Nov 29, 2009

Jane in London, November 2009




I don't like taking new pictures of us together. I like old pictures of us, when we were kids. I like how they make me feel. I like how you always smiled with your two front teeth in the pictures, and how big my smile was, standing next to you. I don't want to take new pictures of us together. I don't want to have to look at the new pictures and see how different our smiles are. I don't want to know how different they are.

I didn't take that many pictures of you, but that's okay, because like all the people that really matters to me, I already have a picture of you in my heart.

Nov 27, 2009

"south of the border, down Mexico way"

(by Frank Sinatra)

My attention span has been waning these past few days. I found myself looking out the window at restaurants, shifting my gaze sideways while people talk to me. I found myself staring people straight in the eyes and all the way through the back of their heads. Maybe I am just not interested in what people are talking about. Or maybe, I am just not interested in people.

I will be honest - I have never really been into 'people'. I like looking at beautiful people though. I could gaze at a physically attractive person (be it male or female) for a whole day long, but beyond that, I don't want to know or learn anything else about the person. I don't prefer to share my experiences with people either. Experiences I gained from reading books, from listening to different kinds of music, from just, living. I guess it is true, that in that sense, I could be called a stuck-up loner.

I think it's innate. Or the fact that, in some kind of a twisted plot from dear ol' Fate, I turn out to be an only child made me a stuck-up loner. An only child. Wow, sure is a mouthful to me. Sure is a--

Oh hey will you look at that, after just one post of saying that I will eventually tell my stories, I am already giving away hints. Must be a breezy day.

Breezy, breezy day
South of the border, down Mexico way.

Nov 22, 2009

Stories on a breezy day

I was sitting on the middle sofa in the living room, looking at every person in front of me while they held a casual conversation in the midst of the regular fried chicken dinner. On the surface I looked calm. On the surface I looked like I had nothing on my mind. Every once in a while I could find myself joining in the conversation. I knew exactly what the discourse was about, how the topic moved from one subject to another. I responded to every one of them, sometimes just slightly, sometimes a little more elaborate. But just like retractable claws, my attention to the discourse came and went, quite abruptly. Because only on the surface I looked calm. Only on the surface I looked carefree. But underneath I was shaken. Underneath, I was terrified. For it to be exposed, all it needed was a little scratch on the surface.

To be completely honest, I don't know whether it is fortunate, or unfortunate, that that surface has never encountered a single scratch before. Sometimes I feel safe. The fact that I am not figured out makes me feel safe. Like the way I felt last summer, while on the road with my mother and aunt, going across the east-west highway. The view took me away. Everything from the mountains to the roads far ahead were dressed in a somber hue. Every single thing was its own entity, but there were no clear outlines separating them from one another. The trees and the sky above them blended together perfectly. Everything was, all in all, one. I felt safe driving in the middle of it all. I felt like I was, too, one with them. Like if I wanted to tell them anything, I could.

I wanted to keep feeling safe, but once I reached the city, every thing was back to being their own individual. We were no longer "one". I felt like I was being thrown out. I felt rejected, dejected, disheartened. Eventually I too became my own individual. I could not relate to anything around me. I felt terrified to let myself out in the open. I felt cautious.

But the truth is, I want to be figured out. We all do. How, when, who, why, where, I'll leave it all to Eventually. Because eventually, all of our surfaces will crack open and fall apart. And I have come to realize that there is absolutely nothing wrong with it.


"I will tell you my stories on a breezy day
so they can float away with the wind
But let me first craft the words and ways
so they won't brush against your skin"