Looking around the room one saw many people mingling and chatting amongst themselves. There was talk of work and talk of travels, and all the while there was wine and fondue going around. Though these people had been her friends for the past two years, Juliet constantly felt a little nagging feeling inside her. There was always something lacking in their conversations. She went on numerous outings with them and invited them to dinners and dancing as well.
Often times Juliet attributed it to their different backgrounds. An English major in the den of engineers. Two opposite worlds meeting and closing in. Talks of work included talks of rockets and satellites and programs on computers with bugs that needed to be fixed. In her college career she had never once picked up a computer science nor engineering course. Walking through the halls of the science building on the strange occasion when her English literature discussions would be scheduled to meet there, she would look at the displays of computer chips and charts and programs of the different classes with blank curiosity. The running joke was always that English was a fuzzy major and that it wasn’t something that you’d truly major in. And if you did it was your second major or your minor rather than your one and only. Nevertheless, the written language was the source of Juliet’s pleasure.
“Juliet, I’m so excited for you! I can’t believe that you’re heading off to France in just a few weeks! Aren’t you excited?”
“Yeah I’m really excited, though I think the excitement’s starting to turn into anxiety. I mean who does this kind of thing? You know, who drops everything and moves to another country for a year?”
“Oh come on Jules, it’ll be awesome!”
“Yeah I truly wish I had the time to do something like this. I’m so amazed by you, Juliet.”
Juliet smiled. “So how’s work going, John?”
“Haha, it’s okay. It’s pretty slow right now, lots of paperwork being taken care of. Though we have been doing some cool ignition tests which have been the highlight of my days at work.”
“Oh wow that sounds awesome!”
“Basically the test that we were doing is just ‘cold flow test’, but in a couple of weeks we get to attach the actual chamber so it’ll look like a proper rocket and do the hot fire test.”
“Haha sounds fun.”
“Hey John, you know we can actually hear you guys playing with your rockets over at my office! Your rockets are so loud! Where do you guys test them out at?” Daniel chimed in.
“We’re out by Faber Field, which is actually still pretty far from you isn’t it? Man, we’re that loud? Awesome!”
Other conversations went about throughout the room.
“Kathy this is such a great party, but why on earth do you have so many fondue pots?”
“So how is that start up company of yours going? Have you guys launched your website yet?”
“We’re going to test our rocket out in Kansas next week, so right now we’re making sure everything works and whatnot.”
“Do you know where in France you’ll be teaching at?”
“When are you headed to France? I’ll actually be in Italy in a few days; you should move up your flight and spend some time in Italy with us!”
Mark drove the conversations that night like every other night. Juliet smiled half-heartedly and nodded through most of the conversations while her mind and conversation wandered off to other conversations. It wasn’t that she wasn’t interested in the conversation Mark was pushing. It was that she had heard it before on multiple occasions. Juliet had wondered on several occasions whether or not he realized that he was repeating his stories and comments. She was sure there was a time when such conversations interested her. The talk of work, the talk of events, the talk of people who were in the same room together. She had felt this feeling before, she had felt herself tuning out of conversations and quieting down. Her comments weren’t as elaborate, and she tried hard to hide lack of interest. What was it that caused her to draw away from the people she used to spend so much time with? She didn’t resent the people. No, she loved the people in the room. They were here to celebrate the beginning of a new chapter in life. They were here to talk and socialize with other people over food and drinks. She resented, instead, herself and the feeling that was brewing in her. How could she be pulling away and disengaging herself from her friends? These people that have shared events and celebrations with her? She couldn’t explain the reasoning for it, but she knew herself that her life here was coming to a slow end. She was leaving not only to fulfill a dream of hers, but to start fresh once again.
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Part 10
Juliet studied English in school, she loved writing and how the words of authors and poets felt as she read them aloud. Each book she picked up illuminated more of the human condition and the subtleties of each single gesture made and every simple look given. What was said and left unsaid carried more than a million other words along with it.
And yet, one begins to wonder, what was it that attracted her so much to these fictional characters and fictional situations? Was it the ideas and the possibilities that they presented that attracted her to the written word? The ability to see and experience life through another person, a life different from her own? Or was it the suggestion, the possibility, of more? The captivation of the words, the furious passion behind every call to arms, the hopeless romanticism of one struck by cupid’s arrow. Did it truly exist outside of letters and words typed on paper? Was such complete possession of the spirit just limited to the imagination or did it transcend to the world she lived in?
Juliet knew all the people around her. They were all very intelligent people whom she willingly surrounded herself with. These were people different from her previous life, with different goal and different motives. They all knew what they wanted and were determined to get it. Juliet willingly put herself into conversations of their lives and their adventures, and she smiled and laughed along with them. Only there was always something present in all her conversations with these people. The one major connection that she had without a doubt with these people.
~ ~ ~
And yet, one begins to wonder, what was it that attracted her so much to these fictional characters and fictional situations? Was it the ideas and the possibilities that they presented that attracted her to the written word? The ability to see and experience life through another person, a life different from her own? Or was it the suggestion, the possibility, of more? The captivation of the words, the furious passion behind every call to arms, the hopeless romanticism of one struck by cupid’s arrow. Did it truly exist outside of letters and words typed on paper? Was such complete possession of the spirit just limited to the imagination or did it transcend to the world she lived in?
Juliet knew all the people around her. They were all very intelligent people whom she willingly surrounded herself with. These were people different from her previous life, with different goal and different motives. They all knew what they wanted and were determined to get it. Juliet willingly put herself into conversations of their lives and their adventures, and she smiled and laughed along with them. Only there was always something present in all her conversations with these people. The one major connection that she had without a doubt with these people.
~ ~ ~
Part 9
The plane suddenly shook its passengers alert. Those who had been sleeping were now rudely awakened from their unconscious states. Even the flight attendants who were walking up and down the aisles clung to the seats to steady themselves while the plane gave off two more sudden jolts.
“This is your captain speaking. We’re experiencing some turbulence in the skies right now so we’ve turned on the fasten seatbelts light as you can see. So if you all will carefully return to your seats and fasten those seat belts we up here in the cockpit will try to get to some smoother skies.”
Juliet immediately clutched both armrests as the airplane shook and jolted. For a good two minutes the plane continued with its struggle to keep steady while all the passengers looked around with anxiety livid in their eyes. Juliet looked at the man sitting next to her and he had the book he was reading clutched in one hand while the other grabbed the other armrest. His eyes were completely sealed shut and his knuckles were white with the force that he used to clutch his book.
With every jolt there were plenty of gasps and semi-screams though the plane cabin. Across the aisle, the couple that was so peacefully sleeping just moments earlier were looking up at the oxygen mask frantically awaiting their decent from their cases. The few children that were aboard the plane began to cry as the fear of flying and the fear of falling suddenly became too real and too closely intertwined for their young souls.
“This isn’t so bad, this isn’t so bad, this isn’t so bad.”
Juliet glanced back at the man sitting next to her. His eyes were no longer furiously shut, but instead he was intently staring at the back of the seat in front of him and he was quietly repeating to himself in attempts to comfort himself. Juliet forced a smile though she was sure he wasn’t aware of anything but the shaking of the plane and the seat in front of him.
Though it seemed to be quite some time, the plane finally leveled itself in calmer skies. Overhead the pilot apologized for the discomfort of turbulence and reassured everyone that everything was fine.
With relief, Juliet let go of the armrests only to feel the sharp pain of her cramped fingers after being clenched for so long. The crumpling of papers brought her attention back to the several letters and cards that were the unfortunate victims of her hand and the armrest. Unfolding the table attached to the seat in front of her, she started her attempts to smooth out as many wrinkles as possible.
“That wasn’t that bad, it really wasn’t that bad.”
Juliet looked up from her crumpled mess to the man next to her and she smiled. “It really wasn’t. Supposedly you’re safer up in an airplane than in a car you know. Less chances of accidents.”
The man finally tore his eyes away from the seat back and gave Juliet a blank stare. His face had blanched significantly from before. “I’ve flown quite a number of flights in the recent years and I still can’t get over the turbulence.”
“Yeah, some flights just are better than others,” she agreed.
“You know,” the girl on the other side of the man chimed in, “while on my flight back to the states we had some pretty nasty turbulence of our own, which was actually worse than this. This wasn’t bad compared to that. What’s funny was that during that flight, the guy sitting next to me insisted that it wasn’t bad turbulence until you see the flight attendant hit the ceiling of the cabin. Unfortunately during one of his flights, he tends to travel a lot due to work, though I can’t recall what he did right now, during his flight the plane hit turbulence so suddenly that the flight attendant standing a few rows ahead of where he was sitting didn’t get a chance to return to her seat or even grab on to anything before it threw her off her feet.”
Juliet gasped and asked with complete shock in her voice, “Oh my god was she ok?”
In disbelief herself, the girl nodded and said that she was fine, shaken up, but fine nevertheless. Then she turned her glance to the man in between and offered an empathetic smile. “No one went flying here so we’re good. And hey, that’s a good book you got there.”
