Nothing can make me believe in love again. Whenever it feels right, it takes away a part of me and never returns. What's the point of love if everything you ever believe shatters in the end? Many times I tell myself to respect the memories. But there are also that same amount of times when all I want is to kill the other person in violence and long pain. They took away parts of me that I can't never replace.
Those who succeed in finding love have a strong belief in good timing. I don't. Anytime is a good time. Any small reason is a good reason to leave if the person is not right. It's so difficult for me to find someone who is right. I truly feel like I belong to the 1% of the world who can only befriend with their alter ego. I guess what I'm trying to say is I'm deeply disappointed in the effort that was put into my past relationships. An entire failure with an expensive cost of fixing.
Usually, I would just let it go. But sometimes, I have to punch someone in the face hard to death.
It's too risky, painful and horrifying to let someone new in, knowing he will sabotage my life again. I have seen movies in protecting and fighting for love. I've never seen one spent entirely about finding it. No one would want to write a script of finding the end of infinity. No one would be able to describe what it feels like to have to imagine that you're in love so it will soothe your day a bit at night.
I just want to say once and for all that I'm so very done with the coward concept of letting it be in a relationship. I want to be with someone whom I can express my love for him freely and undoubtedly. I guess this is the night when I don't want to be polite and nice, I want to say to those who walked in my life before and left: fuck you, sincerely. Because by the time your life is fucked again, I'll be thriving in my career and finally be with someone who loves me and who I love so very much. Your secret expectation in finding a person to love you is pathetic and sick. In the end, you'll only have yourself and that tiny ego hanging between your legs that gets tinier and tinier thanks to your generosity in life.
While walking by the corner of Tadioto and Moto-san Uber, I recalled some feelings a year ago when the people and things I thought would last long turned out to end soon. I was devastated. There were several nights spent meaninglessly and a whole lot of me decayed indescribably. But after many illogical posts and much time of cleaning, I realised it was about time for me to climb off the old mountain and drive ahead to the next ones. Because you know what? Sometimes, not having what we want is a blessing.
On my way of traveling the valley to the next mountains, there is this feeling that I'm sure every one has been through, the feeling of not belonging to here and now. This state of mind only rises up when I receive too much of pressure, so it's once or twice in a while, a while as in two or three months. Instead of fighting and denying, the only way I can let it go is to accept the existence of it, which is the fact that a person can be exceptionally weak at times. Whenever I start to sing the familiar song of 'I don't belong here', I sit down in solid silence and recall Midnight in Paris. How the main character living in 2010 had longed for a reborn in the 20s, and how a beautiful lady living in the Roaring 20s had desired a life back in the Renaissance. The lesson is, we tend to want 'that' while having 'this'. It seems to always be 'here' and 'there'. His 'there' is our 'here' and vice versa. For short, we stand at the top of our mountain and choose to only see the others' mountain tops.
On this long go from one mountain to the next, I sometimes forget that my mind should be my best alley and chase after things that are way out of my reach. It's a tiring, challenging game of acceptance and suppression. Must it be denied or faced? Not every time the dime turned out as a win. [Insert lots of confusion here].. Then again, there are yesterday and today. So ok, the doubtful shadow can stay. But how it stays will be turned into a fun experience of balancing as on a bicycle.
I used to think certain people were born to belong to certain places. Now it's only a matter of perspective to me.
Superstitious beliefs, bad smells, uncontrollable sugar feeding, numb senses, impatience, confusion. That's what I got from overthinking without letting any of it out. These days, I've learned how much stress could affect my body. Some parts of my muscles ached each at a time. It took me around five minutes to slow down my heart beat, and five more to breathe normally again. I grinded. My teeth made love to each other in a hardcore way.
The reason I've been thinking hard recently is the same as in many posts before. I'm worried for my future. I was never born a person of peace, nor was I raised to be. Some people work hard all their life so one day they come to wish for the opposite of what they were chasing, I know. But my fight isn't so. I fight for the future that I want to create. I fight because I'm young, and it's crucial for a young adult to thrive for something higher so he or she will make a progress. In this fight, I struggle and sacrifice to get myself up. Every stumble hurts. Every lesson learned feels good.
Some people truly only want, what I call, a farmer's life. To grow what they need and to live with what they earn. I wonder how they think. I guess there are points in our life where our thinking actually matches. And there are also many points where we would explode towards each other's difference. I have wanted to give it all up. A suitcase was carefully packed once in my bedroom. But I'd never made the decision to leave.
It's easier to avoid, and I'm the alpha type, I face stuffs.
It's silly, isn't it? It will take this fight and many more until I finally realize my ambition is just one of all the things out there. Life is simple. Not many things we love matter in the end. People will remember us for the smallest things we ever did. Our children will be our legacy. Our work will make a history if it's truly good. And we, we will die. In pain, glory, silence and vain. In happiness and among the tears of those who love us. If someone asks me what I can't live without, I'll say love.
I hope when I read this again someday, I will be able to make sense out of these words. Even answer all of my wonder written here. Right now, I'm thinking of how young I was a year ago. Time, it waits for no one. Tomorrow I can wake up being 25 and the next day I'll be 30. It's so fast. And I have many good things to offer for this life.
