zenatz19

The first piece of artwork I remember creating was when I was four years old in my preschool in England.

It was originally supposed to be a portrait of my mother. I remember it actually being a stick figure painting of her, though I must have painstakingly spent at least half an hour on it. But at the last minute, I messed up a part of her face. I didn't obsess over the messed up detail and try to fix it, nor did I accept it for what it was and carry on painting. Being the impulsive child that I was, I instead chose to just splash paint all over the paper. Reds, greens, and yellows all swirled together... It wasn't out of frustration-- the painting just hadn't turned out the way I had intended it to be, so why bother about it anymore? As soon as I had successfully covered any evidence that my mother had once been the subject of the painting, my mother entered the preschool. My paintbrush frozen in midair, I looked at her and she came over to see what I had created. To my utter surprise, she ended up adoring the no-effort-at-all-whatsoever violent mess I had improvised.  She insisted on taking it home. I didn't say anything.

Painting over the messed up painting of my mother was the equivalent of erasing. I probably would have crumpled it up if my mother hadn't arrived and seen it when she did. I never cared for this painting, so I was fascinated by how much she liked it. "The colors, Natalie," she told me, as I looked up at her wide-eyed. "I love the colors. It's like autumn."

At home, she gave me a black marker so I could sign my name at the bottom of the painting. I was still entirely new to writing, so I ended up taking at least fifteen minutes to do this. My head studiously bent over the paper, I began the arduous task of writing my name. N... A... T... (My mother looks over at my progress, smiles, tousles my head of curls, and then turns back to whatever she was doing)... A... L... I... E.

Pleased that I'd finally finished it, I announced that I was done. But suddenly all I could hear was my mother shouting at me. Why DID you do that?! You've ruined it! My heart jumped, and I looked down at the painting. The E. I had accidentally written the E in my name backwards. (The horror!) I stared up at her defiantly, seeing the frustration shadow her face. My lower lip starts trembling, and I bite down on my tongue, my stubborn eyes suddenly clouding over. I forget what happened next.

A couple of months ago (i.e. 15 years later), I glanced at this painting of mine, lying framed on the mantle of our fireplace. I looked over at my mother and told her for the first time, "you know, that was supposed to be you." Her confused expression prompted a conversation about the painting. After reminiscing and laughing about my crooked handwriting, she hesitated and then startled me with an apology for the way she had reacted that day. "That was wrong of me-- I shouldn't have done that." I had never expected nor wanted an apology from her for something as trivial as this. But I kept thinking about it afterwards. Doesn't it kinda give you hope for all the other more significant apologies that you're still waiting for from other people? It's the small things that revitalize the promise of what is still possible...the small things that keep you waiting tirelessly for that one sincere sorry that you so deserve.

Now when I look at that painting, I realize I like it not because of the colors, or because of what it was originally meant to be before I covered it with paint, or because my mother loves it, or because it's the first piece of art I have a memory of creating. I like it because of that backwards E.

It's often the imperfections that endear us to something. Perfection is an achievement, but outside of that, it is mostly meaningless. Imperfection is frequently a memory-- bittersweet, but familiar and all the more dear and human.
And very often, it takes a long time for someone to realize that they've made a mistake. Sometimes it takes years to receive an apology from someone who has hurt you.

November is, and has always been, my second most favorite month of the year...
For those of you who like classical music, In the Fading Light of Autumn is a really beautiful piece that I got to play at an orchestral concert many years ago…

I saw the sweetest thing today when I was walking to the train station. It was raining slightly, and there was this elderly couple (they must've been in their late 80s) taking tiny, shuffling footsteps down the street. They were both hunched over, the curves of their spines matching the curve of the umbrella that the man was holding over the woman. He was clutching it earnestly with both of his hands, his arms outreached, glancing at her every now and then...

And there's this tiny 10-year-old boy who travels on the same train as me every morning at 6:30. His train ride is only about 15 minutes in duration, but he travels alone--I think he commutes to a private school since he wears a uniform (the area he lives in is not exactly the best place to receive a public education). I was just thinking about how much I admire the self-discipline and self-motivation he must have--to travel to school everyday like that, by himself, and at such a young age...

Also, a couple of hours ago when I was walking from the south campus to the north campus of my college in the rain, this guy sped past me on a unicycle, holding up an umbrella in his left hand and cradling textbooks in his right arm. I greatly admire stuff like that, too.

Is anyone else here desperately waiting for 2010 to arrive? And yes, I usually am this discursive in journals.



<sub>the sight of the old postman grieving at the moss-covered doorstep,
the creaks of the seventy-eight-year-old sailboat as it starts sinking,
the smell of forgotten coats stuffed inside rain-drenched cedar trees,
the heat of autumn's wine-laced breaths smoldering in moonlight,
the throb of her heart as she unfolds the last newspaper he touched:

the writer sobs over November memories that never happened.</sub>

One of my most favorite feelings in the world transpires when you wake up in the middle of the night (not because of a nightmare, insomnia, woodpeckers, fireworks, or anything along those lines, but because some innate metaphysical force just kinda urged you to open your eyes) and you don't want to glance at the clock, afraid that it's going to tell you that it's almost time for you to face another day of mundane reality. But when you finally do, you realize that you still have HOURS before you have to get up. And you're still in a peaceful state of exhaustion, so you know that the moment you close your eyes again, you'll be asleep. I can't describe it, but I do love that feeling.

Been a pitaya summer. After procrastinating it for five or so months, I did finally get my driver's license last week! Also, at the end of July, I somehow found myself very briefly participating in a rally in Chicago--a very cool experience! And as some of you might be aware, at the end of May, right after my high school graduation, I went to England and then India for a few weeks, unexpectedly. It was raining in both places. Walking on the familiar streets of London in the rain was a strange experience, to say the least--simultaneously uplifting and saddening. And I was there for the start of the monsoons in India--got drenched in the first rains of the year that beat down on the thirsty earth with an intensity akin to that of a writer's fingers on a typewriter...the kind of rain that stings your skin like a gentle caress from a cactus.

Hmmmm but I completely digress. The main reason for this journal was actually to just mention that my college starts next week...I don't know the extent to which my activity on here is going to change because I'll actually be commuting to school everyday, and I've figured out that travel is going to eat up about 4 hours of my day. Nor do I have any idea of how heavy my work load is going to be. So yeah--it's possible that having to travel ad nauseam might make me too tired to come on here very often. OH and the other reason I decided to write this journal is because today is 09/09/09!!!

I am aware of how fantastically vapid and discursive all of this is; I promise it'll be at least one degree more exciting next time--I just needed to impale this journal hiatus of mine! Yah so I'm really uninteresting--what have YOU been doing this summer? Or last month? This week? Today?