Monday, February 28, 2005
Sick As Death
I've discovered that the best way to give yourself a really great ab workout is to develop a really terrible cough that leaves you clutching your stomach on the floor gasping for air. Nothing else gets your muscles to clench like that. It's the kind where you're afraid to breath deep or through your mouth at all lest it trigger something or tickle in any way that would start another fit of phlegmy coughing. But this will prove to be impossible because your nose is all stubbed ub and in fact, your entire head feels like it's filled with a heavy green mucous. And when you sneeze, it feels like it's trying to escape through every orifice possible. It's gross and you may think it's funny, but it's so very true.
And here I am, not on meds, throwing back the Fishermen's Friends, having not seen a doctor (yet), constantly rubbing Vaseline on my dry, cracking lips and sore, sore nose, stuffing toilet paper up my nostrils. How attractive.
It's way past my bedtime and I'm lying to myself, Oh yeah, I'll finish this essay, no problem. When I know that clearly, I will check my e-mail too often, chat on MSN and write gross blog entries about my mucous. Who am I kidding? I'm going to bed.
Saturday, February 26, 2005
This Too Shall Pass
One year ago I was happy. We had just come from a hilarious, yet terrible, breakfast at Harvey's. A year ago the memories of Valentine's Day in Ottawa were still fresh in my head. How we skated the entire Rideau together (almost holding hands the entire way), how we signed our names on the same line in an art gallery guestbook, how he managed to wear my tiny socks on the ride home (he once wrote that he was looking for some girl's socks to keep his feet warm and I'll always wonder if he ever thought about that as he was wearing mine).
A year ago I was remembering how we had just spent a day with his younger sister and two little cousins at the museum and at the skating rink, and the entire time I felt like we were one big family. I looked over at him in the car while he was driving, I watched him play with the kids and laughed when he couldn't figure out how to put their snowpants on. I watched him from behind as he held their hands while crossing the street and I thought to myself, I could live like this. With you and our kids and we'd be happy. We'd take them to the museum becuase we'd want them to appreciate culture and we'd get McDonald's for dinner because they want it and you would too. I want to belong here, with your family, with you.
Six months ago we left for our 2nd Annual Togetherness Time Before School Trip (I made up that cheesy name and I don't think he ever adopted it) and we sat in Greyhounds for seventeen hour trips to and from the US; he put up with my late-night crankiness and I put up with his snoring. I usually ate alone, roamed Louisville by myself and knew that he was having a really good time with all his academic people. I watched him, swelling with pride, as he gave his first presentation at an international conference. Chicago was fun, but we didn't like the city too much so we'd take time off and spent a day just at the hotel, in the pool, in bed, in each others' arms.
A month ago, I asked if he wanted out of this relationship and he said Yes. The fighting hadn't stopped and it was probably For The Best. But despite all that, everything I said that night was choked through sobs; I didn't want to lose him, was afraid of losing him, even though I had already.
A week ago I decided that calling him to see how he was doing and sending him jpegs of Darth Vader and Jesus were almost pointless efforts. Nothing good came of them, nothing came of them at all. Except for funny blog entries (and what came from those blog entries was an angry e-mail from his friend yelling at me for being "manipulative" with my posts - which offended me, but I'll get into that later - so I told her to stop reading).
One day ago, Chris said to me, "Hey, I've noticed that the last couple posts on your blog aren't so sad anymore! Way to go." So perhaps after reading this he'll be disappointed, but the thing is, I'm okay. Sure, I get weepy when I think about the happy past and I will admit that I cried a bit when I was writing about the socks and the kids and the wanting to have a family with him, but I'm relatively okay. Not quite 'good' yet, but I'll get there. The uncertainty is dying down, and even if it wasn't, it doesn't bother me anymore. He left me a while ago and he's not coming back. And I think that's okay.
January 27th, 3:04am
I love you Jason.
Friday, February 25, 2005
Ooh! Ooh! Me! Pick Me! It's Me!
Who spent two too many hours redesigning that banner thingy at the top of this place (finally) and whined over picking the right colours when she really should have been working on her big papers that are due Monday and Tuesday that she is not nearly even half done? She's a poster child for the worst university student work ethic ever.
