391: five hundred days is pretty long

The only people for me are the mad ones.

(As usual, cut for spoilers, 500 Days of Summer.)

387: circa july 2005

Four years on, nothing has changed.

There are many things that will tear you apart if you let them, and all of them have lines.

379: 可惜时光不会逗留，转眼飘走

It always strikes me as somewhat strange, the way age changes and defies logic. Over time, the wrinkles appear and the cheeks sag. Voices become rustier, more hoarse, tired from years of screaming at children. Movements are slower, the legs stiffen, backs bending increasingly over the weight of dreams. Recently there have been so many movies dealing with age and loss, as if the two must come together, but increasingly one accepts that the two are necessarily inseparable. With time comes loss comes age, and a painful process of maturity; age becomes wisdom becomes regret.

367: i had a conversation with you last night

364: 痛苦的相思忘不了

 

 

363: 等下一个天亮

As I get older I realise I am less and less prone to subterfuge. It may be a good thing or it may not, but somehow I can’t find the energy to hide behind words anymore. There used to be a time when I took great pleasure in making everyone guess what I was talking about (strange how people put up with me, sometimes) but nowadays I’m tired of mind games and second guessing all the time.

359: if it’s not rough it isn’t fun

Some things in life are painfully legal. The other day while I was cooking dinner with Sharm we were talking about something regarding Val: it’s possible, I said, after some thought. But not probable, our friend Peter interjected, and I didn’t know what to make of that. It hasn’t been so long since I’ve heard those particular words, which often seem to people like the same thing and contributes to the (mostly true) observation that law people are just a bunch of lunatics who split hairs regarding definitions all the time.

354: what you are is beautiful

I said, maybe Sally can wait this time. Every time I turn on iTunes and listen to the old songs I’m reminded of why I love music. The other day I had a conversation with someone (who was it, now?) about whether we would still be listening to new music when we were old. Of course, he replied, why not? Our generation is different from our parents’. I thought about it but we’re not so different after all. It’d be weird to find out my parents were listening to MGMT or whatever the equivalent is, and though this generation appears a lot more exposed to music than the previous one, some things, I think, change slowly, if at all.

 

345: smiling flash, talking trash, under your breath

I am super annoyed. In fact, I am so annoyed it’s not even funny. I am trying to plan my holidays for March, but all it turns up is that everywhere I want to go, nobody is free, or they have all been there before. And when I think about the reason as to this sad and very unfortunate state of affairs, the only answer that pops up is a very obvious one. Because I keep waiting for people, who say they don’t mind — scratch that, want – to go again with me, and then shit happens, everything gets fucked up, including all my bloody plans — and my life, goddamnit — and now I am stuck in a rut. Of course I know it’s unfair to blame everything on one cause, and I was stupid enough to put all my eggs in one basket, but obviously I thought that if you can’t trust the person closest to you, you can’t bloody trust anyone. As it turns out, I am painfully right. These things have a way of proving themselves to you. Am I happy? No. Am I bitter? Fuck yes. Am I jealous? Possibly so. I am tired of pretending like all this does not matter to me, because it does, and I am not even pissed off so much as I am jealous and annoyed at myself for being an irrational jealous human being. And if someone says the four words 把握青春 to me ever again, I will fucking kill them. I hate how there are shadows still hanging over my head. Most of all I hate how people get to be happy and I don’t. I hate how I feel like I will never be happy as long as they are, because that makes me evil, and I don’t like being evil, because I know — I know – that the happiness I deserve is there, even if I don’t see it now, so I am just being a stupid angry piece of nonsense. And I hate how as much as I don’t like being evil, I can’t bring myself to be all noble about it, because that nonsense only belongs in movies, and I’ve had enough of people thinking their life belongs in a fairy tale TVB drama serial. Seriously, what the fuck man. I am an existential mess. 

(Also, X — X, of all people — is teaching me ways to get over someone. I wish I had enough energy to laugh at how ridiculous my life has become.)

