About hafong

Hello! My name is (Leung) Hafong alias Lily Leung. You always say the last name first….that is the Chinese way. That is my partner lurking behind me. Since this is my blog, I won’t mention his name. But this is a rather cool picture. You see me and yet you don’t…sort of the way I feel about myself most of my life. So this blog is a self-exploration, an archeology dig of some sort. My tools…..words of a thousand or so at a sitting. I will try for that.

ON BLOGS AND BLOCKS

Posted on September 23, 2014 by hafong

I am sure that for every problem there is an answer. I am feeling not copacetic this morning. You know how it is – morning fatigue, irritation, grumpiness, I need coffee but can’t have it anymore. Call it what you wish.

Sheba is being annoying, barking up a storm every time the two little Chihuahuas next door poke their fuzzy white heads out on the deck. I should not have named her after a queen. She sure is acting like one!

How am I suppose to get creative and come up with my 500 words in this state? The Lord must have heard me. When I opened up Facebook, the first thing I saw was from Canada Writes on:

Art blogger The Jealous Curator on vanquishing creative block

How timely and appropriate! It is just what I need to get going this morning. I, too, love art and had hopes of becoming an artist. I majored in Fine Arts and English my first year in University. I had no work discipline and gave up on the art after a year. My thought was if I had talent, I wouldn’t have to work at it. I could whip up masterpieces just like that. So why waste time in something that I can’t excel and make money at? I was listening to the voices of reason.

The next year, I dropped out of university altogether. I had a history of being a quitter. When the going got tough, I was missing in action. I am trying to do better now. I am working hard, staying in the mental and physical discomfort of pushing for a little more each day.

When I read some of the winners’ stories on Canada Writes, I think to myself: I have no hope in hell! But then I tell myself to move on. If I stay in that thought, I will never accomplish anything. I have to keep writing to get better. I write because I love words and ideas. I am not doing it to win at anything. And I can’t measure myself up against others. We all have our unique styles and words.

I am going to heed the Jealous Curator’s advice on being stuck. Maybe you will find it useful, too. Here it is:

The Jealous Curator’s 3-part creative block exterminator

1. Time. Allow yourself time to be blocked. It happens, and yes, it will pass. It always does, but you can speed things up with ingredients 2 and 3.

2. Humour. Don’t take it so seriously. Most of the pros have a really light view on their inner critics and blocks in general. If you can laugh, and cut yourself some slack, the blocks seem to fade a lot faster!

3. Side projects. So, so, so many of the artists suggested doing little side projects to help shake yourself out of a rut. In fact, all 50 of them gave an “unblocking project” at the end of their interviews. They’re so good! (I’ve tried about five of them so far.)

NO PAIN, NO GAIN

Posted on September 22, 2014 by hafong

I’m here exhausted and full of breakfast. Can I write my 500 words in this state? Can I push forward with no ifs and buts? Of course I can. I’ve caught up on my sleep and Mr. Sun is smiling down on me with a promise of 28 degrees Celsius.

Wait! I need a refill on my tea. Ah, so much better now. I can feel the frown unfurling between my eyebrows, my face and eyes relaxing, the tension in my body easing. I feel the warmth of the sun on my right cheek. I see my purple petunias bobbing in the morning breeze. They’re still strutting their stuff, not ready to give up yet.

“We’ve still have alot of living to do”, they seem to be singing. “Don’t do us in yet!”

Yesterday was a busy, busy day. I prepared 4 trays of Roma tomatoes for the dehydrater, made 5 jars of tomato sauce, baked 6 loaves of bread and made a batch of sunberry muffins. It seemed so easy when you start out. I had it all planned. I would do the Roma tomatoes first. Then I would start the bread. During the first rising phase, I would start the tomato sauce. During the 2nd rising phase I would walk Sheba. And while the bread was baking, I would whip up the muffins and pop them into the oven after the bread comes out.

No matter how often you’ve done all these things, they are always harder and take longer than you think. Our memory plays tricks on us. It is not a bad thing. Time allows us to forget about the difficulties and let us start again – refreshed and full of enthusiasm. Maybe even by next week I will do it all over again. My pain today is my tomorrow’s gain.

Not that yesterday was difficult or painful. But I was busy and moving till evening. By supper time I was tired and irritable, ready to bite someone’s head off if he got in my way. I was liable and did say, DON’T play any more music. There are times when music soothes and time when it drives me mad. It was the latter. I was ready to jump out of my skin.

I’m in a bad mood, I said. I speak my mind so people would know where I’m coming from. Sometimes it doesn’t work well but this time it was copasetic. Life is like that. There’s the good, bad and the ugly. That’s how you can tell when everything is copasetic and the sweetness of it is worth the pain and ugliness. What goes up must come down. No pain, no gain.

