disgruntlement

Ipoh was good. I didn't overload on food this time around. The new house is gorgeous.


I miss the still of the silence, as you breathe out I breathe in

Thoughts of S have been echoing in my head for the past few days now. I wake up aching and wishing that life wasn't over, impossible as it was.

come on get higher and loosen my lips

It doesn't help that he appears to have a sixth sense about when I'm thinking about him, about us even if there never really was an 'us'.

pull me down hard

I wonder - are you unsatisfied that I didn't show interest in seeing you before I left? You were lucky - given enough sleep, I woke up in a good mood and sleep addled enough to answer your call.

I miss the pull of your heart, I taste the sparks on your tongue

But somehow, maybe I have too much time on my hands, maybe this maybe that, memories of the two of us together keep playing in my head. In the car, in the middle of conversations and meals, in bed before sleep.

I see angels and devils and god when you come

Everything I can remember of the conversations we had in bed, in your car, over coffee. Secrets, problems, the past and the future but never the present. The little admissions you forced out of me.


So enough already dear head

if I could make you believe, make you forget

burn

I wonder what it would be like to go out with a normal, decent man. For a change. Bring me one? After I detox that is.

I don't know where to start with the day's events. I don't know if I should, so I won't. Strangely, it doesn't hurt the way you would expect it to. It's already reached saturation point I guess.

On the upside (or maybe more on the strange side as well), it was another day where people kept smiling at me. In the faculty corridors, on the road. Whatever.

I saw whales for the first time. They were just off the shore at Maroubra and I could see their tails flipping and occasional spurts of water. Also got burnt (thank you impromptu-beach-trip-without-sunscreen-at-noon). The straps and the hemline from my dress are on clear display. Genius.
-walks around the house muttering ow ow ow ow-

IT has been read by people other than my supervisor by now. Duncan told me that today was the date all theses were to be passed back to the Honours coordinator. After this the two different markers' scores will be tallied and there will be the Honours committee meeting to discuss the results before they are released. The thought of other people reading, having read it terrifies me, just a little. It has been put out there for strangers to see. An open book.
Dinner was good.

I miss my people.

week end

I got drizzled on at the market. It was an overcast day and I got there past 10, which is early by my standards since I had to wake up at 8.

The smell of food grilling floats through the open air market. You know the way they draw odours in cartoons, those wafting wispy strands of scent leading people forward by their noses? Yeah. First stop was for confused eggs (fancy egg and bacon roll) - eggs scrambled on a grill plate, smoky bacon, rocket and barbeque sauce on a chewy bun *love*. The sisters made a special request for the pomegranate balsamic vinegar that they got when I took them there back in June. M swore it turns the simplest salad into gourmet fare. It's funny how I'll shell out 20 dollars for a tiny jar of truffle salsa but wince inside at paying 22 for a bottle of balsamic (limited ed granted). Being the dutiful and loving sibling I am, I scored the last bottle available for them and a good pack of bush dukkah too (again, another easy gourmet maker). Plus a smaller packet of dukkah and tayberry jam to bring to JY in Melbourne.

'What's tayberry?'

A cross between a blackberry and a raspberry it seems, and possibly the most curious item at that stall. A minute after I asked, a couple came up and asked the same thing after glancing over the jams and tarts on display. The jam itself is slightly tart (raspberry genes?) but pleasantly so. (note to self: finish off stash of jams in fridge - strawberries and champagne, lemon curd, cherry, err.. too many. slight jam addiction maybe)

And that was it. That's all I got because it started drizzling while I was polishing off my brunch and I was wearing a dress and it was cold. >( The drizzle paused for awhile but it came back as rain later by which point I was trapped in the closest mall.

The walk to and back from the market along the harbour carried so many memories. The last time I had been there was in June with the sisters, happy and anticipating. Every visitor to Sydney has been brought to Darling Harbour to play in the random miniature fountains and try to get to the middle of the water swirl structure without getting their feet wet. It's this circular installation of sorts where alternating panels descending to a platform with a sphere in the middle have water flowing down towards the center in a spiral. Hard to describe. Takes too many words, but you know which one I'm talking about. I remember walking on the bridge overhead with B, S, and others, friends.

