tender is the night

Tonight I decided to take the 12:40 bus home from Union Station and this left me with an hour or so to loiter at the lobby of the Royal York. I leaned back on the big armchair and I thought, what a fine evening I had, very good friends, thoughtful conversations, dreams, a walk along the waterfront in a healthy optimistic body. A group of tourists filed in to the lobby. They were all senior folks and they were lining up and waiting around the reception to check in to their rooms. What struck me was they were all very happy-looking. And I thought, from a distance, what is it exactly that characterizes them as old folks? And I saw, yes, they had grayish hair and the way they dressed was more conservative, and the one thing I suddenly noticed was all the men had hunched backs. I thought about if I kept exercising to stay healthy whether when I get to age seventy I could still keep my back straight. Most importantly, these old folks were all happy and light and none of them showed any tired eyes that many young people (including I) had in this past-midnight hour after a night of living it out. They were waiting happily for their hotel rooms. And me, I was waiting for my bus.

The lady sitting on the armchair next to mine struggled to stand up and she stuttered while she walked. Her husband clasped her arm and led her slowly to the elevator. I saved this image in my mind.

At the far end of the lobby was the banquet hall where a party was coming to an end but they were still playing some contemporary pop in their very loud speakers and a few women in fancy low-back dresses passed by here and there. The so-called love songs they played were nothing more than the repetitive tunes I hear in donut shops. I questioned what could be so special about dancing to clichéd songs like that.

I felt more at peace watching these old folks wait so pleasantly for their hotel rooms. And there I was, comfy in my armchair, amongst them.

I put my head back and the bronze lights around the lobby blurred and smeared a little when my eyes got watery. It felt like a Fitzgerald novel. Right above me, at the upper level veranda, a custodian was wiping the railing. I watched him start at one end, a bottle of spray cleanser in one hand and a white cloth on the other. When he got to the end of the railing, he moved back and I couldn’t see him anymore. Then it was about time for my bus and I got up and went.

on your mark

"On Your Mark" by Chage and Aska. I revisited this song when I was playing my CD in the car, cruising through the highway tonight. I didn't even know I had this song recorded on my CD. The music video takes place in a futuristic setting. Two soldiers discover a young girl with a pair of wings and there's this one scene they are in a jeep on a highway and the girl takes off and flies. That image came to me as I was driving tonight. I felt lifted off my feet. I even forgot all my other thoughts for a moment.

I told L- that my problem occurs when I start fussing over the particular instead of looking at the whole picture. "You know what worked for me," she said, "For a whole month, I went out dancing every night."

Something was said tonight about aging and how I'm still young and how I might be confident now and all that, but the older you get, the more insecure you become. Again, the older you get the more insecure you become. I feel I need to live to disprove this statement. I can't imagine my insecurities getting worse! The older I get, I more secured I will be. Very soon, I'll see through all that's distracting me now. I'm already seeing through a lot.

Now sleep.

me and my rainbow of choices

It was the early evening when I took the bus to North York. On the bus a boy and a girl were talking about sucking blood from their veins. As I crossed the street a car honked me from close distance. As I passed through the mini carnival set up outside Centrepoint Mall someone yelled at me because I had turned away from him when he said “Hey buddy” and wanted me to take some basketball shots for stuffed animal prizes.

I went to the mall to find my friend M-. She is an inspiration to me. Sixty-five and still working part-time on top of her job as real estate agent. “My daughter is having a baby,” she said, “and she wants to name him Adam, and I know another Adam too!” She was happy I went to the mall to see her.

I would not have gone there had I not stopped by Markville Mall earlier today to learn that she had moved to Centrepoint. I would not have stopped by Centrepoint Mall had my friend not told me that our gathering was pushed back thirty minutes.

From Centrepoint Mall I walked south along Yonge Street. I passed by some interesting Korean shops and a cake café called Yogoberri. I made a note to go there next time on a free day, bring a book, or better yet, call up an old friend and just sit and chat and watch cars go up and down the town.

