"Well it's going to be a total loss."
Total loss? My little grey car didn't like a total loss. Sure he was definitely limping, but he looked reparable.
"Yes, all you have to do is sign the papers. You have to let us know if you want to keep it for scrap value."
I walked back over to my car who had been hit as I tried to parallel park. He was my first car. The pink slip was in my name and I knew how he worked and grumbled and got me where I needed to go. When I got him, the owner, a woman in her late twenties, had fondly handed me the keys telling me, "I had a wonderful time in this car. I hope the same for you." He had been her first car as well, and I felt like she was bestowing on me a harbinger of good times. Ironically, the first few weeks after Gus's arrival (I christened him Gus, because of his large tail end... think Cinderella) ended up being some of the most difficult in my life. And yet retrospectively, difficult is not necessarily different than good. Sometimes it is the circumstances that are difficult that provide the most good. So perhaps her words were a foreshadowing of good times only the good was not what I expected. It was much better.
But regardless, Gus was there for it, my little dependable car, with airlocks that allowed me to locate him if I misplaced him in the parking lot. Push the button on my keys and he lights up. And furthermore, he got me back and forth between work and church with complete dependability and he knew the ninety-one freeway, the Biola parking lot and the In-n-out drive through as I am sure no other car can.
Last Friday, I went and emptied him out. It was sad, but that is because I identify him with a time in my life, a good time, a hard time, a time that is time to say goodbye to.
So Farewell.
-Leilani
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Friday, February 19, 2010
The Spires of Oxford
Why I like 'Silk'
One of my favorite movies is 'Silk.'
It is shot against an innocent landscape of provincial France. The lush, golden tones betray the dark central theme of the movie: a husband has an affair.
The mistress is a Japanese woman (I'm probably even more drawn to the story due to my shared heritage with THE OTHER WOMAN) he meets on a voyage to secure silk worms for his village. Though he loves his wife, he is inextricably drawn to this geisha, and is knitted emotionally to her for the rest of his life. To make matters worse, the wife (played by Keira Knightly-LOVE HER EYEBROWS) unquestioningly loves her tortured husband with silent devotion. Yeah. You really feel bad for her.
Japan and France seem to be juxtaposed. Japan is wild, untamed and unpredictable. France is controlled, beautiful, elegant. In a way, the countries seem to be the two women in the husband's life. The geisha is mysterious, elusive, and alluring. His wife, schooled in etiquette and domestics, is gorgeous and contained.
There is a snapshot of the geisha that the husband has in his mind, an image he returns to even as he walks along the cobbled streets of France, millions of miles from Japan. It is of the geisha in a river, resting her hand delicately on the surface of the water. The image is enticingly exotic.
The most poignant part of the movie is built off of this image. The husband is lying in bed in France and his wife is standing by a basin of water. He is staring into the distance. And he doesn't see. He doesn't see that his wife has gently laid her hand on top of the water, expressing the same exotic, feminine beauty of geisha.
I LOVE IT. It's so sad, the missed moment-which is representative of the missed love. The wife had all the bewitchment of the mistress. But the husband didn't see what was right before him. It reminds me of life, how we can pursue things relentlessly without seeing that what is most valuable and most fulfilling may be something we already possesses.
SPOILER ALERT! If you haven't seen Silk, stop reading!
What is even sadder is that at the end, after the wife has died of illness, the husband sees that image again. Only this time it is the wife in the river. He realizes he has lost all he had ever wanted.
Autumn
Monday, February 15, 2010
Europe, Part One: London
What I love about London:
-the chocolate ice cream at the theater. Surrounded by the dark wood chairs lined in gold and in front of a giant stage, you can still get a calorie fix at intermission. And you can eat it. Right there. IN THE THEATER! With the oftentimes starchy British rules and regulations, I was amazed. I mean, even in laid back So Cal you can't eat in the actual theater theater. You have to eat in the lobby. So major points to the Brits for letting you enjoy a two inch container of creamy goodness (even if it costs six bucks).
-the tube. At times it can be an assault on your olfactory senses. And at times there is a peculiar, hot wind blowing through the tunnels (I have no idea where this heat comes from...the earth's core? A breeze coming up from hell?). But, for some odd reason, I find the advertisements, liberally dispersed over the walls of the metro, to be a fascinating art exhibit and peak into the British culture. They are racier in variety than what you see here (I remember one ad in which a woman wore nothing but a few carefully placed spoons) and quite a bit more wordier (American advertisers obviously rely more on flashy pictures and key words as opposed to relying on their target market to actually read something).
-the flower shops. I'm talking old school flower shops, with beautiful blossoms bursting out of wooden crates, prices scrawled enchantingly on little chalkboards. Come to think of it, I have no idea how they had such gorgeous flowers as it was the middle of winter. Maybe they were imported.
-the busyness. People were everywhere, all the time, at all times. And I loved that.
What I didn't like (because you can't love everything):
-the faucets. One faucet for hot water. One for cold. Which created the following dilemma: do you want to wash your face in scalding hot water or water that's sub zero in temperature?
