The weekend was eventful in its uneventfulness. On Friday I took the bus back home, where John picked me up from the station and took me to his new house. It’s a pretty swanky place, with beautiful hardwood floors all around and a modern kitchen. We dropped off Dan before going to the cottage, which ended up being a two hour detour, and in all I spent about eleven hours traveling that day. John’s aged Ford Explorer, with its permanently flashing brake and engine warning lights, its odd clicking sounds while turing, and its massive shudders when traveling above 120 kph, had a new problem. A connection inside the steering wheel had fallen loose and the horn would sound randomly and sporadically whenever John made a turn. Unfortunately, John lives in Chinatown, and the horn would go off in the busiest streets possible. John would shake his wheel, veering us from one lane to another, in an attempt to turn the horn off, giving us crazy glances from pedestrians. Needless to say, I was quite embarrassed, being given the opportunity to ride shotgun. At one point in the trip, each vibration of the SUV had caused the horn to sound in lengthy intervals of staccato honks, and we ended up taking out the horn fuse from the fusebox.

The cottage sits directly on a beach, so there’s always a breeze coming off the shore, and the temperature is perfect in the summer. It actually cools down considerably at night, and we ended up building a fire and toasting some marshmallows under the black sky on Saturday. Lake Huron stretches out on the beach horizon, and the water, while white and foamy on shore, becomes a strong, vivid blue when looked at from a distance. The pale sky meets the water in a perfect line, forming a brilliant gradient of blue hues with tiny boats bobbing up and down in the distance.

Cottage time was spent lounging around, playing Euchre or Rummoli, watching movies or playing some PS2. At one point, I fell asleep lying on the beach, with the warmth of the sun on my body and the sound of gentle waves in my ears.

For me, each visit at this cottage is marked by the set of cousins who are there as well. There are five bedrooms, one with three beds and one with two beds, so accommodations are usually plentiful, although sometimes there’s so much family up there that people end up sleeping on couches. John, Julia, Grandma, and I were the only ones there for the majority of the weekend, although Heather came up for a day and a half, now separated from her husband, with her two beautiful daughters Jenny and Becky. I can really tell that Heather loves her children, a pleasant surprise from the so-common neglectful parents nowadays.

I left John’s at around 11:45 pm yesterday, took the midnight bus here, and arrived around 5:00 am, in time to talk to Jackee for a bit before going to bed.

I’m heading back home next weekend, but I’ll be going straight to John’s cottage when I arrive there, so it’ll be more than eight hours traveling by bus and car. Aaron’s also going back home, so we might take the bus there and the plane back, depending on how cheap the airfare is. I can’t wait to head up to John’s cottage and take part in the Scottish bagpipe parade that runs through the town every weekend during the summer. It’s become a sort of ritual now, every time I go up, along with the nighttime car rides and assuming my role as the token Chinese guy. I can’t believe how many memories I have at that cottage, and what John and I have been through for better or for worse there.

Darren should be coming up in two or so weeks to visit. Hopefully we’ll get a chance to watch Waking Life, along with playing some Frozen Throne and Magic. I’m sure Darren needs to relax more than I do, after his summer job.

I’ve decided to put off my job search until the end of the summer, and simply enjoy what I have now.

I’ve been back for two days, and I’m still busy. I haven’t played a game of WC3 in over a week and a half. I think people would generally be worried about me if I told them this without letting them know that I didn’t have access to a decent computer. I can honestly say that the last two weeks have been the best trip home I’ve ever had.

I’ll never forget driving to the park to blaze with Darren and Chris or Jeff or Jerry. The park was always abandoned at that time of night, surrounded by a field on one side, and a row of middle-class houses on the other. I always suspected that the people eating dinner with their blinds open knew that we were doing something illicit when sparks would light up our faces in the blackness of the field. Standing in the middle of the playground, with its sand-covered tables or dual-sided slide contraptions, made me feel comfortably at peace. The area was devoid of traffic (and hence noise) and there was no light pollution to dilute the glamour of the glittering sky.

Afterwards, getting hungry, we would drive to the McDonalds drive-through (since the regular joint was closed at that time of night), and order an inordinate amount of food. Eating would always consist of parking in a nearby lot, lit from long lamps that seemed to want to touch the sky, and rolling down the Civic’s windows. The wide, open space of the parking lot would rarely see anyone drive through, and we were left eating comfortably in silence (albeit with the hum of the A/C in the background), when food never tasted so good.

