June 23, 2010

Everlong

0

I rarely think of the one who loved me most, even though she still thinks of me. This isn’t on pur­pose; it’s a sim­ple case of me mean­ing more to her than vice versa.

I’ve avoided such an unre­quited obses­sion with my last love. I stopped all con­tact, cut myself off from any­thing that’d pre­vent me from heal­ing or mov­ing on, and I’m proud of myself for hav­ing the strength to break such self-destructive habits.

But I can’t hide from my own mem­o­ries. When touched and inspired so sig­nif­i­cantly, one can’t help but remain for­ever changed.

Between the choice of giv­ing things a chance and los­ing me for­ever, she chose the lat­ter. So I won­der if she ever thinks of me now, the one who will always have loved her most, or whether I’ve just become another one of the wounded boys who stag­gered and fell so help­lessly against her graces.

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May 5, 2010

Love, Eclipses, and Other Ephemera

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365 days ago, you were sit­ting at a lit­tle round table in front of me. It was a cool day, with the light of the sun com­ing through big glass win­dows, and the way you were turned cast a shadow on the small dim­ple on your chest. How well I came to know that expanse of skin, never taken for granted by lips or fingertips.

I was filled with noth­ing but hap­pi­ness in that moment. By that point, I planned on mar­ry­ing you one day, as I had, per­haps a lit­tle fool­ishly, dreamed of build­ing a life with you. The only thing left was fig­ur­ing out how to con­vince you to dream a lit­tle bit too.

muse, turned

 

A few things have hap­pened since we last spoke. Nothing impor­tant enough to men­tion if I ever bumped into an old lover and tried to make small talk. Except, per­haps, that my grand­mother passed away, Aaron and Karen are expect­ing another child, and I started pur­su­ing a life­long dream of becom­ing an ama­teur astronomer.

In one class I learned the Sun’s dis­tance from the Earth is about 400 times the Moon’s dis­tance, and the Sun’s diam­e­ter is about 400 times the Moon’s diam­e­ter. It’s the fact that these ratios are approx­i­mately equal that causes the Sun and Moon to appear the same size when the three astro­nom­i­cal objects line up, cre­at­ing the effect we observe dur­ing a total eclipse. If the Sun were any closer, we wouldn’t see the fierce corona that bor­ders the shadow of the moon. Any fur­ther, and a ring of the Sun’s light would still be vis­i­ble. It’s a phe­nom­e­non that’s unique in our solar sys­tem, due to the sheer improb­a­bil­ity of these pre­req­ui­sites occurring.

eclipse

(I didn’t take this picture.)

Eclipses are a rare phe­nom­e­non. Total eclipses even more so; they occur every 18 months, at dif­fer­ent loca­tions, and never last more than a few min­utes as the shadow moves along the ground at over 1700 km/h.

Maybe this is why some peo­ple chase them, mak­ing pil­grim­ages to loca­tions where an eclipse is pre­dicted to hap­pen. One group even rented a plane and flew along the dark­est part of the shadow cast by the moon as it trav­eled over the Earth, and arti­fi­cially extended an eclipse from 7 min­utes to 74 min­utes. Which, in my book, is pretty awesome.

People who’ve been through an eclipse give sim­i­lar accounts of the expe­ri­ence; it looks like night in a mat­ter of min­utes, it feels like the heat is being sucked out of the ground, the ani­mals get all spooked out because they know some­thing extra­or­di­nary is happening.

But the Moon is also drift­ing away from the Earth at a rate of 3.8 cm a year, which means there even­tu­ally won’t be any more total solar eclipses. We hap­pen to be liv­ing in a time when we can still expe­ri­ence them, as future gen­er­a­tions will only have second-hand accounts from our best words and pic­tures. They won’t be able to feel the change in the atmos­phere, as the Sun hides behind the Moon for that brief moment. How for­tu­nate we are to be able to expe­ri­ence this event, which not only requires the heav­enly bod­ies to line up, but also requires us to be at the right place on the right planet at the right time.

sushi

 

I began to won­der what com­bi­na­tion of forces brought us there, to sit in the warmth of spring in a sushi shop down­town. Why fate had deliv­ered you to my office one morn­ing, for you to toss your head back and gig­gle and walk away after I made some corny joke at our introduction.

