Mister Candid – Jules Hardy

Amazing read…I couldn’t put this book down. The very hilarious husband of a friend of mine recommended it to me about a year ago and I just got around to picking it up via Amazon.com. Jules Hardy, first of all, is a female author, which I did not realize until well into the 406 pg novel. Most of the characters in the book are male and I assumed incorrectly that ‘Sheila was a man’ due to her succinct and to the point characterization of these men.

The book evokes a range of emotions in the reader, from horror and disbelief during more macabre scenes to curiosity and revulsion regarding sexual taboos. The way Hardy approaches both the sick and the gruesome is neutral and in a way without judgment, so that the reader himself is left with the scales and the decision to weigh or not weigh.

Morality is a funny thing. We all must have our own sense of right or wrong, but when it comes down to matching societal mores, what if our intuition goes against the guidelines set by the world around us? I have always intuitively been against the death penalty. To me, it is just wrong for any system to make a judgment on whether a person lives or dies. I have always felt that the higher powers that be make that decision for us, and courts should not intervene. That seems so intuitively right to me. And in terms of a person taking the life of another…I always abhorred the slight flitter of contentment I would feel when an evil character in a movie finally dies at the hand of the hero protagonist. Who are we to make decisions on the life or death of our fellow human beings?

Mister Candid challenged these views for me. As the back cover will reveal, the story is about a serial killer who rids society of its depraved offenders, namely rapists and child molesters. The title character, I hesitate to type “protagonist” but in a sense that is who he is, makes a career out of this societal “cleansing”, and I found myself rooting for his success in the end. After all, he is killing the vermin that have themselves killed and tortured before, so it is poetic justice, isn’t it? But who is to judge who should or should not be “cleansed” from society? Where do the lines blur before we evoke another Hitler extreme into our midst?

The story follows how Chum Kane, aka Mister Candid, became the serial killer that he is, and is paralleled by the soul-searching of Flanagan, a cop who wants to find Mister Candid and decide for himself which is the better way, to hand over the depraved to the justice (and often injustice) of the courts, or to enforce judgment upon them by pulling the trigger himself. I found myself closely relating to Flanagan’s moral struggle and when I set down the book reluctantly after the 406th page I found myself at a bit of a loss. Rooting for a serial killer. Hmm…

This novel is extremely well-written in a blunt, matter-of-fact style, and will keep you on the edge of your seat and your principles. If I were to point out any criticism, it would be that the ending seems a bit truncated, almost rushed. But perhaps that’s only because I just want to keep following Chum Kane until he finds redemption. Perhaps.

The Four Agreements: A Practical Guide to Personal Freedom - Don Miguel Ruiz

This book was gifted to me this Christmas by a incredible, sensitive soul in Vancouver whom I love…she knows who she is! This is an extremely short read, almost like a quick guide to finding happiness, but much more inspired than the many “self-help in a nutshell” guides you find in the Personal Well-being section of the bookstore these days. I am pretty much open minded to any of these “guides” and usually end up reading both fundamentally soul soothing books as well as the Velveeta ordained ones that just recycle a bunch of known “truths” in a jumbled and inarticulately cheesy mess.

So why is this one particularly good? I think it’s in the simplicity of what these agreements are trying to help the reader focus on. Also, as with all of these guides, the timing of when you read it and your readiness to receive the information within all plays into the effectiveness of the guide. For me, it seemed to reinforce things that I have been pondering recently, including the paradigms set by your parents early on in your life, thus creating walls of approval and disapproval that you eventually must break down yourself. There are no walls but those that you erect yourself. The only approval required is your own. How simple these concepts but at the same time it is this seeking of approval that results in the deep-rooted insecurities that plague even the most headstrong.

