(no subject)
Hi friends,
being out of practice with an online journal... makes it hard. Sounds like I'm just typing to a mass of electricity. I don't know.
I've been working, and I like it. I am probably some form of workaholic. I don't have a life. I work and eat and go home where I work some more and then I go to sleep only to wake up and work. Not such a bad life. It's good when you like the work you're doing.
I've been reading on the train to work. Which gives me a nice 30 minutes each way. My reading is pretty meager this summer, but at least I'm doing it.
1. The Unbearable Lightness of Being, Milan Kundera (finally finished after like... 3 years)
2. some short stories by Salinger
3. 3/4 of atonement which... just kind of became a little trashy I don't know
4. Redwall, Brian Jacques
5. Of Mice and Men, Steinbeck (which was great!)
6. Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, Robert Pirsig (Also great, and strangely thrilling)
7. I'm in the process of reading The Devil to Pay in the Backlands by Joao Guimaraes Rosa whose works are nearly impossible to get ahold of
And that's it.
Do I understand this country? A little. More than foreigners.
Do I like this country? I think I do. But sometimes, people here disgust me. And I hate them. But then I remember the whole world is pretty disgusting. And anyway, I'm just a little duckweed.
Or maybe we just miss things we don't have at present. Like my sudden longing for Shanghai. Why Shanghai?
The memories of free times.
And I think it must be the memories that we long for. I miss Bedok Reservoir Rd, the scent of rust on my forehead, and the incessant wind. In other words, my childhood.
I'm not sure.
being out of practice with an online journal... makes it hard. Sounds like I'm just typing to a mass of electricity. I don't know.
I've been working, and I like it. I am probably some form of workaholic. I don't have a life. I work and eat and go home where I work some more and then I go to sleep only to wake up and work. Not such a bad life. It's good when you like the work you're doing.
I've been reading on the train to work. Which gives me a nice 30 minutes each way. My reading is pretty meager this summer, but at least I'm doing it.
1. The Unbearable Lightness of Being, Milan Kundera (finally finished after like... 3 years)
2. some short stories by Salinger
3. 3/4 of atonement which... just kind of became a little trashy I don't know
4. Redwall, Brian Jacques
5. Of Mice and Men, Steinbeck (which was great!)
6. Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, Robert Pirsig (Also great, and strangely thrilling)
7. I'm in the process of reading The Devil to Pay in the Backlands by Joao Guimaraes Rosa whose works are nearly impossible to get ahold of
And that's it.
Do I understand this country? A little. More than foreigners.
Do I like this country? I think I do. But sometimes, people here disgust me. And I hate them. But then I remember the whole world is pretty disgusting. And anyway, I'm just a little duckweed.
Or maybe we just miss things we don't have at present. Like my sudden longing for Shanghai. Why Shanghai?
The memories of free times.
And I think it must be the memories that we long for. I miss Bedok Reservoir Rd, the scent of rust on my forehead, and the incessant wind. In other words, my childhood.
I'm not sure.