The Valentine Journals

2012-01-31T02:36:00.000-08:00

This video was brought to you by one really, really bored person.

2012-01-24T02:53:00.000-08:00

full of thoughts, nothing to say.

2012-01-19T09:23:00.001-08:00

2012-01-06T18:44:00.003-08:00

2012-01-02T17:51:00.001-08:00

2011-12-31T08:57:00.000-08:00

2011-11-29T06:32:00.000-08:00

The most important things are the hardest to say. They are the things you get ashamed of, because words diminish them — words shrink things that seemed limitless when they were in your head to no more than living size when they’re brought out. But it’s more than that, isn’t it? The most important things lie too close to wherever your secret heart is buried, like landmarks to a treasure your enemies would love to steal away. And you may make revelations that cost you dearly only to have people look at you in a funny way, not understanding what you’ve said at all, or why you thought it was so important that you almost cried while you were saying it. That’s the worst, I think. When the secret stays locked within not for want of a teller but for want of an understanding ear.

— Stephen King (Different Seasons)

2011-11-07T03:44:00.000-08:00

Monday afternoon thoughts on death and the afterlife.

Today, I went to visit my grandpa. A columbary, no more than 15 minutes away from where I live. The sun was at its highest and I could feel the heat coming off of the pavement as I got out of the car and helped my grandmum to her wheelchair. It's starting to sink in now. Where I am. What I'm here for. I shrug the feeling off.

There was a long hall going into the columbary. A stately structure, modern but not at all intimidating. There were a few people inside, I felt their eyes on me as I wheeled my grandmum towards the entrance. Marble. Shiny marble. Just as I had expected. A lone candle burning and a solemness in the air. Gone was the heat from outside. We walk on.

Larger squares for the bodies, smaller ones for the bones and ashes. So clean and organized. There was nothing romantic about death in here. No grand mausoleums, no intricate carvings and statues. Just plain square boxes with small plaques bearing the deceased's name, date of birth and date of death. The place reminds me of an office, a library and these squares are file boxes. Archives.

We pass by my grandmum's sister who died earlier this year, she had a large square. I say my awkward hello's. I never know what to say or think about in these situations. My thoughts get clouded with memories and it could only go one of two ways. I end up getting overwhelmed and bawl my eyes out OR I think of happy thoughts and focus on something else. I choose the latter.

We reach my grandpa. I feel a thud. A sinking feeling from the pits of my stomach down to my feet. I stare at the glass covered square for a what felt like minutes. The thing about death that never fails to fascinate me is how we can be here for one second and gone the next. Then in years after we've gone 6 feet beneath the ground, we become bones. Bones that would fit in a wooden box the width of 2 encyclopedias put side by side. The thickness of 4 bibles stacked upon each other.

I cannot wrap my mind around it.

I take a deep breath and say my greetings. This is awkward, I thought. Should I pray? Should I start telling stories? But what would be interesting enough? It isn't like my grandpa doesn't know what's been happening. I have been talking to him, ever so often. And I know he listens. The thought made me tear up a bit. With great effort, I swallowed all the feelings up. Later, I thought.

I tried to feel what my grandmum was doing. I did not want to look at her now. If I do, well, I just couldn't. She was praying, I concluded as she made what I thought was the sign of the cross. My auntie came up from behind me and immediately asked why I was crying. Darn.

With the candles lit, my grandma goes on to tell me that if I have the free time I should visit. I say yes. I worry that I may not be able to. I want to. There goes that tightening in my chest whenever I feel like I'm about to tell a potential lie. I could never say no to my grandmum.

We make plans for decorating the little glass square. Photos! Flowers! A crucifix! Cheesebread! The mood had gotten lighter by then. The tightening had somewhat dissipated. I say my goodbyes and walk out of the building. It was just before we reached the wheelchair ramp that my younger cousin called out to me asking if I'd accompany him in taking a different route. Without hesitation, I followed. Up a flight of stairs, into the back of the building and out into what seemed like a small park.

The sun was still high in the sky and the heat seared my cheeks as I made my way to the car. My mind was just about to drift off when I saw it. A single white rose head. Fresh with only a spot of brown on one of the petals. For a moment I hesitated on picking it up. But something, something told me to not be afraid. And I did not think of anything else besides the fact that this was from my grandpa.

He's here and he'll always be around just as he did before. There isn't a doubt in my mind.

So, do I believe in an afterlife? Yes, I like to think that there is one. That when we go, we simply move on to a different plane of existence. And that in some way, the people we have lost are still around. There would always be connections that even death can't tear apart.

One of the most beautiful things about death, I think, is that you never really die. You get to live on in a different form. A memory, a scent, a feeling. In death, we become immortal. We live on and on. Do I believe in spirits among us? I do despite being quite scared at the thought of invisible people walking around. It makes me feel better about losing loved ones.

Whilst I still bear this fear of losing people, I've learnt that death is better faced head-on. The point is, you cannot hide from it. To live in fear of it is no life at all. There are 2 quotes from Harry Potter about death that I really love as I feel as if they sum up my feelings about how we should think of death and the afterlife.

"To the well-organised mind, death is but the next great adventure."

"...he then greeted death as an old friend."

And with that, I end this entry. I hope I didn't get you down. It is the start of the week, after all.

Be well!

2011-11-03T02:55:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I need to re-learn how to breathe. It's the city and the work that I do which I often blame. There's too much, so much going on. A place not meant for people such as myself. People that I like to move slow, to feel everything. People who daydream too much. This is one of my biggest faults or so some people say. I've never seen it as such. I like to breathe deeply. See everything.

I can't be bothered with hurrying. I've never seen the good in doing things quickly. You miss certain things. And those certain things are the ones that I like most. The ones I remember. The ones that stick.

Whilst I may not be able to leave life in the city any time soon, I'm quite okay with it. These are certain sacrifices that must be made to secure a quiet future life in the country somewhere. Until then, short trips and quiet city evenings should suffice. As long as I can see the stars and feel the cold air on my cheeks, I will always feel at home. I will always be fine.

2011-10-27T05:05:00.000-07:00

Lilac and Violet

were two sisters attached at the head

who always fought until no more words can be said.

they wished for nothing more than to live separate,

to be able to keep thoughts solely to themselves

and perhaps sleep in their own beds.

one day a stranger came knocking at their door

he wore a dark hood which showed his eyes and nothing more

he said:

i'm here to grant you a wish,

only one and so you must be sure

for once its done, that'll be that

there would be no going back.

so think twice, think thrice

be wise child, be wise.

the choice was easy or so it seemed

for lilac and violet knew what it was they need

"we wish to live apart and be individuals at last!
please kind sir, grant our wish fast!"

then came the sound of cracking laughter

as a heavy darkness slowly covered all

when it lifted, there was no one left

not one of the three that stood there moments ago.

but the story, it is with regret that i say

ended with lilac and violet getting their way

they now lie, quite separate indeed

six feet under their mother's flower bed.

(A little piece I concocted as a treat for you, my lovelies, in the spirit of Halloween)

2011-10-02T01:50:00.000-07:00

Because to influence a person is to give him one’s own soul. He does not think his natural thoughts, or burn with his natural passions. His virtues are not real to him. His sins, if there are such things as sins, are borrowed. He becomes an echo of some one else’s music, an actor of a part that has not been written for him. The aim of life is self-development. To realize one’s nature perfectly — that is what each of us is here for. People are afraid of themselves, nowadays. They have forgotten the highest of all duties, the duty that one owes to oneself. Of course they are charitable. They feed the hungry, and clothe the beggar. But their own souls starve, and are naked. Courage has gone out of our race. Perhaps we never really had it. The terror of society, which is the basis of morals, the terror of God, which is the secret of religion — these are the two things that govern us. - Oscar Wilde

2011-09-08T08:17:00.000-07:00

When I was younger and considered myself to be the princess of everything, I had a ghost bunny for a pet.

2011-08-24T01:24:00.000-07:00

Clothed, buried, tied with a ribbon and sealed with sorrow and tears. In the chapel's garden, I watched them dig out dirt. A pain, growing ever so slightly right in the back of my ribs. A small box in the middle of a flower patch. Now comes the rain and I think of you there. There's no comfort in words and in song.

R.I.P

2011-08-11T02:26:00.001-07:00

Sometimes, I am a ghost. Neither here nor there. I float past the days and watch visions appear and disappear. My skin is water, my thoughts are like smoke and sometimes I forget how to talk. When I'm awake my heart and head are heavy, sleep is like living another life. Dreams in black and white of grand buildings and unknown people whose hands are sometimes tangled with mine.

Today, I am corporeal. I can feel my hands and face. But what about tomorrow? You might ask. Well, I never worry. Never have. My dreams and reality, I don't mind if they become one.

2011-07-28T03:40:00.000-07:00

I woke up today-- no, scratch that for I actually did not wake up as I never really went to sleep. Anyway, I sat up in bed as sunlight slowly leaked through the closed blinds and came to the realization that I really, really miss writing (making extremely long SOMETIMES boring posts) on this blog. I was at the point of deletion a few days ago but this held a good number of memories that I wouldn't want to simply throw away.

I never like promises but I shall do my best to be a better blogger.

So, looking forward to meeting all of you again!

2011-07-23T09:01:00.000-07:00

i am an absolute emotional mess right now.

2011-07-07T03:34:00.000-07:00

sometimes, my memories playback like scenes from old films that i've seen but forgot about. yet i remember how it felt, the colors and the sounds. some small details. like the cracking of dry grass beneath my shoes, the cold morning light streaming through a lone window and the sound of the wind as it makes its way up an old bell tower. howling, whispering...

