustration, sadness, and anger.
Now I’m left to face the ugly world alone, and all I can think is to never put your trust in someone. Never be dependent, never expect anything from anyone because you’ll only get hurt.
I try to rationalize everything and follow the Tao, but I can’t. Everything is so overwhelming.
As much as I’ve learned, as much wisdom as I’ve gained, as far as I’ve come, I’m still human.
Every day I promise myself I’m going to bed early to catch up on sleep, and every night I break that promise.
On a whim, I went to Zone after work. I’ve been in a decorating mood lately. I spent about an hour in there, just gathering design ideas with what they had.
I picked up a pincushion plate and some potpourri for my coffee table, replacing the glass bowl I had before, and lined it up with the edge of the chaise lounge.
Decorating my house has always been important to me, but I’ve never rushed into it. Part of the reason why it’s so empty right now is because I want to put up my own pictures, and I never had enough with which I was satisfied to fill the walls. I don’t want photos of memories — what I have at work — I want pictures that set a certain mood. Another thing that makes it hard is that I’ve never liked non-functioning decorations; candles you’d never burn, baubles that don’t do anything, knick-knacks that clutter shelves don’t make sense to me.
Part of me wants to go out and buy everything at once and be settled, but another part of me never wants to finish.
Otherwise, I’d lose the thrill of the hunt, and the pleasure of adding another thing that’s just right to the right place.
Among the shots and the rounds, the friends and the fun, I found a graduation photo framed on his shelf, a candid shot of the Class of ’05.
Every one of my “clique” was among the faces. There were others as well, people I knew from class, even though I never talked to them. How different they all looked — all prim and proper in academic regalia — yet familiar.
I was the only one not in co-op, and graduated a year before everyone else. My convocation was insignificant. I only went because my parents wanted to see me make that walk that stage, a return on their investment. I don’t know who the dean of my faculty was, or who handed me my diploma. I was just another number in a profiteering institution. It meant nothing.
But seeing that photo struck a chord in me.
It made me realize how I’ve never really fit in. How I never belonged to a group. For some reason, I still long for that, or, perhaps, to have had that at one point in my life. Last time it was elementary and high-school. This time it was university. I don’t know why. I have my own group of friends now. Not a clique, because they don’t hang out with each other, but a motley crew I’ve built through the years.
The logical side of me understands that it isn’t significant. That it doesn’t, and shouldn’t matter. That nothing is more boring and pedestrian than fitting in.
But another part of me feels like I missed out on something.
And I don’t know if I’ll ever let that go.
Coming up with the right thing to say when it’s too late. The French have a term for it: l’espirit de l’escalier. Staircase wit. When you’re leaving a party, going down the stairs, perhaps playing over an incident in your head, and you think of that perfect riposte.
Staircase wit isn’t limited to insults and witty retorts though. It can be any moment when you can’t think of anything to say, only to reach an epiphany soon after.
I always end up saying what I want in my dreams, but it’s never as satisfying. This is how I know that life isn’t a dream.
Otherwise, I’d be more witty.
Asian character tattoos have become somewhat of a cliché, but not doing something because it’s trendy is as bad as doing it because it’s trendy. I chose to get a tattoo for myself, which is why I it’s on the inside of my wrist, facing me when I see it. Unfortunately, foreign language tattoos are often wrong and hilariously bad as well, as if a child had drawn them.
So I did my research, and found as many drawings of the Tao character as possible. At one point I went as far as tracking down people who had purchased a certain painting with Tao in the title, and calling them to ask if they would take a picture and send it to me1. I’m a perfectionist in my everyday life, so I was going to be sure about something that would last for the rest of my life.
The juice of an apple, much like the apple itself, eventually turns brown, and what was an innocuous spot of moisture on the pants surreptitiously becomes a vulgarity.
The pants, though perfectly ironed and clean, must be washed again.
Curse you, apple.
Curse you, and your phenolic liquids.
