Birthday

'Let's party! Time to drink champagne and dance on tables!'
I could still hear the voices of my friends, particularly the ones in the US, saying this.
Oh yes, and their 'woohoo'-s.

Sometimes I find this funny, we human beings are just too good at making up excuses for celebrations, aren't we?
Festivals, New Year, anniversaries, the day we first met, our first date, graduation, 100th day of the newborn...you name it.
It seems that anything could be a reason to eat, drink and be merry.

I recall what I wrote on the invitation for the dinner on my birthday last week:
'While life continue to suck after we left the uni, never run out of excuses for fun and good times!'


Of course, by 'fun and good times', I don't just mean feasts, parties and alcohol.
It's just that sometimes life gets repetitive and dull that we easily forget how precious and wonderful life itself is.
Everyone knows the truth is that the more we feast, party and consume alcohol, the farther we are from happiness.
But the ironic part is that even everyone knows this, so many continue to make the same mistake.
Remember that guilt you have which came along with the extra pounds after you ate too much?
(Yea, the food was too good and I won't be able to resist it either.)
And that terrible hangover you have the next day after you drank a little too much?
(Well, perhaps it was more than just a little...)
I'm sure you know what I'm talking about because, once again, most of us share the same human experiences.

Have you heard saying this? I'm sure I'm not the only one.

Do we really need this much of celebrations?
Or is this the way we entertain ourselves because most of the time we are miserable?


While I am aware of the sugar-coated trap of vanity, I believe every day should be embraced and celebrated.
But not with feasts, champagne and recklessness.
Instead, a whole lot of positivity and love.

English: Life is full of little pleasures

I find myself surrounded by love and blessings, even on days that I feel so bad and negative.
Sometimes when I count my blessings, I feel perplexed: do I really deserve all these?
I honestly think I'm just a girl. Just a girl who is SO DAMN lucky!

'What do you want for your birthday?'
They often expect to hear names of some objects or some brands.
I usually say 'something so precious that I could press my heart against'.
Like a handwritten card with blessings so sincere that the person mean every word he or she writes.

Of course, I appreciate that people are sweet and thoughtful enough to buy me gifts.
But, let's say people aren't very good at listening---I usually end up getting things I didn't say I want, rather than cards.

'Why aren't people better listeners?'----a forever mystery that no one can solve.
Agree with me?

Every year, I ask myself the same question, 'another year older, what's next? what do you want now?
I made a list of goals that I made for myself, not just for the coming year before another birthday, but for the rest of my life.
If a goal has to be concrete, then I'm pretty bad at making a list of goals because I never write something specific like 'save up $____ each month' or 'read 2 books each month'.

But I still think I made an incredible list of life goals and list of things I wanna do.
One of the items on the list:
'Have a constant positive attitude that radiates and a big heart which never seem to run out of love.'

At the end of the day, it's not money and rituals that matters, it doesn't even matter if one is knowledgable, intelligent and well-mannered.
All it matters is a person's heart and virtues.

Is this not the biggest treasure in life?
It's a luxury that can never be bought, only be earned with great effort.
But once you have it, even the most notorious thieves can't steal it.

I could not imagine a better crowning glory than a personality that sparkles and shines better than all the diamonds in the world and a heart of pure gold.

A very important thing I learned: the gift of love can only be appreciated and returned by sharing.
It would be mere selfish if I only accept blessings and love from others.
Of course one has to be grateful, but gratitude is only the start, spreading the love is the next.

I'd like to take this opportunity to share with you a poem by Emily Dickinson titled 'If I Can Stop One Heart From Breaking'.

It goes like this:

'If I can stop one heart from breaking, 
I shall not live in vain;
If I can ease one life the aching,
Or cool one pain,
Or help one fainting robin
Unto his nest again,
I shall not live in vain.'

May I give it a twist and add this,
'If I can give the world the gift of love,
I shall not live in vain.'

This is my birthday wish, what's yours? :)

Dear readers,
No matter who you are, how old you are, where you are,
if so it happens that today is your birthday,
I send you my blessings and my love.

Love,
N

A Night with Poems

Dear readers, what have you been reading lately?
Moi? 
Recently, I don't seem to get the pleasure I usually get from reading.
Have been either reading non-fictions which have something to do with psychology or politics, or fictions which are heavy and only add to my melancholy.

Time for me to go back to poetry.
Poems I typically read are rather short ones.
Yet length certainly doesn't mean poems are light reads.
Short but expressive, play of words and let my imagination runs wild----reasons why I love poetry.

