[Images via The Atlantic]
The resilience, courage and beauty of the Japanese people have emerged – whole – through the devastation.
You can contribute to the rescue efforts by making a donation to the Red Cross.
And remember to keep on praying for Japan.
Meet Me At The Corner: Behati Prinsloo and Jamie Strachan; shot by Jay Rodan and Kayt Jones for i-D.
I’m almost a year late in discovering this, but it’s too magical to not share.
I remember the corner.
The corner of your color, the corner of your smile.
The corner where we kissed.
The street corners turning into the corners of the corridor.
Into the corners of the room where we lay.
The corners of your mouth, of your eyes.
The corners of words we didn’t finish.
The corner of your name.
On the corner where we parted.
I remember the corner.
Straight up, this is probably going to the most private thing I have ever written here. But I think these words are far too important to keep solely in the private pages of my journal. I wouldn’t say I learnt this the easy way, but I think things up in my misty mind finally did click for me. So here goes:
You know I used to think that power was everything in any relationship. And this power rested solely in the hands of the person who loved less, who was consequently given more, pandered to, and could walk away with nary a scratch if the relationship did end.
I succeeded in holding this power, through all the relationships I was in, romantic or platonic. I almost always had to have the last word; I was always the one they fought over; I was the one ready with all the cynicism in the world for one more bastard in history (mine or the girls’); I was the one with the strength and the mojo, so to speak.
This is what I have come to learn. Power doesn’t bring you happiness. Holding the knowledge that you love someone less isn’t going to make you wake up with the knowledge that you don’t want anyone else in the world sleeping beside you, but him. Loving less isn’t going to make all the little things count; loving less isn’t going to take you all the way to 49 or 94 together; loving less isn’t going to build an us, and it most certainly isn’t going to build a you.
He made me realize this. For the first time I didn’t care if he liked me more or I him. For the first time it didn’t matter if I was going to have the last word in a bout of verbal sparring. For the first time I didn’t need to fight to put my defences up and ensure I had an exit route that would leave me unscathed. I didn’t need to; he was more than enough even if he didn’t mean to be.
But you should know upfront, this is not a love story.
[The Critic as Artist by Oscar Wilde, via paomycha and distantheartbeats]
I have been surreptitiously inspired. In a Harry’s-wand-goes-tap-tap-with-a-gaggle-of-magic-words way.
I think I’ve been waiting a long time for this to hit me again. The urgent, pleading need to write.
I haven’t been writing poetry for a long time; even worse are prose or the short stories which have not flowed on paper for the better part of three years. I suppose if you consider the fact that I only write poetry when I’m tragically down in the pits, this has been a good thing. But I’m ready to write again, ready to put ink on paper for purposes other than crafting dramatic and contrived press releases for good money.
I’ve added a tab at the top (Catastrofree Writes) to share some of the things I’ve written over the years and more importantly, to share some of the things I will write from hereon. Let’s hope this little collection keeps growing, shall we?
Thank you stranger. For reminding me that the gift of the pen does not have to be given only when life’s a bitch.
I will break these chains that bind me
Happiness will find me
Leave the past behind me
Today my life begins
A whole new world is waiting
It’s mine for the takin’
I know I can make it
Today my life begins
[Today My Life Begins :: Bruno Mars]
I love telling people about how we first met, in that Theories of Sociology class with Forrest Zhang; I will tell that story over and over, to anyone who would listen. It’s what I consider a milestone in this lifetime: the way I met my best friend, this tour de force who just changed my life completely from the moment she called me her “friend for life” (I quote that letter on the back of a used legal pad).
It’s a story about taking chances; it’s about thanking the unsung hero(in)es who have inspired from afar; it’s about reaching out and learning not to be afraid of hugs; it’s about hand-drawn cards with black Pilot V5 ink (the Oracle Hero only used Pilot V5 pens); it’s about hours and hours spent turning a virtual connection into a hand-to-heart one. The day I shyly sent my first email to her and the day she hesitantly passed a card to me in class – I will tell my children and their children about these days.
It’s been almost 6 years since. And I still ask myself every single day now; how in the world did I manage to survive 19 years without my Oracle Hero? Because I sure as hell cannot imagine a day without my best friend, taking on the world. Together.
My best friend in her element: confident, sassy, go-getting, the life of the party, loved by all. It’s amazing to watch and I couldn’t be prouder of her. If I had a buck for every single time someone came up to me and told me how much they adore her and look up to her, I would be ballin’ in the dough.
I love you, my Oracle Hero.
The most epic of a year together, the most epic of friends, the most epic of farewells, the most epic of pictorial chronologies in a long while, the most epic of tributes in a justifiably emotional state.
Don’t say I didn’t warn you.
[Goldsmiths Class of 2010. Asian Represent.]
To say that 2009 was the worst year of my life is an understatement. But what goes down also must really come up, so it comes as no surprise that 2010 has proven to be nothing short of amazing for me.
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