2011-07-04T03:29:00.001-07:00

“Because it is occasionally possible, just for brief moments, to find the words that will unlock the doors of all those many mansions inside the head and express something - perhaps not much, just something - of the crush of information that presses in on us from the way a crow flies over and the way a man walks and the look of a street and from what we did one day a dozen years ago. Words that will express something of the deep complexity that makes us precisely the way we are, from the momentary effect of the barometer to the force that created men distinct from trees. Something of the inaudible music that moves us along in our bodies from moment to moment like water in a river. Something of the spirit of the snowflake in the water of the river. Something of the duplicity and the relativity and the merely fleeting quality of all this. Something of the almighty importance of it and something of the utter meaninglessness. And when words can manage something of this, and manage it in a moment, of time, and in that same moment, make out of it all the vital signature of a human being - not of an atom, or of a geometrical diagram, or of a heap of lenses - but a human being, we call it poetry.”

-Ted Hughes

2011-06-21T07:47:00.000-07:00

“Some things are hard to write about. After something happens to you, you go to write it down, and either you over dramatize it, or underplay it, exaggerate the wrong parts or ignore the important ones. At any rate, you never write it quite the way you want to.”

- Sylvia Plath

2011-05-24T01:55:00.000-07:00

Shot this back in March. Took me this long and internet problems to get it together.
This was right before the mall closed down. We had the carousel to ourselves.
BEST NIGHT EVER.

2011-05-19T00:20:00.000-07:00

I like pretty shoes and mismatched socks.

I have read your comments, by the way. I'll be back with responses after I rest my eyes.

2011-05-08T05:06:00.000-07:00

me by my mum.

2011-05-05T18:19:00.000-07:00

You know how it goes... You choose to do things outside of your comfort zone, make decisions that you're uncertain of which will probably keep you up at night and induce early morning panic attacks. But when you really think about it, it is these risks that make everything worthwhile. It is the fear of possible consequences that keep you on your feet, pumps adrenaline in your veins and keeps you on your tippy toes. In short, sans the risk of dying, it keeps you alive.

So whilst I may not be completely fearless and doing certain things will always bring me worry afterwards, I know that everything would be worth it. Regardless of the consequence. This is how I learn. Fear and overcoming it, best teachers ever.

2011-05-01T23:32:00.000-07:00

I like it when things are not clear. When you cannot see everything. Small details, obscured. There's comfort in all the imperfections.

2011-04-24T20:47:00.000-07:00

sleeping in churches. tales of the virgin mary appearing in fountains. lighting candles and nosebleeds in the cold. rickety wooden staircases. dark and warm buses. i miss them so...

2011-04-19T18:29:00.000-07:00

There's magic in the light, mysteries in the shadows it casts.

gilraen, february (?) 2011 taken by me

2011-04-04T06:58:00.000-07:00

I think it's funny how earlier today I had so many things in mind with regards to what I should write about. But as soon as I sat down to begin this post, they seem to have dissipated away. I do know that I thought about telling you how cool the film Sucker Punch was. Every escapist would certainly be able to relate. Oh and that I have managed to shoot at least 2 more mini minute films. One of which involved a closed mall and an empty carousel (which was the most fun/surreal to shoot). It's been quite the week and the best part is that there's more to come. I am very excited. So very excited. I wish I could remember the rest of what would've been a pretty LONG entry. However, I'm quite okay with not being able to.

I hope your days are getting on well, my lovelies.

2011-03-27T14:24:00.000-07:00

Took those photos of my friend Gilraen last weekend. Twas a lovely Sunday of movie watching (Pirate Radio) and rooftop dancing. My birthday just passed too. Being a year older is funny. I don't feel like I've aged at all. Okay, maybe a little. I've learned quite a lot too. Certainly more comfortable in my skin compared to when I was younger. Sometimes, my thirteen-year-old-high-school-insecurities come back. My awkwardness around new people. My inability to have proper conversations with "boys" that I like. This is despite having mostly guy friends. I am still that awkward teenager in some ways. I am still that bookworm whose second home is the school library. I am still that kid who sits at the back of the class, drawing doodles instead of taking notes and dozing off instead of learning about Algebra...

I am still all of that but also so much more.

2011-03-23T08:01:00.000-07:00

in the darkest of nights, hope is never lost.

hold on to your faith for it will keep you strong.

for one person to believe an impossible feat to be true,

even a flicker in the night would be enough to light up your world
and perhaps, others too.

2011-03-19T12:27:00.000-07:00

it hasn't even been a week since my promotion and my mind, eyes and limbs are exhausted. but i feel so accomplished. ending a day feeling dead tired makes me feel good inside. it is a such strange thing. my eyes feel like they have this ever-present fog over them. turning all the lights off and burying myself under the sheets really helps. sometimes, i lose myself in the work itself. like a drone. a zombie. just going on and on. this lasts for a good 15 minutes at a time. not much longer because my head begins to hurt. too many words to read. too many things to change. words. words. words. sometimes, when i've been at it for a little bit too long, the words begin to melt into each other. i never knew reading could become ever so tiresome. i haven't opened a book since i began. must-get-back-to-reading-very-soon-for-the-sake-of-my-sanity.

ciao bella!

2011-03-16T00:46:00.000-07:00

My mum used to do this to me when I was in high school and during the first year and a half of college. I'd always been unafraid to do things my way but for some strange reason, I allowed myself to be steered to a different direction back then. I woke up, went to class, hung out with friends and slept. The same thing over and over. Fortunately, somewhere along the way, I hit my head and woke up. I quit school during my third year, started a business/working and have been paying for whatever it is that we need ever since. This morning, I told my mum that I was proud of her. The way she raised me and all that. I asked her if she felt the same way about me and she said, YES.

Let me tell you, there is no better reward in the world.

2011-03-13T09:27:00.000-07:00

Twilight is a complex, often misunderstood individual. A shy pony, she can come across as rather serious, a bit of a loner, even mysterious. She is a soft-spoken, introspective pony with a large romantic streak. When her ideals are threatened, she withdraws in order to preserve her rose-tinted view of the world. She likes to help out but often lets someone else take the credit. If only the other ponies knew just what mischief she gets up to!

2011-03-09T05:02:00.000-08:00

2011-03-06T07:06:00.000-08:00

My grandparents send me shirts. All sorts of vintage/thrift store/second hand shirts. I love each and every one of them. The feel of the worn, soft cloth on my skin. The fading images on it, even the small holes that some have. I cannot explain this feeling, I can only tell you that it makes me feel good. Better than any new piece of garment I've ever bought for myself (it has been years since). It is one of those little things. Like watching a film you didn't know about or didn't care about until you sat down for an hour and a half wondering what took you so long to see it. It's that thing. That unknown something that makes you smile unconsciously. That really, really, really good feeling. Like nothing is wrong in the world. That everything is perfectly, perfectly fine. It's the very thing that keeps you here, keeps you from floating away.

Suffice to say, I have new shirts and just got done de-cluttering my closet along with my thoughts.

2011-03-05T03:14:00.000-08:00

2011-03-04T22:29:00.000-08:00

…it was the clutch of solitude at her heart, the sense of being swept like a stray uprooted growth down the heedless current of the years. That was the feeling which possessed her now, the feeling of being something rootless and ephemeral, mere spindrift of the whirling surface of existence, without anything to which the poor little tentacles of self could cling before the awful flood submerged them.”

- The House of Mirth by Edith Wharton

2011-02-28T05:42:00.000-08:00

This morning whilst standing in the kitchen trying to gather my thoughts (but mostly just trying to wake myself from the sleep that I barely even had) an idea came to me. It was a fairly simple one, so simple that I wanted to get started right at that very moment. Veins pumping with adrenaline and a mind racing with recollections from the days prior, I sat down in front of the computer.

Nothing came out.

Dumbfounded by the sudden disappearance of every single thought I had moments before, I stared at the walls. It is something I do whenever my mind goes completely blank and I feel like I might float away. It keeps me grounded. So I stared. Stared some more. Stared until I remembered what it was that I intended to do. That idea that came and went as swiftly as bees do (or another astoundingly fast creature). I wanted to chronicle my reactions towards certain things.

Like how I reacted towards my mobile being broken. Yet again. For no apparent reason. When things like that happen, I look to my heroes. In this case, I asked: "What would Patti Smith do?" then the answer came. "She probably wouldn't even have a mobile phone." So I asked again: "What would Temperance Brennan do?" The answer was simple. She would be rational about things.

She will not blame the fates nor would she concoct a ridiculous story about how technology is conspiring against her. She would not spend a good 5 minutes asking her mobile to turn back on. Of course, she also wouldn't assume that the thing cares enough to actually do what's being asked of it. So there it was. No amount of intimidation would make that mobile turn back on. I was okay again.

It was so very easy to lose it. It is the thing that scares me the most. My fuse has gotten shorter as I got older. I stress too much. It is, after all, just a mobile phone which I can replace or not. I have survived without one. But that is not the point. The point is that here is yet another proof of how imagination has helped me get through things. Yes, it is rather childish. Having imaginary friends... who give me great advice.

Like right now. I am ready to delete all this, fearing that you might think I've gone mad. But there's this purple feline that's saying, "No! Leave it be. After all, we are all mad here." So there it is, let the chronicling commence!

2011-02-26T02:51:00.000-08:00

2011-02-20T06:59:00.000-08:00

This morning, I watched as the sky changed color from inky black to a bright sunlit blue. Blurry eyed and a little light-headed for I had not slept the night before, I thought about how many times I've taken this everyday spectacle for granted. But in that space of quiet and with the breeze, that still bore the night-cold, brushing my skin, I felt like a child again. Small and in awe at how big everything is and how I am but a speck of dust floating aimlessly in space. It is easy to forget and to not notice. I hope that I never, ever make those mistakes again. It is such a wondrous thing, after all. To see the world through the eyes of your old self, the one that so many try to outgrow ever so quickly.

