YOU SEEM TO HAVE A FETISH FOR
Weather. (IT'S OK, WE WON'T TELL ANYONE)
Showing posts with label Weather. Show all posts
Friday, August 04, 2017
Small Happies
Spent two hours at the Superstore, ended up picking up just two things: sundried tomatoes and imported cheese. My sandal broke while roaming - the heavier wooden bottom went rogue and disengaged from the sole, but just at the back, so instead of hobbling, sliding my foot behind me or clacking around, I just looped my hair-tie around both pieces and I was good to go, until I got off the bus and stepped into a thunderstorm at its prime and realized I couldn't even walk in my sandals because I was sliding around on that smooth wooden surface. With my bag of cheese and sundried tomatoes, I danced home singing, of all things, "kuch to hua hai."
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Thursday, April 21, 2016
Short Shorts
Traitorous March had started; when you had no damn clue what the weather was going to be like. Either it would be blowing cold or blowing warm—like a fickle lover, you could never trust it.
I hadn't gotten any sleep that night. Nil. Nada. In fact, I hadn't slept for a few days, and the sun was the only thing that I really wanted to see. I squinted in its light, standing in the middle of the road, waiting for the oncoming lane to empty so that I could cross over to the bus stop. An old grandma was already inside the bus stand, and she was fidgeting with her glasses, trying to wipe the lens clean. She would put the lens on and then take them off again, wiping, wiping. As far as I could tell, the lens were crystal clear, and felt a pang for her poor bleary eyes.
She looked over at me."Yuh wearing yo reg'lar coat, dear?" She queried, most randomly, in her Jamaican accent.
There it was. Human contact. I squinted a little more, and cast her a sideways look.
"You never know," I said cryptically.
She seemed overwhelmed with this profound statement, and lapsed into a silence until the bus came and took us away.
In the middle of March, I was on my way home, and though we had some mild weather through the day, as the sun set, it had been snowing again.
My stop was approaching, so I grabbed my bag, descended to the lower level of the bus, hit the button and stood at the back doors, waiting for the bus to stop.
The bus kept going.
I raised my hands in exasperation. Uh, Hello? The bro standing nearby shook his head dismally. I rolled my eyes and made my way up to the front of the bus, and leant against the driver's wall.
"Good nap? You just missed my stop, man." I said, almost conversationally to the driver.
"Oh. Ehm. Ah. I'm sorry," He looked abashed.
"Now I get a NICE, LONG, LOVELY WALK BACK," I said to him in the same almost-friendly conversational tone, my icy smile punctuating the statement with the sarcasm it was meant to be.
"Uh. You ... want to borrow my toque?" He offered his hat to me.
"Nah, don't worry about it," I gave him a sideways look.
He sighed in relief, and opened the doors.
I stepped off.
His hat?
Now it was* April and the weather was amazing!
"Bye!" I chirruped to the random lady clumping down the staircase from the upper level as I ran up the stairs. It was around 6 pm, and she was clearly on her way home, laden with her bags.
"Oh," She blinked, "Bye bye to you too, dear."
I was a complete stranger.
"Have a nice weekend!" I called as she went down another few stairs.
She stopped again, and looked up as I opened the door at the landing, ready to leave the stairwell.
"But, dear, it's only Monday."
"You can never start too early!" I grinned at her, and with a wave, left.
*is
I hadn't gotten any sleep that night. Nil. Nada. In fact, I hadn't slept for a few days, and the sun was the only thing that I really wanted to see. I squinted in its light, standing in the middle of the road, waiting for the oncoming lane to empty so that I could cross over to the bus stop. An old grandma was already inside the bus stand, and she was fidgeting with her glasses, trying to wipe the lens clean. She would put the lens on and then take them off again, wiping, wiping. As far as I could tell, the lens were crystal clear, and felt a pang for her poor bleary eyes.
She looked over at me."Yuh wearing yo reg'lar coat, dear?" She queried, most randomly, in her Jamaican accent.
There it was. Human contact. I squinted a little more, and cast her a sideways look.
"You never know," I said cryptically.
She seemed overwhelmed with this profound statement, and lapsed into a silence until the bus came and took us away.
*****
In the middle of March, I was on my way home, and though we had some mild weather through the day, as the sun set, it had been snowing again.
My stop was approaching, so I grabbed my bag, descended to the lower level of the bus, hit the button and stood at the back doors, waiting for the bus to stop.
The bus kept going.
I raised my hands in exasperation. Uh, Hello? The bro standing nearby shook his head dismally. I rolled my eyes and made my way up to the front of the bus, and leant against the driver's wall.
"Good nap? You just missed my stop, man." I said, almost conversationally to the driver.
"Oh. Ehm. Ah. I'm sorry," He looked abashed.
"Now I get a NICE, LONG, LOVELY WALK BACK," I said to him in the same almost-friendly conversational tone, my icy smile punctuating the statement with the sarcasm it was meant to be.
"Uh. You ... want to borrow my toque?" He offered his hat to me.
"Nah, don't worry about it," I gave him a sideways look.
He sighed in relief, and opened the doors.
I stepped off.
His hat?
*****
Now it was* April and the weather was amazing!
"Bye!" I chirruped to the random lady clumping down the staircase from the upper level as I ran up the stairs. It was around 6 pm, and she was clearly on her way home, laden with her bags.
"Oh," She blinked, "Bye bye to you too, dear."
I was a complete stranger.
"Have a nice weekend!" I called as she went down another few stairs.
She stopped again, and looked up as I opened the door at the landing, ready to leave the stairwell.
"But, dear, it's only Monday."
"You can never start too early!" I grinned at her, and with a wave, left.
*is
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Wednesday, April 20, 2016
What is This Season
Sometimes, on days like this, when the coolness holds hands with warmth, all I want to do is lay back on the earth, and smile at the sky.
Sometimes, I can almost pretend that every cloud out there holds the answers, holds the secrets to unleashing my dreams.
