9.50am 18 July 2007 Wednesday
Time spent contemplating alone does funny things to people. Put a thinking person in front of dishes every day, you get dissent sprouting out of the tap. I've tried to separate feelings from thoughts in hope of getting some viable solution, but so far all I can discern is growing despair.
What was it that I was born to do? People usually proceed in a predictable fashion: go to school, graduate, find a job, get married, have kids, retire... Do we really know where we are going when we take each step forward? I remember climbing up a quarry and having to repel down. I had guided all the younger kids down and was now the last one. Instead of taking the plunge into empty air, I had cowardly ran back into the woods. Perhaps I am one of no faith in anything but the solid ground beneath my feet.
As I grew up, there came more and more opportunities to jump off cliffs to unknown destinations. I took some and others I left alone. Right now in the silent apartment with dirty dishes in the kitchen and ripening plums that need attention, I take a pause to ask, when am I going to hit solid ground again?
It is like watching a bad TV series in hope that it's a joke that the writers are playing and the storyline will turn around. Unfortunately this script is in my hands and I've absolutely no idea what I'm doing with it other than taking one day at a time. I hate this... ambiguity within me. It is akin to being lost in a fog, where nothing seems real and you expect to snap out of it any time.
I am a living human being, made to think and be productive to the society. Not to merely vacuum floors, clean kitchens, cook and bake, and sit and read. It might seem like an ideal vacation to some but it's suffocating me. You escape to your work daily, use it as a cover, use it as a reason, an excuse. But what do I have to show after a day's labour?
More dirty dishes, that's what it is.
I am a living human being, brought up by parents who gave me everything so that I can reach the highest stars. Given up by a boyfriend who thought he was in my way to greater things, only to shackle myself with someone else who holds me in a gilded cage. How can I possibly be unhappy or discontent? I have all the material goods anyone can hope for, but these hands are made for more than just scrubbing and rubbing.
2 people have 2 sets of ideals, and I agree that it's darn near impossible to find someone with the exact same thoughts. Isn't that why people compromise with each other? You find a balance point where both are happy and can live with. If a see-saw has a heavyweight on one side and the lightweight on the other, neither of them are happy because their partner isn't. It doesn't mean that the lightweight tries to carry the heavyweight on her back, because one day it'll be the straw that breaks a camel's back. It doesn't mean that the heavyweight tries to carry the lightweight because they're trying to balance the see-saw, not carry each other.
By now I'm out of steam not because I'm out of things to say, but because I've gotten the most important things off my chest. There are things I can put out of mind, things that can wait, but not these. Each day that these words are unsaid or a decision unresolved (be it OK, I will try my best or Sorry, I can't do it) the discomfort builds in my heart. There is nothing to do with love or anger, but just basic things that build the basis of two people's lives together. We're lucky to have mostly similar principles and beliefs, and for that I'm really grateful for. The book I read yesterday described a lover who always says "I love you but...". I don't want us to be like that. I love you and there is no but. All I do know is I am unhappy with some big issues that if left alone, will only grow bigger and bigger. I don't want to be thinking of an escape every day. That isn't what our life should be.
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
Monday, July 02, 2007
Of dancing dogs and passing time.
3.49pm 2 July 2007 Monday
I've just finished reading John Grogan's Marley and Me, in one sitting, and for the second time. The tears that followed the end of the novel were irrepressible and evoked me to write something to cover the silence in my head. It has been more than two months since I last wrote and even without many things happening, I feel like I'm a changed person.
H was talking to his mum today about our upcoming flight back home and I was drooling over the thought of filling up my stash of Pocky snacks when I suddenly realised that we were flying direct from Frankfurt, and would not be stopping in Narita as I had for the past four summers.
Isn't it funny how the smallest, most insignificant thing can make you realise a part of your life is over? I've been writing about change and growing up since the move to Dekalb, but so far it has been realisation, not acceptance, of change. I can still see the vivid blue skies and golden sunshine; the glorious reds, pinks, orange and purple sunsets that I've always wanted to photograph but never got around to doing so; and the majestic sight of the Santa Catalina, Rincon, Santa Rita and Tucson Mountains that surround Tucson area, all in my mind's eye. I can still feel the biting, numbing cold of my first Midwest winter; the crisp air that hurts your nose and lungs to breathe; and the soft caress of a snowflake falling onto an open palm.
Before we left the apartment this morning, H asked if I was sure if I wanted to lug five books with me, although I was only going to a nearby cafe for an hour or two. I had picked two Su Doku books, the aforementioned Marley and Me, Chronicles of Narnia and Jin Yong's Xiao Ao Jiang Hu, and was excited to spend a lazy day losing myself in books. H and I met about halfway through the book for a quick lunch break, when I realised how good it felt to be reading again. Don't get me wrong - I read every day. I devour newspaper articles; I read blogs; I even read sides of cereal boxes. The written word is so ubiquitous in daily life that it is nearly impossible to avoid reading. But to utterly wrap yourself in someone else's world and thoughts for hours is a completely different thing. It is, other than talking, the closest you can get under someone else's skin and walk around in it.
