These days, I realize that WORK has the following functions:
[1] It keeps you occupied, and makes you feel that time flies faster than it should be;
[2] It drains you out, so that you could sleep soundly (sure?) at night;
[3] It gives you a chance to accumulate some topics to talk to your friends at night;
[4] It keeps you busy and therefore gives you a label as a 'usuable', 'practical', 'meaningful' and 'functional' being.
My current part time job does not have much to do. Most of the day, I spend my hours at my desk working on the msn chatboxes and reading the papers I downloaded from Jstor for my research. People are nice, nicer than I expected. Maybe it's not yet time for competition. Still, I adopt a rather reclusive approach. Sometimes, I peep at my silenced phone. No one calls, no missing call. Then I go back to my 'work'. I have several smoking break per day, which could be the most liberating moments at work, I guess. Not that I long for a smoke, but that I could somehow stand within a space on the ground. It makes me feel more solid and existential.
The last semester will start in 2 weeks' time - probably the last semester I could have in the near future. What could I make best out of it. I certainly miss the people there. I regret not getting close to Esther Cheung, whom (I assume) I could talk a lot to. I regret not sitting in Abbas's classes when he's still here. Well, for Gina, she is nice, though she still has not read my stuff. Incredible. I also miss Jason and Tiffany, who are basically the most immediate comfort during these two years. I miss the library, my pigeon hole, the classrooms and the smoking areas.
差不多4:45am la, it's time for you to get up for work.
睡得好嗎? 有想起我嗎?
I had a nightmare about you, which woke me up.
記得吃點早餐, 空肚工作無益!
A LOVER’S EARLOBE (temporary draft)
by Nicholas Y.B. Wong (copyright)
Dedicated to Robbie
The head tilted slightly,
your left ear’s exposed
in the open air. A protest:
life’s too heavy, you exclaimed.
Removing part of your ear helped
relieve the weight.
Nothing was lighter than the moments we
shared. Your gospel words intruded my
ear: a folktale about a hole on the earlobe.
Someone had to fill it up, a sacrifice.
A thread of silk sprouted and reached
my cap. Hair obscured to reveal your
history and renew a part of it.
Earrings foregone,
your past foretold.
The aperture lured desire to drop by.
I listened to the mourning and yearning
the hole collected. The slit mystified the
contour of your left pinna.
Unblock the ear after it’s identified.
That’s the way an ear distinguished
a lover from the deaf crowd.
1 comment:
i like the poem
Post a Comment