NEW YEAR 2018.

Hello, I hope we're still all here, on this blog, for the new year.

2017 has been busy. All the pressure from work has made me realize how important writing should have been to me. I admit I forgot how to write. For a really long time, I was lost of words. But now I'm here to update a few things:

- I'm going to college for fashion design.
- And a bunch of other stuffs but they're personal so I'll keep it close. 

It's uncertain whether I'll work with WEPHOBIA as a freelancer since my school is full-time. If you could see straight into my mind right now, you would know that I'm not entirely happy to stay attached to the company. We've gone from restricted imaging for the sake of the brand's philosophy to commercial, which is a pain for someone like me. But if life were about only doing whatever we liked, it wouldn't have been life. 

Anyway, I have imagined myself studying at school lately. It felt really good. I'm curious to see what's waiting for me. I'm even more excited to update the progress on this blog. I mean after years writing Clueless Yves, I've finally made half of it, I'm going to school, the exact school that I want. 

Looking back at this part of my life, from being a graphic designer to going to a fashion design school, man it was rough and sort of fun. It was unpredictable. If the path heading towards your goal were a dark valley, your vision would be the flashlight. It run without any battery but your will. So I truly believe nothing is impossible if you stay determined. 

Ok my writing is absolutely bumpy. It's not even writing, probably long chatting.

I look forwards to all the new things this 2018. The thought of design purifies and excites everything in me. Before this, I was becoming so close-minded. Now I see better. 

And I hope to see more after the clock strikes 00:01 a.m.

SHORT AND NOT-REALLY-FUNNY STORY.

X: Mooch Mooch.

Z: If you keep making sound like that your blind cat would think you're a mouse and start to be friendly when meeting a real one.

X: But she's blind, she can't see a mouse. She thinks every animal kind is her kind.

Z: She can't see a kind but she can smell one. Every kind smells different.

X: True. But it doesn't mean if something smells different, it would be a mouse, which means she wouldn't assume it was a mouse immediately.

Z: Could be. But she'd know it wasn't a cat.

X: Not really. She could think: "This cat is weird."

CATHY WITH THE MAGIC CIGARETTES.

In Sex and the City season 1, Carrie Bradshaw had a story idea of a little girl named Cathy who had magic cigarettes that could take her anywhere in the whole wide world if they got lit up. What a pity Carrie didn't have a chance to continue telling the story.

Maybe, we can finish the work for her as this was quite an idea, a children book for adults that contained magic cigarettes. Though most of the time I don't smoke, I can still outsource the storyline with the recalls of the last times I lit up a cigarette. 

1. RAMBUTAN BY THE WINDOW.

Probably a year ago. I was chewing rambutan by the window at 1 a.m. and smoking my last white Marlboros. It was meaningless, I hardly swallowed any smoke. But during that time, I was thinking a lot about Singapore. I knew they had MM6 and Etat Libre d'Orange over there, which kept me imagining from frame to frame of my reactions when I finally got a chance to feel something Margiela and smelled the scent of Putain des Palaces.

2. AT THE STUDIO.

That's a week ago. I was finishing up some work at 1 p.m. with a stomach full of fried chicken and shrimp burger. The cigarettes were right there. Perfect timing. I lit up a blue Marlboro and lay back ready for it to kick in. Then I realized I never swallowed smoke. So I started getting lost in my thoughts again. It was New York with the fast living pace full of opportunities and risks. 

Suddenly, a piece of writing about "indigo child" showed up on my newsfeed. Do you believe in the existence of indigo children? It's like self-ascription. Did I use the correct word? I mean it's like we believe that we're special in a mystical way while we're all the same in real life. 

3. SUSHI BAR.

Yesterday, I hung out at Tadioto as they were freshly serving sushi. My salmon sashimi was ok though I still think sushi should be served in a quieter space with a more gentle service, cleaner surroundings and cozier lighting. I don't know if my experience at Tadioto was out of the box or disrespectful to sushi. The first word is too bold and the second word is too hard. But I'll definitely give it a try again soon to find out. It's my favorite place anyway, and they serve my favorite food.

The thing is, I smoked. The atmosphere that night was so heavy. I can't believe I'm saying this, but I was feeling very ugly in and out. I was sitting opposite of my friend and I felt like a part of us secretly hated each other yesterday. I sought for an invisible escape in my head but all I could think of was the exact place and time in reality. 

"You see yourself in the mirror -> yourself in the mirror -> yourself in the mirror -> yourself in the mirror -> yourself in the mirror -> yourself in the mirror -> yourself in the mirror -> yourself in the mirror -> yourself in the mirror -> yourself in the mirror -> yourself in the mirror..."

