winter:
Bourbon and tea. bourbon cut with tea. or tea cut with bourbon? I'm not really sure which it is, it's basically equal parts of both.
hooray.
surrounded by snoring dogs who cuddle aggressively.
I wondered if the world was going to end,
and wouldn't that be a horrible thing - although I had a rather long and pointless discussion with my mother over this. Apparently it's not horrible - apparently it's what we are 'supposed' to be waiting for.
perspectives.
I tutored an influx of boarding school students, dozens and dozens of discussions about Of Mice and Men and Great Gatsby. Some more clever and in-depth than others (the meaning of mercy, the significance of a dreary landscape, the juxtaposition of man and animal, man dehumanized) and others not as much (dreams are important, the ending was depressing, rich people are mean)
Taking meditation classes,
I was told I was bathed in white light
It was such a beautiful image. I wish I could have kept it always.
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
Tuesday, January 3, 2012
echoing
You are now bathed in white light he says.
My hand is particles
my arm lengthens, reaching
with every breath the white light deepens
with every exhale, the negativity exits your body
I think of tunnels
of loud music
of summer lights
and balloon wars
of windows
of light streaming through them
I think of beethoven
indian arrows and whales of shale
a tutu the color of lemons
of promises
the devastations of a whisper
of overtures proclaimed
symphonies
skies
I think
of walls of mirrors of streamers
of rage of tiles of green and voices
exiting
you are now bathed in white light he said.
i am, i am
My hand is particles
my arm lengthens, reaching
with every breath the white light deepens
with every exhale, the negativity exits your body
I think of tunnels
of loud music
of summer lights
and balloon wars
of windows
of light streaming through them
I think of beethoven
indian arrows and whales of shale
a tutu the color of lemons
of promises
the devastations of a whisper
of overtures proclaimed
symphonies
skies
I think
of walls of mirrors of streamers
of rage of tiles of green and voices
exiting
you are now bathed in white light he said.
i am, i am
Saturday, December 10, 2011
pride
I think I've gotten much better at fitting in in Hong Kong, I can mimic going through daily interaction in Cantonese, although most of the time I seem somewhat stunted. But still, better stunted than mute. I can navigate things a lot more than I used to be able to, and while I still don't have the nerve to pick out the live chickens they offer at the wet market, I have gone on to pick out fish. (Which they then smash on the head with a cleaver and de-scale it vigorously while it's still moving. It still makes me flinch.)
But I try my best to seem as cool as possible, particularly with food. When faced with unfamiliar things, headfirst, no questions. No asking for help. Perhaps I have a bit too much pride, I've been accused of that before, but I guess I just like feeling some dignity. With that motto, I've become a pork knuckle, intestine lining eating, rice bowl in my hand, crustacean snapping individual.
Anyway I went to a noodle shop with my guy's family a few weeks ago. It was like a hole in the wall type of place, with plastic utensils and a makeshift roof. We each had to pick out an order from the mysterious and unfamiliar items floating at the counter. I had no idea what to choose, but I didn't want to seem completely lost, so I looked at the menu board, and picked the simplest one. Noodles with only one item in it. Simple I thought and probably the best way to avoid anything strange. A7- I said in cantonese. confident. nonchalant. Yes, I belong here.
"Are you sure?" C was looking at me with a slightly puzzled look, as was his mother.
"Yes. I know what I want," I said. (Unfortunately, I may have said this in a slightly aggressive way - with an undertone of Don't patronize Me.)
I could tell he wanted to say something, but I tried to look as nonchalant as possible. He shrugged.
I ate confidently at the table, heartily and with vigor. I could tell the vibe was a little awkward but I didn't really understand the reason. His mother had gotten noodles with an all-included special, and she kept giving me items from her bowl,"Since you like it."
And I'd keep taking it, like "Oh thanks Aunty!"
I thought they both looked a little uncomfortable, slightly intrigued and disgusted. The way I felt when I first was handed a bowl of pork knuckle.
I finished the bowl, and felt good that I had made my point. And then I forgot about that day.
