My OperaJust random thoughts on the spot - Wind of Change
Monday, April 14, 2008 12:18:50 AM
It looks like rain.
Rain whitens the sight of green bush and red-floored corridors outside of my window. Rain dances on the rooftop cheerily and tirelessly. Rain chills and slows down the outside, and warms the inside. Rain reminds me of many things: Monday evenings jumping over puddles, running after "the guy next door"; afternoons sitting at the veranda listening to "Pieces of Peace" (and day-dreaming); hours sitting on the back saddle of my father's motorbike - making its way through the flooded streets - in one rainy season, heading to the nearest convenience store. I often hid myself in a dark corner, pretending to be indifferent to the harsh sounds of people cursing and water-invaded motorbikes' engines. I also liked to fold tiny origami boats and stand at my high-enough doorsteps, looking at them floating (with a self-introducing letter inside) - just to find them lying tattered on thick layers of mud when the water had all gone down in the next days.
Some memories are more vivid and well-remembered than others; some others are so well-forgotten that I don't even know that they have been a part of me. I somehow believe that time will come when they're rediscovered and reminded of - but it suddenly occurs to me that many of the memories that I'm embracing so tightly today, will also one day be covered by a membrane of mist and time. Some of the people I care so much about might cease to play an important role in my life, and some values I'm dying for will soon become ridiculously insignificant.
So, why do you have to grieve that much, boy? You're too used to getting what you want and you are foolishly defeated by your first major failure in life - which, in fact, will not remain "major" when you think back of it later. You should sit down with a cup of coffee, in a rainy day, to realize that the situation has offered you much more than what it has taken away from you, to remember that a door shut means another door's opened, and that you are not moving backward - you're just progressing in another direction. You should say to your friend too, that his decision is by no mean a proof of "a man's dream and honor", but just a foolish, childishly romantic vision of life. Say that to him, for he's craving blindly to get into Harvard - but he doesn't know anything about the school beside its name. Say to him too, that one day he will regret his decision to turn down other great offers just to wait one year and again run after the reputation.
Or maybe I'm thinking too much about other people's business. But then I think of her... and everything is just so different.
She's trapped. She's trapped by the contradiction of this school's Mission Statement/ promises as an SOS school, and what it offered to give her. She may be torn by seeing the opportunity again slipping away from her without being able to take any action. But why? It's not her fault to be poor. It's not her fault to dream big. I know that by being here, she will face many difficulties than what everyone can imagine - but I want her to be. But I could not do anything more than wanting her to be here. I could just stare at the computer screen as she thanked me for something that I could not do anything about.
And yet, it won't stop raining.
"It's the beginning of the end," he said, knowing that school is ending in just a few weeks, and our class is graduating.
"Oh no. For me it's the end of the beginning."
It startles me to see how true it is. It's like two different people looking at the rain outside like this, recalling different things in their pasts. One only sees the greenness, while the other see a vivid meadow. It's called perspectives.
Thousands people would pay anything to be able to see that meadow.
I only see the greenness in her eyes.
She is another remarkable person. Whenever I look at my "new" room now, although I'm not terribly bothered by her absence, something indeed touches me. It's the empty space in the middle (made available by taking her bed out), the distance from the beginning to the end of the room - the distance between MJ and me, the faintness of the yellow-dim bed light in Saturday evenings, the quietness, the absence of different people on campus that have stopped coming here ever since she left. And a lost piece of me in it, as well. And we're just some streets away from each other.
I realize that so many "last times" are coming - and many of them I will miss a lot, a lot. (Now it feels like the beginning of the end.)
I have a feeling that there are many things he wants to talk to me about. But we just stand there, looking at each other, being diplomatic, conversing about trivial things - and it's been a while since the depth of our conversation matched the depth of our relationship and understanding. Sometimes I want him to speak, but then I realize that I am not speaking myself. Why don't we both understand that we only have 5 weeks left, and it will be a long time until we see each other again?
Everything can be explained with two cows. This is the two cows version of me: I have two cows. It doesn't really matter, but yes, I have to cows.
What's wrong? No, seriously, what's wrong? Nothing is wrong. Sure.
The expropriation of individual expectations. The repercussion of caring. The volatility of the minds. A discrepancy between me and those of my type.
Soy sauce and green tea. Cold water and tattered origami boats. Drum sticks and an eye to the dark. A nothingness that lasts to infinity.