It went on and on until I got back home. Those cigarettes flew me to nowhere but a destination of "stuck". Things only turned better the next day, today, when I stop overthinking and cook myself a decent meal.

FIGHT CLUB.

A waiter at Saint-Honore just quit his or her job on the phone with the manager. The 40-year-old lady from the South looks certainly upset. She's rambling very directly in front of my eyes and to my ears. Shit, a three-generation family just walked in. But they seem civilized.

Fight Club is my next favorite movie. I actually can't remember the main character's name. He's there the whole time. I guess the only explanation is because he's the confused kind of characters, someone that finds himself along the process of the movie while meeting absurd, important people. Therefore, he's not complete to remember. 

Brad Pitt looks a lot less handsome. I usually prefer actors to be uglier, rougher and actress prettier, more sophisticated in movies than in real life. The three-generation family is actually quite adorable. This is also the first time I can acknowledge the yellow tone of the sofa on which they're sitting on: mustard. 

I need something like Fight Club. A place where I can be someone else strictly from the moment it begins until when it ends, and everybody who knows me there will only knows me that way during the time it lasts. 

Maybe I ticked when the three-generation walked in because it's my soft spot: family. I've never really had a desired one with a gentle father, an independent mother and closed sisters. My father is distant and my mother was a bit scared every time she tried to speak her mind. But I would never be who I am today if my family were normal. They're kind of odd. I guess that adds onto my difference. 

I'm alone again at Saint Honore. I seriously need to found a fight club. How much I love to win. The fact that I may be beaten up badly to loss makes me want it even more. 

PARALLEL UNIVERSES.

I used to have this friend. He was doing fine by himself, had a decent career and a decent style. Sometimes at night, when he was slightly drunk or felt like talking to someone who wasn’t really a friend, he talked to me. Sometimes in that sometimes, he dropped me a link to quite excellent music. I always ended up adding that to my favorite playlist which was mostly and already made of his.

Things never changed. Always this same excitement and this need of trying. Trying to have the conversation going, trying to outsmart, stretch the nighttime longer before sunrise, or simply to stay awake. He amused me. All of the experience, the common and contrast, the sense of humor and the critics. I was attracted to this intelligence without knowing. Part of the way, I fell for him though the distance between us was a three-hour flight.

But it was never about the silly kind of love between a man and a girl. I liked this person because he understood exactly who I was and constantly, I received a mutual, man-to-man respect. At 1 p.m. someone could find me laughing over the phone screen because my friend was desperately seeking for cigarettes while I calmly enjoyed the night with a bowl of rambutans, and we were talking about some designers we never understood. Sometimes, he surprised me by revealing his one-time friendship with Christophe Lemaire or his short relationship with one of the Chanel muses. It was the sophistication and exotic experience of his that gave me such an addictive satisfaction. I had thought parallel universes was a theory until I knew him.

The most satisfactory feeling of all was imagining he and I smoking at a windy balcony as the night went by, talking about how I wanted to make my clothes and how much he enjoyed his perfume-making workshop.

We haven’t spoken for half a year, I guess. I stopped everything we had by a spur of words and have never regret it. At that moment, I needed my own time to lick my wound and anything reminded me of what I had missed needed to disappear. I probably faced the situation like a child. It probably cost me a friend. But I hope along the way, maybe on a day, I’ll see him again. Perhaps when I finally have what I want and my career finally goes in line, the past tension will be gone. Or I’ll grow up a little.

Earnest Hemingway said: “Write the truest sentence that you can.” This is what happens when a person is being honest. Words won’t stop flowing. I’ve felt distant from myself for a while and my favorite playlist hasn’t been updated for a much longer while. Tonight, I suddenly see what’s new and what’s gone. There are things I should let go and there are also things I should admit wanting to have them back. I miss having a friend who doesn’t see me either young or old. I miss having a conversation with absolutely no boundaries. All those possibilities are one decision away from me and the best thing about them is the fact that I always feel right thinking about it.

If the god of all universes decide to prove his sense of humor, even parallel universes would have to cross each other one day.

NONSENSE QUICK NOTE.

I don't know where to start in this post so there will be a mess.

There are days I just want to sit on a windy rooftop that overlooks a broad view, let it sink and I take it all in easily.

In this creative industry, people have to damage themselves to create the best work. So the most beautiful things are the results of heart breaks and insidious pain.

There is beauty in something or someone that looks like a mistake. Perfect imperfection is perfection. Imperfect perfection is obviously an unfinished work. Nevertheless, the word perfect gives people desires.

Weirdness means it's unknown or not understood yet. If it already is and still remains weird, the it thing must have its difference. In my case, I still think I'm normal and easy to get. I have my differences but overall, I'm incredibly friendly.

