green tea keeps you young.
green tea keeps you fresh.
green tea keeps you up.
yea up... and here you are, writing recklessly.
wide awake at 2am spurting terrible english. practically dying inside from wanting to sleep. and needless to say, keeping the mosquito population in this room fat and well-fed. perhaps it would be more sensible to stay in bed with a book but the lights are burnt out...
my teaching affair has stemmed into a full time occupation. (my god). and painting is a full time preoccupation. the problem with this arrangement is that the preoccupation results in weak operation because the occupation has taken up much of the time.
i'm starting to wonder if my priorities in life are a little bit in disarray...
but balance is a tricky things. either you've too much time and lie around like stagnant water waiting for some frog to jump in and jazz it up, or you're running around like a buzzing bee. and by the time you look back, as the girl in the cafe put in in par-dela des nuages, you'd lost your soul.
ok. enough of rants. time to give sleep another go.
Showing posts with label life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label life. Show all posts
i love long intimate emails. they make you stop and reassess your reality.
it rained all afternoon. every time it rains i sit at the kitchen door and stare at the black metal gate, watching the curtain of water from the balcony drop to the gray concrete yard. everything seems incredibly beautiful and sad and real.
real.
the outlines darken and the insides melt away, and everything seems to carry a weight they don't usually have.
every now and then i feel reality's slipping away...
someone touch me. i need it.
it rained all afternoon. every time it rains i sit at the kitchen door and stare at the black metal gate, watching the curtain of water from the balcony drop to the gray concrete yard. everything seems incredibly beautiful and sad and real.
real.
the outlines darken and the insides melt away, and everything seems to carry a weight they don't usually have.
every now and then i feel reality's slipping away...
someone touch me. i need it.
regrets
live without regrets
what sort of life is a life without regrets? a life that zooms forward like a brand new automobile on an 8-lane super highway. a life where you move forward without hesitation and never look back?
there are different degrees of regret, different forms. regrets sprouting from attachment. regrets stemming from what anchored us at a point in time. these type of regrets i can never and would never want to eliminate altogether.
i want to walk on a tightrope, to know that i'm suspended between the past and the future. i want to walk forward and look back knowing that i'd left something in order to move on. i want to acknowledge that loss. i want a life full of holes needing to be filled, full of patches, a life worn at the edges like the blanket i'd kept since a child. i want to grow old recklessly. i want to hope with the full knowledge that there's no big break at the end of road, that dreams often turn to air and light. but there's no reason to stop them from streaming into one's head, and for that moment blur the boundaries of reality.
regrets. sadness. the things that tug at our hearts are often things that fill us with sadness. why avoid them. how to avoid them and be able to taste a bit of the magnitude of our existence.
what sort of life is a life without regrets? a life that zooms forward like a brand new automobile on an 8-lane super highway. a life where you move forward without hesitation and never look back?
there are different degrees of regret, different forms. regrets sprouting from attachment. regrets stemming from what anchored us at a point in time. these type of regrets i can never and would never want to eliminate altogether.
i want to walk on a tightrope, to know that i'm suspended between the past and the future. i want to walk forward and look back knowing that i'd left something in order to move on. i want to acknowledge that loss. i want a life full of holes needing to be filled, full of patches, a life worn at the edges like the blanket i'd kept since a child. i want to grow old recklessly. i want to hope with the full knowledge that there's no big break at the end of road, that dreams often turn to air and light. but there's no reason to stop them from streaming into one's head, and for that moment blur the boundaries of reality.
regrets. sadness. the things that tug at our hearts are often things that fill us with sadness. why avoid them. how to avoid them and be able to taste a bit of the magnitude of our existence.
i like to clean the house when i'm stressed out, a friend said over dinner the other day. for me it's washing dishes. washing dishes is strangely calming. a mindless process with quick outcome. to see all the grits come off, to put the plates one by one onto the rack and observe the sink becoming clean and empty. it'll be nice if we can go through our problems the same methodical way. it'll be nice to clean them off and put them away one by one and unburden ourselves until we're clean and rid of all pains. it'll be nice.
the flowers in the small patch in front of my house are blooming crazy. they sprawl onto the cement yard like wild flowers by the roadside in the countries. i like their messiness.
there's a man on sitting on one of the sidewalks on my way to work. he's always peeling some fruit, always concentrating, always sitting with his back hunched over, oblivion to the world. there's another man who walks around in wrinkled up shorts. sometimes he walks naked and shock the passer-bys. he looks straight ahead and walks slowly, oblivion to the traffic.
