HE SAID, MARIE, MARIE, HOLD ON TIGHT
~ The Waste Land, "The Burial of The Dead", Eliot
And when we were children, staying at the archduke's,
My cousin's, he took me out on a sled,
And I was frightened. He said, Marie,
Marie, hold on tight. And down we went.
In the mountains, there you feel free.
I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter.
Monday, March 31, 2008
gold
so i'll be working and interning in the city in summer, in the publicity department in a midtown publishing company. plans finally have materialised, some extra paperwork is needed, and i need to settle where to live, but i am definitely excited about returning to a city that no longer is indifferent to me, but perhaps, loves me. (i'll wear an apron, and cook and clean and nag you to death, he said. and i'll put the food the table and be a complete asshole, i said. we joke like that, irony is the best defence against the realisation that the future isn't ours to claim.) and at the same time, i'm hoping to get some part-time work done at literary agencies. i talked to my parents at 2 am singapore time about this. my dad, sleepy, after wine. he told me that someone had a compliment about the book that he published (it's a gardening book that he wrote for charity.) i told him, when i become famous, i'll distribute it all over the world for you. he laughed, and i laughed and then i put down the phone. but there was something sweet, and possibly sad, but gently sad, and ironic, about the ambitious and unsettled daughter who was finally going to work in the city for a summer, telling them, it's gonna be ok, with some luck, i'd be able to make gold out of dreams, i'll distribute your book all over the world for you.
Sunday, March 30, 2008
how to sleep
i'm grappling some difficult questions, and i admit it has been eating into my study, eating into my sleep, popping up when i'm trying to appreciate ithaca during afternoon runs, when i am driving, when i am eating.
it's times like this, when i think about what sam used to say: let go of things, and leave it to Him. Him has become a more elusive concept, now that i'm on my own, floating in a world of uncertainty and possibilities, reinventing and inventing religion in every sense of the word. Him teaches me to realise that there is only so much i can do, and worry won't really help me at all. this doesn't mean being foolishly patient, but it means letting go when i have done all i have needed to do. i need to stop envisioning a tomorrow that is ultimately not mine to claim. until i can do this, i will never be able to sleep.
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i wonder what you are thinking. i am reading mourning and melancholia now, freud. i am tired, but at least i am happy. there is a wind whipping up here. thunderstorms to usher in spring. if i stay in ithaca, i will be able to write in peace, if he comes up though, there will be no peace. with my writing, i will become famous and lots of men will want to have sex with me. ok, joke, joke. with my writing and my intense slowness at writing, if i get something out, it will be embarrassing. there are some old yellow roses stuck into a wine bottle on my table. very cliche, no? i am queen of cliche, queen of kitsch. it was some crappy 2006 australian red plonk, the roses were from my mom. last night he made a joke about bad poetry. but it's not really a joke, i do write, i said. then there was a long silence, and apologies. (a bit like how i very meanly, joke about his med school application essays, "you should write, "i'm awesome. and you're awesome. you know you want me. so you should take me. best regards.") so he asked, may i see what you write? i suppose so? i said. that's what they all say at first, and then all can't take in the end.
it's times like this, when i think about what sam used to say: let go of things, and leave it to Him. Him has become a more elusive concept, now that i'm on my own, floating in a world of uncertainty and possibilities, reinventing and inventing religion in every sense of the word. Him teaches me to realise that there is only so much i can do, and worry won't really help me at all. this doesn't mean being foolishly patient, but it means letting go when i have done all i have needed to do. i need to stop envisioning a tomorrow that is ultimately not mine to claim. until i can do this, i will never be able to sleep.
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i wonder what you are thinking. i am reading mourning and melancholia now, freud. i am tired, but at least i am happy. there is a wind whipping up here. thunderstorms to usher in spring. if i stay in ithaca, i will be able to write in peace, if he comes up though, there will be no peace. with my writing, i will become famous and lots of men will want to have sex with me. ok, joke, joke. with my writing and my intense slowness at writing, if i get something out, it will be embarrassing. there are some old yellow roses stuck into a wine bottle on my table. very cliche, no? i am queen of cliche, queen of kitsch. it was some crappy 2006 australian red plonk, the roses were from my mom. last night he made a joke about bad poetry. but it's not really a joke, i do write, i said. then there was a long silence, and apologies. (a bit like how i very meanly, joke about his med school application essays, "you should write, "i'm awesome. and you're awesome. you know you want me. so you should take me. best regards.") so he asked, may i see what you write? i suppose so? i said. that's what they all say at first, and then all can't take in the end.
