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Day-before-yesterday was a hell of constant nervous fear as I realized that in a month I'd forgotten everything I'd thought I'd learned over the past seven, and that yesterday would be day one all over again. Surely nothing could be worth such pain, such dreadful anticipation.
It's the other side of yesterday now, and I find myself still alive. Short on sleep, and continuingly short on it-- there's much to do and less time to do it, and I find that I don't want to sleep. Not because I fear my dreams, truly-- a dream dissipates on waking-- but because sleeping means that every tomorrow comes faster, and I don't want tomorrow to come.
Went and saw Spirit, aka Fearless, this afternoon. The latest and supposedly last martial arts film for Jet Li. The website said Cantonese/Japanese/English, but mistakenly, as there was no English. So we watched it in Cantonese with Japanese subtitles, and I thoroughly enjoyed it. I had read a plot summary beforehand, so I basically knew what was going on. And also, I think I've grown used to not understanding things, to the extent that it doesn't really bother me anymore. My mind fills in the gaps of my incomprehension, stitches together stories from missing information, provides diversion where it can't bridge the gap. You become very good at guessing, living an ambiguous role in a foreign country.
It was also strange because at times the movie switches into Japanese. The first time was a shock, because my complete incomprehension shifted to familiarity with a jerk. I didn't understand the Japanese any more than I had the Cantonese, but the sound was comforting to my ears, the cadences and rhythms internalized somewhere in my mind. Like the poems I know so well that I can recite their lines like mantras, like prayers to bring me through bad moments.
There were other things as well. Watching, I felt ambition stir within me. I wanted to train, to do pushups and situps, to push myself. I wanted to practice shakuhachi. I wanted to learn Cantonese-- logic toned that down to Mandarin-- practicality said master Japanese first. All right, then I wanted to study, to pour over my textbook and pound more kanji into my head. I wanted to travel, to plunge into unknown foreign lands, to find again that strange sense of displacement that is always defeated by routine and living. I wanted to throw myself again into the void of the wide world, and never return to that which is familiar.
Logic and reason whispered to me together: there is a price to be paid, do you understand this? For everything that you want, a price. The price is loneliness, the price is pain. The price is the fear of day-before-yesterday, over and over and over again, the fear you were sure you could die of.
It's worth it, my soul replied. It's worth it, if that is the price. Just let me continue to live this adventure. And let it never end.
It's the other side of yesterday now, and I find myself still alive. Short on sleep, and continuingly short on it-- there's much to do and less time to do it, and I find that I don't want to sleep. Not because I fear my dreams, truly-- a dream dissipates on waking-- but because sleeping means that every tomorrow comes faster, and I don't want tomorrow to come.
Went and saw Spirit, aka Fearless, this afternoon. The latest and supposedly last martial arts film for Jet Li. The website said Cantonese/Japanese/English, but mistakenly, as there was no English. So we watched it in Cantonese with Japanese subtitles, and I thoroughly enjoyed it. I had read a plot summary beforehand, so I basically knew what was going on. And also, I think I've grown used to not understanding things, to the extent that it doesn't really bother me anymore. My mind fills in the gaps of my incomprehension, stitches together stories from missing information, provides diversion where it can't bridge the gap. You become very good at guessing, living an ambiguous role in a foreign country.
It was also strange because at times the movie switches into Japanese. The first time was a shock, because my complete incomprehension shifted to familiarity with a jerk. I didn't understand the Japanese any more than I had the Cantonese, but the sound was comforting to my ears, the cadences and rhythms internalized somewhere in my mind. Like the poems I know so well that I can recite their lines like mantras, like prayers to bring me through bad moments.
There were other things as well. Watching, I felt ambition stir within me. I wanted to train, to do pushups and situps, to push myself. I wanted to practice shakuhachi. I wanted to learn Cantonese-- logic toned that down to Mandarin-- practicality said master Japanese first. All right, then I wanted to study, to pour over my textbook and pound more kanji into my head. I wanted to travel, to plunge into unknown foreign lands, to find again that strange sense of displacement that is always defeated by routine and living. I wanted to throw myself again into the void of the wide world, and never return to that which is familiar.
Logic and reason whispered to me together: there is a price to be paid, do you understand this? For everything that you want, a price. The price is loneliness, the price is pain. The price is the fear of day-before-yesterday, over and over and over again, the fear you were sure you could die of.
It's worth it, my soul replied. It's worth it, if that is the price. Just let me continue to live this adventure. And let it never end.
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