Snow-Capped and Lonely

The scenery of snow-capped mountains never fails to captivate me. The fascination does not stem from the fact I was born and raised in a country where snow-capped mountains are “almost” nonexistent, but the notion that far away up there, there is something so different, so pure and visible but yet unattainable like a dream, is what attract me most, particularly when the mountain or chain of mountains overlook a big city. The contrast between the supposed hustle of the city and the secluded white peaks is intriguing. Pictures of cities like Seattle, Vancouver or Santiago make me wish to visit someday although I know it is not a very realizable idea.

A mesmerizing sight was the peak of Mount Fuji in a half clear day when I was in a cable car in the city of Hakone. Someone yelled that Fuji was there. I could not see it and then realized I was looking in a much lower point on the horizon. I looked up and the proud peak was there, almost in the middle of the sky. Rare are the moments that do not get overshadowed by other moments. And that was one. At that phase of my life during which I visited Fuji, I was feeling lonely. Painfully lonely. So lonely that I once picked up the receiver of the silent phone hoping to catch anyone who might have the intention to call.

Not So Chanted April

Temperature rises gradually and I have already started to miss the winter. Our mild winter. The slowly penetrating heat, longer daylights and the spring bloom add their flavor to the chaotic traffic, crowded streets and the newly born revolutionary spirit.

I commute most of the days from the office back home by taxi. The comments I hear sometimes from taxi drivers are why I look angry. I do not feel or look angry, but being serious is hopefully mistaken for looking angry where people, despite the suffering, are used to joke and smile.

Regular exercise at the gym, desperate attempt to finish “A Field of Scarlet Poppies” by Jennifer Dawson which I started lazily to read few months ago, and meeting friends over endless political discussion color my days of April.

Some photos of the tsunami echoed what I always see in my dreams. Floods, tsunami or just huge waves made regular recurring dreams. In these dreams, as panicked as I could be, running away was my only obsession. When I see the photos I recall the scary feeling I have in these dreams.

I am disappointed with a close friend because of his complete silence during recent critical circumstances I have passed through. I am not convinced with his excuses. I feel our friendship suddenly faces cold wind and I say is that it? The end of friendship comes that easily?

In a poem I read recently the poet said the more he tried to flee from his father's character/image/influence that was haunting him, the more he found himself behaving like his father. Do we release out, when we get older, what we stored from our parents' behavior by adopting the same behavior? In my case it seems yes.

I have been described as a rather pessimist person (here with the afore-mentioned seriousness we have a dangerous combination!). I do not disagree. But the tsunami of change in the Middle East, particularly in Egypt, fills me profusely with that thing with feathers. Huge feathers.

I am supposed to go visit my parents’ graves this Friday. I did it last time around five years ago. I wonder is this meaningful anymore? In the past and long before my parents passed away I always thought visiting the graves, in general, touched the soul, but now…..

Is buying a reproduced famous oil painting a sign of bad taste? I am tempted to do but something inside says no, no, no.

Many years ago April took my heart, put it in a blueish triangle shaped box and carried it to South America. It was returned back later in an unregistered mail. And April remained since so unchanted.

Dream (March 2011)

I wanted to buy a second-hand linen-press. I went to the downtown and found a shop at the corner of the street. I climbed few stairs and entered the shop which was rather small and dim. I did not find what I was looking for but the owner told me to check the items in the storeroom. The storeroom was old but unexpectedly bright and very spacious, and I wondered how such big space was annexed to the small shop. I checked the linen-press items but they were all either broken or in bad condition. I felt embarrassed leaving without buying despite the owner’s help, so I told him I would look around somewhere else and come back again. I went out of the shop and walked down the street.