Saturday, March 29, 2008
missing me
today i chased deer in his car. at a NO TRESPASSING zone, and figured out the chords for 1972.
i called my parents, and i knew they loved me and i loved them.
i am also excited to hear from myself again. i miss me. :)
i called my parents, and i knew they loved me and i loved them.
i am also excited to hear from myself again. i miss me. :)
Friday, March 28, 2008
geryon
you were born in the honduras, i said? that place of volcanoes and mountains? i ask. he laughs, i guess you can say there are a lot of volcanoes there. i am sorry, i am ignorant, i say. no, one needs to ask questions, he says, how else do you learn? we are processing forms in the public service center. we talk, because it has been a long week, because it is snowing, becuase there is no one to talk to, i haven't spoken to a winged person in some time. i know, i often joke that i need to marry an american he says. perhaps you, too, will leave behind, many husbands and many broken hearts, he says.
Thursday, March 27, 2008
responsibility
i am about to sign a new house contract, while at the same time, am being wooed by another real estate agent? is that responsible of me? on the other hand, i did tell sasha, my cooperative house manager that i wouldn't be reserving the best room of the house anymore--i did the responsible thing. i usually sleep fine these days--and dream about funny things, happy things--these days, and i'm a lot more serious about my work. but last night i started thinking about what's going to happen in 4 years, my having to go home, leave friends behind. there're only a couple of people i truly care about here, but i do care about them alot. i was talking to henry on my birthday about relationships and things, and he said, "one girlfriend criteria is that she has to be willing to go back to singapore with you," and i started disagreeing, and he started getting very bewildered with me, "but isn't that socially irresponsible?" he said. yes, it would be socially irresponsible. i want to be responsible. but it's one of those words that have become trite, overused by chicken soup, readers' digest, pro-life advocates, environmentalists, soap opera actors, religious groups who don't know what they're talking about, ex-boyfriends, parents, people who have agendas in your life.
you can make an argument that to be responsible to yourself, you have to be accountable for what you do to the people around you, you should shape yourself around the needs of others. but i hate that saintly argument. it irritates and bores me to tears. it reeks of the hypocritical stuff of the charity pages i used to write for the straits times, christian hypocrisy, and american idealism and ideology. (and i was so annoyed that i inserted a swearword earlier, but it's gone now) it doesn't accurately represent the complexity of a life that is irrevocably divided. i believe that to be responsible to the people around you, you have to be honest about your own needs and desires. you can do alot of things for another person, for instance, do things for someone, make yourself love someone else, try very hard to understand something fundamentally alien to you, your upbringing, your needs. but if from the start you didn't really want to be there, then although you might have made the other person happy, who were you trying to kid by thinking you were being responsible? you weren't being totally responsible by raising expectations. to be responsible, you would have to realise the truth of what you wanted, rather than simply living for someone else's happiness. realising the truth of what you want is more than realising you really want to smoke your lungs out or fuck the brains out of the people in this world, or run around the world in 80 days to raise money for charity. that's really all child's play. knowing a is lot more complex than the myths we've shaped about ourselves, knowing is more than knowing what you want to do. this emphasis on doing is very american, people who act before thinking. knowing, knowing what you want out of this life. being responsible doesn't mean living for other people, it means being accountable to the people around you by recognising your limits to being able to live with them, live for them.
you can make an argument that to be responsible to yourself, you have to be accountable for what you do to the people around you, you should shape yourself around the needs of others. but i hate that saintly argument. it irritates and bores me to tears. it reeks of the hypocritical stuff of the charity pages i used to write for the straits times, christian hypocrisy, and american idealism and ideology. (and i was so annoyed that i inserted a swearword earlier, but it's gone now) it doesn't accurately represent the complexity of a life that is irrevocably divided. i believe that to be responsible to the people around you, you have to be honest about your own needs and desires. you can do alot of things for another person, for instance, do things for someone, make yourself love someone else, try very hard to understand something fundamentally alien to you, your upbringing, your needs. but if from the start you didn't really want to be there, then although you might have made the other person happy, who were you trying to kid by thinking you were being responsible? you weren't being totally responsible by raising expectations. to be responsible, you would have to realise the truth of what you wanted, rather than simply living for someone else's happiness. realising the truth of what you want is more than realising you really want to smoke your lungs out or fuck the brains out of the people in this world, or run around the world in 80 days to raise money for charity. that's really all child's play. knowing a is lot more complex than the myths we've shaped about ourselves, knowing is more than knowing what you want to do. this emphasis on doing is very american, people who act before thinking. knowing, knowing what you want out of this life. being responsible doesn't mean living for other people, it means being accountable to the people around you by recognising your limits to being able to live with them, live for them.