The book focuses on four tenets: impeccability to your word, don’t take things personally, don’t make assumptions, and do your best in everything that you do. I think the one that was most jolting for me was “don’t take things personally”. People’s actions germinate from their own motives and purposes, and even when they seem directed at you, the true instigator is within them. Thus, it doesn’t make sense to take things personally because it’s never about you. In the same way, your own thoughts and actions stem from within and there is no one else to blame for the feelings and emotions you experience except you. Being rather sensitive in general, I think this is one of those tenets that really made me find freedom in the recent past. I realized my sensitive reactions to other people’s actions were misguided and unnecessary, and that I was enslaving myself to guilt and blame. Once you divorce yourself from those two harbingers of pain and self-doubt, there’s this sense of liberation, of bindings slipped off, of tethers untied, and you begin to soar on your own terms.

A big thank you to the beautiful woman who sent this book to me…sending virtual hugs from Hawaii.

A Place Far, Far Away - Kona, Hawaii - a fragment

There’s just an hour and a half left to Christmas Day…Merry Christmas to you all out there in different corners of the earth. My Christmas has been awesome so far. Christmas Eve stretched out to the wee hours of the morning and by the time I woke up for Christmas it was already four in the afternoon. My kinda holiday. I am currently listening to one of my wonderful presents, Sounds from the Verve Hi-Fi album, compiled by Thievery Corporation. Very chill stuff for a very chilled vacation.

This past week in Hawaii has been unbelievable. I feel so utterly removed from my daily life in Hong Kong, in a way it almost feels like I could just remain here in this Hawaiian bubble forever. My first five days in the Rainbow State were spent in a place far, far away from everything, nestled up in the hills of Kona on the Big Island. So removed is this place, in fact, that it is self-sufficient in terms of water (collected from the rain), power (generated by solar panels), and telecom (networked via satellite). Just knowing that makes you feel even more isolated, tucked away in your own little haven that could run without any intrusion from the world beyond the drystone walls.

The simplicity of life up there struck me immediately when I woke up the first morning to a peaceful quiet. The stillness up there is infectious. Even my own typically whirring mind was coaxed into silence. The usual drivel was held at bay and the only thoughts I really had were…hmm…gosh, did I even have any thoughts at all? I think for a moment there I even forgot what I did for a living. I may have even ignored my Blackberry for more than 48 consecutive hours. Just awesome. My buddies and I talked about music, constellations, old memories, recent memories, music and more music. We laughed, and laughed, and laughed incessantly, tickling the silence with our chuckles and guffaws.

Under the stars and in front of the fire (yes, believe it or not it was COLD in Hawai’i!) I got to know an amazing gathering of people, some of whom I knew before and some just recently acquainted. If you were to examine each of us on an individual level, you may think, wow, how did this random bunch get together? An unlikely assortment of backgrounds, ages, and professions. But there were such good vibes radiating from each person and within the group, it was obvious we were all meant to cross paths.

In the stillness, it was as if I could hear the pieces falling into place. A perfect culmination to 2005. 2005 was the year for finding strength and how we apply that strength in 2006 and beyond is completely up to us. It’s exhilarating to know that we have within us all that it takes to realize whatever dream we may hold in our hearts. Some of us may be selling crystal right now before traversing the desert to find our true calling, but selling crystal is part of this amazing process and not to be scoffed at. As long as we keep our hearts wide open we will hear the signs from the universe conspiring to help us towards where we are meant to be (unabashed references to Coehlo’s Alchemist as some of you may know ;), and if you don’t know, go to the nearest bookstore and hook yourself up!).

In that very stillness, it was as if I could hear my soul quietly mending, the tranquil up and down motions of a needle joining the formerly fragile fragments together, each patient stitch adhering strength to the seams, the seams together safeguarding the verve of my soul. Mele Kalikimaka, everyone. :)

In Transition - Yahoo! Cafe, Narita Airport - a fragment

Just yesterday I'd been complaining about how there's absolutely nothing to do at Narita Airport, and today I discover that there's actually a Yahoo! cafe in Terminal 2 where you can log on for free! Sweet! Not only that, had an excellent 20 minute massage and a bowl of kitsune udon that just hit the spot. Now there's just half an hour before I board my flight to Honolulu, a perfect slot to contain some of the thought-streams that have been go-karting around in my mind for the past few weeks.