Sometimes, as I loll in the grass, with the smell of the undomesticated ground surrounding me like a new perfume, I feel as if I could almost become one with the raw warm fertile soil.
Sometimes, I stretch my hand up to the sky, and it almost seems as if I can catch hold of the great blue above me.
Sometimes, I wonder how much of this Mother Earth is made of the dust of all her children, and how it might be to be that way too, fragmented ash flying around the world free.
Sometimes, I feel as if I could take these unfulfilled parts of me, my dreams and desires, and throw them back up at the sky to rejoin that great emptiness, like caged white doves set free.
Sometimes, on days like this, the earth warm on my back, the sun warm on my face, I smile and feel maybe yes, it is fine to be alone; yet the wind smoothly blows over my cheek like a warm, sweet-smelling caress.
Sometimes, I can almost pretend that every cloud out there holds the answers, holds the secrets to unleashing my dreams.
Sometimes, as I loll in the grass, with the smell of the undomesticated ground surrounding me like a new perfume, I feel as if I could almost become one with the raw warm fertile soil.
Sometimes, I stretch my hand up to the sky, and it almost seems as if I can catch hold of the great blue above me.
Sometimes, I wonder how much of this Mother Earth is made of the dust of all her children, and how it might be to be that way too, fragmented ash flying around the world free.
Sometimes, I feel as if I could take these unfulfilled parts of me, my dreams and desires, and throw them back up at the sky to rejoin that great emptiness, like caged white doves set free.
Sometimes, on days like this, the earth warm on my back, the sun warm on my face, I smile and feel maybe yes, it is fine to be alone; yet the wind smoothly blows over my cheek like a warm, sweet-smelling caress.
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| artwork: pascal campion |
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Friday, April 08, 2016
Synchronicity
"Geez, Madeline," I said to my colleague, giving her the side-eye while we stood from our seats as the meeting broke up, "Are you trying to conjure up snow again?" I pointed to her incongruous "Ugly Christmas Sweater" embroidered all over with yarny snowflakes.
"What? Oh," she said, looking down at herself, "Ha, yeah maybe, why not?"
Why not indeed, despite the fact that it was supposed to be officially Spring, and finally the weather had kind of accepted this state of things and let the sun come out, the winds ameliorated and the grass, yellow and pale and almost dead, finally showing.
"Well, when it snows," I said cryptically, "It's going to be your fault."
"You mean if it snows," She laughed. Because the forecasts all said rain. Of course. BECAUSE WE TRUST THE FORECAST.
And with that, we went our ways.
The next morning I open my front door, only to be met with a winter wonderland vista spread out before me, almost as if I were in a magical realism story opening a magical portal to a magical world that was totally...well, magical.
Because, it definitely was. Quiet. White. Soft. Even somehow, warm. Thick piles of flurries coming down as if it were a million buckets of feathers. Muting all sound, even your own footsteps were faint echoes (and I was wearing heels so that's saying something). I walked through that magical world in almost slow-motion, and it was almost as if I really was alone in that world (until I reached the main intersection that is).
It matched the huge snowballing feeling that was accumulating within me. A feeling I still am not able to articulate, the way it is perhaps with most loss.
The strangest thing is, that heavy wondrous storm lasted almost as long as my own walk. I fell asleep on the commute as I always do, and when I woke, everything was melting again. I almost wish that my own sense of loss could easily melt away, but things are not ever that easy, and I suspect that it is the one thing I will never actually lose. But even as the snow that had accumulated thickly as blankets melted, it went away revealing the most magnificent transformations: thick, lush, vibrant verdant green grass. Maybe in the same way that loss can only flourish with the agony of hope.
"What? Oh," she said, looking down at herself, "Ha, yeah maybe, why not?"
Why not indeed, despite the fact that it was supposed to be officially Spring, and finally the weather had kind of accepted this state of things and let the sun come out, the winds ameliorated and the grass, yellow and pale and almost dead, finally showing.
"Well, when it snows," I said cryptically, "It's going to be your fault."
"You mean if it snows," She laughed. Because the forecasts all said rain. Of course. BECAUSE WE TRUST THE FORECAST.
And with that, we went our ways.
The next morning I open my front door, only to be met with a winter wonderland vista spread out before me, almost as if I were in a magical realism story opening a magical portal to a magical world that was totally...well, magical.
Because, it definitely was. Quiet. White. Soft. Even somehow, warm. Thick piles of flurries coming down as if it were a million buckets of feathers. Muting all sound, even your own footsteps were faint echoes (and I was wearing heels so that's saying something). I walked through that magical world in almost slow-motion, and it was almost as if I really was alone in that world (until I reached the main intersection that is).
It matched the huge snowballing feeling that was accumulating within me. A feeling I still am not able to articulate, the way it is perhaps with most loss.
The strangest thing is, that heavy wondrous storm lasted almost as long as my own walk. I fell asleep on the commute as I always do, and when I woke, everything was melting again. I almost wish that my own sense of loss could easily melt away, but things are not ever that easy, and I suspect that it is the one thing I will never actually lose. But even as the snow that had accumulated thickly as blankets melted, it went away revealing the most magnificent transformations: thick, lush, vibrant verdant green grass. Maybe in the same way that loss can only flourish with the agony of hope.
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Monday, March 21, 2016
Hallelujah
This morning as I left the house in the middle of a bright, quiet, sunny morning, I emerged from a shortcut through a peripheral park path, and entered another neighborhood. There before me was a black coat squad, maybe about 10 of them, unloading from their squad church van: the omnipresent holier-than-thou Catholic (or Jehovah's Witness) door-to-door converting mob.
Their eyes lit up upon seeing me, their first hapless victim. Out came the many, many hands with their many, many pamphlets. "Good morning!" They beam at me. I do a quick internal calculation and come to a decision.
"Good morning," I smile serenely back at them.
They seem pleased.
"Have you embraced the word of the Lord, my dear?" said a man in a black trench coat, black oxfords, and holding a leather portfolio.
