A Tropical Refresher

I am astutely aware that I've neglected this blog for quite some time now. You see, it is quite difficult to brainstorm what to write, and coupled with the fact that this site has no true focus or specificity, I find it takes more energy to merely start than to actually compose. But obviously, I have started again. My soul yearned to put down the narrative pieces of my day, and I fear there is no better place to do so than here, where I essentially have no parameters to what I post—for better or for worse.

A few days ago, I was invited by a relative to join them at a water park a few cities away. At first, I politely yet adamantly declined. Water parks aren't necessarily how I envisioned spending the last part of my summer, and less was I intrigued after coming back from such a dreamy time in Kauai. Although I declined, I was greeted by a text message later that evening saying that they had already bought the ticket. Now practically forced to say yes, I convinced myself that it might be an interesting way to spend the day.

Once we were on the road, my relative informed the that a friend of my younger cousin was to meet us there. It was apparently supposed to be a surprise, but I'm sure both of them knew each other was coming.

I hadn't known. I thought that, upon hearing this, I'd be awkwardly jostled between a "surprise" playdate with two people I hardly knew, but I can say now that this wasn't true. Everything was fine. Besides, I'm comfortable being alone anyway. 

They arrived shortly after us. It was she, her mother, and her younger sister. Immediately they wanted to merge into the lazy river, so without even having a say I joined them (my three cousins, plus the friend and her sister). The water was so shallow that I waded through the entire course like I was walking on a track. Maybe it was in my head, but the water—although technically blue—looked slightly murky.

The friend exchanged little words with me, and once we exited the river, the two went off to ride the tall slides. They invited me to come with them, but it was a hard pass; I hate the feeling of roller coasters.

It was then that I was completely on my own, left to wander aimlessly through the park. It was strange. I glanced at so many people in a fascinating middle space between attractions or pools, where they walked in anticipation for the next hit of adrenaline. The high from their previous activity still lingered on their faces. They walked in a line, laughing and talking with pink-tinged cheeks as their faces slowly became morphed into one semi-consistent set of people. Don't be mistaken. I did not adapt a "main character" mindset where everyone around me was merely a non-playable character (to put it into my generations terms). I was actually unconventionally interested in nearly everyone's business. I wanted to know what they spoke about, if they lived near, and who they were. Despite my curiosity, however, the image of the countless faces did little to reduce my growing feeling of isolation. Plus, all the walking—and not really getting on any attractions—was making me tired, so eventually I retreated to our spot to sit and think.

I hardly got a few minutes to sit when, out of nowhere, the entire group came back to the seats. The two girls look liked they were enjoying themselves, but they said they had only been able to ride one slide. The line was that long? My relative asked where I'd been. I told them I was in the lazy river (I took another trip there in the midst of my wandering to float away like a lazy, thoughtful bum). Great, great.

We all agreed that we were hungry, so we headed toward the only "restaurant" in the park. Boy, was it expensive. As I was collecting condiments and napkins, the friend decided to exchange more dialogue with me.

"So, you're going to college?"

I nodded slowly.

"You drive?"

Nodded slowly.

"What car do you drive?"

"Honda," I muttered.

"Do you have a girlfriend?"

No.

Obviously not. "Oh" was the only thing she said, and with that, the conversation was over.

We ate at our spot in the heat, but I was too hungry to even think anymore. The girls complained that they couldn't get their drink because there was too many bees flying around. They were right: the bees swarmed the fountain like madmen, desperate for the smallest drop of soda. That made sense.

Once we finished eating, the girls wanted to go on more slides, so I left the group again to do my own thing. I found myself in a line for a significantly smaller slide. Despite this embarrassing choice, the view from above was incredible. I could see all the tiny figures crawling across the paths of the park, and looking out past the grounds were the freeways and streets that fed into this surprisingly isolated spot. I leaned against the warm, sun-baked railing, admiring the view and the quiet, when eventually I was standing just in front of the green slide. It was my turn! My heart fluttered in childish excitement. Of course teenagers can still enjoy water slides. Down I went, settling into the shock of the cold water. Down, down. Inside the slide is perhaps the only time you truly get to yourself with almost no noise besides the sound of rushing water. So this was how I was meant to enjoy my last days of summer.

