You are currently browsing the monthly archive for December, 2005.
is beautiful! and i am alive!
just popping in to say a merry christmas (belatedly) to y’all. will prolly pop in again before new year. :) anyways, the internet cafe is just opposite my apartment. hur hur.
so today marks the start of my 2-week winter holiday, york-newcastle-prague-vienna-salzburg-london-manchester-york (yeah the last bit of the journey’s a bit weird) and probably the last time i’ll have internet for these coming two weeks. boo hoo. am looking forward to the trip, undoubtedly, but at the same time, my unfinished essay haunts me and will have to be done somehow through these two weeks and i am looking forward to the trip concluding (possibly even more so than i’m looking forward to it start.) sigh.
bloody essay.
so now although it’s the holidays, it’s been nothing but work work work non-stop still (well, not really non-stop. there’s the inertia and the procrastination and the day to day things to handle, like cooking. or washing your underwear.) and my essay stands at 186 tentative words, i am just nearly done with woolf criticism but there is still beckett oh bloody cow i am so dead it’s ceased being funny. i think i might have to bring my laptop along my holiday and type it during the night, or when i’m holed up in newcastle. bah.
i don’t care about the presents, underneath the christmas tree
as a sidenote, i really want the digger comic. digger is a fantastic, smart, sassy, snappy, webcomic (that you have to pay to view at graphicsmash, but i managed to catch when the author allowed free viewings for a short period of time) that stars of all things to star as its protagonist– a wombat. and a smart sassy wombat at that. there’s something stark and sad and tragic all at once about digger’s story (how terrifying it is to not be able to find your way home. ever.) but she’s got a certain pluck and cunning that is so winsome, that you cannot feel crushed. and you follow her on her meanderings which are filled with such existential angst. laugh. or maybe it’s just a cute story about a lost wombat. i think the lady doth think too much. perhaps, perhaps. but damnit. i shall buy it. when er… i’ve earnt some money. when. sigh.
because all i want for christmas, is you.
uhm, neck lump (see June 2005 entries) is back… though prolly from the recent viral infection i’ve had which has me saddles with flu, coughing, phlegm, and the occasional sore throat. rawr D: and all this when term just ended. ):
in other news, this song has found a spike in its playcount lately.
You Belong to Me Lyrics
See the pyramids around the Nile
Watch the sun rise
From the tropic isle
Just remember darling
All the while
You belong to me
See the market place
In old Algiers
Send me photographs and souvenirs
Just remember
When a dream appears
You belong to me
And I’ll be so alone without you
Maybe you’ll be lonesome too
Fly the ocean
In a silver plane
See the jungle
When it’s wet with rain
Just remember till
You’re home again
You belong to me
But do not forget one thing, my dear friends! There is no difference in the Lord’s sight between one day and a thousand years; to him the two are the same. The Lord is not slow to do what he has promised, as some think. Instead, he is patient with you, because he does not want anyone to be destroyed, but wants all to turn away from their sins.
– 2Peter 3:8-9
i think i finally figured out the answer to your question– why i cry, and why i feel sad… it’s not that i really see parallels in circumstances, perhaps there are some yes, but can human experience really be compared and contrasted like that? no, no, perhaps i don’t know how it feels, have no clue possibly, and never will– but there is something that i can feel, that everyone can feel, perhaps this is what truly binds human beings together. and that is pain.
and that is all that is really needed to be known is there? what matter reasons and causes and roots and stories and hostages, the ultimate message in the story is pain, pain, pain, and that does not require words or logic or empirical evidence or objective viewpoints. who can measure it out by the spoonful anyway? is there even a universal spoon? pain is pain is. universal and whole and singular in itself and that is why i cry. perhaps this is the overarching sky, more all-encompassing than all the arches. and yet there must be beyond this arch another one, ineffable for fear that words may flatten and diminish it, and perhaps the words closest to it we can find in our language is kindness, patience, and love.
forster got it right again, didn’t he? kindness, patience and love are the only things we can do, we can give, and even then they are flawed and imperfect and distorted by the words that won’t come out right the way you want to (whoever said words could fully describe emotion?) but they are all, they are all, in our own small, impotent way we could ever possibly give to a person. and perhaps love is the hardest of all to convey and to receive without cynicism, but it is there, small and glowing and minute in the shadow of darkness, but it is there it is there, and it covers a multitude of sins, and against it there is no law. (what else can ease this wheel of fire, on which our tears do scald like molten lead?)
-hug-
because this is the first time in a while i have been home before 11pm and have no work to finish (no pressing work according to the schedule, anyway) and no dinners to cook and no one to entertain there is a silence (maybe a void, yes, an emptiness) and i know i have had my share of foolishness and clumsiness and lapses in the past few months but the message at omni speaks volumes for me: love erases the past, i am loved unconditionally, and i know, i know, i am forgiven.
many things have happened, rufus wainwright concerts, interventions, mediations, showhands, stand offs, quick draw (shoot at someone who out drew you), yet love is not a victory march. and perhaps in the silence more can be said than foolish listings of a life. how does one pin down a feeling anyway? there is a strange jubilation, and joy and peace and silence and calm and love; love that is content in its frustrations; and a love that is always aware of how surreal (and possibly illusory) it is and paradoxically how lucky and unworthy one is to have experienced it even as it flickers unsure of itself once, twice (and there it goes, how you lie and cry); has it truly existed, one wonders, perhaps sometimes one must let things slide (like the knife entering clean) and believe that yes, what you felt can be, is real, for that moment, single and whole in itself when your heart beat just a little faster in mutual warmth; sometimes there is the shame and embarrassment but no, no that does not come from love, guilt and shadows that cling to the edges be gone! love erases, erases the past, i am forgiven and i am redeemed and i am safe, saved in that love; i think perhaps i should have the strength and the courage to say it out loud, like singing in church letting your voice rip from your throat and float out; no one is deserving of your voice anyway except the people who would love it regardless of how it sounds, and perhaps speaking is like that too, no one is deserving of your words except for those who would understand your silences just as well anyway; so there is more to say then, maybe i should take a deep breath and spit it all out, lovehatejoycalmtumultangerfearfearguiltpeacecalmloveselfishlyunconditional, but there is no space already, none, nothing but the margins left now to write in–
i love You, i love you, i love–
