b for bug

Waltz with Suy - continued

2009-07-07T21:22:00.004+08:00

Front-right-step,
I chanted in my mind.
Back-left-step,
in my head she danced.

"One, two, three,"
I whispered to her ear.
"One, two, three,"
she drew me to her.

I lost myself,
in her familiar scent.
I lost count,
and traced along her neck.

The arm around my waist,
lovingly led me.
The hand that held my wrist,
I hold on dearly.

Waltz with Suy

2009-07-07T20:56:00.002+08:00

Song just for you.

Song, a little sad, I think.

Three times of crumpled words.

Some notes and all my regrets.

All my regrets, of both of us,

are at my fingertips,

like do, ré, mi, fa, sol, la, si, do.

It's a song of a faded love,

like the one which you used to hum.

Three times, nothing of our lives.

Three times, like this melody.

What remains of both of us

is at the hollow of my voice,

like do, ré, mi, fa, sol, la, si, do.

It's a song in remembrance,

not to forget without saying anything.

Forget without saying anything.

triste

2008-02-25T22:45:00.006+08:00

I have been moody and slightly depressed all day. I made myself listen to Barber's adagio for strings and wrote... a lot.

My friends here come and go, but I still cannot believe Alexis left Beijing... just like that.

exposed

2008-02-25T14:14:00.004+08:00

Creamer's pilot roll came out mostly overexposed. I'll have to spend the next couple months experimenting what suits Creamer well... positives? Negatives? Adjust film ISO speed? Lens filters?

All the pains and overexposed pictures aside, it was still quite a trip.

Thanks to Creamer, I finally used my darkbag for the first time.

hidden dimension of a cello

2008-02-24T16:33:00.001+08:00

A month ago I went to my usual hideout for dinner and live Sitar performance. Somewhere along dinner Marie-Claude showed up at my table and introduced Matt to me. Matt is a writer, and has composed poems that he wants to write music for. Matt wants to have cello in the music.

Over the following week I burned a lot of cash on my cello. For the first time in 8 years I held the bow in my hand, struck the strings with my fingers, and leaned my cello against my chest.

I have lost my bow arm, I have lost my left hand positions, I have lost the ability to sing the tunes I have in my head through my instrument... but it felt good to play again nonetheless. Yes, the aching muscles on my back that I haven't used in 8 years, the hardened skin and relentless pressure my fingers held against the strings, the changes in the shapes of my fingertips - utterly slanted and unsightful, but unmistakenly cellist.

Two weeks later I played with Matt for the first time. Raymond, who performed sitar at my regular hangout, also showed up. After another rehearsal Matt booked a recording studio and scheduled our recording session.

Prior to this I have made 5 recordings with 4 orchestras/ensembles. I have also made speech recordings in state-of-the-art studios. However, yesterday was the first time I had to do a multi-track recording on a solo cello. It was also the first time I had to record solely on improvisation, to a piece of music that has nothing written down.

We did the first run with all three of us playing together in the studio. It was great - the adrenaline rush made us more spontaneous to one another than ever. However when we listened to the track in the control room it became clear that the cello part has to be recorded alone. The cello sound resonated with the equipment and introduced drones, my movement and swaying made it impossible for the Mic to capture even energy.

So I went back to the studio alone. I put on the headphones playing Matt and Raymond's and did my tracks... It was the most surreal experience.

I've always thought with all the time I've spent playing on the cello my body remembers how the bow feels in my hand as it arcos across different strings at different angles and speed, that the fingers on my left hand remember how the strings feel under the tips, and the subtle changes in vibrations on the strings as I press on different notes. I thought I remember how the cello resonates with my body and makes the sides of my knees and my chest go slightly numb.

But back in the studio as I put on the headphones they shut me out from my cello's voice. As hard as I tried the cello's sound was barely audible. I was deaf, and I was lost in voices and lines but my own. I desperately tried to hear what my cello sang but the only way I could do that either in the control room, or through the headphone after a run I made.

I came out feeling rather dejected. Not hearing myself when I played meant the only way I could control my tone and timbre was through my muscle memory, and after 8 years of silence every single ounce of it left my body.

