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Hi C, I’ve graduated!

Dear C,

Two days ago, I officially graduated! Half a year late but here nonetheless.

What I hoped to be a snappy affair – ceremony, photos with family, go home – turned out a futile dream. And I’m glad for that. :-)

Here are our friends turning up with a blaze of insanity. I’m eternally grateful for their love, although heavily guised by sarcasm, throughout my years of college. B hiding snacks under my bed, V praying through all my hard times, and everyone’s immediate and intense WhatsApp responses whenever another’s in need. Did not expect this horde to show up with their busy schedule, but they did and I can’t be more grateful. :’-)

I’m thankful also that the awkwardness of formal events was diffused by their sheer craziness. As V said, I don’t know what I’ll do without these people who’d do the most socially inappropriate things with me in public.

C, your absence and presence was both with us all that day.

If you were there you would have flounced towards me, flapping your arms in glee. You would have, with your maternal warble, went “OH QING, I’M SO PROUD OF YOU!~” You would have given the affectionate and all-encompassing hug typical of a semi-inebriated aunt with a flair for dramatics. And wrap all this up with a quip (about growing up, about achievements, about friendships) that would have us all rolling our eyes in mock annoyance.

But you were there, simply because we knew so well how you would have been. You were there because all the crazies who came down that day carried a bit of you, and your madness, and love, and mad love for them through the years. Like horcruxes of your soul.

C, you would also gush endlessly about how I’m finally being taken care of properly. You confessed to have silently worried about this for the past years. Know that I’m in good hands now, as I know you are.

I would wish you were here, but in a way, you already are.

Missing you!

Q xox

July 9, 2017
Mid-year Reads Roundup
I haven’t been reading (and reviewing!) as much as I’d like this year, with work and all. Collating all my reads from Jan 2017 till now, including what I’m currently reading / will start on soon!

Pretty sad that i lacked the impetus to do full reviews right after reading. I can’t seem to pinpoint my exact sentiments for books over time. Still, i’ll try to do a brief on each.
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New reads:
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My first new read of 2017, bought at Eslite Bookstore in Taipei during my first solo trip!!! I did actually review this. TLDR: Mixed feelings, was good nonetheless, will associate it with my wonderful Taiwan days alone.

I don’t follow what’s up-and-coming in the literary scene, which apparently Ken Liu is. Picked this up by serendipity because 1. Short stories, 2. Asian author, yay! Turned out to be breathtakingly beautiful. None of the pretension, all of the simplicity.

To be frank, i feel like i’ve forgotten a lot of Colorless Tsukuru. I remember that it was decisively Murakami, that i savored it, that i was – at my points – very impatient to find out why the fuck they were avoiding Tsukuru.

Besides uncovering why the fuck they did, there wasn’t much of a plot twist. There were allusions to Tsukuru’s period of depression at being abandoned, but not much emotional intensity besides. It’s a novel about recovery, rediscovery, and reconciliation.

I’m so good at this one-liner summary bullshit.

If you’re into crime fiction by Japanese authors (i.e. Keigo Higashino, Natsuo Kirino), please note that this is no typical crime thriller! It’s a slow, sultry look into the intricacies of Japan’s police institutions. Riddled with guilt, apologies, hidden meanings. If you’re remotely interested in bureaucracy, Japanese manners, and also soap operas – this is for you.

Surprisingly, i enjoyed this despite the many warnings. It picks up towards the end, leaving you satisfied than horrified at having read 500 pages of Japanese bureaucratic power play. It just works. Somehow.

As a huge fan of the movie Confessions (based on Minato’s novel) i had to pick this up. Further confirmed with Emily St. Mandel (another favorite!) endorsed this. Did not disappoint – short, concise, loved that it was split into four narratives. Each perspective took a life of its own, giving a fresh, distinct take on what happened.

Penance is looking through a kaleidoscope, a single scatter of shards bursting and blooming into a myriad of different landscapes – but ultimately reflecting and mirroring each other.

GOOD. GOOD GOOD GOOD. It checked so many things off my literary fetish checklist. Precocious children, check. Absurdly intelligent criminal of the psychological warfare variety, check. Evil, manipulative, AND beautiful, check. At the end of the book, you’d figure out who the antagonist is and still have no idea if you’re in total awe of – or abhor them. Brilliant stuff.

I’ve read Devotion of Suspect X which is Higashino’s more famous work, but this far surpasses it.
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Re-reads:
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This is my go-to lazy chick lit, simply because it doesn’t conform to the whole YAY happy ending after you learn your lesson format. And also because it really deals with mortality and morality. The character growth is very authentic and well-crafted. Great for an easy afternoon read.

First read this last year? Or the year before, but re-read again because i actually missed that sticky, balmy, tropical heat you’re immersed in when reading this amazing anthropological novel. Full review here.

This makes me want to re-read Speaker of the Dead in the Ender’s Series.

Yes, i’ve noticed also that my preferred reads are weirdly dominated by Japanese authors with close-up shots of sad, scary women on the front cover.

Because i need to re-read my favorite author and also soulmate once every few months or so to keep me sane.
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Currently reading:
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To-read/re-read:
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+ Speaker for the Dead!