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
cockroaches
he told me that he let go of the cockroaches today after the lab experiments, so they could enjoy the beautiful weather.
i told him, that was a very buddhist thing to say. i said it reminded me of a place i used to know, not here. that was a place where old people let go of crabs bought at markets, peace-offerings.
i showed him a discussion i had with the singaporeans on food. that's really intense, he said. now he wants me to teach him how to use lah, mah, leh, hor, lor, and has valiantly attempted to add lah's and then a tentative question mark to the end of his sentences. it doesn't work that way, lah is a sign of power, lah is phallic, lah is impatience with strangers. i told him, it's really complicated, actually. i don't actually know why i speak the way i speak.
i told him, that was a very buddhist thing to say. i said it reminded me of a place i used to know, not here. that was a place where old people let go of crabs bought at markets, peace-offerings.
i showed him a discussion i had with the singaporeans on food. that's really intense, he said. now he wants me to teach him how to use lah, mah, leh, hor, lor, and has valiantly attempted to add lah's and then a tentative question mark to the end of his sentences. it doesn't work that way, lah is a sign of power, lah is phallic, lah is impatience with strangers. i told him, it's really complicated, actually. i don't actually know why i speak the way i speak.
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
thinking about home
ive been dreaming of home the past few days, old friends. chalene was laughing with me yesterday in my dream, and i talked to a woman about the beauty of shandong in another dream while waiting for the 5 train (5 train? was that new york, but i was sure it was singapore, but singapore doesnt have 5 trains) maybe i am homesick, not in a crippling, sad way, but the way you stand back and gaze from a distance and think, that's beautiful.
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i swam today. i am getting quieter. spent the morning sitting in sangam by myself, listening to the conversations around me.i swam long, slow laps in an empty pool. the lifeguard let me swim, even though it was afterhours. i thought of Trois couleurs: Bleu. but i am not as skinny and vulnerable and pretty or in grief as juliette binoche. i am merely swimming alone in solitude. before i jumped in--without my glasses, i had a thought that there was no water in the pool, because its surface was completely still. afterall, it was afterhours, perhaps they had drained the pool. so for a moment, i thought i was jumping to my death. in that moment, i thought of nothing. it was completely empty. in the next moment, i was in the water, my eyes had been open in an attempt to hold in the last moments of life, and they hit the surface of the water like coins, and i began swimming.
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i swam today. i am getting quieter. spent the morning sitting in sangam by myself, listening to the conversations around me.i swam long, slow laps in an empty pool. the lifeguard let me swim, even though it was afterhours. i thought of Trois couleurs: Bleu. but i am not as skinny and vulnerable and pretty or in grief as juliette binoche. i am merely swimming alone in solitude. before i jumped in--without my glasses, i had a thought that there was no water in the pool, because its surface was completely still. afterall, it was afterhours, perhaps they had drained the pool. so for a moment, i thought i was jumping to my death. in that moment, i thought of nothing. it was completely empty. in the next moment, i was in the water, my eyes had been open in an attempt to hold in the last moments of life, and they hit the surface of the water like coins, and i began swimming.
Sunday, March 23, 2008
lah
i am reading shakespeare's coriolanus now. to my utmost surprise, the women add "la" to the end of their sentences, and the friendly index says "la is an emphatic interjection, without meaning in itself." this means that renaissance england also "lah-ed" their way through language, thus the origin of "lah" is not entirely clear altogether (?)
Saturday, March 22, 2008
the artist
There is a path that leads back from phantasy to reality—the path, that is, of art. An artist…desires to win honor, power, wealth, fame and the love of women; but he lacks the means of achieving these satisfactions. Consequently, like any other unsatisfied man, he turns away from reality and transfers all his interest, and his libido too, to the wishful constructions of his life of phantasy, whence the path might lead to neurosis [ie, the retreat from reality]…An artist however, finds the path to reality in the following manner…he understands how to work over his daydreams in such a way as to make them lose what is too personal about them and repels strangers, and to make it possible for others to share in the enjoyment of them. He understands too, how to tone them down so that they do not easily betray their origin from proscribed sources. Furthermore, he possesses the mysterious power of shaping some particular material until it has become a faithful image of his phantasy; and he knows, moreover, how to link so large a field of pleasure to this representation of his unconscious phantasy that, for the time being at least, repressions are outweighed and lifted by it. If he is able to accomplish all this, he makes it possible for other people once more to derive consolation and alleviation from their own sources of pleasure in their unconscious which have become inaccessible to them; he [enters into a shared world of objects and a shared system of representation] earns their gratitude and admiration and he has thus achieved through his phantasy what originally he had achieved only in his phantasy—honor, power, and the love of women.
