Day Four.

So thus concludes the fourth day. It ends on a sombre note, although not as sad as I thought it would be. You see, my grandfather died yesterday night. It was probably about 24 hours ago from now. I was deeply affected by his loss today, and a part of me still is, albeit not so deeply.

My grandfather was a very strong and dominant man. In his youth he was involved in politics; he once related to me the stories of his involvement in the Communist Party of Sri Lanka. He was a born leader, and was never one to be tied down to this world. Even as he aged he maintained that powerful stature to him. I don't have any memory of my father's parents, for they died when I was very young. But my mother's parents, of which he's her father, I have very clear memories of. My grandfather and my grandmother came to Canada a couple of times, staying with us for long stretches at a time. They were the ones that took care of me when I was young boy in Sri Lanka and during my teen years here in Canada. When I was with them I felt very much at peace. Their conversations weren't like those of my parents: busy, pragmatic, and hurried. They talked mostly about their past; memories of times long past yet to them seemed so near. I don't know my grandfather's history as well as I do my grandmother's. I do recall my grandma saying how much of a playboy he was. And I remember my mom saying how my grandma asked him to change his hairstyle in the way of a famous Sri Lankan actor (kind of wavy and combed back), and he had that look his entire life. As a child I got my affinity for stories by listening to them talk. When I heard them regaling a story it was very different from the entertainment I received on TV. Their stories were peaceful, and drawn out, including seemingly useless details, to paint an accurate picture, but without any real plot. It was like being in a timeless park, where it was just the green grass, blue sky, and the white clouds all day; and you had forgotten why you're there or where you had to go. This is what I remember of their stories. At some point my grandparents moved back to Sri Lanka because they found Canada too stifling to their way of life (they were very active and energetic people, and here they had nothing to do). I didn't speak to them for many years then. I would occasionally speak to them over the phone -- actually, as I typed that, I realized the last time they called I didn't want to speak to them because I felt it was just a waste of time as they would just be asking the same old questions about what I'm studying, how much longer it would be, and I would give the same answers in the same tone. I told my parents I was busy and I never took the phone. But whenever he did speak to me he would be so happy and spoke in English (both my grandparents speak very good English). He would often write me birthday cards addressing them Mr. Sahan. I just have so much regret now in my heart. I was supposed to go see him, this is why I'm having this vacation. He had a stroke and he became paralyzed. My mother went a month ago to take care of him. But she saw how he was getting better so we didn't have to come. We cancelled our tickets and thought we'd buy them again later on in the year when it's easier for us to take time off. But then a few days ago he had a heart attack and he was put on life support. His kidneys were failing so he was put on dialysis. Then they said he was recovering again, so they removed his life support, but a day or so afterwards he died. I couldn't believe it. Of all the things I've heard I couldn't believe that. It was such a slap on the face for me. I was about to go. We had the tickets, but we cancelled them. At this moment I would've been there with him. Yet, instead, I am here now, never being able to say a word to him ever again, filled with enormous regret. Just so much regret.

The last bit must've been very incoherent. I had a lot of trouble writing it. I think I'm going to stop now. I wanted to talk about MMA and Narnia and all these other things. But I can't. Thank you everyone for your support, I really appreciate it.

Day Three. Kickboxing.

I should point out that I'm writing this on the morning after Day Three. Being too tired to type anything coherent I decided to sleep on it and write in the morning. 

My body is sore right now; yesterday I was in pain. Although yesterday turned out not to be as productive, I did accomplish an important task during the evening. I worked on my boxing with Alex. This is an area that I need tremendous improvement on. I enjoy Jiu Jitsu and I find the moves come naturally to me with practice, but I have yet to find any comfort with standup fighting. Alex tells me that I have the technique down, but not the engagement. As anyone who's new to fighting would tell you, it takes a lot of courage to overcome the fear of punching (or kicking) back. The moment you punch you leave an opening for the opponent to hit you back, if they're faster or have a longer reach. And if you're not confident in your own strikes, you just curl into yourself in defense without throwing a single hit. I did this, and I paid for it. Like a punching bag. 

