Finally...a snowing December

It didn't snow a bit last December in Manhattan. Christmas of 2004 was one without snow, one that was not decorated by the whiteness. It was so different from what we used to have in Michigan. The two of us flew away on December 31, spending the eve of the new year on one Northwest flight.

Yet this December, as if there was an attempt to make it up, a few snow storms have already made their way into New York City. One of them hit really hard. Coming from a country that is half sub-tropical, half tropical, i do not truly care about having snow during a long winter, or on a Christmas day.

It's true, though, that an image of inches of snow, covering a small cabin, the ground, and some evergreens nearby, is somehow associated with a "warm" Christmas, when all the family and friends are re-united and sharing their growth and sorrow for the past year.

When snow comes down, it doesn't make any sound and announce its visit like rain does. Yet it also provides similar sootheness. Somehow, i feel comforted, assured, with them coming down from the sky outside my apartment.

Follow-up of The Dangling Leaves

Finally, as of 11/7/05, when i look outside the bedroom window, almost all the leaves are gone from the branches.

What i always like about this is, it allows a lot more sunlight to literally splash in. The drawback is, of course, the winter is about to come soon.

Power Save Mode

Last night i opened up a new email and started reading. When i reached the last line, i realized it was one of those casually forwarded messages from work. Had this happened during the week, i would've sensed it, simply from the tone of the email at the first few lines. But i didn't.

Perhaps my Power Save Mode was on. Recently i noticed two things in particular that recede into Power Save Mode: the printer at work and Sam's new cell phone. In either case, the backlight is completely off. The printer is even funnier, since it says "Powersave" on the tiny, dimmed screen. When i walk by, i have an urge to make a face at it and whisper "alright, i know".

Thus, here is how i interpret the incident. On the weekend, the work section of my brain very likely slows down. It takes something (a date, a command, etc) to trigger and push the "Wake Up" button.

Autumn Leaves

The year before last, i, being a passive observer, started noticing when exactly in the fall, that leaves are entirely gone from tree branches, and also from my mental images of a northern hemisphere summer.

i am terrible with observation, not to mention things that are minute...well, i know leaves falling is surely not something minute! Yet...back when Sam and i were still a part of Ypsi, i hadn't paid any attention until the year before we moved. i drove to school and work, and hardly looked away from the road ahead. When friends told me about things they saw on their way somewhere - a deer, a grand house, a flock of wild birds flying by - i listened with awe.

i think i am exactly like the type of person described in a popular Japanese comic series, Touch, created by Adachi. When there is a goal, i don't stray, i don't stop much to look aside, and i tend to ignore what happens outside my life scope. Just the other day, i thought of this i, and realized that i was probably born with a gift of focusing: i focus on one thing at a time, and i focus very well.

It was something that came in the path of what i focused on that eventually brought me to the discovery of leaves falling: sunlight. One autumn afternoon, Sam and i were going out for some grocery shopping. i noticed the car was no longer in the shade of a particular tree like it used to be. It was under the sun. And then i looked up and saw that the tree was leave-less! It dawned on me it was already the time of a year for us to slow and cool down.

Last October, i was prepared to welcome bare branches here and there. During that week, when i walked back to the apartment from school, there were occasionally strong gusts of wind. Each time they swiped by my street, some leaves fell from the trees hopping, twiddling, hurdling, and dancing. i had enormous delight in that show. On the 18th, all the leaves retreated from my street, tacitly announcing the approach of yet another winter.

Through last weekend, there were a few days when it was gusty and downpoury. Very stormy. The winds actually howled even in broad daylight. But now, outside the windows, there are still quite a lot greenish leaves hanging on the upper branches. Just to have it down on my record: it's the 17th today :-)

"Be careful what you wish for!"

Not without some detectable trace of regret, M. told me with a sigh - "Be careful what you wish for." She did not know she had to learn it the hard way.

Shouldn't this friendly warning have come from someone who is old and, at the same time, wise? i always thought it took years to accumulate experiences, so as to tell if something strongly wished for is worth it.