"May Allah save you from your sins," I smile back at them, nodding.
An awkward pause settled on the crowd. A crow squawked, as if right on cue.
A 5-foot momma decided to clarify things. "Now dear, we mean the lord Jesus, praise him, son of God, amen."
"Amen," the rest of them all chorused, sighing collectively in relief.
"Jai hanuman gyan gun sagar jai kapeesh tihu lok ujagar" I began to chant at them a la Salman Khan in London Dreams. Unfortunately, before I could get to the really cool part where he does the rockstaresque "HANUMAN KI JAI" with an air guitar accompaniment, the crowd had dispersed, sidling away as quick as their little proper black oxfords could take them without offending the lord in all his message of tolerance.
I shrugged and kept walking in the quiet, beautiful spring morning.
A crow squawked again.
"You too, baby, you too."
Their eyes lit up upon seeing me, their first hapless victim. Out came the many, many hands with their many, many pamphlets. "Good morning!" They beam at me. I do a quick internal calculation and come to a decision.
"Good morning," I smile serenely back at them.
They seem pleased.
"Have you embraced the word of the Lord, my dear?" said a man in a black trench coat, black oxfords, and holding a leather portfolio.
"May Allah save you from your sins," I smile back at them, nodding.
An awkward pause settled on the crowd. A crow squawked, as if right on cue.
A 5-foot momma decided to clarify things. "Now dear, we mean the lord Jesus, praise him, son of God, amen."
"Amen," the rest of them all chorused, sighing collectively in relief.
"Jai hanuman gyan gun sagar jai kapeesh tihu lok ujagar" I began to chant at them a la Salman Khan in London Dreams. Unfortunately, before I could get to the really cool part where he does the rockstaresque "HANUMAN KI JAI" with an air guitar accompaniment, the crowd had dispersed, sidling away as quick as their little proper black oxfords could take them without offending the lord in all his message of tolerance.
I shrugged and kept walking in the quiet, beautiful spring morning.
A crow squawked again.
"You too, baby, you too."
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Thursday, November 19, 2015
323
And again, it's a beautiful day. I just want to say that I have been opening each and every day (still) by observing that it's a beautiful day. Despite the general existential sense of disintegration and epistemological dissonance, externally and quite personally, somehow through it all I can still come out and tell myself it's a beautiful day. Even in heartbreak, calamity, destruction, bereavement, maybe this is the ruler we actually use to measure our status of survival.
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Sunday, November 08, 2015
Contentment
Sitting here alone with the blue sky and white clouds, autumnal winds blowing, and the sun shining on my head, whilst really great music is playing and keeping me and the elements company. Despite the context of the song playing and the very state of being up here watching the tips of the evergreens alone, I'm smiling.
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Monday, September 28, 2015
Si vis pacem, para bellum
Like most people, there are two sides of me, generally speaking. The nice side and the not-so-nice. The ideal is usually to remain on the path of goodness, therefore the 'nice side' is what we should strive for. Kindness, forgiveness, altruism.
But what if we're wrong?
We've got this 'bad angel' and 'good angel' on either of our shoulders respectively, guiding us to good or goading us to evil. And we assume the good is telling us to be self-effacing and turn the other cheek. But really, what if we've all got it mixed up?
Suppose being good was really a device of the devil - to make us weak, reliant on others through our dependency of our good acts toward them. What if each time we hold a door open for another creature, the army of 'good angels' are groaning, because they know that we are succumbing to the manipulations of a very well-executed plan of action by the spawn of hell.
What if the good angel is the one actually telling us to not move over and give your seat to the next dude, and is telling us to just tell the fellow to fecking find another seat because there are lots of them all over the damn bus? Because we got to put our feet down and do unto others as we ought to because everyone is goddamn different.
I'm not even going to elaborate. I'm just going to leave this here to chew on.
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Monday, February 02, 2015
Day 33
The snowstorm of the year (I suppose the headlines demarcating it the "worst" were written by snow-haters: another instance of perspective being arbitrary) set my day back by a four-hour commute, a day that began with a long hike through the neighbourhood's accumulated knee-high snowdrifts, missing in the process two busses (buses?!) that apparently decided to declare undying love and proceed along the route back to back enforcing a prolonged wait for the next - sigh - but the walk itself was beautiful.
The evening sky as we head home was a paintbrush of rainbow; blue, yellow, orange,pink and violet, streaking across the frozen tabloid as if denying the stark white of our earth its monochrome supremacy.
Wiarton Willie, in Groundhog day tradition, decided to contest the findings of his colleague. Jury is still out on whether Spring will arrive early.
But who needs our furry friends to tell us? Spring, I have decided is already here. Its peeking under the snow piles, and winking from behind the frostbitten pines. It is waiting for us to notice that its already hidden in the icicles hanging on the bare branches, and doing the boogie under the eaves.
It was here all along, and in fact never left. So many times I have suspiciously looked around, with that sensation of someone watching you, hearing a tee-hee in the breeze, and catching a glimpse in peripheral vision. Sometimes you could not help but notice, like the day I left the office to be stunned by daylight - daylight at 5 pm! - or when I happened to step outside and encountered Spring chilling at the dumpster in the back of the building like your typical teenager skipping class. I tell you.
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Sunday, January 18, 2015
Sunshine
On an otherwise grey, gloomy and extremely cold day, the sun came out for two minutes and shone a shine so bright you could almost believe it was spring or summer, a brightness that had not existed in this neighbourhood for a very long time, yet nevertheless for two minutes it happened and I just happened to be at the window washing dishes to witness it. Makes you wonder how much else we fail to notice or tend to miss, or rather the beauty and splendour we don't realize exists because we have not witnessed it ourselves.
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Monday, December 22, 2014
December
Now that it's near approaching the holiday season, I feel something inside me want to break out of my fragile eggshell bubble. I'm not sure if it is the lessening of workloads, or the way the congestion of traffic has slowed down. The increased empty seats on the commute to and from. Somehow, now, I kind of feel I can actually breathe. And I feel it has been a very, very long time.
