COFFEE COLD BY GALT MACDERMOT.

This morning is coated with frozen breaths and rain. It rains differently in a tropical country. What a pity letting our shoes dip into the density of inconvenience. This kind of weather makes me long for noodles, any kind at all. Chewy dough, hard-boiled egg, tender meat, spicy soup, delightful veges. Those remind me of Motosan-Uber. I'm probably one of the few ones who give them compliments for the ramen. As artificial as it tastes, it's my ritual after hot chocolate or Earl Grey. It's my second stop after going for a walk, my second round for my stomach. And it actually rhymes.

I miss my unfinished paintings. I want to hug each of them and say I'm sorry for leaving them undone for so long. The colors, the paper, the smell of unfinished work. It cuts me. If the crayons and pencils had a brain, they would realize how terrible I am and rush to the door immediately. Even the paintings on the wall would break the frames and run away. My cats would help them run faster. The squeeky birds would stand next to the windows and sing bravo. Many things will happen in the ironic calculation of God to finally lead to the explosion of one big failure. Suddenly I'm well-known for no reason.

POEM: THE USUAL TEA.

Hot Earl Grey.

Japanese messenger's bicycle.

Old house in Trang Tien alley.

As seen at Lukas.

The little garden.

Hanoi swings in the cold of winter
Gives us time for cookies and tea
Dipped into the liquid
Softened with ease.

"No Dignity" played
Smoothened in jazz
Leather shoes danced
It wasn't bazaar.

Dark outside
Half past 5 no less
Tea ran out
Should have already left.

Jamie.

OUT OF SIGHT. OUT OF MIND.

The special friend I've never met but always like to talk to is now fading. I've stopped feeling excited about our conversations. I even feel awkward and less of myself talking to him. When the sense of humor disappears, I know something's wrong. I hate to see the reality of his not because of its core, but the fact that I don't know anything about him. The entire thing is about guessing and based entirely upon improvising. Sometimes I wonder what I have done to make him uncomfortable talking about his life with me. Every time I try to get closer, I screw up. Is it because of my age and that I haven't been through many stages of life? This distance is making me feel like a forgotten puppy. I don't like being lied to, who does? But I don't mind him telling it, either. I understand even though I don't know what I actually understand.

I want to talk to him more than to see him. I'm afraid if we meet, we'll become normal friends. All I ever want is one breezy night on the roof, two drinks and a sincere conversation. But all the things used to be simple have turned complicated. And distant. How can I ever talk normally again when I have to ask myself if it is true or not, whether he's doing it for fun? This disappointment isn't like losing. It's me having something that I shouldn't have.

Yes, I'm still thankful for his appearance. He turned up right in time to change me and give me more motivation, a reason to get back to my trait. I'm thankful because he spent time and I remember how he made me feel. But if we were near each other right now, I hope he wouldn't tap on my back and say hi. I don't know what to say. I don't know who is standing in front of me. All I can see is the vision he's created.

LEON IN REAL LIFE

Where should I start? I'm writing about a man who has no story to tell. He doesn't belong to anywhere nor anybody. This man, Leon, is the loneliest man on earth I've ever known. 

I met Leon in a different kind of life, the one you can only imagine. We'd never met face to face but we saw each other through our souls. The case of Leon was a mess. He grew up baring the departure of a parent and later parted from his daughter. He didn't know what a family was but he had a similar one formed with his chosen friends. Leon's life was a fucked-up one. When I knew him, I was so glad that he'd been through enough to understand me, and also that my life wasn't as fucked up as his. There was a part inside of him that died long time ago, before he even knew it existed. Maybe that empty space was the reason for the existence of Leon. He could turn into the wind as his body and soul contained nothing. Nobody would realize the transformation. Not that they didn't care. People cared enough to know he should have been the air. A man who didn't belong to anywhere, belonged to everywhere. Knowing a tiny edge of Leon's life, perhaps a little deceiving one, I feel sympathetic. I couldn't beat his age and that enormous amount of experiences. 

