This day, is beautiful.
The weather renders itself chilly, but this little baby campus is splendorous. Splendorous.
I like saying that, and today, it truly is. The very evening of the very last day of exams. This is my goodbye to my third year of education. This campus, my second home seems to bid a fitting farewell, she’s dressed in her prettiest spring colours, sunlight lays speckled between the crazy paving, iridescent patters paint the rocky bed of the sawmill creek, earth chilled, sun warmed green- oh so very green - grass squishes between my toes. Serenity.
And oh so empty. For today, I really do feel like she is all my own. My only reminder of school is this computer that warms my lap. I pull my hood low over my face, stick my sunglasses on, and lay flat on my back, and stare at the tree tops... And this is me, in my element. Watery clouds drag their wispy cloud feet across the sky, and drop a smattering of spring rain, they evaporate before they touch ground, the first tease of more rain. And all around me, emptiness. Green grass, blue sky, grey asphalt, muddy river, wet leaves. Today was not easy, but for this moment, for this time, I am thankful, so incredibly thankful for mercies. I want to stand up, stretch out my arms, and bellow up to God a huge belly resounding earth shattering thank you. I want to do a happy dance, and jig around.
Are you loved? I found this question on one of those 20 question type, pre pubescent facebook/hi5/friendster /insert appropriate teenage socializing network, questionnaire things. Ha. Yes, I will attempt to turn this into a profound idea now, though maybe it hardly warrants it.
Are you loved? Exponentially. Yep, I am loved exponentially. And you, my reader on this secret rendezvous, you, are loved. Whatever concept of God or higher being you may or may not believe in, I believe, no, I know a God that loves incredibly beyond measure.
But I digress. Or maybe not. I am blessed, because I have been loved, and adored, and held in complete and total human love, and this day, it is so very like a lover’s whisper. Gentle, soft... lingering.
Strangely enough, the many things that the many people quote on your life sometimes do come true. It won’t kill you, it will make you stronger. Be empowered. This is tough love, this is admonition, it’s only time, its only love.
More love, more power.
More strength.
More woman.
But for today, I will plug on my Marley, and let tenacious hope filter through and grab on tight, and I’ll drum my toes, ‘cos they are strumming my pain with their fingers, while I let them kill me softly with their words.
Don’t ruin this. Breathe in, breathe out, wallow.
I wish I could sit here longer, but it’s time for my mind to take pictures of this moment in time, pack my bags and head home. A home I haven’t seen in months, and like old lovers meeting in new places, it will take time to get reacquainted.
This moment is so great I would cheat on that other moment with it, marry it and raise a family of tiny little moments
Wise words on MSN, and perfect.
Sometimes, it’s not ok to mess up. This is one of those times.
And for those who’ve stuck by the different seasons, and who’ve felt the moments like these, el camino a la serenidad comienza aquí...
*edit - I never got around to posting this that thursday night, and though things happen inbetween, some things are better remembered.
Monday, May 5, 2008
Sunday, May 20, 2007
so I woke up this morning with a dream, and it was the early morning dream, you know, the ones that you know are going to be short, and untrue. well yes, the dream, but ah, before that I was woken up to some barmy sounding classical music from my alarm, and that when it all started. I had made a tent with my blanket again, and was all huddled up, and the next thing I remembered was telling my mom my dream. but you know, when you try to tell people dreams, there's a lot of "and then this happened...and then....but wait,before that....no actually.....and then... oh I almost forgot..." and pretty soon who ever is listening to your dream loses interest, because they think they had a better dream. so my mom though the same, that she had a better dream, and she started telling me hers, and it did kinda sound better. my mom dreams like its nobody's business. I mean seriously, so many dreams, and she remembers all of them, and she gets worried. I cant remember the number of times I've been woken up by her hugging me, or praying over me, because she had a bad dream with me in it. she's had a lot of Happy dreams though, you know not the nonsense dreams that I dream, but nice ones with my grandparents, and her brother and sister, and me in them.
i just dream about pink flamingos, and ugly rats, and school buildings, and waves, and subway cars that stop, and a station called Madrid, and freaky people, and barbie dolls, and pop and chips, and colours. and you know you don't really want to tell anyone those dreams, cos well, it doesn't have a point. you know you'll have a conversation, and some dude, trying to sound philosophical and deep would be like " so what does the flamingo mean..." and I'm thinking, nothing really, spare me the psycho spiel, so you nod, and smile politely, thinking, hey, I was just making conversation. and you realize, dreams aren't really that good conversation fillers.