The problem is, how could human beings possibly foresee the future, only in which the true worth could finally be revealed? In reality, we all naturally crave someone, something, somewhere, or someday - not knowing what could really be tagging along with that desire. While we are strongly in love with an object, it is just absurd to imagine that it could turn out to be disastrous.

Creepily enough, it seems that the saying is about to manifest itself...on me. What i wished for was a leisurely life, free of certain parental obligations. At the age of 31, i am not entirely sorry for this particular wish - only because the moment of truth has not yet arrived.

Almost Two Weeks

This evening i made up my lazy mind to go with Sam to Dodge for some workout - after a 10-day-or-so break. We went up Amsterdam to return the dvd, and walked back down the street towards the campus.

The route actually contains a short walk uphill for two blocks, and is later comsummated by some 70 flights of stairs if we take the gate. The uphill trip hardly compares to any mountain climbing at all, but i can always use some extra air when i jog up the stairs. Usually they at best provide a good warm-up.

Yet today when i finally reached the gym entrance, i was very out of breath. My heart was pounding with the same vehement, choking beat as i would have climing up the Empire State Building...well, it's just figuratively speaking, since there is no way for you to travel up the building by taking the stairs. All of a sudden, i realized it had been quite a while since i last seriously exercised.

Isn't it true that one's physicality corresponds the way it has been fed? Shouldn't the same logic apply to one's mind? If i need to be constantly exercising to be free of muscle atrophy, don't i also need to be constantly reading for fear of postmodern ignorance?

"Remember Me"

Till very recently, i am finally beginning to feel comfortable with the "Remember Me" checkboxs. Mostly, they show up either below or right next to all sorts of online accounts, as if they were part of the entity that naturally has to tag along, or were actually the must-have accesories of the 21st century's Internet logins.

Why was i even asked to check that box, and why would i want to be remembered - so that my information could be stored and later retrieved by a total stranger, or even some corporation that i could by no means stand up against ? i was always able to identify the cynicism in Sam, and never believed i was in any way associated with it. Oh well...perhaps i was only being cautious.

But then the question has come down to: Why is there the checkbox? It is obviously that, with it checked, account names and/or passwords do not have to be entered again and again. However, it's gotta be something beyond mere convenience.

My guess is, the purpose of the checkbox is to reduce as many keystrokes as possible, thus preventing the latter to be recorded and misused. This shall work well except that, after cleaning out the cache and temp files, an user has to run the whole process once again...at the risk of being logged.

So i suppose there is no romanticism in the act, even though for a fact these checkboxes could have been named simply as cold as "Save My Login Name", "Remember My ID", while i am more likey to be able to feel relaxed with "Remember Me" - or even "Forget Me Not"?

The Victim

You thought you suffered, and were a victim in this whole thing. In the absolute spin of your own universe, your sacrifice was the ultimate truth.

But you didn't realize where you stood (back then) in reality. You were, as a matter of fact, already standing on the edge of the cliff. On the contrary to your belief, there was no intention at all, no one ever had, of pushing you off that cliff.

No, you were not a victim. In order to be one, there had to be an arch enemy. The presence of a victim requires that of monsters which impose the undesired cruelty. Where were they when you fell?

She did not step in; he did not choose you.

My Idol (2)

This is no gesture of arrogance; however, up until this moment, i just didn't think i had an idol, or anything similar in nature.

But on the other hand, i also realized there should be someone out there that i admire (possibly not very consciously though) - after all, there is always someone for everyone.

Without too much difficulty, i thought of Rushdie and his incredible capability of telling the impossible tales, even just describing a sunset in the distance. Indeed, he could serve as my literary idol.

i've wanted to tell stories. But the cruel fact is, among the genres of fiction, drama, and poetry, i could only achieve prose. i thought, alright, if that's the best i can do, then let it be so. That is why i've been, diligently, "farming" my MSN space over the past few months. In a few days school is about to begin again, and i'd really like to carry on.

The difference is, i've been writing in Mandarin (Traditional Chinese). i've always thought telling stories in Mandarin actually represented elegant artwork; it seems to me that the language itself flows in an extremely solid way, character by character. You can of course argue that, when characters are printed onto sheets of paper, that is exactly how they look like. Yet, that is not what i mean.

