I have my dead and I have let them go,
and was amazed to see them so contented,
so at home in being dead, so cheerful, so unlike their reputation.
Only you return; brush past me, loiter, try to knock
against something, so that the sound reveals your presence.
Oh don’t take from me what I am slowly learning.
I’m sure you have gone astray if you are moved to homesickness for anything in this dimension.
We transform these Things; they aren’t real, they are only the reflections upon the polished surface of our being.

-from Requiem for a Friend by Rainer Maria Rilke

The poem talks about a literal, incorporeal ghost. I’m thinking about a metaphorical ghost – something the life of which have been long extinguished but is making its presence known, further proof that you can never get away from where you’ve been.  As you go through life, you go through phases and chapters, some of which are more significant than others. The significant ones can either be good or bad.  Whatever experiences that left marks, that affected how you view the world or how you deal with yourself and others, those are the memories that will forever haunt you (if it’s bad; if it’s good you’ll probably never want to let them go). Until you get your closure. Then they will just be memories;  ink on pages you’ll return to at will.

I wonder how many people never get closure. With every beating heart in the world, I am tempted to suppose that more than half of them are broken at any given time. Not romantically broken. Well, I mean not only.  Just think about how many sad songs have been written. Or why people love soap opera.  Moving on is one thing.  But closure is something you can never find on sale.  It will come on its own, in its time.  I was recently given this gift. I realized that there are some things in this world that you cannot explain. That there are some things that are meant to pan out exactly the way they did. If I’m wrong, then I’ll consider myself lucky. If I’ll tell you this story, none of you will agree with me. That’s why I’m not going to. Besides, I’ve made my peace. That’s all that matters.

When you’re young, you think everything you do is disposable. You move from now to now, crumpling time up in your hands, tossing it away. You’re your own speeding car. You think you can get rid of things, and people too – leave them behind. You don’t yet know about the habit they have, of coming back.

Time in dreams is frozen. You can never get away from where you’ve been.

-from The Blind Assassin by Margaret Atwood

Now that the longish (mine started on Friday) weekend is over, I’m not at all excited about the coming work days (who’s gonna be, really?). I can’t say that I had a productive, nor what should have been reflective, weekend. Like most of my nonworking days, I spent the entire holidays inside my apartment, with the exception of Saturday night when I went out to play badminton.

Here are a few notes on what kept me busy and some news that caught my attention:

I started watching season 1 of Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles: so far, so good. I’ve read that season 2, which had its finale last Friday, is even better. I’m not really drawn into action TV shows, or movies for that matter; guns ablazing and explosive action sequences do not interest me much, but I’m a sucker for dramatic voiceovers, so when TSCC started with that, with Sarah Connor talking about the love of a mother to her child, it got to me. I hope to finish the series before the Christian Bale Terminator movie comes out (although I don’t think the movie’s plot is tied to the show).

Next, Angel. The Buffy spin-off is the only remaining Whedon show I haven’t finished watching (I’m currently on season 3, out of five). It’s a good show. Not Buffy, but good; funny and witty as well, although with less of the emotional punch. I’m trying not to like the characters so much because I know for a fact that they are all doomed, one way or the other.

 
The current Whedon show, Dollhouse, is getting better and better. Episode 9,  A Spy in the House of Love, is filled with plot twists and more revelations that kept me at the edge of my seat (make that my bed) for the entire 40 or so minutes. With this shot of Echo, though,I can’t help but think of Faith (the rogue-turned-good Slayer). Make that glass shard she’s holding wooden and she’s all ready to do some vampire staking.

In celebrity couples news, Freddie Prinze, Jr., and Sarah Michelle Gellar are soon to become parents. Roger Federer and Mirka Vavrinec, also expecting their first child soon, tied the knot.