344: singing my life with his words

Strange how the time flies; suddenly I’m back in school again, lessons are starting up, and as usual, I’m all happy and raring to go. It’s good to be back in Holland, which is slowly but surely beginning to feel familiar. Still, home is where the heart is, and sometimes I think that it’s not so much the country but the fact that I can come home to my own room, my own life and space, and just do my own thing. Travelling is fun, and so is meeting up with people, but sometimes all you need is time to yourself. I have always treasured having my own life, and now more than ever, I feel like I’m getting myself back again.

339: remember 2008

The year has been eventful, to say the least. I ushered in the new year at the beginning of the year (last year, now) in a variety of circumstances; every year with the Hwa Chong people, screaming “Happy New Year” at the top of our voices around the swimming pool, and then drinking Raffles beer at the front of Block B, our cars parked in a perfect straight line along the parallel parking lots. I was wearing a red dress, I remember, and the rest were happy and drunken.

336: the sky will soon be full of suns

Time takes it all, whether we want it to or not, time takes it all. Time bears it away, and then there is only darkness. Sometimes we find others in that darkness, sometimes we lose them there again.

Stephen King

Everything must have a Before and After, just like a person is meant to mark time passing. Once gone a person becomes a milestone, and everything narrows to just a passage of time, and a bunch of labels. Memories are boxed away, stored for safekeeping, hiding themselves in the dust under the table, waiting for the time they may be taken out without pain or awkwardness. The person who stays may shed tears, hurried and quiet, furtive. Once the tears are gone, the ache dulls. Everyone heaves a sigh of relief as the epiphany eventually comes. They have been holding their breath hoping they too do not die waiting in the process.

One does not keep loving photographs of the past. The magic hurries on, even when the lovers remain, solitary as they are and separated by a world of nothing, and the label disappears. Though change is often imperceptible and sometimes fatal it is inevitable, and this is at least the one truism we are resigned to have to accept, even if it nevertheless cannot become our excuse. The past is a video game, the chase blurred in time and with memory; it makes things better, or worse, than they were. The night lights will seem brighter, the air cooler, the kisses gentler and more filled with love, and suddenly the light stronger, the words harsher, the shadow of a back darker, the actions more cold. One learns to stop speaking in the present tense. “Are” must become “were”, “is” must become “was”, and even “we” must change to “I”, “ours” to “mine”. One is never more aware of how the semantics of language must change for one to adapt, to survive, to avoid looking back what it all was. One must forget the old words, make up new ones. Descriptions must change, and so must greetings and goodbyes. Nothing is the same, and it must stay that way, a fragile truce to keep from breaking back into dangerous waters.

But words are words, and they only say so much. Photographs are photographs, and cannot be altered or reshaped or erased; they nevertheless remain moments from a previous life that may not be resurrected, but cannot be ignored. Most of the time they are good photographs: there are laugh lines, twinkling eyes, wide grins. In uncommon moments there are downcast looks, a melancholy forehead; and rarely, a tear or three down a cheek. Grief is never as easy to capture in a moment, knotty and tangled at the beginning as it is at the end, skilled fingers teasing away each painful memory as they continue. And one cannot pretend: that there is no pain, nor guilt, nor a love as measured and wonderful as it was sour and bitter. The moment remains, and so does the truth, and memory cannot make things better or worse. Forgetting is as big a crime as remembering too much.

As we twist and turn in our sorrow, the day becomes more beautiful. The sunrises may come later, the sunsets earlier, the day shorter. There is less time to do anything. The weather turns cold and the snow begins to fall, strange and wonderful as it is to have it at this time of year. As the year enters its darkest days the air fills itself with sparkling lights and festivity, the churches begin to open, and hearts themselves try not to close.

