Frédéric, Misun, and the boys are moving to France to explore a new business venture. To say goodbye to everyone, they rented out a karaoke bar and had a party. The night was a cacophony of sound, for the kids were given free reign of the dance floor and ran around in circles, while the adults took turns singing and eating.

This is my first “5×5″; a video of five vignettes at five seconds each. It’s a helpful guideline for putting together footage that doesn’t necessarily have a consistent theme. It’s also very restrictive, as five seconds is barely enough to see what’s going on in a particular clip, and that means you really have to find the essence of action. I generally don’t make 5×5s because I always have a story to tell, but in this case, it’s fun just to see how people sing. This is very different from the Chinese karaoke parties I was witness to as a kid, where the adults take their singing very seriously, so everyone is very quiet, attentive, and quite rehearsed.

The one who stole the show was Akio, who had heard Frédéric, Misun starting a duet of Ne Me Quitte Pas, took the microphone from Misun, and started repeating the line he had just learned.

I told Frédéric, “It’s amazing that you’re not nervous up there”, and he told me, “I just said to myself that I want to have fun, and it wouldn’t be fun if I didn’t sing, so I wasn’t nervous.” I wish I could do that.

I’ve been in the strangest mood lately. Killing my Top Rated playlist everywhere I go, yet I skip through 90% of the songs, trying to find the right one. Talking to myself. Replaying conversations in my head.

I don’t quite feel at one with the Tao. I’ve been letting small things get to me. It’s as if I’m falling back into my old destructive habits, but upon realizing this, I fight against it. The struggle, when observed objectively, is quite amusing.

These are exciting times. Along with the excitement comes nervousness. It’s turned me into a jumble of emotions, bittersweet, and unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before.

Wish I could do something with this feeling.

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!

I just found out that Krista Muir, who’s alter-ego Lederhosen Lucil I fell in love with two years ago, is playing in a small studio in town on Friday. Entrance donation is $5. As much as I want to go to hear her new album (released today, featuring ukuleles over Yamaha synthesizers), my main reason would be to get some pictures of her. I never get a chance to do concert photography, and she has a playful personality with the costumes she wears.

I’ll probably bring my 15mm and 24–70mm lenses, and be shooting at f/2.8 and 1600 ISO the whole time. I would consider my 50mm f/1.8 prime just for that extra stop of light, but I lent it to Pat and primes are much less versatile in such situations.

Two years ago, I missed her only stop of her tour in this city, when I had to “coach” my team in ladder matches at the table tennis league. That made me a sad panda.

Just thinking about going is making my stomach flutter. I may go to movies by myself, but I never go to concerts alone. The noise and crowds of concerts make me especially uncomfortable (and overstimulated), but a friend always helps me get over it. Unfortunately, no one else I know enjoys her music (which I would describe as fairly esoteric), and I wouldn’t put someone through music they didn’t enjoy. Added to this, I’ll be taking pictures, which always makes me feel very self-conscious.

Normally, I take a few weeks to mentally prepare myself for something like this, but since it’s such short notice and the opportunity doesn’t come around often, I’m forcing myself to go.

I’m scared, and nervous, and excited all at once.

Romance. It dies as we get older.

I’m not talking about love. Love lasts forever if you’re doing it right. I’m talking about the time when love is still mysterious.

Think of high-school. Over the bra, under the blouse, hoping to god your parent’s don’t walk in. When you’re exploring someone’s body with wonder. When you’re not sure how to act, how to interpret things, and you’re tearing your heart out cause you don’t know what’s going to happen next.

You lose that as you live and you learn and you grow. Confidence takes that nervousness away because you speak your mind, you share yourself, and the uncertainty is gone.

Maybe I’m just feeling old. Maybe I’m just clinging to the past in a fit of nostalgia, to the innocence of my youth when love was the only thing to worry about. Romance without practicality, boundaries, type, or class.

Maybe my more recent relationships just haven’t had that nervousness. There was always that immediate connection that leaves little room for doubt. As fiery as they were, there was no mystery.

Maybe I’m just feeling numb again.

John still comes to me with girl advice every now and then, when he’s losing sleep and he’s writing terrible, hilarious poetry. He hates the uncertainty, but I tell him to think of when he’s older and married to the same person for forty years, how much he’ll miss those feelings.

