Paris, I miss you

I would love to go to Paris again, and explore the small cobble stoned paths and tiny shops I didn’t have time to go into in June.

Thanks mom for the lovely trip, I miss you a lot!

A bit more than a year ago

I was floating between infinite sadness and temporary highs.

Still learning to embrace whatever life’s throwing at my face.

Dreams/goals

In October 2005, I wrote:

Seven Things I Plan To Do Before I Die:
1. Work for charity, either opening an orphanage or creating a center for disadvantaged kids
2. Have my own youth hostel
3. go to New York, spend a term there
4. Write a book
5. open up a small Secondhand Bookstore
6. marry the man of my dreams, adopt kids.. sth like that
7. Learn Tagalog

I still want to do all, except number 6 maybe; I’m not good with children.

Dark/light/ness

Taken around 5-6am in Terengganu

 

There used to be a time when I couldn’t sleep in the dark. I had to leave the lights on, whether the source came from a bulb or the small hallway or the bathroom, anything as long as I wasn’t completely engulfed in darkness. My favourite method of falling asleep was watching TV and letting it run until I woke up the next morning, or my mom would come in my room and switch it off for me whenever I was back home. For a long time I couldn’t sleep in the dark, it made me seem small and lonely. For a long time I was afraid of ending up lonely. Not alone, lonely. There’s a difference.

Stories, memories

As I grow older I tend to think of my childhood more; the houses I lived in, the people I met, things I did, my family. I feel quite old when I reminisce about the past, I wonder if my mom does it too, once in a while. I always loved listening to my grandmother tell us stories about her past, just as much as I loved it when my mom recounted tales of her childhood. Sometimes bits and pieces, like copper-coloured film negative would appear in my mind, sometimes these memories present themselves in real colours, just a bit blur like old pictures kept in our photo albums. Playing with my cousins, jumping in a blow-up padding pool, the red tub that I insisted taking baths in until I grew too big for it -I wonder if my mom still remembers that plastic tub-, memories of my grandma, mom, maid making rice balls for me because I wouldn’t eat rice unless it was rolled into those tiny, round shapes; I think of that and a lot more, now and again. There are days when time passes by too slowly, but looking back,it doesn’t really. It’s the only continuous and steady thing you can rely on, it never stops, never slows down. It makes me sad. We’re saying goodbye to everything we start, every day is the beginning of an end, nothing is immortal and lasts forever. I hate goodbyes.