This isn’t an argument about whether or not the Kindle changes the experience of reading a book, because obviously, it does. This is about how much more I would have cried if I had read the last few pages on a book. It’s definitely not for everybody, but what thing is? I love words and how they can move me. Not just the figurative, transportation of my physical being into any new world with new people, but also how they stimulate my brain and are able to force my whole body to react. I get giddy and restless when two characters fall in love, and will cry if someone feels pain. I don’t just read for the sake of filling my head with something to distract me from my life, but I’m one to appreciate how writers can make bracelets out of the words they have chosen to use.

I’m really late on the fawning over of this book, but I’m glad to be one of its fans. A lot of my friends read this in college, but I stopped any leisurely reading then, and as a general rule, I try to avoid reading a book at the peak of its hype. I learned this after reading Dave Eggers’ A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius, which I didn’t enjoy as much as I thought I would. The praise, and my own experience reading it, did not mix well. I bought my copy of ELIC one or two years ago and finally, finished it. I loved it so much that I went on to read his wife, Nicole Krauss’ works, hoping to catch a glimpse of why they fell in love with one another.

I was surprised to read that she was less poetic (not to be confused with the word talented – because that is not what I was driving at), but was amazed at how she mapped and structured her novels. I was definitely not as taken to the first book I read of hers, The History of Love, as I was when reading ELIC, but I found myself feeling heavy and ponderous afterwards. I didn’t feel the need to be emotional, but I wanted to be hugged in silence for a very long time.

I continued to be intrigued by Nicole Krauss, and so proceeded to read her latest book, Great House as soon as I had finished reading The History of Love. Her novels really are intriguing, and yet I found it difficult not to compare her prose with her husband’s. I was ill-at-ease upon finishing Great House, because I felt there was this big thing missing from what I read. However, I’ve since realized, that that may have been part of the message of the novel.

I’m happy I took the time to read these. The variety of books out there, is making me so hyper. Today marks the last day of unemployment, so again, I will probably have less time to read, but I’m still going to try to finish at least one each week.

I spent the whole day on the coding and so this short post is a result of my impatience (and my post-rock-climbing aching body). I couldn’t figure out the code for one of the links, but Joe helped me with it and now the link back to the main page (on the right) is blue!

If you are interested in Women’s issues as well as feminism, here are some interesting articles that have kept me awake:

Sex offenders (AKA Rapists) vs. Lads’ Mags
Women’s Day 2012: (No) Progress Report

Don’t be scared of the F-word. It’s more than what you think it is.

Young adulthood is that time in one’s life when one struggles most with one’s identity, character and emotions –and it wasn’t too different for me. I was quietly troubled and would spend a lot of time at home, reading and amassing large quantities of music for an Internet radio show I’d do instead of, whatever many other teens my age were doing. In general, I magnetized towards the sadder songs, but there was also just something in the way she sings Gloomy Sunday that made it better than any other sad song. I’ve always loved how the tone of the song changed to one of hope in the end and because she made the first verses so devastating, the happy ending was all the more emphasized. Listening to her on repeat would help me rise above my own troubles.

With this affinity for Ms. Billie Holiday, and not knowing much else about her life, I couldn’t help but buy, With Billie by Julia Blackburn at the Page One book sale recently. I am in general, wary of biographies but I must admit that (and I know this is a weird thing to admit), the little quote/recommendation from The Economist at the back got to me. They’re trustworthy! And they used the word ‘variegated’! The purchase didn’t result in any regret, because once I started to read, I couldn’t put the book down. I had a vague idea what she must have gone through as a black woman from a low socio-economic background, but the book offers more insight, as well as more questions as to who she really was as a person.

The book’s format was interesting too. Each chapter was written with the point-of-view or perspective of a person who knew her closely, based on old interview transcripts done by Linda Kuehl (who was originally tasked to write a book about Billie but she took her own life before it was finished). The author, Julia Blackburn reiterates from the beginning, how she “never put words into [the interviewees'] mouths or added any detail that wasn’t actually there”. This helped you put her story in a clearer perspective.