How frustrating. I felt quite helpless in the studio. But at the same time it was fun picking up details of how my cello and I responded to each other, details that I missed when I could hear him. Even though I left the studio with my lines still out of tune... I felt that I have discovered a whole new dimension of my cello.

creamer, please!

2008-02-14T10:52:00.004+08:00

There has been a very long silence since my last rant. Today I will rant no more and announce homecoming of my new family.

Creamer is rock solid and feels very powerful in my hands. Taking pictures with Creamer is a pain... sometimes, and exciting at the same time. How liberating to be able to fit all that goes into your eyes into one picture with such ease. Of course, they all come out (I think... debut server still undeveloped) curved and slightly distorted, but I think that is severely underrated.

a borderline-marginal person that I am

2007-10-25T17:48:00.002+08:00

Quite a few expressed on different occasions that I am adrift, and I am marginal in my values and the lifestyle I pursue, or, in the case of being adrift, the lack of pursuit I make.

Most expressed their thought somewhat dismayed, with a slight hint of disapproval.

Why are these negative traits for most?
Because I want to savour and relish the richness life has to offer?
Because I am not convinced what are valued by most will make me a content individual?

A friend tells me in his country moderation is best, a virtue that should be pursued. But for whose sake is this?

It is interesting that while I am in a country where I am in many ways the opposite from most I feel the least marginal. I lose the point of reference because my own tangent never meet with others', that comparing who I am with others is utterly pointless. Whereas in the US, where people will accept my attitude, they accept me as Alternative.

Even being marginal is so easily dismissed as just being alternative. Oxymoron...

Things are relative, you may say. However I believe truth, beauty and goodness are a matter of conscience, and conscience is absolute. If you see me as collective differences from others and from yourself you may think I am indeed different, and you may think I am unique. But if to you I am but these collective differences, maybe you lack the palette I deserve to be savoured and tasted with.

heartfelt

2007-09-23T22:52:00.000+08:00

Lately I've been touched with a sudden urge to indulge.

I'm ready for a bit of intemperance in my life, or a heartfelt yearning.

I'm a pro

2007-08-07T11:01:00.000+08:00

I played beer pong for the first time last Thursday and took down 5 out of 6 glasses. I should have a job change and see if I can make a living out of it.

in the middle of nowhere

2007-07-17T16:56:00.001+08:00

I told myself that I would spend two years in Beijing to see what I have to see and guage what I can do at this place.

Next month marks the end of two years. It sounds like a good length to come to a conclusion about a place. I did, and I feel ashamed of myself at how confined I've led my life in Beijing.

Last week one of my coworkers commented on my "expat life", which made me feel extremely uncomfortable. I insisted his was an one-sided argument. Over the weekend, however, I spent an afternoon reflecting on things I do, things I do not do, friends I make, and friends I do not make here in China. I drew circles, and put bits of my life in the appropriate ones. In the end I had to agree with him.

I have established a few mutual relationships. They're French, German, Canadian, Korean, American. I have zero Chinese friends. Among the people I interact with here are the smartest from creme de la creme universities, the well-travelled, the noble who devote their lives to ideals and are respected by many, and the rich and powerful. Whom I miss out are 90% of the population - the working class, struggling with weal and woes of life just to make ends meet... I talk to many of them, I want to know them. But something within myself prevents the interaction and relationship from becoming reciprocal.

Maybe I lack the flexibility and the empathetic fiber to belong. With the way I protect myself I can live in many different countries, be exposed to many different cultures... but always observing from the outside.

more about bugsy

2007-07-11T23:02:00.000+08:00

Gentle readers.
It is time I share with you the strengths and weaknesses, the daily forecast and what goes on in the head of... yours truely.

Look on the right

Bugsy's head consists of
60% emptiness/void
35% pleasures
5% lies

Bugsy's score in abilities (out of 100)
Explosiveness - 60
Unexpressed motives - 90
Sound - 15
Senses - 100
Sensitivity - 50

Bugsy's forecast for 7/12/2007:
Chances of Bugsy winning at "hami" - 59%
Chances of Bugsy's senior thinking Bugsy's cute - 27%
Chances that Bugsy is crazy - 61%
Chances of Bugsy floating - 57%
Chances of Bugsy lining up at a register with someone who is "もたつく" (somebody please tell me what this means) - 11%

black box

2007-07-05T23:55:00.000+08:00

Our developer J wrote a tool for our language experts to use.