The man in the middle forced a smile and looked from the girl to his book, “Heh yeah, I’ve been told. So far it’s kind of strange.”
Juliet glanced down to the book that he was holding. The Unbearable Lightness of Being, she read. “I have to agree, it’s a strange book, but hang in there,” she said with a smile. “It’s an interesting read.”
~ ~ ~
“This is your captain speaking. We’re experiencing some turbulence in the skies right now so we’ve turned on the fasten seatbelts light as you can see. So if you all will carefully return to your seats and fasten those seat belts we up here in the cockpit will try to get to some smoother skies.”
Juliet immediately clutched both armrests as the airplane shook and jolted. For a good two minutes the plane continued with its struggle to keep steady while all the passengers looked around with anxiety livid in their eyes. Juliet looked at the man sitting next to her and he had the book he was reading clutched in one hand while the other grabbed the other armrest. His eyes were completely sealed shut and his knuckles were white with the force that he used to clutch his book.
With every jolt there were plenty of gasps and semi-screams though the plane cabin. Across the aisle, the couple that was so peacefully sleeping just moments earlier were looking up at the oxygen mask frantically awaiting their decent from their cases. The few children that were aboard the plane began to cry as the fear of flying and the fear of falling suddenly became too real and too closely intertwined for their young souls.
“This isn’t so bad, this isn’t so bad, this isn’t so bad.”
Juliet glanced back at the man sitting next to her. His eyes were no longer furiously shut, but instead he was intently staring at the back of the seat in front of him and he was quietly repeating to himself in attempts to comfort himself. Juliet forced a smile though she was sure he wasn’t aware of anything but the shaking of the plane and the seat in front of him.
Though it seemed to be quite some time, the plane finally leveled itself in calmer skies. Overhead the pilot apologized for the discomfort of turbulence and reassured everyone that everything was fine.
With relief, Juliet let go of the armrests only to feel the sharp pain of her cramped fingers after being clenched for so long. The crumpling of papers brought her attention back to the several letters and cards that were the unfortunate victims of her hand and the armrest. Unfolding the table attached to the seat in front of her, she started her attempts to smooth out as many wrinkles as possible.
“That wasn’t that bad, it really wasn’t that bad.”
Juliet looked up from her crumpled mess to the man next to her and she smiled. “It really wasn’t. Supposedly you’re safer up in an airplane than in a car you know. Less chances of accidents.”
The man finally tore his eyes away from the seat back and gave Juliet a blank stare. His face had blanched significantly from before. “I’ve flown quite a number of flights in the recent years and I still can’t get over the turbulence.”
“Yeah, some flights just are better than others,” she agreed.
“You know,” the girl on the other side of the man chimed in, “while on my flight back to the states we had some pretty nasty turbulence of our own, which was actually worse than this. This wasn’t bad compared to that. What’s funny was that during that flight, the guy sitting next to me insisted that it wasn’t bad turbulence until you see the flight attendant hit the ceiling of the cabin. Unfortunately during one of his flights, he tends to travel a lot due to work, though I can’t recall what he did right now, during his flight the plane hit turbulence so suddenly that the flight attendant standing a few rows ahead of where he was sitting didn’t get a chance to return to her seat or even grab on to anything before it threw her off her feet.”
Juliet gasped and asked with complete shock in her voice, “Oh my god was she ok?”
In disbelief herself, the girl nodded and said that she was fine, shaken up, but fine nevertheless. Then she turned her glance to the man in between and offered an empathetic smile. “No one went flying here so we’re good. And hey, that’s a good book you got there.”
The man in the middle forced a smile and looked from the girl to his book, “Heh yeah, I’ve been told. So far it’s kind of strange.”
Juliet glanced down to the book that he was holding. The Unbearable Lightness of Being, she read. “I have to agree, it’s a strange book, but hang in there,” she said with a smile. “It’s an interesting read.”
~ ~ ~
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Part 8
Dear Juliet,
Surprise! Didn’t think you’d hear from anyone from home in a while did you? Least not till after you landed in France and settled into your new place. Knowing you, your first priority will be to get internet huh? Don’t even try to deny it. I know you. Well we figured you were going to be rather lonely on a long flight off to France by yourself (and, oh I don’t know, two hundred other people on the same plane you are, all going to the same airport as you are, so I’m guessing are going to and have already been stuck on the same airplane for the same time and you’re still not going to talk to any of them are you? haha) so we’d sneak a letter into your stuff. And, since it’s actually in your carry on rather than your luggage, which, by the way, are both ridiculously heavy (what are you bringing there?? And are you sure you’ll be ok getting to your place with all that stuff?), you’d probably get to this before you land.
So what are your flight companions like? Did you get a chance to work out your French yet with another passenger? Better get some last minute practice in before you land! You don’t want to be completely incompetent once you land. Oh, are you unfortunate enough to sit next to a fat person? Haha perhaps not politically correct, but I believe everyone can commiserate with that. I truly think Americans need to learn to downsize, or just exercise like everyone else. Surely they realize being obese isn’t good for them! Then again I suppose they all rationalize it all too.
Anyhow, we all hope you have a wonderful and safe flight! We all already miss you so do come back soon! Here’s some pictures to keep you company and some words from others. Take care while you’re in France! Eat well and bring back some baguettes and cheese!
-- Mark
Ps. Don’t forget the wine.
Hey Jules!
Hope the French treat you well! I am so jealous that you’re going! I wanna go! We should have smuggled me in your luggage! Take care and I’ll see you soon!
Your cousin,
Anna
Juliet,
Don’t forget to learn how to cook there. Then you can become a patisseier and test stuff on me! I don’t care what you make so long as it’s delicious! Have a safe flight!
-- Mike
Hi Juliet!
Good luck good luck goooood luck!! We wish you the best from here! Hope you got enough Chinese food, boba, and frozen yogurt before you left. Though I think it’s safe to say that you’ll have plenty of opportunities for gelato, that’s kinda like frozen yogurt right?
Take care!
Kathy and Chris
It was so good to see you before you left for France, Juliet! I’ve always wanted to go to France, though now I think my French has gotten quite rusty after all these years of waiting to go. Take lots of pictures for us so we can live vicariously through you! It’ll be the ultimate food tour for you! Cheers!
-- Lena
Hey!
Wasssup my France bound friend! I still can’t believe you’re going to France! You’re leaving us for the Frenchies! What do they got that we don’t have here in America anyhow huh? We have plenty of wine in Napa! Cheese stinks! And escargots are snails! And just think, frog legs? Really? Do you really want to eat frog legs?
Guess it’s too late to ask if you’re all packed. Hope you have everything you need! Take care and we’ll see you when you get back!
-- John
Xiao AnAn…
Pourquoi me laissez-vous? Vous ennuyez-vous de moi déjà? Qui volonté que je danse avec maintenant? Il s'avère, je sais parler français après tout.
Is my translating bot correct? AnAn, be strong ok! Find new friends, a local café, buy baguettes! But most importantly, have FUN!! *hug* be SAFE!! It’s time for you to have your adventure. We will always be here for you so don’t you worry. I seriously have a big hole in my heart now. Who will dance with me now? Mei quan xie, this sort of thing builds character, and you’re a tough one, so be good while you’re there ok! “You have to go forward not backwards, upwards not forwards, and always twirling, twirling towards freedom!”
Sorry I missed your good-bye dinner! It’s really because I didn’t want to say good-bye and not because my high school friend was here.
Miss you,
Tai
Surprise! Didn’t think you’d hear from anyone from home in a while did you? Least not till after you landed in France and settled into your new place. Knowing you, your first priority will be to get internet huh? Don’t even try to deny it. I know you. Well we figured you were going to be rather lonely on a long flight off to France by yourself (and, oh I don’t know, two hundred other people on the same plane you are, all going to the same airport as you are, so I’m guessing are going to and have already been stuck on the same airplane for the same time and you’re still not going to talk to any of them are you? haha) so we’d sneak a letter into your stuff. And, since it’s actually in your carry on rather than your luggage, which, by the way, are both ridiculously heavy (what are you bringing there?? And are you sure you’ll be ok getting to your place with all that stuff?), you’d probably get to this before you land.
So what are your flight companions like? Did you get a chance to work out your French yet with another passenger? Better get some last minute practice in before you land! You don’t want to be completely incompetent once you land. Oh, are you unfortunate enough to sit next to a fat person? Haha perhaps not politically correct, but I believe everyone can commiserate with that. I truly think Americans need to learn to downsize, or just exercise like everyone else. Surely they realize being obese isn’t good for them! Then again I suppose they all rationalize it all too.
Anyhow, we all hope you have a wonderful and safe flight! We all already miss you so do come back soon! Here’s some pictures to keep you company and some words from others. Take care while you’re in France! Eat well and bring back some baguettes and cheese!
-- Mark
Ps. Don’t forget the wine.
Hey Jules!
