The high mountains of Portugal - Yann Martel

The book contains 3 short stories which are inter-connected; I find this format of writing rather interesting and reminds me of the butterfly effect. Obviously set in Portugal, the first story featured Tomas, a strange man who walked backwards because of his grief over the deaths of his lover and son. At the museum he worked, Tomas chanced upon a journal by a priest- Father Ulisees and was intrigued by a crucifix the priest created in a remote part of Portugal. Tomas was a man angry with God for taking away his son and wanted to find a way to seek revenge-the strange crucifix was the answer. Tomas was bent on locating the crucifix and bringing it back to Lisboa to mock God. Borrowing his rich uncle’s automobile (a strange contraption in that era),Tomas embarked on an arduous journey which became a little absurd and funny, with him getting lice, chased and attacked by horsemen and a village idiot’s mother, the car half gone after an explosion. On the last leg of his journey, Tomas ran over a small boy with fair hair and blue eyes, unusual for this part of the world. He left the boy on the side of the road and drove off.

After not finding the crucifix at several plausible churches, he chanced upon a small church which he had intended to skip and finally found what he was looking for- Jesus depicted as an ape on the crucifix. He was elated at first but then it quickly turned to grief: so what if he had found the crucifix? He was still a man who had lost everything he loved. He ran back to his automobile and cried, “father, I need you!” The priest of the church ran to Tomas and that was the end of the story.

The second story’s central character was a pathologist named Eusebio. In his office one late night, he received a visit from his wife, Maria, who began excitedly telling him of the link between Agatha christie’s Novels and the Bible. I got a little irked when the author got his facts wrong. Maria said none of the 4 canonical gospels ever witnessed Christ and had only written the accounts based on other eye witnesses. However, both John and Matthew were 2 of the 12 chosen apostles! Not sure how he could have gotten this information wrong. Of the three stories, this was the strangest. After Maria left, Eusebio received a visit from an old peasant woman also named Maria. In her suitcase she carried the dead body of her husband- rafael Castro and requested for an autopsy stat. What came out of her husband’s body were strange times like flute, dice, and whatnots, followed by a chimpanzee and a bear cub. The woman later asked to be sewn into her husband’s body together with the chimp and bear. Prior to the autopsy the woman had recounted how their son, given to them in old age, had been killed one day while with her husband for a job. The boy was of fair hair and blue eyes and loved by all. The death of the boy changed everything for the couple, with her husband so ridden by grief and guilt that he started walking backwards (he had seen tomas doing so).  The boy was killed by tomas’ automobile.

The third story although a little strange, was interesting. A Canadian senator, peter was visiting the United States, went to an ape research Centre and found an intense connection with an ape. He adopted the ape and dropped everything in Canada, and moved to the high mountains of Portugal where his parents were originally from. Peter had just lost his wife Clara and this move seemed to be a rash decision to escape grief. However, peter and Odo the ape formed a bond resembling love and were inseparable. As fate would have it, peter later found out that the house he was renting was his ancestral home. In the attic, Odo found a suitcase of strange items- a flute, dice, etc and a note describing the autopsy of Rafael Castro, which he found incredulous- a chimp and a bear in a dead body! Peter and Odo loved taking walks together and on one particular walk, Odo spotted the rare iberican rhinoceros and pointed it out excitedly to Peter. Peter then suffered a cardiac arrest and died due to the strenuous climb. Odo mourned for Peter and returned to the wild. I know I’m not doing the book enough justice. It’s a lovely perhaps obscure read, kinda refreshing.

All the light we cannot see - Anthony Doerr

The title of the book seems almost poetic. The story was set in france during WWII and I absolutely loved the book. It reminded me a tad of the book thief, with one of the central characters resembling to me, Rudy.
Marie-laure was a blind French girl who lived alone with her father in a small apartment in Paris. When france was invaded by Germany, father and daughter escaped to Saint-malo, a small coastal town to seek refuge with Marie-Laure’s eccentric grand-uncle, Etienne. On Marie-laure’s father, was a precious gem called the sea of flames which was entrusted to him by the museum he worked in. The gem was believed to be cursed, offering protection to its holder but misfortunes to those around them. The story moved between Marie-Laure and Werner, an intelligent orphan boy in Germany. Gifted in radio, Werner applied for military school to escape his destiny - a coal miner- something which he would live to regret. Fellow boys in the school were like predators, constantly seeking out the weak and eliminating them. Werner’s best friend ended up with permanent brain damage after a vicious attack in the school. This left Werner even more disillusioned with the military. Soon he was sent into the field to seek enemies through the scanning of radio signals. One operation which he was involved in left a young innocent girl dead.
When Werner neared Saint-malo, he detected strange familiar recordings which he once heard when he was a kid fascinated with science. The recordings were done by etienne and his brother. This eventually led Werner to Marie-Laure. He however kept his finding a secret and saved Marie-Laure when a German soldier who was in pursuit of the sea of flames found Marie-Laure’s residence. Although Werner and Marie-Laure only had a short meeting, he fell in love with her. Things didn’t end beautifully with Werner captured and subsequently died when he stepped on a land mine planted by the Germans. Marie-Laure however lived a long life and went on to become a director at the museum her father worked in Paris.
What did I love about the book? I’m not sure. It’s simple yet moving, juxtaposes the dark and light sides of human nature, love, sufferings, hope, death. It’s chilling how war pushes a normal human being into one who’s capable of killing fellow human beings in cold blood. Can I imagine myself being capable of such acts if the situation calls for it? When someone declares an “enemy”, when there is something precious to defend, do we naturally transform to killing machines? I don’t know.

 Such was a poet and shall be and is
-who'll solve the depths of horror to defend a sunbeam's architecture with his life: and carve immortal jungles of despair to hold a mountain's heartbeat in his hand.
Ee Cummings 

havent been writing much...guess my words were all spent after the exams... my days are just rolling into one and I know in a blink of the eye, i will be trudging back to school again.
There are a million thoughts on my mind (ok, exaggerating a bit here) but they are all incoherent and I cant make sense of them. There are times when I wanted to do something, say yes to things, but there's always an invisible thread that pulls me back. What am I afraid of finding? What am I afraid of you finding? That none of these are real, that we have just been living in our own little world of illusions? Sometimes it's frightening how people hold the strings to your life- every move they make, every decision they make, the things they do or dont do, they all have the power to bring you up or tear you down.

I guess I still lack the maturity and courage to tell things as it is- no holds bar. always considering what others might think, how they might judge, making wild guesses at their next step if I say/do something....why do we care so much about these things? Would the truth set us free or would it just shatter all our hopes and dreams? I wish I could say the things I wanna say to you although I am not sure if it would change anything or perhaps even ruin everything... What am i expecting really?

