Greetings From My Igloo

Scotland. I haven’t been outside in days. It’s windy, mostly grey and rainy, as cold as 15C. It’s the end of June…

So I’m hiding in my igloo, soaking up whatever rays of sun there are from behind the glass –a regular hot house flower– and plotting my escape.

In a week’s time I’m off to Barcelona for a month. I plan to read, write (lucidity is slowly returning) and walk around the city to see if I could live there. I’ll probably take lots of pictures. I never posted any beach snaps from France, as requested. Just out of curiosity, where do you stand on cityscapes, ms. lotus? ^^

The Cut Off Point

How about this for an e-etiquette conundrum: when you’re in contact via email with a person, and it becomes clear that he/she/the goods they’re offering are not what you were interested in, at what point do you stop replying?

For a few months, I was in contact with a writer who heard about me from a writers’ association. She was quite a chatty person and, apart from asking me some work related questions, supplied me with a bunch of information on herself and her writing. It turned out we were working on similar stuff so we kept in touch. Until about a month ago when she asked me about my age in a roundabout way: You know, it’s funny, she wrote, but I have no idea how old you might be. I’m guessing somewhere between 30 and 70…and do you have any kids, by the way? Obviously she was somewhere in that age bracket and had kids herself, which didn’t bother me. But when I replied that, actually, I was 27 and as yet an offspring free zone, I never heard from her again.

On the other hand, I sent out some emails about rooms/flats for rent for the month of July. One of the replies I got was about a flat that looked and sounded very much like student digs and that, apparently, I’d be sharing with a girl from Italy who sounds very nice, and a bunch of Slovenians (how many is a bunch, exactly?). Let me know as soon as possible if you’re still interested, said the girl. But I never replied.

Should I have, just to say no thanks? And should the writer have (something like, I don’t do 20s anymore so see ya!)? Or does it make sense to stop replying as soon as you lose interest? As a friend puts it: You have to stop writing sometime and, anyway, they don’t know you from Jack. Maybe…

Missing

It’s been close to two months since he died and the finality of it –the never again– is starting to hit me. Two weeks ago I received the letter he left for me and, contents aside, it was almost like hearing from a long lost friend.

Because of the distance that was between us anyway, it feels like he’s still out there but just hasn’t had the time to write. And I could keep up the pretense and continue telling him about my life, regaling him with my convoluted thoughts and crazy stories (blown way out of proportion just to make him laugh). But I’ve heard my own stories and I know my own thoughts. And what I’d like more than anything now is to hear some of his…

I miss you, 竜。

Loving Kindness –Just Not That Early

It’s not my habit to blog about the same thing twice (ahem) but…

this daylight overload is killing me! Up at four again this morning –and this on a Monday…ugh! I’ve always loved bird song at dawn, but a pack of magpies screeching at 3.50am is not my idea of a morning serenade. I was barely conscious but I clearly remember thinking, Go away and die. I then got out of bed and promptly started my yoga routine.

Now that I’m fully awake I’m finding this hilarious: talk about the spirit of loving kindness…

Mid/Sun Day

It’s midday on a Sunday and I’m barely in my body. I did take a shower but got back into a comfy yukata and headed for the couch, where I’m now sipping some kind of hot liquid –I think it’s tea– and am staring bleary eyed at this computer screen. I hardly slept last night.

Or the past few nights, for that matter. It’s summer here up North. And I don’t know why, but the light manages to filter through even the darkest eye mask, keeping me up way past midnight and waking me again at four. I try to make the most of it though: I finished one hell of a book last night (In case you’re interested, it was by Haruki Murakami, English title is ‘Dance Dance Dance’).

Yesterday, I started going through my ‘wardrobe’ (as if!!), phase one of my pack-and-get-the-hell-out-of-here plan. I made three piles: what to take along, what to donate, and what even the most desperate of souls wouldn’t be caught dead in (Did I really wear this? Why did I keep it? Scratch that, why did I buy it? Why, why , why..?). And catch this: I realized the whole of pile number one –minus winter jackets– can fit into two suitcases! I don’t know whether to be impressed or depressed. I feel like I’m a let-down to the female race…

Other than this new found feeling of inadequacy, I’m doing fine. My birthday’s in a week’s time –six days, to be precise– and I’m ok about it. That’s definitely a first. I guess I feel like I’m finally doing something, making changes in my life. Maybe this year will be a happier one…