To destruction
I believe I might have posted some time ago, that I lost a piece of paper listing ideas for stories or plays I've accumulated for years. I now also believe I've lost a piece of paper containing a list of books I've read but do not own. Strange thing these disappearances, as I would think my room is pretty self-contained.
These are disturbing losses. It's as though you're holding your favorite book in your hands, but a huge number of pages are missing.
I attended a wake for one of my ex-students two weeks ago. He'd drowned. I went alone and didn't speak to anyone there, though I was wondering if it was proper etiquette to do so. He'd been with me for two modules. Silent during class, but he'd come find me a few times after. He was combative in a subtle way those times, as he tried to argue for one point or another.
I must admit his death struck me in large part because he reminded me of myself. Argumentative and inquisitive but also diffident. More importantly, though, that he might have had his own troubling thoughts too, as I had mine when I was younger. I tend to think the path we're on are very tenuously derived, and any number of factors big or small could have easily caused a wide deviation.
There was not much to be done at the wake. I looked at his portrait and tried to burn the way he looked as well as our interaction together into my memory.
I went on a one-night trip to Malaysia with my postgraduate peers a week ago. We stayed in a villa at a golf resort and ate durians and longans. I went for a walk during the night. There were at least 30 other villas in the neighborhood; we were the only occupants. As I walked past the empty houses I was reminded of a safe zone in The Walking Dead series, a gated community relatively self-contained and secluded. I was thinking the place would be one of the last few standing refuges in the event of a zombie apocalypse. Under the starlit sky I was also imagining zombies walking toward me from the end of the street because there was a breach somewhere, as there'd always be.
These are disturbing losses. It's as though you're holding your favorite book in your hands, but a huge number of pages are missing.
I attended a wake for one of my ex-students two weeks ago. He'd drowned. I went alone and didn't speak to anyone there, though I was wondering if it was proper etiquette to do so. He'd been with me for two modules. Silent during class, but he'd come find me a few times after. He was combative in a subtle way those times, as he tried to argue for one point or another.
I must admit his death struck me in large part because he reminded me of myself. Argumentative and inquisitive but also diffident. More importantly, though, that he might have had his own troubling thoughts too, as I had mine when I was younger. I tend to think the path we're on are very tenuously derived, and any number of factors big or small could have easily caused a wide deviation.
There was not much to be done at the wake. I looked at his portrait and tried to burn the way he looked as well as our interaction together into my memory.
I went on a one-night trip to Malaysia with my postgraduate peers a week ago. We stayed in a villa at a golf resort and ate durians and longans. I went for a walk during the night. There were at least 30 other villas in the neighborhood; we were the only occupants. As I walked past the empty houses I was reminded of a safe zone in The Walking Dead series, a gated community relatively self-contained and secluded. I was thinking the place would be one of the last few standing refuges in the event of a zombie apocalypse. Under the starlit sky I was also imagining zombies walking toward me from the end of the street because there was a breach somewhere, as there'd always be.
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:(
-owl
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