Meanings/You are tired

The rain could mean a lot of things. It might
mean that we’ve caught a cold front, or that this
is the End. Any number of possibilities.
At the moment, there’s water leaking
into my train car through a tiny gap
near the floor. Even though we’re moving,
the rain—that clever creature—is finding
a way into our hearts, or at the very least
our shoes. I know that the storm is nothing
in comparison to what it is south, but
there is something awful and damply true
in the tiny leak that I am watching
here in my corner of the train. It means
the thoughts I’ve been having about endings
will wet my heart and my shoes no matter
how fast I think that I’m moving.

- Adrienne J. Odasso

How most relationships are sustained (frienships included) has always been somewhat of a mystery to me. Over the years, I have realized some distinct patterns. There would be times when I would get really close to someone, share almost everything about myself, and then after a while, find some reason to pull away. Usually the result of which are semi-occasional awkward meetings worse than strangers. And this has happened more times than I can count on one hand. I still trying to understand why.

It's almost as if all my close friendships have an expiry date - a best-used-by period. Something similar is happening now too, and being in the midst of it is odd. Because I can identify so clearly the reasons why I seem to be needing endless amounts of space from that person. And they are reasons which I have always known, but have chosen to overlook because why do they matter? Maybe it's because in the early stages of a friendship, it's easy to say how alot of things aren't important, like how that person loves shopping and gossiping and still think it's part of her charm. But as time goes by, it becomes harder to engage with that person when a more meaningful connection doesn't emerge. I know how selfish I sound. And believe me, this isn't the person i want to be. What's wrong with me?

I also have somewhat of a love/hate relationship with acquaintances as well. On one hand, I hate small talk. I hate repeating the same irrelevant things about myself over and over. Oh so what are you studying? That's so cool! What courses are you doing this semester? Wow they sound hard. When are you graduating? Haha I see, I don't have any plans yet either. It's tiring. But on the other hand, sometimes I think it is the only real level of contact with someone I can sustain in the long-term. It sounds horrible, but occasionally this thought would cross my mind, that the only reason why I can maintain a semblance of a friendship with those back home, is because of the physical distance between us.

Somewhere at the very bottom--the kernel, the very heart--I suspect, of the problem is that love has failed us, failed us both. That we simply can't love any more as we used to, that it wore out, that it died somewhere, that fine aroma, that intoxication. And we will neither of us admit it.

Anyway, I saw some Calvin & Hobbes fanart on deviantart the other day. Aren't they adorable?

 













I always sound so angsty on this blog, but I don't think that's how I normally am. It's just that the only time I can really be bothered to write, is when something is gnawing at me and writing is my way of relieving it. I know of someone, who ended a relationship because it was making him too happy, and he wanted to concentrate on his writing. For awhile I thought that was a understandable, but not excusable, reason. But nowadays I tend to think if you're honestly a good writer, you wouldn't need to go to such lengths for inspiration. That even that person making you "too happy" can be a source of inspiration too.

Recently I had a talk with Eggtart about politics. And it was one of those conversations that finally made me realize how ignorant I truly am. I know plenty of American politics, sure. But when it comes to Singapore, I know squat. I know the main problems - inequality, the labour market, immigration, lack of media freedom. But I always thought something along the lines of "yes it's bad, but relative to other countries, it's not that bad". And it was probably because I was on the right side of the inequality. Those were problems I am aware of, but honestly, they barely register as a blip on my horizon. The fact is, I am that typical smug local, relatively content with my life in the bubble, because I've hardly had any first or second hand experience with those problems. But worst of all, I am a politics student.

Fortunately though, only 18 days till home.

You are tired,
(I think)
Of the always puzzle of living and doing;
And so am I.

Come with me, then,
And we'll leave it far and far away—
(Only you and I, understand!)

You have played,
(I think)
And broke the toys you were fondest of,
And are a little tired now;
Tired of things that break, and—
Just tired.
So am I.

But I come with a dream in my eyes tonight,
And knock with a rose at the hopeless gate of your heart—
Open to me!
For I will show you the places Nobody knows,
And, if you like,
The perfect places of Sleep.

Ah, come with me!
I'll blow you that wonderful bubble, the moon,
That floats forever and a day;
I'll sing you the jacinth song
Of the probable stars;
I will attempt the unstartled steppes of dream,
Until I find the Only Flower,
Which shall keep (I think) your little heart
While the moon comes out of the sea.

