in new york, over-stimulated, seeing shows and inevitably muscled dancers
and my mind goes into hysterics
that night has me buzzing with questions and ideas
i'd rather share in blushed face to face
this isnt fair
my body goes into these crazy bouts of lust when you're
not around
new york city has me raging,
how provincial cambridge seems
enough
Tuesday, March 14, 2006
Wednesday, March 08, 2006
Haiku x 2
A mountain of stress
Slowly eating your insides
Waiting for week's end
Out twice for coffee
When do we sign a contract?
Now, we are dating
Slowly eating your insides
Waiting for week's end
Out twice for coffee
When do we sign a contract?
Now, we are dating
Tuesday, February 28, 2006
Everything Was Going So Well: The Morning From Hell
Everything was going too well. I was content with my classes, I was on track with my work, I was meeting interesting people, I was really connected with friends, I was in control and I was having interactions that I would classify as wonderful. So naturally, smiling to myself in bed two nights ago, I thought: something bad has to happen.
Monday started with stress: I saw the pile of work that would need to be accomplished by Friday that hadn't really been tackled the previous weekends because of awesome Cultural Rhythms shows and a great night out dancing. Up until this Monday, I have felt in control, as if no amount of work could sway me, as if I were sitting on top of the world ready to tackle anything no matter how difficult. But that all changed, stress kicked in this week. I will accomplish everything by Friday, I know that. But something loomed.
There is a natural order, a karma, if you will, that flies high and sinks low in the ritualistic ups and downs of life.
And that happened today.
I usually wake up and turn on my computer to check my email, the weather etc. This morning pushing the little power button proved useless. Thinking that perhaps the battery had run out, I checked the AC adapter attached to the computer, switchted the power cord on and off, and tried again.
Nothing.
So this is the point where I started to panic. This week, work has piled up and I depend very much on my computer. A non-functional computer was not an option. After a quick phonecall to the parents for moral support, I went to Staples in the early morn to buy a new adapter no matter the cost. I walked into staples looking like a stressed out parent caring his poor infant suffering from croup or colic or something bad. The salesman tried to help me, but after disappearing behind a wall to scurry around I heard him talking things over with someone on the phone asking what should be the best solution for me. Great. I didn't need incompetence this morning. He returned saying that the store was going through some sort of restocking and they didn't have any universal adapters for my ancient computer (really, not that old.... ol' reliable). My first bastion of help had failed.
Luckily Radio Shack was just up the street. But unfortunately, it was before 9am. So I went to have breakfast, nursing my child to my breast as I walked in the cold to the closest dining hall and had a nervous stressed breakfast. It's difficult to relax and you know your work, your life is in peril... well at least your life on your computer.
At 9am I was at the door waiting for the lights to flick on and the door to open with another anxious customer. The minutes ticked on and as the sales lady tried to open the door it was stuck. It was pretty cold and the door pretty flimsy that I couldn't help laugh. What else could go wrong today. Today had to end, I had to start over tomorrow. Just call it quits, end it early. But of course, one never can.
In the end, I found an adapter at Radio Shack, my computer is working, the battery is shot, life is fine, and I am now relaxed again.
Let this be a lesson to all of you: back up your work and let your battery run low, run low, run low, run low.... or else you might kill it, and your sanity.
Monday started with stress: I saw the pile of work that would need to be accomplished by Friday that hadn't really been tackled the previous weekends because of awesome Cultural Rhythms shows and a great night out dancing. Up until this Monday, I have felt in control, as if no amount of work could sway me, as if I were sitting on top of the world ready to tackle anything no matter how difficult. But that all changed, stress kicked in this week. I will accomplish everything by Friday, I know that. But something loomed.
There is a natural order, a karma, if you will, that flies high and sinks low in the ritualistic ups and downs of life.
And that happened today.
I usually wake up and turn on my computer to check my email, the weather etc. This morning pushing the little power button proved useless. Thinking that perhaps the battery had run out, I checked the AC adapter attached to the computer, switchted the power cord on and off, and tried again.
