Though, I’m not a fan of their group 2AM, I’m head over heels for this man’s voice. You must know, a habit of mine is scouring Youtube for videos of the songs I like sung live. Tonight’s a session for Korean drama OSTs and I found this HD video of ChangMin-ssi singing Moment. (I’m not Korean and when I first heard the lyrics “Love is the moment niga odeon geu nal geu sungan” believe me, I immediately searched for the translation because hey what do you mean by love is the moment lalala? Then I found the translation and I’ve come to appreciate the song even more.)

It’s close to midnight and my heart is pounding, I was literally squealing because this The Heirs track sung live is much better than the recorded. It’s not A-okay but ChangMin-ssi seemed to fully grasp the feeling of this song, it brought down the house, and my heart, as well.

One day.

One time I had to choose between the colours black and gray. I went for black. Looking back, I answered with the first thing that came to mind.

Why I went for black, I must have only considered my clothing preference.

Today is an in-between day.

The sky is a pale, pale gray. It has been raining since the early hours of morning, and the sun was stuck behind restless clouds it must have decided to rise somewhere else. Even the sun probably wants someone to appreciate her warmth and lights in shades of red and orange and yellow.

This amount of rain wouldn’t have prevented me from going out, but other circumstances made us move today’s arrangement to sometime tomorrow or the day after.

A gray weather has almost always brought me a sense of calm. Except when it’s a typhoon bringing with it strong winds, I have always enjoyed rainy days like today. For one, it encourages me to write. This in-between moves me to just lay my thoughts down, whether on my journal or on a blog. And, if today’s meeting pushed through, I would have taken the chance of wearing a sweater since it’s cold outside. If it were a tad colder in our country, I would wear sweaters, pullovers and be bundled up every day.

Today is an in-between day.

While reading Mythology (Edith Hamilton’s) and occasionally forgetting who is who and who did what, I read about Prometheus and his brother Epimetheus. Forethought and afterthought. Deep thinking and mere spontaneity. They must go hand in hand, they should.

Let us behave ourselves accordingly, outwardly ordering our lives, while within all should be purer, wiser, incorruptible.” (Plutarch)

Literary hangover.

Firstly, I thought the Winter Carnival was the separate peace the book was talking about. And then I got to the end, well, almost,  and Finny was the separate peace. And then Mr. Knowles kills Finny with his own bone marrow. Then again maybe I shouldn’t point fingers at Mr. Knowles because it wasn’t him who entered Finny’s bloodstream and stopped Finny’s heart.

How is it that a clean break killed Phineas altogether? Is that supposed to be a metaphor? Like it’s just you deluding yourself to thinking things are under your control when in fact they are not? You think this life, your life, is in your grasp, that you’re holding it tightly however, some parts are still slipping away through the cracks. Slowly, then all at once. (No, this is not Hazel Grace of The Fault In Our Stars falling in love with Augustus. That’s another story.)

I have bits of Gene in my genes (did I just write that); I also have “some ignorance inside me, some crazy thing inside me, something blind”. At some point I’d act on impulse and I’d push people away. Which is both good and otherwise, depends.

I have highlighted more on my book but I’m only writing Gene and Finn’s lines, the former from page 85, the latter from page 191.

…and I lost part of myself to him then, and a soaring sense of freedom revealed that this must have been my purpose from the first: to become a part of Phineas.

I believe you. It’s okay because I understand and I believe you. You’ve already shown me and I believe you.

In the book, it’s also written that nothingㅡnot a tree, or love, or death by violenceㅡendures. And something the author says, that it’s a story of “growth through tragedy”. Nice would be an understatement.

The Visit by Sharon Dolin

Originally posted on From Troubles of The World:

There will always be this place
inside
where I feel her absence
where I feel the echo of her lost voice —
the one she would have used to call me
back from sadness             as she had to be
called so many times         back from madness.

What would it take to summon her —
Not having an address, just a marker
for where she is not

I can only go and visit
her absence                     her remains
which become less and less like her
more and more like the earth and trees,
the sky she continually faces.

I’d rather picture her under the sea
hair waving to the fishes and the brine,
being washed clean by
sharks and plankton

than under those pines by
the stone bench: one more desiccating root
in a garden of bones.

From: http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/browse/162/6#!/20603709

Date: 1993

By: Sharon Dolin (1956- )

View original

It was enough.

Saturday night and I actually fell asleep early, only to find myself stirring at around 2 in the morning of Sunday. Tossing and turning, cocooning myself in my chilly blanket, and fluffing the pillow, did nothing to put me back on slumber mode.

That’s when The End, the thirteenth and final installment in Lemony Snicket’s A Series of Unfortunate Events, came into the picture. For months, my relationship with this series was on and off. At times it’s fast-paced I’d finish two books and a half in a day. The suspense was enticing, I had to know what happens next immediately. That is, with the first half of the series.

Then I got to the part where the villainy and the seemingly unending misfortune eventually killed the cat. Cat meaning my thirst for follow-ups and installments. Olaf, Esme Squalor, the innumerable meanings of VFD, and how when the Baudelaires thought they got the piece of cake, it’s taken away from them, was how I stepped on the brake. Woah, series, calm down.

My emotions were up and down, I had to have a breather, and I took it. For a month. Silly me, Mr. Snicket left warnings on how miserable the Baudelaire story is and I just kept on reading. On and on, eager to end the monstrosity of their misfortunes. As though by reading and getting to the final page of every book, the villainy that tags along the characters would finally, let go and let them be.

When you think about something, it adds a bit of weight to your walk, and as you think about more and more things you are liable to feel heavier and heavier, until you are so burdened you cannot take any further steps, and can only sit and stare at the gentle movements of the ocean waves or security guards, thinking too hard about too many things to do anything else.

Reading thirteen books on misfortune is bound to take its toll on you. Reading this series means a rollercoaster ride for my emotions. Thinking too much, I didn’t just mentally put myself in their shoes. For a while, I unconsciously immersed deeply in their catastrophes. As if I was standing in the very same spot. What can Violet invent to get us out of this disaster? Klaus, do you remember anything you’ve read about this and that? Sunny, is there anything you can prepare that wo

It is a curious thing, but as one travels the world getting older and older, ut appears that happiness is easier to get used to than despair.

Hmmm.

There is a kind of crying I hope you have not experienced, and it is not just about crying about something terrible that has happened, but a crying for all of the terrible things that have happened, not just to you but to everyone you know and to everyone you don’t know and even the people you don’t want to know, a crying that cannot be diluted by a brave deed or a kind word, but only by someone holding you as your shoulders shake and your tears run down your face.

Never, ever thought I’d feel differently about him. But when the sort-of closure and sort-of answers to the questions were laid out, and final words were uttered, when his eyes shone brightly, I found the connection. I understood. Whenever I read the paragraph where Count Olaf finally shut off, I mourn. Honestly, my heart breaks even more for him than Kit Snicket. It’s Severus Snape all over again.

One cannot spend forever sitting and solving the mysteries of one’s history,and no matter how much one reads, the whole story can never be told.

But it was enough.

We’ve finally walked through the beginning of the end. With Mr. Snicket still on the run.