Upon reaching the bottom, all of the clammer returned, and I was taken out of my short moment of peace. I continued to ride the smaller slides, ironically reveling the lines more than the slide itself. I picked up on a few interesting conversations between families and friends, but unfortunately I cannot remember what was said verbatim to jot them down. 

Towards the end of the day, I went to the wave pool with my cousin and her friend as the final thing to do. The disc jockey was long gone by this point, so all the only noise that filled the air was the sounds of everyone's chatting, the sloshing of the water, and the occasional buzzer that signaled the start of the waves. The waves rocked me up and down in an extremely rhythmic and predictable pattern, each with a mechanically equivalent force and height. In other words, it was nothing like the real ocean. I remained stolid in the pool, even as everyone else seemed overwhelming amused by them. I missed the pristine waters of Poipu, gardens of green, symbols of my passion. 

After it was all over, all over, I was instantly and totally longing to go back already. 

The Town

Koloa was—is—a very cute little town. It's obvious that many other people around the States agree, for it is quite crowded during the summertime. I believe I've been there many times when I was young, but even with what hazy memories I have left, I know it didn't used to be so crowded. But nevermind this. No matter how many people are there, Koloa's charm is much the same—if not better. It's laid out in a line, with one margin having virtually nothing but trees and grass space, and the other side having some of the buildings raised on stilts. Along the Poʻipū road side is the famous fish market, and heading North towards Koloa road is where I think it begins to look like that the very cute old town. Unsurprising! A popular little town with so much history, in the southern side of the garden isle that's relatively close to Best Beach, it's no wonder I now think of it as an alternate snapshot of those dreamy towns in Lolita.  Except for the fact that it obviously isn't on the mainland, Koloa is as distortedly reflective to Kasbeam or Elphinstone as my new experiences and readings will allow it to be. That is, a lot.

Summer Saturday and Sunday

Saturday morning runs are the absolute best. Once I turn off the side street, the neighborhood seems to come alive again. Children are playing at the nearby park or riding their bikes, and couples are walking their dogs with a coffee in hand. As I zip by the houses, a sudden, strong smell of pancakes and fried bacon lingers for a few moments. It always catches me off guard (in a good way), and I like that I don't know what house it comes from. That alone makes it worth it, especially since I never get these smells on any other day of the week.

Then Sunday comes around. And it really, really reminds me of this poem by Louis MacNeice.

Sunday Morning

Down the road someone is practising scales, 
The notes like little fishes vanish with a wink of tails, 
Man's heart expands to tinker with his car 
For this is Sunday morning, Fate's great bazaar; 
Regard these means as ends, concentrate on this Now, 

And you may grow to music or drive beyond Hindhead anyhow, 
Take corners on two wheels until you go so fast 
That you can clutch a fringe or two of the windy past, 
That you can abstract this day and make it to the week of time 
A small eternity, a sonnet self-contained in rhyme. 

But listen, up the road, something gulps, the church spire 
Open its eight bells out, skulls' mouths which will not tire 
To tell how there is no music or movement which secures 
Escape from the weekday time. Which deadens and endures.

Seriously, these Saturday and Sunday mornings won't last forever. If the following Monday isn't already dreadful enough, then surely the passage of time to our deaths is! 

I love the line: "Regard these means as ends, concentrate on this Now,". Sure, we can do these great things to achieve something down the road, but what I think is more important is to enjoy the present and live in the moment. I could run intensely to train for a marathon, but I'm gonna continue to enjoy my morning runs.

Then comes the line: "A small eternity, a sonnet self-contained in rhyme." Just like a sonnet, the Sunday morning feels perfect and whole and like it could last forever, away from our life... Cue the song "Perfect Day" from Legally Blonde. Saturday and Sundays really do feel like this song sometimes. I've talked about the freshness of Saturday mornings with coffee in my In-N-Out mug writing in this blog. 

But then..

"how there is no music or movement which secures / Escape from the weekday time."

Oh god. No amount of morning runs, coffee, sleeping in, pancake breakfasts, reading in the sun, sitting in the grass at the park, or ANY other pleasant activity in which we live in the moment can save us from the 

"weekday time". That is, Monday and its depressing routine. Or wait. Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, and ALL of the shit we do during those days. Work, school, chores, meetings, and other mandatory things that are ultimately aging us and leading us until the day we die.

