coming up for air

I didn’t know I needed a week­end like this to feel again. To dance in those lit­tle moments between brush­ing your teeth and get­ting into bed. To pass on the right and speed away to a cho­rus that grows louder with every shadow cast by every street lamp.

I can’t say it’s been due to any one thing. There’s just so much that seems to be hap­pen­ing lately. The days pass faster than ever, and I’m left won­der­ing where life will take me next, cause I’m always sur­prised by every new friend and unex­pected experience.

Wild Boar pizza at Tennessy Willems

Wild boar pizza at Tennessy Willems, one of the few wood-burning pizze­rias in Ottawa. A com­bi­na­tion of boar sausage, caramelized apple, sage, roasted gar­lic, and sharp ched­dar. The sweet­ness of the apple and the savoury char­ac­ter of the sausage make for an inter­est­ing mélange, but the use of ched­dar is what really gives this pizza a unique taste.

When I’m drown­ing in emo­tion, it feels like I’m per­pet­u­ally com­ing out of the water, emp­ty­ing my stale lungs before tak­ing in as much air as I can again.

This is when every breath is beau­ti­ful. A rush of life com­ing at me.

fall and falling

Darren and I crashed at the same time. It’s like we’re going through this together. I wish I was back in T.O. with him and Chris, cause some of the best con­ver­sa­tions of the year hap­pened in that car. We’re all in the same place, all young men on the mend.

I’m very pleased to say that Darren’s now the owner of a wild cherry sun­burst Seagull Entourage Mini Jumbo (but with a pick-guard and cut­away). And I’m totally jeal­ous, as I’ve been drool­ing over pic­tures of gui­tar bind­ings and rosettes myself lately. I had bor­rowed Jesse’s ginor­mous1 gui­tar for a bit, and I felt like I was pinned under a piece of fur­ni­ture every time I tried play­ing it. It totally turned me off gui­tars in gen­eral, but as I was walk­ing through the Ottawa Folklore Centre today, I saw a series of much smaller acoustics. I had to keep walk­ing. The last thing I can afford is another hobby and another toy.

moon

Got this shot through the lens of my tele­scope, which is why you can see the cir­cu­lar out­line of the eye­piece. Big enough to make out the geo­graph­i­cal fea­tures like the Mare Insularum splotch on the top left. Taken when still bright out, but the moon shone bright through the daylight.

I had a decent night of sleep for the first time in far too long, maybe because I’ve writ­ten more in the last week than in the three months before that. Strange how clear and calm­ing and inspir­ing it is to be rested. I still don’t know what I’m feel­ing though. It’s like I just don’t know what to think anymore.

A ridicu­lous amount of Starcraft II has been played. John and I have even been play­ing against each other, which is strange for us because nei­ther per­son wants to beat the other (out of sports­man­ship), but nei­ther wants to lose either (out of fool­ish pride). I was far more dom­i­nant in Warcraft 3 because it’s micro dri­ven so we never did 1v1, but Starcraft is macro dri­ven, which John is much bet­ter at. He’s proven him­self to be a very wor­thy oppo­nent with sev­eral good games on me. I’m so glad Blizzard doesn’t record the num­ber of hours played in a person’s pro­file now.

I want to be in France in this sea­son. My neigh­bours just came back from Paris and told me it was really foggy. I wouldn’t mind. Really. I’d love to walk down the stony path of rue Saint Vincent — the set­ting of one of my favourite Yves Montand songs — when it’s cov­ered by a hazy mist and I’m sport­ing a cozy sweater.

I spend 21 hours of the day in my room, and I’m never bored. I don’t go out of the house for days at at time. I have nei­ther the rea­son nor the desire to. I think I han­dle being alone too well.

  1. This word totally didn’t get picked up by spell-check, which means the Firefox dic­tio­nary is pretty decent. []

vaccine (soldier on)

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I know I need to hurt right now. I need to go through this.

I could ignore every­thing and pre­tend like nothing’s wrong, but it’ll all catch up to me sooner or later. These emo­tions are the anti­gen; to feel the full extent means it’ll be over sooner.

