My Lover, My Friend

08/11/2003 #28
10:00

[Please listen to my story]

Maji, I’m so sorry
Yesterday, and the day before that, I couldn’t do the Nikki
Yesterday, I was filming all day!
I’m filming since morning today too^^ It’s a nice weather ne (^^)
And then, yesterday, my grandmother came over to play, so
the two of us went to go watch a movie! (laugh)
somehow, it doesn’t seem like something a guy in a third year of High School would do ne!
It’s like, don’t you have any friends! (laugh)
before I got into High School, I was really rebellious, and
I didn’t even talk with my family, but it’s weird,
at that time, everyone told me to treat my family well
and that was annoying to me,
and I didn’t understand the meaning of that,
but lately, just a little, I’m starting to understand it^^
then now, I’m embarassed at myself for
being obstinate about the most ridiculous things
and feeling embarassed about being getting along with my parents! (laugh)
that’s how I’m starting to feel, and that’s why I’m going to treat them that much better^^
There may be some reading this Nikki who are going through that rebellious stage, but
although you may not understand what everyone tells you right now,
you will definitley come to realize it later on.
and when you realize it, treat them well twice as much ne♥
well, I wrote this hoping that
you can get to know me a little better^^ (laugh)
Okay, until next time

좀 더 멋진 남자보다

다른 그 무엇보다

좋은 남자가 되고 싶어 너를 위해

아무리 힘들어도 울지 않고

겁 먹지도 않는 너는

부러울 것 하나 없는

내게 단 하나의 꿈인거야 Oh -

난 너만 있으면 돼 나를 봐 이제 다른 누군 보지마

가끔 내가 싫기도 하고 아직 미덥지도 않겠지만

나도 날 알아가는 중인 걸 조금 기다려 줄 수 있니

너를 사랑하는 한 사람 너의 단 하나의 남자로

별로 예쁘지도 않고

여자답진 않아도

니 안의 맑은 특별함은 내겐 보여

처음엔 알아보지 못했었어

니가 나의 사랑인 걸

내 마음을 눈 뜨게 한

세상 단 하나의 꽃이란 걸 Oh -

난 너만 있으면 돼 나를 봐 이제 다른 누군 보지마

가끔 내가 싫기도 하고 아직 미덥지도 않겠지만

나도 날 알아가는 중인 걸 조금 기다려 줄 수 있니

너를 사랑하는 한 사람 너의 단 하나의 남자로

아무리 강한 너라도 지쳐버릴 때 있겠지

그럴 땐 내게로 와서 내 품 안에서 울어줄래 워 -

난 너만 있으면 돼 나를 봐 이제 다른 누군 보지마

가끔 내가 싫기도 하고 아직 미덥지도 않겠지만

나도 날 알아가는 중인 걸 조금 기다려 줄 수 있니

너를 사랑하는 한 사람 너의 단 하나의 남자로

Priming. Priming is a word known to the author of the book Blink, as the action by which an individual is set in a like mood as that subtly worded in his/her everyday life.
Tests and such have shown that our subconscious minds are superbly sensitive. That part of our brain…blah blah. *flicks a careless hand at the camera* forget it.
now THAT is known as the something of something. hold on.. *flips through pages* ah ha! *one can, if observed keenly enough, notice a faint light bulb hovering precariously and confoundingly near my temple* "the perils of introspection!" oh whatever.
that basically means we can IMAGINE a face in our mind but not DESCRIBE it accurately. similarly, i can IMAGINE what i want to write but not describe the words.. ‘what?!’ go to hell.

i cry and i cry and i cry and no one hears me. *shrug* no big deal.
but now i don’t feel and- *stops abruptly, turns to the side, Medusa mode* STOP POKING ME!!!! *turns back to camera and shrugs* no big deal also.
*picks up a rusty old baseball bat and swings it in an arc, slams it against the wall and takes with the paint and the debris, a chip off my shoulder*
please take the nails also. they are useless and they are redundant. ahhh.. redundant; love that word. *smiles sardonically*

mr dictionary *nods* mr encyclopedia *nods*, how does Superman pee in his costume?

