“Change is inevitable, growth is intentional.” – Glenda Cloud
View from my favourite room at jazz school, a.k.a. the room I’ve arguably spent the most time in:
Ilford HP5 Plus 400 film; Nikon F3
A poem I just wrote. It wasn’t part of my “things to do today” plan. Which I admittedly haven’t even tended to. It just kind of happened. Maybe I’m too honest sometimes. Too honest and too trusting. And hopeful that my trust won’t be used and abused. I wonder how other people would see a piece of writing like this – not through my eyes, nor the informed eyes of those close to me. I wonder, a lot. And apparently wander too:
say that, I’m a wanderlust
That I can’t stop. I can’t control myself
I drift through streets, alleys, backstreets and streets again,
cities, countries, continents –
ought I write a review?
of the scenes I’ve sought and sowed and bought
of the sheens I’ve been and leaned at nineteen
I could fill three lifetimes’ worth of biographies
and I feel I haven’t even begun.
why do I seek a piece of paper
merely to confirm myself of this brain which
I cannot see, touch or feel
but am told exists
I want to argue all the time
but He doesn’t play fair
He doesn’t even play
even though our season is on.
she says that I’m a wanderer
That I can’t stop looking for-
I can’t prevent myself from leaving
how do you justify caging endangered species?
I want nothing more than to break through the dates
that bind me to a certain place
that keeps me dissatisfiedly unentertained.
I want this Heart of mine to fill to the brim
then creep over the edge
with things undone and future memories
yet-to-be photographed
then ooze down the outer rim so full of life
so full of which never fills me
cos I’m just so full of it,
full of shit
that ain’t mine That’s why I keep looking. Past. Beyond
This.
he says that I’m just lust
That I can’t stop chasing-
I can’t keep myself from wanting it
All.
I drift through people, rooms, houses, people’s rooms,
somewhere in there it happened too soon
but all not soon enough.
I could slander them all with diaries unwritten but in mental ink
like a stained white shirt with a merlot stink
and the privilege will never be again.
Sometimes He keeps things from me
not because of confidence
but because His confidence
exceeds that of his confidantes
Now my He-art’s in a silver cage
can I just leave and
disengage
I’ve had a super topsy-turvy week thus far, and with tomorrow being Friday the 13th, I’m not sure how normal that will go either. I don’t want to talk about the assessments I just had, the assessments I’m about to have, and will continue to slave through until June. But what I do want to say is how happy and proud of the boy I am today. After the grueling process that the past couple of months has been, today he received a comfortable amount of offers for a summer clerkship at prominent law firms. I say “comfortable” because I don’t want to state how many, precisely, but a solid number. What’s more important is that he’s got what he wanted, so I suppose all I have to worry about now is what the hell I’m going to be doing over summer in 6 months’ time. By the way – I’ve noticed that a few of my readers have been mentioning my upcoming “summer” – but unfortunately I live in the southern hemisphere, so summer isn’t arriving in a month, it’s 6 months away! I’m currently tossing up my options in terms of staying and acquiring a full-time job to save up; or heading back to Taiwan to spend time with my dad and maybe work somewhere; or jet off somewhere else and maybe scope out some kind of internship. Regardless of what ends up happening, I already feel like it’s going to be a life-changing sort of summer. It’s scary to think that it will be my last summer as a student, ahhh!
The main exciting event of the month (besides my 20th birthday… for which I’m actually not excited) for me is actually taking place on the other side of the world. My mum and her female photography friends used to put on annual exhibitions in Taipei, but they stopped doing so after 1998 when we immigrated to NZ. This month will be their first show they’ve reunited for, and I had to drive my mum to the airport at an unearthly hour. The exciting thing about all this is that they had invited me to put in five pieces of my work! It took me forever and a half to decide what to submit, but I finally managed to whittle my options down and ended up with five compiled pieces that consisted of 27 photos total. I don’t think anyone else is showing as many photos, but they’re all themed and crafted in relevance, so I think it will be a good contrast and turn out okay. For my last and probably most personal piece, I even added poetic accompaniment, and I’m pretty anxious to see how that goes down. I really wish I was able to attend it, but obviously with all my assessments (on top of flight cost, the heat! in Taipei) it’s been impossible. The show runs from the 21st of May into early June, so I can’t wait to hear how it goes and see photos of how my photos look on a wall in a gallery!
