My Magician

Recently I read my psychological portrait. Flipping through the pages, the expert tried to describe me in many facets as if any human language can simply do it. At first I was trying to be open-minded, but after I read one-two pages, I started to think that the psychologist might have made some mistakes—that the portrait might be inaccurate. “Living for and through others”, “dependency on

…I started to realize that I’ve been calling and talking to my magician long time before I openly acknowledge him

relationship stifles individuality”, “having dilemmas in communication” and I said to myself: nope, nope and nope. I will never sacrifice my individuality just for relationship’s sake. At least, I respect my boundaries. And language has been my strongest part where I use it and sometimes exploit it for my own advantages though after reading more, I must admit that when it comes to feelings, words sometimes have difficulties to express what I really feel.

My magician could be a simple (but not quite simple) person like him

This is where most people can misunderstand and I hate to explain myself. I might use many sophisticated or some big words, but I will never be able to explain it to you, ever, if you never experienced it and honestly I’ve been using life to experience the richness of feelings—and manipulate my life the way I want so that I can experience them. After reading the portrait for many times (and stopped my denial), I must say they have brought up some aspects in my personality that have been overlooked for so long and it made me reviewing how far I have evolved because somehow this is my life and I can choose how I want to be.

But one thing that is difficult to deny is when they highlighted my restlessness roots from the deep urge of creative self-expression where I always need some kind of creative medium, either through words and any other creative projects. And this perpetual urge can be my companion and demon, sometimes a friend and sometimes an enemy because it doesn’t let me in placid contentment. The perfect example is now. I should have tucked myself peacefully between my sheet, but the inspirations are bothering me to sleep, tugging me to get up and making me turn on my computer so that they’re being written. Now I can say that they’re using my fingers to put them into words and making me not more than their puppet.

With this new awareness, I never thought I can be so fluid where life can be expressed in vivid, colorful and imaginative ways and the truth becomes plastic and elusive like water and I have always desperately needed something or someone to give me a structure, a proverbial string on a kite to tug me down when I’m starting to have my head in the clouds—to turn things more make sense in a more mundane way and this is when I started to realize that I’ve been calling and talking to my magician long time before I openly acknowledge him.

I must say the word “my magician” is inspired by Azar Nafisi’s book, Reading Lolita in Tehran. In that book, she describing a mysterious character whom she spent some times to discuss and brainstorm together before she moved to the US and she has to hide his identity for the sake of his safety. She calls him her magician. I can say, I have mine too.

Unlike any magicians in popular notion, my magician doesn’t look like a magician at all. He might argue that he’s a normal person just like any other people. I might insist that he’s just disguising so that nobody knows that he IS a magician. He’s a magician after all. He doesn’t have to prove it just like a mango tree doesn’t have to prove other trees that it’s a mango tree. But I’m sure he would say I’m just too dramatic and my insistence would make him nothing but be bewitchingly exasperated.

One thing that makes him believe that he’s not a magician is his strong allegiance to objective mind that prefers reason over chaos, and principles over personal reactions. If my head is in the clouds, he’s got his feet firmly on the ground. He’s the shape over the shapeless. Then of course, he’s truly my magician if only my imaginative and emotionally expressive temperament that is the very core of me is fascinating to him.

After looking back over the years that have passed, I come to realize why I have been holding on through challenges and difficulties. It’s because I’m too curious of how the story will eventually reveal, how I would stumble on a pleasant surprise on how my magician, who have been teasing my mind relentlessly, finally materialize in physical form. But just like my favorite poet, Rumi, had written centuries ago: Lovers don’t finally meet somewhere. They’re in each other along the way.

(Written while listening a Korean contemporary song over and over again and fighting with mosquitoes once and a while)

*Appeared on
on Saturday, January 9, 2010 at 9:33am

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4 Comments (+add yours?)

  1. Serena Devi
    Jan 28, 2010 @ 05:42:58

    I did enjoy your writing and the beauty of your sincere shore , and it is wonderful to have a magician, better than that, find hermit within and you feel the breeze of eternal love on your face, please keep writing, you are on your way. Serena


  2. Trackback: Make A Bigger Dream « may's diary of miracles
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