“To make the right choices in life, you have to get in touch with your soul. To do this, you need to experience solitude, which most people are afraid of, because in the silence you hear the truth and know the solutions”—Deepak Chopra
stimulation. the inclusion of all relevant variables. it starts quiet, soft, slow. each note distinguishes itself from the next and i love all of them equally. the beat beats faster and faster and louder and louder until climax and then comes the breakdown. all too soon, it’s over.
and now i’m left with a vase of dried peonies and dead rosemary that no longer teases my senses. i’m sitting in the corner in the dim light and the shrouded smoke that deflects the moonlight. your reflection in the mirror is the only place i can find you now and my knees are weak albeit you’re no longer here. behind my eyes is a revolution.
it was unfortunate that he was able to convince me that one who feels strongly is unattractive. repression, control – these are qualities to strive for. this is what makes a person strong and mature. beyond the sheath of my window, a dim light announces the presence of life. i linger over all those memories: yellow cotton, tanned skin, hot and dusty hikes up mandeville canyon, warmth on christmas eve. such memories simultaneously brings me to tears of pain and happiness, a bittersweet nostalgia of the life i once had. all too soon, it is but a distant collective memory- one i can not be sure whether it was once reality or simply a dream. this i know is real– a short black dress, a waxing moon, a cobalt blue audi, a hot tingle, a persuasive breeze, and a dark alley. new york strip steak, 2 candle sticks, red wine, eating bubbles, homemade chicken noodle soup, flippers, late-night ferry rides to french restaurants, driving up a narrow, unpaved road to soufriere, wind blowing my hair past a bat cave, gauzy silk around my love
but i am obliged to disagree. to feel is to live. denying the existence of such impulses is to deny the very thing that defines us as human. i need to feel strongly, i need to love deeply and to desire, just as i desperately need to breathe. without such impulses, i am gasping for air. what to do when we are unable to love, to feel? what becomes of the chances we fail to take and the fleeting moments of happiness we let just simply pass us by… i am convinced that someday there will be a message waiting for me. i will not build walls. since that night, i have tried not to remember those last few days, those last few hours. his pleading and apologies and my quick dismissal of our future together. it is a futile effort and i have failed miserably. perhaps it is chance that this took place in september. september marks the end of vacation. so i am home now and i want to go back more than anything. goodbye, summer.
i have no home outside of my love’s arms- no steady base, no attachments. please, do not for a moment imagine that i am complaining. it is a blissful state, half analgesic, half anesthetic. i love the world. i love the tug, the chase, the fragile intricate design that composes the swing.
i want life to be beautiful and surprising and deep – the depths of many marvelous moments all at once.
Out of no where, the rain came crashing down. Just a moment ago, it was all sunshine and now, the sun has retreated, overtaken by the darkening clouds. Pop. The power is out and i’m stuck here again without any air-conditioning or electricity. I stop to catch my breath, it’s been a very difficult two weeks and the last thing I need at this crucial point of the production is for the electricity to go out.
Every day for the last week, I woke up at 6 am to catch the 9:25 train from Hong Kong to DongGuan. Cursing at how fast time flies when i’m sleeping, I groggily wake up as I tread my feet slowly to the train station. I stand in the customs line, the straps of my bag cutting into my shoulder as I wait my turn. I step up as an immigration officer scans my passport photo and scrutinizes my face. Pull back your hair miss. Stamp, please step this way. I board the train and attempt to make myself comfortable in the awkward chairs. I slip on my headphones and drift for the hour ride. This is my life everyday for the last week.
“you may not be her first, her last, or her only. She loved before she may love again. But if she loves you now, what else matters? She’s not perfect - you aren’t either, and the two of you may never be perfect together but if she can make you laugh, cause you to think twice, and admit to being human and making mistakes, hold onto her and give her the most you can. She may not be thinking about you every second of the day, but she will give you a part of her that she knows you can break - her heart. So don’t hurt her, don’t change her, don’t analyze and don’t expect more than she can give. Smile when she makes you happy, let her know when she makes you mad, and miss her when she’s not there.”—bob marley
“But if you must send something, Mr. van der Lee, send butterflies, small caligo butterflies, diurnal butterflies and ricinis, sactails, jatrophas, moon moths, peacock moths, send primulas with nun moths, pale tussocks and pease blossom moths, tachinid flies and calicoid flies, owl moths and harlequin beetles, or send lantern flies, Mr. van der Lee, in a box that is filled up with the lantern flies, and make certain they are alive when you send them and can be kept living, so that when I open the lid, Mr. van der Lee, they will rise up like fire, and shoot out of the box like a flame, and that will delight me, Mr. van der Lee, and will remind me of that other fire that one day rose up inside me.”—Rosalind Palermo Stevenson
“I must learn to love the fool in me—the one who feels too much, talks too much, takes too many chances, wins sometimes and loses often, lacks self-control, loves and hates, hurts and gets hurt, promises and breaks promises, laughs and cries. It alone protects me against that utterly self-controlled, masterful tyrant whom I also harbor and who would rob me of human aliveness, humility, and dignity but for my fool.”—Theodore I. Rubin
“the dirty facades, the nameless crowds, the unremitting noise, the packed rush-hour trains, the grey skies, the billboards on every square centimeter of available space, the hopes and resignation, irritation and excitement. and everywhere, infinite options, infinite possibilities. an infinity, and at the same time, zero. we try to scoop it all up in our hands, and what we get is a handful of zero. that’s the city”—haruki murakami