Day after day,
Alone on a hill,
The man with the foolish grin is keeping perfectly still
But nobody wants to know him,
They can see that he's just a fool,
And he never gives an answer,
But the fool on the hill,
Sees the sun going down,
And the eyes in his head,
See the world spinning 'round...
i've taken to eating at a certain Pho place with Rob after work. i ask the same questions and he gives similar answers. this reminds me of a scene in a Murakami Haruki book he said. i smiled. i don't know why he reads Murakami, but as i pondered the question for myself i realized his books make me feel less lonely. stoic characters with methodical manners, breezing through all the chaos in their lives. sensitive enough to point out all the out of place things and situations, and yet cool and detached enough to give you space to appreciate the pain and loss.
the flowers in the small patch in front of my house are blooming crazy. they sprawl onto the cement yard like wild flowers by the roadside in the countries. i like their messiness.
there's a man on sitting on one of the sidewalks on my way to work. he's always peeling some fruit, always concentrating, always sitting with his back hunched over, oblivion to the world. there's another man who walks around in wrinkled up shorts. sometimes he walks naked and shock the passer-bys. he looks straight ahead and walks slowly, oblivion to the traffic.
Day after day,
Alone on a hill,
The man with the foolish grin is keeping perfectly still
But nobody wants to know him,
They can see that he's just a fool,
And he never gives an answer,
But the fool on the hill,
Sees the sun going down,
And the eyes in his head,
See the world spinning 'round...
i've taken to eating at a certain Pho place with Rob after work. i ask the same questions and he gives similar answers. this reminds me of a scene in a Murakami Haruki book he said. i smiled. i don't know why he reads Murakami, but as i pondered the question for myself i realized his books make me feel less lonely. stoic characters with methodical manners, breezing through all the chaos in their lives. sensitive enough to point out all the out of place things and situations, and yet cool and detached enough to give you space to appreciate the pain and loss.
gray sky. feels like rain. it's the middle of the dry season but we've seen quick downpours the past few days. i love the calm light, gray atmosphere, soft rumbling sounds in the distance before the rain.
i saw saigon again a few days ago, after half a year of being here. the small streets, the random architecture of rectangular houses, the sprawling shops spurting onto the sidewalks, the pushcarts and plastic table sets, the constant road constructions, the grit, the crowd, the heat. i love this place--a sort of jagged love, but love nevertheless.
endless roads. endless nights. late night roaming frightens me somewhat but i can't stop.
i have no destinations, only the thirst for movement.
what generates storms inside our beings? and what eases them? even restless people need a place to lie down sometimes.
this calm before the storm, it's a space of silence. i love silence. i love the pause between the lines. and i love too, the music after the pause. the first curtain of rain sweeping on the roof. pit pat pattering. PitpatPatpattering. slowly. hesitantly. then more urgently, into a louder. stronger rhythm. the sky bursts open. everything bursts open.
i saw saigon again a few days ago, after half a year of being here. the small streets, the random architecture of rectangular houses, the sprawling shops spurting onto the sidewalks, the pushcarts and plastic table sets, the constant road constructions, the grit, the crowd, the heat. i love this place--a sort of jagged love, but love nevertheless.
endless roads. endless nights. late night roaming frightens me somewhat but i can't stop.
i have no destinations, only the thirst for movement.
what generates storms inside our beings? and what eases them? even restless people need a place to lie down sometimes.
this calm before the storm, it's a space of silence. i love silence. i love the pause between the lines. and i love too, the music after the pause. the first curtain of rain sweeping on the roof. pit pat pattering. PitpatPatpattering. slowly. hesitantly. then more urgently, into a louder. stronger rhythm. the sky bursts open. everything bursts open.
new year resolution
probably the only way to stay sane and happy is to fill up one's schedule to the max. to occupy oneself till one's exhausted and then there's no time to be confused. to think. to feel any sort of emotional shit. hahaha.
taka left on monday leaving me the remnants of his shadows. shadows on the black tiles, a deeper shade of black. shadows on the orange walls. shadows on the wooden floor, rolling, echoing help. i don't want to be a vegetable!
ahaha. you're a bean sprout.
