It’s on nights like this that I feel especially lonely.

I spent the last two hours looking for an image that would express my mood, but this was the best I could come up with. When I went outside, to see if the street lights would offer me more, I passed by open windows, each one filled with a different coloured light. It made me wonder what the people were doing, who they were with, what mood they were in.

It’s been a day alone. A day without contact. A day of rain and greyness, and living vicariously at Robson Arms.

So here I sit in the dark, with my apple and honey swirl pie and Ovaltine, writing because I haven’t said enough today, listing to songs of love and hate. Feeling like an old soul.

Wondering tonight if I’ll dream, or sleep soundly, or dream without remembering.

Had I the heavens’ embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

—He Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven, William Butler Yeats

She knows how much I’ve fallen for her.

And by giving her my heart in such a way, she’s sharing the burden. The last thing she wants to do is hurt me, and she thinks herself selfish for wanting to be held just so. But I know what I’m getting into. I know the risks.

There’s no point in denying ourselves the joy of what we have now. To be lying next to each other when we talk into the early hours of the day, bodies pressed against one another while the morning light washes over us, is worth any chance at being hurt. We can deal with the inevitable later.

So she treads softly, on me and my heart.

And rests her head on my chest when I hold her.

 

I left when the sun was setting. Along the way, the road stretched out infinitely before me, as if to say that I can always get away, and there is always more to go. The tree line danced and waved across the horizon, eventually disappearing with the sun. Then the lines of red and white in each direction guided me all the way to Darren’s house.

In it are little things from the house I grew up in — some candles here, some cabinets there — that my parents didn’t want after the divorce. So strange to see innocuous objects from my childhood in a different setting.

It was the first time we’ve been completely sober together since we were kids. No alcohol, no weed.

I found out a couple things I wouldn’t have known otherwise:

• My dad started dating someone. He is currently single again.
• He has a dance floor at his house and a nice car. This is typical of my dad, who loves his toys.
• My mother is still insecure.
• My parents still see each other, but not alone. The current social rule among the group of parents, is that you can’t invite one to a party without inviting the other.

A weekend of sweet indulgence, late nights, and intimate conversation. No one understands my relationships the way Darren does, because we both share these quixotic ideas about love. It was so comforting to be able to express myself on these things without having to explain my underlying feelings, as if someone could truly understand me, especially important in this current phase of my life.

It made me realize that home isn’t where the parents are, something I used to believe¹. It’s an idea.

A comforting place you can go to get away, where you’re completely accepted for who you are.

1. I’m not sure exactly when I stopped believing this, but it was probably somewhere between the time my parents got divorced and I stopped talking to my mom. [↑]

When I left, the flowers on my kitchen table looked like this:

When I got back, to my surprise, they looked like this:

She made the bouquet herself — hand-picked the flowers, chose the colours, even made sure it was symmetrical, knowing my odd habits¹ — and left them there to greet me from my journey home.

I never ask for these things but she does them anyway.

Which is exactly what makes them so significant.

1. I tend to straighten her necklaces, her sandal straps, the curls of her hair, the draw-strings in her hoodie/yoga pants… [↑]

Two in one day…you know it’s serious.

I’m driving out to see Darren for the weekend. He’s five hours away, and it’ll be my first trip out of the city in the car. My car.

There’s a certain satisfaction to filling my trunk with odds and ends — tripod, sandals, snacks — that I couldn’t have carried on a Greyhound bus. Got my GPS and a full tank of gas.

I can’t wait to drive with the windows down while the sun is setting along the horizon, Summer Sun playing on the stereo. To be going somewhere by myself.

Free.

Killed my top rated playlist at work. Even have all the songs burned to several CDs for the trip. My head is filled with lyrics. I may also begin my audiobook of Carson McCullers’s The Heart Is a Lonely Hunter.

I’m going through some hyperactive euphoria again, this contradictory feeling of the scary and exciting unknown. The best part about hanging out with Darren is that each of us understands exactly how the other feels, even though we may not understand it in ourselves. Something which is especially important right now, even though I’m pretty sure I’ll be okay.

I just need to get away for a while.

When you live with a cat who sleeps on things to mark her territory, you never wonder why your clothes are covered with hair.

Another correlation between the physical expression of Tai Chi and philosophical ideas of Taoism is the ubiquitous existence of paradoxes in both. There are contradictory answers to many questions, and at the same time, the answers are very simple (a paradox in itself).

An example from Tai Chi is the posture of the p’eng shape. If you’re too stiff, you can be pushed over easily. If you’re too relaxed, you can be collapsed easily. People make the mistake of thinking that you have to be one or the either — that you’re either resisting a force or letting it move you — without understanding that there exists a “somewhere in between”. It’s difficult to explain how something can be structured and relaxed at the same time.

A Taoist example is the idea of wu wei, or “action without action”. Practically speaking, it’s the concept that you don’t do anything that isn’t necessary, and by remaining reactionary you let nature (or the interaction of Heaven and Earth, as Taoists romantically say) run it’s course. In doing so, “nothing is done yet nothing is left undone”.

Last class, my teacher said “Tai Chi is easy, that’s why so few people do it well.” His words reminded me of verse 70 of the Tao Te Ching.

