My husband's 4 days on 4 days off work schedule is awesome, and not so awesome,
it awesome becos he gets more money,
it's not so becos some days, like the holidays I don't get to see him much,
all the while i have to watch tv to keep myself entertained, while my friends post all these awesome holiday pictures, where they have been, activities, drinking.
in my early 20s i never crave these things, never even so much crave companies.
maybe pregnancy hormone brings on extra mood, and especially in these holidays.
i just watched the yellow stone/animal program, it says it is unusually for a mama bear to have this many cubs, 4. Then it went on showing 2 of them are significantly bigger than the other 2, but this female, the narrator says, found 2 orphaned cubs and adopted them.
And that's it, i started crying, for a near half hour.
sigh... how ridiculous.
Progressive life, or not
it's xmas, and i feel the least excited by it, objectively.
my life doesn't seem to me the least remote interesting right now,
i cried twice today, once watching an animal program, the plot wasn't remotely moving, nothing dies that sort;
the 2nd time i can't remember, is not longer after i managed to make a stop on the first one, it could be a commercial about boxing day sale...
anyway, my life bores me, i'm saddened by it, for lack of company and friendship and purpose and meaning.
although it's not completely true, i have a life growing inside me, my husband is trying all his might to accommodate me, I do sometimes wish I am not so complaining as much.
I just miss my life before, the life i had, it seems so far away, i miss drinking white wines and exercise, i miss hearing interesting conversations and debates and stories of lives, now i read fictional ones, just to fill my imagination.
I am so lonely.
yet i hold strong. for better days, for hopes that things will get better.
my life doesn't seem to me the least remote interesting right now,
i cried twice today, once watching an animal program, the plot wasn't remotely moving, nothing dies that sort;
the 2nd time i can't remember, is not longer after i managed to make a stop on the first one, it could be a commercial about boxing day sale...
anyway, my life bores me, i'm saddened by it, for lack of company and friendship and purpose and meaning.
although it's not completely true, i have a life growing inside me, my husband is trying all his might to accommodate me, I do sometimes wish I am not so complaining as much.
I just miss my life before, the life i had, it seems so far away, i miss drinking white wines and exercise, i miss hearing interesting conversations and debates and stories of lives, now i read fictional ones, just to fill my imagination.
I am so lonely.
yet i hold strong. for better days, for hopes that things will get better.
if it were not you
you think there's a single event can ward off your life?
remark a lifeline?
perhaps.
just a line post for a mile, my friend.
that year, that day,
marked a dot in your life.
it might not mean anything until time pass, many years even.
but you'll get there,
like a turtle unaware of it's destination, but
swam swam and swam,
till exhaustion.
you'll get there.
you might not even realised it was a destination. until time passed, years later.
you can finally retire to yourself: I'm here now, this is where I will rest my soul;
for a while;
until I depart for another again.
leaving those who accompany me all the while, or take the memory on my journey.
they are just part of it, if you choose to. if they choose to be too.
remark a lifeline?
perhaps.
just a line post for a mile, my friend.
that year, that day,
marked a dot in your life.
it might not mean anything until time pass, many years even.
but you'll get there,
like a turtle unaware of it's destination, but
swam swam and swam,
till exhaustion.
you'll get there.
you might not even realised it was a destination. until time passed, years later.
you can finally retire to yourself: I'm here now, this is where I will rest my soul;
for a while;
until I depart for another again.
leaving those who accompany me all the while, or take the memory on my journey.
they are just part of it, if you choose to. if they choose to be too.
24 years, 16 countries, 1 winner, All Blacks!
New Zealand finally, All Blacks finally.
We are, we are the champion! 24 years of waiting, finally, the cup has come home.
watching it all the way from another country, I had always had the feeling yes this time is ours, 4 years ago I only heard rugby world cup, and we lost to France in semi final, I remember the critics, the news, but at that time i wasn't passionate about all black or rugby, or this little country.
