Healing

After yesterday's calm and mild weather, it stormed. Piles of snow, yet again. I'm not complaining, mind you.  I'm all for piles of snow. It's just the aftermath that's the problem. Apparently this snow is already melting (I got a wet foot after trying to jump over a mini-pond of water at a curb), and a lot of people are walking around as the snow is falling with umbrellas. But then tomorrow is apparently supposed to be colder, so what does that mean? Ice.

I'm all for snow, slush and ice, well, I broke my arm slipping on ice once upon a time. So, no good memories there. I did, however, have a good workout in the morning, trying to walk to the bus stop in knee-high snow.   That I don't mind, in fact I was loving it for... half the way, until I realized this was eating up my morning - as I most likely looked like an astronaut trying to walk on the Moon. If I was going to get to work on time, then I would have to make haste. So I made it, and that involved jumping down to the slushy street and tramping my way to the bus stop.

Redemption

This morning I woke up feeling as if I had finally got the rest I'd needed for a very, very long time. Ironically (or perhaps not; for, it shouldn't be such a surprise by now), the sun was up and bright. It was as if the weather, which had been fluctuating crazily over the past few weeks (or was it months?) without knowing what it was supposed to be or do, had been mirroring my mental state.

The past week I had this very strange tender skull. The right back side throbbed at times, and it was extremely tender to touch. I've had tender skull moments previously, but this was something almost alarming. Again, quite uncannily, I woke up this morning, and it was gone. I woke up feeling like I was reborn - which sounds dramatic, but cannot be closer to the truth, considering that the past two days I've felt like I was an empty shell just walking, 'undead'.

I watched Life of Pi last night. I know, it's about time. I couldn't help but stare in wonder - not at the graphics and amazing filmography, but at how close it ran parallel to my own life. I've always had a fascination with Pi, and since very young have always rambled off the digits with ease. Pi, the mathematical term, was and continues to be a source of amazement and fascination to me. It's one of those things that you cannot debate is somehow 'eternal'. It goes on forever, and yet so often in life itself, we debate the idea of anything being 'forever'. We've shunned the idea because of our sense of mortality, and we've associated the catch-phrase of 'love forever' to be something just said, and not true. I believe in a forever, and this is something I can't ever define or explain, nor provide proof of. But the continuity of Pi, a measurement without measure, gives me a tiny peep into that portal of forever.

Likewise, Pi, growing up, embraced all (well not literally all) religions. This is something I can entirely relate to, for it's something I have and continue to do. The moment his father said believing in everything is the same as believing in nothing - I was protesting in my head, HELL NO. There is no way that could be even right (ok I admit there could, possibly, be ways; however). Belief in itself is a factor that gives you a reason to hope - and I realize there's some overlapping between belief and hope, but I contend that while they are similar they remain separate.  The tendency to embrace all beliefs opens up a whole new level of tolerance and insight. While it does not seem quite abstract and indiscriminatory, sort of naive, it's still better and definitely not the same as believing in nothing.

And there's one last thing I want to record -- today coming to work, I spotted a peregrine falcon stuck in a tree. It had a plastic bag wrapped around it's claws and one wing was stretched out stuck and entertwined with some plastic and branches. It was sorrowful, to say the least, but also brought to mind how amazing and random life can be. I knew it was a peregrine falcon simply because that's one of my favourite animals, and also because as one of those endangered species it was one close to heart. So imagine my amazement realizing that here I was - at this specific time and place and witnessing a rare sight. I hope that it got saved.

15

Vday

Valentine's Day. Like many other occasions - birthdays, Christmas, new years - it comes with the baggage of memories and dreams. Perhaps somehow, more so, because of what the day itself signifies. Love.

For as long as I've known, I've been a big contender in the "hopeless romantic" category. Love, in all its glory has been something I have fallen for from a very young age. All that it signifies, companionship, friendship, togetherness, understanding, ... that which goes way, way, beyond words ... has remained embedded in me even at the times I denounced it.

My first memories of Valentine's is of elementary school. Buying those ready-made cards with animated characters on them, and filling them out carefully with every classmates name. Choosing special cards for those special friends, or ahem, crushes. Of course, it was something everyone did, and as such it wasn't really a very romantic thing. But there was a specialness in knowing you were giving something, something from yourself, something maybe from your heart, and as such it was giving a part of yourself and that in it's pure essence was something beautiful and amazing.

Then there was the receiving part. Overall, I know that I've always been more of a giving person than a receiving or taking person. And so, those little piles of red and pink cards, the little candies that came in our special "Valentine" boxes or bags were so precious. Thrilling to be remembered and thought of. A feeling of belonging, of friendship.

