20 - enervation

haven't felt this in a while. can't tell whether i have missed it or not. we romantics, are we always doomed to a small longing for everything devastating?

today was long and confusing and frustrating and, the worst part: barely anything happened. in uneventfulness of such massive proportions, it was easy for these three to take shape and weight and sit with me. nothing worked.

the second worst part is that i know. i know that the outside world only works when the inside world does.

'it reminds me of neil gaiman's work,' he said. heart soared as far as standing up on a chair allowed. i was waiting for more words, but all i got was a smile. a cute smile. but still just a smile. another still, heart felt enough. even though all it was was standing on a chair. it thought it was soaring.

soaring in advance, soaring in possibility. one day he will realize i am the plane girl. one day the words will come. one day there will be magic. one day i will be content.

but it was never, 'one day i will get used to it,' so why am i neck deep in its debris now, suffocating?

19 - notes before 1 am

i should sleep earlier

blood pressure is a-o-k but my head is not. these headaches are such a mystery. i don't know how i got through the day yesterday, mostly out; the longest journey home on two buses from croydon ensued as i tried with every ounce of whittled energy i had to not throw up.

(i then threw up a whole meal, and then some, into the toilet bowl at home)

sitting in an empty living room at this moment and looking around. what do i feel about moving to brighton in september? i am not sure yet. living alone. it is finally here. the idea is exciting. the physicality, though, is unimaginable, and therefore cannot stir in me any kind of emotion. yet.

what is it like to feel like a town is your own?

18 - on being a denizen of public transport

being familiar with strangers is one of the more bizarre feelings out there, i think.

beside the comfort of the smell of something as vast and as overwhelming as rain (so huge, and yet reaches you so gently).

or finding sand in your room (the explanation is this: unless you have a pet that requires such, finding sand in your room will be most uncommon, and your brain will instantly search your memory. the park, a month and a half ago. the beach, a month and a bit ago. that crazy amazing present, a month ago. you will stare at these one, two, maybe 5 grains of sand, embedded in some carpet, almost invisible; so, so, so small that it will strike you dumb - how on earth does a matter so small hold an experience so life-size?).

the first time i saw the lady, she was cleaning her feet with wet wipes. on the bus. the front seats on the top deck. and there was a questionable smudge of yellowish liquid on the front ledge where she had propped her feet up. not exactly the greatest thing to see in the morning. she had short, messy bright red hair. she was on the phone the whole time. i didn't recognize the language.

second time, a few days ago, i saw the hair again. i was in mid-sentence to sam and i stopped; my eyes grew wide. stared for a while. "ummm.. do you know her??" oh my god, sam, i think that is the woman i was telling you about once. who cleaned her feet on the bus.

this crossing paths was especially bizarre because i first saw her on a 93 bus. a few days ago it was the 154. i hear sam's stories of taking the train to university, how he stands on a particular part of a platform to get on the same carriage to get off near the exit at the platform he alights at. how some people have this same strategy, and how the same people, all strangers, inhabit the same carriage on most days. some even sit on the same seat.

it makes the world feel so small and so big at the same time. i know your face, where you sit and where you get off on weekdays. but i know not your name. i wonder what it must be like for bus drivers. i always try to smile at them. every now and then i will recognize the face at the wheel. i wonder if they remember me. most common stops: gander green, st. anthony's hospital, wimbledon, morden station, morden tram stop.

once, i darted out of a tram to return to a lady her oyster card wallet. it had been left on the seat where she had been, the seat opposite to which i had just sat down. i had 2 seconds to think. let the doors close, and give the card wallet to the police station? or run out and hand it to her? it was the most exhilarating thing to be standing on a platform i wasn't meant to be at, that i had never been to. if not for this stray wallet, i would have had no reason at all to be there. the air seemed that bit more fresh. trees a little more green. the wooden fence looked novelly old. "God bless you," she said. and headed home. i thought of her and watched her as she left. did she have a family? she was carrying some groceries. maybe mid-40s. stout, and a bit of a waddle. tired, dark skin. but her eyes had lit up. I never lose anything, she said. "and you still haven't."

17 - breathing again

re the title: i had to think of something to replace "resuscitation". it's the word i abuse the most when it comes to describing my relationship with journalling.

no grand epiphanies this time. no resolution for the rest of my life. no blinding revelations.

just: i need a towel to wipe all these words seeping from my skin.

starting small

today, i went to see ballet manila a second time. up to the moment the lights were dimmed, i had been hesitant to respond to this second chance to see the show, for fear of being too enthusiastic. there is nothing worse than being underwhelmed, and to be honest, i have been using that word to describe the small events of my life of late.

the first time i saw the show, two nights ago, i was so moved that there was nothing more i wanted than to have this slice of filipino culture in my portfolio. i ask if i can see the show again.

yes, there are free tickets with the embassy tomorrow.

but it's gala night. you have to dress up.

there will be important people there.

not sure if you can take photos.

shame if you don't go, i already said that you are so excited.

how many?

how about saturday? £18.

it will be a waste if you don't go.

in the flurry of phone calls and irate discussions of whether or not to go, the hype dissapeared. at one point, my mother suggested that maybe she could get a DVD and i can "capture" from there. what?!?!?!?!

gave in eventually. i would never hear the end of it otherwise. just me. a ticket for £11.50. our family friend gia told my mom she would get me a good seat. i was grateful, but not excited.

that said, i am happy to report that the word 'underwhelmed' doesn't apply to the matinee show of East Meets West. granted, i had an agenda this time round. i wanted to take photographs. my camera kept me company.

i don't usually like going to shows alone anymore. after a michael buble concert in 2005 - i left grateful, but not happy. took a chance again, amanda palmer, 2010. grateful, but not happy. never see a show alone. all you will feel is the absence of who you would have wanted with you, who you would have wanted to share it with, who you would call the second it's over saying, "i wish you could have been here." (or maybe you won't even last that long, and text it in the dark of the audience.)

anyway, my camera. it kept me company. look at how they move, i told her. see the arms. look now, they are about to jump! wow, that's a beautiful smile. hahahaha, that was really funny! look at that, i love the shapes. the sense of balance. and here... here is the part that made me well up.

i am learning the hard way that thing that photographers always say. you can take a hundred photos and you'll be lucky to have 3 you are happy with. all this time, i've been feeling wholly responsible for every single photo i take. i should have been quicker. i should have increased the shutter speed. i should learn how to bloody take less lopsided photos. but now... it feels like sifting, panning for granule-like quantities, like rice, or sugar. or gold.

do i even dare talk about the ballet? maybe through the photos instead, soon.