Unbalanced Vision

Showy

Decoration

Wiggly bits

Green tea ice cream, yummylicious!

Night riders

JC is leaving London at a rude hour next Monday, so we decided to meet up this evening at Abeno Too for Japanese omelettes; I asked M to join us as well. JC and I go way back to elementary school. We were never in the same class, and then naturally lost touch after she moved to Vancouver. Thanks to the Internet we are now sitting together in the same restaurant talking and staring at the heated stove. The room was especially warm because of all the stoves placed in front of each customer. Their chefs are a showy bunch: first she brings in bowls of ingredients, then she stirs in front of you, pours in front of you and fries in front of you... very slowly. It's slightly annoying to watch your food hidden under the lid for God knows how long; come on, I want my meal pronto! Anyways, the result was satisfactory and filling, and my green tea ice cream was a nice final touch. I reckon with some random ingredients and flour in my kitchen, I can concoct a smiliar dish at home.

Later in the evening I walked along Oxford St. towards Russell Sq. Oddly enough I saw a group of rollerbladers dominating the road, followed by a larger group of cyclists. What were they up to? Have a lovely weekend, and here's a fun game to start April. (It would be better if I could change the head of the boy.)

A break from reading about the uprising of the English landed gentry... I like this piece written by Rahat, by way of Silent Dreams:

The Simplest Truth / A Breathing Tutorial
The world is full of conversations with girls I've never met. "Hi, how are you?" "Yeah? Me too." "Nah, no way!" "Sure, I'd love to."

The words go 360 and land back at my feet, ever constrained in a magically perfect world where things are clockwork. But truth isn't a warm blanket; and your heart is never warmer than a Siberian summer.

A different kind of singularity approaches, merging fantasy with truth. Sometimes I find myself at the epicenter of it. Sometimes I feel like the pragmatic notions of another tomorrow strikes me numb, keeping me chained to every second that passes by.

There's a secret in all of this, but I'm not sure what it is. I've been searching far and wide, from the jungles of the Bengal to the bustling urban mechanism of the Big Apple: But it's sneakier than you think!

My most precious memory of a girl was when I was only about eight. She was the daughter of my father's business friend who was visiting from South Korea. I don't remember her name, but at such a tender age, we had something that I sometimes feel I'll never have again. It was pure, perfect, momentary and seemingly destined.

After a long stay in Bangladesh, they were finally headed back home to Seoul. On the way to the airport, the girl and I shared the backseat of a Corolla. My English was weak at best; her Bengali was even weaker. Smiles and glances were the medium of communication, and by the end of the ride she had given me a pink pencil box. I keep it to this day, hidden in the annals of my youth.

Boxes store your memories without a warranty. There's no guarantee you'll remember yesterday, which is a sad fact indeed. But it's okay. At the end of the day, I'll know that I've had multiple conversations with you and wondered the many things that could have transpired.

This life is simple. Our hearts are fragile at best. We are what we long for. And for that: premeditated pleasures keep us breathing.

Before I begin the day by examining the minds of early modern English playwrights, may I direct you to this Personal DNA test for some not so accurate self-analysis. The results say that I am an animated creator, who, apart from the descriptions I agree with, lacks sympathy, hates spending time alone and is always up to try new things. Oh well, what does a square know? This one is dedicated to Wednesday working slackers, have fun!

On Monday morning I arrived at the shop only to find an unusual group of people gathering outside the bookshop next door. What is going on? Everyone seemed to be busy conducting some serious business, or at least pretending to do so. Some moved boxes to a van parked on Charing X Rd., a few engaged in discussions, reading and signing documents, and others simply stood around with hands on their waists. It was the filming of Miss Potter the day before, starring that Yank woman who manages to pass off as a Brit lass and the unlikely scruffy motorbike boy who used to be clean shaven. I could have gotten a perfect view of the Victorian scene just by hiding inside my shop, yet too bad I was away. Previously there was much fuss over money issues and how many shops were involved in the filming. The original plan was to include the whole court with a carriage, and Renee Zellweger would walk up the narrow staircase in one of the lucky shops. Now it's only one main bookshop and four stores across the street. (If only the camera man could move a bit further to the right then you'd see my shop.) I, myself, pictured a wonderful dramatic scene where a giant Peter Rabbit played by him would chase the puny little woman down the street: it's one of those fantasies when your fictional creation leaps out of the pages to haunt you. Or else, my boss could dress up as a respectable Victorian bookseller. I should really offer this suggestion to the director.