Freud, General Theory of the Neuroses, Lecture XXIII “The Paths to Symptom-formation”
forgiveness
today, i fried broccoli with garlic for dinner. first you boil the broccoli for just a minute, till it turns all keen and dark. not too long, because you don't want it to become mushy, just enough to soften its edges, and make it moist, so you don't feel like you're biting into a bundle of strings and fibres. drain, add olive oil to a pan, wait till the oil bubbles, and put the garlic, wait a few seconds, hear it simmer, oyster sauce, and then water, the water falls on the pan, and dissolves immediately into steam. and then salt. you always add the salt last when frying, because salt makes the surface of vegetables crinkle and tends to make them shrivelled and mushy. (boiling, on the other hand, is a different story, you salt the stew early because you want the vegetables to become mushy). frying vegetables--it is all a matter of timing, a matter of listening, a matter of putting the least of each condiment, so that you can taste the sweetness of the vegetables, in the case of broccoli, its piquant nuttiness.
i thought about william's mother today. i used to go to his house, and sometimes she would be cooking dinner. she was skinny, always in a floral blouse. she was pretty, despite her age. when she laughed, the wrinkles would fold into what seemed an expression of despise. but she was not a spiteful woman, she tolerated her son's bouts of anger, tolerated his inexplicable decisions, tolerated his slew of stray lovers, tolerated me in my uniform, beside her son in a tie. sometimes i would talk to her, despite my stumbling chinese. i would talk about my own mother, the reason why i couldn't speak chinese, miscellaneous things, like school, then he would always look up from whatever he was doing, in wonder at the two women talking, one was young enough to be his daughter, the other was his mother. she would cook the most amazing things--they were always very simple and subtle. pork fried in cornflour, and fried with cabbage. there was no sweetness in that dish, the sweetness came from the cabbage. she would make the best tauyoubak, it was deep and sweet and thick and swimming in fat. she would also make her own fishcakes, mixing fish with flour and chilli, and stuffing them into slices of brinjal. then she would throw them into a pot of oil.
i try to remember these things, the smell of joss sticks, the tv on some shitty chinese serial. after i walked out of him, there was always someone who would try to mute this part of my life into silence. because i am alone again, there is no one telling me what to think, no one threatened by my past and telling me forget him, think about other things. it has been exactly 2 years since i left, and more than 3 years since i met him. he is older now, and so am i. if i remember these things, the smell of vegetables simmering in garlic, the smell of that home, the sound of the baby laughing, perhaps i will have a kinder, softer image of that man, perhaps i will forgive him, and know that he has forgiven me.
i thought about william's mother today. i used to go to his house, and sometimes she would be cooking dinner. she was skinny, always in a floral blouse. she was pretty, despite her age. when she laughed, the wrinkles would fold into what seemed an expression of despise. but she was not a spiteful woman, she tolerated her son's bouts of anger, tolerated his inexplicable decisions, tolerated his slew of stray lovers, tolerated me in my uniform, beside her son in a tie. sometimes i would talk to her, despite my stumbling chinese. i would talk about my own mother, the reason why i couldn't speak chinese, miscellaneous things, like school, then he would always look up from whatever he was doing, in wonder at the two women talking, one was young enough to be his daughter, the other was his mother. she would cook the most amazing things--they were always very simple and subtle. pork fried in cornflour, and fried with cabbage. there was no sweetness in that dish, the sweetness came from the cabbage. she would make the best tauyoubak, it was deep and sweet and thick and swimming in fat. she would also make her own fishcakes, mixing fish with flour and chilli, and stuffing them into slices of brinjal. then she would throw them into a pot of oil.
i try to remember these things, the smell of joss sticks, the tv on some shitty chinese serial. after i walked out of him, there was always someone who would try to mute this part of my life into silence. because i am alone again, there is no one telling me what to think, no one threatened by my past and telling me forget him, think about other things. it has been exactly 2 years since i left, and more than 3 years since i met him. he is older now, and so am i. if i remember these things, the smell of vegetables simmering in garlic, the smell of that home, the sound of the baby laughing, perhaps i will have a kinder, softer image of that man, perhaps i will forgive him, and know that he has forgiven me.