Nothing.
So this is the point where I started to panic. This week, work has piled up and I depend very much on my computer. A non-functional computer was not an option. After a quick phonecall to the parents for moral support, I went to Staples in the early morn to buy a new adapter no matter the cost. I walked into staples looking like a stressed out parent caring his poor infant suffering from croup or colic or something bad. The salesman tried to help me, but after disappearing behind a wall to scurry around I heard him talking things over with someone on the phone asking what should be the best solution for me. Great. I didn't need incompetence this morning. He returned saying that the store was going through some sort of restocking and they didn't have any universal adapters for my ancient computer (really, not that old.... ol' reliable). My first bastion of help had failed.
Luckily Radio Shack was just up the street. But unfortunately, it was before 9am. So I went to have breakfast, nursing my child to my breast as I walked in the cold to the closest dining hall and had a nervous stressed breakfast. It's difficult to relax and you know your work, your life is in peril... well at least your life on your computer.
At 9am I was at the door waiting for the lights to flick on and the door to open with another anxious customer. The minutes ticked on and as the sales lady tried to open the door it was stuck. It was pretty cold and the door pretty flimsy that I couldn't help laugh. What else could go wrong today. Today had to end, I had to start over tomorrow. Just call it quits, end it early. But of course, one never can.
In the end, I found an adapter at Radio Shack, my computer is working, the battery is shot, life is fine, and I am now relaxed again.
Let this be a lesson to all of you: back up your work and let your battery run low, run low, run low, run low.... or else you might kill it, and your sanity.
Sunday, February 26, 2006
Intersection
I love Sunday, the intersection of one week gone, and one in the making; a point full of movement and motion. Like my friend Bryanna, we've resigned our weekends to hard work but I often find myself chilled out on Sunday night, leaving the work aside and sitting in front of the TV for Grey's Anatomy.
I come home from yoga, floating on a cloud, feeling like my entire body is breathing through its pores. Yoga, for me, is so intense- stretching my body, pushing my limits. Shaking muscles. Going back to the breath. Gillian tells me yoga makes her cry, and she leaves feeling angry at the world. I can understand because the intense stretches push you, make you vulnerable. But I love it, my whole body works, in a way that I can't make it any other way.
Sunday stands as a vantage point, one week gone, and a new one ahead. This week, for instance, is insane. Math, Art History, Italian, all coming together in an unpredictable way. I've got two assignments, midterms in the distance, more grant applications blah blah blah. But I can see the week ahead, I can plan, relax, feel settled knowing I will be back at Sunday next week. Mwahaha, the feeling of control... it really is empowering.
And so from my beacon, I rest settled...
and watch Grey's Anatomy.
What a show. It's fun. It's moving. It's tense. It's poetic. And it is wonderfully written. A show like this renews my faith in scripted television and perhaps going into script-writing. I am so wrapped up in the lives of these interns. Every week I see the drama of each of the characters, I laugh, I tense. Meredith expresses herself with such succinct poetry. There's a charm that overpowers the show. It's full of reality, ups and downs, wonderfully realistic (and almost too well packaged) but still wonderful. Ultimately, I'm drawn in. I latch onto lines, storylines, dramatic buildup. Really the only show worth watching on TV. It's got it all: poetry, drama, comedy, hotness, interweaved stories. What an end to the week (and Nadira phonecalls :P).
I come home from yoga, floating on a cloud, feeling like my entire body is breathing through its pores. Yoga, for me, is so intense- stretching my body, pushing my limits. Shaking muscles. Going back to the breath. Gillian tells me yoga makes her cry, and she leaves feeling angry at the world. I can understand because the intense stretches push you, make you vulnerable. But I love it, my whole body works, in a way that I can't make it any other way.
Sunday stands as a vantage point, one week gone, and a new one ahead. This week, for instance, is insane. Math, Art History, Italian, all coming together in an unpredictable way. I've got two assignments, midterms in the distance, more grant applications blah blah blah. But I can see the week ahead, I can plan, relax, feel settled knowing I will be back at Sunday next week. Mwahaha, the feeling of control... it really is empowering.