As I interact with bits and pieces of the international stage, the same bits and pieces within me evolve. And perhaps this is why I had the sudden desire to write - maybe that way you can get under my skin, walk around it for a bit and tell me how I feel. It is as if I am half inside and half outside my body. My eyes see the clouds before me, but yet my hands pecking away at the keyboard don't feel like they are part of the same body. There are thoughts swirling round and round my head with memories intercepting each other, and stills from scenes I've seen whizzing through like a whirring slideshow of photographs.
Who am I? What am I doing? Where am I going? When is the right time? Why am I in this time/space combination? How do I take the next step forward?
I have had a recurring dream where I am being chased (for different reasons each time) and I run with all my might. I feel each movement through thick, sluggish, gel-like air, and I can't move any faster despite my soul pressing hard against my body, dying to push ahead. The pursuer and destination are inconsequential, but the claustrophobic feeling of not being able to move any faster is akin to what I feel right now, mentally.
The basic premise of life is rather simple - eat and rest. How you get to those two things fill up the rest of your time and the way you get there fill up the time outside your life as memories of others' lives. The meandering route I've taken to write this post is perhaps a good reflection of my thoughts right now - equal parts past, present and future.
Macht nichts. Es hat viele spass gemacht. It feels like, regardless of outcome, that each step I choose and take is a step closer to untying the Gordian knot called my life. How are you resolving yours?
I've just finished reading John Grogan's Marley and Me, in one sitting, and for the second time. The tears that followed the end of the novel were irrepressible and evoked me to write something to cover the silence in my head. It has been more than two months since I last wrote and even without many things happening, I feel like I'm a changed person.
H was talking to his mum today about our upcoming flight back home and I was drooling over the thought of filling up my stash of Pocky snacks when I suddenly realised that we were flying direct from Frankfurt, and would not be stopping in Narita as I had for the past four summers.
Isn't it funny how the smallest, most insignificant thing can make you realise a part of your life is over? I've been writing about change and growing up since the move to Dekalb, but so far it has been realisation, not acceptance, of change. I can still see the vivid blue skies and golden sunshine; the glorious reds, pinks, orange and purple sunsets that I've always wanted to photograph but never got around to doing so; and the majestic sight of the Santa Catalina, Rincon, Santa Rita and Tucson Mountains that surround Tucson area, all in my mind's eye. I can still feel the biting, numbing cold of my first Midwest winter; the crisp air that hurts your nose and lungs to breathe; and the soft caress of a snowflake falling onto an open palm.
Before we left the apartment this morning, H asked if I was sure if I wanted to lug five books with me, although I was only going to a nearby cafe for an hour or two. I had picked two Su Doku books, the aforementioned Marley and Me, Chronicles of Narnia and Jin Yong's Xiao Ao Jiang Hu, and was excited to spend a lazy day losing myself in books. H and I met about halfway through the book for a quick lunch break, when I realised how good it felt to be reading again. Don't get me wrong - I read every day. I devour newspaper articles; I read blogs; I even read sides of cereal boxes. The written word is so ubiquitous in daily life that it is nearly impossible to avoid reading. But to utterly wrap yourself in someone else's world and thoughts for hours is a completely different thing. It is, other than talking, the closest you can get under someone else's skin and walk around in it.
As I interact with bits and pieces of the international stage, the same bits and pieces within me evolve. And perhaps this is why I had the sudden desire to write - maybe that way you can get under my skin, walk around it for a bit and tell me how I feel. It is as if I am half inside and half outside my body. My eyes see the clouds before me, but yet my hands pecking away at the keyboard don't feel like they are part of the same body. There are thoughts swirling round and round my head with memories intercepting each other, and stills from scenes I've seen whizzing through like a whirring slideshow of photographs.
Who am I? What am I doing? Where am I going? When is the right time? Why am I in this time/space combination? How do I take the next step forward?
I have had a recurring dream where I am being chased (for different reasons each time) and I run with all my might. I feel each movement through thick, sluggish, gel-like air, and I can't move any faster despite my soul pressing hard against my body, dying to push ahead. The pursuer and destination are inconsequential, but the claustrophobic feeling of not being able to move any faster is akin to what I feel right now, mentally.
The basic premise of life is rather simple - eat and rest. How you get to those two things fill up the rest of your time and the way you get there fill up the time outside your life as memories of others' lives. The meandering route I've taken to write this post is perhaps a good reflection of my thoughts right now - equal parts past, present and future.
Macht nichts. Es hat viele spass gemacht. It feels like, regardless of outcome, that each step I choose and take is a step closer to untying the Gordian knot called my life. How are you resolving yours?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)