Ode To A Friend

I’m constantly wondering, why is it that I have such amazing friends? It’s enough sometimes to give a guy a complex. I understand that our experience is relative, therefore I should assume that it’s my perception which casts this light on the people around me. That said, goddamn I have great friends and today I’d like to sing the praise of one in particular.

This particular friend is an old one. I believe we met in grade one. We were natural enemies at first, just as so many boys are with their later best friends. After some ridiculous altercation wherein he called me names and I pulled his hair we decided, on those grounds, we were fit to be life-long brothers. The following years were filled with an idyllic kind of growth which can only be found in the island communities off the west-coast of Canada.

Vancouver Island

Where our paths took an unusual turn was around the time were both reaching the completion of our first decade on this blue dot called earth. His family for work reasons left for Japan. Bonded as we were at the hip, to lose such a great friend came as a great shock. Adding to this shock was the place he was going. Japan to an adult mind carries with it mystical connotations, to a child’s you might as well say you’re going to another planet. Thus my interest in the place I now live was born.

Planet

The poor guy, or lucky, depending on how you look at it, was dropped into a Japanese elementary school as soon as he arrived. He had no training in the language. He was given no special treatment for his lack of its understanding. His life became the very definition of sink or swim. After a few years he came back to Canada and we were reunited again. He with an amazing understanding of a challenging foreign language. Me with a studied interest in where he had gone.

I discussed with him the dream that had grown in his absence: to live in Japan by teaching English one day. He supported the idea whole-heartedly. Also he shared with me his new interest in architecture. It felt like we could both see the future. He would become a successful architect, and I, a teacher thriving in a different fascinating culture. The powers that be, naturally, had something else in mind for the both of us.

paths

I fell in love. Hard. The kind of love utterly pure for its ignorance. Love untainted by discovering the cost of losing it. And for a time it was good: three years to be precise. Although the final year of the relationship suffered a sharp decline which forecasted its eventual end. In those years my dream to travel abroad was given up gladly. Love doesn’t care where it lives.

My friend on the other hand moved back to Japan to study architecture at the university of Kyoto. He’d worked his ass off to earn a full ride scholarship. This scholarship is given out to a handful of people by the Japanese government. Did I mention my friend is smart? So while I got fat, foolishly lazy content in the idea that true-love is infinitely patient, my friend laid down the tracks for a glorious future.

My relationship ended and I was left wondering, what the hell I should do? I’m, as my dad likes to say, a god-cursed arts student. I have a degree in history, which although interesting, is hard to apply in a job market which rewards understanding of the material world. For that reason I drifted from job to job for a couple of years. I’m lucky to have met more amazing friends and people who inspired me. Grateful as I was to meet these people, one of which I directly credit for making me realize I could write, I still didn’t know what to do. Cliché as it may sound, I’d forgotten my dream.

shattered

My friend reminded me. He reminded me about my dream to live abroad. My life came into focus immediately. I would come over to Japan. No matter what I had to do to make it a reality, I would. Strangely, I see in retrospect much as I thought the interview process was grueling and difficult, all that success required of me was an effort. But that’s a different story.

My friend gave me a direction and for that I will always be eternally grateful. It is an incredible gift that we as friends have the power to draw out the dormant potential we can see in the ones we care for. This is not some tired idealist phrase: you can change someone’s life for the better. And having learned this lesson from my friend, I will try to do the same for others until the day I die.

reflection

I felt reborn having come to Japan. Each day I woke up had purpose and excitement. I was living my life the way I believe we all should: with an awareness that each breath we draw carries a certain magic. I could not have been happier. That was, until my friend was diagnosed with cancer.

The news was especially staggering for the life he had led leading up to the diagnosis. There are certain people who are diagnosed and, cruel as it sounds, it makes a certain sense. If you live your life in excess when cancer comes to call it’s not always surprising. My friend is not one of these people. He was a young, healthy, non-smoker, active individual. No one could believe it.