Hope the French treat you well! I am so jealous that you’re going! I wanna go! We should have smuggled me in your luggage! Take care and I’ll see you soon!
Your cousin,
Anna
Juliet,
Don’t forget to learn how to cook there. Then you can become a patisseier and test stuff on me! I don’t care what you make so long as it’s delicious! Have a safe flight!
-- Mike
Hi Juliet!
Good luck good luck goooood luck!! We wish you the best from here! Hope you got enough Chinese food, boba, and frozen yogurt before you left. Though I think it’s safe to say that you’ll have plenty of opportunities for gelato, that’s kinda like frozen yogurt right?
Take care!
Kathy and Chris
It was so good to see you before you left for France, Juliet! I’ve always wanted to go to France, though now I think my French has gotten quite rusty after all these years of waiting to go. Take lots of pictures for us so we can live vicariously through you! It’ll be the ultimate food tour for you! Cheers!
-- Lena
Hey!
Wasssup my France bound friend! I still can’t believe you’re going to France! You’re leaving us for the Frenchies! What do they got that we don’t have here in America anyhow huh? We have plenty of wine in Napa! Cheese stinks! And escargots are snails! And just think, frog legs? Really? Do you really want to eat frog legs?
Guess it’s too late to ask if you’re all packed. Hope you have everything you need! Take care and we’ll see you when you get back!
-- John
Xiao AnAn…
Pourquoi me laissez-vous? Vous ennuyez-vous de moi déjà? Qui volonté que je danse avec maintenant? Il s'avère, je sais parler français après tout.
Is my translating bot correct? AnAn, be strong ok! Find new friends, a local café, buy baguettes! But most importantly, have FUN!! *hug* be SAFE!! It’s time for you to have your adventure. We will always be here for you so don’t you worry. I seriously have a big hole in my heart now. Who will dance with me now? Mei quan xie, this sort of thing builds character, and you’re a tough one, so be good while you’re there ok! “You have to go forward not backwards, upwards not forwards, and always twirling, twirling towards freedom!”
Sorry I missed your good-bye dinner! It’s really because I didn’t want to say good-bye and not because my high school friend was here.
Miss you,
Tai
Monday, November 10, 2008
Part 7
Upon waking up from her slumber, she was fortunate enough to have some more space now with her neighbor away from his seat. Most everyone was asleep in the quiet airplane cabin. Only a few people were awake doing one thing or another. The dozen individual reading lights scattered throughout the cabin illuminated the heads of those for whom the simulated night couldn’t draw into slumber.
With her more rotund neighbor vacant from his seat, she stretched out her cramped limbs. She couldn’t imagine how frequent travelers got accustomed to such a lifestyle even if they traveled business or the luxurious first class. Just being on an airplane with the circulated air that stung her nose and the lack of space were good enough reasons to not fly terribly often.
Looking about the quiet cabin, she decided her limbs needed more blood circulation that her measly stretch could give. The pleasure of more space in my seat or the much needed movement? she hesitated. Nevertheless, with the tingly sensation creeping up in her legs, she was reminded that it was well past time to stand up and walk around again. With a last glance at the map on her monitor, she let out a sigh and got up. Flying hundreds of miles above the vast Atlantic, with another three hours before reaching their destination, she took what was a sad excuse for a stroll down the narrow alleys of the giant jet.
As she stretched her legs and walked through the aisles, she found herself rather bemused by the sleeping people. No matter how big or small they were, they were all able to nod off in the tiny airplane seats. One little girl with two little pigtails on either sides of her head curled up into a ball with one hand gently clutching her mother’s sleeve while the mother herself rested one hand on her young daughter and the other on her younger son who quietly sucked his thumb in his sleep.
A large, well built man who was over heard saying he was a high school football coach who was feared and loved by everyone in the district slept with his arms folded across his chest. Though his gruff appearance earlier had caused young children to cower away, the peaceful image of his sleeping expression suggested a softer side to him.
A few seats away, a young husband’s head rested on top of his wife’s who had fallen asleep on his shoulder. There seemed to be no remnants of their prior argument as the two of them slept rather huddled together. Like the child earlier, her hand rested on top of his wrist, where his hand was on her leg. Neither hand was clenched with animosity or frustration, but the gentle protection and comfort that a single touch can give to another individual. Though the argument seemed to have been of a reoccurring theme, the youthful wife had still fallen asleep on his shoulder marking her silent profession of love. As he too began to fall asleep aboard the darkened plane, he rested his hand on her lap lending her comfort as she slept. Upon feeling his touch on her leg, a smile unconsciously played upon her lips as she drowsily rested her had on his wrist. Visions of young love were apparent in the two as suggestions to their prior argument were now nowhere to be seen as the two slept aboard a plane carrying hundreds.
One of the stranger sleepers she found as she continued to stretch her limbs through the narrow aisles was a young adult of twenty who seemed to have gotten herself into quite a strange ball. Legs curled up and wedged between the wall and the her, the young woman had one hand underneath the tiny pillow supporting it with both her arm and her head while the other arm was wrapped around her legs, ensuring that they stayed tucked while she was sleeping. The earbuds still in her ears continued to play the sounds of the current movie playing, though she was clearly not listening. How she was able to be comfortable in such a position was beyond anyone’s guess, but still though the sounds of the movie against the silence of the airplane cabin, the young woman slept as peacefully as a seat in an airplane would allow.
The few scattered around the cabin who weren’t able to sleep, seemed reluctant to do what little they were able to do. One can only be entertained by doing the same few things for so long in a tiny seat surrounded by others without the luxury of personal space or privacy, or even the mere ability to stand up and move. There is only so much space on an airplane, thus significantly limiting your choices of action. Those who chose to read tolerated the scattered jolts of turbulence that interrupted their characters’ development. Those who were able and didn’t mind the interruptions carried on with their card games, occasionally having to stop to hold down the cards while the airplane shook.
She returned to her seat, somewhat surprised to see her neighbor’s seat still vacant. As she settled into her seat for the rest of her journey, she took one last look around the compartment. Everyone here had their own story. Everyone had their reasons to board a plane and leave the country. Whether it was meant to be a short stay or a longer one like hers, everyone here was waiting. Waiting for this part of the trip to be over with. Like Juliet, they were all tired of the confining seats cabin of the confining cabin. They were tired of being in transit. In this case, Juliet thought as she curled up into her own ball of comfort and close her eyes again, happiness isn’t found in the journey. Just another few hours until we land.
With her more rotund neighbor vacant from his seat, she stretched out her cramped limbs. She couldn’t imagine how frequent travelers got accustomed to such a lifestyle even if they traveled business or the luxurious first class. Just being on an airplane with the circulated air that stung her nose and the lack of space were good enough reasons to not fly terribly often.
Looking about the quiet cabin, she decided her limbs needed more blood circulation that her measly stretch could give. The pleasure of more space in my seat or the much needed movement? she hesitated. Nevertheless, with the tingly sensation creeping up in her legs, she was reminded that it was well past time to stand up and walk around again. With a last glance at the map on her monitor, she let out a sigh and got up. Flying hundreds of miles above the vast Atlantic, with another three hours before reaching their destination, she took what was a sad excuse for a stroll down the narrow alleys of the giant jet.
As she stretched her legs and walked through the aisles, she found herself rather bemused by the sleeping people. No matter how big or small they were, they were all able to nod off in the tiny airplane seats. One little girl with two little pigtails on either sides of her head curled up into a ball with one hand gently clutching her mother’s sleeve while the mother herself rested one hand on her young daughter and the other on her younger son who quietly sucked his thumb in his sleep.
A large, well built man who was over heard saying he was a high school football coach who was feared and loved by everyone in the district slept with his arms folded across his chest. Though his gruff appearance earlier had caused young children to cower away, the peaceful image of his sleeping expression suggested a softer side to him.
A few seats away, a young husband’s head rested on top of his wife’s who had fallen asleep on his shoulder. There seemed to be no remnants of their prior argument as the two of them slept rather huddled together. Like the child earlier, her hand rested on top of his wrist, where his hand was on her leg. Neither hand was clenched with animosity or frustration, but the gentle protection and comfort that a single touch can give to another individual. Though the argument seemed to have been of a reoccurring theme, the youthful wife had still fallen asleep on his shoulder marking her silent profession of love. As he too began to fall asleep aboard the darkened plane, he rested his hand on her lap lending her comfort as she slept. Upon feeling his touch on her leg, a smile unconsciously played upon her lips as she drowsily rested her had on his wrist. Visions of young love were apparent in the two as suggestions to their prior argument were now nowhere to be seen as the two slept aboard a plane carrying hundreds.
