Thursday, January 22, 2009
Online Journal for January 22 to February 5
Try to make two entries between now and our next class. One entry will be on something that bothers you; another entry will be on something you love. Have a safe "semester break" and see you all in class on the 5th of February. We'll be welcoming new students so it should be fun . . .
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this is my online journal that bothers me...
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"Oh no, don't do that. . ." whenever Irene, my three-year-old niece comes to my room and tells me if she could play. And at the end, I always yelled at her to get out, and she walks out discourge.
I don't like people who tear a plant down without reason, without regard to the landscape, to beauty, to nature.
The other day a neighbour hacked apart a quince bush on the boulevard. Every spring the bush has bloomed brightly and every fall it has produced fruit.
Now, it is a memory. Only the scarred stubs of the bush remains.
Oh, and as most know, it is illegal to cut or remove any plant on the public boulevard!
Sheesh . . .
"Da-li,da-li,da. . . ." my cellphone was ringing and terbulating on my table. it was 7:45 am. I turned it off thinking to sleep just 10 minutes more. I tried to open my sticky eyes and gave a glance to my snoring husband, "time to get up."
"Okay, ten more minutes. . . ."
. . . .
"What time it is now?" my husband asked.
"10:30. . . TEN! WHAT! Damn it, my provincal exam." I jumped out from my bed and tried to get up.
"What's the meaning OF getting up now?!"
"I just. . . " I didn't know what to say.
It was Monday morning, the second days after the Chinese New Year Eve.
On Chinese New Year Eve, I put tow pencils into my purse, my photo ID and my P.E.N too. I set the alarm and climbed into my quilt at 1 am. I even prepared a big bottle of honey tea in a transparent bottle. I was so ready for this bloody meaningless and broing exam.
But just like that, I missed it. I sighed and felt sorry for myself and climbed into my quilt again.
hey, bea... nice story of u getting up late...
I dislike the person who answers cell-phone loudly at the public place, especially in the bus.
This topic reminds me the scene when I took bus several weeks ago. At that time when I was on the bus, it was too crowded. But all the people were quiet, and include a big, black dog beside me. Suddenly, a cell-phone loudly rang with a strong, fast and rhythmic beat of music in front of me. A lady sluggishly took out her phone from her pocket, lifted her phone near her ear, but the phone still made the noisy sound, much louder than that was in her pocket. Her head superciliously held high without any expression on her face. “Her slow action wasn’t match up to her fast rhythm of music ring.” I thought.
After she pressed the cell-phone’s button to stop the noise, she answered the phone in a very loud voice. The voice was even much louder than her cell-phone ring, like a loudhailer, and spread anywhere of the bus immediately. It made me surprised. Then she began to enjoy her telephone conversation loudly without any pause. Because her eyesight still hung around the bus ceiling, as if she was in a deserted place, she didn’t notice people around her were impatient. Some people turned to watch her while others frowned, shook their head or cough slightly. But it didn’t stop her long talk. In the end, the black dog couldn’t bear her, it moved to her front barking. Fortunately, I got off the bus at that moment. I don’t know what happen after. But I extremely dislike the person’s behavior like that. It makes people uncomfortable.
this is my online journal that i love...
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After I took my shower, my mom always tells me to dry my hair, but I love my wet hair. I don't want to dry it because I like the feeling the way it strokes my face, and the way it trickles down to my face, I don't want to lose that moment. . .
I love walking my dog because it gives me the time and opportunity to really take a close look at my neighbourhood.
She's slow, my little dog, who just had her 12th birthday. But, by being slow, I, too, am forced to slow down and observe. The curb at the parking lot cracked by the snowplow, the piles of icy, granular snow still in piles everywhere, the muddy smell of the thawing earth. It's a pleasure.
Often we walk for 30 minutes, yet cover very little distance. Instead, I stand, the solitary dog walker and his little black dog, sniffing along the snowbank. Stand, and look, and observe without drawing attention to myself, for, without my dog, a neighbour might think I am a burglar!
