Wednesday, November 30, 2005
Dawn
When I first met him, he was a professional blind.
For someone who was born without vision, not being able to see was a normal detail in life. We happened to be on the same boat. It was extremely windy that day, so an emergency stop was made near a bridge made of planks and ropes.
Everyone emptied the boat and crossed the shaking bridge. He and I were the last passengers. Suddenly, he said, "Hold on to me."
"...Who? You?" I paused. Hesitated. "But, you can't see. Can you?"
"I can see," he said brightly. "Just follow me, and you can grab on if you get scared."
He briskly crossed the planks, while a terrified me crouched closely behind.
"Be careful," he warned as he hopped off onto land.
His unseeing eyes were milky white, but they looked right at me as if they knew exactly where I was.
Last year, when I saw him again on the island, he told me:
"I might be able to see..." But there was an uncertainty in his voice.
"Wow. That's great! I thought that the doctors said it was extremely difficult." I exclaimed without fully understanding the implication.
"Some doctor called me the other day and said that the surgery was a success overseas."
"So you're going to have the surgery, right?"
"We'll see."
"Why? You will be able to see."
"I'm. I'm afraid of being able to see."
I wondered why he had to think twice about the possibility of being able to see the soda-blue sea of Okinawa, the drippingly luscious green jungle, or the burning sunset that would immediately evaporate once it touched the cool horizon. He didn't know how beautiful the world was, so I thought he ought to know.
That was the last time I ever saw him as a blind.
The next time I met him, he was no longer blind. It's hard to put a finger on it. He was no longer a blind, but he was crippled. He walked around the in wary and stumbled sheepishly. His eyes were no longer milky white, but had dark brown pupils that wandered aimlessly without focus.
"Hi. It's you again."
"You can see me? Wow. Congratulations!"
"Thank you. But. Is this what being able to 'see' is?"
"Well, I guess you can't expect 20/20."
"Um... That's not quite it..."
"It must be hard to get adjusted to. After all, you are seeing for the very first time in your life."
I couldn't have been more foolish. He had tried to carve his eyes out with a knife immediately after the surgery. Fortunately, his family stopped him in time, but he fell into the ocean and the villagers rumored that it was a suicidal attempt. For a man who did not see for the whole 28 years of his life, suddenly being able to see everything presented a nightmarish struggle.
When he first opened his eyes after surgery, he was taken aback by the irregular moving masses. He could not comprehend that they were people. It was different from what he had touched and known as "people." To him, everything was glaring. He could not believe how much space could be filled with "things." And the color, color, color! He felt suffocated when he opened his eyes.
He used to be a perfect blind. But now he was an imperfect normal being. He is adjusting to a new world, but his life is a testament that human beings must develop in a certain way. And when certain developments are bypassed, the process of relearning is more damaging than leaving things to the course of nature.
.....
Taguchi Randy - Excerpt from For the Girl Whose Consumption is No Longer Pleasure
For someone who was born without vision, not being able to see was a normal detail in life. We happened to be on the same boat. It was extremely windy that day, so an emergency stop was made near a bridge made of planks and ropes.
Everyone emptied the boat and crossed the shaking bridge. He and I were the last passengers. Suddenly, he said, "Hold on to me."
"...Who? You?" I paused. Hesitated. "But, you can't see. Can you?"
"I can see," he said brightly. "Just follow me, and you can grab on if you get scared."
He briskly crossed the planks, while a terrified me crouched closely behind.
"Be careful," he warned as he hopped off onto land.
His unseeing eyes were milky white, but they looked right at me as if they knew exactly where I was.
Last year, when I saw him again on the island, he told me:
"I might be able to see..." But there was an uncertainty in his voice.
"Wow. That's great! I thought that the doctors said it was extremely difficult." I exclaimed without fully understanding the implication.
"Some doctor called me the other day and said that the surgery was a success overseas."
"So you're going to have the surgery, right?"
"We'll see."
"Why? You will be able to see."
"I'm. I'm afraid of being able to see."