Tomomi, our Japanese language expert, gave up trying to install the tool and went to our tester R for help:

"R, can you help me out with the black box?" Tomomi asked.

"Black box? What black box?" R asked, I could almost see him wince at the B word - testers and us program managers particularly dislike having anything to do with the term black box.

R went to Tomomi's desk and saw a black box on her display. It was the command prompt...

The tool Tomomi wanted to install has to be done so in the command prompt. Therefore Tomomi did "Run" and typed "cmd." For the first time in her life, Tomomi saw command prompt, aka the black box.

Her cubicle exploded in laughters. We couldn't believe this happened in Microsoft.

... Microsoft did change the way people use computers, and perhaps the way many live.

darjeeling

2007-07-04T09:36:00.000+08:00

I had a very nice cup of darjeeling tea.

It was first flush darjeeling. I like having it in the afternoon. However I'm usually at work during the day and I cannot find a good space/time at work to give it proper appreciation. Therefore, since I bought it in January this has only been the 4th time I've had it.

When I first tasted darjeeling tea I conjured up a mental picture of Darjeeling - Isolated, serene with a homogenized community of simple villagers, mainly consisted of tea farmers. I thought nowhere less pure can home teas so exquisite and delicate.

I'm going to Darjeeling in October. After some research -
Darjeeling is in the lower Himalaya. Darjeeling is where India meets Nepal. Darjeeling is where India meets the Kingdom of Bhutan, the most isolated nation in the world.

Darjeeling is a melting pot of Nepali, Tibetans, Bhutanese and the Sherpas. It is a hot spot of music.

I'm extremely excited.

I've also made up my mind to make my way to Bhutan in 2 years.

a minty sort of day

2007-07-04T09:18:00.000+08:00

I woke up this morning craving for mint sauce.

Weird, isn't it? Craving for condiments instead of food.

I indulged in my cravings for a while and thought of all the excellent vehicles for mint sauce:
- English bangers
- Pork chops
- Lamb chops
- Lamb chops
- ... lamb chops

These gave rise to manifest gluttony. I've decided to have a lot of meat for lunch.
Maybe Korean barbeque.

But what's to be done about mint sauce? I can't seem to find it anywhere in the city.

you like nice?

2007-07-01T12:25:00.000+08:00

Nice is... I'm glad we spent time together, I enjoyed being with you, you're a decent guy. You're nice.

Good is... I wish I could have spent more time with just you, I enjoy feeling different when I'm with you. You are irresistable.

Nice is... I'll call you sometime. Keep in touch. Let's hang out when we have time.

Good is... I want to see you, let's make time. I want to get more of you, I'm hooked. You feel like freedom.

Franco-German Anita

2007-06-27T23:39:00.000+08:00

Do Germans or New Yorkers speak better French in general?
I'm trying to decide if I've made progress or if I'm hopeless at French.

Anita: Je déteste la culture populaire américaine...

Marie-Claude: Oh?

Marie-Claude: You speak just like Carrie Bradshaw!

Anita: Who?

Marie-Claude: Carrie, from Sex and the City.

Anita: Why? Pourquoi?

Marie-Claude: You sound like a New Yorker when you speak French.

Anita: What's that supposed to mean?

Marie-Claude: You know, someone that does not know French but tries to speak it very well.

Marie-Claude: And you don't sound like you're from Germany anymore when you speak French.

what to blog about a blogger

2007-06-24T14:07:00.000+08:00

What sort of person do you think I am, from reading my blog?

There seem to be so many layers and facets about knowing a person - There is knowing him in a social setting, there is knowing him on a 1:1 basis, there is him showing you the whole of him according to his reality, there are his fantasies and dreams and it's up to you whether you will help him achieve or turn your back on in disdain.

There are also his blogs.

Someone that I had considered to be a thoughtful and free-spirited person I later realized to be narrow-minded and judgemental. If it were for the blogs I wouldn't have known...

I'm not sure what point of reference I should use when I interact with this person in the future - from our past conversations or from the blog?

adagio assai

2007-06-14T22:50:00.000+08:00

I was upset and devastated, sitting at the back of the taxi chain smoking on my way home. When I ran out of cigarettes I played Ravel's adagio assai.