- e.e. cummings

The Peace of Wild Things

When despair grows in me and I wake in the middle of the night at the least sound in fear of what my life and my children's lives may be, I go and lie down where the wood drake rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds. I come into the peace of wild things who do not tax their lives with forethought of grief. I come into the presence of still water. And I feel above me the day - blind stars waiting for their light. For a time I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

- Wendell Berry

Oh, you poor abandoned blog.

Sometimes I think the only times I would write in here, is when there's somethings I need to get off my chest, and it's something I can't imagine talking to anyone specific about it. How more depressing can drivel get.

I hate gossip. I'll admit that there are many times when I gleefully indulge in it, and even enjoy the sense of relief to my self-esteem that accompanies a judgement over someone else. But while I think a little gossip can be harmless and fun, too much of it just hurtful. Why does it matter to rate how good someone looks, or how apparently desperate you think he or she is. It particularly scares me when I wonder how much of my affairs are being discussed by a gossipy friend.

I have some trouble restraining comparisons between myself with others lately as well. I am well-aware I am being over-sensitive and insecure, but sometimes it's just easier to look down on yourself then find something you can be proud of. I can't run triathlons, my academic results are not noteworthy, I am not on scolarship, no I am not taking law, I can't drive. It particularly gets to me when people assume, based on who I am friends with, I am someone equally impressive. I am not. My laundry is an unfolded mess on my bed and I have not intention in the short-term to tidy it, I am typing this in the com lab because I somehow killed my laptop again, my health insurance expired for three months before I could be bothered to renew it, I can't remember the last time I exercised, I ate chips for lunch, I've been walking around blind or with red eyes because I lost my glasses and refuse to replace them in Aus. I have never been particularly intelligent or pretty or friendly and it was always okay. It's just that... when the people around you are so especially well put together, it makes it seem, by comparison, your life is falling apart at the seams.

On a few happier notes, I am hooked on a new tv show, I see Eggtart everyday, I am preparing for a vacation in NZ with the family, and the pimple on my nose is disappearing.

Hope a lovely, sunny Sunday!

being to timelessness as it's to time

being to timelessness as it's to time,
love did no more begin than love will end:
where nothing is to breathe to stroll to swim
love is the air the ocean and the land

(do lovers suffer?all divinities
proudly descending put on deathful flesh:
are lovers glad?only their smallest joy's
a universe emerging from a wish)

love is the voice under all silences,
the hope which has no opposite in fear;
the strength so strong mere force is feebleness:
the truth more first than sun more last than star

— do lovers love?why then to heaven with hell.
Whatever sages say and fools,all's well

e. e. cummings

I have made multiple stabs at writing a semi-coherent and vaguely interesting entry the past two months, but each attempt has ended with a "hmmm..." and "nah". Reflecting on my boring life has always ended with me pressing on the delete key, obliterating everything I had written over the past hour, as if I would upset this rare and delicate balance by serious contemplation. After which I would stare idly at the blank page of my laptop and wonder what the hell actually goes through that thick skull of mine (little else but food, apparently).

But I’m here now, so here goes.

Life is good, in an unsettling way. I recall how ZY chides me gently over the phone about getting over my neuroses, and just appreciating what I have. But it still feels as if my center of gravity is off, that I am in a perpetual crouch position before a race that never starts, and having thoughts that I should have already understood since long before. See, there I go again. I am graduating soon though (next year, but still) and there's that voice in my head that perpetually screams for everything to slow down! AAHHHHHH SLOW DOWN!! But things never do. The days fly by very fast, and it seems that I get by more on luck than good sense, but the time that slips by string together a life that I can never quite fully believe is mine.

Also, I've read Love in the Time of Cholera yet again. Ironically, finishing a Marquez or Rushdie book always sobers me up to reality. They may be fiction, but sometimes it feels like these books are more relevant and enlightening to me than any textbook (which probably also says how far detached from reality I am).



By the way, meet Eggtart. Life has been significantly brighter and more restful these days because of it.

Have a good week! :)

Nietzsche 334: One must learn how to love

This is what happens to us in music: First one has to learn to hear a figure and melody at all, to detect and distinguish it, to isolate it and delimit it as a separate life. Then it requires some exertion and good will to tolerate it in spite of its strangeness, to be patient with its appearances and expression, and kindhearted about its oddity. Finally, there comes a moment when we are used to it, when we sense that we should miss it if it were missing; and now it continues to compel and enchant us relentlessly until we have become its humble and enraptured lovers who desire nothing better from the world than it and only it.