It's funny how almost everyone who walks into our lives has the potential to change our lives. It may be a small suggestion they make, which changes the decisions we make, which leads us onto a completely different path. Take for instance, it could be an acquaintance who suggested a course at school to you, which led you into considering it, and eventually taking it, and which then completely alters your life- career, the people you subsequently meet, the lifestyle you lead as a result of your career choice, etc.

on an unrelated note, currently reading All the Light We Cannot See. Beautiful read set during the Second World War. It's appalling how war can change a normal man into a merciless killing machine and for what, really...a mad man's greed....

boots of spanish leather

missed this song... tried it on the uke but cant really sing it. 

But if I had the stars of the darkest night
And the diamonds from the deepest ocean
I'd forsake them all for your sweet kiss
For that's all I'm wishin' to be ownin'

We choose who we want to be,
A clown, a fool.
Believing in castles on the clouds
Someday, these things that made you,
will be the things that trip you.
I stopped believing today,
a wakening,
a bolt of truth in the dark.
Blinded for too long,
believing for too long,
all that had glittered like gold,
drawing us closer to the fire,
hearts a-stolen,
and I sold my soul for coals.
What you had given,
What I had given,
are the truths only we know.

White fangs - jack london

Although a delightful read, it was too similar to call of the wild and I felt call of the wild was a better read. The beginning of white fangs felt too disconnected from the rest of the plot and I didn’t really know where the book was going, until the appearance of white fang. The reader follows the journey of wolf-dog white fang when he was a cub till he settled as a pet dog in California. While hunting in the wild, white fang and his mother came upon the natives and followed them as sled dogs as his mother kiche had once belonged to them. Attacked by other dogs, white fang led a lonely life in the camp with only his mother as his support and protector. This changed when she was dispatched away for a job and white fang was left to fend for himself. White fang never felt affection from his master and didnt have an inkling of an idea of love, companionship, being an enemy to the dogs and as a “comodity” to his human master.
Tired of being bound to the camp, white fang decided not to leave with his master when they moved camps. However, after a night of being alone and not having the luxury of food, white fang decided that having a master was better than having to fend for himself in the wild. Lucky dog that he was, he managed to track his master down after an exhausting journey.
Things took a wrong turn when he was sold to a cruel man, Beauty Smith, who wanted white fang for dog fighting. He lured white fang’s master with drinks and successfully acquired white fang. White fang was caged and tortured in order to mould him into a ferocious, fearsome animal. With his wits and tricks, white fang won fight after fight till one fight with an unexpected opponent- a bull dog. White fang almost died in the fight but was saved by mr Scott, who adopted white fang. However, white fang had a deep mistrust of mankind and let no one near him. He was about to be put down when Scott decided to give him a second chance, knowing his history of maltreatment. White fang was finally won over by scott’s patience and pledged full loyalty to him. He lived his life solely for the affection of his new master, allowing no one else into his life. White fang almost died of grief when Scott had to go away from camp. Upon his return, white fang knew things were not right and that Scott was packing up and leaving for good. On the day of departure, White fang broke through a window just to see his master going away. Scott changed his mind and decided to bring white fang to California with him. Imagine, a wolf-dog in California!
Being a smart dog, white fang started to learn the way of life in urban California. He knew when to attack vile humans and who he should allow to pet him or to go near his beloved master. Still, white fang trusted no dogs and tolerated his master’s humans. Very soon, white fang fathered cubs with a sheepdog and I guess that began the story of Buck in call of the wild.
I thought the love of white fang for Scott was so beautiful and it kinda make me yearn for a wolf-dog.

an imperfect world,
we chase after perfections,
of silver and neon lights,
of diamonds and lust,
of things made of dust.

joy lies not in perfections

Time

https://qz.com/970924/the-psychological-importance-of-wasting-time/

Protected time for yourself without the guilt.

I've already seen that wall.
Hiding our faces
Could we still see each other's griefs
Joys
And dreams ?

Atonement

Been listening to this song on repeat: was initially attracted by the scene from atonement and fell in love with the song. Loved the movie although it's an absolutely heart-breaking one. Can't rem if I read the book or watched the movie first but it's one of the rare instances where both movie and book are equally good. I think this music video is wonderfully edited as well; it blends perfectly with the song.
https://youtu.be/M8TdZfFprsE

Call of the wild - jack London

I've been seeing this title and author for sometime and decided to put it on the TR list. Finally got round to it and I enjoyed every single bit of the story of Buck. Born to a comfortable life, Buck was a typical pet dog, going on hunting trips with his young masters and being the king of the house. His life changed completely when in a twist of fate, he was betrayed by the gardener and was sold to the Harsh Northland. The story took place during the gold rush and Buck was sold to become a sled dog. My heart ached a bit when he was beaten to submission by the "trainer" with a club. Buck adapted quickly to the harsh condition of the bitter cold North with his wits, strength, and will. Buck was determined to take over Spitz as the top dog, which threatened spitz and resulted in many a fights. Buck with his intelligence and physical finesse finally won Spitz in a fight and emerged as top dog. The days blended into one another with the sled dogs traveling thousands of miles to transport mails and such. Days were good as the drivers were experienced and treated the dogs with care until one day, the dogs were sold to two inexperienced men (and a woman), who overloaded the sled, covered the miles too slowly, ran out of food, starved the dogs till one by one they died. Buck was only safe when the group landed in John Thornton's camp. Buck refused to leave the camp as he was exhausted and suffered from severe malnutrition, and Morton stepped in to stop the beating from his ignorant and cruel master.
Despite morton's warning not to travel across the precarious icy land in spring, the group ventured on and was swallowed alive into the vast, merciless landscape.

Buck adored the man who saved his life and seemed to be set for a happy-ever-after ending. All was good but Buck constantly saw and felt the past which belonged to his first ancestors. The wild called to him and he often responded to it by venturing alone into the forest for days. However his love for Morton always brought him back to the camp. Such happiness ended when the entire Morton camp was slaughtered by the natives. Buck was furious and similarly attacked and killed the natives, gaining him a reputation of ghost dog. Buck lived his life with wolves and acknowledged his ancestry as a majestic wolf dog and roamed the wild.
I love how jack London injected a touch of  humantiy into Buck and how wonderfully the emotions and thoughts of Buck were portrayed. I love the wit and strength of Buck and how his love for his master knew no boundaries. The story was heart-wrenching in a few places when Buck suffered from mistreatment from his owners and when Buck lost morton.
Fantastic piece of writing.

We are just going round in circles
Slowly spinning out of each other's universe.
Picking up the pieces,
Of all that had been shattered.
Do I rejoice, do I weep,
For a day wasted, for a day lived?
We said our goodbyes,
With eyes that were dry.
No tears to be shed,
For a day wasted, for a day lived.

