The late afternoon breeze was a welcoming change after days of sultry onslaught of heat and stillness that suspended all imaginative emotions except for that uncontrollable yearning for ice cold Coca Cola to be poured down my throat. The cool breeze wafted through the warm air like a messenger carrying nostalgic good news from home. A small puddle has gathered on a small depression close to the sidewalk, the water flowing down from the nearby sprinkler quenching the thirst of a big patch of grass colored like summer in a dry yellowness. Slowly the water surface expanded, forming a delicate dark mirror that reflected the cloudless sky that seem so heavy at times. I sat on the grass watching as two sparrows landed nearby the puddle and began drinking from it, though not without their usual cautious manner, taking tiny sip at a time and watching all too alertly for any disturbance or movement. One sparrow took the liberty of submerging its tiny feet in the middle, jumping about after every sip of cold water in a circular motion, creating a small ripple in the otherwise cool darkness. Their taking in of the cool liquid made me realize of my own thirst and hunger. I went into kitchen, took a plate of curry rice -- extra spicy -- and a big glass of ice water, and sat down on a shaded spot on the grass in the front yard, the freshly-cut grass felt cool and prickly against the rump. The confluence of curry and grass and heat and breeze were a combination of rather nice texture to the mind.

Tags: Summer

These days alarm clock is unnecessary as the muggy weather thoroughly invaded the room before Sunday sleep came to a satisfactory point. As a result one is awoken to the heat and humidity, a sensation more real than the illusory dream that perpetuated throughout the night. Once the mind became sentient to reality, one realizes the clamminess that stuck to the night shirt, and every pore on the skin is open for business, discharging an endless stream of salty sweat. The electric fan is continuously humming, but its effect against the unusual summery heat is almost neglectful. Before washing I turned on the iBook to check on the day's weather: 100°, partly cloudy with 66% humidity.

Thought about taking the camera out for shoot around downtown, but had to decide against it as I won't be able to last beyond 30 minutes under the balmy condition. Instead, took the car in for an oil change; did some grocery shopping at both American and Chinese market; got a coke slurpee from 7-Eleven; ate cold soba for lunch; and, finally, fought for the one last open table at the chilled enclosure of Starbucks and began reading Timothy Findley's Not Wanted on the Voyage, a random purchase from Chapters while in Vancouver. The heat is said to last till tomorrow.

Tags: Los Angeles, Weather, Heat

Trying to do some library researches using Windows, and this is what happened -- twice! Ctrl+Alt+Del took three minutes to work, only to be hit by the same problem again. Finally I had to force shut down everything and start all over on Mac.

Nice, eh?

Tags: Windows, Mac

Putting on a worn, frayed white t-shirt with chino pants, and a pair of flip-flop under my sole, the gentle evening breeze obliged the evening dinner plan with N. at a nearby Vietnamese cafe. It was only after getting to the cafe that N. called to inform she is stuck at work and won't be out anytime soon. I thought of leaving at once, but the faint smell of phở (or the imagery of it) persuaded my general reluctance of dining alone in a restaurant to let it pass. Instead, Lord Jim will be my dinner companion.

The patio section had five or six tables, all of which were empty, despite the agreeable evening weather. The patio view is nonexistent -- it expands into a gigantic parking lot of a strip mall, and a gas station stood at the corner of my vision. The depth of summer fading gradually in the course of the sinking sun, its impression upon the suburban landscape is of palpable one that turns from hard edges into mellowness, and behind the blue tapestry above the sketchy outline of moon began to take shape. What remained of the sun light reflected off the worn, yellowing pages of the book, a Modern Library hardcover edition dating to 1969, accentuating the fading ink that testify to the ongoingness of time.

Without so much as a sound the server placed the phở on the table, while glancing curiously at the book cover. "Good book?" "Excellent," I replied, "but very taxing."

As the whiff of beef broth slowly trickles through the air, I tear up a few leaves of basil, in addition with bean sprouts, to be added to the soup. The few slices of red raw beef sitting on top of the noodle formed a strong contrast with the sprinkled leafy green. I take in two spoonful of the broth -- a little taste of happiness -- and watched street lamps lip up one after another, casting a artificial pall over the suburban setting with which I try to extricate from.

