We met on the bus, side-by-side, reading books that both won Nobel Prizes.

I was supposed to meet you here three years ago, and they’re out of apple cider. The cranberry cider is tart, but only too much when you sip it so. There’s a subtly distinct taste to it, barely enough to stop me from wondering if I just paid $2.45 for warm cranberry juice. I didn’t even want this drink; I just wanted to sit down and write.

I never would have come here if you hadn’t suggested it. There are too many people. Too many going for the freshly-grounded, shade-grown, fair trade bullshit that’s been marketed to the hipsters who think they’re doing the world a favour by patronizing the right kind of places. Pretentious people who come here to read, then put their headphones on because it’s too noisy.

I don’t fit in. That’s probably a good thing.

I was supposed to meet you here three years ago, but your boyfriend got jealous and wouldn’t let you come.

We met on the bus, and I haven’t seen you since.

I hope John’s wrong. Not because he’s a pessimist, but because he’s a realist. I came to him overflowing with excitement, perhaps with a bright naïveté, only to be brought down in seven words, and the words have been ringing in my ears ever since. I use to think he was tactless and unsupportive. Maybe he is. But he tells the truth, and instead of my hopes, I can only turn to him for this.

That doesn’t change the fact that I’m a fantasist, who wants this right now.

Who needs this right now.

My room is a mess, a side-effect of my busy schedule. I should be cleaning. Hell, I should be sleeping, but I’d rather write instead, seeing as how I haven’t had a chance in four days. It would appear as if I’m going through some sort of expression withdrawal.

Vincent Gallo practically wrote this entry for me.

(If you’re going to listen to this song, turn the lights down, or at least close your eyes. Remove yourself of any ambient noise. Breathe slowly for 30 seconds before playing it. This song deserves it. You deserve it.)

Even though it went up to 28°C today, the morning started cold and calm. There was so much moisture in the air that one could taste the grey.

It made me strangely stoic when I left the house. Something about the whether that reminded me of how comforting it can be to feel sad. It’s as if the earth had decided to compliment my mood with cloud cover. I can’t even explain the cause of my sadness, and can only guess that realization and acceptance are setting in. The only saving grace is that I feel confident enough to pick myself up and move on. Not that I want to do it alone right now. Wish I had the option.

As the day dragged on, things started to wear me down. Exhaustion dried my eyes. I kept trying to pick myself up, kept trying to hide my sighing sadness from those around me, to no avail.

Wish I had a smile in my wardrobe for days like this.

Tiana asked me to take some pictures of her during her pregnancy so she could have a record of what her body looks like compared to the rockin’ body it was before. In return, she posed for some other projects I had in mind.

It was n exercise in colour tones and mood. As I’m getting more comfortable in working with RAW files, I wanted to try my hand at adjusting tint, exposure, saturation, and contrast.

At one point I asked her how to spell “pregasaurus” (a term she came up to encapsulate her girth), and she reminded me that it was a made-up word, with no commonly accepted way of spelling it.

The media makes pregnancy out to be such a glamorous affair, with designer clothes and celebrity births, that it seems to be deleteriously affecting the younger generation. I wanted to portray pregnancy in a much more casual, natural light. Hence the ghetto T-shirt and the belly sticking out.

Thanks goes to Tiana for not only getting nude for me, but for being so photogenic at eight months through the pregnancy, and working with me on these ideas.

So much to say in my head, but when I sit down, it all disappears. It’s as if being in front of a blank page, with the all the possibilities before me, is catharsis enough.

Many things to do has left me with little time to write. A trip to Toronto for the long weekend means I have to make sure all my batteries are charged (one for the digital camera, two for the HD camcorder, three sets for the flashes), and my memory cards (two for the digital camera, two for the HD camcorder) are cleared.

Thunder has interrupted this post. I opened up the blinds to see the rainfall, and the light from the street lamps has come spilling into the room. This makes me realize that the hot chocolate candle Shirley gave me for Christmas, along with the glare of my Macbook Pro screen, weren’t doing a great job of illuminating my writing nook. I had Thrice playing, but have turned it down so I can hear the sheets of water pouring through the street.

Got a bunch of stuff done tonight. While picking up some groceries, I was served by a bookish girl with braces. She had a distinct lisp, but carried on ebulliently as if she had the most beautiful voice in the world. Later on, as I walked through the mall, I caught this Katherine-with-a-K slouched back in a seat in the food court, eating dinner with one arm in her lap. It reminded me of an entry I wrote about a girl doing the same thing six years ago. How I wish for that kind of peace and serenity. How long ago that was (university!). How different I was back then.

Been feeling very aloof lately. Not sure if it’s me, or something my mind is doing to protect itself. Maybe it’s a way of disconnecting myself from the world. I must need it right now. This afternoon I was reading from a book of Tai Chi classics Louise bought me, and found one part particularly fitting¹: “Do not be concerned with form. Do not be concerned with the ways in which form manifests. It is best to forget your own existence“.

1. Listed as the first of the Eight Truths of Tai Chi. [↑]