Psalm 51

Recently something very frustrating and hurtful happened at work (just as I was getting better). In many ways I felt like I have become a time bomb of some kind that no one wants, for matters really not of my own doing. well in short for good or bad I have probably completely switched from a flight response back into a fight response. or maybe I just realised,for the benefit of my daily survival in a toxic world, if i don't get my shits together, only more shit will be heaped onto me.

in this current climate I somehow managed to flip back to Psalm 51. It spoke to me first a couple of years ago after I have just been through court and imagined that to be the end of my trauma (which is now looking like the first of very many). Despite my liking of it I guess there has always been a tinge of anger that went along with it--Hey surely I didn't commit adultery! and no I didn't murder anyone either! Why do I need a psalm from someone who so gravely sinned to speak to me?

I guess the fear of responsibility is forever hanging, and persistently learned, as the clasp around my neck from those who need me as a scapegoat tighten, or, even if it is not yet tightening, there are plenty around me who, consciously or not, not fail to add in reminders.  Well I guess this is nothing new. For a few decades I have been the scapegoat for my mother's various pathology and unhappiness and only in very recent times she realised she has lost her grip, while I just fear once she becomes ill in health in some kind of way, all my efforts will be in vain.

reading of verse 16-17 of the psalm still stir something in me (and not just a little)--
You do not delight in sacrifice, or I would bring it;
you do not take pleasure in burnt offerings.
My sacrifice, O God, is a broken spirit;
a broken and contrite heart
you, God, will not despise.

given my problematic maternal attachment, I do have a feeling though that the current feelings these verses evoked are perhaps much more grief at how much I have been despised and resentment for having to survive and thrive(or at least pretend to be) in this toxic world rather than anything else...

but perhaps, just perhaps, coming back to this psalm means a move forward to the realisation - that at the end of the day, contrary to worldly beliefs, when tragedy hit whose grave sin was it or who really brought about the brokenness, really doesn't matter in the face that no one is actually despised?

Now, head knowledge apart, this is still very hard to swallow. and I guess in the context of my lingering perhaps relapsing(but hopefully not) GI symptoms, the swallowing bit is maybe a bit more than a mere metaphor.

I dreamt about Hilary the other night...

I dreamt about Hilary the other night. She asked me what went wrong and what could she have done better. I tried to explain to her outcomes of things in life do not depend on efforts alone and us born and bred in the modern era do need to acknowledge and admit that luck often plays a big role. In her disappointment though I don't think anything I said really registered. Now the Hilary dream was likely all about me and nothing about American politics and I can just head to my supervisors next week for an interpretation, but I guess I still feel sad for Hilary -- not on grand scales whether or not she was the only hope to halt world war no. 3 or served as the finest example that feminism still has a long road in face of male superiority etc etc etc... I think I rather feel sad about her just as a person -- one who so persistently and single-mindedly invested immense effort in her aspiration of becoming America's first female president, who went very far on this costly road, even if for self-gratification purpose alone, and then in a dramatic turn of events,  had her dreams cut short like that. Everything else aside, that in itself, is very, very, sad. 

My understanding about politics is nothing beyond crude and am sure many may have talked about this in much more sophisticated terms, but I really think president election often serves nothing more than the purpose for many regressed adults to find mothers. Given that childbearing is regarded as a basic right and that prerequisites are minimal and people more often than not fare poorly in bringing up children, flawed early developments are many and secure care and nurture are scarce... and I mean... very flawed... and very scarce.

we perhaps all like to think as we humans evolve in the modern cultures, that our heads have become superior enough to have acquired the power to dictate our emotions. The fact remains however, that voting for most has nothing to do with the head and everything to do with the heart. Those of us who have adequate neuroticism to sense that despite our best efforts our heads and hearts are somewhat out of sync, often are 1.idealistic 2. cope by avoidance rather than take imperfect human responsibilities and acknowledge that as we remain human, our decisions and actions are inherently flawed regardless.

Mad evangelical friends who were openly deluded and ecstatically praised Trump's victory as awesome and God's will done aside, social media is also not short of people who endeavour to take control by predicting all kinds of disasters they could see coming but could do nothing about and how much they were the lonesome sane voices ignored in the current madness, perhaps in the hope that when disasters hit in the future they could take some solace in telling people I-told-you-so-hence-am-better-than-you? Now that's pretty regressed too. why not just admit that you are scared and more the acopic with the hard work of living in the face of unpredictability in a hostile uncertain future, just like the rest of us?