My teachings are very easy to understand
  and very easy to teach
yet so few in this world understand
  and so few are able to practice

The answers remain elusive and difficult to explain because they must be felt, as in Tai Chi, or experienced, as in Taoism, a characteristic of the paradoxical nature of both the ancient Chinese martial art and philosophy.

It’s a world where every song is a journey, every chord is more dulcet than the last, and I don’t want to, I need to dance.

It’s not a simple feeling. There’s so much to consider — new realizations, unfamiliar territory, questions of fate, unresolved proprieties, inevitable change — that it’s all a mix of emotions unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. But who says that life has to be simple? All I know for sure is that I love her, even if she doesn’t love me the same way.

And for now, I’ll wear this smile like my heart on my sleeve.

Our bodies burn like flames in an oven, so we kick off the covers. I slip my arm around her waist and press her body close to mine. She holds my hand to her chest, fingers wrapped around fingers, legs wrapped around legs.

The morning light comes in blue and soft and subtle through the window, and the stars begin to fade.

I want to hold her like this under a tree in the summer and pass the time in her company, alive to every moment we’re together. I want to hold her like this when the cars and streets are buried under snow outside, so we may truly know what it is to be warm and comfortable. I want to run my finger along the softness of her face, so I may learn every landmark and feature, and never forget. I want to read to her my favourite books on lazy Sunday afternoons, so I can take her to where they’ve taken me. I want to feel her breath against my skin, the breath that gives her life, and me joy. I want to wake up to find she’s not away in another bed, but next to me, lost in slumber, for there can be no other such simple happiness.

This is where I’m perfectly content, lost in a moment when time has stopped and nothing else matters.

But I know it won’t last forever. She’ll soon be gone. I won’t be the one to do these things with her, the one to love her the way she was meant to be loved, the one to love her as deeply as she deserves. There’s no use in thinking about it now.

The one who inspires me to create wonderful things, to make beauty as I see it in her, so that others may share in this feeling. If I had a million words to describe her grace, it still wouldn’t be enough.

I could be sad, but I’d rather be happy instead.

So as the sun begins to rise, I indulge myself a little longer, and hold her closer before drifting off to sleep.

Babies seem to have a different expression every second, and the expressions are so innocent. They hide nothing. I like to think each expression reveals the drifting thoughts going on in their tiny little brains. Rather difficult to photograph because the face they wear when you press the shutter release button is invariably different from the one you get.

Rosella here is half-Persian, half-Caucasian. Aside from being so cute you could chew her cheeks off, you can already tell how beautiful her mixed blood is going to make her.

Weekdays

• I wake up, turn my alarm off, and before I do anything else, I put on some music
• I make my food for work in the order of most to least time consuming to prepare. So currently it’s drink (smoothie), then lunch (sandwich), then breakfast (buttered raisin cinnamon bagel).
• When I get into work, I walk in the back, say “mornin’” to the regulars on the way to my office
• After entering my office, the first thing I do is plug in my iPod and put on some music
• I’ll clean my desk, check my e-mail, turn on the photocopier, etc. but before I get into any serious business, I clean my mug, make some tea, and check Slashdot over breakfast. This is probably the pinnacle of my geekiness.
• When I get home, I check my blogroll, eat a snack, shower (unless I’m going out or expecting guests), nap, then wake up to cook and eat dinner
• Monday and Wednesday nights are reserved for phonecalls with John, Tuesday and Thursday nights are for Tai Chi class

Weekends

• I wake up (too) early, cook breakfast (usually bacon, eggs, and toast) while writing or cleaning, eat, play a game of some sort (currently GTA: San Andreas or FFXII) then fall asleep again
• I only check my snail-mail and pay bills on Sundays

I rarely deviate from these daily rituals, perhaps a simpler form of OCD.

The first thing I notice about a girl is her face, but the eyes are what hold my attention.

Big, round, and pure. They’re the ultimate sign of femininity, because they convey innocence, youth, vitality.

Sometimes, the most intimate and personal thing you can do — from having a conversation to making love — is make eye-contact.

I connect with Frédéric and Misun in two very different ways.

With Frédéric, we relate through our emotions, our drive, and the need to express ourselves. We also have a tendency to feel like outsiders, perhaps because we’re often judged or misunderstood. In this way we comfort each other, because it’s as if we feel less odd or alone.

Misun, on the other hand, is like my big sister. She cares about me, takes an interest in what I do, and gives me advice the way I imagine a sibling does. I can share my insecurities, my dreams, my feelings with her, as if I’ve known her my entire life.

Together, they encourage and support me, although never to the point of flattery. In this way, I know that I can trust them to be honest; something increasingly rare nowadays, as people hide behind smiles and empty words. When I’m with them, I feel like I’m wholly understood and accepted.

I always leave their house with a tremendous sense of hope, because they believe in me the way no one else ever has.

After my Perishable Press interview, and having Version 10 featured in a Crestock article titled “13 Minimalist Designs You Really Should See”, this site has seen a surge in design-related traffic. But increased exposure is a double-edged sword. Higher profile sites make you a bigger target for security issues, spam, and design robbery.

Such as the case with eric-akmal.com.

Does this look familiar?

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