No! I don't wanna be a bean sprout!
but they're full of potentials!
nooOOooooo
we lay in bed and had our joint funeral. gong gong. ready to be reborn as human beings and not bean sprouts.
even though bean sprouts are tasty.
you light up when he's around rebecca said.
yes. i do light up when you're around.
what a pity I remember somebody said a long time ago. but there is nothing to pity on. i love you the way you are. exactly as is. i love where we stand. no jealousy. no seduction. no complications. simply a space that contains so much of life, arts, other people, ourselves. and how the confusions, fears -- the vulnerable part of our beings are on display and there is no fear of falling to pieces when the time for parting comes. you'd guard my heart as much as I'd guard yours.
vulnerability. perhaps, it's that moment in time when people let you see the soft unprotected part inside of them that you understand there's a solid line of trust bonding you together.
i'm sitting in a space filled with your shadows. a bit lonely. a bit hopeful.
ahaha. you're a bean sprout.
No! I don't wanna be a bean sprout!
but they're full of potentials!
nooOOooooo
we lay in bed and had our joint funeral. gong gong. ready to be reborn as human beings and not bean sprouts.
even though bean sprouts are tasty.
you light up when he's around rebecca said.
yes. i do light up when you're around.
what a pity I remember somebody said a long time ago. but there is nothing to pity on. i love you the way you are. exactly as is. i love where we stand. no jealousy. no seduction. no complications. simply a space that contains so much of life, arts, other people, ourselves. and how the confusions, fears -- the vulnerable part of our beings are on display and there is no fear of falling to pieces when the time for parting comes. you'd guard my heart as much as I'd guard yours.
vulnerability. perhaps, it's that moment in time when people let you see the soft unprotected part inside of them that you understand there's a solid line of trust bonding you together.
i'm sitting in a space filled with your shadows. a bit lonely. a bit hopeful.
at 4am, while everyone was sleeping, instead of waking me up to open the door Patrick decided to jump the 2m brick wall plus metal spikes to go home. if that's not retarded, i don't know what is.
for some drunken reasons or another everyone agreed to head over to my place at midnight. 8 people. the house's never been that crowded since construction. the best part was probably when Aurora cooked pasta. hmm...the Italians, they know how things should be done.
the kitchen pipe gave away at 2:30am. water and soap all over the floor. everyone mopped.
the course's over. Pippa's heading back to Zimbabwe today. Rebecca's flying North. i need to figure out what to do with the moldy walls and start rolling.
for some drunken reasons or another everyone agreed to head over to my place at midnight. 8 people. the house's never been that crowded since construction. the best part was probably when Aurora cooked pasta. hmm...the Italians, they know how things should be done.
the kitchen pipe gave away at 2:30am. water and soap all over the floor. everyone mopped.
the course's over. Pippa's heading back to Zimbabwe today. Rebecca's flying North. i need to figure out what to do with the moldy walls and start rolling.
on the vietnamese teacher's day (Nov 20th) some alumni gave my dad 2kgs of beef. mom cooked a big pot of stew but the meat was really not the most chew-able. while this "gift of beef" could be entirely out of good-will, I'm tempted to think that perhaps dad lost his temper at some point and told someone he was as stupid as a cow. so voila, here is some cow for you sir.
or perhaps it's common to send people meat/fish....have a fish. i thought of you.
the stuffs strangers tell you every now and then--yesterday, the lady at the clothing shop told me my boobs sag. either it's your bra or your boobs, honey. well, it's probably my boobs.
yesterday i screamed and killed a cockroach.
cockroaches. cockroaches. cockroaches. i'm terrified to the point of obsession. perhaps one day i'll cover my canvases with images of scrambling roaches, the way i'm filling the blank sheets with what Steve cordially named sinister balloons.