Tags: Phở, Lord Jim, Suburb

Sometimes one cannot ask too much from life, especially when sipping coffee at Peet's Coffee & Tea on Lake ave. in Pasadena and reading a fine novel such as Joseph Conrad's Lord Jim. It is not everyday one gets a choice between Starbucks (there is one right across from here) and Peet's, when the former straddles just about every block in Los Angeles. The conclusion of a six-hour lecture early this morning has left me devoid of purposeful mind except for sitting here twiddling my thumb and occasionally casting gaze upon passersby on the sun-drenched sidewalk serried with shoppers going in and out of Macy's. Time imperceptibly ticks away, like a tree branch falling in the middle of a desolate forest. The fire ball in the sky continues its slow descend through the usual course, imprinting the city with a degree darker shade of light as it travels further away.

The long wooden bench on which I am sitting makes a reassuring creaking sound whenever I shift my position. I read through Marlow's account of Jim; of their conversation about the Patna; of Marlow's meeting with the French seaman; of Marlow's introspection of himself, of Jim, of the French seaman. In between pages the hue of gloaming, imbuing the city with a softer glow of light, brought the world beyond the coffer shop's window closer to one's mind, shortening the distance that was once put in place by the unbearable heat and glare. What followed immediately after was a dark radiance permeating the blue sky, all together intermingling to produce a pale purple ambience that bespoke of things sad and beautiful. As if by social norm, couples that once occupied tables left the establishment to attend perhaps their dinner appointments; the remaining ones sat stoically in the midst of their page turning.

Tags: Los Angeles, Peet's, Lord Jim

The morning light sifted through the blind and cast a soft brightness about the basement room where I am lodged. With just a slight tilt of the head while reposed, one could see the sharp blue sky without a speck of white. The whole dormitory was quiet, quiet to a point where I begun to suspect if there are other travelers besides myself. The communal bathroom was empty, and without any evidence of use, except that one of the toilet wasn’t functioning. While passing by the TV room, a girl sat motionless there, reading her paperback, without giving any thought to the passing person. I need not mention which day this is, for everyday in Vancouver started out this way.

Emerging from my dungeon, the sun light pierced through the vision like a penetrating gaze that one couldn’t stand looking at. The morning coolness, while slowly evaporating, served as a small respite before the full blast of heat. I walked the usual 12 minutes-walk to the nearby bus station, all the while passing by travelers and students alike. My right foot still aches, and my knees growing weaker. But the pain is worth it, as I am bound to recall every poignant detail of this short ship in the midst of school paper deadline and work. I took an obligatory detour into a small grocery market near campus and purchased a bus day-pass.

Traveling alone takes commitment, and not everything can go smoothly. While riding the Seabus going from Vancouver’s Waterfront Station to North Vancouver’s Lonsdale Quay, in the midst of 150-plus strangers, watching the ferry cleave through the smooth surface of the sea, the din of chatters from fellow passengers can really drown out one’s independent spirit. Watching as the Waterfront Station recedes into the distance and forming into a postcard scenery, and feeling the slight wobbling of the ferry, an uneasiness came over my mind, questioning my stubbornness in traveling alone -- will I travel alone for the rest of my life?

But I should not exemplify the abovementioned as what the trip concluded to be. Simple, blissful moments are abundant, and only could be achieved by my traveling solo. At times the aching of the foot grew so unbearable that it was excruciating to tolerate another step more. The cure of such annoyance turns out to be a simple C$0.99 ice cream cone from 7-Eleven. I walked as I take in the simple delight of life, and soon the sweetness made me forget all about the pain. The walk on Seymour to Gastown, from Davies to Denman, from the seawall at the Stanley Park to the inner forested trekking path, all were accomplished with patience and a little confection.

And there was the oyster burger consumed at the Granville Public Market. Bought at the fish and chips stall inside the teeming market, I chose a wooden bench laden with sunshine splashing down directly, with view of the tranquil English Bay to keep me entertained, the burger, though slightly overpriced, was as good as anything I have tasted on this trip. Savoring the moist texture of oyster and fish and chips, the sea water pushing forever gently against the pier, there might not have been a more perfect moment on the entire trip.

All good things must come to an end. YVR-LAX will take place at 9 am tomorrow. Many more things, nuances that I wish to convey to you will have to wait. Although some will be lost.

Tags: Travel, Canada, British Columbia, Vancouver