Leon told me to take loss as a gift and never compare myself with anyone. Regardless of his inability to love, I don't feel bad for Leon. I hope someday someone will come and change the distorted, heart-broken man in him. Give him warmth and a reason not to run away. For now, I don't know how this story will go. I'd like to be friends with Leon but he seems inattentive. That should have been my place with most of people I know. If the curtains are falling, I will choose to remember Leon. I have the feeling that one day we will stop seeing and talking to each other. Like looking at myself in the mirror, I'd have to break the glass with my bare hands. It'd cut my skin but that's my intention. Leon should be back to his life, now that he has successfully finished his job.

POEM: I LIKE TO SIT IN THE DARK

Copycat of Wayne Thiebaud. Lemon Cake. 

I like to sit in the dark. 
Even when it's daytime
Any where I choose will blacken
And my fingers will rhyme.

I like to sit the dark.
Beneath a ceiling of stains
Sipping tea in steam so hot 
That my lips could taste the pain.

I like to sit in the dark.
Nostalgic feelings delivered by fall
Soft breezes surf the greenish face
Reminding people what is lone.

I like to sit in the dark.
Disagree with the sun so bright
He comes up to lighten my faith
Bless those eyes no longer are blind.

A PAINTING ABOUT A CAFE.

I've been writing a lot lately but none of them was published. I've been every where, to a cafe, a restaurant or a theatre, write anything that comes on my mind. The truth is, all I ever want is to be. Not to succeed. Success is a product of the society we're living in. An illusion created by those who rule the world, like a bait and we're the fishes. I used to say I wanted to live in a house like this, wake up like that, do things like ta ta ta, then do things like da da da. But now I've changed. I'm trembled knowing how practical I used to be. And assured to realize how much I've learned to stop being so practical.

1. I only like a few of Yohji Yamamoto's designs, the minimal ones. His philosophy is good, but the messiness of his clothes doesn't exist in my world, hence, neither do I in his.

2. Fashion designer sounds too flashy and mushy. I don't like to label oneself. I'll be proud to make clothes as skillfully as a tailor.

3. I hate mediocrity.

4. I believe in words. I think kids who read, love animals and have dreams are the luckiest ones.

5. As much as I love to write, I find it hard to take writing as a job. I write because I want to. But fashion is different. I can't get myself out of it, like a debt from the past and this present life is my turn to pay.

6. I'm lazy. Very lazy. I create good things thanks to it. 

"Good artists copy. Great artists steal."

My lucky number is not 6, however, I'll call it a night, finish my painting and see you later. I apologize for not taking many photos of myself but honestly, I'm not sorry. This is not a fashion blog and I don't give people name tags of what I wear. You know me, it's easy, I wear clothes of people whom I work for. Good night.

RAMEN NIGHT AKA JAMIE BOUTIQUE

It's me.

Moto-san Uber has become my midnight-snack stop since the very first bowl of ramen I had. The flavor is shown both through the ingredients and the decoration, which give me a sense of what the owner is like. Last night was the start of monsoon. It was cold enough to chill and walk the streets with ease. My friend and I were enjoying our Shio and Miso while listening to French music, questioning about the Moroccan sign in front of us and staring at the Vietnamese perfume rings above our heads. 

I suppose the owner is fond of Moroccan culture, which is another reason why I like Moto-san. After reading "The Alchemist", Morocco became my bucket-list place to visit. I also have a thing for the Egyptian, Arabian vibe. "One Thousand and One Nights" caused me a lot of troubles for reading it during my nap time at school. The teacher kept taking my book away and said she'd only return it to me once I finally slept. Faking it wasn't hard at all. I ended up being addicted to mysterious stories and got into witch crafts. It wasn't related to the book. But things in blur fascinate me.

Anyway, I put all the photos from last night in one post. This one. If you're around The Opera House, check out this place, 4 Ly Dao Thanh street. You may see me here at night after having Earl Grey, feel free to say hi because I may give you some more addresses for your favorite dishes. Enjoy! 

This is my friend. She's an artist.

I took this photo the other time I had Shio. It went from Miso, Shoyu to Shio. The lightest to the saltiest. 

Wrapping cake made of steamed wheat flour. 

Um. Random shot. I have a thing for yellow.

It's a small food stall but more comfortable than many ones I've been to.

Moroccan sign. Something about labor I think.

The perfume rings. There were several of them.

I'm hungry, just looking at it.

I tried changing the filter to black and white and it was still beautiful.