I still have so, so much on my to-read list! Piss pants level of excitement.
June 13, 2017
Book Review: The Vegetarian by Han Kang

Done with this awhile ago, and I’ve mixed feeling about it.

Some context: my personal preference for style is postmodern plots/themes, but tending towards conventional in structure. Some part of my mind still craves linearity and resolution – although the resolution can be as ludicruous as it wants to.

The Vegetarian treads the line on this.

I fell in love a few pages in, leaning against a stack of books in Eslite bookstore back in Taiwan. I loved the twisted thoughts so plainly, unabashedly, lain down by the first voice (the Vegetarian’s husband). He speaks with undisguised self-awareness, despite being a total asshole. His wife remains a mystery. And that was the hook that i got caught in. Caved and bought the book for 50c more than at Kino!!! (i cheapo)

Thereafter it descended into a bizarre, evocative dreamscape. Inner worlds and images and nightmares blend seamlessly into each other. Beautiful images, by the way. I especially loved the way carnal desire, raw and unrestrained, was contrasted with the pure, the ethereal and sacred. For me the one coherent thematic concern was that of art: when does it become pornographic? Is it the content or intention that determines its sanctity?

Beyond that, I’m slightly disappointed by the lack of insight into the Vegetarian’s head. She’s as much of a mystery – although more frustratingly so – at the end as at the start. Suspense is a hook to only a certain extent. I was waiting for the line and sinker, but got none. Is she just mad? Or was there an internal logic that governs her actions and beliefs? I wanted to be told it’s the latter, but was offered no evidence to claim it.

It was still an engaging read though. I found myself drinking it in easily without getting bored, which is so common these days. The ending was elegantly written, and the pacing felt right, but i needed more of a resolution. Something, anything. It didn’t have to explain everything, but it lacked progression. It might also be the sudden switch in voice to the Vegetarian’s sister that threw me off. I do love switching perspectives, but I’ve been riding a fast train invested in other characters

And to switch to a whole different persona, with different desires and misgivings and wants so late into the novel didn’t feel like a smart strategy. There just wasn’t enough time for me to feel emotional vested in her, and she didn’t feel like the right person to wrap the book up with. If she had given me more about the other’s inner worlds, maybe it would’ve worked. But sadly i cared too little about hers.

In general though, i liked it enough to recommend to G. It’s a nice world to get lost in for a few hours.

June 13, 2017
headspace

Too much heart and too little words,

thoughts that run for days and days

on end. a steady hand on chest to quiet the clamor

of something hollow battling its way through my lungs.

June 9, 2017
Letters to C

Dear C

How have you been? I ask and really want to know.

Back here, days are days, lapping into each other. I dream of you more often now. Sometimes you’re crying, sometimes we both are. Others you tell me you’re fine, and you’re happy, you’re coming home, you’re finally home.

If you were here we would talk endlessly. I pass by the train station half-expecting your mop of hair to crest into view.

I hope you’re well.

xo Qing

June 7, 2017
loss // hope in another universe

As a child i could not fathom loss. Everyone – everything – was fixed so decidedly in their respective orbits around my singular world, that i could not imagine them as their own universes.

My first was a bluebottle, proudly captured beneath a plastic container as it wandered on our kitchen sink. Its coat was a gleaming swirl of green-purple-blue, a whole galaxy alive between those tiny wings. For a day it was mine. Mine in a way no other possession was.

But by morning, i was told to let it go or it would die: tiny holes punctured on the plastic lid were simply not enough. Despite (or because) of my fierce and determined love, it was suffocating. That morning i sobbed by the window sill as i watched the bluebottle stretched to its full span and take off into sun.

I sobbed and decided my little heart could not possibly hold a loss greater than this. Years later, i would again choose to lose someone i loved to watch has wings open against the morning light, and realize that was the easiest pain to bear.

The loss that broke the world as i knew it; where everyone is as they should be, but with everything changed. When i understood that death can be willed.

The loss not of a person but of a place, of dislocation and homesickness.

The loss of one vulnerable and fully dependent, in my arms, gone from warm to limp. A loss i had the power to stop but did not.

The loss of one alive but away – a physical loss, a speechless loss, a loss of utter absence. Of something always there – so much always there that i’ve never turned around to check, and now it’s gone.

But through it all i remember that glint of indigo against sunlight. The moment when my tear-streaked seven year old self vaguely understood: this meant hope in a universe that wasn’t mine. Hope that was beyond me, but no less meant for me.

April 19, 2017
a lifetime of memories with you

before i forget

– hosting st nick’s national day ceremony with you. singing badly in front of 10 cohorts of girls.

– the days i went down my block every morning, waiting for you to come by – that blur morning face. that few minutes we have together before our ride pulled up.

– the days of maran, us mugging math together, giving each other side glances at maran’s unintended innuendos.

– the days in primary school we were collectively punished by chan ah moy. (taking turns to sit on the bin.)

– the days you had brownie after school and we’d prank you while you were flag-raising.

– when we had table tennis together, and we would think up games to play. making up ridiculous stories about sumos being so fat they collected sweat in pools of fats. your story about the indian man who went for a tan and became fair. our one line each poems together.

