December 24, 2007

flight to NC

Posted in Uncategorized at 9:53 pm by changisme

I hadn’t realize until a few minutes ago
that I will see the sunset of this Christmas eve with the brown landscape of
Taxes. It’s a peculiar feeling flying here. We dwelt in the familiar westcoast
clouds as I drifted in and out of sleep. When I opened my eyes, the clouds were
gone, and I saw the vast range of the Rockies.
White with crest-carved snow banks, under the generous virgin blue sky. I
somehow always associated the Rockies with clouds and forests, so even now I’m
not sure if that seen of clean vastness is the Rockies
or beyond.


I was reading the Amazing Adventure of
Kavalier and Clay, at the point where Sam Clay was having his gay moment (in
both meaning of the word I guess) on top of the Empire Building.
I wondered if I was feeling somewhat similar looking at the fields of white
being quite quickly taken over by a smoother rolling desert of brown. There was
no mists between me and this world with its arms wide open, nothing to hide,
nothing for disguise. I felt a fear, a similar kind of fear Sam Clay was
feeling probably. In a way, I’m to discover myself with all obstacles cleared. In
a way, that’s what adventures are to me. I might claim that it’s a way to
discover the world which attracts me greatly, but maybe what I’m really drawn
to is the fact that these adventures allow me to discover myself.


One may laugh, as passing by Dallas without even
leaving the airport can hardly be called an adventure. It’s true, but I don’t
know if it’s the name Dallas reminds me of the delayed discovery of my own sexuality,
or it’s just the past year of life, I feel there’s so much of myself I’m seeing
more and more clearly. This is scary. It really is. More and more, I find out
about myself and the relationship between me and what around me or even beyond,
I see the little control I have over my own life. Theoretically, I should
embrace it, especially at this season of Christ and thanksgiving, but it’s hard


Now the sun has set, the Dallas airport is huge and flat. Even the
parking lot is a wide open area. I There are not many people in the airport, I
don’t really feel lonely for some reason. I guess in a way, I’m used to being
by myself on the road? The beautiful thing about being on the road is that I
have a destination. The directionality of this entire affair takes the fear
away. What of arrival then? Where does the compass point to after I arrive?
It’s probably still too early to think that, as I really don’t feel that way in
any aspect of my life now. I will worry about that when the time comes, or maybe,
if I’m fortunate,, the time wil never come.. but that’s sad to think about now.


December 22, 2007


Posted in Uncategorized at 7:48 am by changisme

It really makes me wonder if I’m someone to thrives on a busy social life or not. I do think I’m quite occupied throughout the term, and complain about not having enough time, but now that school’s done and I have much more time to go out with people, I don’t seem to want to do that anymore. It’s a very comfortable existence I have to say. Instead of meeting up with people for a meal or walk around the mall for a couple hours, I took much joy spending the whole day with one or two people I’m so familiar with that I just felt like I was simply in my PJ’s reading some cheesy stories against a bedpost.

I also had some fun doing end of the year clean up. This time, I’m really doing it, digging out all bags of god-knows-whats and putting them in a "throw-away" pile and "donation" pile. I’m surprised by how little I’m attached to those things. I’m not saying that I’m so spiritually mature that I’m not swayed by earthly treasure, in fact I am, and quite so sometimes. It’s just that, some of the treasures I never used and even hardly ever see while their useless and dusty physique occupies the various corners of my closets or even closets outside of my room. I might sound mean, but I sometimes feel people are probably like that too. I could be quite a disposable person for most, has I spent little time with them anyway. I mean… I’m not self loathing, I very very sadly feel some feeling along the same line. Probably people will think very badly of me upon reading this, but I just wonder… what ties do I have with people now that prevents me from moving away? I share very much with just a very few, and they pain me while I think about going away, but the rest, they are wonderful people, and I would feel the loss of some splendor in my day to day amusement, but really… how much does that differ from the walking away six years away on the other side fo the world?

Memories from the people I was involved with linger for years and years, and even my friends now have to endure listening to my lame interactions with my schoolmates. Nevertheless, those memories are but photographs hanging on the inner wall of my skull. They are not them… What of them? I am no longer in their lives, and they hardly mine. It almost feels like something died while can only be comforted by the birth of another life here in Vancouver, in the mist of the mountains and rain and big bearded people. They are the ones that are real and touchable. Will they die too?

