Storm in a Teacup

Strong complementarian women combine things the world cannot explain: a sweet, tender, kind, loving, submissive, feminine beauty, with massive steel in their backs, and theology in their brains.

—John Piper (via denyandfollow)

(via agentlewoman)

You tried to change didn’t you?
closed your mouth more
tried to be softer
prettier
less volatile, less awake
but even when sleeping you could feel
him travelling away from you in his dreams
so what did you want to do love
split his head open?
you can’t make homes out of human beings
someone should have already told you that
and if he wants to leave
then let him leave
you are terrifying
and strange and beautiful
something not everyone knows how to love.

—“For Women Who Are Difficult to Love,” Warsan Shire

(Source: sotla, via thatkindofwoman)

morabbiton:

BY IRENE SHIH FEBRUARY 26, 2013

Following Ang Lee’s second Best Directing win at the Academy Awards last night, this beautiful essay resurfaced. Here is my translation of Ang Lee’s words, written in 2006 (post-Oscar win). Please credit the translation to Irene Shih (and to this blog), thank you!

In 1978, as I applied to study film at the University of Illinois, my father vehemently objected. He quoted me a statistic: ‘Every year, 50,000 performers compete for 200 available roles on Broadway.’ Against his advice, I boarded a flight to the U.S. This strained our relationship. In the two decades following, we exchanged less than a hundred phrases in conversation.

Some years later, when I graduated film school, I came to comprehend my father’s concern. It was nearly unheard of for a Chinese newcomer to make it in the American film industry. Beginning in 1983, I struggled through six years of agonizing, hopeless uncertainty. Much of the time, I was helping film crews with their equipment or working as editor’s assistant, among other miscellaneous duties. My most painful experience involved shopping a screenplay at more than thirty different production companies, and being met with harsh rejection each time.

That year, I turned 30. There’s an old Chinese saying: ‘At 30, one stands firm.’ Yet, I couldn’t even support myself. What could I do? Keep waiting, or give up my movie-making dream? My wife gave me invaluable support.

My wife was my college classmate. She was a biology major, and after graduation, went to work for a small pharmaceutical research lab. Her income was terribly modest. At the time, we already had our elder son, Han, to raise. To appease my own feelings of guilt, I took on all housework – cooking, cleaning, taking care of our son – in addition to reading, reviewing films and writing scripts. Every evening after preparing dinner, I would sit on the front steps with Han, telling him stories as we waited for his mother – the heroic huntress – to come home with our sustenance (income).

This kind of life felt rather undignified for a man. At one point, my in-laws gave their daughter (my wife) a sum of money, intended as start-up capital for me to open a Chinese restaurant – hoping that a business would help support my family. But my wife refused the money. When I found out about this exchange, I stayed up several nights and finally decided: This dream of mine is not meant to be. I must face reality.

Afterward (and with a heavy heart), I enrolled in a computer course at a nearby community college. At a time when employment trumped all other considerations, it seemed that only a knowledge of computers could quickly make me employable. For the days that followed, I descended into malaise. My wife, noticing my unusual demeanor, discovered a schedule of classes tucked in my bag. She made no comment that night.

The next morning, right before she got in her car to head off to work, my wife turned back and – standing there on our front steps – said, ‘Ang, don’t forget your dream.’

And that dream of mine – drowned by demands of reality – came back to life. As my wife drove off, I took the class schedule out of my bag and slowly, deliberately tore it to pieces. And tossed it in the trash.

Sometime after, I obtained funding for my screenplay, and began to shoot my own films. And after that, a few of my films started to win international awards. Recalling earlier times, my wife confessed, ‘I’ve always believed that you only need one gift. Your gift is making films. There are so many people studying computers already, they don’t need an Ang Lee to do that. If you want that golden statue, you have to commit to the dream.’

And today, I’ve finally won that golden statue. I think my own perseverance and my wife’s immeasurable sacrifice have finally met their reward. And I am now more assured than ever before: I must continue making films.

You see, I have this never-ending dream.

