Let's see what the can sounds do.

I like to listen to my music really loud sometimes to see what happens when I write.

I guess this is it:

Isn't it funny how a person like me has such an idealistic idea of love? So dumb, so sad yet so true.


Say I love you before the sky tumbles. 

A person whose so realistic and in sync with the souls around her that still, she yearns for this idealistic sense of love? Ridiculous.

Put it in the atmosphere.

Sometimes I imagine that reality isn't really real. Really. Whatever I do presently is just a snippet of what is actually happening. I once heard that our brain is sending 3,000 messages every second. Perhaps I made that up, but don't you believe it? I am 1 out of 3,000 to you at this second. Or perhaps the next. Maybe I am actually 100 out of 3,000 to you. I sorta want to be 159 out of 3,000 to you. I definitely don't want to be 200 out of 3,000 to you. That would make you clingy to me and I don't like clingy. In fact I broke up with someone once because they called me too much in a single day. Go figure.

It's been a long time since I've fallen in love. I have very intense crushes. It's been a long time since I've had an intense crush -  I told my friend this the other day. I have crushes yes, all the time. But not an intense one no. Maybe my heart is hardened to the fact. Go figure.


Nujabes feat. Cise Star - Sky is Tumbling
Feist - Caught a Long Wind

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f-a-c-e...

Stop.

I recently deactivated my facebook for the umpteeth time. Gotta de-screen myself.

Fuck your "likes."


I "likes" you.


I "likes" the fact that you wear glasses. That you listen to music. That you traveled the world. Take cool pictures of your food. Your status updates via twitter deck. So hip. That I "likes" but am too scared to admit it. I "likes" your cleverly titled albums. I "likes" that you listen to spotify. Do you "likes" me? I'm not too sure, but I'll just keep "likes" flirting on your wall in hopes that you will go to my profile and maybe fall in love with me. I "likes" you.

Many things can happen in two days.

My grandpa's voice over the phone sounds sad. He asks me where I am. I tell him I am at my uncle's house. For a mild second he is concerned - he doesn't understand why I am at my uncle's house because it is not a place I frequently find myself. I am fixing my bicycle grandpa. Oh! That's good, exercise is good for you, you should exercise.

You know your Mommy (my aunt) is cooking Banh Xeo. But since I no longer have insurance and no one wants to pay for it I can't drive my car. I can't go anywhere. I'm stuck here all day. Do you think you can pick up the Banh Xeo from Mommy's house and drive over here and eat it with me?

I tell him no.

No? You can't?


Yeah I can't.

I tell him I can't because I'm hot, my car has no air conditioning and I'm tired and hadn't eaten yet. Not to mention the gas it would cost to do all this. Not to mention my dad is waiting for me at home. Not to mention. Saturdays.

I feel extremely guilty and mad at the same time. I'm 24 and these are the things I worry about. My grandpa, my dad, people in my life. Sometimes I wish I could be away from it all again, but at the same time what can one expect. Life is an unfolding story I suppose. These are the things I worry about.

Let the unfolding proceed.

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My car is really hot. I just cleaned it today. I wish I had air conditioning that worked but I suppose I am lucky to have a car that functions.

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There's this tree in my yard that I never knew what it was for. It was really small when it first arrived at my house and had large dark green leaves. For years it had nothing on it. I had thought it was some medicinal leaf of some sort but my parents never touched it or cooked with it. I ignored this tree because I didn't know what it was for but I liked it since my friend's parents gave it to us and I thought that was an extremely nice gesture.

The tree has fruit and it's a loquat tree.

That tree has so much fruit finally!
Well it was there last year...
Really??
Yeah but you weren't here were you...
No, I was in Vietnam.


Oh daily mundane surprises.

Have you ever fallen asleep with all the lights on?

My lashes fall heavy.

This happened to me frequently in Vietnam. Snug under my mosquito net in small town Vietnam with the night chirping, I would lay down exhausted and let my eyes rest.

Unpleasant fluorescent awakenings
before the rooster stirs

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I don't want to plan, but I feel the pressure to.

My spirit is exhausted.

A beautiful sentence that I found in a museum.

The lone takeout box.

An spacious alleyway is much more fun than a crowded asian night market.

Fake but pretty.

I love the fonts on these records.

Trying on hats from "a long time ago"  - but this just happens to look like my regular hat.

Probably the best part of the museum.

The whole point of me writing.

I hope my blog does this for you. 

Did I just get a private tour of the Kodak Theatre and stand on it's stage?  YES I DID. 

I felt this way last week, I felt so exhausted, so confined. I could say that I was tired, walking more than usual and that I wasn't waking up very well. Nevertheless, I shouldn't be complaining, I had a very very eventful month, filled with old and new friends, events and places that I never imagined I could be. Perhaps my spirit is exhausted for a multitude of reasons for now I will not openly disclose.
Let the green glass shine.


Every morning the muted sunshine gently whispers and asks if he can help me rise to the occasion. He nudges my dreams and patiently waits for me to wake. Sometimes I purposely ignore him, so I can feel his warmth linger.  Seconds seemingly suspended, time asleep, and drowsiness overcomes. He waits.

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I'm sorry honey, but all I got is 26 letters to show you how much I love you.

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The other day my friend and I were talking about love letters. She very very kindly told me that my most recent post inspired her to write! (Thanks Linh!) She let me read her love letter she wrote for a boy and I liked it very much. It had hyphens, exclamation marks, cleverly constructed sentences and lastly her signature.