I’m pushing hard on gaining, not only with my words but staying in the present. I want to make my own choices in life and not let life choose for me. I don’t want procrastination to own me. It’s easier said than done – way toughter than I thought. That’s what I’m learning while I’m searching for my 500 – 1500 words a day. It’s only been a week or so. I have a long journey ahead of me. I better pace myself for the long haul and not fall within a week or two. I’m crossing my fingers and toes. I think I better cross my slippers, too.

My Sheba is fussing. Maybe it’s time for a break. She has been very cooperative, waiting patiently for her walk. She needs a break, too.

THE PROPER THING

Posted on September 21, 2014 by hafong

I am ambling down the road with Sheba. The air is still and cool but the sun is shining through. I’m hard pressed to find words and ideas this morning. What story do I have to tell? Where do I start? The question comes up every morning.

It is disconcerting to be pumped with creative joy one minute only to have the joy plummet the next. You see that someone has taken something of ours. So what if the door was opened. It was not an invitation to help yourself to our stuff. We just forgot to close the door.

Have you ever had things taken from you without your permission? You must not. Otherwise, you would not have taken from me. You would know the feeling of violation and disrespect. It does not matter the value- monetary or otherwise. It is the disregard for me.

Once, a coworker used my coffee mug without my permission. It was not an expensive one but I love the pattern and the feel of it. You must know what I mean – those silly attachments we have. I had set the mug and a little tin of specialty coffee in my nursing station. The tin had my name on it.

When my coffee break time came, I could not find my mug. It might sound dramatic to say I was frantic. I didn’t know I had such attachment issues. When all search was to no avail, I had to settle for a different cup.

Half an hour later, the coworker showed up. She heard I was looking for my cup.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know it was yours! I was outside for a smoke and dropped it. The handle broke.”

What do you say? Are you going to get out of control over an old mug? I bit my tongue. I did the usual song and dance that it didn’t matter. It was an old mug and I have more at home. That was the proper thing, wasn’t it?

I wonder how many times I have compromised myself – always striving towards doing and saying the proper thing. I’ve done it for so long it’s second nature. It is the way I was brought up. When someone comes to your house, you greet them. When they leave, you bid them goodbye.

Proper manners and saving face are very important in Chinese culture. You do not air your dirty linen in public. Money is huge. Even if you have no social standing, people can’t look down on you if you have money. That is what my mother says and I agree. Money commands respect.

I’m like George Washington who couldn’t tell a lie. But then maybe that story is a lie. If so, I wonder where that leaves us? We’re living in a world of false histories. Even good old Abe Lincoln’s facts are suspect. He might not have been all goodness.

What does that tell us ? We’re looking up to false heroes. We’re worshiping the wrong things. There are no supermen or wonder women. As for super athletes, there are a few known women beaters and killers among them.

It’s time to stop looking outside of ourselves for heroes and guidance. It is time for me to do the proper thing and trust and honour myself. No need to cast about for directions on the proper way to be. The time has come, says the walrus, to speak of strings and many things…..

What do you speak of?

MISS HALTER TOPS AND SENSIBLE SHOES

Posted on September 20, 2014 by hafong

Some day I hope I can dare to be a little risque, live it up, wear some skimpy halter top, and cut off short shorts. I want to crank it up a bit, play the music loud and shake my butt while I wash my van out on the driveway. So what if it is almost October? The weather is warm – 19 degrees Celsius.

I swam in an unheated pool in Arizona in February. This would be a piece of cake. But the thing is I’m Miss Sensible Shoes. While Miss Halter Tops is shaking her vibes, I’m in my basement slicing Roma tomatoes for the dehyrater and listening to my meditation recordings. I’m a Muse rather than an agitator. What can I do? I am what I am. Maybe in my next lifetime I can let loose, be like Janis Joplin and scream, Cry baby, cry baby, cry baby…

Isn’t that a powerful voice? It has so much soul, Southern Comfort and cigarrettes in its timbre. It grinds into your very being. Her image is the very epitome of what my heart craves – being “the queen of psychedelic soul.”

It would be great if I could just loosen my hair, let it fall and be the wild child/woman that is hiding in my head. But here’s the thing. I am afraid to let her out, afraid of what she will do. She could go out of control. I hang on tight to my sensible self.

I lack courage – to be the best, the wildest, most creative person I could be. I am trapped, for now, in my heavy sensible shoes. I cannot take them off. I am trapped by my upbringing and tradition. But mostly, it is by my lack of self belief. I am Miss Coward, hiding in my sensible shoes.

