Monthly Archives: July 2008

Randomness and Disconnection

So much to say in my head, but when I sit down, it all disappears. It’s as if being in front of a blank page, with the all the possibilities before me, is catharsis enough.

Many things to do has left me with little time to write. A trip to Toronto for the long weekend means I have to make sure all my batteries are charged (one for the digital camera, two for the HD camcorder, three sets for the flashes), and my memory cards (two for the digital camera, two for the HD camcorder) are cleared.

Thunder has interrupted this post. I opened up the blinds to see the rainfall, and the light from the street lamps has come spilling into the room. This makes me realize that the hot chocolate candle Shirley gave me for Christmas, along with the glare of my Macbook Pro screen, weren’t doing a great job of illuminating my writing nook. I had Thrice playing, but have turned it down so I can hear the sheets of water pouring through the street.

Got a bunch of stuff done tonight. While picking up some groceries, I was served by a bookish girl with braces. She had a distinct lisp, but carried on ebulliently as if she had the most beautiful voice in the world. Later on, as I walked through the mall, I caught this Katherine-with-a-K slouched back in a seat in the food court, eating dinner with one arm in her lap. It reminded me of an entry I wrote about a girl doing the same thing six years ago. How I wish for that kind of peace and serenity. How long ago that was (university!). How different I was back then.

Been feeling very aloof lately. Not sure if it’s me, or something my mind is doing to protect itself. Maybe it’s a way of disconnecting myself from the world. I must need it right now. This afternoon I was reading from a book of Tai Chi classics Louise bought me, and found one part particularly fitting1: “Do not be concerned with form. Do not be concerned with the ways in which form manifests. It is best to forget your own existence“.

  1. Listed as the first of the Eight Truths of Tai Chi. []

Blood Work

Vial of blood

This little vial, along with a few drops of anti-coagulant, is filled with blood. My blood. I needed some for a photography project I’m working on, so I got a friend of mine in the medical industry to take it from me.

Now I’ve both figuratively and literally bled for my work.

I Wanna Hold Your Hand (In The Car)

When I was young, the only affection my parents ever showed for each other was occasionally (maybe five times ever) holding hands in the car. They never kissed, never hugged, never said “I love you”. Aside from sitting down to eat dinner, their lives were completely separate. They wouldn’t even sleep in the same room.

Now that I have a car, holding hands while driving has come to define a relationship for me. I leave my right hand on the shifter, tapping it to the beat of my music, but I always have this urge to hold someone’s hand, as if it’s some strange ideal I’ve never been able to experience.

Questioning Happiness

Last class, Mike asked how I was doing, and as a somewhat phatic response, I told him I was doing well.

He told me, with a chuckle, that if he didn’t know me any better and went only by my writings, he would imagine me to be like Joe Btfsplk, with a perpetual rain cloud above my head.

So I went home and read through the last couple pages of my entries, and found that they painted a somewhat lugubrious picture.

I’ve always contended that happiness is too hard to write. When I feel like expressing myself, it’s often because of a problem of some sort, internal or external, that I need to figure out. Writing has always been a way for me to get my thoughts in line, and off my chest. Not much of a peaceful, detached, care-free Taoist, am I?

Perhaps I’ll always lead a Cohen-esque life, where love, sex, philosophy, and depression are the dominant themes.

The funny thing is that my life has improved tremendously after therapy. I used to be a very dark person. After gaining the stability of a house and a career, along with separation from my mother, not much else has changed. I’ve come to realize that it’s not so much the things in my life that’s improved in the last few years (aside from the struggle with anxiety), as my attitude. To be honest, I have nothing to complain about.

That doesn’t change the fact that my entries have been somewhat depressing.

Perhaps I’m still not truly happy yet.

Or perhaps I’m still not looking at things the right way.