What if mirrors had memories?
The stories yours could tell about you…
More honest than a child,
They would know more about you than your closest friends.
They’d be able to recall exactly how you look first thing in the morning, last thing at night; when all your makeup’s been stripped away and you’re left, just you, just as you are, staring back at yourself.
Nothing to hide behind.
They could recall your saddest moments: the hours you’ve spent standing in front of your mirror with tears streaming down your face, telling your reflection over and over again that it’s not good enough, not clever enough, not beautiful enough. All the times you’ve been able to do nothing else except watch the fierce, angry tears spill over, your vision distorted through liquid crystals.
And how many broken promises would they be able to bear witness to? Little things, petty, insignificant things - "I'll get the laundry done today", "I'll start that detox tomorrow", "I'll call home this morning" - but broken all the same.
Secret recriminations, between you and a silent judge sitting behind a glass panel.
Maybe there's good reason mirrors don't have memories.
Sunday, November 30, 2008
My Mirror Has No Soul
What if mirrors had memories?
The stories yours could tell about you…
More honest than a child,
They would know more about you than your closest friends.
They’d be able to recall exactly how you look first thing in the morning, last thing at night; when all your makeup’s been stripped away and you’re left, just you, just as you are, staring back at yourself.
Nothing to hide behind.
They could recall your saddest moments: the hours you’ve spent standing in front of your mirror with tears streaming down your face, telling your reflection over and over again that it’s not good enough, not clever enough, not beautiful enough. All the times you’ve been able to do nothing else except watch the fierce, angry tears spill over, your vision distorted through liquid crystals.
And how many broken promises would they be able to bear witness to? Little things, petty, insignificant things - "I'll get the laundry done today", "I'll start that detox tomorrow", "I'll call home this morning" - but broken all the same.
Secret recriminations, between you and a silent judge sitting behind a glass panel.
Maybe there's good reason mirrors don't have memories.
The stories yours could tell about you…
More honest than a child,
They would know more about you than your closest friends.
They’d be able to recall exactly how you look first thing in the morning, last thing at night; when all your makeup’s been stripped away and you’re left, just you, just as you are, staring back at yourself.
Nothing to hide behind.
They could recall your saddest moments: the hours you’ve spent standing in front of your mirror with tears streaming down your face, telling your reflection over and over again that it’s not good enough, not clever enough, not beautiful enough. All the times you’ve been able to do nothing else except watch the fierce, angry tears spill over, your vision distorted through liquid crystals.
And how many broken promises would they be able to bear witness to? Little things, petty, insignificant things - "I'll get the laundry done today", "I'll start that detox tomorrow", "I'll call home this morning" - but broken all the same.
Secret recriminations, between you and a silent judge sitting behind a glass panel.
Maybe there's good reason mirrors don't have memories.
Monday, November 10, 2008
Lethargy
I don't know why I'm feeling the need to write again. Twice in three days is a lot of updating, even for me, but I'm sitting here trying to finish thoughts and all I keep getting is this scrunched-up-paper feeling in my chest, like there's something there that's trying to express itself, only the frustrated writer inside keeps messing up and wadding it up into a tight little ball, and flinging it into the trash. I've been feeling like this all weekend.
Restless, yet somehow unbelievably lethargic.
I've been trying to do a lot of things differently lately. Instead of allowing myself to get into situations that leave me tainted and guilt-ridden, I've been trying to live my life as an example to others. Instead of waking up in the morning and feeling grumpy and miserable about having to get out of bed and go to work, I've been trying to live each day as it comes and appreciate each one, as a gift from God. Instead of being cynical and pessimistic about everything, I've been desperately seeking the silver lining.
But sometimes - in fact, most of the time - I can't help feeling like my efforts are in vain. My life is not a good example for others to follow. I haven't been getting out of bed feeling ready to take on the day, and enjoy it. I have been feeling cynical and pessimistic about a lot of the same things.