2011-02-17T10:55:00.000-08:00

“It’s like this. Sometimes, when you’ve a very long street ahead of you, you think how terribly long it is and feel sure you’ll never get it swept. And then you start to hurry. You work faster and faster and every time you look up there seems to be just as much left to sweep as before, and you try even harder, and you panic, and in the end you’re out of breath and have to stop… and still the street stretches away in front of you. That’s not the way to do it. You must never think of the whole street at once, understand? You must only concentrate on the next step, the next breath, the next stroke of the broom, and the next, and the next. Nothing else.

That way you enjoy your work, which is important, because then you make a good job of it. And that’s how it ought to be. And all at once, before you know it, you find you’ve swept the whole street clean, bit by bit, what’s more, you aren’t out of breath. That’s important, too…”

- Michael Ende, Momo

2011-02-15T03:31:00.001-08:00

A little film I've made.

2011-02-13T07:23:00.000-08:00

It is a scary thing, growing up. No wonder people put on masks.

photos by: me

Witches are moonbirds...

2011-02-08T05:31:00.000-08:00

Is my heart wicked?

Are my eyes turned against too bright a sun?

Do I dazzle, and fear what I cannot see?

It is grievous to lose the heart from the body,

Death which tears flesh from flesh is a grievous thing;

But death is cool and kind compared to this,

This horror which bleeds and kindles,

These kisses shot with poison,

These thoughts cutting me like red knives.

Witch-Woman, Amy Lowell

photos by: me

The zipper opened all the way down our spines.

2011-02-02T08:42:00.000-08:00

They had killed themselves over our dying forests, over manatees maimed by propellers as they surfaced to drink from garden hoses; they had killed themselves at the sight of used tires stacked higher than the pyramids; they had killed themselves over the failure to find a love none of us could ever be. In the end, the tortures tearing the Lisbon girls pointed to a simple reasoned refusal to accept the world as it was handed down to them, so full of flaws.

2011-01-29T09:43:00.000-08:00

"Then take me disappearin' through the smoke rings of my mind,

Down the foggy ruins of time, far past the frozen leaves,

The haunted, frightened trees, out to the windy beach,

Far from the twisted reach of crazy sorrow.

Yes, to dance beneath the diamond sky with one hand waving free,

Silhouetted by the sea, circled by the circus sands,

With all memory and fate driven deep beneath the waves,

Let me forget about today until tomorrow."

Bob Dylan

2011-01-26T14:48:00.000-08:00

I am in love with an idea. A tragic, fragile thing who leaves a trail of burnt out cigarettes and forgotten memories wherever he goes. I have given him a part of me. The part that revels in the dark side of all that is beautiful and finds pleasure in the wafting scent of gasoline that permeates everything. The part that creates grey clouds of smoke and speaks in a tongue not of his own.With that, he will exist. Nameless thing that will walk on and on until such time when the rest of the story is written and memories would no longer be fleeting. But ideas are delicate. Soap bubbles that burst if you so much as stir the air around it. Perhaps he will be nothing more than several words strung together. Perhaps I'll lose him again, the same way I did years before, only to discover that some ideas never truly disappear. They simply come and go with the wind.

ph by: me taken nearly 6 years ago. (in photo, ali hooshmand of ivan theory)

2011-01-22T11:40:00.000-08:00

Oh yes, yes, yes. I have indeed fallen into that abyss where nothing and everything seems to be in my thoughts thus rendering me... no incapacitating me and I cannot write. I am anxious. Withdrawal symptoms. I need that jolt again. I am hollow. I am good at pretenses, however. I can keep a smile plastered on, give psychological advice to friends and break down all at the same time. I am restless. Is it so wrong that I feel the need to chase after melancholy, my own darkness and feel pinpricks again just to feel something enough to write about?

I just feel so hollow.

2011-01-21T05:47:00.000-08:00

People say I make strange choices, but they're not strange for me. My sickness is that I'm fascinated by human behavior, by what's underneath the surface, by the worlds inside people. - Johnny Depp

2011-01-14T16:40:00.000-08:00

R.I.P Trish Keegan

Moments Of Clarity...

2011-01-09T09:27:00.000-08:00

...have expiration dates and quite unfortunately for me, it is often within the first 10 minutes of having initially seen their brilliance. A prime example of which is this monologue I was having with myself regarding the quality of life and how I would rather be able to travel back in time than live forever. I was sweeping my room as I pondered the idea. I managed to write down quite a bit of it before I felt rather parched. It took the entire walk from my room to the kitchen to effectively erase the rest of the monologue from my head. Perhaps not erased, though. But by the time I sat down to write some more, the effect had dulled and the words have somehow lost their meaning. I suppose they cannot stand being exposed to reality. The words that I did manage to write down whilst in the midst of this-- what would you call it-- epiphany were as potent as they were in my head. Needless to say, I am quite glad that my journal is always within arm's reach.

So here's what I've written down.

"A well-lived life is neither long nor short. It is one filled with experiences of all kinds, time stopping moments and the kind of happiness that numbs one's tongue so that there are no words said but only small yet unforgettable gestures are made."

"Never forget death but do not dwell on it too much that it dulls the rest of your existence instead of being a small but important detail that illuminates everything else. Let it be the thing that shows you how undefinable and magical it is to be here at all."

This is where I insert a masterfully planned metaphor that relates the span of these moments with that of a butterfly's life cycle. But butterflies live for a few days and this depends upon the breed. What I could do instead is compare the beauty of such moments of clarity to that of a butterfly.

Fleeting but unforgettable.

But I think a chocolate cake would serve the purpose better. It's there one minute and gone the next. Yet it is never truly gone. You let it fill you up, give you some kind of (sugar) high. If it is exquisite enough, it is something that you'll never forget. But then again, there is the possibility that this only applies to me being a chocolate addict and all.

On Journals...

2010-12-30T08:59:00.000-08:00

There is something about the smell of ink and parchment. The feel of leather in one's hands and the weight of a journal with its pristine pages yet to be filled with thoughts, words and images. Upon making that first mark, I always worry that I will somehow mess it up and ruin everything. That I did. Words written too close to each other, too much space on the left side, a smudge here and there. I tried to leave it be but knowing that the mistake was done at the very first page made me feel uneasy.

So I went about eliminating said page only to realize that it was connecting the leather cover of the journal to the pages itself. I just severed its arteries and killed a perfectly wonderful journal in the process! No. no. I have mended it, somewhat, and subsequently made another trivial mistake a few pages thereafter which I remedied through the use of glue.

Now, I have something that I could live with. Glued, torn and missing a page long before I'd gotten to the middle. But it's fine. I am fine with it. Though there are moments when I stare at it and see so many faults that I wish to correct. But you cannot do things that way, right? Sometimes, you just have to sit down. Write and get over any mistakes that you make. Turn a page and begin writing again. You will never get anywhere if you keep on turning the pages back. However, it is helpful to do so if you find yourself stuck. Things from the past have a way of propelling you forward.

My journal does not contain any of my own words just yet. For now, it is where I write down other people's thoughts-- quotations-- that I will make my own as I apply my own ideas onto it. There is something special about marking a journal with your own words. Yes, this is not my first time keeping one but remembering all the others I have had and the sick feeling (all I ever did write about were my high school crushes and how our shirts matched on a specific day) I get whenever I read them makes me a cautious journal-keeper.

I want my journal to contain a piece of my mind. The things that I have learned and those that I wish to learn. Sometimes I feel as if doing so would seem morbid, like I'm already preparing for the inevitable. But this is not the case. I simply feel like I am at a point in my life wherein I am more connected with everything. I have a better understanding of who I am. Wouldn't you want to remember that as well?

And because life is unpredictable, I am convinced that it is unwise to delay it further.

As for the coming new year? I look forward to it in the same way that I look forward to waking up every morning to a new day, knowing that life is ahead of me and the only thing to do is get out of bed and begin writing my story.

All the best to you and your loved ones, mes amis!

Annie Monroe By James D. Kelly

2010-12-14T11:18:00.000-08:00

I cut my hair today. Well, I gave myself a fringe after watching one too many Francoise Hardy videos on Youtube. However, after seeing these nostalgic images I felt the sudden need to cut the rest of my hair. Tis a problem that I've had forever. My hair and what I ought to do with it. It might sound a tad bit vain but I am completely torn about this. Long hair or short hair? Tis such a dilemma. (I do believe I share these moments with all you ladies out there). I must confess that being big fan of La Nouvelle Vague, I am prone to imagining myself in a Godard film (Especially when I am feeling a little down) and for some strange reason, I believe having an Anna Karina inspired haircut would make things better. Yes, I am more than a little odd.

I think I may have told you a bit too much. If you creeped you out, my apologies!

But there's nothing wrong with a bit of daydreaming, right?

Plus, it's just hair... right?

Right? *wink*

Immortality, Milan Kundera

2010-12-10T08:59:00.000-08:00

"There is a certain part of all of us that lives outside of time.

Perhaps we become aware of our age only at exceptional moments

and most of the time we are ageless."

S P A R R O W

2010-12-06T03:55:00.000-08:00

The past weekend was truly lovely for I got to spend time with friends, talking underneath the starless but building-lit sky and singing karaoke songs. We went home at 3 in the morning and twas a lovely grey and rose tinged dawn. A couple of them slept over and we spent this hour listening to Vashti Bunyan and Basia Bulat whilst exchanging views on mysticism, why Ron Weasley is gorgeous, stalking crushes on Facebook and practicing charm spells. I found myself wishing for the sunlight to delay itself just a few hours more but that is impossible, no?

So the day was lit, rather beautifully I must say. My friend, Gilraen, asked if I wanted to take photos and of course I did! The results are what you see up there. Well, just a couple of my favorites. I think they showcase her personality really well. Mysterious and effervescent, we are each other's Luna Lovegood. I was supposed to take photos of Goceiph but he was too sleepy to move a muscle. I suppose the singing and dancing got to him.

How was your weekends, lovelies? I hope you all had a good one.

ps.

I added a song, Basia Bulat's "Sparrow". It is a lovely tune, one that I hope you'll also enjoy.

Them.

