I have habit, a small pleasure really, to always buy a paperback from the airport bookstore each time I travel. And on its first page, without fail, I'd scribble the date and city of departure before I start reading.
It may seem like a mindless entry, and in fact it really is. But I am so used to the routine that I find myself obsessing about it the moment I step into an airport, so much so that I get frantic when I can't find a decent title to procure. Then, I'll spend another ten minutes pacing around the bookstore aisles and wringing my clammy fingers in anxiety before settling for one with a dubious title such as "The Deafening Whisper" or "Antartica - More Than Ice", after watching about a dozen transit shoppers come and go with a copy of it each. The logic behind this is, better to read a lousy book than to be airborne without any. Another one of my quirky little philosophies.
Thus, you can imagine how many books, good or otherwise, I have stashed away all these years from my travels. They have become my proud collection and many of which are so enjoyable that I read them over and over again. And each time I do, I would take a quick glance of my entry on the first page and reminisce fondly of that particular trip. Yes, most people use photographs, postcards or journals to remember their vacations by. Not me, I use books. Somehow my brain seem to recall better by aligning memories with trashy book content.
So it was with my life's greatest regret that I left a paperback, one that should be part of my collection, in an aircraft once. You may think it's a forgivable offence to lose a book by slotting it to oblivion in the heinously deep front pocket of your seat, but hell no, I did nothing of the sort. I fell asleep after reading three lines of the prologue and simply let it slide down the empty space between my arm rest and the wall of the aircraft. Most of all, it was just a one-hour domestic flight from Toyama to Haneda Airport. Not the best excuse for nodding off in a most unglamorous manner, much less to lose a brand new novel that was a potential good read. Utterly disgraceful.
Now, I've learnt to be more careful with my books by spending those dreadfully long pauses between touchdown and the seat belt sign going off, committing myself to checking and re-checking my articles. "Passport, hand-carry, book... passport, hand-carry, book..." That's how I remember. These days, I never lose my books anymore, although I had subsequently left behind a scarf, a pair of sunglasses and a couple of muffins, all in the same deep, dark aircraft front pocket.
Well, try as we might, we can never be perfect, can we?
Ahhh... I forgot to mention my favourite habit of using the little stubs left of boarding passes as bookmarks when I read. I sincerely think that's what the airline people invented them for. Clever.
Friday, August 31, 2007
Sunday, August 26, 2007
Saturday, August 25, 2007
That Day With Dad
I do not have many fond memories of doing things with my dad. Well, he's great and all, just never very involved in the things I do. Throughout my school years, Mom was the one to depend on. Of course, Dad provided the dough, and all is well.
Being highly independent bordering on being autistic as a kid, I was quite happy sticking to the status quo, but nevertheless always quietly envious of the other kind of father-daughter relationship I watched on TV. You know, the kind where Dad actually plays basketball with Daughter and gives her advice on what to wear to the prom? Yeah, the non-existent kind, at least to me.
Well, there were times when we had moments together, but always with Mom around, making us a wholesome family of three (occasionally five, when my equally wholesome sister and brother-in-law were with us). Other times, we hardly had anything to say to each other. It seemed that I took after Dad, and the two of us alone at home would mean a silence overkill.
So, it was with great apprehension that I welcomed that day which I got to spend some time out with him while my mom thrived in her shopping elsewhere round the globe. Actually, it wasn't even a big deal because we were just supposed to get some official things done at the bank involving a property purchase. We were on task and done within an hour, and because I had to work later in the day, there was effectively only a couple of hours to spare in between.
And what did we do? We shared a Subway sandwich and coffee between us (Dad's first taste of my college staple), window-shopped at a furniture mall and exchanged pointers at an electrical appliance store. It was the best father-daughter bonding day I've had.
My dad is so cool.
Being highly independent bordering on being autistic as a kid, I was quite happy sticking to the status quo, but nevertheless always quietly envious of the other kind of father-daughter relationship I watched on TV. You know, the kind where Dad actually plays basketball with Daughter and gives her advice on what to wear to the prom? Yeah, the non-existent kind, at least to me.
Well, there were times when we had moments together, but always with Mom around, making us a wholesome family of three (occasionally five, when my equally wholesome sister and brother-in-law were with us). Other times, we hardly had anything to say to each other. It seemed that I took after Dad, and the two of us alone at home would mean a silence overkill.
So, it was with great apprehension that I welcomed that day which I got to spend some time out with him while my mom thrived in her shopping elsewhere round the globe. Actually, it wasn't even a big deal because we were just supposed to get some official things done at the bank involving a property purchase. We were on task and done within an hour, and because I had to work later in the day, there was effectively only a couple of hours to spare in between.
And what did we do? We shared a Subway sandwich and coffee between us (Dad's first taste of my college staple), window-shopped at a furniture mall and exchanged pointers at an electrical appliance store. It was the best father-daughter bonding day I've had.
My dad is so cool.
A Few Things
Actually, more than a few things. Every time I chance upon a great topic or something memorable, I commit it to memory so that I can perhaps put them down in this blog one fine day. As you can see, that fine day is long overdue and those 'mental notes' just keep piling up.
With keen alikeness to a computer overloaded with too much inconsequential data, my pathetic brain slows down to a pace just marginally faster than my current PC. (Trust me, this is saying a lot.) Well, I have only this many neurons until some smart fellow from the valley finds a way to upgrade my RAM.
In face of such a major brain-stalling catastrophe (actually, my remarkably slow PC bothers me more, but well...), I've decided to take the cue from IT and adopt the 'back up-and-reformat' strategy. All I've got to do now is to start the painfully slow process of backing up -- writing what I've been meaning to, for the longest time.
First, let me recapitulate... ... ... ...
Oh, just great. My mind is stalled and I gotta reboot. See you in a minute.
With keen alikeness to a computer overloaded with too much inconsequential data, my pathetic brain slows down to a pace just marginally faster than my current PC. (Trust me, this is saying a lot.) Well, I have only this many neurons until some smart fellow from the valley finds a way to upgrade my RAM.
In face of such a major brain-stalling catastrophe (actually, my remarkably slow PC bothers me more, but well...), I've decided to take the cue from IT and adopt the 'back up-and-reformat' strategy. All I've got to do now is to start the painfully slow process of backing up -- writing what I've been meaning to, for the longest time.
First, let me recapitulate... ... ... ...
Oh, just great. My mind is stalled and I gotta reboot. See you in a minute.
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