Suffice to say that the past year has just been incredible. Full of ups and downs and all sorts of madness that makes life unbelievable. As the velvet curtain begins to draw on 2005, I find myself eagerly anticipating what the curtains will reveal in 2006. This last quarter of the year has been exceptionally enlightening...old patterns have been revealed and rooted to a common seed in the past, relationships have been redefined in my head and heart, or rather than redefined, perhaps it's more accurate to say that they have been 'updated' to my current reality, and strengths and weaknesses have been acknowledged and accepted, figuratively shown the welcome mat to my inner courts where previously they'd been weighed and judged. There's been a shift in me. One could call it a paradigm shift, as my buddy did, whereby unexpectedly, the world around me just seems a bit more in focus, and more importantly, the 'me' inside me has survived the harsh light of chronic criticism and somehow survived even more whole than before.

It feels as if all the minor adjustments that I've been making throughout the years have found a harmonious chord and things just feel right. Sometimes I'd look around me and felt as if I'd been treading water for ages, not making any actual progress and still in the same place, but now I realize that treading water just builds up those muscles for the long journey ahead. I guess now I feel like I've set off...the part of my journey for honing those muscles is coming to a close and now I am moving forward, not only within, but without as well. It's an exciting feeling, this sense that I am ready for anything that's to come. A few of my thirty-something friends have commented that they went through this transformation of sorts in their late twenties, and now that they are in their thirties, their sense of self is more secure and their need for approval has subsided. The only approval required is the approval you give yourself. Such a simple concept, really, but the implications are profound.

So in a sense I feel as if I am in transition, except this time there is no destination in particular. Sure, right at this moment my mind is on dropping my heavy laptop bag in relief when I finally arrive in Kona, but I find the beauty is in the transition. Every moment in our life is transitional, when it comes down to it. Focusing on the 'goal' gives you determination in a way, but better yet, why not focus on improving every moment in this ever transitioning life we lead? We never know what to expect tomorrow, yes yes, so cliched I know, but so very true. So rather than ask ourselves what we are transitioning to and where the destination is, I find for now I'd like to just relish in transition itself. The purity of your soul remains constant, but you can always define what part of your soul you would like to experience at any given moment.

Speaking of transitions, my layover is quickly coming to an end and if I don't 'transition' myself out of here soon I'll miss my flight to Honolulu...more to come later and in the meanwhile, happy transitions to all of those in my circle whom I know are going through changes, some major and some minor, in their lives right now. This journey is what it's all about, and as 'journey' signifies movement and change, let's make the most of these transitions together. ALOHA!!!

Mood: Cornflower - playlist

about to dash off to kona and honolulu for my soul vacation...so much to write about lately but no time just yet...will have to let the music do the talking...big aloha hugs and happy holidays to all you all out there... =D

1. Honey and the Moon – Joseph Arthur
2. Angeles – Elliott Smith
3. Scratch – Kendall Payne
4. A Lack of Color – Death Cab For Cutie
5. To Be Alone With You – Sufjan Stevens
6. Pocketful of Money – Jens Lekman
7. Cannonball – Damien Rice
8. They Weren’t There – Missy Higgins
9. How to Be Dead – Snow Patrol
10. For the Widows in Paradise – Sufjan Stevens
11. Between the Bars – Elliott Smith
12. Songs for a Blue Guitar – Red House Painters
13. The Sound of White – Missy Higgins
14. I Saw Her In The Anti War Demonstration – Jens Lekman
15. Details of the War – Clap Your Hands Say Yeah!
16. Love and Some Verses – Iron and Wine
17. On My Bones – Kendall Payne
18. Silent Sea – KT Tunstall
19. Saturday Sun – Nick Drake

John Banville - The Sea

I don’t know what possessed me to pick up this book in the first place, as I’d never heard of Banville before. Perhaps it was the simplicity of the title and the Magritte-esque cover, and of course, that stamp of approval on the bottom right hand corner: “Shortlisted for the Man Booker Prize 2005”.