The strange library - haruki murakami

started reading Toni morrison's beloved but after reading a few chapters, I got bored and confused. Thank god this is not the first Morrison book that I read otherwise I would have excluded it from my reading repertoire.
Went on to read the strange library... it's more of a children's book albeit a dark one than adult fiction- a little puzzled why it was shelved under adult fiction in the library.
It was quite an interesting 15-min read-that's how short the book is. The story revolved around a boy of 11 who went to his neighborhood's library asking for books on tax collection in the Ottoman Empire. What he received was a nightmare. The mysterious old librarian gave him three books and insisted that he went to the reading room to read those books, as those books were not meant to be checked out. Being an obliging boy who couldn't say no, he agreed to follow the old man to the reading room which was in a maze of sorts. Alas, he was tricked and was imprisoned by the old man. The condition for his release? Memorization of all the three books in a month's time.
Together with the old man's "slave", the sheep-man, they planned their escape, as the boy realized the horrific reason behind his imprisonment- his brain. The old man had an appetite for brains that were made more delicious by memorization.
They made their prison break after a harrowing experience through the maze and a full frontal confrontation with the old man. The boy returned to his home, finding his mother nonchalant about his disappearance. It was like nothing ever happened except that his shoes and dog were missing- both victims of the old man's antics.

Moving on to jack london's call of the wild. It's kinda sad now that I can only start reading in the wee hours since there just isn't much time left after dealing with the many demands of life. 😂 I should really be sleeping....

Feeling frustrated...although it's the sem break, i dont think it was a real break in any sense of the word. collected data today, joining study group tomorrow, and tons of reading to catch up on. Was real disappointed with the quiz results I received today although it was slightly above (a real slight one) the median score. I was kinda expecting to score on this one but alas, one should not be over-confident.
I'm really not sure how else I could do better.

Sem break this week.. think i did horribly for piano exam..why do i suffer from performance anxiety? arghh
Borrowed three books from the library- toni morrison's beloved, Haruki Murakami's The strange library (for obvious reasons), and Jack London's Call of the Wild and White Fang.
Wonder if I am being a tad ambitious to want to read all these during sem break, while playing catch up with school work and projects... Falling way behind in class.
no inspiration to write anything...wanted to watch Tom Hank's California Typewriter but couldnt find it anywhere... He published a fictional work recently but I read a preview of it and found it a little stiff.
Would love to own a typewriter one of these days...
Havent found anything interesting to obsess about these days and my hobbies have been pared down to the occasional piano and ukulele playing and calligraphy.
I'm boring myself to death.
Thinking of visiting somewhere in the next sem break but not sure if I could get away...Somewhere cold would be nice.

It's gonna be another crazy week. Took a short breather yesterday after the test and then it's back to rushing out assignment and projects. Doesn't help that piano exam is on this Thursday.
I feel like I've split myself up too much- work, school, piano, church, research, family, friends and that I am failing on all aspects because there is just no way I can catch up on everything.
Cant wait for the week to be over.


You and your mysterious ways,
All the things I cannot grasp.
I would have sailed with you to the ends of the world,
to count the sunsets and the stars,
to lose our ways and then more.
But then I woke and realised,
I am in this dream alone.

Just wanna bundle up and read books.....

I've gone back to writing in an actual journal albeit a little inconsistently. I realized my handwriting has changed over the years although I can't really say if it's for the better or for worse. Anyways the horrible illegible writing comes back to haunt me at tests/exams. I've no idea how to control my hand under pressure.
Been whining too much over the lack of time. I need to get over it seriously and stop getting distracted by a million and one things.
Been thinking about food a lil too much when I'm studying. I don't know why. Studying makes one hungry ☹️

lyrics- sunsetz

Sun sets, I want to hear your voice
A love that nobody could destroy
Took photographs like Brautigan's
Book covers that we both adored

And when you go away, I still see you
The sunlight on your face in my rearview
This always happens to me this way
Recurring visions of such sweet days

And when you go away, I still see you
The sunlight on your face in my rearview
When you go away, I still see you
The sunlight on your face in my rearview


I really like the chorus.. when you go away i still see u.. the sunlight on your face in my rear view...

Schedule's been insane. Thought I would have time to pursue hobbies during the day before school but it has just been assignment after assignment, reading after reading. Barely have time to do anything else.
I wish to paint more, write more, and read more, perhaps will have to wait till December when school's out for a while.
Wonder when I can go traveling again. December would be a nice time to visit Europe again with its' Christmas markets. Nothing beats a cup of vin chaud in winter.

Let us disappear for a while
Into the twilight
The bewitching hour of the in-betweens,
Where we wait for the gentle moonlight.
Sorrows will be forgotten
Laughters begotten
Just you and I,
The in-betweens.

you sat there counting stars,
And I wonder who was on your mind.
You sat there with the wind in your hair,
And I wonder whose face you caressed.
You sat there humming an old song,
And I wonder whose lips you kissed.

Was I ever in your heart?
Where did I ever reside?
Do you think of me,
Only when your nights are bare?

Like a ghost, you are always there but never really there.

Toni Morrison - Home

finished the book in one seating right after loaning it from the library. Morrison is a very visual kind of writer; the imageries that she created with her writing are sometimes shocking and vivid. I quite enjoyed her style. The novel Home is a relatively short one which revolved around the lives of a frank Money and his sister Cee. Frank and Cee came from an impoverished family in a rural town, Lotus, and grew up under the care of their evil step-grandma, Lenore and bummish grandfather Salem. Cee was despised by Lenore as she was borne on the streets and was regarded as a jinx but Cee was loved and protected by Frank. However when frank left to enlist in the army, Cee was left to her own devices and made the mistake of marrying Prince whom dumped her after leaving with Lenore's car to the city.
On another side of the world, frank suffered from PTSD after the war and took to drinking. Apart from Losing his two best friends from home, frank had a dark secret which he eventually revealed near the end of the book. Frank was on the way to self-destruction until he received a letter saying that his sister was dying and needed his rescue.
Cee had been working as a nurse for a nice doctor who eventually turned out to be Frankenstein of sort, drugging her and conducting experiments on her. Cee was on the brink of death until Frank appeared and both of them returned to the home they had abhorred in their youth. In lotus, the community spirit and love nursed Cee back to life. The ending was beautiful... the sense of losing something, finding it, and that peace of returning home.

Lost sleep over the week... school has barely started and I am all stressed out after realizing I have very little time left after scheduling in classes, work, thesis, revision... not to mention coming assignments, tests, projects. Kinda regret committing to 2 days/ week of work.

Finding it hard to concentrate on textbook reading, get distracted every 10min. Sigh... my life.

Sometimes I wish I could be the type to walk away from things and not feel guilty. people pulling u away to attend to other needs of theirs...I wonder how some pple can just turn a blind eye and not feel anything. I struggle so much with this.. on one hand I feel bad to not care on the other hand I feel bad that I'm not attending to the to-do list of my own...I then began to think why isn't so and so contributing help to those in the group who needed it? Why is it always the same few pple contributing? I began comparing and judging and felt disappointed that some pple could be uncaring enough to just shut themselves off.
But then this passage came to mind:

Peter was hurt that Jesus asked the question a third time. He said, “Lord, you know everything. You know that I love you.”