A week later, C mentions to me that his mother had been slightly freaked out by how enthusiastically I had eaten cow penis. She had wondered why it was the only thing I ordered, and whether all Koreans liked eating things like that.
silence.
So A-7 was noodles and cow penis.
But I try my best to seem as cool as possible, particularly with food. When faced with unfamiliar things, headfirst, no questions. No asking for help. Perhaps I have a bit too much pride, I've been accused of that before, but I guess I just like feeling some dignity. With that motto, I've become a pork knuckle, intestine lining eating, rice bowl in my hand, crustacean snapping individual.
Anyway I went to a noodle shop with my guy's family a few weeks ago. It was like a hole in the wall type of place, with plastic utensils and a makeshift roof. We each had to pick out an order from the mysterious and unfamiliar items floating at the counter. I had no idea what to choose, but I didn't want to seem completely lost, so I looked at the menu board, and picked the simplest one. Noodles with only one item in it. Simple I thought and probably the best way to avoid anything strange. A7- I said in cantonese. confident. nonchalant. Yes, I belong here.
"Are you sure?" C was looking at me with a slightly puzzled look, as was his mother.
"Yes. I know what I want," I said. (Unfortunately, I may have said this in a slightly aggressive way - with an undertone of Don't patronize Me.)
I could tell he wanted to say something, but I tried to look as nonchalant as possible. He shrugged.
I ate confidently at the table, heartily and with vigor. I could tell the vibe was a little awkward but I didn't really understand the reason. His mother had gotten noodles with an all-included special, and she kept giving me items from her bowl,"Since you like it."
And I'd keep taking it, like "Oh thanks Aunty!"
I thought they both looked a little uncomfortable, slightly intrigued and disgusted. The way I felt when I first was handed a bowl of pork knuckle.
I finished the bowl, and felt good that I had made my point. And then I forgot about that day.
A week later, C mentions to me that his mother had been slightly freaked out by how enthusiastically I had eaten cow penis. She had wondered why it was the only thing I ordered, and whether all Koreans liked eating things like that.
silence.
So A-7 was noodles and cow penis.
approval.
Yesterday I slid down a flight of stairs on a sofa cushion. My 3 students (elementary school sisters)were clapping and shrieking as I achieved "flight." I would find out later that I was the experiment, they wanted to see if it was dangerous or not.
It made me wonder what I was doing.
I don't feel that way often, only every once in a while:
for example when a student asks me to explain the study guide "translations" of Shakespeare. (It turns things like "My hour is almost come / When I to sulfurous and tormenting flames / Must render up myself" to "My time is up, I must go back to hell. Horrible. Fire sucks."
and "How now" to "Hey you")
"Hey you? I don't get it..."
"It's a greeting."
"Oh...like hey?"
"...Yes."
Or when I get the occasional angry "rebel" attitude in a student.
"Yea, well you're just a tutor." snort.
I don't know why kids say things like that, they tend to look at me with triumph afterward. Like maybe they think it'll send me into a spiraling existential crisis, like a breakdown of "What DO I have to respond to that?" :claws self in despair: "Get me a sofa cushion.. i need to escape this place."
Most of the time I just blink as a response, with a polite, "Yes, that is correct." For once.
Or if I'm not feeling particularly generous I say something equally rude and then afterward as I walk home, I'll feel immature for not rising above the level of a snotty angsty hormonal teenager. "Yea, and you should tell your parents to stop paying me and save the money for that library they're going to have to donate to make sure you GET into a school."
sigh.
sofa cushion.
---
Sometimes I feel like I am too attached to our dog. She sleeps with us, she eats when I eat, she shares beer with me, she waits in the bathroom while I shower. We converse. (And it's not just me, her papa shares wine with her in her food dish. Bordeaux for the dog - yes.)
It's like she's my daemon (recently re-read the series, so good).
Although maybe not a daemon, I've come to realize that she may not be as in tune with me as I thought. Once I sprained my ankle while we were walking. I was fallen on the sidewalk, I thought she'd stop and turn and intuitively know that somehow she'd have to heal me, but instead she kept going and I was dragged for a few feet before she turned, circled me, looked puzzled and finally stopped, only to defecate near my hand.
Truly a man's best friend.
