Friends, acquaintences, and other social matters.

But I’ve been waiting too long to give this up. The more I see I understand… But sometimes I still need you

I’m surprised that I’m not hallucinating by now, because I’ve had very little sleep all week, and only had 3.5 hours of sleep last night. It’s a bit stupid that I stayed up so late working on my transcription test which was at noon, but I had spent most of yesterday with my ring finger in a mug of cold water since I accidentally got a burn blister from cooking (a tiny fragment of an eggshell!!! who knew those things got so hot so fast?!). It was made more difficult by the fact that I had to change all my fingering for slides and triplets and all a bunch of crap, as well as trying to play up to speed in the first place. Argh.

That said, I know it sounds even more retarded that I’m not in bed asleep already – and trust me, I dreamed of doing so, all day, but I have so much stuff on my mind that it just doesn’t want to rest. I just sat for an hour in bed writing a reply letter to one of my best friends abroad instead. See, that’s the funny thing about people being abroad – they will eventually come back. Even if it’s just for a short visit. There are two instances where this very subject is gnawing away at my mind right now: the former, being very close friends (see below), whom I wish would be back for longer so I could spend some decent quality time with; and the latter, being someone who I perhaps might not know well (or at all), who I dread having to come across one day.

The problem with having a blog that is read by people I know offline is that most of the time, I can’t just say things straight up. I sometimes miss the anonymity of when my blog was little more than chunks of (mostly neglected and unread) text that I could say anything and everything in. The upside was that I didn’t have to censor much. But the obvious downside was that I hardly had any readers and so rarely got the thought-provoking sort of response that I was looking for anyway. Ahh, forever a blogger’s dilemma.

For now, this was my evening. My friend Raymond held a musical soirée at the iconic Sly’s Pianos in Newmarket, as he was passing through on his way to Wellington for some work with the NZSO. All I can really say is that listening to him made me really miss the feel of playing classical piano. The very particular texture and timbre that such black and white keys deliver is completely incomparable to the raw and rugged experience which a bass brings… especially that of an upright. My fingertips feel like they’re on fire – to which, of course, my bass teacher shows his approval of the fact that I’m playing more and more. They hurt so much that it felt like I was inducing yet another burn blister when I ate fries at the bar with my hands earlier.

I’m always humbled by how amazing all my friends are. Truly.




Later, at Mac’s Brewbar on Nuffield Street. I love the decor in this place.


I swear I didn’t “conveniently” not have any money with me.


His & Hers: Mac’s Black & Great White beer. Previously, Sassy Red & Hops Rocker.

What their beer menu looked like. I have no idea how the quality of these two photos are so… shoddy. Oh welllll.

I can’t wait until Easter break, because I’d really like to catch up with my old piano teacher. We had meant to get together over summer, but that never got organised in the end. But better late than never! I really miss all our late-night piano lessons filled with laughter, musical revelations and anecdotes. I think anecdotes are possibly every teacher’s best friend.

http://www.slyspianos.co.nz/

Pieces of what… doesn’t matter anymore

Yesterday I got home after a treacherous commute from uni – slip-jogging downhill in the city in rain, with a heavy bag, heavy bass, semi exposed music folders, very full ferry, awkward seating – to the glorious sight of some parcels. My Asos package and some items from the BookDepository. I’m still waiting on 4(?) more books and a dress/convertible skirt thing to arrive:

OCD, Definition 1:

What I really want to write about is “obsessive compulsive documentation”, as per inspired by Marta’s blog. But first I have to get something off my chest: I used to be quite OCD as a child. I still am a little bit now, but it’s nothing compared to what I used to be. I’m sure lots of people out there will have done some of the things I used to do, but can you tell me – how bad did it feel when you didn’t stick to those “rules” which your brain somehow constructed and told you to adhere to?

