红豆

还没好好的感受 雪花绽敷的气候
我们一起颤抖 会更明白 什么是温柔
还没跟你牵着手 走过荒芜的沙丘
可能从此以后 学会珍惜 天长和地久

有时候 有时候 我会相信一切有尽头
相聚离开 都有时候 没有什么会永垂不朽
可是我 有时候 宁愿选择留恋不放手
等到风景都看透 也许你会陪我 看细水长流

sweet chimera

i had once wished for a day to be like the rain out there - i was on the train gliding through the silver falling gauze. i loved that particular rainfall; beneath the smoken sky it was pellucid, expectant, here to stay. and for it to stay i wished. i wished not to arrive at my destination, for beyond the trellised windows held a sweet chimera. it was a surreal sight where i could see where i never was, and i felt light, felt like a traveller on a foreign land, felt like it didn't matter where i ended up as long as my heart eventually led me home.

only that destination up-ended and dented destiny.

that was in january, a month where new hopes for a moulted life are triggered like fireworks to sparkle the raven stubborn sky. and after the fierce few seconds what then? what else but the return of the night. just as not all dark need light, not all time need be present. my time sank, my time vanished, and april came. how do i feel now? why did i imagine things would be different simply because time had passed? there were moments i thought i hated you. i thought i ought to. then again, who was i angry with but myself? self-acrimony, the most lethal dose of anger, garoting me from within; the dormant pain, of injury, of anger, the strains of indignance rising like a dark tchaikovsky.

couldn't you love me for more than a night?

one more night. how tempting. how innocent. what difference could it make, one more night?

couldn't we change our hearts the way we change our nights?

mexico

___

19.12.2006. cancun. westin. sunrise white beach. christian. margaritas. chitchen itza. on the road to merida. vancouver girl. presidente intercontinental. plaza mayor. catedral and endless calles. paseo de montejo. cafe la cabana. hycendas. robert & arturo. guadalajara. holiday inn. city of roses. swirling pigeons. catedral 1618. mariachis. plaza de la liberacion. tlaquepaque. jaliso. tequila. alejandro. tequila. writing in the dark. mexico city. sheraton. alameda central. palacio de bellas artes. cafe caffe. rene. monumento a la revolucion. paseo de la reforma. museo n.d. antropologia. i love rufino tamayo. antonio. christian. and the endless shots of libreria. i watched: vitus. welcome home. one summer. the wedding director. i read: winterson. hollinghurst. vidal. suskind. burroughs. calvino. marquez. ozick. winterson. 07.01.2007. singapore.

there is only the present and nothing to remember

How does one play word games when the rules and outcomes defy language; and when they route to the heart, how can words ever suffice? Who else but i can hear my own heart break within the seeming stoic slats of my ribs, hear its reluctant, plaintive echoes in the lonely hollow of my chest? They say a metaphor is a leap of imagination, a leap off reality. But heartbreaks make their pain and sorrow felt in all its searing glory. And heartbreaks leave me and me alone to pick up the scattered shards of silent aftermath.
___

They say that every snowflake is different. If that were true, how could we go on? How could we ever get up and off our knees? How could we ever recover from the wonder of it? By forgetting. We cannot keep in mind too many things. There is only the present and nothing to remember.

-- jeanette winterson

redbean

finally, the phd

routine and what i thought were life's little permanancies died the day i finished NS, and when not long after, i emerged from the hospital with a part of me - physically and emotionally - lobbed off, i've rarely been able to see my life past one year's horizon. tasmania, melbourne, NTU - first as a student then a salaried yuppie, and then now at the school where i'm teaching, it had and has been difficult to flip through an annual calendar, and plan for a foreign year. it's ironic because my introverted and indolent temperament naturally craves for the prosaic, the settled, the humdrum. but i repeatedly find myself hurled out there frantically rifling for yet another still ground in the shade. fate or subconscious masochism many times i wonder. simply, why? but i imagine otherwise, like holding down a 9-5 office job in a swanky skyscraper down-swanky-town like every one else and i develop convulsive reservations and worries about my sanity and happiness. so the choice (or, the no-choice) is clear. and so when this morning, when the news that my imminent phd candidature, that has hitherto been wavering tenuously between obstinate destitution and/or effortless perdition, has been awarded a scholarship, i was so relieved i couldn't feel it. and it is only just, a day past, that i realise an eternity of three years has been sweetly sequestered off my checkered life.