What struck me most through reading this book was Banville’s prose…extremely elegant and at times esoteric as well. He uses words that I have never even seen before. “Blench” for example. I stupidly have always thought it was spelled “blanche”. Parboiled, leporine, lummox, costiveness, anthropic, polyp, vulgate, apercus. Words I’ve seen but forgotten: recreant, traduced, crapulent…so many, sometimes you feel like Banville’s choice of words is an angry onslaught to catch the reader offguard. You can almost imagine him spitting each distinct syllable of these foreign words at his ignobly ignorant readers, of which I am one. He demands an exercise of the brain and I like that.

Another distinction with his prose…he has no chapters. Just a part I and a part II. He slides in and out of scenes, memories, time periods, point of views in a quick turn of the pen and you feel securely seatbelted behind his mind’s eye, as it takes you for a ride. There are surprising moments, catches in his plot, points where you draw a sharp intake of breath as the twist dawns upon you, but it’s not the plot that keeps you going, but rather, the meandering vein of his prose.

The storyline circles around the grieving process of Max Morden, who has just lost his wife to cancer. Yet in grieving for his Anna, Max finds himself wandering through his childhood and past griefs. The intertwining of his adulthood and childhood forms a unique perspective as you trace the outlines of his mind. Unexpectedly, anger will boil up to the forefront, prompting him to address the dead Anna directly with foul epithets you wouldn’t think Max Morden could be capable of.

One particular passage that struck a chord for me…there is a moment when Max’s anger erupts in an all too familiar question that once ran through my mind during my early stages of grief. He demands of Anna, “Why have you not come back to haunt me? It is the least I would have expected from you. Why this silence, day after day, night after interminable night?…Send back your ghost. Torment me, if you like. Rattle your chains, drag your cerements across the floor, keen like a banshee, anything. I would have a ghost.”

All in all, the man has a succinct an elegant style that makes you keep reading. His perspectives are wide-ranging, sometimes you are deep in his neuroses, other times reading what seems to be just a straightforward, subjective account of a summer’s day. Which is so indicative of how one’s mind usually works…completely randomly. Deep one minute, then fixated on some superfluous detail in the next. He commands your attention by the very power of his prose and you follow, mesmerized in this alternate reality he weaves.

I Heart Hong Kong - a fragment

(obvious SATC reference, for those who are fans…)

I’ve been living in Las Vegas for a good part of this past weekend. I can’t say I’m proud to admit it, but it’s true and it’s been a helluva good time. I’ve been a semi-hermit this past weekend because I was supposed to be packing and performing a serious purging session, a colonic of sorts for the clutter that fills my apartment for no good reason. Old clothes I haven’t looked at for years, trinkets from xyz restaurants and abc vacation resorts that don’t really add much to my general “décor”, things I own that I don’t even know about, things of other people that I need to return…a one by one bagging of all the “stuff” that is just that…stuff. Not so much definition 2 found on http://www.dictionary.com/: “The essential substance or elements". But more like definition 3.c: “Worthless objects”. It's imperative that I start this purging as soon as possible, since my move is in less than a week, but...I just couldn’t do it.

So instead I retired to Las Vegas, the world of Ed Deline and Danny McCoy, ah Danny…now’s there’s a fine specimen of a man there. In between episodes I contemplated all that I had left to throw out and then proceeded to push the stuff out of my mind once the titles began playing again on the next mind-numbing episode of LV. Finally, the Sunday evening of a weekend that was earmarked for productive expulsion is drawing to a close, and I wonder to myself…why the heck have I been procrastinating so much? What’s keeping me from chucking out the first unnecessary item in my over-cluttered life? And then I realized…I’m suffering from DIP…Denial Induced Paralysis. Yes, that’s a medical term and you may want to go out and get the latest edition if your copy of Black’s Medical doesn’t have it.