The library is a really good place I like to go. It is clean and quite. There are countless books on the shelves waiting for their readers. Sitting by the window, reading my favorite magazines is an enjoyment. Sometimes, however, this pleasure could be disturbed by someone who read newspapers beside me. Loud noises are made as they turn the pages. I know there is no possibility to turn a page without a sound, but it is possible to reduce the sound. The method is very simple-Turn the pages tenderly and slowly.
You try to make some important duties during your day, but sometimes day finished without doing anything important, any writing or any achieving. You think. But life is not finished. In the upcoming days, you will see the achievements that you thought never experienced them before, yet you lived them without you have any idea about them. This is life. Then you find yourself full of ideas to write about, to speak about. This is the miracle of being alive and enjoying from your liveliness.
I had many phone calls from TELUS this week. They wanted to sell the long distance calls to me. I already use Startec for long distance. I became frustrated. Today I tried to be a little bit mean to the seller. I told her I am pretty satisfied with my long distance because I call everywhere. She confused and asked: “within Canada?”
I told her boldly: “No! I mean everywhere in the world! I call within Canada, US, and Europe, Middle East. . .”
She insisted again: “Well, if you know our ranges, you’ll change your mind.”
“Ok! Could you tell me how much you’ll charge me for Iran, for example?”
“I’ll charge you 16 cents.”
“Ok! But right now I pay half of this amount for the Iran.”
She didn’t believe me, but I was right, and I was near to lost the other bus if I continued speaking with her. I came out of home, thinking about the other discussion that I had with that woman. Yes, I am completely an international person, calling everywhere to find and speak with my relatives and friends, the people that once we were all together, near each other, but right now everyone lives in a part of the world: France, Finland, Germany, Turkey, California, Texas, North Carolina, Toronto, Montreal, Quebec, Seattle, Afghanistan, Iran, UAE, Cyprus, Austria, Sweden, Denmark, Australia, UK, and etc.
How much we are wandering in the world to find a safe place to live, to grow? And how much we are homesick because we need our spiritual and cultural supports? We need each other. Our past and our similarities and our blood, all belong to another one. I will never give up. I was born a combater and a challenger. My family are able to live in different cultures and countries, so I am. There is no need for regret. I am an international person, calling everywhere in the world to find my family and friends!
When I read snow’s journal, I just remembered a stupid memory. In Turkey, nobody could speak with cell phones during a bus trip, inside the city and outside the city. It is illegal because they operate their bus terminations with computer and satellite. The cell phones interrupt this operation. Turkish people are very serious about that because they try to be safe country for international tourism.
Our first trip with bus within Turkey, from Istanbul to Ankara, was funny. In that time, I didn’t understand any Turkish, and unfortunately, nobody understood English in that bus. My cell phone started to ring. Everyone started to complain. We didn’t know for what, and because we afraid of them, I just turned off the cell phone without knowing I have to shut it down completely during the journey. Then, my husband’s cell rang. I turn it down, too. My cell phone again rang, the action repeated three or four times while the driver was saying something rudely with his language. I didn’t understand the reason and just got panic. Lastly, the host of the bus came and with a weak English skill asked our cell phones. I gave him both without knowing what he wanted to do. He just shut them down and gave them back to me. We felt a relief. It was just about the shutting down the phone; they didn’t want to kill us!
At the time of tea break, I out of the high-rise office to the street ground for the fresh air. The breeze was soft and warm. The Jasmine trees sent out their sweet smell.
Nearby a bank I saw a young man dressed in a trim suit and wore a famous brand tie. The suit fit him very well. The shoes are polished. All made him very impressive.
After a while, he picked a small pocket cell-phone and talked loudly.
“T.M.D. …” the prologue began with those curse words. And then a series of course words poured out. The sound was loud enough to be heard the entire street and incur lots of odium from the passer-by.
My mood was destroyed by him. I couldn’t help to think that the old saying—“Fair without and foul within”, is made to order for him.
I was In Time
The lucky thing is that I was in time to write the entrance exam for BCIT journalism.
I reached the right building at five to five pm after driving around the schools a couple of circles to find the right passage.
I started the entrance at five. There were eighty multi-choices and a five hundred words-essay and one responsible journal and a summary of an interview regarding the current issues to finish in two hours.