The piano solo hits B, I found tears trickling down my cheeks.

The cor anglais starts, I had to stop the taxi so that I could find an empty spot to weep... I cannot remember the last time I wept.

Do you prefer your music uninhibited, full of emotions and sentiments, one that gives you energy, and sometimes suck you dry? Do you prefer your music poignant beauty that is at times morbid?

I prefer the latter, where all the notes seem to belong where they are because they are meant to be. Where when it reaches its peak you cannot help but sigh and yearn for more. Where you forget to breathe and you wonder if you feel light-headed because you are out of breath or because it is too beautiful. Where you find yourself in tears.

Everything beautiful is a bit sad... yet I am hopelessly drawn to it.

Sometimes when I listen to a beautiful piece... for a brief moment I am willing to believe there is god.

boundaries

2007-06-13T23:20:00.000+08:00

Someone once told me that there are always boundaries you draw with people you're connected with on different levels. What he did not tell me is whether you draw boundaries for what you're willing to do and how much you're willing to care for them, or you draw boundaries for how much they can affect you, how far they can take you, and what they can do to you.

What do you do if someone does not cross the line by staying really, really close to the line?

If someone decides to cross the boundary how do you fend for yourself?

How do you stand by the line you've drawn, push him back, and still feel at ease about the relationship knowing his intentions?

Is the trust shattered to pieces, leaving you confused and helpless? You realize your perception of this relationship is just a fragment of a larger work that is not as perfect as you thought.

Will you be sad? The boundary broken and the magic lost. Irreversible. The relationship changed if not gone.

I'm sad. I feel violated.

I wish I can put what we had in a metal box. I will seal it while it was perfect so that it can always remain so.

I am really sad.

new arrival

2007-06-07T09:18:00.000+08:00

Yesterday morning Marie-Claude hopped her way to my seat with a suspiciously big black bag-

Marie-Claude: "Anita! Voila!"
-Anita gasps- "Goodness! You got it!"

After a lot of oohs and aahs we dragged this big black thing into an empty meeting room so that I could have some private time bonding... with my new accordion. I decided to call it Blam.

Blam is black, sleek and sexy. Blam has 80 bass (Stradella) 37 treble (f-f'''), 3 sets of reeds and he weighs a ton. I have to re-adjust myself from playing a 32 bass to my new 80 bass.

So many more buttons... so confusing yet so much more freedom!

how're you today?

2007-06-04T09:33:00.000+08:00

How often do you ask people how they're doing?

I don't ask this question as a routine way to greet, but just because I want to know how someone's doing. But me being my usual oddball, I often find myself at a lost of words when people ask me the simplest questions:

Our cleaner showed up at 8 this morning, as she entered the study she went "How're you doing today?"
-Erm yesterday I jokingly challenged Nic to climb up a stone wall but unfortunately he accepted the challenge so I ended up banging my left knee against a protuding rock followed by landing hard on my left foot. I have been limping if you haven't noticed. Afterwards I practiced a bit too much and my left arm is now hurting like hell. This is Monday so I won't be able to get a taxi to go in for work today, which means I'll have to walk... I mean limp to work in this dreadful pollution. I'm not doing that well but there's nothing you can do about it."-
Despite all these I said "I'm tired, got up late this morning so I haven't taken Brinjal out yet, can you take her out soon?"
----
People that I barely know, and probably won't see again for the rest of my life, asks me "Where're you from?"
-If you mean where I was born then Seattle,
if you mean where I was before I came to China then Seattle,
if you mean where I'm staying now then China,
if you mean where I grew up then Taiwan and Singapore,
if you mean where my parents are from then it could be Malaysia, Singapore, Vietnam, or Thailand,
if you mean my ancestrial heritage then from 3 generations before we've been overseas Chinese,

if you mean the one place I identify myself with then I really haven't thought about it yet.-
"Erm, I've lived in a few places, Seattle, Taiwan, China... Singapore..."
----
"Can I have your number?"
-you can but I'm not sure I want you to have it because you're not really going to call. You're asking for it as a gesture. If you call I don't think I'll really enjoy the conversation.-
"I forget what my number is (which is really the case). Why don't you give me yours and I'll call when I'm free to hang out."

i've got the bug

2007-06-03T19:50:00.000+08:00

4 days before I left for my trip to the US my coworker Marie-Claude and I went to dinner at a French brasserie. By the end of the dinner, as a result of too much wine, chimay, pastis, and steaks close to perfection, we decided that we will perform an accordion duo at that restaurant in 3 months.