I love Hong Kong. I love my little apartment on Mosque Junction, tucked behind the more boisterous Robinson Road and atop a beautiful little area us Hong Kong people call Soho, even though it really isn’t much like the New York equivalent it’s named after. But hey, in HK, we take what we can get. We have spatial limitations here but we make the most of the horizontal limits by extending vertically. Way vertically. I am sitting by my window looking out over my beloved city and I realize how goddam high up I am in my 17th story pad, which is considered not very high up in the HK scheme of things. I look out across the way to my neighbor’s flat 30 ft away from me, so close I can see the bubbles rising in the violet fishtank beside their window, behind the silhouette of, randomly, a row of four of five Chinese vases. Palpable, the humanity across 30 ft of thin air. Their light is still on and well, there’s my anonymous neighbor, HK style. 7 million of us stacked up like legos across this town, lit up at all hours, the constant inhale and exhale of 7 million souls fueling this little energy grid we live in.

My day began perfectly today. I left Las Vegas to cool in my DVD player and took to the streets. First, breakfast with my friend Victoria’s extremely impressive and accomplished father (who climbed Kilimanjaro at age 62 last year) at the newly erected Four Seasons hotel. Another incredible steel and glass structure adorning Hong Kong’s renowned skyline. Service with a smile trained into waiters, bellboys, and valets, alike; an immaculate and stylishly streamlined décor; a menu offering a range of international breakfast alternatives; basically everything you’d expect from the most recent addition to Hong Kong’s upscale hoteliers. From the lap of luxury I meandered through the many covered overpasses of the Central district that shield millions of suited executives from the sun and rain during the weekdays and shelter thousands of Filipina maids (aka “helpers” of these aforementioned executives) on Sundays. Funny how the day of the week can change the atmosphere along those walkways so dramatically. With the kind assistance of a random passerby I found a little shop in an alleyway that alters watchbands while you watch for a mere HKD20. Minutes later I left the crowded lane with two perfectly fitted watches. Ah, the satisfaction of small errands efficiently executed.

Up several lengths of the Mid-levels escalator and I run into a brand new café advertising San Francisco coffee, perfect place to get through the final chapters of the book I’m trying to finish. An hour and a few SMS’s later I meet a friend for a second breakfast at a little café in Soho. Brilliant use of space – we end up in the back “patio” section of the café, technically en plen air dining, but in reality a square of space completely enclosed by apartment buildings on each side, offering the very familiar and priceless sight of undergarments and mops dripping from laundry lines above. A visit to my favorite leather goods store, Lianca on Graham St., lightens my mood and my wallet. Then a bit of pampering at a hair salon on Wellington, whose second floor perch allows a direct view into the gym across the street, where a whole squadron of gym bunnies are sweating it out on a row of treadmills. All this, and it’s only 5pm when I meet an out-of-towner for a slice of French apple pie at Portobello’s on Staunton St. 7pm, take-out from Chicken on the Run and back to the comforts of my couch and the action on the Strip.

The simple details of my day feel so perfect that I realize that I must be a bit lovesick for Hong Kong, lovesick for the life I lead here. I feel so at home in my little flat, so comfortable in this little city with its cocktail of cosmopolitan accents cut with the ever-present dry and guttural local dialect. I’m spoiled by the ease of my Mid-level life, trudging up and down the escalators, to and fro in this microcosm. And speaking of bubbles, it’s 2am and my neighbors are still up but the violet bubbles have ceased their ascent. Ah…even fish need to sleep.

You’re probably wondering about the relevance of these details to the DIP I mentioned before. Simple, really. When you love where you live, it’s tough to take those first little steps of disassociation. The beginning of the colonic signifies the start of my move, and although my due date looms close I am still reluctant to acknowledge its ineluctability. Just one day more of simple comforts. There’s always tomorrow for the purging to begin. Now, to join the fish...