333: fireworks in lake michigan

As usual, I have not done anything (much) today. I have an exam on Monday but I’ve barely started studying. This would be better if it were actually graded so I could feel more fear, or written so that I could feel less. As it is, it’s an oral exam. I’m scared shitless and yet not, and my brain is continually pushing waves of apathy towards me. 

331: we can stick around and see this night through

I told someone before that there was no way I was going down the same road again, but it seems that I am, anyway. I’m not making excuses, and who knows how long this will take, and it saddens me a little that I was arrogant enough to think I could overcome it. Because I have, before, and why not this time, right? It’s true; I’m a proud person, and perhaps insanely so. I’ve been brought up to believe that I can do anything, and by extension, if I must do something, it should be something I can do alone. It is perhaps part of being alone all your life; you learn to do things by yourself, or you remain at the bottom of the well. 

Because there is no point in continually dwelling on things I know I cannot change, I am going to try and make myself happy as I possibly can. And yes–there is no point dragging my cumulative luggage with me, though that takes a while to sink in and I probably have to keep telling myself that a million and one times, possibly to no avail. It is hard not to lapse back into the past when I honestly cannot remember the last time I was alone. But on the other hand I am only blind if I do not want to see. I have been talking to K a lot recently, and I am glad he is here; few people are as honest with me as he is, and after all these years, it’s funny how we can pick up where we left off. 

So, the things that made me happy today:

330: one night in beijing

Things begin, things end, things begin anew. The logic is the same and it is always the same cycle, and everything appears to be a game. You play, you win, you play, you lose, you play. You win again, or you lose. There are never grey areas; everything is one or the other. Still you play. Everything defines itself by something else, and when there are only two alternatives there is always something that has to give. Rarely are we faced with more, and like most life-changing decisions, there is really only one way to properly go about it, which is to say, not at all. Nobody thinks. Nobody cares. We remember the times that we sat together by the riverside, thinking about our lives, wondering where we would go. We eventually came to the conclusion that there was nothing we could do; this is the way it is, this is the flow. If we make a mistake, so be it. It is our life to live. We win, we play, we lose. Everything is a risk and we pursue the exciting rather than the familiar, because we are free, because we are young, because we can. It is the reason why nobody turns back, why nobody wants to be faced with regrets, why everyone looks forward and keeps going, because the past is painful and hard to bear. There are only two alternatives. And yet everything in the present must also have a past, in the same way that it must also have a future. It may not be better, it may not be worse,  just — different. And then how much remains the same is the scariest question, because it is possible to come full circle and realise one has never moved from the same spot. It may be the same as watching someone sit quietly by your side, not saying anything, but understanding. It may be that someone’s back is turned away from you, someone who doesn’t look at you anymore, who doesn’t say anything and will never say anything anymore. It may be the case that having someone is like not having anyone at all; or that we are faced with the ghosts from our past all the time, pretending all the while that someone is there when they are not. 

326: look what love gave us

These few days have been better, but it might have been all the alcohol.

Everyone is going home soon, and it’s hard to fathom that one semester has already passed us by. In these three months so many things, good and bad, have happened, sometimes changing our lives irreversibly. Whatever it is, whether it’s the people we’ve met or the people who have left or are leaving, this exchange year is shaping up to be an unforgettable one.

325: 夜夜听歌不睡

It’s always easy to write about others, to trivialise our own pain and the way we are feeling. When the experience is about someone else, everything takes on gigantic proportions. We search for meanings of life, for a way out, for ways to find ourselves in the middle of these messes that other people have made. We rummage through their debris and emerge, philosophically and with a bland smile on our faces, with a life-changing statement. We learn from other people’s mistakes.

And who are these other people? Are they strangers, do we know them, and will we continue not to know them in the future? As people come together and drift apart, as people leave and meet new people, treasure new faces and love new things, the ones left behind struggle to remember what has been lost. The stories of our past shouldn’t always repeat, but they often do, and we end up not being the people that we think we are. We disappoint others; we disappoint ourselves. There are parts to us we have never realised existed. Everyone is upset.

