This morning, I woke up in a new place. Advertisements
My room isn’t as white as the rooms below (or is it?), but maybe they’re all bright also because of post-processing. In any case, this is what I hope for my room to be:
Wrestling with the indefinite wait. Wrestling with my ownership and control over my money, and with my lifestyle. Wrestling with my will and thoughts. Wrestling with my blindness, of coming to terms with how little is in my control and knowledge. Wrestling with an imperfect faith. Wrestling with my hidden, deeper self’s true idea of God.If there’s one thing I’ve learned about my relationship God, it’s that it’s not a fairy tale. In its best moments, it can be a wrestling match on a roller coaster ride. When I ask God for faith, I don’t become robotic, unthinkingly obedient, or “automatically faithful.” It hasn’t been many days since the other post, but clearly I’m grappling with anxiety, hope, and frustration over the lack of prospects for someone to take my place in the apartment I’m subletting, and finding a place to move into, all before May 1.
When you talk about infinity with a filmmaker (because you asked him how old film reels work), you learn that infinity is not just an expansive endless going outside or away (like space is, from us). There is the infinite in the finite as well. For example, if you have a room, you can divide it into two, three, ten, twenty parts, and so forth. It’s infinitely divisible into smaller parts, the way a film can be divided infinitely based on how quickly and/or how spaced apart your slides are. It never occurred to me that infinity isn’t just expansive towards the outside, but that there is also infinity towards the inside. This makes me think of the implications about our bodies, our cells. What’s the smallest part of a cell? What stuff is that stuff made of, and the stuff that’s made of? What’s the smallest part if you keep dividing it? Photo from the National Geographic Italy
I can’t believe what an idiot I can be with money. As I’ve shared before, online shopping is, surprisingly, something I’m horrible at. How so? On this fair Saturday morning, I’m rushing to a shuttle bus to take me to a Korean spa in New Jersey. What’s so bad about the spa? When I actually read the details of the deal last night. Just when I thought it would be like the treatment in Manila’s wonderful spas, apparently it’s a spa admission to use the spa rooms. Reading on (which I should have done before buying the voucher. Silly girl…): that is the kind of spa where everyone goes around buck naked. BUCK NAKED. Of course, males and females are segregated. But still. I DON’T WANT TO SPEND MY SATURDAY MORNING BUCK NAKED IN FRONT OF OTHER PEOPLE WHEN I WOULD RATHER SLEEP AND LOOK UP APARTMENTS. I considered not going, and tried to sell my Groupon to my friend since she’s going with her (visiting) mom and maybe they didn’t get a Groupon deal …