Now, with the biggest pride, with tears in my eyes, I cried on the couch, when the whistle was blown, it was unreal. The moment was so fine, it was almost unbelievable. Little old New ZeaLand, number 1 rugby favourite team, and the host, and the nerve the tension... but finally, our boys carried it home!
My friend David cried, a rugby player himself, my friend and like a little sister, told me, twice: once when the game finish the whistle blew, 2nd when the inspirational captain Richie received the Cup, a tough man who can almost smash me with one blow as I know, David, cried.
History in the making, last night was. One of the finest.
Lastly let me give you this performance, famous war dance New Zealand perform before every game, conference, functions, called Haka, this one is called Kapa o Pango (All Blacks).
We are, we are the champion! 24 years of waiting, finally, the cup has come home.
watching it all the way from another country, I had always had the feeling yes this time is ours, 4 years ago I only heard rugby world cup, and we lost to France in semi final, I remember the critics, the news, but at that time i wasn't passionate about all black or rugby, or this little country.
Now, with the biggest pride, with tears in my eyes, I cried on the couch, when the whistle was blown, it was unreal. The moment was so fine, it was almost unbelievable. Little old New ZeaLand, number 1 rugby favourite team, and the host, and the nerve the tension... but finally, our boys carried it home!
My friend David cried, a rugby player himself, my friend and like a little sister, told me, twice: once when the game finish the whistle blew, 2nd when the inspirational captain Richie received the Cup, a tough man who can almost smash me with one blow as I know, David, cried.
History in the making, last night was. One of the finest.
Lastly let me give you this performance, famous war dance New Zealand perform before every game, conference, functions, called Haka, this one is called Kapa o Pango (All Blacks).
| Kapa o Pango kia whakawhenua au i ahau! | All Blacks, let me become one with the land |
| Hī aue, hī! | |
| Ko Aotearoa e ngunguru nei! | This is our land that rumbles |
| Au, au, aue hā! | It’s my time! It’s my moment! |
| Ko Kapa o Pango e ngunguru nei! | This defines us as the All Blacks |
| Au, au, aue hā! | It’s my time! It’s my moment! |
| I āhahā! | |
| Ka tū te ihiihi | Our dominance |
| Ka tū te wanawana | Our supremacy will triumph |
| Ki runga ki te rangi e tū iho nei, tū iho nei, hī! | And be placed on high |
| Ponga rā! | Silver fern! |
| Kapa o Pango, aue hī! | All Blacks! |
| Ponga rā! | Silver fern! |
| Kapa o Pango, aue hī, hā! | All Blacks! |
The Bone People
This is one of the very first New Zealand novel I read, before Morris Gee and anything else.
First be warned, I don't read like a speedy train, and English is not my first language, but it hasn't stopped me desiring the nourishment of literature.
I don't want to write a review or an essay on how good or lost this is. Plainly, its been hard to read it, at least the first time round; even though I lived in New Zealand for nearly a decade, not growing up and adapted to the slangs and Maori culture is a disadvantage; and with the unconventional dialogue style, it has been a bit tough to get me started stuck in this one.
I believe I was at the airport of Wellington, before our flight to America, Wedding trip, that I picked it up from the section of New Zealand fictions. The book is heavy, thick, dense with small texts. I always liked to read something on the plane, at least pretend to.
Okay, the story, is about Keriwin, the lonely, head strong mysterious loner, who distant herself from her family for not known reasons, living in a self built tower, one stormy afternoon she was intruded by little lost boy's, eventually during the development of their encourters, the boy's background and story emerges, his father's and his family's too, they each had a story or many, then the stories and their lives intertwined with each other.
Like I said, the story is one of the most unconventional, at least in the 80, but I loved its style, the lyrics, the love and the hate, the Maori stuff, the twists and heartbreaks. But I am not sure if I should so easily recommend it to everyone. I was not able to finish the book at first attempt. I believe that was early if not specified down to January - Feb 2010, but managed to completely finish the book during my stay in China over the non-stop reading in March 2011, and i'm glad for that time that I had, to catch up on a lot of things where during the other times, such consistency could not be achieved during the course of juggling for work/life balance.
