It is horrendous how the night passes so quickly sometimes. Now it is past midnight and a brand new day in a series of other impending new days. And new days, new days, they only sit around waiting to become history.

Good things:

- Tokyo Magnitude 8.0
I haven’t watched any anime in the longest time, but this caught my attention and held it. This is Tokyo, post a Richter 8.0 earthquake, and it unsettled me a tad more than I thought it would.

- Blade Runner
Finally got around to watching this. Quite ace, save for the presence of Harrison Ford. The eyeballs scene was tmd scary.

- The Brain that Changes Itself
Despite the title, this book is not a self-help/improvement book, even if it reaffirms the importance of positive thinking etc. I’m not done with it yet, but so far, it’s been a very fascinating and insightful read on our brain (brain!). There was also an article on one of the neuroscientists V.S. Ramachandran and his work on brain plasticity in an earlier issue of the New Yorker, which was equally interesting. (There’s hope for Homer, maybe.)

Saw a Facebook ‘15 books in 15 minutes’ meme a few days ago, and since then, it’s been kinda on my mind. Mostly because I like to look at my new bookshelf and imagine it bigger. And more filled up. And in mahogany. I’ve also been slacking on my reading this week, and instead like to stare into space on train rides than stare into pages of make-believe worlds. However, much to my credit, the book-buying mood hasn’t ceased. What’s with these books-related entries, you ask (you don’t ask), and I shrug my skinny shoulders and blame a lack of good movies (and my present addiction to ‘Word Challenge’).

Random Youtube video.

Anyway, about those elusive 15 books that changed my life. I doubt I have 15, because I like to think that my life has been a well deliberated one and takes maybe 4-5 slow gradual turns around corners rather than 15 (fifteen) sudden life-changing shortcuts through dark alleys with leaky water pipes. Now, that is a shabby excuse.

1. The Faraway Tree Stories – Enid Blyton

My favourite Blyton series. I was a fan of the Famous Five and Malory Towers books too, but nothing tops the magic of the Faraway Tree. Gosh, I really feel like rereading the books now. Once while visiting a friend in her super suburb place in Brisbane (zone 4 and beyond!), we took a walk with her dog in the woods behind her house and I had several ‘it-is-this-tree!’ moments. Sadly, those were just ordinary trees and I doubt any land, good or bad, had ever stopped atop them. And yes, the woods was really in her backyard. Or five amazingly short minutes away. It was certainly an eye-opener for this HDB dweller.

Fansite!

2. The Catcher in the Rye – JD Salinger

I think I might have a more optimistic and less cynical outlook in life, if I have never read that book. Damn glad I did though.

3. Nine Stories – JD Salinger

A Perfect Day for Bananafish. Beat that.

4. To Kill a Mockingbird – Harper Lee

Read this once when I was way too young to understand it. Read it again early last year, and it was brilliant. For a very long time, I was not reading any novels / books at all, instead favouring short stories and magazines; not that there was anything wrong with that, but I had missed those days where I could immerse myself in a book for days and days on end and inhabit its world completely. This book reassured that I could still do so, if I so wished to.

5. Will You Please Be Quiet, Please? / Short Cuts – Raymond Carver

Read ‘Are These Actual Miles?’ during a short story writing class in university, and that started my Carver reading spree. His stories, bleak as they come, for some reason always fill me with a certain optimism. Maybe it was through his stories that I realised that it was possible for people to behave without histrionics. And well, that evolution has got to trickle down eventually to the actual human race.

6. Goodbye Tsugumi / Kitchen – Banana Yoshimoto
 

7. A Wild Sheep Chase – Haruki Murakami

Hmm, just in case it hasn’t been obvious, I quite adore the author. I probably need a little more time to fully digest and reread some of his works so that my assessment of how I feel towards his books will be more accurate. For now, only this is on the list because it was my first Murakami book and a great introduction to the myriad worlds of ambitious sheep, vanishing elephants and talking cats.

8. Setting Sun: Writings by Japanese Photographers

This is a collection of writings by erm, Japanese photographers (just in case you missed the title). This is on the list because it provided me with invaluable insights on the work and thought processes of these photographers, and elucidated that writing and words can play an integral part in understanding and creating photographic works, which was something I had always known but had never believed.

8 for now. Sleepy and distracted.