When Masha first sang Akatsuki I read the translated lyrics and felt very touched and hailed it as a great song. I even put it down as my whatsapp tagline... but... I think I then managed to forget about it. my memory consolidation have been indeed getting worse over recent years... but here it is... translated from its Chinese translation... and at least for me, it has not lost its buzz.

Akatsuki (Dawn)

Nobody's life can be smooth sailing
Sometimes things hit you hard and you would even resent God

I believe, if it is you
No matter what kind of grief or pain
You will have the strength to carry on
Even if the flame inside you is about to burn out

A dream not realised, feeling powerless, looking up the night sky
Who said the darker the sky, the brighter the stars?

Surely it's alright if I try to be cool--
"Failure" is out of fear not daring to reach what you want
If the stars tonight are too bright for you
You can definitely fight on

It's okay if you laugh at me, but please listen
No matter how weak you are
You are still able to support another
Because there will be always someone who needs you
Because that person is right here

You are definitely not powerless

The sun is rising again
To me who is surviving another day
Looks like it couldn't care less
Another day starts



PS. My functional overlay has much improved since a couple of months ago. Remembering a time when I was warmed back to human connections, but back then for one reason or another,failed to internalise such experience, was really helpful.

Functional overlay

Well... so I've had debilitating indigestion and somewhat unspecified GI malaise for the past 2 months and eating has become a very tiresome feat. This has been in particular detrimental as for many years I have been using food and carbonated drinks as my main coping strategies and now I have lost my (probably only) effective coping mechanism. A scope this week however revealed nothing sinister but mild gastritis, the sigh of relief was small as the disproportionate unwellness experienced in relation to pathology found is rather certainly indicative of functional overlay. and guess what, at work I talk to people with functional overlay and gently explain about functional overlays while acknowledging their genuine distresses etc etc etc. yah...

though I suspect no outsider really cares whether I end up functionally overlaying or not with my psychosocial stressors or the hardness of living life overall, I still find my persisting distress with eating these days very very... defeating. The fact that my very pathological mother developed rather elusive and debilitating upper GI symptoms on the eve of my graduation from med school, and accused all practitioners and investigations of incompetence in understanding her ailment and spilled her dark moods about a sick stomach wherever she can. Looking back the whole matter had a hysterical flavour to it. moreover, her symptoms persisted throughout my medical career and even to this day she continued to assume her sick role and successfully made everyone cater for her debilitating eating habits.

I feel defeated, and embarrassed, and angry that it looks like I am heading down the same path as her, and probably deep down I am just as hysterical as her while loathing how much I suffered under her hysteria all my life, and despite all my professional knowledge about functional overlays and insight and awareness that as I try hard to individuate away from my mother there will be another part of me screaming hard to pledge loyalty to her, the knowledge and insight could not save me from becoming so functional myself...

so... I've been dragging my feet a bit at work despite working again with my somewhat idolised supervisor of many years. These days I am curious about nothing and no one, and even checking facebook makes me irritable as I could not bear to see all these people enjoying food I could no longer carefreely eat. The part of my brain in charge of my imaginary friends---for very strange reasons---worked way better in the past couple of weeks than during the last five years of my shrink training added together... but when I lack the energy for curiosity... am even less curious about my imaginary friends and find them hard work too... I wonder too if I would feel better if I am ignorant of functional overlays and can just project and blame everyone else for my elusive malaise...and nowadays when I pray... I open my mouth and could not say anything or think anything---
I just wail.
but, maybe, just maybe, the wailing is in fact something.

PS. On a much lighter note this is so beautiful I need to watch this on the big screen. Lets hope they do it for the Jap film festival this year.
No. 9 starting at 18:00 is on replay at the moment.

when games more primitive than Pokemon Go are needed...

 So... I found Clinical Theology incredibly profound... and total hitting home on many fronts, and hence... very difficult to read. T_T never been really into phone games... but downloaded a few tower/city/farm building games in the past fortnight so I could read a few pages and then play games just to restore my sense of control... XD

last week it was 50% Clinical Theology and 50% control freak games, this week is 100% control freak games and no Clinical Theology... -_-|||| yah...

anyways... keeping a record of some of my favourite bits... T_T

The neurotic Christian, who is defending against his own dread by a reaction pattern which leans over backwards against despair into forced keenness, and against unacknowledged doubt into forced faith, thus relying on the cutting-off of his "bad-side", neither admitting nor healing it, is ultimately bound to be just as merciless towards the overtly afflicted who come his way.