One of the stranger sleepers she found as she continued to stretch her limbs through the narrow aisles was a young adult of twenty who seemed to have gotten herself into quite a strange ball. Legs curled up and wedged between the wall and the her, the young woman had one hand underneath the tiny pillow supporting it with both her arm and her head while the other arm was wrapped around her legs, ensuring that they stayed tucked while she was sleeping. The earbuds still in her ears continued to play the sounds of the current movie playing, though she was clearly not listening. How she was able to be comfortable in such a position was beyond anyone’s guess, but still though the sounds of the movie against the silence of the airplane cabin, the young woman slept as peacefully as a seat in an airplane would allow.
The few scattered around the cabin who weren’t able to sleep, seemed reluctant to do what little they were able to do. One can only be entertained by doing the same few things for so long in a tiny seat surrounded by others without the luxury of personal space or privacy, or even the mere ability to stand up and move. There is only so much space on an airplane, thus significantly limiting your choices of action. Those who chose to read tolerated the scattered jolts of turbulence that interrupted their characters’ development. Those who were able and didn’t mind the interruptions carried on with their card games, occasionally having to stop to hold down the cards while the airplane shook.
She returned to her seat, somewhat surprised to see her neighbor’s seat still vacant. As she settled into her seat for the rest of her journey, she took one last look around the compartment. Everyone here had their own story. Everyone had their reasons to board a plane and leave the country. Whether it was meant to be a short stay or a longer one like hers, everyone here was waiting. Waiting for this part of the trip to be over with. Like Juliet, they were all tired of the confining seats cabin of the confining cabin. They were tired of being in transit. In this case, Juliet thought as she curled up into her own ball of comfort and close her eyes again, happiness isn’t found in the journey. Just another few hours until we land.
Part 6
It’s actually an awful feeling sitting on a plane for extended hours. Sure it has it’s appeal for a while. The fact that I’m thousands of miles above everyone else is actually quite awesome. Everyone aboard the plane and I are going somewhere new. The people and the cultures will be different. Even scenery will be different. We’re going hundreds of miles an hour with nothing underneath us for miles on end. We’re among the clouds! It’s like that scene in Aladdin when Aladdin and Jasmine are flying on their magic carpet and making swirls in the clouds and they’re singing and looking fondly into each others’ eyes as they fall madly in love with each other (though I think at this point Aladdin already has fallen in love with her and is trying to make her fall for him).
Only, we’re not actually making any swirls, but going in a straight line. And we’re thousands of miles away from hard, solid ground. In a carrier that is filled with hundreds of gallons of fuel. Which means, if anything goes wrong, there’ll be a big fiery mess falling from the sky at hundreds of miles an hour and gaining momentum as gravity pulls the big fiery mess that used to hold hundreds of oh so happy people traveling across the Atlantic. Delightful. If things go wrong, and I pray that nothing will, how lovely would it be to die with all these wonderful people… to die in a tiny compartment filled with hundreds of awesome, awesome people…
And how is it that of all flights I managed to find the one with the most unfortunate bunch? Mr. Snores-a-lot seven rows back three seats over sounds like a train intersection. And Miss Teenybopper with her friends three seats back are laughing and giggling loudly over something so trifle as the coincidence that they’re wearing the same shoes! And it’s as if they’re the only ones on this plane. How on earth is it that these teens are friends with the most annoying voices in the world? Do they hear themselves? Poor Mom of the year front and center can’t seem to get that baby of hers to stop crying, and unfortunately this fat dude sitting next to me is past invading my personal space. Man… Why did France have to be so far?
~ ~ ~
Only, we’re not actually making any swirls, but going in a straight line. And we’re thousands of miles away from hard, solid ground. In a carrier that is filled with hundreds of gallons of fuel. Which means, if anything goes wrong, there’ll be a big fiery mess falling from the sky at hundreds of miles an hour and gaining momentum as gravity pulls the big fiery mess that used to hold hundreds of oh so happy people traveling across the Atlantic. Delightful. If things go wrong, and I pray that nothing will, how lovely would it be to die with all these wonderful people… to die in a tiny compartment filled with hundreds of awesome, awesome people…
And how is it that of all flights I managed to find the one with the most unfortunate bunch? Mr. Snores-a-lot seven rows back three seats over sounds like a train intersection. And Miss Teenybopper with her friends three seats back are laughing and giggling loudly over something so trifle as the coincidence that they’re wearing the same shoes! And it’s as if they’re the only ones on this plane. How on earth is it that these teens are friends with the most annoying voices in the world? Do they hear themselves? Poor Mom of the year front and center can’t seem to get that baby of hers to stop crying, and unfortunately this fat dude sitting next to me is past invading my personal space. Man… Why did France have to be so far?
~ ~ ~
Monday, November 3, 2008
Jardin des Tuileries
Parks in the fall have an amazingly peaceful feeling. The air is cold and crisp, trees dot the dirt grounds with leaves that are barely clinging on to the branches. The otherwise monotone ground is colored with bright yellows, browns, oranges, and even the subtle hints of green. All the trees here are only half filled with fall colored leaves. Every so often a leaf lets go and flutters to the ground to join its other fallen counterparts.
Behind the trees that stand in line under the cold gray skies, a beautiful French palace stands tall among its potted flowers and column-lined walkways. Its brick façade and intricate borders remind visitors of its distinguished background.
Leaves blow and dance across the ground as a brisk gust of wind blows by. Through the tall grass windows lined with white trim, a drastic contrast is presented. Inside lights flicker, a fireplace roars to life. The mahogany dining table illuminates with the light of the roaring fire.
While people walk by bundled up in scarves and thick jackets to ward off the bitingly cold winds, the residents of the little palace seem unaware of it. Laughing merrily in their warm abode they talk and gossip of their friends and family and of warmer places than here.
Fluttering in the wind, yellow leaves prepare themselves for the final gust of wind that will allow them to take their poetically glorious flight.
The song of the leaves as they welcome in the winter cold.
Behind the trees that stand in line under the cold gray skies, a beautiful French palace stands tall among its potted flowers and column-lined walkways. Its brick façade and intricate borders remind visitors of its distinguished background.
Leaves blow and dance across the ground as a brisk gust of wind blows by. Through the tall grass windows lined with white trim, a drastic contrast is presented. Inside lights flicker, a fireplace roars to life. The mahogany dining table illuminates with the light of the roaring fire.
While people walk by bundled up in scarves and thick jackets to ward off the bitingly cold winds, the residents of the little palace seem unaware of it. Laughing merrily in their warm abode they talk and gossip of their friends and family and of warmer places than here.
Fluttering in the wind, yellow leaves prepare themselves for the final gust of wind that will allow them to take their poetically glorious flight.
The song of the leaves as they welcome in the winter cold.
Sunday, October 26, 2008
Part 5
There was always dancing. Every type of dancing every day of the week. Salsa on Thursdays were better than salsa on Tuesdays, and Fridays had waltzes. Wednesdays were swing nights. Each night had wonderful music that filled the dancers and the dance hall. The dancers held their partners close in their arms and let their bodies sway magnificently with the music. Friends were all gathered from their busy lifestyles to converge a few times a week, a few hours a night to succumb to the euphoric tempos and the grace of the dance. Her friends danced eagerly through the night, laughing and talking and catching up with weekly news updates. They perfected old moves and invented new ones. Even during the dances the sounds of chatter and laughter were familiar.
Salsa nights were her favorite. During salsa nights latin music would fill the room like a heavy blanket. No matter who was there within earshot, invigorating latin music would consume every portion of the person and compelled them to draw closer, closer into the world of latin dance. All around the room, men and women alike would gather and allow themselves to be engulfed into the sensual movements and sounds. After long hours at work, she and her friends would meet, have their favorite drinks, and surround themselves with other friends and strangers. Humid air would quickly fill the room and no one would notice. Their sensual movements and flamboyant stylings would whisk them away from their suburban lives and into the dark and exotic corners of Latin America. Vibrant music would pulse through the veins and limbs of everyone in the room and soon the entire room would be filled with euphoric dancers. Trumpets would be blazing in synch with the drum beats, and the sounds of a rich Latin singer would ring through the room. Eyes would twinkle, smiles would form, and the day and weeks’ troubles would be left at the door.
The passionate tones and beats still resonated in her ears as a smile began to form on her lips.
From her cramped little seat, the New York skyline stood boldly among the darkened landscape. Even though she was thousands of miles up in the sky, it was clear where New York stood amongst the land and the sea. Its numerous skyscrapers proudly reached up to meet her in the air and she let out a nostalgic sigh while she and her plane continued on across the Atlantic.
~ ~ ~
Salsa nights were her favorite. During salsa nights latin music would fill the room like a heavy blanket. No matter who was there within earshot, invigorating latin music would consume every portion of the person and compelled them to draw closer, closer into the world of latin dance. All around the room, men and women alike would gather and allow themselves to be engulfed into the sensual movements and sounds. After long hours at work, she and her friends would meet, have their favorite drinks, and surround themselves with other friends and strangers. Humid air would quickly fill the room and no one would notice. Their sensual movements and flamboyant stylings would whisk them away from their suburban lives and into the dark and exotic corners of Latin America. Vibrant music would pulse through the veins and limbs of everyone in the room and soon the entire room would be filled with euphoric dancers. Trumpets would be blazing in synch with the drum beats, and the sounds of a rich Latin singer would ring through the room. Eyes would twinkle, smiles would form, and the day and weeks’ troubles would be left at the door.