Friday, March 21, 2008
small press month! fyi
March is National Small Press Month, a nationwide promotion highlighting the valuable work produced by independent presses, and the innovative writers they publish. An annual celebration of the independent spirit of small publishers, Small Press Month is an effort to showcase the diverse, unique, and often most significant voices being published today. Co-sponsored by the Small Press Center (The New York Center for Independent Publishing), the CLMP (The Council for Literary Magazines and Presses), and PMA (The Independent Book Publishers Association), Small Press Month is a collaborative initiative that seeks to increase the public's awareness of the crucial and creative work put forth by independent presses.
horseshoe crabs
i am trying to get used to my new skin. in my new skin, i'm not sad or scared, i haven't fought, i haven't been upset, i haven't been moved, i swear more, cook less, i think simply, in words like "gorgeous," "very cool," "messed up," i have, simply put, forgotten. suddenly home is truly faraway, and i am suddenly strange to myself. yesterday i went to the liquor store to buy a jacob's creek, the shop cheered and congratulated me. i have a new pair of thighs, which don't seem like mine yet, and threaten to walk out on me. they're impatient with me, they want to run. keep quiet, i say, i don't want to go to the gym, i only want to run outdoors. i get impatient and bored these days, impatient for the weather to become warm. my body is rebellious though, it doesn't care that gymming is boring, it doesn't care that the weather is crazy. i'm angry today because the weather is glorious, sun and clear sky, but it is freezing. it smells like pine, he said. really, i can't smell a thing, i said. that's crazy, he said back. i had a handwritten letter in the mailbox, and a white candle sealed inside it, overnight mail. it was all rambly with horrible handwriting, it looked like burnt bush. difficult to explain the shock of seeing handwriting. it's like seeing another person's pubic hair for the first time. i saw five deer at my doorstep last night, one gazed at me, petrified. bambi? i called. it was a deer surprise party, he suggested. maybe it'll be good to be closer to home, closer to upstate, maybe. i make plans. one of them includes learning to cook burmese food from the father with the machete. another is waiting till the tide dips in the morning in brooklyn to pick horseshoe crabs like stars.
Thursday, March 20, 2008
spring equinox
i feel very loved, very much like a child, very much in love. woke up to a drunken call from my mom and dad, "hey i'm passing the phone to the dog, say hi," i think i made my sister cry though, when i said, hey, i'm not coming home this year, or christmas, only going to be home next year, summer. there was a call from new york, and aunty zarina made me a ballerina cupcake!, then on arriving from london and new york, he went to wegmans at freaking 5am before the car was bound for new york again, to buy steaks. who the hell does that? because past years were always crappy--i was studying, or reeling from something bad, or i remember, in the midst of a really cruel breakup--a part of me thinks i'll wake up and realise, perhaps it was a dream, la vida es sueno. i'll bake myself an apple cake to make sure it is not. i am happy now, i wrote in an email last night, i give so much more of myself to people. and they give me so much. thank you for everything, all of you.
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on another note, the american economy is in the complete pits now, and it worries me slightly, because i would very much like to find a good internship.
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on another note, the american economy is in the complete pits now, and it worries me slightly, because i would very much like to find a good internship.
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
jerk
it's foggy outside. tonight, i will sleep in a land of mist. i ran till i hurt today. received chit's text (i love you too, sweet.) tomorrow is the spring equinox, did you know? i want to wake up early to usher in the spring equinox. it marks the date the sun sets later and later each day. it means winter is over. april is the cruelest month, the earth awakens and heals, but one senses this only happens through much pain. like the paradox of turning 21, the realisation that i'm entering into the spring of my life, but this means that a lot too, has had come to pass.
i could have stayed in the city, i suppose. it would have been crazy though. i'd have probably have been made to drink till i left my mind and heart--probably my wallet and handphone and charger--there. no, unlikely. i would be nursing expensive and pretentious steamers in the village over a book, running by the hudson till my lungs expired, fancy candlelit dinners. i don't know, the point is i came home. do i sense in myself, a certain pang? if i stayed in manhattan, i would have started conversations i wouldn't have known how to end. i talked to leon today, to the background of horrible communist music, what the fuck, leon, i said, how weird is it talking to you with that stuff on.
i picture you driving over george washington bridge into the city for work, singing to freddie king, tapping at your wheel, you and your blues. duct tape to keep your side mirror from disintegrating. the sunlight was blinding. we were running late. rushed out of the house and shared a banana in the car. jerk, i said. jerk, he scowled back.
i could have stayed in the city, i suppose. it would have been crazy though. i'd have probably have been made to drink till i left my mind and heart--probably my wallet and handphone and charger--there. no, unlikely. i would be nursing expensive and pretentious steamers in the village over a book, running by the hudson till my lungs expired, fancy candlelit dinners. i don't know, the point is i came home. do i sense in myself, a certain pang? if i stayed in manhattan, i would have started conversations i wouldn't have known how to end. i talked to leon today, to the background of horrible communist music, what the fuck, leon, i said, how weird is it talking to you with that stuff on.
i picture you driving over george washington bridge into the city for work, singing to freddie king, tapping at your wheel, you and your blues. duct tape to keep your side mirror from disintegrating. the sunlight was blinding. we were running late. rushed out of the house and shared a banana in the car. jerk, i said. jerk, he scowled back.
