Learn People

I must've read it somewhere, or perhaps some wise person spoke while I happened to be listening. "A person's mind, once stretched by a new idea, never returns to its original shape." Seems true...

But then why does it sometimes feel like we need to learn the same lessons over and over again, each time faltering in nearly identical ways. Does learning require hurt? A sore mind like a sore quadricep after squats. I'm learning about people. I'm learning that I don't understand most people. Being able to predict behaviour and response doesn't equal understanding. It might only be the product of voluminous observation. Spend enough time with someone, you'll learn to anticipate their actions. Spend enough time observing many different people, you'll start to form a subconscious expectation of how people in general will respond to their environments and situations. But that's all that is: an expectation. Bound to eventually, or every once in a while, be unmet. And it is because of a lack of understanding.

A question arises inside me. How genuinely interested, or determined, am I to understand someone else? And if I am, why? Determination, more so than interest alone, because I consider it no easy task.

The question is too large for this blog post. I'm too tired to write that much. Nor can I be sure my thoughts on the matter are worth words.

Gazing out at the wet wet snow. Glistening and alive the night, the streetlights turn into stage lights.

The Need to Write

A windy night in Victoria. There come times that it takes a vacuum around you to acknowledge the hollow within. I've sat in this successful coffee shop before, spilling my sentimental heart out into the dark, the imaginary web of the wide world. A whole blocked up back up of feeling, kept in check day to day by the day to day well rehearsed exchanges between situational people. Has it been two years yet? People removed, perceived to be alone in the room, the tears start to run, the screams tear through the air, the laughing and giggling roll and fizz without restraint. And after it all, the remaining hollow expands inside, scraping at the walls of my caffeine stained stomach. Insatiable. You can only feed it by purging more.

But that was then. And I sit here now, the same room, the same chairs, almost the same decor - renovations are mandated every few years to keep the atmosphere current.

Welcome back to the vacuum. But now it does not shed dark on a hollow within. The surrounding void only serves to accentuate my brimming core. The vacuum around me reminds me how much there is inside of me, how much of this life I am so in love with, how much I cannot bear to relinquish, how fiercely I grip it all, how tightly I clasp the hands of absent friends, how yearningly I cradle thoughts of my darling, how obstinately determined I am to live. How madly resolved I am to live this life. Not just watch it.

88 Keys, I've Missed This

After eight years, my home feels like it again. Always knew I was missing it. Never realized how much.

London Stone

Welcome to London, England. Day one is 33 degrees.

And because of the sun, I refuse to sit above on the boat afloat the Thames. Hence, the London Eye is seen from snail's eye view.

Beware of step

 The Tower of London. Place of blood. Now home to painstaking graffiti, the Crown Jewels, and audio guides.






St. Paul's Cathedral. Inspired effort. The London Symphony Orchestra filling its corners with Faure's Requiem.



Despite the name, no Chinese food

The British Museum, housing the treasures of all other nations.

 Among them, the naturally mummified man.

 Westminster Abbey and a busy British man.
 A fat pigeon. Amongst the fattest I've seen.


 At Tate Modern, fuelling my doubts about much modern art.


The Abbey again.

 Victoria and Albert.


 Globe Theatre groundlings.


My kind of city.

Return of the Sun

Prelude to summer. It's been a month since the escape. What now?

Life will wait for you, sometimes

I should be studying. How many times in my life have I said that? How many times in the last year, week, hour... Put my head down, dig those heels into the soil, do the task bare in front of me. I care about my work. It matters to me. I know this now, as the haze and perversity of the past years recedes. But then why does it feel like life is slipping by?

Been so busy jumping through hoops. Did I not notice?

I read old posts. The last one is from just over half a year ago. Bright summer.

Next slide.

My own state: growing tired of the anxiety, the weight on my chest. But just push on for another few months. Just in time to feel optimistic again for another positive July blog post. I'm lucky.

And in the mean time... we are losing our loved ones. The hospital trips increase in frequency. I see people in their exit years all day everyday at work, but it doesn't prevent me from seeing the age spreading on the faces of my peers, my friends, my chosen family. I reflect on the lives that have come into mine for a time and moved on. And everything is moving on.

I realize that all my music mentors have died, or retired, or disappeared. Even the man who used to fix my violin and re-hair my bow is retiring.

And I'm left wondering, questioning whether any of it ever happened.

And I'm trusting, or rather I've been trusting that life will be there waiting, when I'm done with this obstacle course. But despite my age, I'm only just beginning.. just now beginning to see it. To see that life doesn't wait for any of us.

If I could, I would hold onto all of you forever. I'd preserve you... just as perfect as you are right now. I'd sing always. We'd all get lost together in dreams on Thursday nights at the Wired Monk. I'd learn all those languages, translate my grandmother's thoughts and memories. We'd watch the sunset and sunrise everyday. And everyday would be always.