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.
