The Masochist

What a revelation it was, yet it explained allot. My first response was to try figuring out how I became this way, but I stopped dead for the answer was clear: adaptation. This was something very difficult to admit, but I couldn’t play seek and hide for long. Eventually I got caught up in my own game and now it’s just my buddy Venlafaxine and I.

It’s a fact, I was in perpetual love with emotional angst and I must say in the past five years I’ve really torn a few ruthless gashes at my soul. The causes, I had seen coming from afar, grandiose and full of promise – that either of bliss or utter destruction. The outcome never mattered to me for the rush of adrenaline would so rapidly intoxicate me with desire. Oh what beautiful falls they were… the feeling of searing pain climaxing within my chest, almost cutting the very air I breathed. In that I found devastating pleasure.

It has been a year now that this pain junkie has gone clean. I want to be happy. I have enough emotional baggage to last me a lifetime for all my creative needs. No more, no more.

When I first laid eyes on you, the sleeping bitch inside of me awoke then recoiled. Never had she seen the likes of you. I tried to hush her back to sleep, convince her it was nothing, but she remained alert. After weeks of getting accustomed to you, she started gaining more confidence and began to gently paw my heart in anticipation of our next encounter. At night her cries would keep me up, slowly they began to creep into my mind and I felt I was loosing grip, she had the upper hand now and I was just along for the ride. Thoughts of your slender fingers caressing my skin and mine running through your thick dark hair, thoughts of getting lost in your blue eyes. All were swimming in my pool of a head. Does she know something I don’t? Is it my fear that’s holding me back? I wanted to be happy so I put her to bed, now why is she running my life again instead?

"I need you. Don’t hurt me."

I am Feeling Very...

at the moment.

Photograph courtesy of Michael Muller.

Saved!

My favorite place to have lunch on Mondays and Saturdays when I’m in Westmount (working).
Vic Market has a great selection of sandwiches and salads AND they carry all my favorite organic products. This little oasis helped me regain my long lost appetite – well worthy of a check-out.

*Slap!*

It is now officially what university institutions call “Reading Week” and I should be off my rocker with joy, but I am not. As I flip the pages of my day planner to the said week, I can’t help but notice that every single day is booked – no pun intended. I know that most of this is my own fault; my ambition sometimes over estimates the capacity of my abilities, however in my case, time-off is synonymous for “doctor fest.” Three appointments next week – three times slots I could be using for something productive like oh… say… school assignments? That’s the thing: metaphorically speaking, right now I’m in this race, where the coaches are expecting me to run at the same pace as all the other athletes, but I have a mad limp they cannot see. I recently got an e-mail from the “Associate Dean” congratulating me on how well I did in my last semester and to “continue to strive for excellence in your studies”… little does she know I almost died in the process.

The thing about regular doctor’s appointments is that something extraordinary can happen to you, but if you have a doctor’s appointment that same day, you are confronted with this…

And that’s a solid reminder that what you just experienced is not your reality, THIS is your reality. It’s what I like to call a bitch slap from yours truly – Life.

Now…

Recently I’ve found an incredible source of motivation that has made me want to push harder and better myself. I cherish it more than you can imagine. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so alive and for the first time, I see potential recovery – wow, never thought I’d ever say that.

Even though I still have to face the gloom and doom of hospital walls and doctor’s offices, I’ve been practicing what my therapist calls a “perspective shift”. I say ‘practicing’ because I haven’t quite mastered it yet. I can’t help but dread the day my motivational source will no longer be available to me. Think positive? So much more easy said than done.

Cut me up and Jar me

Tokyo born artist, Naoko Ito currently operates in NY. His latest exhibition "Urban Nature 2009" features, among other works, fragments of tree branches contained in glass jars, which are then rearranged to form new branches. I wonder if I donate myself to him, would he accept? Could be interesting...

I am very drawn by the whole idea of imprisonment and renewal. This paradox baffles me.

Gung Hay Fat Choy!

May all find Health, Joy, Wisdom and Prosperity.
Since this is my sign, I have great expectations for the Lunar New Year.
Here's hoping I won't be horribly disappointed!

Speaking of disappointment…

I was on Google this morning and couldn’t help noticing that their “Google banner” pays tribute to the Winter Olympic and Valentine’s Day. Last year they had a pretty little fireworks thing going, wishing us all a Happy Chinese New Year. Since I am mysteriously unable to send them any feedback whatsoever, I will simply write my complaint here.

Dear Google Admin,

Now I understand the Winter Olympics is a big deal. However, prioritizing a “Hallmark Holiday” over the most important celebration for the Chinese community (and need I remind you we occupy the greatest portion of the world’s population) is quite an insult. I am certain there would have been a relatively simple way to draw up an illustration incorporating all three subjects. I can even think of many drafts as I am writing this. I do not want to be an asshole here, but when you highlight Nikola Tesla’s birthday and you can’t even acknowledge the Lunar New Year, it’s a bit provoking.

Regards,

C.

Porcelain

There’s an old house I used to like taking photographs of many years back. An elderly woman lived there by herself and she used to let me in so I could take photographs of her rooms, each more beautiful than the last. I loved this old woman and her home to death.

