Bad tautology

Criticizing does not make you an intellect-
Nor does thinking make one become a philosopher
The same way how eating doesn't make you to be a nutritionist.

Le sigh

I think I know. But I know not what to think.

Similes, metaphors and imageries

What am I hiding behind my similes, metaphors and imageries?
That is, if I am hiding anything at all-
If so, why?

Discursive

For a moment, I slipped.
Into a period of time, into a stream of consciousness.
Into a moment. Of simpler things.
Of innocence and fragility. Of a line.
No-
Of many lines.

The beginning of stories. Not just any, but mine.

It was the point when my felt-tip pen touched the crisp paper. Where pureness and white became infected with ink. 

With words. But not hollow arrangements of letters accumulated. These were sentences written from the linings of my soul. They were hidden, but I sought for them. And I found them. Each pronouncements exclaimed a verity. A truth. A part of me, exposed. Into a realm of subjectivity, to be analysed and judged. & I thought, then. Cares who? Have I much to lose?

But I am conscious. Self-conscious. Aware of my fragilities. Tender with my imperfections. So I sought to stitch them. Such I did, to my skin and it became a part of me. Every dicta becomes a tattoo.

Am I ashamed? Yes. Often, in fact.
But one has to experience humiliation to know humility.
I reveal to share. To define. To make sense.
Of this madness and chaos that surrounds me.

I reveal to search and find, the meaning of my own humanity.
I write to grow and perhaps to figure out-
The difference between
Writing to remember, and writing so I do not regret and forget.

Terra Firma

The mind is like a ship sailing in a sea of infinity
Let nothing restrain me
Nor let my fears anchor me
My heart is like an engine, humming to be heard
But the wind whispers
With sweet distractions of
& sighs that leave me yearn for
Earth and land to call my own.

Remember

I remember my feet frozen like icicles in the winter
I remember my heart being just as cold,
while anger burned to the core of my bones
I remember thinking to myself then, how paradoxical it all seemed

I remember falling and failing while skating on the ice
I remember nobody held my hands that day

I remember the colour of my bruise.

But I remember to forgive after
For I remember I was no better
& I remember to forget....that is, until today.

*Written during my poetry class today.
"Memory is easily made into poetry because it is a treasure chest within you" -B. Wint

Tree of knowledge

You can grow as tall as the tree,
But your height becomes pointless if you fail to tend to your roots.
The root bears no leaves,
But can the most elevated leaf on a branch be without roots?

Burn out

I've been coming home from work exhausted so often lately.
I signed up for a poetry class which runs every Friday evenings. I'm hoping it will improve my writing style.
It's been a fairly productive summer so far.
But it's too early to be burnt out, methinks.

La ville fleur de lis

I may not have been in la ville-lumiere, but I saw the city lights. And maybe it was not the dome of the sacre-coeur over lit street-lamps, shying away behind shop houses. But the Franco-Arabic voices that filled the night, I'd imagine to be synonymous to the voices of some places in France.

While I was packing, I had a grade 6 French song called "Natalie au Quebec" stuck in my head. It is no wonder license plates on Quebec cars are sloganized as "Je me souviens". The province is an instrument that triggers memory. Yet, in a strange way, even reminiscence finds its way to be foreign again.

Montreal has been claimed to flair itself as parallel to France. In its curves and textures, architectures and culture. Yet its richness as a "Canadian province" is unique with its own edge. Parhaps, it varies in its geographical landscapes, attitudes and liveliness. Its distinctness, as often pronounced in the legal culture, is present. It is a province with many paradoxes on its own, & I felt it. I encountered what separates it from all of Canada and at the same time what connects it to be part of an inevitable design. It is two sides of a repelling magnet. But the magnet is one and the same.

To be a tourist in my own country. And yet to feel both foreign and a home. Certain corners remained in tact, as if it were the same six years when I last visited.Returning again, only to find myself more aware of different sights and sounds. It was surreal.

Some places capture more of your soul then you'll realize. Like air inhaled, you never really know what will leave or has left, and what parts remain. That is until, you inhale again.

