spring

Nice when it's the last day of the year and you have the last thirty or so minutes to yourself.

Also nice when the Raptors win. They beat the Hornets. Good game.

Dad called.

How are things? I asked. "Great," he said.

So that's good.

November was terrible.

But I was batting .400 again in December.

That wraps up an amazing 2007. Maybe the best year of my life so far.

I look forward to saying that at the end of every year.

Next year I'd say, this is the best year of my life so far.

The year after I'd say, this is the best year of my life so far.

And so on.

And I'm inclined to make exclamatory remarks that begin with "O Spring..."

Dear me.

I'm a better person when I think less of myself and more of others.

Tonight I'll think more of you.

the day before the last day of the year

Went out for dimsum. Had a table by the window. All the dishes were good, really good.

The table next to mine seats four, but it was only occupied by a lady having dimsum with her son. A table full of dimsum but the son was playing his DS. The lady ate slowly and kept looking out the window. I don’t think they said a word to each other.

I paid my bill and put on my jacket. Then I noticed on the seat next to the lady was a bike helmet. Maybe she rode her bike there. Unlikely that it would be a bike for two people. Maybe they both rode their bikes there.

heavy and light and the years after

I paced up and down the kitchen floor after I finished my cereal. Planted my steps on the lines between the tiles. Kept the radio off. This morning I’m going to a funeral.

Then I’m going to finish a card I’m writing to a friend who invited me to his wedding in New Zealand. Then I’ll send that card along with the other seven New Year cards, all of them going to Japan. Then I’m going to Starbucks to buy a gift card for my hairdresser. Then I have my one o-clock haircut appointment. Then I’ll come home and revise my story after having read the chapters on “Gesture” and “Details” in Francine Prose’s book. Then I have to sleep early to wake at 4am next morning to drive my brother to the airport. Then I have to find a coffee shop to hang until I meet my friends in Scarborough for morning dimsum.

Before all this, I’m going to a funeral.

There was nowhere to park, so I parked at the McDonald’s across the street. Then I had to cross the street. I looked both ways.

I didn’t know how Jeffrey died. I was notified through email.

I only met him on a few occasions, but he left a bright impression on me, something simple in his carefree gestures that made me think he’s a very good kid.

Jeffrey was 16 years old.

The room was full. People had to stand outside the room. I squeezed my way in just enough to see the forehead of the pastor who was speaking.

He said: We cannot control our own deaths. But are we to fear life because of this?

Then he said: Sometimes it makes us remember that we should spend more time with our parents and not just activities that we’re interested in.

Jeffrey’s teacher said: It’s unnatural for parents to survive their own son. Jeffrey used to skip Physics class a lot and he loved to stop by the Drama room to say hi. On the Thursday before the holidays, Jeffrey organized a movie night showing “Nightmare Before Christmas” to raise funds for charity. It turned out people weren’t interested, and he had to cancel it himself. He apologized to his teacher for having wasted his time.

His martial arts coach went up said something about the possibility of accidents. He said Jeffrey taught him a lot.

Then we lined up to pay our respect. I saw Vivian there and I said I was shocked and didn’t know what happened to Jeffrey. Vivian said something about how Jeffrey’s suddenly heart failed him. I didn’t hear exactly what she said because she was holding back tears.

I bowed to him.

“Jeffrey will remember all of you,” his father kept repeating to the people who went up to pay respect. In another place he would be a sharp businessman, owner of a new SUV, head of a family. Today, his face was glossed by tears.

I told him I didn’t know Jeffrey for a long time but he gave me a very positive impression. I told him Jeffrey was a good boy.

Somewhere in his mind, maybe constantly, constantly, he’d be thinking of last week, the time before his son died, and that time gap will stretch and stretch. He’d be thinking of the last Friday he had when his son was alive and talking about stuff. Then there might be thoughts that began with “this is the first time I do this and this since I lost my son,” and as more and more of these thoughts accumulate, more and more places become places where “I’ve done this and this even after I lost my son,” and only then would he be adjusted to the new reality, if ever. I supposed it’s like that. A deep vertical line between before and after.

People waited in the hallway. The casket about to be delivered.

I sat in the atrium by myself.

Then I left.

I went to a Japanese café and had a bowl of kitsune soba and a can of hot UCC coffee. The radio behind the counter was playing “Road” by The Torabiru.

Sitting in places Japanese always gives me a sense of insatiable nostalgia. This time ten years ago I was studying in Japan. I was in love with a girl. In the ten years after I returned, I finished high school, finished university, found interesting jobs, discovered a joy in teaching, a passion in writing. It’s been a dwindling experience, and I’m only now realizing that I’m coming out of this dwindling state of mind. In my recent letters to my friends, I kept telling them, in the months since this past summer, I’ve been feeling an incredible sense of potential about my life.