2010-11-27T22:20:00.000-08:00

Caris Reid's paintings. "Undersaid and Oversung", "Pillow Talk" and "Bewitched".

There are those who stand among us, half hidden in shadows whose lives we keep secret in that little dark space in our minds where we hide everything we do not (nor care to) understand. Tales of magic, obsession and the supernatural. Folklore and superstitions.What if you wake up one day and find out that they were real? Staring right at you taunting and challenging, making you ask yourself about the characters that were banished to the night and those that you walk with in broad daylight.

More? The Rumpus Interview with Caris Reid and This Artist: Caris Reid

Fever Dream.

2010-11-16T05:02:00.000-08:00

The funny thing about dreams is that you never really know how you get from one place to another but never think odd of it up until you wake up. That is, if you manage to remember where you've been. But what about those bits and pieces that we forget? Where do those go? What were they about? Perhaps certain fragments are meant to be lost to memory. Who knows? If they weren't then we would all probably know the secrets to life itself. The universe. The mind and the soul.

Fever Dream. Having slept the entire day with short breaks of waking in between. The seemingly endless scenes, constantly changing, ever more real. Ending ever so abruptly. That feeling of being in between. As if everything is liquid and you realize, you need to breathe.

In Silence.

2010-11-10T08:09:00.000-08:00

It hasnt been long even though it feels as if it's been going on forever. I keep my thoughts mostly to myself these days and I feel quite liberated by it. It's as if Ive freed myself from the need to illicit a reaction from another person. I no longer feel the need to have someone agree with me in order to be able to do certain things. Ive always felt as if I needed someone's permission. I worry about the silence but not as much as I used to. This way, I create no friction. Therefore, there are no triggers or misplaced words. Everything was heavy at first but I think I can get used to it. If I cannot get physical breathing space, Id have to create one mentally. It simply isnt a choice for me. It is something I must do in order to regain me, keep my sanity and hold on to this feeling. I wish I could learn how to walk the thin line in between. For now, I have managed to keep the distractions at bay and the nagging of the habit I have yet to eliminate. I feel, see and think too much. This is what's wrong and right about me. One day, I'll learn to find a balance.

I hope you are all doing well.

The Hours.

2010-11-07T09:11:00.000-08:00

We live our lives, we do whatever we do, and then we sleep- it's as simple and ordinary as that. A few jump out of windows or drown themselves or take pills; more die by accident; and most of us, the vast majority are slowly devoured by some disease or, if we're very fortunate, by time itself. There's just this for consolation: an hour here or there when our lives seem, against all odds and expectations, to burst open and give us everything we've ever imagined, though everyone but children (and perhaps even they) knows these hours will inevitably be followed by others, far darker and more difficult. Still, we cherish the city, the morning; we hope, more than anything, for more.

Ive just finished re-reading "The Hours" by Michael Cunningham and you know what amazes me most about it? It's the fact that I can read the same book, after a few years have passed and feel completely different about it. How certain parts of it, such as the one I posted above, resonate with me more than it did before. But what's even more peculiar is the way it somehow paralleled the emotions that I have been going through as of late. I saw bits of myself in the 3 women in this novel but felt more akin to Mrs. Brown. Much like her, I often feel a sense of displacement. Like I am not supposed to be where I am, that I do not belong here and that I am playing a character. As if everything is marred with pretense. The feeling is fleeting but when it does come around, it can become overwhelming. Today, I locked myself inside my room. Slept. The entire day. There are triggers everywhere. Like a minefield of sorts. I know I'm not well. Perhaps tomorrow. These things pass, this too shall. All that's left to do is wait.

October 30.

2010-10-30T08:51:00.000-07:00

Photos by my mum.

I dont usually get bummed over not being able to attend parties. I am known to make excuses for such gatherings, actually. But to miss a Halloween party, in my book, is a sin! It simply is. But what can one do when one's friends are either broke or have work to do? This is why I always have a Plan B. Criminal Minds marathon + Ice cream + falling asleep to Sufjan Stevens. It may not sound like much but if you're like me, you know how amazing quiet nights at home (watching Matthew Gray Gubler) can be.

The sad bit? I had my costume prepped and ready. I was going to go as a young Keith Richards. Yes, not quite the Edgar Allan Poe or Virginia Woolf I had planned but, c'est la vie, nothing always goes as planned.

Now, have you got some creepy movies to recommend? I intend to have a scare-fest with my cousins tomorrow. Should be fun, that is, until I need to go to the loo.

HAVE A HAPPY HALLOWEEN!

Daydreaming.

2010-10-28T01:21:00.000-07:00

Photography by: Roger Houwen

The Least Of My Worries.

2010-10-22T03:59:00.000-07:00

Photography by: Aneta Bartos

I seem to have found for myself a magical "calming mantra". I do not get extreme panic attacks but I do have mini-ones wherein I find myself unable to focus on what I should be doing which is more often than not, work. Tired of being disrupted by my own "spirit quakes", I decided to turn to the nearest wall for counsel.

Lo and behold! An answer, I did get. Every time a mini-panic attack comes along, I go and counter it by repeatedly telling myself that it is "the least of my worries". I repeat it, over and over. Sometimes out loud (regardless of strange looks from my cat or from whoever's around) and sometimes in my head. It works wonders!

With that hurdle done with, I now turn to you folks for counsel. I seem to be having quite a hard time figuring out who to dress up as for Halloween. I wanted to go as a literary character or an author! I wanted to go as Virginia Woolf originally, a friend suggested I drench myself in water before entering the party but thought against it. It felt tasteless going as her in that sense.

So yes, any ideas and suggestions would be appreciated. Have you got your costume ready?

x

Venetia Scott.

2010-10-17T11:11:00.000-07:00

"Nature Seems To Be Fashionable Again" SELF SERVICE F/W 2005

Photographed and styled by Venetia Scott

Photos from TFS

Do you think having 2 jobs could potentially kill me? Also, does anyone want to give the first 2 pages of my (continuously delayed) short story a looksie? I usually dont like asking for comments before Ive finished writing but this feels like something I need to do. Email me if you're interested. Merci!

Day For Night.

2010-10-05T06:14:00.000-07:00

I feel it all over me again. The need for a change. It's exciting, refreshing and scary all at the same time. But it's necessary. Sometimes you need to throw things away, disconnect yourself from certain things and clean out the cobwebs and dust that came from being stagnant. Time to streamline things, gain new perspective and revive inspiration. Simplify. Eliminate clutter. A whole new start. Yet again.

One Need Not Be A Chamber To Be Haunted.

2010-10-01T20:44:00.001-07:00

photo by: Megan McIsaac (http://www.flickr.com/photos/helloromantic/)

One need not be a chamber to be haunted,

One need not be a house;

The brain has corridors surpassing

Material place.

Emily Dickinson

Strangers In My Head.

2010-09-05T10:48:00.000-07:00

I should really be spending this time finishing/starting interviews and writing reviews but I simply cannot get my mind to do it.
No special reason behind it except for the fact that I have been terribly, terribly distracted lately.
Emphasis on it being terrible.
Surely, you have heard this from me many times before but I tend to be completely drained of inspiration whenever I feel okay about myself.
Needless to say, misery is the catalyst for whatever creativity I have.
Not very healthy, I know.

But I am not here to discuss my relationship with melancholy.
Instead, I would like to talk about strangers.
Hopefully you wont find it weird when I tell you that I tend to develop a kind of infatuation with people I havent met.
Sometimes, its the idea that I get obsessed with.
Perhaps its the mystery that surrounds them. Faces. Names. Nothing else.
I could take these people and create whole characters with them in my head.
As a matter of fact, I used to write that way.
Well, I still do... just not as frequently as I want to.

Writing has been hard.

I have strangers in my head. Lots and lots.
There's this one girl that Ive been trying to put into writing.
She makes it really hard for me to get a good start on my book.
I havent got a name for her yet but she lives in a small apartment, in a grey city.
She likes being alone in elevators, the sound of leather shoes and typewriters.
I have no idea what she looks like but that could be because of the fact that she changes her appearance a lot. That is all I know for now.

Strangers. Some people best remain that way, I suppose.
I read this quote about how you lose interest in people once you get to know them well enough.
This, thankfully, hasnt happened to me yet when it comes to the people I love.
But for the strangers Ive developed an infatuation with, I cannot even begin to imagine meeting them in real life.
It would be awkward to begin with. I dont know.
I would rather have them as strangers so that I could mold them whichever way I want.

Again, not very healthy.

Will be back again soon.

Clarissa Vaughan.

2010-08-02T19:41:00.001-07:00

"It seemed like the beginning of happiness, and Clarissa is still sometimes shocked,
more than thirty years later, to realize that it was happiness; that the experience
lay in a kiss and a walk, the anticipation of dinner and a book. The dinner is by
now forgotten; Lessing has been long overshadowed by other writers; and even the
sex, once she and Richard reached that point, was ardent but awkward, unsatisfying, more kindly than passionate.
What lives undimmed in Clarissa's mind more than three decades later is a kiss at dusk on a patch of dead grass,
and a walk around a pond as mosquitoes droned in the darkening air.
There is still that singular perfection, and it's perfect in part because it seemed, at the time, so clearly to promise more.
Now she knows: That was the moment, right then. There has been no other."
- The Hours, Michael Cunningham

Les Amants Réguliers.

2010-07-24T08:07:00.000-07:00

"Underneath this skin, this flesh, there is nothing" you said as you slowly got up and walked down the hallway.
I followed you close, making sure my steps made no noise at all.
The air is heavy, my heart gained a ton.
I may have been dizzy too, but to remember is a little hard to do now.
Your hand touched and slipped out of mine.
But Ive lost you long before this, havent I?
The flick of a cigarette, sound of people walking and talking.
The crowd that would soon swallow you whole.
The boy who faded quietly and disappeared.
The ghost that haunts me still.