I had planned this entry to be one on my sewing Sunday, one where I would be able to extol, at relative length and with adequate pride, my brand new blouse. Unfortunately, due to foreseen but unovercomeable circumstances, that piece of garment did not materialise. It did at some point resemble an effort at making a blouse, but that was about as far as it would go. If a blouse works like a skirt, I would be a lot more pleased with myself, but as sartorial principles and basic anatomical knowledge go, a blouse needs armholes. And armholes, my dears, are as tricky as balancing a pencil on the tip of your nose while having it tickled by a feather plucked from a rooster who knows why it doesn’t crow in the morning. Tricky business.

Instead of moaning over things I can’t (yet) do, let’s move on to something I do extremely well. Buying books. Is that a special skill? Nah. Is it something difficult? Well, it does get less and less easy with every try, especially when the month is approaching its third week, but on most occasions, it is a relatively simple task. I reckon I must have bought at least 30 books since the start of the year, which is probably more than what I bought for the whole of last year. What is slightly comforting is that while I must have read fewer than 10 books last year (magazines do not count. I want them to, but they have withdrawn from the competition, citing the presence of advertising and other evils, which include, but are not limited to, a monthly rehashing of content), this year I have mostly been keeping up with my purchases. Until last week, I guess.

So far, this has been a year of Murakami and David Sedaris. Very different styles, which worked out just fine because I was alternating between the both of them. I would read a Murakami novel, get all sad and depressed and weirded out, then switch to Sedaris who would, on more than one occasion, had me wishing I had spoken more kindly of people who laugh to themselves on train rides so that I would, on the convenient account of karma and whatnots, be exempted from their disdainful glances. I ran out of Sedaris before I could finish Murakami’s novels though, so there was a period of general moodiness. I also started reading ‘Watchmen’ but that, despite being an excellent read, wasn’t exactly uplifting as well.

Probably a common thing, but once I find an author I like, I tend to want to polish off everything that he or she has ever written. There was a J.D. Salinger phase (secondary school to first year of poly), even though he didn’t write a lot (Save J.D. Salinger’s Archives!). I loved ‘The Catcher in the Rye’, duh, and quite frankly, a good deal of my writing compositions then were very Holden-Caulfield wannabe. Phony, I guess. Oh well. I remembered loving ‘Franny and Zooey’ too and ‘Nine Stories’ was probably my first foray into short stories (my preference for short stories would eventually become an excuse for not reading longer works). For some reason though, I never got around to reading ‘Seymour’. I have it, but it is still wrapped in plastic with a Towers Record price tag. Odd.

(I also went through a Milan Kundera phase, though nothing of note has remained in my brain. It is very strange. I probably read half of what he has, but nothing really comes to mind now. I vaguely remember someone dancing in a mental asylum. It is scary how completely I forget some stuff.)

And then there was a Banana Yoshimoto phase. Oh! I found Lizard! It was a large paperback though. My other books are normal paperbacks. Sigh. Anyway, ‘Kitchen’ and ‘Moonlight Shadow’!, and ‘Goodbye Tsugumi’!! Her short stories! My eloquence is unparalleled.

Verbosity rules when you don’t have to verbalise words, and it makes mindless entries look impressively long (yes, this is a redundant mention of length) and thoughtful. And when you get bored, you can just end off with some random pictures:

(“Joge-e 上下絵, or ‘two-way pictures,’ are a type of woodblock print that can be viewed either rightside-up or upside-down.”)

(Joge-e images and writeup from here)

Come on brain, work with me here. It is Thursday, just one more day to the weekend and one more work day before I go on holiday next week. Nine full days of idleness await you, so there is really not much point in getting sleepy now. You have an itinerary to plan, accommodation to book and countless decisions to make. What cameras and film to bring, and how much. What time to wake up on Sunday morning. Whether to go for driving lessons this weekend. Buy batteries. Tidy up the room before the new bed arrives tomorrow (this, I suspect, is a lost cause). What books to bring. Which character to like. Futures to plan for. Contacts or spectacles. Why is my part 5 of Project Runway Canada episode 3 taking so long to load? Why has the clock just passed 12? Shit, all these things that do themselves before I have time to notice them. Why isn’t my iTunes playing a song to which I know the lyrics to? My internet connection has gone back to impersonating a snail. Buy dog food. Learn cycling. Move on. Yesterday night, after seeing Wendy and Lucy, J. and I were attacked by the wind who demanded, with threats to turn over chairs and send beer bottles to the ground, that we not do anything but bear witness to its prowess. We agreed, but chairs were still toppled and grown men were sent scuttling for shelter. We lost four fishballs and half a can of Coke, then stood around agreeing that it didn’t feel like we were in our country anymore. But across the road from where we stood was a big Hotel 81 (special rates from 89$), so of course we were still in our safe little country. Today was hot as hell. (I liked the film; it wasn’t as fulfilling as I would had hoped for it to be, but there was a honesty/unpretentiousness/rawness about it that I enjoyed. Plus, Lucy the dog was wicked cute.)