King Lear

Photo from the Ottawa Citizen

I watched King Lear at the National Arts Centre last night and relived my passion for Shakespeare. This was my first Shakespearean play since four years. The last time I had seen a play was As You Like It performed by a middle school. The show last night was creatively directed in a native American setting by an all-aboriginal cast. Lorne Cardinal from Corner Gas, a Canadian comedy, performed and played the Duke of Cornwall.

I thought the acting could have been more 'natural'. I caught lines being stuttered twice and some characters lacked chemistry. Maybe my background in high school drama made me a little critical of these things. Nevertheless, the best actress on stage was one who played two roles, both Cordelia and Fool. The fact that she can act within the same play two completely different characters showed her versatility as an actress.The lights, sounds, costumes and minimal props were brilliant. They utilized the stage very effectively. The atmosphere of darkness, outdoor and nature were very well captured. I did get goosebumps from the use of total darkness to incite fear and thunderstorms during the play.

I originally had mixed feelings about converting the whole play into aboriginal culture. But near the end, I thought the directing team probably attempted to depict colonialism and its effects to send a message to the audience. The arts, be it in music, visual or dramatic form, frequently convey something meaningful. On the social scale, I am not quite sure how well that message was conveyed. Given how the lead woman in the play, Goneril, was portrayed as a manipulative and seductive temptress. To think what stereotypical effect this may have on aboriginal women is worth questioning. Aboriginal women are in fact, most vulnerable in the Canadian population. But then again, Shakespeare comes off as a misogynist. Maybe it was hard to alter character traits, but I personally think the overall message should have been more clearer.

I guess the performance was worth my 12 bucks.
On a 5 star scale, I'd rank it 2.5 to 3.

Splice

Don't slip away through my fingers
Like the golden sands of time,
Sifting away its way through
Making sense of useless signs.

Parcel the pieces of strings,
Double knotted twice
Sink the missing moments,
Pray, courage will suffice.

A new productivity

Listening to Anna Maria Tremonti's program "The Current" on CBC radio. Every morning in my cubicle while working. While sipping a cup of coffee.

I think it's super cool that I am currently applying everything I learned last semester at work....especially stuff on legislation changes. I recently found my productivity increases twice when my mind is enlightened (by multi-tasking). Plus I am learning something new everyday from Anna Maria's program.

What I learned today:

1. Exxon Mobil runs itself as a country or terra firma. Its corporate gross is equivalent to Norway's.
2. Warren Buffet doesn't think the Facebook stock market will last. Analysts believe this is a mere trend. Facebook essentially has become comodified. "Everyone wants to own a piece of it". And Mark Zuckerberg has 50% ownership of the company.
3. Melissa Chang, a radical and outspoken Al Jazeera correspondent, is expelled from China. 

Letters arranged

Where the rooftops fall, but daisies continue to blossom
Grey surrounds, but I am no longer colour blind
I sat on the corner
Of my purple-covered mattress to find-
It took stillness & silence to hear a buzzing hum
It takes a lot of searches and sighs
To realize my feet touching ground

My postcards lay-
I'd neglected to mail
Where my phone sits on my lap,
Numbers remain
Of phone calls I'd for years refused to make

How names have changed
To be just letters arranged
How essences disappear-
To be mere frozen moments
Pretentiously captured and confined,
To leave us sane
& reassure us it once happened,
Not merely an illusion created to fool our minds

What use is meaning without a sound?
What use is a word, if nothing is meant?

It's not numbness that fills
For if I am aware of numbness,
Then it can be felt.

Songs bookmark moments,
But some feelings have expiry dates.

Egg in nest

Twigs and leaves,
Broken branches strewn in
Lays a bird, hums a bee
By a hive of a Queen
Hidden in the green acacia
A robin & nectar-seeker
One a slave, the other freer
Yet both ardent with duty.

Post-midnight

Sometimes, I stay up until 3 am. Like tonight.Because I miss how it feels to have the creative juices running through my blood stream. Urging my fingers to dance on the keyboard. From the outbursts of inspiration bubbling in my head.

My window is left ajar.
Cold wind is blowing.
But tonight, my mind reveals empty.

Life

"We will always ask ourselves he same questions. We will always need to be humble enough to accept that our hearts know why we are here...sooner or later, we will realize that we are all part of something, even if we can't understand rationally what that something is" -Aleph by Paulo Coelho

Dandelions

Dandelions. A whole spread of them. If I were a ladybug, wandering the patch of grass, I'd be trapped. Suffocated in a field of never-ending dandelions. But I am. I am the ladybug.