Maybe that's where this restlessness is coming from; maybe I'm just impatient to start making a difference. I can't seem to help it. I just want to see the difference.
Saturday, November 8, 2008
How It Howls
I'm sitting at my desk listening to the wind howling outside. This week has definitely marked the end of Summer and the beginning of Fall for Hong Kong, I think. It's started raining, it's been getting dark earlier in the evenings, the humidity's gone from the air, and now the wind has come.
Ordinarily, I hate the end of Summer. There's something about it, even if you've been working through the holidays, that signify an end to all the careless fun you can have when the sun is bright and the nights are short. It means no more impromptu visits to the beach, no more baking ourselves on my roof with friends, no more sitting along the seafront for hours and hours, late into the night, made sleepy by humidity and happiness. Summer makes my insides glow.
But this year, I'm feeling a little differently about it all. This year, rather than noticing Fall arrive and Winter fast approaching and being miserable about it, I find myself welcoming it. No, I don't like the rain or the dark early evenings or the wind that's blowing so hard it's making ghost-sounds through my apartment. But I guess blowing away the cobwebs is never a bad thing to do. And so maybe, whilst Fall means that everything around us starts to die, it should also signify to us that it's time to wake up. Shake off the cobwebs. Move forward.
Ordinarily, I hate the end of Summer. There's something about it, even if you've been working through the holidays, that signify an end to all the careless fun you can have when the sun is bright and the nights are short. It means no more impromptu visits to the beach, no more baking ourselves on my roof with friends, no more sitting along the seafront for hours and hours, late into the night, made sleepy by humidity and happiness. Summer makes my insides glow.
But this year, I'm feeling a little differently about it all. This year, rather than noticing Fall arrive and Winter fast approaching and being miserable about it, I find myself welcoming it. No, I don't like the rain or the dark early evenings or the wind that's blowing so hard it's making ghost-sounds through my apartment. But I guess blowing away the cobwebs is never a bad thing to do. And so maybe, whilst Fall means that everything around us starts to die, it should also signify to us that it's time to wake up. Shake off the cobwebs. Move forward.
Thursday, November 6, 2008
How My Mind Works
Look up there, at the clouds. That one looks like a rabbit. No,
scissors.
I've noticed something. I don't think it's important.
Maybe it is.
Maybe nothing is.
Maybe nothing is as important as this.
When I watch TV, the volume has to be an even number, or else a multiple of 5.
Don't set the volume to anything else, I can't watch. I'll squirm and wriggle inside, and try and pretend to myself that it's 25, and not 19.
25 is my favorite number.
But
only for TV volume.
Stop touching me! Personal space!
I wonder if there'll be time to put in some laundry when I get home.
It'll be dark. Never mind then.
What do you call an obsession with the dentists?
I can't go on the roof if it's dark. They might be there.
It's not a heart-shaped stone. It's a stone-shaped heart.
...Of course there's a difference, silly.
Sunday, September 28, 2008
Cheap Destiny
I'm beginning to believe in a thing I've started referring to, in my head, as "Cheap Destiny".
Some people think that you don't choose your own destiny, that it's just like fate, and wherever you end up is just... it. I was one of those people, a really short while ago. I saw my life as something I had very little to no control over, and what happened in my life happened TO me, and never BECAUSE of me.
But I've changed teams.
I've slowly learned that things don't have to happen to me if I don't want them to, and I can replace them with other things that I choose. I can choose my own destiny. Which may sound like a very simple concept to you, but for me it's been a long, arduous journey to that realization.
But with that realization comes another, slightly more somber one. Sometimes, we choose sadness. We choose the way that's bound to leave us dissatisfied, because we can't stand the idea of being let-down or disappointed when we'd set our sights so high. We choose our Cheap Destiny.
I'm trying not to do that in my own life. The thought of setting myself up for disappointment does terrify me, yes; but the thought of waking up one day to a Cheap Destiny, in which I never took any risks or tried anything new to better myself and my life, scares me more.
I'm trying to choose my Great Destiny.
