talking of Michaelangelo.
Sunday, July 29, 2007
-
ikenai taiyou // 8:33 am
"The memories of them kept flickering out of my reach, as if they were small silver fish that eluded my fingers even as I touched them." - Assassins of Tamurin
I wish it to never be so. I wish I never get amnesia because it would be so sad for me. I would be too frustrated. Actually, I would probably hate. Memories...
Sadly though, there are a handful of people who I wish I could forever rid the memory of, but they keep coming back in form of dreams, in form of songs lyrics, situtations in dramas or books, and simply in form of indelible-irrevocable memories. Such hatefulness I feel erupting from me when I feel myself thinking of these people with fondness that they do not deserve to receive from me. Such contradictions I find myself juggling. Maybe such hatred is for my incapability to hate them, but want to know them once again. But I guess once in a lifetime is enough. Once only and never again.
"The contents had returned to their original, silvery white state, swirling and rippling beaneath his gaze. 'This? It is called a Pensieve...Sometimes...I simply have too many thoughts and memories crammed into my mind...At these times,' said Dumbledore, 'I use the Pensieve. One simply siphons the excess thoughts from one's mind, pours them into the basin and examines them at one's leisure.'" - Harry Potter Book the Fourth
Nostalgic, isn't it? If only, things were this easy. If only, warmth could be contained in a silvery basin. If only, memoires of exhilaration, friendship, love could be contained in a stone. If only, memory of pain could be drawn out and simply applied to something else. If only memories were only one's leisure.
I can't help but stop trying. I can't help it. I can't be the only one who reaches out anymore. I tire of it, wouldn't you? Why is it that I am the one who dials? I am the one must make the effort? Why do I go through this again and again?
Bridge to Terabithia brought one thought to my mind: the ones who stay behind are never allowed to forget, they're never allowed to let go. It is most painful for those who must stay behind. Forever. It's forever that pain will be etched into our memories. The pain that must be endured is lethal. I hate being left behind. I hate not being able to reach out and feel the tangible...
Neglected, abandoned, feigned laughter.
And that is all that is left behind.
I keep contradicting myself in this post. What am I really saying about memories? I don't know. Help me.
"You don't seem to know, seem to care what your heart is for."Let's hope some day I'll be able to see the other side of the sun once again - the good side.
Thursday, July 19, 2007
-
vintage orbs // 9:06 am
"Feel the rain on your skin,No one else can feel it for youOnly you can let it in."Dear friends, it's a funny thing that I associate waiting with. I associate waiting with giraffes. You must be making the conclusion that I have officially gone mad. But it's a silly thing, this giraffe thing. There's a saying in Chinese "waiting till my neck is long"... I think I've heard it in English too. But yeah, long necks - giraffes. Isn't that a good association? I said all that junk because I have no better introduction for a long
awaited post (Aha! Get it?). Not that many of you wait to hear the junk I talk about on here.
Anyhow, that's really not what I wanted to talk about. There are many topics that I would like reviewed in this blog. It's been a couple weeks hasn't it? Correct me if I'm wrong. I think that quote at the beginning of this blog is all too fitting.
No one else can feel it for you. What do I mean by that? It's just that over the last one and a half weeks I've been evaluating myself in relation to the the volunteer job that I've been doing.
I regret to say that I have not given you even a concise job description about it. So here it is my darlings. Basically, I head to work at approx. 8am every morning. Dry the dishes; prepare children's snack for the day (whether it's trailmix, orange slices, fruit salad or a whole array of different children's favourites); get out all the outdoor equipment (e.g. shovels for the sandbox, outdoor easel); head outside and prepare for the students' and parents' arrival; take care of the CRYING SCREAMING 2-4 year olds; try to sooth/coax them to play outdoors; take them to wee-wee; change them if they have an accident; sing songs in a circle; indoor playroom - playdough equipped, little plastic farmhouse animals, water table with fish and duckies, crafts, etc. etc. Wash the dishes at approx 12pm, help clean up RedRoom and YellowRoom. End at approx 12:30pm. I'm sure you're bored already if you're not that into children. But those are my duties.
With overwhelming fascination, I've found that this mortifying experience of having to tolerate 4 screaming and wailing children (all the while, trying to comfort them) did NOT frustrate me at all. In fact, I'm quite surprised that I'm seeing myself more and more in this position. The position of a parent, a supervisor, a lover, a teacher. I see myself growing along with the children. Witnessing growth may be something that fascinates me most in life. I think in this nurturing environment, I'm learning more and more about building children up, helping the parents' morale and encouraging them to keep going. Growth is a simple, miraculous thing. The more I look at it, the more I feel like I want to live in the children's lives. I want to live vivaciously through them. I want to be involved in their growth. It just makes me wonder, who will these children become in the future? I have such high hopes for these beautiful little young ones. It's the way they reach for my hand, like they're clinging onto it for dear life, because they really don't have anyone else to turn to (while their parents are gone). It's the way they look at me when they try not to cry. It's just the little things they do. The cute things they yell when they're in the depths of their dilemnas (How come he gets more playdough than I do?)