My new pair of pants are so fine they make my bedtime t-shirt look so good.

Circle of Pain. Louisiana Lasagna. Pancake Stop. Handsome Babe Hot Ass. They are names for band that came up in my mind a minute ago. Will people use any of those? If yes, would you kindly let me know? Make it happen via my email: jamie.nguyen.bao@gmail.com

Yeah. What an odd idea. Maybe I just want pancake.

COFFEE ON THE TABLE.

Coffee on the table

Running cold

Is it me or the warmth doesn't flow?

Egon Schiele on the wall

Above the reach

People come, people go

Some will stay, who knows?

Egon Schiele painted faces of people

in colors and in shades of grey

Remember

while the favor fades

Such value, long gone away.

Coffee beans 

but powder in my cup

Schiele

but no painting or such

Printing is a convenience  

Originality sucks

as it's too expensive. Who gives a fuck?

It's really cold

The coffee in my cup

I want to stay here forever

Life is a woman

The only thing predictable is the unpredictable

Live the moment

Let loose or be troubled

Don't make sense. Make dollars

Think of no money

Do further

Egon will relive

Schiele will make sense 

We'll get beef.

BLACK ANIMALS.

Are you feeling uncomfortable? Let's hear my joke aka my life.

Last Thursday night, after hanging out with our designer and manager, I came home and found the worst nightmare ever happened in this family's history. Hedi, my cat, shit all over my blanket. LITERALLY SHIT ALL OVER IT. It was bad. It was really bad. His stomach was ill. I could tell by the color and the smell of his shit. My whole room smelled like a kingdom of shit. I took off the blanket cover in disgust and terror. I had to detect every corner of my bed for any sight of shit with MY NOSE. Even when it was done, my room still smelled a lot like shit. My window was wide open, my fan was working hard. I thought it would be a terrible idea to turn on the air-conditioner in that situation. If any machines in my room had feelings, they'd never forgive me for that night. I was sleeping in fear. The fear of sleeping in a bed full of shit. Next day's morning was slightly covered in the same smell and I also found a shit mark on the floor near the door. 

The worst part is, I kicked Hedi twice that night. I was really angry and shocked. I felt so disgusted. I don't think that shit machine will ever know guilt. But take a look at it again, it was my fault. Hedi was ill indeed. That was on me, my responsibility. It makes me feel even worse. It's the same thing that happens over and over in my life: I fuck up and blame the world for it. Hedi is normal now and I gave him a petting earlier. I still feel I owe him an apology and a better attitude of me being his care taker. Maybe it wasn't me sleeping in the bed of shit. Maybe it was me being the shit. 

Talking of fucking up, I've been thinking of my father lately. Most of my life, I have never fully trusted him. He always fucks something up. He wasn't a good husband to my mother. He is a careless dad. It's one of the reasons for who I am today. Of course, he's taught me things. But it would take a ridiculously strong person to be his daughter and the price would not come cheap. I paid that price and at times, I wish I had a better father. Because I think I would be a happier person, I'd smile more and open up more. My life wouldn't be so closed and difficult. When my mother died, everything changed. The only person that held the warmth of the house was gone. My father never spent a minute discussing about it with me. He never made that effort. After two weeks, I broke down. Bad things take time to kick in and for me, it took two weeks, There was one time I thought I could find some of my mother's pills in her wardrobe. To do what, I wasn't sure. But I was thrown into that idea deeply. I don't think I have the guts for suicide. Does it even take guts? Killing oneself is not a brave thing. Whatever happened, I knew I had to move on and live well. Strangely though, I was thinking I really needed to have that presence of pills near my bed. 

I never found any pills. In fact, I never actually did it. For a while, whenever bad things happened, there was this thing that kept coming up in my mind: "What do you mean? My mother died!" Like "What do you mean this doesn't work / it's not good enough / I can't do this? I no longer have a mother. Isn't that bad enough?" It's silly. It is.

I also learn that bad things are blessings. Yes, I'm angry at my father. But I love him more. And the first thing everyone should do to their family is to protect them, for better or worse. In the end, he lets me do my things and doesn't get disappointed when I fail. I have learned two greatest things from my father:

1. Never stop learning. If there has to be a person nominated for biggest love of learning, I'll suggest my father.

2. Love animals. He's the start of my love for cats and the one that agreed we could have a dog. Because of A-chim, my dog, I was saved.

