llorendo
Sometimes I really dislike the publicness of this kind of journal. It's relatively anonymous, yet I still feel the glare when writing anything down. There is an awareness or pressure to produce a certain kind of thing. Of course, those who know about it and are kind enough to read it are near and dear; however, sometimes one just wants to throw up a big, wet towel even knowing it will coming smarming down after a good mop up. I'm also not comfortable with using a more blatant/deliberate community-oriented public-ation like Livejournal. There are people who have thrived on such things, but I like a small, neat, and secret garden.
I don't cry often, but it does feel better afterward.
Last night I had a wonderful party--one of the best birthdays ever and a lot of people to thank for it. The latter half of the week had been full of specific conversations and great food. I was delirious on company. Preparing for the fete was quite stressful (especially when the elephant-shaped cake lost its articulate tail and split off into sections because I'd made it a marble cake *and* tried to move it from tray to tray too much), but it turned out in the end. One major shortcoming was that I did not really make the rounds and talk to all the guests in detail. It did occur to me, but somehow I couldn't help but be pulled into enjoying it all like a guest. My dream had materialised: there was dance, dance, dancing throughout.
There have been so far three Great Birthday parties:
A) When my mother came back to China to take me to the US, we had my last birthday in my grandmother's old house with real-cream cake. There may have even been two cakes, one for each side of the family.
I was so happy to see her again. I remember the moment when she first stepped out of the sober-coloured car my grandfather had sent to the station--her white-print dress of summer cotton in the afternoon sun, achingly familiar lengthy limbs and beaming face--still young. I don't remember the actual moment of embrace or touch after the two years of none, but I recall the way my heart expanded suddenly when that glossy door swung out and my heart's desire was fulfilled.
B) My 22nd birthday in Tasmania was celebrated with three other Geminis. We'd invited all our art school/uni/bushwalking school friends and everyone ate, drank, and danced pretty much till dawn. It was and still is one of the happiest memories I have from that already happy time. I had put up a roll of brown paper on our (otherwise undecorated) living room walls and everyone left something he wrote or drew. Things were so clear and easy, then. The mind was unthwarted--who wouldn't love a place (made possible through others transiently assembled by chance and fate) that made one a part of lucidity, let one live in pure giddiness and real manageability of a man-sized world?
C) The highlights of this past evening: the company, the various geeky ideas I put to my guests and were take up enthusiastically, beautifully, artfully--the diving contest/swim races in our ridiculously small and well-loved pool where the few brave and obnoxious put on quite a splashy show, the water-side discussions about plot devices and R's use of religion in his sci fi story, the awesome pink wind-up fish R & Mi brought me that we let submarine about, the crazy energetic opening swing dance to Rektango which turned into Russian revolutions, the unadulterated possession by African drumming beats, the 7th Grade Dance Imitation, the Bollywood musical cameos, the confusion resulting from real flamenco and tarantella tracks, funky Kung Fu Fightin' that embroiled the most shy and dignified of us, hip-swiveling disco with the Bee Gees and Marvin Gaye, a series of twists that rehashed Jack Rabbit Slims, the disorganised yet totally fun Zoolanderish Walk-Off (H clearly took top crown while D the former model merely watched from his 6'3 tower) set to Ethiopian jazz, the faux-salsa lessons played to Afro-Cuban All Stars, a pseudo-Russian moment when F plugged in his non-iPod (cool) device and we did some crazy folk dancing moves that involved going around in tense circles and switching partners at the elbow, the late-night Gypsy Kings' rendition of "Hotel California", and Oh-We're-Hungry-for-Cake-Again gorge fest that polished off Jo's delicious Japanese mango jelly roll, made short work of H's tasty banana chocolate chip cake, and my 5-spice chicken. It was very flattering that Fr, Jo, and her roommate reduced the carcass down to a very petite pile of sheer bone.
I wanted the evening to last forever.
Today was spent sluggishly. I sat through an over-long, mildly interesting documentary about an indie rock festival in Taiwan. I was called on the telephone. I let the dragon out. It's hard to stuff him back in so you just have to make him dissipate through simple moisture.
It struck me while hearing about my niece's evolution as a 3 year old reformed terror that I would like to have children before too many years have fizzled. Time is unkind and key. I have a feeling that when all that begins to happen, it will happen very quickly in succession: the A, B, and C of it will be according to a natural rhythm. I am very grateful that it didn't happen with any of the exes, bless their hearts!
Oh, and G said hilariously when she finally met Penguin: "*That's* Penguin?! I was expecting something else entirely! I thought he was going to be at least a foot tall--I think you're projecting a little too much onto this thing [meaning my non-threatening looking little animal of about six inches]..." I explained to her that he had been recently been promoted to Chairman from Team Leader (or as JN wittily quipped "shift leader") of the Potato Patch, but she just kept shaking her head, clearly no recognising the inherent leadership skills in such an impressive, diminutive package. I mean, look at him--it's understandable how because he's really small that he needs to overcompensate by being extra assertive, right? I thought that was what most short people did? Kind of like a gender-neutral version of M's all-too-true "Short Woman Syndrome". Now before all 2 gentle readers write letters of complaint, rest assured that I recognise myself as a short woman, but this is about something bigger than one individual (like work ethics on a potato commune). Anyway, here is Penguin himself. You can judge for yourself.
