A few weeks ago, I received a package wrapped in brown paper at work. It took me a few moments before I recognized the return address; from the woman who birthed me (I prefer not to use the term “mom” anymore). I didn’t want to open it, because my first suspicion was that it was a box of ears. Why ears? Well, I’ve seen Oldboy, and let’s just say that in the movie, the main character does something similar as an act of penance to someone he wronged.

This woman can also have a twisted sense of logic, and it wouldn’t me surprised if she cut off her ears, along with someone else’s, to show that she was trying to make up for the way she treated me by punishing herself, along with another poor, unfortunate soul who donated their ears to the cause. But it was heavy, and curiosity frequently gets the best of me, so I opened it, and discovered it was a box of mooncakes. Four mooncakes, to be precise, and the expensive kind with the double yolk. Then I realized it was the Mid-Autumn Festival, so this kind of delicacy wasn’t so out-of-the-ordinary.

My next thought was that they were laced with arsenic. Who knows what this woman is thinking; every now and then she goes fucking crazy. I told my office-mate, who said, “They aren’t poisoned! Your mom’s just trying to reach out to you.” I didn’t believe her, so she said she’d take one home and feed it to her family to prove it to me.

Unfortunately, my co-worker is only in the office once a week. So there I was at home on the weekend, with these delicious, though potentially poisoned, mooncakes on my counter, waiting to see my co-worker in six days so she could tell me if she started developing any signs renal failure.

Part of me was also thinking I should just throw them out. By eating them, I was accepting the gesture by this woman — in other words, forgiving her — which was definitely not the case.

The thing is, I’ve always had a weakness for mooncake. Those heavy, delicious little pastries that are only made more special by the fact that they’re only available twice a year (the other time being Chinese New Year).

So I told myself she was just repaying part of the debt she caused from mental anguish, and there went my pride. I ate just eat a little piece — an eighth of one cake — and waited a few hours to see if I started experiencing vomiting, nausea, or seizures. Then one piece led to another, and by the time I knew it, half a cake was gone.

This was supposed to be a picture of a box of mooncakes, but this is all I have left now.

I’m still alive.

I probably looked like this the whole weekend, cause it was non-stop awesomeness.

The Japanese Village

Last week, Aaron asked me if I wanted to go to The Japanese Village. I thought it was just to hang out, since we hadn’t had a guy’s night in a while, so I didn’t clue in that it was for my birthday until the day of. Aaron told me I could order anything I want, as it was his treat, but I ordered the only thing I ever get when I’m there; the filet mignon cooked medium rare, which I think is the best in the city. It was good to hang out with him and Trolley again.

And, of course, silliness is always present with these guys around.

John in town

John’s been working two straight months, without a weekend off. The last time was when he came to Ottawa to visit. Between all the activities, we only had enough time to watch one movie — American Graffiti — and between the two of us, we could sing every song that came from this film based in the 60s (me covering The Platters, him covering everything else).

I usually only get to see him once a year, so twice in two months was a special treat.

Cranium Party

I’d love to do games nights on a regular basis, but people aren’t available on the same days, so I used my birthday as an excuse to get as many people as possible together for a giant Cranium party. I told them that instead of giving me a present, they should just come to the party. It worked, and we had enough for four teams of three. Some people also brought snacks, like honey mustard pretzels, carrot cupcakes, and freshly baked chocolate chip cookies.

It was the highlight of the weekend.

Dim sum with my dad

On Friday, my dad called me to wish me a happy birthday, and told me he was in town for 10 days. We made plans to have dim sum. John came too, which is always interesting to see his reactions to what food is as the token white guy. I had a phoenix talons for the first time¹, because I was feeling adventurous, and I have to say that they weren’t bad, but I didn’t care for them either. They’re too hard to eat, and the sauce wasn’t to my taste. It was strange to see both John and my dad at the same place, and in Ottawa instead of Toronto.

I told my dad he could probably sit and observe one of my Tai Chi classes, so he could see what I do, but he wasn’t interested, and I’ll admit that the indifference hurt a bit. Afterward, I asked John what he thought as a 3rd party observer, and he told me I had a good relationship with my dad. I’ll take his word for it.