He taught me how to read maps. I was good at remembering capitals of countries in the the world. Overall, my memory was impressive. He encouraged my interest in astronomy, taught me how to meditate and always made me watch Discovery though I hated it sometimes. Because my father never had a childhood, he never knew any fairy tales. When I was little, he had to make up a story about a bear and two rabbits to tell me before bed. Over and over again. He had no idea about children's stories. His version was something that goes like this:

In a stormy and cold night, an old bear's house was torn down. The destruction was terrible and the bear had to get out to find a shelter. He ran to the White Rabbit's door and knocked:

- Dear White Rabbit, please let me in. I'm soaking wet.

The rabbit looked at him through the window and said:

- No no. You're so big. You'll tear my house down.

The bear looked down sadly. He ran again to the Black Rabbit's door and knocked:

- Dear Black Rabbit, please let me in. I'm soaking wet.

The Black Rabbit rushed to the door and opened it. He welcomed the bear:

- My dear, please come in. Hurry.

Inside, the bear was offered fire and food. When the storm went out, the Black Rabbit helped the bear rebuild his house. The White Rabbit saw that and felt bad. He came towards the bear and apologized for not letting him in during the storm. The bear said:

- It's ok, dear. 

They smiled at each other and together, the three of them built a house.

That's the story. The learning value of it is: always help people in need and how people look doesn't define their quality. Because at that time, I found black animals ugly.

So that's about it. Have a good night and we'll see each other again in next post.

GAME OF THRONES | BATTLE OF THE BASTARDS.

Alright, alright, alright.

Game of Thrones baby. 

Battle of the Bastards went exactly the way it should be. Nice start at Meeren I must say. It lifted our mood up so as for it to go down again in the last half of the episode. I'll jump to Jon Snow and Ramsay part.

R.I.P Rickon. I was thinking Ramsay's arrows might have injured the Stark boy's leg as possibly predicted by Arya's earlier gif above. I was wrong. Rickon's death kickstarted Jon and that was the first part of our hopelessness. Jon ran in hatred towards the Bolton's army in time for the wild men to approach him. That was also the first part of Jon's luck. In the rain of arrows, men and men died being stabbed like meat loaf. But..

Standing tall in the rain of arrows

Only could Jon Snow.

..not one single arrow hurt him. When I thought the battle had just begun, the camera zoomed out and there were huge heaps of bodies already. That was when I realized the writers might have overdone in this episode. As the battle went on, the Bolton's army revealed themselves clearer (great strategy, Ramsay!) and Jon suffocated among dying men, our hopelessness reached to the point where even we thought it couldn't have got there. It's exactly what we were supposed to feel. Hopeless and empowered. The writers would push our mind to that corner until we ran out of ideas to get out. That's when Littlefinger and Sansa showed up. Then, the battle re-began.

Wun Wun, the giant, appeared in this episode to sacrifice for Jon and highlight the crime of Ramsay Bolton. He looked like a porcupine when he died. That's the second part of Jon's luck when we saw the contrast of the unharmed Jon and his severely injured men. Ramsay's effort in shooting arrows as 'fighting against Jon Snow' was a low brow. The hopelessness of ours, instead of juggling to Ramsay, actually just.. didn't. The rest was handled to Sansa. In the crypt of Winterfell, Ramsay Bolton was torn apart brutally by his own fella, released by his own wife. The same dogs he used to feed with his victim's flesh, now are full of their master's pieces.   

Did you think Jon Snow won this battle? Jon made a retarded decision. It was Sansa and the rest of the army that claimed this victory. Littlefinger is up to something. That's clearly the price. Whatever it is, I'm up for it.

Back to Meeren. That was some fast traveling Greyjoys! Romance possibly will rise between Daenerys and Yara. Will Mother of Dragons go gay next season? That's some serious eye contact we got there ladies. Tyrion finally made sense. He was so lame earlier with the jokes and wine that I thought he was sober. Grey Worm played it badass with his knife. One hundred ships and more are ready. Now we only need Cersei to burn down Westeros with Wildfire. There's high chance Tommen will die. I'm excited for the destruction in King's Landing. I hope to see Bran in the last episode and what the Night King's up for. He's the real villain in this series. Ramsay Bolton, compared to the Others, is nothing. A flat character with poorly-cultivated background is just a pin for a little fun. Or like my dude said: 'a two dimensional villain'. 

Do you feel like Battle of the Bastards was predictable? It had the same motif with the episode when Jon Snow defended the Wall, yet couldn't blow our mind, especially the book readers'. It's probably because the next book hasn't come out yet and George R. R. only let the writers of the show know what they needed to know. So this season can't be based upon the unpredictable and smart core of the books. 

We'll see how it goes one last time before the one-year wait happens again. I'm hyped and also quite confused as I'm very close to another important date. This one even involves my life. After Game of Thrones, there's not much time I'll be spending here. It stirs me with a lot of confusion and wondering. I wonder if I've used my time the most efficiently and rightly. But that's for another post. Enjoy reading friends. We'll catch up later here next week.

