Saturday, January 31, 2009

personal legends

Paulo Coelho in his book, The Alchemist, said that everyone should find and strive towards their personal legend - what you’ve always wanted to accomplish. Everyone has their own personal legend, it could be something that has wide-reaching impact on human-kind or it could just be something that has a direct impact on yourself only.

What is my personal legend? Or rather, what is it that I’ve always wanted, my deepest desire? I think it would be related to books.

In fact, lately, I’ve been nourishing this dream to work in a bookstore. Not those big chains like Borders or Barnes & Nobles. Rather, to work in a small, independent bookstore where you actually know your customers and their likes and dislikes. Something like the bookstore that the character Meg Ryan portrayed in the movie “You’ve Got Mail!” owned.

I would either be doing inventory, stock-checking all the books, dealing with the publishers when certain books sell out, or I would be tagging price tags to the books on display. I could also be manning the cash register and packing the books in nice paper bags for the customers to bring home.

And at a corner of the bookstore, there would be a nice cozy little cafe where customers could sit down, sip a nice cup of latte and enjoy the book on hand.

The pay won’t be much, but that’s ok. As long as I have enough to feed myself, have a roof over my head and perhaps a little to squirrel away for my old age, that’s sufficient. I would be most happy to be amongst books everyday, inhaling the sweet scent of new books.

To see customers buying the books and bringing them home, and to imagine the joy that they would have when reading them would make me very happy.

Would I be able to realise this personal legend? It just doesn’t seem possible locally.

Shall I give up all that I have here to pursue my personal legend, wherever it takes me?

Idealistic me.

Thursday, January 29, 2009

poppy red

What did Hamlet mean by, "words, words, words"?

The incapability of words to express true intention, the failure of proper representation or even perhaps the unfathomable inconstant nature of self.

Words in a novel seem to direct towards a possible reality, yet perhaps that reality does not exist at source. It is continuously expiring.

When I say something is poppy red, which poppy red would another see and would it even remain the same shade of red?

Or perhaps there is only a sense of the redness, a shadow of the sensation of redness, such that even the reader is only vaguely aware of it and the redness is merely a dream of it.

Saturday, January 24, 2009

inertia

"Each life creates its own ties, each its own inertia, incomprehensible to any external observer and no less incomprehensible to the person observed."

One falls into a routine, even a detestable one, almost helplessly. Change, when it comes, is imperceptible and that aha moment occurs unexpectedly late and so I am making small incremental minuscule changes.

Friday, January 23, 2009

Ai, que preguiƧa

The golden hours of indolence give way to frenzied spurts of anxiety. Sometimes I wonder if those moments of over-compensation, so beautifully tinged with a certain clarity of self-doubt, are not self-willed destruction, carefree ambles to disappointment (but you had to do something on the way there, especially with deadlines hovering like apocalyptic heralds).

It is a great noise, the kind to mask silence, all this doing.

Sunday, January 11, 2009

everything i wanted

"All I ask of the gods is that I should ask nothing of them."

I must strive to sleep less. Not that i even have the chance to in recent.

But it seems natural and inevitable to give in to the whims of comfort and luxuriate in the stillness of an endless afternoon, the easiness of muted light and caressing breezes. Evening brings anxiety and darkness.

I have been invited for a trip, old friends. There is a freshness and novelty to it, but the timing is awkward. And what do old friends talk about when they meet? Old times, past incidents, every gesture, every circumstance is held in that regard - how everything has changed, how it was.

There is nothing for the present or for the future.

The gulf between then and now falls away, is dismissed with a few explanatory words, nothing unpleasant to be spoken, only the easiness of burnished memories, the sweet caress of old camaraderie, everything else no longer matters and then the trip ends.

What self exists when one is alone?

Tuesday, January 06, 2009

a good year, a good life

2009 is going to be a good year. I know, because I can even feel the buzz in my bones.