I'd been so uptight for the last several days. It's been difficult for me to write about anything. I lost control of myself in a way that turned me into an uncertain and vulnerable person, which is not the kind of representation I'd like to be. I was lost of words. I started to say the wrong things, repeated them times to times, and it made me foolish not only verbally.
I thought I knew what I wanted. As my world broadened and my senses came to life more vividly through new conversations and the old ones, I realized "I want something else." Basically, it's exactly what it is. But different.
Sometimes, I wonder if I could pack things up and take a flight without any clues or plans. Just go and leave everything behind. Be whoever I want to be, start my life over again.
Today, I woke up clean. I thought I was drowning that Saturday night. This morning, I breathed again. I could feel I was gaining myself back. Thirty days of a month, twenty nine days being good, only one day being shit. It's difficult to go through and realize how naturally, forgivably stupid I was on that day. And it's completely understandable.
I can't stop thinking. I'm always thinking of something or many things at the same time. By the time I can express one of the thoughts, I'm already behind the flow of it.
Sometimes it's good. Sometimes thinking too hard is noxious. It's a blessing. What a damn thing.
A few times I found myself walking alone around 2, 3 a.m not knowing exactly what I was doing. I was only thinking. I wonder how other people do it. How do they walk? What's their speed? How fast is their thinking pace?
My eyes really want to rest. I've tried to shut them since 11 p.m and look at what I'm doing now. Eyes wide open with a toxic phone screen on. I keep thinking about things. My work, my future, how I want to do it, how good I want myself to be at doing it. Then I get lost in my thoughts with my past, my beloved dog, the old habits of mine, the worries I used to have, the questions I used to ask but now I've found the answers to. They always give me more concern. They also deliver peace.
It might not be the right time.
I might not be the right one.
But there's something about us I want to say.
Cos there's something between us anyway.
I might not be the right one.
It might not be the right time.
But there's something about us I've got to do.
Some kind of secret I will share with you.
Can you and I be friends? Can you and I ever talk again? That possibility would hurt my memories, my present self, and the one I care about. It's never been finished the right way, has it? It's not even a question that needs an answer to. I can sense I'm being missed sometimes. From whom, I don't know. I guess it's you.
You won't be able to recognize the same person you used to know. And I will find myself thinking of you sometimes while listening to some songs I'm not quite fond of.
You might not be the right one.
It might not be the right time.
But I will remember you
like how you remember me.
I brought Hedi to my father's arms today. At least, they could be alone together. I wish my father could connect to me the way he did with the animals. First day of October and I've already felt the loneliness brought by the month of Libra. I was born on 29th of September, which made me close to Virgo. My moon sign is Sagittarius, which helped enhance my sentiment to its best, or worst. My love sign is Scorpion. Fun, triple the trouble. Do I believe in horoscope? I like to believe in things that don't cost me anything.
But,
I've set up myself to always be grateful and positive. My motto is: when life hits hard, hit it back harder. My other motto is: make more money. My secret in making money: have fun.
Those are the greatest lies you will hear from me. Those are also the truths.
I miss my bed so much. Why the hell did I go out? Refund my decision. Give me back my time. I could have finished Jupiter Ascending. I'm feeling myself being so lame. I feel like I'll wake up in the embarrassment of knowing other people have read how lame I was online. And there's a share button. And I'll have to force myself to go with the nonsense guilt till the end of Sunday. You know I don't blog for publicity. I do it for the pure purpose of writing. To just write.
I want to go home.
Ok if you follow my blog, I'm sorry that sometimes you have to read this shit. It's a mess. It doesn't even make sense. I mean everything has some meanings, sure. But this shit is not inspiring at all. It's.. a despair. A short sad story that took me my last three cigarettes to write down. And the plot is what? Jamie and her wrong decision of going out tonight. I bet it's as usual as brushing teeth too hard.
Is it usual?
The thing is, it's no use complaining the usual-ty. It's no use complaining at all. Actually, I think I just make some sense out of this mess: I'm complaining. Congratulations, this night is getting brighter than the black hole just happened a minute ago. And that light has gone out. Shit, my mood changes like the quickest thing I've ever seen, and what the hell is that thing?
What the hell is hell?
In moments like this, I can either be a philosopher or a donkey. Do philosophers make money by trying to make sense out of everything? I wouldn't get too deep in this, I'm already deeply dipped in my own shit. Word is the core of creating. It's the core of everything, learning, making money, speaking, listening,..
I'm in my Uber now. Shit, it's actually quite nice of a car. I thought it was the grey Mercedes but this one is not bad at all. Impressed.
Updated: he drove fast and turned suddenly, I'm a little car-sicked right now. Damn it, I look so good. I can marry myself and live happily ever after with servants being the cast of Game of Thrones.
At the end of the day, I find myself to be the happiest, luckiest person on earth thanks to my dear friends. You guys have no idea how much you matter to me.
So much.
Tonight, after 12 and two non-alcohol drinks, I see myself one year older.