We were two trav­el­ing bod­ies on our own paths that hap­pened to align for a few spins around the sun. It was a beau­ti­ful acci­dent, a gaso­line rain­bow, an expe­ri­ence as spe­cial as it was serendip­i­tous that left me for­ever changed.

Every pic­ture I took was to cap­ture what I feared I’d never see again, and when our paths diverged, I kept look­ing at those pho­tos, won­der­ing what kept me drawn to these memories.

Then I real­ized it was because I didn’t want it to end. You were my eclipse, and I was a man on that plane, chas­ing a shadow.

Trying to live in your love a moment longer.

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April 18, 2010

Next To You

9

Found footage, cap­tured with my small CCD cam­corder. It strug­gles in low light sit­u­a­tions, but when I brought up the lev­els in post, out came this amaz­ing grain that gives it such a wist­ful texture.

When watch­ing this, my eyes tend to grav­i­tate to her hands; the way she moves them with a light, but firm touch, whether it’s get­ting Dolly to sit down, or brush­ing cat hair from her nose. They were artists hands. Not par­tic­u­larly strik­ing, but filled with del­i­cate dex­ter­ity. Sometimes, I’d kiss the tip of each fin­ger, and she’d tease me by pulling her hand away before I could finish.

It must have been one win­ter morn­ing, after a run out to Second Cup with their holiday-themed paper cups, watch­ing The Blue Planet in the com­fort of a blan­ket with a cat by our side.

Only after find­ing this footage did I start to believe that my mem­o­ries were real, and not just imag­i­na­tions caught between the haze of desire and denial.

We existed. We existed.

Even if only for a few moments, as won­der­ful as they were fleet­ing, one of them cap­tured in 24 frames per second.

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March 14, 2010

Predisposition

2

Thumbnail: My grandparents

When I was young and it was sum­mer, my mater­nal grand­par­ents would come from Hong Kong to babysit me. It was a strange time in my life, what I con­sider my fetal years when I don’t remem­ber learn­ing any­thing, or hav­ing any aware­ness of my own consciousness.

My grand­fa­ther was a strong, intel­li­gent, lov­ing, gen­tle man, and my biggest hero. He showed me his war wounds, and taught me about states of mat­ter. I even learned the term “civil war” from him when he used it (in English!) one time when some old black-and-white footage of Chinese bat­tles came on the TV, but his English wasn’t great so I thought he was say­ing, “zero war”.

He was my favourite per­son in the world because he gave me the atten­tion and stim­u­la­tion I never got from my parents.

In one of those sum­mers, I stole his cig­a­rettes, two at a time so he wouldn’t notice, and hid them in the com­part­ment of a red and white chil­drens draft­ing table. It was my way of get­ting him to stop smoking.

One time, I heard my grand­par­ents shout­ing in the kitchen. They were fight­ing. My grand­mother accused him of pee­ing on the toi­let seat. It was the first time I heard them raise their voices at all, let alone at each other. I thought it was strange because at that age I was prob­a­bly pee­ing all over the toi­let seat, and no one ever yelled at me for it, so I didn’t under­stand why it was such a big deal.

My aunt and uncle were over because they wanted to spend time with them, and they came to see what the com­mo­tion was about. But they just stood there, lis­ten­ing, not want­ing to take sides.

Eventually, my grand­fa­ther slowly bent at the knees, his entire body sag­ging, buried the heels of his hands in his eyes to rub out the tears, and said to my aunt and uncle with lan­guish­ing pauses, “Sometimes, she makes me want to kill myself”.

And I knew he meant it.

I was too young to even be shocked, but for my grand­fa­ther to say some­thing like that was com­pletely out of char­ac­ter. He was invin­ci­ble to me. I never under­stood it.

Until now.

Eventually, he went to live with my aunt and uncle for a while. They slowly became warmer when they saw each other a few weeks later. I don’t know if they ever talked about it.

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March 11, 2010

Damaged Goods

7

I have to write this so I can admit it to myself.

I have to write this because I can’t think of any­thing else nowa­days, except for how hard it is to get out of bed in the morning.

I’ve been read­ing a book my ther­a­pist rec­om­mended to me a long time ago, the one that deals with life­traps. In one of the first chap­ters, it goes through each life­trap by first explain­ing a “core need”, which is some­thing a child should have in order to thrive. It goes through exam­ples on how we should have been raised, and how a healthy mind will grow from that. Then it explains how the life­trap may develop if that core need isn’t met, by giv­ing exam­ples of destruc­tive child­hood environments.

