the humble watermelon

words, music, and the greater art

To speak the words not spoken

The truth is, I’ve been staring at my laptop screen for a long time, not knowing what to write. Not because there isn’t any material to write of, but simply there is too much of… everything.

There are words that I need to leave out, as a blog writer. There are urges, sentiments that I do not mention, because they are impertinent to the content of my post. There are concerns that I want to communicate but do not, because I do not want people to reassure me and tell me I am not wrong.

But since it seems like I cannot proceed with anything else without spilling out these sentiments, in an ironical reversal of my declaration in the previous paragraph, I must attempt to unwind the knot in my mind and speak the words that perhaps I do not have the claim to speak.

I know more, much more, than I did two years ago. I’ve explored my city, met fascinating humans, read profound literature, and experienced many unexpected emotions. Yet it sometimes seems like this new knowledge has made a new compartment in my head, instead of fusing with my old mind.

I read news articles about Ghana immigrants losing their fingers crossing the Canadian border, a Syrian girl who got emergency treatment in a (now-bombed) hospital in Aleppo, the crude conditions of sex workers in Sri Lanka. And yet, I often sit miserably in my privileged life, brooding over a bad lunch or a dress I wish I bought.

Now, I must stop myself. Because I know how people would respond to what I just wrote. They will remark that I have grown- that at least now, I demonstrate more compassion, a willingness to fight for these injustices, an opening heart. This is the truth, but this is only one side of the truth. There are parts of me that are still frustratingly, irrationally entitled. Read the rest of this entry »

Living in the moment, now and later

This is the beginning, end, and neither. 

In all previous years, the coming of winter holiday has felt like a weight being lifted off the shoulders and settled on the ground, waiting to be picked up again with the reopening of school in the new year. This year however, the weight doesn’t have time to rest on the ground for a couple of weeks- it must be dealt with now, now, now.

I had my last class of the year this morning. I joined my mom for lunch, downtown, and spent the rest of the afternoon walking. Walking downtown, in the winter, is a pattern of dark paths fenced by tall buildings and bright intersections of glistening roads. It is a constant hum of motors and chatter, marked occasionally by brief eye contact with a human of different purpose. Occasionally, you may hear chirps. And if you look up; there they are, birds, branches, blue sky coupled with smoke. Read the rest of this entry »

After Rehearsals: Orchestra Blog, Part 1

1st Rehearsal (09/12/16)
There are many wonderful, often bittersweet, aspects to first rehearsals, especially when you have come to accept that this is your last first rehearsal. There’s the gentle tap on the shoulder that leads to a soul-filling hug, the shuffling of the papers to discover the repertoire, and the first orchestra-laugh induced by your conductor.

One would think that the appropriate way to start the first reading of a piece is carefully. And so it comes as the best surprise, every year, when the first notes we sound are lively, almost up to tempo, and admittedly out of tune. It is the most delightful of journeys; relishing in the long melodies, basking in the uncertainty of the next chord, skipping a bar to catch up to the authority of the conductor’s baton.

I hope that through these blog entries, I will be able to explore the beauty and appreciation of music, the relationship musicians develop through being an orchestral entity, the pursuit of piecing together musical sections to form one complete sound, and whatever other lines of thought that could come to mind.

Many of my dear friends from previous years have not come back this year. They will be greatly missed, their presence never forgotten. Their absence has reminded me of the essence of Youth Orchestra: a dynamic form of expression that is temperamental and connecting. Memories involving music are very hard to dissolve, and I think all of us, wherever we are in the world, can attest to that. Read the rest of this entry »

Autumn Leaves

Autumn leaves are born mid-air, between the whistling of the wind and onto the brown mass of earth. First, they clip off from their limbs, then rustle as they tumble down, and finally give a wee crunch of satisfaction as they join their fallen comrades. Autumn leaves drop in loose rhythm; they don’t attempt to match the chirps and buzzes of the forest.

I biked along the forest with these autumn leaves. It was late afternoon, early evening, and a beautiful temperature of cool. There was a grand desire for me to understand something by travelling through the forest, but how to flesh out a conclusion if the introduction hadn’t been agreed upon? I was being naive, I was being stubborn, I was being like every human who wanted to indulge in his or her own little world of uncertainty.

It is easy to live in the world within myself. My laws, my expectations. I may steer left towards the river bend if I choose. Or, I may simply continue on the path that will eventually lead to a right turn. Read the rest of this entry »

Short Story: Two Minutes

He was seen from halfway across the school gym. Loose pants, dress shirt tugging from his belt, a satchel. He was nothing short of that man in the romance film with the quiet death scene. Not to mention he was real, he was speaking in the microphone, and he was positively, quiet determinedly, perfect.

His stance he carried like his belongings, loosely and with determination. He spoke with awareness and viewed everything with clarity. Yet, yet, he was still a tad mischievous; he kept that weapon in his pocket, but it was never a secret.

“You saw him, this morning?”
“He was inspecting the books on the shelves.”

There was only one somber cloud: he appeared only for two minutes during the day. Because what hasn’t been addressed is that, the other hours, he spends elsewhere; the other minutes, he dreams in another adventure; the other seconds, he walks as himself, and no one else.

Hiking the Tundra and the Joys of Life

Reflection must be the most reliable compensation for choosing to believe that the present is inexhaustible. You live in it all until you realize it is all over, and so you turn to your memories and feel as much comfort as longing. This fixation with the past, somehow, always seems to compliment any strive for the future. I come back from the tundra with wisps of a fresh mindset (certainty will always be fragile) that I hope to knit into form and dimension. And so, today looms into yesterday and tomorrow.

Read the rest of this entry »

4 Years Later, And Here I Am!

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Meadows. South Dakota. As E.B.Browning put it, this scene is “…something between a dream and a miracle”.

 

I was close to entitling this “4 Years Later, And I’m Still Here!”, but I thought the title would suggest that tending this blog has been a chore. Indeed, the opposite: it has been a wonderful responsibility. However, I recognize the reality in my almost-title, namely the fact that it is true that most of my initial blogging friends have long since left the community. I began this blog with a strong focus on book reviews, music, and bubbling thoughts. Four years later, I have shifted my focus to introspective narrations, poems, and a side of music; the refinement of my writing almost seems like a compensation for my growing relationship with ambiguity.

If you didn’t know, the past year I started a Youtube Channel called MindArt, where I post short videos where snippets of scenes are overlaid with a piece of music that reflect the tone of the storyline. I liked the channel’s name so much that on several occasions I have felt compelled to change this blog’s name to MindArt, but fell short in realizing it. Read the rest of this entry »