Say bye to 2009

In all honesty -and this is one of the few times where I'm not going to be angsty -I think 2009 was a good year. Not great, but it got better as it went on. Speaking on an egotistic personal level of course, and not minding Bigger Things like the Economic Crisis, Global Warming, Lindsay Lohan, etc.

2009 PROS:

1) Plays that I work on always mark the highlights of the year. How fitting that 2010 finds me IN a musical for the first time of my life. I can hardly wait.

2) Moving out of residence was the best decision I made this year, and when I recall how close my plans were to falling to pieces, I am forever grateful to the friends (and now housemates) who had my back. It's a madhouse but that's the way we like it.

3) I feel like I'm finally breaking away from the grips of nostalgia associated with high school (which, let's face it, wasn't even that great), old friends, and dare I say it Hong Kong. It's not to say I don't miss them all anymore, it's just that I can miss them without wallowing.

4) Turning twenty wasn't the sordid affair that I always anticipate birthdays to be. Being twenty so far has been pretty amazing. I say good riddance to the teen years and their woe-is-me world.

5) That said, I will probably always be an angst kid at heart. Yes, this is actually a pro. It helps my digestion.

6) Taiwan

2009 CONS:

1) I am probably even more clueless right now about what I want to do with My Life than when I entered university.

2) Boys do my head in more than ever, I fail at reading them, I always fall for the wrong kind....oh and I'm still single.

BUT THAT'S OKAY. Look, only 2 cons. And a whole year for anything to happen.

Quotes make the trip.

Note: this is purely self-indulgent and for nostalgic purposes only.

"REE-LEE??"

"Dear Diary: What's going on?"

"Wong Professor"

"Close Facebook and face the real books."

"Most wonderful."

"I am pansexual."

“刚刚起床。”

"What happened in 1914?"

Double-note: My trips down memory lane will somewhat be halted due to my laptop being in repair for who knows how long....ugh. Not only does it have all my pictures, but having to come to the library to satisfy my internet urges has been pretty lame and miserable to say the least. Am considering spending an entire day at the movies tomorrow, or in bed with hot chocolate, cookies and many many books. Hey, if it's going to be a lonely Christmas might as well make it good.

Food makes the trip.

- I must have had about 5 bubble teas -no fancy flavours, just classic milk tea with tapioca pearls. Perfect.

- Woolong tea: it's layered aroma, the calm that comes with its preparation, and the sweet aftertaste of its warm bitterness...I think I may have found a new sedative.

- Street food at the night markets were a feast for all senses, I honestly believe they are an art in their own right.

- Who can forget the sticks of candied pears, tomatoes and strawberries. Just like gemstones.

- The Turkish ice-cream man will always stand out as the most bizarre and amazing addition to the partially international gastronomic scene.

- Strangest dish was hands down 阿给 ("ah gei") -tofu stuffed with vermicelli and some kind of seafood, in a pinkish soup. Can't say I loved it but it wins points for the never-seen-or-heard-of factor.

- Pork as the primary default meat was unfortunate for my Muslim friends....but oh, such bliss and comfort for me.

- We do rice right.

Music makes the trip.

I have been playing this horrid piece of catchy trash (and loving it) non-stop since I got back. The romantic in me didn't have any control over the soundtrack that would accompany and define my time in Taiwan. I didn't bring my mp3 player (yes I am one of the few who still don't own an iPod) because my only pair of earphones broke ages ago and I didn't have time to buy new ones. Basically, this left the door open to Other People's Music and well....spawns of garbage like the above.

Tik Tok became somewhat of an inside joke due to one guy's obsession with it. Funny thing is we didn't even listen to it all that much during our laptop parties in the hotel. All we knew and kept quoting was the first line, "Wake up in the morning feeling like P. Diddy." No kidding, I woke up with that line in my head a number of mornings. Wishful thinking perhaps. We went clubbing our last night in the city, and of course requested the song. It didn't come on until the very moment we were leaving. It was one of those great coincidences and needless to say we danced our way out the exit.

This other girl on the trip was really into Japanese and Korean pop, and we were all familiar with this song....of course, it comes up in the club accompanied by a live act of pretty girls with bobs and mod dresses, and much singing along and clapping ensued. Next day on the bus after Wong Professor said bye to us we spontaneously burst into the chorus as a tribute to him. Classic moment. P.S, the guys are so fruity they could be a spinoff Wonderboys band.

Picture this: seven of us drunk off vodka in a karaoke lounge, singing in faux French accents and swaying in time to the music. Sure, there were other classic moments with Lady Gaga and the Backstreet Boys -Summer Nights was a highlight as well. But this cheeseball of a song was what we were stuck with when they cut us off at the one hour limit. And in a way, it was a perfect ending to a night of camaraderie and camp. I don't think I will ever hear this song and not think of Taiwan and for that, it holds a special place in my cold heart.

The little things.

Our tables at breakfast, the coffee, congee, the (lack of) red bean buns.

The fact that I had my own room and bathroom and could strip down to my underwear after a long day, take a shower with the door open and have music playing outside.