And if I sur­vive, I’ll be stronger for it.

Please make me feel alive, again, again, again

Thumbnail: Jairus and Audra

It’s been an emo­tional time. I’m in anti-social mode, but I force myself to get out when the oppor­tu­nity comes along.

One day, we hit up a diner around noon. I wore my flip-flops, and cruised west with the wind numb­ing my skin. My stereo gets louder as I accel­er­ate, and it only made me drive as fast as I could to see how loud I could push Wild Gardens. For a moment, it filled me with serene bliss, and that was enough, among the steel and pave­ment and sum­mer heat in spring, to give me hope.

It’s that feel­ing I’ve been crav­ing. To be the only liv­ing boy in New York.

Thumbnail: Avocado chicken sandwich

Audra tells me I smell nice when I haven’t left the house for days. Gives me the breath-stealing hugs. And the fact that she’s so sen­si­tive about cross­ing my bound­aries makes her the sweet­est red­head I know. It’s hard not to believe in myself when she believes in me so well.

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I can hear the june bugs approaching

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(Thanks to Kasi for this one.)

I recently dis­cov­ered that gui­tar chords are the same as ukulele chords, which opens up the reper­toire of avail­able songs con­sid­er­ably. It’s a shame that most online sheet music is in the form of gui­tar tabs, which don’t trans­late to the ukulele. Still, I have enough songs to prac­tice that I can switch to another when I get bored with one. I find it inter­est­ing that since the ukulele requires two hands doing dif­fer­ent things, I run into a bot­tle­neck in hand dex­ter­ity; I can pluck or strum well enough with my right hand, but I can’t get the chords with my left hand fast enough, or vice versa depend­ing on the song. I have to prac­tice each hand indi­vid­u­ally, which is so unlike any other instru­ment I’ve played before.

I have a tele­scope now. My instruc­tor was able to get a great pack­age deal for stu­dents in his astropho­tog­ra­phy course for a 114mm reflec­tor, along with a track­ing motor1 and illu­mi­nated retic­ule2. I put it together today, and it was really excit­ing to be assem­bling all these pre­ci­sion parts to make my first tele­scope, a moment I dreamed about since I was a kid. Astronomy is much more com­pli­cated than I expected. Much of it is sim­i­lar to pho­tog­ra­phy in terms of the equip­ment used (although the terms and con­trols are dif­fer­ent), but now you also have to know your sub­ject, your ori­en­ta­tion, and your weather con­di­tions, not to men­tion being at the right place.

I’m feel­ing bet­ter about things. Maybe it’s the promise of warmer weather. I’m wait­ing for the day I can drive my car with the win­dows down and san­dals on. Those are the days of house par­ties, camp­ing, drinks on patios, and first kisses. Soon, it will be the time of stargaz­ing, bar­be­cues, and who knows.

A few peo­ple have sug­gested my depres­sion may have been due to a chem­i­cal imbal­ance, which I never ruled out. Even though it was one e-mail on that Thursday morn­ing that trig­gered all those bad thoughts, I nor­mally would have been able to han­dle it bet­ter. There wasn’t an imme­di­ate impact. Just a grad­ual sag­ging that got worse and worse through­out the day until I was com­pletely dejected at night. After that, I got a blis­ter on my neck from stand­ing in the shower for too long with water that was too hot. Now that I think about it, I com­pletely under­stand why I felt that way, but it seems kind of silly.

Joe Lencioni also rec­om­mended to me a free pro­gram called Flux — appro­pri­ately head­lined as “Software to make your life bet­ter” — that grad­u­ally changes the colour tem­per­a­ture and bright­ness of your mon­i­tors to mimic the set­ting sun. It’s also local­ized, so it knows when the sun sets for your area and changes auto­mat­i­cally. I’m pretty sure it’s made it eas­ier for me to fall asleep at night.

I’m in such a strange phase right now. I don’t know where I am. When I look back on this time in my life, I won­der whether I’ll look back with nos­tal­gia, pity, or regret.