*I havent seen this film before and I want to so bad.
*The text is from an unfinished short story I wrote nearly 2 years ago.

ASKI KATASKI by Katsuhiro Makino.

2010-07-19T07:03:00.000-07:00

The words “Aski Kataski” are part of a larger ancient Greek incantation: Aski-kataski-haix-tetrax-damnameneus-aision, thought to mean: “Darkness, Light, Sun and Truth”. It is believed that the shortened version evolved into a slang term for magic in the ancient world, much like hocus pocus. - TFS

Something about these clothes make me want to live in them. Forevermore.
It might be because they seem unfinished, crumpled, aged and frayed
Or maybe because I cannot help but recall Colin Morgan in Merlin when I see them.
They look so vulnerable, like they could fall apart any moment.
Yet tough and battle-worthy at the same time.
They'll get ruined but would be mended by able hands again and again.
I bet they would feel like nostalgia and magic when worn.
Really, really wonderful.

Like Rain On Open Skies.

2010-07-14T09:38:00.000-07:00

A few hours of rain, a day and half without electricity and using up half of my newly bought candles that were made to resemble decapitated flower heads.
They float on water whilst they burn and leave blue colored wax as they do.
Looking back, it wasnt supposed to be as melancholy as it was, perhaps a better choice of soundtrack to put on loop next time?
Nonetheless, I thought it was rather fun drawing and writing by candlelight with the cold breeze coming through the window.
It was very easy for me to imagine myself in another place.
Somewhere quiet, in the countryside, as always.

STRANGE CREATURES.

2010-07-05T11:15:00.000-07:00

(behind the scenes from today's shoot.)

Today started with a couple hours sleep. Randomly putting together looks with Marla Singer and The Craft in mind.
PJ Harvey singing in my ears.
Was late in meeting friends. I am always late. SO hard to change.
Broken mobile phones, broken cameras. A mapless adventure, the threat of rain.
Are we lost? No. Not yet.
Strange girls and tarot cards. Cigarettes and high heels. Paint and my mismatched socks.
Shoot it, flash. A little headache, taco bell dinner.
The day is done.

S T A R S.

2010-07-02T22:27:00.000-07:00

(hubble, unknown)

Every atom in your body came from a star that exploded. And, the atoms in your left hand probably came from a different star than your right hand.
It really is the most poetic thing I know about physics: You are all stardust.
You couldn’t be here if stars hadn’t exploded, because the elements -
The carbon, nitrogen, oxygen, iron, all the things that matter for evolution and for life - weren’t created at the beginning of time.
They were created in the nuclear furnaces of stars, and the only way for them to get into your body is if those stars were kind enough to explode.
So, forget Jesus. The stars died so that you could be here today. - Lawrence M. Krauss

My Camera Is Broken And I Feel Quite Lonely Without it.

2010-07-01T08:35:00.001-07:00

Awake.

2010-06-24T02:14:00.000-07:00

Photography by: [Flickr]

The sound of an engine coming to life as birds sing their lullaby.
I open my eyes, still in the midst of a dream.
Searching for light, movements out of the corner of my eye.
Every step requires careful measure, the floor is soft and warm beneath my feet.
This body is heavy, so heavy, falling right back to sleep.
A mist, a blannket. A cold and listless embrace.
I reach for the empty space beside me and the realization rushes in.
I am awake. Everything you are has faded away.

The Daydeam Spell.

2010-05-30T02:13:00.000-07:00

Photography by: [Flickr]

Here comes the daydream spell of colors and words, straight from the dream makers ink well.
Here is where fancy takes flight, blink once and they're out of sight.
Go on, make a wish with all your might and turn day into night.
Some dream of odd places, perhaps a few familiar faces.
There are those who see dresses, fairies and dark creepy mazes.
As soon as the dream sand settles and the veil has faded into non-existence,
When you feel reality might make you lose your mind, close your eyes
And know there's always more to find...

Burn That Photograph.

2010-05-13T01:23:00.000-07:00

THEKILLS.TV

Burn that photograph. Give it a grandiose death.
Let it become a legend.
Add or subtract details as you wish.
It had an exciting and romantic life.
Just the way you will live yours?
Sometimes you will be unable to trace where you yourself have been.
Sometimes you will find it impossible to remember weeks, months, even years of your life.
You may only simply be able to recall a group of colors, a cassette of noise, and maybe the length of your hair at the time, before the fire.
There will be many fires. Many stories.
Many details lost, for a purpose.
Forgetting details is the preventative method against satisfaction, against lazy fashion, against boredom cashing in on you.
Use every match you’ve got.

- Alison Mosshart

Caught In The In-Between.

2010-04-30T00:45:00.000-07:00

Shedding layers, shedding this old skin
Still trying to find that person
Ive unconsciously trapped within

Always here, needing to be there

Trying to break free from the in-between

Weary wondering wanderer
Lost lonely lover

The shining dreamer, with so many stories untold
Buried under all the covers
Ive unknowingly put on

The static traveler
Going from page to page

Needing escape
Searching for different worlds

From all the stories they have told

The silent calling
In the dead of night
An urgent plea
In the dark corners
Of one's mind...
Find me, find me, find me.

Here Comes Eve.

2010-03-18T03:04:00.000-07:00

Say goodbye
Morning's done
The day has gone
Dark-winged butterflies
Soon will cover the sun

Here comes Eve
The darkness at her tail
Here comes Eve
With the shadows of the day.

Light the candle,
Thin and fragile.
Light the candle,
Set the room on fire.

Sing a song,
For all that has passed.
Sing a song,
The night has come at last.

Here comes eve,
Red hair all a-glow.
Here comes eve,
With the darkness in tow.

A Love Story, Maybe.

2010-02-27T23:49:00.000-08:00

photo by: fromtheseas [FLICKR]

And we were out there, just the two of us, in the middle of the now darkening woods.
I thought to myself that at any other point in time, I wouldve been shaking with fear by now.
However, with him I can feel nothing else except the warmth of his hands in mine.
My hand on his chest and the slow pulsing of what I believed to be his heart.

There is no other sound quite like it and from then on, Ive always believed that every heart beat has its own special rhythm.
Mine had always been nervously-paced. His were like padded footsteps.
The kind that could either lull you to sleep or keep you up all night.

And his eyes, they were as dark as the night itself. Bottomless.
So much mystery that until today, I sometimes find myself thinking about them. Trying to figure out who he really was, what he really thought
And why I always woke up in the middle of the best dreams.

I never saw him again. The day I turned 19, all dreams of him stopped coming.
Sometimes, I like to think he's there. Standing in the shadows.
A kind of fleeting figure that I was always too slow to catch up with.
But as with most dreams, most of what you think there is, doesnt always turn out to be what they're supposed to be.

So the boy with the eyes of night and a music box for a heart is out there still.
Looking, waiting... maybe.

[This is a bit from the book I'm writing]

7 Things, 7 Facts

2010-02-26T16:23:00.000-08:00

I think I may be in some kind of invisible box at the moment.
Yes, that's quite an acceptable explanation considering the facts.
Iam not sure what day it is today. I know that Monday has gone by.
But the hours just fly by so fast, who's to say it isnt Monday right now?

A number of days ago, I was given an award by My Wonderland and I was absolutely thrilled.
Suffice to say, since those lovely little academic awards that they gave out when I was a wee kid, I havent received any.
Not that I was ever bad. I mean, Iam quite an excellent underachiever. That's your fact number one.

In less than one month, my 22 will be 23 but I will forever be 17.
No, Iam not a vampire, contrary to popular belief and neither have I sold my soul in exchange for eternal youth.
Iam 17 because I choose to be and those who think otherwise would best beware lest they wish to have their heads chopped off.
CHOPPED I TELL YOU!

To quote Chuck Palahniuk's book, Invisible Monsters: "Nothing of me is original. I am the combined effort of everybody I’ve ever known".
But most of the time, its the people I admire and Im inspired by.
I tend to take away bits and pieces of people with me.
How they piece themselves into my own personality is a mystery Ive yet to solve.

When people ask me about life changing things that happened to me, I always say that I dont really remember any.
Truth is, I do. I remember every single one of them.
There's 5. I simply dont feel like explaining how these things affected me.
Even if I tried, I wouldnt know how. They happened. I changed.

I like to write. Different people, different addictions.
I really like to write. But the thing with writing is that to write words is easy. Im doing it right now.
To write something that affects me, first and foremost, that's the hardest.
I hate 90% or more of what I write.

There are evenings, when everything has gone quiet, wherein Id lay in bed wondering about what the rest of the world is doing.
This activity could take hours. In my mind's eye, I would see people.
Say.. in.. London.. walking and talking then Id see people on the beach somewhere. Having fruity drinks. I could just go on and on.

When I was in highschool, someone told me that Iam an empath.
Back then, it didnt mean much to me for I did not know what it meant.
It was only when we spent an evening in school, just before graduation, that I found out.
From what Ive learned, the ability usually works on people but mine seems to be more in tune with places.

So there, that is 7.. I think. Right, 7.
The next step is to pass the award onto other people who would do the same 7 facts tag.
Ive some new blogs that Im "stalking" so I figured this would be a great way to get to know them.
After all, asking people-- out of the blue-- to say 7 facts about themselves is always an efficient ice breaker.
So I tag the following lovely people: Fashion Daisuki, Once Upon a Book Blog, The Girl Who Loves Velvet, Dream and Fantasy and Chalk White Child.

Now, Im off to watch "Haunted" because there's nothing like a good scare right before lunch on a saturday.

C I G A R E T T E S.

2010-02-19T06:01:00.001-08:00

Cigarettes for dinner,
But no one seems to be bothered
You, they, we are
Lost in a smoke of our own
Dry
YET
Coveted
Existence
Where everything is an illusion
And nothing is, nothing was, nothing will be
Feeding off their love, their assumptions
That we are, you are, this is
What they want, what they need

The shouting, screaming, running
Wishing, wanting, hoping
Climbing, staring, waiting
Until you, they, we are
Lost in the fantasies
They have created for us
We walk, walk, walk
Dead sticks all in a neat row
One after the other
Down this narrow road
Night and day are one
Time is all but gone
And now as I stare at all that I have done
I realize, there really is none.

