Read up; part 31. 


Others, like Kobori-Enshiu, sought for a different effect. Enshiu said the idea of the garden path was to be found in the following verses:

‘A cluster of summer trees,

A bit of the sea,

A pale evening moon.’

It is not difficult to gather his meaning. He wished to create the attitude of a newly-awakened soul still lingering amid shadowy dreams of the past, yet bathing in the sweet unconciousness of a mellow spiritual light, and yearning for the freedom that lay in the expanse beyond.

 
-N

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Read up; part 30.

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Home

The lessons one learns at school are not always the ones the school thinks it’s teaching.

Desire

‘It’s strange, isn’ it?’ the woman said in a pensive voice. ‘Everything is blowing up around us, but there are still those who care about a broken lock, and others who are dutiful enough to fix it . . . But maybe that’s the way it should be. Maybe working on little things as dutifully and honestly as we can is how we stay sane when the world is falling apart.’

Sisters

‘Glad to find you so merry, my girls,’ said a cheery voice at the door, and actors and audience turned to welcome a stout, motherly lady, with a ‘can-I-help-you’ look about her which was truly delightful. She wasn’t a particularly handsome person, but mothers are always lovely to their children, and the girls thought the gray cloak and unfashionable bonnet covered the most splendid woman in the world.

Race

Thrown, in this way, into the binding conviction that only a miracle could relieve her, she would never know her beauty. She would see only what there was to see: the eyes of other people.

Language

But, who cares a table is neuter? Everything English so scientific and problematic. Unlucky for me because my science always very bad in school, and I never understanding mathematics. First day, already know I am loser.

Motherhood

And so she clapped his cloud cheeks and revelled in his nest of smiles

Jealousy

When we have passed a certain age, the soul of the child that we were and the souls of the dead from whom we sprang come and shower upon us their riches and their spells, asking to be allowed to contribute to the new emotions which we feel and in which, erasing their former image, we recast them in an original creation.

Fatherhood

These weathervane-like conditions need be neither a strength nor a weakness for a writer, but simply a part of his material, a part of his orientation, and in Solstad’s case the most significant feature has always been located elsewhere, namely in his language, which sparkles with its new old-fashioned elegance, and radiates a unique lustre, inimitable and full of elan.

Drinking

Last night’s stars seem to have drawn to themselves a new range of galaxies, and the night sky is not dark at all, except where there is a tear in the membrane of light.

 

-N

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Checkered shirts, talcum powder, scruffy beards & retrospective pictures.

I’m turning 20 soon. I’m beginning to have thoughts splattered onto a clean slate like fine art ruined by a touch of contrasting paint. I have lists of ideas panned by a thousand doubts, yet I have a box of memories wishing that you were still around. You left this world with nothing but love, though you went past all the difficulties that showed nothing but trouble for this family to be intact. Teas in the evening made it a profound moment for one to step back and let time stood still. Rubber mats and cigarettes were entitled to its unique possession by the doorstep.

This quaint paraphernalia left me wordless. Left me visioning flowers planted as an ending to life. Stories were disclosed about your past, leaving me even more surprised with how things used to be. As shocked as I felt for unturned events, there was always a flicker of light allowing my senses to breathe it all in. I wish God gave me another chance to let that fragile smile of yours be in the present state as I walked through oak doors. Hoping to listen to your gruffed chuckle while you let yourself be entertained by the multitude of conversations concerning daily needs.

A few days before God took you to a much more better place, you cradled my face, grinning in a way to show me that strength was barely there when you need it but ensuring that you were going to be fine. I may have mistaken the signals you were trying to show me, but that was the only thing that came to mind. I may have been lost in wistful lies, but remembering back all of it provided a hint of truth to mitigate severeness of pain. There was also a scent of roses and pearl necklaces by your side. A garden of perplex episodes and lavish complementaries was more like it, but boy oh boy, she nailed all those circumstances.

Walking on cold tiled floors, the back of your wheelchair was the aspect that caught me off guard as I passed by. Looking at you perusing through your beauty aids as you await the arrival of your friends. Swatching a light crimson shade on your lips and witnessing a glow of happiness trace your amused expression. It took me quite awhile to get used to your absence as well as the need of a checkered shirt to be in sight. There was also a distance that prevented me from being able to bid farewell to your welcoming hugs. A light tug you always do in order to ponder on the changes of my appearance as I grew day by day.

Visible smoke to foreshadow the ramblings of you and your son, despite the familiar ambiance of being all loved up and cared for. Your walking stick didn’t let you seek justice, but you did make sure that the necessities of life shower you with what you think would be considered as pleasure, even if some people were to feel disinclined with the notion. I wish I was there for you, but a prayer will do. As much as reliving instances of when I was a child would draw me close to you, frames hanging on rods was an alternative for the impossible. Spacing out gave me an excuse to be accompanied with what you had left.

It has been five months, ten months, four years and about a few years back for me to have the privilege to be surrounded by scribbling notes, a bottle of water, tissues and my sanity to jot (make that two hours) this all down into one piece at this very moment. My recollections of your wisdom would always be a guide to how I should live life. Thank you, I still and always will, miss all of you.

 

-N

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Read up; part 29. 


“Yes, she’s very accomplished. Why, I had the most fascinating conversation with her this morning about the importance of micro-lending in sub-Saharan Africa. You should feel lucky that Nicky has a girlfriend like her, and not someone like that spendthrift Araminta Lee. Can you imagine what the Khoos must be thinking right now, sitting here in the middle of this mosquito-infested jungle eating this absurd food? I’m so bloody sick of this Chinese fusion trend. I mean, it says on this menu card that this is Caramelized Peking Duck y Chocolat Molé, but it looks like peanut brittle. Where’s the duck, I ask you? Where’s the damn duck?”

 
-N

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Read up; part 28. 


‘Khattam-Shud,’ he said slowly, ‘is the Arch-Enemy of all Stories, even of Language itself. He is the Prince of Silence and the Foe of Speech. And because everything ends, because dreams end, stories end, life ends, at the finish of everything we use his name. “It’s finished,” we tell one another, “it’s over. Khattam-shud: The End.” ‘

 
-N

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Read up; part 27. 


Journaling allowed me to think on paper and then to step out of myself and objectively evaluate my thoughts and actions. Journaling allowed me the chance to literally think about the quality of my thinking. If one way I thought or behaved was not well-suited to the life I was dedicated to creating, I could make new choices that were more aligned with who I wanted to become and what I wanted to have. It just felt great to be able to have a place for self-expression and, as Julian described it, a conversation with myself. 

-N 

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Read up; part 26. 


“What is it supposed to be?” I said. “Is it . . . cheese?” I had never been given a helium balloon before, and certainly not one this odd-looking.

“It’s Spongebob, Eleanor,” he said, speaking very slowly and clearly as though I were some sort of idiot. “Spongebob SquarePants?”

A semi-human bath sponge with protruding front teeth! On sale as if it were something completely unremarkable! For my entire life, people have said that I’m strange, but really, when I see things like this, I realize that I’m actually relatively normal.

 
-N

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