Does it make sense? to be incredibly cheerful and ridiculously depressed at the same time? to find human beings beautiful and terribly disgusting all at once.
or perhaps contradictions and paradoxes only make all the more sense.
after class, i saw an Iranian film Khane-ye doust kodjast? (Where is the friend's house/ Où est la maison de mon ami) The plot is simple enough but the way the story unfolds is really beautiful--old color tones, subtle yet amazingly sensitive; stone stairways and white walls framing the boy's footsteps, light filtering through wooden handmade windows casting patterns on the walls, the boy's beautiful face and clear eyes, the old man's slow drone as he points out each and every door he's created, and his attachment to those that'd been replaced, and the lovely music. To pull off a relatively convincing story through the eyes of children always impresses me.
or perhaps it's common to send people meat/fish....have a fish. i thought of you.
the stuffs strangers tell you every now and then--yesterday, the lady at the clothing shop told me my boobs sag. either it's your bra or your boobs, honey. well, it's probably my boobs.
yesterday i screamed and killed a cockroach.
cockroaches. cockroaches. cockroaches. i'm terrified to the point of obsession. perhaps one day i'll cover my canvases with images of scrambling roaches, the way i'm filling the blank sheets with what Steve cordially named sinister balloons.
Does it make sense? to be incredibly cheerful and ridiculously depressed at the same time? to find human beings beautiful and terribly disgusting all at once.
or perhaps contradictions and paradoxes only make all the more sense.
after class, i saw an Iranian film Khane-ye doust kodjast? (Where is the friend's house/ Où est la maison de mon ami) The plot is simple enough but the way the story unfolds is really beautiful--old color tones, subtle yet amazingly sensitive; stone stairways and white walls framing the boy's footsteps, light filtering through wooden handmade windows casting patterns on the walls, the boy's beautiful face and clear eyes, the old man's slow drone as he points out each and every door he's created, and his attachment to those that'd been replaced, and the lovely music. To pull off a relatively convincing story through the eyes of children always impresses me.
rain outside, jazz inside. aside from the times spent on the road, i'm eating dinner alone for the first time since coming back. rather lonesome i'd say. the excitement of being in my own place has died down somewhat. i always do that--burn up my storage of excitement in one go.
i miss being hugged. a loooong good *tight* hug.
i'm thinking about Jen and the book she was reading some time ago, How to be alone. How?
This is the 7th time i've moved since graduation, meaning in roughly a year and a half. A relief to know that this time I'm going to stay put for a while...
i'm one week into the Celta course. Surprisingly it's not a nightmare. I realized I actually enjoy teaching to some extent. It is satisfying spreading excitement, seeing the students improve, seeing them have fun, hearing them share their thoughts and feelings... there's something really wonderful in all of that...
i miss being hugged. a loooong good *tight* hug.
i'm thinking about Jen and the book she was reading some time ago, How to be alone. How?
This is the 7th time i've moved since graduation, meaning in roughly a year and a half. A relief to know that this time I'm going to stay put for a while...
i'm one week into the Celta course. Surprisingly it's not a nightmare. I realized I actually enjoy teaching to some extent. It is satisfying spreading excitement, seeing the students improve, seeing them have fun, hearing them share their thoughts and feelings... there's something really wonderful in all of that...
The construction is coming to an end. Tomorrow they tile the floor.
The workers, their clothes hang from make-shift lines on both balconies. There're 2 women and a baby among the crew. Mother and child and grandchild. The girl's only 22 and her baby's a few months old. He sleeps soundly despite all the noise. I'd never once seen him cry.
The older woman looked at me and observed Girls your age, they're all married and with kids already. I laughed and shook my head. She helps around with light works such as scrubbing and cleaning, or painting the window frames. and along with her daughter, with a small electric stove in one corner of the room upstairs, they feed the crew
The older woman, she has 5 daughters, the oldest is 28 and the youngest 19. Four of them are married and one is a divorcee. She said it's more comfortable being by herself. She can go wherever she wants whenever, do whatever. We have interested suitors but she no longer wants to live with a man...
The crew sleep on the floor, side by side with the dismantled doors and glass panels. The baby sleeps in a hammock in the small room. His mother by his side on the floor, singing him songs. People scattered on the floor and clothes flapping on the line outside the windows. A boy's name embroidered above the right pocket of a white shirt, a shirt from secondary school maybe, burned red under the neon street light.
The girl once asked me will it be just you staying here? I blushed and mumbled no, my friends as well...
It's so big, she smiled and looked around the room, eyes wide.
and I blushed.
ahhh life.
The workers, their clothes hang from make-shift lines on both balconies. There're 2 women and a baby among the crew. Mother and child and grandchild. The girl's only 22 and her baby's a few months old. He sleeps soundly despite all the noise. I'd never once seen him cry.
