Boredom's end

As of today, I'm moving to Montreal to start my new job there. New posts will be few and far between on this site for a while.

Where is he now? redux

Like so many others these days, I am unemployed. It's boring, frustrating, lonely, and humiliating. But things could be far, far worse.

I am staying for free with my parents in Ottawa while I look for work. I have no income, but my expenses are very low, and there are good job prospects because the federal government is based here. I have no family to support, no fixed lease or mortgage to pay, no car payments, and no high-interest debt, so I don't need to work a low-wage job in the interim (although I do have one I can fall back on).

So far, I've been following the same script as I did in Vancouver: cook and clean to earn my keep, job hunt during the day, exercise, phone my friends, and read library books. After 6 months of job hunting, I'm really running out of ideas, so I'm down to 4-5 hours a week of that. I decided that I need to do something new before I lose my mind, so I'll start volunteering, studying Russian, taking aikido classes, and pursuing my research project. If this recession gets worse I may be un- or underemployed for quite a while, and I need to find some fulfillment and balance.

How I spent my summer vacation

I've been in Vancouver just under five months now. My objectives here were straightforward: find a good job, reconnect with distant family, and in the meantime, frugally enjoy myself. I'm glad I decided to come here; but I still haven't found a job, and my savings won't last forever, so the time has come for me to move back east. I can job hunt in a larger market, see friends and family... and stay rent-free with my parents until I find a proper job.

I won't bore you with reminiscences of my time here. But I didn't want it to pass away completely unmarked either.

So long, Vancouver, and thanks for all the fish.

Seeing life through black-coloured glasses

It's a Friday night, and I'm sitting on my bedroom floor in the darkness. I've been here a while, and in the diffuse light of my clock radio I can trace the outline of all my possessions. The world outside my window is darker still, deep space meets Baycrest Drive. I don't know what I expect to find, but I keep sitting, looking around in the darkness at my tiny and transient sliver of real estate.

I've believed since childhood that I have exceptional night vision because I can move in shadows as easily as in light. (When others are around, of course, I keep the lights on.) Lately I'm not so sure--perhaps it's not a sign of physical acuity but of unusual willingness to forgo colour and comfort and accept a twilit existance. I know I suffer from mild depression; some days, life's kaleidoscope of events, people, and relationships fades to the emotional equivalent of the hazy and menacing silhouettes I see before me. And indeed, I treat a darkened soul the same way I treat a darkened room: I boldly (or stubbornly) go about my business in spite of collisions with the unseen. I remember how things were before darkness fell, and that is my map to navigate my new obscure and shapeless surroundings.

Ending a depression is not as easy as flipping a light switch. Even so, I sometimes feel that I haven't really tried. I seem to have a minor flagellant ethic, a buried conviction that I deserve to suffer for the sins of others. I don't know if I should accept that as part of who I am, fight against it as a self-destructive character flaw, or ignore it as a small price to pay for living on this beatiful but imperfect Earth.

Still rage against the heart

I keep a placid existence in this bright and fierce world, partly from my lack of imagination and partly out of emotional self-protection. I strive and fight for life, without fear and without joy. Once, a liv passerby cut right through me, through my armour and artifice to my very self. She is far and away on rivers of heartbeats now, but the colour she planted in my shadow still shows up the seams and lends tears to my dry soul.

I look behind and see no flowers grow from my tears. The dust ahead breathes promise of new colours where none should be, yet always I shut my eyes and sleep to forget the dawn.

Where is he now?

Since I came back to Canada, I've been in Vancouver looking for work. I can't get a permanent place until I know where my work will be--it may not even be in Vancouver. I'm staying with my aunt and uncle and their (mostly) adorable young kids.

From foreground to background: Noah, Tomoki, and Kenjiro MacMartin.

Closed set

Today I put everything I own in this world into one room and sorted it. Passing judgement on the artifacts of your past definitely leads to some soul-searching.

I'll leave it at that for now. I'm willing to bare my soul to the world, but there are limits.

Cold comfort

On lean afternoons, four pieces fly apart. Throughout and soft, they bring composers glory, leaving others cold. This champion of Homer, never still, gently strokes a baby's cheek yet cuts a striking figure down to size.