HEDI'S INVASION.

I wish I could come up with something intellectual or inspiring at this hour, with this lightness of mind. All I can think of is how quickly my time is being shortened here and it's not even welcomed right now. I'm not surfing my keyboard like playing a piano. I'm clacking it. 

Hedi is sleeping peacefully in my bed. I'm not sure where and how to move this creature without interrupting its lightness of being. If he wakes up and doesn't see me petting, he'll give me these big, surprised eyes and consistent stare until I make it happen again. Hedi checks up the situation about every thirty minutes. This cat is very specific about getting petted. Paws being circled, belly scratched and tickled, back rubbed and the end of tail slightly touched. He's too high on cool air to realize how miserable I am half sitting half lying to sacrifice this bed.

I'm yawning already. Friend, if you're reading this fresh, what are you even doing at this hour? 

1:31 a.m

I'll chug some cold water before bed. We're on full tropical mode right now. Papaya, banana, mango, mangosteen, lychee and custard apple. These seem heavy for me. Normally I'll go with an apple or a piece of melon. Oops, Hedi checks up again. He's very much like me when I was little. If I don't obey, he'll stand up and look at me dearly with a little threat. Then collapses immediately when I start petting back. 

1:40 a.m

Alright. I'll have my water. Have a good night and don't sweat too much.

NONSENSE RHYMES.

"Dim sum
I want dim sum
Or steak and fries
Iced tea."


"I made my mom made it."


"The weather was amazingly pleasing
I and my cat were sitting by the window
while I was waiting for the water to boil."


"I think they only pee to please
for the sake of the script they're given."

Above were some of the lines from my conversations with my friend. All unconsciously rhymed or sounded like a poem. Many are left somewhere in my inbox. We shall conquer the history later if 'later' I remember. 

Below are lines from my friends' conversations with me I liked the most.

"My lunch in primary school
Chicken soup and sticky rice once more
Made my mom made it.
Now it's a haiku
A terrible haiku"


"It rained at 5:30
And the weather was amazingly pleasing enough
Cat sitting by the window.
There you go
Now it's a haiku"


"Snickers makes me feel like a fat American."


"That beauty after punk and before hiphop is a great transition for the subculture
That gap is called the blank generation."


"No one cares that you are drinking alone watching people
So you can enjoy life one slice at a time."


"That's the great thing about humanity.
The invisible, yet tactile connection between each other."


"You don't need to prove me anything. I'm convinced."


"I won't even waste my time on you if I think you're shit."


"Trời ơi mày có cổ phần ở đấy hả em"

SKYSCRAPER'S LIGHTS.

I'm sitting at Tadioto tonight, having a piece of apple pie served with cashew, caramel and vanilla ice-cream, drinking hot Earl Grey and about to smoke. Did I just describe myself in a sentence? That line can be used from now on until I stop wearing black. I had a Skype date with my best friend dude and my laptop broke three times, worked like a charm on the fourth attempt and now I bet he's helping a friend to move. I'm looking at the melted ice-cream left in my plate, looks like my mood. I'm suffering from a breakup, every time feels like the first time. Every time is different. Every one is special in their own way.

Maybe this is a different 'first time'. Because this is the first time I actually sit down and write about it. Most of the times I ran away or hid with a happy mask. 

"I thought you broke up long time ago?" Now you're kidding me.

I can feel this is the end. Not an usual fight. I'm suffering instead of enjoying. Every time I tried to find a reason, I failed. So I'm not going to do that this time. I'll take it as it is. I admit there have been several occasions I villianized him, in a way that didn't represent who he was, only good enough to make me feel better for a while. Is it something we all do? Hate so as to live again? I can't go on hating him like that. I'm not the kind of person who lies to her own feelings. I write, it's compulsory that I stay truthful to my heart. The truth is I liked the guy so much. Looking back, I'm grateful for his appearance in my life. At least I wasn't alone from December to March. I didn't love him, I adored him. I have never loved anyone. I was so excited to see him even though some nights I knew for sure it'd be like shit. But I chose to be like shit with him. That's when I knew I'd found somebody special. When I could just shut up for a minute and comfortably enjoyed the silence. 

The thing is, the more we care about someone, the more likely we'll hurt them, the more severely it'll be. We'll mock them for such little things, take their existence for granted. So one day they'll leave. And we wonder why. 

I looked at the thousand lights on the skyscrapers tonight, and you weren't one of them. The night is still beautiful, the light is still bright. But why am I so not still? A flip and things changed. A word and the book was finished. 

It's sadness that makes things beautiful. It distorts the perfection a little so it'll be more real. We like the idea of each other. What lies inside sometimes is too much. 