My book reading project – three books a week – didn’t go as well as planned, but I’m slowly going through the volumes I currently have while trying not to buy more books, at least until after I’m down to two or three remaining unread ones. Here are a couple of titles I’ve been reading for weeks now (hopefully, I’ll have the time and the inclination to write decent reviews later):

The Blind Assassin by Margaret Atwood: One of the best books I’ve read. Ever. The prose is exquisite; the language is masterful and eloquent, which is not really a surprise because Margaret Atwood is a poet. The plot, not so much if you’re looking for a thrilling page-turner, but major kudos to originality: It has a story within a story within a story. As the narrator for almost half of the book, Iris Chase-Griffen, is laying down the events of her life and that of her troubled sister, Laura, we simultaneously read the novel that made Laura famous, The Blind Assassin, which tells the tale of mysterious lovers in hiding. Within Laura’s novel, the male half of the clandestine couple is spinning a science fiction yarn to keep his love interested.

The Birthday of the World and Other Stories by Ursula Le Guin. Now this is one book I wouldn’t recommend to everyone. Le Guin’s science fiction is easy enough to access, as she writes about ordinary actions and transactions of day-to-day living albeit set in a futuristic and intergalactic setting (utopian societies, as they are called), but her themes may be a bit of a head scratcher, especially for conservative point of views. In this volume of short stories, of which I’ve read only the first two for now, the recurring themes of exploration of sexual identity in an androgynous society and its political and cultural implications are rife. Forgive my ignorance because I’m rather new to science fiction, but if this genre is meant to be otherworldly, then this book definitely represents it. It presents an entire new world of thought, with its own terminologies (say, wombsib for “brother” or “sister”). I feel incompetent to say much about Le Guin’s works so to quote a Guardian reviewer: “If you can manage the sentence ‘None of my hearthsibs had been sent off to the Fastness before their kemmerday’ without either laughing or falling into a rage, you will get on with this book. If not, there may be some issues.”

I would like to be the air that inhabits you for a moment only. I would like to be that unnoticed and that necessary.

-from Variations on the Word Sleep by Margaret Atwood

Penny: “Sometimes people are layered like that; there’s something totally different underneath than what’s on the surface.”

Billy/Dr. Horrible: “and sometimes there’s a third, even deeper level and that one is the same as the top surface one. Like with pie…”

I haven’t talked about badminton for quite some time now because I’ve been relatively lazy to play since the start of this year. These past few weeks, though, I was able to join several queuing sessions (where you’ll show up at the court and have your name listed so you can play with random partners and random opponents). I’m starting to get addicted to the game again, and I do hope it will go on for some time. What better way to stay fit sans Slimquick Cleanse.

As if I haven’t said it enough, the thing I appreciate most about badminton is that I regularly see, and play with, people of all ages (10 up to 60 up). Last Wednesday, I was so amused, and a bit embarassed, with this particular matchup that sort of revealed how out of shape I am. I was partnered with a  lady who is about 50 years old; on the other  side of the net is a girl who is barely 15, partnered with another lady who is pushing 65. By the end of the game, I noticed that I was the one who is soaked in sweat and is having ragged breaths. All three looked mighty fine and ready to play the next set. More embarassing because I am an intermediate player, at the prime of life, who’s been playing for years. But I was very happy to see the older ones having the kind of stamina they have. My partner told me that she started training for badminton when her doctor recommended physical activity to counter body aches and hypertension.  I say she did very well.

Note: This is another crossover post, with a few changes to accommodate two previously separate ones.

My introduction to Buffy the Vampire Slayer came about when I was searching for a new TV series to watch. Ok, that didn’t sound right because the show ended in 2003, so it wouldn’t fall to the category of “new.” Anyway, I realized I’ve been watching too much X-Files so I decided to shift my attention some place else. Now, I’ve never really considered myself to be a SciFi/fantasy nut; ironically, my favorite movies (Contact, Meet Joe Black) and TV shows (X-Files, Taken, and now BtVS) all go beyond the realistic. I wouldn’t overanalyze the “whys” mainly because I don’t think I can point it out exactly. But the unique thing is, although I enjoy the visual effects and story progression of this kind of presentation, I tend to focus more on the human aspects – the emotions, relationships, struggles, and parallels to real life. I guess maybe, for me, the “fantastic” provides a whole new layer of intensity in sending the message across compared with in-your-face representations like in reality TV or soap operas.