While I witnessed the rain pour against the wind shield of the car, showering the dandelions outside. I felt trapped.

By my complicated mind.
By my idealism.
For all that I have worked for-
The changes I'd thought to have sown in myself.

Words. Words. Words.
Empty. Empty. Words.
How pretentious of me.
For my words lack value.
The more I speak of it, the less sincere I'd become.
Words are arrogant. & my arrogance is translated between words.
There is no change if I keep speaking of it.

But the ladybug, it will find an end. It can fly. To escape. And liberate. Like the white florets of the dandelion blown by the wind. Perhaps, this too shall pass.

Violin

The strings of a violin can trigger
A thousand captured moments
& a million words from the heart-
Sealed and left unsaid.

Summer 2012 List

• Read, read, read
• Write, write, write
• Visit at least 3 festivals 
• Learn to make 3 new dishes
• Long walks at least once a week
• Watch a play
• Watch a concert
• Plant an herb (and keep it alive all summer)
• Volunteer
• Visit the museum 
• Check out the art gallery
• Coffee talks in the evenings at a patio
• Learn Spanish
• Day trip to Montreal
• LSAT prep
• Grad school research
• Save up for an epic grad trip!
• Find a habit to change

Supermoon

Witnessing one of many of God's greatest wonders....

Think

"A public that can no longer distinguish between truth and fiction is left to interpret reality through illusion. Random facts or obscure bits of data and trivia are used to bolster illusion and give it credibility..." 

-Empire of Illusion: the end of literacy and the triumph of spectacle by Chris Hedges

Wrestle this thought

The audience of a wrestling match-

Like Plato's Allegory, they witness the shadows

But after seeing the sun,
They remain in the cave.

Is it fear of enlightenment?
Or pleasure from degradation?
Maybe both.

I do not watch wrestling,

I prefer soaps and dramas.
Therefore, I too am in the cave.

Of clouds and hills

I took a pleasant walk down the marina in Hamilton today. I loved it. There was something special about the atmosphere. It smelled springy. The chilly spring air lingered between O and I. In sight, was a lake of stillness. With a gazebo in between us and a dock, which looked like it was floating on water.

I saw a swan. A beautiful swan. Possessing gracefulness I lacked, which I tried to compensate by wearing a purple dress.

I also saw a man walking his pet pig/boar.

The line of docking boats reminded me of Halifax from two summers ago. We couldn't see the names imprinted on each, but I'd loved to have read them. It is silly how a boat or yacht may gain a character or trait when named. My best friend once asked if our personalities have any correlation to the meanings behind our names. I told her I wasn't sure. But I did share with her that my favourite complement was being told twice by two different people that I am compassionate. Because that is exactly what my name means.

Anyway, while I walked, the sky turned colour. And I couldn't resist taking photos. In some odd way, I think it has manifested in my mind that "no two skies within my lifetime will ever look the same." It's probably the reason why I appreciate sunsets so much.

A jogging lady saw me clicking away at the sky and told me to take photos of the supermoon tomorrow. I told her I wouldn't miss it, and thanked her for reminding me.

Sometime after, I saw something mesmerizing.
Where the clouds and the faraway hills collide, I couldn't tell which was a cloud and which was earth. The silhouette of hills blended so perfectly, my heart leaped, I almost became emotional. Almost, but I didn't. I was already a lunatic snapping away capturing the sky, so everybody would've laughed at me had I cried in the middle of the park because of the sky.

I had only seen such sight once. It reminded me of Guatemala. Only in that country have I seen so many hills and mountains play tricks on me almost everywhere I went. By blending in so perfectly with the clouds....

I still miss it there. Maybe a part of me is still deluded by thinking that Guatemala is my real home.

But the sky will continue to embrace earth
Even if its sketches and landscapes may always be different;
in different places and time.
The same sky will continue to hover above me...
and everybody underneath it.

Afterall, we're all underneath the same big sky.
Home is anywhere on earth.

I was really glad the hills and clouds tricked me again today.
It made me feel more than loved-
Even if I am not as graceful as the swan
Even if I get excited about silly things

I was remembered & reminded.
& I was more than loved today.