Youtube is still loading that damn video. Yawn. Time for my regular indexing of the internet then.

Bookarmy.com. Literary version of Last.fm. I like books.

Kottke: Media packaging mashups. Packaging for popular culture re-imagined and Penguin-ified. These movie posters are great, and I would like these Harry Potter books, please.

My Google Reader is possessed.

Slate: Would You Like Your Cable Company More if It Were Quirky and Hip?. Actual effectiveness aside, I quite like the ad and the campaign website (very well done; and I like decorating rooms if it doesn’t involve actual manual labour).

Luis Mendo’s Tokyo Diary

My First Dictionary. The best dictionary, ever. Well, the most honest at least. Proof as follows:

It is slightly worrying that if I don’t have some tea after dinner, my eyes play hide-n-seek with each other. I am, however, quite aware that it is probably my mind hoodwinking the rest of me into believing that I deserve a nice cold pearl tea or an ice cream every evening. Yesterday ended at 10pm, and I dreamed of having to pack, within an absurdly short 30 minutes, for a trip. To where, I don’t remember, but the ship (ship!) was leaving in half an hour and that was all the time I had to pack, which included having to decide what DVDs and CDs to bring. It was a rather stressful dream, so today when I woke, I decided that I should start planning for the Siem Reap trip next weekend. I should start planning an itinerary right about now, but somehow writing about it has absolved my worries a little and I had some tea earlier, so I should still be awake for a few more hours.

Comments on an earlier entry led to a Favourite Haruki Murakami Books list. I am yet to be done with all of his books, and I am dreading that rather inevitable day. It is funny that barely a month ago, all I had read from him was The Elephant Vanishes and Underground and now, just a little over a month since then, I am rather well-versed in his lands of all-knowing sheep, wind-up birds, wells (covered and uncovered ones), alternate universes, enigmatic girls with great ears, and late-night whiskey drinks. Frankly, I wouldn’t mind packing for a trip to those worlds.

Sad as some of his stories may be, I think I would like a short stint in the following places:
- Midori’s bookstore/house in Norwegian Wood
- the Dolphin Hotel and the Sheep Man’s house in A Wild Sheep Chase
- the love hotel in After Dark

Yours?

So leave her.
Let her be their spoils, go wrap
Your head in the snowy rivers
Of the Brooks Range. Cover
Your eyes with the writhing airs
Off the Nullarbor Plains. Let them
Jerk their tail-stumps, bristle and vomit
Over the symposia.
Think her better
Spread with holy care on a high grid
For vultures
To take back into the sun. Imagine
These bone-crushing mouths the mouths
That labour for the beetle who will role her back into
the sun.

The dogs are eating your mother, by Ted Hughes. Looked that poem up after reading an article on Nicholas Hughes in NYT earlier this week. “Bloody sad,” a friend had said, and bloody sad it is. Not exactly sure why I am posting this here (and seemingly out of nowhere); I don’t read a lot of poetry but I, like all, know what I like. And this is just heartbreaking, and I can’t quite get it out of my head.

Things learnt over the weekend:

- Doraemon didn’t not start out being blue. He was yellow, and had ears! Was enlightened by a friend yesterday while passing by a store selling its merchandise. Explanation here. Strange that now that I know, I keep seeing yellow Doraemons. I probably thought that they were pirated merchandise previously.

- It was impossible to get into the Uniqlo store without possessing an abundance of patience. That, I clearly lacked, and so could only longingly look into the store yesterday. The ceilings at the new Tampines mall are low. The stores are identical to the ones found in other local malls (well, except for, that store). And look, here’s a typo. The fruit tarts at Fruit Paradise look wonderful though.