The older woman looked at me and observed Girls your age, they're all married and with kids already. I laughed and shook my head. She helps around with light works such as scrubbing and cleaning, or painting the window frames. and along with her daughter, with a small electric stove in one corner of the room upstairs, they feed the crew
The older woman, she has 5 daughters, the oldest is 28 and the youngest 19. Four of them are married and one is a divorcee. She said it's more comfortable being by herself. She can go wherever she wants whenever, do whatever. We have interested suitors but she no longer wants to live with a man...
The crew sleep on the floor, side by side with the dismantled doors and glass panels. The baby sleeps in a hammock in the small room. His mother by his side on the floor, singing him songs. People scattered on the floor and clothes flapping on the line outside the windows. A boy's name embroidered above the right pocket of a white shirt, a shirt from secondary school maybe, burned red under the neon street light.
The girl once asked me will it be just you staying here? I blushed and mumbled no, my friends as well...
It's so big, she smiled and looked around the room, eyes wide.
and I blushed.
ahhh life.
When I woke up at 6 this morning it was pouring. it continued raining until after lunch, and even after it stopped the sky and the air and the houses, everything looked gray.
i dropped by the house in the afternoon. They'd finished raising the floor 30cms. I will be safe from the waters from the street for the next year or two. until they raise the street and the cycle repeats. That area--the streets flood every time it pours, and even when it doesn't pour the streets still flood from the river's rising tide...
They were painting the walls when I entered. For some reason they were painting my bedroom pinkish purple when I'm certain I chose brownish orange. i'm not quite sure how I feel about purple and pink...
purple and pink...
pink and purple.......
oh my.
i dropped by the house in the afternoon. They'd finished raising the floor 30cms. I will be safe from the waters from the street for the next year or two. until they raise the street and the cycle repeats. That area--the streets flood every time it pours, and even when it doesn't pour the streets still flood from the river's rising tide...
They were painting the walls when I entered. For some reason they were painting my bedroom pinkish purple when I'm certain I chose brownish orange. i'm not quite sure how I feel about purple and pink...
purple and pink...
pink and purple.......
oh my.
My brother killed a cockroach and left it at the doorway. dead. we have not been talking for several days it seems. and even though i said i don't care perhaps i do.
yesterday, while cooking i dropped a glass bowl and it shattered into a hundred pieces. or maybe a hundred and one. all over. while pink floyd played comfortably numbed in the background. and for the first time i understood what it meant--to be comfortably numbed.
It is easy to see how people gradually give up and just take the convenient way out.
i read and watch a movie each day to fill up the emptiness. i'm scared of losing myself. of forgetting. of becoming them. not that i'm much different. but you can never be too careful. people are conditioned to change and adapt. but too much adaptation becomes conformation or indifference.
But good writings and good movies, they take you out of your cramped and narrow little shell and give you space. they keep you wondering after the last page, after the credits have scrolled through. and you feel madly alive. madly depressed. delirious with joy. nauseated with excitement. all at once. because it was so beautiful told--all the happy and sad strands of life, and because it had touched something deep inside of you and for a moment filled up the void of existence.
And that dose of life this week was Kieslowski's Dekalog 1. And for that, i cheer to the pirated dvds industry in Vietnam. There are Kiesklowski, Hitchcock, Godard, Renoir, etc. complete collections available at affordable prices. The quality is of course not the best but the fact that they are available is good enough.
I am not religious in any sense and do not think much of the 10 commandments but that is not the point when watching Dekalog. First of all, it is amazing how every shot is so well framed. The colors and the music coil into one beautiful harmony in conveying the mood. and the characters--Kieslowski has a way of bringing out the subtlest details in their faces, their emotions underneath.
I can still see the man by the fire, staring coldly, so coldly outward.
yesterday, while cooking i dropped a glass bowl and it shattered into a hundred pieces. or maybe a hundred and one. all over. while pink floyd played comfortably numbed in the background. and for the first time i understood what it meant--to be comfortably numbed.
It is easy to see how people gradually give up and just take the convenient way out.
i read and watch a movie each day to fill up the emptiness. i'm scared of losing myself. of forgetting. of becoming them. not that i'm much different. but you can never be too careful. people are conditioned to change and adapt. but too much adaptation becomes conformation or indifference.
