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.

Hands down – I’m too proud for love, But with eyes shut, It’s you I’m thinking of. Eye to eye, Thigh to Thigh, I let go. And for you I keep my legs apart, And forget about my tainted heart

I’ve been feeling like a bit of a social-grandma since uni has officially started once again, and I’ve been having quiet nights in like a normal person. Maybe I just used to party too hard “when I was younger”, and thus anything short of going out all the time seems like a reclusive thing to do. Being part of the jazz department, my classes and timetable are still not 100% confirmed yet, and it’s an annoying, growing source of stress. Ironic how everyone else loves the “first week back because it’s so relaxed”, yet I knew mine wouldn’t be, and it hasn’t been indeed.

Highlight of my first week back at uni was getting to see Jack DeJohnette on Friday, where he did a public workshop and a Q&A session. I managed to get a photo with him, but it’s very unflattering so I’m not going to post it here, haha.

The week’s main event on the menu, however, was the boy’s 21st birthday party last night. I didn’t take that many photos because I couldn’t be bothered carrying my camera around, so it was abandoned in his room in the company of the dog for hours instead. Although I must admit that most of the following photos were taken whilst I wasn’t on the sober side of things, so nothing is particularly amazing, from a photographic standpoint. But who cares – it was an amazing night for all involved, and that’s what matters more.

Photos from last night:

Inhaling helium is so much
Less
effective when
no longer so
Young

with Party-glazed eyes I scanned the room
and the source of
Contrast
is
Him.

Louder than high,
our voices
the word She
Repeated, repeated. Repeated.
and then again.

and when his speech
Acknowledged me and the
Whole.
Room.
Turned.
my cheeks flushed a pink
more rouge than my new lipstick
which we then shared.

Dim.
the romance of candlelit corners
and ferry-lit seams of the room.

Effortless,
he extinguished the flames which
we are taught, represents the years, his years.
We’re not supposed to count the years
but make the years count –
and yet, who isn’t counting?

/// /// /// // // /// /////

By this point in time I
was no longer aware of much else

and was facing completely the
Wrong way.
But it was funny to see things from
the cramped corner, in which I had to blow out a candle
just to stand in.

It’s obvious just how unusual last night was for me, from the sheer fact that I even forgot to have some cake.

 

 

This picture was just too… uhh yeaaah… to not put up.

I didn’t take either of the following pictures, but it seems that the men of that household are both capable of making me look nice in a photograph. Something I don’t say often. At all.

taken by his dad.

by the boy:
the morning after.

No harm, he’s armed, Setting off all your alarms

Today was the first day of my 2nd year at university. When I woke up naturally at 7.46am, my first thought was, oh no, how long have I overslept for?! But luckily for once that was not the case. I still can’t believe I woke up a quarter of an hour before my alarm! And I can’t believe how fast the past four months of summer holidays has just slipped away. It seems barely last week when I was jumping on the $999/return deal to fly to LA, and it feels barely yesterday that I was power-walking through San Francisco and riding on cable cars. Yet, at the same time it feels like an entire lifetime away. I think I’ve had four main distinctive phases this summer:

1/ November: California lovin’
2/ December: late nights, dashes in and out of everywhere
3/ January: wishy washy old self, dreaming of all the possibilities and living my life through daydreams and the internet
4/ February: actual lovin’, every day blurs into the next in the HOT HOT HEAT of summer, wishing I could rewind or fast forward time

I guess time truly flies when you’re having fun, huh.

Here are some (sorry, but shitty… it wasn’t my camera and it took a long time to work out how to 1/ get it out of black and white mode; 2/ get out of manual point-and-shoot mode; 3/ take an okay picture) pictures from Friday night, pizzas made from scratch, grâce à l’ami petit:

Rum & Pepsi, my phone getting charged, CC & dry

 

 

 

Tomatoes courtesy of his backyard.

 

Pre-Basil.

Note to anyone else who also likes sniffing boys books: acquaint yourself with a boy who has a vast book collection.