I feel, however, this has somewhat been a theme I have kept going over, again and again, each time I make an appearance here. Maybe it's just my repeated attempts to justify how far away I have pulled myself, maybe to soothe some unconscious guilt within for failing to be there for whoever whenever they may have needed me, or maybe it's just something akin to the baby bird's beak tapping, tapping again and tap tap tapping to break free.
I feel the need to say I am sorry. And also to let you know that I miss you. I don't know why, I just feel the need to do it. Maybe we can blame it on my flu, and mixed up sensations and sensibilities churning away within me as my lymphocytes and whatnot are running about hunting and exorcising demons.
Blahhh. Anyways yo, it's holiday season! Happyyyyyyyyyyyy holidays, loveyall.
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Tuesday, November 25, 2014
Seven
Within the past several months I realize that I've been telling myself 'I wish the weather stays exactly like this; it's perfect.' The weather has changed in a million ways, and each time I've said it, it's been entirely different. And yet, somehow, as I slowly come to this realization, each utterance was truly heartfelt. It's strange.
Yesterday, the weather was grey. Cloudy and dull. And yet, as I walked outside, I felt my insides swoon. It was gorgeous out. Balmy and that heady mix where you just could not tell what kind of weather it really was. It was all four seasons with all its sub-climates all intermingling and turning about. Spring and autumn doing the waltz, summer and winter debating over our heads. I sat at the window, enjoying my lunch and felt myself ease into a cocoon of contentment.
It was romantic weather, I told myself. How I came to this conclusion, I could not explain. It simply was romantic.
And though I reluctantly pulled myself away from that cocoon to get back to the daily grind, that tiny bubble of serendipitous contentment stayed with me throughout the day. I had not expected it in the least. But somehow I found it, or rather, it came to me.
Somehow it has awoken that sleeping spectre within me. Enough so much that I am here to write. I have not been able to do so for the longest time, and in fact, I have retreated further and further into my self-containment so that I did not feel the least bit inclined to interact with anyone at all, not to the fault or lacking within anyone who was - is - someone to me. It wasn't you, it was me, totally me.
I am not entirely certain how this foray back onto long vacant places will last. Again as with the way the wind blows this way and that, perhaps it will come and go just as quickly. Perhaps the way I've tilted my head trying to decipher if this breeze was warm or cold, unable to truly distinguish such closely aligned threads of gold, silver, rust, or copper, filaments of grass and crystals of ice, maybe just maybe, it will flourish in as many different ways, unexpectedly.
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Monday, March 31, 2014
Rejoice
I almost let the day slip by without attempting to put it down in record; almost. But today being the most beautiful day so far in 2014, I can't do that, now can I?
It never ceases to amaze me how attuned I am with nature. The day seems to take me under my arms and throw up upward and I rise, and rise and rise, with the gorgeousness around me. Yes, this is definitely Spring.
And it's March! Well, the end of March technically. I realize I had psychologically locked my mind toward experiencing this rapture of springtime in May - my favourite month. When the warmth is really and truly in place, when the unpredictability of the weather has been tamed down, so much that it can be said to be tamed.
And I don't know. I have felt unhinged. Just as unpredictable the weather has been these days - sun, rain, snow, high winds, no wind - it seems that's also been reflective of who and how I have been. Some days I am down in the murky depressing world, and the very next, I seem to suck it all in, and give the optimistic route another try. I seem to portray the typical girl with mood-swings, but it isn't that. Is it ever?
So it's hard to understand women, I hear. Hell, it is hard to understand anyone or anything really, if you try hard enough. Can you understand the weather? Blows hot, blows cold. We observe patterns in wind movement, we recognize hormonal patterns.
But hey, I'm not saying it's all about PMSing. This certainly isn't. I mean, not all this hectic candidness about how I'm fluctuating my moods - don't get me wrong. I'm just saying it's the season of change, and somehow it seems to internalize also.
Does this mean that if I lived in a climate that was more stable and constant, I would be so also? I don't know. Maybe I should experiment and try it out. But I can't help but admit something. Despite the months of cold blustery winters, or the weeks of musty, dreary rain, or the reddened noses, or the sweltering heat waves and humidity - I love it all. I love where I live because of the vastness of it's climate canvas. It goes all over the place, and is so vibrantly, emphatically, colourful. There is just so much that we get to experience, and yes, I love it.
Similarly, even when I get down in the dumps and break up with hope, when I torment myself with negativity, and then get over it, feeling really stupid about it all, even when I get really excited about the smallest things and go hyper-bananas-crazy and then come back down to earth wondering what the hell's wrong with me - despite it all, I love it. I love the million trillion gazillion shades of me.
It never ceases to amaze me how attuned I am with nature. The day seems to take me under my arms and throw up upward and I rise, and rise and rise, with the gorgeousness around me. Yes, this is definitely Spring.
And it's March! Well, the end of March technically. I realize I had psychologically locked my mind toward experiencing this rapture of springtime in May - my favourite month. When the warmth is really and truly in place, when the unpredictability of the weather has been tamed down, so much that it can be said to be tamed.
And I don't know. I have felt unhinged. Just as unpredictable the weather has been these days - sun, rain, snow, high winds, no wind - it seems that's also been reflective of who and how I have been. Some days I am down in the murky depressing world, and the very next, I seem to suck it all in, and give the optimistic route another try. I seem to portray the typical girl with mood-swings, but it isn't that. Is it ever?
So it's hard to understand women, I hear. Hell, it is hard to understand anyone or anything really, if you try hard enough. Can you understand the weather? Blows hot, blows cold. We observe patterns in wind movement, we recognize hormonal patterns.
But hey, I'm not saying it's all about PMSing. This certainly isn't. I mean, not all this hectic candidness about how I'm fluctuating my moods - don't get me wrong. I'm just saying it's the season of change, and somehow it seems to internalize also.
