Where dips the rocky highland Of Sleuth Wood in the lake, There lies a leafy island Where flapping herons wake The drowsy water-rats; There we've hid our faery vats, Full of berries And of the reddest stolen cherries. Come away, O human child! To the waters and the wild With a faery, hand in hand, For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.
Where the wave of moonlight glosses The dim grey sands with light, Far off by furthest Rosses We foot it all the night, Weaving olden dances, Mingling hands and mingling glances Till the moon has taken flight; To and fro we leap And chase the frothy bubbles, While the world is full of troubles And is anxious in its sleep. Come away, O human child! To the waters and the wild With a faery, hand in hand, For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.
Where the wandering water gushes From the hills above Glen-Car, In pools among the rushes That scarce could bathe a star, We seek for slumbering trout And whispering in their ears Give them unquiet dreams; Leaning softly out From ferns that drop their tears Over the young streams Come away, O human child! To the waters and the wild With a faery, hand in hand, For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.
Away with us she's going, The solemn eyed: She'll hear no more the lowing Of the calves on the warm hillside Or the kettle on the hob Sing peace into her breast, Or see the brown mice bob Round and round the oatmeal-chest. For she comes, the human child! To the waters and the wild With a faery, hand in hand, From a world more full of weeping than she can understand.
Okay. I have these berries. And I'm going crazy because I don't know what they're called. They're not raspberries or blackberries. They're just berries. They come after the rains for a week. And they are made of lots of segments,like a raspberry, only instead of several blobs, there are hundreds. When you break pieces off, each blob is sort of thin, and red at the top. Matchsticky. Here are the pictures. Any idea what they are? I need to know. Else I'll become obsessive and paranoid and...yes. Here are the pictures. Click the links to view the full size.
I Really hate today. It rained. All day. I got caught in the rain. Wearing white. Without an umbrella. In the prostitution district. Fatigue. Foodless for 8 hours. Lack of time. House searching. For hours. Lots of work besides. I am exhausted. Slept fitfully. I'm a day late. My eyes are hurting. My waxing appointment cancelled. My favourite salon closed down. I went grocery-shopping in the rain. Got wet. Again. Couldn't find my red berries. Sold only twice a year. Fruit shop closed down, too. Shoot me. Put me out of my misery. Or Can I have a hug?
Exam went well. Apart from the fact that it was 12 marks for Vygotsky. Are they crazy? We didn't even learn that much about him. And then there was that physiological study. My mind went literally blank. I racked my brains for 5 minutes, decided it was a waste of time and decided to come back to the question later. Put a lateral study instead of one of the main ones. Oh well. I think my hand is ready to drop off. And I have another exam tomorrow.
I had a completely different post in mind, but this is whats irritating me now, so was thinking about how little time we have. I used to have a dear friend whom I don't speak to as much. Only, now, because he's grown up, and i've grown busy, we can't seem to reach a consensus. I know I'm at fault, for being busy, but I can't quite get him to understand that in No way am I accusing him of taking up my precious time. I want to say, that I'm busy. Technically I'm looking after a house, 2 kids and a cat, working and schooling. Sigh. If I find the time, I don't mind chatting. I try to drop in and say hello once every so often, and I hope I'm forgiven if I don't reply to a message, or a missed call. Only, my mentioning that I am busy seems to touch a nerve. I've explained the situation, and done all I can, yet...what else can I do. Is it my fault, truly? Sigh. If it is said that I don't talk enough, I understand it. Yes, I don't, and sincere apologies, but what should I do? I try so hard. I told him that my life is recorded in my blog. Have a little stop by if you wish to see me. It may not be the same thing as talking with me, but it is me. Or as close to me as I can get. So now what? Am I in the wrong? Euch. I hate spats with old friends. I am at fault for being ignorant, yet am here. Always. Oh well. I realise I'm talking about myself too much by the capitalisation and the number of I's i've put in this post. On top of that, if I tug on my left earlobe I get a searing pain inside my ear. Tsk.
The other night I was having a discussion with a friend. I asked, whether I seemed like the sort of person who is able to and would have sex with a person purely on a physical level, without emotional attachment. i.e. no strings attached. I find its one of those other inexplicable cycles, and when this person said I wasn't, I wasn't surprised. My logic was something along the lines that I am capable, I just don't. I prefer being emotionally attached, yet this attachment oft brings me more pain than good, and good encompasses a lot of things, e.g. love, happiness, etc. However, if there was no upside, and that I simply was noncommital, there would be no love, no happiness, just pain. Therefore, my instinctive nature would be gravitating towards emotional attachment, however much pain it brings, because theres always an upside. But thats just me babbling when I'm slightly drunk.