Jesus said, “Then feed my sheep.

18“I tell you the truth, when you were young, you were able to do as you liked; you dressed yourself and went wherever you wanted to go. But when you are old, you will stretch out your hands, and others^f will dress you and take you where you don’t want to go.”19Jesus said this to let him know by what kind of death he would glorify God. Then Jesus told him, “Follow me.”

20Peter turned around and saw behind them the disciple Jesus loved—the one who had leaned over to Jesus during supper and asked, “Lord, who will betray you?” 21Peter asked Jesus, “What about him, Lord?”

22Jesus replied, “If I want him to remain alive until I return, what is that to you? As for you, follow me.” 23So the rumor spread among the community of believers^g that this disciple wouldn’t die. But that isn’t what Jesus said at all. He only said, “If I want him to remain alive until I return, what is that to you?”

Peter made the same human mistake of comparing the tasks "assigned" to him and that of John's. After Jesus told him to feed his sheeps and to follow him, Peter was more concerned about what John was supposed to do than anything else. Jesus then rebuked him and basically asked him to mind his own business and to just focus on what he had been asked to do- follow Jesus. 

Comparing our fates, our tasks, our shares of rewards, etc is oftentimes pointless and bring about bitterness, anger, jealousy... why do we do this? Because we want justice for ourselves? Because we want to get a fair share of things? Because we think we rightly deserve certain things ? 

http://learn.lexiconic.net/humancondition.htm

How We Live Our Lives

-What is the good life?
-How do parents act towards their children?
-How do we deal with death?
-How do we deal with alienation from those around us?
-Should we conform or be original?
-How do we become adults? What is the process of maturation?
-What is the relationship between different generations or genders?-How do we deal with excessive poverty or wealth?

Human Nature

-Are we naturally evil or good?
-Are we born with inherited traits or are we a "blank slate"?
-What's more important for human beings? Law and order or freedom?
-Are we determined by our genetic structure, environment, etc., or do we have free will ?
-Are we naturally social beings or are we individuals first?
-Can we know universal truths?
-Are we selfish or altruistic?

Human Society

-What's the best way to live together?
-Should we care for the weak and poor, or let them fend for themselves?
-What is a natural society: equality or hierarchy?
-Is civilization positive or negative?
-How should society treat the environment?

The human condition.

I guess part of human nature is selfishness. We care more about our own happiness than that of others. Oftentimes, we do things without considering if someone else gets hurt by our actions. Do we build our happiness at the expense of somebody else's? Does it make us feel better, does it give us joy, to hurt someone else, sometimes intentionally just because? 
Could there ever be a complete joy that doesnt cost someone else something ? 

Some kind of wonderful

All you have to do is touch my hand
To show me you understand
And something happens to me
That's some kind of wonderful

Any time my little world is blue
I just have to look at you
And every thing seems to be
Some kind of wonderful

Listened to this song this morning. Wouldn't it be nice if happiness is so easily achieved? 

Been looking at paintings and wishing I have the time and the energy to start a new one. But I feel annoyed at not having complete the previous wave painting... so things remain as status quo... arghh! Started practicing calligraphy again but this time with brush pens which is less messier as compared to dip pens or fountain pens. I could practice it while lying in bed as opposed to having set up the study table for DP and FP. I find myself getting a little reclusive the past month, with no mood to socialize when I've been meaning to catch up with some pple before school starts. Alas, I'd rather spend time tending to my plants. Re-potted the mint today as I suspected it was suffering from a case of root-bound. Cut away most of the dead roots and separated the salvageable ones. Snipped off a few stems for propagating. Hope it works. Gardening seems I don't know a no-brainer but it actually is an art form in itself. Every plant has its own needs- they die when you over-water, they die when you under-water. Too much sunlight and they burn, too little sunlight and they wither. I wonder how long more before I get tired of expending so much time and effort on the plants. But then again, gardening is quite therapeutic too. I'm beginning to wonder if I'm suffering from some undiagnosed depression or stress coz I keep finding "therapeutic" things to do. Cooking too is therapeutic but I'm a boring cook, always returning to the same old recipes. Quite pleased with the bruschetta I made and the satisfaction was doubled when the basil came from my "garden".
I think I kinda lost my travel plans. Couldn't think of a place I wanted to visit when a colleague asked  But to recap:
Peru
Bolivia
Chile
Patagonia
Cuba
Maldives
Greece
Alaska
Southern parts of the states and Yellowstone
Tasmania
Nepal again
Morocco + Sahara
Sardinia

Reckless

What will become of us if we live life a little more recklessly? Is it always right to make careful decisions and live life safely? Is it irresponsible to be reckless? Will we be happier if we were throw caution to the wind and make bets with life? Or are we happier living a life that is safe and that is acceptable to society?

"But I don't want comfort. I want God, I want poetry, I want real danger, I want freedom, I want goodness. I want sin." Brave new world. The contradictions of life 

Clouds

These days I've been enarmored with clouds. Sometimes I get the chance to take a picture, most times I don't. I guess I've been noticing them more ever since having to paint them. I don't think I can ever compete with God when it comes to creating a painting of the sky.
Everyday the sky is a little different. Sometimes the clouds resemble waves, sometimes like a fire, sometimes like marshmallows...
can one ever tire of looking at the skies I wonder.
Yesterday's sky was quite beautiful.. with layers upon layers of wavy clouds....a couple of weeks ago, the clouds were so huge, puffy, and white with grey tones underneath them...like a technique I learnt whereby you dab one end of the brush with white paint and the other end with grey paint to produce a 3D-like effect of a cloud. 2-3 weeks ago, stepping out of Alexandra mall(?), I actually gasped at the sky coz it was filled with gorgeous pink-orange clouds but alas, I forgot to take pictures and now I have forgotten their shapes.

Calligraphy

And then instead of writing to potential supervisors, here I am dabbing at calligraphy again... distractions..... haven't used broad nibs for a while. Need some getting used to.
Been reading George orwell's letters. Somehow I wish this is still the letter-writing era but I can't figure out why I am so enarmoured with letters. Maybe because it is more carefully crafted than an email? Maybe there's just something beautiful about reading a hand-written letter? Maybe the beauty lies in the idea that someone went through quite a fair amount of effort just to get a word or two to you...it's funny though that by the time you received a piece of news in the form of a letter, it would have long become history...
Wasn't feeling quite upbeat today and I got even more frustrated when playing the piano. The fingers felt as if they are no longer under my control. I guess it's just a case of the Monday blues. Or so I hope. Some things I wanted to blog about: the idea of karma and schooling. Will reserve that
For another day when I'm less moody.