Does this mean that if I lived in a climate that was more stable and constant, I would be so also? I don't know. Maybe I should experiment and try it out. But I can't help but admit something. Despite the months of cold blustery winters, or the weeks of musty, dreary rain, or the reddened noses, or the sweltering heat waves and humidity - I love it all. I love where I live because of the vastness of it's climate canvas. It goes all over the place, and is so vibrantly, emphatically, colourful. There is just so much that we get to experience, and yes, I love it.
Similarly, even when I get down in the dumps and break up with hope, when I torment myself with negativity, and then get over it, feeling really stupid about it all, even when I get really excited about the smallest things and go hyper-bananas-crazy and then come back down to earth wondering what the hell's wrong with me - despite it all, I love it. I love the million trillion gazillion shades of me.
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Thursday, March 27, 2014
Almost April
It's 2 degrees Celsius, which is a HUGE improvement over the blistering minus 20 degree Celsius weather we'd been facing the past winter. So it should be pretty warm, relatively speaking. And yet, in the slow, gradual and prolonged climb of the temperature, my body's decided to do what it does best and regulate itself.
So I'm still cold. But just not very cold. Oh sure, I should not be complaining, and please don't get me wrong, this isn't really a complaint as such. It's just the curious observation it is. So yes, I've moved on toward wearing t-shirts around the house, and going barefooted, which is a HUGE difference, once again.
But what wouldn't I give for the feeling of toes actually cozy in it's bareness.
So I'm still cold. But just not very cold. Oh sure, I should not be complaining, and please don't get me wrong, this isn't really a complaint as such. It's just the curious observation it is. So yes, I've moved on toward wearing t-shirts around the house, and going barefooted, which is a HUGE difference, once again.
But what wouldn't I give for the feeling of toes actually cozy in it's bareness.
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Wednesday, March 26, 2014
March
This morning when I awoke, I somehow got this beautiful sense of inhaling spring. I know most of you won't be able to comprehend the exact sensation the way I assimilated it since you will have your own climates that make the foundation of what you know weather-wise.
For me, it was that feeling of smelling freshness, in the way the snow melts and the sun bounces off it, the way the breeze seems that much more balmy, and looser. The way it intoxicates the mind with the promise of something yet to come, because right now it's not there yet, but the promise itself is what is intoxicating.
Then I stood for a few moments at the glass door to the backyard, as my kitten did the same, and just soaked up the quiet ambience of pure undiluted sunshine. The 5 feet or so of snow that once filled the yard was diminished, diminishing, now a little section here and there, the scattered remnants of sunflower seeds consumed by our wildlife friends left hulled and empty.
I half closed my eyes, and let myself soak in the sunshine, thinking to myself that yes, it's almost here. But right now it is what is beautiful, and right now is what I shall enjoy.
For me, it was that feeling of smelling freshness, in the way the snow melts and the sun bounces off it, the way the breeze seems that much more balmy, and looser. The way it intoxicates the mind with the promise of something yet to come, because right now it's not there yet, but the promise itself is what is intoxicating.
Then I stood for a few moments at the glass door to the backyard, as my kitten did the same, and just soaked up the quiet ambience of pure undiluted sunshine. The 5 feet or so of snow that once filled the yard was diminished, diminishing, now a little section here and there, the scattered remnants of sunflower seeds consumed by our wildlife friends left hulled and empty.
I half closed my eyes, and let myself soak in the sunshine, thinking to myself that yes, it's almost here. But right now it is what is beautiful, and right now is what I shall enjoy.
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Friday, January 31, 2014
& Change
My goodness, Change, how much I can write about thee.
Within the last few days, I've been ruminating about this phenomenon, change. It is, in continuation to my last post, a fundamental of life itself. But somehow, just yesterday morning, while walking outside at dawn heading to work, it occurred to me that change itself is such an abstraction by it's vulnerability to perception. Because that's all it is really: a metaphysical cognitive effect created by our mind's ability to fragment time and circumstance by our perception of them.
When you break it down again, everything in life is pretty much a creation of our own perception. Life itself is this perception. So it could be said that life as we know it, is only existing by our awareness of it. Thus: "I think therefore I am."
Under that 'clichéd' umbrella, it all seems pretty obvious. So much in life already is simplified and taken as understood, but then somehow without actually considering them, we might be living an unappreciated life that is bereft of further enlightenment. "Everything seems simple until you think about it." ― Audrey Niffenegger, The Time Traveler's Wife.
I took those few steps out the door and that's when it occurred to me that the sun's up, and it's pretty much been daylight for quite some time. And yet, I had come to overlook this, not by any carelessness, but due to two reasons, the first: that I had in my many years already come to accept the state of the day as how it came; in a nutshell, I took it for granted simply because this was the pattern that occurred each year; and secondly: so slight the increment in changing sunrise had been day to day that it became unnoticeable to my eye.
P.S. If you're looking for more to read, interestingly, I wrote about Change years ago (in 2009!) and you can find that post here.
Within the last few days, I've been ruminating about this phenomenon, change. It is, in continuation to my last post, a fundamental of life itself. But somehow, just yesterday morning, while walking outside at dawn heading to work, it occurred to me that change itself is such an abstraction by it's vulnerability to perception. Because that's all it is really: a metaphysical cognitive effect created by our mind's ability to fragment time and circumstance by our perception of them.
When you break it down again, everything in life is pretty much a creation of our own perception. Life itself is this perception. So it could be said that life as we know it, is only existing by our awareness of it. Thus: "I think therefore I am."
Under that 'clichéd' umbrella, it all seems pretty obvious. So much in life already is simplified and taken as understood, but then somehow without actually considering them, we might be living an unappreciated life that is bereft of further enlightenment. "Everything seems simple until you think about it." ― Audrey Niffenegger, The Time Traveler's Wife.
