Monthly Archives: August 2007

Still Human

Crank it. Loud, and maybe you’ll understand how I feel.

I’ve been in such a slump the last week. Maybe I’m over-worked, over-tired, and over-stressed. Things haven’t been going my way.

It’s filled me with such frustration, sadness, and anger.

Now I’m left to face the ugly world alone, and all I can think is to never put your trust in someone. Never be dependent, never expect anything from anyone because you’ll only get hurt.

Pick yourself up, cause no one’s going to help you.

I try to rationalize everything and follow the Tao, but I can’t. Everything is so overwhelming.

As much as I’ve learned, as much wisdom as I’ve gained, as far as I’ve come, I’m still human.

A Trip to Zone Closer to Perfection

On a whim, I went to Zone after work. I’ve been in a decorating mood lately. I spent about an hour in there, just gathering design ideas with what they had.

Thumbnail: Potpourri plate

Thumbnail: Potpourri plate closeup

I picked up a pincushion plate and some potpourri for my coffee table, replacing the glass bowl I had before, and lined it up with the edge of the chaise lounge.

Decorating my house has always been important to me, but I’ve never rushed into it. Part of the reason why it’s so empty right now is because I want to put up my own pictures, and I never had enough with which I was satisfied to fill the walls. I don’t want photos of memories — what I have at work — I want pictures that set a certain mood. Another thing that makes it hard is that I’ve never liked non-functioning decorations; candles you’d never burn, baubles that don’t do anything, knick-knacks that clutter shelves don’t make sense to me.

Part of me wants to go out and buy everything at once and be settled, but another part of me never wants to finish.

Otherwise, I’d lose the thrill of the hunt, and the pleasure of adding another thing that’s just right to the right place.

Long to Belong

Among the shots and the rounds, the friends and the fun, I found a graduation photo framed on his shelf, a candid shot of the Class of ’05.

Every one of my “clique” was among the faces. There were others as well, people I knew from class, even though I never talked to them. How different they all looked — all prim and proper in academic regalia — yet familiar.

I was the only one not in co-op, and graduated a year before everyone else. My convocation was insignificant. I only went because my parents wanted to see me make that walk that stage, a return on their investment. I don’t know who the dean of my faculty was, or who handed me my diploma. I was just another number in a profiteering institution. It meant nothing.

But seeing that photo struck a chord in me.

It made me realize how I’ve never really fit in. How I never belonged to a group. For some reason, I still long for that, or, perhaps, to have had that at one point in my life. Last time it was elementary and high-school. This time it was university. I don’t know why. I have my own group of friends now. Not a clique, because they don’t hang out with each other, but a motley crew I’ve built through the years.

I know it doesn’t make sense. There’s a reason I was never truly a part of any group.

The logical side of me understands that it isn’t significant. That it doesn’t, and shouldn’t matter. That nothing is more boring and pedestrian than fitting in.

But another part of me feels like I missed out on something.

And I don’t know if I’ll ever let that go.

L'esprit de mes reve

Coming up with the right thing to say when it’s too late. The French have a term for it: l’espirit de l’escalier. Staircase wit. When you’re leaving a party, going down the stairs, perhaps playing over an incident in your head, and you think of that perfect riposte.

Staircase wit isn’t limited to insults and witty retorts though. It can be any moment when you can’t think of anything to say, only to reach an epiphany soon after.

Sometimes, when I’m feeling shy or anti-social or just plain flustered, the entire day is filled with such moments.

I always end up saying what I want in my dreams, but it’s never as satisfying. This is how I know that life isn’t a dream.

Otherwise, I’d be more witty.