I used to, and often still do now, but in a more oppressed manner:

– have to take three steps per slab of concrete
– count everything obsessively, out loud, in my head, all the time – especially when running and swimming (which is why I gave up the latter, counting up to the 5000 region is painful whilst swimming km after km in a lap pool)
– have to touch something a certain amount of times
– have to experience the same thing on both sides of my body (I still do this, my friends find it funny, but I really don’t – especially when they trigger it intentionally, it sets me off like a house on fire. e.g., if someone slaps one arm, I will have to ask them to slap me on the other arm, at the same angle, with the same strength; or if someone steps on my foot or something stupid like that.  Actually, I’d appreciate if everyone who reads this blog that knows me in real life would please fucking stop laughing about it and triggering it, it’s anguish in my head to try and fight the urge to punch my own arm, for example.
– in addition to the above, I like to touch things with both hands. I line people’s phones up when it’s on a table. I like to stack my ipod and phone together because they’re about the same size, and I hate feeling a phone vibrate in one hand but not the other.
– most especially in homeware-type stores, I have have have to backtrack my way out of a store, as if I had a spider web-like things trailing me and I have to “untangle” my way out, so that this “thread” doesn’t loop around a shelf or rack in a store. It used to make my mum wonder why I kept walking in circles back and back around aisles.
– worst of all, I have a counting system and this is the most frustrating and made-fun-of thing ever. As mentioned above, I count. A lot. Moreover, I do this weird thing where I count three to 3, then three more to 6, then three more to 9, then two to 11, two more to 13, then three to 16 and then seven to 23. When I was younger, this systematic pattern only existed up to the number 9, but then at some point it grew to 11, 13, 16… and it did stop at 21 for a while, but somehow ended up at 23 instead. Weird, I know. And that probably made no sense to anyone else but me anyway. But the worst thing is, people make a joke out of it and I just can’t stand it! At its worst, you can tell my mind’s distracted from say, if I’m reading a book, I’ll end up reading really fucking slowly (I’m generally a fast reader otherwise) because I’ll have to look at all the punctuation on the page a certain amount of times… the page number a certain amount of times. And if it’s a number than I deem as “not good” or that I don’t like (such as 2, 4, 8), my mind psyches itself out and I have to “fix” it by looking at “good” numbers certain amount of times.

Not to mention, these are just my main things that I “have to” comply/count to. There are all sorts of random things that I obsess over as well, but don’t kick in that often, or are more easily overridden by my logic and common sense. For example, I have really, really messy (what people like to call “artsy”) handwriting – it’s mostly because I write really fast and big, and that’s just how it ends up. But those silly people that have attempted to copy my handwriting (fuck knows why), or, those even worse ones that try to criticise my handwriting beyond a necessary point, don’t realise that there’s a whole other reason which I let it become and stay so messy. To put it simply, once I make a conscious effort to make my writing neat, I end up obsessing over making it perfect. If I’m writing down music and my “neat writing” thing kicks in, then every little thing that pours over one line must immediately be erased. Or if my clefs don’t fit in the lines perfectly. Or if I haven’t divided each bar to roughly the same size.

It’s the most unbearable thing ever. Just now, I’ve scratched the back of my neck twice, on both sides, with both hands, because I can’t talk about this without succumbing to the “NEED”. I haven’t told my therapist any of this yet, though. Simply because we’re always dealing with something else and I forget about this until I get back into my car and something sets it off.

OCD, Definition 2:

Now, the other, less annoying type of “OCD” is “obsessive compulsive documentation”. To be honest, this goes beyond the desire to blog or to write in my notebook. For me, I like to keep a documentation of my mere existence and how I think/feel about things. I’ve learned so much simply by reading back in old poetry/lyric notebooks, old diaries, old blog posts, and looking through either digital photos or physical photo albums. I can’t remember how that quote goes, but I truly do believe that everything we’ve ever seen, everyone we’ve ever met and everything we’ve ever done has had its part in creating who we are today. I guess the whole “documentation” thing began the minute I was born, because my mum is a professional photographer. She’d done the big studio thing in Tokyo, did reporting for major newspapers and magazines in Taipei, and later opened up her own studio specialising in children’s photography – so my sister and I were constantly her subject of her films. She also used to do work for a parenting magazine, so whenever we so much as cried, out came the camera, snap snap, the dough rolled in. Obviously, being photographed whilst being told off or upset in general was really quite traumatising, and caused us to cry even more – but as I’ve grown up, I kind of appreciate having these things to look back on. When I was six, I asked my mum to buy me a navy and white checkered hardback diary. It came in a matching box with a lock on it, and it was to be my best friend during our immigration to New Zealand. The last time I read back through it, it occurred to me how I had started writing all in Chinese, and then in the middle was a bit of Chinglish, and eventually the Chinese got filtered out to remain only in the phrases where there’s a lexicon gap.