Laptop parties in the only room that had free wireless.

Late night walks, beers, and chats.

The "Friends" bus which became a second home.

Bubble tea.

Chinese tea as a substitute for water.

Pedestrian lights with their funny walking green men and countdowns from 80 seconds.

Swarms of motorbikes.

Alleyways.

The closeness of mountains to the city.

After more than a week of wearing suits and skirts and being catered to decadent food......I am now sitting in sweatpants and a hoodie, and just had canned soup for dinner. I hope the parallel me in my alternate Taipei life is still having fun. Heck, I even miss the hotel room pillow that I buried my exhausted head into every night.

recapturing

Until I deal with one more exam, unpacking and cleaning up the blackhole mess that is my room, my recollections of Taiwan will have to be incremental. But so long as I'm procrastinating, I may as well be writing here.

I got back at 8am. Everyone in the house was asleep; I sat around in an unreal state of mind for an hour then went to sleep until 3pm. I drifted in and out to the sound of people talking and laughing in the kitchen. At one point I was awake enough to probably get out of bed but I couldn't bear the thought of walking out to greet everyone, hug them, be bombarded with questions and etc. I know that sounds rather rude, but I allow me to stew in my withdrawal.

What can I say besides the usual 'amazing, incredible, blahblah' when asked by people how it was? It is so insufficient in conveying anything. I could rail off all the things I saw, ate, all the people I met, the meetings I went to, I could even say how blessed and moved I felt at times, how much I tried to soak in every moment and how at times my heart was bursting with peace or ambition....I could say all that and it would only make me feel like a rambling, insincere idiot. I know my friends will be happy for me, I know they won't mind me going on and on about this and that, I know they will look at my pictures.... but it's not enough for me. I have already spent the entire day thinking about and trying not to think about the past week. There are certain things that I will never be able to express properly in a normal conversation, but I can try my best to form a narrative here. Writing in hindsight is perhaps one of the most challenging but interesting mediums of self-reflection -not only is it an exercise of memory, it is an inquiry into representation. After years and years of journaling, of feeling both liberated and trapped by the act of documenting my own story, of going around in circles about whether I am remembering or refashioning, I think I have come to terms with the precariousness and fluidity of being "honest." Things happen point blank. What's true and real comes out through reorganisation and interpretation....and depending on the moment you choose to do that, you can end up with multiple and contradicting versions of the same experience. And if the present is constantly remoulding the past then the stories are endless and it means I can relive Taiwan endlessly at the same time that it inevitably fades. And that's good and sad to know.

A lifechanging trip?

Just maybe.

Fuck yes.

This girl from HK is going to Taiwan.

what's new

i'm an idiot.

i used to write pt. 1

This is me, cycling up Fort street for the seventh time this afternoon. I'm trying to self-induce a hallucination. Extreme physical exhaustion in hot conditions coupled with the deprivation of water is usually known to be complimented by mental slippage, I've read. That's what happens to people who see mirages in the desert. I only have a relatively sunny day to work with though, so some extra effort is going to be required. This is me, sweating and about to pass out, but I'm finding it hard getting into the right mindset. I believe you're supposed to really concentrate on whatever it is you want to see or have. It's like the guy in the desert who's dying of thirst and suddenly sees an oasis. Except now that I think about it, it's not so much desire that he's feeling than absolute, desperate need for water. I think that's the part I'm having trouble figuring out.

I push harder on the pedals, applying all my weight onto my right leg, then my left. Right-left-right-left-right. The gravel beneath me crackles with heat as the two wheels rotate agonisingly, squashing into the ground's roughness and releasing the scent of summer friction. I imagine the bike as a rolling pin, elongating my silhouette stretched out on the road before me. I keep expecting to ride right over it, leaving it stuck on the road behind me like a translucent piece of black silk cut-out that's about to be lifted off any moment by a stray breeze. I stand up now, in an attempt to salvage my decreasing speed. I can feel the acidic soreness building up in my thighs and know there's going to be plenty of fresh blisters on my palms. I always grip too tight going uphill.

I let my mind wander to distract myself from the aching in my limbs. My thoughts are on shuffle and stop at a conversation I had last week with the cute guy next door when I went over to borrow his bike pump.
"Hey Liz, what's your favourite thing about summer?" He is on his knees rummaging about in the garage and looks over his shoulder at me. It's an odd question to suddenly throw out, but his playful smile makes it casual and inviting.
"Oh, um...my favourite thing? I guess uh, the weather. Especially here, I mean." I stumble, cringe and mentally kick myself for the original answer, but he's busy thinking about his own.
"I think the best part about summer is making bonfires on the beach." He stands up, hands me the pump and flashes a grin at me, expecting some kind of enthusiastic affirmation which I am unable to give because I have never made a bonfire in my life except in Grade 10 chemistry class when Sarah and I piled up our used matches and tried to light them using the bunsen burner.
"Oh, that must be fun," is all I can say and I stand there stupidly, hating how unexciting of a person I am. The weather, for god's sake. I should have just made something up.