I don't cry often, but it does feel better afterward.
Last night I had a wonderful party--one of the best birthdays ever and a lot of people to thank for it. The latter half of the week had been full of specific conversations and great food. I was delirious on company. Preparing for the fete was quite stressful (especially when the elephant-shaped cake lost its articulate tail and split off into sections because I'd made it a marble cake *and* tried to move it from tray to tray too much), but it turned out in the end. One major shortcoming was that I did not really make the rounds and talk to all the guests in detail. It did occur to me, but somehow I couldn't help but be pulled into enjoying it all like a guest. My dream had materialised: there was dance, dance, dancing throughout.
There have been so far three Great Birthday parties:
A) When my mother came back to China to take me to the US, we had my last birthday in my grandmother's old house with real-cream cake. There may have even been two cakes, one for each side of the family.
I was so happy to see her again. I remember the moment when she first stepped out of the sober-coloured car my grandfather had sent to the station--her white-print dress of summer cotton in the afternoon sun, achingly familiar lengthy limbs and beaming face--still young. I don't remember the actual moment of embrace or touch after the two years of none, but I recall the way my heart expanded suddenly when that glossy door swung out and my heart's desire was fulfilled.
B) My 22nd birthday in Tasmania was celebrated with three other Geminis. We'd invited all our art school/uni/bushwalking school friends and everyone ate, drank, and danced pretty much till dawn. It was and still is one of the happiest memories I have from that already happy time. I had put up a roll of brown paper on our (otherwise undecorated) living room walls and everyone left something he wrote or drew. Things were so clear and easy, then. The mind was unthwarted--who wouldn't love a place (made possible through others transiently assembled by chance and fate) that made one a part of lucidity, let one live in pure giddiness and real manageability of a man-sized world?
C) The highlights of this past evening: the company, the various geeky ideas I put to my guests and were take up enthusiastically, beautifully, artfully--the diving contest/swim races in our ridiculously small and well-loved pool where the few brave and obnoxious put on quite a splashy show, the water-side discussions about plot devices and R's use of religion in his sci fi story, the awesome pink wind-up fish R & Mi brought me that we let submarine about, the crazy energetic opening swing dance to Rektango which turned into Russian revolutions, the unadulterated possession by African drumming beats, the 7th Grade Dance Imitation, the Bollywood musical cameos, the confusion resulting from real flamenco and tarantella tracks, funky Kung Fu Fightin' that embroiled the most shy and dignified of us, hip-swiveling disco with the Bee Gees and Marvin Gaye, a series of twists that rehashed Jack Rabbit Slims, the disorganised yet totally fun Zoolanderish Walk-Off (H clearly took top crown while D the former model merely watched from his 6'3 tower) set to Ethiopian jazz, the faux-salsa lessons played to Afro-Cuban All Stars, a pseudo-Russian moment when F plugged in his non-iPod (cool) device and we did some crazy folk dancing moves that involved going around in tense circles and switching partners at the elbow, the late-night Gypsy Kings' rendition of "Hotel California", and Oh-We're-Hungry-for-Cake-Again gorge fest that polished off Jo's delicious Japanese mango jelly roll, made short work of H's tasty banana chocolate chip cake, and my 5-spice chicken. It was very flattering that Fr, Jo, and her roommate reduced the carcass down to a very petite pile of sheer bone.
I wanted the evening to last forever.
Today was spent sluggishly. I sat through an over-long, mildly interesting documentary about an indie rock festival in Taiwan. I was called on the telephone. I let the dragon out. It's hard to stuff him back in so you just have to make him dissipate through simple moisture.
It struck me while hearing about my niece's evolution as a 3 year old reformed terror that I would like to have children before too many years have fizzled. Time is unkind and key. I have a feeling that when all that begins to happen, it will happen very quickly in succession: the A, B, and C of it will be according to a natural rhythm. I am very grateful that it didn't happen with any of the exes, bless their hearts!
Oh, and G said hilariously when she finally met Penguin: "*That's* Penguin?! I was expecting something else entirely! I thought he was going to be at least a foot tall--I think you're projecting a little too much onto this thing [meaning my non-threatening looking little animal of about six inches]..." I explained to her that he had been recently been promoted to Chairman from Team Leader (or as JN wittily quipped "shift leader") of the Potato Patch, but she just kept shaking her head, clearly no recognising the inherent leadership skills in such an impressive, diminutive package. I mean, look at him--it's understandable how because he's really small that he needs to overcompensate by being extra assertive, right? I thought that was what most short people did? Kind of like a gender-neutral version of M's all-too-true "Short Woman Syndrome". Now before all 2 gentle readers write letters of complaint, rest assured that I recognise myself as a short woman, but this is about something bigger than one individual (like work ethics on a potato commune). Anyway, here is Penguin himself. You can judge for yourself.
posted by greenyew at 10:32 PM
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