My Idol (1)

A few weeks ago around the street corner, Sam saw a couple "Four Brothers" posters and pointed to me: "There! There is your idol!" And i thought, well, Mark Wahlberg is definitely (one of) the sexiest human being(s) on earth, but...is he my idol?

True i visited his official website, purchased "The Fear", and will probably get a copy of "The Italian Job" too. Shall these make him my idol? Isn't my idol supposed to be someone whose way of doing things, whose ideology, whose beliefs have the power to transform me?

So i thought back. About fourth grade, i read a story of the "ultimate" nurse, Florence Nightingale, admired her, and wanted to be like her when i grew up. However, mom did not think being a nurse - which means working late-night shifts, taking care of the sick, sometimes watching people die - would be a nice, decent career for me. At that time of my not-yet-too-clear decision, she simply said, "i don't think you are built to care for others." It was almost like saying "you don't have it in you" to me. Much later in life, i proved her wrong: i am just as caring, nurturing, and patient as any other devoted nurses could possibly be.

During 1989, my high school freshman year, George Michiael's solo debut, "Faith", topped the Billboard chart. Back then he was such a pop idol, and he became mine too. i devoured news about him, bought the album, learned each song, collected pocket-size pics of him, and looked very hard for his autobiography, which unfortunately was not available in my home town. i adored him just as every fan of his would have. But a few years later, i swtiched completely to heavy metal, and almost forgot about him.

Exercise

Starting this Summer B session, i have been working out regularly at Dodge. Each time i do the StairMaster for half an hour (and moved from Level 3 to 6 within the past five weeks), and then i work on a few other "muscle" machines.

This is the second time that i seemed determined to take regular exercise. During our last few months at Eastern, Sam got me into practicing racquetball. But until now, i only played racquetball twice at Dodge. Playing alone obviously does not attract me.

Isn't it odd i work out nowadays only to avoid period pains? i used to be fine with sweating. When the beads of sweat, at times even streams, rushed down my cheeks, my back, or my chest, satisfaction arose. This pure delight of working out is similar to making love; it is a pleasure to enjoy one's own physical being.

i used to love running to my top speed, feeling the breeze, the sweating afterwards, and i liked being under the sun, being outdoors. In elementary school, i was on the track team, until dad decided to pull me out, giving a lame excuse to the team coach that i caught colds often (as if staying away from exercise helped not getting sick). i still stuck to sunlight. Later in junior high, i wasn't a terrific basketball player, but i took every opportunity to play basketball with friends, even in bitter cold when my ears were frozen to the point that my head hurt.

Can't recall when i actually stopped the craving. It was as if i, half-consciously, half-hypnotizedly, bid farewell to a friend that i had long cherished.

Some people might argue, and i tend to agree, that physical training brings inner calmness. i never tried it when feeling blue (which i should have), but it is not hard to imagine how it works. Hard training and tough workout exhausts the body, thus numbing the senses. i think it is also true that, when one falls asleep (due to fatigue), s/he simply does not feel upset or depressed.

Almost had a heart attack today at the gym, or so i thought. It was after i got done with the StairMaster that i began to have some strong stabs of chest pain. Sam said it sounded like low blood sugar, but i did not feel weak as i did every time the low blood sugar occurred.

This time, it might be easier to stick to my workout. After all, i am no longer working alone. The machine is my coach, and it monitors my activity, exact to the second. As long as the physical condition allows, i don't think anyone would want to "surrender" before the machine beeps.

My Parallel Blog

To celebrate, i named this particular moment "birth of my other self."

This space is surely not to record an instance of schizophrenia, from which i probably would never have the artistic privilege to suffer. It is rather the "rest of me," which i do not share on my other blog, the MSN space.

My MSN blog is open to the public and is written in Mandarin - making it almost impossible for me to spell my entire heart out. i don't suppose those who stop by (if any), most likely by accident, would ever associate this space here with my other half on MSN.

i am pretty secure here, i guess, and thus...free to roam.