But good writings and good movies, they take you out of your cramped and narrow little shell and give you space. they keep you wondering after the last page, after the credits have scrolled through. and you feel madly alive. madly depressed. delirious with joy. nauseated with excitement. all at once. because it was so beautiful told--all the happy and sad strands of life, and because it had touched something deep inside of you and for a moment filled up the void of existence.
And that dose of life this week was Kieslowski's Dekalog 1. And for that, i cheer to the pirated dvds industry in Vietnam. There are Kiesklowski, Hitchcock, Godard, Renoir, etc. complete collections available at affordable prices. The quality is of course not the best but the fact that they are available is good enough.
I am not religious in any sense and do not think much of the 10 commandments but that is not the point when watching Dekalog. First of all, it is amazing how every shot is so well framed. The colors and the music coil into one beautiful harmony in conveying the mood. and the characters--Kieslowski has a way of bringing out the subtlest details in their faces, their emotions underneath.
I can still see the man by the fire, staring coldly, so coldly outward.
Dislocation
Saigon rain. The very rain I had romanticized about in my writings 3 years ago seemed to sink my soul as I roamed the street, feeling incredibly lost between the lines and lines of motorbikes in this city. Everything seems to be happening behind a glass screen and I exist in a different sphere. Everything seems to be floating and perhaps when I have space I will hang my canvases up and draw floating circles because that is how I feel. Because all the lines that I tried to draw yesterday kept tangling up into a mess. And I find myself climbing back into bed, a heap of flesh and bones twisted out of shape and spirit. I act like a rejected lover, though without the comfort of romance.
When people tell me to go paint walls and portraits, the image of Aki smashing plates and walking on the shatters loop at the back of my head. I'd like to smash a few prejudices and preconceptions.
Ahh...there is no use complaining. I need to gather myself up and start rolling. There are still so many books to read, movies to see, people to find... I need to find people like Laura, whose excitement turns into rapid whispers, whose eyes gleam with fire when we talk life. and beauty. and art. and i mean art - a serious attempt at love and life, thoughts and feelings. not wall decorations.
When people tell me to go paint walls and portraits, the image of Aki smashing plates and walking on the shatters loop at the back of my head. I'd like to smash a few prejudices and preconceptions.
Ahh...there is no use complaining. I need to gather myself up and start rolling. There are still so many books to read, movies to see, people to find... I need to find people like Laura, whose excitement turns into rapid whispers, whose eyes gleam with fire when we talk life. and beauty. and art. and i mean art - a serious attempt at love and life, thoughts and feelings. not wall decorations.
predeparture
the blinds are down in this living room, letting in sparse sunlight, dim and delicate.
As usual I went to the screenings at MoMA alone last night. I enjoy it. taking my time. walking out of the theatre with all the space and time to muse about the film, letting the pictures loop and the mood linger, unbothered by such questions as how did you like the film? or what do you think? my thinking process is very slow. give me time to chew and swallow.
it struck me as I was strolling down Fifth Ave towards the subway. At close to 11pm with all the shops closed the pavement was quiet with only a few people now and then. the lights from the display windows were turned a shade down and glowed more pleasantly. It was a nice feeling but as my feet made their way uptown i became increasingly lonely. like having a yarn ball full of dust and whatnot stuck onto the threads stuffed into what should be your heart. it was a confusing kind of loneliness, a loneliness which i do not know where and what to attribute to.
as I am sitting here trying to untangle the threads it is clear that part of that loneliness comes from the fact that i'm leaving the city tomorrow to start my travels. it is not traveling alone for the next month that's causing this anxiety. it's knowing that when i come back it'll be a flash before i'm gone. and verman and youkyung will not be here. marcela had left. time certainly is not even. it flows lazily and then all of a sudden speeds up and everything you know warps into something else. we meet and we disperse. like fireworks.
just like that.
fireworks.
