So Deep In

That I can’t see the forest for all the trees.

I’m alternately excited about what I’m working on and just drowning in it all. I don’t know what I am any more.

Too much alcohol has a weird effect on people. I don’t care if you’re still nice, you’re a different person when you’re drunk. The question is, which is the real you, the one drunk or sober?

So, this is the transition period and each year different from the next. Interesting that I got myself into this situation. I suppose there isn’t much to be done about it now except try to beat the learning curve.

We live in interesting times.

Scatterbrain

It hasn’t stopped raining the whole day. Since the moment I opened my eyes and probably until I shut them again, the water just keeps coming down. I walked to and from campus in the rain, twice, my pants and shoes and bag all getting slightly damp. The little gurgling streams are inches deep in some areas. Alas, I had to suffer wet socks and cold feet. It is cold, too cold for the tail end of summer but still not as cold as winter. 

Last night I dreamed I was leaving from home to come back here. I think it was after winter break or some such thing. I had to catch a flight and brought nothing but my backpack and a large plastic bag full of stuff. I remember getting on to a vehicle of some sort, subconsciously wondering why it was so bright and why there was no sense of dread of a long flight ahead of me. And then I realized I was looking at my phone, when there should be no phones on a plane, at which point I realized what I was really on was a roller coaster (which, by the way, is much more fun than being on a plane). 

When the coaster came to a stop, I jumped out, running to find my gate because the plane was about to depart. I could feel the rush of adrenaline, the kind you get when you’re late for something. And I realized I didn’t know where anything was, so I didn’t know how to get to where I needed to be. In the general departure hall I saw a few familiar faces, friends from over here. I stopped to say hi, but got distracted when I suddenly discovered that I knew where my gate was and left hurriedly without saying goodbye to them. 

I ran into an elevator with golden doors and went down, willing it to go faster and the plane not to have left yet. When the doors opened there was that vague sense of relief because of the small flowering hope that I was not to late after all. I showed the person my ticket (boarding pass?) and she said something about needing authorization and that they would get it done for me. While we were waiting, she checked my backpack to optimize space and weight, paring things down quite a bit. I had a lot of food in there, not just curry paste in packets, but sliced cucumber too. We got rid of most of that.

And then the alarm rang and I woke with the word, “Already?” ringing in my head, wondering why the night was so short. 

This first full week of classes has been different. Strange. Alien. Disconnected and dissonant. I seem to be alternating between joy and misery, calm and panic. There are moments that, when I think about all the things I need to do, I can’t catch my breath. I go through bouts of severe doubt, wondering if I’m doing the right thing. Usually these doubts arise when I have to do homework.

I think all this is reflected in my dream. One of these days I’ll write an analysis on it.

And Again, Why?

Why am I reliving my first year here so very vividly? 

Yesterday, just sitting with three of my friends as they cooked and then eating with them after was the first measure of peace I’ve had in a long while. So I gave God thanks for it. 

Now I’m sitting up here worrying about one thousand and one things, too much adrenaline in my system to fall back asleep. 

Thinking over past decisions and wondering why.

Up

When I went to watch the movie yesterday, it was without any expectations whatsoever. The flying house concept was great and typically Pixar, but I just couldn’t imagine how they could make a story about a grumpy old man and a little kid engaging. Still, I was a little excited, because it’s Pixar and I trust them. 

It was amazing and I loved it.

The short at the beginning was really good, as it usually is. Pixar does amazing work with music and expression and has a great sense of comedic timing. The very best short I’ve ever seen is, I think, Big Band. But this one was entertaining, creative and sweet, in its way. I just feel sorry for the stork. 

As for the movie itself, it was a great story. It was funny and cute and heart warming. Minor quibbles: the talking dogs didn’t do much for me and the villain could have been resolved differently, but these are simply minor points completely overshadowed and blown away by the charm of the movie as a whole. The animation was excellent, the designs spectacular. I especially liked the design for the people. Not exact to reality, but so believable. Pixar does these things right. And the story was so, so much more than just a simple adventure, hitting all the right notes without being sentimental, thanks to great characters and the most beautiful first ten minutes of a movie I’ve ever watched.

Russell was adorable and completely un-irritating, Mr. Fredricksen has a heart of gold. But what blew me away was how they could create a character who, despite appearing for something like ten minutes, is one of the most endearing, believable, lovable characters ever. Her presence permeates the entire movie and made it completely heart wrenching. The tears flowed and flowed. 

Writing about it doesn’t do it justice. It’s just something you’ll have to see for yourself.

A Gift of Rain

It’s not every day a girl turns twenty one. That’s what I woke up thinking to the sound of rain and the breeze drifting in the window. It was night and I woke as though I didn’t want to miss a moment. 

I’m blessed with great family and meteor showers and the gift of rain.