I hate the fluidity of time
I hate that we are always racing against time
I hate looking at the clock
And knowing another day is ending.
What if there is no time?
What if there are no days
And nights ?
What if we are suspended always
In one moment in time.

The World Is Too Much With Us

BY WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

The world is too much with us; late and soon, 

Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers;— 

Little we see in Nature that is ours; 

We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon! 

This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon; 

The winds that will be howling at all hours, 

And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers; 

For this, for everything, we are out of tune; 

It moves us not. Great God! I’d rather be 

A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn; 

So might I, standing on this pleasant lea, 

Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn; 

Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea; 

Or hear old Triton blow his wreathèd horn.

Truth

I wonder what our world would be like if everyone spoke the truth without censors, without hiding any secrets/innermost thoughts, without schemes, without motives. Would the world be a better place ? Would there be fewer misunderstandings? Or would people just hate each other more? Is the truth the best in all situations? Or should it be withheld and coated with sugar ?
I don't know.
Should I tell you what lies deep in my heart?
Will it change anything that you have set in motion?
Will we be happier or will we be worse for wear?
If only we knew.

Maya - jostein gaarder

i read the book halfway more than a decade ago. Decided to give it a try again. This is probably my least favorite among Gaarder's books.
The story revolved around John Spooke, an English writer, frank, a Norwegian biologist and his estranged wife, Vera, Ana Maria Maya, the title character and her husband, Jose. The plot unfolded on a relatively unknown Fijian island- Taveuni. Frank was taken by the Spanish couple when he overheard their conversation of philosophical quotes that mirrored his own thoughts. Frank and John both found Ana familiar but could not recall where they might have met her. John later managed to associate her face with that of a painting by Goya, which left him baffled. How could someone from the past paint someone from the future?
As with Gaarder's past novels, the core/purpose of the book is to toss philosophical questions to its readers. However, I don't find this book as "philosophical" and more, outlandish. Nearing the end of the book, a dwarf who could time travel was introduced and it was suggested that this dwarf took pictures of Ana and time travelled with the pics which were later found by Goya. I got a bit lost at the end. Was this section part of the fictitious work of John Spooke? There was an alternate ending in the last chapter.
Some of the questions the characters dappled with in the book were the purpose of life, eternal life, shared consciousness, etc  As a evolutionary biologist, frank thought that there could not have been an intention to creation/evolution and that living things were a result of accidents. However in the later part of the book when the characters were discussing above the universe, Frank said it would be a terrible waste of space if there was only life on earth. He knew then by stating this sentiment, it implied that there is a creator of the universe and a purpose behind the creation. Some suggested that the purpose of human being's existence was for the universe to experience itself through the human's consciousness.
Frank also had a fear of death. Both Vera and he talked about having an elixir of life and finding someone to share it with. There was also a sub story of a woman possessing this elixir but never finding anyone to give the other half to because she had the benefit of time and too many choices. It's a pretty frightening thought though, to live forever and to have the discernment to share it with the right person. Otherwise, the mistake lives with you forever.
Forever..... I'm not sure at this point in time if I like the idea of eternity, which is kinda funny coming from a Christian. Why are people obsessed with eternal life? I mean I do like the idea of having all the time in the world to do whatever I want, with no fear of time running out or that I would be too decrepit to do something. But eternity is so intense and immense, that it frightens me at the same time. What do you do if you can live forever? I just can't imagine a life like that.
I think the book also touched on reality- how do we know where we are now is real? But honestly can't remember much about this part except for a joker and elves. Only the joker was awaken from his dream and was aware of reality. The elves just continued living in their fantasy worlds.
I recently watched shutter island and it did blow me away. We could create our own realities and we would never know which are real and which are not. Another unrelated thing was what the fictitious Rachel said," once you are declared insane by someone, everything else that u say or do is part of that insanity." It gives me the shudders to think how true that statement is.

Been in a reading drought. Not sure what to read despite the countless of unread books on the shelf. Tried reading Machiavelli's The Prince but I'm not sure if I am that interested in power struggles and politics at this moment in time.
Can't really decide if I should shoulder on or just give up and read something else.

Finding myself glued to the phone or the computer and I just hate that but yet, I can't pull myself away.

Gentlemen and players- Joanne Harris

The book felt more YA and a departure from her usual "Chocolat" style. I can't say it's a bad read but I did feel a little disappointed as the plot was a tad cliche. The book had two narrators- a psychopathic killer bent on revenge and a Classics lecturer due for retirement. I got a little confused in the first few chapters, not realizing that they were alternating between two characters. Julian Pinchbeck lived on the campus of St Oswald's grammar school for boys as his father was a caretaker. St oswalds was your usual stuffy, exclusive school for the upper class. Pinchbeck knew he would never get the chance to be a part of the St oswalds society but yearned to be there. He began pretending to be a student there and met Leon, the rebel. Together they were like Sundance and Butch, setting things ablaze in their trail. But all good things came to an end, when Leon fell in love with a girl one summer and Pinchbeck soon realized he was in love with Leon but obviously didn't stand a chance with him. A dare and a fight on the roof of st oswalds building left Leon dead and pinchbrck's father being accused of his death. Pinchbeck's father committed suicide thereafter. Pinchbeck blamed St Oswalds for the death of his best friend and father. He blamed the school for wanting to protect their reputation at all cost. He blamed the school for their traditions and exclusivity, that had him always looking in from the outside and never belonging.
Pinchbeck schemed to return to st oswalds as a teacher with the mission to bring down the school. One by one the school's teachers and masters were implicated in scandals and crimes...leading to the death of an innocent student. Pinchbeck's lust for revenge was finally curbed by the second narrator  mr Roy straitley, who loved cussing in Latin. Straitley finally "saw" Pinchbeck for who he was in the final chapter of the book. The readers realized then that the real reason for Pinchbeck's return to st oswalds was to be seen because he had been a "ghost" in st oswalds in his youth; wandering on the school grounds and never recognized. It was also then that we knew pinchbeck was actually Julia not Julian. That was the only element of surprise in the book.

3/5

Why do we always seek happiness, that fleeting elusive emotion ? It doesn't stay for long, does it? One moment you have it within your grasp, and the next it has slipped out of your hands.
Sometimes you wonder if it will ever return, sometimes you think you know it will, but sometimes the weight of the world just pulls you deeper and deeper into a dark well and you just know, it will never come back to you. Maybe you will enjoy the coldness and the silence for a while. Maybe you think it is ok to remain in that well where the sun doesn't shine. Maybe it is not ok. Maybe it takes you a day to realize it, maybe it takes you a lifetime.
Sometimes you try so hard to hold on to something that will never be yours. How do you know when to give up?
When do you know it is the end of the road,
When do you realize you are just chasing the wind?
How do you walk away when your heart just keeps running towards the fire?
What do you do when you get burnt?