  1. To move the tele­scope at the same rota­tion of the earth to pre­vent blur in astropho­tog­ra­phy. []
  2. To keep track of a guide star in cal­i­brat­ing the track­ing motor. []

Spring Worth Loving

I went to get a hair­cut. It was the mid­dle of the day, and the warmth of the sun felt so unex­pected against the win­ter I was liv­ing in. I guess I hadn’t been out of the house in a while. It was mild enough to drive with the win­dows down, and The Alchemy Index (Air/Earth) was on but I felt noth­ing. The com­ing of spring has always light­ened my mood, but warmth wasn’t enough to reach inside me.

This numb­ness haunts me. It’s like my emo­tions have died, and I can’t tell if I like it or not. You know in Fight Club when the nar­ra­tor says, “After fight­ing, every­thing else in your life got the vol­ume turned down.”? This inner strug­gle has def­i­nitely put my life on mute. Sometimes I won­der if I’d jump out of the way if a car came bar­rel­ing towards me, whether my reflexes for self-preservation are still working.

People have been sup­port­ive in very cre­ative ways. Passing on music, notes, rec­om­men­da­tions, per­sonal expe­ri­ences, and other acknowl­edg­ments of the pain. They walk around me as if on eggshells, unsure of what to do. I’d tell them if I knew myself. I feel guilty and unde­serv­ing of the atten­tion, but touched at the same time.

I’ve been stay­ing away from every­one because it’s get­ting harder to keep up the façade. I’m too tired to pre­tend like every­thing is fine. I don’t talk to any­one but John, who acts as if noth­ing hap­pened because the whole sit­u­a­tion makes him uncom­fort­able. I’m not work­ing from home any­more, so I hide in my office at work. I wear the same clothes every day and no one seems to notice. I can’t remem­ber the last time I shaved but I think it was over a week ago.

The hard­est part is try­ing to accom­plish things when I’m so unin­spired. My cal­en­dar has filled out to the mid­dle of April — projects I took on and plans I made when I needed a dis­trac­tion — but now all I want is a nice chunk of free time for some hedonism.

I feel frag­ile and sta­ble all at once. It’s not like I’m in a cri­sis, but nothing’s been resolved either.

For about three days last week I couldn’t stop writ­ing. Now I don’t know what to say anymore.

Afraid and shy, I let my chance go by

While I’ve always been very appre­cia­tive of what we did have, some­times I won­der about what we never had the chance to do.

Sure, I bared my soul. I sur­ren­dered. I gave her the songs I don’t share with just any­one. I told her how pro­foundly impor­tant, won­der­ful, and remark­able she was to me. I let her in like no one else before.

But there were parts of myself I never gave up.

It wasn’t because we hadn’t reached that level of trust. It was a way for me to pro­tect myself. To feel as though she didn’t have all of me, so I wouldn’t be left as open and vul­ner­a­ble when the end finally came.

I regret it now. Not because I think it would have changed any­thing1, but because I won­der what it would have been like for some­one to know me com­pletely. To feel vul­ner­a­ble and safe, all at once. Even know­ing I’d be heart­bro­ken even­tu­ally, it would have been worth it to share what I’ve always saved.

I’ve been keep­ing all my girl­friends at arms length to pro­tect myself. I can’t go through life hold­ing things back any­more, con­stantly wor­ried someone’s going to hurt me. That’s always a risk, no mat­ter how sta­ble a rela­tion­ship is.

I have to put myself out there. I have to make the first step, even if it means feel­ing uncom­fort­able, because the more you share, the more com­fort­able you become, the more you share, and so on.

I can only go for­ward now, as a wiser per­son, a stronger soul, a bet­ter lover.

I sup­pose I’m feel­ing nos­tal­gic, or miss­ing her, as is my wont when the sea­sons change.

  1. Cause it wouldn’t have. []

Things are changing, day by day

Edit: Wow, I found an old photo I took in 2004 of the CD in Trolley’s CD player.

Thumbnail: Float On

Modest Mouse used to be the best kept indie rock secret. Then they let Gravity Rides Everything be used in a Nissan com­mer­cial. Then they did Saturday Night Live. Then they did The O.C. (Really, Modest Mouse? REALLY?). Then they appeared on Rock Band 2 and Guitar Hero World Tour, and now I won­der if they were just sell­outs doing it for the money to begin with.