Its kind of weird. While the world, as the media portrays it, is stuck in a “doom and gloom” mood, and here I am declaring that life’s great. Perhaps a decision to live a more meaningful engaging life has something to do with it.

Yes, that’s my resolution for 2009 and one that I will keep for all the days of my life.

I always find it troubling that being alive doesn’t equate with being engaged in the act of living. It is even more scary when I ponder on the past and think to myself on the purpose of my existence.

I will leave the ‘tough’ big questions on life to the academics, theologians and self-help gurus to answer. What I know now is that apart from having goals and dreams, one must decide to live one’s life and engage fully in it.

Perhaps I am one of those who realise this late in life, but I know that most of my life has been spent doing things which are meant to be done, without thinking of doing these things in an active/engaged manner. Imagine a robot in an assembly plant, and I being that robot.

And now suddenly, everything seems so alive to me.

Monday, January 05, 2009

the choice to swim


"You have to first take care of yourself before you can take care of others, and you have to be happy first before you can make others happy."

I actually said the above to someone today. YES, the irony.

How can I take care of others if I can’t even take care of myself properly? (Evidence - constant reminder from those around me to “remember to have your dinner”). And how can I make others happy and smile if I don’t see or feel the joy?

So maybe i need to love myself a little bit more, laugh at myself everyday and just accept life as it is - the calm, the waves, storms, floods and all.

I want to stay afloat. I think I have quite a bit to live for, don’t I?

Wednesday, December 24, 2008

trivia

Most people feel that the great thing about blogs is that it's an excuse to write about trivia. I don't. My entries are usually 'moments', be it internalized ones or fictitious ones.

Maybe i should attempt.

Today, I bought a cream-coloured cushion for my chair. It looks used in the light, not one of those dirt-defying whites that only exist in showrooms in an Ikea catalogue (Ikea's catalogues are filled with moments, in particular, spectacularly bright mornings, meditative evenings and dreamy candle-lit nights. Somehow, you are filled with hope reading an Ikea catalogue.)

I suppose the dark blue one would probably be more practical, that is, you practically won't need to clean it because you can't see the dirt. But it's only $9.90, so yeah. At any rate, I have completed one of those little chores that I have always meant to do but never got around to do it.

Counts as a quasi moment, I guess.

Tuesday, December 23, 2008

just because its christmas

“But for now, let me say - Without hope or agenda - Just because it’s Christmas - And at Christmas, you tell the truth - To me, you are perfect - And my wasted heart will love you.”
~ Mark, Love Actually

Because you don’t always get or know what or who you want, because sometimes, telling the truth at Christmas or any other time is not the wisest thing to do and because having a wasted heart will only leave you bitter.

Life doesn’t always have a happy ending.

I, of all people, know it too well.

Sunday, December 21, 2008

which is which

All the Christmas shopping that I did and all the watching other people do their shopping, a thought came to mind -

If you know exactly what to get for someone for a gift, does it mean that you know and understand the person very well? Or is it because you couldn’t be bothered to think a little bit more and give him/her a surprise?

And when you fret over what to get and virtually all gift ideas that come to mind are pondered and dismissed, is it because you really don’t know the person at all or is it because he/she means so much that what to give must be thought through extremely carefully?

Monday, December 15, 2008

greed

Of the seven sins, I am definitely guilty of greed - when it comes to reading and books.

I can’t help it. No matter how hard I try to resist, I can’t.

Ever available on my bookshelves are at least three books that I have not read before. Woe is the day that I find myself finishing one and do not have another new book within reach.

My all time favourite hobby is going to the bookstore & the library. Such a nerdy bookworm, I know. I would buy books from Kinokuniya or Borders. But before I could read them, I would have gone to the libary and borrowed more books. And the cycle continues.

I am trying to resist the temptation of buying books - not to save money, but simply because I am running of space to store them. I am also trying to be less greedy and not visit the library unless I really have no books to read anymore.