I've been in denial that she's spoiled, until we took her to obedience school. It was so embarrassing.
She barked incessantly and jumped and ran and sprinted, snatched treats from the teacher, frantically joyful, while the other dogs cowered and hid behind their owners. She kept turning to look for my approval, but mostly I just wanted to hide.
The teacher kept asking survey questions about how we raised our dogs.
Does anyone here sleep with their dog in the room?
Does anyone here let their dog sit in their lap automatically?
Does anyone here let their dog jump on them when they first come into the house?
We stopped raising our hands eventually because it got too sad having to explain.
It made me wonder what I was doing.
I don't feel that way often, only every once in a while:
for example when a student asks me to explain the study guide "translations" of Shakespeare. (It turns things like "My hour is almost come / When I to sulfurous and tormenting flames / Must render up myself" to "My time is up, I must go back to hell. Horrible. Fire sucks."
and "How now" to "Hey you")
"Hey you? I don't get it..."
"It's a greeting."
"Oh...like hey?"
"...Yes."
Or when I get the occasional angry "rebel" attitude in a student.
"Yea, well you're just a tutor." snort.
I don't know why kids say things like that, they tend to look at me with triumph afterward. Like maybe they think it'll send me into a spiraling existential crisis, like a breakdown of "What DO I have to respond to that?" :claws self in despair: "Get me a sofa cushion.. i need to escape this place."
Most of the time I just blink as a response, with a polite, "Yes, that is correct." For once.
Or if I'm not feeling particularly generous I say something equally rude and then afterward as I walk home, I'll feel immature for not rising above the level of a snotty angsty hormonal teenager. "Yea, and you should tell your parents to stop paying me and save the money for that library they're going to have to donate to make sure you GET into a school."
sigh.
sofa cushion.
---
Sometimes I feel like I am too attached to our dog. She sleeps with us, she eats when I eat, she shares beer with me, she waits in the bathroom while I shower. We converse. (And it's not just me, her papa shares wine with her in her food dish. Bordeaux for the dog - yes.)
It's like she's my daemon (recently re-read the series, so good).
Although maybe not a daemon, I've come to realize that she may not be as in tune with me as I thought. Once I sprained my ankle while we were walking. I was fallen on the sidewalk, I thought she'd stop and turn and intuitively know that somehow she'd have to heal me, but instead she kept going and I was dragged for a few feet before she turned, circled me, looked puzzled and finally stopped, only to defecate near my hand.
Truly a man's best friend.
I've been in denial that she's spoiled, until we took her to obedience school. It was so embarrassing.
She barked incessantly and jumped and ran and sprinted, snatched treats from the teacher, frantically joyful, while the other dogs cowered and hid behind their owners. She kept turning to look for my approval, but mostly I just wanted to hide.
The teacher kept asking survey questions about how we raised our dogs.
Does anyone here sleep with their dog in the room?
Does anyone here let their dog sit in their lap automatically?
Does anyone here let their dog jump on them when they first come into the house?
We stopped raising our hands eventually because it got too sad having to explain.
Monday, October 10, 2011
inigo montoya
To the coward who robbed our apartment and stole my engagement ring. Come back. I have a baseball bat I would like to acquaint you with.
Acquaint in the Biblical sense. And the typical Louisville slugger sense.
Acquaint in the Biblical sense. And the typical Louisville slugger sense.
Sunday, October 2, 2011
blue
Last month I spent a week diving in Bali - it was the first time I really overcame my fear of water, I guess all the preparation of walking around with a mask of water on my head and mental exercises worked. It wasn't really the idea of dying that made me panic, but the idea of flailing and having to fight under the water, suffocating. "It takes 3 whole minutes to drown," my teacher said. Apparently he meant it as a reassurance. Helpful.
Our guides were very matter of fact, their favorite expression was "goodbye until the next life," which they'd say with a smile and a wave. "The currents are very strong today so watch us. Don't look at the big blue... otherwise good bye until the next life."
"Excuse me did you say life? until the next life?" And then they laughed at me, not realizing it was a serious question. "One minute you're there, and the next WHOOSH, you disappear into the big blue. Two weeks ago, one of the divers whoosh - he was gone. We just found him now." Initially I thought that story was a happy ending, but I had misinterpreted the meaning of "him" - him meant the diving gear.