Notorious for her drug use and for her abusive boyfriends, the book helps to remind that there is definitely something more to Billie Holiday than those bits of things that dramatized her life. Her sadness goes far deeper than Boy Blues and mere escapism. She was troubled but she was also a strong and capable woman. The drugs and abusive boyfriends painted her with the familiar desperation found in similar stories, of fame and abuse, but I imagine the forces she had to work against during her times, as a black woman with her history, and there’s a part of me that wants to believe she chose what she chose, as if to say yes to life and the obstacles that come with it, each and every time that she had to face the possibility of cruelty, torture, or death. And until her actual death in 1959, I believe it was her body, and not her spirit that gave in to the gloom.

Write letters?

I struggle with time, which is only made worse by the unfiltered flood of information. I still have difficulty distinguishing which information is more important. Now that I’ve built a new path for myself, where I am forced to find worthy causes for my time, it has become a heavier thing. I want to spend it as easily, as I breathe, but I become too conscious that there are sixty seconds in a minute, and I then spend it in spurts – as if hyperventilating. I need time, but my body doesn’t quite know what to do with it. Do I pace the room? Do I let my mind wander? Do I sit to read? Do I search for videos of kittens on Youtube? Do I use time to talk to someone (on Facebook, Twitter, Gchat)?

We’d like to think that as long as one’s happy, one’s making good use of time. So if one spends his own happy time, making others happy too, the cycle of happiness then becomes self-perpetuating, expands and extends out to one’s social circles. This is the dream, that my friends and the people I surround myself with, live in a peaceful community untainted by greedy self-interest and modern-day loneliness. You’d like to be less conscious of time because you’re busy and you’re busy with meaningful preoccupations and people.

Ask questions?

But the joke’s on me and the time I have chosen to spend, drawing and mailing postcards to friends, grows heavy with the silence that follows it. I write this with no bitterness or resentment whatsoever. I have been struggling to come to terms with the fact that this is the sign of our times. Social bonds are weak and people come and go in clicks (of mice) and with the push of a power button – we get lost in our own infinities. You don’t just have a group of people coming to terms with an infinite reality, but you have each and every person dealing with infinity in their own way.

∞

That’s a lot of infinities to think about. With the convenience of self-reliance, it’s harder for us to reach out to friends to ask for inclusion. The multiplicity of infinity is excruciatingly isolating. Someone intelligent who I look up to, I can’t remember if it was Ben, described Twitter as a room full of people shouting their thoughts at each other,  fighting to be heard. In a way, this too describes how it feels like to be in a room full of people, anywhere.

Thrust with more time, I am learning again how best to spend it – how I’d like to spend it. I have a new appreciation for the details of daily living, of friendships, of talking to people, so that I can find a way to my dream community, where infinity is dealt with together. It doesn’t matter if opinions differ. In my dreams, we acknowledge that we are in the same pursuit of happiness, contributing to help each other’s confrontation with infinity. We don’t have to be holding hands, just respecting each other and listening. Kind of like how Livejournal is (yes I still use it), but more public.

I know that I like spending my time asking hard questions, and being with people who like to help find an answer, so I throw this back at you: Is the whole greater than the sum of its parts?

I’d like to think we can still strive for that.

I encourage you to join Redditgifts too, that is, only if you’re brave enough to be disappointed. I feel lucky that I got Joe and I enjoyed putting together the gifts for my Redditor – but Ib for example gave really cool stuff – and got a jar of sand from his Secret Santa. I still laugh just thinking about it.

Like anything on the Internet, Redditgifts should be used wisely. If you’re in it to give, then it’s a happy thing but if you’re expecting a Kindle or an iPad, I think you should play Secret Santa somewhere else.

This was supposed to be an homage/surprise for my friend and band mate, Ayon, but he hasn’t said a word to me since he got back to Manila. He’s probably going wild, since he was living too anonymously in England. Back-story on the Koala: In order to initiate new members into the band, I’d ask them for their “spirit animal” and Ayon, chose this animal.

I’m not sure if he received this yet. I hope he does eventually. It was my attempt at shading with ink. I obviously have much to learn, but – I’m getting there!

