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It's all like a dream, being here - fireworks in platt fields park were ethereal, and the carnival! I've never been to one, it was pretty amazing though slightly overpriced but that's to be expected. Badminton today just wasn't the same as it was back home a year ago - has it been a year already? - with homies who never seemed to study properly but jumped downstairs to the hall whenever someone mentioned the word badminton. Good times playing in the dark because the cleaners never let us turn off the lights, and it didn't matter when we sucked or when we didn't because we just had fun. It's interesting to see how all of us have diverged and gone along different roads but still have nice memories as the time goes on, simple, almost unimportant memories that stay with you for life. It's a nice feeling, knowing you share these things with other people and there's a silvery intangible bond that can't be broken, not for quite some time until senility kicks in. I don't miss jc that much; I miss the people who made those metal container classrooms and bleachers home. Talking on the bleachers was great; watching the sun set there with teammates was almost an astral experience.
Good times all and I know I'm lucky to have them; everywhere I go I wish I can replicate those somehow and invent some dusty grey bleachers in my mind to sit on and watch the sun set. Because that's where I'd like to be for the rest of my life, sitting there with someone who knows what I'm going to say, so I don't have to say it at all. Why am I here? I ask myself that all the time - occasionally realising that it would be even more heartbreaking in stasis back home when I'm in my cocoon whilst the rest of the world swirls around me in constant irreverent change.
I wonder if I'll have the same memories here that I made back then when I was the champion of the world and walked the roads with style, without casting my eyes downward feeling acutely Asian, and subsequently fiercely ashamed of the act of being ashamed. And suddenly flawed and conscious of it. Anonymous and unknown, it's not as fun walking through the canteens when no one knows your name. But this is all in the past; the present's now and I'm still coming to terms with it because this all seems like such a temporary arrangement and marriage of convenience to me. I'm here; give me a degree vs I'm here because I want to be here, because I love the culture and the spirit and the bible verses spurring you on when you're running round the track.
And the smell of green grass when you walk across the forbidden soccer field instead of traversing the long rounded path around the red track to the sports complex for bad Japanese food. I'm so blessed I still keep in contact with some of my old friends - everything, I've realised, takes so much more effort when it's out of theory and thrust into the real world. It's much less romantic and much more involved and dreams diffuse into the midnight air. I can't translate my thoughts into words, this disorientation and flurry of colours and vibrance and horror and thick, strong brushstrokes that find their way onto your face, labelling you in cruel dances and brilliant pirouettes the next. And the machinations of people as they climb up, up and away...
I still believe in the loveliest of human creatures. On the bus today someone was saying 'love is for pussies', but what can I say? Whenever I think of these things I read. I read to get away, I read words and pictures and people so the dust is stirred up in my mind and everything begins again. Life begins again in a beautiful release. Like in the National Gallery; a thousand little deaths and a million new lives to compensate for those dead little brain cells incapable of comprehending the fiery intensity of the chunky brushstrokes and the meticulous details beneath rough edges of thick crusts of oil paint until they're reincarnated. Reborn as something new, not quite of the brain but of the soul and so far beyond that - where is my soul? I've lost it along the way when I was waiting for Godot to come along. Godot came and went and I'm still waiting with my rope that isn't here, and my soul's spinning here and there and I wonder if God thinks of me from time to time, because I sure do think of Him and how I let Him down with all my actions and non-actions. Yesterday Scott was talking about how if you believed in something with pure faith you'd live an exemplary life according to the purity of your faith, with belief. And this from an atheist - it made me feel shamed, but everything is hypothetical. Is faith hypothetical? Is my faith stronger than yours if you can hypothesize about God but insist on not believing in Him?
Another little night spent on musing, and wondering how my muse is doing - it's a laugh when your muse is actually not a porcelain-skinned nymph in a white off-shoulder dress with lush, soft skin and light brown curls resting gracefully on the dome of her head in a dressed up bun with pearls - and wondering how the world is doing, in general. Spinning here with or without me; it's tough to make your mark on a world that has so many other people just like you with a yearning desire to explode into little shards in the universe to feel something and descend like imperial pink glassy drops raining down on everyone's heads screaming I'm here, don't forget me, don't negate my existence, I'm here. After all, what do I want out of life at the end of the day? A body of lies, a few certificates here and there that I spend years trying to accumulate, a couple of kids who do well in school, a spouse who doesn't cheat on me (or who does, and whom I turn a blind eye to because we're staying together for the kids). No, that isn't what I want - I thought I could speak to you about my hopes and dreams forever, but now you're distracted and disinterested and I understand we've moved on in different directions and I still love you, I'm sure of that but love isn't enough because I wouldn't walk through fire for you and nothing lasts more than a moment, a little speck of dust in the hands of time in our transient life which I'm determined to make the best of (I was going to say with or without you, but I realised that that would have been rather irrelevant) for... the world and my heart. My world. Everyone's world. Sophie's world? I'm sure she wouldn't mind that too.
There are so many chains and so many little finnicky tenuous connections that are so difficult to extricate yourself from and I'm putting my foot down and damming up this influx of bullshit. I am strong; strength is a self-made quality. I am John Rambo, I am the milk in your Earl Grey tea, I am me, and I'm not - I'm so many things at once. I'm a plane ticket; I'm a stethoscope; I'm a pleasant jingle; I'm wherever I want to be, and thank you for this realisation. I want to wake up where you are, but I'm smiling right here where I am (I bet this is the funniest post relevant to the topic you've ever seen, and I'm hoping you enjoy this) and I don't need to smile to be happy, I need a toffee nut latte with cinnamon sugar and chocolate chunks and cinnamon buns and chestnuts roasting on an open fire in my mind, and vanilla spice body wash from the body shop, and fairtrade cotton t-shirts, and shopping bags made of hemp, and leather-bound notebooks with recycled paper at the core of them, and masquerade masks and finds that make your eyes sparkle with delight like they do all the time; I will miss your eyes but I will carry them with my in my heart because I have had a healthy heart these few years and I'm not talking cardiology.
When you walk you move like Moses
When you look you look like red roses
I realise this will not be read by anyone, so I would just like to say, I am content.
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