I failed. In a typical London manner, it rained; and, in a typical manner in which I go about things I have serious personal apprehensions, I found it as an excuse not to try. Thus, in the typical manner that life imitates art, this rainy day became the backdrop against which an exchange of favors (my introverted self to put on the fangirl mask for the price of an autograph and small - miniscule - talk) failed to take place.
I could try again tomorrow.
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I was fully prepared for an onslaught of emotionally harrowing plot twists and revelations on the scale of Long Day's Journey into Night but it was surprisingly open to all sorts of hopeful trajectories, if one is optimistic. Many things struck me about it (not the least of which how truly amazing it was to be within meters, sometimes less, of James McAvoy) but what's lingering now is Ned's assertion that life in summary, can be seen as two pillars connected by an arch: what we want and what we get linked by guilt. Since it is a very Catholic/Christian notion - Ned himself confesses to believe in original sin - it is difficult for me to generalize it's significance without worrying what my own background adds to the picture. Yet for me there is a very real sense that between the things we intend to say/have/do and the things we do or don't get/say/do is the burden of responsibility. For what exactly, it is unclear. It could be a sense of responsibility for a small explanation of how things came to be the way they are or for actual missteps and misjudgments. Could we ever free ourselves of this burden?
It's harder than it seems and easier at the same time. It's hard to remember to keep in touch these days, but it's not as hard to track people down and a line to them. Spring makes me nostalgic. Undoubtedly 70 degrees is incomparable to the summers in the Philippines, but the heat, the thaw, the sun makes me think of home - of things I'd done in days like these or people I'd been with. Some days there are moments that bring me way back to my Miriam days - green knolls, ceiling fans, makopa trees. Some days I'm brought back to IS, middle school, Mr. Errington's room and S.A.V.E. meetings after school. Or sitting on the corridors waiting by the wall for homeroom to start, across from the seventh grader who had hair like Pocahontas.
Where are all those people now?
The first of the roomies has come - bearing this gift from Rome.
Calendario Romano - the Roman Priest Calendar. How can something that seems so wrong look so right?
I'm trying to get better at this updating thing.
I took this picture from a house we visited in Long Island. This piece I thought was beautiful and creepy at the same time. Why would anyone have bronze statues of people sitting and playing on their terrace? Shouldn't that space be for real people? The figures did look very life-like, particularly this one, which in turn added to the impressive eerieness of it all.
"I used to spend hours looking for ladybugs. Finally, I'd just give up and fall asleep in the grass. When I woke up, they were crawling all over me."I was chatting with Jelly today who reminded me of this movie, and this quote in particular. What is it about happiness that makes you forget about patience during the down times?
I never had much trouble catching ladybugs when I was little, but I remember it took me a while to master the art of capturing grasshopers. Dragonflies are particularly tricky as well. Fireflies were the most fun of course and spiders took the most courage - we never figured out which ones were biters. Last weekend I was trying to teach my sister's brother-in-law's daughter how to catch a butterfly. It was a failure; it's hard now even for me to believe that I ever did it with such ease. Where have my bug days gone?
Nic is right, I really need to snap out of this drama mode.
Today I was reunited with a pleasant summer memory. Three hundred and fifty or so days ago from today, a Japanese Airlines flight carried me away from the sandy shores of boisterous youth, the emboldening company of friends and a half-baked pseudo love affair - incident, really. Never one to sleep in airplanes, I stayed up as usual watching TV. Having seen all the English movies available, I explored the Japanese offerings and was surprised by the most cleverly amusing show on the planet - Trivia no Izumi, Fountain of Trivia (for a taste search for "trivia japan" in google video). It was like one of those ideas for a book or movie or, as in this case, a TV show that was so good and suitable for your pleasure you wish you were the one that came up with it. Despite my heart being in shambles and my mind lost in a haze, I remember laughing hysterically though ever so quietly to keep the two gentlemen sleeping soundly next to me from waking. It snapped me right out of my pathetic melancholy, for the moment.
I don't know why I thought of it this morning, the memory intensified by watching the episode on google video, convulsing quietly as I did before, so as to not wake up my mom and sister. Like Proust's tisane-soaked madeleine (oh dear, have I really become so pretentious? ay, mourn the death of small talk) my small experience today waking up to that memory flooded me with associations to that summer - Manila, the heat, the crowds, the noise, the train, the traffic, unpaved winding roads, empty resorts, cramped housing, abandoned buildings, people on the streets, the partying, the drinking, the spending. That summer, like Manila, like me, for all its near-hopeless brokenness I knew then and felt then I loved! Why? I suppose that is the big question that needs answering - and what I'm supposed to do with that love.