Les Nuits Masquees

What does "Les Nuits Masquees" mean?

I've mentioned it here.

It evokes masked balls. Anonymity. Which is the idea behind this blog.
As Oscar Wilde would say, "Give the man a mask and he will tell you the truth."

So that's what I do. I put on a mask and share not the truth, mind you, but my version of the truth. That's all "Les Nuits Masquees" means...

Ah yes, if you want, there is this allusion to the clandestine pleasures of Madame Bovary. But that's purely a coincidence.

And as for that mask, don't think for a minute that I would be afraid to speak without it. Of course not. I stand by my ideas and what I believe. But it's much easier this way. There are no interruptions and no distractions.

Who Reads this Blog?

I think it's time I share some of my Google Analytics findings. Remember this rant? Well I still use Google Analytics to make sense of my visitors. So let's see if we have some sort of pattern going on...

To begin, I was amazed that this blog had 175 hits on 28 August. I wondered what happened there and it turns out the Tran Genealogy pages attracted the most hits on that day. Either way, this sharp peak stood out on the Google Analytics' time graph and made me feel slighly famous for a moment.

But only for a moment. This blog's average daily hit is only about 50 pages with 25 visits. Not bad but could be better.

I rate dismally on Technorati. I'm sure it has something to do with the wide ranging topics and the lack of links referring to this website. This blog fits no category and readers never know "what they are going to get". Life is like a box of chocolate right? Now who said that...:)

But seriously, who are you people? And what are you looking for?

Popular Posts

Well the number one post which has consistently had the most hits over the last year is Narcissistic Men or Women. In fact, you could even imagine that this post is the only thing worth reading in this entire blog when you consider the disproportionate amount of hits it receives alone.
This is a worry. Am I such a bad writer?
But either way, bless you. I'm glad I could help. In fact it bothers me that there are so many people who need help in this department. What a monstruous dating world this must be. Is there no end to it? No respite for those in love with self-serving vampires?
The search keywords that visitors used to reach the post speak for themselves:

narcisstic men
narcisstic women
dealing with narcisstic women
narcissistic men in relationships
childhood of narcisstic men
coping with narcisstic women
dealing with female narcisstic wife
how narcisstic use women
how to change narcissistic men?
how to recognise insecure men
men who crave attention from women
narcissistic men and how they hurt women
etc...etc..

Sad.


Third most popular this year is the main page of Les Nuits Masquees. I'm assuming some of these visits may originate from random Blogger references. Having said that, if you are returning directly to this blog on your own volition, then you must like something. Always nice to know!

Now you see, I'm starting to notice a pattern. Because in the Top 10 and currently at 7th place for the most popular post, is The Passive Aggressive Boss.
You'd think that happy workers all over this planet were accidentally stumbling across this post and were blissfully unaware that there was such a thing as a manipulative boss... But you'd be wrong. The corporate world is, indeed, ugly. No need to be so professional about it!
Here are some of the keywords that people have typed and which led to this post, (don't worry I have no idea who you are, rest in peace you tormented souls):

dealing with a passive agressive boss
covert passive agressive men
how to deal with passive aggressive boss
how to deal with a passive agressive boss
passive agressive boss
gaslighting passive aggressive
feedback for the passive aggressive
how to deal with a jealous, manipulative boss
how to deal with gaslighting
how to manage petty insecure boss
my boss is passive aggressive
etc... etc...

Such a pity that there are no real solutions to this ever increasing problem. Insecurity, narcissism, loneliness, alienation, the me-generation...there are all symptoms of one and the same thing.

Visitor Location

That most of my visitors are from the US is not a surprise given the media platform and the English language. Australia comes in second place which is reassuring as it means at least a couple of friends find interest in my ramblings (and that doesn't include the couple who subscribe via Google Reader).

Following closely are visits from the UK, Canada and France (not all relatives, I assure you). Overall, this blog receives visitors from 55 countries, including the less likely, Senegal (finally!), China, Brazil, Lebanon, Algeria and Oman.

Visitors stay an average of 1 minute which means they do get past the post titles and the images. I'm relieved.




Overall, what do the visitors tell me. Based on the most popular content, there is a thirst for French lyrics translation, an urgent desire for self-help material and keen, sustained interest in my Vietnamese family genealogy.
I will keep that in mind.

Piaf Mood

I'm exhausted today. Everything aches and I can barely type.
My mood can best be described as nostalgic. I caught myself singing songs in the shower. Familiar songs.

Do you have songs that you naturally turn to when you are feeling drained and when your psyche is wasted? Songs that are not even your favourite songs but whose lyrics you thoroughly enjoy singing? I've heard of music therapy so perhaps there are some tunes that my brain intrinsically seeks to soothe me when things go a little awry up there. In Planet Laura. I wonder if there is a music psychologist that can explain my choice of songs to me.

