It is now another year, eh? Nothing feels so near yet far concurrently. In time it is getting further, but the feelings and reflections remain and continue to grow. No, I would be lying to admit that the feelings are always close or near hand; but the proximity of the feelings, whenever they emerge, is always painfully acute and heighten my senses. Its being both near and far; the paradox of proximity and distance is inexplicable yet true. The other day I tried to explain to a friend the idea of the Holy Trinity, that it is both Three and One at the same time; I guess it can only be as confusing. What’s life except for series of paradox and contradictions that often befuddles logic, yet remains true to the heart? Logic is extremely important, but we are limited by our existence and the course of human history is rarely rested on logic. (If that was true, there would be a lot less conflict in the world, no?)
The thought and episodic memory has faded to the far regions of my thoughts, but nothing feels as vivid or as enabling in the realm of the living. Enabling is not the correct word either; but the awareness has yanked and pushed me to the forefront of appreciating and valuing life – our current state of non-mortality, the suffering and contribution of life, and being (becoming?) that is captured by Caro Emerald, of “love, lust, and paradise.”
What a beautiful combination; we are all human, mind and body.
Here is what happened to me last year. I watched “the Man without a Past.” It is the sort of movie that I would recommend to you, and probably bug/force you enough to watch it; and you would give me the nonchalant response of “cool beanz” or something like that. You never age, that is probably the language that I will continue to associate you with.
I just realized how little we wrote to each other. No, I am not bemoaning not the quality or length of our communication; but the medium. Our medium that was mostly living together, phone calls, or instant messaging when MSN was still the mainstay. Correspondence in lengthy and well though-out letters would be nice, no? I find it wonderful in how much we both read and write, considering that our household and extended families are never avid readers. It was never planned nor laid out, but we coincide in our propensity for language and both love language not as a means, but often as ends (though I would still rank philosophy higher.)
I also set foot on the old country this past year. I was in the Czech Republic, and would’ve bought you souvenirs no less – they have a cute little mole, Krtek, which has been a product under communist rule now turned consumerist-souvenirist. It was interesting to visit a place that has impressed me so much, and the Czech people continue to amaze me – not their development or technology or ease of access, but the resilience of their people and certain humour, or perhaps routine and normal things that to me becomes an oddity. In the past I mentioned that if I did not visit Europe before thirty I might commit suicide – at least I don’t have to uphold that statement now.
It is easier to write well a research essay than writing something close to one’s heart. When I try to write what is closest to me, in me, I always am at a loss for words, that I am not articulate enough, my word choices are horrible and they do not completely express what I think. But if you read this, you will probably understand what I mean, or at least what I have meant to say.
We should write more. We could write more.