Need some colours around here though I have been taught that colours distract from a presentation. However, colours attract, in a promotion. A black and white billboard; inconceivable, unless you’re talking about Audrey Hepburn’s face.

I imagine myself a huge big fat finger. Not THE finger, but A finger. And I imagine myself, like a bull heading for a Matador, I am headed for a needlepoint. I race and I make contact! But alas! *momentary shock* I do not bleed… *tips head endearingly to the side* how odd… So I make to stab my arm! No blood. I stab my stomach, my thighs, my face. No blood. I slice it across my neck. NO BLOOD!
What!?
*my hands fly to my face. my mouth drops open in horror (albeit ironically, at NOT seeing blood)*
Santa Maria! *I gasp* I um not ‘umon!
*then I proceed to, with all the grace, elegance and upbloom of a seasoned stage actress, CRASH onto the wooden floors in despair*

point of note: haggard and, most definitely, butchered things, do not ‘flow.’ they, with more probability, sputter and gargle like old men choking on ale or tiny wrinkled infants on bosom(’breast’ seemed so…coarse, don’t you think so?) milk.

  Hangul(Korean) is serious business. *nod nod*

*recalls randomly while doodling during Math class, "Huang Ui Nam Ja."*
"The King and the Clown(English translation for the hangul move). " Eh..? BUt but "nam ja" means "man"…
*ponder ponder*
and there’s no "man" in the english translation so why is "nam ja" in the title?
*ponder ponder*
"huang ui nam ja…" AHHHH!!! I get it! the direct translation for "Huang Ui Nam Ja" is "The King’s Man!"

*Mission solved. Case closed. Back to trig.*

Takuya Kimura’s legs…I SWEAR.

I am currently taking English 101 - honours course, "Women, Heretics, Deviants and Other Redundant Catagories." Classes are every monday nights from 7:30pm and three hours are spent talking about anything and everything with relation to the text in focus. The first was A Small Place by Jamaica Kincaid.

The second one, which is the one we are currently at right now, is called Baghdad Burning - Girl Blog From Iraq and it’s written by a 26 year old middle class Iraqi woman who identifies herself as Riverbend. She has been blogging since the American Occupation in 2003 infrequently. Sometimes it is because the electricity has been out for hours or days, sometimes she is exhausted from the daily emtional strain of living in a war torn country.

But when she does write, she does so in words that tear at your insides. She writes with an honesty and a straight-forwardness that emphasizes the realtiy and the gravity of the situation in Iraq. Oftentimes I found myself wanting to shut the book and lock it away; it is difficult to read without being affected emotionally, but the urge to continue reading, to listen to Riverbend and her cries, was hard to ignore. In her ‘blog,’ Riverbend discusses war, politics, occupation and everything else in between; the everything else being that which you do not hear much about over your radio stations or see on your television screens. Ultimately, she is no different from you and I - young, college educated, intelligent, and that is exactly what makes reading her entries so poignant; the fact that someone very much like myself is going through all that on the other side of the world (and when you think of it, the other side of the world isn’t that far away). It brings to your mind the stark polarity of that people have created and have been drowing our own kind in - rich, poor, obese, starved, diseased, over-nourished…

In class today, we discussed the book and it’s contents. We debated on the credibility of the ‘author,’ the authenticity of the words, the justifications for the book (it was initially a blog). We sought to dissect Riverbend as we would a frog on a biology lab table. I don’t know how I feel about that.

Wednesday, September 03, 2003
Have You Forgotten?

it’s disconcertingly easy to tell an american apart from a crowd of faces, i realise. I think it’s their total lack of polish, their blandness. They’re so..ordinary. I can’t do better than that.