To take flight from the inner threats intensifies their power over the psyche. The constant nagging fear of the uprush of inner feelings of annihilation keeps the ego constantly on the move. The mechanisms of defence are employed to keep on top of the situation. Even the Christian faith, which rightly understood would enable a man to turn and stand fast against this onslaught, is oftener used to give a man strength for his flight from reality. More commonly, the effect is either to intensify the introversion or swing violently away from introversion into the 'distractions of great undertakings', what Pascal calls the libido dominandi; or seek forgetfulness in sensuality, perhaps in debauchery, trying to leave his reflective self-consciousness behind him. But all this defiance is manifestly despair over his weakness.

The physician of souls must not be taken in by the commonest of all religious defences, the active attempt not to despair. The common statements "i am trying not to lose hope", "trying to trust God", "trying to have faith" are more likely to be evidences of hidden despair than of hope, of dread of non-being than of confidence in the new being.

The soul, reacting logically to its personal past, feels that God's eyes should see what the mother's eyes evidently saw, unattractiveness, worthlessness, the badness of its "being there" at all. God's eyes, it is felt, ought to express the same disappointment, the basic disgust that the mother's did. God ought not to offer acceptance and intimacy to a thing that a mother rejected and was ashamed of. "Let my shame go where it doth deserve.""My own mother, who knew what I was like, found me unlovable. You, God, must be mistaken. If you could see what the internalised eyes of my own mother are still looking at, You too would turn away in disgust." But the discrimination is one which the soul has not the wit to make. The adult cannot readily leap back to the correct insight about its infancy, or on to a new situation created by God's redemptive act. The truth is a contrast between the then and the now. "What my mother's sick or soured contemptuous looks seared into my soul, that I became." If the eyes of a holy Love can look upon this wretchedness and really see it, and in spite of what it sees, go on looking in kindliness and welcome, that, too, will evoke its own appropriate response.

The more godly or religious the parent seemed to be, or the more entrenched in an obsessional, inflexible sense of the rightness of all she does, the more difficult it is for the child to break out of her primary devaluation or annihilation of its being, to a new valuation, even in adult life, and even if God Himself be the person to offer it.

The great obstacle to spiritual progress, as St Theresa of Avila noted it, is a lack of the will to love in response to the love of God. Why this reluctance, if not because of the projection on to God of the distrust engendered by the original fall and by the terrible mother who seemed to have caused it? The love of God is felt to be, like hers, a demand that the child shall adopt all the correct attitudes of dependence and trust, as if nothing had ever happened. Preaching for conversion may rely heavily on longing and urgent appeals for decision. The preacher may need, and feed upon the response he seeks to evoke. He gives the impression that God shares his impatient hunger for the committed souls of men. This technique, of course, is calculated to sweep those who are for the most part hysterical personalities over minor schizoid obstacles into decision. But it drives the schizoid person deeper into his paradox.

This impasse can be broken only with the help of someone else who is able to overcome the defensive isolation without arousing further defensive withdrawal, and permit commitment without arousing commitment-anxiety. It is the task of the psychiatric and pastoral care to attempt this. Interpretation of these symptomatic feelings, when it is given by one who has overcome a similar sense of cut-offness in himself, or who has accepted it creatively, or has been accepted in spite of its continuance, is a service which invariably diminishes the sense of severance from common humanity.

more superego-y ranting

I hardly ever flip back to my old blogs (most likely from avoidance of embarrassment just in case i once upon a time used to be immature and hopeful and lively) and not surprisingly, ended up feeling like "oh did I once upon a time write such shit? " when I revisited.

such shit, however, esp in recent years, are often good sensible superego-y shit. the problem remained that I probably only intellectualised the good stuff and they never emotionally sank in.
well only if they managed to emotionally sink in back then... i would have moved forward and be at a better place by now.

or maybe not... just wishful thinking.

there have been quite a bit in the tabloid news of mothers killing their children lately. one story in particular made me quite shaken. The brief bits and pieces about said woman in the tabloid were diagnostic enough of bpd. and though my own mother may superficially be ordinary low key Asian in many ways, and thank God, never had the privilege of constitutional rights of bearing arms, the desire and determination in crushing my spirits and annihilating me existentially as a person, esp in my uni and intern and residency years, were perhaps much the same.

it has taken me many years to finally come to admittance that my mother is very clearly cluster b,(and had enough intelligence and conservative cultural background and a colluding husband to be able to fly under the radar and justify her actions to many), in the midst of all my guilt about being socially offensive and psychologically external locus of control and spiritually unforgiving and culturally incapable of filial piety and perhaps unfit to be a chinese human being now that i have publicly said really bad things about my parents...

guilt aside... i don't think i have really escaped her slaughterhouse yet, or maybe i will never make it. That very suppressed part of me which still desperately crave the very rare but very genuine moments she would approve and regard me as "my amazing, sweet, kind, beautiful, intelligent girl" (quoting very bpd Mrs Christy Sheats), will hold me there.
 and that is unsettling enough.