Original text (in Chinese):

文 / 李安

1978年，當我準備報考美國伊利諾大學的戲劇電影系時，父親十分反感，他給我列了一個資料：在美國百老匯，每年只有兩百個角色，但卻有五萬人要一起爭奪這少得可憐的角色。當時我一意孤行，決意登上了去美國的班機，父親和我的關係從此惡化，近二十年間和我說的話不超過一百句！

但是，等我幾年後從電影學院畢業，我終於明白了父親的苦心所在。在美國電影界，一個沒有任何背景的華人要想混出名堂來，談何容易。從1983年起，我經過了六年的漫長而無望的等待，大多數時候都是幫劇組看看器材、做點剪輯助理、劇務之類的雜事。最痛苦的經歷是，曾經拿著一個劇本，兩個星期跑了三十多家公司，一次次面對別人的白眼和拒絕。

那時候，我已經將近三十歲了。古人說：三十而立。而我連自己的生活都還沒法自立，怎麼辦？繼續等待，還是就此放棄心中的電影夢？幸好。我的妻子給了我最及時的鼓勵。

妻子是我的大學同學，但她是學生物學的，畢⋯⋯業後在當地一家小研究室做藥物研究員，薪水少得可憐。那時候我們已經有了大兒子李涵，為了緩解內心的愧疚，我每天除了在家裡讀書、看電影、寫劇本外，還包攬了所有家務，負責買菜做飯帶孩子，將家裡收拾得乾乾淨淨。還記得那時候，每天傍晚做完晚飯後，我就和兒子坐在門口，一邊講故事給他聽，一邊等待”英勇的獵人媽媽帶著獵物（生活費）回家”。

這樣的生活對一個男人來說，是很傷自尊心的。有段時間，岳父母讓妻子給我一筆錢，讓我拿去開個中餐館，也好養家糊口，但好強的妻子拒絕了，把錢還給了老人家。我知道了這件事後，輾轉反側想了好幾個晚上，終於下定決心：也許這輩子電影夢都離我太遠了，還是面對現實吧。

後來，我去了社區大學，看了半天，最後心酸地報了一門電腦課。在那個生活壓倒一切的年代裡，似乎只有電腦可以在最短時間內讓我有一技之長了。那幾天我一直萎靡不振，妻子很快就發現了我的反常，細心的她發現了我包裡的課程表。那晚，她一宿沒和我說話。

第二天，去上班之前，她快上車了，突然，她站在臺階下轉過身來，一字一句地告訴我：”安，要記得你心裡的夢想！”

那一刻，我心裡像突然起了一陣風，那些快要淹沒在庸碌生活裡的夢想，像那個早上的陽光，一直射進心底。妻子上車走了，我拿出包裡的課程表，慢慢地撕成碎片，丟進了門口的垃圾桶。

後來，我的劇本得到基金會的贊助，我開始自己拿起了攝像機，再到後來，一些電影開始在國際上獲獎。這個時候，妻子重提舊事，她才告訴我：”我一直就相信，人只要有一項長處就足夠了，你的長處就是拍電影。學電腦的人那麼多，又不差你李安一個，你要想拿到奧斯卡的小金人，就一定要保證心裡有夢想。”

如今，我終於拿到了小金人。我覺得自己的忍耐、妻子的付出終於得到了回報，同時也讓我更加堅定，一定要在電影這條路上一直走下去。

因為，我心裡永遠有一個關於電影的夢。

(via youmightfindyourself)

`Have you made your peace with your God?’
`I never quarreled with my God.’
`But aren’t you concerned about the next world?’
`One world at a time.’

—Last words of Henry David Thoreau, speaking with his aunt on his deathbed. (via gaws)

contrive:

growing-orbits:

Making a Fist

We forget that we are all dead men conversing with dead men.
—Jorge Luis Borges

For the first time, on the road north of Tampico,
I felt the life sliding out of me,
a drum in the desert, harder and harder to hear.
I was seven, I lay in the car
watching palm trees swirl a sickening pattern past the glass.
My stomach was a melon split wide inside my skin.

“How do you know if you are going to die?”
I begged my mother. 
We had been traveling for days.
With strange confidence she answered,
“When you can no longer make a fist.”

Years later I smile to think of that journey,
the borders we must cross separately,
stamped with our unanswerable woes.
I who did not die, who am still living,
still lying in the backseat behind all my questions,
clenching and opening one small hand. 

—Naomi Shihab Nye, from Grape Leaves (University of Utah Press, 1988)

mmmm. i like it you have a taste.

youmightfindyourself:

My self-summary
I am a writer and poet, one, bear with me here, of the “major” writers of the late 20th century, though just typing that felt desperate. I received a B.A. in English at Humboldt State University, then went on to attend the esteemed Iowa Writers’ Workshop, thus launching my career. I also like to drink.

What I’m doing with my life
Working on some short stories but honestly not that into it, which may be why I’m entertaining the prospect of dating again.

