Back to the cold

Holy jesus, it’s freezing in Vancouver, especially relative to California where it was shorts weather.

It’s strange. I don’t feel like I’m home.

Nothing

There’s this urge that comes over me when I’m sitting at home, relaxing, that I shouldn’t be doing it — that I have an assignment to write, or a test to study for. I have to tell myself that it’s okay, and that I’m allowed to for the next four months. I’m allowed to do nothing (if I want, but I’m too motivated to do other things to simply do nothing).

Back in Van

I miss you, Hong Kong.  If I had my way, I’d be yours.

Leaving on a jet plane

China-bound tomorrow!  Not sure if I will be able to blog/update things over there, but I will do my best.  In other news, I finally finished Great Expectations today.  What an excellent, excellent piece of literature.  Loved it.

If I don’t manage to update anything while I’m away, see you all in 3 weeks!

Goodbye kitty

My kitty is leaving tonight.  She’s on my lap at the moment, chilling out.  I’ll miss you, my fuzzle kitty.  See you soon.

So cute!, a photo by icy_snow88 on Flickr.

Sleeping with a Stranger

Sleeping with a Stranger

Perhaps when I was around 7, 8 or possibly 9 years old, for reasons I do not recall, my family was not in the house for a few days.  They must have gone on a mini-vacation or something and I was either sick or didn’t want to go.  Whatever the reason, I found myself alone.  Except there was a stranger in the house as well: my father.

I had never been close to my father and currently have very few memories of him and I together, even fewer of them are good memories.  When my mother and my sisters left, because I would be sleeping alone, he told me that on the last day, I could come upstairs and spend the night with him in bed.  Naturally, I thought this to be a strange idea; I had never slept with my dad (or at least had no recollection of it) and he didn’t seem particularly lonely.  I didn’t even know if he was serious or not. I don’t even remember if my parents were, at the time, still sleeping in the same bed, but I doubt it.

For a few days, we minded our own business.  I probably didn’t see much of him, as usual, and the house must have been oddly quiet.  On the last day, I wandered up to his room with my pillow.  After a few minutes of getting ourselves ready for bed, I climbed in first, feeling awkward.  He turned off the light and crawled in next to me.

And for a while, neither of us moved.  I lay staring at the ceiling before closing my eyes but I couldn’t sleep on my back.  But as much as I wanted to move, I found myself paralyzed.  What if my dad didn’t like that?  What if he got annoyed at my moving?  Wouldn’t I be bothering him trying to sleep?  Eventually, I froze in that position for a long time, on the edge of the bed, until I willed myself to move quickly on my side when I sensed him moving at the same time, so that I wouldn’t be disturbing him.

I would repeat this maneouver several times that night, being extra careful not to wake the stranger sleeping next to me.