Why

So far, I’ve been to an art gallery, sat in on an interview with the CEO of a small company, learned how to make compost and sat in on an interview with an artist.

I saw an organic garden planted on the land that comes with a corner house and met a tiny, wrinkled, brisk old lady who was story in her own right. The house was airy and quiet, the garden sun-drenched and warm. There was canopy of plants, curling, climbing things on a wooded frame, that breathed a little freshness into the air and cut the humidity. I want one of those when I have a house. It was incredibly peaceful.

The lady had a philosophy, that successful growing comes from building a relationship with your plants and giving back at least as much as you take. And to be patient. She was sincere, and grounded, and very genuine, and I personally think this is as much a philosophy for life as anything.

The artist had a canopy too, but his was still in the stages of growing. He had a small canopy, a cherry tree in his small front yard, a square table and benches stained dark with varnish. He paints under the small porch just outside his front door. There, too, it is very peaceful.

I went out to watch Harry Potter with Li Ee. That was only last week, now that I come to think about it. Not five days ago. We wanted to watch The Proposal, both having read good reviews. But we were disappointed, for the papers had jumped the gun. So we went to watch Harry instead. Maybe it’s because I wasn’t in the mood for it, or maybe it’s because I’m one of those people who just can’t unsee the book scenes, but I was actually a little bored.

Old friends of the family came by, who I haven’t seen since I was a small child and who I barely remember. They were excellent company, though, and had wonderful stories to tell. And I can’t help but wonder, how does it work if you decide to make the world your home? Maybe, ultimately, it just doesn’t.

I’ve grown fond of the little things I write each day. Some brain lubricant is better than none. Although I am pretty sick of the Internet.

I played guitar one weekend until my fingers couldn’t take it any more. I was reminded that God is a prayer away, when I’m not too annoyed to reach for him.

I’ve moaned and groaned more than my fair share because life is slipping through my fingers and I’m not doing anything with it. When the future gets here I’ll have more things to do than time to do it in. I wish events were spread out a little more evenly. I don’t want to lose any more time.

I saw a rainbow.

Often I’m a whole bundle of misery and irritation. And I’m still unbalanced by the strangeness of it all.

Time Tells A Tale

All the clocks tell different times. The bedside clock, the dining clock, the hall clock, my watch, the work clock and my cell phone clock. Ticking away the minutes in a discordant stutter. 

It’s disorienting. I never know if I’m late or early.

Day 5

Now I know what it really means to thank God it’s Friday. Even when school was at its most hectic, I’ve never quite felt relief like this. But what relief!

Yesterday, I spent a little time alone in the morning at the mamak, drinking coffee and staring out into the blue. It helped move some of the grit that’s accumulated on my soul.

The work hasn’t been hard. I amuse myself burbling about things that I actually know very little about. Somewhere someone is reading the things I write and cringing at the ridiculous language.

Day 3

Clips of the Michael Jackson memorial were on CNN the entire day today.

Also, I still can’t really think of the right word to describe how I feel about this. I would say it feels like a kind of hell, not the fire and brimstone kind, but the kind that wears slowly upon your soul with the patience of water carving rock. Yet that’s almost too harsh. 

I think the thing I dislike most is feeling as though I’m there at the sufferance of someone else, not because I’ve earned it in any way. But then, that’s nobody’s fault but my own. I wish I had traveled more in those seven weeks earlier instead of waiting around. Sigh.

The good news is I found my way back to that edge, where the despair combined with staring at a blank screen produces words. I want to care about the words but if I care too much I’ll never get anything done. So it isn’t great. Is the attention going to be in any way proportionate to the effort that goes in? Heck, no. And, in this case, that’s probably a good thing. 

I’m not kidding about the writing. Look, I have textual support:

There’s nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and open a vein.

~Walter Wellesley “Red” Smith~

I’m learning more about the arts scene in KL than I even knew existed. Yes, my world is narrow. 

Took an alternative route home today. There’s nothing quite like the sound of a bus engine straining uphill to get the heart rate up. It’s a kind of “vrrrrreeeeeeee” noise, not quite high pitched enough, that settles somewhere in your upper chest and itches. At least the bus was air conditioned, although apparently there were cockroaches. Also, getting on to the LRT at the very last station is definitely a benefit.

Overall, an improvement.

Change

Returning isn’t the same as never having left at all.

On some level, people are sometimes seemingly unaware of that absence. They relate to you the same way they have always related to you, expecting you to slip back into the old familiar patterns you inhabited before you left. After all, nothing has changed drastically. 

The world is only subtly different. The old and familiar has become something so slightly different that you feel unbalanced without ever knowing why. 

People drift. According to the trajectory of their lives, they draw closer or move apart. There is no fault or blame. It is simply a fact of being human. 

I’m homesick. Just a little. And I miss the library.