› Tue, 07 Feb 2012
Afternoon sunlight
Feb 6, 2012
Coming out of the basement (ICP cave), I really felt the existence of sun. Warm and harsh at the same time.
› Mon, 06 Feb 2012
Cold winter morning
NYC
Feb 3, 2012
› Mon, 06 Feb 2012
Morning sunlight
Jan 27, 2012
Light that I’ve forgotten for a few years
› Sat, 04 Feb 2012
A seal laying on the shore
South Jersey
Feb 4, 2012
I was so scared to approach the seal closely thinking s/he may be hurt or didn’t feel well. Actually Marine Patrol was there earlier to detect its condition and all seemed to be fine. The seal was laying on the sand and sleeping. It was so adorable and I wanted to touch but I kept my distance not to make uncomfortable feeling. Besides who wants to be touched by a stranger when sleeping. I left pretty soon. Tomorrow morning Marine Patrol will go back and check to see if the seal goes back to the ocean.
› Sat, 04 Feb 2012
[Flash 10 is required to watch video.]
Night Ocean
South Jersey
Feb 4, 2012
› Sat, 04 Feb 2012
Morning in Chinatown
Great coffee and croissant
Simple pleasure in life
Feb 3, 2012
› Wed, 04 Jan 2012
Heartache
Yesterday I woke up in the middle of night and started read Chekhov’s Heartache (1886). When I saw the word Heartache, I knew exactly what that meant. I experienced heartache several times in my life. It is a pain in the heart that is caused by unbearable pain in the soul that can only be felt by oneself, and cannot be describe to others.
Chekhov portrays this feeling of deep sorrow in a couple of ordinary events in one evening in St Petersburg.
The novel begins:
Heartache
“To whom shall I tell my sorrow?” (from an old Russian song)
Evening twilight. Large flakes of wet snow are circling lazily about the street lamps which have just been lighted, settling in a thin soft layer on roofs, horses’ backs, peoples’ shoulders, caps. Iona Potapov, the cabby, is all white like a ghost. As hunched as a living body can be, he sits on the box without stirring. If a whole snowdrift were to fall on him, even then, perhaps, he would not find it necessary to shake it off. His nag, too, is white and motionless. Her immobility, the angularity of her shape, and the sticklike straightness of her legs make her look like a penny gingerbread horse. She is probably lost in thought. Anyone who has been torn away from the plow, from the familiar gray scenes, and cast into this whirlpool full of monstrous lights, of ceaseless uproar and hurrying people, cannot help thinking.
Chekhov starts the story with cabby Iona Potapov and his horse and ends with them as well. Meantime several passengers come and go. But no one can hear or listen to his heartache felt from losing his son from a week ago.
Perhaps someone who lost son or loved one can emphatize with him. However in the novel, not even one person tries to listen to him which makes harder for him to bear his sorrow.
Time may heal some portion of the sorrow.
› Wed, 28 Dec 2011
[Flash 10 is required to watch video.]
Sunken ship
USS Arizona Memorial
At Pearl Harbor
› Tue, 27 Dec 2011
[Flash 10 is required to watch video.]
Afternoon sun
Waikiki beach
Honolulu, Hawaii
› Mon, 26 Dec 2011
[Flash 10 is required to watch video.]
Early morning
Sans Souci Beach
Honolulu, Hawaii
