I saw her there again. She was sitting in a corner of the coffee shop, head on the table. Last time she was still carrying her grocery bags. This time, there were no bags, no Dora The Explorer hat. Only a thin, hooded winter coat, and salt creeping up to the shins of her sweat pants.

Occasionally, she would prop her head up, as if to reorient herself to her surroundings, and her matted hair would fall about her face. She never seemed to notice. She was gone again.

But was she lost to the world, or was the world lost to her?

I’ve officially retired my old notebook, the one I’ve been using since 1999. Starting in my first year of university, it went everywhere with me. Long trips, short trips, camping, in the bath, you name it. I even included it on my list of what I was bringing to Hong Kong. It’s filled with so much randomness: doodles, code, thoughts, quotes, lyrics, bad poetry (my own, of course), lists, ideas. One day, I’ll scan them in and document them.

But alas, it’s full.

As a replacement, I bought a set of three Moleskine Cahiers. They’re thinner and lighter, which is exactly what I’m looking for; it took me over eight years to fill my last one, and I didn’t need something that would last that long.

I do have several pocket size Moleskine notebooks scattered around the house and in various bags for use in situations such as riding the bus, but those are rather difficult to write in unless sitting at a desk due to their small size.

These cahiers are a little different. From the insert:

THE MOLESKINE CAHIERS are journals with heavy-duty cardboard cover, in black and buff with visible stitching on the spine. The last 16 sheets are detachable and there is a wide pocket for loose notes.

The pages have a delightfully smooth feel to them, and absorb ink without bleeding. I’ll be keeping one in my backpack, one in my shoulder bag, and one in my camera bag. I need them now more than ever.

There’s so much to write and so little time.

The last time I took pictures of Tyler was at the bike park. He looks very different without his beard. I prefer with than without; it adds so much more personality.

Included is one for my body shot series.

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Ah, residence. The first year of university, the first year away from my parents, and my first year in Ottawa. Also, the year I was introduced to Fear Factory, Dream Theater, and Refused.

I found these old pictures while organizing my pictures folder. Boy, do they take me back.

Take a look at this photo, for example, where I strapped a pair of khakis to my head, and started head banging to Deftones — Shove It (My Own Summer). Why did I strap a pair of khakis to my head? Cause I didn’t have long hair. Why did Pita and I decide to do this one day? I have no idea.

Or how about these ones, where the girls agreed to give me red chunks, back when I was obviously in my Tool phase. Nadine mis-read the instructions, mixed the wrong chemicals, and it came out all sparse.

Highlights include:

• Failing Calculus 2 with Dave and Jarod. When we wrote the supplemental exam, it was five people total in the program who failed, three of whom were us. I guess I had the wrong study buddies. In the end, I was the only one who passed.
• Most of the guys on the floor getting sued for sexual harassment.
• Jarod and Jono’s rave room, lit with a blacklight and disco ball, which was somewhat famous around campus.
• Constant conflict between neighbors, me and Pita included, over the volume of music.
• Going to the gym with Dave, and having him spot me while I benched the bar. As in, the bar without weights. Afterwards, I would spot him while he benched 240. I don’t think I could have helped much.

Pita took these photos, got them printed, and scanned them. Dated ‘99. Sure they aren’t great. They’re dark. They’re grainy, taken with a cheap film camera. But they’re still unforgettable memories, and it gives them a certain dated style. Makes me wish I had a taken some pictures myself.

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An hour to the new year, and I’m in the train station.

Trying not to throw up. Trying not to think about meeting new people. Trying not to think of having to see people I hate.

One of the station doors is propped open, but there isn’t a single person inside. The station, normally bustling, is empty, with just the buzz of the lights to fill the empty space. Not even a waiting taxi outside. Everything sterile as a hospital. I wanted to take a picture, but I could barely move, so I pulled out my notebook and managed to scribble two words:

Another debilitating panic attack.

Pat and Jen’s party was postponed, so I had already decided to stay home. It was ten when Aaron called me to go over¹.

Halfway through the bus ride, I was filled with a sudden rush of anxiety. Maybe it was the people on the bus, or the fact that I wasn’t mentally prepared to be at a party. I couldn’t breathe, yet I was hyperventilating.

I had to get off at the next stop, which turned out to be the train station. As I sat inside, the anxiety would pass in a couple minutes, then come back in a wave as strong as before. I called Aaron and told him I was going to head home, but he insisted, so he sent Rob and Doug to pick me up.

I arrived drained and exhausted. It was a hellish night.

I can only hope the rest of the year goes better than this.

1. The only way I found out about the New Year’s party was from Rob’s comment. Aaron never told me about it himself, so I wasn’t going to presume that I was invited, because I never take my friendships for granted. [↑]