also you know when you have a line from a song playing in your mind all day? like all the time? usually something cheesy? mine was I say a little prayer for you...
and in my mind Aretha Franklin is in a red sequined miniskirt, and her face contorts, in that amazing concentrated-singer-face and she's belting it out, and there's a huge chorus at the back moving in unison, echoing forever and ever, you'll be in my heart, and I will love you...
and the song ends there, and repeats, and repeats. I love it. and I want to do a happy dance every time I hear it. so I surreptitiously move my feet, just a little, and shuffle around just a bit, and it makes me happy. I love happy songs. much like happy squirmy kids. much like the happy squirmy kid who lives upstairs, who loves kisses, and makes yummy baby kissy sounds.
i just dream about pink flamingos, and ugly rats, and school buildings, and waves, and subway cars that stop, and a station called Madrid, and freaky people, and barbie dolls, and pop and chips, and colours. and you know you don't really want to tell anyone those dreams, cos well, it doesn't have a point. you know you'll have a conversation, and some dude, trying to sound philosophical and deep would be like " so what does the flamingo mean..." and I'm thinking, nothing really, spare me the psycho spiel, so you nod, and smile politely, thinking, hey, I was just making conversation. and you realize, dreams aren't really that good conversation fillers.
also you know when you have a line from a song playing in your mind all day? like all the time? usually something cheesy? mine was I say a little prayer for you...
and in my mind Aretha Franklin is in a red sequined miniskirt, and her face contorts, in that amazing concentrated-singer-face and she's belting it out, and there's a huge chorus at the back moving in unison, echoing forever and ever, you'll be in my heart, and I will love you...
and the song ends there, and repeats, and repeats. I love it. and I want to do a happy dance every time I hear it. so I surreptitiously move my feet, just a little, and shuffle around just a bit, and it makes me happy. I love happy songs. much like happy squirmy kids. much like the happy squirmy kid who lives upstairs, who loves kisses, and makes yummy baby kissy sounds.
Monday, May 14, 2007
After my hiatus of sorts, I've come back here for some quick updates. weird, sharing a single net connection with mamma means that I get to go online on widely interspersed half hour intervals, but meh, there's been worse.
so, another year at an end, but not quite a definitive end, still got summer school, which (gag) starts tomorrow. and since I'm travelling from home, that means leaving at 6.30 am to get there for 9 am lectures. yes, 6.30 am. yes I'm whining. oh well, its my blog. deal. last year wasn't the most fun, in a nutshell, courses were bleh, profs slightly weird, my housemates were, for the most part, darling little demons from hell, very strange things regarding friends and family conspired, lots of decisions, and all in all, I'm just glad its done and over with.
sorting through old blogs and blog posts, I came across words and lines written in fits of anger, and elation, and depression and anger, and sadness, and shame, and in some strange way, all those feelings came flooding back on reading them. so, delete them? or keep them as a constant reminder of things in the past? I don't know, but i know its not healthy that. the keeping that is. oh well. sometimes its good to be reminded how far you've risen above.
Unfortunately D's been the one that has been getting earfuls ( should that be earsful? :S) of my ranting, and venting, and general prickliness, and he's been very patient, and so good to me. I do miss the times that we don't get to spend together, and i wish things had been different in every sense, but if circumstances had been that kind to us, would we perhaps not treasure the moments awarded more? D has also been on the receiving end of my insecurities, and fits of irrational anger, and bouts of fear, and I know its been hard on him but I think if we could get through sifting through the past, and labelling and playing the blame game, and all the petty ugly things that go along with it, we can make it through anything else.
T told me a while ago, that its those things that slip out of our grasp, or that which is just out of reach, is the most enticing, the most appealing, and often the most sought after. on a somewhat serious and badly-done-high-school-amateur-drama note, isn't this especially true of relationships? guys, you know this is true, its quite often the girl that's out of your league, or the one that you were dumped by/ dumped who when in a new relationship is suddenly that much more interesting/pretty/intelligent/funny (insert whatever does it for you here). I've been told there may be a whole biological reason for this, but i think its just innate human nature, we always wonder if what we gave up was better than what we posses. ladies, you know what I'm talking about, the jerk/asshole/cheater/liar/nice-guy-but-not-my-type that you ditched or was ditched by doesn't seem to be all that bad when he finds a new girl, and yes, somewhere at the back of our minds we may wonder what if. unless of course he was some terrible freak of nature, in which case you just devise ways to warn the girl. and so unwittingly we find ourselves doing or saying things that give out mixed signals. now this is by no means set in stone, and there's plenty that vow that this isn't so, but we all know its there. maybe its in my mind, but I feel like a lot of this has been going on lately. D I need to apologise here, I don't mean to make this sound like a public denouncement of secret grievances, and the only reason I mention it is because its been on my mind, and I know that those involved in the circumstances that brought this about will probably not read this. certainly, I was slightly peeved at the beginning, recognizing what I thought were the classic signs, but I was well, wrong. now its just interesting to watch. umm, so yes I realize this does sound very cryptic, and as though I've blown a seemingly simple thing out of epic proportions, and yes, I too am left wondering what I meant in that incoherent jumble.
