20.1.14
17.1.14
Sometimes you can't help but feel that the world is a bad place.
I have a few things that I am certain about and when that feeling comes it is usually strong enough to compel me to trust it.
The world is such a strange place with forces so bad you can't even imagine the amount of Ugly that prompted such behavior. On this I felt feelings that I never knew I could. I miss home. I miss comforts. In Vietnam, I never really had such a strong feeling like this. Perhaps because I considered Vietnam to be home.
7.1.14
This is what I see.
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| My favorite story teller in Vietnam! <3 td=""> |
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| The princess |
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| Looking down for once. |
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| Rooftops |
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| Glows. |
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| Dry. |
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| New heights. |
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| Let it |
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| My favorite meal in Vietnam. |
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| Durian, Papaya and friend Giang = best combo. |
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| Miss this little munchkin. |
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| These amazing ladies warm my heart. |
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| Fuckin' bamboo and duck soup. BUN MANG VIT TO MY HEART. |
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| Stacks on stacks. |
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| Mangosteen my belly. |
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| Delighting in broken bones. |
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| How I feel about studying. |
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| Yes yes and more yes. |
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| The moon ain't full tonight. |
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| Train station views. |
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| Rustic vs modern. |
20.12.13
25.11.13
You know the world is still the same.
It's just you that's different, it's just you that's changed.
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I think it's time to get nervous again (in a good way), will you let it happen?
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Don't let the Ugly get to you.
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Maybe it's time to let the scenery fly by again, put it back into perspective, and live again.
---
I am most creative when I sit at a desk. I am very good at sitting in one place for hours on hours at a time. It was something I practiced when young. The inability to go outside and play with the neighbors, the refugee fear, my desk was my refuge.
It was a small desk, but it was enough. It was no more than 4 feet wide, but it had shelves, and boy did it have shelves. Perhaps this is where I get my habit of having to see things in order to remember that they exist. My stacked shelves helped me see this. I remember the moment when I first stayed up to midnight to finish a school project. It was when I was able to listen all the way through to the end of a radio show that I liked. "It ends? OMG" My desk comprised of everything I owned. From my little boom box, to my stuff animals, to my aladdin wooden portrait that continues to collect dust in my room.
Those days are over now, but my little desk, the things I learned while sitting there for hours on end, remain with me.
---
I think it's time to get nervous again (in a good way), will you let it happen?
---
Don't let the Ugly get to you.
---
Maybe it's time to let the scenery fly by again, put it back into perspective, and live again.
---
I am most creative when I sit at a desk. I am very good at sitting in one place for hours on hours at a time. It was something I practiced when young. The inability to go outside and play with the neighbors, the refugee fear, my desk was my refuge.
It was a small desk, but it was enough. It was no more than 4 feet wide, but it had shelves, and boy did it have shelves. Perhaps this is where I get my habit of having to see things in order to remember that they exist. My stacked shelves helped me see this. I remember the moment when I first stayed up to midnight to finish a school project. It was when I was able to listen all the way through to the end of a radio show that I liked. "It ends? OMG" My desk comprised of everything I owned. From my little boom box, to my stuff animals, to my aladdin wooden portrait that continues to collect dust in my room.
Those days are over now, but my little desk, the things I learned while sitting there for hours on end, remain with me.
20.11.13
Intro to kettle bells my ass.
I'm sore from my workout, but I have some wandering thoughts.
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As a child, I spent my days running down aisles. Grocery aisles, stacked with things I couldn't have. For hours on end my brother and I was subjected to hanging out in the grocery aisles as my mom meticulously and strategically ordered her coupons so she can save money. There was no such thing as buying things without coupons. No such thing. Even milk. Maybe french bread though.
The narrow aisles of los angeles' sweatshops to only collapse on a large bag of unmade clothing. Do you know what our clothes look like before they hit the racks? They are all in separate pieces like pieces of a puzzle. Each part is sewn together by a woman. Each part stitched on the dreams of having a good home, food on the table, to see your child smile because you brought her a mickey mouse towel home.
Do you know what thread looks like? It's thin, colorful, and paints the sweatshop with life. I particularly like the leftover cloth and thread that piles up when you sew. You see, when you sew two pieces together there is also a sharp knife that cuts the fabric to make it perfect. Perfect so when you pick it up in the store you don't notice the imperfection that once was. Nothing is perfect. The sharp knife cuts the fabric simultaneously as the thread stitches together the two pieces together. As a result you get a pile of cut cloth that falls down a shoot into a paper bag or whatever you put there to catch it. The result is dusty, colorful, mass of shredded fabric.
Those are the aisles I ran between.
---
As a child, I spent my days running down aisles. Grocery aisles, stacked with things I couldn't have. For hours on end my brother and I was subjected to hanging out in the grocery aisles as my mom meticulously and strategically ordered her coupons so she can save money. There was no such thing as buying things without coupons. No such thing. Even milk. Maybe french bread though.
The narrow aisles of los angeles' sweatshops to only collapse on a large bag of unmade clothing. Do you know what our clothes look like before they hit the racks? They are all in separate pieces like pieces of a puzzle. Each part is sewn together by a woman. Each part stitched on the dreams of having a good home, food on the table, to see your child smile because you brought her a mickey mouse towel home.
Do you know what thread looks like? It's thin, colorful, and paints the sweatshop with life. I particularly like the leftover cloth and thread that piles up when you sew. You see, when you sew two pieces together there is also a sharp knife that cuts the fabric to make it perfect. Perfect so when you pick it up in the store you don't notice the imperfection that once was. Nothing is perfect. The sharp knife cuts the fabric simultaneously as the thread stitches together the two pieces together. As a result you get a pile of cut cloth that falls down a shoot into a paper bag or whatever you put there to catch it. The result is dusty, colorful, mass of shredded fabric.
Those are the aisles I ran between.
18.11.13