The passionate tones and beats still resonated in her ears as a smile began to form on her lips.
From her cramped little seat, the New York skyline stood boldly among the darkened landscape. Even though she was thousands of miles up in the sky, it was clear where New York stood amongst the land and the sea. Its numerous skyscrapers proudly reached up to meet her in the air and she let out a nostalgic sigh while she and her plane continued on across the Atlantic.
~ ~ ~
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Part 4
Single file line down the center of the airplane. Everyone is cautiously trying to get to their seats. Bags need to go in the overhead compartment. Smaller bags go underneath the seat in front of you. Passing first and business class and their roomy seats. Passing the stairs and the curtains that separates a $500, $2,000, and $7,000 ticket. From six seats in a row to ten.
Every so often, the slow moving line of passengers comes to a standstill as one finds his seat and tries with a gruff grunt to get his oversized carry-on into the overhead compartment. But the bag is too big for even him to swiftly stow away. Heads poke out from the line behind him as he tries to juggle his laptop bag while putting up his luggage.
More grumblings from the line. Eyes watch as he struggles with his bag. A baby cries four rows down as her mother is also trying to put away her carry-ons. Finally, the person behind the man gives him a hand and they successfully stow the carry-on. Appreciations are exchanged. And the line begins to move again.
The crowded cabin of the economy class. Ten seats in a row, divided up into three by four by three. Everyone is struggling to get to their seats. White lines form and quickly disappear as children press their faces against the tiny round windows carefully watching the ground crew load up the mounds luggage. Too tired from travels already, the mother takes a deep breath, closes her eyes and allows her child to stand on the seat and stare.
And a tiny woman who has already tuned out the others aboard the plane with her begins to imagine what waits ahead of her as she leaves her beloved home.
Only, she is quickly brought back to the moment with the sudden gust of air and the appearance of a man too large for his seat right next to her.
“Alright, let’s get this show on the road!” he says after shifting his weight around to get the seatbelt completely loosened and barely fitting around his robust figure.
The sudden invasion of space forces an awkward smile onto her face. Turning to the window she thinks, seven hours… seven hours… seven hours.
~ ~ ~
Every so often, the slow moving line of passengers comes to a standstill as one finds his seat and tries with a gruff grunt to get his oversized carry-on into the overhead compartment. But the bag is too big for even him to swiftly stow away. Heads poke out from the line behind him as he tries to juggle his laptop bag while putting up his luggage.
More grumblings from the line. Eyes watch as he struggles with his bag. A baby cries four rows down as her mother is also trying to put away her carry-ons. Finally, the person behind the man gives him a hand and they successfully stow the carry-on. Appreciations are exchanged. And the line begins to move again.
The crowded cabin of the economy class. Ten seats in a row, divided up into three by four by three. Everyone is struggling to get to their seats. White lines form and quickly disappear as children press their faces against the tiny round windows carefully watching the ground crew load up the mounds luggage. Too tired from travels already, the mother takes a deep breath, closes her eyes and allows her child to stand on the seat and stare.
And a tiny woman who has already tuned out the others aboard the plane with her begins to imagine what waits ahead of her as she leaves her beloved home.
Only, she is quickly brought back to the moment with the sudden gust of air and the appearance of a man too large for his seat right next to her.
“Alright, let’s get this show on the road!” he says after shifting his weight around to get the seatbelt completely loosened and barely fitting around his robust figure.
The sudden invasion of space forces an awkward smile onto her face. Turning to the window she thinks, seven hours… seven hours… seven hours.
~ ~ ~
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Part 3
Everything was still dark outside, but the interior of the airport was already quite lit. While many stores were still safely enclosed in their wire encasings, their merchandise all bearing their city name proudly before them, travelers and workers alike quickly bustled from one place to another making sure everything was in order.
Before entering the gate, families and lovers attempt to delay the impending separation through tearful goodbyes and well wishes to their traveling counterparts. Hand shakes and hugs are exchanged while mothers and fathers go over their list of things that might have been forgotten intermixed with things that must be remembered.
“Do you have your passport?”
“Don’t forget to call once you land to let us know you arrived safely.”
“Do you have your contact’s information so you know where to go when you land?”
“Is everything labeled?”
“Do you have all your luggage?”
“Make sure to email us about all your adventures!”
“You remembered your passport right?”
The questions begin to repeat themselves. Overhead jets are already heard loudly flying off into the skies. Malaysia, Cairo, San Francisco, Paris, all the destinations in the world all eagerly awaiting the sights of the massive jets landing upon their runway bringing weary travelers into their welcoming cities. A thousand miles up in the sky, hundreds of adventurers await their newest destination. All within the narrow confinements of a 747 jet.
“Do you have everything?”
A smile. A nod. Followed by a last hug.
“Yes Papa.”
~ ~ ~
Before entering the gate, families and lovers attempt to delay the impending separation through tearful goodbyes and well wishes to their traveling counterparts. Hand shakes and hugs are exchanged while mothers and fathers go over their list of things that might have been forgotten intermixed with things that must be remembered.
“Do you have your passport?”
“Don’t forget to call once you land to let us know you arrived safely.”
“Do you have your contact’s information so you know where to go when you land?”
“Is everything labeled?”
“Do you have all your luggage?”
“Make sure to email us about all your adventures!”
“You remembered your passport right?”
The questions begin to repeat themselves. Overhead jets are already heard loudly flying off into the skies. Malaysia, Cairo, San Francisco, Paris, all the destinations in the world all eagerly awaiting the sights of the massive jets landing upon their runway bringing weary travelers into their welcoming cities. A thousand miles up in the sky, hundreds of adventurers await their newest destination. All within the narrow confinements of a 747 jet.
“Do you have everything?”
A smile. A nod. Followed by a last hug.
“Yes Papa.”
~ ~ ~
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
Part 2
Her once colorful and lively room now looked dull and silent. The pictures that decorated her walls were now neatly packed with her books. The posters that hung on her wall now stood against the wall, stacked between her boxes of belongings and the cold sterile wall.
One last look around and she saw her past year stored away into another chapter’s ending. The last dance, the last movie, the last get together, all written out into another segment of her life. Though there would always be movies being shown, dance clubs serving drinks and music, restaurants serving food to chatty customers, a wave of bittersweet melancholy swept upon Connie and she felt herself choke up. Even though she would be starting a wonderful opportunity elsewhere, the idea of uprooting herself from the comfortable nest she had created was rather unbearable. The friends she had made and the experiences she had gone through all made leaving difficult.
One last look around and she saw her past year stored away into another chapter’s ending. The last dance, the last movie, the last get together, all written out into another segment of her life. Though there would always be movies being shown, dance clubs serving drinks and music, restaurants serving food to chatty customers, a wave of bittersweet melancholy swept upon Connie and she felt herself choke up. Even though she would be starting a wonderful opportunity elsewhere, the idea of uprooting herself from the comfortable nest she had created was rather unbearable. The friends she had made and the experiences she had gone through all made leaving difficult.
Friday, September 5, 2008
"The Wild Strawberry"
A man traveling across a field encountered a tiger. He fled, the tiger after him. Coming to a precipice, he caught hold of the root of a wild vine and swung himself down over the edge. The tiger sniffed at him from above.
Trembling, the man looked down to where, far below, another tiger was waiting to eat him. One the vine sustained him.
Two mice, one white and one black, little by little started to gnaw away the vine. The man saw a luscious strawberry near him. Grasping the vine with one hand, he plucked the strawberry with the other. How sweet it
tasted!
Trembling, the man looked down to where, far below, another tiger was waiting to eat him. One the vine sustained him.
Two mice, one white and one black, little by little started to gnaw away the vine. The man saw a luscious strawberry near him. Grasping the vine with one hand, he plucked the strawberry with the other. How sweet it
tasted!
*nostalgic smile*
vespa rides are awesome..
salsa's awesome..
meeting new people and listening to their stories is awesome..
green tea with boba is awesome......
=)
salsa's awesome..
meeting new people and listening to their stories is awesome..
green tea with boba is awesome......
=)
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
Things to Do in LA
~ kayaking
~ beach (SD?)
~ brazillian bbq
~ take more pictures!
~ sort through my things and figure out what to take and what to leave behind
~ uhhh....suggestions?
~ beach (SD?)
~ brazillian bbq
~ take more pictures!
~ sort through my things and figure out what to take and what to leave behind
~ uhhh....suggestions?
Monday, September 1, 2008
Stolen words.. but interesting. From "Immortality"
Path: a strip of ground over which one walks. A highway differs from a path not only because it is solely intended for vehicles, but also because it is merely a line that connects one point with another. A highway has no meaning in itself; its meaning derives entirely from the two points that it connects. A path is a tribute to space. Every stretch of path has meaning in itself and invites us to stop. A highway is the triumphant devaluation of space, which thanks to it has been reduced to a mere obstacle to human movement and a waste of time.
