Wednesday, November 23, 2011

2011 Wishlist Part 1: (Or A Lez Guide to Boring Fashion)

It's been three years (I think) since I last made one of these, but today I figured I needed something to look forward to--hence, a very materialistic wishlist.

This isn't necessarily a Christmas wishlist, and certainly not a list of things I expect/hope other people would give me. (Unless you, dear reader, happen to be a very generous soul--then by all means, make me happy!) Nope, this is more of a list of the things I want to save up for, mostly to remind myself that I need money--thus I need a job; thus I need to graduate already; thus I seriously need to stop slacking off. I took yet another unmotivated schoolwork-day off for this, so I hope it works.
This post's OST: Nickelback - Rockstar

Tuesday, November 15, 2011


Where did they go, those sunrises two years ago, when everything was easy to write and my emotions weren't so complex and unreachable at the same time? Here I go again at a frightening crossroad, with so much uncertainty and pressure, and nearly not enough sleep (often because of the workload; at times of my own volition).

It's yet another rollercoaster year of fun, excitement, fear, self-doubt, sadness, and utter, inexplicable happiness and contentment. In other words, it's life, or a particularly heightened phase of it. But among the many emotions, in this moment--and in many others, when I happen to catch myself--I am wistful.

Contradictory as it is, I've found myself most wistful at the happiest, calmest times. I yearn for things as they happen to me, because every time I can't help but remind myself: in a minute, or an hour, or the blink of an eye--this moment, this experience, and this unexpected swell of emotions will pass and I will never be able to have it again.

Around seven years ago, I was fascinated with cherry blossoms, blooming and falling in a matter of days. Until now this fearful fascination with change and ephemerality has stayed with me. Everything ends; everything passes.

So, often I shy away from any form of trying to capture the moment. Unwritten posts, pictures not taken, words left unsaid. Best left that way, for fear of not being able to do it justice. Instead I opt to keep them in my head, much like series episodes to be replayed when I feel the need.

Other times though, I think I ought to tell those stories--even just to myself--because the time will surely come when I will forget. Perhaps I'll start. While words and pictures may not suffice, they'll help, at least.

Perhaps, things aren't so easily lost after all.

Damien Rice - Cannonball


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