Anyways, when the film comes out I am going to force everyone I know to watch it!

Tate: temptation comes in different colours and sizes

Mouth and tongue

Green fence (as opposed to the white picket ones) for your garden

Just the two of us
(pictures by way of BM)

I came to know Dan Flavin's work at a Haunch of Venison gallery exhibition last year. If I recall correctly, Barnett Newman, Donald Judd and Flavin represent the '60s minimalist movement--I like their crispy clean colours, shapes and lines. With art I'd prefer not to be overly analytical, I have other trustworthy eyes to do the critical work for me. If I like the piece in front of me, then it is simply because it gives me a good feeling. At HoV one can walk on the squeaky wooden floors and staircases, through the elegant Georgian townhouse at ease without pairs of glaring eyes watching over your shoulders. At Hayward it's a different story. The security staff are like human radars that make every effort to keep you from taking pictures, and boy, they are good. But BM was even better. It was as if the joy and excitement of seeing arty fluorescent lights was to master the skill of capturing them on your nifty mobile phone under challenging circumstances. Before I went, SJ reminded me that the rooms of lights will make you drowsy, whilst Peter Campbell suggests visitors to wear their sunnies... I'd recommend you to bring your camera--how many photos would you be able to take?

Facelift

We are still enjoying a late cold winter spell.
Nowadays whenever I walk to the BL, I never pause to take a good look at the Brunswick Centre. Covered in scaffolds, signs of warning, more cement, bricks, dust and safety paths, the fading concrete terrace is not an inviting sight. A flashing purple board claims that everything will be done by the summer of 2006, but in Britain construction deadlines are fantasy. This week the nice, clean white walls caught my attention; sooner or later all sides will be refurbished. The elegant queen of supermarkets, Waitrose, will be just around the corner, and Renoir still stands there to provide quality films. I am looking forward to its completion.

In the early evening I listened to Dr Frances Wood's brilliant talk on The Earliest Chinese Books in London. In our age when the West can't help but notice China's rapid development, it's interesting to find out how cultural exchange first started. There's a Chinese pamphlet that teaches the barbaric language, English, but the pronunciation is in Cantonese. Also, it was said that I Ching first arrived in England roughly at the same year when Newton was elected President of the Royal Society. Perhaps the English scientist, known for his emphasis on reason and logic, had a copy of the mysterious oriental cosmology and philiosophy in his hands.

Remember days ago I mentioned that Z's boyfriend L is modelling for some accountancy exam agency? Well, ta-da! It cracks me out to see that he has lost his head in the ad, but I can assure you, his face is just as photogenic as the loud red top.

1) Everyone wants to hang out with Mr Lee. (Note Jake Gyllenhaal's goofy look in the backgrounds, and Robert Downey Jr. is too hot.)
2) YF's site has more links about the director.
3) I particularly like Silent Dream's entry. I've always taken pride in Lee's Taiwanese roots, but what matters is the work, the art that transcends nationalities and boundaries.
4) When Ang Lee met Wong Kar Wai: you rock, no, YOU rock.

1) Bushy:
Each substance of a grief hath twenty shadows
Which shows like grief itself but is not so.
For sorrow's eye, glazed with blinding tears,
Divides one thing entire to many objects--
Like perspectives, which, rightly glazed upon,
Show nothing but confusion; eyed awry,
Distinguish form. So your sweet majesty,
Looking awry upon your lord's departure,
Find shapes of grief more than himself to wail,
Which, looked on as it is, is naught but shadows
Of what it is not. Then, thrice-gracious Queen,
More than your lord's departure weep not: more is not seen,
Or if it be, 'tis with false sorrow's eye,
Which for things true weeps things imaginary.
Richard II II.ii.14-27

2) First Lord Dumaine:
The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill together. Our virtues would be proud if our faults whipped them not, and our crimes would despair if they were not cherished by our virtues.
All's Well That Ends Well IV.iii.69-72

Boy, 'twas a hell of a nineteen days I must say, but there's something eerily funny about the whole incident. Now I can laugh at myself, later I can laugh with myself.

