The fall is holding out against the winter, trees clutching bright leaves before the chill breaks their grips. It’s wonderfully warm among such colours, and we walk in the valleys of Appalachia to take in the smell of mountain air as rustic hands around us work livestock and soil. In old Aramaic, Damascus means “a well-watered place”, a fitting name as the rain soon grows too heavy to be exploring the tiny town, population 981.
I’ve made peace with this body. It hasn’t been an easy peace to come by, as I seem to get constant reminders about the diminutive size of my stature. Most recently, I met an older Chinese woman who admitted that she thought I looked sick and weak only after she discovered I had colitis. It was as if she thought colitis caused some kind of malnutrition that stunted my growth, and she didn’t want to bring up the fact that I was this size because it would have been too embarrassing unless it was caused by a medical condition.
I’ve been dealing with all kinds of similar comments since I was a kid, so when a girlfriend would say that she liked a particular part or portion of my body, I always thought they were just blinded by love. Eventually I realized that if they could come to love this body, then I could too. It will never look right in anything but slim-fit extra smalls from Mexx. It will never be good enough for my parents. But it will always be who I am, and I’ve learned to accept that.
Over-stimulation is a slingshot moved by the force of company for the sake of self-distraction.
And yet I’ve never felt so alone. The nights are filled with absence, which I try to mollify with indulgence. It’s okay for now cause I know I’ll be okay some day, when it’ll be safe to be alone with my thoughts again.
When Dave and Jenny asked me to film their wedding in Maui, there was no way I could say refuse. Soon1 I found myself in the only place in the world where Koa grows, and every tree I passed made me wonder if it would eventually be made into a ukulele or guitar. I was only there for two days, but it was worth every moment in the delightful weather, spending time with some of the nicest people I’ve ever met.
The entire wedding group gathered for dinner at Mala restaurant, overlooking the Pacific Ocean and the islands of Lanai and Kaho‘olawe. At this time of year, the Maui sunset passes in the blink of an eye.
I learned that there are only twelve letters in the Hawaiian alphabet (which is why so many of the words look the same to me), and the language uses Spanish vowels. Each vowel is usually pronounced by itself (Wailea is said “Why-lay-ah”). I was surprised to see most signs in both English and Japanese; it turns out there used to be a significant Japanese community in Hawaii, although most of the Japanese tourists go to see Pearl Harbor instead.
All the locals are super nice, perhaps due to the fact that tourism is one of the only industries left in Maui2; it seems like most people living there are in the service industry in some form or another3.
Continue reading “Maui Wowie”…
I can’t figure out why I’m so moody lately. Maybe it’s been too long since I smelled the wood of my guitar. Maybe it’s the fresh Autumn colours that tend to magnify my emotions. Maybe I’m feeling overworked, overstimulated, and too rarely understood. Maybe it’s because I haven’t had a moment to myself in what feels like weeks, with so many feelings of loneliness amongst so many people.
I always think of exile in times like this, and in particular, a stanza from Yevgeniy Onegin:
From all that to the heart is dear
then did I tear my heart away;
to everyone a stranger, tied by nothing,
I thought; liberty and peace
would serve instead of happiness.
Luckily, I’ve been reading The Poisonwood Bible, which reminds me that the only problems I have are first-world problems, and that I’m rich in ways many will never be.
I find it amazing, the immensity of it, how any single person can be responsible for a tome of such rich storytelling, observation, and wit. It’s the only book I’ve picked up in years, and I only started reading to get into her head as much as possible (and piqued by my curiosity on how she could describe a story of the Belgian Congo as sexy). Unsurprisingly, her favourite character is the strong, faithful, warrior daughter. Mine is like me too; the dark, brooding, intellectual child, dizygotic twin to hers. It makes me wonder if liking one character over all others is too often an exercise in vanity.
In the end, Onegin realizes he was wrong about exile, that he couldn’t fill himself with emptiness to replace the sadness, something he only figures out when he finds someone worth loving. That’s what’s pulling me back too, keeping me grounded amongst those dark moments of untempered emotion. I carry the image of her smile with me, the only thing as distinguished on her face as her Spanish eyes, and the reason I call her Cheeks from the way the flesh pulls up to round her face. I’ve studied this smile for so long that I can see it every time I close my eyes, and with that, I carry a strength of my own too.