I tell him to enjoy it. To lose himself. He should be so lucky to feel so strongly about someone.

We all should at least once in our lives, before it’s too late and the romance dies.

I laugh when I’m nervous. Especially around girls I’m attracted to — total gigglefest. I also laugh uncontrollably around people I meet for the first time. People lower their guard when there’s laughter, and I suspect my mind subconsciously finds humour in everything to put people at ease around me.

Around people I hate, I’m dead silent. That’s how you know I don’t like you: if I don’t talk. The mere presence of one of these people forces me to fully concentrate on not drilling a 4-inch hole in my temple with a cordless DeWalt.

Pat’s different. He told me once that if you ever see him shake his head and shrug his shoulders, you’re in his blacklist. In an act of faith, he’ll give everyone respect and will even go so far as to stab you in the front, but he gives up if you cross his line of ethics. He’ll never be involved with anything related to you after that. It’s not that he hates these people, like me, he loses all interest. This is probably even worse than my reaction which, because his is cold. You mean nothing to him. I try to let go as well, but I can’t. In the back of my head I cling to the hope that these people can change. Sometimes I also wonder if these people ever listen to themselves and can understand exactly why I hate them, because it’s so obvious to me.

I also cry in emotional situations. It doesn’t have to be anything particularly sad or happy, just a time when emotions are high. Intense sports games, Tim Horton’s commercials, sometimes just because someone else is crying. I can hide it pretty well though; people don’t understand if you start crying in a seemingly innocuous situation.

I used to try desperately to remain cerebral and logical — like Pat — but my emotions would always get the better of me. Now I’ve learned to embrace them. I could only do this after accepting myself and becoming content with who I am. They give me something Pat doesn’t have: intense inspiration. That rush, when your stomach churns, when your head is burns, when you heart flutters.

They’re a part of me, and they make me who I am.

I had a different entry planned out, but I have to write this instead. To get this feeling down before I lose it.

It’s hard to tell what the feeling is exactly. Happiness? Worry? Maybe a mix of both. I only know that I’m nervous, like I’m out on a limb, waiting for it to snap. Things have never gone this well for long.

Life has finally settled. I have the house to myself. I’m single. I don’t have to worry about what my parents do or think. I’m on a regular schedule, with only Tai Chi lessons on Saturday mornings. Other than that, I fill my time how I please, which currently involves a lot of Pikmin 2 and phone-calls with John or Bronwen.

With this new-found stability, I venture into the outside world to socialize. A while ago I watched Fearless with Aaron. Pat and Jen treated me to dinner and Borat last week. Sunday, I cooked Bronwen and her parents a Chinese lunch. Next Tuesday I’m going to the 2006 Legends Classic tour to catch up with Jeff, my old floormate from first year. Soon it’ll be Trolley’s housewarming party, along with all the other holiday events.

I’m initiating everything. In the past, I would never be the one making plans.

Four years ago I wrote that guilty pleasures aren’t so guilty anymore. I’m back to this feeling again. What a strange cycle. I’m starting to feel like I deserve to be happy.

I can feel myself getting giddy again, but I have to question if it’s all a little fake. If it’s a mask for my nervousness. I probably won’t be able to tell for a while, so I’m just trying to enjoy it.

Another transitionary phase.

God, I’m fucking exhausted. The day was a mix of nervousness. Partly shy, partly anxious, partly caffeinated. People testing me, people appreciating me, people who call me brother.

As much as I’ve grown, as far as I’ve come, there are still things that are difficult to do.

All I want to do now is write, but I’m too tired. Life is moving at a quickened pace. I came here to vent, but all I’ve done is barely scratch the surface. Oddly enough, I still feel better. I think of calling John, but I hear him explaining my thoughts to me, in my head, and suddenly, everything makes sense.

It’s like Louise and cuts. When getting a cut, her first instinct is that it hurts, but when she realizes that they’re supposed to hurt (what I see as the nature of perfection), they cease to hurt.

Promised myself I’d be in bed by nine, but my nervousness has made me too jittery to sleep.

“Poignant”, he said, just as I was thinking the word, and it made me realize that if there’s one thing I do try to be, it’s poignant. I don’t know why. Perhaps it shows good communication. Perhaps there’s mental relief in knowing that one is not alone, that others can understand and may feel the same way.