Melbourne, 5 Apr 08: I was at my aunt’s place snapping away when I noticed the mosaic tiles flooring. It’s been a long while since I see one of these retro little thing. If my memory serves me correctly, the bathroom and toilet flooring in my father’s house used to have that. Another childhood legacy is the fondness for Mary Jane shoes. I remembered a few shoes I used to wear as a child; red, black and pink which were all in Mary Jane style. Though the shoes I’m wearing in this photo is not exactly a one, I’ve fallen terribly in love with shoes that have a strap. It’s evident from the tan line I have on both feet.
When I was working in the administrative field, I was of proud of the fact that I’m such a skillful organizer. Unfortunately, the lost art of organizing Lisa still persists. I’ve been wanting to set up a shopping cart (or something that resembles a secured shopping cart) to display my items. But alas, I couldn’t find the time to even make some new stuff, let alone putting together a shopping cart. I’m still working on it. I’m also working on a few other products but the process has been painstakingly slow when I have other things to do too. I shall remember to hurry up. Hopefully, I’ll push a couple of things out before April ends. Meanwhile, I’ve listed the Red Tree bag made a few weeks ago on MadeIt and here.
Melbourne Airport, 12 April 08, photo edited for added contrast; Waiting for my flight home from Melbourne, I found a quiet spot to read and listen my iPod. When I was adjusting my earphone, I looked up and saw the reflection of a man with an American accent pacing up and down talking on the phone. So, I quietly took out my camera and snapped a photograph. Outside my glorious window parked a MAS aeroplane. How apt it is.
All We Are. I overheard this song on an episode of NCIS few weeks ago. And I couldn’t help wondering. Essentially, we are this one being that share the common trait of wanting to be loved. The girl who is broken. The man who cheated. The child who was silenced. Even the hermit that lives in total solitude needs to be loved. We envy the ones who loved too much and loathe those who get to love. We spent one lifetime searching for that one love that we can hold onto for eternity. That someone to breathe with us, eat with us, laugh with us, cry with us but most importantly, loves us. Of course the greater a love is, the more painful it gets when all things come tumbling down. But that is just the part and parcel of life, isn’t it? It is the risk we have to take. Essentially, all we are, we are. Who are they to say that you aren’t?
Amber moon, 12 April 2008. I was walking past the window when I noticed how low the moon was. Quickly, I set up my tripod and camera, snapping away before it was gone. There is a small white light acting as a focal point in the photo. The aligned photos based on the dot are how the moon descended into the back of the hill. If you click on the larger image, you can actually see the crater of the moon.
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He gives the cigarette a light tap with the back of his right index finger as the thumb and middle fingers held on to it. Benson & Hedges, the elegant letters imprinted on the edge of the filtered rod. His sixth finger, he called it. The ashes ventured a short distance before landing on the wet concrete floor.
“Damn rain,” he muttered under the heavy alcoholic breathe as he avoids the scattered puddles.
Finally, he found an unoccupied bench and wipe away the droplets with his bare hand; the one with the five fingers. “Damn the lovers,” he cursed again. At least it’s not an isolated park. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have come here everyday after work. The kind of work that allows him to stay long past the forgiven hour. The kind of work that deny anyone else a dinner appointment.
Sometimes, he had hoped that things were a little different. A little better and a little easier. He wished that she would understand him a little better. There are plentiful of things he wanted to tell her. The things he is afraid to tell her, the things that he never tells a soul. Not even the amber moon in the quiet sky.
But it doesn’t matter, does it? It’s too late now. These days, he wishes differently. He doesn’t need. He only wants. He wants to be in the cradle of her mind, her love and her bosom. Wishing is all he could do.
The sky darkens rapidly these days. In the garden today, I caught a glimpse of the remaining light when the sun sets behind the hills. Following, I found a rather adorable autumn poem by Gibran to accompany this post. What say you?
A Blade Of Grass by Khalil Gibran
Said a blade of grass to an autumn leaf, “You make such a noise falling! You scatter all my winter dreams.”
Said the leaf indignant, “Low-born and low-dwelling! Songless, peevish thing! You live not in the upper air and you cannot tell the sound of singing.”
Then the autumn leaf lay down upon the earth and slept. And when spring came she waked again — and she was a blade of grass.
And when it was autumn and her winter sleep was upon her, and above her through all the air the leaves were falling, she muttered to herself, “O these autumn leaves! They make such a noise! They scatter all my winter dreams.”