Some people think that you don't choose your own destiny, that it's just like fate, and wherever you end up is just... it. I was one of those people, a really short while ago. I saw my life as something I had very little to no control over, and what happened in my life happened TO me, and never BECAUSE of me.
But I've changed teams.
I've slowly learned that things don't have to happen to me if I don't want them to, and I can replace them with other things that I choose. I can choose my own destiny. Which may sound like a very simple concept to you, but for me it's been a long, arduous journey to that realization.
But with that realization comes another, slightly more somber one. Sometimes, we choose sadness. We choose the way that's bound to leave us dissatisfied, because we can't stand the idea of being let-down or disappointed when we'd set our sights so high. We choose our Cheap Destiny.
I'm trying not to do that in my own life. The thought of setting myself up for disappointment does terrify me, yes; but the thought of waking up one day to a Cheap Destiny, in which I never took any risks or tried anything new to better myself and my life, scares me more.
I'm trying to choose my Great Destiny.
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
Sweet Mother of God
I'm going to get religious on you for a quick minute.
If you're a Christian, or if you have a lot to do with the church, then you'll know that one of the main things we hear all the time is how we should strive to be just like Jesus. But if you're anything like me, you probably hear that and think something along the lines of, Well, I'm pretty sure I've already made a royal screw-up of that. And then you probably start feeling low and depressed, because you get to imagining Judgement day and how, when you get there, Jesus will probably be unable to do much more than stare at you with his jaw hanging. "You did... what? OUT OF MY SIGHT." This is what my imagination shows me, anyway, and it scares the crap out of me, despite knowing that it's just not true.
Anyway. Recently, I was reading a book called Plan B - Further Thoughts on Faith, by Anne Lammott. Which is a great book, by the way. And in it, she quotes poet Denise Lervertov:
She did not cry, "I cannot, I am not worthy,"
Nor, "I have not the strength."
She did not submit with gritted teeth,
raging, coerced.
Bravest of all humans,
consent illumined her.
Doesn't that sound so great? I feel like sometimes, if you're not Catholic, Mary gets put aside a little in the Christian faith. Sure, we remember her and sing a few little songs about her at Christmas, and her name gets mentioned in passing once in a while. But I feel like she's just so much more than that. And I don't think that's wrong of me - I'm not saying we should get on our knees and start praying to her, because there's nothing in the Bible that suggests we should. But, reading that poem, I got to thinking that sometimes, if being like Jesus is a little much to live up to, maybe Mary would be a good place to start.
If you're a Christian, or if you have a lot to do with the church, then you'll know that one of the main things we hear all the time is how we should strive to be just like Jesus. But if you're anything like me, you probably hear that and think something along the lines of, Well, I'm pretty sure I've already made a royal screw-up of that. And then you probably start feeling low and depressed, because you get to imagining Judgement day and how, when you get there, Jesus will probably be unable to do much more than stare at you with his jaw hanging. "You did... what? OUT OF MY SIGHT." This is what my imagination shows me, anyway, and it scares the crap out of me, despite knowing that it's just not true.
Anyway. Recently, I was reading a book called Plan B - Further Thoughts on Faith, by Anne Lammott. Which is a great book, by the way. And in it, she quotes poet Denise Lervertov:
She did not cry, "I cannot, I am not worthy,"
Nor, "I have not the strength."
She did not submit with gritted teeth,
raging, coerced.
Bravest of all humans,
consent illumined her.
Doesn't that sound so great? I feel like sometimes, if you're not Catholic, Mary gets put aside a little in the Christian faith. Sure, we remember her and sing a few little songs about her at Christmas, and her name gets mentioned in passing once in a while. But I feel like she's just so much more than that. And I don't think that's wrong of me - I'm not saying we should get on our knees and start praying to her, because there's nothing in the Bible that suggests we should. But, reading that poem, I got to thinking that sometimes, if being like Jesus is a little much to live up to, maybe Mary would be a good place to start.
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