Who will break, and fix, it with me?

Living grows round us like a skin
To shut away the outer desolation
For if we clearly mark the furthest deep
We should be dead long years before the grave
But turning around within the homely shell
Of worry discontent and narrow joy
We grow and flourish
And rarely see the outside dark that would confound our eyes.

Some break the shell.

I think that there are those that push their fingers through the brittle walls
And make a hole
And through this cruel slit
Stare out across the cinders of the world with naked eyes
They look both out and in
Knowing them selves and too much else beside.

[The Shell by Molly Drake]

Pretty damn good, actually.

You used to be so amused
At Napoleon in rags and the language that he used
Go to him now, he calls you, you can't refuse.

You said you'd never compromise
With the mystery tramp, but now you realize
He's not selling any alibis
As you stare into the vacuum of his eyes
And ask him, "do you want to make a deal?"

You used to ride on the chrome horse with your diplomat
Who carried on his shoulder a Siamese cat
Ain't it hard when you discover that
He really wasn't where it's at
After he took from you everything he could steal.

How does it feel
To be on your own
With no direction home
Like a complete unknown
Like a rolling stone?

[Like a Rolling Stone :: Bob Dylan]

Every time I visit my grandmother, I leave with a knot in my stomach. I cannot, absolutely cannot, bring any boy home who isn't Chinese.

Shit.

BECAUSE THIS MUST BE DONE

- 2008 -

In her witching hour, she finds me silent and dead inside.

Turning back from the gate, a little smile garnished my contented spirit. A lush garden, lit by lamps that mimic the stars, the flowers sighing scents of jasmine and hibiscus, and living room love light, spewing forcefully through the front doors, assaulting the haunting night.

I collect the glasses from the table, musing about how every party finds a broken bottle somewhere. The thoughts barely leave through the back door of my mind as a bottle of root beer slips from my mother's hands, scattering glass everywhere. A deep red spot wells up on the sole of my foot.

2008 was quite possibly, the best year of my life. A new start to law school, a new programme, a sense of home growing deep in within my heart. New friendships, new spaces. And then there's Asia: my home, my sense of being, the giver of my life, my identity and purpose. India, where I loved and let love, where I hated and learned to hate myself, and then healed, where Glen promsied to love me forever, and I found heaven on an earth spinning within its own hell. And then family, (who made me swear that I wouldn't blog about them) - of Prague and Frankfurt and 7 hour busrides, pasta and 2 am conversations laughing about our reality tv shows, for letting me laugh at them.

2008 died quietly. Mostly because of fleeting pensive thoughts that, while momentary, pressed me deep into my bedsheets. Deeply.

Hello 2009. You were birthed in restlessness. You bring pensive thoughts. You will not be as warm as 2008, but you will be strong and good and pure. You will teach me many things, and I will be ready for you.

Come on Hannah, conviction not convenience, dignity not desperation. And of course you can't know these things because they were made to be unknown. So just relax and be good.

I need to get out of myself, and get some fresh air.