But that is what happens to us not only in music. That is how we have learned to love all things that we now love. In the end we are always rewarded for our good will, our patience, fair-mindedness, and gentleness with what is strange; gradually, it sheds its veil and turns out to be a new and indescribable beauty. That is its thanks for our hospitality. Even those who love themselves will have learned it in this way; for there is no other way. Love, too, has to be learned.

Autumn Sonnet

If I can let you go as trees let go
Their leaves, so casually, one by one;
If I can come to know what they do know,
That fall is the release, the consummation,
Then fear of time and the uncertain fruit
Would not distemper the great lucid skies
This strangest autumn, mellow and acute.
If I can take the dark with open eyes
And call it seasonal, not harsh or strange
(for love itself may need a time of sleep)
And, treelike, stand unmoved before the change,
Lose what I lose to keep what I can keep,
The strong root still alive under the snow,
Love will endure – if I can let you go.

- May Sarton

It may not have any particular reason to resonate in my life at the moment, but it's still a very lovely poem. I especially love the phrase "and, treelike, stand unmoved before the change, lose what I lose to keep what I can keep".

Over the years, I've grown to dread traveling and going to airports. Saying goodbye to the people closest to you, trying feebly to preserve mental images of them, and knowing all too well that for the next few months of your life, you have to carry the hopes of those you leave behind, while having only yourself to rely on. I’m not complaining because this is what I had signed up for, and independence is for the most part, liberating. Just that even after three years, the feeling of leaving a part of yourself behind, is as difficult as it was the first time, and every time following that. Then there's also the feeling of being trapped on a place, where the air is so still it’s almost like being caught immobile between time. Waiting to board the plane, waiting for the plane to land and waiting for your luggage are now done so reflexively there's no real need for conscious thought. So the whole journey is just spent locked in a mental struggle for patience, while trying to swim against the torrent of bad thoughts that inevitably invade your mind. The more frustrated I get, the more unpleasant my thoughts become. “Why are these people so slow?” “How useless can a person’s job be?” My thoughts sometimes take things on with a more venomous edge when I’m too tired and frustrated to restrain them, which leaves me even more drained and disgusted with myself. I’m trying to be less grudging, but I’m also very glad I'm staying put for the next few months.

So here’s a thrilling update on my life so far: I’m back in Canberra, it’s the first week of school, and I’m already on my second pot of tea today. I’ve also decided to learn Indonesian this semester, which I’m looking forward to. It would be nice to able to say something other than “Saya lapar” (I am hungry.)

I’ve been in an oddly voracious reading phase these days as well, as if my mind is trying to make up for the lack of thinking during the hectic days back home. I’ve just finished Kafka’s The Castle, which I have to admit, strange and illogical as it is, is a good read. Bureaucracy is not usually a theme I bother much with, but it was created very well. I still can’t say I’m a fan of Kafka, but his writing had me emotionally involved enough to feel cheated at the absence of a conclusion.
I’ve also read Celine’s Journey to the End of the Night, which is basically a war story, translated from French. I’ll admit it was my set text last year (which I didn’t bother reading because it was not assessed), so finally getting around to it was rather satisfying. The book itself though, was… a little underwhelming. It may have partly been because of my natural dislike of weak narrators (this antihero was too cowardly, too horny and too weak, albeit honest), and the synopsis at the back of the book built up expectations of “urgent and explosive language” (which is true if they were referring to the amount of expletives), the “literary symphony of violence and cruelty” (if by symphony they mean a slightly organized mess). It was a good book, refreshing from the somewhat cloudy plot of The Castle, but no, I wouldn’t recommend it.
Another book I read a while back was To Know Where I’m Coming From by a local author Johann S. Lee. Now this one, this one I loved. Mostly it dealt with the issues of sexual and emotional fidelity, as well as the challenges of being a gay man in Singapore and London, so I can’t say I have much prior perspective on these subjects. But at its core, it’s about a man losing his support, re-learning his roots, finding love. His writing style is scarily similar to mine (but in a much, much better league of course). Honestly, I don’t think a book like this has much chance of going on a nytimes bestseller list, but it was moving and heartfelt, which is more than you could hope for in many books.
Right now I’m almost finished with Charles Dicken’s Hard Times, which so far might be my favourite book out of this lot (maybe I am still biased towards classics). It’s not a book that can be breezed through half-heartedly though; there are so many subtle depictions of people that are too wonderful not to pause and re-read in order to fully appreciate.