Still there are people who believe in us, who care. Who, by means of a quiet word or two, a gentle smile, packages from overseas and a phone call, a well-placed hug or two, calm our souls without them knowing. The only way to keep going on is by yourself, to make your own decisions. We drift through life this way, relying on ourselves. The more cynical amongst us will tell us that there is no one but ourselves. That the only ones who can solve our problems are ourselves, that the only ones who can calm ourselves are ourselves. Sometimes they are right. But they are not always right — there are always other people. There will be better people, worse people, people good and bad for us, people who love us more and love us less. We are never alone, and for this reason, the people we surround ourselves with are important.

There are constructive relationships; there are destructive relationships. Some cause you pain slowly, some stab you straight in the gut. Some fade away like a distant flower, some explode like fireworks. Some people begin with the end in mind, and others keep dreaming things will last forever. At the end of the day, we make the best of things as we can, we tidy up our lives, we try to move on. The ones who stay with us all the way are the ones worth keeping.

307: all your stereotypes

Americans are noisy, Spanish girls are hot, Japanese guys are super hot, the Germans think Erdinger is good shit, the Chinese are fucking everywhere, and omg. OH MY GOD.

HOLLAND FUCKING SMELLS OF WEED.

(OK. That was my update. Other than that orientation’s been fun. But there is so much alcohol, and especially when it costs 1-2 euros a pint, everybody drinks like crazy. At orientation functions beer is FREE, and it’s pretty good beer, the pubs are everywhere, people are happy, and omg the weed. Today there was an impromptu party at the hostels near the university, so everyone went down to the lawn and brought down couches and like 5 cases of beer and a couple of bottles of wine. So many people turned up, from everywhere, and it was so good talking to everyone. The weather was great and it wasn’t cold at all, we were warm from the alcohol and talking so much nonsense, and Sharm has just stumbled off to bed. On the bad side it cost us $20 (11 euros) for a cab ride. Yesterday there was a welcome drink in the city centre and everyone was just. Drinking. And drinking. And drinking again. Tomorrow there is another party. Everyone is crazy and high and it is kind of funny listening to them talk. My liver is fucking going to die.)

303: japan: dancing in tokyo

So – here is the last part. We spent three nights in Tokyo, but it was effectively two and half days left because we flew off in the morning. Less words before the cut now because there is just so much more to see in pictures.

302: ten thousand years

Remember what you have is right in front of you, is the thing they always tell you when they want you to be content with everything you’ve got, even the things you don’t have. Everybody is after all only given so much, and we make the best use of it as we can. Over the past week things haven’t been turbulent as much as they have been eerily quiet; brief spurts of aborted activity in the day slowly give way to the plodding routine of the night. This week things have been different and yet the same.

298: i don’t know where we are going now

This is how it is; young people are wistful. Young people like to lean on a tree and pretend they are old, as if being 21 is a great weight on their shoulders, and we suffer in order to be able to carry it, and carry on. We tremble with the weight of our youth as we look up into the sky. 

We make friends; we drift apart. We think we run in the same circles when maybe we don’t, not anymore. There are things that pass us by, including time, that nobody realises, not until it’s too late. When we meet again, we’ll talk about life since then (maybe talk about why, and did it ever end?), we’ll bump into each other at our usual coffee place, with different people now, the same conversation, and the same painful itch at the heart. 

Sometimes we mourn our losses. Other times we don’t know that they’ve gone. When we do realise, maybe we feel sad, or maybe we feel nothing at all. There is a downcast look (or three), but we pick ourselves up and go back to the person in front of us. This is here. This is now. We keep saying this to ourselves. We look across the vast field of our youth and convince ourselves there is a long way more to go; yes we can afford to lose some, because we can’t win everything. Perhaps as we think we grow older our perspectives change. We become used to things; we may not welcome them always, but we can always find a way to explain everything away. Reason. They always say that if you are thinking too much, it is a sign you are getting old.

