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Journal lingqi's Journal: Feburary 16th, 2005

Feburary 16th, 2005 (13:08)

It's snowing outside. The snow is not as heavy as earlier this morning, but it still continues. A thin layer of snow has already accumulated on the ground, and the rice fields, resting from the previous year's excertion, rests silently beneath the feathery white duvet.

Actually this morning there was a pretty big earthquake too. Probably about a four where I was. It was the first earthquake that woke me up. I opened my eyes from the undulations and the squeaks the wall made under the strain, decided that I didn't want to go climb under a table, and fell back asleep - both a little scared but yet with some comfort, like lying in mother earth's cradle...

It's not without reason that I felt that way. On my way back from the airport I seriously wondered if I would experience another earthquake before I finally returned to the US. I suppose Japan wanted to make sure that I felt fully that I was indeed back here. True, the cradle may be of the reaper rather than a more benevolent being, but somehow I have faith in the latter.

During lunch I looked outside to realize that the familiar world usually present before my eyes have disappeared. It is like a masquerade of all things - trees, houses, roads, fields. Everything puts on another face to tickle your sense of adventure, your sense of curiosity. Few feelings can be compared to being the first to walk on a small winding road covered by snow, and then look back to your footsteps - and it is just as exciting to follow an existing trail between the shrubs and over bridges, to see where it lead, to wonder where the previous traveller had stopped and pondered, to inquire the grass and the birds if the scene he saw was as tranquil as the one you are staring at right now.

I like this feeling, when you look outside expecting to find the usual but is instead greeted by a surprise. The first thing I did was put on my sweater and went for a walk, looking at small snowflakes tangle themselves onto my body and melt into tiny beads of water, glittering.

Standing in the middle of a small road that surround my company, I came to the realization that this feeling is a part of me I do not want to lose. I thought I wanted to live in California or San Diego where the weather is never changing, but suddenly begin to find it incredibly boring. Variety is the spice of life, right. Finally do I appreciate the finer point of having four seasons, and why Japanese are pround of this aspect of their country.

The other thing I thought about recently stems from the two movies I saw. One is "Closer," the other "Million Dollar Baby." Both are rated reasonablly high. The most dramatic contrast between the two movies is that in Closer, while all the characters are constantly expressing love for eachother verbally, I felt no such emotion expressed - yet in Million Dollar Baby, not once was the word used, but the love was so thick it made me cry. I come to wonder how important really is it to say "i love you." If you really love someone, he / she should feel it through your actions and saying it would just be a waste of breath - and if your action does not show what you say in your words then the words are empty anyway... either way, it seems like either a wasted effort or a empty promise - both meaningless. I seem to be the only one who thinks this way, apparently...

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Feburary 16th, 2005

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Adding features does not necessarily increase functionality -- it just makes the manuals thicker.