Categories
Personal

static

alarm buzzing
water running
toothbrush brushing
bag zipper
espresso maker
keys turning in the lock
doors opening
the whooosh of the breeze greeting me
shoes clicking
ipod blasting
or crooning, depends on what mood i wake up in
sipping coffee
texting clicking
busses whirring
children yelling
parents chattering
stores bustling
cuckoo of the pedestrian light
conversations overheard
clock tower clanging
trees and birds whistling
more conversations
rush of students in and out of class
professor lecturing
silence, library
wandering thoughts
more texting
bus sounds
street sounds
greeting my students; vice versa
teach teach teach
traffic sounds (at night they are softer)
bus sounds
ipod softly singing
deep breaths
sniffing, i must be getting sick
texting
thoughts, recounting my day

all these sounds fill my day, sometimes too overwhelming that I’d rather write it off as static
but at night, when it’s dark and i’m cozy and settled in my sleepclothes
I do like to tease them apart
seeking comfort in reflection

Categories
College Personal Self Discovery

disconnected dots

It’s been awhile since I wrote anything meaningful here. I find less reason to, now. I think I prefer to keep it to myself.

I also draw a blank when it comes to writing a new post. At the same time, I’ve been jotting more things down in my handy diary.

People ask me, what do you write in your diary? I think to myself, everything from quotes I like to books I’ve read to to-do lists which I love to self- affirmation statements, and smile and say, oh the usual.

I am more confident now, since I arrived back in Vancouver. I am more calm. I find myself stepping back and just being an observer, more and more. It’s made my piano playing more controlled. Perhaps I know more what it is that I am doing with my life. Or maybe I am just content with who I am. I know I have more faith in the approach I am taking to life.

I miss travelling. The conversations with strangers that either reaffirm who I thought I was or challenge who I always thought I was. I’ve become more like myself– I predicted I would, before I left. I think that in the midst of challenges, life experiences, and the stress of travelling alone, I could only hold onto the core of who I am… everything else I shed little by little in each community I visited.

I’m more ready to graduate than I thought I would be. Undergraduate studies is too broad and faceless for me. I want to do something more meaningful. I guess that’s the whole point of undergrad, anyway, to push you to figure yourself out. Some people already know– they don’t need the extra four years of school then I guess?

The city bothers me. But at the same time it’s my home, and so I love it. It’s a little like how family works, I think.

People also ask me how it is that I juggle everything I do at once. I like to say, I know I’d be so afraid of dropping any one of those things that I will push myself to my limits trying to juggle it. And I know that I will always push through; I always do.

There are some people I haven’t spoken to in such a long time, who have said important things to me when I needed it most. I doubt I will see them anytime in the near future. There are too many people around in my life. I’m thankful that there are two or three that have stuck by. In psychology we learn about how important community support is– It’s too bad that some people don’t realize this until it’s too late. Another note: I don’t try as hard (or even at all) to please other people anymore. What’s the point? I prefer to direct that energy to thinking about the people who need help in this world, wondering how it is that I can make myself one of those leaders who can make a change significant enough for those voiceless, nameless, faceless people in our world.

Also, I am afraid of falling.

Categories
Personal

memories

Memories are so powerful. They have the ability to capture those precise moments of love, hate, pain, or pleasure, releasing them at times when you are most vulnerable to feel those exact emotions wash over you.

Sometimes an airplane guards my deepest secrets and thoughts, at other times a hippopotamus. Right now, a seemingly simple bicycle guards my words. Seemingly simple because it is not; on a cover printed with horizontal stripes, one might think it was a moving bicycle guarding my pencil marks. Maybe if one was drunk enough.

I started my journal collection coincidentally. Now I write down thoughts dilligently, enshrining them in this collection of little colourful and patterned notebook diaries. For what? That will probably be the same question my great- grandchild asks when she discovers the old, dusty collection.

I am what I read and write and do. Not who others judge or say I am. Remember.

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