I could pretend, say I've been extremely busy. I tell myself that too.
It's really a pathetic, fake excuse for not blogging. Or writing at all really. But I can honestly say I HAVE been reading- a lot.
The Elegance of the Hedgehog was the first french book I read, over a year ago, and that was beauty beyond belief. I am convinced the french have ways of saying things that could not be translated into english, but I definitely picked up on it to some extent. So early this summer, while in my absolute favorite bookstore, I found the book again. An something else, something new- a book that takes place in the same apartment building on rue de Grenelle, but with quite a different character. Not knowing exactly what to expect, I dove into Gourmet Rhapsody, also by Muriel Barbery.
In that same building, the food critic, Pierre Arthens, is dying. Yet he is searching for a flavor, something from his past that he longs to taste once more. He can't put his finger on it, but we as readers go back with him as he searches in the deepest and earliest of his food memories to recall that special flavor, the one he is longing for.
This man is not anything close to a lovable figure as Renee or Paloma may have been. He is cold as ice, we learn he has neglected his children (from some of their own perspectives). He can make somebody an entity, or cast them into the shadows with no hope of ever being anything. He build up the empire of a chef, or tear it to pieces. But strangely, there is something you feel for the pathetic, dying man he has become. Part of you sides with one character, Jean, wants to let this creature die a miserable death alone. But he has a taste for everything, and you can't helping liking that. The way he describes food, not as energy or survival but as art, something so beautiful that practically all five senses are alerted and used when around it. Flavors that dance across your tongue, colors and sauces and dishes that literally make your mouth water just to hear or think about. This man has a kind of gift, a true appreciation for the kind of love that food is to some.
But there is so much hate at the same time. The people he was supposed to be with, love, stay with for at least a little while came to fear him and even just his presence. Laura's experience with her father was fear, nothing much more. Fear and some kind of hatred for making her so miserable for so long to the point where she and her siblings were so much happier when he was off somewhere. And then there's Jean- who you can practically hear spitting the words about his father with utter disgust and hatred in his voice. Bitter negativity is how he begins and continues...
"Purulent old goatskin. Putrid rotting carcass. Die, just go ahead and die. Die in your silk sheets...die, die, die. At least then we'll have your money, even if we'll never have your favor..."
And somehow, this turns to a strange kind of affection, even from this tortured young man...
"...I'm going to die soon, too, and no one gives a damn, and I don't give a damn because, right now, he is dying and I love the bastard, I love him, oh shit..."
So who is Pierre Arthens, really? A villain or a hero? He's neither, he's an ordinary man with his flaws and his gifts, but each is much more pronounced than usual. The world loves him and hates him, and in the end he does find his flavor.
And the world is left with a slight wisp of him, the food empire he left behind and the people whose lives he entered and left.
Sunday, August 14, 2011
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
An Open Letter
originally written thursday march 3rd, 2011:
Dear Little Girl on the bus on Monday, February 28th,
I was alone, I was on my way to an orthodontist appointment. I don't think you know what that means. I'll tell you this: it's not very interesting. And maybe one day you will, like me, come to detest the two words together.
You are probably around 4 years old. Which means I can hear you the whole bus ride. Your giggle makes me giggle, your colorful clothes make me smile, your short, bright blonde hair and your tiny nose make my heart melt.
One day, you will probably be miserable, depressed beyond belief. One day you will probably be so happy, thinking that you have everything even when you don't. Probably thinking the universe is lining up for you...for once. This will happen in any order, will go back and forth repetitively.
Probably.
Also, you'll have people lie to you. Grown-ups, peers, friends, kids younger than you. Most of them won't tell you they're lying. At least not right away.
Which is why I am telling you that what I said before was a lie. I wasn't thinking about your hair and your little nose and your laugh. Maybe I think those things now.
But then I was thinking about myself, lost in my own thoughts, not paying attention. I was thinking about my science exit project. And how I am stuck in this weird in-between phase where I'm not sure if I'm depressed or happy. And England. And also about one person in particular.
Which is why I was unaware of my foot sticking out just the slightest bit, probably just an inch too far. Which is why, as you were getting off the bus, you tripped and stumbled over my foot. Which is why, even though you didn't fall, my heart sank and I yelled out "Sorry!" as quickly and sincerely as I could in those few seconds.
I don't think you heard me.
Which is why it took me a full day to admit it to myself. two, actually. Wednesday afternoon I was alone at home.
"I tripped a little girl on the bus on Monday," I said to the open air, the emptiness, the nothing, to the world and to the universe and to you, who will never hear it, and is very, very unlikely to ever read this letter.
So there it was for a moment, hanging in the air, existing. And then it disappeared.
Sincerely,
The girl on the bus who accidentally tripped you.
P.S. Sorry.
Dear Little Girl on the bus on Monday, February 28th,
I was alone, I was on my way to an orthodontist appointment. I don't think you know what that means. I'll tell you this: it's not very interesting. And maybe one day you will, like me, come to detest the two words together.
You are probably around 4 years old. Which means I can hear you the whole bus ride. Your giggle makes me giggle, your colorful clothes make me smile, your short, bright blonde hair and your tiny nose make my heart melt.
