May 24, 2010

life being what it is

8

Darren came up from Toronto for a visit over the long weekend.

These ses­sions always ful­fill my quota of rela­tion­ship talk. When one admits to not want­ing to be in a rela­tion­ship, this is fol­lowed nat­u­rally by the ques­tion, “Would you go for it if you found the per­fect one right now?” from the other. Then in return, “If she came back to you and said she wanted to try again, but you only had a 50–50 per­cent chance of suc­cess, would you go for it?”

In our lit­tle duet, our philo­soph­i­cal col­lab­o­ra­tion, love is always a theme. No one else chal­lenges our psy­ches in this regard.

Trivial Pursuit night

 

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March 14, 2010

I’m upgraded daily all my wires without traces

2

Found these songs today:

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I’ve been feel­ing bet­ter. I don’t know why. I can’t fig­ure it out. I didn’t do actively do any­thing to fix myself.

Maybe it was Audra singing a verse on my answer­ing machine, and promis­ing to leave me a whole song some day. Or the fact that I was out of the house when the sun was out for the first time in as long as I can remem­ber. Or even writ­ing it all down and finally get­ting it off my chest, because explain­ing it forces me to ratio­nal­ize things and view them objec­tively, instead of with a bias of depression.

It kind of scares me. I have a feel­ing this depres­sion comes as eas­ily as it goes.

Lately, the only thing I feel like doing is writ­ing and prac­tic­ing my ukulele, but I’m just glad I want to do some­thing.

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August 23, 2009

I Am Here

3

(I thought it only appro­pri­ate that I name this entry after another Shane Watt song, as the last one was as well. Amazingly enough, they both go together.)

I’ve been feel­ing bet­ter. A lot bet­ter actu­ally. One of the rea­sons why I was feel­ing so depressed on Friday was because I was so unmo­ti­vated, not so much in terms of not want­ing to do any­thing, but not want­ing to do any­thing pro­duc­tive.

Part of this puri­tan atti­tude (as John’s pro­fes­sor dad calls it) is due to my upbring­ing. The months of sum­mer between school semes­ters were never a time to relax, accord­ing to my par­ents, it was a time to study ahead for the upcom­ing year. I was made to feel guilty if I was hav­ing fun.

Then, at one point on Friday, I real­ized how wrong that was.

So this week­end I embraced my lack of moti­va­tion. I decided that I didn’t care about being pro­duc­tive. That I’ve been work­ing hard the last few weeks and I’m ahead on my projects, so I needed a break.

I watched a few movies I’d been sav­ing. I hung out with Bronwen. I played some GTA IV (which offers it’s own par­tic­u­lar sat­is­fac­tion in terms of being able to beat up exec­u­tives and hip­sters who are walk­ing around with cups of gourmet cof­fee). When I needed a break, I decided to do some main­te­nance on my music library, some­thing I never seem to find the time for oth­er­wise. And what do you know, I ended up being pro­duc­tive with­out mean­ing to.

Amazing how a change in mind­set can instantly flip one’s mood. It’s nor­mally not so easy for me, because in the back of my mind I feel like I’m fool­ing myself, but for some rea­son, it worked really well this time. Probably because it makes a lot of sense.

Next week, I’m going to stick to a sched­ule to get things back on track. I’m going to exer­cise some self-control and abstain from any brain activ­ity and start read­ing one of the books that Tatiana gave me, to help me fall asleep before bed.

I used to think that I should always be look­ing for­ward to tomor­row. Instead, I’m look­ing for­ward to right now.

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May 18, 2009

Praise The Night

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Oh, and lis­ten to this.

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Sometimes you wish your friends lived far away so you could drive home for­ever, and sing off-key into the darkness.

But at some point you have to come home and undress, you have to stop the pres­sure of the water run­ning down your back and step out of the shower, you have to go to bed for the sake of your colon, you have to put aside your thoughts for another day.

There was some­thing about his expres­sion that made you believe that you’re bet­ter now. You’re safer. Maybe the real­iza­tion that your mis­takes are your own to make. That you’re stronger now than you ever were, and that peo­ple care about you, enough to tell you the truth when it’s the last thing you want to hear.

Praise the night, for this wouldn’t be pos­si­ble any other time.

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May 11, 2009

Amnesiac Weekends

2

My throat has devel­oped some­thing of a raspy tinge from talk­ing all week­end. I’ve never had par­tic­u­larly strong vocal chords. I told myself I’d speak as lit­tle as pos­si­ble today; we’ll see how long that lasts. Maybe I can drink some honey tea instead.