The type of cancer he was diagnosed with was terminal. He would have to face dying. I know the world is filled with amazing people, and perhaps some of them would handle this news well, but none with the unique grace that my friend did. I know for certain he faced despair and under its weight he never gave in. He did the treatments. He watched his health fade. He made peace with death.

flatline

Then, a miracle. The Dr had mis-diagnosed his cancer. It went from being a terminal to case to one with a potentially positive outcome. My friend fought hard. His health came back. He recovered. I have rarely been so happy in my entire life. And I learned from him another lesson. Until something comes to pass its outcome is never certain. Good or bad.

I’m relieved to say that after the chemo and treatments his recovery was complete and since that dark time he has been doing extraordinarily well. He hasn’t however continued to pursue architecture. Nope, instead he and his brother have founded an international tech company which is rapidly on its way to being a massive success.

earth-rising-sun-desktop-background

The G7 summit was recently held in Japan and my friend was establishing offices there around the time of the event. It just so happened as well that the Canadian government, while at the event, were looking for new tech companies to invest in. My friend’s company’s meteoric rise earned him newly elected Canadian prime-minister Justin Trudeau’s attention and he was invited to a dinner whereat he received a grant for his business. I tell you I can’t believe it. Some people just don’t know when to give up.

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The End Of Tears

It always seems when my demons gather close I cast out my dreams and they sit before me

Try to restore me, silently implore me to see

I’m only a murderer in my mind, content with my victim, just killing time

No one could ever love me enough, to fill that need

Some have tried to call the bluff, on borrowed time I felt their touch, and still it grows colder colder

Each a dying sun that burned so bright only to be swallowed again by endless night
Welcome to the other side to the knotted tangles of my hidden life

Is it so arrogantly that I had hoped for the end of tears

For something that gets brighter when we confess all our fears
I can’t tell anymore my black from my white, mixing with colours cascading in light

Each new turn laughs at me, demands that I fight, with patience, a virtue, not given to flight

With companions, lovers, enemies, all sharing the roles, whose home do I return to, my heart feels so old.

It heads in a direction, like it always has, to a place where I’m writing and I don’t feel so bad.
Welcome to the other side to the knotted tangles of of my hidden life

And still I’ll never stop believing in the end of tears

For something that gets brighter when we confess all our fears

Collaboration: Delusion’s Cure

DaveTrippin_BookFIN

Old paths to publication and creativity are dieing while connectivity and collaboration grows. This is for the better. But first I must acknowledge in myself the strangest habit— I battle it even as I write this. I battle self-delusion. The erroneous thinking which leads one to think they are competing against something as opposed to participating in it.

Metamorphosis_of_Narcissus

I’ll clarify this thought. I am a writer and traditional authorship paths would have me believe that there is a three-step routine to having your book published: write it, get an agent, get it published. I’m not sure what it is about the human condition but I’d always framed this as me against a rigged system. Without even applying much effort I’d come very quickly to the conclusion that getting an agent is like winning a lotto. It is a true a large amount of good writing (not necessarily my own) is consistently passed over. However, the greater realization I’ve been trying to accept is that in no way is a system that is difficult to succeed in, a system that is attacking, you, personally. Ultimately your manuscript’s rejection is impersonal.

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I remember a conversation on the phone with a good friend of mine, pumping myself up, saying, “No matter what people say or think, I will write and publish this book!”. My more level-headed friend on the other end of the line responded, “Who exactly is preventing you?” When confronted by that question I realized I could identify maybe two nay-sayers. And even then, they were more commenting on the known difficulty of getting published. Not directly saying to me you have no hope.

Merging theater masks

This is the way of our fears. They have the power to turn our inner monologue into an extroverted perception of what surrounds us. We turn a matter of personal perception (something we very much have control over) into something immutable, outside ourselves, and thus, difficult to influence in a meaningful way. Admittedly the current system’s difficulty to penetrate lends itself to this flawed way of thinking. Human nature compels us, likely as a defense mechanism, to externalize most challenges: a kind of mental off-loading of responsibility. Life is stressful enough without realizing how lazy we are.