To people who came to my life as ex boyfriends, thank you. I don't mean it in hatred and I never will. I don't hold grudge as it makes me smaller than who I am. You guys let me study myself in the most truthful way possible. I now understand the situation clearly. Everything bad that ever happened, I choose to ignore it. I thank you all for setting me free.
To my parents, you know it's been a long struggle in both career and education. I hope you're proud of me. I've worked hard and I'm trying every day to work harder than the day before. It's a tough life. It's more bitter than I thought. But you were right, I need to grow up from within. I love you. Everything I do, you know you have a big part of it.
To my colleagues, oh my god I love you all. I'm proud and happy to be in WEteam. There's no amount of thank-you that is enough. Just, thank you, and buy me cake.
Isn't it strange that on the day supposingly to be mine, I want to spend thanks on as many people as I can? It's because I'm happy. I'm so happy I may give a bath to Hedi tomorrow. My dude suggested me to take a day off and have rice with seafood. What a man, he gets me. I'll go to work as usual, collect everything, and go home, treat myself like a princess.
There is an endless number of questions I have for myself that I thank God secretly for letting me unable to answer them.
Am I making sense? Am I making money? When will my life begin? When will life be through with me? Am I terrible or terrific? Will my dreams come true? Am I working to make them come true?
Recently, I find myself to read a lot of Business of Fashion. I mean, I've begun to see this matter from an industrial angle. I want to know what kind of service there is at Ralph Lauren (they pick up and drive their clients home in a BMW with their logo on it), what Saks Fifth Avenue is doing to keep their clients and attract more customers (they'll send a van of a new wardrobe for you anytime), is see-now-buy-now selling? It's like morning coffee for me. I also learn that professionalism doesn't exist in this country. In some way, maybe. But it's not the factor that generates money or maintains a customer's loyalty.
BUT, this 'but' is even better, I and the people around my age are living in an era and in a city where any small-scale business can win a much higher class of customers. You can see the clash of the titans, the rich living among the poor - a chaos for high-end brands but a pool of opportunities for local businesses. The rich that are so rich they shop at Valentino for a purse then visit a Vietnamese designer house for an order of at least five items. The poor that work so hard and hunger for new experiences they save money for a good piece of clothing and never forget to check in.
I love this city. It's so hard to please. The old Paris of Vietnam. Hanoi is where if you can make it here, you can make it anywhere across the country. It always has a taste and four seasons a year. Then again, I'm sure somewhere in Saigon, in a corner like mine, someone is writing the same thing about their city.
So let's work hard, be kind, and let the silence do the talking.
Thank you for the letter. I'm very glad that you like my work. Though I love the atmosphere of the city, I can't make it in a short amount of time. I want you to know that I'm always pleased to arrange a meeting via Skype or any social platforms that suits you.
Chanel is doing its next show at the Ritz. Have you heard? I wish to know what it's like to stay overnight at the hotel. Did you happen to take any pictures there? Could you send me some? I'm not sure what I'll do with them, but you know they'll make my day. Talking of taking pictures, I'm using my camera again for black and white photography. I miss it. It took me one shot to realize how good I used to be at this.
By the way, do you know I'm playing Homestead, The Good Dinosaur OST, while writing to you? I was experimenting an idea before watching the movie. I guess by now you know I've had a good day.
You asked me a question about this industry. I have the answer now. Marcus, I believe that no one in fashion succeeds alone. However, if they make it, at the end of the day, they'll always find themselves to be alone or surrounded by people while feeling lonely. Can you imagine yourself being successful and constantly traveling back and forth? It's your life already. But keep imagining. Tell me, isn't there a single day you sit at a restaurant looking good and feeling empty inside? That's what the industry is all about. It looks so good that it makes people nervous and scared of you. We focus so much on things that build our career, yet tear apart some of our closed relationships.
I hope I didn't get you down. You must know I enjoy the cost of this path because it's been my decision all along. I'm super curious about your next destination. Please don't hesitate to write to me. I happened to find a place that sold sealing wax, which will make this habit of ours so much more overdressed. Something we like to be every day.
I don't understand. I don't think I understand the context of love. In fact, I'm sure I've never been in love.
A lot of my relationships were based on total affection. Someone liked the idea of one another's and suddenly we found each other bonded in a relationship. I've never said the three words to anyone. It's easy to speak when the love is real. It's dead mute when it doesn't exist.
However, I'm sure that there were days I loved them as there were also days I chose to love myself more. After a long time of expecting my ideal love to happen, I decided I was done with it. I shortened the time that should have been spent on getting to know the person, demanded straightaway what I wanted, and expressed severe reactions when they couldn't live up to my requests. What I was left with, is now.
Now, I doubt people. It seems difficult to trust the smallest gesture. I find interest in lust, flirting and conversations at night. Lust is lust. It's a one-time thing even if it hits twice. Flirting sounds so not delight, yet the core of the act is it. Conversation is the most important thing. It connects two minds. If I'm not careful, I'll find myself falling slowly.. fast. It'll be impossible to stay sane. That's when I seek for a dark corner and a familiar drink to murder the butterflies in my stomach and erase the feelings that I feel. I can't allow myself to be in love. That destructive thing brings joy to people's life so just one day, it takes away everything they've ever had. The getting-back-to-track life is torture.
