current mood: comforted
I finally found it...something in the United States that makes me feel as if I am back in Japan for a few moments, surrounded by the familiar, comforting language and the faces from my neighborhood: Asian film. Ever since I've been back in the U.S., I never see a college aged kid without thinking that they all look exactly alike. I miss being in Japan with people I was growing to understand and feel a part of. I've missed it in a way that couldn't really be explained, but today I found something that comforted me, if only for the few hours it lasted. I have wanted to watch a couple of Asian films ever since I got back, and finally rented Hero (Chinese) last night and Last Life in the Universe (Japanese and Thai) today. I felt some comfort in simply understanding and recognizing the words and the actions and mannerisms of the characters. I don't know if it will be enough, but at least I've found a new love through which I can recall all of the fond memories I have of Japan that have seemed somewhat lost.
Currently Watching: Last Life in the Universe
7.14.2005
in the beginning...
mood: godly
there was light, but I am guessing it wasn't at the end of a long, dark tunnel.
Sometimes I think that's where my life is, though a damp, dreary passageway through which I have to crawl on my knees. Either there or hidden somewhere another six years down the road and to get to it I have to take all of the right turns and not miss my exit. I guess of course that what I have now is a life, but sometimes it just feels too monotonous to be real. I seem to exist now outside of my body 60% of the time, but the rest of the time I spend being depressed by the things that continuously hold me back: lonliness, low self-image and self-esteem, fear of failure, some need to be desired and successful. I still haven't figured out who I am or who I want to be or what I consider success. I feel sometimes like I am simultaneously committing myself to two very different lifestyles which are completely contradictory.
In the middle of it all, I keep waiting for something earthshattering to finally give meaning to everything and show me the path which I must follow. Satori. An impenatrable idea which may be within my reach or may be several lifetimes away.
I feel so close sometimes. I have lost a sense of self. I have lost my voice. It almost seems unnecessary in the world I have created for myself. But still, I desire it so much. I wish I still had the words to describe what it is like to watch a fiber floating up through the air as if propelled by the heat from my body. I wish I had something to say about love and loss and sickness and health and forever and forever and forever.
There never seems to be the promise of forever in the thought of tomorrow. Half the time there seems like no tomorrow. But perhaps that is what forever is. A cessation of continuation. A definite stop which itself continues eternally. Or waking up from a dream. Realizing that we ourselves do live on past the point when our minds stop dreaming. I seem as equally disappointed in my dreams as in real life, so sometimes it's hard to tell which one is more realistic.
I'm making no sense which makes me happier than I've recognized myself as being in a while. Happy enough to close my eyes and float away and perhaps dream a dream of reality happening to me. Perhaps tonight the tunnel will shorten or the road become straighter or the one choice on my mind more apparent or the feelings that I am feeling more earnest and clear.
What is love about? Is it about stability, surreality, trust, truth? Is it percievable, perceptive, or an ancient art which has long been lost along with faith in something greater than a single nation or god. I have searched for the answer by believing in it, but believing blindly until I've trapped myself in my own ultimate (for the time) question. If you are busy believing in the idea of love that you've created for yourself, is it possible to notice when the real thing actually comes into your life or leaves it or does one get so stuck in their own idea of love that they live a forever limited life of what can be contained by their own mind? I used to think that my love grew everyday beyond my grasp, yet now it seems that it either grew so great that I cannot comprehend it or it exploded into nothing. I love nothing, it would seem. I feel no passion a good bit of the time and wonder whether I outgrew it or it outgrew me. I'm getting cryptic, which is okay with me. I understand myself, you see, as long as I don't say too much.
Currently Reading: Absalom, Absalom!
there was light, but I am guessing it wasn't at the end of a long, dark tunnel.
Sometimes I think that's where my life is, though a damp, dreary passageway through which I have to crawl on my knees. Either there or hidden somewhere another six years down the road and to get to it I have to take all of the right turns and not miss my exit. I guess of course that what I have now is a life, but sometimes it just feels too monotonous to be real. I seem to exist now outside of my body 60% of the time, but the rest of the time I spend being depressed by the things that continuously hold me back: lonliness, low self-image and self-esteem, fear of failure, some need to be desired and successful. I still haven't figured out who I am or who I want to be or what I consider success. I feel sometimes like I am simultaneously committing myself to two very different lifestyles which are completely contradictory.
In the middle of it all, I keep waiting for something earthshattering to finally give meaning to everything and show me the path which I must follow. Satori. An impenatrable idea which may be within my reach or may be several lifetimes away.
I feel so close sometimes. I have lost a sense of self. I have lost my voice. It almost seems unnecessary in the world I have created for myself. But still, I desire it so much. I wish I still had the words to describe what it is like to watch a fiber floating up through the air as if propelled by the heat from my body. I wish I had something to say about love and loss and sickness and health and forever and forever and forever.
There never seems to be the promise of forever in the thought of tomorrow. Half the time there seems like no tomorrow. But perhaps that is what forever is. A cessation of continuation. A definite stop which itself continues eternally. Or waking up from a dream. Realizing that we ourselves do live on past the point when our minds stop dreaming. I seem as equally disappointed in my dreams as in real life, so sometimes it's hard to tell which one is more realistic.
I'm making no sense which makes me happier than I've recognized myself as being in a while. Happy enough to close my eyes and float away and perhaps dream a dream of reality happening to me. Perhaps tonight the tunnel will shorten or the road become straighter or the one choice on my mind more apparent or the feelings that I am feeling more earnest and clear.
What is love about? Is it about stability, surreality, trust, truth? Is it percievable, perceptive, or an ancient art which has long been lost along with faith in something greater than a single nation or god. I have searched for the answer by believing in it, but believing blindly until I've trapped myself in my own ultimate (for the time) question. If you are busy believing in the idea of love that you've created for yourself, is it possible to notice when the real thing actually comes into your life or leaves it or does one get so stuck in their own idea of love that they live a forever limited life of what can be contained by their own mind? I used to think that my love grew everyday beyond my grasp, yet now it seems that it either grew so great that I cannot comprehend it or it exploded into nothing. I love nothing, it would seem. I feel no passion a good bit of the time and wonder whether I outgrew it or it outgrew me. I'm getting cryptic, which is okay with me. I understand myself, you see, as long as I don't say too much.
Currently Reading: Absalom, Absalom!
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