Pages

Tuesday, 22 July 2014

On makeup

As a child, after a long bath I would stand on the edge of the tub while my father wiped down my face with a cloth. He would then bunch the washcloth over his index finger and draw it over my eyebrows and my lips and dust it on my cheeks, telling me that he's putting makeup on my face to make me all pretty.

Growing up I missed out on those teenage years when girls are allowed to look absurd whilst experimenting with makeup. Later I tried to catch up on these skills but it never felt like me.

Thinking back the washcloth is probably still my favourite kind of getting pretty. 

Reading and re-reading

these lines (yours, mine). I realize that this is where I keep myself. 

The Waking & the 0.1%

I am 99.9% sensible and 0.1% absurd. If the answer cannot be found it's because I'm not asking for what I really want to know. In truth knowing that the quantity is "some" is enough. Whether x is > or < than 3 probably depends on what unit you measure in. (I've always thought it might be whales).

In any case what is today may not be what is tomorrow.

and then this...

I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I feel my fate in what I cannot fear.
I learn by going where I have to go.

We think by feeling. What is there to know?
I hear my being dance from ear to ear.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.

Of those so close beside me, which are you?
God bless the Ground! I shall walk softly there,
And learn by going where I have to go.

Light takes the Tree; but who can tell us how?
The lowly worm climbs up a winding stair;
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.

Great Nature has another thing to do
To you and me; so take the lively air,
And, lovely, learn by going where to go.

This shaking keeps me steady. I should know.
What falls away is always. And is near.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I learn by going where I have to go.


- Theodore Roethke

Monday, 21 July 2014

Word


Sunday, 20 July 2014

how much is enough

"But my dreaming self refuses to be consoled. It continues to wander, aimless, homeless, alone. It cannot be convinced of its safety by any evidence drawn from my waking life. I know this because I continue to have the same dream, over and over." (Moral Disorder, Margaret Atwood)

Perhaps it's never enough because my dreaming self remains unconvinced. There'll never be enough proof. Never enough bolt holes. 

And yes, I do have the same dreams over and over. 

Wednesday, 16 July 2014

from Moral Disorder by Margaret Atwood

"Now we're at the door. The persistence of material objects is becoming an amazement to me. It's the same door - the one I used to go in through, out through, year after year, in my daily clothing or in various outfits and disguises, not thinking at all that I would one day be standing in front of this very same door with my grey-haired little sister. But all doors used regularly are doors to the afterlife." (61)

"The objects I chose were designed to hold something, but I didn't fill them up. They remained empty. They were little symbolic shrines to thirst. I knew they were worthless clutter, but they made it into the tin trunk whenever I packed up again." (104)

"But my dreaming self refuses to be consoled. It continues to wander, aimless, homeless, alone. It cannot be convinced of its safety by any evidence drawn from my waking life. I know this because I continue to have the same dream, over and over." (112)

Atwood, Margaret. Moral Disorder. Toronto: Seal Books, 2007.


Bigger and better than ever before

random thought of the day: I used to have to write these internal product launch notices at Synology, the contents of which can be summarized mainly as "here it is, bigger and better than ever before (last year's model). come n get it kids." But instead of being succinct it always had to be hyped up and reviewed to death. Very glad I don't have to do that any more because I never really saw the point.

Wednesday, 9 July 2014

sometimes...

you are weak. sometimes you are strong. sometimes you stick your neck out. sometimes you go out on a limb and hope the branch doesn't break. sometimes you are brave and take a gamble (because the world is not fundamentally malignant, you think).

Monday, 30 June 2014

postcards

Here I am. There you are. At times I ache for the nearness of you.

Wednesday, 18 June 2014

Conclusive proof

... that my instincts about people are good. I'm thankful for all the circumstances that drew us together years and years ago - when I realized that everything else is detail. 

"you should be aware of that factor - by which I mean that he may feel no less / more passionately for you, it's just the asymmetry of your lives at present that mean his contact with you is more limited"

... and I owe you for this little piece of sanity. 

I have heard

... that some people want to be played delicately like a musical instrument. Sometimes (perhaps all the time, only deeply hidden) I only want to be ground to dust.

(for you, it's like a black hole. for me, it's the gash from the cleave of an ax. you speak in tongues. I imagine my head blown off with a shotgun. oh dear). 

放不開

... 的話,只能全部賭下去。There's never been any other option. You know that. 

Overcome

... sometimes I get a bit tired of feeling shit just by remembering things. Honestly - how many more times before it's done?

Tuesday, 17 June 2014

Disappointment

topic: disappointment

When I first moved to Canada I was nine years old. My parents sent my brother and I to live with our relatives (aunt, uncle, cousins - all naturalized Canadian citizens of longstanding at that point). I was lonely more or less all of the time and I missed home and I missed my parents more than I had the ability to comprehend. I had integration and language classes at the local primary school, which involved a lot of field trips and activities. One activity was a trip to the lake. Parents were invited. 

My parents were visiting me at the time (they came maybe two three times a year, for a week or two), and my father promised me that he would attend. The day before the trip, he told me that he had to meet with a lawyer or an accountant or some such instead, and wouldn't be able to go on my school trip. I don't think I've ever been more disappointed about something before or since. 

That day, at the lake, we sat down to eat the lunches that our families had packed for us. A boy from my class brought his mother along. She made a beautiful bento box of Japanese food. My aunt packed my lunch (I hate her sandwiches), which tasted like sawdust. 

Life really sucked back then. so. much.