on a better note, I've been listening to some awesome gospel music lately, and hearing a lot from pastor Bob Johnston that I wish I had heard earlier, but that's another story in itself.
yep, another one of those. too tired to go over this now, I shall promise my self on pain of self-inflicted injury that I shall do a better job soon. or something to that effect. maybe lay off the coffee for a while.
oh and this one's for D, I don't mean to step into you boundaries of who you are, or dictate how things should be, I know how irksome and distasteful that is, we both share a common aversion for that external forcible intrusion, and I would hate to be the one that did it to you. and for everything that's happened, thank you for letting me in, I know it must have been hard. there's a lot that went wrong, but there's a lot that went right as well.
so, another year at an end, but not quite a definitive end, still got summer school, which (gag) starts tomorrow. and since I'm travelling from home, that means leaving at 6.30 am to get there for 9 am lectures. yes, 6.30 am. yes I'm whining. oh well, its my blog. deal. last year wasn't the most fun, in a nutshell, courses were bleh, profs slightly weird, my housemates were, for the most part, darling little demons from hell, very strange things regarding friends and family conspired, lots of decisions, and all in all, I'm just glad its done and over with.
sorting through old blogs and blog posts, I came across words and lines written in fits of anger, and elation, and depression and anger, and sadness, and shame, and in some strange way, all those feelings came flooding back on reading them. so, delete them? or keep them as a constant reminder of things in the past? I don't know, but i know its not healthy that. the keeping that is. oh well. sometimes its good to be reminded how far you've risen above.
Unfortunately D's been the one that has been getting earfuls ( should that be earsful? :S) of my ranting, and venting, and general prickliness, and he's been very patient, and so good to me. I do miss the times that we don't get to spend together, and i wish things had been different in every sense, but if circumstances had been that kind to us, would we perhaps not treasure the moments awarded more? D has also been on the receiving end of my insecurities, and fits of irrational anger, and bouts of fear, and I know its been hard on him but I think if we could get through sifting through the past, and labelling and playing the blame game, and all the petty ugly things that go along with it, we can make it through anything else.
T told me a while ago, that its those things that slip out of our grasp, or that which is just out of reach, is the most enticing, the most appealing, and often the most sought after. on a somewhat serious and badly-done-high-school-amateur-drama note, isn't this especially true of relationships? guys, you know this is true, its quite often the girl that's out of your league, or the one that you were dumped by/ dumped who when in a new relationship is suddenly that much more interesting/pretty/intelligent/funny (insert whatever does it for you here). I've been told there may be a whole biological reason for this, but i think its just innate human nature, we always wonder if what we gave up was better than what we posses. ladies, you know what I'm talking about, the jerk/asshole/cheater/liar/nice-guy-but-not-my-type that you ditched or was ditched by doesn't seem to be all that bad when he finds a new girl, and yes, somewhere at the back of our minds we may wonder what if. unless of course he was some terrible freak of nature, in which case you just devise ways to warn the girl. and so unwittingly we find ourselves doing or saying things that give out mixed signals. now this is by no means set in stone, and there's plenty that vow that this isn't so, but we all know its there. maybe its in my mind, but I feel like a lot of this has been going on lately. D I need to apologise here, I don't mean to make this sound like a public denouncement of secret grievances, and the only reason I mention it is because its been on my mind, and I know that those involved in the circumstances that brought this about will probably not read this. certainly, I was slightly peeved at the beginning, recognizing what I thought were the classic signs, but I was well, wrong. now its just interesting to watch. umm, so yes I realize this does sound very cryptic, and as though I've blown a seemingly simple thing out of epic proportions, and yes, I too am left wondering what I meant in that incoherent jumble.
on a better note, I've been listening to some awesome gospel music lately, and hearing a lot from pastor Bob Johnston that I wish I had heard earlier, but that's another story in itself.
yep, another one of those. too tired to go over this now, I shall promise my self on pain of self-inflicted injury that I shall do a better job soon. or something to that effect. maybe lay off the coffee for a while.
oh and this one's for D, I don't mean to step into you boundaries of who you are, or dictate how things should be, I know how irksome and distasteful that is, we both share a common aversion for that external forcible intrusion, and I would hate to be the one that did it to you. and for everything that's happened, thank you for letting me in, I know it must have been hard. there's a lot that went wrong, but there's a lot that went right as well.