So now the rundown. The songs are mostly in French. There are songs that I learnt as a child while being raised in a mostly French household with a mother and several aunts who were proud fans of Edith Piaf.

Due to its popularity in the English speaking world, you'll probably think of the ubiquitous "Noooon, rien de rien....Nooooon, je ne regrette rien..." I suppose that would be befitting and would suggest self-introspection and nostalgia. Wouldn't it? If you're thinking about that one then you're wrong. I'm much more complex than that. (Although oblique is more the word.)

I could have picked so many Edith Piaf songs for my twisted brain to latch onto and sing in the shower when I'm down. I love the majority of her work. She's a great artiste. "Tu me fais tourner la tête... Mon manège à moi c'est toi", I love that song. Or "La Foule", that would probably be my favourite along with "La Goualante du Pauvre Jean".

Oh, and "Ah Ça Ira Ça Ira Ça Ira, les aristocrates à la lanterne..."
I like that one too except that we had Vietnamese royalty in the house and my grandmother would get all indignant about me calling for their execution... It didn't make a difference when I explained that this song was merely referring to French aristocrats, she was still pursing her lips at me. So I ended up not singing this one too frequently!!

Anyway, I've dragged this for long enough. I sing "Milord" and "L'homme à la moto". I'm very good at it. It's easy because the lyrics are so visually evocative and they fit my mood. I feel every part of them and as a result, my voice sounds great. It even acquires that distinctive nasal quality. I could do the street urchin thing, believe me I could. And it feels so right singing those lyrics. Why, I don't know. But they speak to me. When I sing "Milord", it's as though I've worked in a cabaret all my life and I know this man only too well. I know his story. I also feel as if I know (or knew) this man from "L'homme à la moto". I'm sure there are lame English translations out there if you care to Google them. If not I'll add a translation later on this blog.



I mentioned they were mostly French songs. One of them isn't. One of them is an annoying English song that I can't seem to get out of my head and that's been the case, ever since I was in high school.
Here it comes: "Rain drops are falling on my head..." What's worse is that I don't even know the full lyrics!! I stand under the shower, with the jet in my absent minded face and I'm singing like an idiot: "But there's one thiiing, I know...bla bla bla...crying's not for me...bla bla bla...because I'm freeeee, nothing's worrying meee!!!!"
I mean seriously, WTF!!!


Endearing, really.

Dark Times

For the last two nights, I've dreamt about cars.

Dream One

I am a figurehead in some sort of prestigious school and wearing a long blue velvet gown with a plunging neckline. I am dressed for a ceremony. I step on top of a podium and make a speech. Initially, I'm hesitant because I have only just realised my role in this school and so the responsibility weighs down on me. I feel like an impostor as everyone encourages me to speak. But I speak. And it's easier than I thought. I win them through my voice and my choice of words.

Straight after this, my dad picks me up in his car. We drive off away from the elite school. And it's then that I realise how chaotic and rundown the outside world is. There are no real roads. Cars compete for space in the cramped butimen lanes devoid of traffic signs and lights. There are abandoned construction grounds everywhere.

My dad is driving faster and I feel tense as he narrowly misses first one, then two and then several cars speeding in his direction. We manage to weave past all of them. He is keen to drive us to safety. The area all around us is filled with cars moving and crashing in every direction. It's an absolute carnage. We are stuck as everyone, without exception, has suffered a collision of some sort. There is a bus / car collision ahead of us, barring our way and my dad is still speeding...

In an unexplained twist which I am now familiar with, my unconscious instinct kicks without warning. I feel myself drift out of my body and step outside of the car. It means that something is about to happen. I don't know how I know but I know. I am safe now, apparently. I am no longer in the car in spirit, only in body. I follow my dad's car. I can see it avoid the impending collision with the side of the bus and veer sharply towards the left. My dad's car disappears from view into a side road. I can no longer see. So I float higher up, towering the mass car wreak. I move like a ghost towards the road that he took.

It's not a road. It's a deep precipice. It's the steepest slope I've ever seen and it leads to nowhere. I can not even see the bottom because it's so deep. There is only water and clouds of mist with glimpses of steel that betray the content of the crevasse. The car must have fallen instantly. He did not know that it wasn't a road. And now they are dead.

The End.

I've looked up this dream but I'm not convinced by its supposed meaning. The dictionnary tells me that my life is out of control. Bizarre. It says that the person driving is the one I wish was in control of my life. Hardly accurate.
Death is a good symbol though.

