Tuesday, September 25, 2012

the curious incident of the dog at night time

I've been reading Sherlock Holmes in little sections, just finished "Silver Blaze" where Colonel Ross says

"Is there any other point to which you would wish to draw my attention?"

and Sherlock says, "To the curious incident of the dog at night time."

"The dog did nothing at night time."

"That was the curious incident," Sherlock remarks.

I don't do anything at night time now, either. Although it's not a particularly curious thing.

Night time--

Used to be a time a would squiggle in between my parents in the dead of the night after watching Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone or Jumanji like some kind of contented raccoon pretending it was most welcome where it really, probably wasn't because it kicked and rolled a lot leaving everyone else blanket-less and cold and talked in its sleep like a distressed animal.

Used to be a time I would read books like Princess Diaries and So Little Time and A Wrinkle in Time and Narnia and The Boxcar Children and Sweet Sixteen and Harry Potter under the sheets till my mom would yell GO TO SLEEP DO YOU KNOW HOW LATE IT IS and I would say OKAY OKAY and then crawl out of bed and switch off my bedroom lights till I could hear her footsteps fade away and then switch on my nightlights and then I would leave one hand on the nightlight switch just in case I had to make quick moves.

Used to be a time I would stay up late watching sappy dramas like Full House and My Girl and creepy anime like Death Note and scaring myself to sleep.

Used to be a time I would stay up late on MSN talking to people who were trying to rush out the same biology or history IAs or TOK essays as me and we would lament our lives together drink coffee in the dark room alone, but not really alone and come to school with the same kind of eye bags and an air of tired giddy accomplishment.

Used to-- used to be a time I went for night runs with Leon/ Kathleen, but now Leon is in camp, and Kath is in the US. Now I can't go myself- its scary.

Something else that's scary:
I've just turned 19.


There. I don't know why I feel like crying. Phases, phases. People moving forward, moving on, moving off, changing. changing, changing, changing. Like that Keane song. It's not particularly curious either, change. Unlike Keane though, I know why things change.

Change is what makes life sometimes unbearable, but also much more real. There's this girl genius born around a century ago. Simone Weil. She seems to speak straight to my soul sometimes, comforts me:
Stars and blossoming fruit trees: Utter permanece and extreme fragility give an equal sense of eternity. 

Eternity.
Change, the embodiment of life's fragility. Change makes every moment, every memory, every experience vulnerable. But as Simone notes, "the vulnerability of precious things is beautiful because vulnerability is a mark of existence."

Vulnerability is a mark of existence. 

Thats why things change, Keane. Everything changes because everything exists. Because it helps us to know.

To know that we are Alive.







Night time--

Is when my strange friends Nez, Loo, Cra, Ser, Kryst, France, Bob would buy odd looking cupcakes to  celebrate my birthday in the dark of Scape. Where we sat and talked about nothing and everything and there would be loud, loud shrieks and we sang songs that we would hate ourselves for singing because really, Never Getting Back Together is not a song to be proud of singing along to. Where I feel like crying because these people will be thinking of me sometimes and I think of them sometimes and I want to take them all with me somewhere special forever. Where I see them grinning at me and drumrolling and can't help but hug myself and think You Are Too Lucky. Where I look at the sky and smile at the faces I've known for almost 8 years, and think

Look Amanda.
Look at the stars. Look how they shine for you.

Night time--

Is when I get home, 1145pm, tired and open my study room door and see faces lurking in the dark and balloons popping in my face and everything registers 1 second too slow. Where they sing and say I'm slow and look like I'm from Africa and how I forget the most important thing is Love sometimes, but they still love me enough to be at my house so near midnight they all have to pay midnight cab fares.

Where they almost kill themselves trying to plan this because people keep giving them mini-heart attacks and where they almost die of embarrassment for me. Where they love me.

Look Amanda.
Look how they shine.