I have feelings for someone that's supposed to be an one-time thing. And I also have a dear feeling towards someone I hope to befriend with. Clearly I put myself in troubles in a blink of an eye. I need to speak straight to the first person all at once so I can set myself free. And, I don't know, should I befriend with the second person or not? In my teenage years, boys were problems of hair pulling and unwanted back stickers. In my twenties, guys are butterflies in my stomach and virus to my brain.
Whatever happens, I should thank them for the inspirations to write. For the midnight snacks, warm Earl Grey, and arms when needed.
In my mind, my prince wears suits, or at least a white shirt, has a proper helmet, and reads more than I do. He must be a big fan of animals, and never hesitates to take up a new sport. He cooks and wakes up earlier than me. He likes Wes Anderson and watches Quentin Tarantino. But puts Breakfast at Tiffany's first because I've never watched it and I should. He listens to me and understands my ideas without speaking a word. I must feel truly myself when I'm with him. In short, my prince dresses properly and knows his priorities. I believe what I've stated sounds very funny. Truth to be told, I've always had that idea of him since I was nine or ten.
I saw a man in a suit and a pair of oxfords today driving a Ducati. Needless to say, I was sold. Maybe we'll bump into each other soon. Maybe not. For now, all I can do is staying single firmly and confidently because I'm the best when I'm with myself. I shall let the future be decided in the hands of God.
Giờ này, ở một thế giới song song nào đó, tôi đang ngồi trong căn phòng nhỏ thuê ở Singapore, hút một điếu thuốc bên ban công và tay cầm một cốc trà.
Chẳng ai biết trước được tương lai có gì. Tất cả những điều ta sẽ có là những điều ta đang vô tình hay cố ý quyết định ngay bây giờ. Suy cho cùng tương lai là kết quả của những sự lựa chọn.
Tôi không còn khát khao thay đổi thế giới nữa. Nói ra thì buồn cười nhưng đúng là như thế. Càng trải nghiệm nhiều thì tôi càng nhận ra giá trị của câu nói: "Work hard and be kind." Làm việc thật chăm chỉ và đối xử tốt với mọi người. Tôi không nghĩ vì người khác có hành động hoặc lời nói không tốt với mình mà mình phải thay đổi thái độ để đáp trả lại họ. Ngược lại, hãy tin vào sự khoan dung vô điều kiện.
Tattoo is not for the sake of beauty but an expression. It expresses the transformation of a person. Because the observation is fairly shared, the perception of the tattoo's meaning varies based on each observer. Someone says: "I know he can't afford much by looking at the tattoo on his shoulder." Some disagree: "Maybe he's just sad?"
When a person has gone through many phases in life, he or she will find a tattoo less expressive than it was stated to be. That person, instead of expressing, will likely stay significantly silent and invisible. Significant because there is an intangible depth shown on their skin, and a steady personal statement in their manners.
A good conversation, non-verbal understanding, comfortable silence, warmth, listening skill, sympathy, unconditional generosity, meaningful piece of work. Those are real tattoos.
Vậy là đã ba năm kể từ khi mình chính thức đi làm. Ai trong ngành này chắc cũng không quên được công việc đầu tiên của họ. Vì chẳng phải chúng ta đều bắt đầu từ vị trí trợ lý cho một ai đó?
Công việc đầu tiên của mình cũng như vậy. Sau khi phỏng vấn cho vị trí bán hàng của Rue des Chats, chiều cùng ngày, mình nhận được cuộc gọi từ một trong hai nhà thiết kế. Thay vì làm nhân viên bán hàng thì công việc của mình là làm trợ lý tại xưởng, một trong những trải nghiệm khó quên và vinh dự nhất với mình. Về Rue des Chats: môi trường làm việc chuyên nghiệp, ai cũng giỏi và chăm chỉ, không gian xưởng nhiều ánh sáng tự nhiên và rộng rãi, cửa sổ trước bàn làm việc của mình nhìn ra dàn cây leo ôm trọn một bức tường lớn, thỉnh thoảng có con mèo béo ú chạy qua xong nằm phịch một cái trông rất đáng yêu. Mình thì bớt như thế, làm việc không có giờ giấc và không hoàn thành các nhiệm vụ được giao. Nghĩ lại vừa thấy buồn cười vừa thấy xấu hổ.
Hồi đấy mình đi làm như kiểu trẻ con được bố mẹ cắp đi theo. Hứng cái là xuống mua bánh ăn. Ngồi lướt web, xem ảnh, mở Word nhưng không phải vì làm việc. Còn công việc thì bỏ ra hàng đống thời gian để đi đi lại lại rồi chẳng xong được việc nào. Show diễn đầu tiên của mình là Mini show ở The Rooftop. Phải nói đó là buổi tối mở man con mắt, mãn nhãn và sung sướng. Mình được tận mắt chứng kiến khung cảnh hỗn độn của backstage, các sự cố xảy ra và mọi người cuống quýt tìm cách khắc phục. Gọi là Mini nhưng cách làm việc thì tuyệt vời. Mình vẫn còn nhớ tiếng nhạc Intro, long version của The XX đập từng nhịp, sự xuất hiện của cô Mỹ Linh, cái cặp tăm chị Miên cài vội khi người mẫu vừa bước ra. Mình nhớ từ lúc bước vào thang máy, lúc dừng lại vài giây để xem mọi người đua nhau chạy trong backstage, lúc đơ cả người không biết cái áo này mặc trước hay mặc sau.