I walked around where I lived today. It felt so…strange. I wasn’t familiar with it. I really don’t know what sparked the floods of tears tonight, and the memories. Was it the love, the nostalgia, or the pessimism? I was told not to tell a soul, but so many things have happened that I can’t keep it to myself. What she said happened two years ago was really, in fact, five. Five very long, very hard years…So much has changed since then. A plan gone wrong, one little mistake, left our family in debt over these years. I was working on my own, by then…yet I too had to tighten my belt. It’s a family thing. My family was devastated. We’re still feeling the effects to date. I was lying on the floor, looking out of the windows. My mother was sitting beside me, cross legged. I got up, pressing my fingers on the glass, measuring the space between the full moon and the star closest to it. The North Star. Bringing my fingers together, It stirred up a memory… Walking along the ocean pier with Vin. Walking with her in Mei Foo park. Staring out the windows while eating Doritos. Playing on the swings. Cycling along the park…Going back eight years. The conversation is always the same… Vin: Hey look, it’s my moon! Me: And…where is it…Yes. There’s my star. Vin: Its funny how whenever they’re together, so are we. Me: it’ll always be like that, Vin. It’s just how it should be. Vin: Not too far apart. The days. The memories I remember. They’re flooding back now. Sitting on the bed at my house, a sleepover. Showing each other drawings we’re proud of. Our little book of fashions. Tongue poking out the sides of our mouth as we meticulously cut out every single one, then glued them, in preferred groups on that red and black bound book. I still have that book. I remember where we sat, and what we wore. I remember for every single drawing, another memory. Hundreds. And another memory. I’m back in my first Mei Foo house. In the balcony and looking out, I saw my first shooting star in Hong Kong. My dad’s started drinking again. He hadn’t drunk for almost 15 years. My parents went to look for a new house. I don’t quite know what our budget is, because I haven’t been told. But the house they looked at was 4.3 million. What surprised me was that my dad told me this bit of information. We don’t talk about life. About business life. We talk about what’s on TV tomorrow, or perhaps about my cat. But not ever life. It’s funny. I was on the floor, and I had a cheestick in my mouth. And I was remembering. And mom was telling me about the situation. I feel that buying a house…we’re not ready yet. Give it another year, until all the problems go away. They say this June, but I doubt it. They are so positive. I understand their positivism, but it’s been five hellish years. Don’t they remember when we had dinner out on weekends? Don’t they remember having the car, and living… It hurts. We’ve managed but it hurts. I can relate on this plane, because we’re all just surviving, really. I asked her which side of the family I inherited the pessimism from. She couldn’t, and didn’t answer. She told me I had seen nothing. Perhaps I haven’t…But then perhaps I have seen it all. I wanted to be cruel. She says to not tell anyone. And I respond by saying that there’s no one to tell it to. I don’t want to let people know we exist this way. I had to tell her that I was tired. I’m a fighter, but you can only fight for so long, and so hard, before you collapse. The closest thing my mother knows is family, growing up in a family with 18 brothers and sisters. I can’t stand family. Well, I can, but at the same time I can’t wait to get away. I feel claustrophobic. I’ve never been treated right. Treated as another person who has an opinion. They’re discredited. I wanted to hurt her. What mattered to her was family. So I said ‘wouldn’t it be great if someone you never knew was your cousin just died and you’d inherit everything?’ Immediately after the look on her face was so sad, I softened the blow… I can’t hurt people. I can’t. I said ‘But only if it was someone you didn’t know, ever.’ It made me cry inside, to see her so fragile. She left Hong Kong for a reason. Hong Kong is the sort of place where if you live here, you can’t wait to get away. Once you are away, you never want to come back, and if you do, you don’t want to leave ever again…It’s a cycle. It’s a painful cycle. Vin is leaving. She’s leaving. Her parents live in the US along with her brother. She’s grown up so fast, she’s become responsible. She asked me for cleaning up liquid for her birthday present, and I don’t know if she was joking, but it made me cry to see her… Yes, she’s happy, but yet she’s caught in this cycle. You can see it in people’s eyes. They look so lost. But then the eyes glaze over, and you no longer see surrender, you see steel. Life’s like that. You want it open, but tis closed shut. Open means vulnerable. Shut means you’re scared. And aren’t we all. I don’t know where I’m going with this. I think I’m just here, with my nostalgia, my pessimism. The love, it waited for me in the form of an sms. And though linked with nostalgia, and my tears, it calmed the pessimist in me. May I say… Bambi could not wait to rush into the stretch of open field, so different, so wondrous from the thicket that protected and sheltered his flanks. His young soul couldn’t wait to see it all, yet his mother told him to wait. Perhaps, I can wait a little while longer, too.
You know that wonderful feeling you get when everything is just right, when you come back after a long day, before kicking off your shoes, even before setting your keys down...that moment where you lean back against the door, the table, the sofa...and the familiarity is pulled over you like a security blanket..the smells, the sounds.. You.
Year 12. Gone. This is officially the last day. I am now on study leave. Exams end June 9th. June 12th, I start a 2 week work experience course. June 27th, I have my tertiary week, for a week. Then, July 7th, Holidays. The summer. 2 months. The end and a new beginning.
I have an obsession with ticking things off in my planner. Its odd enough that I have a planner, but the insane grin I seem to get everytime I tick a completed task off? Should I be worried?
high fevers. maybe because it was hot (30 degrees) and then we were cold because it rained, and then we were in strong aircon, and then in the heat again..
I love you, unrehearsed in the folds of theatre's soft wing plays for may i forsooth, for scent do say kiss the down of a swanlike neck adorned to where pearls and petals play beneath a simple nettled garb intricacy lays in wait in love in desire
