Short blog for today...

Today is a "Missing Malaysia" day....
(for you JK, this means missing home)

We have had winds that knocked down electrical poles and a few transformers blew in town so half the city is in darkness. We saw a traffic light that was fully bent over, and a Santa that was rolling down the street.

Tonight, my mum and I went for "Chinese" in downtown Port Colborne. I was deathly afraid mum was going to ask me to order in Chinese. My mandarin would have been enough to order a bit of 'chee cheong fan' or some 'niu ro mian', but if it was Cantonese I would have shocked the waitress by ordering a healthy portion of 'ji bai'. I might have got a slap in the face for it, but luckily mum wasn't out to impress the staff so I got away with ordering the hot and sour soup in English.

Today I talked to a good friend, Anna. Anna and I studied together in Poland back in 1997 and we had a wicked time, back in the day when the Russian shampoo wreaked havoc on her hair and I was infatuated with a Polish girl who had TEASE written all over her. Anna also taught in Bangkok when I was first in Malaysia. I rode a train from Kota Bharu through the jungle, sleeping on a dirty floor overnight to go and see her there. Then when she came to visit me in KL, I got a call at 4:00am. "Mark, I'm at someplace called 'Puduraya' and I've borrowed some guy's phone to call you. There's no banks open! Can you come and get me?!?!" This was when I was living in Kelana Jaya, a good forty minutes away. (Oh god, Anna, just stay under a street light and I'll try to be there as soon as possible! Don't go into any dark places!) An old minefield in Cambodia is preferable to Puduraya at 4am...

For me, Anna is home. She's one of the good people who will always stay with me. When I call, it can be years since we've seen and talked to each other but she will give me shit for not calling sooner, and then we'll make plans for dinner (like for tomorrow night) meet up and gab for hours! People like her keep me sane, mostly because they know what going home is like.

"So, Mark, darling! Are you in the 'it's so great to be home' phase, or are you past that and in the 'oh god, get me out of here, I don't fit in' phase?" she said over the phone.

"Definitely number two", I replied.

But knowing you makes it all so much more bearable.

Love you babe...

Violently Happy

Yesterday I had to do it. Finally.

I had to go through a lot of my old stuff -- and burn it!

There was a trunk of clothes, bits of memorabilia in there from my younger days in secondary school and uni, lots of books, lots of published playscripts from when I was studying Drama, design scrapbooks from an honour's project I did in my final year of study in costume design for theatre of the 1920's (I have a real thing for the 20's, not sure why. For a while I thought I might have had a previous life during that decade!) There was work I had forgotten, papers I had written, things I had saved....a lot of stuff I put away years ago thinking I would come back to it later and... do SOMETHING with! But yesterday was the day.

(Enter Mark, Stage Left, walking solemnly towards the bonfire)

There were a few boxes, some of the stuff wasn't even the kind of stuff you would typically burn - old pencils, film negatives, old posters, my grandfather's violin, pages of script that I had written for an agitprop play I helped direct in my last year at school about education cuts by the Ontario government. Piles of papers take forever to burn. Burning laminated posters and negatives are definitely not good for the environment, but I doubt I could hurt this soil more than it has already been burdened.
The violin. I debated whether to do it or not. I was the only one, years ago, who said they wanted it. I claimed it because I thought someone should. When I put it on the fire, part of me inside was screaming not to.

(Mark sits in chair, watching violin burn.
Lights dim as fire grows bigger. Cue wind)

When I first realised the fire had caught it, caught the wood, I wanted to get up and grab it out of the fire. I heard the strings snap in the heat of the fire and curl back. What am I doing!? I thought to myself

(Actor playing ghost, enters stage right. Stands behind Mark. Lights dim further.)

I resisted the urge to get up and take it out. This was part of letting go. The violin was never mine. It wasn't even special to me. It was special to my grandfather. I don't know how to play it, and my grandfather had never played it for me or even in my presence. He had never even talked about playing. I had imagined that I might get it repaired someday and learn how to play. It is a romantic idea. Days like these are full of romantic ideas.

(Actor playing ghost exits stage right.
Lights fade to black. Fire is only light onstage)

My grandfather wanted nothing more than to live his entire life here on this farm, and this he did until the day he died peacefully in the west living room. It is better that the violin stays here with him in the best way that it can, as ash.

(Fire dies and goes out)

Old designs, old papers, you name it, it went in the fire. And it all had the word 'old' in front of it. Someone I know, a friend I made in Asia, Jeff Wong, said that there is only one real test for how much you love something -- whether or not you can let something go. On that note I am not sure I loved all that stuff but I do know that all of it came out of me, and if I really want to find it I know that I need only look inside.

I feel good about that. I have no regrets.

I also did a lot of running around yesterday. Running errands here and there is great when you have a driver's license again, but it is doubly fun when you have a co-pilot.

(Enter Tom, passenger side door)



We sometimes fight over who gets to drive, but he always loses. Whenever I bring up the point that I have thumbs and he doesn't, it's no contest.
So, he looks out the window and gives me the silent treatment,...




but eventually he comes around.

Today we pulled this incredibly old couch out of the hay loft of the barn. I estimated it was made circa 1900. We discussed it and if anything deserved to be restored, it was this piece of furniture. After getting it out, Tom and I took it to the storage barn down the road where some of the furniture will stay for the winter.



THINGS THAT HAVE DISTURBED ME SINCE COMING HOME:
1. Finding KY in the bathroom cupboard, and it ain't mine!
2. Seeing people in town wearing clothes that went out of style in 1985
3. Washing dishes that I know we aren't taking with us
4. Seeing my cousin Jennifer (we're the same age) and her 7-year-old twin boys

Peace

The last few days...

I haven't written much for the last few days. I have been ill and have not been entirely inspired to write. This is partly due to a bit of sadness, a bit of depression, a bit of lethargy, and a bit of homesickness. (Yes, J.K., I miss home -- I miss Asia!) Another reason for all this is family.

A wise person once said "We choose our friends; our family is chosen for us". Without disparaging anyone (none of my family read this anyway!) I'd like to comment on family and the odd position we find ourselves in when we return home to them. Being out in the world has been incredibly good for me. I have learned how to give people the benefit of the doubt and not assume I know their words before they speak them. I have also learned to speak softly and firmly when needs be and not rant at someone when I am dissatisfied, and I know that many people in the world will stop and listen. I have become a man, self-assured, confident, unafraid of the reactions of others. Family does not necessarily do these things for us, and does not let us be the kind of people we are with the rest of the world. With family, it is easy to fall into old and unproductive habits.

As many people may know (though I am sure not all do) my biggest fear/source of anxiety/pet peeve/annoyance is when others do not pay attention to me, that is when I am ignored, discarded, or worse -- disregarded! It hurts me. It hurts me in a way nothing else can. It is, perhaps, a failing, perhaps a vulnerability. This is my 'kryptonite'. And, though Superman could change, and grow, and develop through his multitude of adventures, he was always felled by kryptonite -- the thing that affected him and no one else. I realise now that we all have our own personal kryptonite, and like Superman it is often something that originated from the place where we started. It came from home.

When I work here on the farm, I get it. I get the kind of discussion that I unconsciously loathe and am not used to getting -- people who talk to me without looking at me, those who talk about me as though I am not there. Now to be clear, I hold no ill will against anyone. They all talk to each other that way, I am not special -- it is not like anyone hates me. (Kryptonite was just a rock after all; it never hated Superman.) Regardless, it still hurts and the hardest part of being home suddenly smacks itself in my face: resisting the temptation to react to this and become someone I stopped being years ago.

They say you can never go home.
A part of me prays that is true.