Khi quay trở lại với công việc thường ngày thì mình lại đâu vào đấy. Sau năm tháng, mình bị cho nghỉ việc. Đó là gáo nước lạnh đầu tiên và mình cảm thấy nó hoàn toàn chính đáng. Dù trong lòng thấy đầy trống rỗng và tiếc nuối. Mất một thời gian mình mới đủ can đảm để nói rằng mình bị cho thôi việc vì mình.. sucked.
Bài học đáng nhớ nhất của mình là khi tìm hiểu về lịch sử thời trang qua các thập niên. Dù chưa bao giờ hoàn thành bài tập, sau này, những kiến thức mà mình thu thập được đã giúp mình rất nhiều trong quá trình làm việc. Cứ có thời gian rảnh buổi tối là mình đọc về lịch sử thời trang. Trên Pinterest của mình lúc nào cũng đầy ảnh về thời trang thập niên 60s, 70s. Còn YouTube thì có playlist jazz funk cũng hợp mood.
Khi quyết định đi làm, không học tiếp, mình không được nhận viện trợ từ gia đình. Nhưng bố mẹ mình vẫn luôn ủng hộ con đường mình chọn và cho mình những lời khuyên quý giá. Có hôm mình đi làm bằng xe buýt, sau hai lần thì cạch, hôm thì đạp xe, hôm đi bộ. Mình nhớ hồi đó khách sạn Horizon vẫn còn. Bây giờ là Pullman. Khoảng thời gian đầu chống chọi với đồng lương ít ỏi thật đáng sợ. Mà mình đã làm được gì để nhận được nhiều hơn? Nên dù thế nào, mình vẫn tiếp tục đi làm và gặp gỡ mọi người. Cố gắng không ăn trưa một mình. Không ngại đi giày cho mẫu, chạy đi mua nước cho mọi người. Không quên vâng dạ, chữ "ạ" cuối câu. Học trở nên khiêm tốn vì mình dần nhận ra cứ ngoan và lịch sự trước rồi hay sau.
Tuy nhiên, hồi đó đầy những lúc 10 giờ hơn mà mình vẫn còn đang đánh răng.
Công việc đầu tiên của mình là như vậy đấy. Nhanh như một giấc mơ. Mình cảm thấy thật may mắn và biết ơn các anh chị ở Rue des Chats. Từ những buổi chụp hình, những cuộc nói chuyện ngắn, trải nghiệm ở Rue des Chats Salon De Thé, đến những lúc được quan sát mọi người làm việc, nghe những tiếng ồn của máy và tay, cảm thấy thứ cảm giác của người thừa. Tất cả những kỷ niệm đó sau này đều trở nên giá trị với mình. Vì nó mà mình nhận ra bản thân phải cố gắng hơn rất nhiều. Đến giờ Rue des Chats vẫn luôn là một trong hai nơi mình thấy đáng để lăn xả nhất. Vị trí đầu tiên thì thuộc về WEPHOBIA. Cả hai nơi đều có những con người kỹ tính và tập trung, làm việc độc lâp và làm việc nhóm đều ăn khớp. Thế nên nếu bạn đang đọc blog post này và muốn bắt đầu trong ngành thời trang, hãy cân nhắc hai cái tên này nhé.
Mình sẽ viết tiếp về những công việc khác mà mình từng làm, có thể chốt lại bằng một blog post về WEPHOBIA. Có thể không. Vì hay rồi thì không phải nói nhiều ^^
Đùa đấy, kiểu gì cũng có một post về WE team. Hôm nay mình dừng ở post này. Mong mọi người đọc xong sẽ thấy cái này cũng hay hay và có ích. Dưới đây là Intro của The XX và No Surprises mà ở xưởng Rue des Chats lúc đó rất hay bật và mình cũng rất thích.
Album cover of Her. Check out their song Five Minutes. Both the official and live.
I'm here to update you guys about everything. Hedi, my cat, is growing up day by day with an impressively fast pace. He now has a longer, straighter tail, sharper paws, higher jump and so much energy in catching non-sense. Miu Miu had a baby several days ago. That makes Hedi brother to a kitten of three colors. I'm not sure if we're allowed to keep the baby. I hope we can because I don't remember having any cats with that fur. Generally, I'm excited to name the kitten. My sister is sick and it's not good. Of course, I'm worried. I'm trying my best to stay calm and be fine about it. Times like this require nothing but stability. I can always use a little of comfort. Then again, every time I seek for it, I have to repeat the story, and it's not something I want to keep telling myself about. I haven't talked to someone I know for a long time. Friend doesn't define our relationship. It's absurd. We're parallel universes, yet we've never met each other in real life. Perhaps that's what parallel is for. Sometimes the support is visible, sometimes the ignorance is stronger. Confusion is what I have for it. Though I don't mind this person's absence, I wonder if there were God, what would have been going on in his mind to let me know this one? I'm starting to feel like I can use some new friends.