Mind & imagine

I've been devouring a book a day.
Nothing is more liberating than my mind journeying its way into introspection-
To another world, where different characters interact with me,
& I, free to become anybody

I finally realized how suppressed my imaginative mind has been.

It has aged & yellowed 

By time

& by the ruthless hands of my own criticality

A puppet in the relentless realm of academia

Chaos

To figure you may leave me disfigured,
Like a crystal vase carved through skin-
Decoding your mind, may lead me to chaos
For even the sound of my own, entraps my sanity

But my curiosity overcomes
Like an appetite, to satiate
Empowered to possess you-
And see you, and know you;
Without being known to you.

So leave me be in my madness
Accompanied by confusion and theories

Leave me
& from afar
Let me be

Let me read you;
& read your favourite books
While my readers read me.

A Thousand Farewells

I finally finished Nahlah Ayed's A Thousand Farewells. The book is written like a true journalist. Impartial, and concise. Fact-based and informative. I loved that it was an easy read. While I was a little disappointed that it was not a comprehensive analysis of the Arab Spring, Ayed echoes the voices of dissent in the most humble and humane manner. Such, that it was almost haunting to read. She is a very descriptive writer. What I enjoyed most, was her capability to intertwine an autobiography to the events in recent history she witnessed, which gave voices to those trapped between wars.

Her heritage and background worked to her benefit, and in many instances she would capture the essence of middle-eastern culture in the book. I appreciated the bits of poetries, songs and arts which depict the richness in civilization and culture many of the Arab countries possess. This is something frequently overlooked by the media's projection of the middle-east as barbaric and chaos.The atmosphere during the Egypt protest was probably my favourite, along with the Libyan gratitude towards foreign intervention, which very much surprised me. Although there is much tendencies to homogenize the series of events as the "Arab Spring", Ayed really highlighted the differences in character each tumultuous occasions had. From Iraq, to Lebanon, Iran, Syria, Egypt, Libya....

It made what Mr. Breen, my Canadian History teacher in grade 10, said rang true. "Countries are a lot like people."

Just a catch up

The fence in my backyard is fully completed. So are parts of the flower bed. Except there are no flowers blooming yet. Rocky is seated beside me, sleeping on the green couch with a blanket underneath him. He's become a grown cat, and sometimes I wonder if he thinks he's one of us. He seems to be appreciative of human things more than we do. In some odd way, I think his behaviour and crankiness as he matures is sort of reflective of how I've become.

It has been six days since school ended. I have a little over a week left at home, until I work full-time all summer. Spent some of my time reading Nahlah Ayed's A Thousand Farewells. But I've picked it up, dropped it off, and picked it up again. At times my mind feels too overwhelmed. Maybe exhausted. Maybe I should have picked up a fiction novel instead. I have strange a way of dissecting things in my head when I read non-fiction....it is as if my mind would run on double the energy. I promised myself I'd do little thinking during my two-week "holiday". But I am slowly finding myself a little bit restless....

He bought me six stems of red gerberas on Thursday. And that was one of the many sweetest thing ever. The ones in my Ottawa room had shrivelled up and dried. I am hoping this one will last at least two weeks, until I return to Ottawa....it has been making my day, every morning.

I pitched in for Irah's guitar on Friday. Since we both have partial ownership on Plankton, it would only be fair to do the same with this new Fender.

I am glad to spend the next four months away from school. As much as I enjoy learning, I was slowly finding myself suffocated by it. It seemed almost unhealthy to be stressed ever so often. I've done more this year than I ever did in my previous academic career. Between working part time, overloading in my courses, planning the cultural night, fundraising and preparing for my trip to Guatemala......

I have little to be proud of. This was not the greatest year, academically. I have been too caught up stabilizing my financial position that I think my marks suffered.

It is summer. I will think about school when it comes again. I should stop worrying....for now anyway.

Simple Things That Keep Me Happy

1. A bouquet of red gerbera 
2. A cup of berry tea
3. Random bursts of inspiration urging me to write
4. Staring out the window of the bus while driving towards the sunset
5. Life talks over coffee
6. First barbeque of the year
7. Freshly cut grass
8. Fair trade chocolate bars
9. My favourite song playing on the radio in the car
10. The smell of my hair after a hair-cut (pineapple scented)