Who spends their Wednesday night (until 12am no less) at the library during Reading Week? And had Arrowroot baby cookies for dinner? She made it up by having real food at 12:30am though. And then tops the dinner thing by having a handful of Fisherman's Friends for breakfast the next morning.
See, while she was at the library she managed to catch some sort of bug that made it feel like her throat was bleeding on the inside and so when she was walking around at night breathing the cold, cold winter air, it was more like she was breathing shards of broken glass. This later manifested itself into a monstrous headache that made
This makes her a little weary despite the fact that she can say Guess who just got offered a super amazing job for the spring (and thus needs to go to training this weekend)? Who gets to go on 3 day trips to Ottawa, Montreal, Quebec City, Toronto (and all other elementary grad trip destinations) with a bunch of said elementary school kids and gets paid $125 a day for it? Who gets to spend multiple weekends in these cities for training and then gets paid for it? Paid travel training! She'll become so well versed in the history and touristy landmarks and will fall in love all over again with the cobblestone roads of Old Montreal that are filled with music and food and art and all other fantastic summer festival things. Being paid to travel! With kids!
If only you could see the smile on her face.
Thursday, February 24, 2005
This Is About To Get Personal
One of the saddest things I'll ever have to go through is seeing my mother cry. Or hearing it, or even knowing about it regardless of whether or not I'm present. Luckily, it hasn't happened too often. I remember a few times when I was a young girl and my parents got into a fight at my aunt and uncle's place (my dad had too much to drink or something, my mom wanted to leave, something something), but I was doing a puzzle with my brother and cousins and we were all too young to understand. My mum and dad used to fight at home too, mostly over money, sometimes it'd be about how we were raised, my dad's disciplining and how his side of the family was a bad influence. But recently (being the last handful of years), I've noticed a change. It's no longer about my dad's side of the family and it's not about how he disciplines us, it's all about my brother.
My brother 'got in with the wrong crowd' in high school. Didn't do too well in school, spent less time at home, started smoking a variety of things, drinking a variety of things, etc. I knew because I was the sister, and it was my window that he snuck out of at night, it was my bathroom he hot boxed in, it was me who covered for him when my mum smelled something weird, and it was me who said he was fine when I really had no idea what he was doing. My parents, for the most part, knew nothing.
Until one night, the kid made the decision to smoke some junk in the house, when he thought everyone was asleep. Before I knew it, my dad busted him and yelled a bunch of stuff in broken English. But that was it and we all went to sleep. My mum used to scold him, lecture him, tell him to be a better person, not to do things like that and to study hard, earn money, make a good life for himself. When he got old enough, he started to yell back. He screamed. And she screamed. And I will never forget the sound of my mum sobbing in her room right after that. Me sitting beside her on the bed, rubbing her back, her shoulders, whispering things to calm her down, did nothing. I didn't exist. There was only the sorrow that my brother had caused her.
This week, years later, after I thought that phase had passed, he did it again. It sounds so insignificant, knowing how many people are like him (that he's like so many others), because he was in his room by himself, and it was so harmless. But my dad smelled something, busted him and started to scold. I suspect he did it quietly at first because he didn't want to wake my mother, but she ended up coming out anyway. I'm on the phone with my friend, hearing snippets of what's going on, a lot of tsk-tsk-ing, some yelling, and then, the crying.
This wasn't just any crying, this was What have I done wrong to deserve this? Why is my child like this? Have I not provided enough for you, for a good life? Why do you do things to hurt me? This is how you repay me? Still, I cannot translate it all, the meanings are deeper when spoken through sobs in Cantonese. And for the first time, I listened to the sadness that my mother lived through just to get to this point in her life.
Life in Vietnam. A father who passed away too young. A mother who did little nurturing. Too many siblings. War. Northern Communists invading her Southern city. Poverty. Not enough clothing, not enough food. Walking to school barefoot. Selling their life for passage on an overcrowded boat. Being separated from family. Internment camps in the Southeast. Brothers in jail. Guards, guns, little food, lots of disease. Death. Weeks at sea, less food, more sickness, more death.