In the future, I don't care if I don't have a husband. I don't care. All I want are my own children. I don't have to give birth to them. I just want to belong to children. I want to see them mold in my hands into something I'm proud of. Yes, I'm tired at the end of the day. I'm exhausted from carrying all these 40lbs flailing kids around all the time. But I don't mind. All the smiles, all the tears are all worth it.
I really have to feel it for myself. Some people get an adrenaline rush from skydiving, from playing basketball. I don't know. But I get an adrenaline rush when I can make a crying child smile again. I get an adrenaline rush when kids say bye to me and thank me for a wonderful day. I feel so pumped. I know exactly where I want my life to go. I say this every time I do something like this. I know. I know exactly where I belong.
As an aside, I'd also like to note that my passion lies where my heart and my personality are. What I mean is that, I find that I am very much like a child myself, that's why I love children. Very little things can set me on an edge, very little things can make me happy, very little things can make me cry. I'm a person who is easy to please, easy to tease. Please will you just love me?
Out of place.
Vintage orbs because
Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix - The Movie was good. It's amazing how they can make a book that was quite a drag into something so vivid, emotional and believable. Vintage orbs because I'm waiting for the final
Harry Potter book to arrive at my house.
Always Fresh. Always Tim Hortons.
Yes, as always - I just felt like saying that. Ciao.
Monday, July 09, 2007
-
a faulty cause // 10:21 am
My friends, here is a cautionary warning that you should take heed of: hatred
can be fostered. What do I mean? If you sit there and think of all the things you dislike about someone, those things are bound to build up, build up, build up and eventually your hatred will explode in your face. Therefore, I IMPLORE you to keep your grudges below par. Step back, walk a mile in your hated person's shoes and release yourself from this... absolutely ridiculous hatred that you have no reason to have. Trust me, it really does hinder one's emotions. How unfortunate it is that I have already passed the point of no return. I shall consider myself a lost case. Don't try to save me now. My hatred has been fostered. Sadly, it's too late to draw back.
For those of you who know who I complain and whine to, yes, I'm talking of The Woman. It's not as extreme as hate, but it's getting there. Sadly, I wish I could see the good sides of her. Alas, alas indeed.
On a happier note, tomorrow is the first day of my nursery job! =) I honestly can't wait to have fun with the little kiddies. I've been anticipating it all these months! I hope I live up to the expectations of those who will be supervising my experience. I know it sounds super cheesy, but I really want to learn lots these coming weeks. It'll be challenging and most important, FUN!!
Let me end with several bits of inspiration I felt from just breathing these couple of days. First I'd like to commend Mike for introducing to me the "propinquity effect". It's a curious thing this notion of "the tendency for people to form relationships with those who they interact a lot with or are in close proximity to". It's curious because I had never been able to put the meaning with a term. Though it does seem sort of right. I guess everything has exceptions though - I do have penpals and friends that are quite far and that I don't interact with much. It's still a funny kind of notion... the propinquity effect. Maybe I just like the sound of the words. Maybe.
I'm starting a new story. It's frustrating, really. Playing with characters have always been fun. I like innovative things, I like putting things together. I like seeing things come together. But it's hard being the one who has the ideas and who has to put the things piece by piece. Characters are a funny thing when you're the one thinking them. It's like wisping together fantastical reality. Imagination that is believable. Really, fiction stories are such oxymorons. While you want it to be believed, while you want people to be able to breathe and feel the characters, it still just started with a figment of your brain. Some part of you that moves you to make those marks on a page: words.
Ew, that sounded faux-deep, but it wasn't. (Okay, I admit it: sometimes, I try too hard.)
Such digression should not be tolerated by the readers. Back to inspirations: enough of this nonsense, what was I really going to talk about. Yes, I wanted to talk about life in general. Everything seems to be a dance in life. If you think about it. Life is colours, dancing together. You're going through the motions of life like a dance. When you flirt your body moves a certain way. When you're shy and timid, your physical turns inwards, sheltered, protecting. Anger, rage, moving forward, passion, all could be interpreted as dance moves. I'm not one to dance, nor one to watch dance... but let me tell you a secret: I've dreamed dance. I don't know why. Dancing isn't one of my interest nor hobbies... but dance seems to be a recurring theme in my life. Ah, I'm so pathetic. I know.
I should leave you with a thought:
"Silhouette."
