Wednesday, October 01, 2014

The October Feeling.

I was going to write about what I have been thinking but instead I will start with what I have felt today: The cool autumn breeze as it came through the window above my bed in the morning – it made me wake up and go back to sleep all at the same time; the rays of the slightly diffused sun played on the floor for a few hours before going off to other places; a beautiful heart ache at the discovery of a new song on the radio; how the wind blew my hair around as I walked through the park; how my hands felt so cold, but my heart so warm; how his sleepy smile brightened the sun; how my body moved as I paced around the living room; how the coffee with extra cream felt in my hands, and then on my tongue; how the mist came in the evening and damped everything around, including me; how October makes me happy.

It’s that old October feeling, of the world turning again, of seeing an old friend; of telling and retelling stories, of playing the guitar around the campfire, of pumpkin spice everything, of moonlight walks in sweaters, of picnics on flannel blankets by the lake, of crunching leaves against the pavement, of curling up with a book on rainy autumn afternoons, of another chance to live.

I Romanticize

Friday, September 26, 2014

Sad Sickness.

You're all dressed up to go dreaming.

Sinatra sang in my ears as I sat on one of the benches in Potomac park. I have yet to find my favorite bench. But I am working on it. (But I have been telling myself that for years now). Ideally I won't be sitting here alone. I'd be sharing this beautiful view of the water and the even more beautiful city beyond the water with someone. I carry a splitter in my purse nowadays - that little piece of wire that lets you connect two different headphone sets to the same outlet. I carry it around in case I ever get to reenact a scene from Begin Again. I probably won't.

I have been carrying a sickness in my heart for so many years. Every now and then I realize that and I want to cry. But no tears come out. It's just sort of a sick sadness. Sad sickness. This life can't be so short. These nights can't be so long.

Perhaps some day I will put my act together and find a favorite bench, and walk long enough with someone to call it an actual walk. For now, its just you and me Mr. Sinatra - as we have been for many years. 

What a night to go dreaming.

 This is a work of fiction. 

Tuesday, September 09, 2014

The Drought.

I walked and sat on the bench in the courtyard with my coffee just for a little bit before heading into work. The sprinklers came on over the flower bed across from me. The water drops were so delicate, almost foamy, gently, ever so gently, bathing them with the sweet, sweet mist on this hot day. Even flowers get better treatment than people these days. There is a drought in California. There are people in this world that don’t get enough water to drink let alone bathe in it. And when they do get water, I bet it's dirtier than what these flowers are getting now.

The homeless people are not allowed inside Starbucks – well, they don’t quite go along with the vibe of overly priced coffee chain we all feel so proud of. It’s 90 degrees (30 C) and I can’t wait to get inside that freezing office – well, we have too much electricity and lord help us if we ever let the summer heat get to us. But only the privileged get that. Not the people that work on the streets, not the people that live on the streets. It’s the same old story you have heard over and over again. The rich gets to live the life they want, and also get to complain about the little, meaningless things, while the poor get to wonder when, if ever, their suffering will end. While I get to wonder if I should make chicken or beef for dinner tonight, they get to wonder if they will have dinner at all. While I get to enjoy my overly price iced-coffee, they get to walk for miles to get a drink of water.

I never understand why I get to work on the 50th floor of a giant building, while someone else sits outside that very building hungry, hot, and penniless.  I never understand why there is so much misery in this world, but more than anything, I don’t understand why we are so insensitive towards this misery. How can we be so terribly selfish. It should be inhumane, shouldn't it? That we understand the misery but we are indifferent to it. As if it is somehow okay for me take everything for myself, and leave so little for anyone else.

Sunday, August 17, 2014

[12] Sunday.

I Romanticize

Even though it's only August, the sun has been having trouble staying out, and I have been having trouble taking photos with natural light. I have a studio setup, but I’d rather take photos in natural light. I like capturing glimpses of life, as they are when they happen.

I spent the weekend at home after a long time. I started looking at the place I live in, how the walls and the roof has always felt so temporary. I look at small displays of my life here – things gathered, read, and worn – the memories created in this tiny place. I wonder what this place will be remembered as when I leave. Will the next person know that I sat by this window countless evenings eating strawberries? That I have counted all the leaves on the tree in the courtyard by my terrace? I wonder if it matters whether there is a ketchup stain on the carpet, or that there is a tiny hole in the wall above my bed from where the string lights hung for all these years.  I wonder the marks you leave on places – on people – ever matter in the grand scheme of things.

There is no sure way of knowing whether you’ll leave any effect on this world as you experience it, but you can only hope that what you did in this life was remembered and that you changed places to make them prettier, and touched people in a way that made them more human.
For now, I am going to sit here, and eat my strawberries, and hope that I am doing as best as I can in this life, and with this life. Because it is only that belief and hope that will make me do anything good, if at all.

Saturday, August 16, 2014


I walked in the apartment at 1:24pm on a Wednesday. I didn't remember the last time I saw my apartment with the sunlight on a weekday. But not that Wednesday. That Wednesday was a start of a vacation. I had absolutely nothing to do for the next four days. I could finally just sit there and read a book that I had been meaning to for so long, or drink lots of coffee or spend all my days at a bookstore or go get lost somewhere in the mountains, or I could have just continued to lie on the couch and do absolutely nothing.

Isn't that nice? To have absolutely nothing to do for a little while? It is a rare blessing in the kind of life I lead and perhaps you do too. I was quite happy. But only for that Wednesday. That half a day of beautiful nothingness. The rest of the time, one thing or another came up as it always does. So many errands needed to be run, bills needed to be paid, people needed to be seen, family needed help, and before I knew it I was sucked back into everything else, and that empty space was filled again with all sorts of tasks, except anything meaningful.

I wonder if we ever really get to do what we really want to do in life. When does happiness last for more than half a day. When, if ever, do we truly get to live.



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