This blog.

I'm staring at my computer screen, as I have many times in the past months, trying to find something to write. Honestly, I have not been able to find anything worthwhile to write. At the same time, I do wonder, who continues to visit my blog because I do not want to write if no one is going to read what I write. Then I ask myself, "Do I need to have readers in order to write here?" Oi, I don't know.

This blog, what am I suppose to do with it? At the beginning, it was suppose to be a place where I can practice my writing while at the same time, hoping to inspire people by my writing. I hope I have done some of that. Now, it seems like I am not doing what it was meant to be. I am stuck. I think I will wait this out. Therefore, until the next time (whenever that is) I post readers (whoever you may be)!

I'm almost done.

Three more days of work. I think I should be able to handle that. Then moving back to the beautiful Vancity!

Today.

Conversation with my dentist:
Dentist: Cindy, you need to grow up.
Me: I'm growing up. I'm just taking my sweet long time at it.
Dentist shakes head.

My thoughts after half of my face was frozen and one less tooth and on the skytrain.
Oh my gosh! Am I drooling? I feel like I'm drooling.

Christin's polite comment when I was at her house chowing down some soup:
Cindy, there's soup on your chin.
Me - horrified

Deux belles phrases.

J'ai un coeur énorme
Il dirige ma vie entière

"Dansez-vous" - Pink Martini

Reading.

I recently told a friend that I used to read a lot when I was a kid. One of my brother's friends, who I bumped into occasionally in the library, would be intimidated by the amount of books I took out each week. At four or five in the morning, my mom would knock on my door and yell, "Cindy, time to go to bed!" Reflecting back to those days, I would have to say that yes, I do enjoy reading.

Lately, I have succumbed to the pleasure of reading once again. I would delve into that novel and search for its many meanings. The brilliance of how certain words and phrases would concoct a series of vivid images in the mind, followed by tuggings of emotions in the heart, is truly amazing; the power of imagery is both scary and wonderful because of this.

Another friend recently said something to this effect, "I believe literature is not just useful as a story but mostly as a way of discovering things about one's existence through the reading experience. So studying what those things are, and how we engage with the text is kind of like studying the meaning of life."

It's funny because I then asked, "What is the meaning of life?" He did not have a ready response. However, the statement of "discovering things about one's existence through the reading experience" is neat because the discoveries allow us to be that much more aware of our current place in life. These little discoveries (or what we may often refer to as "epiphanies") are delightful. Yet at times, the responsibilities attached to the awareness and alertness of that "one's existence," might seem a little heavy. Ah...knowledge and what we choose to do with it.

Again, I do enjoy reading. It allows me to go into a world of words and "engage with the text." This friend also said that a novel can conjure up some of the most powerful emotions and thoughts in a condensed period of time, that is, our reading experience; within this reading time, we are able to experience some of the most important things in life. I think that is very true. Perhaps, that is the reason to why I enjoy reading.

Cows (and then some calves).

I see one cow. I see two cows. Here a cow, there a cow. MOO! (And then some calves).