High-school. Valentines never meant romance. This was the transition between childhood and puberty, and beyond. The moment when little crushes suddenly felt like it was the real thing, when obviously wasn't. Valentine in high-school meant planning out the school rose-o-gram program myself, making daily PA announcements, designing and printing out the advertisements and finally selling our roses and persuading every guy to show his love for his girlfriend and buy a rose, or two, or three....For someone who did a good job at persuading, I was absolutely zero at seducing. I didn't expect anyone to be buying me roses. I bought roses anonymously for a migrant teacher who was having a very hard time with the students and school. I bought roses for all my friends, anonymously, to make them think they were loved by a secret admirer. As social convenor of the prefects, I was in charge of Valentines program, because who else was such a die-hard fan of love? My best memory was being pleasantly surprised by an assortment of roses waiting for me when I was done the whole program. From my guy friends "thanks for the homework notes", "thanks for helping me in class", "thanks for being a superstar!"... SIGH.

Then...somehow I just went off of Valentines. I don't remember University being special for Valentines. In fact, I remember being anti-love and anti-valentines, and proud of it, and meeting one of my best friends (who remains one) all those years ago, just because we shared that antipathy. So, I guess if anything special came out of Valentines, it was being anti-Valentine then....

Working, all I remember through those years is always helping my friends choose the right card or gift. And well....fast-forward, and here I am.

And while I made a secret resolution to myself that I would treat the day like any other, I can say that I'm loving this year's Valentine's Day! And that's a wrap... Ok, someone just messaged me right this very second "No hanky panky" LOL.

QOTD

“And once the storm is over, you won’t remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won’t even be sure, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm, you won’t be the same person who walked in. 
That’s what this storm’s all about.”

― Haruki Murakami

12-c

One of my good friends recently pointed out that I have been 'weird' since the new year's started. I pointed out, in turn, that actually I've been 'calm'. I guess that's the price of being 'content'. I've been less happy but at the same time, I've not been extremely sad.

So I guess in a way, it's true. You cannot have one without the other.

I've also learnt that some dreams are meant to be dreamt at a certain time [in life]. When I was a little girl, I used to give guests to the house a 'tour' of my wedding plans. I had my dress chosen and set aside, the type of roses I would be given, the shoes I would wear and even the very age I would marry at. Matter-of-factly, I expected that one day I would be loved and cherished the way girls and princesses were - in the movies and stories (Disney, to be precise).

Laughable in retrospect. I was all of 7 or 8 years old at the time, so for many reasons it was a dream that had to remain just that, of a little girl. The dress grew too small, the shoes too tight, and as I myself grew, my own perceptions about love grew out of itself.

I held onto some semblance of it simply because it was comfortable, familiar, like an old teddybear or blanket, a trinket of the past that served as a souvenir of naive times, that reemerged again and again from the flames at those times when I tried to burn it away.

You cannot burn your dreams without being burnt yourself. Out of the flames, I emerged, changed. Jokier, more 'miss know-it-all', goofier, sarcastic, quicker to laugh. I've become a me that's a shell of merriment and laughter, maybe more so in attempt to erase the frailer, vulnerable me.

If anything, perhaps it has made that vulnerability deeper and stronger, because although easier to laugh away hurt, for that hurt to exist it then travels deeper and is felt more intensely. Although rare to open up the bottle of emotions and show that vulnerability, for that ability to care and love to exist, the more deeply the shards pierce when knocked down or aside.

There must exist a bridge between memory and serenity. For serenity cannot be disillusionment of that which has passed, it must face it full on and let it crash upon and into itself with all its power, and remain standing, yet still, with understanding and fortitude.

12-b

Sometimes being happy means you give up happiness itself. Those moments where you're over-the-moon ecstatic, when you're ebullient, brimming with joy - those moments are momentary. They last waveringly like a transparent bubble reflecting a million colours for a second, two seconds, before it bursts.

The problem with sharing - the good, the bad; everything - is that it turns back on you when you least expect it. Once, a friend told me how her mother advised her never to tell everything, because one day, it will be used against you, wittingly or unwittingly. Of course, me being the all-transparent me, I had to scoff when I was told this all so many years ago. But now when I'm on the topic, this is what I am recalling and considering.

When people experience something good, all of a sudden they are knocking on wood, crossing fingers, putting 'kala tikka' here and there, or not speaking about it, lest the 'evil eye' is cast on that good luck or happiness. Maybe it's true, maybe one shouldn't express such extremes of happiness no matter to whom, because it turns.

I'm a 'feeler', in that I feel everything, or almost everything, deeply. I laugh easily, I cry easily. I get hyper in happiness, and feel sadness with intensity. So it's difficult to reign it all in, which is why perhaps I am writing about this at all. It's difficult, but I'm learning.

12

I've shut off myself in the hopes of finding myself again. What I've come to realize is that I am searching  for myself , a self, which is not who I am now. I am trying to be that person I was when I was a different me. It's at once so clearly obvious and yet, like much that is obvious, overlooked. Perhaps this break was not required for the goal I had set out with at first, but I have found that through it, perhaps it was nonetheless required. I have found that despite the contrast in how I have written, for myself and for others, that the person that I am and the person I was are too different.

I used to be able to write soulfully - simply because the person I was then was seeking, lost, searching, waiting, wanting, craving , and maybe more importantly, alone.