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
tired
arrived at 2 am last night, slept at 3, woke up at 9, for driving. on failing my driving test, i drove up to syracuse. one hour upstate, the mountains were blue. i ran again, it's good to ache. i ran the quad, pretended it was saturday again, leaping into the arms of spring. had homecooked dinner at valentine's. singaporeans give love a bad image, i'm glad to have left valentine's. i'm alone in this big house, it's big, and i'm walking from room to room, turning on the lights. the wind is tapping against my window, the empty swing outside sways absently, and i need to clean my room. when electricity fails, we turn on the candles, and weep.
Monday, March 17, 2008
spring and summer
done fishing! home in ithaca again. overfed (hell, yeah.) happy. on saturday, we saw the first robin of my spring, and discovered the first buds. also, i received notification today, that the shop that is holding on to my coat has re-opened--so my winter coat will be retrieved!-- and i am staying in the states for summer :) all this news falling on me today like the glorious manhattan sunshine on washington square park. the city's no longer mythical, just another lovely place with lovely faces. i'm thinking of the city colored with radiohead's weird fishes, eating in a cavern at midnight, honey mustard chicken salad and tzatziki with flatbreads, the world's craziest sundaes. rachel and yuanyuan in the backseat, looking out at the lights. i sat in dean & deluca's on university place, nursing a steamer, amongst the nyu grad students, the clackety-clack of macbooks reading coetzee's disgrace, saying hey, to the bespectacled man reading yesterday's new york times, feeling absolutely pretentious, absolutely city, absolutely alone, and remembering sitting here once, also with a macbook beside munir. i walked by one of the city's oldest bars, and the crowd was already queuing to get in at noon, green facepaint for st. pat's. i'm home so soon, perhaps it was all just a dream. "that's why it's lonely, multiple homes, because you can never truly enter into the particularities of either, you can never truly return. also a mark you've become a true individual," said leon. word. leon never fail to puts things in perspective. leon, of a flat by the hudson river, with buddhist carpets and an israeli flag on his ceiling. what a great guy. if only he didn't smoke so much.
Friday, March 14, 2008
green dragon day
today i have to go to work at the press, also trying to understand the meaning of "sacred life", dinner tonight, also have to meet up with my prof. biked to school today, then went to the public service center. i'm tired, but happy.
i walked past trees strung with toilet paper today. the architects pulled a prank in anticipation of green dragon day. every year, on the last friday of spring, the cornell architects emerge from the architecture building with a huge dragon made of paper. it is long, huge. they parade around the arts quad, string toilet paper around the trees, march to torment the engineers in their quad, and then set a weeks' work aflame. imagining setting a week of work aflame, a year of work aflame, years of work set aflame. i should do what the architects do, create a dragon, and then on the week before the spring equinox, close my eyes, extinguish it like a candle. happy unbirthday, i say, (like yesterday, slightly embarrassed that what was held out was a hazelnut, chocolatey thing. i don't eat chocolate, i tried to explain), but happy unbirthday, may tomorrow be better.
/ on another note, i took my friend's keys, and drove to the mall myself today. i got myself a pair of running shoes and new jeans. i feel so liberated. finally. i had been waiting for this for so damn long. i even gave my friend a lift--and completely freaked her out--when the cars behind me started horning. and i have both jm/ernest's and wangwang's keys for spring break while they're gone. i better pass my driving test next week. :) oh what would i give to have some mobility!
i walked past trees strung with toilet paper today. the architects pulled a prank in anticipation of green dragon day. every year, on the last friday of spring, the cornell architects emerge from the architecture building with a huge dragon made of paper. it is long, huge. they parade around the arts quad, string toilet paper around the trees, march to torment the engineers in their quad, and then set a weeks' work aflame. imagining setting a week of work aflame, a year of work aflame, years of work set aflame. i should do what the architects do, create a dragon, and then on the week before the spring equinox, close my eyes, extinguish it like a candle. happy unbirthday, i say, (like yesterday, slightly embarrassed that what was held out was a hazelnut, chocolatey thing. i don't eat chocolate, i tried to explain), but happy unbirthday, may tomorrow be better.