With those words in mind as I was rolling backwards off the boat, I didn't feel like it would be a very promising experience. But the moment I managed to descend into the water, and there was no surface to be seen, being underwater felt so peaceful, almost right. It was completely serene.
I couldn't help looking into the "big blue," it was endless. The water was cold, and the guides were right, the currents were so strong that sometimes we were forced to hold onto the sticks of coral in an effort to keep from being pulled down into the depths.
By the 4th day, I was comfortable enough to go deeper and follow the leader looking for the mola-mola. When I first saw a picture of mola-mola I didn't realized fish like that actually existed. They're fish that are approximately the height of a house about 2-3 meters high, but completely flat, like a disc.
We reached 36 meters that day, it was 14 C (yes now I think in metric... I had that realization underwater and it was enough to make me panic. I was shivering and looking at my watch, wow 14 celsius how cold. Wait what I think in metric now? Gasp gasp. gasp...") And out of the blue there was this silent shadow. A giant fish silent, unblinking. We would see 5 on that dive, all of us with our arms crossed floating with a stream of bubbles in this cold water, facing an endless blue, and a giant mola-mola floating within a couple meters. (sigh meters).
I wish I had better language to explain the way it feels under the water, the complete peace. I remembered some fragment of some quote I once heard about the color blue, and how looking at it made the brain feel both happiness and sadness at the same time. It's an unusual color in that way.
But that's how I felt, the big blue - I felt wonder at how something could be so vast and endless. It didn't look like it had a beginning, to reach into it would be to reach for a color. And how is that possible? It was a calming thought, silent and free, a place without a beginning or an end.
Our guides were very matter of fact, their favorite expression was "goodbye until the next life," which they'd say with a smile and a wave. "The currents are very strong today so watch us. Don't look at the big blue... otherwise good bye until the next life."
"Excuse me did you say life? until the next life?" And then they laughed at me, not realizing it was a serious question. "One minute you're there, and the next WHOOSH, you disappear into the big blue. Two weeks ago, one of the divers whoosh - he was gone. We just found him now." Initially I thought that story was a happy ending, but I had misinterpreted the meaning of "him" - him meant the diving gear.
With those words in mind as I was rolling backwards off the boat, I didn't feel like it would be a very promising experience. But the moment I managed to descend into the water, and there was no surface to be seen, being underwater felt so peaceful, almost right. It was completely serene.
I couldn't help looking into the "big blue," it was endless. The water was cold, and the guides were right, the currents were so strong that sometimes we were forced to hold onto the sticks of coral in an effort to keep from being pulled down into the depths.
By the 4th day, I was comfortable enough to go deeper and follow the leader looking for the mola-mola. When I first saw a picture of mola-mola I didn't realized fish like that actually existed. They're fish that are approximately the height of a house about 2-3 meters high, but completely flat, like a disc.
We reached 36 meters that day, it was 14 C (yes now I think in metric... I had that realization underwater and it was enough to make me panic. I was shivering and looking at my watch, wow 14 celsius how cold. Wait what I think in metric now? Gasp gasp. gasp...") And out of the blue there was this silent shadow. A giant fish silent, unblinking. We would see 5 on that dive, all of us with our arms crossed floating with a stream of bubbles in this cold water, facing an endless blue, and a giant mola-mola floating within a couple meters. (sigh meters).
I wish I had better language to explain the way it feels under the water, the complete peace. I remembered some fragment of some quote I once heard about the color blue, and how looking at it made the brain feel both happiness and sadness at the same time. It's an unusual color in that way.
But that's how I felt, the big blue - I felt wonder at how something could be so vast and endless. It didn't look like it had a beginning, to reach into it would be to reach for a color. And how is that possible? It was a calming thought, silent and free, a place without a beginning or an end.
Sunday, August 14, 2011
let's run away
I remember reading a quote that said that every healthy human is capable of running. I had trouble accepting this until I heard that my nearly blind father had finished a 10k without any training. He is very absent-minded, and apparently agreed to run in a company event without realizing it.