As usual I went to the screenings at MoMA alone last night. I enjoy it. taking my time. walking out of the theatre with all the space and time to muse about the film, letting the pictures loop and the mood linger, unbothered by such questions as how did you like the film? or what do you think? my thinking process is very slow. give me time to chew and swallow.
it struck me as I was strolling down Fifth Ave towards the subway. At close to 11pm with all the shops closed the pavement was quiet with only a few people now and then. the lights from the display windows were turned a shade down and glowed more pleasantly. It was a nice feeling but as my feet made their way uptown i became increasingly lonely. like having a yarn ball full of dust and whatnot stuck onto the threads stuffed into what should be your heart. it was a confusing kind of loneliness, a loneliness which i do not know where and what to attribute to.
as I am sitting here trying to untangle the threads it is clear that part of that loneliness comes from the fact that i'm leaving the city tomorrow to start my travels. it is not traveling alone for the next month that's causing this anxiety. it's knowing that when i come back it'll be a flash before i'm gone. and verman and youkyung will not be here. marcela had left. time certainly is not even. it flows lazily and then all of a sudden speeds up and everything you know warps into something else. we meet and we disperse. like fireworks.
just like that.
fireworks.
Saturday, June 7
i meant to get home earlier to catch Mo before she falls asleep but once again I am late. 1am is not terribly bad but for someone who wakes up around 6 it is quite a stretch.
i am getting sleepy but with the rate that I move around these days it's not easy to find quiet time in front of a computer. I still write regularly in my journal but with the computer it is different. I have to say after all these times i still prefer pen and paper.
ahh...i am too sleepy to think. too sleepy to write.
but hey, i'm surviving the nomadic life. at least for now. and today we had the performance for Lydia's piece. it was scorching Hot!!! literally. and fun. and great. and i'll miss dancing. and the crew.
i am getting sleepy but with the rate that I move around these days it's not easy to find quiet time in front of a computer. I still write regularly in my journal but with the computer it is different. I have to say after all these times i still prefer pen and paper.
ahh...i am too sleepy to think. too sleepy to write.
but hey, i'm surviving the nomadic life. at least for now. and today we had the performance for Lydia's piece. it was scorching Hot!!! literally. and fun. and great. and i'll miss dancing. and the crew.
Friday, May 30
From this moment, i am officially homeless in this country.
Thanks to Mo, Verman, Youkyung, Roger, and Laura finally packing and moving disaster chapter one has come to an end. chapter two will continue at the end of July but for now i am alright.
Thanks to Mo, Verman, Youkyung, Roger, and Laura finally packing and moving disaster chapter one has come to an end. chapter two will continue at the end of July but for now i am alright.
Wednesday, May 28
Packing makes me depressed.
It depresses me, choosing between what to keep and what to throw out. and then the whole moving business. i mean on the whole it's a good occasion to simplify and get rid of unnecessary stuffs but the process is really no fun. and i can't say i'm not somewhat attached to this apartment. especially now that the trees outside my windows are covered with leaves. they're rustling in the wind so peacefully...
Poor Helene's struggling with her stuffs too.
It depresses me, choosing between what to keep and what to throw out. and then the whole moving business. i mean on the whole it's a good occasion to simplify and get rid of unnecessary stuffs but the process is really no fun. and i can't say i'm not somewhat attached to this apartment. especially now that the trees outside my windows are covered with leaves. they're rustling in the wind so peacefully...
Poor Helene's struggling with her stuffs too.
Saturday, May 24
It is a strange feeling to be writing from ST lab again. The keyboards are horrendously dirty and stiff from years of abuse. The boys at the table on the left are playing their online warcraft or another one of those online games.
So it has been a year since my own graduation. a year is not a long time but school has already become a strange concept. Middletown is so out of the way and wesleyan sits in its own protective bubble. a good place for experiments and academic ambitions but i have to say i enjoy the dirt of the street better. i'd loved this place dearly however, very dearly indeed. Life has been good and kind in many ways.
Keiji always looks happy and surprised to see me although i come back so often. Halfway through our conversation someone from the class of '88 came in to look for the pottery studio only to be disappointed that it's gone. I realized, for the first time, Keiji's office was the firing stove and that the walls were still covered with glaze and burnt marks.
Keiji is an image of the traditional artist who pursues his aesthetics, works persistently on his own and not care about the world too much. He said it wasn't important to know too much about all the art movements out there. It's better to just simply do it. I'm too curious to not want to know why and how people came up with what they did and what that language means. but a good part of me also really doesn't want to be bothered. why care. you make things because you're trying to find a way to communicate to yourself, to the world the confusion that you cannot otherwise express. you make things that relate to yourself, your history or the histories that you want to experience. but yes, in the end, you make things because you cannot not make things. it's simply that.
it is good, though, to see as much as I can of the art available in ny, to see the many ways the world can be, the many ways to appreciate, the many ways to tell.
