all hail jap lit (part ii; a hasty post)

life seems to be pretty sad if i am awake at 2am (almost) fangirling about a book that i am not even one-third through, especially if the novel centers around a morbid topic like death (& it seems to be more tragic that there is no one up to ride on my excitement with me so i feel like all this pent-up exhilaration is craving for an outlet, almost like magma chafing at the seams of the magma chamber, ready to burst but not quite yet) 

& perhaps something is wrong with me bc why am i getting so excited about an idea so lifeless & simultaneously distant as aforementioned? but this book is opening my eyes to things that i have been staring at for so long that i cease to see them (e.g. i was humming & singing to myself counting stars bc it had been ringing in my head all day thanks to external influences, & then when i was combing my hair in the mirror & voicing out "everything that kills me makes me feel alive" - such an innocuous expression in context of the song, i froze & my blood ran cold bc it framed, in a few words, the entire gist of what i had hitherto read) 

so, on the contrary, i think that life is gr8 now that i am finally reading books that i actually want to read, bc "now is the time to read books that (i) have not been assigned" - a.p. (& a loud amen to that) 

also i feel like our (the protagonist's & my) minds are congruent - even though she is fictional and a fragment of ozeki's imagination. how is it possible that we have such startlingly similar thoughts about the notion of time; i almost screamed when my eyes glossed over words that are so familiar but aren't even mine. (i think this epitomises the joy of reading) 

on a sidenote: i think that i need to stand my ground - i can feel myself being shaped by admirable influences around me that i am changing to become a replica of someone else, which is quite unacceptable. 

all hail japanese literature

i've just finished reading another jap lit novel; at first i was pretty hesitant to pick it up from my shelf bc it looked so imposing with its thickness but i am so glad i did (even though i kinda ambled through it). i've come to realise that the good thing about lengthy books is the slow growth of a sense of deep attachment - even to the point of developing a relationship with the characters, albeit one-sided (since they are afterall fictional, irrespective of how real they may seem).

anyway, it seemed unworthy to let such a good read pass without comment, so here i am - re: thoughts about (the sparse but growing) japanese literature books that i have hitherto read.

i am definitely not a fan of the otaku culture in japan (i think anyone who knows me well enough can vouch for that), but there is something about japanese literature that is wholly different from its modern counterpart; it possesses a unique quality that enthralls me & supersedes all other forms of literature in my heart i.e. american & british lit.

it has the inherent propensity to tug at my heartstrings with all its subtleties, with its gentleness that has the quality resembling something like a maternal figure; yet it simultaneously lures me with its darkness not unlike that of the bottom of the ocean - what i imagine to be a lonely & cold pit, beckoning with slimy hands of death - or a rope. (for people who worry about my state of mind after reading this: i am emotionally stable & doing v well, thank you for your unduly concern)

jap lit appears to be plath without the feverish madness (that can come across as too loud & aggressive) - the elements of an acute depression masked by a matching facade of serenity. it is like the calm before the storm, the only difference being the dearth of a storm in the first place. perhaps i over-generalise but i always get the feeling that there is hardly any strife (at least not outwardly) when the characters are dealing with grief. instead, there is merely resignation, a placid acceptance resembling that of a cancer patient who has gone past the stage of fearing death; a relent to the ghosts of the past to take him/her with them.

above the bouts of suicidal tendencies that seem to come as second-nature to the characters (which greatly intrigues me that it is more of a culture than a segregated, individual response), jap lit reveals to me the beauty of tradition - something that is so easy to scoff at bc it is admittedly rather passe. perhaps i am only able to say this from a distance bc i still find some of the traditions of my own racial group quite...pointless, but tradition placed in the context of the plot (usually in the backdrop of war-torn japan) immediately raises its standing in my heart. jap lit reveals to me the beauty of a past that is filled with so much pain & futile suffering, especially in light of the sufferings of the war. it shows me the human side of the occupation from the aggressor's own perspective, which is so rare bc we have only been taught of the atrocities from the victims' point of view in schools (since propaganda is named propaganda for a reason). it makes me realise how even most of the japanese people were merely victims of loyalty (some even forced), & how even the worst crooks (the masterminds) were also merely victims of their perceived infallibility.

it makes me realise how we are all victims of something that gnaws at our weakest - even the seemingly invincible characters are not spared.

"we're stepping into a new world, and an entire way of thinking must be changed. but the old ideas can't be easily discarded. like a pendulum, new ways must swing to the other side before returning." (the street of a thousand blossoms - gail tsukiyama) 

also, my favourite quote that has anchored me for at least the past three years is by a famous japanese author:

"if you only read the books that everyone else is reading, you can only think what everyone else is thinking." (norwegian wood - haruki murakami) 

coincidence? i think not.

i wear black on the outside, bc black is how i feel like on the inside

i vacillate:

between believing that God

can ever be so good to me -

most of the time

i  feel like the kid on

christmas day

who woke up to a 

dearth

of presents, amidst

vociferous, convival jubilee

& the sound of papers being shred,

uncovering coveted treasures -

fervent prayers answered.