I just realized this afternoon that the goodbyes have begun. Friday's lunch was probably the last time I'll see that friend for a long time. Dinner with Duncan and his wife tomorrow will be another goodbye. And Tuesday brings another possibly last dinner. And as for the city itself, I'm slowly, reluctantly saying goodbye to it. There's a list of favourite haunts to visit before I fly. Some of them are everyday favourites, on campus, in Randwick. Others are more specialized - the art gallery for a dose of culture and calm in the storm, my secret place really, Coogee to doze and watch the waves roll in (some of my books are testament to this - sand between the pages), the train ride from bondi to circular quay just for the view pulling into the station, bills surry hills for the food and perfect brunch ambiance. One by one.


---
Last night doesn't bear talking about. I'm still seething/ stewing. You can tell me it'll drive you crazy after I leave if we start again and whisper that you'll miss me. Yet you don't want to make the most of the time I have left here. Because it'll drive you crazy after. Spineless. Allow me to express my contempt for you once again.
i'm losing my favourite game. my heart is black and my body is blue.
---

Reading: The Ethics of What We Eat - Singer and Mason.
I prefer Pollan's writing style, it's more polished and does not have the agenda these two have. But it is a good read nevertheless. Like Pollan, they raise serious questions about the food we eat, usually without thought. I might turn vegetarian for ethical reasons eventually. If my ethics ever hold up long enough to have their existence verified, that is. More on this later.

pack for melbourne! triptriptrip

-thump-

I ate my cupcake (too eggy) and just as I finished it I remembered the time I was standing in front of you, using your laptop.

You put your head to my chest just to listen to my heart beat.

grr owl

this

I loved you once before and maybe I still care, which is why I won't ignore you. Also because I'm being civil.

But I am over this back and forth game that you're trying to play. So when you ask me how I'm doing, I'll reply. And when you ask me to meet you now, you'll need to give me a reason to.

re: letter

so here's the thing. about the letter.

I cringe everytime I think of it. it was more open and bare than anything I had ever told him, than anything I have ever told anyone. and the fact of its nakedness embarasses me because I don't do that. you know.
I don't put my emotions and thoughts all out there for people to see, I can't wear my heart on my sleeve the way others do without feeling incredibly vulnerable and pierce-able. (I know my faithful reader will applaud this, "progress!", but really, I hate it)

I suppose that's also why writing it felt so liberating and it enabled me to let go of everything. it was all out, there was nothing I wanted to say that I hadn't said in it.

But now that he is/might be responding, the thought of it terrifies me. I don't want to know what you have to say for a number of reasons.
i. because if it's good and you're trying to get me back, I might fall back in
ii. because if it's good and you're not trying to get me back, I might fall back in and wish that you were
iii. because if it's bad, I'll feel like a fool.
I don't know which is worse. let's add a 4th reason, to make it a multiple choice kind of thing.
iv. it's a reciprocal goodbye letter.

No, that's the same as ii. nevermind then. I'll just hope that he decided not to send it after all.


Chapter 1 runeth over. 1194 and there's more to write. say it with me ~word count~
and it's so easy after Chapters 4 and 5, leaving me with too much time to think about other things

A reminder

because i know i'll forget

"we're still friends right?"
er, no. actually we're not. we never were friends to begin with and we are crap at being just friends. because let's face it, everytime we agree to be friends it doesn't stay that way. a few weeks later you'll call asking if you can come over and hangout cause you're bored and i, stupidly thinking and remembering what we've agreed to will think that it'll be fine. because, you know, "we're just friends after all and i've made it clear to him that i can't do that anymore". and then you'll come over and we'll talk for awhile about what's been going on in our lives. after awhile we run out of normal, 'friend' things to say to each other and you'll take my hand or put your arm around my waist or something, and i'll give you that look which says 'what are you doing?' and you'll pause, for awhile, before continuing. and because you'll have softened me up by the with all the talk and just being close to me i'll slowly, reluctantly at first, give in. and there goes being just friends.

arsehole.

you do it every. single. time. and i can't stand it. i can't stand being so close to you that i can smell your cologne because scent is such a powerful force with me it sets off triggers in my head. sometime ago just before i left B i was in the library and this guy walked past wearing the same smell or something similar and i stood stock still for a moment remembering how you'd kiss, how you'd touch me and all the bullshit you had ever said to me. i already knew i was going to leave him then, i'd set a deadline of sorts in my head but having that reminder of you certainly didn't help me stay with him.

