equivocality » Misc

29 4/12: The Mask

Jeff — Sat, 13 Mar 2010 14:29:41 +0000

Man cannot cast off this mask; it is a projection of his own flesh and spirit. He can no longer remove from his own face this mask which has already grown like skin and flesh so he is always startled as if disbelieving this is himself, but it is in fact himself. He cannot remove this mask, and this is agony. But having manifested itself as his mask, it cannot be obliterated, because the mask is a replica of himself. It has no will of its own, or one could say it has a will but no means of expression and so prefers not to have a will. Therefore it has left man with an eternal face with which he can examine himself in amazement.

—Gao Xingjian, Soul Mountain

I turn 30 in eight months, and I still don’t know if I’m the person who smiles, or the person who hides behind the smile.

The Turning 30 Series

It's a girl

Jeff — Wed, 10 Mar 2010 14:07:43 +0000

I took these of Navid and Jess a little while back.

More recently, Navid called to let me know the childbirth went well, and now he has another adorable little half-Persian girl.

Rose is old enough to walk on her own now and give me kisses before she leaves.

New Hampshire: Day 3

Jeff — Thu, 04 Mar 2010 13:31:34 +0000

I’m free again after my training, and Dave takes me to his favourite restaurant in Nashua to meet up with Sid and his girlfriend. It’s a small, family-owned Mexican joint with bright colours and an appropriately accented waitress.

Over dinner, we compare our regional differences. I ask them what it means when someone says “A quarter of one” (12:45), because they don’t say “a quarter to one”. I ask them if they take their shoes off when they get in the house (sometimes, depending on the host), because I noticed no one did when I was in a house¹. I ask them if they have bubble tea (there’s one Vietnamese restaurant that serves it), because it’s all over Canada now. I tell them New York Fries serves poutine (What’s New York Fries?). I pull out some Canadian bills and show them the braille (Oooooooh). At one point, Sid calls me on my “eh”, contrasted from their “huh” used at the end of a sentence to emphasize a point.

Dave and I drive to downtown Manchester, the biggest city in New Hampshire, to a bar/café called Republic. Every month, Dave organizes the Collective, a group of creative people with a certain energy, and a void in their lives when it comes to someone with whom to discuss their endeavors on a practical, nonthreatening, philanthropic level.

I repeat a person’s name after being introduced to them, a trick I learned from the client specialist course I took in New Hampshire four years ago.

At one point, Ed asks us how we know each other, and Dave explains, along with a story:

When my sister and I were kids, we imagined what it would be like if we were more of us, so we needed an older sister and a younger brother to round out the sibling experience. As the oldest brother, I needed to know what having an older sister was like. And we also chose personalities to go with them. I think the older sister was a heavyset, strong girl with a determined, mothering tendency toward us. Her name was Daphne, and she was the type to play field hockey or lacrosse when she went to college had we known what that was back when we were kids. The younger brother would be a slender, artistic type that was a stylish and careful dresser; “metrosexual” was the term we’d have used, my sister commented recently, had we known the word. His name was Leland.

And when he met me yesterday, he thought, “That’s Leland!”. Now he’s wondering if he’s going to run into Daphne in the future.

After two hours of brilliant conversation and exchange of energy, we go our separate ways. These are my people, and I feel the need to start something similar in Ottawa.

I take a picture of us because I leave tomorrow, shortly after the end of the course, and won’t have a chance to see him again. I offer my house if he ever wants to get away and change up his frame of mind, and he returns the offer.

In 24 hours, I’ll be home sweet home again, but certainly wishing I had more time to talk, and relate, and feel as if there was another kindred soul in the world.

Not even in my hotel room, which I found very strange.

© Jeff @ equivocality, 2010. | No comment
Post tags: food, inspiration, interesting people, travel | Categories: Daily Life, Misc

New Hampshire: Day 1

Jeff — Tue, 02 Mar 2010 10:32:47 +0000

I pack light. A single lens, and only carry-on baggage.

This plane takes me to a more central airport. Every seat has a USB plug, a power outlet, and a video screen that lets you choose what you want to watch. I make a note to fly Air Canada from now on.

In stark contrast, my connecting flight has two propellers.

The window seats are also the aisle seats.