I spent an hour in a queue at university in order to obtain a Maxx sticker, which is what entitles me and my student ID to a discount when buying ferry tickets. For half an hour of this, my parking was expired and I was panicking over whether or not I was going to get a parking ticket. Luckily not, but you’d think that the major university in the biggest city of this country would have more than two people on computers sussing out timetables and enrollment qualification business!

In addition to this, currently on my timetable for the year, I have jazz combo on Wednesday night… at 8-10pm. Now… whilst that time is completely acceptable for when we have recital assessments, but on a weekly basis?! Gaaah! Especially when I had been hoping to play hockey this season, I really don’t know how everything is going to work. I’m not a happy chappy about my combo, but I meet them tomorrow, so we’ll see what happens, I guess.

Completely irrelevantly, I’ve had a draft post sitting in WordPress for the past week or so, but I just never got around to writing it properly. Too much food consumption. Chocolate. More Chocolate. Yes, it deserves capitalisation, that’s how much I love Chocolate. Going to sleep with Blonde Redhead, a Radiohead play list or The Raveonettes on repeat all night. Waking up reluctantly to wine and dine and do it all over again.

I don’t know when I’ll ever be able to use the local dialect for petit ami. That is, without feeling like I’m saying “cunt” in my mother’s presence or something to that effect. I’m a person of extremes, I know. I also know that I’m going to get a blister or two this week (already developing), and that I will start posting sporadic, spontaneous shit on here. Weekly wish list? Oh, yes please.

So we hold it close, When we feel the most – Like a love that we could not leave behind

Three photos I took in LACMA a couple of months ago. I don’t know what it is with my obsession – and often OCD – about numbers; especially the number 3.

I have such a great love of art galleries, art museums… and as I mentioned here, I’m often more preoccupied with the space itself, rather than what’s in it. I took those photos in a section of the art museum where the minimalism just got too much and I was far more interested in the floorboards and white walls, than the large canvases featuring large blocks of colours that were on said walls. I know, I know – it sounds terrible – but whilst I’m into countless forms of art, there are just some things I find more fascinating than this “minimalistic” theme in this wing of things.

“Those who are trying to find love will end up with hatred, frustration and insanity. Those who are trying to find wealth will end up totally neurotic, psychotic and totally crab. Because if you are trying to find something, you have basically, intentionally, intuitively, and individually accepted that you do not have it.” – Yogi Bhajan

I read this quote just before, and it’s completely gripped me in the sense that I find it so true. Or at least, the latter part of it. Such a bittersweet declaration that most of us would not think of viewing things this way. Or perhaps, more correctly, we wouldn’t want to.

The good news with me posting this blog entry is that, hurray, I’m still alive and haven’t suffered from any major nerve damages from my wisdom teeth removal surgery on Thursday. The bad news is that all those worries I had about general anesthesia should have been the least of my worries. Shortly after surgery (sometime after 8am), I woke at around 9.15am and the first thing that gripped me was how sore my throat was, from whatever pipes they had shoved down it to help me breathe and suck out saliva, etc. The next thing that I felt was the fact that I couldn’t feel most of the bottom half of my face. All of this so far is pretty standard, thus far, and I was relieved when my surgeon said I should be able to feel in a few hours, and that I would be able to eat rather normally by that evening – fantastic news, really, as I was starving by that point.

However, my paranoia and problems began when I started asking my sister, my friends and friends of friends who had had their wisdom teeth removed as well, to see how long it was before they regained feeling in their mouths. My sister merely said “a few hours”, and the worst I’d heard was “12 hours”, so I was thinking surely, by midnight at the latest, I would be able to feel and move my mouth. I spent much of the day mooching and lounging around, reading, watching TV, falling asleep in the boy’s arms whilst watching TV – that sort of thing – and making a general dick of myself by not being able to talk properly because I couldn’t feel my tongue and my jaw was locked up pretty tightly.