Then the final line: "Which deadens and endure". 

Time is slowly killing us, but will last forever and do the same to the next generation of lives way after we've died.

While this poem may sound grim, it's not entirely saying bad things. Basically, we can enjoy the Saturday and Sunday mornings. Living in the moment and enjoying life's pleasantries is good for our soul. The "Perfect Day" does exist, but it is not forever.... Cue the poem by Robert Frost: "Nothing Gold Can Stay". Just kidding. 

But really. We should actually live in the moment while we can. 

Grab a coffee, grab a book, and let's escape reality for a bit in the sun. Monday's a whole 24 hours away.

Unable to Sleep

I am writing this because, for whatever reason, I am unable to fall asleep. I blame it on the temperature in my room. It's the best worst time of year again, so that means drowsily sunny afternoons and stuffy nights. Isn't it so irritating when you have the ceiling fan on to the max and the windows wide open, but the room still remains hot because there isn't even the slightest draft outside to pull the cold air in? Believe me, it's cool outside, but sometimes the air just doesn't want to settle inside the room. More annoyingly, some nights it will, and it's one of the greatest feelings in the world as you're lying awake in bed. Then, the very next day, the temperature will be lower during the peak heat hours but hotter at night because there's no breeze. I was thinking idly about running a large tower fan pointed straight at my pillow all night, but it's way too noisy and wastes electricity.

Obviously, I have little to complain about right now. The temperature during the day has actually been quite mild for summer, which only leads me to believe that August will be hellish. I fuckin' hate August. Every year, without fail, it seems to have the absolute worst weather of the year, and for most people it's when the looming return of school begins to creep up. I know people complain about the winter months (especially January), but I love these months for the early darkness, and I never have sleepless nights in the winter. 

Writing this has not made me any more sleepy or ready to crash, so now I'm going to sit here uncomfortably in this chair until I prefer to lay in my bed, and then hopefully that satisfaction of not sitting straight up will put me to sleep. 

Welcome to Monkey Land

Last week I visited the brilliant San Diego Zoo, one of the many iconic landmarks of SD and California as a whole. As I walked through the pathways in the Lost Woods approaching Panda Ridge, I couldn't stop thinking about the poem on the AP Literature exam titled "London" by Manmohan Ghose. In all of its glory, I remembered some of the lines by heart from reading it religiously during the test.

Here it is:

London

Farewell, sweetest country; out of my heart, you roses,

Wayside roses, nodding, the slow traveller to keep.

Too long have I drowsed alone in the meadows deep,

Too long alone endured the silence Nature espouses.

Oh, the rush, the rapture of life! throngs, lights, houses,

This is London. I wake as a sentinel from sleep.

Stunned with the fresh thunder, the harsh delightful noises,

I move entranced on the thronging pavement. How sweet,

To eyes sated with green, the dusty brick-walled street!

And the lone spirit, of self so weary, how it rejoices

To be lost in others, bathed in the tones of human voices,

And feel hurried along the happy tread of feet.

And a sense of vast sympathy my heart almost crazes,

The warmth of kindred hearts in thousands beating with mine.

Each fresh face, each figure, my spirit drinks like wine,

Thousands endlessly passing. Violets, daisies,

What is your charm to the passionate charm of faces,

This ravishing reality, this earthliness divine?

O murmur of men more sweet than all the wood's caresses,

How sweet only to be an unknown leaf that sings

In the forest of life! Cease, Nature, thy whisperings.

Can I talk with leaves, or fall in love with breezes?

Beautiful boughs, your shade not a human pang appeases.

This is London. I lie, and twine in the roots of things.

Now I think I know why I couldn't stop thinking about it. 

I left the group I was with almost immediately after we arrived at the zoo, excited by my solitude and readiness to explore. Ghose mentions "Farewell, sweetest country;", similar to how I was escaping the quiet, lonely suburbs to be reinvigorated in the great city. Before you highlight any contradictions, I don't consider a zoo (no matter how great its replication is) to be synonymous with countryside or nature. 