Before paths disappeared from the landscape, they had disappeared from the human soul: man stopped wanting to walk, to walk on his own feet and to enjoy it. What’s more, he no longer saw his own life as a path, but as a highway: a line that led from one point to another, from the rank of captain to the rank of general, from the role of wife to the role of widow. Time became a mere obstacle to life, an obstacle that had to be overcome by ever greater speed.
Path and highway; these are also two different conceptions of beauty. When Paul says that at a particular place the landscape is beautiful, that means: if you stopped the car at that place, you might see a beautiful fifteenth-century castle surrounded by a park; or a lake reaching far into the distance, with swans floating on its brilliant surface.
In the world of highways, a beautiful landscape means: an island of beauty connected by a long line with other islands of beauty.
In the world of paths, beauty is continuous and constantly changing; it tells us at every step: “Stop!”
The world of paths was the world of fathers. The world of highways was the world of husbands. And Agnès’s story closes like a circle: from the world of paths to that of highways, and now back again. For Agnès is moving to Switzerland. That decision has already been made, and this is the reason that throughout the last two weeks she has been feeling so continuously and madly happy.
Pg. 229-230
Before paths disappeared from the landscape, they had disappeared from the human soul: man stopped wanting to walk, to walk on his own feet and to enjoy it. What’s more, he no longer saw his own life as a path, but as a highway: a line that led from one point to another, from the rank of captain to the rank of general, from the role of wife to the role of widow. Time became a mere obstacle to life, an obstacle that had to be overcome by ever greater speed.
Path and highway; these are also two different conceptions of beauty. When Paul says that at a particular place the landscape is beautiful, that means: if you stopped the car at that place, you might see a beautiful fifteenth-century castle surrounded by a park; or a lake reaching far into the distance, with swans floating on its brilliant surface.
In the world of highways, a beautiful landscape means: an island of beauty connected by a long line with other islands of beauty.
In the world of paths, beauty is continuous and constantly changing; it tells us at every step: “Stop!”
The world of paths was the world of fathers. The world of highways was the world of husbands. And Agnès’s story closes like a circle: from the world of paths to that of highways, and now back again. For Agnès is moving to Switzerland. That decision has already been made, and this is the reason that throughout the last two weeks she has been feeling so continuously and madly happy.
Pg. 229-230
Saturday, August 30, 2008
“Perhaps you’ll meet a French prince…” part 1
The weather was getting warmer with each passing day. Although she had lived off in Arizona during her college years, the summer heat waves of San Francisco exhausted her. There were no fog clouds over the hills, no cool ocean breeze through the streets. At the park, clusters of people huddled under the shade while across the street a line for the local ice cream store spilled onto the sidewalk and around the corner.
Out on the streets there were still people biking around town with their backpacks strapped tightly to their backs, their right pant leg hiked just below their knee. Dogs on their leashes had their tongues lolling outside their mouths hoping to cool down just a bit. Friendly chatter wafted in through the open window from below and she couldn’t help but overhear their plans for a barbeque next Friday and she smiled
And inside, Connie looked around. All around her were boxes. Boxes of clothes. Boxes of books. Boxes of pictures and albums and even a box of stuffed animals. Her life all summed up into a number of boxes, of all different sizes. The stories and experiences she had collected over the past two years were now packed securely in the boxes that littered room. In one box held the dozens of bills and paperwork and files that had accumulated over the months. Her work papers and research papers and even a small folder of successful recipes neatly filled one box.
In another box was the stuffed Donald Duck doll (who looked more like an egg than Donald Duck himself) that she had gotten on a long weekend road-trip down to LA where she and her fellow companions reaffirmed her unnatural affinity to eat anything and everything within a small window of time.
Out on the streets there were still people biking around town with their backpacks strapped tightly to their backs, their right pant leg hiked just below their knee. Dogs on their leashes had their tongues lolling outside their mouths hoping to cool down just a bit. Friendly chatter wafted in through the open window from below and she couldn’t help but overhear their plans for a barbeque next Friday and she smiled
And inside, Connie looked around. All around her were boxes. Boxes of clothes. Boxes of books. Boxes of pictures and albums and even a box of stuffed animals. Her life all summed up into a number of boxes, of all different sizes. The stories and experiences she had collected over the past two years were now packed securely in the boxes that littered room. In one box held the dozens of bills and paperwork and files that had accumulated over the months. Her work papers and research papers and even a small folder of successful recipes neatly filled one box.
In another box was the stuffed Donald Duck doll (who looked more like an egg than Donald Duck himself) that she had gotten on a long weekend road-trip down to LA where she and her fellow companions reaffirmed her unnatural affinity to eat anything and everything within a small window of time.
Saturday, August 16, 2008
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
Things to Do Before I Leave for France (Aug.)
Apparently I'm not doing these things fast enough...
- relearn French
- see fog over the Golden Gate Bridge
- go for a scenic bike ride
- go surfing
- go to the beach
- take more pictures
- eat Brazilian BBQ
- oysters at point reyes
- salsa dance in SF
- waltz again
- get my work visa
Monday, August 11, 2008
Will
“She thought of the moment a few hours earlier, before they had left for dinner, when he had taken her into his arms. Yes, something was going on inside her: recently she was pursued by the idea that her love for Paul was merely a matter of will, merely the will to love him; merely the will to have a happy marriage. If she eased up on this will for just a moment, love would fly away like a bird released from its cage.” Pg. 42 Immortality
What causes us to do things? Is it the desire to be accepted? The desire to be wanted and appreciated by others? The desire to be worth something?
We are all compelled to do things that we believe are necessary to society and to life, such as make a contribution to society, create something out of nothing, make something better than what it was, love that which needs love. We put our effort and our sweat into making the best of any given situation to make our mark in the fabric of time. We study, we attempt, we fail, we work harder, we continue, we repeat. We smile and say that this is what we want. This is what our society needs. This is what we can do for our society to grow and flourish. This is what we need for ourselves.
In school we study and we work hard. Test after test, paper after paper, we try and we toil over a grade. A letter no less. That which cannot possibly affect our person, our spirit, our being, ultimately becomes our driving force. We do everything we can for a letter grade, a percentage, a percentile. And for what? That which is sought out becomes routine. We work and toil over the same path because we believe that ultimately it will bring us happiness. We believe that it is happiness.
What happens then when we believe for a moment that it isn’t what will make us happy, but merely an act of will? We entertain the thought that our actions aren’t our own, but the will of others oppressed onto us. What we do isn’t what we want to do, but what is expected of us. The act of “chasing a dream” becomes the mere act of “doing something”. The act of working, the act of enjoying life, the act of eating, all reduced to the mere will to do. What had once had purpose and meaning is suddenly lost to the simple idea that it is only the mere will to do something. What happens once the desire to do something because it is good becomes corrupted by the simple matter of will; to do something just because?
I cannot help but wonder how many of us on Earth are corrupted by this train of thought. Does this thought cross many people’s minds? How do people handle such a thought? If one’s entire world as they know it comes crashing down because he, for a quick instance, questioned why he did what it was that he did every day, what then will become of him? What thoughts go through his head as he contemplates the meaning of life? How does he come out of such a situation? What then is the outcome after such a thought? Will he come out stronger than ever before? Or will he become a corpse of a once great man and dissipate into nothingness? Will he be another grain of sand in the vast world, or will he be become immortal?
What causes us to do things? Is it the desire to be accepted? The desire to be wanted and appreciated by others? The desire to be worth something?
We are all compelled to do things that we believe are necessary to society and to life, such as make a contribution to society, create something out of nothing, make something better than what it was, love that which needs love. We put our effort and our sweat into making the best of any given situation to make our mark in the fabric of time. We study, we attempt, we fail, we work harder, we continue, we repeat. We smile and say that this is what we want. This is what our society needs. This is what we can do for our society to grow and flourish. This is what we need for ourselves.
In school we study and we work hard. Test after test, paper after paper, we try and we toil over a grade. A letter no less. That which cannot possibly affect our person, our spirit, our being, ultimately becomes our driving force. We do everything we can for a letter grade, a percentage, a percentile. And for what? That which is sought out becomes routine. We work and toil over the same path because we believe that ultimately it will bring us happiness. We believe that it is happiness.
What happens then when we believe for a moment that it isn’t what will make us happy, but merely an act of will? We entertain the thought that our actions aren’t our own, but the will of others oppressed onto us. What we do isn’t what we want to do, but what is expected of us. The act of “chasing a dream” becomes the mere act of “doing something”. The act of working, the act of enjoying life, the act of eating, all reduced to the mere will to do. What had once had purpose and meaning is suddenly lost to the simple idea that it is only the mere will to do something. What happens once the desire to do something because it is good becomes corrupted by the simple matter of will; to do something just because?