I had no idea who is the main character in “The Office” and I found some Canadian names I saw the first time. I could only answer regarding the recent global issue which takes only a small portion.
But I still finished it in two hours and the most important thing was—I was in time.
When I am reading a book or studying, my sister-in-law and her kid always ask me to do something for them.
“Can you please change your niece diaper for me?” she would ask
I would groan, but still do it. Then when I sit again and start reading, my niece would say, “Nana”
“Yes, Keke, what do you say?” I would ask
“Milk” she would say in our language.
Her mom would laugh at the annoyed look on my face and said,
“Why don’t groan again.”
It bothers me, but she’s too little and cute for me to be mean to her (I always tell her three year-old brother to serve himself, that I have no patience for that!).
Almost every night when everybody is asleep, I sit reading my book. I enjoy reading at midnight because that is when everybody in my house is snoring or having a sweet dream. I also concentrate more when I read at that time more than when TV is on, shouting and laughing on the phone going on, and a one-year-old niece telling me she wants to drink milk. I love to read at midnight because it’s only me and my book.
“I Need to Go Washroom!”
My husband rushed back home “Hi, let us drive down across the border and do some shopping.”
“Such a short notice, I guess I need to prepare something.” I was taking my nap.
“Just take your passport and some American dollars.”
It was just a half hour drive to the border, we were glad it was a short drive and plan to enjoy our dinner at States after shopping at the outlet.
I was asked to leave the car for investigation. As we enter the Customs building, the people inside were all very straight faced. I tried to ask one officer friendly about whether I need to obtain a number. He didn’t answer my question, instead he point the finger to me and ask me to approach him.
“Show me your passport” he ordered.
So unfriendly, I thought. After that I was told my passport was going to expire next month, and I can’t go states.
“Ok, just give me back everything, and I am going back home.” If you don’t like me to spend the money in you country to stimulate your economy, then I can go back Canada to spend, I talked to my self.
“No, you can’t go now, you have to wait.” He took away my passport and ask me to wait.
Half hour later, I was still waiting. I tried to observe that there were about five people in the waiting area and twenty officers at the Customs. Everybody needs to wait at least half hour.
My mother nature called me to find a washroom. “Where is the washroom?” I picked another friendly looking officer.
“There is no public wash room here.”
“But. . .”
After another half hour waiting, I can’t endure the insult of neglecting my basic human rights.
I screamed loud at the whole office “I need to go to washroom!”
One officer eventually stared at me with a cloud of doubt on his face “You need to go washroom or your daughter?” He couldn’t believe how brave I was.
“I-need-to-go-wash-room.” I tried to emphasize my human right is just as important as a child’s.
One security guard came over and asked me to follow him, after he opened a couple of American gates, I eventually arrived the washroom.
He intentionally kept himself one meter away from me, “Stand right here, don’t move” I felt immediately entered into a prison.
He knocked on the door of women’s washroom and make sure nobody was in there. “Ok, you can go.” He gave my permission to enter.
Just before I prepared my bladder to release my burden, he gestured me to stop, “wait, I hear something in the bathroom.” He sniffed his nose into the bathroom.
“Is anybody inside.” He yelled into women’s bathroom again.
Nobody was answering, there I was allowed to go inside, “come on” it seemed like I was going to terrorize their women’s bathroom.
I did my business, flush the toilet with American water. With a face full of victory, I was safeguarded through the American gates and returned back into the waiting area.
They eventually took a picture of me and did fingerprints of my ten fingers and palm. “We just wanted to make sure you are not ‘The Wanted’ ” The officer explained while taking my finger prints.
While passing the gate of Canadian border, the friendly Canadian officer reminded me of home.
I hate hypocrites.
Like my people who talks too much about Global Warming and asks other to do something about it,yet, they don't do anything about it as well.
They own diesel-chugging machines and pays thousands of dollars for their electric bill.
If you are one of them. I hate you too.
I love mountains.
I find it is easy to reflect on them because they can represent a lot of things. Sometimes I see them a source of strength.They can be struggles. Their peak is our goal and their trails are the paths that we should take.
There's more in a mountain that meets the eyes.
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