So it has been a year since my own graduation. a year is not a long time but school has already become a strange concept. Middletown is so out of the way and wesleyan sits in its own protective bubble. a good place for experiments and academic ambitions but i have to say i enjoy the dirt of the street better. i'd loved this place dearly however, very dearly indeed. Life has been good and kind in many ways.
Keiji always looks happy and surprised to see me although i come back so often. Halfway through our conversation someone from the class of '88 came in to look for the pottery studio only to be disappointed that it's gone. I realized, for the first time, Keiji's office was the firing stove and that the walls were still covered with glaze and burnt marks.
Keiji is an image of the traditional artist who pursues his aesthetics, works persistently on his own and not care about the world too much. He said it wasn't important to know too much about all the art movements out there. It's better to just simply do it. I'm too curious to not want to know why and how people came up with what they did and what that language means. but a good part of me also really doesn't want to be bothered. why care. you make things because you're trying to find a way to communicate to yourself, to the world the confusion that you cannot otherwise express. you make things that relate to yourself, your history or the histories that you want to experience. but yes, in the end, you make things because you cannot not make things. it's simply that.
it is good, though, to see as much as I can of the art available in ny, to see the many ways the world can be, the many ways to appreciate, the many ways to tell.
Friday, May 23
Stayed at the Rail until 10 today and read a little about Robert Rauschenberg. Would have liked to stay and finish reading the book but had to leave for Linde's birthday bash. I am looking forward to moving into the office. It is such a wonderful place to read and write, Jed has gotten a lot of work done the past week apparently. I want to swallow as much as possible before leaving this city. I'm so behind, so so behind. I am struck every single day at how little I know about anything out there...
Phong surprisingly has been keeping up with the healthy lifestyle. no smoking. no drinking. 2 cups of coffee a day. and home made sandwiches. amazing. yes, now i believe he meant it - the human will.
Walter came in and basically spent the afternoon advising me on what kind of camcorder to get. i really want one and I think will get one before leaving. i also want a projector. it is insane judging on how much stuffs i already have but long term wise it is necessary, especially the camcorder.
Lu came in after office hour to use the computer. i sometimes have problem talking to her still, especially on issues relating to China. it is very hard to talk. she becomes very defensive. but yes, she works hard, tries hard. tries very hard in fact. it is something i respect so we get along fine. we're not made of the same material so it is not a natural click and run kind of relationship but strangely, sometimes i look at her and i feel a wave of endearment. she tries so hard.
Linde's party was quite nice. But to be honest, it is hard, meeting people you sort of know but aren't really friends with. it takes so much effort to make conversations. and the conversations are so repetitive and superficial. it's like pressing a recorded tape and watch yourself repeat through the whole introduction dialogue again and again, knowing you're probably not going to see them or become any better friends after this. it drives me crazy - this kind of interaction. Thank god Jo and Chesley are there.
Phong surprisingly has been keeping up with the healthy lifestyle. no smoking. no drinking. 2 cups of coffee a day. and home made sandwiches. amazing. yes, now i believe he meant it - the human will.
Walter came in and basically spent the afternoon advising me on what kind of camcorder to get. i really want one and I think will get one before leaving. i also want a projector. it is insane judging on how much stuffs i already have but long term wise it is necessary, especially the camcorder.
Lu came in after office hour to use the computer. i sometimes have problem talking to her still, especially on issues relating to China. it is very hard to talk. she becomes very defensive. but yes, she works hard, tries hard. tries very hard in fact. it is something i respect so we get along fine. we're not made of the same material so it is not a natural click and run kind of relationship but strangely, sometimes i look at her and i feel a wave of endearment. she tries so hard.
Linde's party was quite nice. But to be honest, it is hard, meeting people you sort of know but aren't really friends with. it takes so much effort to make conversations. and the conversations are so repetitive and superficial. it's like pressing a recorded tape and watch yourself repeat through the whole introduction dialogue again and again, knowing you're probably not going to see them or become any better friends after this. it drives me crazy - this kind of interaction. Thank god Jo and Chesley are there.
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