Personalized Letters to my Commenters

Subtitle: My Sneaky Way of Covering a Blog Post and Replies Simultaneously

This is what a two-week-long absence yields! I should whisk myself away to the mountains all the time. I am so grateful for all your thoughtful comments; I’ll ask that you’ll forgive me for the belated replies!

Dear UH: Thank you for the wonderful quotation! It’s so deliciously visual, with the rubbery texture and stretching and splitting, and makes “our faces” sound so very transitory. Which I love! I’d hate to think I’m stuck with one face forever, particularly if it’s the one I’m wearing now . . But I also find the quotation (”quote,” according to one Professor Frankl, is an example of modern butchery) a little misleading, because it implies that we can switch faces willfully! But I guess the point is that one has many faces. Anyway, must take another Adler class! Must, must!

Yes, the interview was for the study-abroad program . . and guess who one of my interviewers was? – Prof. M. Kim. It was a strange blend of feelings, haha: a little daunting and a little relieving. In my opinion, my interview was very mediocre, objectively speaking. But what is this? I see that you still haven’t done anything to your blog? Why!

Dear, dear Lucy!: “Yellow is the complementary color of Violet.” I thought of that the other day and I said to myself, “how pleasantly ironic!” Or does it make more sense the other way – ironically pleasant? I just know that we have so much to tell each other. If all is up to par I will see you tomorrow and we will trip into a warm little cafe and spend a few delightful hours there before Carmen leaves work and joins us.

I’d like to write with you. I think it would do both of us a world of good if we were to truly make an effort now; so that when the real writing assignments stack up on our agenda, we will neither of us feel . . . well, you know. I have vague memories of us forcing, wringing, squeezing stuff out of ourselves at the very last minute – the result being unremarkable (in our eyes, at least) stories that might have done so well otherwise! I don’t think it’s anyone’s fault that our minds were so dry; but I think now’s the time to figure this out once and for all. What are we doing wrong? How do we dispel this state?

My love and regards,

Mimi

Dear Tiffanie: Stalkerish? Are you kidding? I am absolutely thrilled that you found my blog! You are such a welcome visitor. And really, if anyone, I think you can relate with this blog entry the most specifically.

It is so strange because just last night, no joke, I was riffling through my pages of Word documents, and I came across ancient post snippets – and those were such golden days! I don’t mean for our enthusiasm levels (which definitely apply too, and I’ve wept over this many, many times before), but for our writing quality. The posts I churn out now, not too frequently, are so plotless and shallow (and short) and don’t at all care for characterization, that it makes me very sad. I’m a little split in that I’d like to believe that the improvement in my writing has maintained a steady upward tread over the years, but sometimes, like yesterday, I look back at what I used to be capable of doing – not that it’s the least bit amazing either, heh – and I feel a bit insecure.

I’m so sorry to hear of your break-up, and your unfortunate situation . . It’s really sad and ironic, to be sure. I forget, how did Jostayn and Terrian deal with that sort of thing? Ah yes, they dragged out the awkward tension for years and years, and at the end of an Age, after Terrian had picked up two Warders, they finally decided to bond! I guess our stories aren’t always the best guidelines; and also, isn’t there that secret pleasure in giving our characters pain?

About Trielle, I do so wish that you’d come back; you’re very missed. Honestly, I forced myself to – it was the only way I could start writing again. But I understand your misgivings well. I’m terribly un-fond of Briseis, too. About our hanging thread, would you possibly be interested if I picked it up, on another board? I mean, we’ve come this far. And what you’ve done with Trielle would be such a waste. I was reading your thread with (I almost said Madeline, my goodness) Miahala a few months ago, and your replies are so well done. I could never write with such patience and rationality as you do.

A Different Sort of Schizophrenia

At times as I write I feel like my fiction can be interchanged with my autobiography. Obviously if I think for a second that I exist in as fantastical a world as those of my stories! – then I shall duly find that I am correct. But more to the point, I wonder whether it is unprofessional to enjoy realizing, “in the act of composition,” that I am only writing about myself? I feel like I should hate the realization; if my characters end up fractured versions of myself, each of my pungent characteristics embodied in some form or other, then what is the point? If they arrange my thoughts for me, if they resolve their conflicts in the way that I wish I could, then am I cheating myself? Am I, unknowingly, splicing my reality into a hundred vain would-be’s and could-have-been’s?

Probably not. But sometimes I’m convinced that whatever neat comprehension I have of my personality is based on my characters’ experiences and thoughts. Odd? I think so. On the flipside, it is rather therapeutic.

An interesting experience, she thought, of a day that anticipated much ire and thunderstorms above, and yet here I am, awash in something verging on tranquil instead. Briseis felt that the presence of the other woman calmed her, acting somewhat the role of an anchor in turbulent seas—and turbulent had the seas seemed indeed! . . . half an hour ago. Now, as they continued on their more or less ambling patrol, saying little and yet when they did, pleasant and inconsequent nothings, she felt a sense of tremulous calm. Not yet peace, exactly, but calm. It resulted in a strange sort of meditativeness, alien to her character, which confused her.

 

What more use was there, in making things dramatic? Rather, thinking herself justified while doing so? She was not some tragic character in a storybook, whose every discharge of emotion or turn of character was monitored by some avid, personal audience. In life, nobody cared. Why in the world should they? They were too busy in their own self-study! And so it was, the shift of the Wheel, the spinning of threads, thousands of them, of which she was only one. Why should the past matter to anyone but herself, and if so, wasn’t the question of its significance up to herself alone?