I don’t want to spoil the anticipation of opening night – although I’m not sure who for, seeing as it’s not exactly a secret or anything, but I just don’t feel right posting the photos up here before the 21st – so I think I’ll just post random photos for now. Plus, I have a special one saved up, to be posted on a special day.
Here’s two silly photos I took of the boy, after mucking around with double exposure for a while. Have a great weekend everyone, and try this out, haha:
Ilford HP5 Plus 400 film; Nikon F3
And oh yeah… now I totally know why students love making their money by tutoring. I’ve picked up a student that I’m tutoring for AS English Literature and it was one of the easiest hours of work I’ve ever had. Not as easy as the “sit here and play boring background-type jazz plus a free dinner and we’ll give you $100+” hour of work, but still very nice nonetheless. I mean, I’m essentially getting paid to sit there in a flash house on an expensive street and ramble and rave about something that comes naturally to me, with minimal preparation. And it’s going to be a consistent, weekly thing. At least in the foreseeable future right now.I had said to the boy that his sister should totally go for the boy that I’m tutoring… because they’re in the same English class, he’s a swell kid –a good looking one at that – who also plays hockey! What more could she possibly want in a boy-person?! I should totally hook them up. Jokes. Mister boyfriend would totally kill me.
One assessment down. Eight to go. I think. Maybe I left something out when I counted…
I thought I’d post a photo from one of the longest and happiest days of my life (San Francisco, November 9th 2010), seeing as I’m trying to be optimistic about everything at the moment.
In the next month I will become so sleep deprived, stressed out and high strung that ferry rides will be my bedtime and my fingers will bleed. Welcome to assessment month hell at jazz school – a.k.a. the last month of semester. My face will start breaking out in pimples, emulating aethestically what will be the chaos of my life. Generally, I never ever get pimples, except when I am SUPER stressed out. I don’t mean to brag (I count myself lucky and thank my mother’s genes, to be honest), but I have such nice skin that one pimple is a cataclysmic event, let alone during assessment time when I get up to three. This is too much gross detail, but with me, pimples generally never form or “ripen”, as some people like to call it. They just stay under the surface and hurt like a bitch.
Basically, life is extremely stressful at the moment, and I really really need to step it up and average out my general performance standards at a higher level. It’s so ironic in many ways that I’ve stopped caring about my grades since I got to university. I used to be the sort of person that will get B’s for not trying, and A’s for pretending to give a shit, or the classes that I enjoy, and that was perfectly fine with me. More than fine, it was bloody swell. I always felt like I always got at least 10% more than I deserved, considering I had never done any actual “studying” in my life, to be perfectly honest. But jazz school is a completely different ball game. It’s not academic in any such way, so none of this being “naturally bright” business bullshit comes into play. To a large extent, it is down to commitment, and time spent, but really, it’s about a whole lot of heart.
I finally received my feedback for the jazz combo recital from the end of last term, and the identical raw mark from both assessors on the panel that night had no bearing on my feelings at all. However, I was thoroughly pleased with the fact that their comments precisely reflected my thoughts on how I played that night. The things they thought I did well, and the things they pointed out that needs improvement were all in agreement with how I felt, so that’s really the biggest thing for me. I no longer care about the ABC’s and care mostly about my growth not just as a musician, but as a person. I mean, for gods sake I got something below a B for the first time in my life when I got to university! Nerves, freezing up and mind blanking have been some of my top enemies, and it all comes down to confidence, so I’m trying to work on that.
It’s funny thinking back on all the employers I’ve spoken to in the past who have said that they would happily employ a music graduate for a non music-related job. I remember most distinctly a barrister I had met, with whom I was discussing how I had gone about the most painful decision of my life – choosing jazz school over law school. After chatting for a good half hour, he told me that he thought I would have made an excellent lawyer had I chosen to pursue it; but also that he can see why I didn’t, and the fact that I hold the possibilities of so much more. And I think it’s this obsession with there is something more, there’s got to be more to life, there’s got to be more to me, more to be discovered, more to be devoured, more to be enjoyed, more to be read, seen, photographed, written, learnt, heard, felt, touched, loved – MORE! that ultimately drives me in the supposedly “unconventional” and “creative” realms that I enjoy so much to delve in. I don’t think it’s enough for me to simply aim for a decent paying job, end up with a nice husband, bright children and then repeat the cycle. No. Yes, I want all that, but I also want so much MORE. Having said that, it is terribly hard for me to let go of the “black-clad powerhouse woman of a lawyer with a disposable income, too little time and the world at her fingertips”-type image that I’d spent a large majority of the past decade aiming for. But also having said that, at the same time, I also harboured dreams of being a performer. I still haven’t figured out quite yet the precise sort of perfomer I’d like to be, but I think that there is merit in all forms. And in a larger, more abstract sense of the word, I also don’t think that you have to be physically doing something like playing music, dancing or acting to be “performing” – I like to think that there are such things as literary performances, which is the accumulation of those dashing, inspired moments transcribed into text on paper, rather than in the form of something you sit down to watch or listen to… which ultimately is what a musical/theatrical/dance performace also is: an “accumulation of those dashing, inspired moments”, except executed in a single setting, so to speak.