Coulda woulda shoulda

She decided then that it will be a secret she would keep forever in her heart.
She watched him walk away and knew they would probably never meet again.

Dawn turned to dusk and dusk to dawn, the years passed.
She got married with 2.5 kids, a white picket fence (no, not really, a small apartment actually in the lower east side), and was widowed at the age of 62.

Her eyes are almost blind with cataracts now and she walks stiffly.

But even in the hazy world she lives in now, she sees him again at the park where she has been taking her walks for the last ten years.

He is different now but his eyes, through them, she can still find the boy she once knew and loved.

He sees her too and with a little courage...

Coffee? He asks.

It is a date that came a little too late

She nods her head and smiles, a little bemused at how age has eradicated the shyness of her youth.

They take a slow walk in silence to a cafe by the lake- a charming glass house filled with blooming flowers and hanging planters.

They sit opposite each other in a quiet corner of the cafe.. He orders his americano, she, her flat white.

She stares at him, unable to look away.

She wants to touch his crowfeet, the wrinkles.. so much time has passed. She feels strange- young and old at the same time.

She chuckles softly, shaking her head and thinks of all the coulda shoulda woulda.

You can have the world beneath your feet but time, it slips through your fingers and never returns.

I miss the quiet. The coolness and stillness of the night air. The smell of the wet grass.
The sounds of the crickets chirping. This place is just too noisy.

Hollow dreams

Let us go to places unknown,
Secret gardens and islands old,
Magic dragons and friendly trolls.
Feel the wind and the tragic snow
Sail the seas and hear the roosters crow.
Hold my hand and we will go,
Hold our breaths and we will know,
We have found the rainbow's gold.

Hear the crickets moan,
As I play on the old banjo,
You sang me a song of sweet chariot swinging low,
My lips to the words I follow
And with you I sang that song of old.
Swing low, sweet chariot, swing low.
That tree of weepy willow,
so full of mellow,
It bends and it sways wherever the wind blows,
To the ends of the world with you I will go,
But then the night shatters and I am all alone,
It is only but a dream hollow.

The sea

Thought of finding something simple to paint to ease myself back to painting again but oh the horrors of painting the sea! Being greedy I painted an extra wave and it just looked weird now... sigh.. any errors mean re-painting most part of it..
This much took me a few seatings... probably the longest time I've spent painting anything. The colors are difficult to blend and mimick.... a real pain....

Lazy days

been lazy these days- not painting, reading little, not writing... spent my time watching random YouTube videos, playing games... ugh. I feel sorry for the time wasted on nothing.

Last week's study was on Revelations chpt 14.... someone mentioned that there is a possibility that it will be heaven on earth after the last days. Instead of us thinking of heaven as a place up there, earth will be restored to God's original plan of a Garden of Eden. Hence we should do our part for this coming "restoration"- caring for the environment and other social concerns.

Perhaps that's true although I couldn't wrap my head around it at first. My thoughts had always been that this earth is deteriorating, that no matter what we do, it is futile- we are just heading for self-destruction. Morbid? Yes but that's the law of entropy, isn't it? I don't see how in my finite mind that the earth could be transformed to paradise. But all these don't really matter, whether it is heaven on earth or a new heaven..I believe somehow that this life is just a dress rehearsal...
Yes we need to be concerned about the environment, people, social issues, etc because all of these belong to God and we are called to be stewards of His creation. In this life, we hone ourselves to be better stewards such that when earth is restored to perfection, history will not repeat itself  because those who are in it, have prep a lifetime for this.

At cell today, I was saying how "split" I feel at times- being a different person when I am in different company. Which of me is my true self? The beer swigging one, the meek church mouse, the tactless sharp tongue one, the diplomatic one? But I think perhaps all of us are like that.. some maybe more so than others.. I don't know.

Hadn't done the review for Neil Gail nan's truth is a cave in the black mountains. Man, this book gave me the creeps just like the ocean at the end of the lane. I can't put my finger on it but there's just something sinister in the things he writes...

Need to get things organized, scheduled and then sticking to the schedule.
Really need to paint and start taking online courses and getting my project sorted out. Been procrastinating and procrastinating.... procrastination is a disease that eats at you.

I agree that the things we regret the most are those we didn't do, rather than those we did. Even if things ended up badly because of what we did, oftentimes there is a lesson to take away from it. But for things we didn't do, what lessons do we draw from them? Nothing...

The heart is ill these days- filled with doubts and whatnots. Today at service, I began to wonder if Christ was truly the Messiah or was it all a myth? I shudder to think that I could think of things like that. I pushed the thoughts away as I couldn't bear my own disbelief and scepticism. Why is my heart hard? Why is it so difficult to truly embrace God and to put God In the Centre of my life? Went for block outreach today; was initially dragging my feet but later found that I quite enjoyed the task.
I guess I need to pray harder and to dwell in His words more.

On a side note, it is strange how these days most people brush away the importance of religion in a relationship. How do two people come together, move together when their very core beliefs and values are vastly different? For instance, a Christian might believe in the everlasting life and so lend little significance to the now and the world s/he lives in, which is contrary to what the non-believer values- the now, materialism, etc.
society also tends to emphasise the importance of self- we see the tons of books in the self-help section of a bookstore-where else the Christian belief is one that emphasizes losing the self.
How do we reconcile these differences?
Although I cannot say that I've been in the Christian community for a long time but i do observe a difference between a godly man and one who is not. I can't place a finger on it but the godly man seems to exude a certain radiance, softness and goodness which I don't see in most people.

A writer's diary- Virginia Woolf

I enjoyed Virginia Woolf's prose a lot; she had a flair for creating sentences that fill you with amazement at its creativity and beauty. The book is as the title exemplifies, all about her struggles with writing, books she read, her association with other writers, etc. it gives the impression that writing is her life, the sole purpose of her living. She was just so preoccupied with it- writing in her diary, drafting her novels, writing book reviews... she wrote of her anxieties over others' opinions of her novels- she cared too much whether others like it but eventually she managed to convince herself that what others thought were ic no significance to her.
I didn't manage to finish the book, had to return it to the library. I must admit after reading half the book it did get a little boring.
What I admired about Woolf is that she was constantly honing her craft and also had this deep interest in reading- oftentimes planing her reading list, ensuring to vary it and including Greek and French into her reading.

