Flurry
Had McFlurry for the first time tonight. There’s a tube-like opening at the top end of the plastic spoon that fastens to the bottom of the Flurry machine so that the spoon spins at whirling speed and out comes Oreo cookies mixed with iced milk yummy.
I sat outside at the patio tables. It was around 9pm, warm enough. I reflected a day of sleeping at home, unable to breathe during the humid day, unable to work. I reflected about my dreams, or should I say project, ponder, about what I ought to do with my little life, now in my 25th year, I’m thinking about revisiting the dream of ESL teaching, something which I had abandoned due to a deep and morbid fear. “Yes, I will chase it! Now is the time!” was my conclusion as I bit into Oreo crumbs.
Back in the dark old days, I would not have thought of dreams, I would neither project nor ponder, but would only reminisce, review, evaluate, and drown in helpless nostalgia. Thank Dear Lord I’m out of it.
It was a snowy and depressing evening in March of my 22nd year as I was cruising around the streets aimlessly, and had made it a habit to do so while getting to know the streets of Toronto very well, but on this one evening I parked my car in the somewhat empty lot outside of the big AMC theatre and I decided to go to a movie by myself. I had not really wanted to do that because I knew once I entered the theatre and slipped into that cushy seat all by myself, my brain would produce a kind of message that tells me how I ought not go to movies alone for only depressed people do that, even though I cannot deny how much I enjoy going to shows alone. So I went. The movie was Amelie. Tonight, on this sultry September evening with my living room window wide open, I revisited Amelie.
My favourite part is when she sits on top of the building and pulls the plug on the TV of a man watching a football match. I also like the part when she sees the mean storekeeper mocking the shy boy and she stares through a basement window and thinks of a comeback to say to the mean storekeeper
I’m so tired. So tired. So tired. The more I say this the more I feel it. Tomorrow I have my writing class. The teacher tells us to bring a piece of writing that we think is good, a piece that is an example of ‘this is how I want to write’. I want to write like myself. I’m learning that I can write drama even with simple words. This is why I like reading Turgenev. And there are writers whose prose I simply admire, like that of Sylvia Plath. But I wouldn’t want to write like her. I want to write like myself.
Dreams are weighing on me. But no, don’t say that!
If you can dream and not make dreams your master
If you can think and not make thoughts your aim…
If you can meet with triumph and disaster
And meet the two imposters just the same…
Yes. I got it. Yes. I got it. Yes.
In class today, one of my students said he’s been suspended twelve times, one time for punching a classmate in the nose because the classmate was singing. “There are so many fairies in my school,” says my student. “We don’t have fairies in my school, we have gangsters,” says another one of my students.
“Is it possible not to let these people bother you?” I asked my students. They met my question with a mocking laughter. Then I thought about it some more. “What about those students who walk into school and do their own things and not let people bother them? There are plenty of students like that. How come they can manage school without getting into trouble? How do they do it?”
I was one of these students. Back in my highschool days I had developed a kind of selective vision that fades out all the things I didn’t want to see. I walked along the hallway while kids slammed lockers that reeked of squashed lunches and I did not let anything bother me. I just walked straight. Their sounds muffled. Sometimes it felt kind of like I was walking an inch above the ground. I was nice to those who were nice. I even found a deep appreciation for the handful of teachers who put heart into their work.
It must say, it took a lot of effort to attain that kind of invulnerability. Daydreaming and having a few supportive friends definitely helped. Writing also helped, but I only discovered this much much later.
I sat outside at the patio tables. It was around 9pm, warm enough. I reflected a day of sleeping at home, unable to breathe during the humid day, unable to work. I reflected about my dreams, or should I say project, ponder, about what I ought to do with my little life, now in my 25th year, I’m thinking about revisiting the dream of ESL teaching, something which I had abandoned due to a deep and morbid fear. “Yes, I will chase it! Now is the time!” was my conclusion as I bit into Oreo crumbs.
Back in the dark old days, I would not have thought of dreams, I would neither project nor ponder, but would only reminisce, review, evaluate, and drown in helpless nostalgia. Thank Dear Lord I’m out of it.
It was a snowy and depressing evening in March of my 22nd year as I was cruising around the streets aimlessly, and had made it a habit to do so while getting to know the streets of Toronto very well, but on this one evening I parked my car in the somewhat empty lot outside of the big AMC theatre and I decided to go to a movie by myself. I had not really wanted to do that because I knew once I entered the theatre and slipped into that cushy seat all by myself, my brain would produce a kind of message that tells me how I ought not go to movies alone for only depressed people do that, even though I cannot deny how much I enjoy going to shows alone. So I went. The movie was Amelie. Tonight, on this sultry September evening with my living room window wide open, I revisited Amelie.
My favourite part is when she sits on top of the building and pulls the plug on the TV of a man watching a football match. I also like the part when she sees the mean storekeeper mocking the shy boy and she stares through a basement window and thinks of a comeback to say to the mean storekeeper
I’m so tired. So tired. So tired. The more I say this the more I feel it. Tomorrow I have my writing class. The teacher tells us to bring a piece of writing that we think is good, a piece that is an example of ‘this is how I want to write’. I want to write like myself. I’m learning that I can write drama even with simple words. This is why I like reading Turgenev. And there are writers whose prose I simply admire, like that of Sylvia Plath. But I wouldn’t want to write like her. I want to write like myself.
Dreams are weighing on me. But no, don’t say that!
If you can dream and not make dreams your master
If you can think and not make thoughts your aim…
If you can meet with triumph and disaster
And meet the two imposters just the same…
Yes. I got it. Yes. I got it. Yes.
In class today, one of my students said he’s been suspended twelve times, one time for punching a classmate in the nose because the classmate was singing. “There are so many fairies in my school,” says my student. “We don’t have fairies in my school, we have gangsters,” says another one of my students.
“Is it possible not to let these people bother you?” I asked my students. They met my question with a mocking laughter. Then I thought about it some more. “What about those students who walk into school and do their own things and not let people bother them? There are plenty of students like that. How come they can manage school without getting into trouble? How do they do it?”
I was one of these students. Back in my highschool days I had developed a kind of selective vision that fades out all the things I didn’t want to see. I walked along the hallway while kids slammed lockers that reeked of squashed lunches and I did not let anything bother me. I just walked straight. Their sounds muffled. Sometimes it felt kind of like I was walking an inch above the ground. I was nice to those who were nice. I even found a deep appreciation for the handful of teachers who put heart into their work.
It must say, it took a lot of effort to attain that kind of invulnerability. Daydreaming and having a few supportive friends definitely helped. Writing also helped, but I only discovered this much much later.
posted by Adam C at
12:45 AM
1 Comments:
Show your teacher an exerpt from your blog...it has some nice humanity in it:)
By
tlwest, at 11:47 AM
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