Then, at age 12 I discovered blogging and it changed my life. As you can see, I’ve been doing it ever since.

What I enjoy about documentation is that there’s evidence outside of myself that an experience or thought had occurred. Our memories aren’t reliable, and more often than not gets gray and blurry around the edges. Sometimes you see a view so amazing or had such a good time that you think “I’m going to remember this forever” – but really, you don’t. Some people enjoy just keeping such memories within, to themselves, but I just can’t. On top of this, such documentation often becomes a source of inspiration for me later on, when I am feeling more creative. Reading old poetry/blog/diary entries of my own have often resulted in extended verses, a new reflective blog post, and once even a painting – so see, for me it’s not just about “did that, *photograph it*, file it”, even if it appears to be to onlookers.

As for less meaning for documentation like taking crappy party photos versus taking decent film ones with a bit more effort, both are important to me. Whilst I may not (unlike most people my age) splash all my party/drunk/whatever photos all over facebook, it’s still nice for me to know that someday when I’m older and these days are over, I will have something left of it to look back on. Heck, I don’t even party that much or often anymore, so even looking back on photos from a year ago evokes nostalgia and makes me feel old already!

Point is, I like documenting. And even though I believe that, at the core we never change that much and essentially remain the same at heart, I still like to be reminded of who I used to be at any particular given point. It’s like those amazing lyrics or songs that I write in the shower, that I feel are so worthy of being worked on and properly written out, which I then forget the minute the water goes off – so too do the amazing memories and experiences that we have, if we don’t record them in some way. Plus, it’s always fun to see things from a new perspective, or think my god, I was that retarded at that age?! and then feel like a better person a few years on, isn’t it?

 

Left: welcome to the neglected corner of my room, where I tend to stash the biggest, heftiest items (refer to multiple basses and hockey gear), which then gets in the way of me trying to reach my wardrobe.
Right: my wardrobe door, on which I stuck a pile of those whacky film photos taken in Japan (my heart melts!) and Taiwan.

Traces of last night.
Left: Chocolaaate + acrylics I used to paint my bedside table last night.
Right: The remains of the beer and cupcakes which the boy and I indulged in along with Boston Legal last night.

I’ve been meaning to post this ever since Christmas. She may not enjoy my documenting ways which entails (undisclosed) unflattering photos of us, but my special lady friend sure gave me an adorabubble Christmas present which she made herself! It graces a prime spot on my wall, of course.

 

ofthesky.org/log

The youth is starting to change, Are you starting to change? Are you? Together

Instead of adhering to the tradition of drinking at a pub on St. Patrick’s Day, I went and saw MGMT. In fact, I think it’s stupid that such a large portion of this country’s population makes St. Patty’s Day such a huge deal and an excuse to all go out and get drunk. Especially those that are nowhere near Irish. Why?! Why do they need the excuse? We all know everyone does it anyway, so why bother with the excuse, why the hype? It’s annoying on an annual basis. If you really wanted to go out and drink, wouldn’t you just do it anyway?

I must say, I feel so disabled without a press pass and the ability to take my dslr with me.

These were taken on our new point and shoot – the Canon IXUS 300 HS. It’s a cute little thing, but just so darn frustrating not having complete control over what I was doing, especially with the focus and all, grrrr. However, I’m actually really impressed with the quality – especially sound quality! – of the videos that I took. Unfortunately, I’m really really low on bandwidth so can’t upload any yet.

So here are the below-my-usual-standard photos, and now I know what it feels like to be in the audience with a point-and-shoot like everybody else:

Something out of the ordinary happened to me earlier today: I felt a tinge of excitement for the MGMT concert.  I say that because I usually feel none or little sense of excitement for a concert or event, I guess largely because I don’t want to build up any huge expectations in anticipation. Just in case things don’t turn out the way I’d like. What a pessimist I am. I’ve been known to come off as blasé about these things, which has pissed people off, in the cases where I had a press pass.