Frank Lake's intro in his Clinical Theology is very comforting at such times--

“The thickness of the repressive layer which covers up our threatening inner negativities is diminished by physical, mental, and emotional ill-health, an also by spiritual disobedience in those who have been well garrisoned in heart and mind by the Holy Spirit against the enemy within. But, as Freud showed, the return of the unconscious into consciousness is a function of abundant health as well as of ill-health. The abundantly healthy personality presses up against the barriers and limitations imposed by unconscious fears and expectations of defeat. Encountering resistances, it attacks them and drives them into the open. We must expect that that fullness of the Holy Spirit and the fullness of life within the Body of Christ will force the alien elements of despair, distrust, anxiety, rage, envy, lust and the like, which are each man's deposit from the intolerable passivities of infancy, to declare themselves before they are cast out。”

and i am so thankful, as i revisit the same again and again, of the years of noble and wonderful superegos i have collected over time, which i had leaned on to survive, and mercifully replaced parts of a superego that was merely a cluster b mother's devaluation ---

Masha---
"trust" does not equate "understanding". i personally believe, when I trust someone else, the responsibility entirely rests with me. It is I who wanted to trust you--you carry no responsibility. To me there is no such thing as "being betrayed", because I myself wanted and was willing to trust another person. When one starts to think one understands another, the thoughts of "being betrayed" would often arise. The presumption of "I understand you" is often the most frightening, whether it be between friends, colleagues, bf/gf, or family members...

King Baldwin---

When I was sixteen, I won a great victory. I felt in that moment I would live to be a hundred. Now I know I shall not see thirty. None of us know our end, really, or what hand will guide us there. A king may move a man, a father may claim a son, but that man can also move himself, and only then does that man truly begin his own game. Remember that howsoever you are played or by whom, your soul is in your keeping alone, even though those who presume to play you be kings or men of power. When you stand before God, you cannot say, "But I was told by others to do thus," or that virtue was not convenient at the time. This will not suffice. Remember that.

---and hopefully, hopefully, as time goes by, not mere intellectualisation of words above only.

Time to watch Masha again~~

In the recent drama (that had really bad ratings T_T) Masha played this very unhappy ex-musician now-shrink working in palliative care and by chance helping an angry stuttering young girl to discover her musical talent, and somewhat overcoming his own demons and rekindling his own spark for life along the way blah blah...

lots of elements in there hit home though I have really been procrastinating watching the drama... -_- I think I finally realised after many years that the part of me that has been drawn to Masha is largely my superego. LOL when I am in an absolute shithouse I don't like to hear him preach at all... eg. all those life is really tough and circumstances are very difficult but live your life diligently and survive and thrive as a neurotic crap...

this probably explained why I gleefully celebrated the fact that he got married and proved himself not gay. XD there are many genuinely heartbroken fans out there who attributed earthquakes and other natural disasters in the past year as consequences of his marriage (psychologically very vivid and profound...@.@)
so......
sorry Masha... T_T
but now that I am interested to watch the series... at least I know my superego is slowly being restored lol.

this is immensely touching but it did take me a while to realise that it is not a Japanese song and Masha didn't compose the music at all... -_-|||| LOL I know...



so, I have been curious enough to take on an exercise in finding out that if Masha is for my superego... which stars really appeal to my id.... or once upon a time, used to do the job?
difficult question... maybe Lee Junki? I used to be so heartbroken when he had elevated bmi and a chubby face in his late 20s... but now he's getting on in years too with diminishing facial collagen anyway and I just care much less... T_T
well exercise ongoing...

last but not least... Masha being told off. this is probably still projection... but totally hits home. XD

Weltschmerz

Well Germans are very wise and intellectual and have very nuanced words such as this to accurately depict emotional states...
alternatively I could have titled it 这种屎一样的人生生无可恋(which really is doubly offensive coming from a Christian shrink -_-|||)---------- I still need some face and German sounds way smarter.