I wondered why he had to think twice about the possibility of being able to see the soda-blue sea of Okinawa, the drippingly luscious green jungle, or the burning sunset that would immediately evaporate once it touched the cool horizon. He didn't know how beautiful the world was, so I thought he ought to know.
That was the last time I ever saw him as a blind.
The next time I met him, he was no longer blind. It's hard to put a finger on it. He was no longer a blind, but he was crippled. He walked around the in wary and stumbled sheepishly. His eyes were no longer milky white, but had dark brown pupils that wandered aimlessly without focus.
"Hi. It's you again."
"You can see me? Wow. Congratulations!"
"Thank you. But. Is this what being able to 'see' is?"
"Well, I guess you can't expect 20/20."
"Um... That's not quite it..."
"It must be hard to get adjusted to. After all, you are seeing for the very first time in your life."
I couldn't have been more foolish. He had tried to carve his eyes out with a knife immediately after the surgery. Fortunately, his family stopped him in time, but he fell into the ocean and the villagers rumored that it was a suicidal attempt. For a man who did not see for the whole 28 years of his life, suddenly being able to see everything presented a nightmarish struggle.
When he first opened his eyes after surgery, he was taken aback by the irregular moving masses. He could not comprehend that they were people. It was different from what he had touched and known as "people." To him, everything was glaring. He could not believe how much space could be filled with "things." And the color, color, color! He felt suffocated when he opened his eyes.
He used to be a perfect blind. But now he was an imperfect normal being. He is adjusting to a new world, but his life is a testament that human beings must develop in a certain way. And when certain developments are bypassed, the process of relearning is more damaging than leaving things to the course of nature.
.....
Taguchi Randy - Excerpt from For the Girl Whose Consumption is No Longer Pleasure
Tuesday, November 29, 2005
Bum-mer...
When I read this, I instantly thought of one racial group: black women. As racy as that may sound, I envy them with every bit of my non-existant derriere.
You see, having a lot of mass in the back, is VERY different from having a nice and perky booty. Without revealing too much, I'd have to say that I identify with the Asian women who lament the vertical drop of death behind their backs. Skinny, fat, tall, or gravity challenged, when you don't have a booty, you feel like you're missing something in natural design. I can comfortably attest that I have the hip to take out a rhino, but still, feel like I don't have the voluptuous rump to match the bone frame.
So I pondered. If I had the chance to get the gluteus-maximus of my dreams (even if artificial), would I do it? A Brazilian plastic surgery was a little out of my pocket's reach... but £29. Hmm... Not completely un-doable. At the embarrassment of fashioning a Bridget Jones granny knickers, you could get a shelf too! (Side note: I remember a boy in my high school who literally had a "shelf" on his back. People could sit on Johnny K's bottom. Now that's a booty).
In all vanity, I think I would be more balanced if I had perky buttocks. It's a great feature. And if someone wanted to squeeze right next to me on a train, I could say, "Sorry, my booty is already sitting here." And the days I don't feel like dressing particularly nice, I can just put on tight jeans, and my booty would do all the talking. People would come up to me and say, "Hey, you look kind of exhaust.... Heeeeeey! Your booty's bright and perky today!"
My milkshake would bring all the boys to the yard. Oh yes, it would.
You see, having a lot of mass in the back, is VERY different from having a nice and perky booty. Without revealing too much, I'd have to say that I identify with the Asian women who lament the vertical drop of death behind their backs. Skinny, fat, tall, or gravity challenged, when you don't have a booty, you feel like you're missing something in natural design. I can comfortably attest that I have the hip to take out a rhino, but still, feel like I don't have the voluptuous rump to match the bone frame.
So I pondered. If I had the chance to get the gluteus-maximus of my dreams (even if artificial), would I do it? A Brazilian plastic surgery was a little out of my pocket's reach... but £29. Hmm... Not completely un-doable. At the embarrassment of fashioning a Bridget Jones granny knickers, you could get a shelf too! (Side note: I remember a boy in my high school who literally had a "shelf" on his back. People could sit on Johnny K's bottom. Now that's a booty).