- iluma @ Bugis. Yawn. Well, at least it has a cinema and an arcade where you can watch people win stuffed toys. The latter was, surprisingly, quite fun to watch, so you should schedule a viewing every 5-8 years. I wonder why all the shopping malls are coming up with Japanese-themed food places. Tampinese 1 has one, iluma is going to have one. Sadly, they all seem to enjoy serving mediocre overpriced food. I like the fact that soon I will be able to suggest Japanese every time someone asks for a meal suggestion though. “Udon, ramen? Something else? There’s nothing else, so how about sushi? Sashimi?” That even rhymes. The effort I go to, wow.

- I apologise for not sounding enthusiastic about the above. I don’t dislike shopping (quite the contrary) but I don’t really understand why people can do it week after week at the same places. Also, apologies that this blog doesn’t have a pink background with ugly fonts, or photos of my pedicure. Have I gone off ranting about something else? I want a sandwich.

- I am just about the worst driver (-in-training) ever. Then again, my instructor has taken to eating sandwiches during the lesson, and there are two ways to read that. 1. He feels comfortable enough about my driving. 2. My driving makes him wanna throw up, and eating something helps take his mind off that. I feel good about the first option, but all signs point to the latter. Today’s was probably the worst lesson ever (it topped the one two weeks ago, so that is saying something). Why the hell am I learning manual? Why on earth do I think about books while driving? Why did the bastard honk? Why is my instructor doing a nervous chortle-n-sigh? All these things went through my mind after the lesson, and I reluctantly pushed the day I acquire a driving licence further into the recesses of my to-do list.

- Green apple green tea. <3

- Was quite sorry to finish The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle. Sigh. A multimedia theatrical production should be rather interesting.

- Siem Reap in a fortnight. Haha!

Things that irk me:
- Signs that say “We are close”
- Signs that say “We are opened”

I’m slowly getting the idea of making a three-point turn. Slowly. Somehow, the mind ceases to function intelligently when its vessel is behind a wheel. I quite enjoy driving though, but only if it is on a straight road and there is no fellow traffic. Jaywalkers, stay home! I say this out of pure altruism, and also, because it seems to rain whenever (or is it wherever?) I drive.

Things that irk me, part #2:
- People who ruin books
- Borders

(I’m going to whinge.)

» Continue reading “hold your breath, breathe in”

I, sometimes, am with fickle. There are some days when I want to take photographs and moan about being in the office all day without a window to call my own, but these are the other days and as it is, I don’t feel much in the mood to take photographs. I look at something, draw an imaginary frame around it and let it be. Sometimes you can only look so much at things that do exist. When the world looks real and believable even in monochromes and high-contrast, it makes more sense to retreat into another. Well, I guess this is my pretentious way of saying that I am in my reading phase.

» Continue reading “there’s comfort when we overlap”

This chair likes me. I know it does.

There are needs and there are wants, and there are things that you want to need. Like, say, if I get my own place, I will be able to get this lovely steamer pot, this impossibly cute polka dot mug, and this pitcher that I initially had qualms about but am ready to overlook because roosters can be cute and there is really no better place for them than on a kitchen counter. And the pitcher will be happy to have a teapot friend. And a kettle confidante. I miss my kitchen already. Let’s move on to wardrobe.

» Continue reading “with reality, it’s never true enough”

Reading A Wild Sheep Chase has stirred up some serious longing to travel to Japan. Specifically Hokkaido. More specifically, some isolated town with less than 5000 people. Preferably fewer.

I miss train rides. A twelve-hour train ride might sound wretched, but I doubt there was any train ride more memorable than the one Joce and I took up to Sapporo nearly two years ago. There is nothing quite like boarding a train, modern and well-equipped, crowded with people perfectly in sync with the city pace in Tokyo, and switching to a local train, slower and older, in a town whose station will be the only thing you will see of it. An old couple whose wife (or was it the husband? Well, one or the other) sleeps intermittently, like yourself. You read a manga magazine, understanding only snatches but laughing at exaggerated expressions and simple jokes. Your friend sleeps next to you, both of you on seats that could change orientation when the train changes direction in the dead of the night. The old couple awakes, changes their seats, and falls asleep again. At each stop, you lose more of your fellow passengers, until finally, at 6am, you are in a city that is still cold despite it being late spring.

» Continue reading “a sheep, maybe wild, maybe lost”