Tonight there were the four of us and we settled at a patio table at Café La Monde on the west side of Yonge between Church and Finch. While sitting with my friends I had forgotten how I had drifted in the mall earlier today because of some questions I had about myself. I forgot I had had a few hours of drifty self-doubt earlier today.

In fact, as I look back on today, I seem to only remember the part from when I took the bus to North York.

We talked about very light things since I was in a light mode and I hope my friends were in a light mode too. I hope they didn’t have anything heavy they wanted to share but couldn’t say it because I was so light and had already taken into talking about the Grasshopper concert that I’m about to get tickets to. We talked a baby girl named Panda and how a couple meets randomly in the library and gets married. I looked up at the building and thought about when I would get married. I thought about this thing called “life experience” and how I ought to accumulate this in order to better understand how people think and behave. If I want to contribute effectively in this world, it’s good to know a thing about people, and lately I’ve been fascinated with what people think about when they get married, after they get married, or having been married for many years. Many pretty girls walked by our table and I looked up at each of them, keeping mindful that I wasn’t stealing glances, but honestly looking at their faces in appreciation of all that’s good that’s happening around us on this warm summer evening, and when you see honestly, you exchange something pleasant with each of them without even talking, without even talking.

Last night, E- told me she had come to be strong and to accept her suffering because she has no choice. She never had a choice but to accept what God has given her. We make do with what we have. This, I know well. I also know that I’m very lucky because I’m presented with a rainbow of choices. I’ve been lucky since the day I was born. E- said I ought to celebrate my choices.

I am a confident soul. Only sometimes I am weak. And a bit more than sometimes I’m unsure of myself. But when I have a chance to settle back and look back upon… not even so far, say, a day like today for example, I can’t help but to be infinitely thankful for the choices I’ve been given, and the understanding that whatever choice I make will be a good one. I cannot fail. What would you do if you cannot fail? What would you do if your success, like mine, is guaranteed?

they will remember omelets

And what am I to make of these summer nights. Another school year has come to an end. Today, in their final class, the kids got their report cards and I asked them to choose what they would like me to draw on their report card. They could choose between Omelet, Smiley Face, or Heart. They could request to have the thing drawn in Orange, Green, or Purple. Most kids asked for Omelet. We talked about omelets a lot this year, and they thought I drew omelets very well. Omelet is our inside joke.

Another school year. Kids got candies. Some even managed to say things like "Thank you for teaching me." Some didn't know what was going on. I can't say for sure that I knew what was going on. But it was fun. And that's what's most important.

Kids grow up. They grow taller and they see new things and things become difficult and they learn bits and pieces more about themselves and how they fit within this whole web of life. The teacher stays in the classroom. This way, the teacher never gets old.

love is all football

And yes, I can write here like this. On the porch. Two lawn chairs. My legs stretched out as I hammer away at my laptop. On the drive back home I had the windows down and was listening to the Purple Summer album. I didn’t know there were some good songs, and those songs matched very well with an evening like this.

The thing about very hot days is that you know it will be nice in the evening.

I have always preferred the Euro Cup over the World Cup.

In Euro 1996, Germany beat Czech Republic in the finals. That summer, I took jersey #18 after Jurgen Klinsmann, my favourite player at the time who won the golden boot of the Euro tournament. That summer, I met a girl who had a liking toward sweaters of a turquoise tone. Instead of a school bag she carried an LV handbag to class. It was summer school. The class was Grade 12 Physics. This girl became my first girlfriend, and the infinite inspiration of my artistic expressions.

In Euro 2000, France came back to beat Italy with two very late goals by Wiltord and Trezeguet. I never thought I would root for Italy but I did because I was so inspired by Italy’s shoot-out semi-final victory and the hyper celebration of Francesco Toldo, the keeper who really stepped up. That summer, I turned 20 and had my first teaching job.