I cannot help but wonder how many of us on Earth are corrupted by this train of thought. Does this thought cross many people’s minds? How do people handle such a thought? If one’s entire world as they know it comes crashing down because he, for a quick instance, questioned why he did what it was that he did every day, what then will become of him? What thoughts go through his head as he contemplates the meaning of life? How does he come out of such a situation? What then is the outcome after such a thought? Will he come out stronger than ever before? Or will he become a corpse of a once great man and dissipate into nothingness? Will he be another grain of sand in the vast world, or will he be become immortal?
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Things to Do Before I Leave for France
- relearn French
- see fog over the Golden Gate Bridge (check!)
- go for a scenic bike ride
- go surfing
- go to the beach
- go to napa again (check!)
- wine and cheese
- take more pictures
- eat Brazilian BBQ
- oysters at point reyes
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
Chapter 1
My sister once told me that when making decisions you should always go with the one that you’ll regret not doing the most five years down the line. Naturally, there are lots of decisions one is forced to affront in the course of a day, but such decisions are clearly not the ones she had in mind. Rather, it was of those big decisions that seem to linger constantly on your mind that take days, and even weeks at times, to figure out. The ones that are so incapacitating and so futile one way or another. It never leaves your thoughts, it constantly sits there and forces you to think about it whether you like it or not. During work or in the shower, it forces you to make a pros-and-cons list only to deem it utterly useless because either way you won’t be completely satisfied, and hey, what’s life without satisfaction? Such decisions are those that leave you rather helpless.
I knew her advice was sound. I knew it was reasonable, tried and true. But I couldn’t help myself to those immediate gratification choices. Those end decisions were perhaps a bit naïve in hindsight, usually caused by a momentary lapse in judgment. They were usually under the very reasonable eight-year-old girl decision-making method of “but I wanna”. I mean, you can’t be reasonable all the time, right? I’ll admit, perhaps the “but I wanna” argument shouldn’t win on a regular basis, but it happens on the occasion. However, in some cases, the “choose the one you’ll regret not doing the most five years down the line” argument is indeed the best decision maker. It is indeed, the best argument and advice anyone can give. With a lifetime of decision-making, what best method of reasoning than to go with the one you won’t regret later on? If everything went perfectly, we wouldn’t live a life of regrets, but rather we would know what we wanted and what’s best for us and constantly go for it. Of course, that’s also assuming that we know what we want now.
I knew her advice was sound. I knew it was reasonable, tried and true. But I couldn’t help myself to those immediate gratification choices. Those end decisions were perhaps a bit naïve in hindsight, usually caused by a momentary lapse in judgment. They were usually under the very reasonable eight-year-old girl decision-making method of “but I wanna”. I mean, you can’t be reasonable all the time, right? I’ll admit, perhaps the “but I wanna” argument shouldn’t win on a regular basis, but it happens on the occasion. However, in some cases, the “choose the one you’ll regret not doing the most five years down the line” argument is indeed the best decision maker. It is indeed, the best argument and advice anyone can give. With a lifetime of decision-making, what best method of reasoning than to go with the one you won’t regret later on? If everything went perfectly, we wouldn’t live a life of regrets, but rather we would know what we wanted and what’s best for us and constantly go for it. Of course, that’s also assuming that we know what we want now.
Friday, July 4, 2008
The Dance
The heavy Latin music filled the dimly lit room. All around the room, men and women alike have gathered for the same purpose: after a long day at work, all that interests them is feeling sexy with a glass of their favorite poison in their hand surrounded by their friends and strangers. As I enter the room, a blast of humid air from inside hits me and I am taken away from the small, safe city streets of suburbia to Latin America. The vibrant music captivates everyone in the room and without leaving the safety of the bar and their drinks, their eyes and bodies begin to dance to the beat. Trumpets blazing, drums beating, Latin words ringing throughout the room, eyes begin to twinkle, smiles begin to form, and the day and week’s troubles are soon left behind. With the help of a friendly drink and some lively music, people get cozier, strangers become friends, and soon the dance floor is filled with exotic dancers.
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Assignment #4
Prompt:
Write a scene from the perspective of someone (drugged, foreigner, fevered, etc.) who familiarizes the familiar; in other words: describes the world around him/her in a fresh, unexpected way.
The city streets normally wouldn’t have deterred her. They were the same as all other cities: Main St., Market St., 29th St. The lights were dim, the homeless people stooped over their scarse belongings, and the loud music emanating from the crowded clubs. All the usual elements of the vivacious city life. Only tonight things were different. The different country, the different streets, the different building and people. Even the brilliance of the moon seemed to have a different glow to it; it seemed almost more authentic, more quaint, more alive, than in the San Franciscan sky.
As she walked down the red cobblestone road, her fingertips gently graced the weathered buildings. Each brick shone brightly under the night moon. The coarse texture excited her as she fearlessly walked the streets of Florence. The uneven stonework of the roads caused her to stumble on occasions, but the steadfast walls held her up with its own uneven surface.
Upon turning the corner, the clay facade of the fountain splashed cool water out from its out as the hollow eyes pierced through the passersby. The crystal clear water of the fountain generated a strange cleanliness and purity that seemed to wash away the hesitation and doubt. The quiet water quelled her fear and intoxicated her with Italian amour.
Write a scene from the perspective of someone (drugged, foreigner, fevered, etc.) who familiarizes the familiar; in other words: describes the world around him/her in a fresh, unexpected way.
The city streets normally wouldn’t have deterred her. They were the same as all other cities: Main St., Market St., 29th St. The lights were dim, the homeless people stooped over their scarse belongings, and the loud music emanating from the crowded clubs. All the usual elements of the vivacious city life. Only tonight things were different. The different country, the different streets, the different building and people. Even the brilliance of the moon seemed to have a different glow to it; it seemed almost more authentic, more quaint, more alive, than in the San Franciscan sky.
As she walked down the red cobblestone road, her fingertips gently graced the weathered buildings. Each brick shone brightly under the night moon. The coarse texture excited her as she fearlessly walked the streets of Florence. The uneven stonework of the roads caused her to stumble on occasions, but the steadfast walls held her up with its own uneven surface.
Upon turning the corner, the clay facade of the fountain splashed cool water out from its out as the hollow eyes pierced through the passersby. The crystal clear water of the fountain generated a strange cleanliness and purity that seemed to wash away the hesitation and doubt. The quiet water quelled her fear and intoxicated her with Italian amour.
Assignment #3
Prompt:
Think of a particular place that looms large in the imagination. Using this place as inspiration, write a very short story (or beginning of a story) that’s told in short sections, a la “In the Heart of the Heart of the Country”. The chronology can be conventional (or not), but try to make each section a self-contained scene.
From atop the brilliant structure, the city of Paris sparkled with its colorful lights. The busy street noises could not be heard from this high up. The arguments and deadlines all came to a halt. Everything looked pristine and neat. In the distance the Sacre Coeur glowed in its white light. The Seine River peacefully carried boats of tourists. Notre Dame’s bells were so faintly heard from the peak of the Eiffel Tower. I point out all the Parisian landmarks with complete ecstasy.
“It’s not coming out correctly in my pictures!” I hear someone say.
“The weather is awful!”
“It’s humid and I need a shower!”
“We’ve been walking all day and my feet are aching!”
In the summer heat, everyone has become rather unpleasant. I sit and sigh, my travel book open, and I try to read.
There in a foreign city, all the comforts of home are gone. My own bed, my own shower, my own reminders of home. Instead, the luggage’s stand against the walls. Our toiletries line the bathroom counter. My personal space now includes three others. My bed doesn’t feel friendly.
Think of a particular place that looms large in the imagination. Using this place as inspiration, write a very short story (or beginning of a story) that’s told in short sections, a la “In the Heart of the Heart of the Country”. The chronology can be conventional (or not), but try to make each section a self-contained scene.
From atop the brilliant structure, the city of Paris sparkled with its colorful lights. The busy street noises could not be heard from this high up. The arguments and deadlines all came to a halt. Everything looked pristine and neat. In the distance the Sacre Coeur glowed in its white light. The Seine River peacefully carried boats of tourists. Notre Dame’s bells were so faintly heard from the peak of the Eiffel Tower. I point out all the Parisian landmarks with complete ecstasy.
~ ~ ~
The grass is cool against my skin. We sit and admire the spectacular light show. The entire tower is completely engulfed by sparkling lights. Tourists and natives alike pause to see the glimmering tower. Some watch in awe. Others mutter about their tired feet. Some distance away a baby cries. Someone is hungry nearby. With the abundance of people around the tower, it’s hard not to be sucked into their conversations. While someone is laughing merrily by the fence, another couple argues about money or direction or something. I am only the silent observer sitting underneath the tower’s beauty.“It’s not coming out correctly in my pictures!” I hear someone say.
~ ~ ~
There in our hotel room we collapse wearily into our beds.“The weather is awful!”
“It’s humid and I need a shower!”
“We’ve been walking all day and my feet are aching!”