Monday, February 12, 2007
Every blog has to have that classic list of favourites, top tens, and other narcissistic devices. I didn’t think I’d write one ever. Period. This being impersonal and all that. But ahh…conformity, I give into you. Also I love lists, and this eco chapter is irredeemable anyways.
So here goes. Favourites.
My favourite colour is white, though arguably that’s not a colour at all. Who’s to tell.
My favourite flowers are Madonna lilies, white orchids, hydrangeas and orange passion flowers.
My favourite flavour is chocolate.
I love things spicy. Very spicy.
One of my favourite pastimes (among many, lest I appear to have no life ) is reading blogs, and things online, being a troll and being a self appointed somewhat pompous critic of stage drama, and visual arts in general. You see I believe I have vast experience in the watching of movies and theatre to know the good from the terrible.
I love people who write well. A well written thought provoking or witty piece of narrative turns me on :)
I plan to visit all of Europe one day. Join me.
After I graduate I plan on going to Calgary and Hong Kong. Calgary – to make money. Hong Kong – Asians will take over the world, and Hong Kong will be the new world capital. And I plan on being there.
I used to be naïve about love and relationships, and I thought I was being cool by being angsty and tortured….and well wretched all the time. I realized its not cool, and just plain annoying.
I detest when people say bitch all the time. Like, do me bitch, hate me, I’m cool, bitch, I ain’t Indian, bitch. Overused.
I once sat through a toastmaster’s competition, and was blown away by the intellectual snobbery concentrated in the room. There is something fascinating in watching people on the same wavelength expound theories and conceptualize abstract ideas. It is all very intangible and slightly vague and supremely satisfying.
I love being alone. No, truly, I do. A residual feeling from my angst filled days I used to think, but no, I just prefer aloneness.
I have immense respect for Fidel Castro, Toni Morrison, Kahlil Gibran, Guy Allen, mujerista theologians and Latino dancers. There is something breathtaking and awe inspiring in watching rhythm in motion, in watching music consume you and move you. Move you to tears, literally.
Reggae is my lover. Its also my dirty little secret.
I fear water with a deep inconsolable dread. Yet I love the ocean. If I could choose how I was born, or where I would die, it would be in the ocean.
My happiest memories are of the beach and travelling.
People on subways fascinate me. Epic motion pictures could be made on the emotions expressed by subway travellers. I love the instant snapshots of reality and humanity it offers.
I fell in love with the guitar, because I fell in love with a boy.
People I met on the internet, know more about me, and are closer to me than people I’ve known my whole life. Some of them saved me. Truly, they awoke that low burning fire for Him, and stoked the flames. For that I am grateful.
If I could redo one thing in my life, I would stop being a compulsive liar. I don’t lie all the time, I truly don’t, but on the occasion that I do, I forget that it’s a lie.
I thought North Americans, and bloggers and writers were narcissists, and it used to bother me. Now it doesn’t because there’s a narcissist in all of us, waiting to get out.
A universal sin stops being a sin.
It took me ten minutes to write this and 20 minutes to read 5 lines on economic inequality.
Fate is biased. And unfair. That’s why I don’t believe in fate. I refuse to let it be my excuse for not doing things, or doing things that I could control.
If there was one thing I really wanted to learn from my mother, it would be to learn to understand another person so completely, that even if his child was identical to him, to still love the two as separate entities.
I am in deep shit for tomorrows midterm.
So here goes. Favourites.
My favourite colour is white, though arguably that’s not a colour at all. Who’s to tell.
My favourite flowers are Madonna lilies, white orchids, hydrangeas and orange passion flowers.
My favourite flavour is chocolate.
I love things spicy. Very spicy.
One of my favourite pastimes (among many, lest I appear to have no life ) is reading blogs, and things online, being a troll and being a self appointed somewhat pompous critic of stage drama, and visual arts in general. You see I believe I have vast experience in the watching of movies and theatre to know the good from the terrible.
I love people who write well. A well written thought provoking or witty piece of narrative turns me on :)
I plan to visit all of Europe one day. Join me.