See, that’s the thing about me… I can’t live with, and I can’t live without. With a press pass, the gig becomes a job. And with a job, comes responsibility. Although I love every moment and flash of stage lights of it, I simply cannot relax until I get home and see how the photos have turned out. Yet, doing so gives me such a great satisfation. Because the challenge posed by concert photography is just so enticing to me, the satisfaction is incomparable. It’s like scoring a goal in hockey or football (where scores tend to stay low), as opposed to scoring points in basketball (where there is constant progress on the scoreboard). Actually, often if not all of the time, I already know how good of a set of photos I’ve gotten, and how big the set is, before I’ve even gone home and looked at my photos. In the split second just as the shutter closes and releases, I  just know how the photo will turn out. I’m sure most other people also get this sensation, in whatever fields they are skilled and comfortable with.

But on the flip side, I thoroughly love going to a concert completely carefree. No bag, ever. Crammed right up centre front, best views, best squish, etc… which I’ve done several times even when I had a photographic assignment, but it’s just not quite the same. The downside to giving up concert photography is that – as I discovered tonight, since I can’t remember the last time, if ever, that I went to the Powerstation without a press pass – I spend the entire evening going “If only I had my camera right now…” and I would see all these amazing things and angles that I wish I could capture.

For me, it seems to be about the thrill of the chase.

///

The setting felt familiar, like revisiting
an Old Memory.
I tried my best to not cast any visions of
how I want the evening to turn
but somehow it feels like it’s
Happened all before anyway.
The Powerstation, with the projected buzz
and pixelated technicolour;
the stage format
the way VanWyngarden and Goldwasser stood,
sang and played
Reminded me of Avey Tare, Panda Bear and
Geologist. Those lads and the
Space in their music.

The space left in my pounding head and
racing mind full of…
something indescribeable, but such spacious
thought-provoking feelings.

Tonight, MGMT made me relive
a more youthful, worrisome and carefree
Time of my life.
and it’s funny, in all facets of the word
because
I feel exaxtly the same
and care about the same things
All over again.

“The youth is starting to change”.

In the sun she dances, To silent music-songs… That are spun of gold, Somewhere in her own little head

It’s funny how even in this day and age with instant access to ways of “contact” with people, I still find it really hard to maintain a stream of steady contact with a lot of people that mean a great deal to me. For various reasons, both my sister and father live overseas, as well as numerous close friends. Worse yet, I can hardly find the time for good friends that live barely ten minutes away from my house! The balance I’ve tried to strike over the years, is the odd hours-long phone or skype conversation with my dad, and as of last year, my sister also. But lately, I’ve found that I’m most satisfied through the means of writing lengthy letters by hand and posting them; and in return, receiving either the odd (if I’m lucky) letter, or a great postcard that’s filled to the brim with travel anecdotes and things that they thought I’d enjoy and reminded them of me, so far away.

Recently, my friend (with whom I’ve traveled to Japan and Taiwan last year) visited Hong Kong and China, and concocted a brilliant way of sending me postcards: he made six of them into a series, which had drawings on either side that fit together like a little jigsaw, then labeled and sent them in numerical order. Funnily enough, I didn’t get them all in the correct order, but it was fun to wait around for the collection to be completed!

Just today, I came home from uni to a postcard from Guangzhou that dad had sent me. Although it wasn’t nearly as creative as Joel’s Guangzhou postcard, this little piece of cardboard with a generic cityscape photo made my afternoon. It’s funny how much more intimate seeing someone’s handwriting is, as opposed to merely an email. Often times I’ll send long, ranting, frustrated, angry, ecstatic or just generally overwhelming and brain-scattered emails to my ‘grrrrlfraaaan’ in Seattle or my ol’ buddy Takuma at Tulane, but when I really have something to say that’s worth taking the time for, I’ll be putting black ink to white paper. The only trouble for them is deciphering my handwriting beyond the “Dear ______”, because my handwriting – although often deemed as artistic/awesome/copy-worthy by onlookers – is a shocker to try and read.

