...that happened quite a while ago.
"Are you an artist?"
"Err... I'm not.. I don't think so.. I work as.."
"Do you draw? Paint? Write music? Write?"
"I guess I do write. Poetry and fiction."
"You are an artist."
Okay, I guess I want to be an artist. Now what am I doing here?
Reminder to myself: the grass is always greener on the other side.
~Dragon's Den~
- Sapphire Little Dragon
- Cyberspace, Where everywhere is anywhere
- The sapphire little dragon. Easily amused, and easily hides away from people, falling deep in thoughts. Loves to talk, and loves to share. Often very philosophical when late at night. Likes traveling and experiencing different cultures. Will always be your "unusual and exotic girl". ** Gets closer to you if you're fluffy** :)
Tuesday, May 14, 2013
Sunday, April 28, 2013
Crazy world
Petals of broken words that keep on spinning
dizzying through the midnight clock tick
Spinning spinning and spinning
Unforgiving
We took the pedals of yesterdays
And forgotten the love we vowed
We threw our souls away
And cried over the pressured dustiness
Explode
Dance
Weep
Startled
Our heads dizzied our yesterdays
Tequilla does not calm us down
Because it's crazy
It's a crazy crazy world
dizzying through the midnight clock tick
Spinning spinning and spinning
Unforgiving
We took the pedals of yesterdays
And forgotten the love we vowed
We threw our souls away
And cried over the pressured dustiness
Explode
Dance
Weep
Startled
Our heads dizzied our yesterdays
Tequilla does not calm us down
Because it's crazy
It's a crazy crazy world
Tuesday, April 16, 2013
Friday, April 12, 2013
Que Sera Sera
When I was just a little girl
I asked my father what will I be
Will I be pretty?
Will I be rich?
That's what he said to me:
"Que sera sera
Whatever will be will be
The future is hard to see
Que sera sera"
Oh well. Taking a huge leap of faith here.
I asked my father what will I be
Will I be pretty?
Will I be rich?
That's what he said to me:
"Que sera sera
Whatever will be will be
The future is hard to see
Que sera sera"
Oh well. Taking a huge leap of faith here.
Friday, March 22, 2013
At 70 mph
At 70 mph, he cruised down the freeway.
"Cruised" is a terrible understatement. There was hardly a car in sight. Flatlands. 3am. Middle of nowhere. Drive on, drive on, drive till sunrise.
Nobody could see him now. There were tears rolling down his cheek. He was strong throughout the wake and funeral - so what's up with those tears. Maybe he wasn't that strong. Maybe he just couldn't bear another person seeing him cry. Too much. This is too much for him. Things went by too quickly and he didn't get a chance to say goodbye.
Why?
He hadn't been home in a while, and why would he? 80 hour work week, vacation saved up till the next trip. He had been so busy. But that was necessary. That was a way of life. He provided, he saved. He quickly learned to cross the two-way street in 20 seconds. He called home often, usually on the 11.30pm Q train ride in the northeast direction. They were sometimes, often times asleep, and he would leave a quick 5 minute message.
He listens to their long voicemails during the morning train ride. Squished between wannabe executives and tired journalists and preppy schoolgirls and the occasional musician, he often felt lucky he gets on the first stop. Man next to him yawn and try to sneak in a quick 10 minute nap before the next stop. More sleep, a little more sleep. Or read all the news early in the day so you don't miss anything when you walk into the office at 7.35am. Everyone has an agenda. Nobody asks you what yours is.
He didn't plan to stay here for long. But after 2 years, it's been incredibly hard to leave the pay here. Never mind the living cost and the pace. He said he'd go home sometime and hang. Under the basketball court he used to match every Saturday afternoon. The snow cone she coyly brought up to him one day one year late spring. That passionate summer before he went off to UPenn.
He hadn't played basketball in a while. Instead his "workouts" have been treadmills and weights, plugged in, in a crowded silent room. At least he still works out. Never mind the family dinners. He knows where the fastest Chinese take-outs are. He's gone to date after date, tested a few fancy restaurant. He provides, he tries.
Still at 70mph, alone in a four-wheeled-drive, headed east. That was the hill they used to go to. He spent weeks with his scout troop. Cans of beans. Bonfire. His first trail biking. Broke his left arm. That's where he and Mike and Bill and Andy used to hang out during summer weekends. Talks under the starry night. They all had the same crush at one time, and he couldn't remember if Andy or Mike asked her out first. They would laugh under the night blanket. He was the smart one. He will go off to some really elite college and have some really good job. And they all will stay behind.