This morning my 'wonder woman' mother was talking to me in a very forceful tone via Skype, which is just what I needed really. I remembered when my grandmother passed away, Grandpa naturally felt weak and depressed, and was in no mood to do anything. Everyone was being sympathetic and constantly pampering him, but Mum was the only person who told him off, telling my grandpa to stop moaning this instant and stand up like a man. And he sure did, living very well on his own. I think this is the type of treatment I received this morning. First there were three angry, curt e-mail messages from her, then later a strong voice saying that I haven't learnt any piece of wisdom taught in Chinese classics, nor the lessons from the heroines I read about in novels. I should stop whinging to friends, and if I feel like sobbing, bloody swallow the pain. The core problem is abundantly clear, and what is done is done. There is nothing to regret about as we are human and make mistakes. Walk away and never look back at this unworthy relationship! So long, mofo.

I believe I can definitely move on. When I parted ways with my first boyfriend I was devastated, but after a bit I basically remembered nothing special about this guy or what happened between us, and I don't feel uncomfortable talking to him at all. Hence, I think a channel of communication can be developed in the future (certainly not now as I am avoiding the person like plague), though it depends on the other party as well. Besides, I am someone who knows how to treat myself nicely, and enjoys spending time alone, whether it's dining, going to the movies or travelling. Remember, people who cannot stand being alone and immediately jump into another relationship are untrustworthy, lowly souls. The thing that bothers me is when people say, 'it takes time'. How long is this abstract idea of Father Time then? Some say months, some suggest years. I am known for being impatient, always want to know the outcome and the exact amount of time things take. Since I was little, I'd sit inside the car and ask my parents every now and again, 'when are we arriving?' Again, my mother (bless her), shouted, 'Not in years, now!' Well, the problem's solved then.

From the first day I was kinda convinced it was me who was initially unhappy with this bloke, and later 'encouraged' the split up. Days after I am holding this belief even more. A mate tells me that because of my goals and values in life, I subconsciously do things to end anything that contradicts these ideals, because that is the way I want it to be. I'm just a bit slow or lazy in doing the dirty work. I guess I could be a cheeseball and make a list here, but he's a nice guy really, hehe.

Stand up on your feet

PS. Rule of thumb: 1) e-mail/telephone contacts SO not recommended; 2) if you happen to share the same e-mail account with your partner, bad idea, terminate it NOW. The same goes with websites--I am dying to revamp this blog!

My father left London yesterday in the afternoon. The purpose of his visit was to attend the London Book Fair, but coincidentally at this difficult period of my life it meant a lot to me. He brought over loads of pairs of socks (and only socks) from Taiwan that if I transformed into a caterpillar one day my feet will still be warm. When the sun was out we went to the bookshops on Charing X Road and later walked to the Searching for Shakespeare and The Three Emperors exhibitions. In the evenings, Dad was totally up for Italian cuisine and red wine. WIth food, alcohol and happy music, the world seemed like a timeless, stressless place. When it was pouring rain we hid into the nearest cafes, or bookshops again. With no exception, there are too many books, a wine bottle and mountaineering/hiking equipment in the luggage after the trip.

For the feet

Viva Skype

Searching for Shakespeare

The Three Emperors

Charing Cross Road on a rainy day

Dad putting on his coat outside the pie room

In Blackwells

1) Here's a card I received this week from my oldest and dearest friend SY. The picture is of a beautiful green path in the campus we grew up in. I knew her at the age of eight--there are distant memories of two little girls riding their bikes along the campus farm, the parks, the canteens and the classrooms. On Saturdays after school she would cycle to my house and we would read trashy magazines and newspapers. Oh, those were the happy, innocent days. I proudly say that she's a lawyer now, and isn't it quite something to still be in touch with a childhood mate?

Tunghai Uni.

2) More pamper treatment from my favourite couple in London. Z and L took me to an extraordinarily delicious Chinese restaurant--honestly, the best I've had since I arrived here. So all this time why haven't I discovered the beauty of other dining places, and settle for the crappy ones? The dishes were well-presented, as well as a wider selection of Chinese desserts. I listened to L describe his recent modelling experience (the Italian hunk is about to appear in every accountancy magazine near you, so go and get your copy now!), and Z talks about her creative ventures in the kitchen. Imagine, this lady was scared of turning on the gas stove, and now she is making Chinese bao zi. I was just telling them that I feel better now, but I have an odd feeling when I think about a) our happy days b) what went wrong, and c) the mean things he said on the last day... Then L came up with this in-depth remark: life is linear, and it should from now on progress from d to z. He took out a tin of instant chai latte for me, saying that it's one of the last three tins in London, as they have ran out of stock, hehe. 'This is your d', he added. I can't help but wonder how long I can pull this I-just-broke-up-please-treat-me-nicely look? I think at some point people will just tell me, 'Kid, grow up, stop moaning and get a grip'.