– math. teaching each other how to draw models.

– calling each other to ask about homework, but ending up chatting.

– our communication book. upgrading from passing notes in class we passed a book around to record our conversations.

– writing and illustrating stories together. our first one was about a man. with a heart which spilled out. tumbling down a hill. in a single-lined exercise book. we never finished that one. our second, a love story, written on foolscap and neatly filed.

– R U Chicken board game. when we invented a game of truth and dare translated to a board game and won that award. when we screamed and cheered when we won.

…

April 9, 2017
resolutions 2.0
It is our 1st anniversary today and i don’t think you remember.

christmas, new year’s eve, my birthday, it has so far been disappointing. so i have prepared myself in advance, pep-talked myself into believing that i don’t mind if you forgot – that i want you to forget. So that my gift of labor to you is all the more precious in its guilt-inducing asymmetry, because i’m messed up like that. i hold guilt like power.

all the preparation, but last night i woke up at 4am and couldn’t go back to sleep. i cried because i knew you’ve forgotten, before the day’s begun. i cried because i couldn’t make myself not care.

but this is self-destructive, i’ve decided that year 2 with you will be defined by these resolutions:

I won’t put you as the center of my life anymore, the disparity is too huge. You obviously care for me, but the positioning of you and me in each other’s universes is too disparate.
1. I won’t plan to spend every spare moment i have (off-days, free nights) with you. In fact, i will stop asking you whether we can study together (unless i really need/want to).
2. I will choose to spend time with friends/family if given the choice, over you. I will.
3. I won’t agree to every thing you propose, if i don’t feel like it. If i’m sleepy, tired, busy, have other things to do – i will say no
QING, please. Come back to these rules you’ve set yourself, alright?
March 21, 2017
Solitude is bliss

The feelings i love and hate most are curiously intertwined, a fact i only realized today.

On one hand, i love feeling like i’m the only one in the world. On the other, there is a deep fear of being the only one left in the world.

From the time i started making my way to school every morning, i’ve come to savor those moments alone – before anyone in the house is awake, when i have the place and air and time all to myself. Everything is quiet, liberating, my own.

Solitary walks are another one of my indulgences. I’ve done two, three hour walks around neighborhoods just to be by myself for awhile. Sometimes i sing my lungs out at the roaring traffic.

One of the closest times i’ve gotten to complete solitude was recently, in Taiwan. While trekking Yang Ming Shan, there were stretches where i could see neither what was ahead nor behind me. As if my world consisted of the immediate steps i was on and my furiously beating heart. All else was fog. I’ve never felt so alive.

I knew i found my special someone when i wanted to – and could – share this solitude with him. Rather than feeling the urge to catch a breath somewhere alone, i feel a peace that never suffocates. I knew that when the feeling of delicate solitude extended and encompassed HS, whenever we stayed out late into the night, the streets a ghost town, the air crisp from un-use.

“Don’t you feel like we’re in a video game where everyone else are NPCs and only we’re real?”

Sometimes it’s really just us. The city streets turned upside down with every last human shaken off its tarmac. Only Lana Del Ray’s deep, reverberating beats in our side of the one earphone we were sharing. My nose was cool with midnight condensation and my brain fuzzy with near sleep, but i didn’t want this shared solitude to end.

On the other end of the spectrum –

but also what i suspect to be just the flip side of a mobius strip –

is that utter loneliness i feel in my insomniac nights. When every single person, one by one, drops off into a peaceful sleep. When I’m the only one left awake, my mind buzzing like a singular lost radio-wave shuttling in space without receptors. I scroll through Telegram and count the last seens move further away from my current time. Facebook green dots flitting into gray. “I am so lonely.” I always think then.

February 16, 2017
Valentine’s Eve

Are our relationships defined by shared experiences, or by our objective liking for the significant other? Is it possible to tease the two apart?

Here’s a thought experiment:

One day i have an extreme, highly specific case of amnesia. All the memories i have of my S/O are wiped clean, as if he never existed in my life. If we spend some time together, will i fall in love all over again?

Or was the first time i fell in love because of a set of circumstances, happenings, coincidences, that predisposed it?

I want to believe that it’s the former. That i can have amnesia once, twice, more – but in every instance i would fall in love as i did the first time.

Even if we didn’t hit all the highs or weathered shit together, i would love him because he is kind, strong, funny, respectable. I would love him because he’s the one i want to go through the highs and the shit lows with.

Ohey, it’s an hour into Valentine’s Day. An appropriate post for the occasion, for once. Today (yesterday?) caught me in terrible menstrual pain. The late half of the afternoon had me completely incapacitated, curled up fetal-like in bed. I could not stand for more than a minute without feeling bile rising.

Less than an hour later i had menstruheat (it works!), panadol, and a cup of warm water delivered right up to my bed. Thanks HS, although you just spoiled your own market for Vday because no other gesture could be as touching as running several pharmacies to find me pink Panadol.

On this note, sleep i shall. First day of many many that i’ve willingly stayed up this late. My dedication to blog these days is astounding.

February 14, 2017

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