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.

THE CONTEXT OF WHAT.

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.

THE WOODEN NECKLACE.

Hot chocolate. 

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?

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.

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.