Lastly, here is link that I unexpectedly discovered, a surprising insight.
http://wellywoodwoman.blogspot.com/2010/11/bone-people.html?spref=gr#close=1
The problem
The problem is
I'm woman, I'm human, I'm emotional
The problem is
I'm too soft, I'm too hard,
I'm too independent,
I'm too firey, I'm too fierce,
I have too much tear to shed,
I have too much to express,
I'm too concerned if you listen.
The real problem is
I'm too happy,
I'm too depressed,
I'm everything but not all at once,
But the problem really is
I'm too fat
I'm too old
I'm too immature,
I'm too pretentious.
I'm too beautiful,
I'm too hot to handle.
Hey,
Fuck you,
Who asked for your opinion.
I'm woman, I'm human, I'm emotional
The problem is
I'm too soft, I'm too hard,
I'm too independent,
I'm too firey, I'm too fierce,
I have too much tear to shed,
I have too much to express,
I'm too concerned if you listen.
The real problem is
I'm too happy,
I'm too depressed,
I'm everything but not all at once,
But the problem really is
I'm too fat
I'm too old
I'm too immature,
I'm too pretentious.
I'm too beautiful,
I'm too hot to handle.
Hey,
Fuck you,
Who asked for your opinion.
piece it together
patch it, or,
where it needs.
that little light, i'm chasing.
don't let it vanish.
don't vanish
it shines my way out, my way home, my salvation.
hold on, holding on.
let it disappear, poor soul.
where it needs.
that little light, i'm chasing.
don't let it vanish.
don't vanish
it shines my way out, my way home, my salvation.
hold on, holding on.
let it disappear, poor soul.
Reading Leonard Cohen
I always wanted to buy a good book of poetry for the little one, my little sister. Spending a few good hours in the afterwork evenings not being a good wife, walking in my high heels in the bookstores, spent nearly $200 on a stack, reading a few and regret I should have chosen a little carefully, finally found this.
Books of Longing. Randomly, it instantly caught me.
An entire hour of my train then bus journey reading into it, had my earplugs on but completely forgot to turn on the music, lost in it.
Wikipediaed him, he's as well as a writer, a poet, also wrote Famous Blue Raincoat. Entirely pleased with my effort. I shared the song on facebook, my little one immidiately responded he's not as good as Johnny Cash, then on and on about how depressing his songs.... I don't think she realized or even bothered to research whether he professions outside of singing. Slight discouraged, but, what can you do with them, kids...
Here are some, even depressing, but I like dearly, and I would dearly remember them for life before I sent it forever to Emma:
YOU ARE RIGHT, SAHARA
You are right, Sahara. There are no mists, or veils, or distances. But the mist is surrounded by a mist; and the veil is hidden behind a veil; and the distance continually draws away from the distance. That is why there are no mists, or veils, or distances. That is why it is called The Great Distance of Mist and Veils. It is here that The Traveler becomes The Wanderer, and The Wanderer becomes The One Who Is Lost, and The One Who Is Lost becomes The Seeker, and The Seeker becomes The Passionate Lover, and The Passionate Lover becomes The Beggar, and The Beggar becomes The Wretch, and The Wretch becomes The One Who Must Be Sacrificed, and The One Who Must Be Sacrificed becomes The Resurrected One and The Resurrected One becomes The One Who has Transcended The Great Distance of Mist and Veils. Then for a thousand years, or the rest of the afternoon, such a One spins in the Blazing Fire of Changes, embodying all the transformations, one after the other, and then beginning again, and then ending again, 86,000 times a second. Then such a one, if he is a man, is ready to love the woman Sahara; and such a one, if she is a woman, is ready to love the man who can put into song The Great Distance of Mist and Veils. Is it you who are waiting, Sahara, or is it I?