Anyway, before I ran off on a tangent, the point I was leading to about employers was the list of “qualities” that music graduates supposedly have, or will have achieved. These include all sorts of cheesy, typical-sounding adjectives which you can think of. And I admit, I’d always thought it a little over-repeated for the sake of encouraging young people to pursue a wide range of Bachelor degrees other than the “normal”, “conventional” or “money making” ones that usually come to mind; but funnily enough, these days I think I’m really starting to “get it”. I’m suffering such a bad case of low motivation and general difficulty with “getting on with it”, and I think that’s because in many ways, this music degree is actually indirectly designed to make me a better person – and that is what I’m struggling with. It’s not the actual coursework that I’m struggling with as such (although yes, it’s intense, and yes it’s difficult), but what it takes to do well in this course. You have to be so internally motivated, fight through intellectual, creative, physical and personal barriers just to get through your workload, let alone get good at it. It’s much easier for me to curl up in bed with a text book to cram for a test with, than it is for me to want to stand for hours on end and play until my blistering fingertips really can’t handle anymore bass playing. You have to want to and then make yourself go the extra mile all the time. Also, seeing as I’m self-professed not very obsessed with jazz – yes, I love it, but sometimes I just can’t conjure up the mental capacity for it, even to listen to it – it’s doubly hard for me to want to sit back, and spend hours listening to jazz recordings. By that, I don’t mean put it on and chill out, but I mean to sit there and fully pay attention to it. Over and over. Listening to all the different parts. Not just the chords, but the chord voicings, then the voicings over the particular note choices in the bass line, and the voicings used by another chordal instrument, what the soloist is playing, how they’re playing, their rhythm, time, placement, note choices, chords they outline, chords they imply, time they imply, feel, the groove of the swing… Oh by now my head just wants to burst!
My so-last-minute-I-should-get-shot transcription assessment went well today. Transcribed 64 bars of Hank Mobley’s solo on Someday My Prince Will Come and had to perform to the recording. Apparently my written transcription was pretty accurate, which surprised me. It was so hard to write out something when he plays so darn behind the beat.
Here’s a super lovely track by an amazingly sweet and talent vocalise, Rosa Passos with the legendary Ron Carter:
I know that lots of people who know me IRL read/browse through my blog, but I obviously don’t care who reads this. Yes, I’m airing dirty laundry online, but at least my clothes are all intact. I’m not going to become one of those facade-bloggers that only blog about the bright and cheery stuff in my life as if I’m living in utopia even though in reality, everything is hectic, fucked up, stressful, and makes no logical sense. I think… really, this blog post is about how apparently I have to constantly lose things that are important to me(?!!) In order to truly appreciate what I still retain, things and people that tend to slip under the radar but whom I wouldn’t be the same without.
In my last post I had said that something wasn’t right and was hoping that it would work out. Well it didn’t. Long story short, my “best friend” came over to my house and broke up with me as a friend. Complete with a bag full of my stuff. As if she were breaking up with some guy. Who the hell does that?! This is someone who I had held in tremendous regard, who was my closest confidant for the past year or two, and we did and shared everything with one another. I guess not anymore.
I thought it was a given that when people cease being friends that they either have some kind of huge falling out, or they end up drifting apart. No one I know of has ever heard of someone ending a friendship like how you would break up with a lover.