By nature's airy messenger we share each breath, each yawn, each shout, each sigh. Who could ask for more?

Aside

I originally intended to use this space to assemble and field-test new ideas and opinions. However, I find myself unexpectedly reluctant to do so--as someone who is used to the thoroughness and nuance of academia, a one-page exposition seems flippant or even churlish. That’s why I haven't discussed what's really on my mind: our threadbare democracy; pollution of our physical and mental environment; and water, food, and energy security. I hope to give these the attention they deserve, but until I overcome my timidity, I'll stick to peripheral topics.

Ещё раз для русских

Bот первая страница моего э-памфлета. Мне некогда переводить каждую на русский язык, а мне кажется, что может быть эта поинтересует читателям.

Здравствуйете мир!

Меня зовут «Любимый Миллионами». Сейчас я малоизвестный аспирант на инженерном факультете в Монреале. Через несколько недель я уеду и начну новую жизнь (поэтому я не знаю как долго я буду продолжать писать Вам). Пожалуйста, не думайте, что я эгоцентричный отклонянный любитель из-за картины наверху: я объясну внизу.

Как каждый самиздатель, я хочу место, где я могу искренне сказать свои мысли и чувства… свой собственный микрофон. Наверно никто не прочитает это; мне не нужно узнавание или одобрение. А я надеюсь, что кто-то прочитает и научится больше о человечестве. Ну так, начнём…

Во время своих занятий я встретил женщину снов. Она настоящая Муза c неукротимым духом, очаровательным умом, ангельским лицом и красивой фигурой. Я мог бы целый день петь о ней, но подробности не важные. Тот, кто встретил такую женщину уже понимает, а другие не понимут. Как показывает картину наверху, постоянная любовь не последовала. Мы ещё верные друзья, a она живёт 9000 км от меня в Ближнем Востоке.

В течение прошлых трёх лет я пишу ей писма с кристаллами своих мыслей и чувств. Она редко отвечает и когда мы говорим по телефону мы обычно говорим о неважных вещах. Она говорит, что она любит мои писма, и я писал так долго, потому что так я чувствовал себя близкo от неё. А недавно я стал неуверенным: может быть, вредно мне оставаться так исключительным к кому-то, с которым у меня нет будущего. Поэтому я создал этот сайт: таким образом, кто-нибудь, который интересуется, может знать, чтó я думаю. Символическо я представляю себя открытым миру. Хотя сайт создан благодаря неё и наверно она в публике, моя возлюбленная не его тема. Отныне я вуду обогащенный любовью a не стеснённый. Прозвище «Любимый Миллионами» тихо признаёт, что мало знает или любит меня… но эти стоят весь мир.

Немедленно я подиду к микрофону. «В действии ли микрофон?...»

Jello Ganges

This experiment in exhibitionism/mental spelunking is a lot trickier than I expected. My thoughts are a churn of suspicions, samples, and silhouettes, and they refuse to organize themselves into a coherent facade. I can readily describe superfluous, superficial impressions, but my own handiwork is coded in an arcane pattern that defies translation. I may choose to lay down my pen rather than choose between irrelevance and incoherence.

A Manifesto for clean livin'

Lately, I've been left with relatively little to do. With most of my friends dispersed to distant lands, I spend my newfound spare time in solitude. I've withdrawn from the world of daylight and movement to do some weeding and pruning in the gardens of my mind (hence this blog). My musings are probably unintelligible to outside readers, but I'll articulate them as best I can.

These days I feel like a well-educated drifter. I withdrew from my social and community groups because I know I'll be leaving town soon, and I now realize that those were the major anchor connecting me to Montreal. I still enjoy living here, but Montreal just doesn't feel like home anymore.

If all goes well, by August I'll begin a new life out west. I'll start with a clean slate, although no doubt my calendar and address book will soon be full again. I decided that before I go I should create a modus vivendi, an ethical framework to follow as I adjust to my new surroundings. I would never impose a code of behaviour on others (except my own children), but I think a personal code of behaviour would be beneficial. I want to find a way to enrich my life while enriching my community. In other words, I've been pondering the age-old question: What is the good life?