I’m really good at
I hate to kick a dead horse here, but I’m really good at writing. I also make a pretty neat beef stew, since I tend to take 6 hour naps. It just gets done. My first collection of short stories Will You Please Be Quiet, Please? was shortlisted for the National Book Award and sort of revitalized the short fiction form. John Updike selected on of my stories for inclusion in The Best American Short Stories of the Century; Robert Altman made a sprawling film out of my stories; writing professors all across the country solemnly mention me as a kind of blue-collar American Camus; so, I’m not saying I’m really good at writing, just noting some examples of how others seem to feel this way.

The first thing people usually notice about me
I look the way a depressed person looks, if one were not trying to look that way.

Favorite books, movies, shows, music, and food
The Trial; The Sun Also Rises; For Whom The Bell Tolls; The Stranger; Dear Mr. Capote; Kramer vs. Kramer; Terms of Endearment; Taxi Driver; Annie Hall; Love Connection; Empty Nest; Mr. Belvedere; My Two Dads; Miles Davis; Charles Mingus; Bill Evans; Pasta all kinds.

The six things I could never do without
Hendrick’s gin; tonic; lime; ice cubes; a tumbler; my typewriter.

I spend a lot of time thinking about
The triangular yet cyclical relationship between the author, the character of a story, and the reader; how empathy may just be narcissism projected onto others; how nostalgia is desperate memory; the hair-thin line between cliché and truth; showing vs. telling; my kidneys, liver, and spleen; realism, location, and class; linguistic economy; how to say something by not saying it; codependence, alcoholism, and intimacy; rent; whether or not something is a run on sentence and does it matter.

On a typical Friday night I am
I enjoy turning off all the lights in the house a few hours after dusk, walking over to the window, a drink in hand, and just looking out at the vessels of leafless branches bruised into purple gloom, as if beaten by day. I see a man walking his dog, the diagonal leash sloped downward towards its neck like some slanted guillotine; I see this and think what is wrong with me? As you can tell, I need to be dating again. The bottom of my glass portrays multiple ever receding foci, all working in collusion together as the room fucking spins. The once frozen lobster ravioli is now paste in my boiling pot, as I’ve forgotten about dinner.

The most private thing I am willing to admit
I’ve been cruel to others for material.

I’m looking for
Just something, or rather someone, to get me away from this writing desk. A jovial date; a flash of tits; some female chatter. We could ride a roller coaster, have way too many corn dogs, and I would hope to die of a heart attack. Anything.

You should message me if
You should message me if you’d like to take a chance on a morbidly depressed yet emotionally available writer near the end of his noteworthy, and in some circles, brilliant career who just wants to tap into this supposed carnal hedonism of art and literature, which I will admit is a heavy handed euphemism for copulation, which despite all subtleties herein I must now betray and just say will you please be quick, please?

For me, a woman who is absorbed in her work, who does not care about gaining one’s favour, strong yet subtle at the same time, is essentially more seductive. The more she hides and abandons her femininity, the more it emerges from the very heart of her existence.

—Yohji Yamamoto  (via thatkindofwoman)

(Source: noten, via thatkindofwoman)

The first step - especially for young people with energy and drive and talent, but not money - the first step to controlling your world is to control your culture. To model and demonstrate the kind of world you demand to live in. To write the books. Make the music. Shoot the films. Paint the art.

—Chuck Palahniuk

(Source: monamade, via agentlewoman)

I miss you because memory
is a kind editor.
The past is a long scroll and
in it is the story of us,
told with gentle metaphor, and
words that bring
you back and back, even as you
lie there, lying.

—“Return Key,” Cory Mesler (via clavicola)

(via contrive)

youmightfindyourself:

I am one of the searchers. There are, I believe, millions of us. We are not unhappy, but neither are we really content. We continue to explore life, hoping to uncover its ultimate secret. We continue to explore ourselves, hoping to understand. We like to walk along the beach, we are drawn by the ocean, taken by its power, its unceasing motion, its mystery and unspeakable beauty. We like forests and mountains„ deserts and hidden rivers, and the lonely cities as well. Our sadness is as much a part of our lives as is our laughter. To share our sadness with one we love is perhaps as great a joy as we can know - unless it be to share our laughter. 
We searchers are ambitious only for life itself, for everything beautiful it can provide. Most of all we love and want to be loved. We want to live in a relationship that will not impede our wandering, nor prevent our search, nor lock us in prison walls; that will take us for what little we have to give. We do not want to prove ourselves to another or compete for love.

For wanderers, dreamers, and lovers, for lonely men and women who dare to ask of life everything good and beautiful. It is for those who are too gentle to live among wolves.