I guess I was wrong, and once again placed trust and faith in people who ultimately let me down. Before anyone even tries to say “maybe she’ll come around” – no, she won’t. She’s too proud and stubborn for that shit, and I’m too dead-set on my own life now to waste precious time and energy hoping. Come on – who gets over a friend just like that?! And what’s wrong with becoming more casual friends that occasionally hang out and usually don’t speak at all? Rather than completely annihilating the whole friendship as if it was a complete dream based on bullshit. It’s not the fact that it’s happened that bugged me most, its the way it happened, and the stupid series of events that led up to it. And yes, it’s a long story, but I’m not leaving anything important out – there was no great life-changing catalyst that caused this. None that warrants this emotionally-immature of a response anyway. The motto I tend to live by is that if something’s wrong, you try and fix it. And if you can’t fix it, then you live with it, hopefully in lesser doses. I’d always been envious of the way how she’s been so (relatively) sheltered both physically and emotionally, and she’s even said in the past how she can’t imagine having gone through and having to deal with half the things I have, and I’m not even 20 yet. I was envious because sometimes I would think, wouldn’t it be so great if I were a little more ignorant, suffered less pain, and a whole lot more innocent because of it? People have said that all those things have made me who I am today, and I wouldn’t change the things I’ve learnt, but now I’m not envious of being sheltered anymore. I’ve been through worse fights, yell-fests, public shaming and humiliations due to arguments/conflict/friction with friends before… but the most important people that I’m closest to have stuck by me through thick and thin regardless of the wrongs we had done, and the things we said in voices too loud, out of spite or the spur of the angry moment. I just kind of feel sorry for both of us now – her for being cruel and cold and her inability to care; and me for caring, wondering who will have to throw her “surprise 21st birthday party” in six months’ time, for giving a shit, and all the hurt and pain that comes with it…
All of the frustration, hurt and anger aside though, it’s just a pity really – all the things we have in common and both enjoy are still there. The things we agree and disagree on are just the same. I don’t know why it had to be so melodramatic. It feels like, “boo hoo Amanda, tough shit that you care and I don’t give two shits”. She said she knows it’s cruel, but my response to that was “don’t you dare try to pretend that you know how inhumane this is”. Don’t get me wrong, she was an amazing friend while it lasted. But honestly, how do you purge yourself of a former best friend? Am I supposed to rip a few things off my wall now, because they were from or relating to her? I mean, WHAT THE FUCK.
Irrelevantly, I’m suddenly really glad (don’t take this the wrong way) that I’m completely heterosexual, with no chance of ever striking up a same-sex relationship. I can’t imagine how badly female lovers would treat each other! As I was saying to the boy earlier tonight, the dumb questions that females ask because they need reassurance, urgh. Anyway, I’ve fucking had it with losing best friends. Up until this broke the record, what with being 2011, I’ve lost one every other year of my life since 2002 (04, 06, 08, ’10). Just as I was getting my hopes up that for once that someone who hates so much the “atrocious things girls do to each other”, wouldn’t be the same – well apparently she is capable of the exact same, if not worse crime.
On a compleeetely different note, aren’t these the cutest things to receive for Easter? “Charlie the Easter Chick” was from the boy, and the delightfully cute mini eggs are from his mum. I’m pleasantly surprised and proud of myself for having managed to savour them over a week, rather than devouring them all in one sitting.
Last night the boy and I went to his friend’s house for a bit of a gathering as three of his friends had returned from studying out of town and abroad. Whilst most of us were having fun chucking down junk food and beers with the (unneeded) aid of drinking games, two of them decided to be a bit on the anti-social side, and watched the royal wedding instead. A bit surprising, really. I don’t hold much interest otherwise, but I’m glad that Middleton’s dress was by McQueen. It was executed magnificently.
As a side note, it was interesting to see how people responded to the “quote” at the end of my last blog post. Interesting, because just as I had predicted, people took what it was saying far more seriously and thought about it a bit more, because I had quoted it rather than just put it as a paragraph in my post. Basically, I quoted myself. I know the first line sounds a bit “off”, but it’s all a bit out of context and things relating to it were taken out, so that’s why.