But that’s enough self-flagellation. The reason I wanted to write this was to point out which changes in human connectivity are making the creative process far more exciting, collaborative, and somehow paradoxically, an independent endeavor. The big ones you know of course: e-publication, Facebook, Twitter, Youtube, Tumblr, and a slew of others. They all contribute to author’s success, if only for their power to advertise. Much more exciting in my mind however are the social sites I’ve found which go beyond basic advertising, and can actually make you a better writer. I had no idea they existed up until roughly a year ago.

I’m referring to peer review writing sites. These social networks are an invaluable resource if you which to do more than show people what you are creating. They are inherently smaller (any community that actually creates as opposed to consumes always is) but the intense passion for the craft you will find in these places is humbling. Your computer screen becomes a portal to like-minded up and coming authors who all want to help each other grow.

The process on these sites is simple. Participants connect via the forums and offer to critique and review each other’s work. The grammatical comeuppance when I first arrived served as a reminder, we all have much to learn. Having taken my initial lumps I’ve learned an immense amount and networked with people who already have successfully published, be that independently or through a major house.The two I would recommend people use are Figment or Wattpad. Each has its strength.

figment_logo

Figment’s community is more hardcore and if you wish to have professional critique that’s where you will find it. Again its specialized community of more intensely driven writers means there are less of them but this as well becomes a benefit. With any regular reviewing and effort you become a true member of the community and not so easily lost in the crowd which can occur in the latter I will describe.

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If you wish to go for exposure and more opinions of your work as opposed to full review, Wattpad is the clear winner. Not only does it have a larger community but the site designers quite brilliantly have also designed a mobile application for the site. A mobile application equals—you guessed it—more exposure. The education offered through these sites, let alone the exposure, would have costs thousands in a not so distant past.

choices

This relates as well to my point regarding the paradoxical independence granted to us by a greater availability of collaboration. There is no longer one path. An abundance of choices leads to far more individualization. Yes you are networking and interacting with more people than ever before, but now you are able to do so on your own terms. You personalize the questions you want answered. Finally you’re free to tailor and define the sort of engagements you want to take part in. It can be a bit disorienting at first, lacking the direction traditional methods offer, but I believe this greatly benefits innovation. It’s the classic idea that because you never learned what was ‘impossible’ you pioneer something everyone else gave up on.

Now with the peer review out of the way I can discuss my favourite part of new-age collaboration: the kind you never saw coming. You might be wondering, what was that cover up at the top of this post? Well aside from being the recently completed cover for my first book ‘Stone Heart’ it is the result of a random collaboration.

I have a Youtube channel called ‘DaveTrippin‘ (shameless plug is shameless). On this channel I try to help people to move to Japan or find work, or basically answer any questions about Japan that people may have. I get lots of emails asking many questions and I am more than happy to make videos answering them. It’s how my channel grows.

One day I got an email which for the first half read like all the others. This fine gentlemen asked if I would mind making a video to answer a few of his questions. Nothing new there. The shocker came in the second half of the email when he offered to design me a cover for my recently completed book. I’m amazed with what he produced and I think you would agree, he did an excellent job. This kind of collaboration was not possible before and is a testament to the better world we now live in as artists.

The string of events which led to this wonderful moment baffles me: a peer review site which never existed until recently has made me a better writer. In turn creating an unrelated Youtube site has put me in contact with an amazing graphic artist. That artist noticed I had a website. A website which I could have only made with the ease of recent technology and the now readily available online tutorials. On that site he sees that I am an author and wants to help me.

dictator

The lesson here is obvious and something we’ve known all along. Humans wish for a world in which we do not hate or repress each other. We wish to reach out, to help, to see ourselves in one another, and with the amazing leaps forward made each day by collaboration, that dream will not one day become reality, it is now, already come.