Beatles- Two of Us

Two of us riding nowhere
Spending someone’s
Hard earned pay
You and me Sunday driving
Not arriving
On our way back home
We’re on our way home
We’re on our way home
We’re going home

Two of us sending postcards
Writing letters
On my wall
You and me burning matches
Lifting latches
On our way back home
We’re on our way home
We’re on our way home
We’re going home

You and I have memories
Longer than the road that stretches out ahead
Two of us wearing raincoats
Standing so low
In the sun
You and me chasing paper
Getting nowhere
On our way back home
We’re on our way home
We’re on our way home
We’re going home

You and I have memories
Longer than the road that stretches out ahead
Two of us wearing raincoats
Standing so low
In the sun
You and me chasing paper
Getting nowhere
On our way back home
We’re on our way home
We’re on our way home
We’re going home
[We're going home, you better believe it. Goodbye.]

Me, I am a good samaritan, I is. *points to myself and smiles jubilantly*
I am not jaded.
I am not unhappy.
I am not upset.
I am not wanting.
I am not desiring.
the world doesn’t frighten me(i’m not telling the truth).

i want to open my palm, raise my hand and wait.
wait till a bird lands on my fingers and twits at me.
and when she does, i will have known happiness boundless.

i want to sit at a park and watch the children,
watch the women and the few men.
i want to sit and listen to the music
and I want to smile to tell the world that i’m happy.

i want to reach and touch
and in touching, be touched in return.
i want to cry and in crying,
be absolved of grief
so that in absolving, i have made room,
for happiness in your heart
and in so doing, i have made room, for happiness in mine.

i am beautiful and i am whole.
darkness does not frighten me
vines cannot bind me.

i am a child and i am but four feet tall.
from where i stand, i see things differently
from where you stand, mr president.
why, because i am lower, can i not be heard?
why, because i am smaller, can i not be heard?
why, because i am lighter, can i not be heard?
i can be seen, just as you
or your neighbour.
do you hold my hand,
or do i hold yours?

most importantly, i am NOT going to let the, "god damned! what the hell am i chanting," in my head mar this page..*snicker*

i am a child and i am but four feet tall.

just saw a photo gallery entitled, "project W.O.M.E.N." and i was so touched. made me proud to be a woman. once, i actually wrote him asking why it was that women must always stoop so low to survive, their lowest being thought to be lower than even male prostitution. He didn’t understand. He said I was a feminist and a stubborn one at that. tsk tsk.. the very person i thought would understand me, shunned my mind.

"I would venture to guess that Anon, who wrote so many poems without signing them, was often a woman."

VIRGINIA WOOLF

ahahha…

"I like to help women help themselves, as that is, in my opinion, the best way to settle the woman question. Whatever we can do and do well we have a right to, and I don’t think any one will deny us."

                                           LOUISA MAY ALCOTT
i don’t think anyone CAN deny us!

I am not a feminist. I am a woman and in being so, I want to help all other women.

Tresa

haahhahaha!!! now i’m in the ranks of Louisa May Alcott and VIrginia Woolf. yay! I am a woman and I am splendid! *snort!*

I believe there are monsters born in the world to human parents. Some you can see, misshapen and horrible, with huge heads or tiny bodies; some are born with no arms, no legs, some with three arms, some with tails or mouths in odd places, They are accidents and no one’s fault, as used to be thought. Once they were considered the visible punishments for concealed sins.
And just as there are physical monsters, can there not be mental or psychic monsters born? The face and body may be perfect, but if a twisted fene or a malformed egg can produce physical monsters, may not the same process produce a malformed soul?
Monsters are variations from the accepted normal to a greater or a less degree. As a child may be born without an arm, so one may be born without kindness or the potential of coscience. A man who loses his arms in an accident has a great strugle to adjust himself to the lack, bot one born without arms suffers only from people who find him strange. Having never had arms, he cannot miss them. Sometimes when we are little we imagine how it would be to have wings, but there is no reason to suppose it is the same feeling birds have. No, to a monster the norm must seem monstrous, since everyone is normal to himself. To the inner monster it must be even more obscure, since he has no visible thing to compare with others. To a man born without conscience, a soul-stricken man must seem ridiculous. To a criminal, honesty is foolish. You must not forget that a monster is only a variation, and that to a monster the norm is monstrous.