I needed this

I needed this weekend so much. To recharge. To stop thinking about things. To get completely wasted. It felt like it was my birthday the whole weekend, and I wondered what I did to deserve it all.

1. It wasn’t the taste, but the look that has always prevented me from trying them. [↑]

I turn 30 in 12 months.

But it doesn’t feel like I’m turning 29 today. More like I’m turning a-year-away-from-30. 29 has always been so inconsequential. One step on a staircase before setting foot on a landing.

The thing is, I’m not sure what’s supposed to happen when hit 30. I expect something big, but I don’t know what exactly. Like I have yet to open my eyes to something. Maybe because 30 has always been adult territory in my mind, not 18.

So if I still feel like I haven’t grown up yet, is something going to happen in this year? Something to make me feel like an adult by the time November 13 hits in 2010?

I turn 30 in 12 months, and I don’t know what to expect.

The Turning 30 Series

• 29: The Child
• 29 1/12: The Adolescent
• 29 2/12: The Lachrymologist
• 29 3/12: The Once Loved
• 29 4/12: The Mask

Being sick is one of the most difficult things for me. It’s a psychological mind game. Not only am I unable to be productive¹, which is something that normally keeps me sane, it’s the only situation in which I feel like I can’t take care of myself. All I’m left with is this misery, this suffering that mentally wears me down. On a long enough time line (though I’m talking months to years), I lose the will to live.

I started getting some symptoms since Tuesday afternoon, when I was feeling faint at work. When I woke up the next day, the symptoms had gotten worse. I spat into the sink, and cheered the fact that my phlegm wasn’t dark green, which is the case when I have strep throat (something that seems to happen annually to me). I should say that I only suspect swine flu, since I didn’t have a blood test confirming it, but the person who gave it to me told me she had it, so I’m going on her word, and my symptoms match up with how swine flu is different from seasonal flu.

For me, it’s been:

• runny nose with extremely watery mucous
• stuffed nose
• loss of appetite
• mildly sore throat
• dry cough
• headaches
• very slight fever
• hot flashes and sweating

This flu, though drawn out, has actually been easier than strep, which is so painful for me that I get fairly severe headaches. I went through two entire boxes of tissues, and I’m sure I would have gone through more, I had not spent almost the entire time like this:

On the upside, it was an excuse to drink Neo Citran every night, which I also call Yummy Sleep.

In the five days since I realized that I have the flu, I didn’t leave my house, aside from going across the street to buy groceries. Not a single one of my friends called me (although some of them probably didn’t know I was sick), which was a little disheartening, but I didn’t let it get to me. Jen offered to pick up groceries for me, but I didn’t take her up on it because the offer was enough of a morale boost.

This time, I survived, I did it by myself, and I’m stronger for it.

To keep myself sane, I watched a record number of movies. Usually, it’s hard for me to watch movies, because I feel guilty for not being productive, but this time I embraced my sickness. I may watch one every two weeks when I’m healthy, but this time it was nine in five days (ten if I hadn’t passed out in the middle of Bob & Carol & Ted & Alice). Here are some quick reviews. Warning: SPOILERS.

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1. I have the motivation, but it isn’t enough when my head feels like it’s exploding from the inside. [↑]

When Rachel Beausoleil started working on her latest album, she approached me about designing the artwork. We sat down and threw around some ideas before she even started recording, but didn’t come up with anything solid because I didn’t have a sound to go on. All I knew was that it was a medley of songs, not like her last album where the songs followed a theme.

One day I came home to find a recording of the album in my mailbox, yet to be mastered. She named the album after the eponymous track, The Dawning, which is a jazz arrangement of the famous song Aquarius, a personal anthem of hers.

She gave me her notes soon after, so I put on the album and gave it a good listen, feeling a certain clarity from her sound. It made me think about dawn, and space, and sunrises, and hot colours, so I incorporated those elements when laying out the text, as well as some bokeh to give an off-focus glimmer.

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I should start by saying that I’ve wanted a piercing since late high school, either an eyebrow piercing or a tongue stud¹.

