Come in.

I’m sewing a few years of my life together and moving to a new home. Come visit?

Love thing.

I love you, Foo.

Can’t wait. ^-^ 

Always you.

A hundred listens
I swallow the song
of your pulse

A chord’s cry
an almost fragile string pluck
every split-second sigh
from the next note
to the first

A master thief story
the slightest graze on the knee
a hint with a wink
a grope, a stroke, a rhythm
a heart breathing

A million split spaces
a strand of tune, winding
a single guitar thread, coiling
one instrument of dune

Will they steal it from us?
will we burn it for them?
ours or theirs
this private anthem.

Senselessness.

A meek wisp            
puffed to the tip
of her toffee nose
wafts up to his just-shut lids
and slips and drifts
down through the yielding filters
to sink into his black pair.

The left winks
as the other holds stare
to fetch light for her
as she does him
as he does her.

So light and breeze
as given as taken
float between
the two
and they feel.
 
But they feel
it comes to nothing
and gives up
to chaos
for chaos is there to see.

Breeze and light
are all they grabble
but what of the unseen
swirling out and in and out
in the slow confusion?

One day it will melt
the two and two
and maybe
they’ll chance on some truth.

And sigh a sigh
and stare a stare
and seek order
and not give up
and wait till.

Tempest gives up to drizzle
to dusk and dawn
to light and breeze
till they sense
till they see.

And till, again, we feel.

ESL Blog.

My adult class now has an official website. Hurrah.

Now you know.

The fish can swim.

The elephant can’t talk.

She is ugly.

She is beautiful.

She shows a flashcard of a woman and it is imprinted in their soft brains that this is what beautiful is. Another flashcard and this is what ugly is. Another one and the pig never will have wings.

It’s all too easy.  School is truth and truth is school.

Snapshot.

 Yes, my Foofy’s so gwapo.

And no, I can’t be bothered to change my time/date settings.

zài jiàn.

So today was graduation day for my Level 5 class. But before they uttered their tearjerkers in the form of short goodbye speeches, they accomplished their final project for Teacher Sarah: create a blog. 

They may (or may not) use their spanking new cyber journals for future randomness, but their first posts were of the problem slash advice variety where they receive a handwritten letter from an anonymous classmate (hopefully not of the i-am-hormonally-imbalanced-and-suicidal subgroup), correct the grammatical errors, type it up for online publishing, and then come up with a brilliant counsel as a resolution to the pressing concerns of said colleague. In other words: Someone writes a Dear Diary and the other responds with a Love, Your Diary. Now if only real diaries work THAT way.

Note: They’re Chinese. So hush and swallow them lolz. 

http://wendyandvictor.i.ph

http://jennyandwhitney.i.ph/

http://jimandjenny.i.ph

http://charlieandamy.i.ph/

http://steamandallan.i.ph/ 

Notice a teenage romance brewing in my class? Yes, yes, the teacher’s the matchmaker. ^-^ 

And haha, yeah, I’m promoting i.ph here in China. 

To someone / To no one.

I sang this Christmas of ‘89.

And I sing it now.

Random.

Remember when you inserted a quick “I love you” while I was ranting about a childhood memory? We were sipping coffee/tea for the first time together. It was one beautiful early morning. And you mouthed your words out so beautifully. And I stopped mid-sentence. And I breathed your voice in with my coffee. And I inhaled your eyes and your tea in. And the aroma and the music and your stare, they just all whirled in, braiding together, coming together, clouding my vision, tying my thoughts, and finally killing all my senses. And I sensed nothing more, not even your breath. All I felt was the embrace of those words, and that I loved you back. That I love you.

You still say those words. At times a little more than the usual. Sometimes less than my expected supply. But whenever you do, I go back in time. To us touching toes. To you flashing me a little boy grin. To my brain halting mid-brilliance.

And when that forever is through, I manage to choke out a whisper of an “I love you.” And I almost always end up sounding bad.  

They say that every word, in every language that exists, perfectly reflects the spirit, the feeling, of the thing named by the people using that language.

Love. Love. Love. Pagmamahal. Feel it? 

So, uh, there. Random. ^-^