One day, you will probably be miserable, depressed beyond belief. One day you will probably be so happy, thinking that you have everything even when you don't. Probably thinking the universe is lining up for you...for once. This will happen in any order, will go back and forth repetitively.
Probably.
Also, you'll have people lie to you. Grown-ups, peers, friends, kids younger than you. Most of them won't tell you they're lying. At least not right away.
Which is why I am telling you that what I said before was a lie. I wasn't thinking about your hair and your little nose and your laugh. Maybe I think those things now.
But then I was thinking about myself, lost in my own thoughts, not paying attention. I was thinking about my science exit project. And how I am stuck in this weird in-between phase where I'm not sure if I'm depressed or happy. And England. And also about one person in particular.
Which is why I was unaware of my foot sticking out just the slightest bit, probably just an inch too far. Which is why, as you were getting off the bus, you tripped and stumbled over my foot. Which is why, even though you didn't fall, my heart sank and I yelled out "Sorry!" as quickly and sincerely as I could in those few seconds.
I don't think you heard me.
Which is why it took me a full day to admit it to myself. two, actually. Wednesday afternoon I was alone at home.
"I tripped a little girl on the bus on Monday," I said to the open air, the emptiness, the nothing, to the world and to the universe and to you, who will never hear it, and is very, very unlikely to ever read this letter.
So there it was for a moment, hanging in the air, existing. And then it disappeared.
Sincerely,
The girl on the bus who accidentally tripped you.
P.S. Sorry.
Sunday, January 30, 2011
Frozen Moment #5
I get it now.
What made me cry, laugh, love for so long, what felt like so long...
I think I get it now.
It's amazing-
just that one thing could spark it all,
could have unwound me from any misery in the past year or so.
Now it just brings it all back.
What I tried so hard to forget, to get over.
I guess I could never
really
fully
forget any of it.
You wake up one day,
not knowing it's going to happen,
but then it does.
Whatever it may be.
That's how it always seems to work.
What made me cry, laugh, love for so long, what felt like so long...
I think I get it now.
It's amazing-
just that one thing could spark it all,
could have unwound me from any misery in the past year or so.
Now it just brings it all back.
What I tried so hard to forget, to get over.
I guess I could never
really
fully
forget any of it.
You wake up one day,
not knowing it's going to happen,
but then it does.
Whatever it may be.
That's how it always seems to work.
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
more random thoughts, because my writing is lacking
Sometimes it does happen.
Sometimes things work out. Or start to. To some extent, anyway.
Sometimes there are things not stopping you. But annoyingly in the way.
Sometimes there are things you don't want to keep to yourself. You don't want them sitting there in your head, you the only one carrying them. It feels like to much for one person, you don't want to deal with that- but you have to. Still.
Sometimes life goes on.
Sometimes you want it to, want it to race forward into time.
Sometimes you want to hold it for a moment, hold the picture for a while.
Sometimes you have nothing better to do than come up with a list of musings all beginning with "sometimes."
Sometimes you wish things had gone differently.
Sometimes you're glad that they happened. The way the did.
Sometimes you're thinking all these things at once.
Sometimes you're thinking all these things at once, yet you still wonder how you can possibly be doing so.
Sometimes you surprise yourself.
Sometimes the world does in fact come through for you.
Sometimes things work out. Or start to. To some extent, anyway.
Sometimes there are things not stopping you. But annoyingly in the way.
Sometimes there are things you don't want to keep to yourself. You don't want them sitting there in your head, you the only one carrying them. It feels like to much for one person, you don't want to deal with that- but you have to. Still.
Sometimes life goes on.
Sometimes you want it to, want it to race forward into time.
Sometimes you want to hold it for a moment, hold the picture for a while.
Sometimes you have nothing better to do than come up with a list of musings all beginning with "sometimes."
Sometimes you wish things had gone differently.
Sometimes you're glad that they happened. The way the did.
Sometimes you're thinking all these things at once.
Sometimes you're thinking all these things at once, yet you still wonder how you can possibly be doing so.
Sometimes you surprise yourself.
Sometimes the world does in fact come through for you.
Monday, November 22, 2010
Just in spite of the year that's gone by...
The first thing is this: it's been over a year. And I missed the exact anniversary.
Besides the fact that blogging has been less of a constant for me lately, I also realize that this blog started as something about reading. It quickly became something about life in general...and then it was simply my writing. But on life, I think know what inspired me. It was the idea of publishing the things that may have been disregarded by the rest of the world, tiny nonentities. Nothings. Maybe, at the time, thats what I considered myself to be; but I also assumed I was not alone in wishing that people would take note, remember these things. Remember me.
I also used to talk about my "story." Which has become so unimportant to me now. My story is simply my life- because I know, every day, it will keep changing. Nothing's going to stop that. But writing about it as it goes on is what I can do to keep it under control- at least for a little while.
In my first bog post, I said that I lived by the theme of "no day but today." And I think I've often tried to be someone else...especially in the last year, at times when I felt I had been able to change my life, raise the standards. But at some point, I just fell back down again, ending up where I started.
