DARK SIDE OF THE MOON.

"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.

A PAINTING ABOUT A CAFE.

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

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

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

3. I hate mediocrity.

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

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

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

"Good artists copy. Great artists steal."

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

MY VERY FIRST MAGAZINE

I ENTERED VOGUE TALENT CONTEST

It’s one of the most esteemed competitions for young journalists, writers or anyone who loves to write any where in the world. 

I hadn’t known about it until February, during Tet Holiday, while I was searching the Internet for a writing competition. And the result hit me like the white Range Rover on the street the week before. The only difference is Vogue didn’t cut my chin and caused me scratches all over.