I took those few steps out the door and that's when it occurred to me that the sun's up, and it's pretty much been daylight for quite some time. And yet, I had come to overlook this, not by any carelessness, but due to two reasons, the first: that I had in my many years already come to accept the state of the day as how it came; in a nutshell, I took it for granted simply because this was the pattern that occurred each year; and secondly: so slight the increment in changing sunrise had been day to day that it became unnoticeable to my eye.
Both reasons harken to the very aspect of perspective. What exactly demarcated this phenomenon, change? Was it that which happened day to day? Or year by year? Or minute by minute? Yes, but of course everything fell under the category for measuring change, but change itself was changing through that individual acting as observer. So, far be it for me to wake even earlier each day to observe the lightening of the day from dark dusk to the second by second gradual changing of the morning sky and say with satisfaction, Eureka, I have witnessed change in its full glory. Rather, I awaken each day at the same time, while everything externally does whatever it's meant to do, with or without me, and thus my instrument of observation has significantly increased its unit of measurement: my observation of change bears witness every 24 hours.
So what? Well, so much simply just gets lost in the tumult of life. And that's sort of ironic considering that all this is life. So much just goes by unobserved, and while that bears little significance to our daily duties and responsibilities which seem to take much higher priority in contrast to dilly-dallying about thinking idle philosophies, perhaps the weight of our burdens would be so much lighter if we did, because by our neglect of these observations we lose the ability to appreciate.
This morning I walked outside, all bundled up like I usually am this winter. But suddenly it occurred to me, this is such a beautiful day. Sure, it was grey, the sun was not out, but a sort of balmy breeze was blowing and it wasn't the frigid cold wind that had been gusting the day before. The thing is, it was still -5C, and like I'd said before in Homeostasis, this is still a relatively low temperature. But but but, it was NOT, not to my perspective in that moment; I took that moment to observe that the weather was beautiful in comparison to the day before, and for that one moment - a mere few seconds - my observation heightened my appreciation for the near future; in fact, it made my entire day (thus far) so much more appreciable. The tiny injection of appreciation simply by my act of observing something I could have just as easily not notice made my own mood so much more greater, making my interactions with my coworkers also greatly more amiable, injecting energy into my own work, and also putting a smile of satisfaction and contentment on my bosses, all coming back around to benefit me. So there you have it.
Today is a beautiful day, what can I say? (Oh yeah maybe it being Friday has some relevance also)
P.S. If you're looking for more to read, interestingly, I wrote about Change years ago (in 2009!) and you can find that post here.
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Wednesday, January 22, 2014
Homeostasis
Despite my appreciation of the few glimpses of sunshine that I've witnessed in the past few days (re: Illumine post on Lucid Iridescence) the Winter seems to refuse to give ground and relent. In fact, it's been a tease; edging back just a few degrees to give us just a little hope and warmth, to only return in full splendour with it's mind-numbing plunging negative double digit centigrades.
One thing I have also considered is how variable the mind and body is with regards to what we define as cold and hot. A co-blogger has dedicated a few posts in decrying the winter cold that has been killing him every morning where he has to take a bath. The first time I read this, I raised an eyebrow, then performed a quick Google search: Bangalore temperature. Result: 23 degrees Celsius. And that is COLD.
That's COLD? I would easily chop my much beloved hair off if I could have 23°C right now. I've been numbed down into accepting -10°C as mere warmth, just by the relativity of having to endure -30°C temperatures for way way too long.
Then I had to step back and also admit that in 23°C in Summer, I get really cold just by a mere cool breeze. I abhor air conditioning, and I actually love sitting in just-opened baked interior of a vehicle. Yes, I love heat. But yes, I do also get a bit irritable in those absolute sizzling humid days with no air to breathe.
I often try to keep in mind the possibilities I could have been experiencing when I am stuck in such extremes. On the coldest days, since I was a little kiddo, I had this tendency of announcing that this frigid temperature was nothing but a hot tropical day, and would envision the palm trees, white sands and turquoise waters that were requisite to that fantasy. Of course, this was usually met with weird and blank looks and, from those who had the temerity to do so, such as my sister, the odd rude comment.
Did it help? I would say that yes, for some weird psychologically-rooted reason, it did. Maybe it was just that element of perspective that endorses the saying "mind over matter". In the same way that telling myself that other people had it worse out there, that my hunger was just a petty thing in the big picture, or that my heartbreak was a damned luxury when you consider the poverty and hardship others endure. Perspective.
Then again, I wonder, why was it so difficult to retain that capacity to endure whatever varying temperature per season? For example, when I feel that 0°C is actually a veritable holiday after all these weeks of -20°C etc., why could my body not appreciate this when in Summer, I felt that a drop from 30°C to 25°C was devastatingly cold?
Again, I recalled how chilled to the bone I had been when, in September and October, I was hugging myself and blinking away wind-borne tears from my eyes as the wind whipped me at a mere temperature of 5°C. To consider 5°C now would have me bouncing off the walls with joy!
Of course it's all because of our damned physiological system. Homeostasis. We're warm-blooded, so go figure: this is all for our own survival. Yeah, but but...Aahhhh. Patience. Patience. This is all a lesson in patience. Breeeeaaaath.
One thing I have also considered is how variable the mind and body is with regards to what we define as cold and hot. A co-blogger has dedicated a few posts in decrying the winter cold that has been killing him every morning where he has to take a bath. The first time I read this, I raised an eyebrow, then performed a quick Google search: Bangalore temperature. Result: 23 degrees Celsius. And that is COLD.
That's COLD? I would easily chop my much beloved hair off if I could have 23°C right now. I've been numbed down into accepting -10°C as mere warmth, just by the relativity of having to endure -30°C temperatures for way way too long.
Then I had to step back and also admit that in 23°C in Summer, I get really cold just by a mere cool breeze. I abhor air conditioning, and I actually love sitting in just-opened baked interior of a vehicle. Yes, I love heat. But yes, I do also get a bit irritable in those absolute sizzling humid days with no air to breathe.