The Woman In The Veil.

2010-02-12T06:46:00.000-08:00

"People might think that children's fears are based on imaginary monsters.

Looking back, nothing frightened me more than this woman in the veil.

Because even as a child, I realized how fragile we are and that the line between sanity and insanity can be incredibly thin."

FLY16X9: THE VEIL (JUNYA WATANABE)
DIRECTED BY: CATHERINE CAMILLE CUSHMAN

Who is the the woman behind the veil? Click here.

The Afternoon Ballet.

2010-01-29T00:11:00.001-08:00

Lou Doillon for Vanessa Bruno [WATCH]

"It was that kind of a crazy afternoon, terrifically cold,

And no sun out or anything,

And you felt like you were disappearing every time you crossed a road."

- Catcher In The Rye

Curveballs, Lemons, Trucks and Early Morning Thoughts That I Have Written Down.

2010-01-25T22:19:00.000-08:00

When life throws you curveballs or lemons or pretty much anything that you wouldnt really want to be thrown at you because they would cause you much pain and trouble, what do you do? Make the best of it, right? Yes. Maybe. I think its either you hit it or you completely miss and lose. But as with any game, losing shouldnt ever get you down. Sure, for a while it would hurt like hell. Like pouring salt over a fresh wound but the pain subsides. You think it doesnt. But it lessens and eventually, it would fade away. Not completely but it wont hurt as much. You develop scar tissue and all of it's just a lesson learned. Besides, who wants to die without getting wounded along the way, right?

So back to curveballs/lemons. Ive often wondered why these things always seem to come in three's.. or four's.. sometimes even more. I mean, have you ever experienced being knee deep in absolute shit and then getting even more dumped right on top of you? This is metaphorically speaking, of course. But yea, it tends to happen that way sometimes. It happens a lot to me. Often, during times like those, I would wish that the ground would open up and swallow me whole. I would wish that Id just drop dead, right then and there. I would wish for someone to just end it all because I cant do it myself. I would go on wishing all sort of misfortunes upon myself. As if doing so would counteract everything that's happening and make it all stop.

But of course, 22 years on this earth has taught me much. Including how to deal with the curveballs/lemons/stuff that get thrown my way. Curveballs and lemons, I could easily deal with. I would swing against them, trying my best to hit each one. Throwing them back at the thrower and shouting: "IS THAT ALL YOU'VE GOT?" Okay. So maybe that is not such a great thing to do. But it gives me a boost in morale. It makes me feel like I could take on anything and truth be told, arent these curveballs and lemons thrown at you for the very same reason? To challenge you. To make you step up to the plate. To make you better. A better fighter. Right?

So then comes the trucks. Basically anything bigger than lemons and curveballs. The kind wherein your first instinct would be to flee, hide and pray for it to simply go away. But it doesnt go away, does it? You can disappear but it would be there because the thing is, you have to eliminate it yourself. So, how to deal with a truck? Do you drive it away and leave it parked in the back of your mind? Do you take a stick of dynamite and watch it explode into pieces of scrap metal. Even then, it would always be there. Some people choose to pull these trucks throughout their whole life. Tied by a rope to their waists. Weighing them down. Can you imagine going uphill with a truck tied to your waist? I can and its not a pleasant thing to think about. So.. what do you do when life throws a truck at you?

I have no idea. Life has been kind enough to throw me only a few trucks in my 22 years. All I did was try and not get hit by it. Ive been grazed, scratched and almost completely run over. But Im fine. I dont have them tied to my waist. But they are here. Awkwardly Parked. Constant reminders. Of what Ive gone through and what might be waiting along the way. I thought about riding them but I could already imagine the journey being incredibly rough. They arent as new as they used to be. They are rusted and the color's fading. Their effect on me, not as potent but still palpable. Really, I have no idea what to do with them. I seriously dont.

She Generally Gave Herself Good Advice. (though she very seldom followed it).

2010-01-14T06:52:00.000-08:00

Photography by: Elena Kholkina [WEBSITE]

Now Sleeps The Crimson Petal.

2009-12-05T12:10:00.000-08:00

Photography by: Jessica Naomi [FLICKR]

The days that passed between this post and the last consisted of: Bloody fingers, red eyes, gold shoes and chocolate cake.
Long lines, New Moon and book wars over hot cocoa and tea.
Paint fumes and asthma attacks.
Getting electrocuted over twinkling fairy lights.
The Picture of Dorian Gray as recommended by a darling one (Hi! Cate).
A postcard from Italy (Hi! Alexandre).
Getting sick and sicker. Then somewhat better.
Planning. Not thinking about planning.
Moments that were as sickly sweet as vitamin C but were nevertheless, good for me.
A fresh coat of paint. A brand new start.

The Solitaire Mystery

2009-11-13T10:08:00.000-08:00

Let me tell you a story about a book. No, not a story from a book but about a book. Earlier today, I was cleaning the cupboard which contained a bunch of random things except for cups. So there I was, sorting everything out when I found this book. Now, books dont just appear out of cupboards. No one knows where it came from and in a home where there's only two people, this is really very odd. The book, well, it was quite worn out with plenty of dog eared pages. For a minute, I contemplated upon donating it but something swayed me from that idea.

Having recently went on a book buying spree, I still had plenty of books to read. But that afternoon, I decided to set Chuck Palahniuk aside and crack open the book that I found. The book was written by Jostein Gaarder and this made me very, very happy. I enjoyed Sophie's World a lot and this book seemed very promising. I settled down in my favorite corner, took out my glasses and read. Sometimes I feel like more preparations should be made when reading a book. I felt like I should've worn a cardigan or something. Hmm.. looking back.. maybe I really should've.

In this book, I followed Hans Thomas' adventures. I waited with him whilst his dad took one of his many cigarette breaks and I listened too, as his dad gave one of his philosophical talks. But it wasnt just Hans Thomas who had me enchanted. There was Frode, his island and the suit of 52 cards he had dreamt up (or did he?) plus the joker. The endearing Ace of Hearts who was forever losing herself reminded me a lot of someone I thought I know very well but apparently not. In a way, you become one of the characters in the stories that you read. Much like in real life, except for the fact that in life... you are both the character and the author.

Nearly half-way through the book, I had to stop. It had gotten dark outside and I havent had lunch nor did any of the work I was supposed to. But that didnt matter much because Hans Thomas had found a sticky bun book so small that he had to use a magnifying glass to read it. Luckily enough, he had been given the very thing by some stranger early in the story. But still, I got up to get something to eat. To please my grumbling stomach. The work I was "supposed to do", well, things happen. They sometimes get delayed.

I sank right back into reading after having gotten something to eat. By the time I closed the book and bid farewell to Hans Thomas, it was very cold and quiet. I checked the clock and it was 1:12 in the morning. Frode's island has folded on itself and Hans Thomas has found his mum. I was very chilly and my head swam with one too many thoughts. Needless to say, I was drunk with the book. What if I had given it away instead of reading it? What if Hans didnt meet that baker and what if he wasnt given the magnifying glass? Ah.. but things happen if they are meant to. As sure as Im writing this post and that you're going to read it afterwards.

Will I tell you to read the book? Did I just do that without even meaning to? Perhaps I did mean to. But I wont tell you to go out and find it. Let it find you. Years from now (maybe less), you will find yourself in a bookstore and by then you have forgotten all about this post (perhaps even me). Somewhere in those shelves you'll find a book (one with a very attractive title) and without much deliberation, you'll pay for it and take it home. You'll get lost in it but by the end of it all, you'll find yourself and something more. But you see, the magic is in the finding of the book without consciously looking for it. I know, I know. You are curious. I think we all know what's going to happen next.

But then again, who really knows for sure? No one. Maybe the Joker does. Maybe not.

"I have gone around observing your activities from the outside. Because of this I have also been able to see things to which you have been blind... Every morning you have gone to work, but you have never been fully awake. Of course, you have seen the sun and the moon, the stars in the sky, and everything that moves, but you haven't really seen it at all. It is different for the Joker, because he was put into this world with a flaw: He sees too clearly and too much." - The Solitaire Mystery

When The Night Closes In, You Feel It Under Your Skin.

2009-11-08T01:11:00.000-08:00

Do you know how it is when you're so overwhelmed with emotion that you cry uncontrollably, gasping for breath and there's this swelling in your chest that's both painful and comforting? Yes, yes.. that feeling. The kind that makes you curl up into a ball. So you cry some more until your tears run out and the swelling has become this small lump in your throat. The kind that stays there until you admit your pain out loud and once you do, for a moment, everything is right. Just right. Then there's this tingling somewhere inside you, a spark in your head and you start wondering why you were in pain in the first place. Ah, glorious pain. I dont know why. I dont remember why. Its not even worth it anymore, really.

But Im okay. Pain is good. If Im numb all the time, Id be better off dead.

Photographs by: Candace Meyer

Dont worry about me, I'll be fine. Im feeling a bit better now. Yes, thank you.
Its just that... Ive been way too sensitive lately. Blame it on the weather.
Happiness down the road~ Stick with me, loves?

The Daylight Here.

2009-11-04T08:04:00.000-08:00

Photographs by: Alison Scarpulla [FLICKR]

Haunted. By the things that I wish to be rid of.
So many things. So hard to shed off.
They stick to my skin. Irritating. Consuming.
I need more sleep. There's something wrong with the daylight here.
Its been gray for days. Work has been making me forget this chill inside me.
But this too shall pass. As always. Rain, rain, rain.
Its silence and gray skies. Its good and its bad.