When I saw you, the whole world became empty.
When I saw you, heaven was real.
My heart, for all along, had been forgotten by love.
So as for yesterday to blame me.
When I saw you, my worries shivered.
When I saw you, my wild fire burned out.
Like a wild animal, I learned to be afraid of life.
Confused and scared,
I prayed.
If love wasn't harsh, should it be called love?
If life wasn't cruel, should there be life?
My heart was screaming:
"Please give me a chance,
To be hurt, to be held."
Let's just be for today.
Who knows if tomorrow will be the same.
Clouds still be,
Though no one recalls.
My dear, I still believe,
That nothing lasts for good.
Though our love will always be beautiful.
If love wasn't harsh, should it be called love?
If life wasn't cruel, should there be life?
My heart was screaming:
"Please give me a chance,
To be hurt, to be held."
Let's just be for today.
Who knows if tomorrow will be the same.
Clouds still be,
Though no one recalls.
My dear, I still believe,
That nothing lasts for good.
Though our love will always be beautiful.
"There is no dark side of the moon really. Matter of fact it is all dark."
Do you writers go through the same phase as mine? When you know exactly what to write, what is real, but you keep avoiding it so as not to get hurt by its existence? I know exactly what to say, but I don't want to. This phase has happened for quite a long time. If I state it here, I feel like my words will betray me and portrait myself as a helpless person. The more I hold in, the heavier it weighs down on me. What I feel is similar to yours while watching Sherlock Holmes. The more you watch him, the clearer his humanity appears to be. And you start to feel the unreasonable disappointment of a human being being human. Sherlock Holmes should not be considered as a human. I portrait myself as a machine, here and elsewhere. If I mention something too personal, as measured in my consent ruler, I will feel human. That is too close. Many times have I repeated to myself not to give anyone that closure. Yet, sometimes I urge to explain myself.
When I write something, I don't know which is which or who is who. I just write until I stop. The only time I understand the whole thing is when I reread it for the first time. The second time won't be the same. By the third time, I'll learn by heart the details and the surprises, if any.
It's so difficult to write these days. What's left to write? The more energetic I am at work, the drier my soul becomes at night. I can feel something is missing. I know that I'm missing that thing as being empty from it and, missing it. It makes me feel incompetent.
Sometimes I imagine myself having conversations with it. Sometimes I wake up and hope it really did happen. Most of the time, I'm glad it's all in my imagination.
I played with Hedi for half an hour and now he's sleeping peacefully in my bed. Hedi is full of love, smart and active. He made a really smooth jump tonight onto my bed. Proud sister over here. We have this thing called 'paws petting', which includes paws pressing and legs pulling. I love Hedi so much. I look at him every two minutes while writing this post.
Famous by Kanye is strange. I hear something really new in my ears. It's important to recognize someone's work for its sole value, regardless of their personal life or whatsoever. I do believe in Taylor. The fact that the second line "Why? I made that bitch famous" changed the whole attitude of the song, from being a fun little joke to tearing a person's accomplishment down. And it wasn't even true. Kanye played nothing to Taylor's success. I like Taylor Swift for her lyrics. Condensed, identical, and grammatically correct. It's so identical that you'll recognize her immediately in This Is What You Came For without her name credited. She's smart. No one can make that big life out of music without some talent, hard work, and intelligence. Look at Kanye, Life of Pablo is good. But not enough.. As in fashion, not enough, either.
- Famous is good.
- Kanye was shady letting Taylor know only half of his song's meaning.
- Kim played it dirty.
As soon as Taylor releases a new album, she will be forgiven.
I can't sleep. I should have slept hours ago. Now I'm jealous with Hedi. Looking like a bangle, happily rolling in bed with shuttered eyes.
On my left is the brand new piano. On my right is the tea table I use for bags and pillows. In front of me is the TV. On the upper right stands the mirror. Next to it is the sliding door made of wood. Behind the TV is my skating board, Under the TV rack is a pair of shiny black oxfords. Above me is the ceiling fan in the same color with the ceiling itself, porcelain white. The edges, where the ceiling meets the wall, are engraved with two separate, yet same-in-design, patterns. Each one has two lines. There's something French about them. The night lamp is nailed onto the right wall, which I'd like to call as 'the tiny planet'. The tiny planet gives out dreamy yellow light. Under it is the world map my sister bought in New York. I know this map is old because Sudan isn't separated into two different countries. Below the map are my shoes, two pair of trainers, one in black, the other in white, and a pair of black leather boots. Behind me is my bed, where Hedi's peacefully lying on. Actually, nevermind. I think he sneaked out somehow. Hedi should be in the kitchen by now. Bathena: A Concert Waltz is playing. I watched The Curious Case of Benjamin earlier this week. Again and again, every time feels like the first time.
I'm doing some pattern cutting.