The other reason why I don't believe that the person driving has any significance in terms of control issues is the next dream.

Dream Two

This time it begins with an argument with my mother. I run away. I have no home, no money. I end up turning to an ex. His name is Damien. I go to his house and he shelters me.

The next day he drives me to the stores to buy food. I feel like a dag. I'm wearing a gigantic white tracksuit and I feel terrible. I don't like it when I hate my clothes. I see people in the store who remind me of my unhappiness. I tell Damien that I'd like to go and change.

We return to the car. It happens to be a 4WD that my father used to own. But it's much larger, almost colossal. The dashboard is made of marble. It's heavily chromed on the outside. Damien manoeuvres the car out of the park and I step in. I have a fleeting thought, "This used to be my dad's car. Now he is dead."

So I know that my dad is dead. (Outside my dream, he still lives)

Incidentally, Damien is definitely not the person I would want to 'control' my life. So it's bizarre.

Then an old man in a white singlet appears from nowhere and talks to Damien through the side window. I realise it's Damien's dad. He is crouching forward and looks pained. He speaks imploringly in a sad, broken tone and I feel that he wants to speak to his son. But he dares not ask him to wait. He doesn't want to impose.

I can see that Damien is getting the hint. But he is hesitating. Should he drive away with me and take care of me or stay awhile to speak with his dad?

I understand. So I step out of a car to indicate that I'm not going anywhere. I feel terrible for the old man. I tell Damien to stay with his dad and speak to him.

The END.


Maybe these dreams are telling me that my dad needs me. I really think so. Might have to visit some time...

I also think the school side of the dream means that I'm living a cocooned existence, oblivious to the troubles of others. I'm living in my little pristine world and have forgotten those who care about me. Like my parents for example.

That's the best way I can interpret the dreams.

China Olympics: Let the Games Begin!!!

Remember this? It's a French political cartoon which appeared during the 1890s.

Post Opium War: (left to right)
Britain, Germany, Russia, France and Japan slicing out China

And they're off!! And it looks like Queen Victoria is in the lead...William II of Germany is coming a close second...hold, no...it looks like Russia's Nicholas may just get into the action...tight game we have here. What's Japan's emperor thinking? I think there may be strategy at play...as you know this game is very important...it's all about strategy now...and, oh! France's Marianne is now close on Victoria's heels...yes, she's catching up...will Victoria let herself be beaten...

Aaah, the good old days!!

But seriously...I can't wait until the London 2012 Olympics. The sudden new wave of libertarians and human rights advocates has left me holding my breath, eager for more.

It's just that I'm terribly ignorant and I need a refresher course on global humanity, or lack of it.

2012 promises to educate me like never before. I am bound to read fascinating media articles about the Opium Wars, the Dispossession of Aboriginal lands, the enslaving of Africans, the exploitation of Indian and African colonies, the murder of Boer women and children in South African concentration camps...

On Novel Writing and Other Things

I'm up to the stage where my novel is playing games with my mind.

At the moment, it inspires dread. It horrifies me that I may have taken an Orientalist approach to one of the characters. The prospect of historians dissecting my novel also horrifies me. I imagine them as sparrows pecking out little snippets from the story and leaving it a bloody mess.

I've become moody. I alternate between grandiose illusions of literary achievements where I silently beam with pleasure, and moments of confusion in which I spiral out of control into some paranoiacal vortex where nothing is certain except for failure.

I don't even remember what the book is about. There are at least six subplots and most are unresolved. The writing style varies from mildly poetic dribble to presumptious prose. All the characters vie for attention and the main protagonist is being bullied from every direction because he can't think for himself. Some of the characters have not even been named yet because I'm purposely deliberating on something authentic and meaningful and as a result, there are Xs throughout a number of passages. X did this. Then X did that. Am I writing a novel or algebra??

I also wonder whether it's unnecessarily graphic. Why all the details? Am I playing with sensationalism and taboo topics or am I painting truth?

The last week has been interesting. I wake up dreading the thought of writing. I feel as though the characters are becoming impatient with me. They are waiting to pounce on me to impose their personality, their wills. They are agaced at my indecisions. I'm not even in control anymore. Which is just as well because uni has begun. I need a wait out. I haven't stopped ingesting Ming history for 6 months now. I need to get out and breathe the 21st century. It is mentally exhausting to wade through 400+ pages and juggle the plot, the passing years, the historical context, the different cultures and sequences of events while keeping the characterisation in perspective. And there is yet more to research...

I definitely need a break.

