preromantic, premodern times

it is difficult not to be a fatalist when you're a romantic. while some might think that both qualities are internally antagonistic to each other, i think that when a person has surrendered to romanticism, then there is a consent that yes, things might fall apart, but for now. zizek writes, “you are not in love, you just make one night stands maybe here and there. you meet every evening with friends. you drink. you go to blah, blah. then all of a sudden in a totally contingent way let’s say you stumble on the street, somebody helps you to stand up. it’s a young girl or boy blah, blah. and, of course, it’s the love of your life. a totally contingent encounter but the result can be that your whole life changes. nothing is the same as they say. you even spontaneously perceive your entire past life as leading towards this unique moment, you know, the illusion of love is oh my god, i was waiting all my life for you. this – something like this would have been the love event. and i think it’s getting more and more rare today."

the entire time i was listening to zizek talk about how love is this great moment of occurrence within a space that has no attachment to cause but in actuality, creates its own causes -- all i could think about how i have felt greater impact in falling in love with you* ('the event') than the causes of it (urban loneliness, dysfunction, seeing you through therapy), and how before i met you i couldn't reconcile the similarities of your 'predecessors' but now that you are here, i can see how his hair, his fingers, his violin, all the best qualities i could find, is synchronised within you, and how there's this monumental collusion of romance and modernity in how we have managed to free-fall into each other. 

at the same time, kristeva writes on how we place love in this idealistic pedestal where "the confidence that i place in him is based on my love for him and what i assume is his love for me." there is this profound possibility for two people to move within each other (through mind and body) in which they are interconnected through consent and the medium of words. when i implicate this practice into, and how, so much of what exists between us (that untouchable mountain of granite), relies on how i love you and how i think you love me, and vice versa. then i think, that it is all i can depend on: the assumption that the way in which we love each other are mirrors of each other, in that it's reflective and coalesced and endless. 

*the "you" i refer to here is personless and can be replaced with anyone within the objective narrative

simmering

nothing has been significant for me this summer since all i've been doing is shun the sun, pick at my mosquito bites, and read through yukio mishima's entire bibliography which i think is a nice way to spend time but other (more) functioning human beings might think it's shameless.

for some reason there's been a lot of protocol blackouts lately in the city which is an excuse for me to purchase candles at the 5¢ shop when usually i'd mark such a thing as "frivolous" but i think it makes this city all the more romantic. summer is my favourite because it's the only season i get to share with you. 

what spring does to cherry trees

i'm in my hometown for the moment, trying to create new priorities that doesn't involve love. i was planning to go to guangzhou with alex (who is always careful and patient when he touches me) but it was cancelled because of the bird flu so for now i won't live in a light coat or go to the lianhua mountain which, alex says, has 100,000 lotus that peeks during spring.

instead, i got an internship in an art gallery which consists of transcribing and translating catalogues. most days, i work in their rooftop lawn and google things like "extinct birds of pacific oceans". for my past time, i've been soaking curtains which started as spring cleaning, it's not at all like the task i used to hate as youngin, much better than seeing my therapist.

i sent you a text, "don't forget to spend the 20th of june 2013 with your beloved since it's the last day of the astronomical spring and it'll all fall apart from this point on." it's funny how the more you love, the more lonely you feel.

hotel rooms

i earnestly forget what sunlight on skin feels like on mornings i wake up bleeding on 100% cotton hotel bed sheets. there's a certain kind of motion i go through during these situations to avoid shifting through the motions of post-coital satisfaction, like opening the curtains as slowly as the night began, running a bath and examining any changes in my body, calling up the bellman for tea, and blindly searching for a thing, there's always a thing that fell under the bed, no matter how meticulous i had tried to be.

i never sleep beside you but my sleep always takes me to you.

with love and squalor

there's a little balcony outside our apartment where our clothes hang out to dry in the night, and where i hide out and let thoughts of him permeate all over. i've been content with living in squalor, even though most of the time i'm looking for his fingers, all i find are 10¢ stuck on my hair (luck!)

i wrote to him during chinese new year when i felt particularly disconnected from most things because the entire city was empty for 5 days and i roamed the streets, only to find sparkling water as the only remaining form of decadence available.

through the window, i can see my neighbours playing with fire crackers downstairs. our apartment is all white and filled with the sound of a tiger when you try to shear their fur. i am always without your presence.

 

not at home

i've officially moved from my home town to a city of commuters. this is where people move constantly and seamlessly into the night as if they were made of lights.

i've developed a new habit of breakfast in the kiosk underneath my apartment, where there are always $1 cigarettes, tea, and blackbirds tittering on the pavement. the hardest part of living alone would be taking out the trash and washing stains on the sink with a bar of soap that i have actually reserved for my skin.

everyone thinks my life is charming but i don't think sleeping with the gentle, sad sound of the washing machine on is.

an introduction

i'm rain chudori and i'm 20. i'm a writer, actress, and light sleeper. i like literature, older men, origami, tea, and highways. i'm not so nice to myself, easily bruised, curls always dirty, standing on my tip toes still 4"11 in one sock. this is where i record my thoughts.