INVISIBLE PEOPLE

2009-10-26T21:34:00.000-07:00

"My works are about the “invisible people.” I wanted to talk about the stories of the people who said, “I definitely don’t know them, but they knew me so well.
They said they worked with me for over a year. To me, that person was a transparent existence that neither did or didn’t exist.”

It was too simple to define them as “the alienated people” or “the depressed people”. Instead, I thought that I, or we, could easily be one of them. My works are about people who, instead of getting along with others, choose to keep a distance from them, and be invisible or be left alone unconcerned. Instead of trying to fit into the world, they climb into a space of their own and reject other people’s intrusions.

My works feign expressionless faces. They are holding their tears back and swallowing them, or they try to put on a cool face despite the traces of tears on their faces. Or simply, they seem to have something hiding behind the hurried pretense of their expressionless faces. Looks on their faces that don’t make people approach them with ease - a subtle look of suspicion and caution keeps others from easily approaching them."

(Quoted from her interview with Arrested Motion. Read the full article HERE)

Photos from: Arrested Motion Sculptures by: Jin Young Yu

Stella.

2009-10-20T15:27:00.000-07:00

Here's a Stella McCartney for Net-a-Porter video that I found a couple of days ago. Because Im a bit of a Youtube addict. Okay, not a bit. Im totally obsessed with it. But let's not discuss that. There are 3 parts to the film but this is my fave. Its kind of a trip, isnt it? With the music and images.. Like a kind of lucid dream that you would want to have over and over again.

Till later, doves!

Wherein I Make Up For All The Gloominess As Of Late.

2009-10-16T17:32:00.000-07:00

The past few days have been great. Delightful. I go to sleep promptly at around 1 in the morning and you have no idea just how hard that is to accomplish. I think I may have forever altered my sleeping pattern. I kept waking up every few hours or so. Half dreaming, sometimes. But if I had managed to alter something, wont I be able to put it back the way it was before as well? Anyway, If there's one thing that I could very easily do, it would be to sink back into the blackhole that I was in the weeks before. So I shant think of the negativity and focus on the sunlit field on the other side. To begin things, a blogger award from Sarah Hannah wherein I need to list random facts about myself.

1. My room is a glorious mess.
2. Iam drawn to people who are pleasantly dark and charmingly moody.
3. I currently have pink nails and I feel rather twee at the moment.
3. I would very much like to marry Lestat de Lioncourt.

Preferably, the Stuart Townsend version.
5. Apparently, I have forgotten how to count as I have listed "3" twice.
6. I feel unnatural during the day. Uncoordinated.
7. Ive always found it hard to list random facts about me.

Now, its your turn dearest doves. I pass the award to all of you because, truthfully, you all deserve it. If you dont mind and since I have a few new readers, I would really appreciate it if you post your 7 facts in the comments as well. It'd be a fun read! Absolutely. Yup. Yup. Moving on, here's something I think you should all see. Before you begin the day or after the day is through or during the free time in between.

Whoever created this is wonderful. Ive watched this all morning, over and over.

"You get ideas from daydreaming. You get ideas from being bored. You get ideas all the time. The only difference between writers and other people is we notice when we're doing it." - Neil Gaiman I would like to get advice from Neil with regards to having some sort of control over all of these ideas and perhaps about their proper storage as well. Oh.. you are all writers. We are all daydreamers. We all have ideas, dont we? But what to do when you have a lot? Distract, distract, distract? But that almost always never works, right?

Is it sad that even when I try to be as light and happy as possible, I still manage to come off as melancholy-- sullen? Iam a happy person. A normal one, I suppose. Who has good days, bad days.. Days I wish didnt exist, Days I wish would exist but fear that they just might end up disappointing me. I get way ahead of myself. I tend to lose the positivity. I falter then eventually recover. Its not so much a flaw but... more like a really bad habit. Sigh. Its such a stretch to try and conceal what my real thoughts are. Ive given up after I wrote the title. Whatever I do, there will be a touch of melancholy in it. Perhaps more than a touch.. more like a pint.. perhaps even more. But its not meant to make you sad. In a way, or as I like to think about it, melancholy is my (perhaps yours as well) security blanket. I feel more comfortable in it. Just have to make sure that Im in between and not all the way through.

xx

Sometimes you wake up. Sometimes the fall kills you. And sometimes, when you fall, you fly.

2009-10-14T10:41:00.000-07:00

Went to the doctor's today. Was advised to stop stressing myself out because I just might kill myself if I continue. WHAT A WAKE UP CALL. I slept for 12 hours today and even though I woke up with a minor headache because of "too much sleep" I feel much better compared to a few days ago. Anyway, thank you all for your wonderful thoughts on my recent post and its really nice knowing that Im not alone when it comes to having moments such as those. Ive been taking really big steps when it comes to my routines.. I need to sleep at better hours, definitely.. A friend also made me succumb to reading Twilight or rather, New Moon. So far, I actually have nothing too bad to say about it. Its a lot like the other young adult fiction books that Ive been reading. However, being a huge Anne Rice fan... Iam quite biased about it. Nonetheless, its been an enjoyable read so far.

I guess reading books like these wont really help my thing with "immortality" but it does help distract me from it. I mean, I could go on and on about that topic but its exhausting and in some ways, its better left unanswered like most things in life. Its the mystery that keeps me going. I think you all feel the same way, right? If life were served up to you in its entirety on a silver platter without that mystery to it.. its no fun. No fun at all. Also, I have new followers! This still surprises me actually. Thank you very much! I suppose I should lessen my morose posts...

Photography by: Edouard Plongeon [SOURCE]

PS

I think the photos above are truly spectacular. Simple, raw and absolutely beautiful. Edouard Plongeon has a cemented spot in my adored photographers list, definitely. Also, I was advised to stop reading Edgar Allan Poe before I go to sleep. I dont think that's fair at all. Oh and.. the title is a lovely quote from Neil Gaiman.

1:01 in the morning - 3rd day of no sleep.

2009-10-09T09:17:00.000-07:00

Conflicted. I slept and woke up conflicted. Tangled up thoughts. Words stumbling over each other that by the time I manage to put together something decent, it starts falling apart again. Life is a garden. We bloom and we wither. Its a fact that I want to try and accept. When you think of people as flowers, death becomes like romantic poem. Its easier to handle. But we are not flowers and when you're alone with you're thoughts.. death is far from being romantic.

So I pondered for a moment.. the idea of immortality. Without consequence. I imagined myself as a vampire who thrives, not on blood, but on life itself. Its beauty, its madness. Rejoicing in everything it has to offer. I will live on forever. Learning, loving. The thought of death.. far, far away. I wont die. But then, without death.. how will I learn to value life?

Its easy to imagine living for the sake of living.. nothing special. Time would no longer matter. In time, you would be alone. In the vast nothingness of life.. Sure, time would change.. you will meet new people.. you will have moments of bliss and of despair.. but this cycle would go on and on and on.. Wont it become tiring after a while? Some people go insane in the course of one lifetime, how about going through hundreds?

Will the beauty and appeal of it all fade away with time? Right now, certain things in our lives mean something because we know that at any given moment, we can lose all of it. But what if everything was replaceable? Your lovers, your friends.. Its a terrible, terrible, thought. You lose people you love and care for.. over and over again. Whilst you stay here.

But then again, when you're immortal.. you will live through the ages. You will witness the changes. The great things that man has achieved. The downfalls. You will become a keeper of history. A continuously learning presence. Taking unto yourself all there is to know about this century.. you get to be there.. during the beginning and the end. I think that could be quite amazing. If you can disconnect yourself from feeling all the things I mentioned above.

Can you really learn without being able to feel? I dont know. Can you still maintain some kind of humanity after witnessing so much? After gaining so much knowledge? I think I'll be as conflicted as Iam now. I think its possible that one person can learn so much and yet understand very little of it. Knowing is simply not the same as understanding. At least that's what I believe in.

Photography by: Paolo Roversi (The Magnificent!!)

So there it is. The things that have been keeping me up. Questions. One on top of the other. Sometimes I hate writing these thoughts down because they are very long and tedious to read. I should know. I never really go back and read what Ive written. But you know how it is, when the urge to write is so compelling that you cant help but do it. Besides, Im pretty sure that I wouldve imploded unto myself if I didnt get these thoughts out of my head. Now its done. Sleep should come easier now.

PS

If you have managed to read this whole thing from top to bottom. THANK YOU! It means a lot to me that people actually take the time to read another person's thoughts. I understand that writing in a personal blog means that you're opening yourself up to other people's opinions.. and its a scary thought.. but quite liberating as well. So thank you for taking the time!

Beauty In The Often Overlooked.

2009-10-04T14:01:00.000-07:00

Photos by: Irwin Romain Jules Arthur [FLICKR]

I like it when things are not so straight to the point. Because it gives you the chance to appreciate things simply for what they are and not for what they're supposed to mean. Definitions sometimes take away the beauty of certain things, I think. Life is too short and too precious to box ourselves within these definitions. In other words, live beyond what you know and what you were taught. Create new frontiers. Remember that details make up the whole. Look at the bigger picture but dont disregard the pieces that comprise it. Learn to see the beauty in everything. The good, the bad and everything in between. Even the things you cannot understand (or see). All of life is beautiful. All of life is truly wonderful.

The Mystery of Flora and The Red Poppies.

2009-09-10T08:30:00.001-07:00

Let me tell you about a dream I had last night. Well, it wasnt really last night because I slept at 4 in the morning which makes it day or twilight.
Anyway, it was neither night nor day which I think is the best time to jump in bed, drown yourself under the covers and fall asleep.
Plus, I have insomnia and tis the only hour of that I actually do feel sleepy. Moving on...
Ive told you about my recurring dream before, right? This time around, its still the same "dream" city except for a few changes.
There were new structures being built, newly painted houses and finally another part of the city that I havent seen before.