And so from my beacon, I rest settled...
and watch Grey's Anatomy.
What a show. It's fun. It's moving. It's tense. It's poetic. And it is wonderfully written. A show like this renews my faith in scripted television and perhaps going into script-writing. I am so wrapped up in the lives of these interns. Every week I see the drama of each of the characters, I laugh, I tense. Meredith expresses herself with such succinct poetry. There's a charm that overpowers the show. It's full of reality, ups and downs, wonderfully realistic (and almost too well packaged) but still wonderful. Ultimately, I'm drawn in. I latch onto lines, storylines, dramatic buildup. Really the only show worth watching on TV. It's got it all: poetry, drama, comedy, hotness, interweaved stories. What an end to the week (and Nadira phonecalls :P).
Saturday, February 25, 2006
last night
You're too good
Too good to let slip into the velocity
of anonymous nobody
Too good to be left to fumble
in midnight anxiety
As much as I want to make this happen
I've got to stand off
and let things build
Unless, together, in the throes
you can stabilize my doubts
Too good to let slip into the velocity
of anonymous nobody
Too good to be left to fumble
in midnight anxiety
As much as I want to make this happen
I've got to stand off
and let things build
Unless, together, in the throes
you can stabilize my doubts
Friday, February 24, 2006
Wait! Wait! Wait
So, yesterday, I exploded.
Vented because I thought I couldn't express myself openly on this thing called a blog, out in the freedom of the world wide web.
But, today, I say: fuck it. That age-old motto initiated by me and Susie a short two years ago (but how long it now feels).
The words I write here aren't perfect, the ideas are raw, the subject matter is, thus, bound to be rough. But it is also liable to be pure, hard, appealing. It could be violent, calm, sexual, senile.
So I start again, to write like never before (though I know I'll go through times when I don't write) and let it all hang out, because too often we seek to cover up, hide, change, brush off who we are because of others.
Now, this doesn't mean that I'll be writing spectacular nonsense, laced with malicious intent and sexual fantasy. No. Just pure feeling, more of what I am. So I'll let it go. If you're offended, let's talk. If you think it's about you, let's talk. If you think it's wonderful, let's talk. If you think it's horrendous, let's talk. If I've learned anything about people, family, relationships, it's that talking about things, calling to simply say good morning, running into a friend and sharing genuine feelings, is all the brick and mortar that builds real bridges between people.
Ugh sap.
Bring on the misery.
Note: I draw inspiration from torment, questions, injustices.... happiness, while present in my life in ample amounts, doesn't oft find venting through my words.
Vented because I thought I couldn't express myself openly on this thing called a blog, out in the freedom of the world wide web.
But, today, I say: fuck it. That age-old motto initiated by me and Susie a short two years ago (but how long it now feels).
The words I write here aren't perfect, the ideas are raw, the subject matter is, thus, bound to be rough. But it is also liable to be pure, hard, appealing. It could be violent, calm, sexual, senile.
So I start again, to write like never before (though I know I'll go through times when I don't write) and let it all hang out, because too often we seek to cover up, hide, change, brush off who we are because of others.
Now, this doesn't mean that I'll be writing spectacular nonsense, laced with malicious intent and sexual fantasy. No. Just pure feeling, more of what I am. So I'll let it go. If you're offended, let's talk. If you think it's about you, let's talk. If you think it's wonderful, let's talk. If you think it's horrendous, let's talk. If I've learned anything about people, family, relationships, it's that talking about things, calling to simply say good morning, running into a friend and sharing genuine feelings, is all the brick and mortar that builds real bridges between people.
Ugh sap.
Bring on the misery.