In all vanity, I think I would be more balanced if I had perky buttocks. It's a great feature. And if someone wanted to squeeze right next to me on a train, I could say, "Sorry, my booty is already sitting here." And the days I don't feel like dressing particularly nice, I can just put on tight jeans, and my booty would do all the talking. People would come up to me and say, "Hey, you look kind of exhaust.... Heeeeeey! Your booty's bright and perky today!"
My milkshake would bring all the boys to the yard. Oh yes, it would.
Monday, November 28, 2005
Going to another world
It's almost surreal how you can find a whole new country within the very one you thought you lived in. I mean, southeast-Pennsylvania, to be more precise.
Randy and I set out for Harrisburg to a Thanksgiving gathering. We all held hands in a circle and prayed to the good lord for our health, happiness, and the feast which we were about to devour. Dinner table conversations consisted of Amish weddings, hunting, Africa, more hunting, and how grey trucks are more prone to deers running into them.
We were pleasantly surprised by the video footages of wild animals that can be seen in the area: the bald eagle, red fox, elk, deer, and plenty of pretty spiders. I was not so pleasantly surprised when Randy's cousin-in-law brought in the head of a deer, which he had hit a couple weeks ago on his truck. It pays off to have a sturdy truck, because on average, you hit 4-5 deers per year.
Everyone owns a rifle around here. Everyone. Popo showed us his collection of rifles - one of which was (most likely) used in the Spanish American War. He bought it for $90, but he reckons it could be worth a lot.
I didn't get to see the Amish folks in their buggies, but I hear that there's buggie hitches at stores in Lancaster. People assume that they are repressed and backwards in many ways, but the exceptions to the rule make me believe otherwise. I hear that some folks can be spotted sunbathing at the beaches and some Amish teenagers even own cars (which they are technically not supposed to do?). But the story that takes the cake is about some Amish daughters hosing each other down naked in their backyard (according to neighborhood gossip). I'm sure that's a special case. But still... weird.
Randy and I set out for Harrisburg to a Thanksgiving gathering. We all held hands in a circle and prayed to the good lord for our health, happiness, and the feast which we were about to devour. Dinner table conversations consisted of Amish weddings, hunting, Africa, more hunting, and how grey trucks are more prone to deers running into them.
We were pleasantly surprised by the video footages of wild animals that can be seen in the area: the bald eagle, red fox, elk, deer, and plenty of pretty spiders. I was not so pleasantly surprised when Randy's cousin-in-law brought in the head of a deer, which he had hit a couple weeks ago on his truck. It pays off to have a sturdy truck, because on average, you hit 4-5 deers per year.
Everyone owns a rifle around here. Everyone. Popo showed us his collection of rifles - one of which was (most likely) used in the Spanish American War. He bought it for $90, but he reckons it could be worth a lot.
I didn't get to see the Amish folks in their buggies, but I hear that there's buggie hitches at stores in Lancaster. People assume that they are repressed and backwards in many ways, but the exceptions to the rule make me believe otherwise. I hear that some folks can be spotted sunbathing at the beaches and some Amish teenagers even own cars (which they are technically not supposed to do?). But the story that takes the cake is about some Amish daughters hosing each other down naked in their backyard (according to neighborhood gossip). I'm sure that's a special case. But still... weird.
Wednesday, November 23, 2005
First round: humans prevail (somewhat)
I had my first Thanksgiving dinner of the year last night. Andrew embarked on the maiden voyage of the deep fryer, and boy, the turkey was good... Some cooked veggies, pierogis, Japanese curry in breadbowl, mashed potatoes, green bean casserol, and pumpkin pie. Downed with Polish beer, raka, and 3 bottles of wine - 2 of which were Australian. Mix that with the company of 6 nice people. It was a good night.
The battle was fierce, but we were still mobile afterwards. The sad thing is, we know that this is only a preparation round of what is to come...
Good fight to all of you who are participating in the Thanksgiving match.
The battle was fierce, but we were still mobile afterwards. The sad thing is, we know that this is only a preparation round of what is to come...
