Déjà vu

It was a bright, calm morning. There were flowers in the bathroom from B to LP for her birthday bash the night before. The light from the frosted glass window proved to be a nice backdrop for the photo. A picture but not a thousand words said. As I sat on the can looking at the flowers, I thought about the night that had just passed. A memorable birthday party at Smiths but I could not describe the encounters and emotions. How do you capture moments? In a photo? In music? In words? How do you describe the drift of a woody muster from cigars in the atmosphere, apprehension in a face, the feel of the skin during the first seconds of a handshake, the scent of another human being as you draw them close to your space. Sometimes all forms of semantics escape me. Pictures and words have such ability to empower. But presented with such empowerment, I am sometimes pressured by an inability to truly document the essence of something, to uncover unknown mysteries and share these subtle discoveries with the people around me.

The month has flown pass so quickly. Much has happened in little bits and pieces which I am trying to piece together and make sense of. I’ve been trapped in some repetitive cycle of walking (in the rain), work, eat, sleep. Walking (no rain), work, eat, sleep and stealing time for special events outside work and time to myself.

It seems I can’t escape long working hours, working late into the night and working on weekends no matter which continent I pluck myself from. Past memories of work, memories of pain, memories of happiness. Where do they all go? Are they gathered in some hauling zone to be dragged out in another time and space? Have you ever come across a picture, a song, a smell, a feel of something that drew out something from deep inside you?

Most mornings when I walk through the park, I meet a group of about 8-10 dogs resting outside The Serpentine Gallery with their owners, barking noisily in friendly batter with one another, presumably after their morning walk. One day last week, I was lost in the crowd of these dogs in my path even before I had reached The Serpentine Gallery. At the moment it occurred to me that I was earlier then usual because I had met the dogs before I reached the gallery. Amongst them was Willow, a golden retriever blocking my passage together with a few other smaller dogs. I nudged Willow slowly with my knees as I moved forward and drew my hand through his fur. I was surprised at the texture of his fur as it glided through my fingertips. It reminded me of Chopin, the feel of his fur, the feel of his hot breath on my face when I gazed right into his eyes, his little manic dance after each bath and a whole well of emotion I had buried deep inside me. This brief glitch of time in my daily cycle and soft fur at my finger tips had drawn out so much from me.

The first cake I baked this year brought out a whole entourage of emotion as well. There was a vaguely familiar taste of custard on cake and I couldn’t remember immediately where the gingery taste with custard sauce had lingered into my mind from. Then I remembered the desert at Buku Nero with W. We had waited a month for the table. The meal was satisfactory, but the real highlight was the desert which was a simple warm cake with custard which I will always associate with an entirely pleasant evening well spent.

A friend of mine use to tell me that he believed in karma, in cycles of life. What goes round comes round.

This morning, as I lay procrastinating in bed, I tried to draw out memories I wanted to remember from out of myself. Yet, I could not remember them anymore. It was scary because the harder I thought about them, the less I could remember

I do hope, what goes round, comes round again and again. In some time and space. Something vaguely familiar. In particular, the nice things.

On Player_'Reason Why'_By Rachael Yamagata