For every one, I have a box for them. This time, there's also a post. 

I don't like the mushiness of it, how it starts with "I". But it's true.

BYE BYE SUNDAY.

The rain has stopped. A glimpse of sunshine appeared this noon letting people know it was Sunday. The last day of weekend has always been the most beautiful day for me. It's the day I'll wake up to without panicking and checking my phone for the time. Sunday's beauty remains unchanged in my heart due to the fact that's it's my one day off, the only time when I get a chance to sit calmly at a cafe for a croissant and cappuccino, or stay lazy in bed until lunch.

But today, I enjoyed Sunday differently. I woke up at 7.30 with no proper breakfast in the same outfit I was wearing yesterday. You know where I've been. The walk of shame strutting for a few meters until I got in a cab. Before that, couples of eyes couldn't stop staring at me. Was it the black outfit from head to toe of mine with their unavoidable volumn? Or was it because those people'd been through what I've been through to know the face of a guilty early riser? Beats me. All I knew for certain was that everyone wanted their decent breakfast warm and their usual coffee served right whether or not my outfit mattered. As for me, I couldn't wait to go home and make up to the loss of my beauty sleep.

The process tunred out to scatter until afternoon, which reminded me of the weird dream I had while struggling to fall asleep last night: Audrey Hepburn was on top of me with a knife sparkling in the dark, she stabbed me once, I grabbed her blade with the palm of my hand, she stabbed me twice, I opened my mouth and locked it shut. However painful the dream was, it left me with a strange feeling of victory as if I had conquered evil.

It has been a while since I last remember having a violent dream. It would be rarer to spend the whole Sunday talking about it. Maybe the rain of a typical March in this city is not the main reason for a character swing. The call of summer with its boldness must be. It's pushing the inner gloom of our personality to the edge once and for all so as for us to wake up in a new skin. Andrey Hepburn must have heard the calling and was there to help me shred last night.

If only I could wear the new skin quickly enough.

Before saying goodbye to the last minute of Sunday, like an uncharming, farmiliar, ironic joke of life, I don't know if I'm longing for the new me or missing my old self. In fact, I may have ruined a good beginning of a writing with a doubtful development of it, which convinces me it's time to go to sleep.

Sophie Calle 1981, The Hotel.

GRAPHIC DESIGN LIFE.

I would say that everything happens between 8 and 5 is about work. I sit at my desk and I design. It’s me and my laptop, my notebook, my tea. So it’s me, me, me. I’m such a control freak that I would sit down and try to come up with the perfect layout for texts and images. But the overall process is a painful realization. For a long time, it’s only about staring at the screen and trusting for some kind of crazy moment to happen.

Simplicity is the key of graphic design. It’s my kind of perfection, the idea of starting out with a thousand different thoughts, then one by one throwing them all out, until I have one or two or three that are eventually essential to making sense of the whole image. Simplicity is the act of getting rid of everything that is not essential to making a point.

I have worked as a graphic designer for three years. The thing is I have never thought of it as a job. When you have done it for two or three years, all of the sudden it becomes the whole point of your living. It’s not. It’s living a smaller, extremely exciting life in a much bigger one. And living so is never easy.

I constantly feel the need to be in control and have a clear sense of what is working and what is not. On the other hand, I understand that being free-spirited is necessary. It’s crucial for me to develop those two personas separately. Be a much more ruthless editor and a much more careless graphic designer. It’s so fun and physically tiring. When my stress takes a toll on the work, I know I have to do something. People would say: “Relax. Take it easy.” But I can't. In graphic design, you take what’s blocking you, break them into little elements and rearrange them to make a statement.

Only after that will I loosen up. When I do, I start living my life out of the studio. There is a decoration shop owned by a writer that I like. He sells stuffs that make absolutely no sense whatsoever economically. It’s a totally different mindset. On the contrary, the bar of his, which is a few steps away from the shop, relates to me deeply. It’s where I always feel like “This is the place I want to sit and chill out.” There is this emotional exchange when people chat and suddenly silence happens. For couple of times, I’ve tried to work there because that’s how I see myself, the graphic designer being in touch with the selectiveness of the city.

It doesn’t work at all.

The impact on the work is zero. It’s even distracting. I can’t focus when I sit there. That’s when I realize my work and my life, they just don’t mix.

Basically, work is where the pressure begins then fades away. That’s the kind of tension I love though sometimes the effort in delivering the best work is out of desperation. Work is my second life. It’s about showing up, getting started and knowing something amazing will happen or nothing at all. What matters is you enable yourself a chance for something to happen. For that, you sit at your desk, sketch, move the mouse and make decisions while hoping for the best.