That's it for now. Have a lovely week!

where the moss slowly grows.

Friendship is a serious affection; the most sublime of all affections, because it is founded on principle, and cemented by time. The very reverse may be said of love. In a great degree, love and friendship cannot subsist in the same bosom; even when inspired by different objects they weaken or destroy each other, and for the same object can only be felt in succession. The vain fears and fond jealousies, the winds which fan the flame of love, when judiciously or artfully tempered, are both incompatible with the tender confidence and sincere respect of friendship.

A Vindication of the Rights of Women by Mary Wollstonecraft

My first instinct on reading that was a loud and immediate "NO!" I've always had ideals in my head of the ways things should be and the small degree of compromise I could allow in my real life. The past few months, however, I had been caught up in a strange tide of delusion (?), trying to fit things to the way that I imagined they could be in my head. There are no excuses for my behaviour. Just that, self-control becomes alot more complicated when there is something you want very badly, which you know is not actually meant to be yours.

What i find important in a relationship: friendship, because it's wonderful to imagine how you love somebody so much you can actually stand being his friend. not that friends are more, or less, but a lover who is also a friend means I can come clean. it's not about the romantic intrigue we try to keep burning. I don't think i'm a person of value or virtues- they're useless because love is lawless and lovers are blameless people. you don't get more love because you're a better person. who is better than who? who decides anyway? you don't always love the one good for you. no matter what you do he might still never love you back. so accept it. there's no use breaking your heart against a word like trust, unless trust means the same thing to both people.

there's no such thing as forgive and forget. unless he's someone you can forget, you never (really) forgive. and it's not hate or anger. it's just hurt, and what do you do about that? i don't need you to stand by me when i'm right. come bury the body with me when i do wrong. no questions asked. surely there are more important things than being right.

i want someone who gets me. you know where i'm coming from. when we speak one language of love, hearts sing... and we can sing of anything. and that's about the only real thing we have together.

To Know Where I'm Coming From by Johann S. Lee

Perhaps the thing that I need, and yet have been so reluctant to pursue, is closure. I want to believe I can do it on my own, without a need for understanding or the vulnerability which follows an honest admission. And I have been lingering for three years. But I think I can finally admit where the boundaries of my pride and reality are.

I know I don't sound like it, but I am very glad to be back in Singapore. The journey here is always unpleasant, where I miss Canberra as well as the cozy and productive, somewhat independent life I had created. But as always, it's the sight of my dad picking me up from the airport, excitedly taking pictures of me as I come through the gate, which gives me the familiar sense of rolling my eyes and with it, remembrance of all that I've left behind.

My sister will be 5 in August, and she's growing up beautifully, while simultaneously leaving us agape at her boisterous antics. From the moment I wake up on the first morning back, she's the first thing I see, peering closely at my face. I have not had a spare moment since. She's always around (she would follow me into the toilet if she could) and the way she can be so excited at the mere glimpse of you, never fails to amuse me. She is very probably the most precious thing I could have right now.

Friends have been wonderful too. ZY was the first person I met, and she kept the tradition alive of meeting me the moment I touched down (ie 1 am in the morning). She's hard at work now as we speak, but I'm looking forward to her getting some rest next week and when we can go traipsing about in our usual, messy fashion. I've also met Eech, Terry, and Tong whom on some level, I've always had big-sisterly feelings towards. They remain as lovely as they always were, and their attempt this break is to fatten me up into "life-size". They always naturally bring back the part of me that I try to suppress sometimes - that impressionable, silly and carefree girl in secondary school, and I love them dearly for it. And I'm meeting Vanny in a few hours, Cammy in a few days (and hopefully Jianwei too). The few of them especially, I don't know what I would do without. We have drifted since our JC days, and we are all so busy now, but it somehow feels like they still share a big part of my life as they used to.

Here are my goals these three weeks - to spend as much time as I can with my family and friends, watch the world cup games, swim occasionally and EAT. I've also decided to take a break from MSN and the online world in general. Because in all honesty coupled with my feeble willpower, if I am to make a genuine attempt at recovering and moving on, it can only be this way. So the next time I blog, it will probably be in Canberra. If I return before then, I hereby give you permission to give me a swift kick on the butt.

Have a good week!

Three.