I realize no one really cares about how well a person can play the piano. They care about themselves more, how the pianist makes them feel. A good pianist may surf on the keyboard gracefully. But it's the great pianist that touches the people's heart. Somehow, a bad pianist can be great just by winning his or her audience's attention. By making them remember. It's all about feelings. Music can't be delivered without it. An excellent singer spends most of her life complaining how little people know about vocals and therefore, how good she is in singing the notes right. Unfortunately, she never spends the same amount of time questioning "What have I done to drive the audience away?" The audience, the ear, doesn't only listen to the sound coming out from one singer's stomach. They also feel. Their applause is for the feelings that were given during the performance. Isn't it difficult, yet easy, to be great? We spend our life time practicing to be good at something. Then one day we realize the next level we're aiming at doesn't take another long row of years, but a deep study of self. The greatness comes from within. If someone has it, he or she will have it.
Let me acknowledge to type again. These few weeks have been rough and exciting in an oddly unpredictable way. I've been hyped, blind, and weirdly enough, calm after a long while of disappointment and discontent. When it hits the deepest it could get, something rises up in return.
I cleaned my room today. God knows what the heck I'd been stocking. Everything was dirty, messy, some covered in stains, some stunk, some even stroke me with surprise for their unbelievable uselessness. However, some reminded me of home, the one I had ten years ago. In that exact corner of the room, with that exact jewelry, I was looking at myself in the mirror, wearing a cheap wooden necklace, and thinking: "Nope. Never again." It went straight to my childhood box for years and years, so one day, one random day, to be discovered again. That day was today. Sunday, 11th July, 2016. I stared at the wooden necklace for minutes, held it tight in silence, and put it in the throw-away box. In the process of cleaning, certain things are meant to remind us of ourselves and be placed proudly on top of the shelves, some, however, should be remembered in our heart not as an object but a dearly memory. Therefore, its past belongs to the trash. Its presence stays. Its future remains unclear.
I threw away a lot of 'wooden necklaces' today. I also kept plenty. New 'wooden necklaces' will soon fill this room. A piano, a white table for pattern cutting, a sewing machine, perhaps soon, a mannequin.
A picture book of artist Bui Xuan Phai was found next to my old bookshelf. Such a beautiful product of technology and dreams. Written in English and French, full of paintings and sketches. I wasn't surfing the book. I was detaching it. Chunks of paper were glued by moss and dirt. The end of it had an ancient corpse of a young brownish spider. As if the grief of ruined beauty couldn't get any sadder, a Japanese notebook came up in the same condition. Goodbye friends. I will find you in another copy and we'll soon meet again.
Tomorrow will be busy. I'm up for it with all my heart. Today has been a ride of sweat and smiles. I rewarded myself with a bowl of ramen, Earl Grey, and hot chocolate at Tadioto. You know I'm happy. Now is the time for a good sleep and a definitive enter. I'll hit Publish and on this side of the globe, we'll go to bed, while on the other side, people will close this post and go on with their lives. Some of them will clean their room today and find their own 'wooden necklaces'. Such random happiness, don't you think?
Earl Grey.
Miso, the saltiest option.
Reminds me of an African cult.
Is it some kind of mother goddess worshipping?
An illustration in the Mekong Review.
I found it under this. Will try the yellow bottle next time.
They put a branch of leaves up there. Lime leaves?
Summer feels much better this year with less heat and sweat. Good news is, I haven't got tanned much. Still pale with no sign of pimples or such.
I made a so-called childhood discovery several days ago: an eight-year-old Upwords, which is a 3D Scrabble, a decade-old coin collection, my mother's red leather luggage tag with her handwriting, her wedding ring box from Berlin, and some pieces of paper she jotted down phone numbers onto, which I admit were found by my sneaky wallet behavior.
They were all in good quality and memory. I like the idea of possessing old stuffs with Western aesthetics. I thank my mom for it. She used to tell me stories about her lunch always being smashed potatoes and sausage, when she and her friends would have parties, how fast the German trains could be and what was the difference between a well-tailored piece and a fast-fashion product. I have a beautiful, red thick coat 'Made in Germany' handed down by my sister. It's the same age as mine. Put it on in the winter here, you'll never know cold.
Even now, my mother's wardrobe is still with us. Sometimes I open the door to hear the creaking sound of the wood and smell the scent of old sweaters. There's this one in pink with white stars, pretty much like Stella McCartney. And another one with rhombic-cell pattern in dusty yellow, blue and pink. My mother had a nice figure so everything she wore fitted and matched an idea of style.
Like other normal women, she had a habit of fixing my clothes without my willingness. I only noticed the change after showering, when I put my night clothes on. It could be a more flexible pants' rubber band, bigger pockets or none, shorter legs, or even a patch with a different pattern. My night clothes used to be full of floral and geometric prints. Several of them were made by mother herself. Before heading to Germany, she worked as a tailor for a garment factory in Vietnam, where she befriended needles and threads. I was exposed to fashion like that. We, indeed, had biscuit boxes for thread rolls, aka snack bummer; silver food wrapper to keep the needles; tiny boxes for buttons; and other silly tools I still have no idea how to use today.