He shrugged at that time. But they were right. Mike and Bill and Andy went on to community college and graduated and got married early and got kids. After entering college, he found himself drifting away from his childhood friends. They enjoyed a simple life - he didn't. He knew he wanted to do law school one day. He wanted to advocate social justice. He wanted to be someone big.
And then he got a monstrous offer from an investment bank on Wall Street.
He had not been home in almost a year. And he probably wouldn't be home if not for the funeral. It all happened too fast. Cindy called him two weeks ago telling him that Mike was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and wasn't doing too well. He was not a science major. He brushed it off. He called Mike twice, running between client presentations. He seemed fine. But he wasn't.
He wasn't. He couldn't believe that. They were only twenty five. But he flew back. He couldn't tell anymore if he was more upset or more shocked. Or maybe he was both. He did great - he was extremely calm and consoled Cindy and the one-year-old pretty well. He was there for them. He helped out with the funeral arrangements. He helped out a little with the finances, much to her regret. Mike was a good friend.
They looked older - father and mother. Maybe they didn't really look older, maybe it was his illusion. He hadn't seen them in a while, so they must look older. Mom wanted to set him up with Molly, one of the girls two grades below him. He wasn't particularly interested. She just graduated from Iowa State.
Flatlands. Cornfields. Everything looked the same as when he left. But something changed. Something changed so much that it twisted him inside. Squeeze. Churn. He hadn't driven at 70 mph in a long time. He hadn't driven in a long time period. You don't drive much in the city. Parking is ridiculously expensive.
You never have to pay for parking here.
Everyone drives. Everywhere. You get on a car and go. You never wait for the train. Why must you? Why wait when you can go at your own speed? Why must he wait? Why must he wait for 10 minutes for the train in the morning, and the rush across the street in 20 seconds? Why must he wait in line for the double shot coffee dripping with cream, and then rush up the elevator? Why must he wait at the gym to use the equipment? So much waiting, so much rushing.
That's it. He's tired. He's lonely. He's lonely in the city. But he's lonely here too.
Corn subsidies. Corn fed beef. A hell lot of corn fed beef. He's disgusted by burgers. He's ashamed of his family business. That's not fair. What is fair? What is justice?
Still at 70 mph, he's heading east. He's almost there; he knows that. This path is too familiar. He'll park by the red trail, get an egg sandwich and a cup of coffee, and walk along the trail. He's been too caffeinated these days. Maybe that's what he needs. A walk in nature to calm his mind.
Maybe he'll quit if he doesn't get the promotion. Maybe he'll take a year off and travel around Europe. Maybe he'll finally apply to law school. Maybe he'll find more meaning in life.
Almost there. At 70mph, he drives into the fading darkness, into the twilight zone.
"Cruised" is a terrible understatement. There was hardly a car in sight. Flatlands. 3am. Middle of nowhere. Drive on, drive on, drive till sunrise.
Nobody could see him now. There were tears rolling down his cheek. He was strong throughout the wake and funeral - so what's up with those tears. Maybe he wasn't that strong. Maybe he just couldn't bear another person seeing him cry. Too much. This is too much for him. Things went by too quickly and he didn't get a chance to say goodbye.
Why?
He hadn't been home in a while, and why would he? 80 hour work week, vacation saved up till the next trip. He had been so busy. But that was necessary. That was a way of life. He provided, he saved. He quickly learned to cross the two-way street in 20 seconds. He called home often, usually on the 11.30pm Q train ride in the northeast direction. They were sometimes, often times asleep, and he would leave a quick 5 minute message.
He listens to their long voicemails during the morning train ride. Squished between wannabe executives and tired journalists and preppy schoolgirls and the occasional musician, he often felt lucky he gets on the first stop. Man next to him yawn and try to sneak in a quick 10 minute nap before the next stop. More sleep, a little more sleep. Or read all the news early in the day so you don't miss anything when you walk into the office at 7.35am. Everyone has an agenda. Nobody asks you what yours is.
He didn't plan to stay here for long. But after 2 years, it's been incredibly hard to leave the pay here. Never mind the living cost and the pace. He said he'd go home sometime and hang. Under the basketball court he used to match every Saturday afternoon. The snow cone she coyly brought up to him one day one year late spring. That passionate summer before he went off to UPenn.
He hadn't played basketball in a while. Instead his "workouts" have been treadmills and weights, plugged in, in a crowded silent room. At least he still works out. Never mind the family dinners. He knows where the fastest Chinese take-outs are. He's gone to date after date, tested a few fancy restaurant. He provides, he tries.
