Rambo-Bad boys by Yoshitaka Amano

That year, I woke up with a rubber soul. I wrapped my feelings in aluminum foil and placed them neatly into pink Rubbermaid boxes. I froze them like a 38-year-old single female freezes her eggs, hoping that one day, they will be put to use.

I never understood why everything just became a giant blob of scar tissue. Technically speaking, there are always reasons for the comfortably numb; the usual cause and effect: a painful break up with the love of your life, death of a dear family member, an overdose of opiates. None of these applied. And even if there were reasons, I imagined that I had buried them under the Tree of Denial and forgotten about them.

It scared me that the only thing I could still feel that summer was fear. Fear that I was indifferent to dreams, my own death, a grown man’s tears.

Yesterday, I sat on a bench near that terribly rectangular reflecting pool behind the North York public library. The same bench I sat on nearly every day that year in an effort to avoid the desolate confines of the academic prison. On that seat, I have many memories with Orwell, Salinger, Malraux, Eliot, Rimbaud and some others. It was the same sunlight, the same breeze— and for once, in such a long while; time seemed to slow down just a little bit and the world around seemed to stop changing like a movie on fast forward. There was the beautiful illusion that the outside could still be static, a solid ground on which I could stand on rather than a jet plane that I can barely hold myself on to, carrying me god knows where. This made me realize how much I have changed inside. How I am able to be moved again (and perhaps too intensely) by the simple details of life.


Blogger trevor@k'alebeul said...

Wondered if you knew this Wallace Stevens quote:

Lenin on a bench beside a lake disturbed
The swans. He was not the man for swans.

12:27 PM  
Blogger Y said...

I never came across that quote before.
...but then there was google. :)
It's from the poem "Description without place".

I see why you mention it. Unfortunately, I could only find parts of it online. I'll find the rest tomorrow...

"Description is revelation. It is not
The thing described, nor false facsimile.
It is an artificial thing that exists,
In its own seeming, plainly visible,
Yet not too closely the double of our lives,
Intenser than any actual life could be...."

thanks... for bringing that quote/poem to my attention

10:55 PM  
Blogger Sherren said...

hey babe. what can i say. love reading your blog. but we oughta catch up by actually talking to each other over coffee or something. maybe now that we'll be somewhat neighbors, we'll be able to get back on track. good luck with your mcats. i'll see you back in la belle province.

11:31 AM  
Blogger Y said...

hey you..
yeah, coffee sounds good. having a life next year sounds even better. I had enough of a year of hermitude. obviooosly Walden is not for me.
Get ready for some incredible parties at my awesome place next year. mmhahaha...

Y. (that crazy crazy girl)

6:37 PM  

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