I choose one by the propeller. The reflection in the shiny nose gives me a wide angle view of the plane itself. As it spins, the blades begin to ghost, and eventually disappear. It accelerates faster than any other plane I’ve been on, and leaves a loud hum and hiss that sustains itself until landing. I’m exhausted enough that I fall asleep shortly after take-off.

The captain is the same person who stores your luggage, goes over the safety instructions, and gets you to your destination.

The number of pilots is almost equal to the number of passengers. They leave the cockpit open, and I get a first hand look at what they do in the controls to get the plane to respond a certain way.

My home base is a hotel suite big enough that it has two HD TVs, a fridge, a microwave, and a living room separated from the bedroom. For the next four days and three nights, I won’t have the company of my cat or the comfort of my ukulele¹, but it feels good to be staying here long enough that I can hang up my clothes and settle in.

They leave a pouch on my blanket, which includes a sleep mask, ear plugs, and lavender linen spray. I make a note to stay at Crowne Plaza’s from now on.

I’m back in New Hampshire, and craving some famous New England surf to go along with my turf. For dinner, I order the filet mignon, which comes stuffed with Maine lobster, brie, spinach, and shiitake mushrooms, wrapped in smoked bacon, presented with dried cherry demi-glace, whipped potatoes, and asparagus. Cooked medium-rare, of course.

I’ve been in meetings all day, working nine hours after six hours of traveling and an early flight. Now the meetings are over. Everyone’s gone their separate ways, and I’m here alone.

It didn’t fit in my suitcase

Slow Down Honey

Jeff — Sun, 28 Feb 2010 16:15:57 +0000

Download audio file (baker-lake.mp3)

“Try to hold you in bed you shrug away instead oh I don’t know why.” I found this song during a recent transition, and it’s stayed with me since. It fits so many moods — contentment, sadness, lonliness, morning, mourning, and moulting.

In a way, I’m forcing myself grow and improve, and this scares me. In the book my therapist recommended, it explains “Change requires willingness to experience pain”, and I’m going through this exactly. I’m constantly stepping out of my comfort zone, and at this point, it’s much more trepidation than excitement. It’d be so much easier to fall into old mental habits, as unhealthy as they are.

On mornings like this, I sit in my living room with the curtains open. It makes me self-conscious to be sitting there with houses across the street getting a clear view of me in my PJs and mussed up hair. But it reminds me that someone else is out there. That the world is full of life, and vibrancy, and people just like me.

The days move quickly. To be honest, I wouldn’t mind if spring came early this year. I’ve had my fill of the snow by now. Maybe I’m just looking for a change, something that isn’t the same Canadian winter that made our embraces that much warmer, when we weren’t finding comfort in mutual mugs of hot tea and duck-down duvets.

I’ve been feeling better lately. About life in general, but myself as well. I guess you could say I’ve stopped blaming myself, or wondering what I did wrong.

Sometimes, you care for someone so much and so often that it becomes a habit, long after their gone, regardless of what you’ve been through. At that point, it’s only hard to let go because you don’t want to. When you lose your muse, you lose your inspiration, and for someone like me, the soul begins to wither.

The days are definitely easier than the nights. When I wake up between 3–5 am, all these thoughts keep flooding back, as if my subconscious is doing the thinking I’ve been trying to avoid. But when the sun is on my face, I’m left feeling serene and uncarved.

Brunch with Jason

Jeff — Fri, 19 Feb 2010 15:02:24 +0000

Before getting on his train, Jason asked me if I was a hug-person. It was the right question, because I’m most assuredly a hug-person, and we embraced before he stepped out onto the platform.

We grew up at the same time in the same neighbourhood — a small suburb somewhere in the middle of the 500km that separates us — but never had a chance to meet until he gave a presentation in town for the HR Council for the Nonprofit Sector. Until now, we only communicated through blog comments and e-mail exchanges.

When I first met him, it struck me how much tall he was, and how much deeper his voice was than I expected.

Jason is like me in so many ways, something I find extremely rare. We share a strong self-awareness and a penchant for self-improvement, as well as the same views on love and tastes in women. Perhaps it could be said that Jason is an extroverted version of me. We could discuss things we normally reserve for our close friends, and continue as if we had already known each other’s stories for years. He’s a true kindred spirit, and many times I felt like believing in him meant I believed in myself as well.