I often try to keep in mind the possibilities I could have been experiencing when I am stuck in such extremes. On the coldest days, since I was a little kiddo, I had this tendency of announcing that this frigid temperature was nothing but a hot tropical day, and would envision the palm trees, white sands and turquoise waters that were requisite to that fantasy. Of course, this was usually met with weird and blank looks and, from those who had the temerity to do so, such as my sister, the odd rude comment.
Did it help? I would say that yes, for some weird psychologically-rooted reason, it did. Maybe it was just that element of perspective that endorses the saying "mind over matter". In the same way that telling myself that other people had it worse out there, that my hunger was just a petty thing in the big picture, or that my heartbreak was a damned luxury when you consider the poverty and hardship others endure. Perspective.
Then again, I wonder, why was it so difficult to retain that capacity to endure whatever varying temperature per season? For example, when I feel that 0°C is actually a veritable holiday after all these weeks of -20°C etc., why could my body not appreciate this when in Summer, I felt that a drop from 30°C to 25°C was devastatingly cold?
Again, I recalled how chilled to the bone I had been when, in September and October, I was hugging myself and blinking away wind-borne tears from my eyes as the wind whipped me at a mere temperature of 5°C. To consider 5°C now would have me bouncing off the walls with joy!
Of course it's all because of our damned physiological system. Homeostasis. We're warm-blooded, so go figure: this is all for our own survival. Yeah, but but...Aahhhh. Patience. Patience. This is all a lesson in patience. Breeeeaaaath.
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Monday, January 13, 2014
Morningness
Immediately as I stepped out my front door, I felt it. Morningness.
"Morningness" isn't a word, of course, and it goes without saying - yet of course, by saying this I am nevertheless saying it - that with every day that comes as naturally as has been done for eons and eras, we witness a morning. Well, 'we' also should be stipulated to mean the collective best known as humankind since not all of us are awake to actually bear witness to this event. But anyways: morningness. Every morning, technically, is a morning. (WOW - full marks for genius). And yet, this morning, something differed, something that made me immediately think 'yes finally, this is morning'.
I am a morning child. I was born in the quiet sunshine of a quiet morning, and that may or may not have anything to do with my being a morning person. I will admit that despite this assertion, I usually do have to force myself to open my eyes, and pull myself out of bed. But that shall be explained in good time.
And that good time is now. I don't consider 'morningness' to be what happens in the cold, dark, grimy and gloomy mornings of the North American winter. Ugh. Ok, that said, new point to note: I am a summer child. Born in the teetering warmth that is already tipping over to welcome the cooler Autumn, that's me. But then agian, Spring is my favourite season. Yeah, confusing you with all these random observations?
To the point: this morning I stepped outside, and I was not ambushed by the frigid fingers of unbearable cold wind that had, for the last few months, clawed itself at me, trying to get a hold on my warmth; seeping through my 109480194 layers, sliding under my hoods, slipping into my boots, clutching onto tendrils of hair escaping under its onslaught. No sirree, none of that today.
Today, there was a quiet peace. I almost felt like I was stepping out into a beautiful summer day, because the wind was not howling, and there was a stillness that I almost forgot could exist outside. I walked down my driveway and didn't feel the treacherous slippery ice below. Slowly, almost holding my breath while taking all this in, the bubble of ecstasy grew. And grew:
For up in the sky, was colour. Fuschia intermingling with clementine tangerine oranges, flirting with tendrils of white and sky blue. Splashed out far and wide, and not one bit ashamed of itself. Which, I do say, it should be, for having hid itself from me all these months! But, my word, it was simply beautiful.
I almost danced a jig.
"Morningness" isn't a word, of course, and it goes without saying - yet of course, by saying this I am nevertheless saying it - that with every day that comes as naturally as has been done for eons and eras, we witness a morning. Well, 'we' also should be stipulated to mean the collective best known as humankind since not all of us are awake to actually bear witness to this event. But anyways: morningness. Every morning, technically, is a morning. (WOW - full marks for genius). And yet, this morning, something differed, something that made me immediately think 'yes finally, this is morning'.
I am a morning child. I was born in the quiet sunshine of a quiet morning, and that may or may not have anything to do with my being a morning person. I will admit that despite this assertion, I usually do have to force myself to open my eyes, and pull myself out of bed. But that shall be explained in good time.
And that good time is now. I don't consider 'morningness' to be what happens in the cold, dark, grimy and gloomy mornings of the North American winter. Ugh. Ok, that said, new point to note: I am a summer child. Born in the teetering warmth that is already tipping over to welcome the cooler Autumn, that's me. But then agian, Spring is my favourite season. Yeah, confusing you with all these random observations?
To the point: this morning I stepped outside, and I was not ambushed by the frigid fingers of unbearable cold wind that had, for the last few months, clawed itself at me, trying to get a hold on my warmth; seeping through my 109480194 layers, sliding under my hoods, slipping into my boots, clutching onto tendrils of hair escaping under its onslaught. No sirree, none of that today.
Today, there was a quiet peace. I almost felt like I was stepping out into a beautiful summer day, because the wind was not howling, and there was a stillness that I almost forgot could exist outside. I walked down my driveway and didn't feel the treacherous slippery ice below. Slowly, almost holding my breath while taking all this in, the bubble of ecstasy grew. And grew:
For up in the sky, was colour. Fuschia intermingling with clementine tangerine oranges, flirting with tendrils of white and sky blue. Splashed out far and wide, and not one bit ashamed of itself. Which, I do say, it should be, for having hid itself from me all these months! But, my word, it was simply beautiful.
I almost danced a jig.
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Friday, November 22, 2013
Moderob
Technically, I don't really subscribe to boredom. Not really. Of course, by careless habit, I do use the word to describe a certain circumstance, for example, I was caught out recently by having declared that my 'Sunday was quite boring'. So perhaps to say otherwise may seem somewhat hypocritical. But I aim to elaborate on what I mean by not really meaning it.