It wasn’t so much that I over­booked myself as plans going on for much longer than expected. Which pretty much means I didn’t get any work done, so I won’t be going to Toronto next week­end so I can catch up. Not that I really want to any­more, as the last two days have left me feel­ing over­stim­u­lated and sat­is­fied. Anyway, Dan took a quick look at my chart for this month (on his own ini­tia­tive) and told me not to do any­thing big on the 15th and 16th because it’s “risky”. I never let my horo­scope deter­mine what I do, but maybe this is the way the uni­verse tells me to stay home.

I didn’t even have time to do my weekly gro­cery shop­ping. I’m eat­ing stale bread and canned soups today.

The best part of the week­end was hav­ing an excuse to use the Numi Dancing Leaves teabuds and teapot that Louise bought me last Christmas, some­thing I’d been sav­ing for spe­cial occa­sions. Amazingly, I got three full steeps — which trans­lates into six cups — out of one Golden Jasmine bud.

Those things I had been try­ing to for­get got lost some­where in the before I even real­ized it. Isn’t that what for­get­ting is about?

Sometimes I need these week­ends. They recharge me, they give me hope, when hope is so fleeting.

I’m try­ing to ride that feel­ing, and let it carry me forward.

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September 14, 2008

Good Times For A Change

8

Before you start read­ing, play this song. It’s a Deftones cover of The Smiths’ song Please Please Please Let Me Get What I Want. There have been a few other artists who have done cov­ers too, includ­ing Muse, but only Chino has the kind of raw emo­tion in his voice that matches Morrisey.

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This song was writ­ten for right now.

Orchid bouquet

I’ve moved mainly to video. Getting a lit­tle tired of the still pho­to­graph medium. I had my first com­mis­sion this week­end at the NAC, record­ing a jazz trio con­cert in exchange for a few tick­ets for my friends.

If you couldn’t tell, I’ve been obsessed with colour tones and vignetting lately. Making my pho­tos look like old mem­o­ries. Maybe this is a way for me to go back; revert­ing to past expe­ri­ences, draw­ing inward as an intro­vert, regress­ing to a dif­fer­ent time, when all I had was inno­cence but that was enough.

Me in a tie

I’ve been strangely serene. Sleeping well. When things get com­pli­cated I’ve been less stoic, and more light-hearted.

Dolly eating chicken

Maybe it’s the house being clean. Maybe I’m sat­is­fied with the the new dec­o­ra­tions. Maybe it was the last week­end, get­ting caught up on errands and tasks, finally feel­ing like my head is above water.

Maybe it’s the weather. The rain. The wind. The warmth of the sun. The tem­per­a­ture drop. The way I can leave my win­dow open at night.

Civic logo in rain

Maybe it’s feel­ing socially ful­filled. Seeing friends, laugh­ing hard, trips out of town, trips on my own.

Star fingers

Maybe it’s the nights spent hold­ing her, caress­ing every inch of her skin. Maybe it’s the way she held me too.

Chopped vegetables

Maybe it’s the accep­tance. A way I’ve let go where I’ve found myself finally free, and liv­ing. Something I always think I’ve been able to do, only to real­ize a day later that I didn’t before, but I have now, hon­estly.

School bus

Maybe it’s all the movies I’ve been watch­ing in the time between, see­ing myself in every char­ac­ter, every sit­u­a­tion. Going back to high school, being back at university.

Potting plant

I’m not sure what it is, but I know this feel­ing won’t last for­ever. It never has. It’s the flux between storm and seren­ity that moves me.

Been writ­ing this entry over the last week.

In a cou­ple days, this blog turns six.

Maybe I just had a few good weeks.

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June 14, 2008

Protected: Questioning Hope

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June 6, 2008

My Relationship with Frederic and Misun

4

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.

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June 2, 2008

A Reason For All

4

The crooked become straight
The empty become full
The worn become new
Have lit­tle and gain much
Have much and be con­fused
So the Sage embraces the One and becomes a model for the world

—Verse 22, Tao Te Ching

Yesterday, I woke up from a nap at four in the after­noon. Usually, when I wake up from a long nap, I feel groggy and uneasy, but this time I was bright and rested.

When I went out­side, the rain had stopped. It washed the bird poop off my wind­shield, it filled the air with the lin­ger­ing scent of clean­li­ness. In my car, Becky started singing in the stereo.

I had You Broke My Heart by Lavender Diamond play­ing here

And every time she hit me with the words “cav­alry of light” in her waver­ing vibrato, I had to sing at the top of my lungs along with her, my voice crack­ing, my dig­nity left behind me.

I can’t even remem­ber the last time I’ve been so happy.