Note: I draw inspiration from torment, questions, injustices.... happiness, while present in my life in ample amounts, doesn't oft find venting through my words.
aftermath
Get out. You broke somebody's heart, so now you have to leave. It's been six weeks since we spoke real words, not simply online IMs or cellular feelings. But still, you won't leave. You've coloured in a part of my brain- how I wish I wouldn't continue tracing the outlines of memories we created. Slowly the colour fades but it pulsates back to life at the quietest whisper of connection. And you send blank emails, call in silence, log on and never speak. I wish that you would just fade more quickly. Probably I should fill in that space with another, shove you further down to burning inferno- all the better for you to incinerate, my dear. All the better so that song lyrics don't colour me blue and your passing image doesn't make me fall apart. One day you shall pass. One day you will be that long-ago memory I can't recall. Only the foggy semblance of a colour. In this silence, while the echo fades, I wonder, I replay; moments shift their meaning now that you're gone. I should just let go, forget you. Fill the void with shallow meetings, meaningless contacts and eventually another. For now I can't stop thinking of you just like in the beginning I couldn't. But, now, I don't exist to you. You've moved on, soon to forget. I wonder if we were ever together, if your eyes wandered, if your heart fled, if your body lied. I was left building a bridge connected to no other side, bricks falling into the river. And I, blinded, deaf, continued working, ignoring the mighty jets of water as it swallowed my work. I remained enraptured, mixing mortar, laying bricks, thinking I was getting close to connection. And the bricks continued to collapse with a crash until I started to hear the boom and started to feel the water's spray against my face. Standing on my side of shore, looking across and seeing vague figures in the distance. Possible only imagining, what I wanted to see but couldn't.
---
And I saw you, not recognizing at first. Your hair shorter, your face sadder than I remember. Perhaps I preserved and retouched the past and placed you in another space thata did not ever exist. And here you are in profile, walking, staring, head unswivelling. And you sai nothing. I said nothing too. In our dialogue of silence we communicated, leaving everything to possibility and out imagination. I fell apart, if only on the surface. You made no effort to say hello or even acknowledge my presence. It was as if you were making a conscious effort not to. And I watched you in your inertia, walking. I too said nothing.
You aren't worth it. I had forgotten that since the end of you and I, I have had memories not involving you, or word of you. You have not contaminated my life. In fact you've made me grow, and now, I am much happier.
But still I cannot let it fall to break and fall to silence without understanding. It will be up to me to ask you why and just to say hello. Not out of need to feel a bridge between you and I but to look at you from a distance, just out of touch and not exchange meaningless concluding phrases. It will be to understand- even if I pretend to hate you I find you fascinating- entranced by the glinting steel and vermillion as it exits from my fresh wounds.
---
And I saw you, not recognizing at first. Your hair shorter, your face sadder than I remember. Perhaps I preserved and retouched the past and placed you in another space thata did not ever exist. And here you are in profile, walking, staring, head unswivelling. And you sai nothing. I said nothing too. In our dialogue of silence we communicated, leaving everything to possibility and out imagination. I fell apart, if only on the surface. You made no effort to say hello or even acknowledge my presence. It was as if you were making a conscious effort not to. And I watched you in your inertia, walking. I too said nothing.
You aren't worth it. I had forgotten that since the end of you and I, I have had memories not involving you, or word of you. You have not contaminated my life. In fact you've made me grow, and now, I am much happier.
But still I cannot let it fall to break and fall to silence without understanding. It will be up to me to ask you why and just to say hello. Not out of need to feel a bridge between you and I but to look at you from a distance, just out of touch and not exchange meaningless concluding phrases. It will be to understand- even if I pretend to hate you I find you fascinating- entranced by the glinting steel and vermillion as it exits from my fresh wounds.
Thursday, February 23, 2006
Out! Out! Out!
I find myself imposing censure on my writing out here in the free, cyberworld... because I know that close friends and family have access.
This sucks.
Writing should be limitless, an exercise of all your muscles without worries of how those motions look. I've started tensing up, watching the faces of those who read. So I stand still, mistyping, cringing away from this stage I've built. Too many eyes, too many faces, too many individual thought spaces.
Beware, it may just spill over very soon. Prepare.
This sucks.