After I graduate I plan on going to Calgary and Hong Kong. Calgary – to make money. Hong Kong – Asians will take over the world, and Hong Kong will be the new world capital. And I plan on being there.
I used to be naïve about love and relationships, and I thought I was being cool by being angsty and tortured….and well wretched all the time. I realized its not cool, and just plain annoying.
I detest when people say bitch all the time. Like, do me bitch, hate me, I’m cool, bitch, I ain’t Indian, bitch. Overused.
I once sat through a toastmaster’s competition, and was blown away by the intellectual snobbery concentrated in the room. There is something fascinating in watching people on the same wavelength expound theories and conceptualize abstract ideas. It is all very intangible and slightly vague and supremely satisfying.
I love being alone. No, truly, I do. A residual feeling from my angst filled days I used to think, but no, I just prefer aloneness.
I have immense respect for Fidel Castro, Toni Morrison, Kahlil Gibran, Guy Allen, mujerista theologians and Latino dancers. There is something breathtaking and awe inspiring in watching rhythm in motion, in watching music consume you and move you. Move you to tears, literally.
Reggae is my lover. Its also my dirty little secret.
I fear water with a deep inconsolable dread. Yet I love the ocean. If I could choose how I was born, or where I would die, it would be in the ocean.
My happiest memories are of the beach and travelling.
People on subways fascinate me. Epic motion pictures could be made on the emotions expressed by subway travellers. I love the instant snapshots of reality and humanity it offers.
I fell in love with the guitar, because I fell in love with a boy.
People I met on the internet, know more about me, and are closer to me than people I’ve known my whole life. Some of them saved me. Truly, they awoke that low burning fire for Him, and stoked the flames. For that I am grateful.
If I could redo one thing in my life, I would stop being a compulsive liar. I don’t lie all the time, I truly don’t, but on the occasion that I do, I forget that it’s a lie.
I thought North Americans, and bloggers and writers were narcissists, and it used to bother me. Now it doesn’t because there’s a narcissist in all of us, waiting to get out.
A universal sin stops being a sin.
It took me ten minutes to write this and 20 minutes to read 5 lines on economic inequality.
Fate is biased. And unfair. That’s why I don’t believe in fate. I refuse to let it be my excuse for not doing things, or doing things that I could control.
If there was one thing I really wanted to learn from my mother, it would be to learn to understand another person so completely, that even if his child was identical to him, to still love the two as separate entities.
I am in deep shit for tomorrows midterm.
Thursday, January 25, 2007
i've been coffee-ed
I’ve always prided myself on not having any cash on me and managing to survive quite fine. Of course living so close to school and never having to take the transit makes it all the more dandy, and I don’t have an annoying clunk of loose change weighing me down.
Hallelujah for debit cards. I am euphoric on the daring chances I take on living loose-change-free. Yeah I live life on the edge. This state of peace, of serenity if you must, was brought to an abrupt and painful death couple of days ago. Me and D were shamelessly checking out the new psychology first years, and amidst making eyes at the lil fellows we decided to get coffee.
Now for anyone who’s bought coffee at school, it’s a relatively simple process, select cup, fill coffee at those super fun looking dispensers that make you wish you could be a coffee dispensing person for the rest of your life, cos c’mon who doesn’t love pushing the button, and watching it pour out, knowing that you had the power to STOP THE FLOW ANYTIME…. Wow. ..and umm yea take it too nice friendly cashier lady who calls you ‘love” or “hun” if she’s feeling extra flirtatious, and pay for said coffee. See all went to plan, except for the paying for the coffee part.
Now Tim’s charges me a nice $1.30 or something for my caffeine rush.
This little stop run by big momma from the prairies, that I went to sells “free trade” coffee. That meaning that I the consumer had to pay the real price that poor starving farmers ought to get for their coffee, instead of paying less so that big corporations such as Tim Hortons could rip said farmers off, and send them spiralling into a deep mesh of poverty, while they watch Consumer Canada smack their lips on poorly traded inexpensive coffee. I know there’s an economic term or something for this, but I can’t remember. So this particular day, D coughed up the requisite 1.30 so I could get my coffee, and armed with my money I head over anticipating the joy at using the coffee machine. Only to find that the coffee was now $2. hmph. This isn’t generally a problem, I’m not that cheap that I can’t pay an extra 70 cents, except I didn’t have any on me. Nada. Zilch. And neither did D, she managed to fish out a quarter but that was it. So I’m thinking maybe I could wing it by telling the cashier I had no money and she would give m the coffee for $1.55 heh. So much for that
So me “ umm wow I had no idea coffee went up in price” frantically count money on palm. “ I just seem to have a $1.55” “…………..” awkward pause while I wait for her to say its fine. Her- “oh.”
