Random Occurences = Post

We buried my great-grandmother today. She lived to be 98, and the last few years she has been caged and waiting for death in a home. The service was beautiful. As Margaret spoke of how she remembered her grandparents, I thought about how I remember them. I remember a small apartment full to bursting of books, plants, chinese trinkets, a piano, two birds, candy and stories. Stories, always stories. About Tao Fong Shan and Hong Kong, the war and pranks. When we crossed the threshold we entered another world: a fantasy realm of dull lights, fantastic lacquer boxes, hard couches, ancient tomes and a wise queen, stories always at the ready.

The other part of the family does: speeches always end in loud discussions of details, people hitting each other over the head with what is readily available. I somehow managed to get stuck on a table without a single interesting relative nearby. Between eating and drinking I got very good at parrying monologues about children and grandchildren. Some of the speeches afterwards were a bit long (aren't they always?) and I managed to contain my urge to comment loudly.

Some of my cousins (at least once removed, thank god) have taken a turn for the worse: one turned up in sweatpants – they were, in her defence, black –, another has long, badly-dyed black hair, the third is obese and my brother and I had a bet going on what sex she was, before Father informed us that it was a she. And they're all more alternative than thou. As I looked at them I'm glad I have come to a point where I can enjoy music without identifying with it. They look ridiculous.

I want to travel! I'm going to Montepellier sometime this summer, and I'm lobbying for a trip to Hong Kong. But I want to go to Rome, New York, Africa, Egypt, Shanghai. Perhaps I'll make that my 20th birthdaygift for myself, a trip somewhere? And I want to create something, but what?

Random Occurences = Post

We buried my great-grandmother today. She lived to be 98, and the last few years she has been caged and waiting for death in a home. The service was beautiful. As Margaret spoke of how she remembered her grandparents, I thought about how I remember them. I remember a small apartment full to bursting of books, plants, chinese trinkets, a piano, two birds, candy and stories. Stories, always stories. About Tao Fong Shan and Hong Kong, the war and pranks. When we crossed the threshold we entered another world: a fantasy realm of dull lights, fantastic lacquer boxes, hard couches, ancient tomes and a wise queen, stories always at the ready.

The other part of the family does: speeches always end in loud discussions of details, people hitting each other over the head with what is readily available. I somehow managed to get stuck on a table without a single interesting relative nearby. Between eating and drinking I got very good at parrying monologues about children and grandchildren. Some of the speeches afterwards were a bit long (aren't they always?) and I managed to contain my urge to comment loudly.

Some of my cousins (at least once removed, thank god) have taken a turn for the worse: one turned up in sweatpants – they were, in her defence, black –, another has long, badly-dyed black hair, the third is obese and my brother and I had a bet going on what sex she was, before Father informed us that it was a she. And they're all more alternative than thou. As I looked at them I'm glad I have come to a point where I can enjoy music without identifying with it. They look ridiculous.

I want to travel! I'm going to Montepellier sometime this summer, and I'm lobbying for a trip to Hong Kong. But I want to go to Rome, New York, Africa, Egypt, Shanghai. Perhaps I'll make that my 20th birthdaygift for myself, a trip somewhere? And I want to create something, but what?