Writing should be limitless, an exercise of all your muscles without worries of how those motions look. I've started tensing up, watching the faces of those who read. So I stand still, mistyping, cringing away from this stage I've built. Too many eyes, too many faces, too many individual thought spaces.
Beware, it may just spill over very soon. Prepare.
Tuesday, February 14, 2006
...
A large part of who I am is quiet, contemplative, listening. Sometimes you can call me on the phone and all I'll do is listen...
....
.....
......
.......
.........
..........
And you miss so much that is me
You miss all my physicality
The wandering path of my eyes
The smile grows with calm surprise
I miss the experience of you
in flesh, in laugh, in smile too
I start to forget and lose that part
that had you placed right close to heart
Some days I wish that you would be
flown fresh from memory here to me
....
.....
......
.......
.........
..........
And you miss so much that is me
You miss all my physicality
The wandering path of my eyes
The smile grows with calm surprise
I miss the experience of you
in flesh, in laugh, in smile too
I start to forget and lose that part
that had you placed right close to heart
Some days I wish that you would be
flown fresh from memory here to me
Monday, February 13, 2006
Information Central
Somehow, wherever I am, whether walking down the street, or waiting for someone at the T, people stop and ask me for directions. Do I look like I belong? Do I look like I can help? What is it about me that pulls these people in to ask me their questions? Perhaps I should just where an encircled 'i' on my hat and claim I know all. Really, I am convinced I know nothing. How are these people to trust me of all people? Will my finger point them in the right direction? Perhaps, I seem like a genuinely honest person who will say "I don't know" if indeed I do not. Whose to say my that way, turn left, turn right, cross the street will lead to their final destination. I guess they just have a feeling.
Sunday, February 12, 2006
Limbo
And I find myself with 20 minutes until class time not knowing what to do, what to write. I never write in the same notebook twice. Can you let me speak? And can you reply? I don’t what you want from me, I can’t make juice, I don’t make conversation. I’m systematically useless. Want to have some? I think I may have a few standards. I’ve not been sexual lately, that switch has been flipped down I want you to help me. You, who? I don’t know you, the person I’ve stopped looking for. When I look you disappear. When I don’t there you are. And somehow I don’t understand how the universe works but somehow inside my head it is marvellous. It works in wonderful ways, bringing people together tragically, making meetings randomly. I’ve decided it’s chaos and continuous change. Any attempt to make it clean cut and orderly is stupid... make the earth untilted and you’ve eliminated the human race, good job. I’ve started posing nude, bearing all, caring none and all of a sudden I am much happier. Somehow being in constant flux with a few changing elements of consistency, it all makes sense. Sense – why should we try and make sand castles out of it when its only grains in the wind, broken down, undefined, no, a point.
And people think I am insane and that makes me happy. To be eccentric to not be an ordered one is to be one with the universe. All I ask is for returned phone calls and correspondence and love. Without them, lots of angst, crumbling facade of my body, uncontrollable bits of flesh writing on the ground, wounded. It’s just a feeling- can’t stop the feeling. It happens, without ever wanting it, without looking for you, there you are.Wednesday, February 01, 2006
Intersection
I love Sunday, the intersection of one week gone, and one in the making; a point full of movement and motion. Like my friend Bryanna, we've resigned our weekends to hard work but I often find myself chilled out on Sunday night, leaving the work aside and sitting in front of the TV for Grey's Anatomy.
I come home from yoga, floating on a cloud, feeling like my entire body is breathing through its pores. Yoga, for me, is so intense- stretching my body, pushing my limits. Shaking muscles. Going back to the breath. Gillian tells me yoga makes her cry, and she leaves feeling angry at the world. I can understand because the intense stretches push you, make you vulnerable. But I love it, my whole body works, in a way that I can't make it any other way.
Sunday stands as a vantage point, one week gone, and a new one ahead. This week, for instance, is insane. Math, Art History, Italian, all coming together in an unpredictable way. I've got two assignments, midterms in the distance, more grant applications blah blah blah. But I can see the week ahead, I can plan, relax, feel settled knowing I will be back at Sunday next week. Mwahaha, the feeling of control... it really is empowering.
