cityhalo by cynthia yip

Empty Cupboards

So here i am, after a welcoming and friendly reception at the Thompson House, and i leave in tears. This must prove the social ineptibility that i have been denying for all the years of my meager existence. i look at others around me and i don't quite understand that this is perhaps what i am supposed to be a part of if i am a capable and functioning member of my demographic. The difference, i realized, in my teary mess walk back to the dorm, is that these people had it together. Even if they were sincerely cynical as to what was to come after the P.hD. or even a post doc, there was a radiating sense of independence and confidence. It may have been the pitchers of beer talking, but somehow, i think it was a little more than that.

There are many things that different people aspire to, and i somehow believe that my goals are no different than anyone else's. This is perhaps a false belief and perhaps the reason why i seem to get myself into a bit of emotional trouble. This is in no way my pathetic guise to make myself seem like a special case or some grieving and emotional artist type, but there are barriers that i like to put up for my own (dis) pleasure.

So then, what the hell is Capitan Bringdown's problem?

i don't want the responsibility of other's hopes on my weak and brittle shoulders, so much so that i don't even want my own hopes or aspirations (or is it the other way around?). i keep on being told that i have potential, but that is really a nothing term. i have gone nowhere, and it is a polite way of saying; you have gone nowhere...i hope you can try to fix that. And potential for what, Buster? No answer. After all, it is the perfectly ambiguous and equally clever thing to say to someone who is running into a brick wall.

And if you gut me, i think you would find that i have no guts. i can't imagine this helping the situation either. i am not destined for great things, or even mildly great things, or even mediocre things. i am stuck. All my own doing. Something's got to give.

Bon Soir

It is a nice bone-chilling bit cold in Montreal, dreary with lightly falling drizzle turning to snow within a matter of minutes. i don't like that i have to pull out my grade school level French and the embarassing response i recieve afterward - people looking at me quizically.

Hui Neng Spoke Of A Mirror And Dust

i am terribly unhappy. i just can't seem to get it together. Even in the most mundane situations and routines, i can't control myself.

i want to run into a monastery, starve myself, and meditate all day. i miss the slow calmness of the temples and the silence that never felt lonely. i want to feel detached and empty.

But now, i go on and read Master Hsing Yun's lectures, and i feel increasing resentment because i cannot apprehend Humanistic Buddhism. i am quite certain i am not to feel this way if i were to practice Buddhism properly.