When I reach to the point of total worn-out, I imagine meeting the 2014 version of me and how things would happen. Perhaps I’ve lost the spark of the industry’s fresh face. However, I’m confident that I’d kick my 2014 butt. I believe you have to change directions while things are good. I’m in the beginning of my twenties and extremely ambitious. It feels fulfilled, but exhausted. Hanoi is the best place to work, just not a good one to refill your creative tank.

There's this saying in House of Cards: “Always march forward.” It’s true. The best work is never created by a spark of a moment but instilled by thousands of hard-working hours, multiple failures and even a friction of self-disbelief. In order to produce the purest kind of work, everyone must keep trying. In graphic design, my goal is to speak visuals and convey different ideas through the language. For that, I battle to refine the act of speaking and constantly produce. There will never be a work that is done because it’s the opposite of what I’m trying to achieve.

ASK ME ANYTHING.

I have added a new gadget on the right of the blog called "ASK ME ANYTHING" (you would like to switch to web version to see it). Feel free to leave me an anonymous question or a message and I'll get back to you in a post.

Thanks and have a nice day.

LA LA LAND.

I love everything that happened in La La Land. I understand why it ended the way it did. When you have an ambition carried from the beginning of your early vision, you don't question anyone's choice to step aside from it for you to go on. You respect the decision. Because that's true love. Only the one that cares will argue with you about your dream and the way you want to achieve it. It's that same one person who will fight when you give up and be happy when your dream finally comes true. There's no such love that grounds two people to a less desired life. It's only love when it lifts people up.

This movie is different from other romances because it's the instilled version of all sophisticated love, executed with excellent cinematography and memorable music. La La Land is true because I see myself in Mia and I have been with a Sebastian to know how hard it is to maintain a relationship between two ambitious individuals. Though it's been years, I know at heart I've had a very true partnership.

The kind of relationship of Mia and Sebastian leaves no regret to me. Do I think they had a chance to make it together? Yes. But the success wouldn't have been so great. That's the biggest point. I'll never want a piece of a dream. I want all of it and no other ways around.

As I left the theater, I thought "That was a very healthy relationship, wasn't it?" Will a movie made of a been-there-done-that story win an Oscar or two? I don't see why not. It's not the best movie I've seen but it's the one that sells the most.

THE RED BOOK BY C. G. JUNG.

"The ugly truth is that life of all humans is a consist of continuous contrary matters: day and night, birth and death, happiness and sadness, the good and the evil.

We don't know if one side of the matter would win the other one, the good wins the evil, happiness wins sadness: life is a battlefield. It was so in the past, it still is nowadays. If not so, life wouldn't exist."

Above is one of my favorite parts in The Red Book by C. G. Jung. 'Favorite' as 'the easiest' to associate. People having gone through ups and downs in life must have a similar take on it as the way he did. Understanding the fact that life is an endless but not meaningless fight. It's easy like A B C. But Picasso once said something like this, something that isn't an overdressing to me: "It took me four years to paint like Raphael, but a lifetime to paint like a child." Sometimes, something as plain as the alphabet could require a person all his or her life only to understand its obviousness.

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C. G. Jung's journal is beyond average perception. When I bought this book, my first thought was to simplify the information and apply his conclusions on the daily basis. It took me a few paragraphs to get lost immediately and forget all about the simplification. Everything was in and out, pages to pages. Until he mentioned a special memory with someone or started to speak as normally as the quote above did my brain go back to functioning. 

Chapter VI talked about Archétype in Dream Themes, which can be referred as a 'superior symbol'. In this chapter, C. G. Jung mentioned his friend, whose daughter gave him her dream journal consisting of deep understanding of birth and death of all kinds in Catholicism. Superior knowledge in rebirth and extinction that only a few professors know was projected in 9 out of 12 dreams she had. It left the father and the author speechless. 

Jung wondered: "What made the daughter feel so important to make her dream journal a gift for father on Christmas?"

"These dreams were telling a terrifying side of death. Perception as such must have been possessed by the old, those who look back. It can't be for a normal child who's supposed to look forward. Her life is like a worship to youth."

Jung sensed something unavoidably destructive was coming for her. He was right. Something fatal was coming. The daughter passed away after a year before coming of her teen age.

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My mother survived a heart attack when I was 13. She told me in 'the deciding moment', she found herself in front of Buddha smiling at her and said "You'll pass this door." Several years later, in her dying days, she also said she kept dreaming of Buddha smiling and nodding gently at her, that her time was coming. It was right. But I don't mean to be supersticious. With my mother's case, I assume that she was overthinking and religion played a big role in her life. The context of her dreams was far more different than the child's, yet led to the same thing. 

It left me with a conclusion: dreams are dreams, but dreams are not dreams.