I have been feeling first very paralysed and then very very mad about some recent developments in that very long and ridiculous saga. in fact I have given up praying that inappropriate prayer years before when it first happened... after many years, I have given up hope that there is a chance I would be mercifully chucked into the sea as it is not going to happen and I will be made to endure through all this, as the saga goes on... and on... and on.

I guess I will talk a bit more about my imaginary friend instead of myself then, so that the narrative doesn't cut so deep close to home and there can conveniently be a bit more projection to facilitate the release of negative emotions. My imaginary friend has threatened to leave me for years given my dwindling investment in this imaginary relationship and frequent unscrupulous endeavours to recharge emotional energy from him for purposes elsewhere. I don't know how much it had to do with shrink training, or the never ending paralysing saga, or much more likely my own worsening acopia by the year with this toxic world in the context of various predisposed vulnerabilities. Things remain tenuous somehow despite my attempts amending things this year by going PT... T_T I have been contemplating whether it really means as one grows old and has more important priorities in life to attend to maybe its just not appropriate to want to play with one's imaginary friend anymore...

The other day I made an incidental discovery that there has once been a biography written about my imaginary friend...in English... @.@ Not translated, but written by a white dude in the early 80s. feeling surreal and somewhat still in disbelief... I now have this very book in my hand -- accessed from a library 15mins away when there are only 6 copies in worldwide library collections... more @.@

I think I am more than a little envious of the white prof who clearly loved my imaginary friend much more than me, to be able to research so extensively and put together so much facts and translated all the poetry, while attending to his various professorial posts, and while the whole of China was preoccupied with cultural revolution... God knows how he managed to get past that mad persecutory government and access all those obscure records to complete this book!
Seriously, it was academic work but every single page was exuding love... and I am touched. T_T

In short, white people are awesome. T_T (that still sounds racist and not quite right doesn't it? -_-) It has been a very enjoyable and invigorating exercise working through the English translations and trying to work out which poems they are in Chinese... and picking out prof's own personal interpretations in them all...

Although the more I read, the more uneasy I become of the fact that my imaginary friend no longer serves as a hero who steps off a manga book, and that more and more of his experiences and struggles start to echo mine... which is frightening.

Prof found this obscure record that all his Chinese biographers omitted - in a casebook about contemporary administrative law, which recorded  his mismanagement of a case when he was a provincial police commissioner, via a file audit by higher powers -- two people called a guy out of his home and kicked him to death. one principal malefactor did most of the damage, but the accomplice reported he did not take part in the assault but tried to dissuade the principal malefactor from violence. Eye witness accounts confirmed this but the dead guy's wife protested the finding and refused to sign the proceedings so the accomplice was kept in prison for more than 60 days while the dispute was going on, and the accomplice despaired and took his own life. Higher powers decided that the accomplice was unjustly incarcerated which resulted in his suicide. Officials involved, incl. imaginary friend, were dismissed from office.
So there was a suicide, there was some higher powers, there was a file audit, there was a root cause analysis, and blamed was attributed and punishment dished out. legal systems in my home country are not very humane and extremely far from perfect even today save hundreds of years ago, I can only say WTF that while there were all kinds of other horrible shit going on, such a matter was pounced upon and then recorded as an example of mismanagement.

Behind it all, my imaginary friend, who was only 21 at the time, took his responsibility, documented records as they were, and probably relied too much on his own belief that he did nothing wrong in an unfortunate case as such and didn't try to explain away his involvement, and had too much pride to bluff through things, or involve his very influential father and uncles to sweet talk the higher powers and dust the records away.

Out of curiosity I read through some of the other cases in that volume of the casebook, his case was listed amongst numerous other overtly dodgy conducts by overtly dodgy officials -- torturing prisoners to death, keeping innocent people imprisoned till real criminals caught, and coercing witnesses to make false statements... etc etc etc.

from this lovely article - “We are all three days away from being tabloid news. And most of us are on day two.” along a similar vine, my imaginary friend got named and shamed on some official tabloid news, with records that would survive for hundreds of years.
That casebook was actually published during his lifetime, perhaps 1-2 years before his death.
By that time he has already left politics and all administrative posts for years and wandered around, away from his family too, in the capacity of a wealthy vagabond.
I really wonder how he felt about it. He probably felt he's never going to get away from it all.