In a nutshell, I have this simple habit of being able to just simply think. That's it. And I do realize I have perhaps already discussed this issue of boredom before, however there is much in life that does require repetition, so I continue. I think. I mean, I can simply sit, and lose myself totally in my mind. I do this quite often, no matter where I am, and in what circumstances I may be amidst.
In fact I am discussing it right now simply because I caught myself doing this. I had opened my blog to a new blank post, and sat for a few still minutes, just trying to lose myself in that realm where that certain mood and state of mind would open up to me. It's a portal of sorts, I guess. So there I was, just vaguely thinking this and that, remniscing about certain things -- such as the fact that just a few minutes earlier I had gone back to my very first post on Super and how strange it was to contemplate the various personas one could be all within one body -- and then I blinked. That's when I noted what it was I was doing. Thinking.
Sometimes I wonder what those around me might think, observing this girl simply sitting, quite still, and doing nothing, but seeming entirely absent, I'd hazard to guess.
Well, sometimes I catch a glimpse of myself when I am doing it. Sitting on the bus, for instance, heading home, and thinking, thinking, thinking, and it's evening and then I see a familiar face, and hey, that's me reflected in the window pane. Hello sexy.
Oh yes. I do have to admit, I probably spend a good deal of time observing my reflection. I think it's another mode of operandi, being able to reflect. Pun intended, yet this remark was quite genuine, nevertheless. I find it opens up another portal I guess, when I'm looking back through my own eyes. It's also a bit of vanity; I admire myself quite shamelessly, I like what I see. But again, often I lose myself in thought and don't really realize what I am literally looking at.
So that's why I don't really believe in boredom. Because no matter what, even if I don't have a book or music to keep me entertained, I always have my mind. And that's the best accessory a girl* can have.
*Not to exclude the other gender; context meant relative to author's gender.
In a nutshell, I have this simple habit of being able to just simply think. That's it. And I do realize I have perhaps already discussed this issue of boredom before, however there is much in life that does require repetition, so I continue. I think. I mean, I can simply sit, and lose myself totally in my mind. I do this quite often, no matter where I am, and in what circumstances I may be amidst.
In fact I am discussing it right now simply because I caught myself doing this. I had opened my blog to a new blank post, and sat for a few still minutes, just trying to lose myself in that realm where that certain mood and state of mind would open up to me. It's a portal of sorts, I guess. So there I was, just vaguely thinking this and that, remniscing about certain things -- such as the fact that just a few minutes earlier I had gone back to my very first post on Super and how strange it was to contemplate the various personas one could be all within one body -- and then I blinked. That's when I noted what it was I was doing. Thinking.
Sometimes I wonder what those around me might think, observing this girl simply sitting, quite still, and doing nothing, but seeming entirely absent, I'd hazard to guess.
Well, sometimes I catch a glimpse of myself when I am doing it. Sitting on the bus, for instance, heading home, and thinking, thinking, thinking, and it's evening and then I see a familiar face, and hey, that's me reflected in the window pane. Hello sexy.
Oh yes. I do have to admit, I probably spend a good deal of time observing my reflection. I think it's another mode of operandi, being able to reflect. Pun intended, yet this remark was quite genuine, nevertheless. I find it opens up another portal I guess, when I'm looking back through my own eyes. It's also a bit of vanity; I admire myself quite shamelessly, I like what I see. But again, often I lose myself in thought and don't really realize what I am literally looking at.
So that's why I don't really believe in boredom. Because no matter what, even if I don't have a book or music to keep me entertained, I always have my mind. And that's the best accessory a girl* can have.
*Not to exclude the other gender; context meant relative to author's gender.
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Saturday, November 16, 2013
Let There Be Light
In regards to my last post pertaining to the phantom streetlight, I tried something amazingly weird, but quite expected from me.
One evening when I got off the bus, and then routinely crossed the road to start that walk along that same curve of the sidewalk, the song I had been listening to ended, and suddenly out of the blue (well of course out of the blue, since I set my music player on random shuffle) "that" song started to play. I'm going to just refer to the song in particular as "that" song because my god it's one of those songs that just act like wind beneath my wings, it's one of "those" songs that make me feel like falling in love again (the odd thing is that the refrain actually says something along those lines). Consequently, I had crossed the road to grin to myself in delight, and entered into that feeling of mine where I'm absolutely about to start dancing on the streets all alone (and yes alone I was at that time of evening, thankfully), and the wind was just so, you know? Like it wasn't all that cold and blowing that frigid arctic wind, it had that...extra bit of something, a little bit of warmth that if you were in an optimistic mood, you'd breathe right in with contentment, and forget that it had been almost snowing earlier in the day.
Anyways, in that mood, I was ready to smile at everyone and anything, and I sort of was, I guess, and I was coming around that bend in the sidwalk and for whatever weird reason I decided to look up at my friend the Streetlight before I actually reached it, and wave and point at it and say "ON!" in my head and lo and behold, it lit up brightly. I blinked to myself, but I was so buoyantly happy for that bit of time that evening that I didn't really think twice about it, in fact the amazement of that actually happening just meshed right in with my already happy mood. The other streetlights glowed their usual orangey hue somewhat dimly, in my opinion, whereas my friend the Streetlight was that bright fluorescent white.
And I know this is really a weird thing to be discussing, but I'm sharing it simply because it really happened. In fact, I decided to experiment again the following days. The next day, however, wasn't that great a day for me, and I ended up being super exhausted and overly emotional by the day's end. I trudged my way home in my growly state and my friend decided to go out completely as I passed under it. The next day was the same. The next consecutive day, I was again in a better frame of mind, though definitely nothing like that buoyant evening I had almost danced my way home when "that" song had come on. This time though, I was prepared, or I thought I was. I had chosen to play "Stereo Love" for the fact that I really love it and then as I was making my way around that bend, just before I approached My Friend, I suddenly hesitated at the song; I got a flashback and a realization that in fact the lyrics aren't that happy in context. In that moment, the damn Streetlight went out again. Sigh.
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