In the first stanza of the poem, Ghose lyrically bashes the countryside with repetition, listing things he's done that he's disliked ("To long have I drowsed alone... / To long alone endured the silence"). Ironically, the stanza disapproves of the peacefulness of countryside—where many retreat to to escape the busy and stressful city-life. For the rural dweller, however, the grass appears greener in the city.

I especially like the line "Oh, the rush, the rapture of life! throngs, lights, houses..." because, like Ghose, I enjoy the feeling of being surrounded by crowds of people and "raptures of life" that I don't know at all. The feeling of being swallowed by individuals and families walking through the paths of the African Rocks is not something you can easily attain. Just like the occasional child atop a father’s shoulders for a better view...how cute: “Get on my shoulder so you can see.” Ghose personifies the pavement: "I move entranced on the thronging pavement" (referring to the pavement of London streets), as if it gains life, a surge of energy from the "happy tread of feet" of those walking upon it! Indeed, every aspect of the zoo seems to come alive at the flood of people moving through. 

Can this poem get any better? Of course it can. I kept walking alone, making my way up to the polar bears, until I remembered the line: "And the lone spirit, of self so weary, how it rejoices / To be lost in others, bathed in the tones of human voices". Right! I was doing exactly that, admiring the animals alone as I listened in and "bathed" in the family conversations and remarks. Oh, and even in silence, for there was nothing quite like leaning against the railing of the enclosure next to everyone as we stood quietly watching the elephants eat. Somehow, it felt good to be lost in the others voices as I wandered silently from animal to animal.

Walking from place to place, I get to see a new set of faces each step I take: "The warmth of kindred hearts in thousands beating with mine. / Each fresh face, each figure, my spirit drinks like wine, / Thousands endlessly passing."  just love the way Ghose describes the feeling of seeing a new face, because it really does reinvigorate your spirit to know that thousands of others are doing the same.

So I encourage you! Go to a new place with crowds and take it in, enjoy the sites, listen to the "murmur of men more sweet than all the wood's caresses", and light the fire in your life again. The place feels better when enjoyed by many.

After all.....

This is San Diego. I lie, and twine in the roots of things.

No Money Spent

    Today didn't go as planned. After parking in the nearly empty parking lot of the library (I guess I should've figured something wasn't right at this point, but it is a Saturday), I walked to the entrance of the library only to find that it was closed. I was more disappointed than I want to admit, but the library did say it was open online. I had no idea why it was closed. Alas, I headed back to the car without even getting a chance to look at the books with a sullen face. There wasn't anything I could do.

    But it was okay, since I had fun driving back home with the windows down. Instead of spending the day at the library, I took my notebook and paperback to the park to read in nature (which I also thoroughly enjoy as well). 

$$$ → ↓↓↓

    Well, anything happening in school is basically coming to a close as I get ready to graduate (thank god), so tomorrow for one of my last weekends in high school ever I wanted to head to the library the minute it opens. Why? There's a built-in discounted book store in the library where I can hopefully waste a couple bucks buying a few physical books. 

    Oh dear, I said a naughty word, quite a smutty word..."You may well shudder". In all seriousness, I recently bought a paperback copy of Lolita because I've been really invested into the book (yeah, yeah, snicker all you want and call me that.), and only now realized the genuine appeal of physical books. Does it still seem like a waste of money to me? Of course—you're literally paying for paper with ink, and from novels that are easily obtainable for free. Obviously that's not the point, though. The physical book is infinitely more efficient to comb through to look through for passages, and there's something charming about having geography to the text so to speak. Plus, it is satisfying to see your progress through a stack of slowly accumulating pages (for I am in fact a slow reader) rather than a mere percentage. For whatever reason, the book also smells absolutely amazing; I think I've developed an addiction to smelling the inside of the page every time I read. 

    But does this mean I'll stop reading on my computer or Kindle? Definitely not. I still like the fact that the Kindle is able to have any book I want instantly and give all the formatting options. For every other aspect of books, though, I think it's hard to disagree that physical books are just better.

    With that said, I say "hopefully waste" because I'm almost certain that the mini store won't have any of the books I'm looking for, but I guess I'll have to wait and see.