tilted

A toothache makes eating chocolate a less pleasurable happening. In fact, a toothache makes eating anything less fun. I have to chew with my left side only. I still taste the food, but it feels a little lopsided, that's all. Even the things I see in front of me appear to be tilted.

mushroom clouds and clouds that go with the big blue sky

I suppose I could at least try to tolerate the way they label the thinking man as being weak, and the man of action as being strong. But what if the man of action is non-thinking? Does compassion count for nothing if it only lives in the mind? That is sentiment. It counts for nothing.

Then there are those who scribble ideas on notepads and fancy that others might come across these scribbles, read them, and find parts of themselves in these scribbles. Yet these scribbles are done so randomly and spontaneously that none of them really amount to any complete thought. And so, according to Northrop Frye, there are actually no ideas. Only gas in the stomach.

Worst is when one contemplates these matters after reading the Time magazine, and an article that discusses how Americans nowadays are feeling so comfortable with the apoclyptic image that they are merely sitting back, waiting for it to happen, with the TV remote on one hand and a bag of Doritos on the other.

about this place

If you know your way around here then it's no problem. But when you don't know your way, you count on signs, traffic signs, street signs covered with dirt and dust, so really, you can't say you know where you are. Then there's this part of you, this euphoria from deep within that tells you, "You can name this place whatever you want!" And then you don't feel so lost anymore. And not only that, you step on the pedal and crank it up to a good 80 on this country road, as though your country never snows.

in defence of my bus driver

I felt like I was in a bus with animals.

Two girls got on the bus. There was an issue with the fare so there became an argument between the two girls and the driver. The girls swore at the driver. The driver asked them to get off the bus. The girls refused to get off. The bus driver refused to drive. The bus stopped there. We were all inside.

When I say 'we', it didn't really feel like 'we'. It was like, there's 'me' and then there's 'this world out there'. It became scary.

A man who sat behind me started swearing. "Drive the fuckin' bus," he kept repeating. Then he said he would go up and spit at the driver.

Here comes the scary part.

As this man began repeating, "Drive the fuckin' bus," some passengers smiled at him and were amused. The man felt his power level go up a level, and began to say 'fuck' even louder. And the passengers were still amused. Most of these passengers were highschoolers, probably on their way to school.

Then it became as if all the passengers agreed with "Drive the fuckin' bus," and "What are you (the driver) trying to prove?" And they all concluded that "the driver has made her fuckin' point and that she should drive the fuckin' bus."

Let's not forget who is being assaulted here. We need to defend the one who is driving us to where we want to go. The rule is that a person should cannot get on the bus without adequate fare.

I wanted to stand up and speak the truth. But I didn't.

Instead, I got off the bus and called the police.

By the time the police arrived, another bus had come, and the two girls and the other angry passengers already found their new ride.

---

It was raining all day today. At lecture the prof and all the students killed this novel by piling on theory after theory and stretching it so far that I felt they were all aliens.

I took the subway all the way to Town Centre. I passed by the theatre and the series of posters on display. They were showing movies about saws and chainsaw massacres and there was this one poster that shows a close-up of a face with a blood-red eye.

I ordered a burger and...

I don't even want to talk about it.

I ordered it. I paid for it. Then the boy who worked at the back came out and said that the burger has to wait because he had to 'take a shit'. That was what he said. So I asked for my money back. But they couldn't open the register.

But thankfully, the other girl who worked there made the burger for me. She smiled when she handed me the paper bag.

It was such a small gesture, but it was enough to keep my sanity from shattering.

Maybe it has shattered already.

People are so lost. I say this so much now. But it does seem funny when I say that because I myself am very lost too. And so who am I to make such a statement?

As I was walking south along St. George today, I thought to myself, "I think too much." What I said to msyelf was this: I have always been content with "having a good heart". But that's not enough anymore. I save myself from guilt just by telling myself, "at least you have a good heart." That's not enough.

Then there's this urge to live outside my body. And this always comes with the (perhaps false) belief that I cannot 'live' unless I live on my own.

I want to move to Vancouver, again.