Taro Dessert

There's only three tins left in all of London

3) My dad is arriving in merry old London in a couple of hours, jolly good! I have yet to hoover the room and iron my clothes, for that middle-aged man is just as much a neat freak as I am. Back at home, my mum and my brother are experts in creating the mess, and Dad and I make sure everything is in place. I am expecting lots of pep talk (regarding my dissertation writing) and dining out.

4) Went to Turnmill last night. Now why would people in their late 20s stand in the chilling cold and queue for half-an-hour past midnight is beyond me. The trance room was fabulous, but was having minor trouble getting rid of a hairy-armed Frenchman. There's another room with more elbow room which was even better (I have yet to find out from FY what kind of music they're playing). This time I encountered a North England lass who attempted to massage my knees when I was sitting down in the corner. Lady, it's ticklish, OK?

1) Got a decent chunk of sleep last night: a solid eight hours!
2) Went to a lunch hour lecture delivered by my MA supervisor who I haven't seen since 2003--I'm happy to see him in good form, talking in his usual style of enthusiasm and humor. His argument was that Shakespeare's life is reflected in Shakespeare's works. By the way, NPG's Searching for Shakespeare exhibition opens today.
3) Watched Downfall. The last scene where Hitler's secretary confesses that she had little idea of their great atrocity seemed to me unconvincing. Then she said, 'Later I realised being young was not an excuse'. At the moment I cannot make any constructive comments apart from the intensity of Hitler's shaking hand, so I'll direct you to William Boyd's review.

After a pint of Guinness and nicking some peas and pie off M's plate, I walked back to the flat finding myself home alone. At first I thought someone was in because B's light and heater are still on--he forgets to switch them off (our scary electricity bill is the result, grrrr!!). Frankly speaking I was a bit scared at this moment of solitude, but then I felt it was actually quite good, for a change. I started tidying up the flat: washed the dishes, cleaned the kitchen and the toilet. During these past couple of days, outside I am a social disgrace: this incident is the only thing I talk about; at home I am a slob--but my flatmates have been very understanding. What would I do without them? I feel OK being alone now, because I know later they will return to the same rooms after a day of events.

My colleague M and I went to our local Victorian pub, The Salisbury. Talking to her really cheered me up, as all my friends make me smile and think in their unique ways. (For instance, a few days ago JF's suggestion is the active networking approach for career purposes, and YF reminded me of a bunch of drop-dead gorgeous men across the pond, hehe.) Anyways, today M brought up a good point: our society always teaches us that life's ultimate goal is to be happy, so when we're upset we feel that there's something seriously wrong with us, and immediately want to fix the problems. However, depression like happiness is just part of our emotions, and sometimes it's good to feel bad. Another thing she mentioned was that being single somehow liberates a person. Being in a relationship brings out the best in us, but it also brings out the worst. Now she no longer feels worried or jealous, the feelings one has when being with someone. Indeed, the other day as I left the pool and walked down Tottenham Court Road, I suddenly felt quite happy. I no longer have to be concerned about that website, commute to and fro, can arrange my own time, and I don't need to wash extra clothing and dishes, 'tis great. Of course such pure contentment takes time. When I think about the good times we had together and the jokes we shared, I feel sad, and I'd think I might see him riding his bike on the streets just like before. But I can assure you, now is not all bad.

The idea of 'the one' and 'meant to be' sounds like cheesy, uncreative lines taken from Hollywood movies. When someone tells me about his/her idea of 'the one', it gives me the impression that they're trying to mould a person into an unhealthy ideal. Besides, what happens if your 'the one' dies in a car crash--surely God has arranged contingency plans!? We were only a year apart, had similar Chinese names, our horoscope signs were said to be the ideal match, more or less shared the same interests, values, and our parents got along well--I'd thought that was perfect and forever. But no, there's always different, amazing options out there.