do you sometimes feel that you're remembering
a you thats very far away
and the one that looks back in the mirror
doesn't feel familiar
no sadness involved. just different. just not the same.
i used to fall head over heels for things i like
now that i learnt how to control my desire
the enchanted feeling seemed so foreign
i wish i can stop falling out of love
and find my way back in.
i wish i knew where to begin
but how would it be possible when i don't even know how it ended
it's just like how the gloomy winter's lingering a little too long
i don't want to make this numbness permanent
so i say a little prayer
and wish that on the morning when the sun decide to shine again
i can recall
the reason behind the effortless smiles
2.16.2011
2.06.2011
foolproof
he repeated something i quote randomly
"words come easy when they're true"
it took me more than 3 drafts before this post gets published. the struggle is: i wonder what i want to make permanent. the memories? the pain? or its aftermath? i realise, its really only the love.
when i decide to go through my 25 most-played songs on this warm sunday morning, the pages of yesterday flipped like the feb issue of elle i've been reading over and over again for god knows how many times already. i like to label my happenings with their own soundtracks. loop a john mayer jackjohnson and you can indoctrinate yourself that it once felt as good as it had been. tug the crumbs of bliss gently underneath somewhere so it doesn't bother you no more.
when you can't decide whats right for the moment, stick with what's fool-proof.
for me, is the equivalent of demin, grey blazer, chanel and myself.
"words come easy when they're true"
it took me more than 3 drafts before this post gets published. the struggle is: i wonder what i want to make permanent. the memories? the pain? or its aftermath? i realise, its really only the love.
when i decide to go through my 25 most-played songs on this warm sunday morning, the pages of yesterday flipped like the feb issue of elle i've been reading over and over again for god knows how many times already. i like to label my happenings with their own soundtracks. loop a john mayer jackjohnson and you can indoctrinate yourself that it once felt as good as it had been. tug the crumbs of bliss gently underneath somewhere so it doesn't bother you no more.
when you can't decide whats right for the moment, stick with what's fool-proof.
for me, is the equivalent of demin, grey blazer, chanel and myself.
1.30.2011
currently loving:
1. The Dream Factory: Inside Perfums Christian Dior by Camilla Akrans
credits to Industrie Magazine 2
1.29.2011
yes, i'll do it for love
sometimes, i wonder how long i'd be stuck in this traffic looking out of the windows wishing if only i could be on the other side
other times, i wish i could just feel safe in this confined comfort zone
right now, lets forget how we feel and immerse ourselves in sarah bareilles and english pear cologne
other times, i wish i could just feel safe in this confined comfort zone
right now, lets forget how we feel and immerse ourselves in sarah bareilles and english pear cologne
1.27.2011
the echos of an email
Dear _____,
to be honest, i do feel the same. Its hard to complain when everything is so supposedly perfect, but somehow there's always this strange feeling haunting me that it's not enough. Or maybe its the fear that I might not be able to sustain such a lifestyle with my own competence that kept me troubled at times. The best way to put it: growing up is a mixed feeling. especially when you're 19, it often feels like you're stuck in the middle of an annoying traffic, often wondering how you got here, not knowing whats hindering you, and not knowing whats ahead.
My dad, oh well, i know hes the best piece of advice but he could be as stubborn as a mule. i used to oppose him a lot just for the sake of making sure he's not the only one talking. but either its me who's getting older or its him or both of us, it seems like there's nothing to fight about these days. the house seems strangely quiet now.
yup. i'm 19. i hope i look as mature as i sound (haha) but really, if you get to know me, i'm everything but mature. maybe it's the way i talk. as for your deep questions, i guess its the aftermath of your mind-refreshing spiritual trip. fortunately enough i'm a thinker too and yes i've questioned myself so many times i'm starting to get used to the confusion. i used to get all worked up and felt very uncomfortable for being in the wrong place or doing the things that are just not me. but then i start to realise the rebel in me is actually my motivation. and like i've said, we are always curious of whats happening on the other side of the world. maybe we just need to pretend we are visitors living our lives through foreign eyes. then things like burning your own fireplace would sound more interesting than it really is.
p.s i hope little things like this email (/blogpost) can light up your day :)
helen
to be honest, i do feel the same. Its hard to complain when everything is so supposedly perfect, but somehow there's always this strange feeling haunting me that it's not enough. Or maybe its the fear that I might not be able to sustain such a lifestyle with my own competence that kept me troubled at times. The best way to put it: growing up is a mixed feeling. especially when you're 19, it often feels like you're stuck in the middle of an annoying traffic, often wondering how you got here, not knowing whats hindering you, and not knowing whats ahead.