I finished writing to my friend in New Zealand. He is getting married in a month. I told him I’ll soon save enough money to go there and see his kids.

My friend and I studied in Japan together ten years ago. We thanked each other for staying in touch all these years. That year in Japan, I was 17.

polka dots and moonbeams

Went out for morning dimsum with family. As early birds we got a nice table.

The red bean cake was really good.

The server girl brought rice noodles with beef on it. “This is not the one?” she asked. She took it back and then came back much later a new fresh one with mushrooms on it, which was what we ordered.

By the time we left, there were many people waiting for tables.

The girl sitting next to the door. Her jacket kept sliding off her chair.

The girl at the travel agency. We asked her a question about where how we could obtain the return trip ticket. She gave us a long answer. I didn’t even follow.

Her name tag said Carmen. She had a white wide face and thick framed glasses. She spoke in an animated way. I couldn’t tell if it was English-accented Cantonese or what.

Across from the travel agency was a new snack bar place. The sign said Open. I just stared at it. It didn’t even occur to me that I wanted a bubble tea until I got into the car.

So I dropped my family at home, and came back out myself to pick up a bubble tea.

Christmas day in Richmond Hill is gray sky and the roads were dry which made driving safer.

In the car, jazz radio played “polka dots and moonbeams.” They also played other jazzy Christmas tunes. I like Christmas tunes in jazz because they are fresher, not like the clichéd ones they play on other stations.

I bought bubble tea at Fancy Cup. The lady gave me a stamp card. The man made my tea and said Merry Christmas. I think they are the owners.

In the atrium of Times Square, I browsed the shopwindows of the Sophie store and was looking at German-Japanese teapots and Gucci watches and Anna Sui gift sets.

I went to Starbucks to buy a coffee for mom. “What can I start you off with?” the server asked, as though my day has just started. Then I remembered I looked like hell. I didn’t comb my hair because I was in a hurry to go out this morning.

The lady at the table talked about stuffing a luggage and bringing it on a plane.

I drove home.

Now I’m home. The goal is to trim down the story today.

like right now

let me let me let me

tell you

I love you

all

very much

and when I see you chase your dreams

I can't but tell myself

to keep up my good work

keep up my good mind

keep moving

forward

forward

like

right

now.

ballads for slow dancers

Like a carousel. Spinning into an orange scene. Today I sent twenty letters. In the middle of the day I stood by my window and watched the clouds. They moved quickly, so I knew it was windy outside. A grayish layer hovered close to me like cobweb. A heavier cloud was moving from left to right. The left side from which it came was an area of the sky where the white and the blue were sharply defined. The right side was thick and cottony and slightly pink and purple. Then I went back to writing letters. And now it is night.

perfect day for kangaroos

We give presents in Christmas to show we care about the people to whom we give presents. What if we give a present to someone hoping to secure that person’s recognition of us? We mustn't do that. We cannot give to test our good faith. I question the motivation of gift giving on a day I’ve received a load of presents.

When I was driving west along Finch Avenue, the sky was a light pink. I thought about the wonderful party we had in school today. I thought about how I had to submit my Queen’s University application tonight and prepare the lesson for tomorrow. I thought about the two people I have to call tonight. I thought about how I ought to treat myself to watching the basketball game on TV tonight. I also thought about how it could have been a perfect day. Say, it could have been a perfect day for kangaroos. Then I decided not to think that.

snow again

These are big snowflakes. One passes my window. I can see its texture. Now they cut across sideways at greater speed. All white outside.

It was January of the year I turned eighteen. I stood by the window in my classroom. It was a rare snowfall in Fukuoka. I watched the snow and thought Yukie. We had gone out for a few dates already by then, and I liked her lots.

That was ten years ago. Some nights, I still pray for her. I have always kept the position that I owe her something. Maybe I don’t. But I just choose to think this way. I would not have survived Japan had I not met her.

Here I am almost twenty-eight. I have a better idea of how the world works. I still want to travel. I am less selfish. I say to myself, I will bring this feeling to the next person I chance to meet. I still pray for Yukie.

It’s these sentiments that cripple me. It’s also these sentiments that make my life very very interesting.

Outside is now a blizzard. Flights are cancelled and all. Nothing too romantic about it anymore. But here I am, with my dwindling head and all, I’d like to say, if I may, I love my life.


written on the morning of Sunday December 16th 2007, watching snowfall.

walking the line

Send help. Much needed. Right now. Hurry. Brain is in euphoria. I can't be too happy. I can't be too sad. I can't think. Can't think. Just now I saw this story I'm about to finish writing and I thought, this story is pretty damn good, considering I had written it in this half-wounded state I've been in in the last month. I really grinded out this story. Yet I like the story as it is now. I quite like it. Earlier today I produced this unpolished paragraph:

They are infected by a kind of reservation that makes them dip their heads awkwardly. Passers-by would not notice this. But to the two of them, it’s so beautiful; to Carson, especially, whose head is filled with excitement and questions. Later he would laugh at his dwindliness, for he knew from the very beginning that there couldn’t have been another ending to what has already started.

passing this moment

It’s amazing what the mind can do and you can run right into the heart of the problem you’ve created and write about it and if you were to write about it you would give it more power than it even deserves and so the best thing to do is to carry on because there is only the present and nothing more.