By the midnight, 1am mark, everyone had gone to sleep, and I asked my mother to wake me up in the morning to see whether or not I could feel or not, or if I should ring my surgeon up (apparently she had nightmares about this, oops). I was starting to freak out that I wasn’t even feeling any tingling in my face, you know, signs that the local anesthesia was wearing off – and my bottom lip was cold! I even started having thoughts as to whether I’d rather I had a paralysed leg or a paralysed bottom jaw… my imagination pretty much took off and ran far, far away into the realms of worst case scenarios. After failing to sleep in bed, I ended up on the couch, channel surfing and trying desperately to fall asleep. I ended up making myself a “cup-a-soup”, which I had to keep sticking my finger in, to make sure it wasn’t too hot and that I don’t burn my mouth – because obviously, I couldn’t feel a thing. Luckily, the hot soup seemed to help bring some further tingling and feeling into my tongue, except that it didn’t affect anything else. The last time I glanced at the clock was 3am and my imagination was driving me insane.

The next thing I knew, I woke to my cat prodding my face at 5am. And I thought my face! I can feel! I’ve never been so happy to be woken up at such an hour by my cat before, and the rush of adrenalin resulted in me not being able to sleep for the rest of the day.

Anyway, the point is – yes, I can feel everything now, thankfully, although unfortunately, these painkillers aren’t doing anywhere near enough to help sedate this constant pain I have, even when I’m not moving my mouth. I succeeded in my endeavour to devour an amazing burger from Burger Wisconsin today, but I had to cut it up into tiny pieces with a knife and fork in order to eat it. In the meantime, I keep checking on these stitches of mine, wishing and hoping that they would quickly dissolve and my wounds will heal so that my favourite pastimes (it seems to be) of talking and eating wouldn’t be so painful!

I’ve been listening to Radiohead’s new King of Limbs – does anyone have any thoughts on it yet? It’s on its second play right now, and I’m rather undecided. I guess it will be typical for it to grow on me (as I expect it to), but thus far only one track has really stood out to me.

For love is the breath, For the scariest things are not half as enslaved

Even though I’m not its biggest fan – Happy Valentine’s Day. Even though I’m far from domesticated, I did something sweet and cooked the poor boy dinner last night and even delivered it to him, because he’s been essay writing and studying for an exam that’s on tomorrow.

I think the main thing that I can’t stand about Valentine’s day is all the articles in the newspaper, magazines and on the internet about “tips” or “do’s and don’ts”, etc similar “how-to” guides for males. Sure, it’s nice that the world of consumerism is trying to help males in this world with trying to please their lady-friends – but I just think that even the tiniest romantic gesture would be a thousand times sweeter, if he conceived of the idea himself. Furthermore, I think romantic gestures in general would be way more romantic when not conducted on Valentine’s. It’s the one day of the year where so many girls say “no I don’t want anything for Valentines” or “I’m not expecting anything, it’s okay” – in terms of chocolate, roses and a card – whilst they are secretly teeming with anticipation in the hopes that maybe their boy will do something sweet anyway! Seriously – how many people knows someone like this?!

On the wave of social issues, here’s some food for thought: if someone (with seemingly no reason to lie or shit stir) told you that someone in your circle of friends went around saying something waaay untrue of a veeery private nature about you a couple of years ago – would you ever ask/confront the person in question whether they did or not? Knowing that they will very likely deny it even if it were true?

Also, I always find it funny how much you can tell about a person by the way they deal with money amongst their friends – and how nit-picky people get about owing small change. And in case it wasn’t obvious enough, I wasn’t saying that in a good way either.

Another thing that’s stressing me out this week is that I am getting my three remaining wisdom teeth surgically removed – under general anesthesia – and frankly, I am freaking out about it. In addition to this, it’s three days before the surgery now, and I still haven’t gotten all the paper work sorted yet! My surgeon works at three separate clinics (if not more, unbeknownst to me), and my health insurance needs a fax reply to them to confirm the procedure that I’m getting done, before they will approve paying for it. The trouble is, they faxed it to him main office, which isn’t the one I’m seeing him at (and thus doesn’t have my files), but he only works once a week or once a fortnight at the clinic that I’m seeing him at, so everything is getting lost in translation between fax machines and three different clinics and the health insurance company. ARGH!!!!!!!!

Here are some photos of Yeasayer from Laneway a couple of weeks back:

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