magjunkie’s blog

Two things: I've just come back from a holiday to Osaka and Hokkaido (actually back for a week already but in denial, thinking it was just yesterday that I touched down) and I'm packing my dreams into a rattan basket and shoving it under my bed for a while. In other words, I've called it quits and moving on to somewhere else. Note: I didn't use the words "greener pastures". Fingers crossed.  

This is a love story written in Qiong-Yao style but in English. At the heart of the story is Peony, a 16-year-old maiden in a traditional Chinese family who's betrothed to a man she's never seen but who has fallen for another - possibly the first man without blood relation that she's seen in her 16 years - after a few brief yet intense encounters. Like the scenes from the novel The Peony Pavilion that she's obsessed with, Peony tries to take control over matters in her life in the hope that one day she'll be with the one she loves. Then follows a series of unfortunate events - ala Romeo & Juliet - which leads to Peony's discovery of love, helplessness and forgiveness.

I like the author's choice of words, so poetic yet so down-to-earth that it's easy for me to relate to, despite the setting in a different country and a totally different era from the one I'm familiar with. Yet, the plot seems a little thin to sustain its 374 pages. After a while, I start to ponder, is this all there is to it? With the writer's prose, I keep thinking there should be more. Maybe I don't appreciate the story fully, maybe I didn't read between the lines more. Somehow I am quite certain it's more than a story of a lovelorn girl.

Rating: 3 bookmarks out of 5

A new colleague has joined the team and without hesitating, I dated her for lunch and made her my lunchtime companion. She seems happy with the arrangement so far. So yes, no more eating at my desk, surfing web mindlessly and reading on my own during lunch. I think I don't cut such a sad figure anymore. That is, until we grow sick of each other or the job, whichever comes first. I think the job bit has already happened.

Not many of us are lucky in that way - to do what we really want, not because we were seduced by the money, prestige or the security work can offer. And then if you got lucky and did what you love, you may realise that you're not equipped to do it well. Does that make sense?

I have some serious decision-making to do and was pondering aloud. So Mister shared this article with me: How to do what you love by Paul Graham (Vox is not letting me do hyperlink now so am pasting the URL here: http://www.paulgraham.com/love.html)

It's a good read and I might have just learned that lil bit more about myself. Some excerpts to share:
 
"To be happy I think you have to be doing something you not only enjoy, but admire. You have to be able to say, at the end, wow, that's pretty cool."

"Finding work you love is very difficult. Most people fail. Even if you succeed, it's rare to be free to work on what you want till your thirties or forties. But if you have the destination in sight you'll be more likely to arrive at it. If you know you can love work, you're in the home stretch, and if you know what work you love, you're practically there."

So are you there yet?

And I am not counting. Because I would feel a dull pain somewhere and a heaviness that weighs my heart down so much I don't know how I can ever breathe again. Sometimes it's not so bad. I remember the reason I'm here. I remember the feverish delight as I type out the words. I remember the whirl as I block out the world's goings and live in my thoughts, formed and changed many times until the sentences read like poems to me. But most days, I wonder what I am doing. One comma here, one brand name there, one logo here, one fullstop there. I struggle. Wrong preposition, wrong article, wrong word, wrong structure. I fail. And then I deflate. And as my battle with my own disquiet goes on and on and on, a year has finally passed. And I am still alive.  

In a way, I feel rather peaceful, if I stop asking why or how. The past year has not been smooth but I am still here, still me. Isn't that worth some celebration? Oh yes. Despite everything, I have learned more about myself and I have learned to be more self-reliant. Ain't this the life lesson most of us need? To be self-sufficient and be thankful for what's dished out, good or bad? I haven't mastered the latter yet but who knows? Maybe I am getting there. I can laugh at situations I used to cry over. I can see the silver lining when something seemingly bad happens. Yes, I whine too. All the time. But mostly it's a way to detox my emotions. That's all. So what next? Wait, don't tell me. Let me try finding my own way.   

Set in the 17th century, the book illustrates the times of slavery in early America through the voices of five women. It begins with Florens, an eight-year-old, who is given away by her mother to Jacob Vaark as part of a debt settlement for her owner. Jacob, who never believes in the trade of people, accepts the offer only in the hope that the girl can replace the daughter he's lost, alleviating the pain for his wife Rebakka. Back on his farm, there is Lina, their native American servant and Sorrow, another girl who's rescued from a shipwreck.

The story unfolds with each woman telling their stories of how they've come to this farm. Rebekka leaves behind a fiercely religious family on a ship packed with people who are making their escapes for different reasons to marry a man she's never met. When she arrives greeted by her new husband's servant Lina, she eyes her suspiciously. The two however develop a bond out of neccessity, even more so as Rebekka loses her infants one after another to sickness. Lina comes from a village wiped out by a smallpox epidemic. Having traumatised by witnessing the deaths of her own family and the Presbyterians who later take her in and teach her new ways to live, she is wary of people and does her chores dutifully to keep her place in the family. Sorrow comes across as a wildchild, not knowing who fathers the baby in her womb and keeps to herself and her imaginary twin. Florens, the character central to this story, reeling from her mother's abandonment, is eager to please and seeks love where she can. The last chapter is written in the voice of Florens' mother as she tells of her inner turmoil and gives meaning to the title of this book - A Mercy.

Their stories tell of their helplessness in times when the females were often victimised. They had no place in the world and they had no choice but to accept their fates and come to terms with things to make life bearable.

Some excerpts:

Lina: "Sir and Mistress believed they could have honest free-thinking lives, yet without heirs, all their work meant less than a swallow's nest. Their drift away from others produced a selfish privacy and they had lost the refuge and the consolation of a clan...Pride alone made them think they needed only themselves, could shape life that way, like Adam and Eve, like gods from nowhere beholden to nothing except their own creations...As long as Sir was alive, it was easy to veil the truth: that they were not a family - not even a like-minded group. They were orphans, each and all."

Florens: "You say you see slaves freeer than free men...That it is the withering inside that enslaves and opens the door for what is wild."
"You are correct...I am become wilderness but I am also Florens. In full. Unforgiven. Unforgiving. No ruth, my love. None. Hear me? Slave. Free. I last. I will keep one sadness. That all this time I cannot know what my mother is telling me. Nor can she know what I am wanting to tell her."

Rating: 3 bookmarks out of 5

The recent book promos meant I had a legitimate reason to stock up on books. Am happy with these buys.

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The weeks have been rough. On one of the awful days, Mister made it better by surprising me with this lil sweetie. Love it and love him more.

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I went knocking on doors but nobody answered. A panic rose steadily in me. I wonder aloud, "Will I ever find my way out?" I'm not sure anymore because the only thing I can see ahead of me is a dead end. Just a dead end.

Someone dear has left the family. She looked serene, like she were sleeping. They said it's good that she left without pain. They said it's good she left after having had her lunch. They said she slept like she knew, having arranged herself neatly on the bed with blanket covered right up to her neck. They talked like they were prepared, like they were in fact happy that she went this way. But there were things left unsaid, things we wanted to tell her, little regrets here and there. I really hope she knows that she's loved by the ones who haven't said anything, the ones who still feel pain despite this being part and parcel of this thing called life.