And for almost every life­trap in the book, I saw my own child­hood in those exam­ples of destruc­tive envi­ron­ments, such as the one about “Self-esteem”:

Self-esteem is the feel­ing that we are worth­while in our per­sonal, social, and work lives. It comes from feel­ing loved and respected as a child in our fam­ily, by friends, and at school.

Ideally we would all have had child­hoods that sup­port our self-esteem. We would have felt loved and appre­ci­ated by our fam­ily, accepted by peers, and suc­cess­ful at school. We would have received praise and encour­age­ment with­out exces­sive crit­i­cism or rejection.

But this may not have hap­pened to you. Perhaps you had a par­ent or sib­ling who con­stantly crit­i­cized you, so that noth­ing you did was accept­able. You felt unlov­able.

As an adult, you may feel inse­cure about cer­tain aspects of your life.

When I was read­ing that, all I could think of was one spe­cific inci­dent from my child­hood. I was young enough that my mom would bathe me, and she would do it in the en suite bath­room of the mas­ter bed­room. One day, she came to dry me off with a towel, and both the bath­room door and the bed­room cur­tains were open. I told her to close the door, because I was self-conscious about being seen naked by the neigh­bours across the street. I was really upset about it, and instead of walk­ing two feet to close the door, she laughed and said, “You’re no Tom Cruise”, and left it open. From that point, I’ve had this irre­press­ible feel­ing that I’m never attrac­tive enough for some­one to even be inter­ested in see­ing me naked.

And that was just one exam­ple. My child­hood was filled with so many such mem­o­ries, each one branch­ing into other lifetraps.

I’ve never won­dered why I have self-esteem issues. I fuck­ing hate how self-conscious I am, because I know the extent of that self-consciousness isn’t nor­mal. I’ve strug­gled with issues like that my entire life, and I can trace every­thing back to my par­ents. It fills me with rage to know that they dam­aged me to the point where I feel so over­whelmed by my flaws that some­times I’d rather be dead.

If I were ever to com­mit sui­cide — and at this point I feel like I can’t rule out the pos­si­bil­ity of this any­more — I’d say that my par­ents would be 55% respon­si­ble1, with my mom shar­ing more of that blame than my dad.

I hope she reads this one day. I hope my entire fam­ily reads this. I hope all my cousin’s moms read this, because they usu­ally try to defend her. I want every­one to know that if I die by my own hand one day, I blame my mom more than any­thing else in the world. I want par­ents to know that they have a respon­si­bil­ity to their kids because they’re peo­ple too, that they have to treat them prop­erly, and that I was an exam­ple of what hap­pens when you don’t.

This is start­ing to sound like a sui­cide note, and it’s scar­ing me. Good thing I’ve always been a ratio­nal per­son, and I still rec­og­nize that sui­cide is an irra­tional deci­sion for me at this moment. Sometimes, I watch sui­cide videos just to shock myself into real­iz­ing how final, irre­versible, and hor­ri­ble that deci­sion is.

I’m at a lot bet­ter than where I was two years ago, before I went to ther­apy, but I’m still far from being fixed. I can admit that to myself now.

  1. The other 45% being my own inabil­ity to deal with these things, but I attribute that to tem­pera­ment, which is inborn and hence not their fault. [↑]
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February 15, 2010

Nod

2

In my last year of high school — which was also my first year at that school, so no one really knew me — I had a cre­ative English class. We were given 15 min­utes of free writ­ing time at the begin­ning of each class, of which I mostly spent mak­ing ver­bal doo­dles to any kind of cin­ema stim­u­la­tion I had recently seen at the time. Around then, it would have been quotes from Monty Python and lines from Casino. Anyone could put a CD in the stereo for every­one to hear, so one week I put my most recent mix in.

In the mid­dle was Creep by Radiohead , and another guy in class sud­denly exclaimed, “A great song!”, amidst the silence of our work­ing minds. Everyone looked at him, then at me, and I felt a red­ness flush on my face.

That was fol­lowed by One by Metallica, and again he said, “Another great song!”, and the same chain of events hap­pened as last time.