But I'm here now. And to think of it, I'm quite happy. But I'm tired now. I need to sleep. Then I need to wake up. And I'll live tomorrow, regardless of the weather.

a jade-green sweater

I don't think I know what I'm doing in the midst of all this. I say to myself (as there are many moments throughout the day) that I would record this and that. I come back to my room and my mind is like a washing machine filled with water with no clothes inside. I saw some model homes today. There was this one bedroom with a window right behind the railing of the stairs. I wouldn't want that room. I cannot tie a knot to my thoughts so I'm not even going to try.

the people I met at lunch today

You replied and said, "I can't read your mail." It's the same story between us. We just can't get through to each other, can we? But the way you phrased your sentence, "I can't read your mail," sounds a bit funny, as though you have your eyes closed and fists in the air, a look that resembles this >_<

But that's only me trying to see you the way I want to see you.

This afternoon I had lunch by myself in the food court at Market Village. I ordered tomato egg rice. I walked up to the counter and ordered, no hesitation, for I knew what I wanted. Right after I said, "Tomato egg rice," the lady behind the counter nodded politely as though to say, "Coming right up."

They had a Christian band thing going on on the stage. Loud music was playing on the back and all over. Christian music and other forms of Chinese opera music. A woman tried to keep a high note.

The girl who ate her rice next to me ate with a chopstick in each hand. It looked like she was dissecting each beef brisket before putting it in her mouth. No, she was only cutting each piece in half, pushing the meat onto her spoon so that it formed a nice scoop-ful. She wasn't dissecting. Not fair for me to say that. But still, it looked funny. She wore a long beige plaid coat and had her purse on her lap while she ate. The long strap hung off one shoulder and diagonally down her body. Yes, all these details, plus the chopsticks, one chopstick in each hand as she ate.

At the back they played "Amazing Grace... how sweet the sound the saved a wretch like me..."

A man was pushing a vacant stroller. Behind him, a young mother was walking with her baby. Yes, walking with her baby. The little one wobbled along and fell. The mother called to the man with the vacant stroller. He tossed her a cloth. She patted the baby's body with the cloth, dusting off the little one. While the woman was doing this, the man stood behind the vacant stroller looking blankly at the singers on the stage.

Now they were singing a Christian song in Cantonese lyrics sung to the tune of The Carpenters' "Top of the World"...

I cleared my tray and walked toward the long table where the church people had their newletters and pamphlets on display. It was all vacant around this table except for the woman behind the table who handed me a newsletter. Then as I left the table, I exchanged a smile with the lady who was hosting this Christian event. She used to be an actress. I used to see her on this TV drama which I followed intensely when I was a little kid. Now, she devotes her life to spreading the word of God. Her face was heavily cosmeticized but in the one second of our exchange I recognized the features to which I had already developed a curious familiarity. It was nice to see her in person.

you are my pride

私は今 南の一つ星を 見上げて誓った...

You used to sing this song to me and I was on top of the world.

You call on me tonight. I feel strange. I still have much to learn about how this world works, about why we do what we do to ourselves. All I know is that I think of you all the time. Is that enough? I don't know. But I do think I am a better person now than the time when you used to sing this song to me. If there's another expression, I wish I could find it tonight. But again, it's late, and I should be sleeping, and I just don't know what to say.

We'll always be together.

if we happen to sit for so long in a coffee shop

I was sitting in the coffee shop pondering... about a presentation I have to make. I was deciding between two quotations. One says, "Life is a journey not a destination." Almost cliche. The other one says, "Reserving judgment is a matter of infinite hope." The latter is from page one of The Great Gatsby. That's the line that stuck with me for some reason.

Suddenly, in the middle of my pondering, the girl next table got up and fell down, crashing at the chair on which I placed my bag. She stood back up immediately before I finished asking if she was all right. "I've been sitting too long," she said, "My legs just gave in on me." I asked her once more if she was all right. She said yes, and I could tell that she was embarrassed and I didn't want to make a scene of it. She sat back down, with her iPod in one ear, looking a bit dazed, as though she had forgotten where she wanted to go in the first place.

these children now

The old man lectured for two hours, taking us from the end of Chaucer to King Richard II to the start of the English theatre and Shakespeare, and then it was 9pm. A few students got up and started leaving. "This lecture is not over until I say it is!" the professor hollered. The student with his knapsack on looked at the old man for a second and then slipped through the doors anyways as though he had stolen a chicken. The old professor heaved away at his last sentence. "Thank you for your attention," he said. That was his last sentence of the evening. There was a hush in the lecture hall. This was a English 202. A lot of these were high school kids, bubbly and giddy as they carried their laptops into class, and now out of class. The old man drank from his water bottle. In that moment I identified closely with him. My heart dropped a little inside of me from some reason.