And so from my beacon, I rest settled...
and watch Grey's Anatomy.
What a show. It's fun. It's moving. It's tense. It's poetic. And it is wonderfully written. A show like this renews my faith in scripted television and perhaps going into script-writing. I am so wrapped up in the lives of these interns. Every week I see the drama of each of the characters, I laugh, I tense. Meredith expresses herself with such succinct poetry. There's a charm that overpowers the show. It's full of reality, ups and downs, wonderfully realistic (and almost too well packaged) but still wonderful. Ultimately, I'm drawn in. I latch onto lines, storylines, dramatic buildup. Really the only show worth watching on TV. It's got it all: poetry, drama, comedy, hotness, interweaved stories. What an end to the week (and Nadira phonecalls :P).
I come home from yoga, floating on a cloud, feeling like my entire body is breathing through its pores. Yoga, for me, is so intense- stretching my body, pushing my limits. Shaking muscles. Going back to the breath. Gillian tells me yoga makes her cry, and she leaves feeling angry at the world. I can understand because the intense stretches push you, make you vulnerable. But I love it, my whole body works, in a way that I can't make it any other way.
Sunday stands as a vantage point, one week gone, and a new one ahead. This week, for instance, is insane. Math, Art History, Italian, all coming together in an unpredictable way. I've got two assignments, midterms in the distance, more grant applications blah blah blah. But I can see the week ahead, I can plan, relax, feel settled knowing I will be back at Sunday next week. Mwahaha, the feeling of control... it really is empowering.
And so from my beacon, I rest settled...
and watch Grey's Anatomy.
What a show. It's fun. It's moving. It's tense. It's poetic. And it is wonderfully written. A show like this renews my faith in scripted television and perhaps going into script-writing. I am so wrapped up in the lives of these interns. Every week I see the drama of each of the characters, I laugh, I tense. Meredith expresses herself with such succinct poetry. There's a charm that overpowers the show. It's full of reality, ups and downs, wonderfully realistic (and almost too well packaged) but still wonderful. Ultimately, I'm drawn in. I latch onto lines, storylines, dramatic buildup. Really the only show worth watching on TV. It's got it all: poetry, drama, comedy, hotness, interweaved stories. What an end to the week (and Nadira phonecalls :P).
Sunday, January 22, 2006
Saturday, January 14, 2006
You see
I’m positive
Positively certain you’ve already started
Started making circles,
checkmarks,
drawings
of my insides, sketching in the heart
charting the column of bones
But can you see what type of flowers bloom crimson in my veins?
Have you tasted
the water that fills my iris,
or can you only see your own reflection?
Monday, January 09, 2006
rewind
Christmas tree corpses
sending up stench of pine
green needles of blood
trailing the sidewalk
child of the orange
curled up in warm glow
pressed against mother and father
it's cold outside
that's why my eyes tear
the sun shines brightly warm
i have no cried in six months
my ribs can't stop
my chest from collapsing
i've got that feeling
instantaneous connections
has my heart racing
wanting it NOW
within seconds
fulfillment
I can't breathe nearly enough
to still my heart
the trust and confidence of oxygen
simply will not suffice
can you see, my naked body
as a symbol of confidence
naturalness
not an object
not a desire?
I slink back from the rigid
circular border of the spotlight
needing your hand
finding none
stepping back to darkness
---
when did I start caring so much about what YOU think?
I used to run around the square naked, draped in my pride
Did I slolwly learn what it was you wanted?
Did I step in front of the mirror that reflected all that, on the surface, I wasn't?
Something happened.