And that was it, no “oh you poor thing you look like you really need that coffee, here let me give it to you for less, because you deserve it” just “oh” end of story.
D tells me I should stop trying to be so brown and expect favours, she isn’t my “aunty”after all. Ah boo. Free trade sucks.
Oh and also if anyone’s in Toronto next week, come check out the U of T drama festival, at the Hart House, we shall be treated to imitating, imagining, lights and music and later get gloriously drunk and have street fights. Ok so I don’t have a plan for after, but come meet us, we could always dig a hole and bury a time capsule at Queens Park. Meh, I’m just thinking.
Hallelujah for debit cards. I am euphoric on the daring chances I take on living loose-change-free. Yeah I live life on the edge. This state of peace, of serenity if you must, was brought to an abrupt and painful death couple of days ago. Me and D were shamelessly checking out the new psychology first years, and amidst making eyes at the lil fellows we decided to get coffee.
Now for anyone who’s bought coffee at school, it’s a relatively simple process, select cup, fill coffee at those super fun looking dispensers that make you wish you could be a coffee dispensing person for the rest of your life, cos c’mon who doesn’t love pushing the button, and watching it pour out, knowing that you had the power to STOP THE FLOW ANYTIME…. Wow. ..and umm yea take it too nice friendly cashier lady who calls you ‘love” or “hun” if she’s feeling extra flirtatious, and pay for said coffee. See all went to plan, except for the paying for the coffee part.
Now Tim’s charges me a nice $1.30 or something for my caffeine rush.
This little stop run by big momma from the prairies, that I went to sells “free trade” coffee. That meaning that I the consumer had to pay the real price that poor starving farmers ought to get for their coffee, instead of paying less so that big corporations such as Tim Hortons could rip said farmers off, and send them spiralling into a deep mesh of poverty, while they watch Consumer Canada smack their lips on poorly traded inexpensive coffee. I know there’s an economic term or something for this, but I can’t remember. So this particular day, D coughed up the requisite 1.30 so I could get my coffee, and armed with my money I head over anticipating the joy at using the coffee machine. Only to find that the coffee was now $2. hmph. This isn’t generally a problem, I’m not that cheap that I can’t pay an extra 70 cents, except I didn’t have any on me. Nada. Zilch. And neither did D, she managed to fish out a quarter but that was it. So I’m thinking maybe I could wing it by telling the cashier I had no money and she would give m the coffee for $1.55 heh. So much for that
So me “ umm wow I had no idea coffee went up in price” frantically count money on palm. “ I just seem to have a $1.55” “…………..” awkward pause while I wait for her to say its fine. Her- “oh.”
And that was it, no “oh you poor thing you look like you really need that coffee, here let me give it to you for less, because you deserve it” just “oh” end of story.
D tells me I should stop trying to be so brown and expect favours, she isn’t my “aunty”after all. Ah boo. Free trade sucks.
Oh and also if anyone’s in Toronto next week, come check out the U of T drama festival, at the Hart House, we shall be treated to imitating, imagining, lights and music and later get gloriously drunk and have street fights. Ok so I don’t have a plan for after, but come meet us, we could always dig a hole and bury a time capsule at Queens Park. Meh, I’m just thinking.
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
random play
the weekend felt like it flew past, a row of computer stores downtown, long trips on the subway with even longer bus rides, korean food, the homeless guy on the street, chocolate crackle ice cream, the fast and the furious, poseidon, danielle duval at indigo, hot chocolate, the jazz club, china town, best friends, narrow beds and a few tears later, its tuesday. 12.20 am on a tuesday morning, and i'm thinking i need to go to bed. a growing pile of readings, and articles awaits me. at 1 this afternoon my philosophy proffessor will tell me whether my conclusions follow my premise, logically. i really couldn't care whether it did or not. i'd rather be listening to Leydon tell me about retail geography in downtown Toronto, and that the solution to overstaying children lies in cheese, and about the shadier "toys" purchase online. I want to hear about living in wellesley and parliament, about the red light district, Irish pints, his wifes niece and the sicilian Alberto who was bought over by the koreans. But i won't, and instead i will be sitting in a economics lecuture that bores me to tears. well not really. my 500 peers in that class frustrate me in thier naivete and normal-ness. thankfully theres lots of ways to pass the time in a two hour lecture. the stick figure and boobette series continues, albeit in the margins of economics course notes.