Monday, July 02, 2007
-
what damned folly is this. // 1:41 am
Don't ask me to tell you stories of broken families when you haven't lived in one. Don't ask me to tell you stories of wealthy people who are happy. Don't ask me where dreams come to an end if you've never even dreamed before. In fact, don't ask me anything at all.
What damned folly is this. How am I supposed to have children of my own? How am I to love? How am I to trust and believe that someday I will have something called a family? This damned folly.
It was all a hoax, let me tell you. It was all a big effing hoax. Pretenses can only last for a short time. It's like this protective barrier shielding you from things you're most afriad of. But even when there's a little breach. Just a little one, you doubt your existence. You fail to understand, what was all this that you were protected from?
What is this existence worth? What am I doing here? Why is it that the fire that have been started generations before exploding here. Exploding now? Why am I burned? Why do I not feel it.
I can't let myself cry. It's so hard to hold in the tears when everything around you is crumble figuratively. You can't see the decay, but you feel it. It's like... something intangible, but it's the most tangible thing you've ever felt. Tension is palpable. It is. It really is, you can't touch it, but you can breath it.
Where am I going to find trust amongst all these fake lies, feigned happiness? Damn this hoax. Damn pretense. Damn folly.
Damn my happiness. Damn. Damn, because I don't know what other word I can use to express my frustration.
The lights of my world are dimming. And now I'm caving in. I'm going to run away.
I'm not going to fly. I'm going to dig a hole and lay in it and hope that someday, I'll die.
And when I need it, I'll call desperately for help.
Sunday, July 01, 2007
-
so this is goodbye // 11:26 am
Yeah, it's from that Maroon 5 song. Enough of this feigned pathetic facade. It's been totally hectic. I feel like I'm going through my days on auto-pilot, until at night...I sit down and think through my days and absorb. Absorb.
Most of you may know my family situation. There have been too many land mines along the way. Everything is exploding. Fire against fire.
I don't know how to describe to you how family dynamics is at my house. I'm sure you're not very interested either.
Oddities. That's what I want to talk about. Oddities. I'm not even sure if that's a word at all. There's a saying in Chinese... that translates to something like "one family won't know the trials of another". My mother is a very good story teller. Her social circle encompasses a bunch of middle aged, gossip addicted women, known to the Chinese as
see lais. Yet, when I look at my mom, she sees so much more than I do. She tells me of people who lie about their family, then pretend they weren't lying. She tells me of people who she's known for 30 some years but still betrays her. She tells me of people who have broken hearts but hides them but it breaks them down and they become corrupt. She tells me of families who only eat pizza for dinner, everyday, everynight, all the time. She tells me all these stories that makes me think... people are ODD. We are such ODD creatures. We all think that other people are odd, yet when other people look at us, they must think we're odd too. We make barriers to protect ourselves from these "oddities". We become friends with odd people, because we too (alas) are odd. We are all strangeres, even with the people with live with. We are all strangers in this world. We are all thrown into a cycle of oddness. Blended, twisted, fated. Funny, it's sort of like... a washing machine. Socially awkward people are accepted, because deep inside, we're all trying to be accepted too.
What is a philanthropist? Is it a good thing? Because I'd want to be a philanthropist if it was a good thing.
I'm bored of talking. I'll talk about something else.
It has been exactly one year since I've graduated from High School. I don't know what I've been doing. I'm pretty sure you don't either. If you watch my life like it was a dvd... I'm sure you'd laugh. You'd scorn. You'd cry. You'd pity. You'd dislike me. I wish I was more like the person I pretend to be. Ew, that sounds so grade 10. But I'm seriously, I'm a pathetic loser. A sore one at that too. I don't deserve the friends I have, I don't deserve the people who love me. I don't deserve any of it. Wow, I sound deliciously annoying. I feel like I'm not getting anything done. I feel like I'm on auto pilot, but not going anywhere at all. Time slips from my fingers like water. Time is very much like a liquid, don't you think? You can't really touch it... well you can touch liquid, but it slips from hands and you can't get it back...
I've exhausted with that topic too. I'm so tired. I have no idea what I'm doing, still blogging. I have no idea what YOU'RE doing, still reading. I'm wasting your time. That's what I'm doing. Currently, I'm building next year's academic schedule. It's definitely a more stressful task than I thought it would be.
To be honest, I think my friends are a lot cooler than me.
I'm jumping around, my mind is blanking out. I can't focus, the screen is going blurry. It's time to go for the night.
It's so... heart-wrenching to say goodbye. There's no such thing as a "good" bye. Even to the bitter things.
There's nothing left. Conversation has run dry. So this is how it ends? Maybe it was all an illusion after all?
Maybe, just maybe... it isn't goodbye afterall? Please?
Singed, but still playing with fire.