She gave up her education to work, to earn enough money to feed and shelter her younger siblings. She's worked every possible day, never took maternity leave, saved up for a car and a house and for her kids. The only thing she regrets is not being able to go back to school. She wishes her English was better, that she had a more respectable job, but she gave it all up for us. And despite the fact that my brother has had a good education, has the privilege of going to university, he goes and gets himself into a mess like this. This is how he repays her.
I love my brother, I do. I care about the kid and I've seen some really good changes in him. But it gets difficult when he sits in his desk chair (probably too high to soak in what's going on) and ignores the woman who is yelling and crying at the same time. It's hard to get your message through when all you see is a back I suppose. And suddenly I'm there, rubbing her shoulders and back, pulling her away from his room, whispering, soothing. Ma, it's okay, let's just go to bed, come on, it's okay. Mummy, please.
When I was sad a little while ago, she said to me, Don't keep things locked up in your heart, you have to tell your Ma and she will help you.
I want you to know that David is a good kid. He tries really hard and though they don't give medals for trying, he does mean well. Did you know he got 100% on his accounting assignment? He didn't bother to tell you because he knows that everyone thinks he's dumb. He takes care of the car and fills it with gas, he does his best at school and there's nothing wrong with being an average student. He works, earns his own money and stopped asking to borrow a long time ago. He's in a long term relationship and takes care of her very well. He stopped being a brat and lets me borrow his things, he drives me around because I don't have my license. He took extra credits to pull up his grades, he managed to make it into university. He stayed home to save money, he plans to buy his own car soon. He does what he can.
We are all very tired.
I don't know why I decided to share my mother's sorrows and my brother's habits with you tonight. I'm sitting here wondering if I want to post this, that yes, this is my personal space but it's also online so most anyone has access to it. But I shake my head and know that that doesn't scare me. I'm not afraid of people knowing these things. Yes, it's personal, but biographies, auto-biographies, memoirs, they get published all the time. This is the reason they call blogging 'personal publishing'. What does this post mean? Does it have a message? I'm not quite sure to tell you the truth. But I've discovered recently that even though things may not have a specific purpose doesn't mean that they can't be shared anyway.
Tuesday, February 22, 2005
Movies Are Starting To Make Me Think
I should probably stop watching romantic comedies. Or at least wait a little while, until after I get out of the post-breakup stage. I just saw Hitch, and it was good enough to come sealed with my stamp of approval and recommendation. It was entertaining, laugh out loud funny and contained just enough romance to make you swoon and not puke. The puke-worthy parts came when Will Smith would say things like, I'm taking a leap of faith...something about flying...You make me fly. Without you I just fall..I'm falling, falling hard. Falling in love that is. Y'know, in case you didn't get it or something.
Yeah, I got it. The icky metaphor made me raise my eyebrow and cringe a little. Sure, it was sweet, and I'd probably melt a bit if someone said that to me, but do real people talk like that?
I find myself starting to believe that people should be able to fly on their own. Having a partner should just complement that. Fly together or something, hold hands in the air, but you should be able to do it all by your awesome self. You're awesome, remember? You can do most anything if only you try. If you can't fly by yourself and need someone else in order to do it, what does that say about you? The same goes for the You Complete Me line that girls love from Jerry Maguire. Yeah, it sounds wonderful and oh-so-romantic and wouldn't you want to marry the guy that says that to you? Lately, I've realized that I want to be complete on my own (I was at one point, but I'm a bit dented and rough around the edges now). Yes, I want someone there to share my life with no doubt, but what if they ever go away? Then I'm missing a chunk that can't be replaced unless I find someone else to complete me? Ridiculous. I don't want to be me-with-a-gaping-hole and only whole after someone else is in the picture. I should be able to be my own person, by myself. Just in case I end up an old maid. Oh sure, I need people....but in another sense, I don't.
I'm taking an Asian Religions class right now and it's the perfect time for me to learn about (some aspects of) Buddhism. Don't hold on too tightly to anything. Cherish, be fond of and be close to, just don't attach. Learn to let go. I cock my head to the side and consider it...and I think to myself, If we part and go our separate ways, we'll be just fine. But What if I want more than just fine? What if I want extra-ordinary? What if I want something real?