-the cold. IT WAS FREEZING! I would have to steel myself physically and emotionally every time I left the hotel. I was so cold, I probably looked like I was going through withdrawals, I was shaking that hard.
-Autumn
-the chocolate ice cream at the theater. Surrounded by the dark wood chairs lined in gold and in front of a giant stage, you can still get a calorie fix at intermission. And you can eat it. Right there. IN THE THEATER! With the oftentimes starchy British rules and regulations, I was amazed. I mean, even in laid back So Cal you can't eat in the actual theater theater. You have to eat in the lobby. So major points to the Brits for letting you enjoy a two inch container of creamy goodness (even if it costs six bucks).
-the tube. At times it can be an assault on your olfactory senses. And at times there is a peculiar, hot wind blowing through the tunnels (I have no idea where this heat comes from...the earth's core? A breeze coming up from hell?). But, for some odd reason, I find the advertisements, liberally dispersed over the walls of the metro, to be a fascinating art exhibit and peak into the British culture. They are racier in variety than what you see here (I remember one ad in which a woman wore nothing but a few carefully placed spoons) and quite a bit more wordier (American advertisers obviously rely more on flashy pictures and key words as opposed to relying on their target market to actually read something).
-the flower shops. I'm talking old school flower shops, with beautiful blossoms bursting out of wooden crates, prices scrawled enchantingly on little chalkboards. Come to think of it, I have no idea how they had such gorgeous flowers as it was the middle of winter. Maybe they were imported.
-the busyness. People were everywhere, all the time, at all times. And I loved that.
What I didn't like (because you can't love everything):
-the faucets. One faucet for hot water. One for cold. Which created the following dilemma: do you want to wash your face in scalding hot water or water that's sub zero in temperature?
-the cold. IT WAS FREEZING! I would have to steel myself physically and emotionally every time I left the hotel. I was so cold, I probably looked like I was going through withdrawals, I was shaking that hard.
-Autumn
Friday, February 12, 2010
Europe: Part One, London
Les Miserables
When I was ten, I resolved to learn and belt out "Do you hear the People sing" whenever able. It was about freedom and right overcoming wrong-And I eagerly looked forward to my first viewing of Les Mis when it came to Los Angeles and I prioritized it when I went to London for the first time. Since then, it has become a tradition. If I am in London I watch Les Miserables. And somehow it has never bored me.
The themes fascinate me as do the nuanced interpretations in the different productions. This Fantine was dirty and desperate. She played her part like a true woman of the night. The last Fantine was playful. Her downfall was pathetic. This Marius was boyish. His loves scenes were convincing, but his sorrow elicited little response. This Val Jean was the best. He changed the intonations and made the other Val Jeans unmemorable. But regardless,who is performing; justice, mercy, freedom, humanity, redemption and love is shown.
"Do you hear the people sing lost in the valley of the night/It is the music of the people who are climbing towards the light." What is the light? It is redemption, hope. And one leaves the show convinced that love is redeeming and that men are not perfect, but grace can take a man "no worse than any man," and bring him salvation
St. Paul's Cathedral
The step's to the bell tower are narrow and twisty. The last ascent is particularly "'perilous" as one must brave an iron Victorian staircase where one sees through the rungs. Right before entering the bell tower there is a small hole to look through. Hundreds of feet below, is the Cathedral floor with little ant people and ant furniture. Your stomach collapses in and then expands back out, but when the top is reached, and the crisp air blows away the sweat of the climb, the effort is worth it. All around is London, old London, new London, the Thames, the Eye, the Globe Theater. Slowly, one walks the small circumference. One takes a couple pictures and then begins the descent down, down, where the angelic choir sings filling the whispering gallery and the main chancel.
-Leilani
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
My Latest Ambition
I try to keep it a secret that sometimes I miss writing papers. After all, upon graduation capped and gowned participants congratulate each other with the exultant cry of "no more papers, no more classes, no more school!" Sympathy for those who still want to write is almost non-existent. But I enjoy (most of the time) the process that is paper writing. And I miss it when I am reading a book and a interesting thesis suggests itself and begs further research.
Since graduating, I assumed that I would go back to school and study for my masters. But circumstantially and providentially the time for school did not come. Now however (trips always make me reflect), I am compelled to apply to different programs, in different places, along the lines of different passions, and pray that God leads. A change in the seasons of my life seems to be coming and I am excited to see where this God directed wind will blow me.
Since graduating, I assumed that I would go back to school and study for my masters. But circumstantially and providentially the time for school did not come. Now however (trips always make me reflect), I am compelled to apply to different programs, in different places, along the lines of different passions, and pray that God leads. A change in the seasons of my life seems to be coming and I am excited to see where this God directed wind will blow me.
LOVE AND LOSS
It wasn't the first time I lost my wallet. The first time was earlier last year. I left it in the Biola cafeteria. It resurfaced, minus the cash, and I joyfully reclaimed it. So imagine the difficulty of having to go through the grieving process a second time.