Last year, I actually took some pains to buy my own clothes. In a way, I really wanted to develop some attachement to my own things. I do like the shirts and pants a little more when I actually go to the mall and try them and pay for them with my own hand. It is more so when I went to Guatemala with some. I think I will always like the pair of sandals that carried me through much of the difficult cobbled stone walking. I wonder if Aunt Margaret who’s renown for collecting things actually have real attachment to them. Maybe she does, or maybe she does to those coins she just asked me to buy. What of the Wal-Mart stuff? I guess I really don’t know and shouldn’t have assertions. I’m just not wise enough to know how someone can be so attached to so many things.

December 19, 2007

day with mom

Posted in Uncategorized at 7:52 am by changisme

It felt quite nice spending almost a whole day’s time with my mom. I hadn’t been able to do that for… maybe a year! I can’t believe that’s true, but it is. I brought my grad photo prints for her to pick, and she made my favourite congee and green beans. It’s quite weird, because my mom’s cooking has actually changed, differring form what she used to do when I was younger, but I still like it best. I think it’s something that didn’t change. i can’t pin down what it is. Probably it’s how the vegetable is not totally soggy and soft, but not too raw either. It’s just that degree I’m so familiar with and like. We also had drumsticks and curry in the evening.

I think whenever I spend time with family, I feel less prone to seek after other relationships. I seem to be much more content by just this one person. It’s weird, because other people sometimes have more to talk about with me, and I would say I share more values with these other people than with my mom, but my mom still gives me more contentment, a very fundamental and deep down kind of contentment.

We rented True Lies. She wanted it for some reason, but I don’t think she likes it. It’s more my dad’s kind of movie. I didn’t mind it but didn’t feel that intrigued by it either. I later sent an email to my dad and asked him if he liked that movie. I felt strange, i could see my mom nodding off in front of the movie, in her usual posture, her glasses slipping down her nose, and her T-shirt reflecting dully the warm light shone from the bathroom nearby. She’s not a very expressive or graceful person, but the familiarity has never seized in my life. On the other hand, my dad, so far away. I feel our relationship holds so much unknown. I can vaguely imagine him lying on that bed watching the movie. He would probably curl on his side instead of sitting up to watch, that’s usually what happens for him. Even then… I find the picture in my mind is not so clear. It’s a somewhat uncertain.

December 13, 2007

One Womb (and a thought on creativity)

Posted in Uncategorized at 6:15 pm by changisme

Everyone tries so hard to voice cultural differences, trying to articulate how a Canadian have a different personality as Americans, how Chinese have different values from that of the British, how a Muslim conduct themselves differently from a Christian, etc.

But really, what is different for me, is just different. It’s the different colour tone of the kitchen walls, it’s the different clinking sound of chopsticks on full bowls of rice from the metal on plates, it’s the different network of arms stretching over the table rather than the servings on which everyone keeps to himself. 

It not just the words said and their meanings, but the different sounds uttered from the throats, it is not the colour of my grandmother’s skin, but the different smell of her bosom, it is not just the writings in my grandfather’s books, but the different sound and touch of the pages.

It is the my mother’s womb I long to return at times, not the collective or even a construct of the many wombs enclosed by National Border like the Monkey King’s Circle drawn by his Stick.


On another note, I was thinking about creativity and university or college education. Many people say these high education often suppress people’s creativity. i think it’s not very accurate to say it that way. I think it’s more that our brains are so over taxed that it’s just so lazy to think anymore than it has to sometimes.

Creativity is largely the will to be creative. If one loses the drive and energy to think, of course s/he appears less creative. Also, many of use are judged so much in our creativity compared to others. Many are judged and "told" over and over again that they are not creative enough in problem solving. So I don’t think it’s really that we are REALLY less creative, but more we appear not.

