Monday, February 06, 2006

Hand in Pocket, Head in Clouds

Last Thursday evening - which I have miraculously failed to write about owing to the fact that I have been quite busy at work and elsewhere - was perhaps the first time in quite a long time that I have been able to venture out into the wide wide world of late night communal party-variety via the If I Were Alanis tribute performance organized by Fudge Magazine and Motorola. My friend, jazz pianist Isha happened to be performing, as was Ginny's and my friend, Kooky Tuason, who does a mean spoken word performance.

This also marked the first time in (what was it? A month or so?) of venturing outside the relative intimacy of a gathering of selected friends, Norman, or the family.

It was quite odd to still see a couple of familiar faces in the crowd, including Camy, whose company was also working with Fudge, and a number of writers and performers and artists who were all there to see and be seen. I am an unintentional Alanis fan, by the way, not religiously following her career, but always interested in what she would come up with. And yes, Jagged Little Pill had its own effect on my musical tastes, but nowadays it's more nostalgia than anything else - nostalgia for the collective angst of adolescent private school girls and the effort of making your mark on a world that has largely left you alone to fend for yourself.

At any rate, it took quite a while before I could slip into the skin I usually wore for events like this. It felt quite worn and slightly uncomfortable, like it had shrunk in the wash, or there was too much bleach. I must admit I missed these kinds of gatherings - a simple longing for the days when I was ready to hop into random vehicles (whoever had a car and was driving - minimally inebriated or not) to go to one artsy event or another - poetry readings, band nights, exhibit openings - a lifestyle I kind of miss, but not really. I like this grounded version of me better - someone who is more practical when it comes to her writing, questioning its purpose, its validity in a world of consumerism and mass marketing.

I don't know - is this that part where I miraculously grow up? I haven't seen my writer friends in weeks, almost months. When was the last time - Writers' Night? The UBOD launch? That was so December 2005. I am slowly slipping out of the bubble I made around myself and floating quietly to the ground. That much I'm sure of - I haven't written a poem since June. All I have now are stories - stories threatening to burst out of me, my fingers itching for an hour or two just to write. Alanis taught me much during my teenage years, but now I think it might be time to learn something new.

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