I’m hoping that Janis’ music can take me up a notch or two. Maybe if I belt out the lyrics along with her, I can gain some spunk and style. So what if I am a very mature adult. My 70ish ex-neighbour used to tan in a bikini and wore red barrettes in her hair. It was not a pretty sight but hey, good for her! She was living her dreams.

I’m not asking to be that crazy or flamboyant. My hippy spirit just wants to be unchained. All I want is a little touch of wildness – just a modest halter top and respectable shorts in black leather. Oh, I would want a pair of high heel boots, too. All real writers wear cowboy boots but I want Nancy Sinatra’s “these boots are made for walking.” I want to kick up a little dust and stomp out a few words and live my wildest dreams.

They do come true, don’t they? Cry baby, cry baby……

Oh, I like these boots! Okay, I want it all – the flamboyance, wildness, success, fame. You name it and I’ll want it. Ha!

TRAPPED!

Posted on September 19, 2014 by hafong

It is Friday. Once again it is time for Friday Fictioneers and our tales from our imaginations. We are hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields of Addicted to Purple. Here is my story this week of 100 words.

Photo prompt – Copyright – Dawn Q. Landau

She felt the world on her back, pushing her forward. Head down, stooping over, she trudged one step at a time. Her shoes felt like lead. She was trapped by an invisible wall.

She dared not go too fast, lest she overstepped her boundaries. One wrong move in any direction could end it all. She spun around in her tracks, looking for an escape route.

The wind blew the skirt around her legs. She tugged the hat down on her head, clutching the heavy hammer with her other hand.

“Help.” She whimpered. Silence rebounded.

“Help!” She screamed into the void.

ALICE STILL LIVES HERE

Posted on September 19, 2014 by hafong

image from google.ca

It’s funny how names, phrases and snatches of songs play through my mind. They come on airs of whimsy, unsolicited and unexpected. Alice is one of the names. Perhaps I was inspired by Alice in Wonderland and Alice Through the Looking Glass. In that case, I have Lewis Carroll to thank. I wish I have his gift of imagination.

I know the story of Alice falling down the rabbit hole, the tea party and the Mad Hatter. I haven’t really read the book. I do not know the details. I do not know how she got out of the rabbit hole, or whether it was just a child’s fantasy dream. Now, THAT’S a worthwhile project – read Alice in Wonderland. I have the book on my kindle. What better way to stir up my imagination, if I have one.

November is just over a month away. It is the National Novel Month. I have time to mentally prepare myself. I have time to limber up, loosen my tapping fingers and cast out my stagnant chi. I can resurrect my Alice of last year. She can fall down a different rabbit hole. Life is full of them. There are so many mishaps, mischiefs and strange characters she can encounter. There are many stories about rabbit holes. I just have to tell one.

I gave up on her too soon last year. After an introduction and three chapters I left her sitting on my DESKTOP without another word, comma or period. Alice is a worthwhile character. She is full of potential. She has depth and dimension. She is after all, a part of myself. She still resides in me.

She is a composite of all the Alices I admire/want to be – the imaginative, playful girl of the mirror, the curious girl in her Wonderland, the writer of poetry, short stories, novels, the wordsmiths that can move and change the world. They are the Alice Walkers, Munroes, Hoffmans, Kuipers of the literary world. She deserves to be rescued from the shelf, dusted off and given life. Her story needs to be heard.

What will I have to do to succeed? The most important thing is to write every day. I set the goal for at least 1500 words a day. That will give me 45000 words in 30 days. I will have to cough up another 5000 words to qualify at 50,000 words.

Having made this assessment only a few days ago, I have had to put my writing aside a day here and there. You can’t be rigid and dogged about it. Some days life gets in the way. You have to be practical and flexible. Sometimes you have to quit in order to succeed. You have to let go of that bone. Knowing when to quit is smart as Kristen Lamb posts in her blog. It’s good to know better writers than I have given up projects a time or two. Winners know when to fold them and when to hold them.

Am I making excuses for myself? Time will tell.

ON WITH THE SHOW. THIS IS IT

Posted on September 14, 2014 by hafong

It’s the morning after the writing workshop with Alice Kuipers.

Yesterday after returning, I was pumped. I made plans for a feasible writing practice. I had set goals for next week, next month, the next 6 months and for the next year. I was going to write at least 500 words/day, gradually increasing it to 1000 words/day. I would make a start on my memoir. I’ve been wishing about doing it forever with nothing to show except TALK.