 

“This place will soon change, Briseis,” she heard Isabel say, when they had spent some time gazing at the panorama in silence.

 

I’d like to write much more on the subject, but I think I had better get to bed. I mentioned in my previous entry that I’m suffering from a mild case of jetlag, which ultimately means that I sleep at eleven and wake at six. And I see now that I’ve been unpunctual to my schedule by an entire thirty minutes. Plus tomorrow I have to make it to an interview in the morning . . which, I might mention, is worrying me just a little right now, because not only have I not prepared anything for it, I failed to figure out what exactly they’re planning to ask me. Hopefully, my dreams tonight will present me my hidden card.

 

I plan to return to this pitifully meatless blog entry, I do!

 

Mimi’s Welcome

I’m not a hundred percent satisfied with the appearance of my blog, but I am too lazy to do anything further. That is, being the irresponsible twat that I am of late, I didn’t apply for my exchange program interviews in December, which forced me to return a month-and-a-half early from Irvine, which settled on me a mild case of jetlag, which wrenched me awake at the queer hour of six in the morning, which, upon deliberation, led me to creep out of the room and into the lounge with my laptop so as to not disturb my yet-sleeping roommate, which gave me limited sitting options, which forced me to mount my laptop on a low coffee table and huddle over it from my seat on the sofa of equal-heights, which is really, really hurting my back. Which, of course, is making me restless and not wishing to obsess over heading graphics for longer than is absolutely necessary.

What is a blog?

Yesterday I dallied in the house quite literally all day. Unfortunately, it doesn’t happen often. It snowed in the morning, constantly – something my African sensibilities (over the years, that phrase has gone through much abuse . . ) never did familiarize me with. Feeling just a bit silly, I had to sit on the ledge of the sofa and spend a few minutes staring out at the pale beauty of the world, for no other purpose than to act the spectator.  It made me think of starcrossed lovers and discarded stories. And stirred in me a craving for pizza, of all things. I ordered my pizza, sat down in front of my desk, and deliberated on an illustrious afternoon, which resulted in a movie marathon.

First movie, “Vicky Cristina Barcelona.”

I have to confess, the theme song stayed with me for a long time after the film rolled to an end. There is something very addicting about its silly beat and saucy tune.

Barcelona te esta’s equivocando no puedes seguir ignorando
que el mundo sea otra cosa y volar como mariposa.

My movie tastes tell me that the film was in itself nothing remarkable. I couldn’t help but become skeptical from the point when the narration commenced. Narration is alright, in my opinion, as long as the movie doesn’t strive to be too ambitious. Why do skits use narration? It cheapens the effect somehow, making excuses to gloss over transitions and get rid of dialogue. Nonetheless, there were things about Vicky Cristina Barcelona that I liked, of course, such as the setting (Barcelona, Spain) and lush scenery. The overlying theme had its merits as well, as it told tales and sub-tales of the exquisite imperfections of love. Vicky (Rebecca Hall) is in love with Juan Antonio (Javier Bardem), despite that she has a fiance and Juan Antonio and her best friend Cristina (Scarlett Johansson) are in love with each other and they currently have a three-way relationship with Juan Antonio’s ex-wife Maria Elena (Penelope Cruz) and Maria Elena is convinced that her love with Juan Antonio cannot be realized unless Cristina is there as well – something to do with salt - and meanwhile Cristina is beginning to have misgivings about the entire situation because, unfortunately, she has chronic discontentment.

I don’t know. It’s most certainly not my genre of film, and so what I can say about it is limited. Its study of the human psychology when it comes to love and restless spirits is admirable, and the story is interesting enough to have me watch everything through. But the characters, I felt, were a bit stereotypical, and the casting was just a teeny bit awkward. I wish, too, that they had shown more of the artwork, though that comes purely from my own curiosity of the paintings; I really can’t say whether it would have added or detracted from the movie, and I can’t say I really care.

The second movie I watched was “The Curious Case of Benjamin Button.”

I loved this movie with all my heart. I’m too tired right now to write anything extensive on it, which I might someday, but if I were to direct a movie, it would be in the style of this or Christopher Nolan’s “The Prestige.” They might not have much in common other than the irrefutable truth that they are very, very good movies, but there is just something intricate about the filmwork in both that I admire greatly. There is that sense of top-quality, well-assembled, and polished. There is a slew of details, of which none is messy or hurried; everything has been perfected with a superb handling of the many arts of storytelling and technical effect. Storytelling is key, I think. The bare idea of aging backwards is so profound in itself, that you have to tread carefully. Patiently. To my eyes, this movie is very nearly flawless.

The third and last movie from yesterday is “Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants 2.”

Quick and painless. I reiterate that I don’t particularly enjoy genres like this. But wishing to reflect further on the more heavy themes of “The Curious Case of Benjamin Button” or even that of “Vicky Cristina Barcelona” (in comparison, that is), I thought it wise to end the day with something lighter. By far, lighter. I was annoyed throughout some parts of this film. Despite my generally good opinion of Blake Lively, her character positively miffed me. In fact . . . I don’t think it far departs from the truth when I say that all four of the characters annoyed me at some point or other. They didn’t seem real. They were either exaggerated or simply dense, and I had little patience with them. Then again, I don’t intend to criticize this film very harshly at all; I hate to say there is little point, but there isn’t! It was light and adequate for its genre – so there.

That about sums up my activities for yesterday. I wrote a little bit longer than I expected. It pleases me.

Welcome to my blog.