But…sigh. It looks like it’s going to be a long drawn battle.

Saturday, December 13, 2008

worst wii accident to date

Haha. Bunch of idiots.

jolted beats

Amidst my senseless strokes in the pool, there's a tightening in my chest, and shortness of breath seems to be the order of the day.

When all thoughts seem to be of one thing, and nothing else seems to keep one interested, you tend to conclude that you're too far gone.

Nonchalance can only be feigned when value is mis-assigned; when something is not treasured as it should be. Nonchalance becomes impossible when true value is realised or when that something is taken away.

There's little hope for unskewed thoughts. And it becomes too late for appreciation.

Friday, December 12, 2008

the true spirit of christmas

Is flashy and kitsch. Wonder what the neighbours think.

Friday, December 05, 2008

the fringe benefits of failure, and the importance of imagination

Came across the published speech author JK Rowling gave at Harvard University's 357th Commencement. She chose to speak on the twin themes of failure and imagination, two of the qualities which I feel is intrinsic to living as opposed to merely surviving.

I've never read any of the Harry Potter books before simply due to a lack of interest but I feel anyone who has the ability to write fiction that has captured the minds of millions all over the world is quite amazing.

Below are some of the highlights of her speech. The complete transcript can be found at Harvard Magazine.

On The Benefits of Failure...

"Ultimately, we all have to decide for ourselves what constitutes failure, but the world is quite eager to give you a set of criteria if you let it. So I think it fair to say that by any conventional measure, a mere seven years after my graduation day, I had failed on an epic scale. An exceptionally short-lived marriage had imploded, and I was jobless, a lone parent, and as poor as it is possible to be in modern Britain, without being homeless. The fears my parents had had for me, and that I had had for myself, had both come to pass, and by every usual standard, I was the biggest failure I knew.

Now, I am not going to stand here and tell you that failure is fun. That period of my life was a dark one, and I had no idea that there was going to be what the press has since represented as a kind of fairy tale resolution. I had no idea how far the tunnel extended, and for a long time, any light at the end of it was a hope rather than a reality.

So why do I talk about the benefits of failure? Simply because failure meant a stripping away of the inessential. I stopped pretending to myself that I was anything other than what I was, and began to direct all my energy into finishing the only work that mattered to me. Had I really succeeded at anything else, I might never have found the determination to succeed in the one arena I believed I truly belonged. I was set free, because my greatest fear had already been realised, and I was still alive, and I still had a daughter whom I adored, and I had an old typewriter and a big idea. And so rock bottom became the solid foundation on which I rebuilt my life.

You might never fail on the scale I did, but some failure in life is inevitable. It is impossible to live without failing at something, unless you live so cautiously that you might as well not have lived at all - in which case, you fail by default.

Failure gave me an inner security that I had never attained by passing examinations. Failure taught me things about myself that I could have learned no other way. I discovered that I had a strong will, and more discipline than I had suspected; I also found out that I had friends whose value was truly above rubies.

The knowledge that you have emerged wiser and stronger from setbacks means that you are, ever after, secure in your ability to survive. You will never truly know yourself, or the strength of your relationships, until both have been tested by adversity. Such knowledge is a true gift, for all that it is painfully won, and it has been worth more to me than any qualification I ever earned.

Given a time machine or a Time Turner, I would tell my 21-year-old self that personal happiness lies in knowing that life is not a check-list of acquisition or achievement. Your qualifications, your CV, are not your life, though you will meet many people of my age and older who confuse the two. Life is difficult, and complicated, and beyond anyone’s total control, and the humility to know that will enable you to survive its vicissitudes."

On The Power of Imagination...

"Unlike any other creature on this planet, humans can learn and understand, without having experienced. They can think themselves into other people’s minds, imagine themselves into other people’s places.

Of course, this is a power, like my brand of fictional magic, that is morally neutral. One might use such an ability to manipulate, or control, just as much as to understand or sympathise.

