i thought i like solitude more deep inside.. seems that i'm not enjoying it very much these days that i'm alone at home... been only half a week since i was left alone in the apartment and i'm just really bored. solitude.. not my cup of tea.
but travelling alone is still a romantic idea. on my way back from san francisco on the amtrak train (again), i wrote:
it's only on the train i feel that i'm traveling at all. you never feel this way on an aeroplane, solely for the brevity of the trip itself.
right now i'm traveling down from sf to sd, on an amtrak train through the californian country. there would've been some good view outside the window, if only it wasn't so rainy today. but the overall gray tone of the fields does give a serene feel. too bad my camera won't take much of the calm atmosphere. all that it captures is the gray and dead gloom.
i like the romantic notion of a drifter, which i pretend to be whenever i'm traveling alone. it's only during those lonely trips that i can imagine that i'm the heroine in some kind of art film, a drifter, hugging my bag in a slow moving train, among the strangers, with no destination in mind, only involved with the scenery, only involved in observing what's around me. a lost person. a flaneur. a break from the always directed and always purposeful life.
and was also reminded of a paragraph i read before:
He put the letters aside and sat with his head in his hands. He did not help her or encourage her, and she was careful never to ask out-right. If she had insisted on coming, he forced himself to complete this thought now, he would have stood aside or kept his distance or actively prevented her coming, whatever was necessary. He had himself, in that year, escaped into the bright old world he had longed for. He was writing stories and taking in sensations and slowly plotting his first novels. He was no longer a native of the James family, but alone in a warm climate with a clear amibition and a free imagination. His mother had written to say that he must spend what money he needed in feasting at the table of freedom. He did not want his invalid cousin. Even had she been well, he was not sure that her company, so ful of willful charm and curiosity, would have been entirely welcome. He needed then to watch life, or imagine the world, through his own eys. Had she been there, he would have seen through hers.
2 comments:
I usually don't like to ruin personal writings with my own, but I admire how you can express yourself with your own words, as well as what other people have written.
My sister can do that, and I'm always in awe of it.
Hopefully you'll have a tiny bit of time for painting too.
Thanks, Mr. Kitakaze. my writing is not good at all lol.. i'm sure you can do much better... i keep writing, because my mother told me to. she said write down your thoughts, or you'll lose them before you know it. and regret for the rest of your life... well. so i kept writing. good or bad.
i wish i could paint too. i'm too wound up in a million other things. lol.. sigh.
Post a Comment