Real can get ugly. Even real love. Real love comes with arguments and compromises, it comes with facing your own shortcomings and embracing the other's. It comes with more than you ever imagined possible, good and bad. Sometimes, in order to be happy, you have to be sad first. Real love is hard to find, but if you're so lucky, I say screw Buddhism and hang onto it as tightly as you can.
Sunday, February 20, 2005
How Not To Get Over Your Ex-Boyfriend
Gawd, even that word (ex-boyfriend) makes me uncomfortable.
I am letting you know right now that I am stupidstupidstupid. I'm back at home for a few days and of course, I still miss him. Of course, when I find that my lovely mum has bought me new bright yellow bedsheets, the first thing I think of is him. Oh, I wish he were here to see this, see how they have a slight shine to them. I wish he could come over and feel how soft they are. Oh honey, don't they remind you of those fancy hotel bedsheets that are always so smooth? Oh, remember that time we were at that bed and breakfast or that hotel? Or all this other neat stuff we did that involved nice bedsheets?
Look Shirley, he's not here and he really doesn't give a damn. No one cares about your new bedsheets, certainly not him.
And you know what's even stupider? After sleeping in those new, happy yellow sheets and dreaming about him all freaking night long, waking up at 9:30 in the morning and calling him because I miss him. Now, that is stupid. Yeah, so I called him. And no, I had no idea what would come of it and yes, I was nervous to the point where I wanted to hang up when it started to ring. But no, I didn't hang up. Instead, I clutched the phone so tightly that my knuckles turned white and when he answered I took a breath and all I could say was, "Hi." I smiled a bit, it was nice to hear his voice again.
He did not sound happy to hear from me.
Whaaat?? I MISS HIM GODDAMMIT! Is it so wrong for me to call and see how he is? He may be a big fan of just cutting people out of his life, but I will have everyone know that I do not like that. If someone is or was even remotely important to you, you do not remove them like some unwanted thing in a surgery. I am not a tumor!
I know, I know, maybe I shouldn't have called. We didn't really have anything to say and oops, I may have woken up the two girls who were sleeping in his room. Does he throw these little things in knowing that it'll hurt me to hear them? Who in the hell wants to hear that the man they love and who just broke up with them is now having girls sleep over all the time? Oh yes, of course they're Just Friends. Isn't everyone Just Friends? Except me and him. Which is funny, because we're supposed to be Friends. And we were for a little bit until for some reason he stopped replying to e-mails and posts and pretended like I didn't exist. So maybe the phone call was to remind him that I am. Still here. I'm still interested in being your friend. And yeah, I miss you.
It even got to the point where he mumbled something and it sounded like he had said, "I miss you". (Really? Ohmygod, you miss me? Oh Jason, I miss you too!)
Sorry, what was that?
I didn't say anything.
Of course not. Of course he didn't say anything. Of course you just made that up in your head. Of course he doesn't miss you. He's got two girls to sleep with and talk to before bed. What have you got? Sunshine yellow sheets.
His are hospital green. And he has another set that has Snoopy all over them. No, not incredibly sexy, but cute and endearing as hell. Do they think that too? Do they borrow his clothes to sleep in? Are they wearing the t-shirts I used to wear? His boxer shorts? My favourite pair? Do they see the things that I gave him in the room? Are those things even there anymore? I know that room inch by inch. Whenever he couldn't find anything he called me before he even started to look for it. Yes, you have an iron. It's in the third drawer in that plastic storage thing! Battery charger? Last time I saw it it was on the floor next to your phone. And then he would do his heh-heh-oh-yeahhh chuckle, say Thanks Honeee and hang up. I know his books, the piles of clothes on the floor. Random relationship memorabilia here and there. Did he clean it all up for them?
Stupidstupidstupid. The phone just rang and it was a long distance call. My heart skipped a beat because I thought it might be him. "Hello, this is a courtesy call from RBC Royal Bank."
Of course not. It'll never be him again.
Saturday, February 19, 2005
How To Be Constantly Reminded Of Your Ex-Boyfriend/Ex-Fiance
While in Guelph two days ago, re-meeting my friend's roommate.
I'm Shirley by the by, A's friend.
Oh yeah, are you from Kitchener? From WLU?
Almost, Waterloo. And yep, WLU.