in the wise words of my 13 year old cousin, sex complicates everything. i'm not going to even bother writing about this, because this rather sweeping overarching statement has too many arguments, premises and a host of opinions attached to it. why am i thinking about this, i dont know, maybe because some of my best friends are confused, and thier confusion is slowly seeping into me, maybe because last week Guy Allen read the pregnancy test story in class, and my heart was beating faster, my hands were clammy, and i couldn't think straight becuase i could almost feel what she felt, and i dont even know why. or it maybe becuase i know too many people who matter so much to me, and this has become all too real in thier lives, maybe because Kat's story kissing bellmonts was too real, maybe because sexuality and gender have become so ingrained in thier specific roles in our minds that theres no other way to think about it, or maybe its becuase feminists are twisted and right, and Pontierro converted me. no matter, i have a story for this, and i shall write it and get it out of me.
I've been on a list making binge lately. so much so that i put up a dry erase board, and filling it with more lists. the scraps of paper that i have in my wallet, and bag and files are still full of lists; i found grocery lists from 2005, a scribbled half list of resolutions, a bookmark with a list of my favourite people (maybe i thought i would forget who they were unless i wrote it down. heh), book lists, call numbers for library books, a list of albums, lists of numbers, of assignments, of funds, of places, stores downtown, stores in general, route maps, priorities and it goes on and on. i dont know why i do it. i started up again. this time i'm listing everything that i'm going to change, this is not a new years resolution by any means, its a comparison, and all i can think is i've screwed up along the way.
i miss living with the L-cat and Haven, my current housemates are less than ideal, but in a perfect world Lisa would be with Max, Haven would be having a blast on her final year and make it into grad school without any hitches, i will have my own place, Jill would stop making out in the next room, i would stop burning the pots, and the damn house would get cleaned up. no actually in a perfect world i would be able to get these words out of my mind.
The people thought they were just being rewarded
For treating others as they like to be treated
For obeying stop signs and curing diseases
For mailing letters with the address of the sender
Now we can swim any day in november
from 8.00 this morning the songs been playing in my mind, on repeat, and i can almost hear the disc slipping from exhaustion, but it goes on and on, till i can shoot myself from the frustration.
F you postal service. yeah how pointless was that . i know.
in the wise words of my 13 year old cousin, sex complicates everything. i'm not going to even bother writing about this, because this rather sweeping overarching statement has too many arguments, premises and a host of opinions attached to it. why am i thinking about this, i dont know, maybe because some of my best friends are confused, and thier confusion is slowly seeping into me, maybe because last week Guy Allen read the pregnancy test story in class, and my heart was beating faster, my hands were clammy, and i couldn't think straight becuase i could almost feel what she felt, and i dont even know why. or it maybe becuase i know too many people who matter so much to me, and this has become all too real in thier lives, maybe because Kat's story kissing bellmonts was too real, maybe because sexuality and gender have become so ingrained in thier specific roles in our minds that theres no other way to think about it, or maybe its becuase feminists are twisted and right, and Pontierro converted me. no matter, i have a story for this, and i shall write it and get it out of me.
I've been on a list making binge lately. so much so that i put up a dry erase board, and filling it with more lists. the scraps of paper that i have in my wallet, and bag and files are still full of lists; i found grocery lists from 2005, a scribbled half list of resolutions, a bookmark with a list of my favourite people (maybe i thought i would forget who they were unless i wrote it down. heh), book lists, call numbers for library books, a list of albums, lists of numbers, of assignments, of funds, of places, stores downtown, stores in general, route maps, priorities and it goes on and on. i dont know why i do it. i started up again. this time i'm listing everything that i'm going to change, this is not a new years resolution by any means, its a comparison, and all i can think is i've screwed up along the way.
i miss living with the L-cat and Haven, my current housemates are less than ideal, but in a perfect world Lisa would be with Max, Haven would be having a blast on her final year and make it into grad school without any hitches, i will have my own place, Jill would stop making out in the next room, i would stop burning the pots, and the damn house would get cleaned up. no actually in a perfect world i would be able to get these words out of my mind.
The people thought they were just being rewarded
For treating others as they like to be treated
For obeying stop signs and curing diseases
For mailing letters with the address of the sender
Now we can swim any day in november
from 8.00 this morning the songs been playing in my mind, on repeat, and i can almost hear the disc slipping from exhaustion, but it goes on and on, till i can shoot myself from the frustration.
F you postal service. yeah how pointless was that . i know.