I am here, in front of my keyboard. The pump is dry and my drive is already gone. I am tired, feeling my usual morning ho, ho hum. I feel no burning desire. How quickly it disappears! Where are the words? Where the heck did they go? I could easily give up but I won’t. I’m learning the rah, rah of hype carries you not far. Results are really about the hard work of drudgery. It’s one slow word after another on an empty page.

How am I going to write the 500 words today, never mind now the 1000 words/day next week? That is the intent of this blog, to write 1000 words a day. Hence the name onethousandandtwo, onethousand and onethousandandone having already been taken. So far, I’ve been a miserable failure, falling quite short of even 500 words most days for 2 years.

I am trying now. I gave up too easily in the past, being satisfied with accomplishing a post a day. It was not a small accomplishment. But it was not what I had set out to do. I gave up too easily and too soon. I did not PUSH myself to write more words daily. I tried to justify that by writing every day and with content. Of course that mattered but when I didn’t push, I did not move ahead. I always worked hard, but seldom pushed beyond the comfort zone.

I am happy with the content in my writing. The goal of doing an archeological dig of my life is a running theme in my writing. I know myself better now. I am peeling back the layers I have developed over the years. I am a daughter, a nurse, a caretaker, a pleaser…..I have lost count of the roles/layers. I have been unconscious that I have a self. It’s like putting on a different uniform every day to deal with the life I think I SHOULD live. After awhile, there are too many uniforms/layers/skins to remove.

I lost myself for ~~awhile~~ a long time. I was buried beneath the piles of costumes and masks I wore. I had never considered myself an actress. Now I see that I had been a very good one. The world is a stage. Life is a show that must go on. Every morning I woke up, got up and put on my uniform and performed. Remember the Bugs Bunny theme? Yes, I knew my parts and lines by heart. No rehearsing necessary. “On with the show. This is it.”

I still have my piles of nursing uniforms. It’s time to let go of them and put on my writing habit. It’s time to do what I LOVE. I shall set out an inkwell and quill for inspiration. I will sing and hum and let my fingers ripple across the keyboard. The world is a stage for the life I WANT to create. The page is for the stories I have to tell. It is all up to me.

Image from Google.ca

On with the show. This is it. Gather around. I have stories to tell.

ALICE THROUGH THE LOOKING GLASS

Gallery

Posted on September 11, 2014 by hafong

It’s not quite the bewitching hour yet but close enough for Friday Fictioneers and their stories. We are hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. We are both addicted to purple. Here is my short and not so tall tale of 100 words. … Continue reading →

BOBBY SINGS THE BLUES

Posted on September 3, 2014 by hafong

It’s not quite Friday but it’s close enough to tell my story of 100 words on Friday Fictioneers. Our genteel host is Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. We are both addicted to purple. My story is inspired by Miss Janis Joplin’s singing the blues.

“Freedom is just another word for nothing left to lose”

I just love her cackle at the end of the song, don’t you?

PHOTO PROMPT -Copyright – Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

The fire roared in her belly. She felt the heat rising to her chest, up her throat into her mouth. She breathed out and saw the white cloud billowing into the cool air.

She sighed, releasing more steam into the night. Collapsing against the wall, her breath was jagged and painful. Her heart pounded. She heard its echo in the silence.

Not much longer! She muttered under her breath. Not much longer! I WILL be free.

The pain stabbed her heart like a bolt of lightning. She clutched and clawed at it, falling to the ground. The flames claimed her.

I’VE COME UNSTUCK

Posted on September 3, 2014 by hafong

Today I’m none the worse after wrestling with restlessness and wordlessness for a few days. Oh, what a mouthful! I’m trying to make up for lost time. I mustn’t be too gleeful. I could be sent back into my silence in a nano second. You know how these things can happen.

image courtesy of Google search

Being lost and wordless in my desert is not a bad thing. I feel like Charlie Chaplin in a silent movie. I’m toddering around, swinging my cane, trying to tap my way out of the black and white landscape. How is it that I am trapped here? Help! Let me out.

I wonder if this was how Robin Williams felt. But somehow I don’t think he was ever trapped. I do not feel he is dead. His laughter and energy are surrounding and healing us – as always. Can you feel him? He is beaming his comic smile down from Ork. He has found his way home. He has lived a full life here. Can we say that about ourselves?

It’s good to kick up my heels, swing my cane and tap out a few words. It’s warming to come in from the black and white. The colours are that much more alive and vibrant. They jump at me and wakes up the senses. They fill me up. Would I have appreciate them so much otherwise?

Bring out the banners. Bring out the trumpets. Bring out the wine. Let us blow our horns and celebrate life and all its ~~phases~~ faces. They are worthwhile, whether sad or glad. There’s good that comes from each. To Life!

onethousandandtwo

Looking at Infinity

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