In retrospect, after having seen all seven seasons through DVDs and after having spent a lot of time in fan forums, nitpicking episode by episode, I realized that the main thing that this show had done for me is that it sort of expanded my world and inspired me to pursue the art of creative expression, in whatever way or form it comes my way. It introduced me to names of brilliant people who did, and continue to, show how a little concept can go a long way and also how talent is important but hard work cannot be taken out of the equation.

It wasn’t a perfect show. Beyond that, it is rife with heartbreak, pain, and those things that make you want to look away because they aren’t pretty. I’m not even talking about the vampires, demons, or those rubber-faced ghouls, but about the life of this sad little hero and her sad little friends (who are, ironically, effectively funny). Here’s a girl who didn’t choose to take responsibility; it was shoved into her throat when she wasn’t ready but she eventually learned to embrace her destiny. She’s not a superhero. She’s not without flaws – she makes mistakes, she hurts her friends, she hurts herself, she makes wrong decisions, and at times she’s even incredibly selfish. But she saved the world … a lot.

… a magical dramedy, a ripping thriller and the smartest work of girls-kick-ass feminism ever crafted by a pudgy guy who’s into comic books. Sarah Michelle Gellar nimbly handled the show’s undead allegories for coming-of-age conflicts (her stunt double nimbly handled the rest). And the show unspooled a rich mythology, realistic family and relationship stories and the best Sondheimian musical episode ever written for hour long television. The demons and ghouls were comically rubber-faced, but Buffy’s spirit was achingly real. – The 100 Best TV Shows of All-TIME.

What made the show famous are the snappy dialogues, tons of witticisms, double entendres, and metaphoric storytelling. What made it lasting is that it can drive a stake through your heart if you’ll let it. It even has powerful witches, loyal human friends, a supercool evil-turned-lovelorn vampire, and a hilarious bunny-phobic ex-demon trying to be a regular girl who all helped make The Slayer’s world all the more beguiling. You won’t find more compelling characters in women’s shoes than here.

P.S. If you’ve always been curious about this show but can’t get past the ridiculous title (like I was for years), I suggest you start with the last half of season 2 because that’s where it really took off. You can always go back to the introductions later.

Original air date: December 13, 1998

One of my most favorite episodes of The X-Files (season 6, episode 8).

Sounds more like a Halloween story:

It kinda is, but it happened on a Christmas eve

So what’s it about?:

Mulder wants to stake out a reputed haunted house, on the evening before Christmas, just because he’s Mulder. What, you don’t know he’s crazy?

Why did Scully tag along? Isn’t she supposed to be the rational one?:

Well, she doesn’t want to admit it, but she is totally in love with Mulder and will do whatever he says, no matter how silly. Really. I bet she’s even thrilled that he stole her car keys.

What’s the deal with the ghosts?:

Legend has it, a couple of star-crossed lovers during a war-torn era made a pact to never be separated by illness or by the consequences of war, by killing themselves. Their ghosts haunt the house every Christmas eve.

But wouldn’t haunting on Halloween make more sense?:

Well, as the lady ghost, Lyda, said, “who is filled with hopelessness and futility on Halloween?” She agreed to a murder-suicide; you have to think she’ll make one twisted ghost.

Are those the ghosts in the picture above? Why are they old?:
Well, they died young. Why they aged, I don’t have a freakin’ idea.