We would hit the closest Timmies afterwards, needing coffee and somehow more food. The place was always empty, and from two to four in the morning we were the only customers, getting two large teas and two cheese strudels please. I wondered how much money could have been made by staying open 24 hours a day, paying the two employees working the night shift while seeing us as the only customers, purchasing food but staying well over the courtesy limit. I’ll never forget how brightly lit the place was, with it’s lugubrious employee seemingly mopping the floor for an eternity while Chris and Darren chatted endlessly about the more humourous aspects of their friends facial features. I would look out the window and see cars pass by on the main road every so often, wondering how I’ve missed such a good time my whole life.

Time spent with John was just as good. We watched Elizabeth (Geoffrey Rush and Fanny Ardent had the best parts), The Transporter (terrible), The Good Thief (very good), Jackass Movie (just as good the second time), and Better Luck Tomorrow (very enjoyable). We bought Timesplitters 2 for his PS2 and played quite a bit of co-operative campaign and switched to deathmatch when we felt the need to match testosterone.

He would give me a ride home every night which ended up taking about an hour due to the DVP being closed for construction. We rode along the dark city streets, listening to Air Supply and talked about anything from implanted human desires to how fucked up our relationships have been to our future plans.

I realized that, as good a time as I was having at home, I still wouldn’t move back there. I’m comfortable here, and I’m able to much better appreciate the time I spend with my friends or family if it’s not too often. I have something to look forward to.

Something that is rare.

I remember being with John in a moment of intense frustration. We were sitting in Thompson’s classroom, and it was an overcast day outside. His blue blinds were cast aside, and we could hear the students playing outside through a crack in the window. It was lunchtime and we were eating together, a tradition that grew out of being mutual loners. I don’t remember what actually happened to cause his frustration, but he became so affected by it that he chomped down on his ballpoint pen out of spontaneity.

The pen cracked, and flooded his mouth with thick, dark ink. Upon realizing that his stress relief method would cause him even more anxiety than he thought, he quickly ran to the window and desperately tried to spit out as much ink as he could, the ink overflowing in his mouth and spilling down to his chin.

We tried our best to clean him up before anyone could have found out. After all, high school was hell. I remember secretly hoping that the ink would stain his teeth (only for a day, of course) to see the extent of his creativity in explaining what looked like super accelerated gingivitis to his father.

Sometimes I feel like bursting out from frustration in such a “self-destructive” manner. Usually, I can never bring myself to act out on such an impulse though. I always see the results of the destruction before I do anything, and in the end it never seems worth it.

It leaves me with my emotions bottled up inside me, and a desperate need to opine. Sometimes I can find relief through this medium. Sometimes it’s not enough.

Sometimes it doesn’t do anything.

I spoke with John about my current situation, and asked him for advice and commentary. It was a strange feeling, to know that he is so set in his place in life right now, while I’m still struggling to stand on stable ground. I’m happy for him though, and I hope he doesn’t lose his footing.

We decided that I need to become colder, more inhuman. More evil, I said. He explained to me that there’s a point that I have crossed, where there’s no way back. Perhaps I’ve burned my bridges without realizing it. At the time, I was fine with that. Now, I wonder if I should have preserved some means of reversal.

I asked John what he would do in my situation. He told me that he would never have let the situation occur in the first place, and that as I brought up the situation in conversation, it has gone too far in my mind already. His perspicacity never ceases to amaze me. Perhaps it’s true, and I can no longer ignore what has happened. We decided that it’s best for me to attempt to overcome any awkwardness and become more cerebral. Although I generally do exactly the opposite of what John tells me, I seem to agree with his logic in this case. His attitude is always much more cynical than mine (I believe it’s called projection in psychology, ha!), but I think that it’s more relevant than I realize in this case.

I’m very glad I have a journal to write in. I’ve been feeling glad of this fact much, lately. How well I’m doing can always be seen in the intermittency of my writing.

I haven’t succeeded in my attempts to ignore the situation, but I will keep trying. After all, as John explained, there’s no way back.

I think I’m still too weak.