Oh yeah. You're the one who's engaged right?
Well...I was engaged....
Oh. Well, I'm awkward. Sorry.
No, that's okay. I get that a lot. Don't worry about it.
Last night, chatting with a friend I haven't talked to in a while.
So how are you?
I'm alright, a bit bored. Anything new with you?
Not really, a bit bored and lonely myself.
Hey, so I heard that you and Jason are engaged now. Congrats!
Uhm. Actually, we just broke up a few weeks ago. But yes, we were engaged.
Oh. Oh no. I'm so sorry.
Don't worry, it's fine.
Alright people, let's get our stories straight. Yes, we were engaged, and I'd like to think it was something other than a desperate attempt to save the relationship (ie: that he loved me enough and actually wanted to spend the rest of his life with me), but that doesn't matter because no, we're not engaged anymore. We're not even together. He's been wanting out of this thing for a while, broke up with me at 3 in the morning on the 27th of January and I certainly think about him enough without having everyone remind me.
I'm sorry. I shouldn't be bitter. And really, I'm taking everything in stride and it's not like I unleash all hell's fury on the people that honestly don't know. I'm nice. I'm patient. I smile and shake my head and tell people not to worry because it's okay, I'm okay, I'm having bad days but I'm doing just fine because I can totally deal with the fact that he doesn't choo-choo-choose me anymore. Not.
Sigh. He used to giggle and call me his 'other e'.
Thursday, February 17, 2005
Dear owner of this bike,
I think you are rad. I love your bike. And I curse this snowy weather just because it means that the roads are too treacherous for you to ride this baby to school in. Let me be your bike-babe?
Wednesday, February 16, 2005
My 15 minutes of fame on someone else's blog: HERE. Someone even recognized me! Yay to Will for matching the face to the blog.
Too bad it didn't make it into the school paper like it was supposed to. Then the entire campus could have seen me seemingly excited about V Day even though I wasn't really.
Tuesday, February 15, 2005
I was chatting with a friend last night and after the usual, How are you doing? question asked with their head cocked to a side, their eyes full of pity and their lips curled into a sympathetic smile, he asked if there was anything new and positive in my life.
Why yes, yes there is.
I told him about Fr!nge and how my play was great and how it was so great that we won awards, myself being awarded Best Supporting Actress. I told him that I was selected to be an MC for Culture Shock*, the multi-cultural festival that's on stage tomorrow night and then, I auditioned for the Vagina Monologues (hopefully it went well enough for them to want me in the show again this year).
I thought more to myself...I'm also going to Guelph in a few days to see Tegan & Sara in concert and while I'm there I get to visit old friends that I haven't seen since high school. And look at that, they're are all interested in seeing me too (thus proving that I'm not totally weird and un-likable). I suddenly feel popular and wanted and excited and alive again because I'm busily trying to make plans; who am I going to see, when am I going to see them, how am I going to have enough to time to see all these people?! It's great.
I took a nice long walk on Saturday when it was sunny and beautiful. I discovered a lovely tea shop like the one back home, an art store and a fantasticly gorgeous restaurant that I must visit soon. On Sunday I spent nearly 7 hours in a cushy armchair, sipping Chai, talking, laughing, eating deliciously over-priced wraps, making faces, choking on cinnamon, and licking whipped cream off spoons.
I'm reading a book that I really like right now. I have great music to listen to and because of my circumstances right now a lot of the lyrics really speak to me, especially T&S, which is one of the reasons why I'm uber-excited to see them on Thursday night. After reading my blog, my roommate decided to start one of her own. I met Helen, and right away she told me that I was great in Fr!nge and that I was beautiful. She made me smile.
Things are okay, things are almost good again.
While the positive can make things a little brighter for a little bit, I still sigh a little on the inside when I think about the fact that I walked home alone in the rain tonight.
Oh what, I know this post was about the positive but can't a girl whine for a little bit more? The fact that I even wrote this post is mind-boggling considering I've spent way too much time reminiscing about our time in Ottawa last year for V Day, and how my socks kept his feet warm on the ride home.
*Yeah, not so much anymore. I couldn't get the time off work so I had to back out of the show at the last minute, much to the chagrin of the committee. I hope they don't hurt me. BUT the positive side to this is that I get 2 extra hours to work on a big paper for class.