My brother was saying how he plans for him and my parents to do long-distance runs together.
"We could be like a family running team. They have those family marathons."
"What about me?"
"uh..."
"I'm family too."
"You could hold the sign? Pass out water?"
sigh.
In high school, it was mandatory for us to run a mile every week for gym class. The only way to pass that part of the running segment was to run a mile in 10 minutes. According to my gym teacher this was "impossible" not to be able to do. You can walk it in 10 minutes! You can crawl it in 10! he'd shout at me.
In the class of 35, I was always last, well not always... The competition for the last slot was between three people: me, a girl who had just moved to our school from Africa and never taken gym before, she ran while wearing a veil and a pant/dress thing which was like a long version of a skort, and a girl who had narcolepsy. The girl with narcolepsy wasn't even required to take gym, but she wanted to do it anyway on principle.
So I could understand my brother's hesitation.
"I'm just not a runner. Not everyone can run."
Then he showed me a link on people with cystic fibrosis who run marathons.
it was amazing.
-.-
Running is one of those things I see as very necessary, ever since I've been aware of natural selection. I don't want to be the slow antelope. I have a fear that one day I'll have to run to catch the last plane out of disaster, or run long enough not to be up caught in an ocean wave.
It's kind of like my fear of not being able to pull my own body weight. If I was dangling helplessly from a sky-rise and the only thing I need to be able to do is bend my elbows so I can just ... pull myself ... ok no. death fall.
So a few days ago, I read H Murakami's book on marathon running and writing, "What I talk about when I Talk About Running." Besides being struck by his discipline, he runs at dawn for a couple hours and then sits down to write yet another book; I was struck by the way he described running. He made it sound so peaceful and liberating, so I decided I should try yet again.
The only place to run right now is straight up a mountain. It's very steep, I read some background which said that running uphill is actually "easier" than running on a flat surface. Well, apparently not.
I tried to jog but mostly ended up trudging and gasping for air and at the view (which was quite beautiful). It was peaceful and liberating... although not really for the reasons of running.
Must try again.
My brother was saying how he plans for him and my parents to do long-distance runs together.
"We could be like a family running team. They have those family marathons."
"What about me?"
"uh..."
"I'm family too."
"You could hold the sign? Pass out water?"
sigh.
In high school, it was mandatory for us to run a mile every week for gym class. The only way to pass that part of the running segment was to run a mile in 10 minutes. According to my gym teacher this was "impossible" not to be able to do. You can walk it in 10 minutes! You can crawl it in 10! he'd shout at me.
In the class of 35, I was always last, well not always... The competition for the last slot was between three people: me, a girl who had just moved to our school from Africa and never taken gym before, she ran while wearing a veil and a pant/dress thing which was like a long version of a skort, and a girl who had narcolepsy. The girl with narcolepsy wasn't even required to take gym, but she wanted to do it anyway on principle.
So I could understand my brother's hesitation.
"I'm just not a runner. Not everyone can run."
Then he showed me a link on people with cystic fibrosis who run marathons.
it was amazing.
-.-
Running is one of those things I see as very necessary, ever since I've been aware of natural selection. I don't want to be the slow antelope. I have a fear that one day I'll have to run to catch the last plane out of disaster, or run long enough not to be up caught in an ocean wave.
It's kind of like my fear of not being able to pull my own body weight. If I was dangling helplessly from a sky-rise and the only thing I need to be able to do is bend my elbows so I can just ... pull myself ... ok no. death fall.
So a few days ago, I read H Murakami's book on marathon running and writing, "What I talk about when I Talk About Running." Besides being struck by his discipline, he runs at dawn for a couple hours and then sits down to write yet another book; I was struck by the way he described running. He made it sound so peaceful and liberating, so I decided I should try yet again.
The only place to run right now is straight up a mountain. It's very steep, I read some background which said that running uphill is actually "easier" than running on a flat surface. Well, apparently not.
I tried to jog but mostly ended up trudging and gasping for air and at the view (which was quite beautiful). It was peaceful and liberating... although not really for the reasons of running.
Must try again.
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