Friday, 30 September 2011

離交流道還兩公里的時候車子突然覺得不太對勁,只想快快下高速公路喘口氣,但是越跑卻頭越昏。從前不會這樣子的... 只要想自己的年歲,車子就緊張,不敢讓老闆知道自己不舒服。因為送修的費用很貴怕被嫌棄,所以就硬撐著。不管怎麼樣都不能在高速公路上昏倒啊! 想到了高速上的拖車費,車子冒起了冷汗,最後只覺得眼冒金星,輪胎漂浮,然後就沒有知覺了...

醒過來的時候發現自己在老相識的修車廠,顯然是被拖吊進來的。老闆不見蹤影,四周都是零件和油漬,讓它很害怕。我老了,病了,不管用了! 飽受委屈的車子四處看不到老闆,終於放聲大哭了起來。


Monday, 26 September 2011


garlic, beans, tofu, and noodles.

Sunday, 25 September 2011

Quite unexpectedly, Baudolino

When I stayed with Orchid in Shanghai I unexpectedly came across an Umberto Eco novel that I'd never heard of. She generously gave the book to me and I started dipping into it over the weekend. By the following Friday, when I was Taipei-bound, I had finished reading Baudolino, and I must say I thoroughly enjoyed it.

It made me miss medieval literature - just a little bit.

On coming home I discovered that my copy of The Temporal Void by Peter F. Hamilton had arrived. Talk about a shift in gears. Now I just need to pull up the wiki on Pandora's Star and Judas Unchained, so I can remember who all these characters are. 

Tuesday, 6 September 2011

All things

change with time. At least that's no more than what you know is true.

Saturday, 3 September 2011

Apple Season (and ex-boyfriends)

[photo via MeshuMaSH]

It's apple season. Back when we lived on Cricket Road in Oxford Toph and I had an apple tree in the backyard that produced a profusion of Braeburns. They're still the only kind of apples I like to eat, and I really gorged on them while in the UK.

Two weeks ago, when I was walking down St. Giles, with Taylors & the corner of Little Clarendon Street just coming into view, I kept feeling like I could almost see Richard rounding the corner on his bike, standing on the pedals, leaning over the handle-bars. As I write this, I remember cycling down St. Giles with him, hand in hand. That's what it's like now: he's always the flitting image in the corner of my eye, and never really too far from my mind. In London on the tube and at Heathrow several times I thought I saw him, but these instances are just a mixture of hope and hopelessness and someone with a similar build or colour of hair.

I've been surveying people a little about whether they keep in touch with their exes. Some do, others don't - or almost never. I'd like to, really, except in exceptional circumstances - lies, deliberate injury. These days most my relationships end with me having taken away more good than bad, and when that is the case I could never really cut someone out of my life if I tried. I would hear them on the tip of my tongue, feel them taking over some small gesture or the way I use a turn of phrase. Many words have their origin in them, as do ideas - and so many memories. I like to be reminded of the people who make up me. I like to feel bursts of affection for them when I discover and rediscover parts of myself that would not have been otherwise. Most of all I'd like to write and speak to them, to continue to play a role in their lives, and vice versa. I once feared that I may have lost Topher for good, but I'm overjoyed and grateful that we remain friends. To have him still in my life, even just to speak to on Skype, is like holding on to something solid, some small but paramount measure of certainty. I am thus blessed.

Since Richard and I broke up last year we've not been on very good terms. There've been several attempts at re-establishing communication, to varying degrees of success - some perhaps more productive than others, but none with permanent results. I see on my Google calendar that his birthday is coming up, and a part of me would very much like to wish him well (tho every part of me does that, every day), but I'm not sure that it would be good for either of us.

One part of me thinks that one day, when we mean nothing to each other any more, we might by chance become friendly again. Perhaps by then we wouldn't even care if we spoke to one another, or lived on the same street. The greater part of me, however, doesn't want him ever to mean nothing to me. Yet for the moment, I can only remind myself to do what I think is right rather than what I want to do. It seems to me that what is right at the moment is to simply wait. When things stop hurting, he'll know where to find me if he wants to. Until then, I can only vent my feelings on my blog, pray fervently that our friendship will survive, and keep spying him when memory overlaps reality in the corner of my eye.