Good fight to all of you who are participating in the Thanksgiving match.
Monday, November 21, 2005
Update: life
It's great to hear all the birthday wishes from everyone. Thanks, guys! (dturk, this sweet background is from Monterey, Cali-for-ni-a - where the seals sunbathe and the seagulls wistle. Highly recommend a visit).
Yes, as some of you may have implied, I am still a 'twenty-something' that bows at the feet of the aged and wise. (that excludes a certain Mr. Leonard, btw. I will never bow down at his feet!) I have scheduled my mid-life crisis to happen exactly 9 years and 2 months from now, and I know that's also when my eggs will go bad or dangerously increase the chance of genetic mutation in my children. My roommate used to have a detailed plan of her engagement, marriage, childbirth, and menopause as well. [on a side note, it fascinates me to think that little girls already carry 400,000 eggs at birth, a whole set for their lifespan - amazing.]
But one can never really plan 'life' anyway. I stand somewhere between a fatalist and someone who takes a spontaneous spin at the wheel of fortune. I tried explaining this to Randy, but I don't think the message conveyed. I need to think through how fatalism and quantum-physics can compromise with each other.
Yes, as some of you may have implied, I am still a 'twenty-something' that bows at the feet of the aged and wise. (that excludes a certain Mr. Leonard, btw. I will never bow down at his feet!) I have scheduled my mid-life crisis to happen exactly 9 years and 2 months from now, and I know that's also when my eggs will go bad or dangerously increase the chance of genetic mutation in my children. My roommate used to have a detailed plan of her engagement, marriage, childbirth, and menopause as well. [on a side note, it fascinates me to think that little girls already carry 400,000 eggs at birth, a whole set for their lifespan - amazing.]
But one can never really plan 'life' anyway. I stand somewhere between a fatalist and someone who takes a spontaneous spin at the wheel of fortune. I tried explaining this to Randy, but I don't think the message conveyed. I need to think through how fatalism and quantum-physics can compromise with each other.
Friday, November 18, 2005
Happy Birth-day
Okay, so I turn another page in the book of life today. 25 pages, another 3/4 to go (hey, I can dream, no?)
But more importantly, today's the birthday of my new attempt at a second job. It's more like a creative outlet, and currently there are no buyers. So, no. It's not like I'm hoping for this to become my day job or anything.
Happy Birthday, Animal Inc.
But more importantly, today's the birthday of my new attempt at a second job. It's more like a creative outlet, and currently there are no buyers. So, no. It's not like I'm hoping for this to become my day job or anything.
Happy Birthday, Animal Inc.
Sunday, November 13, 2005
R.I.P. Tenshin
He was not a family pet - he was a son, a brother, a friend. I can't imagine going home without him jumping up and down like a crazy squirrel, ready to knock you out with his powerful front paws. That was his signature greeting.
He suffered five seizures yesterday and we decided to let him go in peace. His last couple of weeks were in pain, but I believe that he had a full and joyous life - loved by so many and loving in return. His name means "Heaven's Heart" - apt for such an amazing soul.
Miss you lots Tenshin.
He suffered five seizures yesterday and we decided to let him go in peace. His last couple of weeks were in pain, but I believe that he had a full and joyous life - loved by so many and loving in return. His name means "Heaven's Heart" - apt for such an amazing soul.
Miss you lots Tenshin.
Thursday, November 10, 2005
Flying in Water
They spread their wings and glide,
Aviators of the sea.
Each ripple in their smooth body,
Part of an endless current.
They align in formation
Just like an Escher piece.
Reading each other's rhythm,
Synchronizing as one.
Their sense of humor is in their smile,
A design by nature in their abdomen.
Two holes and a horizontal slit of the gills,
Like a child's drawing in the sand.
I could watch these rays forever...
Their majestic excursion,
Mesmerizing me in tranquility.
I could watch these rays forever...
Avitaors of the sea.