Monday, February 14, 2005
Trying Not To Hate The Day
To anyone that has ever broken up with a significant other or been dumped, I'm so sorry. I wish no one had to go through anything like this because I know how much it hurts. And it sucks. From the first time J and I broke up in October, all the times in between, and now, few things are different. Reasons are a bit different, but the feelings are the same. Sadness, loss, emptiness, loneliness, ache. The tightness in my chest has come back, my heart hurts. My appetite is going and my sleep is fitful and filled with dreams about him. He is the last thing on my mind before I fall asleep and the first thing I wake to in the mornings. Except he's not actually there, not beside me.
Yesterday I woke up sad and angry. Part of me hates him so much for all this, but I know he's not fully to blame. I rationalize to myself, He's not my boyfriend anymore, He's barely a friend, Stop expecting so much from him. But those words don't make the pain any less. Today I woke up just sad. I had a dream that we tried to work things out again, and we were together with both our families there. Things were happy. But in real life, it was raining outside and my room was dark. Now I'm in a slump and I can't get out of it. I'm missing class as we speak, I'm crying as I type this.
The sadness strikes when I'm alone. I'm trying to get out of the house more, but when I come home, I check the answering machine and my e-mail in hopes that he's decided to talk to me again, but I do it all only to find...nothing. Maybe the e-mail didn't get to him yet, Maybe he hasn't read those posts yet...I sigh in resignation. No, I really don't think that's it at all. I tell myself, I can't be in this relationship if he doesn't want it. But then I ask, What do I do now? I didn't want out of it in the first place. Why do I have to do these things?
Part of me feels sheepish and embarrassed that I feel so pathetic, that I actually used my blog and begged the internet public to be my friend. But I really needed to do it. If I hadn't, I wouldn't be able to thank those who have e-mailed me, sent me messages, called, and took me out. I can't tell you how much that all means to me right now.
Things could be worse. At least I don't have cancer. At the very, very least, I'm alive.
But I have this feeling that life should be something more than just being alive.
Saturday, February 12, 2005
What ever happened to The Girl you said was still really important to you? You said you would go to the ends of the earth for her, to the ends of the world.
I saw her on the floor, writhing. I saw her on her knees, praying.
I think she's dying.
Friday, February 11, 2005
This Is Going To Be Rough
Remember this post from back in November? I could post that here all over again and mean every word. This post is going to be brutally honest, somewhat bitter and it's going to break my heart. Not that that hasn't happened already.
I owe you an explanation.
I've been feeling shitty lately because Jason and I have broken up again (yes, again). Now you could go on and roll your eyes or shake your head and tell us to grow the hell up because that is what most people have been doing. Again? Didn't you break up in December? Or was that October? What...I didn't even know you had gotten back together. Yeah, we're just full of surprises. Did you know that at one point we were actually engaged? Haha, you're joking right? No...no, I'm really not. And I wasn't when I said Yes either. I still wear his necklace and ring around my neck and I'd feel really naked without it but I have this feeling I should probably be taking it off soon. Becuase, you know, this is the real thing. We're not together anymore. I mean it.
Well, he means it.
Once again, if I had things my way, this wouldn't have happened. I would still be trucking along trying to work things out and make everything good again. Outsiders were screaming at me, It's too broken to fix! You deserve better, you're too unhappy. He needs to want it too. Of course, I didn't listen to them. I mean, what did they know...I love this boy. I want to do this, it will work, just you watch. And now they get the last laugh.
We tried to be friends, we really did. We talked, we called, we took walks and had a couple meals together. I don't know if there was a single moment when we were both content at the same time. Hell, I was only his friend because I wasn't allowed to be his girlfriend anymore, of course I wasn't happy. But if the friendship was all I could have, then I would take it in any size and colour available. We still fought and got into arguments, yelled and cried over the phone most nights...it was a rough friendship. But sometimes we'd say nice things like I Love You and I Miss You. I Need You I Want You I Choose You. Choo-choo-choose you.
I'm crying as I write this. I still feel all those things yet I'm not sure if I should. I don't know if they're reciprocated or not.