Anyway, I really ought to finish this long overdue letter to my sister. Even though I was just saying to mum earlier about how much smaller the house seems when she came back home for Christmas (and will be when she’s back for her summer), and how the last piece of any delicious food always goes missing out of the fridge… I miss her. A lot.

Here’s some photos from earlier today. The first two are of my ferry trip into uni. I’d been meaning for ages to take photos of the city from the ferry when leaving uni, but the ferry situ today didn’t warrant for that. Plus, I’m really unhappy with these two photos because I literally had to guess and “shoot from the hip” as it’s our point and shoot camera, which is broken and I literally can’t see what I’m photographing on the screen and the manual viewfinder may as well not even exist! But it was such a lovely day I just had to post them anyway:

The marina at which parking is now a nightmare. I got dropped off and picked up today, phew.

I must say, I’m proud of my very steady guesswork… the horizon’s not that lopsided haha.

Rangitoto Island, the iconic view you get in Auckland.

See where I had double-iced half the cupcakes? I learnt my lesson… don’t ice them when they’re hot out of the oven, icing tends to melt and drip away. Although it’s never happened before, but I guess I used a different recipe.

Mum’s delicious banana cake.

They were meant to be red velvet cupcakes, but I ran out of red food colouring, so the inside colour is a bit off. Luckily you can’t see here, haha.

Tomorrow morning, two lovely people will wake up to my cupcakes which I’ve hidden in eccentric places rather than on their doorstep. This is what happens when I do late-night baking and then think “oh wouldn’t it be sweet if I…”, combined with the mentality of think of all that buttery goodness I want to share with everybody else’s hips.

Boy and girl go down, To the place by the water. Creeping into the afternoon, Young aren’t so young – They’re getting restless

I hope that the nuclear leakage business in Japan due to the earthquake/tsunami doesn’t worsen; and I’m definitely relieved that all our family/friend ties there are all safe and sound as far as we know. I don’t really have the heart to blog about such things, it’s all a bit close to home, considering I was in Tokyo just 12 months ago. Also, being Taiwanese with strong Japanese ties, we hop over there for holidays all the time – like how Kiwis and Aussies holiday on either side of the ditch.

Today started like every other day – despite being a Saturday, I was supposed to wake at a certain time, but of course I ignored my alarm clock and snoozed and snoozed and snooozed. So when I finally, rather abruptly woke up completely, I once again had that huge wave of panic, oh no, what’s the time – how far have I overslept?! Luckily all was well and the boy had txted telling me to take my time. It was only quarter past nine.

We made the long drive out to Takapuna to the Department Store where he bought a very nice Topman blazer and shirt, whilst I pranced around like the distracted mind that I am, touching, smelling, feeling every fabric and fragrance I could get my hands on. I ended up with a nice loot myself (I’ll get to that later, below) and after a bit of “so where are we actually going?”, we managed to find the lovely waterfront cafe that my special lady friend* had taken me for my birthday last year. The single scoop ice cream would have more than sufficed for my taste buds and waistline, but I have an inability to pass up chocolate ice cream (because it’s always soooo good and satisfying!) , so I asked for a scoop of berry sorbet on top of that. The boy certainly didn’t complain nor fake chivalrous refusal at all, every time I offered up some of my ice cream to go with his mango sorbet, haha.

Polaroid taken at the beach. I couldn’t be bothered scanning it in, so took a digital photo of it instead.

So I know we weren’t technically supposed to be out at the beach today, but luckily everything’s fine on the NZ shores and we enjoyed a nice spot of sun by the sea, with views of such clear seawater that it was hard to imagine what’s happening both north and south of us. My mind’s been churning at high gears lately, and it didn’t help that yesterday I skipped a 3-hour percussion workshop to go home on an earlier ferry, and ended up tagging along to the boy’s 4th year Environmental Law lecture. I ended up scribbling down three full pages worth of… well heck I don’t really know nor remember… thoughts of some (definitely illegible and sporadic) description? I know he was curious as to what my mad writing speed recorded in black ink, but even I don’t remember by the second it’s made contact with paper. I have a tendency to do that – write like a mad woman and forget. Forget until I come back at some much later point where I’m calmer, and try and see my previous thoughts through fresher eyes. Unfortunately it’s not that effective in clearing my mind at all, but at least I feel like I’ve written it somewhere as a record that I can refer to and remember later.