Located in one of the most prosperous streets in Hanoi.

Here's the address.

Running into this place gave me a same-name situation. Fun!

Headless man. The window display of a tailoring boutique.

This chilly season encourages people to smoke.

FIRST POST AFTER THE 20TH BIRTHDAY

What I wrote on the first day of October:

Hand-writing cards has been tragically forgotten in this time. Modernization calls it the innovation of convenience. Emails, messages and live calls save time and money, yet less emotion and effort. "Happy birthday" wishes are sent through cables but feelings. It's been hard to compliment someone for their memory since the appearance of reminders.

I was surprised to receive birthday wishes from people involved in fashion quicker than from my friends. Some of them didn't even say anything. I get them. Weirdos with beautiful souls.

Anyway, I'm burying my head into application. Thinking of my future cheers me up. Sometimes I ask myself where all of this energy comes from. The drive for fashion and writing. Older people told me I have this motivation because I'm young. "Pardon me. Could you repeat it?" Age is the lamest excuse anyone could use to cover their laziness, unwillingness to learn and lack of hard work. I can't erase or paint their mindset brighter. Maybe I can listen and understand because I write, I must observe and see through things. At the same time, I have to create the ability to ignore their influence. If being heard comfort people, I'll keep doing it. But they are the only ones who can help themselves.

I'm facing fashion with a different attitude. Materials and techniques interest me. I no longer want to establish myself as an entrepreneur in fashion. I'll be happy to find a brain for the logical work and a mentor who guides me with a heart. No one is really their own boss. We can never have full control as long as we are trapped in an industry. So why don't we make it less painful by giving more love and less hatred?

There are plenty of questions I have for myself. The beginning of my 20 is a rocky road and I'm a curious driver. This unlicensed me wants to give strangers a lift and keep choosing the roads leading into the woods. What do I do now?

What I wrote this midnight:

I just came home from Tadioto, check 24B Tong Dan street if you're in Hanoi. I've always liked the atmosphere here. The color tone is reddish and friendly for any types of cameras. Drink and food are well selected and A for the service. There will be an endless crowd coming in and out of Tadioto, but you'll never notice any chaos. Only you and your own favorite bar. My usual drink is Earl Grey and a choice of tapas. Tonight, I switched it to chocolate truffles with the hope of romance. And it tasted minty. 

Good news. I made a new friend today. She's taught English, German and Italian for years, and she also loves music, piano in particular. I also shared the night with my dear friend who, to me, represented the definition of sincerity. Beautiful autumn night surrounded with happiness. I have many things to tell, yet not much, as I listened to the two of them the whole night and focused on the flavors of the truffles. Less sweet, more bittersweet, I think. 

It's been a long time since I last enjoyed midnight in breeze. I wish I could relive the poetic, romantic and calm moment I just had in these words, but as you already guess, feelings are left and locked inside. I went home by bicycle. The one with brown and beige leather. Something is still flowing in my veins. I'm feeling like well boiled tea. Pure, rich in flavor and light in scent. 

I'll go to bed with this heart-warming present and leave this song here for your preference. Don't be shy in front of good music. This was a suggestion from my friend, Quincy. The two photos of me above were taken by photographer Le Tuan Anh. The third one at Tadioto was taken by chi Yenism Giap. Good night.

A CAKE AND TWO FOLKS

What I think I could do collapsed quickly. Only after that did I realize the easiest thing was the hardest. Life is full of shades of grey, but being in the grey zone frustrates me. 

I lost my belief in the kind of love between a man and a woman somewhere on the way. Like saying goodbye to my beloved dog, I knew I wouldn't be able to call another one buddy anytime soon. Time can heal wounds but it doesn't wash off the feelings. I'm afraid to be left behind. Fixing can't help. It has to be this way for an amount of time before things get better.

I will only be ok when I find my belief again. Otherwise, I'll be wandering and having the kind of fun that has an expiration date. 

Happiness must be created. I don't see it bloom on a tree. 

IT REMINDS ME OF HARRY PORTER

Normally I wouldn't post this kind of photos on my blog. This is an exception because I've been listening to really good music and it reminds me of Harry Porter. So do these photos below. Enjoy and let the music take you to sleep.