I'm starting to feel a dull pain at the front of my head between my eyes. It must be from dehydration --that means it's beginning to work. Any moment now, I'm going to go into a state of delirium. Nobody will notice though, because I will just keep going on my bike. Physically, everything's supposed to function as normal and you shouldn't able to tell I was going through a fantastical episode, just looking at me. I'm pretty sure I read that somewhere.

A crow caws above me and it reminds me of a few days ago when it was unbelievably windy and I was walking home. The sky was heavy, weighed down with ominous grey clouds that hid what could have been a brewing storm. As I rounded the corner to the house, head down and arms wrapped tightly around my jacket, I was met with a strange and awful scene. There were some ten, fifteen crows on the front lawn, just standing and hopping about. I stood there, glued to the spot and just stared at them and their cold, hard beaks and beady eyes. I had images of Hitchcock's The Birds in my head against the Psycho soundtrack. Any moment, they were going to attack me and pluck my eyeballs out. I was certain of it. It didn't even feel real, but I could see myself already, sprawled out on the grass dead and socketless with them picking at my clothes. I'm not a superstitious person at all, but that was a deathsending right there if I ever saw one.

My mind is going all over the place, which is not what I want. I should be focusing on the heat and fatigue and pain, not browsing around in my memory bank. I fix my eyes on the cluster of houses in the distance. Their outlines waver in the sweltering air but no palm trees materialise. I knew this was a stupid idea, and feel even worse for thinking that it might be stupid enough to work. I squeeze my eyes shut for 3 seconds but nothing's different when I open them again. I try 5 seconds next, then 7, then 9 before the loud horn of a car from behind jolts me awake and I see that I'm practically riding horizontally across the street. I steer sharply back to the side of the road, take a right turn onto one of the neighbourhood streets and suddenly there is a truck coming right at me, blinding headlights and all, and its long blaring horn and scraping tires and my screams are one and holyfuckinghell I'm a goner, I`m dead, I'm going to be turned into pulp.

*

They have it wrong when they switch to a slow-motion perspective in movie scenes that involve a freak or dramatic accident. To me, everything was going twice as fast and I was already seeing myself being crushed. Whilst my mind was filled with the single, elongated word "Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck" though, my body must have gone into automatic drive and narrowly maneuvered out of the way, because here I am, still cycling and still screaming like a maniac but ohmygod I'm alive, I'm breathing. I was scared so shitless just moments ago that it is only now that I realise it's raining -pouring, in fact. When did it start? The day has suddenly become darker, too. I look up and it's one massive grey smoky cloud filling up the entire sky, and a million columns of raindrops are splattering on me and the road. The road. That stupid driver was on the wrong side of the road. The psycho, he almost killed me.

Oh god, that means I'm on the wrong side right now, and probably about to have another near death experience with an approaching vehicle. Shit. Just as I think this though, I become aware that the cars in my lane are actually going in the same direction as me. Then I realise I don't have the slightest clue where I am. As my mind gradually gathers back its lucidity and the shakiness in me subsides, I see that I am riding up some winding road of a hugely steep hill, its curve preventing me from seeing much ahead to where it leads to. All I know is that I'm lost, but wait, I've been on this road before. A low thunder ripples through the air, and suddenly I am drenched through with a wave of nostalgia. As if on cue, the 69K minibus drives past me and then there is no doubt about it all.

This is me in penetrating humidity, soaked to my bones, cycling on the left side of the road. This is me, riding my way up to the school I spent seven years loving and loathing. And this is me, caught in a Hong Kong summer rainstorm and sticking my tongue out to taste the warm fat drops that are probably poisonous but I don`t care because I am in my oasis and everything is fucking fantastic.

FML.

All I was trying to do was get rid of a blackhead. Now I have a red splotch bang in the middle of my nose. And I can't find my powder concealer. UGH.

it's become a bit of an obsession: this

careless casting off

and latching on.

how many more until

i wear out like velcro?

Good things come in threes.

Today I:

1) Received 2 birthday packages from a friend and home

2) Found out I made the Dean's list; found money in my account

3) Scored a free trip to Taiwan

what i loved most about the dancing was

the way you grasped

clasped my hand leaned

in slightly swayed in

time with me the way

we made two circles worth

of conversation in

an empty corner (just as well

the party was over) it

made it that much more

believable those hands

were holding me

turning twenty

has never been a more

joyful occasion and this time

i have kept the blues at bay

i have avoided the self-indulgence

of woes and regrets (with a

little help from gin and a lot

from friends)

i have felt blessed, truly

and i have learnt over the past

two years

that it is possible to grow

to love someone you didn't before

that things change for the better

and i will change for the better

that the world doesn't end when i fuck up

and a fucked up world doesn't end me

and there's more of all that to come

in which i'll figure out more as i go along

yes turning twenty this way

is the way it's meant to be

every year i tell myself to stay away

but i always cave

you are so rock and roll

you know it's impossible

don't pull me over baby

i'll make my way there

meet you in dead weather

we'll crash through the waves.

i like when the house is quiet

and the furniture breathes.

it helps

expel

the nervous energy in me.