In Euro 2004, Greece beat Portugal. I was rooting for Portugal because I liked wicked five of Figo, Maniche, Deco, Lui Costa, and a young Ronaldo down the left wing, plus a very stylish Nuno Gomes as super sub. That summer, I had finished university and had no job. I had money, a car, and the whole apartment to myself. I had a tenth floor balcony facing northwest that allowed me to watch the colours of the sky change in the early evenings. That summer, I started writing a memoir that went nowhere (but I finished it). I had no TV, so I had to book the TV room to watch the games. This girl from my condo watched some games with me. The two of us watched several games together yet I had never gotten her name, and it had only crossed my mind afterwards that I could have gotten to know her better, and then who knows. She was rooting for England when Portugal beat them in shootouts. She lay on the couch during the shootouts and said it was too exciting she couldn’t watch. She was so cute. Her favourite player was Oliver Kahn. Not Beckham, not Ronaldo, but Oliver Kahn. I thought her choice was very refined.

I ran into her a few times in the elevator. Few months later I moved out of the condo.

This year, I think Germany will win.

Tonight, as I was driving home I asked myself if my poetic temperament is all vain. I know also that I need not worry about it. It will evolve as I age. But without doubt, as I was driving, I did not want to go home. I thought about going to the Korean supermarket to pick up some exotic desserts. But I decided not to go because I would only have myself to enjoy it with. Yet, had I gone, I could have met some cute Korean girls, and on a night in which I feel so at myself, why not give it go? Such is my temperament and I’m aware of it. I observe myself in different angles. The more I get to know him for who he is the more I love him and someday someone would concur.


Written on a fine Saturday evening on my porch at 9 Macgregor Ave.

ten years swim

Today in the coffee shop I ran into someone I hadn't met in ten years. Ten years ago, Mr. Paul Ting delivered a bible to my home. I still have the copy in which he signed, dated October 1998. Today, I ran into him in the coffee shop.

Ten years ago, I was in my last year of highschool. I had just come back from Japan. My friend Christina brought me to a special event in her church. She was so into the whole Christian thing then but I had heard from a chance encounter with her brother a few years ago that she wasn't so into it anymore. I had lost touch with Christina since high school.

But anyways. Ten years ago, Christina brought me to church. When they asked people who chose to accept Christ to walk up to the stage, I went up. Then they took me to the basement and it was Mr. Paul Ting who was talking to me about the Bible. I talked to him for a long time.

I came up from the basement. Christina was waiting for me. She had the most radiant smile on her face. I was only eighteen then, and nowhere near the sensitive being I am today, but still, I made a note to myself then that that smile was the most radiant I had ever seen from anyone.

I had long lost touch with Christina. And tonight I think of her.

And to Mr. Paul Ting, I am very thankful. We are both ten years older. I was a lost highschooler then and now I'm a somewhat established member of the working society. I asked Paul, "In this ten year's time, how have your relationship with God changed?"

I'm glad to see Paul still spreading the faith. I told him what he does is very meaningful.

As for me, my relationship with God had never been closer. This, I am convinced, though rarely do I go to church or read the bible.

God is in my heart.

Ten years. What of that? All I know is we're all swimming in the same ocean. And for this, I feel infinitely blissful.

dreaming of umbrellas

Here's something I'm trying: When I don't feel so at myself, I tell this feeling to God. Throughout the day I observe around me for answers.

Also, the new book I'm writing, I'm going to write the drafts by hand. This way, I can take my work with me, a few pieces of paper and a pen in hand, I scribble away wherever I am.

Then I dictate my draft to the computer. This means I have to install the voice activation software. This will allow me to read my work out loud.

I'm about to sleep. My reading lamp is shining on my bed. My clothes are on there too. These clothes look dead when they're not on my body. Some clothes look good when they're on the hanger. Clothes that look good on the hanger usually don't look as good on my body.

I'm thinking about these people who walk with an umbrella under the sun. I pray they find better hours to walk, times in which they won't need an umbrella. Better yet, throw away the umbrella and just walk the way you are, shine or rain.

Go on the roof of a very tall building. Open the umbrella and toss it over the edge. Now, what kind of music would go with this scene? That depends on how the umbrella falls.