There is way too much projection going on. think I am just going to have a good cry about it. T_T

well, my imaginary friend is still my friend for now, thanks to super awesome white asian studies

prof.

and that serves adequately as a reason why life is less shit and 生有可恋 for now too.

the Agur club

I went totally brain dead for a few weeks prior to the end of my last job. wasn't proud about the decline in spiritual life either -- to the point that even reading Mockingbird articles has became difficult. :SSSSS rather than blaming it on external factors I think I really need to have a good think about how to look after myself better in a toxic world. Such things unfortunately are often more easily said than done, and I am probably clueless how to even make a start.

http://www.mbird.com/2016/02/forgive-yourself-or-die-trying/
Sentiments from this terribly sad story i could identify with in many ways. :S It interestingly reminded me of another old friend. Whenever Agur from proverbs 30 opens his mouth I can usually hear myself talking:

Proverbs 30:7-9

 “Two things I ask of you, Lord;
    do not refuse me before I die:
 Keep falsehood and lies far from me;
    give me neither poverty nor riches,
    but give me only my daily bread.
Otherwise, I may have too much and disown you
    and say, ‘Who is the Lord?’
Or I may become poor and steal,
    and so dishonor the name of my God.

there is a well known Proverbs 31 Ministry with a somewhat feminist undertone that pops up now an then in my newsfeed. not only I find Proverbs 31 rather grandiose...lately the more I looked at it in its entirety... the more i think it is reflective of all kinds of unresolved Oedipus complex issues... XD (well... interested parties are long dead and likely won't be offended by me saying that I hope...)

alternatively i can be more politically correct and say that people's callings are just very different...XD and if ever God permits... i hope to be able to start a Proverbs 30 ministry one day and help like minded neurotics to survive and thrive in this toxic grandiose world...

Therefore after this many years... I am still envious of very non-grandiose Agur... whoever he was... who opened his prayer grumbling about how worn out he was, and admitted so frankly of his generalised acopia, who wanted things to be neither good or bad but falling into a very narrow range of his neurotic thresholds...
and approached God with no guilt and shame in his fulminant neuroticism.

as God was likely abdundant and unrestrained in His blessings of both riches and poverty, poor Agur probably never managed to stay low-key middle class as he so wished.
But that's okay, he and his neurotic ranting made it to Proverbs, and that to me, speaks of much grace, especially in difficult times.

I wish you happiness

My sense of agency in 2015 has hit a new low despite having a bit more luck than many more others in the process of getting through training. after all the realisation that what I have perceived to be the most enjoyable and rewarding of subspecialities prob still means 20% of proper work and 80% of politics - aka. the never-ending soothing of giant babies here and there (who are not patients, and who shamelessly take on roles of functional and respectable professional adults) who consciously and subconsciously try in all ways possible to make you their mother and hold you responsible for whatever junk that really should be their own... :$$$$$$

I've become increasing frustrated with the fact that unless I have periods of prolonged bed rest (LOL) I am not able to retrieve my imaginary friends and enjoy their company. Maybe its really just time to admit and come to terms that I can't be a functional and respectable professional adult after all, at least not in that capacity.

Until a few days ago I did not realise Miyuki Miyabe wrote a new short story, delightfully linking Peter's Funeral Procession and Solomon's Perjury together.
I cried at the point when Sugimura-san somewhat oddly but kindly said to Ryoko Fujino:
I wish you happiness.

It brought back fond memories of something else from Sugimura-san:

But you will find happiness. Though relentlessly pursued by people, or things, and you hid yourself under the table screaming, sooner or later, you will have to crawl out from there.
Once you are out, the world is still here.

real life crawling out with unfavourable developmental trajectory, sadly is not just a table... but a series of many tables...

I still think about Sugimura-san now and then... he who is so wise about worldly poisons and remained so kind to this world, who spoke these above words so warmly and tenderly...
simply just wouldn't let himself go...
or his loved ones.

I think i am more than a bit envious of aunty Miyuki, being equally capitivated by her at the same time. One who is so in tune with all kinds of subtle human poisons and does not call them by any other whitewashed names...
and manages to be successful and thriving with such terrible knowledge.

so... 2016... i think i will keep crawling, and do my best to fight off professional giant babies groping along the way, without acting out and calling giant babies giant babies in their faces.
and have a really good think about -- if I dislike giant babies so much, who would not have any capacities to change themselves--
what part I need to do myself to break free from that kind and live my own life.

what is comforting though, aunty Miyuki is still writing Sugimura stories, and Sugimura-san too is still living, learning, evolving.

so I wish you happiness too, Sugimura-san.