When You Bleed You’re Beautiful

Approach and state your name

Did you come here to fight

Did you come here to blame

This road is not yours this house is not mine

You’re building castles in the sand this time

I’m so tired of drawing lines

We can, can fly above them

They’ll not matter when you see them far away

One more argument you bought and sold

I’m sorry to be the one who tells you, baby, when you bleed you’re beautiful

Fall into me, hold onto me, be there, fade away, say my name, let me know

Appear, what twists and takes all your fears

Knock, knocking you, get up fall down

That familiar feel of crumbling ground

I know you’re tired of endings and beginnings

Life’s long lists of what ifs and letting gos

Just remember when we bleed we’re beautiful

Fall into me, hold onto me, let me go, be there, fade away, let me know

Til Death Do Us Part: How Modern Marriage Has Failed

sitting_te

Marriage, the word is a demonstration of our language’s ability to evoke and provoke some of the strongest emotions possible. These range from the worshipful to cynical. It is simultaneously sought after and hated, not uncommonly by the same person. Is it broken? Was it ever right? I’ve been thinking about these questions a lot lately. I find myself at that time in my life (early thirties) where those inevitable questions start to arise, as though I perceive a door slowly closing. It’s my conclusion, after a good deal of thought, that I’ve been fooled, we’ve all been bamboozled, tricked, whatever you want to call it, into thinking that the oft referred to (holy) institution of marriage is something we should care and obsess over.

Let’s dig into this where I enjoy it most: its history. Marriage has not always been interpreted through its current incarnation. Now what do I mean by that exactly? Well most obviously would be this idea of marriage for eternal love. This modern consideration is an incredibly recent advent. Marriage in the not so distant past was carried out pragmatically: for family interests. The mewling protests of those involved, should there be any, were silenced quickly as selfish prattle that had better shut the hell up, or risk the wrath of their elders, and when I think about it, rightly so. Life and survival are difficult enough in an old world without youth bemoaning that they don’t get to love the person they are with. We’d have been far better off if marriage were actually referred to for what it was at its inception: duty.

But we are a forward thinking species. How dare the wisdom of the old be inflicted on the young. Better we let them decide who they should marry, and then divorce shortly after. This has led us to marriage’s current state. The mass majority of marriages end, it’s indefensible to suggest otherwise. Growing up my parents were in the absolute minority that they remained together through my youth. Their staying together was the exception not the rule.

Which leads me to my next point: the language of modern marriage in its aftermath. Having moved away from the more ancient form of marriage, we have landed ourselves in an existential hell. We’ve exchanged the mild grumbling of a couple learning to be with each other for the impossible ideal of eternal love. We even hold this lofty standard so high above our heads that if a marriage were to fail in this context we have no shortage of cruel descriptors for it: broken home and failed marriage leap to mind. We describe something so obviously natural—the falling out of love of those together for an extended period of time—as something abhorrent, hateful, and shameful. This I believe is madness.

Life in the last hundred years has changed so rapidly when compared to the previous it has left our older social constructs outdated and staggered, barely able to bear the weight of keeping up. I think fondly on my father’s joking description of the problem, “When they said till death do us part, that’s what it used to mean!” This albeit dark humour summarizes what I am trying to say. A progressive step was needed to reinvent the dated survival-style of marriage, but caught up in our solipsist view of the world we failed to see that we’d set out for ourselves an impossible standard. Couples rejoiced at the idea of marriage for eternal love, but soon found the reality was not quite what they imagined. It never is.

Now I’m not suggesting a return to the old style. We do live in a time when choosing who we wish to partner with is a luxury we can more or less afford. What I am suggesting is that we face a more difficult reality: we live long enough to have deep meaningful relationships with multiple people, and should allow ourselves to do so.

I’ll anticipate the soft soul’s argument who will cry, “What about the children? You blind fool,” and say this: we can, and already do, leave behind marriages with children yet to grow. All I’m suggesting is if we do so, let’s do away with all the weight of this crazy guilt. Good parents exist, lots of them, who are not in “wedlock,” another great term I enjoy. As long-lived human beings whose lifespans are continually stretching we must throw off the shackles that the ideal of eternal love has bound us in. We need a new love renaissance, one that correctly acknowledges both our strengths and weaknesses: Yes we can love, yes we fall out of love, there is no one single love of your life, there are many.