Still at 70mph, alone in a four-wheeled-drive, headed east. That was the hill they used to go to. He spent weeks with his scout troop. Cans of beans. Bonfire. His first trail biking. Broke his left arm. That's where he and Mike and Bill and Andy used to hang out during summer weekends. Talks under the starry night. They all had the same crush at one time, and he couldn't remember if Andy or Mike asked her out first. They would laugh under the night blanket. He was the smart one. He will go off to some really elite college and have some really good job. And they all will stay behind.
He shrugged at that time. But they were right. Mike and Bill and Andy went on to community college and graduated and got married early and got kids. After entering college, he found himself drifting away from his childhood friends. They enjoyed a simple life - he didn't. He knew he wanted to do law school one day. He wanted to advocate social justice. He wanted to be someone big.
And then he got a monstrous offer from an investment bank on Wall Street.
He had not been home in almost a year. And he probably wouldn't be home if not for the funeral. It all happened too fast. Cindy called him two weeks ago telling him that Mike was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and wasn't doing too well. He was not a science major. He brushed it off. He called Mike twice, running between client presentations. He seemed fine. But he wasn't.
He wasn't. He couldn't believe that. They were only twenty five. But he flew back. He couldn't tell anymore if he was more upset or more shocked. Or maybe he was both. He did great - he was extremely calm and consoled Cindy and the one-year-old pretty well. He was there for them. He helped out with the funeral arrangements. He helped out a little with the finances, much to her regret. Mike was a good friend.
They looked older - father and mother. Maybe they didn't really look older, maybe it was his illusion. He hadn't seen them in a while, so they must look older. Mom wanted to set him up with Molly, one of the girls two grades below him. He wasn't particularly interested. She just graduated from Iowa State.
Flatlands. Cornfields. Everything looked the same as when he left. But something changed. Something changed so much that it twisted him inside. Squeeze. Churn. He hadn't driven at 70 mph in a long time. He hadn't driven in a long time period. You don't drive much in the city. Parking is ridiculously expensive.
You never have to pay for parking here.
Everyone drives. Everywhere. You get on a car and go. You never wait for the train. Why must you? Why wait when you can go at your own speed? Why must he wait? Why must he wait for 10 minutes for the train in the morning, and the rush across the street in 20 seconds? Why must he wait in line for the double shot coffee dripping with cream, and then rush up the elevator? Why must he wait at the gym to use the equipment? So much waiting, so much rushing.
That's it. He's tired. He's lonely. He's lonely in the city. But he's lonely here too.
Corn subsidies. Corn fed beef. A hell lot of corn fed beef. He's disgusted by burgers. He's ashamed of his family business. That's not fair. What is fair? What is justice?
Still at 70 mph, he's heading east. He's almost there; he knows that. This path is too familiar. He'll park by the red trail, get an egg sandwich and a cup of coffee, and walk along the trail. He's been too caffeinated these days. Maybe that's what he needs. A walk in nature to calm his mind.
Maybe he'll quit if he doesn't get the promotion. Maybe he'll take a year off and travel around Europe. Maybe he'll finally apply to law school. Maybe he'll find more meaning in life.
Almost there. At 70mph, he drives into the fading darkness, into the twilight zone.
Thursday, March 7, 2013
Yellow Flower
Your blossoms sprout in the peak
Of a Spring's morning
Stretched through the winds of Winter's
Last breath.
Golden rays carefully caressing your
Silky yellow crust so soft
So smooth.
Breathe.
Your aroma fills the day with pleasure
As you curl up by the sidewalk
Observing rushed men and women run
Sprint to the train off to certainty
Or some say bread and butter
But you lie
By the bushes yawning and stretching
Yet another wave to be awaken
Soon.
When it gets warmer.
Good morning.
Of a Spring's morning
Stretched through the winds of Winter's
Last breath.
Golden rays carefully caressing your
Silky yellow crust so soft
So smooth.
Breathe.
Your aroma fills the day with pleasure
As you curl up by the sidewalk
Observing rushed men and women run
Sprint to the train off to certainty
Or some say bread and butter
But you lie
By the bushes yawning and stretching
Yet another wave to be awaken
Soon.
When it gets warmer.
Good morning.
Monday, February 11, 2013
Valentine's Post
Caress me in your embrace like
Warmth radiating from the fireplace
This winter's night is cold, so cold
So won't you hold me close, so close?
Drown me in your perfection
Encapsule me, entice me, seduce me
Because I am a lone weary soul
And a twinkle of water is much better than
Drops of deep bold gold
If only you can read this.
Warmth radiating from the fireplace
This winter's night is cold, so cold
So won't you hold me close, so close?