Maybe the young think about different things. Maybe they don’t. How much of us has changed is open to doubt. Some things are immutable, and everyone, or maybe no one, has been this concerned about love. Life, friendship, staying in touch. Keeping people with you. 

How much remains the same; that is the scariest question.

297: ajdhfkjhgjkhg dying

 

The product you’ve been waiting for. 

296: japan: kyoto contradictions

Some think Kyoto is all quaint shops and beauty. It is, but there’s so much more than that. Maybe it’s because it’s the old capital. Nowhere else do you feel the contradictions more strongly: time-honored tradition living next to modern amenities; something as mundane as seeing two geisha clad in kimono walking next to a taxi. The men who frequent Gion have changed their clothes as the times pass, yet till now it is the wealthy businessmen who look to entertain and be entertained, in their dapper, dreary business suits, that sing and laugh with geisha in the comfort of the teahouses overlooking the river. Not everything Arthur Golden says is true, but it’s not all false either. As tourists throng to the temples frantically snapping away with their cameras, there remains the crowd of people that stays the same, going back to the temple year after year, month after month, praying for this or that. The wooden plaques always say the same things; human nature changes very little. Many things have changed, but there is still hope. 

Here, young girls still guide their hopeful friends, hands clasped and eyes closed, towards the sunshine and in search of love.

293: japan: osaka city riots

18- 21 May.

So, finally, here is Osaka. Most of what they say about Osaka is totally true. It’s a merchant town, and it’s filled with people who love food, love being happy, love being loud and funny and living life. It’s kind of like being Hokkien on crack. Being Japanese, they’re naturally polite, and really really willing to help. They’re the sort of people that, when you are standing alone on the train platform surrounded by your luggage, an elderly lady will totter over to you asking, 大丈夫か？ (Are you all right?). At this point most of what you can say merely consists of ああ、はい (Ah, yes) which is really rude now that I think about it. Yet the same elderly lady, when getting onto the train, will fight you tooth and nail to get in and give you a not-so-friendly push if you dawdle too long at the entrance. Osaka people are always hurrying everywhere; not in the same way as Tokyo or the big cities, where everyone needs to look like they have something very important to do. Here it is pure unadulterated rush. 

We spent four days in Osaka, and they were a good four days. We visited temples and parks, castles, got lost, did lots of shopping, checked out Kennedy’s wildly expensive t-shirts, gawked at more wildly expensive merchandise, ate and walked, and ate, and ate non-stop. 

289: japan: yokohama city lights

It’s early in the morning now, and as usual, I can’t sleep. The sky is red and you know what they say about red skies in the morning and red skies at night. Tonight the moon is full, as it was last night, but tonight the moon hung low behind the tree outside my house and I had to look harder to find it. It’s just like most things, which disappear without you noticing in the hope you’ll look ever harder for them. 

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This post is about Yokohama, with which I think I might have a special love affair. This is not to say that I didn’t love all the other cities I went to, but that they mean different things to me. Tokyo is the place of childhood and dreams, mainly because I went there so many times when I was younger, though as you grow older you discover its ever-increasing adult attractions. Osaka was all about food and relaxation and just generally having fun doing everything and nothing. Kyoto was full of history, but Yokohama…

Yokohama is full of lights and romance. Yokohama is the place you bring girls to when you want to impress them. It doesn’t seem like much because it’s so near Tokyo and it’s so easy to overlook, but it retains that particular, off-centre, sort of feeling. It’s near but not too near. It has its own voice, its own attractions, its own history. Some people say Chinatown wasn’t too interesting; sometimes you just need to know where to look. Stepping into Minato Mirai is fascinating precisely because we’re at an age where we can appreciate it, still: the free theme parks, ferris wheels, lights across the sea, the red brick warehouses and the smoke curling up from beneath the windows. It seriously is the number one place to bring a girl on a date. It is so romantic you can choke.