I cannot help but relate this to a series of books written by one of my favourite authors ‘Peter F. Hamilton.’ In his wild sci-fi imaginings he’s created a world wherein people can potentially live forever. Not only that, he considers the profound social repercussions of this world. The obvious question that comes about from eternal life is: do I eternally marry? He would suggest no. Instead, people spend as much time as they want with each other. Some raise children, some don’t. The norm of the citizens that inhabit his world is to marry many over the hundreds of years that they are alive. This to me seems natural.

And before those dissenters start screeching at the computer screen, allow me to clarify what I mean by natural. Natural is the world we have grown up in. I’ll borrow from ‘Aubrey de Grey’ to clarify what I mean. When people object to his suggestion—that we should be able to live forever—and say it is unnatural to have such long life-spans, he immediately counters with a very sound argument. When you say natural, whose natural do you mean? If you had grown up in the colonial era a natural life-span was far less than it is now. Eighty to a hundred is the natural life-span if you were born in recent memory. To cement what I am saying vicariously through Aubrey’s point: “natural” changes depending on where you are looking at it from. In effect, it is always changing given your perspective. And that is now what we need for marriage and the way we pursue it. A new perspective.

Free

And now it’s time for you to run without this time a starting gun
Is it not how they told you it would be
They were singing songs of innocence before you were free
And Now you know experience a tiger that stalks inside your house
He’s been there a while now tearing up your floors showing you all those hidden doors
It’s like floyd said it’s not what you expected to see
When I looked at the tiger the tiger was me

So I run run run can’t seem to catch up with the sun
And each day I grow older just a little bit colder
But after all I wanted this wanted to be free

Are we all just dreaming of life
I wake and it’s not real
A lonely place just filled with steel
Each face passes by a glimmer of something the same
Will we ever be more than just our names
I have always been looking for that greater plan
But all the time knowing the tiger will eat the lamb

So I run run run can’t seem to catch up with the sun
And each day I grow older just a little bit colder
But after all I wanted this wanted to be free

I can feel my pulse it’s never the same
But somehow in the end comes round again
When does it all stop can you see by the veil
This tiger feels old from eating his tail
His back is broke and his mind is gone
So maybe this time we sing the song.

So we run run run can’t seem to catch up with the sun
And each day we grow older just a little bit colder
But after all we wanted this wanted to be free

Not the First Nor the Last

March Roundup Contest Entry 2015

Prompt: In 250 words or fewer, pick a quote from a published author or book and write about it.

————

“Sometimes you have to do what’s wrong in order to do what’s right.”

Peter F. Hamilton, The Dreaming Void

———————–

“Hey, I’m so glad to see you.” My tone is a manic mix of light-hearted optimism and inconsolable fear.

I grip one hand with the other to stop the shaking. There is nothing I can do about my head. It irritates me endlessly. Whenever I’m stressed, there’s a slight vibration in my neck. I’m sure I’m not the only one who notices it.

She steps through the door and looks at me with hollow eyes. “Let’s sit down,” she says.

“Sure, of course.” I signal to my room. No roommate anymore and no more furniture leaves the place almost empty, just a bed and memories.

We both sit and I begin. I am a bursting fountain-head of cliché: “I love you. We can work. I’m begging you. You’re my soul-mate”. I’ve made it harder for her. In the end I hurt her more.

But her words are absolution: “I don’t. No we can’t. I don’t care. You’re not mine.”

Inside, whatever dignity I had is swept away. Grief strips me. I am nothing. Outside, my shell persists. Discontent with leaving any scrap behind, I negotiate my pride: trade reality for one last illusion. When she’s walking to the door, I’m almost optimistic. Maybe there’s a chance. Maybe it’s not over. Maybe when I leaned in for that last kiss before she left, those lips weren’t dead.