And many prefer not to exercise their imaginations at all. They choose to remain comfortably within the bounds of their own experience, never troubling to wonder how it would feel to have been born other than they are. They can refuse to hear screams or to peer inside cages; they can close their minds and hearts to any suffering that does not touch them personally; they can refuse to know.

I might be tempted to envy people who can live that way, except that I do not think they have any fewer nightmares than I do. Choosing to live in narrow spaces can lead to a form of mental agoraphobia, and that brings its own terrors. I think the wilfully unimaginative see more monsters. They are often more afraid.

What is more, those who choose not to empathise may enable real monsters. For without ever committing an act of outright evil ourselves, we collude with it, through our own apathy.

One of the many things I learned at the end of that Classics corridor down which I ventured at the age of 18, in search of something I could not then define, was this, written by the Greek author Plutarch: What we achieve inwardly will change outer reality.

That is an astonishing statement and yet proven a thousand times every day of our lives. It expresses, in part, our inescapable connection with the outside world, the fact that we touch other people’s lives simply by existing."

Sunday, November 30, 2008

pigeon-holes

One of the most difficult things in life is understanding that some things are beyond our understanding.

But accepting ignorance with an optimistic view is as good as glossing everything.

Let's just put a label on it so we can make some rational sense out of it, the human brain hates the unknown. And so we label things to comprehend it all.

Can we?

We can't. So laughter and tears must be there to get out what words aren't capable of...

jean jean

It's almost inevitable that the moment we are promised hotter and drier weather that it starts to pour heavily.

Perhaps we only take note of contradictions - I'm reading an obituary for Jean Baudrillard.

Since I have to spend long periods of time utterly bored, I might as well document these mindless moments. This is where I would like to say something thought provoking about hyper-reality, blogging and the mundanity, but the rain is stopping.

Sunday, November 23, 2008

aleksander hemon

It ends on the home key. The mysterious ending of Nowhere Man has an air of familiarity, motifs recurring but unexplained, even words: tenebrous, stertorous - who uses these words? And definitely not twice...

Sometimes, it isn't clear who is narrating until much later, but I don't feel disturbed. More of an explicable contentment.

Wednesday, November 19, 2008

unmoment

It passes quietly without the slightest recognition, like flying through a cloud, the possibility of a momentous epiphany thinning into the banality of a taxi ride.

Instead of relief, there is a slight tiredness as if the waiting had long dispersed the excitement. And I am trying to imagine a dramatic scene to make up for the sense of detachedness.

My ear is bleeding a little. How did that happen? I can still hear things but I feel somewhere between possible paranoia (a half-imagined warm wetness in the left ear and visions of stoic bravery towards deafness, Beethoven) and complacency.

I'm still waiting, I guess, waiting for that moment of truth.

Sunday, November 16, 2008

time is never time at all

My reading material is mounting up. Nevertheless, I couldn't pass up on 2 copies of Alexandar Hemon's novels (Nowhere Man and The Lazarus Project). Inevitably, they will not be there on my next visit to the library. Borrowing books on impulse are some of the few irresponsible things I can afford.

That is why I squeeze in reading the Economist while playing toileting. Supposedly, a diet of emotionally neutral articles helps to pass the tedious task of mindless practice. Although, the financial meltdown is anything but dull, not to mention the infuriating antics of Hugo Chavez, Robert Mugabe, Putin... (The world is full of injustice - yes, sorry, an understatement).

This should be a time of freedom and possibilities, ideally, but I have managed to work out a routine of endless little chores, almost without realizing it. Just going through a small of part of the list takes up a better part of the morning and it gets late for lunch before I know it.

Yet, all that energy feels diffused and undirected; afternoons are perfect for sleeping, caressing sunshine, poetic atmosphere. The nap ends with a slight aching stiffness and the evening is filled with cacophony of anxious birds.

The end of the day comes so soon and I haven't even touched the books I've bought or borrowed.