Now I don't dare take a step
without thinking of its next of kin
My heart's beat slows
My pulse fades into my skin
I start wearing my worst clothes, relying on you
to tred on those vestments
stain them so they will be a la mode
my blood grew so cold
it began to stop and shock my system
I could not breathe enough oxygen
my ribs could not hold up my chest
destruction seemed eminent
i grow weary when the air starts to congeal
my footsteps feel stale
i've built corridors of routine and regularity
i need to find the boy i left behind
and introduce him to the man I want to be
stop leaning and stand firmly still
sending up stench of pine
green needles of blood
trailing the sidewalk
child of the orange
curled up in warm glow
pressed against mother and father
it's cold outside
that's why my eyes tear
the sun shines brightly warm
i have no cried in six months
my ribs can't stop
my chest from collapsing
i've got that feeling
instantaneous connections
has my heart racing
wanting it NOW
within seconds
fulfillment
I can't breathe nearly enough
to still my heart
the trust and confidence of oxygen
simply will not suffice
can you see, my naked body
as a symbol of confidence
naturalness
not an object
not a desire?
I slink back from the rigid
circular border of the spotlight
needing your hand
finding none
stepping back to darkness
---
when did I start caring so much about what YOU think?
I used to run around the square naked, draped in my pride
Did I slolwly learn what it was you wanted?
Did I step in front of the mirror that reflected all that, on the surface, I wasn't?
Something happened.
Now I don't dare take a step
without thinking of its next of kin
My heart's beat slows
My pulse fades into my skin
I start wearing my worst clothes, relying on you
to tred on those vestments
stain them so they will be a la mode
my blood grew so cold
it began to stop and shock my system
I could not breathe enough oxygen
my ribs could not hold up my chest
destruction seemed eminent
i grow weary when the air starts to congeal
my footsteps feel stale
i've built corridors of routine and regularity
i need to find the boy i left behind
and introduce him to the man I want to be
stop leaning and stand firmly still
Wednesday, January 04, 2006
Stefan vs. Stefan
There is something unsettling about living a life that has no true forseeable goal, that isn't wonderfully structured. Such is life at university. At this point, it feels like courses are just a grab bag of academic must-knows, groping in the darkness towards that senior thesis.
I deal really well with structure and goals, but would also love to get on a plane with nothing but a ticket and the clothes on my back. There is something about the freedom of travel that appeals to my spirit: learning about another place and yourself simultaneously while, at the same time, no one has a preconceived notion of who you are. Embracing that sort of freedom appeals to me greatly: letting it all just happen, freely, wholly, awfully and wonderfully. It is being able to say "Whatever" and believing it for once.
The plan is to integrate structure into the non-structure, to take life by the reigns and ride it like a cowboy. Knowing that his mother is close behind him, looking every now and then as he ventures forth, the little two year old will explore more freely. Life keeps slapping me with the lesson that it is not straighforward. You are not wholly chaotic or wholly structured, at least I am not. If I have a foundation of structure and goals, I will be able to venture forth, confident and resilient. I will have my homebase. I know that I can't just pick up and go, I keep telling others that taking a year off would result in my never being able to come back. But I think I probably wouldn't be happy in that case either. I need to work within some sort of structure and then be able to just let go... It's all a matter of demystifying and believing.
I deal really well with structure and goals, but would also love to get on a plane with nothing but a ticket and the clothes on my back. There is something about the freedom of travel that appeals to my spirit: learning about another place and yourself simultaneously while, at the same time, no one has a preconceived notion of who you are. Embracing that sort of freedom appeals to me greatly: letting it all just happen, freely, wholly, awfully and wonderfully. It is being able to say "Whatever" and believing it for once.
The plan is to integrate structure into the non-structure, to take life by the reigns and ride it like a cowboy. Knowing that his mother is close behind him, looking every now and then as he ventures forth, the little two year old will explore more freely. Life keeps slapping me with the lesson that it is not straighforward. You are not wholly chaotic or wholly structured, at least I am not. If I have a foundation of structure and goals, I will be able to venture forth, confident and resilient. I will have my homebase. I know that I can't just pick up and go, I keep telling others that taking a year off would result in my never being able to come back. But I think I probably wouldn't be happy in that case either. I need to work within some sort of structure and then be able to just let go... It's all a matter of demystifying and believing.