The first thing you tell yourself in the morning is very important. If you say to yourself “I’m responsible for how I feel today,” that’s good. Take that statement a little further, wear it around your neck as you wash, dress, and leave the house. Then at some point in the day, you would have forgotten the struggle, and you’d feel quite free. Once you get better, the process of having to mind what you tell yourself in the morning becomes less important, almost useless, and you’ll discover other more concrete worries to colour your day. Slackness leads you to let your guard down. But even when things get heavy again, you’ll have this routine well rehearsed so that you’ll be walking straight when everything else is a little fuzzy and slanted.




與你此刻渡過
D'Spectacles

long way home

I had that experience. I was waiting at the bus stop. Freezing cold at the intersection of Leslie and Hwy 7. Waited more than thirty minutes for the bus. As I watched the cars pass by, I thought, this is absurd. If any one car would stop to offer me a ride, I would have gotten home already. Of course, no one would do that for me because they don’t know me and I don’t know them. Even if someone did stop to open his door, I would have hesitated. And if he insisted I get inside because it’s cold, I’d freak out. And I wouldn’t stop and offer a stranger a ride neither.

Today, Ms. L— walked to school from Kennedy and Hwy 7. That’s the distance of three major blocks. An hour into class, her face turned pale. I asked her to wait so someone could drive her home. But she insisted on taking the bus.




人海中，我是誰
Raidas

In addition to 別人的歌 and 傾心 which are my favourites of their slower songs, this song from their second and final album is pretty good too. I have come to appreciate the honest clarity of the voice.

colours along the way

This taken as I left the classroom after a long day of teaching. Another picture of a Christmas tree. Few weeks ago I had the kids come down to the lobby to sketch this tree. I watched them sketch. I watched the tree. But I wasn’t myself. It was like a thin paint of gray covered everything. No one saw this. I created the thought, all in my head.

Tonight, there are appointments to make and emails to reply. But there will be a time for those things. Tonight I write. All will be quite fine.




誰在畫長虹
赤道

ever green

Back to writing today. I was writing about Carson listening to the radio in his car and he hears a message that opens a new perspective and the message goes something like this: It takes someone special to meet someone special; the important thing is to retain the pure heart you’ve cultivated from being with her, and to bring that to the next person you chance to meet.

This is the new Sheraton Parkway lobby. The walls are like almond cake. The tree is trying to hide. La-la…




evergreen
My Little Lover

freestyle: stack your chairs

Anyways. We’re always hiding. This is why we wear clothes. There’s never a time we don’t hide.

Today, I didn’t know how to use my camera. I had turned off the display button by accident and the LCD screen got all dark. So I took it to the Sony Store at Sherway Gardens and the salesman pressed the button, solved the problem for me before I even finished asking my question. Christmas was in the air again, bouncing off shopwindows and marble tiles. I sat on a bench to study my camera. I wanted to take a picture of the Christmas air, but I didn’t want to make people nervous. I treat people like how I want to be treated, and I’ve never liked to shoot myself with a camera, let alone others. I don’t understand couples who sit around shooting at each other from point blank. “Why don’t we put that away and talk about something interesting?” is what I’d say.

Then I found myself at the usual coffee shop at Dundas and Dixie. It’s my favourite Tim’s coffee shop because it’s clean and the people who work there I’ve gotten to know without ever talking to them except for when I say stuff like “Medium double-double… Toasted with butter…” and they’d get me the stuff and I’d feel all warm inside from the cream of broccoli soup, which is exactly what happened today.

I sat down and took a picture and it turned out to be smudgy lights. It was well past seven when I left, but I didn’t want to go home yet. I wanted to hang out in another coffee shop, and I was thinking of which one, maybe the Starbucks near my home, but what would I drink? I had had my share of caffeine already. But here’s the thing: I didn’t want to go home because I fancied there was a spark in the corner of my eye. I saw it through the glass. I like to sit and read in coffee shops when I see this spark. I want to tell you this because one day I’d read this and laugh all over myself!

At the end of class today, I asked the kids to stack all the chairs but they left two chairs unstacked. I asked them if they were discriminating against those two chairs. “I said all the chairs! Are these not chairs? Are they any different from the rest of the chairs? How would you feel if all your friends got stacked except you?” Then they stacked the two chairs and we all got a good laugh. Hopefully their parents would see it’s a Saturday and the kids have had a long day in school and deserve to go to Pizza Hut.




星夜之戀
Douceurs Doux