On the topic of writing in notebooks, today we checked yet another Paper Plus to see if my favourite notebooks-in-which-to-write-lyrics-poetry-angry-stuff-anything-fake-diary-thingy was still being stocked, and was disappointed to find that it wasn’t. A peek in Borders reminded me of how much I enjoyed scribbling in a pocket soft cover Moleskine during my Californian trip, so I contemplated the larger version in a hardcover… but at $42, we were just not meant to be. $42!!! I stood there thinking perhaps, yes, the collection of my thoughts and creative streaks combined is worth far more than that monetary value, but $42 is just ridiculous for the torture that it will no doubt endure.

This led to an afternoon of browsing all the various Moleskine notebooks online and eventually ordering 3 products off BookDepository.co.uk. I know, I know, I’ve JUST endorsed them in my last blog post, but considering I just ordered the exact same notebook for the pound equivalent of $21.94NZD, I just can’t help mentioning it again. I just hope it arrives ruddy soon, because after a quick google search, I found out that the Warehouse Stationery stocks the particular line of spiral bound hardcover notebooks that I’ve been using since I was 16. Yikes, that’s just 2 months short of being 4 years. I really, really don’t want to turn 20. Don’t want to cease being a teenager. A lot of people have said I’ll get over it, and pointed out how it makes no difference, etc – but it hasn’t changed the way I feel about my age. I’m scared of growing older – and I’m only 19! Imagine me in a few years’ time, oh my god!

 

Anyway, back onto the topic of retail therapy indulgence, I walked out of the Department Store with the above make up: lipstick in a “Beguiled” shade, and nail polish in “Airplane”. This is the darkest shade of lipstick that I now own, and I like that it matches my dark cherry shade of OPI nail polish. I don’t know what’s come over me in the past year and a bit. Ever since buying my very first lipstick (a very bold, bright red by Shiseido) for my 7th form ball, my lipstick collection has slowly but surely been expanding. Due to my heavy partying and drunken dancing with some of these babies, though, there’s been a few casualties in the form of a lipstick snapping (Chanel, I wanted to cry, but managed to re-attach it thanks to googling how), some damage done by the lid because a stick wasn’t wound down far enough (Shiseido, sad to say), and one lipstick that I was really mad at myself for losing (aka forgetting on the couch in the hostel) in San Francisco – that one was a (Maquillage x Alexander Wang). I think at this rate I may as well do a lipstick post. Some people have asked me about my makeup before (like that old jewellery post I did), so maaaaybe.

Bargain of the day was an A&F t-shirt in khaki green that I scored for $10, whilst the splurge of the day goes to my Something Else sweater from their new Winter 2011 collection. Apparently it’s only been out a week, and already the one I picked up was the last one on the rack! It was on the expensive side of things, but it’s pretty much what I’ve been looking for since last winter, so I’m over the moon about it regardless. Possible photos soon.

Since I seem to have started a trend of once again posting up my more lyrical/poetic writings in blog posts, here’s one from a few nights ago when I had trouble sleeping at 2.11am:

I’ve been everywhere,
Seen everything
But you’re the only
who stirs jealousy.

We’re living in my bed,
Fucking in my head
The heat’s too much,
Still, I want your touch.

Summer’s been a battleground
Philandering through too many rounds.
But the leaves will fall
We’ll call it  a draw.

Tell me where our lives will lead.

Last thing: I’ve been listening to this song over and over. Go look this band up – The Hundred in the Hands. We were discussing today how they almost sound like what The XX’s 2nd album should sound like, haha:

*Some of you know/refer to her as the “hot redhead” often featured in photos from late nights out; I’ve mentioned said bestie as either Lottie, Char, Charlo, or Charlotte. I should really be more consistent, but I really do call her all those things.

1 … 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 … 30