For some reason though, I never seriously considered it. To me, it was like having children; one of those things you know you’d want some day, but don’t take it seriously. Then last week, I was sitting at my desk and randomly thought, “Why not?”. So I slept on it, and woke up the next day still wanting one. That’s when I decided to do it.

My biggest concern was that it wouldn’t match me. Some people with piercings look like they’re trying to overcompensate by being part of a “scene”, or by being younger (i.e. the midlife crisis, which my dad seems to be living out with three piercings last year), or it just doesn’t fit their face. The last thing I wanted to do was get something that screamed attention for the sake of it. Most people have told me that I’m a far cry from mid-life crisis age, but I’ve feeling much older lately.

So I figured that I’d rather get it at this age, than when I’m in my fifties like my dad, when it looks ridiculous. But as Tiana reminded me, it’s much less permanent than a tattoo. If I don’t like it, I can just take the piercing out with minimal scarring (as long as there are no other complications).

So I decided to get a horizontal, because I find that verticals are not really my style (and altogether too common for my tastes). The side seemed somewhat arbitrary to me, and I didn’t decide which side until I did my hair one morning and noticed that the part on my hair was on the right, and so it seemed like there was a more open space there for the piercing to fit.

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1. My work in the dental industry, however, has made me shy away from getting anything in the mouth, so that eliminated the only other option for me. [↑]

Misun, aka my big sister, visited from France yesterday. We gorged ourselves on all-you-can-eat sushi, and I let her surprise me by choosing not to know what she ordered for us. Now I wish I had kept note so I could order the same things again.

It was hard to argue with her about the bill. She kept insisting that she pay because she’s older (from her Korean culture), and I kept insisting that I pay because I’m the host (from my Chinese culture). I even used the argument that if it’s the elder who pays, then she would always be paying. Unfortunately, the hostess took her side and refused my money.

She was only able to stay in Ottawa for the night, but before turning in well beyond our bedtimes, we caught up as people can only do in person. We’d been keeping in touch the whole time we’ve been apart, and now had the chance to fill in the details.

When I woke up, I found this cute note, with our faces (including Dolly’s) drawn on it.

Some portraits of Tatiana. As a person into voyeurism (more specifically, on the end being observed), she’s more comfortable with her clothes off than on. I love working with people who are comfortable with their bodies. You get total creative freedom, instead of the frustration of having to walk on eggshells, lest you offend a model’s sensibilities.

I’ve discovered that when doing nude photography, you need to open up the aperture so that a greater portion of the person is in focus than in conventional portraits. If you focus on only the eyes, you lose the nudity and it becomes a distraction. If you focus on nakedness, you lose the eyes and it becomes vulgar.

(Thank you, Rachel, for giving me yet another title)

I’m going through a sort of re-evaluation phase right now. I’ve been feeling peaceful and serene, maybe because things have been going well lately, so I’m left trying to figure out what I really want. Whether I can sustain this happiness, and how. What is important to my existence and survival.

I have an appointment with my therapist in three days. I haven’t seen him in over a year, but it doesn’t seem like that long ago. He says he still remembers me and remembers where my file is in his cabinet. I’m glad we didn’t sacrifice our patient-doctor relationship for a friendship (as I asked him about once) cause otherwise, I wouldn’t be able to see him like this, and I’d be trying to find another therapist. Instead of feeling like I need to be fixed this time, I’m just wondering where I go from here. A follow-up appointment of sorts, that my work is covering through the health plan.

I suppose the reason I want to talk to him is really that I need to hear myself talk, and I generally don’t talk to anyone about this stuff. Probably because I don’t know what the hell I’d be saying. John’s the first person I turn to when I seek guidance, but conversations with him are somewhat forced because he’s terrible on the phone. He needs to talk for a reason or purpose, and I could never explain this feeling to him. My therapist, on the other hand, has always given me a guiding hand, pointing me in the right direction so that I can start to figure things out on my own.

I have a feeling this long-weekend, while mostly spent alone in my house, will go by sooner than I’d like. My artistic endeavors have taken a back seat to paying-work lately, and now I have the chance to spend some time doing what I want, for me.