/ on another note, i took my friend's keys, and drove to the mall myself today. i got myself a pair of running shoes and new jeans. i feel so liberated. finally. i had been waiting for this for so damn long. i even gave my friend a lift--and completely freaked her out--when the cars behind me started horning. and i have both jm/ernest's and wangwang's keys for spring break while they're gone. i better pass my driving test next week. :) oh what would i give to have some mobility!
Thursday, March 13, 2008
lovely
slammed my hand on my big wooden door today, it was funny, and very painful. was a great start to the day. fourth finger. it's the wedding band finger, i think, on the left. it's kinda swollen, but the day's too lovely for me to care. :)
/ and on another note. i just got a really really early pre-birthday surprise. it was so funny. and my finger's throbbing like crazy, but i'm like really happy.
/ and on another note. i just got a really really early pre-birthday surprise. it was so funny. and my finger's throbbing like crazy, but i'm like really happy.
arcana imperii
the secret to happiness is never asking for more than you can have. some people. how do i explain that my apples would have no taste to them? they would have to enter into the world of mortality, the symbolic order of death, first. the more they asked of me, the more i locked shut into myself. i entered into the world of kafka, a world of silence, and i have pledged a vow of silence. in the end, gregor died with a rotting apple in his flesh. this is how history is made. i finally slept all right last night, it's been some time since.
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
traveling
influenced by agamben, modeled on his ideas of sovereignty and life. if the basis upon which love can be founded is speech, insofar as the speech is contingent upon the voice (perishable, mortal), the lover is he who cannot be silenced, but can stop speaking. in that sense then, the lover who promises is he who is constantly undone by his voice. does that work? maybe not. it was just an idea though.
/ on another note, wasn't a very easy day to get through. but people were lovely. like walking through west campus with chandhni, seeing the most beautiful home i have ever seen, the man who gave us free tickets at the arts center, so i hilariously ended up sitting with yutao at stephen petronio dance company, jm asking if i wanted dinner, walking to willard straight with tywanquilia to get dinner, me and yutao making everyone laugh at the public service center. receiving eric's beautiful poetry manuscript. re-reading the email i sent to duana, and realising that my own voice makes a lot of sense, when i think it's gonna fail me. speaking to other people is precious, because everything you say to other people may not strike you at the moment you talk to them, but they come back to you, like little tealights, to take you back to where you wanted to be. now i'm eating oats heated with old apples and soymilk, with kafka open before me. i want him to take me to a place i've never been before, and then set me back where i started, so i can realise the magnitude and the distance i've travelled in a day.
/ on another note, wasn't a very easy day to get through. but people were lovely. like walking through west campus with chandhni, seeing the most beautiful home i have ever seen, the man who gave us free tickets at the arts center, so i hilariously ended up sitting with yutao at stephen petronio dance company, jm asking if i wanted dinner, walking to willard straight with tywanquilia to get dinner, me and yutao making everyone laugh at the public service center. receiving eric's beautiful poetry manuscript. re-reading the email i sent to duana, and realising that my own voice makes a lot of sense, when i think it's gonna fail me. speaking to other people is precious, because everything you say to other people may not strike you at the moment you talk to them, but they come back to you, like little tealights, to take you back to where you wanted to be. now i'm eating oats heated with old apples and soymilk, with kafka open before me. i want him to take me to a place i've never been before, and then set me back where i started, so i can realise the magnitude and the distance i've travelled in a day.
Friday, March 07, 2008
memories
i'm camping in valentine place tonight. it's good to be home. i also got a first homecooked singaporean dinner in this year. and the guys next door just cook so well. ernest: "dawn, why are you eating like you haven't eaten before?" jm: "yeah, how many days ago did you eat?" it's good to be home. i have a lot of wonderful memories in this room. and the truth is, i miss being singaporean. i miss being pissed off with my singaporean housemates and wishing they'd shut up. how when i was shit ass upset, there'd always be something stupid going on downstairs, and that made things just great.
Thursday, March 06, 2008
beautiful sunset
today brought mixed feelings--i was, for one, too quiet in class--but it was a very full day. it was filled with blessings of life. good news from home, good news from new york--another acceptance letter for jk ("i'm putting you on speaker, hear the rustle of my lab cockroaches"),(lovely, beautiful), duana mailed me back ("thank you for being," awww, get well soon dear), and i unexpectedly texted my old bestest best friend in anxiety that my macbook was gonna crash ("i've been breaking things all week in the lab"), first proper day at work, beautiful jog in the morning, i accidentally got a lift home from jm, (all we talk about in the car is the usual, well, food and running: "the ribs i cooked were like crap"), cooking with sasha in the kitchen (i came home today, and i exclaimed "sasha, what's going on, the kitchen smells so...asian!" first i--get this--set a pot on fire, and leave the kitchen in fumes "it's a flambe without the alcohol" i exclaim, we tuck into tofu like loaves and bread, "grapes make me fart," she tells me smugly), prof. l ("presentation, would you like to work on some milton?")
and on another note, i'm spending the night in my old room at valentine's; and i miss china.
and on another note, i'm spending the night in my old room at valentine's; and i miss china.