But before all that hap­pened, or per­haps as it hap­pened, they came out with Float On.

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This was the song of 2004. It defined the year for me. I was pick­ing myself up off the floor after a tor­rid rela­tion­ship, and set­tling down alone, find­ing my own lit­tle bit of peace.

That was six years ago, and I’m back there again. I had an odd moment of seren­ity as I left the stair­case to the Tai Chi stu­dio tonight, and walked into the frigid, calm air. Sort of like I had no hope, but that didn’t mat­ter because I didn’t need hope; I had my hands, my senses, my wits, and my cam­era, and that was good enough.

I’m sure the fact that I’ve start­ing work­ing from home four days out of the week has some­thing to do with it. I can work on projects with my music loud, and my pjs on. I don’t get inter­rupted, so my pro­duc­tiv­ity is great.

Okay, so I’ve been avoid­ing any movies or TV shows with dat­ing or romance. I’m stick­ing strictly to Babylon 5 and The Sopranos. It’s been work­ing, because I’ve been feel­ing bet­ter about myself and my cur­rent sit­u­a­tion. Thinking: “Maybe I’m a nice secret right now”.

I'm the hero of the story

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(This first. Listen to the clar­ity of the lower octave notes that Regina adds in waves and waves at the end of the cho­rus; you can tell it’s a qual­ity grand piano just from how those notes res­onate — an upright would sound much mud­dier at the low end. This is the song that plays on day (408) and it’s fuck­ing per­fect. Also, title from the lyrics.1)

It would appear that some­one made a movie of my last rela­tion­ship, and (500) Days of Summer is to #8 as Eternal Sunshine was to #4. The inter­est­ing part is that it was released early last year, dur­ing the rela­tion­ship, and I won­der if it would have changed any­thing on my end, had I seen it then. And if she saw it now, would she under­stand things from my per­spec­tive? Or does she under­stand already? And if other peo­ple saw it, would they under­stand how one could unwit­tingly get their hopes up when things are so clear from the beginning?

I’m so glad Marc Webb, the direc­tor, treated the mate­r­ial with such grace. You can tell it was based on expe­ri­ence because the ten­der moments come from a real place (co-writer Scott Neustadter admit­ted Summer was based on a girl who “returned his kisses but not his ardor”). In an inter­view, Joseph Gordon-Levitt said, “I’ve had my heart bro­ken before. Truly, truly bro­ken. But when I look back at me in my heart­bro­ken phase, it’s pretty hilar­i­ous, because it felt so much more extreme than it really was. One of the things I love about (500) Days of Summer is that it doesn’t make light of what we go through in romances [empha­sis mine], but it is hon­est about it and shows it for what it is, which is often pro­foundly funny”, and I com­pletely agree. I also appre­ci­ate the fact that they don’t vil­lainize Summer because she never takes advan­tage of Tom2, and at the same time, it doesn’t make the ago­niz­ing days he goes through any less sig­nif­i­cant or dif­fi­cult. In a pro­found way, it brings jus­ti­fi­ca­tion to every­thing I was (or am) going through. I sup­pose I’m just wait­ing for the punchline.

Hah.

Watching it has left me feel­ing emo­tion­ally dev­as­tated lately, almost as if I’ve regressed, and lost months of progress. John says it’s because see­ing it was like see­ing her again, reliv­ing the entire thing from day one, from when we had met in the office. Like a recov­er­ing alco­holic falling off the wagon and tak­ing his first sip in 5 years. That doesn’t mean I don’t appre­ci­ate the mes­sage, and as well as the rec­om­men­da­tion to watch the movie from Darren.

Even though I’ve tried to com­pletely for­get and move on, I’ve come to learn it’s not that easy. It’s almost as if you have to accept the all the mem­o­ries, both good and bad, as much as you accept your own qual­i­ties and flaws.

The days, months, years you spend with someone significant will inevitably change and shape you. To deny them is to deny yourself.