I crossed a railroad, passed by a market and ended up in somebody's rooftop.
Dont ask me how. I dont really know.
The floor was wet from rain and there was a narrow and very steep staircase leading to the house.
I climbed down, I remember the staircase was a faded teal color.
Down, down, down. I was met a by a lady. She was perhaps around 60 or so.

Kind eyes.

Non-threatening.

I think in this dream, Im looking for a new place to stay.
The place was like a boarding house of sorts.
A very old boarding house.
Peeling wallpaper, cobwebs and dust covering the furnishings.
Light, coming from who knows where, illuminating everything in its warm glow.
It would've been scary but it wasnt.

Not at all.

In fact, I quite liked it there.

I was led to a room. Empty except for a wooden desk.
White walls. Ghostly white light.
The other half of the room was hidden and shadows but I could make out a bed.
Then there was the most peculiar thing.
A cluster of red poppies painted on one side of the wall.
Without even asking the lady, she told me what it was for.
"Just in case Flora dies".
Who Flora is, I dont know.
So out we went, to another room.

This one was occupied.

Clothing scattered on top of the bed, dresses hung on the wall, a yellow lamp bathing the room in its light.
The sound of a girl's voice from another side of the room.
She was a student who makes clothing, I was told.
I did not meet her, however as I was led back outside and into what seemed like a storage room where I was handed a key.
Or was I? I saw a key but whether I took it or not, I could not remember.

Then I woke up.

Photos from: ACHROMATICS [FLICKR] [WEBSITE]

I think the oddest bit about this dream besides Flora, and the mystery of who she is, would be the fact that I dreamt in (de)saturated colors which I never do. Everything was pale and the buildings were grayer than before. This new part of the "dream city" also appeared to be more decrepit, perhaps older than the one Im used to seeing. But I didnt feel fear. Not one bit. But I was left very, very curious at what the dream could've possibly meant or if it had any meaning to it all besides the one which I like to stand by...

The god of dreams likes to take me on trips.

Scarlet's Witch By F.C. Rabbath

2009-08-29T11:10:00.000-07:00

Once upon a time, there was a little girl named Scarlet and I gladly gave her 16:05 minutes of my quiet evening because she cast a spell on me unlike any other. Its always a serendipitous feeling each and every time I stumble upon short cinematic gems on youtube such as this one. For a no budget short film, Scarlet's Witch by F.C. Rabbath provided me with everything that I love about film. With its haunting cinematography and amazing use of storytelling, I found myself taken in completely. The best films are those that rely on the magic of the story itself and not its grandiose effects, dont you think?

I could go on and on, really, but wont it be better if you experienced the film for yourself? Enjoy...

More on F.C. Rabbath [YOUTUBE CHANNEL]

There Is A Castle On A Cloud...

2009-08-07T09:59:00.000-07:00

Photography by: Tim Walker
(Dont you just wish everyday was as wonderful as a Tim Walker photo?)

Hello, hello! Im sorry for my absence. I did not mean for it to be that long. But certain things happen and you just go with the flow. Oh yes. Anyway, how have you all been? I feel like Ive gone away for so long. I wish I could share more about what I did whilst I was gone but it was all work and grey skies. Not very interesting. Mourning. Morning. Floating would be the most appropriate word to describe how I felt about everything.

But here's something that's sure to brighten anyone's day. A blog award! Eliza of Restless Hearts recently bestowed upon me the Lemonade Stand Award which Im supposed to pass forward. Ive met plenty of amazing people through this blog and its hard to pick and choose because everyone deserves it. So in the spirit of friendship, I pass this award to everyone who reads my blog. If you can stand my random ramblings then you most certainly deserve it. :-) Congratulations to everyone and thank you, Eliza!

Lastly, I wonder... has anyone read The Folk Keeper by Franny Billingsley? Its a magical book and weaves a wonderful story about the Selkie. Ive always found them to be extremely interesting mythical creatures. I love that plenty of literature has been based on the myth. Speaking of myths, what are some of your favorites? Do share. I think its such a great way, at least for me, to share one's culture. The subtle similarities and differences.. always fascinate me.

Looking forward to your stories!

PS. for my fellow fashion lovers on a budget..

Whimsical or chic, gothic inspired or flirty, you can find your style when you shop wholesale clothing. Not only is it easy since you can shop from anywhere, you'll be stunned by the great deals and the selection they have, including shoes and accessories.

But Where Is Here?

2009-08-01T10:19:00.000-07:00

Photos by Kamila Kulik [FLICKR]

I woke up, it was 3 in the afternoon. I heard the noise of people right outside my bedroom door. I get up, put on my sunglasses and walk out of my room into an open field. I was alone but I could still hear people and the sound of water. I walk. It was sunny but it wasnt at all warm. In fact, I could barely feel anything on my skin. Like walking inside a still photo. Silent surroundings with the noise trapped inside your head. The scenery, unchanging. I walk on. The sound of wheels somewhere in the field. My eyes scan the surroundings. Nothing. The sound, getting nearer. Its right in front of me now. I get on the wooden train. Its the same one I always ride whenever Im here. But where is here? I never ask.

We pass the fairgrounds. I was just there last week. Same people. The hot air balloons, the roller coasters and sky divers. I wave hello. They wave back. I know them, they know me. Who are they? I never ask. We pass the mall where everything is desirable but I could never buy anything. I always seem to run out of time. We pass the cinema where I have watched plenty of films before. We pass the bookstore. A row of candy colored houses. A stretch of road, empty. A river. We stop. Its the same white, dilapidated mansion Ive been to numerous times before. Sometimes I take the train, sometimes my car which I somehow manage to drive despite not knowing how to, sometimes I walk to get there. Whichever turn I take. I always end up there.

Ive been inside a few times. Even slept in there once. But I always find myself getting called outside and if I were to go back, the house is gone. Gone till it lets me find it again. It teases, knowing how curious Iam of its rooms and halls. Its got secrets. Much like you and I. Its always there. Not just the house. But this city. Its people. Its streets. Everything in it. Every single night. It never changes. The same faces, places. The sounds. Ive lived in various neighborhoods since I first visited it. I move around a lot. Sometimes I live with family, sometimes alone. But its the same city I see whenever I walk out my door.

It doesnt make sense. It doesnt have to. So I never ask.

PS.

Ive been having this dream for more than a year now. Its the same place every single night. I like it. I get to wander around. Explore. But it scares me sometimes. Anyway, the above photos by Kamila Kulik resembles the place a bit. So you could just imagine my surprise when I saw them. One word, GOOSEBUMPS.

How bout you? Tell me about your dreams. Please? Im curious..
I want to know if someone has the same kind of repetitive dreams.. :-)

Iam Like Every Artist, Running In My Head And Stealing Everything I See.

2009-07-30T08:10:00.000-07:00

"STRING" by Jamie Isaia

If you have enough time on your hands, I highly suggest watching the video. Its really beautiful and is a pretty good representation of what Im (and perhaps a few other people out there as well) feeling at the moment. Trying to find your way back to yourself. Sometimes we get too caught up with everything around us that we end up becoming strangers to ourselves and lose who we really are. But you know what they say, one should be lost before they can be found. Its a little scary but I love that feeling. Each time it happens I learn more about myself. A deeper connection and understanding. I often tend to look outside of myself for answers when I shouldve looked inside of me first. There are certain things that happen that make me lose confidence in myself, its quite inevitable. Im just glad that Im always able to find my way back to me and that voice.

Anyway, I hope you're all having a great week so far. Mine's been good. Im sorry if I tend to ramble on some posts. But I know you guys would understand. hehe. Also, if you want to give it a looksie, Ive posted another of Jamie's films before.. Click [Interval] to watch. I like his style a lot. Reminds me a bit of David Lynch. Enjoy! xx

SHAMELESS PLUG: Facebook and I, we're friends now.
If you want me to add you, leave your email or a link to your profile with your comment. Thx.

The Dream Wardrobe: Moschino Cheap & Chic Resort 2010

2009-07-27T10:12:00.000-07:00

Some of my favorite looks from the collection via Style.com [MORE HERE]

Ive lost count but Im quite sure that its been more than a month since I last bought clothes. And so, I found myself looking at all the collections on style.com hoping to come across some bits of inspiration when it comes to recycling what I already have. I dont intend to purchase clothes in the coming months because even when I havent bought anything, I still have plenty of unworn clothing. Excess. Excess. Anyway, I came upon the Moschino Cheap and Chic Resort 2010 collection and pretty much loved every single piece. So in they go, into my dream wardrobe.

The clothes.. they are very simple.. a bit garconne.. a bit feminine.. and quite quirky. All of which I adore! Best part is, the looks are quite achievable using the clothing that I have now so I wouldnt have to lose sleep about not having any of the pieces in my actual closet. However.. I wouldnt mind if they were to magically appear in there too. hehe.

While I was on my "inspiration hunt" I also came across lookbooks from [Lyell NYC]'s past collections. The clothes were definitely my style but it was the photography that really caught my attention. See for yourself..

Lookbook photos from [Lyell NYC]

Dont you just love how they presented the clothes in these collections? They tell a story and that's how you want your clothes to be, right? ;-) I like the Lyell girl. I think we'll be very, very good friends... I hope she let's me borrow some of her stuff, though. *wink, nudge* hmm.. Now, its time for bed. It was a looooooong day which meant there was plenty to learn. Hope you guys are having a great one!

ps

When did you last buy clothes? ..And what do you do when you have a growing pile of unworn stuff "hidden" somewhere inside your closet? It makes me feel extremely guilty when I see it so I plan on donating some. That would be the best way to go. Oh and if you know more designers that you think I might like, do let me know about them. Im always on the lookout for more inspiration.

Id say goodnight but its 1:36am here.

But to be safe, Good Morning, Afternoon & Evening! xx

PS: Im on Facebook. Yea. Epic step forward. Anyone want to be my friend?
The magic words are Ienne Valentine. I would link my profile here but I DONT KNOW HOW. Major fail. :-)