This morn­ing, I was run­ning late for work. But by the time I got to the car, the sun had been out long enough to warm the breeze. I could roll the win­dows down and let the air in. The traf­fic made me even more late, but it let me take my time too. It gave me the chance to enjoy Lenny croon­ing to me about how true love leaves no traces.

It’s like I’m wait­ing for some­thing to go wrong, because I’m not used to things going this well. But nothing’s going wrong. Things are be work­ing out. Everything has a rea­son, no mat­ter how small or trivial.

Taoist the­ory says that sur­ren­der brings per­fec­tion. Don’t force any­thing. Allow things to hap­pen, and they’ll nat­u­rally bal­ance out. Perhaps I’m finally believ­ing this, instead of sim­ply under­stand­ing it.

When things are going badly, you’re not really behind.

You’re just wait­ing for the good that wouldn’t be pos­si­ble otherwise.

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April 29, 2008

Making A Difference

3

Over the last while, I’ve been receiv­ing some very nice let­ters and com­ments.

Two, in par­tic­u­lar, touched me. This one:

I stum­bled upon your blog a few days ago. I’m read­ing all your archives right now.

One of your entries moved me so much I had to pass it to my best, most initi­mate, most sensitive/sensual girl­friends. It wasn’t a big group, but a group I felt could hear what you were say­ing in your entry. It was about find­ing the spot on a woman that should be kissed.

I read your blog every day because I can’t believe there is a man out in the uni­verse who is this intu­itive, in tune, so aware of him­self emo­tion­ally and phys­i­cally. I wish you had gone to my col­lege — you would have been so loved and admired.

So this entry dis­tresses me, and I don’t even know you. I under­stand lon­li­ness — I’ve never had inti­macy, or rather, I’m very afraid of it. I don’t even know why I’m telling you all this because you don’t know me either and you won’t care, but this entry hurts. You must know by now that some­one thinks of you every­day. Maybe it is your mom, maybe an ex-lover or girl­friend or male friend or co worker.

I think I’m more in shock that you can write so hon­estly and openly. I’m jeal­ous of that.

well, I just wanted to let you know that. And that I have a crush on your blog. Can a per­son crush on a blog?

Please take care,
Zaira

And this from a few months ago:

Hi Jeff,

you don’t know me and we will prob­a­bly never meet. It’s sort of inter­est­ing the way the inter­net has changed the way we can know someone.

Allow me to intro­duce myself, since you have already bore your soul in a very real way that has moved me to write to a com­plete stranger-something i have never done.

I am a 30 yr old inte­rior designer, a born and bred new yorker cur­rently liv­ing in brook­lyn. It’s been slow at work lately, so to pass the time I have taken to read­ing blogs mostly design related, but some­how i read a com­ment that you had made on a ran­dom blog, look­ing back i can’t remem­ber which one unfor­tu­nately, and it led me back to your per­sonal blog somehow.

you see I am not like you at all. I feel sim­i­lar feel­ings, and even have sim­i­lar beliefs, but I don’t have the guts to put myself out there in that way. I dont even have a blog, and i can barely talk to my friends about the way im feel­ing. so for me your blog is very ther­a­peu­tic and refreshing.

like most peo­ple who blog, im sure, you won­der if any­one out there is read­ing. Well just wanted to let you know that I really like your blog and will con­tinue to read it.

I have added you as a flickr con­tact and i see that you have reciprocated-*armadilliz* I am not a stalker / crazy per­son, or any­thing like that, just a fan, so rest easy.

Take care,

–Liz

And while peo­ple tell me how much they appre­ci­ate me being open and shar­ing myself, it’s noth­ing com­pared to what they share of them­selves in these let­ters. I don’t know what com­pels some­one to write to a total stranger, but it’s a warm­ing ges­ture, some­thing that inspires me when I’m feel­ing closed and self-conscious.

So I want to say thank you.

Thank you to the peo­ple who’ve writ­ten me. Thank you to the peo­ple who share their own prob­lems and issues and lives. Thank you to the peo­ple who let me know that I’ve inspired them to start their own jour­nals. Thank you for sup­port­ing me when we’ve never even spoken.

It’s your words that make me feel like I’m not so alone when I’m sit­ting in my house, won­der­ing what to do with myself. It’s your kind­ness that gives me strength when the world is falling down around me. It’s know­ing that I’ve been able to make a dif­fer­ence that keeps me going.

Thank you.

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April 5, 2008

Sarah and Louise

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Sarah and Louise kiss

There’s a tremen­dous bond between mother and daugh­ter, some­thing unmatched by fathers and sons, or even mixed-sex parental rela­tion­ships. You can see it just from the way they interact.

As a male, I’ll prob­a­bly never be able to fully under­stand, but being able to rec­og­nize it and know­ing that such a won­der­ful thing still exists is enough to make me feel as if the world is in the right place.