I found it fas­ci­nat­ing to trace the plot devel­op­ments to parts of my own story. The entries I’ve writ­ten over the last two years echo the sen­ti­ments so strik­ingly in dia­logue, songs, and voice-overs.


Things in block­quotes are either nar­ra­tor voice-over or direc­tors notes. I listed the events lin­early too (even though the film is pre­sented in non-linear fash­ion) for the sake of clar­ity. It’s also inter­est­ing to see how the cal­en­dar title cards change back­grounds, from bright and sunny, to red and sim­mer­ing, to grey and bleak.

(1)

This is a story of boy meets girl. The boy, Tom Hansen, of Margate, New Jersey, grew up believ­ing that he’d never truly be happy until the day he met “the one”.

From my entry The Penultimate Letter — “My whole life, I looked for some­one like you. Someone who was capa­ble of rais­ing me to my poten­tial, some­one who was wor­thy of the love I have to offer. But even then, I never knew I was capa­ble of a love that res­onated so deeply in my person.”

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  1. Or is it? []
  2. Ironically, the gen­der roles are reversed, and it’s Tom’s date who’s the voice of rea­son here. []

Where Am I Now?

It’s been a par­tic­u­larly try­ing week. I’ve been feel­ing so jaded. Broken. Helpless. Undefined.

Both the cause and the con­se­quence is that I’ve been sleep­ing ter­ri­bly lately. Next week I’m going to try to have a more self-control and stay on a strict sched­ule. Bring some order into my life.

I tried to make an appoint­ment with my ther­a­pist, since I have $300 men­tal health cov­er­age with my work per cal­en­dar year (although this only amounts to two ses­sions). Unfortunately, I need a refer­ral from my fam­ily doc­tor to claim the cov­er­age, because refer­rals are only good for one year, and it’s been that long since I saw him.

I think of how judg­men­tal my dad was when I told him I was see­ing a psy­chol­o­gist. But then I real­ize that he’s prob­a­bly the only per­son I feel like I can really talk to right now (my ther­a­pist, not my dad). I wish I could talk to my friends, but my thoughts are either too embar­rass­ing to admit to them, or too com­pli­cated for them to understand.

I’ve been lis­ten­ing to some quiet, som­bre stuff lately. Trying to acquire a taste for Leonard Cohen’s mid­dle years, when he traded in his gui­tar for horns and vio­lins, even some Depeche Mode. Depeche Fucking Mode. It hasn’t been helping.

I just don’t know what to do with myself lately. But I’m pretty sure I really need to cry right now.

When Will The Devil Take Me?

It hasn’t stopped rain­ing since I woke up this morn­ing, and now it’s dark, with only the street­lamps and their reflec­tions in the pud­dles for light. It’s cold outside.

This is a good thing.

I feel like the epony­mous char­ac­ter in Onegin. Sitting on the bal­cony in the dead of win­ter, wait­ing for a let­ter. His ser­vant, hand­ing him a stemmed glass of vodka, asks him to come inside because it’s cold. “I like the cold” he replies, as he resigns him­self to his fate.

He walks down the streets of Saint Petersburg, and his motif comes in on the piano, fol­lowed by strings. FADE TO BLACK.

A stoic face to the world. Can I say stoic? I like stoic.

These titles are get­ting harder and harder to write.

And I want to say that I’m melan­choly, but I’m not. But I’m not giddy either. My emo­tions aren’t black and white. They’re a mix­ture of ups and down. I don’t know what to say when I don’t know what I’m feel­ing or what comes next.

I’m just wait­ing. Passive. Yielding.

Flirting With Disconnection

I had been writ­ing non-stop for weeks. I’m not sure if it was rest­less­ness, or if I had too much to get off my chest, or what. Sometimes I wrote two or three entries at the same time, because my mind went off in so many dif­fer­ent direc­tions. It’s always been a habit to over-analyze things.

Then at some point, the world stopped mak­ing sense. My mind went blank, leav­ing me with noth­ing to say. It’s like my brain had given up on try­ing to fig­ure it all out. I guess it’s bet­ter than think­ing too much.