It’s really when you think you got it, that the world conspires to prove you’re small. I think I was trying to increase momentum for a turn when suddenly, the board flew under me. Next thing I know I’ve hit my face on the concrete floor and my right cheekbone is on fire as if I’d been punched. My brain feels like it has been shaken, my gums and teeth hurt a little and all the while I’m hoping the injuries don’t show. Staggering towards the kitchen, I open the fridge and grab the ice tray and let the whole thing cool the side of my face. But while I’m collapsed on the bed, spitting all kinds of expletives, there’s a huge smile on my face because while it hurts, I think I found a new fun thing to do.

I’m going to buy a helmet.

I miss my library. There are still so many books in it that I have not yet read. Call me a hoarder, though I prefer the term bibliophile, because –without sounding too defensive– they are kept for a purpose! Lately, I am reminded how easy it was for me to get lost in a book and forget all else. I’m especially grateful for Singapore’s public library and the access I have to it, because I’ve been borrowing books non-stop. As a result of my weekly visits, I’ve discovered a current favorite publication, The Wilson Quarterly and even subscribed to it.

Dicks are the accidental theme this month. I’m currently reading Moby Dick and will be reading Philip K. Dick next. Moby Dick was never a required reading for me in any of the schools I attended, but I was always drawn to the story. So far, I’m laughing at the chapters with Queequeg. The novel reads like a foreign language, but I’m thoroughly entertained.

In other news: I’m participating in Reddit’s Secret Santa this year and I’m very excited for my Redditor to get his gifts. I’ve requested that he film himself opening the package but he has not yet replied if he’ll do this. I told him I’d understand if he was shy, but I really hope he will! Whether or not he likes the package, I just want to see a human reaction to another human’s efforts to make a person happy.

Last night I baked another batch of my homemade dark chocolate brownies. This time, it was for my dear friend Pepe’s surprise birthday party, which apparently wasn’t much of a surprise because he saw it all coming. Pepe is one of those generous people who is a friend to many. He’s recently found someone to be happy with, so while he is normally jolly, his smiles are even bigger these days. It’s such justice to see good things happening to good people. Happy Happy Birthday to you, Pepe!

Idiom:

1. skeleton at the feast, a person or thing that casts gloom over a joyful occasion; a note or reminder of sorrow in the midst of joy.

Everything around us, is a sort of skeleton at the feast. Now that the world is vastly connected. Poverty stricken countries are reminders of the richer ones. The death toll of a calamity reminds us of the survivors.  The crazy chatter of unsubstantial gossip about celebrities from all corners of the world adds to a priceless flood of other, more useful information. We now have access to an ever-replenishing library, that people once, could only imagine. Or perhaps I am alone in seeing the world this way. That despite the happiness (and allowing myself to feel the happiness), there are always little reminders of sorrows.

I finally finished this novel. You can tell by the way the perspectives of the characters were written that it was written carefully and sure enough, when I reached the acknowledgements, I learned that the book had been inspired by a real diary, and guided along by a few other books used as reference. I needed time with this one. Less time than I needed with The Information (which felt like I was swallowing ten courses in one go, without chewing, but it was nonetheless a satisfying meal). But I needed time nonetheless. Whenever I came across a passage or chapter that demonstrated the possible array of human brutality in desperate situations, I am reminded how in my twenty-three years on earth, and on my little island country, I have not yet needed to feel such a thing. I wonder if I ever would but hope that I would never have to.

Packed with blackened tortoise shells, an ancient shaman's grave may be evidence of early feasting. Illustration by Greg Harlin.

Survival has evolved into such a different word from how it meant during the World Wars. Even back when we were hunting and gathering, Survival had only one definition and that meant to stay alive. Now, it comes in different shapes. Sometimes it’s synonymous to making money, other times it means fitting in. Lately, I notice that it means finding someone who cares enough about you as you would in turn, care about them so that you have someone to survive with. It doesn’t necessarily have to be a romantic partner, but it seems that this is what many have chosen to look for.

The world is getting smaller, but I think as much as possible, we still have to try and survive it as a group or as it was once known, a tribe. The people in my (ideal and selfish) tribe, are my close friends, and they are scattered all over the world. I’ve been trying to reach out to them individually with the intention that they each feel less lonely and disappointed, whenever skeletons appear at their feast.

…And it’s that time of the year again when we collect and remember songs, movies and memories to archive 2011 somewhere safe.