My dad, oh well, i know hes the best piece of advice but he could be as stubborn as a mule. i used to oppose him a lot just for the sake of making sure he's not the only one talking. but either its me who's getting older or its him or both of us, it seems like there's nothing to fight about these days. the house seems strangely quiet now.
yup. i'm 19. i hope i look as mature as i sound (haha) but really, if you get to know me, i'm everything but mature. maybe it's the way i talk. as for your deep questions, i guess its the aftermath of your mind-refreshing spiritual trip. fortunately enough i'm a thinker too and yes i've questioned myself so many times i'm starting to get used to the confusion. i used to get all worked up and felt very uncomfortable for being in the wrong place or doing the things that are just not me. but then i start to realise the rebel in me is actually my motivation. and like i've said, we are always curious of whats happening on the other side of the world. maybe we just need to pretend we are visitors living our lives through foreign eyes. then things like burning your own fireplace would sound more interesting than it really is.
p.s i hope little things like this email (/blogpost) can light up your day :)
helen
1.23.2011
tarte aux pommes
if my mother's my muse, my sister's my superwoman
a random call from sherborne made my day, along with the settled plans of meeting up in london around may-ish. with people here and there and everywhere these days, this is indeed something worth looking forward to.
and just as i'd like to call it a day, a sweetheart from the states confessed her loneliness along with some catching ups and morning/midnight blabber. a proof of it all: a post-it on top of my table lamp scrabbled with a to-be psychiatrist's number. talking about friends for benefit.
for a long time in a long while. it felt like what it used to be. safe and sound.
is it the over-sized lavander carpet or the excess warmth from a sizzling heater? everything looked just like a year ago but it hardly felt anything similar.
************************************************
as i woke up to an unexpectedly warm sunday morning, i decided to turn some pages back to the regina spektor days. and the list goes on: dido, norah jones, kt tunstall. so london. so paris.
even the air smelt like its time to make a debut on tarte aux pommes.
everything happened according to plan, until i realise i got everything but the short pastry. and how can tarte aux pommes happen without the tart? so a simple task of picking up stuff ended up with an extra half-an-hour drive to the nearest frozen food counter.
apples are best served in their simplest form. (i remember i read that somewhere but if i didn't, well, consider it a good homemade quote). and to work the applepie x tarte aux pommes magic i decide to replace all that french custard with cognac with mere mushed boiled apple sprinkled with sugar and cinnamon.
its funny how things fall into place: the wrong pan lemon-less dicing an extra pinch of salt here and there slicing failure rose apples instead of granny smith
i tell myself: if this is possible, i'll get myself a julia child cookbook and enroll in a self-taught 6 credit course on french cooking 101.
and voila! bon appetite.
a random call from sherborne made my day, along with the settled plans of meeting up in london around may-ish. with people here and there and everywhere these days, this is indeed something worth looking forward to.
and just as i'd like to call it a day, a sweetheart from the states confessed her loneliness along with some catching ups and morning/midnight blabber. a proof of it all: a post-it on top of my table lamp scrabbled with a to-be psychiatrist's number. talking about friends for benefit.
for a long time in a long while. it felt like what it used to be. safe and sound.
is it the over-sized lavander carpet or the excess warmth from a sizzling heater? everything looked just like a year ago but it hardly felt anything similar.
************************************************
as i woke up to an unexpectedly warm sunday morning, i decided to turn some pages back to the regina spektor days. and the list goes on: dido, norah jones, kt tunstall. so london. so paris.
even the air smelt like its time to make a debut on tarte aux pommes.
everything happened according to plan, until i realise i got everything but the short pastry. and how can tarte aux pommes happen without the tart? so a simple task of picking up stuff ended up with an extra half-an-hour drive to the nearest frozen food counter.
apples are best served in their simplest form. (i remember i read that somewhere but if i didn't, well, consider it a good homemade quote). and to work the applepie x tarte aux pommes magic i decide to replace all that french custard with cognac with mere mushed boiled apple sprinkled with sugar and cinnamon.
its funny how things fall into place: the wrong pan lemon-less dicing an extra pinch of salt here and there slicing failure rose apples instead of granny smith
i tell myself: if this is possible, i'll get myself a julia child cookbook and enroll in a self-taught 6 credit course on french cooking 101.
and voila! bon appetite.
1.19.2011
i need sleep
sometimes i feel like im living in an asylum
im tired of this guessing game
i am not sick. or mad. or angry. or sad.
i am just me. or do u know me at all?
please dont say doctor in front of me again or i swear i will go craxy, this time for real.
the answer is simple: i'm just growing up. please don't judge. give it time. no more tears.
thank you for all the love.
but too much of everything is poison.
im tired of this guessing game
i am not sick. or mad. or angry. or sad.
i am just me. or do u know me at all?
please dont say doctor in front of me again or i swear i will go craxy, this time for real.
the answer is simple: i'm just growing up. please don't judge. give it time. no more tears.
thank you for all the love.
but too much of everything is poison.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