And I know for a fact that I was more ambitious during the time before this; if it weren't for my experiences, I might have gotten right back up and tried again. But I didn't. I just let my life take me in the destined direction (trying not to be too cheesy here), and some things worked out. Some didn't. I'm still waiting for a lot. And I keep looking, imagining the future. So it would be safe to say that I don't always exactly live in the moment, like I originally thought I did. Or maybe hoped.
But I still write. And as I grow up, as I have a lot since I began blogging, I guess I tend to keep it more personal. Less confidence may come from the fact that I'm more aware of it, as well as judgement...and every little detail.
And I also think so much- about pretty much every little detail. Which keeps me occupied about 95% of the time. Once in a while I just have to listen to music over and over again, blocking out the rest of the world- at least for those few moments alone. Whenever I open my eyes it's just all there again, waiting for me to figure out. People, and life in general...sometimes I need to focus on me, I end up losing track of myself...
I'm not going to lie; I have regrets, friendships I lost for the better and some that tore me to shreds- but, as everything seems to be for me, it was all indirect. Which, I think, can sometimes make it harder. I've seen the fake in myself and other people, but I've spent just as much time looking for the good. I wish I could say I'm better off without all that, but sometimes it makes me sad when I think back to my whole life last year, which is very different now.
I'm still drinking hot chocolate on Thursdays, still writing in the backs of my school notebooks in my free time. I want to see what happens next- and I know I'm impatient. There's a lot in my life I'm unsure of, but this I know: I will continue to always see things with the eyes of a writer. So at least I can say that much for myself.
Funny- that all just sort of came out at once, without thinking.
Besides the fact that blogging has been less of a constant for me lately, I also realize that this blog started as something about reading. It quickly became something about life in general...and then it was simply my writing. But on life, I think know what inspired me. It was the idea of publishing the things that may have been disregarded by the rest of the world, tiny nonentities. Nothings. Maybe, at the time, thats what I considered myself to be; but I also assumed I was not alone in wishing that people would take note, remember these things. Remember me.
I also used to talk about my "story." Which has become so unimportant to me now. My story is simply my life- because I know, every day, it will keep changing. Nothing's going to stop that. But writing about it as it goes on is what I can do to keep it under control- at least for a little while.
In my first bog post, I said that I lived by the theme of "no day but today." And I think I've often tried to be someone else...especially in the last year, at times when I felt I had been able to change my life, raise the standards. But at some point, I just fell back down again, ending up where I started.
And I know for a fact that I was more ambitious during the time before this; if it weren't for my experiences, I might have gotten right back up and tried again. But I didn't. I just let my life take me in the destined direction (trying not to be too cheesy here), and some things worked out. Some didn't. I'm still waiting for a lot. And I keep looking, imagining the future. So it would be safe to say that I don't always exactly live in the moment, like I originally thought I did. Or maybe hoped.
But I still write. And as I grow up, as I have a lot since I began blogging, I guess I tend to keep it more personal. Less confidence may come from the fact that I'm more aware of it, as well as judgement...and every little detail.
And I also think so much- about pretty much every little detail. Which keeps me occupied about 95% of the time. Once in a while I just have to listen to music over and over again, blocking out the rest of the world- at least for those few moments alone. Whenever I open my eyes it's just all there again, waiting for me to figure out. People, and life in general...sometimes I need to focus on me, I end up losing track of myself...
I'm not going to lie; I have regrets, friendships I lost for the better and some that tore me to shreds- but, as everything seems to be for me, it was all indirect. Which, I think, can sometimes make it harder. I've seen the fake in myself and other people, but I've spent just as much time looking for the good. I wish I could say I'm better off without all that, but sometimes it makes me sad when I think back to my whole life last year, which is very different now.
I'm still drinking hot chocolate on Thursdays, still writing in the backs of my school notebooks in my free time. I want to see what happens next- and I know I'm impatient. There's a lot in my life I'm unsure of, but this I know: I will continue to always see things with the eyes of a writer. So at least I can say that much for myself.
Funny- that all just sort of came out at once, without thinking.
Sunday, October 24, 2010
Something different, inspired by artist Yoshitomo Nara
Planting little dreams
scattered across the sidewalk
again and again
making circles underground,
spinning as
the subway hums...
stuck in my mind-
lonesome puppies, crying,
empty red noses waiting for
the little girl to climb
up, and stumble
singing
in circles
me waiting too...
in the store, they wonder
the dads
why their daughters aren't quite so loving...
i want to stop, tell them
all, puppies too, wait...
because love's nothing to do with it.
just thinking in circles, now
humming softly
devoid of emotions, just
waiting for you...
scattered across the sidewalk
again and again
making circles underground,
spinning as
the subway hums...
stuck in my mind-
lonesome puppies, crying,
empty red noses waiting for
the little girl to climb
up, and stumble
singing
in circles
me waiting too...
in the store, they wonder
the dads
why their daughters aren't quite so loving...
i want to stop, tell them
all, puppies too, wait...
because love's nothing to do with it.
just thinking in circles, now
humming softly
devoid of emotions, just
waiting for you...
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
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