In the summer heat, everyone has become rather unpleasant. I sit and sigh, my travel book open, and I try to read.
There in a foreign city, all the comforts of home are gone. My own bed, my own shower, my own reminders of home. Instead, the luggage’s stand against the walls. Our toiletries line the bathroom counter. My personal space now includes three others. My bed doesn’t feel friendly.
~ ~ ~
Alas, I am alone. It is peaceful and quiet in my head. The surrounding tourists blur together and all I hear is me. The beautiful Italian ruins are reminders of the history of years ago. Their legacies and their mistakes. I bask in the beauty of the architecture as I am alone with my camera. A couple interrupts my reverie and asks if I can take a picture for them. I happily oblige and upon their thanks, I return to my personal bubble, intoxicated by the sheer excitement that I and the travelers around me feel. The amazing walls that have crumbled and weathered away show no signs of weakness. Their immense size, though beaten and damaged, stand ever so tall with their stories ready to be told. I close my eyes and listen.~ ~ ~
The metal bars and gates are clear indications of the day and age we are in. everyone has a digital camera glued to their hands. What a different view it must be to see the brilliance of man in a two by three inch screen. I steadily climb the rugged steps of the Coliseum eager to absorb in all that has occurred here. The fights, the crowds screaming, the Emperor with his bemused smile. Then I stop and wonder what all these tourists are thinking. The immense capacity of man’s intellect. The power of man’s strength. All of it combined right here, right now. Thousands of years’ work present here all in the same place under the same sky.~ ~ ~
There is a stone hallway in which I rejoin my fellow companions. Water bottles in one hand, cameras in the other, their faces show signs of exhaustion from the walking and the heat. I smile brilliantly in return.
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
A Bit of Background on My Posts
So if you’re reading this, you’ve somehow got a hold of some random – and rather strange – writings that don’t seem to connect well nor even sound like something I would write. Basically the purpose of this blog is merely to share the writings that I do in class (thus explains the length of each posting and the lack of conclusion – or even a middle section). Some have expressed interest in reading the silly little things that I write in class, so here goes nothing. They're also not likely finished.
Note: All that is written here is based on a given prompt from class. Sometimes from other classmates. None of the posts are to follow the prior post. They’re just assignments from class. I’ll try to post the prompts as well as my writing so as to not confuse the reader.
On that note, enjoy! =)
Note: All that is written here is based on a given prompt from class. Sometimes from other classmates. None of the posts are to follow the prior post. They’re just assignments from class. I’ll try to post the prompts as well as my writing so as to not confuse the reader.
On that note, enjoy! =)
Assignment #2
Prompt:
1. Write the first sentence of a story that immediately posits a fantastical world – a universe drastically different than our own. (Then switch cards.)
2. Using the first sentence you’ve been given, try to write a scene (or beginning of a story) that expands upon its premise. Try to establish some sort of “logical illogic”.
All twelve of his ears burned when the suns collided. It happened all too often, or so the boy thought. It was a rite of passage, they said, it wouldn’t be that bad. But it seemed as the suns had a different agenda. It was as if the suns found humor in his dismal state. For everyone else, the suns’ collisions were a sight to behold, a reason to celebrate. But while everyone was dancing and singing in merriment, John’s ears burned with incomparable fury.
It was now three weeks since the last collision. With his ears still healing from its last unfortunate singe, john took solace in the peaceful hours when the moons pranced in the sky. John feared the day when the moons would fall away and the suns would collide again. It was only a matter of days. No one knew when it’d happen, but everyone was eager to see the spectacular sight. All but John. The mere thought of his twelve beautiful ears burning as the sky had its festivities caused his bones to shake.
“There must be a way to end this!” he grumbled.
With his bandaged ears, he set off to end his suffering. While everyone else had plants sprout from their palms, or water ooze from their pores, or something cool like that, John got stuck with burning ears. Not just one burning ear, or even a burning finger because that could come in handy at times, no, John had all twelve of his ears burn when the suns collided. Every single time too. Even his sister had fishes come out of her with each collision.
Least that had some economic value, he angrily thought. But burning ears? His head was literally on fire!
The following day as the seven moons drifted off into the horizon, the suns began their funny little dance. Below them, john felt his ears begin to twitch…
1. Write the first sentence of a story that immediately posits a fantastical world – a universe drastically different than our own. (Then switch cards.)
2. Using the first sentence you’ve been given, try to write a scene (or beginning of a story) that expands upon its premise. Try to establish some sort of “logical illogic”.
All twelve of his ears burned when the suns collided. It happened all too often, or so the boy thought. It was a rite of passage, they said, it wouldn’t be that bad. But it seemed as the suns had a different agenda. It was as if the suns found humor in his dismal state. For everyone else, the suns’ collisions were a sight to behold, a reason to celebrate. But while everyone was dancing and singing in merriment, John’s ears burned with incomparable fury.
It was now three weeks since the last collision. With his ears still healing from its last unfortunate singe, john took solace in the peaceful hours when the moons pranced in the sky. John feared the day when the moons would fall away and the suns would collide again. It was only a matter of days. No one knew when it’d happen, but everyone was eager to see the spectacular sight. All but John. The mere thought of his twelve beautiful ears burning as the sky had its festivities caused his bones to shake.
“There must be a way to end this!” he grumbled.
With his bandaged ears, he set off to end his suffering. While everyone else had plants sprout from their palms, or water ooze from their pores, or something cool like that, John got stuck with burning ears. Not just one burning ear, or even a burning finger because that could come in handy at times, no, John had all twelve of his ears burn when the suns collided. Every single time too. Even his sister had fishes come out of her with each collision.
Least that had some economic value, he angrily thought. But burning ears? His head was literally on fire!
The following day as the seven moons drifted off into the horizon, the suns began their funny little dance. Below them, john felt his ears begin to twitch…
Assignment #1
With the given character and scenario, write a scene in which your point of view changes. Make your change in perspective subtle. (One card had a vocation [ballerina], the second had a strange scenario [the itchiness]. Then we switched cards. So if you're wondering where I got such random ideas, there it is: they're not my ideas. I just built upon them. )
The beautiful dancer gracefully pranced onto the stage floor. Each step she took was commanded by the orchestral music. Step by step, note by note, every move compelled by the flutes and violins. Poetic license was hers to take led by the compelling nature of each crescendo and decrescendo. Tempo and movement there in perfect harmony. Her turns and leaps flew with the music.
She had been practicing with the orchestra for months now for this performance. Everything was solid. They knew their notes and she knew her steps. Everything was perfect.
Turn. Step. Step. Turn. Smile. Hop. Straight limbs. Straight lines. Pause. Slow down. Horns, then strings. Itch. Itch?!?
The music went on. The audience watched in awe. But there it was.
All eyes are on my every move. That stupid dog in the park? I knew he wasn’t clean! A bug bite? Really?? Now?? No not now.. I can’t scratch! This is my big debut! The thought that there are hundreds of eyes watching my every step, my every move is only making me more and more aware that my leg is killing me!
Step step step. Listen to the music. They’re watching you! Even the other dancers in the wings are watching. But all I want to do is scratch that itch. Focus focus.
There’s a break! The perfect chance! Better than nothing. Tiny step. Scratch. Tiny step. Scratch. The utter bliss to scratch that itch. To fall into temptation. To do that which I’m not supposed to do. To fall at the mercy of a mere bug bite?? But I need to finish! Focus focus!
This is it! I curtsey. The music stops. The applause begins. I crumble and fall to temptation and, alas, utter bliss.
The beautiful dancer gracefully pranced onto the stage floor. Each step she took was commanded by the orchestral music. Step by step, note by note, every move compelled by the flutes and violins. Poetic license was hers to take led by the compelling nature of each crescendo and decrescendo. Tempo and movement there in perfect harmony. Her turns and leaps flew with the music.
She had been practicing with the orchestra for months now for this performance. Everything was solid. They knew their notes and she knew her steps. Everything was perfect.
Turn. Step. Step. Turn. Smile. Hop. Straight limbs. Straight lines. Pause. Slow down. Horns, then strings. Itch. Itch?!?
The music went on. The audience watched in awe. But there it was.
All eyes are on my every move. That stupid dog in the park? I knew he wasn’t clean! A bug bite? Really?? Now?? No not now.. I can’t scratch! This is my big debut! The thought that there are hundreds of eyes watching my every step, my every move is only making me more and more aware that my leg is killing me!
Step step step. Listen to the music. They’re watching you! Even the other dancers in the wings are watching. But all I want to do is scratch that itch. Focus focus.
There’s a break! The perfect chance! Better than nothing. Tiny step. Scratch. Tiny step. Scratch. The utter bliss to scratch that itch. To fall into temptation. To do that which I’m not supposed to do. To fall at the mercy of a mere bug bite?? But I need to finish! Focus focus!
This is it! I curtsey. The music stops. The applause begins. I crumble and fall to temptation and, alas, utter bliss.
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