I feel so dis­tant from every­thing now. A strange numb­ness, unlike any­thing I’ve felt before. The things that used to mat­ter don’t seem impor­tant any­more. Or maybe I just stopped caring.

Every now and then, I get a surge of emo­tion, and I’m unsure of whether I should fight it or embrace it.

Emo

I’ve had the strangest day. Or week. Or month. Or something.

Not strange in an odd of way, but strange in a con­fus­ing way.

It’s like I don’t know what I’m feel­ing right now. I don’t even know how I’m sup­posed to feel. Maybe it’s the uncer­tainty of my life right now that’s doing it. The insta­bil­ity that makes me want to go home and hide in the com­fort of my chaise, behind the warm glare of my Macbook Pro.

All day, I think of being at home and fin­ish­ing my projects. Then I get home and pro­cras­ti­nate — not watch­ing TV, or movies, or read­ing, or clean­ing, but lit­er­ally sit­ting around — because all I think about is talk­ing to John.

It’s only after I’m off the phone with him that I feel like I can begin my evening and be pro­duc­tive. I can talk with­out think­ing, with­out wor­ry­ing that he may judge me, with­out feel­ing like I’m being patron­ized, with­out car­ing whether I’m repeat­ing myself, with­out fear of offend­ing him, with­out even hav­ing to make sense. Like a small ses­sion of ther­apy, where I need to fig­ure things out for myself, but which can only be done after I’ve put it all out there to some­one else. It helps me more than I can under­stand or explain. Unfortunately, he gen­er­ally remains unavail­able until later in the night, and by the time we’re done, it’s already passed the time I should be in bed.

Even this was only writ­ten after he called me on his way home from ini­ti­at­ing new pledges at his old fra­ter­nity. And it’s already an hour later than when I planned to be asleep.

In any case, I couldn’t even bring myself to cry today. It just wasn’t in me. It isn’t what I’m feel­ing right now. Or not the only thing.

And when Death From Above1 came on, all I wanted to do was dance.

  1. Back when Iain and I first saw them in con­cert open­ing for Billy Talent, they didn’t have the gra­tu­itous “1979” suf­fix, as it was before the legal dis­pute. I refuse to acknowl­edge them as any­thing else. []

Every Sadness is Unique

Which is why we can never truly pre­pare our­selves. We may see it com­ing, we may under­stand why, but that never makes it any easier.

Every tear is an entity. An expres­sion that swells to escape our bodies.

Every day is a chance to heal.

Developments and Denouements

Lights down, sound up, for this one. Maybe some tea and a pas­try if it’s not too late.

I had Maps by Yeah Yeah Yeahs play­ing here.

Stripped down, the beat alter­nates between triplet–three–one–two-three–one–two and one-two-three–one–two-three–one–two, fool­ing the lis­tener into think­ing it’s in some sort of com­plex time-signature. It’s actu­ally based in com­mon time, but with the triplets in there and the down-beat (marked by the open snare) falling on four and then three of the next bar, the song takes on a syn­co­pated rhythm. This isn’t what makes the song good, though. It’s all Karen O and her voice.

I’ve been so moody lately. Up and down. Developments and denoue­ments. Most likely a result of my over­think­ing and over­plan­ning over every­thing. Still try­ing to take things one day at a time, with­out rush­ing head first, with­out falling head over heels.

It’s all a mix­ture of good and bad. Sometimes, I don’t even know how to feel.

I’ve begun see­ing my psy­chol­o­gist on a session-by-session basis (instead of on a sched­ule — an indi­ca­tion of progress). In between, my Tai Chi classes have become my ther­apy. There’s some­thing about class that cen­tres me; the cama­raderie, the move­ments, the breath­ing, the con­tact, the feel­ing that I’m improv­ing a part of myself, bit by bit, even if it’s sub­con­sciously. A time where I can totally focus, a place where I can for­get every­thing else.

Afterwards, it’s a drive home in the dark with the win­dows down, and the rustling of wind in my hair.

The seren­ity car­ries for­ward. I’m recharged again. Then I’m strong enough to be myself. I’m strong enough to accept these feelings.

They don’t love you like I love you.