So why all the anxiety? It's just that there are so many unresolved passages in my novel. And I usually finish what I start... Leaving the novel in this state means that I feel edgy and dissatisfied. There is some dissonance from not meeting the requirements of my own value system. I want it completed and I am impatient to pen the vision that I've maintained and nurtured in my mind for what is now two years, yet I'm torn because I do need a break and I'm now eager for uni. In fact, I'm already addicted to two of the psychology subjects!

These days I'm always running around getting things organised. The irony is that my health is still in a precarious state. I'm on prescription drugs and vitamins. I've only just stopped coughing after two months. On Friday, my doctor was telling me that "I've had a stressful year and I need to take it easy because my immune system has been affected." But I just have so much to do...I'm now a full time student and I demand 6s or 7s. Nothing else will do. I've just booked a week to the Whitsundays for mid September which will be nice for relaxing. I also have another trip to China to organise. This one is more of an adventure rather than a holiday and it will take time to organise. Meanwhile my mandarin is going nowhere and I can't get my tones right so forget about talking basic Chinese with the locals. Won't happen.

I often think there are not enough hours in the day with everything I want to do and achieve for myself. I'm sure I'm not alone with this realisation. I create the anxiety because of the enormous expectations I place on myself. I've known this for years. But I don't know any other way to be.

To be continued...

Tran Trieu Duc

Tran Trieu-Duc, the fourth of Tran Sy Ich's thirteen children was born in 1776, in the village of Minh-huong. He was about 11 years old when his father confided in him that "being less intelligent than his other brothers, he would be more useful if he stayed home to take care of the ancestral cult."

However, Trieu-Duc became a scholar as well as an artist. He composed two collections of poems but unfortunately, we have never encountered a copy. He would draw and paint with much delicacy, finesse and sensibility. At 16 years of age, his general culture was already so extensive that he had the capacity to share his knowledge with others. This was how he became the Schoolmaster in his native village.

It is also at this period of time that Lam-Nhat-Thang, the chief of a rich and well reputed family who was also the Director of Education of the sub-district offered him for the first time, the hand of his daughter, Lam-Thi Phuc-Chau. This proposition along with the second one formulated a number of years later, was respectfully and courteously refused.
Trieu-Duc was 28 when Lam-Nhat-Thang's offer was renewed for the third time. Since his parents observed that a new refusal on his behalf would result in Lam-Nhat-Thang's humiliation, Trieu-Duc accepted, for the honor of his family, to take the offer into consideration.

Following the death of one of his uncles who previously occupied high mandarin functions, officers of the court intervened and obtained from the emperor the permission to integrate Trieu-Duc into the mandarin corps such that the reputation of the TRAN family could be perpetuated. Trieu-Duc was then 46 when he was incorporated in the royal administration and had to leave for Hanoi to occupy his first post.

During his absence from Hue which lasted three years, the ancestral cult ceremonies which he had been responsible for initiating, were diligently passed on to another relative.

In 1824, that is, the fifth year of emperor Ming-Mang's reign, Tran Trieu-Duc returned to the capital and was promoted to serve in the Ministry of Rites or "chu-su".

At this time, two highly ranking officers, one which also worked for the Ministry of Rites, forwarded a report vouching for Tran Trieu-Duc's merits. As a result, in October of the same year he was named Tri-Phu (Prefect) of Tan-Dinh. This was located in the same province as Gia-dinh (Saigon).

He therefore regained Saigon, accompanied by his wife who arrived a year later. She had entrusted the care of her son, Duong-Don, to one of the family's great aunts who was widowed and childless.

In 1825, Trieu-Duc died following a short illness.

He was 50 years old.

His wife was now a widow at 41 and apart from Duong-Don, she had five other children to take care of. She returned to Hue and set up a commercial enterprise in the district of Cho-dinh (this district later became known as Gia-hoi).

Several times during his reign, emperor Tu-Duc honored the parent of one of his most loyal and close collaborators. He gave Trieu-Duc numerous posthumous honorific titles:

First title, during the 12th year of his reign (1859):
"TRUNG NGHI DAI PHU THAI BOC TU THANH"

Second title, during the 22nd year of his reign (1869):
"GIA NGHI DAI PHU THIEM TRI-PHU THIEM SI"

Third title, during the 26th year of his reign (1874):
"TU THIEM DAI PHU LE BO THUONG THU"

Fourth title, during the 32nd year of his reign (1879):
"THANH NGHI PHAM DOAN NAM"


His cult name is TRANG Y TRAN TRIEU-DUC.

His wife, Lam-thi Phuc-chau (1785 - 1872) gave him six children:

Four sons
Two daughters

She was also honored by emperor Tu-Duc in the 22nd year of his reign with the title:
"CHANH-TAM-PHAM THUC-NHAN"



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