My Heart Fails Me

Today I listened to my favourite Mandarin pop CD by my favourite Mandarin artist, A-Mei, for the first time in three years since my dad passed away.

It didn’t become clear to me that I haven’t listened to it in such a long time. Had I been putting it off subconsciously? Maybe, since it contains the ONE song that everyone in our family would sing at Karaoke every time we go back to Taiwan.

I couldn’t help but tear up when I heard the intro. The waves flapping against the sand and the crisp piano combined with strings bring about a flood of emotions. Feelings that I have so long hoped will no longer surface. Feelings that were and still are raw and heartbreaking; feelings that I had stuffed down a bottle almost 3 years ago and made sure it’s piled deep.

But there’s always that catalyst. That one moment, one sound, one note, one word that loosens the cork that’s keeping everything tight. When that cork fails, all the unnecessary emotion swimmingly races to the top and chokes me at the throat. My heart gets shattered all over again and there’s no easy way to take a breath.

Everything hurts.

I finish listening to the entire CD and could not help but keep it on repeat. I am not sure if this is doing me any good, but maybe it is worth the pain to find out.

Love's Ignorance

At nights when I come home early
I turn on the tube and sit on the couch
My empty gaze
Clears my mind
My expressionless stare
Relieves me of my burdens
My overworking brain
Forgets about the day
And the nights when thoughts of you
Creep up next to me
Cosily
Yet saddening to a point
Where I wish I can’t sink any lower
To a place
Where I wish I had no soul
Only then
Could I face the truth you left

Shades of Grey

On the way home from visiting a friend’s new hip pad, emotions at the thought of moving out was mixed —especially after mom called and hung up on me as I was getting in a friend’s car for a ride to the skytrain station at quarter past midnight.

There are a lot of ideas of how to utilize the space in the apartment. Yet I know even with dividing the place into sections wouldn’t give me as much privacy as I would have at home. Then I thought about sleeping arrangements. Even though I grew up sleeping on the top bunk with my brother on the bottom bunk for the first 11 years of my life, I have since gotten used to my ultra-comfortable double bed when I moved here. Leaving my bed ranks top, among not wanting to leave my room and not being able to take everything I have, of the reasons that makes this moving thing difficult (I suppose more emotionally than physically).

While I know my reasons for moving out are mostly selfish, I feel that it’s an important step that I need to take for myself. Living at home is not only limiting my creative capacity to some extent, it is somewhat a burden.

I was having a hard time finding a place to settle. Between excited, agitated, distracted and confused, it felt as if I was having a mild asthma attack and unable to catch my breath. The more I think about what I want, the further away it seems to get. Now that I’ve seen the place that could potentially host four girls, the more real this whole thing seems to be. It slowly becoming a reality —or so I hope it will— is quite simply those emotions blended together with a hint of doubt and restlessness.

Doubt, because I am questioning myself: is this really for the better? Should I really leave my mom and bro on their own? What if I’m not as independent as I thought I am and it turns out to be a disaster? Do I really have the guts and will to finally be on my own? Restlessness, because I can’t find the answer to all those questions. Even if I could, weighing the Pros against the Cons doesn’t seem to produce a definite winner.

A friend once said, you can never be ready for something if you don’t take that first step. For me, that would be talking to my mom about this whole flying the nest business. And then I hope the rest will figure itself out.

Holding Out? Or Just Holding It In?

A friend asked me today about my previous relationships. My instinctive answer: “there are none”. But really, when I think about it, were there none?

Honestly, if you really want to count, there could be two. But I don’t because we weren’t ever committed to each other. So there was no “relationship” to begin with. We touched on the subject, but nothing was ever fruition. So I guess you could say that there were two close calls. Then really, I have no previous relationship whatsoever.

And I’m fine with that. I don’t hide it from people. I often wonder what it’ll be like when I do become involved with someone; when I begin to have a romantic relationship. How will that change how I behave, how I dress, or who I am?

Then there are times when I wonder why I’ve not had a relationship yet. I am going to turn 22 in less than 6 months, and I have never been in a committed relationship? It sounds bewildering, but sometimes it feels that I am going to have only one relationship in my life —the one that will ultimately end in marriage.

So am I really waiting for that special person, or am I being too nit-picky about who I date?

March Onwards

Recently my friend has inspired me with her own project: 365 days of yoga. Yes, she’s doing a year of yoga. And the best part of the process (in my opinion) is that she’s blogging about it. So far it has been 11 days. But knowing her (somewhat), this is going well!

Looking back, my February numbers were really lame. Yeah, okay, it was a short month. But ONE post in 28 days? That’s a little extreme. Maybe things were taking my mind off writing for a while, but I should’ve kept journaling anyway. I think I’m going to start now, in March. Since j-town is doing her yoga thing, I figure I’d do my writing thing. So, I’m hoping to write at least ONE POST PER DAY —no pressure! I just really need to remember the thoughts which are worth expanding into legitimate arguments or rational opinions.

