11 September 2009


Mixed media
(Acrylic, colour pencil, ink on paper)

There was no reason to think that I wouldn't survive the week, but the news is still the fact that I survived it. Work's been tiring and a lot of fun. I would wish there was an end to it when I realize that I can't do it forever. Partly I also wish that there were never such things as 'other more important things to do in life' just so I could do whatever it is I am doing and enjoy it.

I've been religiously reading, just to keep my mind away from the long train rides to and from work. I read four, maybe five Mr. Monk series novels by Lee Goldberg and they are as interesting, if not more, as the TV series. Knowing what it's like for Mr. Monk who's a detective suffering from obsessive compulsive disorder is interesting... and so funny.

I picked up a novel called Babyville, and I guess the title itself is self-explanatory. Unfortunately after reading two chapters I felt my stomach churn. It was a book written by a woman for all women of child-bearing age. Or not. I don't know exactly what the point of the book was. There was just too much girly dialogs and too many insights into the minds of naive, insecure, egoic, indecisive, and over-the-line emotional characters of women that I returned the book to the library where it should be (hopefully) left untouched, before I decide to rip it apart page by page and sacrifice it to the God of God-knows-what by burning them to ashes.

I picked up a couple of other books after that and they were not as repulsive but still not good enough. Heart-shaped Box by Joe Hill was just okay. There was a couple of times Nirvana (the band) was referred to in the story. The title itself was taken from one of their songs. But it's nothing special. So this guy buys a ghost just because he collects crazy stuff, and the ghost ends up haunting him. Dum dee dum.

At the moment I'm reading Solace by Nicci Gerrard, another accidental find yesterday.
Just a book I glanced at from a distance that somehow seemed to have called to me "Please, read. Please, read me!" And so I've made it through halfway by now. It started off very, very nicely. I like the writing style of this author, and it seems to me that the writing is the reason I keep reading rather than the story. The story's pretty mental but not intense enough to be disturbing.

In Solace, there is no place for the blaming game even though that is precisely the temptation. Just like Revolutionary Road. The only difference between the two is the latter is tragic and the former awakening.
But blaming is useless and entirely irrelevant. The story revolves around expectations.
Giving in to the voices in the head and reacting to thought and interpretation. Most of all the inability to let go and the inability to let things be - the tendency to control.

I will spend the day reading the rest of the book.
Seeing someone else let go of their outrage and other unconscious behaviours is still something that wakes me up to realize my own actions. No matter how tempting it is to feed on the energy that grief, anger, frustration and the like brings, it's still better to first see the consequences of causing such damage. And then it doesn't take much effort to see that there are irrational fears, but flipping out or demeaning others are not the only ways to deal with it.

There are situations in my life at the moment that I have to leave be.
However painful and heavy.

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