I didn't have time to apply for anything yesterday, but I did do a bit of reading. I finished the Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. Afterwards I contemplated writing stories again. The creative juices within me were boiling. I was inspired by this bee who happened to find itself in my room. It was surely on a voyage of exploration! I thought of this, and thought what a wonderful story it would make. I had many ideas I want to write down, but haven't had enough time. Now I do. Yet I feel there's never enough time. 

I am pummeled and beaten, and through pain and tears I stay, but will it be worth it? Is this goal too far fetched? I've boasted after I've climbed small hills before; I now seek to conquer Everest, but it had killed greater men than I. It has no mercy. It has no sympathy. Maybe I'll break miles before I reach the base.

Day Two. Jiu Jitsu.

Someone asked me today how my vacation is going. I thought about this for a while, and I answered that it was moving steadily. I haven't fallen behind, nor am I impressing myself at this point. I did actually get a lot done today; I'd say exactly on par with what I expected to accomplish.

I woke up a bit late because of all the napping I did yesterday. And looking at the clock now I would say tomorrow will turn out to be a similar morning. Seeing Tariq made me very happy today. It's not often I get to share my thoughts with him, and to hear of his doings, so today I definitely got my fill. We spent a good portion of the afternoon roaming Square One. I found out today that there's a Lutheran Church inside the mall, and it had been there since the late '70s. It's tucked away beside the Food Court. I've also noticed how many Asian teenagers roam Square One now. With their bony legs and large shorts they scurry about, often with an equally bony boyfriend in hand.

With our outing coming to an end, I headed back home where Ruth and Alex met me for a session of Boot Camp. But tonight was a surprise. Tonight we replaced Boot Camp with an evening of Jiu Jitsu. It was as intense as I remembered it. It had been weeks since I've grappled with anyone, and my body writhed and cramped in pain, adjusting to the level of strain. During the Triangle Chokes my calves cramped and I had to stop, twice. When I think back on all the training I did months ago, I begin to hate how much I've degraded. Despite all the cardio and muscle conditioning I can do alone, I could never practice grappling or kickboxing by myself. Tonight was a reminder of where I used to be in this game. My body remembered the pain, it came back to me like an old friend. Towards the end of the 2 hours I felt my body getting used to the pains, as it should be. I can only hope this is the worst I'd be, and that after today I will start to improve, especially as I go into the dojo on Wednesday.

I realize today's was a shit post. I'm so tired. After coming home from dinner I spent a couple of hours job hunting. I managed to apply for one job. It's good enough. The quota is filled. And right now it's 3 am and I need sleep.

Productivity: 8

Pain: 9

Morality: 2

Day One.

Today was a day of decompression. I have many plans for the upcoming 14 days. I have so much to do that I don't know what to give priority to first. Coming out of that Hell Hole of work I feel as if I can now do everything I couldn't do before. With the sights and smells of freedom, perhaps I was too overwhelmed today. But it wasn't a bad thing, really. I wanted to rest, I had a tough two weeks behind me, and I will have tough (albeit enjoyable) two weeks ahead of me. Today would probably be the real intermission in between.

Today I napped for the first time in a long while. It was the most pleasant sleep I have had since I started working. During the late afternoon it started to drizzle a bit. Along with the grey clouds outside, this made me so peaceful that I felt a nap would be perfect. So I opened the window and climbed into bed. With my eyes closed I heard the sound of rain outside, and the smells of a wet summer day, and I felt the breeze come in.
It was the most peaceful sleep I had in months. In my sleep I dreamt of many things. I recall something about walking outside with Ruth, showing her the various stars, and then we came across a strange comet in the sky. I also remember the sky was purple and pink, as it is in the Autumn and Spring. When I woke up I was feeling cold all over. Keeping the window open might've been a bad idea, but at least I felt at peace. When I was a child I recall sleeping in my Uncle's house, next to a window, with the rain splattering across the glass. I felt so safe and secure while the sky fell apart outside. I was protected behind that thin pane of glass. Today as I slept I thought of that memory and I felt happy.