& believing that God 

can only be good to me; 

in my selfish heart,

i forbid him to shower 

gifts on others, at

my 

expense, as if 

i provided for them 

myself, 

as if

my ways usurp his right 

on the throne. 

how human,

how carnal,

how wrong &

how helpless,

to be a captive 

of such 

miscreance. 

(sometimes i am just so afraid that my ambitions will not have a place nor patience for me - i am so afraid of being left behind bc such solitude is more of negligence than self-merit) 

life has already begun

i am so excited for life to begin that i have completely overlooked how here & now is life.

this is a reminder to self that life is not a specific event - life does not begin after 2nd/3rd/4th march (the tentativeness of the sacred date itself just makes everything more unsettled) 2k15, where i will finally get to consolidate the flotsam in my head (i feel alittle like the rescue crew of my own scattered ship: oh, here's a piece titled "uncertainty" floating towards me // hey i've found "dream" // oh there you are "opportunity", i've been looking out for you for so long i'd thought you would never come.) life is here and now, in this breathing moment, even if it's nearly 12 a.m. and the world is probably preparing to turn in. life is here and now, and in a second - there, "now" has been here and it is gone.

i'd started 2k14 with the resolution to stop existing and start living - pointing fingers at the giant letter A for the lifelessness i had felt. today, i've realised that it has never been its fault, because i am back at square one a year later, treading on the same spot. the fault has always been with me - they say when you point fingers at someone, there will always be four fingers pointing back at you. they are right. i am too passive for my own good. i take in things, but i hardly engage - instead, i wait, remember to pinch myself awake, then inadvertently fall back into slumber again. wake up denise!! how many hours do you have to sleep away before you realise that your youth will not last forever??? (& youth is undeniably my/our greatest asset)

now is the time for a personal reconnaissance-like expedition: to find out what i really like, what boundaries are within reach, to locate my greatest enemy and exterminate it while i can. now is indeed the time to read books that have never been assigned in class before, to watch the movies - senseless, educational, even trashy ones that i never ever had the time to do so in my years of existence. even so,  i think i read far too slowly that i chafe at my own reading speed (& am ashamed of updating my goodreads hahaha). i wish to ruminate on every word  my eyes come into contact with that i probably end up losing the whole gist of the story.

anyway, at the very least, i have found out that i prefer fulfillment to idleness, and by extension, change to stagnation. empty hours spent wasting away refreshing social media may be novel for a change, but that grace period has already expired. i was getting so exasperated with myself for doing absolutely nothing at the beginning of this week that i knew i had to job-hunt immediately after my long chat with a.p (which was absolutely lovely btw; i think above all the valuable advice i'd received from the veteran - which just completely redirected my lofty & poorly thought-out paths in mind, i've gained a friend, which is definitely more worthy than any one-off event.) even in the interim period where either times or kino have yet to call, i feel much happier (compared to slothing at home) working at c's family cafe with j & c herself, even if it's just for three hours during the madness titled "office lunch hour". ironically, this sense of fulfillment more than makes up for all the crappiness that had made me promise myself  never to step into the f&b industry again three years ago. i think even the bad that was in pp's now clouded with (at the very least) humor in retrospect. i guess even crappy work has its merits - they open my eyes to things that make experiences in school seem like an extremely watered down version - hypocrisy for one, is a recurrent theme. also, i've learnt to become an observer rather than merely a worker at a temporary job - it makes a huge difference to know that i am bigger than an existing circumstance, and it is a powerful epiphany that makes me less dreadful of yet another day of dreary work life. (having said that, i hope something more permanent will come soon - life now still feels rather temporary)

"happy" 2k15

spent new year's eve at the airport & ushered in 2k15 on the airplane; it was absolutely lovely trying not to think ill of turbulence on the plane (especially with the extremely recent air disaster)  & trusting in the Almighty's arms to hold it up in the skies (irrational i know, but uncertainty is as real as it is irrational). [funny how i welcomed the new year with a sense of foreboding from a literal event that aptly mirrors the figurative]

2k14 has been a sentimental year - strangely the bad actually clouds the laboured year with fondness, especially in retrospect. i feel like we/i've laboured too hard last year & december came by too quickly. it's gone now and i feel like i've used up my grace period bc now i have to be more responsible for myself than i would have ever liked. (i only ever wanted independence of thought, not independence from being -completely- materially/physically cared for)

anyway, spent countdown journaling at the airport bc i just had to let something (?? idek what this was) out:

we've worked too hard,
slogged our guts worth
for the coveted slip of gold -
our entrance ticket
to yet another rat race.

fourteen minutes
to the end
of another beginning.
i am ambivalent -
a mere matter of minutes before
we land at the foot
of another arduous cliff.

time - an incorporeal being;
slipping like sand
yet
so intangible, its worth
lies in recognition.

i wish
i could choose negation;
but i cannot afford
being
left behind.

"welcome to singapore, the time now is 5:36 a.m, 1st january 2015"