so yes, i have had enough of this. we can't be friends. we would never have been friends under normal circumstances. too different. i'm fussy about who i call a friend and you have done nothing to merit that title with me. i have grown and being with him was a reminder about what i should be looking for, even if i didn't have it with him. and you're none of it. have the balls to face your own problems face on instead of looking for an escape. it was fair game when i was in it for the same reasons but now that i'm not you should take your self-pity and self-absorption somewhere else. find someone else to fuck with if you won't/ can't grow balls instead of fucking with my head.

i'm going to read this reminder to myself until it becomes a mantra. so i'll be ready next time.

yes, I'm disappointed in you
but we are only human after all


I suppose that's something I don't get, wilfully making the choice that you have knowing full well that it will hurt you in the end. I cling too strongly to my pride to consciously let myself do that which might be, is a fault on its own terms.

I guess in the back of my mind I'm afraid that I too might falter the next time I see S. That I might be prey to the same vulnerabilities try as I may. But then again things between S and I are not what they are between the two of you.
A lot has happened between April/May and now. And he is not a person who could stand up to me or who has earned my respect. I will hate myself if I succumb against my will again. Remember this.

breath

It has been raining continuously for 30 hours. All I really want to do is to nurse a mug of tea and idly watch the water coming down. I test the temperature and my breath produces little puffs of air. It makes me feel like a baby dragon, making tentative little smoke trails.

Gazing out from the living room I notice that someone in the flat facing mine left a pair of jeans out. It must be drenched by now. Briefly wonder about the lives other people lead. Somewhere someone is doing exactly what I wish I were doing now, curled up in an armchair with a view of the city.

I like making those little hot air puffs. It reminds me that I’m in a foreign country living a different life. I correct my own thoughts: this country is different, but not foreign. This life is different and temporary. It is an interlude from the real world that awaits me at the end of this degree. The finish line I wish would come sooner but would also postpone for as long as possible. The inevitable return to a country I both love and despise, which I have never felt at home in. I know this feeling of dispossession is hardly unique to me. Others have felt this way.

It might be a diaspora thing, this eternal reaching towards an imaginary homeland. Maybe not. It might be the result of growing up in an environment both localized and foreign. A little bubble on the surface of the water. This country I am in now is not quite home but in a sense it comes closer to being home than the place that is ostensibly mine. I don’t feel displaced here even with everyone gone. But I haven’t gone native either. I’m not quite sure what to make of this feeling of being suspended between two places.

Shaking myself out of this haze, I get up and go to the kitchen for a glass of water before returning to my room. I wish for a moment there was a man in there waiting for me instead of my thesis. Damn thesis.

dammitdammitdammit
no work done today
excellent, when duncan asks for an update i can tell him that i spent sunday sticking a letter on my exboyfriend's door and then walking around bondi junction in a semi-conscious state and later cleaning the kitchen and rhapsodizing about truffles to anyone who will listen.
the letter was to tie things up. the way i ended it has been plagueing me and it felt like there were so many things i left unsaid which i had to say before i could move on. so there. one thing done.
focus. thesis. FB's iq thingy tells me i have an iq of 142. i should be a genius therefore this should be a breeze. alternatively that iq thing is whacked and i'm screwed. i'm inclined to agree with the latter.
i CAN be a genius, but only when i'm not preoccupied with
a) sex
b) thinking about sex
c) men
d) my nails
e) my next meal
which means never. or only at 2 in the morning.
sigh... why does my brain not cooperate with me?

God bless, thank you.

Bittersweet - Sara Bareilles

Bittersweet seasons.
Mistake a warm winter for spring.
Seems like I'm best at leaving when leaving is not the best thing.

You couldn't help it if you needed more than I could give.
That's just the way it goes. Now..

I call you misplaced but never a waste of my time.
Everybody's gonna make mistakes,But you'll never be one of mine.

You couldn't help it if you needed more than I could give.
That's just the way it goes.
I knew you felt me leaving long before I ever did.
That's just the way it goes now.
Loved me fearless when you needed to.
You would not rest till you came through.
So god bless and thank you.

There is no anger, it's just you and I and the truth.
You can try to make her but love will not be forced to bloom.

You couldn't help it if you needed more than I could give.
That's just the way it goes.
The only love worth fighting for is one that you can win and,
That's just the way it goes now.
You would not break but you could bend.
And for love's sake you let love end,
But I still swear that you were god sent.