Tuesday, March 04, 2008
mister sun
as this is a lonelier semester than last semester (this is what i get when i quit dance, move into a new house, start working in a serious press, do independent study--lectures aren't lonely, but it is lonely to be reaching into a universe of infinite ideas, and designing your own course), the solution is, I NEED MORE SUN! SUN! SUN! WHERE ARE YOU! I MISSED MY MORNING JOG, SUN! :) i'm so ridiculous:) but i do need to be more careful about how i thread. i can feel it in my bones. that i am an old bird, i honestly am (said the same way i told sasha, i'm an old bird. yes, you are an old bird, they laughed)
reminder to self: i have a story about "the messenger", setting yantai, that i want to write out.
reminder to self: i have a story about "the messenger", setting yantai, that i want to write out.
Monday, March 03, 2008
beautiful
beautiful ithaca weather. i ran again today, right after class. i didn't actually need a sweatshirt, i could probably have just gone in shorts and a shirt, but that's ok. there's something about running past rapids in the sun and meeting other runners, the exchanges of good mornings and etc, that's wonderful. i'm actually really tired, i slept badly last night, yes i am crazy to go for hour-long runs thus. tomorrow is going to rain, which is good for me, cos the familiar ball-of-the-foot problem is back (yeah, i totally wonder why), and i need a sort of deterrent. i actually really want to go get myself a new pair of shoes but this week is so busy. the running keeps me from being stressed.
and on another note, i miss valentine place with an odd sense of homesick. i hadn't felt this way last term, i resented the familiarity of valentine, the oppressiveness. i forgot about the familiarity till i went back to clear up the last of my shit last week. i'll go back to stay this weekend, perhaps. this crazy moving around resembles some metonymic displacement of desire--like i've been transferring the longing for home from one person to another person to another place to another city to another place, till i no longer know what is it i long for or seek.
and on another note, i miss valentine place with an odd sense of homesick. i hadn't felt this way last term, i resented the familiarity of valentine, the oppressiveness. i forgot about the familiarity till i went back to clear up the last of my shit last week. i'll go back to stay this weekend, perhaps. this crazy moving around resembles some metonymic displacement of desire--like i've been transferring the longing for home from one person to another person to another place to another city to another place, till i no longer know what is it i long for or seek.
Sunday, March 02, 2008
so sweet, and so cold
ran first thing this morning outside. when you first step out, and the wind receives you, and pecks your cheeks, you always feel like crying. i went past the plantations, brooks, bridges, woods, the winding roads. the snow was melting, and the white was glaring. my heart felt so open after the run. like someone had taken it out, shaken it out, given it a new lease of life. it felt so good to come back in for a glass of cold soy milk. it was delicious.
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on another note, jm asked if i wanted to run the 26 mile marathon with him and another guy in fall this year. i was wondering if any of you (cos im guessing some of you--esp. army people-- would be in the states by then) would like to come to chicago in fall to run the city marathon. which is nuts, considering im damn unfit, but will be great, even if i did it 3/4 way. if you are interested you would need to register soon (and pay 110 usd).
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on another note, jm asked if i wanted to run the 26 mile marathon with him and another guy in fall this year. i was wondering if any of you (cos im guessing some of you--esp. army people-- would be in the states by then) would like to come to chicago in fall to run the city marathon. which is nuts, considering im damn unfit, but will be great, even if i did it 3/4 way. if you are interested you would need to register soon (and pay 110 usd).
[publishing] Publishers Weekly . Dystel & Goderich . New York Center for Independent Publishing . Association of American University Presses . Society of Children's Book Writers and Illustrators
[people] clarisse . nurul . aunty zarina (ummi's bakery) . jeremy . pak . cyril . softblow . karen & kenny (booksactually) . eric . joel .
[other loves] digitaljournalist . ballet dictionary . poetshouse . urbanwordnyc
[me] dawn, singapore, new york city, ithaca.
[yesterday]
holding on tight -- vol ii
death and new york city
ever get afraid of sounding stupid, boring, uninfo...
sleep activism
things im excited about
thinking about flight
wishlist
accents and attractions
i got an on-campus job--production assistant at th...
stories
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