Chin up and stride, kid.
Rain whitens the sight of green bush and red-floored corridors outside of my window. Rain dances on the rooftop cheerily and tirelessly. Rain chills and slows down the outside, and warms the inside. Rain reminds me of many things: Monday evenings jumping over puddles, running after "the guy next door"; afternoons sitting at the veranda listening to "Pieces of Peace" (and day-dreaming); hours sitting on the back saddle of my father's motorbike - making its way through the flooded streets - in one rainy season, heading to the nearest convenience store. I often hid myself in a dark corner, pretending to be indifferent to the harsh sounds of people cursing and water-invaded motorbikes' engines. I also liked to fold tiny origami boats and stand at my high-enough doorsteps, looking at them floating (with a self-introducing letter inside) - just to find them lying tattered on thick layers of mud when the water had all gone down in the next days.
Some memories are more vivid and well-remembered than others; some others are so well-forgotten that I don't even know that they have been a part of me. I somehow believe that time will come when they're rediscovered and reminded of - but it suddenly occurs to me that many of the memories that I'm embracing so tightly today, will also one day be covered by a membrane of mist and time. Some of the people I care so much about might cease to play an important role in my life, and some values I'm dying for will soon become ridiculously insignificant.
So, why do you have to grieve that much, boy? You're too used to getting what you want and you are foolishly defeated by your first major failure in life - which, in fact, will not remain "major" when you think back of it later. You should sit down with a cup of coffee, in a rainy day, to realize that the situation has offered you much more than what it has taken away from you, to remember that a door shut means another door's opened, and that you are not moving backward - you're just progressing in another direction. You should say to your friend too, that his decision is by no mean a proof of "a man's dream and honor", but just a foolish, childishly romantic vision of life. Say that to him, for he's craving blindly to get into Harvard - but he doesn't know anything about the school beside its name. Say to him too, that one day he will regret his decision to turn down other great offers just to wait one year and again run after the reputation.
Or maybe I'm thinking too much about other people's business. But then I think of her... and everything is just so different.
She's trapped. She's trapped by the contradiction of this school's Mission Statement/ promises as an SOS school, and what it offered to give her. She may be torn by seeing the opportunity again slipping away from her without being able to take any action. But why? It's not her fault to be poor. It's not her fault to dream big. I know that by being here, she will face many difficulties than what everyone can imagine - but I want her to be. But I could not do anything more than wanting her to be here. I could just stare at the computer screen as she thanked me for something that I could not do anything about.
And yet, it won't stop raining.
"It's the beginning of the end," he said, knowing that school is ending in just a few weeks, and our class is graduating.
"Oh no. For me it's the end of the beginning."
It startles me to see how true it is. It's like two different people looking at the rain outside like this, recalling different things in their pasts. One only sees the greenness, while the other see a vivid meadow. It's called perspectives.
Thousands people would pay anything to be able to see that meadow.
I only see the greenness in her eyes.
She is another remarkable person. Whenever I look at my "new" room now, although I'm not terribly bothered by her absence, something indeed touches me. It's the empty space in the middle (made available by taking her bed out), the distance from the beginning to the end of the room - the distance between MJ and me, the faintness of the yellow-dim bed light in Saturday evenings, the quietness, the absence of different people on campus that have stopped coming here ever since she left. And a lost piece of me in it, as well. And we're just some streets away from each other.
I realize that so many "last times" are coming - and many of them I will miss a lot, a lot. (Now it feels like the beginning of the end.)
I have a feeling that there are many things he wants to talk to me about. But we just stand there, looking at each other, being diplomatic, conversing about trivial things - and it's been a while since the depth of our conversation matched the depth of our relationship and understanding. Sometimes I want him to speak, but then I realize that I am not speaking myself. Why don't we both understand that we only have 5 weeks left, and it will be a long time until we see each other again?
Everything can be explained with two cows. This is the two cows version of me: I have two cows. It doesn't really matter, but yes, I have to cows.
What's wrong? No, seriously, what's wrong? Nothing is wrong. Sure.
The expropriation of individual expectations. The repercussion of caring. The volatility of the minds. A discrepancy between me and those of my type.
Soy sauce and green tea. Cold water and tattered origami boats. Drum sticks and an eye to the dark. A nothingness that lasts to infinity.
Chin up and stride, kid.