Spending a week in Melbourne with my aunts, I was thoroughly spoilt with food and good company. Needless to say, Asian food was high on the menu. I’ve eaten nothing but Asian food and aunts’ home-cooked meals. Except for the one day at Bridge Road’s Grill’d.
Melbourne is starting to grow on me. Erratic weather aside, I’ve always love Melbourne much more than other cities in Australia but more importantly, I love being in the leafy suburb of Ivanhoe where I spent many early mornings walking up and down the steep roads looking at some of the most beautiful houses in the area. I love my aunt’s home. A lot of her furniture and deco are soft and feminine but vibrant and not gaudy.
While with my aunts, one in particular whom I spent most time with, I clarified a few things that have been going on in my life; or rather indirectly mentioned how hurtful it might be for me to receive comments or pressure on certain aspects of my life that I find difficult to express; for very private reasons. We also reminisced the past, made observations of one another (inevitable when people share a house together) and my aunt said that I’m definitely my mother’s daughter, over the little things I said or did. I hope she meant it in positive. With very little distraction, I actually managed to make a rough plan of my life for the next ten years - long and short term goals, aspirations, where I want to be and such.
Stop and stare
I think I’m moving but I go nowhere
Yeah I know that everyone gets scared
But I’ve become what I can’t be
- Stop & Stare / One Republic
There’s something romantic and poetic about autumn.
Even the word, autumn, sounds romantic.
The falling leaves, golden and red,
Twisting and turning and fluttering in the wind,
Showering the earth that I walk upon,
Achingly beautiful.
Autumn Leaves / Jacintha
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I’ve been enjoying the days as it is. There were times when I became a little bit emotional. There’s no suprise there. I can hear the tiny screaming of people over my shoulder, giving resounding advise on what I should do with my life. There were times when I doubted my very existence and wondered if I’m better off elsewhere. There were times when I’m just glad to be alive. More often than not, contemplation is of the latter. There are some places in my mind and my heart that I cannot afford to explain. No matter how much I wanted to. There are issues that I simply cannot expect anyone to work it out for me. I have to work it out for myself. I think human is a wonderfully dysfunctional being. At least I am. At least half the people I know are.
I enjoyed the small walks I’ve been taking with the dog, void of thoughts and speech apart from the occasional greetings reserved for strangers with kind faces. It’s true that when deep in the blues, take a walk, move your limbs and look up the sky. The hue in the sky will be better than the one in your mind.
I like to get out and feel life. I don’t want to get drunk, get silly and dance away to music I do not understand. I hate unreasonable loud noises. There are so many things I want to do, places I want to go and people I want to see. Here’s to life.
So here’s to life
And every joy it brings
Here’s to life
To dreamers and their dreams
May all your storms be weathered
And all that’s good get better
It only took me two Christmases to finally want to have a relationship with my sewing machine and I think I’m starting to get a kick out of sewing. For the last few days, I’ve been making and sewing bag and I’m absolutely thrilled with the end result. It shouldn’t have taken so long but the weather has been so warm that anytime after 1pm, it’s feels like a sauna when I work on the sewing machine that sits next to the window.
The fabric, 100% cotton (and by the look of it calico though it’s not explicitly said), is absolutely a darling to work with apart from the fact that it needs constant ironing to even out the wrinkles. Being fond of the shapes of trees, I decided to try my hands out with a tree pattern.
Lessons Learned:
When you are pinning fabrics together carefully in hope that the pins will not prick you when you are adjusting the fabric, chances are you will get pricked.
It’s a brilliant idea to sew a pattern with tracing paper, until you are done and having a hard time trying to rip the paper off. Try tissue wrapper next time.
Feel like walking to New York. Don’t you feel like that sometimes? Just wanting to talk a long and endless walk somewhere? Maybe I should. Someday.
UPDATE 3: I think this layout will do. I’ll add in the blogroll links later. - 15 March
UPDATE 2: I managed to restore half the entries back to archive via external sources like feedburner, feedblitz and my rss reader. I’ll restore the comments relevant to the restored posts soon. - 15 March
UPDATE 1: Urm. I accidentally deleted one part of the archive (specifically single entries & pages) before backing it up. The subdomain, for some reason, was inaccessible so I was doing some cleaning up of the database via phpmyadmin. The intention was to delete just one entry. Somehow, I deleted the entire wp_posts. This is horrible. Arrgh! Stupid stupid stupid @^&*tard. Foggerty fog. - 13 March
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I’m in the midst of redecorating this website to accomodate the new direction it will be taking. Previous entries and comments have been moved to http://archive.bohemianphilosophy.com which shall remain there for a while.