Drown me in your perfection
Encapsule me, entice me, seduce me
Because I am a lone weary soul
And a twinkle of water is much better than
Drops of deep bold gold
If only you can read this.
Tuesday, January 22, 2013
Thoughts on vegetarianism
When I cook, I'm a vegetarian by convenience. I can't touch raw meat nor cook them well, and veggies are simply cheaper. I am by no means a vegetarian - I don't buy meat often, but when offered meat, I will eat it. Although I do not enjoy ground meat (God knows what's in it) or the texture of steak, an excellent meat dish (like mom's cooking) does warm me up.
Throughout my life, and perhaps the more recent years, I have met many vegetarians and ex-vegetarians. Some are so devout and all of them are vegetarians for various reasons. Obviously there's the family influenced one, the religious one, the animal welfare one, the dietary concerned one... It's interesting to know them, what they eat, and how they came to this special dietary conclusion.
Will I ever be a vegetarian? I don't think so. I think life is more balanced with more options, and I don't want to arbitrarily restrict myself in any way.
There are though, people who firmly decide to be vegetarians at the (young and tender) age of 15. I personally know some, even vegan ones. Many of them have been lucky - their families are supportive and made sure there was at least one vegetarian dish on the dinner table every day, allowed them to cook for themselves if needed, and respected their believes. They grew up to be healthy, environmentally aware adults who often fell in love with fellow vegetarians, either raised that way or changed their beliefs to align that way. And then presumably they will get married and have children.
One interesting question that often arises is: my partner and I are vegetarians and raised our kids to be so, but now my 8-year-old insists on eating meat... what should I do?
What will you do, indeed?
Actually, to me, this is no different than the 15-year-old who announces she will forgo all meat and only go veg her entire life. It's a dietary choice. It's a change that can potentially make you an enemy of the family. It's a coming-of-age thing. And as with all coming-of-age situations, I think that parents should think about how to handle them; an important note is to both have empathy and allow children to think critically.
For the vegetarian kid who wants to eat meat, parents could say, "dad and mom became vegetarians because *insert reason may it be religious or health or economical or political in easily understood terms*. We understand your choice to be different, but there are certain rules you have to follow."
I am hesitant to say if you should change your cooking habits to accommodate the child in either case. If you do, you might feel that it's too much work (preparing BOTH kinds of dishes can be tiring). If you don't, your child might think that the only way to eat meat (or not eat meat) is to eat out, potentially creating some bad and expensive habits...
Well, I guess since I do not intend to be a vegetarian, nor am I a strong meat lover, it shouldn't be a hard decision for me in case it happens... but who knows?
Throughout my life, and perhaps the more recent years, I have met many vegetarians and ex-vegetarians. Some are so devout and all of them are vegetarians for various reasons. Obviously there's the family influenced one, the religious one, the animal welfare one, the dietary concerned one... It's interesting to know them, what they eat, and how they came to this special dietary conclusion.
Will I ever be a vegetarian? I don't think so. I think life is more balanced with more options, and I don't want to arbitrarily restrict myself in any way.
There are though, people who firmly decide to be vegetarians at the (young and tender) age of 15. I personally know some, even vegan ones. Many of them have been lucky - their families are supportive and made sure there was at least one vegetarian dish on the dinner table every day, allowed them to cook for themselves if needed, and respected their believes. They grew up to be healthy, environmentally aware adults who often fell in love with fellow vegetarians, either raised that way or changed their beliefs to align that way. And then presumably they will get married and have children.
One interesting question that often arises is: my partner and I are vegetarians and raised our kids to be so, but now my 8-year-old insists on eating meat... what should I do?
What will you do, indeed?
Actually, to me, this is no different than the 15-year-old who announces she will forgo all meat and only go veg her entire life. It's a dietary choice. It's a change that can potentially make you an enemy of the family. It's a coming-of-age thing. And as with all coming-of-age situations, I think that parents should think about how to handle them; an important note is to both have empathy and allow children to think critically.
For the vegetarian kid who wants to eat meat, parents could say, "dad and mom became vegetarians because *insert reason may it be religious or health or economical or political in easily understood terms*. We understand your choice to be different, but there are certain rules you have to follow."
I am hesitant to say if you should change your cooking habits to accommodate the child in either case. If you do, you might feel that it's too much work (preparing BOTH kinds of dishes can be tiring). If you don't, your child might think that the only way to eat meat (or not eat meat) is to eat out, potentially creating some bad and expensive habits...
Well, I guess since I do not intend to be a vegetarian, nor am I a strong meat lover, it shouldn't be a hard decision for me in case it happens... but who knows?
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