Saturday, December 17, 2005
Memories
My father makes pancakes with orange juice, yoghurt
They always come out lightly brown, criss-crossed
On an orange plate on Saturday morning
Perfume samples in magazines remind me of my mother's
thick Vogues stacked by the bathtub
Fashionable time, leisurely reading
I sleep in the room above the piano
In the night, its silent notes float through the spaces in the floorboard
and permeate my pillow, whispering to my ears
They always come out lightly brown, criss-crossed
On an orange plate on Saturday morning
Perfume samples in magazines remind me of my mother's
thick Vogues stacked by the bathtub
Fashionable time, leisurely reading
I sleep in the room above the piano
In the night, its silent notes float through the spaces in the floorboard
and permeate my pillow, whispering to my ears
Friday, December 16, 2005
Stormy Weather
It's one of those depressing days. December 16th, and it's raining. "Don’t know why there’s no sun up in the sky. Stormy weather..." I can deal with days where it is windy and rainy but not aggressive, but today I am wet, I am cold and I don't want to deal with this. "Life is bare, gloom and mis’ry everywhere. Stormy weather..." I am used to a set pattern of weather, a routine of seasons, each month calls for a specific type of weather. It should not be raining in December. That much I know. "Just can’t get my poorself together, I’m weary all the time."
What a depressing post. Oh well, tomorrow is my birthday so things will be happy... and it will stop raining too.
What a depressing post. Oh well, tomorrow is my birthday so things will be happy... and it will stop raining too.
Saturday, November 26, 2005
re-creation
I've decided to adopt La Vie Boheme as my theme song. I'm going into a period of re-creation, purification. It's important to look at your life and ask yourself and no one else, if it's okay. There is something important about being self regulated, self confident, self reliant (see Ralph Waldo Emerson). To live a life without regrets, go out and fix those mistakes today. Write volumes about what torments you. Spill it.
Monday, November 07, 2005
America
People always ask me if there is something different about American culture in comparison to that of Canada. Even though you would think there couldn't possibly be a difference since we're on the same continent, I've discovered otherwise. There is a contrast between the Montreal I know and the United States I've come in contact with. Although at first I was really excited to come to the US because everyone spoke English, I now really cherish the bilingualism of Montreal. There is something to be said for not knowing which language to use when you meet a new person. Walking down the street and being bombarded by two languages really gets your mind going. There is a certain vibrancy that is excited when two cultures that are kind of different coexist. My experience at college has also shown me a thing or two about young people in the US. Although there are those awesome kids who dress in an unusual and artistic way, on the whole, most will slap on a polo shirt and call it fashion. That bothers me. There is a certain aesthetic in the United States that lets me know this isn't Montreal. It may be the lack of subtlety or the Coca-Cola but something indeed is different here.
This isn't to say I don't enjoy my American counterparts! I've cherished getting to know some truly wonderful people here. The US has given me educational opportunities I don't think I could have found in Canada. The US has employed me (I'll be filing taxes with the IRS this year, oi). People here are proactive, they care, they want to change things, they want to make a difference. (Well, that might just be the ivory tower bubble) But there is a work ethic here- a dedication to the job at hand that is honourable (note canadian spelling). Even though I don't think I'll be raising a family in the US, I will travel here, see what this country is all about and then launch myself to the rest of the world. When I come back and am sitting at home in Montreal, I'll let you know what I think then, when the world has been put into fuller perspective.
This isn't to say I don't enjoy my American counterparts! I've cherished getting to know some truly wonderful people here. The US has given me educational opportunities I don't think I could have found in Canada. The US has employed me (I'll be filing taxes with the IRS this year, oi). People here are proactive, they care, they want to change things, they want to make a difference. (Well, that might just be the ivory tower bubble) But there is a work ethic here- a dedication to the job at hand that is honourable (note canadian spelling). Even though I don't think I'll be raising a family in the US, I will travel here, see what this country is all about and then launch myself to the rest of the world. When I come back and am sitting at home in Montreal, I'll let you know what I think then, when the world has been put into fuller perspective.
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