He was that edgy kid with bleached blond hair and always got in trou­ble for wear­ing walk­ing shoes with his uni­form. He did his own thing, had his own tastes, and fit in with the crowds he wanted, not nec­es­sar­ily the crowds that wanted him. I was that awk­ward kid who had no real friends, had a mop for hair, and a per­pet­u­ally tac­i­turn demeanour. To have him acknowl­edge my taste for two songs in a row had sud­denly given me some kind of street cred because he was far more pop­u­lar than me.

Some of the other kids started look­ing at me dif­fer­ently from then on.

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February 12, 2010

On Being Tested For Syphilis

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  • Doctor, with swab in hand: If you’re going to faint, faint back­wards, not on me. I had a 250 pound foot­ball player almost kill me once.
  • Me, hold­ing down my pants: FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU
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January 27, 2010

Protected: Ounce

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January 22, 2010

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. [↑]
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January 15, 2010

The First Spot

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The first spot was a curve on her cheek near the cor­ner of her lips. It would only appear when she was smil­ing a cer­tain way.

I have this pic­ture of her reclin­ing on the chaise with her head thrown back on the pil­low in laugh­ter. It’s hor­ri­bly com­posed, and I can hear her telling me how weird she thinks she looks in the pic­ture, but it cap­tured the expres­sion perfectly.

The smile wasn’t par­tic­u­larly allur­ing. It was goofy even. But that’s what I loved about it. She was this angel, this siren, this muse to the world, and I was the only one who could see her like this; cheeks pulled back, gig­gling uncon­trol­lably, bury­ing her head in the pil­low from self-consciousness when­ever I pointed out the spot and tried to kiss it. I was the only one for whom she let her guard down, even if only for a pass­ing moment. It was so adorable and inti­mate at the same time.

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October 30, 2009

What I Mean To Say

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Usually, when peo­ple ask me why it was so spe­cial, I say “When it worked, it worked really well”.

What I really mean to say is,

“It was the way her kisses would travel down my spine. The way she wore her hair dif­fer­ently every time I saw her. The way her cheeks would round so endear­ingly when she truly laughed. The way she could look beau­ti­ful wear­ing dresses, or jeans, or my old paja­mas. The way the tan­ta­liz­ing golden down trav­eled along her lower back. The way her body felt against mine when I pulled her close.

It was because she brought me green tea bub­ble bath when I was home sick for three days with strep throat. Cause she loved try­ing new things, like taro dumplings, and ha gow and sui mai and tofu flower, and bub­ble tea. Cause she would buy me ben­gal spice tea, and hand creams, and soaps, and flow­ers for no rea­son in particular.

It was because she liked tak­ing pho­tos of me too. Cause she would remem­ber the things I wanted when men­tion­ing them in pass­ing so she could look them up and buy them for me later. Cause she truly appre­ci­ated the gifts that I gave her. Cause she spent so long prepar­ing for my birth­day last year, even though she knows I don’t cel­e­brate it. Cause she helped me seek ther­apy for my anx­i­ety issues. Cause she came with me to con­certs when I didn’t want to go alone. Cause she loved The Mars Volta and Shane Watt as much as I do.

It was the way she could cre­ate so many beau­ti­ful things with her hands, using paint or chalk or toner or lead or metal or choco­late. The way she sup­ported me and my pho­tog­ra­phy. The way we would take turns choos­ing movies and watched them together, even though our tastes were so dif­fer­ent. The way she got along with my friends and loved my cat.

It was the way I would fall in love with her over and over again every day.

In her, I had found the per­son I was look­ing for my whole life, and she held me cap­tive every moment we were together.”

But I never do.

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October 28, 2009

Dinner With The Timmites

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Thumbnail: Philly melt
Thumbnail: Quesadilla
Thumbnail: Ham tortellini
Thumbnail: Veggie burger
Thumbnail: Zoom H2

Tim was in town for a pre­sen­ta­tion this week­end, so a few of us went to din­ner at a restau­rant close to where he used to live. It turns out this place used to be called Drumlin’s Pub, which I knew from sec­ond year of uni­ver­sity, ohhh…seven years ago? I dis­tinctly remem­ber being in there once, doing shots at the bar1 while sit­ting next to an older guy who was over $30k in debt to OSAP, telling me to go after the big­ger girls cause they do way more “stuff”. On our drink­ing tours of the city back then, we would always try to find a place that served good, cheap wings, and Strongbow. If I remem­ber cor­rectly, Drumlin’s had hearty honey gar­lic, but no cider.

