Sunday, December 11, 2005

i never liked goodbyes of any sort.

I just met Jing for lunch at King's Cross, and sent her off at the tube station. We said the usual farewells, take cares, miss you loads, but the regurgitation of these stock phrases in no way dilute the meaning of the words. As we turned in opposite directions towards our respective destinations, I was struck, not for the first time, at the sheer disparity between our lifestyles. This is inevitable, and to be expected: are we not poised in geographically-undesirable locations where our lives no longer run congruent to each other?

Maybe it's the cold winter and the dreary skies, but I was literally doubled over with such a fierce longing for the good old times where both of us with Abby and Jess were living our lives together: running amok in school, getting into trouble (not me, I am always the goody-two-shoes), doing stupid shit like chasing Victorine up and down the corridors, and so on. It's not really about the antics that we indulged in, it's about revisiting (not reliving) a preserved epoch in our minds which can only get better and better with age, with all our bad moments dulled by Time, eradicated, or reworked by our imperfect memories into a pleasant experience.

That desire of mine, amongst others barely suppressed, must have surfaced from within. I got on the tube at King's Cross without checking which line it was, and it was a good 30 minutes before I realized I was on the Hammersmith line and not the Circle. By then, I was already approaching Shepherd's Bush. I wasn't even all that perturbed, and I had half the mind to just take the tube all the way to the end, and let it magically transport me away to another time, another place, and I'm suddenly reminded of the story within the story of 2046 - where the protagonist Tony Leung wrote a novel about people boarding this train for 2046 to regain their lost memories. It's not really the same nor complementary to how I feel, but it runs in a parallel fashion - they want to find their memories, I want to run away from mine by finding something new altogether, as if that would be able to diminish the past to a faint echo, where only wisps of ghosts are left, eliciting weak and false responses from the present.

But am I not living that contradiction right at this moment? Of course I am, and I'm not satisfied by that. I'm aware of the possibility that perhaps, I don't even know what it is I truly wish for, that it's beyond my ability to elucidate my thoughts in words, and therefore it would never take place in the manner that I want it to. Nostalgia and sentimentality somehow gets in the way. After all, the past makes up your present, does it not? You can't divorce the two from each other.

No matter how fast you think you can run, it has such a disappointingly mundane way of catching up with you. I glanced at my Stravinsky book on my lap, and reality immediately descended upon me: I was uncomfortably aware of my due coursework tomorrow at 4pm, and the sad fact that I only have 2quid left in my Oyster card. I wasn't about to spend extra money to travel to some godforsaken station out of Central London, just to indulge my whim of pretending I'm living in Vienna 1900-1950 (conveniently ignoring WWI/WWII), having a nice cup of tea and listening to people argue about Wagner and Freud in coffeehouses.

So I trudged back to Royal Oak and disembarked. I turned to watch the train pull out of the station, until I can no longer distinguish it from other specks in the distance. With its departure, I inexplicably felt a part of my heart leave as well. Maybe I should start smiling so that I would cry, and those just might be tears of happiness for something which I no longer have.

blueprint

I will like to spend my days, as though they are my own, which I mostly end up doing in halves, for duty beckons, and I am answering its clarion call. Soon enough! I am also a veteran procrastinator.

fresh monodies

lynne the red-nosed reindeer.
thrice and counting.
don't jinx yourself!
grant me sleep and more.
plea to you.
question of the week.
life's curveballs.
no phone? bring on the alcohol!
if i die.
beethoven makes the world go round!

previous rants

August 2004
September 2004
October 2004
November 2004
December 2004
January 2005
February 2005
March 2005
April 2005
May 2005
June 2005
July 2005
August 2005
September 2005
October 2005
November 2005
December 2005
January 2006
February 2006
March 2006
April 2006
May 2006
June 2006
July 2006
August 2006
September 2006
October 2006
November 2006
December 2006
January 2007
February 2007
April 2007
May 2007
June 2007
July 2007
August 2007
September 2007
October 2007
November 2007
December 2007
January 2008
February 2008
March 2008
April 2008
May 2008
June 2008
July 2008
August 2008
September 2008
October 2008
November 2008
December 2008
January 2009
February 2009
March 2009
April 2009
May 2009
June 2009
July 2009
August 2009
September 2009
October 2009
November 2009
December 2009
November 2010
January 2011
February 2011
August 2011
October 2011
May 2013

treatises on life

arty jen
betty boop
carmentica
charming-linn
chasing snowy cars
cheeky lynn
cheryliciously glam
clean and cute
cyclist-mad bass
darling dominic
feisty jing
fellow ditz-sista/porkSTAR
hail mary!
hell's kitchen
hero on the beach
h-Euge heart
hunky lenny
lipgloss queen
little cheryl
live n learn, baby
lolita lou
loony loon
mr popular
musically dan
m y s t j
phringe
princess tania
roger smurf
runaway pigeon
sabotage king jeremiah
sibling angst1
sibling angst2
spector dan
spunky tian
steffy bunny
sun-sunzzz
teeny wee-nee
weeeee, leonard!
yangtze yang'en

frivolous pursuits

for shallow ppl
for very geeky ppl
for the truly bored
spun prose
binary thoughts
past imprints
some stamps
montage of images
other memories

mulling over

And there were phlegmatic souls.