HALF THE WORLD
Every night she'd come to me
I'd cook for her, I'd pour her tea
She was in her thirties then
had made some money, lived with men
We'd lay us down to give and get
beneath the white mosquito net
And since no counting had begun
we lived a thousand years in one
The candles burned, the moon went down
the polished hill, the milky town
transparent, weightless, luminous,
uncovering the two of us
on that fundamental ground,
where love's unwilled, unleashed,unbound
and half the perfect world is found
LOOKING AWAY
you would look at me
and it never occured to me
that you might be choosing the man of your life
you would look at me
over the bottles and the corpses
and I thought
you must be playing with me
you must think I'm crazy enough
to step behind your eyes
into the open elevator shaft
so I looked away
and I waited
until you became a palm tree
or a crow
or the vast grey ocean of wind
or the vast grey ocean of mind
now look at me
married to everyone but you
Books of Longing. Randomly, it instantly caught me.
An entire hour of my train then bus journey reading into it, had my earplugs on but completely forgot to turn on the music, lost in it.
Wikipediaed him, he's as well as a writer, a poet, also wrote Famous Blue Raincoat. Entirely pleased with my effort. I shared the song on facebook, my little one immidiately responded he's not as good as Johnny Cash, then on and on about how depressing his songs.... I don't think she realized or even bothered to research whether he professions outside of singing. Slight discouraged, but, what can you do with them, kids...Here are some, even depressing, but I like dearly, and I would dearly remember them for life before I sent it forever to Emma:
YOU ARE RIGHT, SAHARA
You are right, Sahara. There are no mists, or veils, or distances. But the mist is surrounded by a mist; and the veil is hidden behind a veil; and the distance continually draws away from the distance. That is why there are no mists, or veils, or distances. That is why it is called The Great Distance of Mist and Veils. It is here that The Traveler becomes The Wanderer, and The Wanderer becomes The One Who Is Lost, and The One Who Is Lost becomes The Seeker, and The Seeker becomes The Passionate Lover, and The Passionate Lover becomes The Beggar, and The Beggar becomes The Wretch, and The Wretch becomes The One Who Must Be Sacrificed, and The One Who Must Be Sacrificed becomes The Resurrected One and The Resurrected One becomes The One Who has Transcended The Great Distance of Mist and Veils. Then for a thousand years, or the rest of the afternoon, such a One spins in the Blazing Fire of Changes, embodying all the transformations, one after the other, and then beginning again, and then ending again, 86,000 times a second. Then such a one, if he is a man, is ready to love the woman Sahara; and such a one, if she is a woman, is ready to love the man who can put into song The Great Distance of Mist and Veils. Is it you who are waiting, Sahara, or is it I?
HALF THE WORLD
Every night she'd come to me
I'd cook for her, I'd pour her tea
She was in her thirties then
had made some money, lived with men
We'd lay us down to give and get
beneath the white mosquito net
And since no counting had begun
we lived a thousand years in one
The candles burned, the moon went down
the polished hill, the milky town
transparent, weightless, luminous,
uncovering the two of us
on that fundamental ground,
where love's unwilled, unleashed,unbound
and half the perfect world is found
LOOKING AWAY
you would look at me
and it never occured to me
that you might be choosing the man of your life
you would look at me
over the bottles and the corpses
and I thought
you must be playing with me
you must think I'm crazy enough
to step behind your eyes
into the open elevator shaft
so I looked away
and I waited
until you became a palm tree
or a crow
or the vast grey ocean of wind
or the vast grey ocean of mind
now look at me
married to everyone but you
Remains
what remains
scar? or just the echo of no such screaming.
the remain of your last humanness
the remain of your prestigious
the remain of timelessness
the remain of my existence,
washed away,
let me sleep,
if you can't help loving me
if you can help clean me up,
afterwards.
the frozen photos on the wall,
if you can't help clean me up, even
take me off
let me go
scar? or just the echo of no such screaming.
the remain of your last humanness
the remain of your prestigious
the remain of timelessness
the remain of my existence,
washed away,
let me sleep,
if you can't help loving me
if you can help clean me up,
afterwards.
the frozen photos on the wall,
if you can't help clean me up, even
take me off
let me go
1 year ago
I was waiting
not on every day scale,
every minute scale,
waiting for reunion, waiting for news, waiting for progress.
But I'm here now, finally.
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