December 8, 2007

urge and fear of the touch

Posted in Uncategorized at 7:15 am by changisme

Frost coats the roof, a layer that gives me a feeling of texture. For some reason, this frost gives me a feeling of realness, it’s just like a scoop of blueberries or a peach. When it’s fresh, there is a wonderful layer of frost, just like that on the roof. I can taste the fresh fruit juice in my watering mouth upon seeing this smooth and undisturbed veil. What about the frost? I feel a chill. it’s cold, and yet it’s real. I have an urge to touch it, but also a fear.

December 6, 2007

jokes I love

Posted in Uncategorized at 9:33 am by changisme

I never really considered myself as a really serious and uptight person. I laugh at jokes and I can appreciate many things that don’t have any obviously designated reasons to them, but more and more, I feel like… I’m such a hopeless in-between. On the one hand, I dont’ really like it when people can’t make a joke or can’t laugh at one, but on the other hand, I hate it when people make stupid jokes about things they know nothing about and don’t even think they are imporant enough to waste their time on.
I love jokes, but they are to come from attentiveness to whatever problem or person we have over. It’s a sign of involvement and interaction. Probably that’s why I like people making math jokes and science jokes because they express a love and hate relationship. I love to joke about my closest friends especially in front of their faces. I would have hoved to joke about myself if I weren’t so boring as to have no storage for humour… so sad. I hardly feel like laughing when some people make nasty jokes about scientists or religious people whil they try all their best to avoid them and know the flattest stereotypes, and I hate people making sexual jokes about a woman they only just see on the street in passerby.
I guess, I also don’t like jokes when they come in bulk. It’s like our consumerism society. It has the greatest marginal value when supplied in optimal quantity, when jokes of the similar nature appear 4 our of 5 words, I dont’ find them funny anymore. probably a good comedian would be one who can keep absolutely serious in the middle of a show while all the others dancing up and down the stage trying to twist their tougues in the most bizarre manner. I might actually laugh at that very inappropriate and most importantly rare seriousness.

December 4, 2007

appealing playwrites.

Posted in Uncategorized at 1:40 pm by changisme

It’s probably to wonder about this, but I kept on thinking, do I like Oscar Wilde better or George Bernard Shaw. I guess the two of them both explore the subject of sexuality as I have started to do also. If you asked me before, I would have said, of course GBS! Well, but oh man do I get intrigued by Oscar Wilde as well. He’s such a penetrating dramatist who can scoop up the entirety of my attention with his pinky. Al the ups and downs of his plot, all that about women, as about men. This makes me wonder what good playwrite means to me. Do I like resonnace or do I like expository of different worlds? GBS wrote about Caecar and Cleopetra using modern language, saying that the real meaning of these relationships lies not in the archaic, but in its timeless humanness (well, okay that’s my interpretation), and he write so much of his other humour that resonate with me in a strange way, not because of the language but because of.. the half serious, and half… joking way. Who is that who said that life is too important to be talked about seriously? On the other hand, Oscar Wilde… actually writes with such an air of traditional bougoise tone, maybe just because he’s older, but to me, it actually touches a lot of my feelings too, if not more so. He’s not that funny in his language, but the plots are so… twisted that it’s hard to not think life is totally playing iwth us.
Well… I guess these ranting has nothting to do with whether the plays resolnate with me or not… but really… both are so appealing.

December 2, 2007


Posted in Uncategorized at 7:30 am by changisme

I think it must be pretty significant to watch a movie such as
Enchanted on the first day of December with powdery snow falling
outside, and with good friends too. For some reason,

Watching the movie made me… quite encouraged I guess in a way.
Everyone in it tries so hard to live a life of their own, right or
wrong or if there is such a measurement. Even though the movie is not
exactly original, there is one original point of it I really liked.
Many other movies always put the real and fantasy in dichotomy. It’s
often a belittling of the people who see the complex life of ours are a
negative and pessimistic belief, and those who can hold fast on the
naive and fantasy is good, but this one, there’s a bit of that, but
also somehow it gives me a strong feeling that the complex is also
beautiful. The "real" are also stories, and Little Red Ridinghood also
live all different versions of lives even though she tells one version
of the story more often than the others. We can alll land on a happy
ending… well I’m a sucker for happy endings…
One thing a little sad is that I think even though the characters were
modeled by the early Disney movie ones, but the drawing style isn’t
quite the same, but actually resembles the ’90’s characters, which… I
guess could be alright???