Brunch was filled with such stimulation that I forgot to take a picture, so I settled for this one when I went to see him off at the train station. I’m so glad I was able to capture his perpetual smile, that same smile I see in his pictures when he traveling the world, in Budapest, Ghana, New Orleans, and other places with names too foreign for me to remember.

© Jeff @ equivocality, 2010. | One comment
Post tags: friends, interesting people, self-portrait | Categories: Daily Life, Misc

Broadsword and a Ukulele

Jeff — Wed, 17 Feb 2010 04:16:46 +0000

My Tai Chi teacher recently added the Yang style broadsword to the curriculum. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t ecstatic, as I’ve waited quite a while to learn a weapon form. There’s something romantic and exotic about wielding one of the four great Chinese weapons. I find it delightfully ironic that it’s a gweilo who’s catalyzed such an interest in my own culture. Take THAT, my racist and sexist Chinese ancestors.

As for the ukulele, one day I found out how inexpensive they can be and bought one right away. It’s a Mahalo Les Paul style ukulele (right down to the square tuning pegs) with an extended neck for higher register notes. In many ways, the ukulele is the perfect instrument for me right now; cheap, easy enough that I can teach myself¹, and not too hard on the fingers².

It feels fucking fantastic to be playing music in some form again. I did years of piano and flute lessons in elementary school to high school, and took a very long hiatus from then till now. And that was mostly in band, when I couldn’t choose the music I wanted to play. Now I can play the songs I like, and the advantage is that I’ve probably heard them a few hundred times so I already know them inside-out.

With my years of music lessons and performances from my youth, it’s not like I’m learning music from scratch, I’m simply figuring out how to apply what I already know about tone, posture, tuning, volume, fingering³, timing, and intonation, to another instrument. Admittedly, it’s been very slow going, and it’s like I’m learning a new language as I train my fingers to achieve a dexterity that was never there before.

The interesting thing is that my last few years practicing Tai Chi has helped me learn the ukulele. In my Tai Chi class, I’ve gained the patience and perseverance required to practice the same moves over and over again until they become a natural part of my muscle memory. In the beginning, it was a lot of concentration spent just trying to remember what to do next in the form, but now that I don’t need to think about them when I practice, my concentration goes into fine-tuning the little details. The same principles can be applied to the ukulele (or any instrument, for that matter), and I’m trying to get to the point where I don’t need to think about what my fingers should be doing, and just concentrate on playing with the right kind of expressiveness.

Which is why I have a broadsword and a ukulele resting on the wall next to my desk. Any time I need a break, I pick up one of them and practice for a few minutes.

Because I really don’t have time for another time-consuming hobby
The strings are nylon, instead of the metal of guitars, so the callouses aren’t as bad. The health of my hands is also an important thing to me.
Though the fingering for a stringed instrument is really different from piano and flute.

29 3/12: The Once Loved

Jeff — Sun, 14 Feb 2010 00:29:11 +0000

When I look at this picture, I see the flaws. The stretch marks on my back, and especially prominent on the side of my ass. Those strange red blemishes on my shoulder that I don’t remember having. The lack of junk in the trunk so common in Asian people. I didn’t even know I had a mole down there.

I used to have body-image issues. Always thinking I was too skinny, and too ugly.

Then someone made me feel differently. She treated every part of my body with as much attention and love as I treated hers. She was the first person to ever make me believe that I was attractive too. Some days, I felt as handsome as she was pretty.

I turn 30 in nine months, and now that she’s gone, I wonder if anyone will ever see me that way again.

The Turning 30 Series

Super Bowl Sunday

Jeff — Tue, 09 Feb 2010 04:34:49 +0000

We cover a lot of ground on the drive, stuff I wouldn’t admit to just anyone. It’s good to have a set amount of time for some one on one. We see each other at parties, but it’s never time by ourselves.

We get there a few hours early because it isn’t so much about the game as hanging out with the two friends I don’t see enough. There’s a cooler full of snow and beer, and the food is coming in protein; pigs-in-blankets, ground beef nachos, chicken fingers, crab dip, meat balls.

For a night, I’m with guys who punch arms, exchange verbal jabs, and laugh at blue collar jokes. Two little girls run around, and no one ever lets that change them. Now they’re fathers, but they’ll always be real men.

Protected: Ounce

Jeff — Wed, 27 Jan 2010 12:20:28 +0000