Does Scully believe in ghosts?:

She doesn’t, or so she says. But she got scared anyway. Not that she can’t explain why she felt that way:

Scully: These are tricks that the mind plays. They are ingrained cliches from a thousand different horror films. When we hear a sound, we get a chill. We see a shadow and we allow ourselves to imagine something that an otherwise rational person would discount out of hand.
The whole idea of a benevolent entity fits perfectly with what I’m saying. I mean, that a spirit would materialise or return for no other purpose than to show itself is silly and ridiculous. I mean, what it really shows is how silly and ridiculous we have become in believing such things. I mean, that… that we can ignore all natural laws about the corporeal body that we witness these spirits clad in their own shabby outfits with the same old haircuts and hairstyles never ageing, never… never in search of more comfortable surroundings — it actually ends up saying more about the living than it does about the dead.
I mean, Mulder, it doesn’t take an advanced degree in psychology to understand the… the unconscious yearnings that these imaginings satisfy. You know, the longing for immortality the hope that there is something beyond this mortal coil that we might never be long without our loved ones. I mean, these are powerful, powerful desires. I mean, they’re the very essence of what make us human. The very essence of Christmas, actually.

Ok, I get what she means. Sounds totally in character. What about Mulder? Was he scared?:
Well, it’s not just old light fixtures that turn on and off;  they did see dead, decomposing replicas of himself and Scully beneath the floor, so yeah he must have been. Plus, the ghost of Maurice started to psychoanalyze him and was spot-on.

Maurice: Narcissistic, overzealous, self-righteous egomaniac.
Mulder: That’s a category?
Maurice: You kindly think of yourself as single-minded but you’re prone to obsessive compulsiveness, workaholism, antisocialism… Fertile fields for the descent into total wacko breakdown.
Mulder: I don’t think that pegs me exactly.
Maurice: Oh, really? Waving a gun around my house? Huh? Raving like a lunatic about some imaginary brick wall? You’ve probably convinced yourself you’ve seen aliens. You know why you think you see the things you do?
Mulder: Because I have seen them?
Maurice: Cause you’re a lonely man. A lonely man, chasing paramasturbatory illusions that you believe will give your life meaning and significance and which your pathetic social maladjustment makes impossible for you to find elsewhere. You probably consider yourself passionate, serious, misunderstood. Am I right?
Mulder: ‘Paramasturbatory’?
Maurice: Most people would rather stick their fingers in a wall socket than spend a minute with you

Heh. But, wait, dead replicas? What’s that about?:

Well, the ghosts’ agenda is to push a couple who will live or wander into that house to commit a murder-suicide, just like they did. They showed things (more tricks of the mind) to the FBI couple, err partners, so they will be forced to kill each other.

Kill each other? That’s not possible. They’re Scully and Mulder; Mulder and Scully:

Well, you have to watch this episode if you haven’t already. If anything, and more so if you’re lacking in holiday cheers, it will probably make you feel great about how you celebrated your holidays. Sit back, relax, and let schadenfreude kick in.

“I wanted to become the seeker, the aroused and passionate explorer, and it was better to go at it knowing nothing at all, always choosing the unmarked bottle, always choosing your own unproven method, armed with nothing but faith and a belief in astonishment.”

— Pat Conroy (The Lords of Discipline)

Comparatively speaking, I don’t think I can call myself a Twitterholic … yet. But I totally get its appeal now, compared with a few months ago when I created an account just to see what the heck that thing is about.

Among other things, I get CNN breaking news headlines (@cnnbrk), Hollywood gossip (@justjared), grammar pointers (@GrammarGirl), blogging/tech tips (@problogger), and writer/celebrity tweets (@neilhimself, @paolocoelho, @amber_benson, @feliciaday) all in one stream.  If only I have anything clever to say, I can even drop a message to any of these people.  And if I’m lucky, I may even get a reply. But I’m actually having fun just reading their conversations with other “tweeple”, fans and other celebrities alike. I even get to exchange messages with fellow Buffyverse (and Whedonverse) fanatics.

Anyway, here’s an awesome string of Twitter articles from Felicia Day.

Not that Twitter isn’t riddled with spammers and posers. There are plenty of fake celebrity pages, and if you’re looking for someone in particular, it may be wise to be a little more discerning before you actually “follow” them.  But I’m following @TinaFey although I’m not entirely sure it’s her. The number of followers can sometimes be a good indication of the validity of a well-known person’s Twitter page. I think this is already an ongoing craze, although I doubt celebrities would seriously consider identity theft protection measures for this medium anytime soon.

Do you think this is the real Darth Vader, though?