A cou­ple more pic­tures behind the cut.

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March 5, 2008

Therapy in 140 Characters or Less

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Twice in one day? What?

Five years ago, I wrote that hope was the mind­killer. It can be a euphoric feel­ing, but as the result of sev­eral bad expe­ri­ences, the poten­tial for dis­ap­point­ment out­weighed the gain.

My way of deal­ing with dis­ap­point­ment was to assume the worst. It made me com­fort­able. There was cer­tainty, and I could move on.

So I had learned never to hope. This is how I changed. This is how I adapted. A defence mech­a­nism I used to pro­tect myself from being hurt. I had been fine with this, until today.

Perhaps it was hav­ing Julie tell me that I’m bet­ter than the atti­tude I have, or the life I lead1, but I’m filled with hope again. For once, I dare to dream of some­thing greater.

I want it and hate it at the same time. It gives me courage, but throws my world into uncer­tainty, like I’m set­ting myself up to be hurt again.

But Julie’s strong enough to believe in me and stub­born enough not to give up, because I’m not capa­ble of believ­ing in myself.

And maybe that’s enough to break the cycle.

  1. It made me real­ize I need some­one else to tell me cer­tain things, because I can’t see them for myself. I hate the fact that I can’t be strong enough for myself. I prob­a­bly shouldn’t. It just means there’s some­thing else about which I’m being too hard on myself, which I’ll have to tell my psy­chol­o­gist about any­way. [↑]
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November 23, 2007

Winter Window

3

Thumbnail: A winter scene out my window

Turning over and over in the sky, length after length of white­ness unwound over the earth and shrouded it. The bliz­zard was alone in the world; it had no rival.

When he climbed down from the win­dow sill Yura’s first impulse was to dress, run out­side, and start doing something.

—Doctor Zhivago

When one looks out­side their win­dow and sees this, this blan­ket of purity, what else can one feel but seren­ity, con­tent­ment, and hope?

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April 13, 2007

Letters From A Prisoner

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I’m not going to deny it any­more. It’s always been you. But I under­stand, you don’t need to explain, I get it. Work, our lives, we’re busy. You’re about to go off on a grand adven­ture. And I can see why you think that a rela­tion­ship with me and that adven­ture are mutu­ally exclu­sive but I just want to say my piece. Getting lost with each other could be the great­est adven­ture we’ve yet to embark on and I just want to say that if you want to get lost with me I’ll always be here per­pet­u­ally lost with­out you.

I read his let­ters, some dated, some titled with expres­sions of for­lorn hope. Familiar words that cut me to the bone.

They’re beau­ti­ful. I never knew he was capa­ble of such poignancy, such emo­tion. It fills me with envy.

Sometimes I just want to be noticed. Not often, but some­times late at night when I’m think­ing about the “what-ifs” of the day. Being too obvi­ous would be dan­ger­ous though and so I slink away, back to my cave to think, rather than do. Such a cow­ard, I loathe myself. You’d say no, every ratio­nal sce­nario I’ve played out ends with that.

He’s trapped, per­pet­u­ally lost in the thought of another. This time, I’m on the out­side, look­ing in. It’s all new for him, and I can hear in his voice how much he detests it.

His angst is unbe­com­ing. He’s not a writer, but he writes these let­ters, hop­ing the cathar­sis will save him. I’ve been here enough times to know that it’ll be alright, but that there’s also noth­ing I can do to help, so I resign myself to helplessness.

And now I’ll be pre-occupied and jeal­ous for the rest of the week­end. Me, jeal­ous and not trust­ing myself to speak, me. Not me, any­more. This love is like lep­rosy, pieces of myself are falling away. It’s ablative.

Yet his tone is so unfa­mil­iar, so unlike him. Me, he writes, Not me, any­more. He doesn’t even believe it him­self. The san­guine friend, reduced to an enfee­bled state he wants des­per­ately to cast aside. Even with the wis­dom I’ve gained, it still sur­prises me how attrac­tion, infat­u­a­tion, love can make one so irrational.

In these let­ters he shares his feel­ings, wholly, as if to say, “Here is my heart. Please hold it gen­tly”. The words would strip him bare if he spoke them to her, so he writes them where no one but me will read.

A pris­oner, he lives in this cage, caught between the will and the risk of express­ing to her how he feels.

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October 3, 2005

Walk Without Loo

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Thumbnail: Statues looking up

Thumbnail: Day building

Thumbnail: War memorial

Three pic­tures.

Patience is the great­est advan­tage. Time brings all answers. Knowing that the sun will rise again tomor­row puts the mind at ease.

Sometimes you just need to wait.

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