Sense and sensibility - Jane Austen

Didn't like the book although it was quite refreshing to read something different from the usual. The prose I am not sure, felt a little stiff and awkward. The plot felt frivolous. Nobody in the book seemed to have a real job. All everyone did was to hold dinner parties, play card games, getting engaged.... Elinor Dashwood and her younger sister, Marianne Dashwood were the main characters of the book. Elinor was the more sensible, rational, and austere one, while Marianne was the prettier and spoilt one. Marianne met Willoughby when she and Elinor were racing home and she fell- cue Willoughby to the rescue. Willoughby and Marianne soon grew close and Marianne thought that he was going to propose to her for sure. However, Willoughby went unheard from and subsequently Marianne came to know he had gotten engaged and was to marry soon. The reason he turned his back on her was that he needed money and hence, had chosen to marry a wealthier woman. Marianne had another quiet suitor in Colonel Brandon, a much older man who was less exciting that Willoughby. Marianne grew ill and Elinor kept watch by her side while she too was nursing a broken heart. She and Edward Ferrars were too meant to be engaged but she later learnt that Edward was already engaged to a dull and uneducated women- Lucy Steele. In a twist of fate and after some misunderstandings, she finally learnt that Lucy Steele had married Edward's brother instead. She was elated. All's well that ends well- Marianne married colonel brandon and Elinor married Edward ferrars.

I wonder what's the charm in this book? Why is it even popular? Really strange.

Battle hymn of the tiger mother- Amy Chua

Quite enjoyed the book although I found the tiger mom extremely ridiculous and perhaps bordering on insanity. The book's main focus strangely was on music lessons and not eg schoolwork, grades, etc. she did say though getting an A- was unacceptable and taking part in eg school plays is a waste of time. Her children were not allowed to learn any other instruments except for the piano and violin. I am not sure why this is so... neither do I understand why excelling in music was her topmost priority for her kids. To me music is a hobby, something that's meant to be enjoyed. However, for the tiger mom music was a source of pride and ego. Making her kids practice 6 hours a day is just insane. It's funny though how Sophia, the elder daughter could tolerate such harsh drills and still enjoyed the instrument. For her younger daughter, lulu, however, things turned awry. The hatred that was building inside her came to blows while on a family holiday in Russia- Lulu threw a glass and screamed at Amy Chua in a cafe- a totally brattish behavior that Amy Chua thought would never happen in her children. It was striking when Lulu told Chua one day not to ruin tennis for her the way she ruined violin.
Lulu had loved the violin and was enormously talented at the instrument-auditioning at Julliard and obtaining concertmaster status at a young age. Unfortunately the hours of practice she had to put in finally made her give up playing the violin. What a pity...

After reading the book, it was hard not to think that her daughters would turn out to be socially awkward weirdos but thankfully it was not so. Whether they are successful individuals or not, I can't say as success is truly subjective. What defines success? Bring on top of the social ladder? Being in an Ivy League school? Being kind? Being happy? Being rich? Being popular? Being Famous?

It spells the end of everything.
With a tinge of regret,
U will remain a fond memory
And nothing else
Like dust in the wind.
All the time spent
Under the sun
Was only fool's gold
I meant nothing to you
And you nothing to me.
Would I change my mind again
Tomorrow?
I have changed it too many times.
This time,
It shall remain
Chained
Locked
For eternity.

I've been asked and I've been mocked for using a fountain pen, especially when my fingers get stained with ink or when the pen chokes. Someone said the ballpoint pen was invented for a reason and there's a reason too that only a minority of people still use fountain pens.
I can't explain it either. It's like trying to explain why you love the sea, or chicken rice, or cats, or a certain book, a certain person... there's just no concrete reason sometimes why you love something. I like the sound of the pen scratching the paper, I like how the ink flows when it flexes, I like how some strokes are so fine that it resembles a strand of hair, I like the softness of the nib... and why do these things give me a good feeling? I don't know.

Been to Bali a second time in march and the feelings about Bali remain the same; I didn't fall in love with it. I guess there are just some places you can't love.

I was upset by someone today. Oh well, actually two people. People can get really overbearing at times and I just feel so suffocated and pissed. The other infuriating thing I shall not mention... but I think little things add up... an unkind word here and there, impatience, selfishness, etc.. before you know it, an ocean has been created and there's no way you can return to the other side.

Should I give up already?
What is it that is holding me back?
Fear of unknown territories?
The inability to believe in myself and God?
In limbo... caught between reality and a dream...

Randomness

The library in beauty and the beast is to die for. Curved grand staircases, ladders, thousands of books. Last check on library thing- 300 books in my trove. Paltry.

That itch for a camper van trip is still there... arghh. Totally undo-able for this year and the next...

Haven't been writing much. The journal remains quite empty. Somehow I'm just not sure what's best to put onto paper.

Still considering whether to get a typewriter. But I'm starting to get a little tired of clutter and things. Yet on the other hand, I like to collect things and start new hobbies. Looos like I can never declutter my life and live the minimalist way.

Bus life

http://vandogtraveller.com/
Simplebuslife

Been looking at these camper vans and bus life blogs, IGs whatever. I wonder what lies in that magnetism? The simplicity, the freedom? Having your life pared down to just a tiny van? Is it only beautiful in a dream, like everything else in the world? will being stuck in a tiny space with the bare minimum jolt you from that dream ? I'm not sure but somehow, I'm just so drawn to that lifestyle and can't help dreaming.

Pablo Neruda

Let us look for secret things
somewhere in the world,
on the blue shore of silence
or where the storm has passed,
rampaging like a train.
There the faint signs are left,
coins of time and water,
debris, celestial ash
and the irreplaceable rapture
of sharing in the labor
of solitude and the sand.

Will put this on paper soon. 
Handwriting still looks horrid despite poring over others' instagrams. 
On another note, I've converted a notebook in the journal to bullet journal. Very tedious work but hopefully it will be of use and fun. 

Read the battle hymn of the tiger Mum. Honestly I don't know whether to laugh or cry. Anyway book review on another day. 

Have moved on to sense and sensibility. Wanted to read pride and prejudice and so I happily thought I have it on my bookshelf, but to my horror, it wasn't in my possession. I have the life of me, no idea why I had not purchased this classic.... bummer. 

Was a little upset when I realized someone gifted what I had gifted to him/her to someone else. But then again, long as someone uses it, I shouldn't really care who possesses it ... right ? 

Journal

Was really tempted to purchase the traveler's company notebook in camel but thought for the same

Price, I could get a personalized one, one with a logo I made. The etching didn't come out too pretty but can't complain for the price. I was so looking forward to receiving he journal in the mail but when it arrived, I realized I had no idea what I wanted to write in it. Do I get my schedule in there, to do list, thoughts, book reviews, quotes, use it as a spiritual journal, or what... a day has passed and except for a packing list, the journal remains empty...

