time

Xinyi's put up clocks about the room, one along the window sill, another near the sink. Late at night, when she sleeps and the hall falls silent, they tick at each other, each second echoing the first, making a sound like movement.

Usually, I just sit and listen. It's hard to fall asleep when you can actually hear your life growing older.

a summer memory from a september view

Our days Down Under made us energy-aware, so we did not notice it. The dinner table glowed with a natural turquoise light, family banter quickening as the sun died. So we did not notice it until, in the space between sibling laughter, my brother quieted us with a finger. “Listen!” The entire family lapsed into a concentrated silence, heads tipped a bit to the side in an added effort to hear what had caught Daniel’s attention. Silence. A minute hovered, suspended in the utter quiet of a world without electricity.
Outside, the streets shone silver without the muddied-yellow light of the street lamps. My sisters and I slipped silently into the night, settling on the front lawn with blankets to watch the show --- the world had come alive.
Without man’s light, the neighborhood turned to what the sun still gave; runners slip-slapped through the silver, a couple meandered in the blue shadow, and barefoot children danced along the pewter sidewalks. Every sound was muted as if no one dared disturb the natural silence. Naomi hummed softly to my right. Martha watered her newborn flowers. Up the street, night games continued with the joyful shrieks of Kick-the-Can. I began to appreciate this sound, the sound of silence. This true light, the natural state of the world, drew people from their dark homes. With the TV dark and the gentle whirr of the Mac gone, my house dripped with silence. Inside, I knew my mum had lit the candles, the flicker of vermilions and goldenrods fluttering along the kitchen walls. I felt the cool night air take over in the darkness, became aware of the smallest sounds. Without electricity, the senses come alive.
It came back just as quickly as it left us. Complete darkness fell for only a few minutes when the street sprang to attention again, dressed in showy golds and melting yellow. Every house winked back on, the street lamps lit up as a chorus, the porch light behind me illuminated our soft solitude. We gathered up the blankets, silent, as the show ended, and I couldn’t help but wish it happened every night, this fantastic call to arms. The world shook us awake, but only for a moment.

hawaii

true journal entry, saturday april 19th, 2003:

eight o'clock snorkel four sea turtles near death! stalker beach craft fair endangered species anklet pool pool pool west village shop mocha chip/dulce de leche N. hatch individualists! hair cut lizzie (pic) singing on the balcony WHY NOT?

Here's to hoping someone, somewhere, might someday understand me.

word of the day

There's a new word going around: collegiate. Everybody's saying it, don'tcha know? Collegiate, as in "I hate toting all these books around, but it is so collegiate," or, "Meet up for lunch after class? Ah! We're so collegiate!" Buzzword of the month. And I love it.

So I, too, had my collegiate moment, typing away in between morning classes, trying to fit a bagel and some sanity into the bargain as well. I sat amongst the hum of the Terrace, work spread across half a table, furiously adding commas and nixing "to be" verbs from Ian's essay. Being busy, being challenged---it's such a rush.

And so collegiate.

napa

Of course. Of course I go to bed with alarm set and shoes at the ready, wake up to grey skies and unrelenting rain. The hummingbird crystal revolves slowly as my thought turns around this new prospect, catching no light from the dreary scene from the window. I lie still for a long minute, waiting for that determination to hit before sliding the blanket from off my legs, quietly slipping off the air mattress, careful not to wake sleeping siblings. I tighten my ponytail and step down the orange-carpet stairs in my socks, stopping at the bottom to lace up my shoes.
When I turn into the kitchen, grandma is already up with her bran muffin and orange juice and she looks pleased at my attire. With a bright smile and cheerful good morning she's quick to pull a waterproof jacket from the front closet and fits my iPod securely in the hidden pocket before helping me pull it over my head.
On the porch, I hesistate only a moment. The air is fresh, soggy, and the slight summer chill rocks the porch swing with ghost's hand. Chills run involuntarily up my spine and propel me to motion, leaping from the porch steps and into a run.
The first time around, I revel in the rain. I make a game of skipping the puddles, avoiding the marshy city strips. But I can't always make it as the rain falls harder, as the puddles swell to lakes. By Center Street my shoes are soaked through and my shorts are satched; the cold is exhilarating and I have fallen into a steady rhythm. The scratchy whisper of Imogen's music sings of beauty in the breakdown, of that maddening sound and half a mind to throw it all away. When I pass another lone runner, it seems the rain has caught her by surprise and her small Chihuahua is shivering under her arm as she sprints to an open door across the street. The playground is dripping raindrops reflecting the primary colors of the jungle gym metal and, when I reach the top, the rain changes direction, my face chilled through.
By the time I'm back in Jacob's Circuit I fall back onto the sidewalk and turn slowly around the circle until I'm back under the portico. I fall onto the swing and let it rock me back and forth as the day's tears fall all around me, the world wet and wonderful.