Material goods don't have much to do with goodness or happiness, but I'll address them briefly. I'm quite minimalist, if not ascetic: the less possessions I have, the better. I'd like to do without a car, home computer, TV, robot butler, etc. for as long as possible. I make an exception for art and literature plus major labour-saving devices like a washer/drier. Some say a good life is one of simplicity, so I have a head start in that respect.

Regarding intangible matters, I've decided upon three overarching goals: (1) to support a happy and prosperous family; (2) to contribute to the culture and scholarship of my community; and (3) to fight against injustice. Obviously I’ll also do things I enjoy—spend time with friends, read, study martial arts, etc.—but I want these rules to help me live an ethical life. I'll address them one by one.

(1) For some reason, getting married and raising a family are very important to me. It seems to me that is a fundamental responsibility of adulthood. I don't know anything about parenting, or even about maintaining a stable relationship, so the details on this are decidedly fuzzy. Nonetheless, I feel it is important enough to list first... I can always sus out the details later.

(2) I'm an academic at heart. Scientific and artistic scholarship is perhaps mankind's greatest achievement, and I would be remiss if I didn't contribute to it. I also feel that those who can appreciate scholarship are richer for it, so insofar as possible I should help make it accessible to the public. If I had the time and money, I could organize free movie screenings, lectures, performances, exhibitions, etc. (Who am I kidding... I'll probably just donate money to the local library and call it a day.)

(3) There is a lot of exploitation and injustice in the world, sometimes transitory but usually endemic or institutional. This could be social, environmental, economic, political, or some variant thereof. This makes life needlessly harsh for many people and also keeps them from contributing to society to their fullest potential. Most forms of injustice have a half-life of years or decades, so I won't “heal the world” in my lifetime, but it's still important to carve out justice wherever I can. I adopt the maxim that "the personal is the political"—if healthy relationships are created on a local scale, then society becomes that much healthier in the aggregate.

To make a long story short, I want to bring more beauty into the world. I don’t mean to create works of art—I don’t have the talent for that—but rather to reshape the tangible and intangible world itself into a more beautiful and healthful form. If I can do that, then I’ll consider my life worthwhile.

I am your pamphleteer

(tip-'o-the-hat to The Weakerthans)
Hello world!
Allow me to introduce myself: I am Beloved by Millions, currently a lowly engineering student in Montreal. In a few weeks I will graduate and up anchor (so I make no promises about future content). Please do not assume from my letterhead that this blog is the self-absorbed bellyaching of a jilted lover—you will see in a moment why I chose this emblem and moniker. Those who abhor talking about “feelings” can skip to a more substantive entry, "Plastic is good for you."

Like most pamphleteers (“bloggers” nowadays), I want a way to pour my heart out, a microphone that no-one can take away from me. If I have an audience of zero, so be it; I don’t need anyone’s recognition or approval. But I would like to think someone out there will read my words and learn a little more about the human condition. So here goes…

In the course of my studies, I met the woman of my dreams. She is an honest-to-god Muse, with an indomitable spirit, a fascinating mind, the face of an angel, and the body of a beauty queen. I could sing her praises all day, but the specifics aren’t important—I’m certain some of those reading have met the man or woman of their dreams, so they know how I feel. To those who haven’t, there is nothing I can say to convey it. As you might have gathered by my broken-heart letterhead, she and I did not live happily ever after. Although we remain close friends, these days she lives 9000 km away in the Middle East.

In the 3 years we've been apart, I’ve written her dozens of blog-style dispatches containing a crystallization of my thoughts and feelings. She rarely writes back, and when we speak on the phone we generally talk about superficial matters. She says that she loves to read them, and I continued to do so for so long because that way I could feel close to her again. Recently, though, I’ve had second thoughts: it’s probably unhealthy to be so emotionally exclusive towards someone I have no romantic future with. So that’s why I started this site: this way anyone who is interested can find out what I am thinking. It symbolically marks my entry into a wider world. Although it is dedicated to her, and she is probably among its audience, my inamorata is not the subject of this blog. I am enriched by my love for her, but I no longer feel constrained by it. My handle “Beloved by Millions” is a tacit admission that neither this blog nor its author are beloved by more than a select few… but those few make all the difference!

So without further ado, I will step up to the mic. “Is this thing on...?”