Now that it’s under new man­age­ment, it has a really generic name — like Sandy Hill Bar And Grill — though it makes up for this fact with much bet­ter pub fare. Such social oppor­tu­ni­ties are great for test­ing out the 360° sur­round capa­bil­i­ties of the Zoom H2 sound recorder I recently pur­chased as an invest­ment towards bet­ter sound pro­duc­tion in my videos.

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In his defence, Tim was sur­prised to dis­cover that Jess has a new boyfriend, and was being (jok­ingly) self-deprecating about his sex life. Next at the table was Reagan2, who was asked about hers. Jess picked up the mic and pointed it at me, per­haps to shift the atten­tion away from Reagan and shield her from embar­rass­ment. Of course, it all plays out much nicer when you have a record­ing of it.

  1. Back then I drank with Iain, so it would have been tequila. [↑]
  2. Note to self: pro­nounced “Ray-gun” [↑]
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October 26, 2009

Sex In Between

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One time, she sud­denly asked me, “Have you had sex with any­one else?”, which she used to imply as between the last time and what we were about to do. It was a valid ques­tion, since we’re both sen­si­tive to the pro­lif­er­a­tion of Cupid’s itch and Venus’s curse.

I was insulted that she asked, because at the time I felt like sex with some­one else would have been cheat­ing on her. As uncom­mit­ted as the rela­tion­ship was, she still had my heart, and con­se­quently, other parts of my body as well. I’m also not like that, and it takes a lot before I decide to be inti­mate with some­one. But at the same time, I was flat­tered that she thought I would or could, a lit­tle boost to my ego that is rarely ruled by machismo or testos­terone.

“I haven’t either”, she reas­sured, which was some­thing I nat­u­rally assumed of my mod­est muse, so it was of lit­tle com­fort to me.

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October 1, 2009

Hide And Seek

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Sometimes, when cer­tain songs come on, a tinge of jeal­ousy will strike me.

I’ve been known to be very pos­ses­sive about my music, because songs often mark my mem­o­ries and expe­ri­ences. These melodies I keep to myself mean much me, and I don’t share them with just any­one. A per­son has to be spe­cial before I let them hear it. They have to be able to appre­ci­ate the music. They have to deserve it.

I gave her my Eva Cassidy, Blonde Redhead, Vincent Gallo, Sia, Hooverphonic, Postal Service, Iron and Wine, Knife, Mars Volta, Shane Watt, and Scott Matthew. I let her in, I shared with her so many chords that stir up emo­tion in me, I ren­dered myself vul­ner­a­ble, and now I can’t lis­ten to some of them with­out think­ing of her. It seems unfair that I gave her so much, that I sac­ri­ficed things I hold so dear and sacred in my heart, with noth­ing to show for it.

But when I hear Hide and Seek by Imogen Heap, I start believ­ing that I’ve come out ahead.

One night, we sat in silence as she showed me this haunt­ing video, and it moves me now as much as it did when I first heard Imogen’s ethe­real voice fill­ing my head with lay­ers upon lay­ers of haunt­ing har­monies. Ironically enough, it’s been help­ing me through this period, because I feel like I’m not the only one who was start­ing to get com­fort­able, let­ting the dust set­tle, only to have every­thing change, and to dis­cover cir­cu­lar inden­ta­tions in the car­pet where the fur­ni­ture used to sit, the sun-bleached dis­coloura­tion on the walls out­lin­ing places where pretty pic­tures once hung.

This song has made up for every­thing, not only because it brings com­fort and com­pany to me now, but because it reminds me that every­thing I did was worth it too.

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September 29, 2009

You Nostalgia, You Lose

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Found this old video of back when I lived on Island Park in a 16th floor apart­ment, with Trolley and another per­son who shall remain unnamed.

Trolley looks so young! It’s not his face, just his hair that does it. And remem­ber when I couldn’t stop lis­ten­ing to that AFI album? Seems like so long ago. I guess you’d only remem­ber if you’ve been read­ing since 2004/2005, when we did stuff like this.

I won­der if I’m still too young to feel nos­tal­gic. It seems like the only peo­ple who rem­i­nisce are those who are much older than me, but I already get nos­tal­gic about my uni­ver­sity days, when things were relaxed, I could sleep in, or skip class, and I didn’t have a mort­gage to worry about.

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