So then, I must ask myself, why do I want to be that person again? The person I am now, although unable to commit words to the record and unable to voice my emotions and feelings as poetically as I used to, this person is happier.

Not happier that I cannot write like I used to. But, in the time I have taken for myself, by closing my words off, I have found that the problem isn't just in the ability to write, it is the opportunity to write.

08

Well, it's in. The "worst" (best according to moi) snowstorm we've had in 5 years. I do not know what people have been making a big melodrama about - this was normal until global warming made everyone forget and they started taking the global warming bit for granted.

No sirree, not me. Just two days ago, I was standing on the dry pavement at the bus stop thinking how I recalled days where winter was numbing bitter cold. When I'd be stomping and pacing to and fro just to keep some semblance of feeling in my limbs. I was thinking to myself, where have those good old snow-upto-my-knees winters gone?

And what do you know - a few days later, the skies decide to shower me with a dream come true. Yesterday my coworker asked me if I was coming in tomorrow. I was taken aback. 'Uh. Yeaaaaaaaaaah?' Was there some holiday I didn't know about? But no, he told me, there's a big storm coming our way and was suddenly forecasted. Oh.

Really.

Anyways, today's storm was amazing and magnificent. Upended bucketfuls of snow that went on forever. I went out in the quiet world and the snow was up to my knees. Oh my God. And no snow plows were even to be seen (on that note, throughout the day I hadn't seen one. More on this later.) and the snow was virgin. Untouched. Until me in my boots came trudging through. Overall, the morning was beautiful. I felt so amazingly happy and excited and exuberant and gleeful.

Then, well let's just say the balloon sort of popped. But it was bound to with how afill with glee I was. Anyways, then the reverse. Coming back home from work. Not so good.

It's like the world finally woke up and then they all decided to make things complicated, to make everything slower, and to inject a stream of negativity by constantly thinking of all the bad things that this 'storm' was supposed to bring on. Humans, pah!

So, the trains didn't work. The light-rail transit didn't work, mobs were wreaking havoc at the train stations, police enforcement yelling this way and that, crowds of people shoving at each other without care regardless of the old and feeble people who were shoved down into the snow.

I can say that I'm glad this storm happened. It somehow restored a sense of calm to me. That familiar sense of just accepting whatever because no matter how much you complain, fuss, grumble, or decide to hate what you are going through, first, it could always be worse, and second, you cannot do anything else regardless- but to accept it and go forward.

07

It's a Thursday that's constantly felt like a Friday. Throughout the day, from the moment of awakening to the moment of leaving work in the evening, I've had to keep reminding myself that it wasn't - isn't - Friday. The week has already been long enough, and there is that bit of melancholy tinged with some unknown anxiety floating in the air, like the continuum of falling snow.

This is a mood that wants me to shut down and shut off from everything and everyone.

There's an impeding snowstorm forecasted for tomorrow. It's already started if the weather out the window of the bus I'm seated at is any indication. The winter weather warning is telling us to stay within, keep ourselves shut away and to be careful of venturing out into the chaotic and dangerous world outside.

That's already what I'm feeling, emotionally.

We'll see.

06

Happy Blogoversary Kiara

Here's celebrating 1 year of Kiara's blog, a-shared-thought.blogspot.com. Congratulations and thank you, Kia, for continuously giving our minds and eyes yummy munchies (words). May you continue to keep writing, being inspired and inspiring. ♥


Kiara asked me to write something for her blogoversary, and you can find my guest post on her blog @ http://a-shared-thought.blogspot.ca/2013/02/guest-post-iq.html. I invite you all to hop on over. Happy reading! :)

Variability

This morning was one of those beautiful mornings that make you think about the weather. I love the weather, and it's one of those things I can talk about again and again. I know it's that typical topic that people say is your excuse to make conversation when there is nothing else to say, but weather is just so afill with the wonders of nature. I can think about it all the time, and write about it all the time. Talking, well maybe not so much, though it's still as good as a topic in my opinion. But talking is a two-way thing, and writing, well, it's much more of a monologue; a personal rendition of my own thoughts wherein I can wax and wane eloquent.

I don't know how much of what I write can be translated into the readers own capacity to experience what I experience. I was thinking this last night, as I was trudging through inches of freshly fallen snow, that this is a place and climate which has undergone such a crazy series of weather that I don't know how anyone else could appreciate how drastic the changes have been. We've gone through - in a week, mind you - bitter dry biting cold, freezing rain, snow followed by rain, slush, a day of warm summer weather wherein people are walking around in just tshirts, and then another drop and a feirce wind that screams through the streets and almost lifts you off your feet, then a sudden blanket of snow that falls unabatedly to cover the world again afresh. Today now, it's bright sunshine - and the sky is acting all innocent-like, as if it just didn't have a total tantrum fit of mood swings throughout the week.

I like variability. I actually like changes, well,  in this way at least. But those little moments when I'm fighting against the wind and trying to move forward, I admit I chant to myself "soon Spring will come, soon Spring will come, soon Spring will come.."