Friday, November 04, 2005
Mmm... doughnut
It's Friday. The guys in the office are playing pranks on the boss, and everyone has the semi-glazed Homer Simpson look on their face.
I had a productive morning, only to diggress into grunt work and then potluck lunch time goodness (and it was awesome). I can't complain though. Things are rolling, and I'm feeling purposeful of late. So I am just happily sucking on my dum-dum, contemplating how to stitch up my report on condoms and lubricants. Ahhh... life couldn't be better (well, it probably could. But it's the Homer Simpson train of thought that's interfering with any rational thought today).
Funny though. Whenever I talk to Drake, we always end up discussing how everyone is having adventures and we're like the guys from Office Space - perpetually bound by 2 week annual leaves, projects that need to get done (designed so that you can't really enjoy taking off for too long), and pondering how your puny little existence matters to the Big Man. And then we diggress about the days of when we were crazy trainees, living it up and tasting anything we could put our hands on - literally and figuratively. The craziest nights imaginable, and then showing up at work the next day, looking your worst for a VERY important meeting (haha - c'mon, it's happened to all of us, at least twice...). At least I'm not the only sucker who thinks this way. And hats off to full-time employees (no longer trainees), who still keep up the crazy nomadic/nightlife evangelism. You're the life of the party, and you're my hero.
Here's a question: why are doughnuts called 'doughnuts'? I mean, it's made out of dough, I give it that. But why the 'nut'? I don't get it...
I had a productive morning, only to diggress into grunt work and then potluck lunch time goodness (and it was awesome). I can't complain though. Things are rolling, and I'm feeling purposeful of late. So I am just happily sucking on my dum-dum, contemplating how to stitch up my report on condoms and lubricants. Ahhh... life couldn't be better (well, it probably could. But it's the Homer Simpson train of thought that's interfering with any rational thought today).
Funny though. Whenever I talk to Drake, we always end up discussing how everyone is having adventures and we're like the guys from Office Space - perpetually bound by 2 week annual leaves, projects that need to get done (designed so that you can't really enjoy taking off for too long), and pondering how your puny little existence matters to the Big Man. And then we diggress about the days of when we were crazy trainees, living it up and tasting anything we could put our hands on - literally and figuratively. The craziest nights imaginable, and then showing up at work the next day, looking your worst for a VERY important meeting (haha - c'mon, it's happened to all of us, at least twice...). At least I'm not the only sucker who thinks this way. And hats off to full-time employees (no longer trainees), who still keep up the crazy nomadic/nightlife evangelism. You're the life of the party, and you're my hero.
Here's a question: why are doughnuts called 'doughnuts'? I mean, it's made out of dough, I give it that. But why the 'nut'? I don't get it...
Thursday, November 03, 2005
Ele-whatcha...er...whatever...
I was feeling unusually creative for my colleague's baby shower. So I made this:
It's a hand puppet. It's nice and soft. And I guess it's kind of cute.
The problem is, I found a nice fuzzy towel-like material at a fabric shop. So far, so good. It's got cute ducks on them and all. So what do I make out of it? - A rabbit. But for some reason, the rabbit looks sad. No matter how I stich the mouth in, it looks like a sorry, punched in the face, depressed rabbit. So I stiched its floppy ears down and added a trunk.
Tadaa - an elephant with duck prints, formerly known as the rabbit. This is going to be one confused kid.
Easily storage-able. You know, for the parents. And the bonus is, they can use it as a beer can holder when the kid's done with it.
It's a hand puppet. It's nice and soft. And I guess it's kind of cute.
The problem is, I found a nice fuzzy towel-like material at a fabric shop. So far, so good. It's got cute ducks on them and all. So what do I make out of it? - A rabbit. But for some reason, the rabbit looks sad. No matter how I stich the mouth in, it looks like a sorry, punched in the face, depressed rabbit. So I stiched its floppy ears down and added a trunk.
Tadaa - an elephant with duck prints, formerly known as the rabbit. This is going to be one confused kid.
Easily storage-able. You know, for the parents. And the bonus is, they can use it as a beer can holder when the kid's done with it.