In the powder room, she had a pretty little porcelain doll, propped up against the mirror of a dresser. The paleness of its skin stood out against the rather somber décor. By far the most perfect doll I had ever laid eyes on. I remember once, I put my camera down to pick it up, it was a lot heavier than I expected and covered in fine cracks. It looked as though it had shattered several times and had been meticulously pieced back together, not at all noticeable at first glance. I thought it was a real pity that something so perfect had become so decrepit. Before leaving that day, I asked my host about the doll:

“I’ve had that doll my whole life. Spent half of it trying to piece her back together the best I could. Fragile thing she is. We all need people to piece us back together sometimes you know. It’s funny you mention her. I may not be made of porcelain, but I have just as many cracks as she, they’re simply less visible. Every time she would brake, I would take a marker and write a word that would best represent the heartache I was going through at the time on the piece of her that broke off, then glue it back. Every time I added a new word, I couldn’t help but look at all the old ones. She gradually got heavier, carrying all my burdens underneath her cracked skin. I felt she was the best place to keep all my pains, because she is beautiful, therefore when I look at her, I smile. It is only when she breaks that all the pains surface. Now that I am old, I feel the worst is behind me and I try to be as careful with her as I can. If she breaks one more time, I don’t think I will have what it takes to save her.”

“I Killed my Boyfriend”

Allow me to elaborate: the other night in a plight to distract my reeling mind, I fell upon Lady Gaga’s “Paparazzi” music video. Did anyone ever pay attention to the lyrics? Of course not, so let me just highlight a few lines that struck me: “I’m your biggest fan I’ll follow you until you love me”, “promise I’ll be kind, but I won’t stop until that boy is mine” and last but not least “chase you down until you love me”.

Now here’s a question for all you gentlemen out there… Do you find this unsettling? Well I’ve got news for you - this is actually quite common female behavior. It just so happens that Lady Gaga apparently has no inhibitions and isn’t ashamed of acknowledging the female gene that I shall coin the “stalker-gene”. This phenomenon has gotten all the more effortless with the advent of the Internet and more specifically of course, Facebook. Women no longer have to resort to hiring detectives to discover the on goings of their love interests.

I would also like to point out that in the video Miss Gaga calls the police and says to the operator “I killed my boyfriend” after having poisoned the said boyfriend. Coming from a pop star idolized by many young girls, it seems as though we will have to deal with an influx of “man eaters” in the near future. Unsettlingly enough this term appears to be increasingly literal. My advice to you: sleep with one eye open.

Tie me Down… Somebody!

I am starting to get the spring wardrobe itch and by the looks of it I will be doing some serious damage to my bank account this season.

ACNE Catsuit

Repetto Richelieu Zizi

Leather Hermès Marly bracelet

Ouch!

I am not Human

Very Interesting Indeed

I have been doing a little research on nutrition due to the current lack of it in my life as of lately. To be more specific, I have been researching time efficient ways to ingest proper nutrients, protein, vitamins, etc., because time is something that never seems to work in my favor. Therefore aside from the regular supplements available at your local drugstore, sperm is supposed to contain all of the above. Way to kill two birds with one stone – now that’s what I call good time management!

Molto Bello!

Marcello Mastroianni - my favorite Italian actor.

Mastroianni, if you were still alive I would run away with you.

Thanks to him, I may soon be fluent in Italian. Watching his films is hands down the best way to learn - naturalmente.

Shit.

No Control

Curled up in a ball on the couch, she held a book in one hand and kept the other tucked between her legs. It was cold in her living room. After a while she let out a great sigh and dropped the book, face down on her chest. She looked up at the ceiling. The hand that was now free, as if on autopilot, slowly gravitated towards her head. She started nervously playing with her hair. This was her one extremely bad habit. When stressed, she would always play with her hair and this happened more and more frequently with all the long and tedious readings she had been subjugated to for university. With another great sigh she ran her fingers across her scalp. Her index rushed through the dense mass, then suddenly – nothing: a clearing, smooth, soft, completely bare. Horror-struck, she froze. “No… No… No… Not again…” She jumped to her feet and ran to the bathroom. Looking in the mirror, she carefully parted her hair to reveal what she believed to be a bald patch. Just as she feared, there it was. Quickly she ran her fingers over her scalp, scanning for more. “One... two… three… fuck… four… five… Christ”. As she let her hair fall back down she noticed a bunch caught between her fingers. Her high stress level was back and so was her alopecia, but it was much worse this time around. What was she doing wrong? She had been doing so well, why did it have to come back? She glanced in the mirror at her now tearstained face. Who was she trying to kid? She had stopped eating and been losing weight again. Her lack of sleep was starting to become a major issue and she was alienating her friends. All for what? She did not know. Somehow she could not find the secret of how to simultaneously do well in school and take good care of her self. She was pissed at how difficult this was for her when she knew it was supposed to be a given. She didn’t have enough time. And now her body was deteriorating again. “Two more months, two more months… How will I even get there?” She had no control. They say you can’t stop the rain from falling; the same goes for alopecia-ridden hair.