Whoever has never watched Game of Thrones, you've missed a show of a lifetime.
This show is too good. The last episode was too good. The music is legit. Someone gives the team a medal for terrific music. Such a great build-up I couldn't resist. Poor Margaery. She was so smart and it wasn't enough. The High Sparrow, you died in your own pride. Tommen jumped. Cersei burned it down with Wildfire. House Tyrell lost its men. The shame nun served The Zombie Mountain as her god. Or at least that's what Cersei put her through. The eye contact and the music were the best in the beginning of the finale. And not to forget, the children! Those little birds truly killed. Cersei made sure her game was played well. This woman is no two-dimension villain.
Daenerys made a sacrifice. She's all with it now. Her ships sailed. Tyrion stood by her side. The dragons flew. They're coming to Westeros. A woman who would kill the innocent to rule against another who chooses to protect them. Tyrion, game on. Drink and know better things, please. Daenerys now counts on you.
Jon Snow's parents confirmed. R+L=J is true. Lyanna did give birth to King in the North. If George R. R. Martin doesn't mess with us, Rhaegar's blood runs in Snow's, too. The Song of Ice and Fire happened. It was all brought back by Bran, who is now ready to become the Three-Eyed Raven.
Arya killed Walder Frey. She's a pro now. One name off the list.
Why do I have the feeling Varys will betray certain people? Or is he really playing for Tyrion full time? What's going on with the grandma and the Dorne queen? If they're coming to Westeros, too, ladies and gentlemen, I'm dying for season 7! Major game alert. Revenge, fire, blood, and Varys.
Cersei is now Protector of the Seven Kingdoms. Her costume was badass. What a woman she's become. This is why I liked Cersei the first time I saw her. This woman is no ordinary. Jaime Lannister, what did he really see? Were there anger, confusion and fear? The higher you reach, the more you'll lose.
I'm happy for Sam and Gilly. Sam definitely found his place. They looked so safe there while outside, 99% of the characters were killing or dying. Side joke: "We need to substantially cut actor costs for the final two seasons." Cersei: "Say no more."
I'm gonna miss Margaery a lot. Even though the Night King didn't show up and The Winds of Winter was actually about the the Starks, I'm excited for what's known and unknown. Goodbye another great season. I'll enjoy the music and let this sink in for a while.
I found this, Coldplay and Game of Thrones cast. Brace yourself.
For full video with Jon Snow x Ygritte, Jaime Lannister and Tyrion:
This is the Waif, by the way. Reminded me of a Parisienne, quite close.
While sipping watermelon juice, I think of Galt MacDermot. His music is funky, jazzy, so good that it moves you. I can imagine myself dancing to those beats, holding my glass of wine while others are watching.
Ripped Open by Metal Explosion. Coffee Cold. Bedroom. Let The Sunshine in. Harlem Medley.
Those are playing in my bedroom.
Six ice cubes are melting in my glass.
'You gotta let, let the sun shine, You gotta let, oh, let the sun shine.'
For whatever happens, life goes on anyway. Why not enjoy it then? Live the best of it while we still can. I feel like I can die anytime and wouldn't regret one bit of my life. I know with certainty and sincerity that I've lived this life as dearly as I could.
I haven't skated for two weeks but been cycling hard. Six equally-sized ice cubes are still melting in my glass. Bedroom is playing. This kind of tune funks you up. Galt MacDermot is being brought back.
In Flagranti is on. Lockers Keys for Tops is the kind of music I'll play at my show. Three cubes gone. They now melt in my mouth. One more slurp and the others will have the same destiny. I can see well the separation of the juice and the water came from the ice. We're close to the end.
You're My Chocolate by Savages is on. Pay attention to the guitar. Crisp. It catches you, doesn't it? Though it's the low tune that hooks me. This track is still too good to be true. Every time it hits low, think of me.
Les Pensées by The Architect is playing. Funny, I always think my love would either write or build something.
'You gotta move, You gotta move You gotta move child You got to move You maybe high, you maybe low You maybe rich child You maybe poor.'
Isn't it good? Say 'good' crisply. That's how you compliment someone. 'For your hard-working, sleepless nights, messed up emotions and long-term depression, I say, good.' If it means something, it'll mean something. Honesty doesn't require details. The shorter the compliment, the better. The harsher the critics, the more fascinating. Although fascination should not have any levels.
Dance with me. I may be out of drinks and smokes. But this kind of music will stay.
"I can smell the sarcasm all the way across the Pacific Ocean." "She seems so.. ancient." (talking about Britney Spears today) "It is dark outside I am so sleepy as fuck This still a haiku?" "Violence, a disease Travelers beware, fear, pity And the man breaks."
"Prickled, she said: Oh Cersei how you have lost Only joy I found."
"Violence, a disease
Lost travelers, you beware
Luck is a thin thread."
"Arya, my love
Stabbed in the guts, gasp of fear
Reborn from water."
"Not big yet so proud The young Lady Bear proclaimed: Sixty two good men."
"Amazing
I'm proud of you
Stop haiku"
"Stop haiku she said Little did she would have known He had twenty more."