To me it seems that at those moments, which are characterized by the sudden lifting of the burden of anxiety and fear which presses upon our daily lives so steadily that we are unaware of it, what happens is something negative: that is to say, not ‘inspiration’ as we commonly think of it, but the breaking down of strong habitual barriers—which tend to reform very quickly. Some obstruction is momentarily whisked away. The accompanying feeling is less like what we know as positive pleasure, than like a sudden relief from an intolerable burden.

—T.S. Eliot, describing those rare moments of clarity and inspiration (via invisiblestories)

(via secretfragileskies)

thetangential:

1. Women are winning at education. As educational achievement increases across the U.S., women’s achievement growth is exceeding that of men in every demographic group—most notably at the highest income levels. Women are reaching adulthood better-equipped with the knowledge and experience…

(Source: thetangential.com)

Ailurophile A cat-lover.
Assemblage A gathering.
Becoming Attractive.
Beleaguer To exhaust with attacks.
Brood To think alone.
Bucolic In a lovely rural setting.
Bungalow A small, cozy cottage.
Chatoyant Like a cat’s eye.
Comely Attractive.
Conflate To blend together.
Cynosure A focal point of admiration.
Dalliance A brief love affair.
Demesne Dominion, territory.
Demure Shy and reserved.
Denouement The resolution of a mystery.
Desuetude Disuse.
Desultory Slow, sluggish.
Diaphanous Filmy.
Dissemble Deceive.
Dulcet Sweet, sugary.
Ebullience Bubbling enthusiasm.
Effervescent Bubbly.
Efflorescence Flowering, blooming.
Elision Dropping a sound or syllable in a word.
Elixir A good potion.
Eloquence Beauty and persuasion in speech.
Embrocation Rubbing on a lotion.
Emollient A softener.
Ephemeral Short-lived.
Epiphany A sudden revelation.
Erstwhile At one time, for a time.
Ethereal Gaseous, invisible but detectable.
Evanescent Vanishing quickly, lasting a very short time.
Evocative Suggestive.
Fetching Pretty.
Felicity Pleasantness.
Forbearance Withholding response to provocation.
Fugacious Fleeting.
Furtive Shifty, sneaky.
Gambol To skip or leap about joyfully.
Glamour Beauty.
Gossamer The finest piece of thread, a spider’s silk.
Halcyon Happy, sunny, care-free.
Harbinger Messenger with news of the future.
Imbrication Overlapping and forming a regular pattern.
Imbroglio An altercation or complicated situation.
Imbue To infuse, instill.
Incipient Beginning, in an early stage.
Ineffable Unutterable, inexpressible.
Ingénue A naïve young woman.
Inglenook A cozy nook by the hearth.
Insouciance Blithe nonchalance.
Inure To become jaded.
Labyrinthine Twisting and turning.
Lagniappe A special kind of gift.
Lagoon A small gulf or inlet.
Languor Listlessness, inactivity.
Lassitude Weariness, listlessness.
Leisure Free time.
Lilt To move musically or lively.
Lissome Slender and graceful.
Lithe Slender and flexible.
Love Deep affection.
Mellifluous Sweet sounding.
Moiety One of two equal parts.
Mondegreen A slip of the ear.
Murmurous Murmuring.
Nemesis An unconquerable archenemy.
Offing The sea between the horizon and the offshore.
Onomatopoeia A word that sounds like its meaning.
Opulent Lush, luxuriant.
Palimpsest A manuscript written over earlier ones.
Panacea A solution for all problems
Panoply A complete set.
Pastiche An art work combining materials from various sources.
Penumbra A half-shadow.
Petrichor The smell of earth after rain.
Plethora A large quantity.
Propinquity An inclination.
Pyrrhic Successful with heavy losses.
Quintessential Most essential.
Ratatouille A spicy French stew.
Ravel To knit or unknit.
Redolent Fragrant.
Riparian By the bank of a stream.
Ripple A very small wave.
Scintilla A spark or very small thing.
Sempiternal Eternal.
Seraglio Rich, luxurious oriental palace or harem.
Serendipity Finding something nice while looking for something else.
Summery Light, delicate or warm and sunny.
Sumptuous Lush, luxurious.
Surreptitious Secretive, sneaky.
Susquehanna A river in Pennsylvania.
Susurrous Whispering, hissing.
Talisman A good luck charm.
Tintinnabulation Tinkling.
Umbrella Protection from sun or rain.
Untoward Unseemly, inappropriate.
Vestigial In trace amounts.
Wafture Waving.
Wherewithal The means.
Woebegone Sorrowful, downcast.

(via so much to tell you)

(Source: andreainspired, via agentlewoman)