It was lost (or maybe stolen!) somewhere on the Metro in Spain in between the stop Atoche and Ducal.
It is a horrifying moment when you reach for the one vessel that carries not only your identity (license and school ID) but the means by which you survive (credit card, cash) and thrive (Olive Garden gift card, Hollywood video card) and IT'S NOT THERE. It's like looking down and discovering part of you is missing (like a finger or a liver).
I immediately started going through the five stages of grief:
1. Shock and Denial: I dug through my purse five times, thinking, no, no, no, no. I realized it was gone. I told myself it was gone. Then I dug through my purse again. Repeated this whole process at least four times.
2. Pain and Guilt: Why hadn't I protected my beautiful wallet better? Why hadn't I been more alert? Oh, when would this agony end? When could I love another wallet again? Probably never.
3. Anger and Bargaining: I was outraged at the thought that someone could have stolen it ("this is a sorry world we live in!") and outraged that I could have left it somewhere ("what kind of person are you, possibly leaving your life source on the ticket booth?!). And I immediately started thinking up possible trades: "it would have been better if my passport AND my SS card were stolen-just not my wallet. WHY wasn't it Lei's wallet? TAKE LEI'S WALLET, GOSH-TAKE HER WHOLE SUITCASE!! -JUST PASS OVER ME!"
4. Loneliness and Reflection: I thought about all the good time I had with that wallet and how beautiful it had been. I thought about how faithfully it had served me over the past four years.
5. Acceptance: uh, yeah, I'm still working on this one.
What is most sad is that the Juicy Couture wallet was one of my prized possessions. It was stunning-silver, with delicate tucking and an adorable heart on the back. I bought it with one whole check right before I went to Biola freshman year. And I am not lying when I say it brought me pleasure every time I drew it out of my purse.
I had stopped keeping a diary just about the time I got the wallet. And in a way, the wallet had become my diary. It held pieces of my past four years, objects that land marked my life: solicitous notes from various guys, ticket stubs, small magazine pictures of things that had caught my fancy, post its from my roommates, and miniature To Do lists. I'd saved a note or two from my boyfriend, who doesn't write love letters. Little inconsequential notes, but ones written in his affectionate way. I am saddest about those.
I am now trying to recover and put my life back together, an arduous task involving several hours at the DMV and a few more at the bank, convincing them I am indeed, Autumn S. Brim. And I have another wallet. A turquoise one from Guess. I can't say I've given my heart it though-No, my heart will always belong to my Juicy Couture Wallet. :)
It was lost (or maybe stolen!) somewhere on the Metro in Spain in between the stop Atoche and Ducal.
It is a horrifying moment when you reach for the one vessel that carries not only your identity (license and school ID) but the means by which you survive (credit card, cash) and thrive (Olive Garden gift card, Hollywood video card) and IT'S NOT THERE. It's like looking down and discovering part of you is missing (like a finger or a liver).
I immediately started going through the five stages of grief:
1. Shock and Denial: I dug through my purse five times, thinking, no, no, no, no. I realized it was gone. I told myself it was gone. Then I dug through my purse again. Repeated this whole process at least four times.
2. Pain and Guilt: Why hadn't I protected my beautiful wallet better? Why hadn't I been more alert? Oh, when would this agony end? When could I love another wallet again? Probably never.
3. Anger and Bargaining: I was outraged at the thought that someone could have stolen it ("this is a sorry world we live in!") and outraged that I could have left it somewhere ("what kind of person are you, possibly leaving your life source on the ticket booth?!). And I immediately started thinking up possible trades: "it would have been better if my passport AND my SS card were stolen-just not my wallet. WHY wasn't it Lei's wallet? TAKE LEI'S WALLET, GOSH-TAKE HER WHOLE SUITCASE!! -JUST PASS OVER ME!"
4. Loneliness and Reflection: I thought about all the good time I had with that wallet and how beautiful it had been. I thought about how faithfully it had served me over the past four years.
5. Acceptance: uh, yeah, I'm still working on this one.
What is most sad is that the Juicy Couture wallet was one of my prized possessions. It was stunning-silver, with delicate tucking and an adorable heart on the back. I bought it with one whole check right before I went to Biola freshman year. And I am not lying when I say it brought me pleasure every time I drew it out of my purse.
I had stopped keeping a diary just about the time I got the wallet. And in a way, the wallet had become my diary. It held pieces of my past four years, objects that land marked my life: solicitous notes from various guys, ticket stubs, small magazine pictures of things that had caught my fancy, post its from my roommates, and miniature To Do lists. I'd saved a note or two from my boyfriend, who doesn't write love letters. Little inconsequential notes, but ones written in his affectionate way. I am saddest about those.
I am now trying to recover and put my life back together, an arduous task involving several hours at the DMV and a few more at the bank, convincing them I am indeed, Autumn S. Brim. And I have another wallet. A turquoise one from Guess. I can't say I've given my heart it though-No, my heart will always belong to my Juicy Couture Wallet. :)
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