Stay away from him Shirley, you need your space. You deserve to be happy, and this isn't making you happy.
But he did make me happy for a really, really long time. And I thought I made him happy too. It was the happiest we've ever been...we both say that. But now I only make him upset and he has to go out with other people (mainly girls - ouch) and sing at karaoke bars to be happy. When did I become a source of misery instead?
I'm no longer the girl he fell in love with. I'm not even the girl he wants to call or message online. I'm trying hard not to fall into the self-loathing, I'm-not-worthy-or-even-remotely-deserving-of-him trap because I've been there, done that, got the t-shirt and it's not something I want to relive. Part of me wants to ask Why doesn't he care? Why can he have so much damn fun? But then I remind myself that it hurts too much for me to call him, that sometimes I manage to laugh too, and that maybe he's asking the same questions.
When I don't see him, I think of him constantly. I turn my head at every flash of bright blue, khaki, adidas stripes. I watch for bald heads, laptops, black shoulder bags. Seeing a plug for internet connection makes me melancholy (he nearly lives online you see). When I do see him, I want to ignore him. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. What would I even say? Whether or not we even exchange words, I walk away with tears in my eyes. I managed to bring myself to attend a meeting that he chaired today. I stayed for half an hour and then left to do some reading. I thought I would be okay and productive. But then, a sad song played over the speakers and I sat there crying by myself. I thought I was being inconspicuous, I was weeping quietly, I wiped discreetly, I sniffled lightly. But it went on and on until the girl in the chair next to me asked,
Are you okay?
Yeah, I'm fine. Thanks.
Oh, it's just the book?
Yeah, it's just the book...it's sad. Thanks though.
Part of me wanted to open up to this girl, this random person who cared enough to ask, and tell her everything from when we first kissed and our first date to all the trips we took, all the things we saw together, all the new foods we ate. I wanted her to know everything, to see how real it all was, how wonderful and full and to know how much it hurt now that it was gone. But I didn't. I didn't say a single thing and instead walked home by myself, sobbing into my scarf.
Thursday, February 10, 2005
I'm having a really, really crappy day.
A friend once told me that if she wakes up and feels grumpy, she tries her best to dress up a little and that it usually perks her up enough to enjoy the rest of her day. So this morning I took a long shower, put on nice, clean clothes, did my hair and make up and put in dangly earrings. I opted for nice shoes as opposed to boots.
Still feel crappy.
Sunshine, the discman playing Foo Fighters, a chocolate fortune cookie.
Here's where I get desperate. I need you, please. Yes you, you, anyone. Talk to me, e-mail me, add me to MSN, ask me out for coffee (I don't like coffee and am a tea girl, but if you want to hang out with me I'll even order a cup just to be with you), tell me how you are, let me help you with something, ask me how I am. Hug me.
Because if I sit here and over-think things and feel sorry for myself any longer I may just implode.
Wednesday, February 09, 2005
While at work tonight, I heard the following conversations which made me smile a bit because I never remember to give anything up for Lent, even though I say I want to every year.
Him: What do you do for Lent?
Her: You give up something you like.
Him: Hm. I like you.
Him: What did you give up for Lent?
Him: Women always seem to give up chocolate. How long is Lent?
Her: Too long.
If Only Life Were Really The Stage
When I reach back and feel my hair, I can still sense hairspray and my fingers get caught in tangles. On Friday at 4pm, I was sitting in front of a mirror getting my hair curled with burning hot metal and loads and loads of hairspray. Four days later and it still doesn't feel like it's all washed out yet.
My play for the Fr!nge Festival well swimmingly well. Our first show was the best performance I've ever seen from every single cast member, myself included. Our play, though tagged as an "existential mindfuck" didn't turn out to be so mindfuckingly existential after all, because most people understood it well enough to say that they liked it and thought it was clever. Friends came to my shows which made me really happy, but I still felt as though I lacked that special someone to really celebrate with. I walked home slowly and alone that night and arrived to what I thought was going to be a dark, lonely house. My miserable mood melted away when I saw a bouquet of flowers and received an e-mail congratulating me on my new "baby".