Saturday, January 6, 2007
first days..
the first day of the rest of my life...I cant even remember the number of times i said that to myself repeating it like a mantra, this is it, this is the first day of the rest of my life, i change, things are going to change, the first day, the first day, for the rest of my life.... as a veteran of 'first days of the rest of your life', i can say this, its the best day ever. you are not morally responsible for your past, your future is just beginning, and things can only go upwards.
but tomorrow comes, and suddenly its the second day of the rest of your life, and you need to start living the damn life. maybe time for another first day of the rest of your life, but of course its too soon, a major calamity hasnt occured yet... and so the second day is frustrating, you are tentative, eager to try out your new wings of faith, scared that you arent ready to fly yet, and you end up holed up in a corner, with your knees drawn up, with plans and improvements, the soul searching behind, and you know you are equipped to face it, and then it hits home..oh my God, time is catching up, and i haven't started to live yet...
how ironic, we are always waiting to begin life, to "start living" i'm waiting for this life, my life, the life i'm meant to live, to start..
today was the second day of the second semester of my second year at university. the lap of learning. the seat's uncomfortable. i'm busy being educated, and as fast as i can so that i can leave and start living my life. i was stopped in my tracks today, by a tall white man. he stood in front of me in a plush carpeted room, with soft peachy lights, boardroom tables, and swivelling chairs.
he stood in front of me, and 20 of my peers, and told us to stop learning and get educated.
the slightly narcisisstic, greying man in his fifties, who swears like a gushing sewer, who paces up and down the room, and looks you in the eye, and laughs at you, and those around you, who speaks of emotions, and language, and words, of living, and feeling, and life, who believes the guy who runs the bookstore is a bastard, who tells you to look up the history of the word fuck, who is fond of his own voiice, who sneers and smirks, who holds a Ph.D in a subject he loves, who is eccentric, who is a teacher, a leader, an instructor, is also the man who will decide whether we are good enough for his course.
he stands and tells us, that if we dont stop and enjoy the act of learning, savour the moments when are minds are inspired, expanded, and where new ideas born then our university experience is worthless. and he is right, but we are inherently practical, and we plan for a future of financial freedom, of stability, of money. lots of money. and of course, my economics professor tells me time is money. and so i, like thousands before me, strategise a way out.
today i felt like staying longer, i felt like stopping, and breathing, and blocking out all the voices of sensibility, i put my hands up against my ears and block out the static. the sound if silence. i've been running so fast things are blurring. who knows, my elusive life might even be along the scenic route. it might be time to take the long way home.
but tomorrow comes, and suddenly its the second day of the rest of your life, and you need to start living the damn life. maybe time for another first day of the rest of your life, but of course its too soon, a major calamity hasnt occured yet... and so the second day is frustrating, you are tentative, eager to try out your new wings of faith, scared that you arent ready to fly yet, and you end up holed up in a corner, with your knees drawn up, with plans and improvements, the soul searching behind, and you know you are equipped to face it, and then it hits home..oh my God, time is catching up, and i haven't started to live yet...
how ironic, we are always waiting to begin life, to "start living" i'm waiting for this life, my life, the life i'm meant to live, to start..
today was the second day of the second semester of my second year at university. the lap of learning. the seat's uncomfortable. i'm busy being educated, and as fast as i can so that i can leave and start living my life. i was stopped in my tracks today, by a tall white man. he stood in front of me in a plush carpeted room, with soft peachy lights, boardroom tables, and swivelling chairs.
he stood in front of me, and 20 of my peers, and told us to stop learning and get educated.
the slightly narcisisstic, greying man in his fifties, who swears like a gushing sewer, who paces up and down the room, and looks you in the eye, and laughs at you, and those around you, who speaks of emotions, and language, and words, of living, and feeling, and life, who believes the guy who runs the bookstore is a bastard, who tells you to look up the history of the word fuck, who is fond of his own voiice, who sneers and smirks, who holds a Ph.D in a subject he loves, who is eccentric, who is a teacher, a leader, an instructor, is also the man who will decide whether we are good enough for his course.
he stands and tells us, that if we dont stop and enjoy the act of learning, savour the moments when are minds are inspired, expanded, and where new ideas born then our university experience is worthless. and he is right, but we are inherently practical, and we plan for a future of financial freedom, of stability, of money. lots of money. and of course, my economics professor tells me time is money. and so i, like thousands before me, strategise a way out.
today i felt like staying longer, i felt like stopping, and breathing, and blocking out all the voices of sensibility, i put my hands up against my ears and block out the static. the sound if silence. i've been running so fast things are blurring. who knows, my elusive life might even be along the scenic route. it might be time to take the long way home.
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