4 days later I took off for my month-long trip. I only practiced once before I left. That was the first time I played the accordion.

Now that I'm back there're only 2 months.

I practiced very hard for 3 hours yesterday... this morning I had to use my right hand to hold the cup while having tea because my left hand wouldn't stop shaking when I lift it.

But I'm so hooked - playing is too addictive. Now I can't get the tune out of my head, and I want to play on my cello desperately. I've got the bug. My left hand is still shaking as I type now but in a bit I'm going to practice, practice, practice.

"Survival" French

2007-06-02T11:30:00.000+08:00

3 of my 5 favorite French people are leaving Beijing in 2 months. Tragic!

Last night we went out for sashimi, sushi, sake, and a lot of explicit language -
Seungmee knows of 5 french catch phrases/words, and decided to teach me how to say "cute ass" because you never know when you should say this to someone, right?

Seungmee gave Arnaud a friendly nudge and said in French
"Arnaud, you've a cute ass!"

Arnaud "...hmm?"

Anita: (in French) "You've a cute ass, sir."

Nic: "What does it mean?"

Seungmee: "It means you got cute ass."

Arnaud: "No! It means I have asscrack."
-----------
A lot of sake and beer later, Seungmee designed a dialogue that she insists is the key to survival should you ever find yourself at a butcher's in France -

"Hello Ma'am, sausage?"
"No thanks."
"Cute ass?"
"Later, yes!"

But what came out of her mouth really meant the following
"Hello Ma'am, sausage?"
"No thanks."
"Asscrack?"
"Fuck, yes!" (confused "plus tard" with "putain")

I also learned that "you are good" in French really means "you're a dumbass"

If I talk like Seungmee when I visit France I may not have very long to live.

New York, New York!

2007-05-23T03:08:00.000+08:00

I flew to New York last Wednesday.

Complications. I boarded the plane and realized I left my wallet behind.

In the 20 min I had before I had to turn off my cellphone for the plane to takeoff, I frantically called my hotel in Seattle, my hotel in New York, my parents in Seattle, and arranged to have my wallet delivered to my NY hotel via overnight delivery. Verdict: I cannot check into my hotel unless I can produce 350 in cash upfront, which means I had to survive on the change I had in my jeans pocket and live at the mercy of UPS.

I started reflecting on the message in the first fortune cookie I had after arriving in the US from Beijing -
"The following month will bring you happiness"

I decided that meant my current trip, which lasts almost the whole of this month, is going to bring me all but happiness.

This is good. This is the first time in my life that I've ever "lost" my wallet and I just so happened to be very far away from home. Part of me shook with excitement because I love adventures. Part of me shook with insecurity because I'm expected to be at my top form to work the next day whether or not my hotel/wallet crisis is resolved.

We finally reached NY, but as I sat on the plane circling the city in a holding pattern waiting for the thunder storm to pass I wondered if I should have gone get my wallet and catch the following flight. Maybe it's a sign...

I usually assume the end-of-the-world scenario, as you can tell from my last post. But I say it still worked out in the end. I didn't have to sleep on the street, I got what I wanted from the 2 days of work. I had my favorite Jamaican patties in Brooklyn, I went to a bunch of cool places, I got to know a cool person who brought me to bar-hop in Manhattan.

I'm looking forward to my next business trip to New York - I'm promised a seat in the Carnegie Hall to the New York Philharmonic, in the very box that Isaac Stern always sat in.

Hopefully next time I will have my wallet with me.

diverge, converge

2007-04-11T12:09:00.002+08:00

Since when has it become my duty to conform?

Anita's best taken at face value because there is no hidden intention. She wears her preferences on her sleeves, preferences that are formed with reasons, good or selfish.

My life is just a statistical inevitability - why dig so deep, why bother with intentions, why bother being fair and just when you can indulge with preferences?

Why would I even consider conforming? I may as well seek within the unknown.

When I land on a sweet spot I converge quadratically. When my requirements are not satisfied I diverge with an increasing rate. I'm a firm follower of Newton's iteration.