A fitting last post to the year

Dear Pat,

You came upon me carving some kind of little figure out of wood and you said, "Why don't you make something for me?"

I asked you what you wanted, and you said, "A box."

"What for?"
"To put things in."
"What things?"
"Whatever you have." you said.

Well, here's your box. Nearly everything I have is in it, and it is not full. Pain and excitement are in it, and feeling good or bad...-

And on top of these are all the gratitude and love I have for you.

And still the box is not full.

John

-East of Eden

___________________________________

because I want to be Pat

growing old-er, acting young

Surely twenty isn't the "time to be proper, and grown up. graduate. find a job. settle down".

The quote's from mayboo's latest post. The sentiment I share; it's confusing being inbetween old and young- yet it's the most exciting. I'm not fifteen anymore; fifteen I was feeling all extremes, I was as sure as sure could be, as happy, as sad, and as confused as confused could have ever been in me at fifteen. At fifteen I made a mistake the size of los angeles, as in love as I had been since then and never again, so into him that when he packed up and left I crashed and dragged my maybelline into a night of reckless drinking that ended up in my mother calling her father.

Adventures are made up of that, and even though half a decade has passed since that night we still bring it up and I still am sorry I almost got her into trouble and am still thankful she didn't because her brother stepped in for her [no parent would have been willing to have listened to me, the intoxicated one]. And here's another point, that she was there for me that night, as stupid, as fifteen, as the entire episode was, willing even to get into trouble, because I was as down as fifteen could ever be. There are many ways that night could have turned out, with different people with different attempts to get me to stop and I don't even remember how I got home but hey, we were fifteen and hadn't learnt what it means to go through pain with dignity.

In five years, when we are twenty five, surely it's still too young to

find a girl, settle down
if you want, you can marry

Not that I'm going to marry a girl, but boyzone titled it father and son, so I don't have much choice if I'm going with lyrical integrity.

Well, perhaps finding a partner at twenty five and marrying is fine, but settling down- settling down is growing old, and I'm not sure if I can live with that, with all my twenty year old energy.

The year turns in a day or two, and the 87ers are excited because it means we'll be turning twenty one. And because I'm the first born amongst us, I usually get all the twitters of excitement and general jabbing. Not that I mind, because I don't. It's more about thinking about what being twenty one, two, three means. More and more I think that numbers are just numbers, because sometimes I feel 16, with the sound of music running through my mind and a boy promising to take care of me, sometimes I feel a mature 17; the oldest I feel is 18. Not quite 19, not 20, and never 21. Oftentimes I think about taking the confidence that comes with being twenty and going back to '05, '02, the years of eighteen, f`ff`ifteen, and trying it again, being less insecure and more beautiful. But it doesn't work that way, because some things only come with time, and time well-spent at that. When being patient and strong doesn't seem fun at all, and so hard instead. But being patient and strong has its rewards. A firmer faith, a sharpened trust, a better grasp on God.
I can think of far worse things to have in my life.

But I'm still very much a youngling [such an awkward sound to it]. Still somewhat basing my self on others and their opinions. Still caring very much about, and for people, and desiring to be cared about, and for in return. So maybe I'm twenty, but the less I think about it the more it feels I'm a newly crowned teen. Not thirteen, not really fourteen, closer to fifteen. f`fff`iteen. The wax still semi-solid, still shakey and weak. A mature fifteen. Mature, but fifteen nonetheless, with all its glorious messiness and pride.

So maybe I'm twenty, maybe I'm turning twenty one. But for now it's maybe with a not. Because for now I'm your age, young and happily, heartachingly uncertain, fully happy and then fully deflated- only sure of my love for music from narnia and the lord of the rings, and and and. that I stop here, because I
stand and watch from the side, at least, when I remember to.
look up from wanderings where no one's beside me.

and I

have come to the conclusion that [a great many] people are, tiring.

byy the way

Today, we went to choose the picture for our family portrait, my mom and I. There were maybe fifteen shots to choose from, 3R and glossy. And oh, so pretty. There were four that I liked just about equally, and my mom was so proud of how handsome nat has become. And he did, you know. Look handsome. Now that the childhood fats have gone, he at fifteen has my father's high cheekbones and shaped jaw. His hair was swept away to the side, and he has my father's sharp nose. I need here to add that I did his hair. I'm quite proud of that. In other photos he didn't smile, all brooding and unscrutable, and my mom kept saying he's saki; at one point she matter-of-factly said "he's perfect". I do believe it's the first time she's said that. I wonder how my brother will look at twenty-one. Seems like he got our parents' best features. Even has my mom's eyelashes. Any one sense discrimination here?

well.

After that we made our way to tea, with satay and coconuts. Strange bedfellows in my tummy, but nonetheless fitting. and sumptious. Mom was dreaming happily about my wedding album, and her future son-in-law (who, she has decided, must take her around the world). I mentioned how al told me last night that "by right, by Right ah, the guy should pay for the wedding expenses. it's like to prove his ability to take care of you". I like the sound of that, but it seems to me if I wait for the guy to save up I'll have to get married at forty. But my mom thinks it shouldn't be too hard for the guy to pay and well, she's the one with the wedding band on her finger so I'll leave it as that for now. For now.

One last thing. I was suddenly struck by what my brother said the other day, when we were talking about jon. I thought he'd forgotten him, was too young when jon and I were close but

"yeah of course I do. I liked him".

So he remembers jon, and as I was thinking another thought joined this one, how my mom always reminds me that her son-in-law must love my brother too. And in this regard only jon ever fulfilled it, and freely at that. He was good to my brother, taking him out and willingly spending time with him. I never knew how much it meant to me till now.
My brother means a lot to me.

"you paika and i tired"

I think my favourite memory of us yesterday was at the old parliment house. The one the folded paper magazine said was the old supreme court. Maybe they are the same thing. although, I think two grand sounding words should be used for two different places, to spread the love of antiquatity. Hopefully each befitting the. distinguish.n.ity. In any case, it felt like home sitting on the wooden platform, that somehow although so battered and worn, fit right into the gray stones of the high walls, humility and grave dignity, and we lit up in the glow of side wall spot lights and only the gentle whirrling of the standing fan. You remarked at the entrance that it was warm, but now sitting back here with the moonsoon rain falling outside it seems we were cool enough. I felt like part of the installation and I think my handbag did too, sitting pretty at a corner, coming out of hiding from your-bag-that-became-mine after you took it in and all my contents spilled over into yours and chatted chummily. I was writing inside the platform's big brown book, and you were standing in front of me reading upside down words. And I continued writing after talking with the artist man while you carried on the conversation with him. I know you still find art boring. :) But somehow that has never mattered. And later on you sat beside me and I drew your hand onto the page.

Even though the social knitting event did not occur, and I messed up the dates of unfolding florence, you were there with me and you know, I still look at the word 'there' like it's a fraud of posuerism. You, visibly relieved at the end of the visits, thank you for being so game, and it's your turn from now now. Here's to our getaways. aye.