The perception of 'A is A, but A is not A' is familiar among well-known scientists, artists and so on. However, I don't consider myself as such. My point is, The Red Book has elevated that kind of perception I had to another level with precious knowledge. It left me with a stronger willingness to see things with its variety, not to forget to come back at the beginning and connect all the dots.

If you're still a little trembled by the daughter's story, I can give you my dream journal to wash off your concern.

Friday 13^th January 2017

Our studio manager asked me if I wanted to earn more money and I said “I’m happy where I am right now” while knowing it was a lie. 

I was diagnosed with kidney failure but informed later by someone that the diagnosis was wrong. My elder sister was very unpleased and said doctors always made such terrible mistakes, the only thing they could do was explaining. (During the happening of this dream, a part of me assumed my elder sister was thinking “They couldn’t even say sorry.”) 

Friday 20^th January 2017

I found a pair of shoes I really liked with my colleague. After trying the shoes, they turned out to be open-toe, which is something I strongly dislike in real life. I insisted on changing the style but my colleague and the sales advisor kept making me wear the shoes. 

Sasha Obama appeared out of nowhere and I saw her teeth without the bracelets. I couldn’t help noticing the teeth. 

Sunday 22th January 2017

Everything was so tedious in this math class. No lights and almost no students. The clock struck time out and I headed home. On my way to the gate, I realized I forgot my coat and scarf. I came up to the fourth floor just to find out the math class was surprisingly full and all lights were on. Awkwardly, I stepped in. A teacher, who was attending as a student, handed me my scarf. I couldn’t help feeling embarrassed for leaving the class early though I genuinely believed it had ended. On the black board, I could see they were learning something not advanced that I could have caught up with if I had joined. Someone gave me a flower made of green bean sprouts. On the stairway to the third floor, I looked at the flower in my hand and threw it away. 

It was a lucky game with prizes. Someone asked if the participants with journalist cards would receive an advantage in playing and someone else said yes. They would have more turns and the prizes would be more valuable. A creature, half human half moose, juggled in front of me. I was in our house’s bathroom the whole time. A window was open. 

Tuesday 24^th January 2017

Emma Stone rose from the ocean and flew above everyone. She planned to escape with the two terrorist students from Harvard and impute their crime on me. I shouted to people but no one bought it. 

In another scene, Emma Stone asked someone if the roof above them had a sky-high ladder. She climbed up towards the clouds but a person was chasing her. This time, people knew she had something to do with the terrorist students. 

I asked my friend to hang out at my favorite place but she said no. I opened a huge jar of M&M, picked a handful of them into another jar and started to eat, non-stop. 

Saturday 27^th January 2017

I was sitting in the waiting room of a hospital. A young man in black approached me. He insisted on telling me a joke but I continuously felt disturbed. Fortunately, it was my turn to register. As I went to the registry booth, Aleida Diaz from Orange is the New Black read my scan and said I had severe heart valve regurgitation. Red, another character, overheard the result and seemed upset. Some people faked a smile to keep me positive. 

I went back to the waiting room again. The man in black was gone. This time, I found myself sitting with my secondary school best friend. We were having tea and matcha cookies. My colleagues came by. They weren’t pleased to see me at the hospital instead of at work. 

After thinking for a while, I rushed to the kitchen where Red worked and asked her if she knew a good cardiologist and where to get a good scan. She wrote down an address and gave me some highly important small white medicine. I put them in my shirt pocket carefully. 

People at home tried to steal my medicine. A younger sister approached me during my sleep. I woke up quickly and fought her hard. I broke her legs, arms and eventually her neck, which killed her immediately. A dog appeared and tried to do the same thing. I slit its throat. Then, a father showed up, acted like he wanted to help but turned out to be evil. Too terrified, I ran. Suddenly, I found myself jumping off a cliff with my medicine still in hand. Up there, the daughter, the dog and the father were watching me fall. I didn’t die but fell into a cave full of food and water. I decided to live there until running out of the medicine. Until then, I’d be ready to see the doctor that Red suggested and begin to treat my condition. 

Sunday 29^th January 2017

I dreamt that one of my eyes have worms. At first, it was a little white something. Then it turned into a wormy creature. I tried to push its way to the end of my eye and pulled it out. Two more worms appeared. All three of them were forming a straight line from the upper-left eyelid corner to the downer-right of my eye.

Still concerned? I'll tell you one last thing. When I told the daughter's story to my younger sister, she felt just like you. She told me most of her dreams were based on daily life basis: "Normal things, you know." I suppose she did so to assure me that there was nothing to worry about. Thus, let's take new knowledge as something pulling, highly attractive, but not as a big grayish mass that clouds our judgement.