I am really happy with our performance. And I am proud. It's been a while since I've been able to say that about myself, and I still have to put aside some insecurities and inadequacies, but I am proud. I know that we did really well as a cast, well enough to sweep four awards at the Fr!nge Oscars. Best Script, Best Director, Best Actor and yours truly: Best Supporting Actress. That's two years in a row if I may say so myself - and I say so with as little hubris as possible. Receiving recognition for my acting means a lot to me because I've always been somewhat doubtful of my talents. After all, I have received no formal (or even amateur) training and basically learned how to act on my own. Finally, a natural talent...?
During the last few months of rehearsals I've learned that acting isn't all the fun that it's sometimes cracked up to be. Acting is hard work. It's not all about the crazy postures and laughing you see on Who's Line Is It Anyway?. Sometimes it can be, but that's improv...drama takes a few steps in another direction. It didn't matter what mood I went to rehearsals in because my character doesn't feel what I feel, I have to feel what she feels. I have to be someone else. It didn't matter that after three months we all became bored of the script, of each others' lines, of the entire play in general. We are performers.
And though it sounds scary, it barely matters what you think because you have to put on a show for the audience. And if you're lucky, you'll love the theater and all that's involved with it enough to put your boredom aside and get on that stage and act like you've never acted before.
Saturday, February 05, 2005
I've spent the afternoon cooking and I'm in a pretty good mood as a result. In a few hours I've managed to bake two apple-raisin-cinnamon pies and make a vegetable soup from scratch. There's something very soothing about chopping up produce and mixing it all up with other things to create something else entirely. Throw on a little background music and I'm a happy little chef bumbling around the kitchen.
After such delicious feats, it was time for dinner and I was too lazy to make anything extravagant for myself. So I threw some fishsticks and fries into the toaster oven. Three packages of McDonald's ketchup later and I was good to go. I think the best thing about (making) yummy food is sharing it with other people.
Wednesday, February 02, 2005
Seriously Rethinking The Need For Titles
Being tired all the time makes me kind of sad. I swear I'm getting enough sleep and the days are bright and sunny, I listen to music when I walk and I'm eating...enough. I've even resorted a couple half-cups of coffee every now and then. I don't know what it is.
The beginning of second semester has been rough and I'm really busy with activities outside the classroom. Rehearsals are often and go late, I've been selected to MC a cultural festival and I still want to audition for the Vagina Monologues. At this rate, I'll be rehearsing for something or other until final exams.
I want it to be the summer again. I'm not necessarily looking forward to this coming summer (actually, thinking about it makes me kind of depressed); I really want to be back in June 2004. I want to be back in that photo up there, digitally clicking away in Saigon, having the sun beat down on me and the humidity making my skin glow. I want to eat strange foods and see new things, I want to spend some time in an airport, I want to feel refreshed and excited. There's a possibility for me to go work in Britain over the summer, but at this point the idea isn't favoured by my family and being alone for months overseas makes me a little nervous. Part of me wishes to plan out my four month break and know exactly what I'll be doing and when, but right now plans seem to be a little self-defeating. For now, I'm going to take things as they come at me and leave things up to whatever Fate seems to be looking after my life.
Tuesday, February 01, 2005
I've been trying to work on a new post for some time now. I'm still not sure how I want to say things, or what I even have to say. Things have changed around here, in some way reflecting the changes that are taking place in my life.
I feel tired a lot of the time and want to write people I barely know long letters about how I feel. I want to paint and dance and go for long walks during sunny afternoons. I never want to leave the stage. Instead, I sleep in, go to class, go to work, arrive at rehearsals late, chat with my roommate about boys and loneliness and strength and self-worth.
I'm toning this place down a bit and I'm not sure how it's going to be, though it will most likely get a little more personal and reflective. In some way, I didn't feel the good vibe anymore. Things have changed; I feel different on the inside and I can't put my finger on it. I wish I could tell you all these things and more; I want to but I can't find the words. So instead, I hid all my words in the archives. I want to read your words too, but I'm taking comments off. I want this space to be mine again...it has been mine for the entire time, but I became more occupied than I wanted to be with checking comments. Feel free to e-mail me though. I'd still love to hear from you.
I'm not going to stop blogging. Not now. Not because of this. I've been journalling more and keeping things to myself, but a part of me never ever wants to stop sharing.