When Breath Becomes Air - Paul Kalanithi

A very poignant read. The epilogue brought tears to my eyes. I enjoyed how Paul Kalanithi came to the conclusion that a life in medicine was his calling. He was sure at first that he would never follow in his family members' footsteps (he pointed out that he had associated medicine with absence- that of his father) and was keenly interested in literature and philosophy. I guess most of us had grappled with the same questions of life and its meaning, and by the same token death and its meaning/what lies beyond it at some point in time. I liked how he never relented in pursuing the truth by reading extensively and going through the academic route, driven by the hunger to understand rather than achieve (for the rest of us, our focus is sometimes misplaced on that elusive 'A'). On a walk one day, while contemplating the intersection of morality, philosophy, literature, biology, he had an epiphany and the rest was history.
What also stood out to me was when he was deciding on his residency. He noticed most of his peers electing to specialise in less demanding, "lifestyle specialties" (e.g. dermatology/radiology, according to Kalanithi) - those that offer a better work-life balance and higher salaries- seemingly forgetting/losing the idealism of their youths. Such choices are entirely reasonable as people sometimes grow weary and become disillusioned over time, or had a change in priorities. He added however, that when you find yourself considering pay, work environment, working hours, etc., you are choosing a job, not a calling. He chose neurosurgery in the end and I believe he would have been one of the best neurosurgeon/scientists (in terms of skills and compassion) had he had the chance to live beyond his 38 years.
He also pointed out that much of our decision-making process lies in how much time we have left. If we had 20 years vs. 3 months to live, what would we choose to do? He had a hard time deciding whether to continue his work as a neurosurgeon, become a writer, or spend time with his family because he only knew his time was limited, but by how long, nobody had a definite answer.
He admitted that at one point in his life, he became an atheist of sort since there is no empirical evidence for existence of God. He later concluded however, that to believe that since science cannot prove the existence of God, would by the same token, gives rise to the belief that there is no meaning in life, since science too cannot prove the existence of meaning.  I wonder if the athesist believes in love, since nobody can prove its existence either but we all know it is there, just as we know there is hate, there is evil. If we could believe in the existence of evil, why couldnt we believe in the existence of a God? I could never really grasp how for e.g. a geneticist, a physician, or even a botanist, could study the wonders of the human genome/body/ a plant and not marvel at its intricacies and to subscribe to the belief that these are all created by CHANCE. By chance, we evolved into an organism that is capable of love, capable of creating beauty in the arts, music, capable of seeking meaning in its own existence. That reasoning is something my mind is unable to grapple with.
I was really upset by an incident Kalanithi had in the hospital, when his usual medication was not ordered. He spoke to the junior resident who was attending to him and explained that without the medication he would be experiencing excruciating pain soon but the resident couldnt care less. Ordering the medication would impose an inconvenience on him as he would have to call a senior to sign it off in the middle of the night. He asked if Kalanithi could wait till the next morning for his medication, by when he would be off-duty and the trouble could be passed on to the next unsuspecting person taking over his duties. Kalanithi said he saw in the resident's eyes that he was just a problem to be checked off and not a patient.
He also described how a peer had hoped that there were metastases in a patient so that she could escape a 9-hour surgical procedure. She later wept at having such thoughts. It is perhaps understandable to harbour such callous thoughts, as it is in our human nature, to put self above others. To suppress and overcome our innate selfish nature, requires effort and supernatural strength at times. We ought to applaud those who always put others' needs (especially those of strangers) above their own, such as those who toil daily in the healthcare setting.


The young think that they have all the time in the world. They make their 5 years' plan, 10 years' plan for that dream house, dream car, dream job...To them, tomorrow is a certainty. But they forgot that to death, age is just a number. No one escapes it, not even the young sometimes.


I believe that Kalanithi was able to face his impending death with bravado not only because he was used to facing death in his work, but because he was surrounded by love and the promise of eternity after this life has ended. The ending sometimes is just the beginning.

One day we were born, one day we shall die, the same day, the same second... birth astride of a grave, the light gleams an instant, then it's night once more. - Samuel Beckett

Love

Rain. A bus stop. The wind blowing wild. A shelter offered no reprieve on a day like this.
As she stood there waiting, she began making a mental checklist of why they couldn't and shouldn't  be together. Check, check, check. 10,000 reasons later, she was sure that they wouldn't work, and this meeting was to be their last. A blurry figure was running towards the bus stop. It was him. The moment he came into view, all reasons flew out of the window. One reason superseded all others... love. She didn't understand it, and she never would. She smiled at him, took his hand, and they dashed off into the cold, hard rain.

No one heard the bird's song

No one saw it flap its wings

No one saw it soar high into the sky

No one saw it tumble and fall.

No one saw how its wings got broken

No one heard its cries

The world lies wasted 

In desolation 

And the lone bird 

It breathes its last 

Spiraling down towards 

Its earthly grave.

Wind-up bird chronicles- Haruki Murakami

Decided to read this book after seeing it on a 100 must-read books list. I can't really decide if I liked the book. It was interesting enough to keep the reader flipping page after page- the plot was uncommon and so offered a fair bit of surprise. The story opened with an ordinary Japanese couple - Okada and Kumiko, who led a pretty much routinuous life with Okada being the house husband after losing his job. Things started getting strange when their cat disappeared and Kumiko hired a psychic of sort to find the cat. Instead of finding the cat, Okada ended up losing his wife. Kumiko vanished one fine day and Okada only knew the reason why after receiving a letter from Kumiko stating that she had been having an affair and wanted a divorce. Okada was however, determined to find Kumiko. The psychic,  Malta reappeared in his life, this time, bringing her sister , Creta along. Creta had the ability to enter Okada's dreams and the line between reality and dreams began to blur. Creta eventually revealed to Okada that she had been defiled by his brother-in-law, Wataya, whom Okada abhorred. Central to the story was a cursed house in Okada's neighborhood- past occupants had all committed auicide. Okada was however drawn to the house and its well, which had laid dry for years. Okada decided to shut himself off from the outside world by entering the well and it was in the well where he received a burning "mark" on his face. The mark it seemed gave him the power to heal emotional troubles of middle-aged women. The twist and turn of the story ended with Kumiko killing her own brother for revenge as she knew that Noboru had caused the death of her sister by similarly defiling her.
The book borders on the occult and it felt just surreal reading it but it's probably not my cup of tea. I may however try to read Norwegian wood before giving a final verdict of the author.

Pens

Had to re-fit both pens. Thank God I bought 10 nibs this time round. Strangely fitting both were a breeze, unlike the first time with the x750. Also managed to stuff the nibs and feeds deeper into the pens, thereby minimizing bruising by the cap. 

Have to hunt for new inks, while I wait for the new pens and journal to arrive. 

Frankenpens

Love my frankenpens-fitted jinhao x450 with zebra G and jinhao 750 with Nikki G. Nikki G doesn't flex as beautifully as zebra G. X750 with Nikki was an extremely tough fit. Took me almost an hour with sore and red fingers but I was so happy when I finally got it fitted nicely after reading online that this is an almost impossible feat. But then I subsequently broke the nib by jamming it too hard into the cap. GAH!
The x450 although wonderful to write with at first begins to give in to  railroading, or leaking, or completely refusing to ink up. Sigh... but still, when it works it's a joy to write with.

Noodler's featherproof ink seems to jam up the pens, pelikan ink is completely shitty (so diluted!). So far, diamine ink seems to work best.