“Strength is Happiness. Strength is itself victory. In weakness and cowardice there is no happiness. When you wage a struggle, you might win or you might lose. But regardless of the short-term outcome, the very fact of your continuing to struggle is proof of your victory as a human being.” – Daisaku Ikeda
Sometimes, some things just aren’t okay. And don’t feel okay. And… well they just aren’t okay. And when there’s nothing more you can do about it, when you’ve done your very best according to you and everyone else you can find solace in, then what are you supposed to do and feel from here? I hate that so many things are great in my life right now, but it seems that fate will never let all external factors be okay with me. I know, I know, life’s not meant to easy. Neither are friendships and relationships with everyone and anyone in life – but it just seems like there always has to be something wrong in my life. When it wasn’t drama with one friend, it was drama with another friend, or drama with classes, teachers, classmates, drama on the sports team, drama in the music ensembles, drama in the family (okay, that never seems to and I know will never go away, but it at least has its calms), drama with boys, girls, more boys and more girls, drama oh drama drama drama, all the time. And it sucks so bad when it’s with someone so close to me, who I so badly want to talk to, hang out with all the time, and it’s not reciprocated. In this post from back in September of last year, I expressed the pains of breaking up with a former best friend, and how it feels like – if not worse – than breaking up a romantic relationship. It’s different of course, but you know. Anyway, some really messed up and traumatic thing from about 15 or 16 years ago unwittingly surfaced for me recently, and I’ve finally managed to deal with it head-on… and afterwards it just made me think, gosh, the things I really want to say, and the people I wish I could tell them to right now – the shoulder that I really need… isn’t there.
I was feeling really shitty and end-of-mid-semester-break-blue today, and got really cheered up by the surprise revelation that classes don’t resume on Tuesday as I had thought they were – classes actually don’t start until Wednesday! I was all frantic and “WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME?!!!” to the couple of people I was txting who replied with “I thought you knew”-type responses, but heck it made my day. Also, instead of getting anything legitimate done (okay, I did some more writing, but that’s not uni-work, thus not “legitimate”), I devoured three films with mum today. One was a Chinese film which at first seemed like commentary on life, romance, priorities, marriage, etc – but with a really warped and twisted sense of humour – but then it ended up really depressing towards the end when someone died of cancer and decided to hold their funeral while they were still alive so that they could attend it. I don’t know if there’s a proper name for when they do that, instead of an uhh “funeral”. And the latter film was Robin Hood. You know, the one with Russel Crowe, which I had largely questioned about the casting of, and was initially skeptical about but it ended up being enjoyable enough and wasn’t quite as the mother and I had expected it to play out as.
I’ve had a huge up-and-down of a long weekend, starting on Thursday night when the boy and I decided we were going to make it an overtly indulgent and decadent evening of fine dining and wining at home. The highlight of dinner was my chicken cordon bleu with pesto, and my god we drank so much wine that night that even with the copious amounts of food, I was drunk enough to doze off whilst watching Boston Legal – and it’s my all-time favourite, funniest show, so that’s saying a lot. The wines were a mix of his 21st birthday presents and leftover party wine, plus some Villa Maria that I had bought on sale ages ago that’s been stashed at the back of our pantry. Neither of us are habitual wine drinkers, but we’d been talking about it for sometime now, and watching the film Sideways the other night had helped to kick it off. Four bottles that night. Or technically three and a half. Not a bad effort. It was fun to mix and match up Riesling, Chardonnay, Sav Blanc/Pinot Gris (and also some Merlot) to see which best matched what food.
I’m hungry, just looking at this now.
A lot of capsicum. I had kiiinda forgotten how expensive they were, but my god I love capsicums. Or as Americans call it, bell peppers.
Brock’s Italiano salami – my favourite – and brie. Another favourite of mine. Ahh!
These photos were all taken before I got too “happy”…
Another night later, another bottle of wine.
So many calories to burn off, but hockey training is getting tougher, and to make things worse, a fitness regime is also kicking in. But we are still young and must live close to the edge while we still can. Before we are too self-important, and too heavy with weights too dear to bear the risk of toeing the edge. And I will leave this post with this:
“Honestly, honesty never gets you everywhere. It may get you a lot of places, likewise your pretty face and ratio between your waist and hips, and those glorious breasts of yours that both sexes visually devour. But you hate that you can’t take any credit for how you look, so you feel more and more empty every time someone does a double take at you, or when strangers cross the room just to meet you. Because all they like thus far is to look at you, and maybe some of them like to hope that there is more to you… but alas, most often there isn’t much to them either so you’ve learnt to not get your hopes up. You need to learn what it’s like to look forward to something again, to be so excited for something that you’re counting down the days, hours and minutes as if nothing further down the line matters. You need to learn what it’s like to be free and young again. And worst but most of all, you need to remind yourself that you are indeed still young.”
Oh, and I ended up finishing Looking For Alaska the day after I started it, and am back to The Great Gatsby. Hopefully reading stays on track as my life starts to veer again.
Italiano salami – my favourite – and brie. Another favourite of mine. Ahh!