BUT!!! There are no “blog police” around. So I can write whatever I want. Like now, when I want to write about judgment/ hypocrisy, I’m writing about WHY I’m writing. And my blog content. I always worry that whatever I write won’t be interesting enough for my readers. I suppose that’s why I don’t always have a steady readership: my posts are so random. They range from rants to random stories I come up with on the spot to poetry. How very diverse of me.

All silliness aside, I am writing more. And will continue to do so —hopefully.

Greater Things Have Yet to Come

or so I keep believing.

Every time I hear this song, sang by Chris Tomlin, I get pumped up and rejuvenated. There is a sense of hope that things in life will eventually turn out for the better —not that it’s not good enough already, but that what we do now is merely preparing for a future that’s greater than we can imagine. I suppose in part that is true: to be part of God’s plan means you have secured a “better” future. And to live a life that revolves around God means that you’re already part of this “great thing”.

Whenever I listen to this song, my hope in humanity is once again restored. That darkness inside people will no longer exist and be of threat to anyone else. Our city will be free of fear and the Utopia will spread to all corners of the world.

But sometimes I’d like to think that it applies to anyone and everyone; that even though life can be difficult, the results or consequences of your choices are rewarding in the end. There’s no way of knowing whether your decision is the “right” or “better” one, but there is a certain insurance that whatever it is, it’s going to be something great (kinda like how I like to think about my life).

It may be hard to understand, but if you sincerely believe that everything happens for a reason, then your “good” decisions will mount to something; it will count toward that greater thing which has yet to come.

Poetry in the bathroom

Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche

by Pablo Neruda

Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche.
Escribir, por ejemplo : 'La noche está estrellada,
y tiritan, azules, los astros, a lo lejos'.
El viento de la noche gira en el cielo y canta.
Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche.
Yo la quise, y a veces ella también me quiso.
En las noches como ésta la tuve entre mis brazos.
La besé tantas veces bajo el cielo infinito.
Ella me quiso, a veces yo también la quería.
Cómo no haber amado sus grandes ojos fijos.
Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche.
Pensar que no la tengo. Sentir que la he perdido.
Oir la noche immensa, más inmensa sin ella.
Y el verso cae al alma como al pasto el rocío.
Qué importa que mi amor no pudiera guardarla.
La noche está estrellada y ella no está conmigo.
Eso es todo. A lo lejos alguien canta. A lo lejos.
Mi alma no se contenta con haberla perdido.
Como para acercarla mi mirada la busca.
Mi corazón la busca, y ella no está conmigo.
La misma noche que hace blanquear los mismos arboles.
Nosotros, los de entonces, ya no somos los mismos.
Ya no la quiero, es cierto pero cuánto la quise.
Mi voz buscaba el viento para tocar su oído.
De otro. Será de otro. Como antes de mis besos.
Su voz, su cuerpo claro. Sus ojos infinitos.
Ya no la quiero, es cierto, pero tal vez la quiero.
Es tan corto al amor, y es tan largo el olvido.
Porque en noches como ésta la tuve entre mis brazos,
mi alma no se contenta con haberla perdido.
Aunque ésta sea el último dolor que ella me causa,
y éstos sean los últimos versos que yo le escribo.

Tonight I Can Write the Saddest Lines

translated by W.S. Merwin

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
Write, for example, 'The night is shattered,
and the blue stars shiver in the distance.'
The night wind revolves in the sky and sings.
Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.
Through nights like this one I held her in my arms.
I kissed her again and again under the endless sky.
She loved me, and sometimes I loved her too.
How could one not have loved her great still eyes?
Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her.
To hear the immense night, still more immense without her,
And the verse falls to the snow like dew to the pasture.
What does it matter that my love could not keep her.
That night is shattered and she is not with me.
This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance.
My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.
My sight searches for her as though to go to her.
My heart looks for her, and she is not with me.
The same night whitening the same trees.
We, of that time, are no longer the same.
I no longer love her, that is certain, but how I loved her.
My voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing.
Another's. She will be another's. Like my kisses before.
Her voice. Her bright body. Her infinite eyes,
I no longer love her, that is certain, but maybe I love her.
Love is so short, forgetting is so long.
Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms
my soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.
Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer,
and these the last verses that I write for her.

This is perhaps my favourite poem. For a long time the book "Love, Ten Poems by Pablo Neruda from the movie The Postman" lived in my bathroom. (I had picked up the book in the past spring semester when I took a World Literature class). And since it's such a short read, I open it whenever I go to release the vulgar substance that is inside me. I would always flip to this one if I don't have time to go over the other ones. This and I'd Like For You To Be Still are probably the two of the most beautiful poems I've ever read.