The first of which was with my friend D in Sydney. We were all at the beach, where a friend and I took a walk that lasted longer than expected. I had clumsily forgotten to bring my phone, so we lost track of time and because of that, D couldn’t swim. When the friend went to change, D started scolding me on how “inconsiderate, immature and irresponsible” (true, true and true) I was. And I knew I deserved that. He was frustrated as well, and this was his way of “improving” me. But he also made references to several out-of-bounds topics, which left me feeling so angry and betrayed I couldn’t speak. So uncontrollable tears came out instead. I have had trouble forgiving him after that, even though he has apologized repeatedly.
But here’s the thing. I’ve known him for about two years now, of which he has been nothing but the sweetest, steadiest friend (in his own annoying way). So even though part of me still bears a grudge (I know it’s temporary, but I can’t help it), I’ve decided to go to Sydney to stay a night. It was my fault too, what he said was unintentional, and I know he feels way more terrible than myself. And I figure a visit would put his mind at ease a little bit. It’s quite counter-intuitive for me to seek comfort from the person who caused the discomfort, and my first instinct is always to cut and run, but I imagine… it’s always more painful to be the one who did the hurting.

The second one was with a girl in my Creative Writing tute. She had written an “endless rant” on how mainland Chinese were “disgusting cockroaches that needed to be squashed”, how Singaporeans were so afraid of losing that their lives have become utterly materialistic, how she’s sometimes ashamed to be Chinese in Australia. And I know being offensive is part of writing, but I just took it way too personally and exploded at her. We got into quite a heated argument where I insisted that if writing was to be offensive it had to have a purpose, to question a perspective, to provoke thought, not just an excuse to indulge in racist diatribe. It ended quite badly, with the tutor saying something along the lines of “offensive is good, we like offensive”. But I apologized to her immediately after class anyway, and we are okay now.

The last one was with ZY, which I can honestly say, scared me the most. We are both quite stubborn people with strong opinions on certain subjects. So while our values and ideals mostly coincide, occasionally, inevitably, there will be a disagreement. My natural behavior would be to state my points, and if I feel the argument is going nowhere, to “agree to disagree”. ZY, on the other hand, is very passionate about seeking the truth, and she hates people who say “aiyah, I just can’t argue with you la”. The dumbest argument was in Sydney where I commented on how a restaurant with a generic name like “sushi train” doesn’t look very good. And she thought otherwise, which led to a three-block argument.
I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I love that girl to bits and I hate arguing. And yet in my attempt to be braver and stand up for my ideals, I’ve become so bitchy and petty. I hate this person I seem to be turning into. And it’s not merely these three arguments. I have had arguments with just about everyone on everything. I don’t enjoy them, and at the end of the day all I’m left with is the knowledge that I had chosen my pride over my friends.

Tassie

So here are the photos from eons ago.


On a bus in Sydney.


Shan's idea, I swear.






Manly beach




At a German restaurant whose name I can't remember.


A cafe in Hobart.








the oldest bridge in the oldest town in Aus.




some crazy prisoner in Port Arthur




"I rather stay here than Fenner!" Shan declares.


haha!


A kookaburra (not sitting in an old gumtree)


A wombat! God, they are so adorable. I learnt that they have a really hard backside, so when you knock it it will sound... hollow.




A Koala. They look so dopey


A Tasmanian Devil. Much cuter than the cartoon.




A Kangaroo. My impression of them was that they were abit... nutty. Because a friend was telling me how a suicidal kangaroo jumped onto the road and caused his car to crash. But they were perfectly amiable.


And hungry.






The coastline at Bruny Island. It looks like a king riding a Ilama, doesn't it.


A blowhole. I think it was around this point of the journey that Shan got seasick.


Seals.




I wanted to smuggle one back, but as we got closer, the SMELL oh gosh. Like fish, but in a worse way.






















A classic car show of Morgans.












This guy travels around the world, making just enough by swallowing swords. I'm not sure if I'm envious or not.



I have more photos (1000, to be exact), but I think these are the less boring ones. Tasmania is really much lovelier in real life though.

Randomly, I had a dream a two nights ago, where I was Ophelia from Hamlet. She was in love with Hamlet (whom she thought didn't love her back), her dad died and she went mad. And then she died. How ominous.

there's rue for you; and here's some for me:

we may call it herb-grace o' Sundays:

O you must wear your rue with a difference...

This was the only part I remember vaguely thinking. And I didn't die in the dream, fortunately. I was just swinging flowers around and muttering furiously (like a mad, homeless woman?) Maybe I should go easy on the coffee for awhile.