As I come to terms with the fact that I'm not going back to work for two weeks I feel as a hardened crust around my body is starting to crumble. The crust that was formed by working in that labour camp, which mechanized me into a robot. As that layer begins to crack, I feel my older self - the one who wrote poems and stories, the one who sang songs and played guitar, the one who drew things, the one who adventured into the forests - coming out from underneath. I felt a living mind inside all the frustrations and hardness which developed over me; a mind of creativity and imagination waiting to write and draw and trod once more. And trod I will! I want to go adventuring in the wilderness again. Why, the very thought of it brings warmth to my body.

Now, this is what I meant earlier by feeling overwhelmed. One week prior, when I planned of this week away from work, I had only intended to train and train and train. My intention was purely for MMA. But now that I am here I want to do more! I want to go adventuring in the woods, I want to write stories, I want to meet up with friends whom I've neglected like Francis, and Bobby, and Jyoti, and Bhante Rahula (of the Windsor Temple), and Bhante Mitra (of the Waterloo Temple)! And I want to wake up early and listen to the sound of morning while eating a light breakfast - not at all in a hurry and copiously as I do when I leave for work. And I want to do something nice for Ruth and Alex, who've been beside me at all times and cared for me for so long, and even called me today to come out even though I simply couldn't. Aside from all this remain my original plan: to train for MMA. I don't know how I'd fare at the dojo now that I've been absent for weeks. Would I even remember anything? Yet I must. I must use these two weeks to grow.

Perhaps I can. Perhaps all will be done. Today I have rested. Will that be enough? It is too late now to consider the answer. Whether yea or nay, I will have to start my plans tomorrow no matter what. So with that I end my Day One.

As far as scales go:
Productivity: 0
Happy fun times: 5
Relaxation: 10

Day Zero.

I stand now at the crux of my vacation. And even as I stand here, about to embark upon two weeks of happiness and freedom from work, I feel afraid and doubtful of my choice. I would afterall lose two weeks worth of pay. Will it be worth it? How much can I really train in two weeks? This time off is what I've been awaiting for a long time. Yet now that it's here I am with doubt. And further yet, I think, it is too late now to entertain these doubts, for I've come too close to the edge. Now there is nothing left but to leap into tomorrow.

Much has happened these past few weeks, yet nothing much had changed. My work stagnated any growth in me, both physically and mentally. Everyday at work I would pray for some change to occur. For some ounce of fortune to fall upon me from the heavens. For the girl across my lab to look up, for even half a second, and catch my eyes; I would wait the entire day for that. When you're dying of thirst in a barren desert, you would cherish even the dampness of a wet cloth upon your tongue. When I think about this I understand now why I decided to take these two weeks off. It was for my wellbeing. I wasn't well, at all. What's even more frightening is that I was getting comfortable with that life. I even thought this morning, "Why would I need two weeks off? I could keep doing this. I'm actually getting better now." This is frightening because that thought would lead down a path to complete stagnation. I would have given up my dreams of finding a better career, my passion for MMA, and my creative endeavours. There are young guys at my workplace - no more older than I - who've worked there for 10 years! Ten! I couldn't believe it. These are intelligent guys, at the prime of their youth, wasting away labeling bottles for 10 hours a day. When you lose that drive and fall into complacency, you would slave away and not even know it. Not even feel it, for your mind has now been numbed. I fear this will be me. That is why I must take these two weeks off. Not just to train, but I must use this time to find a better job.

As I would work the best days of summer, inside a lab, lifting bottles from cold boxes of ice, labeling them with stickers, I would often ponder the notion of death. I hesitate to even say this, but there were times when I thought of ending it all. As my days of work was filled with the thought of death, my two weeks of freedom must be filled with life. I must live every hour, starting tomorrow. For once these two weeks are over, I am back into that hell. This is Day Zero.