tiny step

I felt a bit better after the blog was refreshed, picture was changed, and the previous cheesy title "Second Chance" was taken down. I seem to find myself an exit for my pouring emotions.

On Friday, after sipping glasses of picpoul de pinet, I started texting C. Knowing that he is up in the mountain somewhere in West Virginia, and won't see the messages until Sunday, not really gave me the courage, but more like the peace to tell him my thoughts and feelings. I cannot be interrupted in my thoughts if he cannot reply simultaneously.

I was a bit tipsy, too.

It's became harder for me to tell people my internal thoughts. Not because some of them could be mine or inappropriate, but that - what good comes out of this communication. I've learned from yesterday of self-examination and retrospects, that you don't have to say everything on your mind. I guess it is like - be an effective communicator.

But this thing with C, I was so sick of it. I pondered about what to say and to be eloquent and be nice. I tried not to speak with anger and use structural and not emotional sentences. It was emotionally draining. In the end, I sent 20ish messages and I told him:

he was being selfish; I'm not sure who I am to him; I don't trust him; I don't trust myself; I was naive.
It was disrespectful. I let him hurt me. I disagree with his father's "Only I can hurt me" this crap.

On Sunday, he texted back to say he saw them, thank you for sharing, and he understand it could be difficult for us to be friends. And asked if I want the answers.

I don't know if I want the answers.
What good will the answers bring me.

* * *

This hurt me so deeply because C has became my friend. Someone I deeply trust and could be comfortable around. Unlike the other folks we've been hanging out with lately, I get to be me. There was no purpose other than being friends. I invested in the time and it's like I get nothing in return. I lost all my investment. I like the diversity and another view in life as well. Friends we hang out with lately are homogeneous in professions and past experience. C was different and I really enjoyed it.

And now, what is now?

in the midst of fog - on being alone

I am willing to bet that no one really reads my blog. My recipes, alcohol making, and other handicrafts documentary are far from interesting and useful. Perhaps, it could be save to assume that I can go on and about my deeply troubled mind without intruders and offenders.

The year has been horrific. In July alone, the up and downs of life events torn me. I joke to myself that the reason to start running again, putting the miles in (11 this week, more than the past three months combined), is to anesthetize the pain. That if the muscle soreness and breathless moments outweigh the sorrows and hurting from daily life, I will stop paying attention to them.

It is not yet working, but it just might.

It is loneliness that is bothering me. I have felt solitude but never ever lonely. Yet somehow, somehow, I started to feel lonely. I yarn for the time when I made peace with myself. To find meaning and joy in life, with whatever I have around me. Yet, today I have more than the past years, and ever more empty.

It is as if I plan events to fill up my days but I am not there when I am there. My mind is elsewhere but where? It is a sense of isolation but ever more hoping to connect to people around me. Be trying hard perhaps too hard, to fill the missing piece of my soul. As cheesy as this sounds, this is how I feel.

Perhaps the running is to make me stronger. That I'm sick of the weak and the dependence. That enduring the pain will make me stronger. The pains are my shields to the life around me.

If it hurts enough, maybe I will not feel the woes.

recharging through alone time

After so many weekends of hanging with people going to places doing things, I "took the day off" from friends, families, and obligations to spend the day alone. What felt really good was I had turned down others invitations and did something for myself. It wasn't as if I didn't have friends to meet or things to do, but instead, I choose to do this for myself. And this was important.

I started the day by a 7.5 mile run in Southport. Then I went to the library and picked up a few books and two DVDs. One of the book that I picked up was Adventures of Huckberry Finn. K one day told me about a Mark Twain documentary on PBS. I was all of sudden intrigued.

I debated on going to Harkness State Park and Seaside Sanatorium at Waterford or the art galleries at New Haven. The former is great for taking photography; the latter is great for learning photography. I choose the latter.

I was deeply disturbed by Ernst Ludwig Kirchner (1914)'s Girl in White Chemise. The more I thought about it, the more I feel uncomfortable. The girl with a almost half naked back, on grass with flowers (i.e., garden), on her belly...