And you stood before me knowing that the wings I have you gave.
And that's just the way it goes now.
And I barely have the breath to breathe much less to fly away.
And that's just the way it goes now.
And a silence entered the room for a one last,
"I'm gonna love you."
So god bless and thank you.
So god bless and thank you.
Thank you.

(well of course I could write something original but when songs or poems capture what I'm feeling so perfectly, so much better than I could express, there is no need to write my own)

point

I know what I need to do. It's time to move on (from all of them) and be alone for awhile. Otherwise I will have learnt nothing from the past two years.

I suppose this is growing up

Neruda: XX

Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche.

Escribir, por ejemplo: "La noche está estrellada,
y tiritan, azules, los astros, a los lejos."

El viento de la noche gira en el cielo y canta.

Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche.
Yo la quise, y a veces ella también me quiso.

En las noches como ésta la tuve entre mis brazos.
La besé tantas veces bajo el cielo infinito.

Ella me quiso, a veces yo también la quería.
Cómo no haber amado sus grandes ojos fijos.

Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche.
Pensar que no la tengo. Sentir que la he perdido.

Oír la noche inmensa, más inmensa sin ella.
Y el verso cae al alma como al pasto el rocío.

Qué importa que mi amor no pudiera guardarla.
La noche está estrellada y ella no está conmigo.

Eso es todo. A lo lejos alguien canta. A lo lejos.
Mi alma no se contenta con haberla perdido.

Como para acercarla mi mirada la busca.
Mi corazón la busca, y ella no está conmigo.

La misma noche que hace blanquear los mismos árboles.
Nosotros, los de entonces, ya no somos los mismos.

Ya no la quiero, es cierto, pero cuánto la quise.
Mi voz buscaba el viento para tocar su oído.

De otro. Será de otro. Como antes de mis besos.
Su voz, su cuerpo claro. Sus ojos infinitos.

Ya no la quiero, es cierto, pero tal vez la quiero.
Es tan corto el amor, y es tan largo el olvido.

Porque en noches como ésta la tuve entre mis brazos,
mi alma no se contenta con haberla perdido.

Aunque éste sea el último dolor que ella me causa,
y éstos sean los últimos versos que yo le escribo.



Tonight I can write the saddest lines.

Write, for example, "The night is shattered
and the blue stars shiver in the distance."

The night wind revolves in the sky and sings.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
I loved her and sometimes she loved me too.

Through nights like this one I held her in my arms
I kissed her again and again under the endless sky.

She loved me, and sometimes I loved her too.
How could one not have loved her great still eyes.

Tongiht I can write the saddest lines.
To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her.

To hear the immense night, still more immense without her,
And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture.

What does it matter that my love could not keep her.
The night is shattered and she is not with me.

This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance.
My soul cannot be content, because I have lost her.

My sight searches for her as though to go to her.
My heart looks for her, and she is not with me.

The same nightfall whitening the same trees.
But we have both changed so much since that night.

Surely I no longer love her, but how I once loved her
My voice sought the wind to touch her hearing

Another's. She will be another's. As before I had kissed her.
Her voice. Her pale body. Her endless eyes.

Surely I no longer love her, but maybe I love her.
Love is so short, forgetting is so long.

Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms
my soul cannot be content, because I have lost her.

Even if this is the last pain she makes me suffer
and these are the last verses that I write for her.

if I could believe

send me an angel to love, I'm afraid I'll never get to heaven

note to self: less than 7 hours of sleep + not enough food screws with head

am ok

just need to get more sleep sometimes

breathe in

exhale

repeat

shit. this is so much harder than i thought it would be. the approach i was going to take won't work because i'm not qualified to make the judgement i thought i could so i need to rearrange this section. participation. this is hell.
remind yourself: this is not as terrible as you think it is. calm down and take a step back. go back to the start, look at what you have, take it back to the material and let it speak to you

easier said than done when your own biases keep weighing in on things
this is why my first choice for a topic wasn't on malaysia. too much personal bias, too much history. objectivity flys out the window the minute i stop concentrating and let conjecture take over. that is going into the methodology section as one of the limitations to the thesis.

i guess i doesn't help that i woke up this morning wishing it was june again. i miss june. june was happy. i had people i love around me, taking them around the city i love, i felt loved and i thought i was faling in love. the research month was ahead of me, full of possibilities, exploration.

the difference two months makes
this will pass
it's hormonal. give yourself a couple of days and it'll be fine