My aunt once told me that she met her husband when she first immigrated to London but then he had to return to Hong Kong. He loved her. He loved her so much that he wrote to her constantly. I want to say "everyday" but that would probably be me making that up. But can you imagine? How much he spilled into those letters? She kept them all and when she told me that story you can tell they were still in love. Her eyes glimmered young while her appearance told me otherwise. I whole heartedly believe in love letters. Would you dare say that the notion of falling in love with someone over a single written sentence is ridiculous?

Then call me ridiculous. 

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I wonder if I can get someone to draw my sentences.

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Revisiting idleness.

via my friend Elliot via Sven Birkets:

Idleness is what supervenes on those too few occasions when we allow our pace to slacken and merge with the rhythms of the natural day, when we manage to thwart the impulse to plan forward to the next thing and instead look—idly, with nascent curiosity—at what is immediately in front of us.

Sunday morning avails to little occasion.

I often wonder if what I am doing is correct or right - as if what I am doing solicits validation.

I have a feeling I may die early - only because in our youth we think that we are invincible. And as I stare at people on buses, read obituaries, hear of celebrity deaths, and see my close relatives health waning, I am beginning to realize that I am not invincible, that life will not be that long.

Sometimes I see souls dragging themselves across the hardened ground. No longer able to fly, they drag  heavily, leaving the unaltered eye curious.

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"fuck the universe" 

While in Vietnam, I read the book "The Alchemist" and I came to believe that if you put something out to the universe, the universe will listen to you. 


I put it out to the Universe. I asked it to give me a happy life. I asked it to make me content. I asked it for me to be less shy. I asked it to help me fall in love. I said "Universe, buddy, please let this happen"


A few weeks later, I said "fuck the universe."


At the same time I know my rather minute unnecessary reaction to my frustrations is not the Universe's fault. It sure feels good to blame it on the Universe doesn't it? Some imaginary higher being. It sure feels good to think that something else is controlling our lives. It sure feels good. 


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I once met a three year old who started her sentences with "When I was little..." This made me laugh because why would a child say such a thing. She was still little in my eyes. In her eyes she was not. In her eyes, time had passed and she had grown up. No longer did she play with certain toys. No longer was she unknowing. No longer was she who she was several years ago. She was three years old and she had grown up. 


I am twenty four and in my eyes I have not grown up. No longer do I imagine adulthood to be a place where life is something that can be so finite that it can be held. No longer.


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how romantic.

via postsecret

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What a sentence can do to you.

Love floats at the tip of her fingertips but never her lips.

Out of focus.

I've been very good at rhyming lately, and by good I mean I thought of two good sentences that accidently rhymed. I suppose this is a result of me being able to interact with my surroundings in L.A. ever since I decided to take public transportation to work. I said hi to the manager of my building on the bus, saw one really nice gesture where a man gave his change to a woman, and said hello to my rather good looking neighbor who was walking his dog.

For a few of you - you might know that one of my favorite things to do is to stare out of a window of a moving vehicle. You can't do this when your driving. I'd like to think that the world is moving for me.

The hyphen is my favorite device to use as of late, perhaps it's because I no longer grasp the English language like I use to, perhaps it is because I see the hyphen as something with much potential, it lingers at the end of my thoughts and connects it to the next. Perhaps I no longer understand the difference between the hyphen and the comma - but I find it more dramatic. Quite frankly, I need more excitement in my life.

While I find myself surrounded by creative individuals and creative whatever nots, I find myself a bit creatively stuck. Perhaps it is because it hurts to write.

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Just be.

Let's practice.

When I do not write for a long time, I feel a void. I think about writing all the time, I formulate sentences and titles in everyday instances. Sometimes I think I might have a glaze over my face or I stare off blankly because I am trying to formulate my story or maybe I'm just really feeling it. I make up sentences for a particular instance I am feeling. I tie nouns with sounds. Verbs with heartbeats. Time takes over.

Often, I think about my fears. I think about regrets. I think about the bad stuff, the negative stuff, the things that I am most embarrassed about. It's like life is currently this really rickety see-saw and I'm just trying to find a balance. The balance of absorbing everything, absorbing new friends, remembering old friends, new people, new lives, new nuances. The balance.

Meanwhile, I falter back and forth unable to really hold on to anything.

Telling my story. People who are good at telling their story, exposing their inner selves to the exterior, are perhaps those that are most content with their lives. I'm trying to tell my story. I'm not sure how to tell my story but everyday I spend a large portion of my time reading other people's stories and absorbing them. Everyone has a story. I have a story. What is the story that you want to tell? What is the story that you want people to see?

Story. The pages turn and slip through friction.

I struggle with this - the thought of telling my story. How? How do I do that? How can I do that in a clean creative amazing way? I think about this too much. Perhaps my story is to be a mess. Perhaps my story is to be filled with regret and embarrassment, contradictions and confusion. Perhaps my story is not so cookie cutter. Perhaps what I want is not likely. My story is not likely. I try so much to tell my story and wonder how many people are really listening to it?

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My hands hurt. The keyboard makes it hurt. The typing. They are stiff and this bothers me. What if my hands won't work anymore if I keep typing? Here I am typing. Here I am hurting but typing.

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If I have the ability to see people's goodness - when will I embrace mine? 


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On another train of thought, I'm overwhelmed with life that I think I'm losing my hair.