These long quiet nights appear to be the perfect time (when actually anytime could be good) for me to dig out a few poems and enjoy the simple pleasure they bring me.
Make myself a cup of tea, dim the lights a bit, tug in bed, good reads----simple pleasure.
I like the aroma of tea in the air.
Interestingly, a cup of tea before bed has nothing to do with the quality of sleep.
Caffeine is only at the service of my moods; I fall asleep anyway if my mind gives me a break. And if it doesn't, even sleeping pills lose their effect.

Not that I know about many poets and their poems, but there is a certain (type of) poet that I particularly dislike----Xu Zhimo (徐志摩).
I do like Chinese poems as the language itself is poetic and beautiful.
The complexity of the language itself means a single character can carry with it sophisticated or even layers of meanings.
Xu Zhimo is so famous with his poems about Cambridge as well as his romantic love poems.
But it is exactly his 'romantic' love poems that I detest. Or maybe it's his style that repels me.
So exaggerated and so explicit that it is almost vulgar and tawdry to me.

Anyway, I am not a bluestocking nor am I a literary critic, so I'm not giving any more comments.

Dear readers,
Do you have poets or poems that you particularly like? Or do you sometimes write your own poems?
I sometimes do.
Very often I find myself wishing that I was born in the 'good old times', one of the many reasons is that I wish I live in a time when people write poems and give them as gifts---it is simply sweet and meaningful.
I could write simple poems but couldn't really give them out as gifts because I'm afraid it's too much, too emotional and too personal, no matter how close I am with the receiver.
My parents were once separated by distance, but they maintained the love not only through phone calls but also handwritten letters. And many of the times, my dad would write my mum poems and she would write him back.
How romantic!

I wish people still do this now...
Just if the world has more amateur poets and fewer people who complain/curse/talk bullshit/gossip, it would be fantastic.

Tonight, I'm reading some of Pablo Neruda's works.
I share with you this poem which speaks my mind and heart.
Readers, enjoy.

If You Forget Me
I want you to know
one thing. 

You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.

Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.

If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.

If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
remember
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.

But
if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine. 

The last three line hit me.
Frustration, anger and disappointment only mean my yearning for love.
I can be strong and independent but the truth is, I miss you and I miss the way we were...

Love,

N

It Takes Two to Tango...

Went to bed with a drop of tear falling from the corners of my eyes.

I don't bother to wipe it off from my cheek.

That drop of tear is more than sadness, it was a blend of frustration, anger, disappointment and helplessness.

'Just close your eyes and sleep,' I thought to myself.

I'm not the type of person who forgets her troubles after a good night's sleep. 

They stay as long as I breathe, they just do.

Sometimes when my troubles push me to the verge of the cliff for negative emotions, I have the urge for dance or anything dance related.

For example, Por Una Cabeza, the song Al Pacino dances to in the movie 'Scent of Woman'.

The song somehow channels my emotions and soothes me. I could listen to it for hours.

Today is one of the days when I have the song played on loop. 

'You don't grow tried of this song, do you?' My mother asked.

'No, mother, I don't. Good stuffs transcend time,' I said, at the same time anticipating my favourite part of the song.

As the song eventually came to the end, before I click Play again, my mum asked a good question, 

'do you want to take dance lessons again?'

'Yes, I do,' I don't even have to think before giving an answer.

'Why not?' another question.

'You know the reasons well enough. I don't have to repeat them...' I said.

I listen to Por Una Cabeza to soothe myself, but that question brings back the frustration.

It is even stronger now.

I find myself waiting. 

Waiting for months and years, and very soon a decade.

Waiting for things to happen.

Yet, they usually don't.

'It takes two to tango,' I added. Then let out a sigh.

I was perhaps saying something more than only dance.

People think tango is all about sex. 

But it really is so much more----connection, trust, precision, control, discipline, just to name a few.

Like any other partner dance, it is an unspoken yet shared language between the two.

Does dance strengthen the relationship? Or does it take a strong relationship to have a good dance?

I'm in such desperation that I couldn't even think clearly now.

Just as my inability to answer the question I just asked myself, I'm equally unsure if I want to wait for what I have been waiting for years.

I guess it's time for me to stop waiting...

Dear readers,

What are you waiting for?

Is there anything that you really want to do and yet have been waiting for the 'right time'?

Maybe it's time to put it in action.

Love,

N

Back In Time

Have you ever had those moments that time all of a sudden stop and you feel like you are brought back in time?

Those are the moments when everything seem so familiar.

Those are the moments when it feels like things happened just yesterday but in fact they happened long before yesterday---the feeling of so close yet so far away.

Dejavu, a beautiful French word which literally means 'already seen'.

We have an equally beautiful phrase in Chinese, having the exact meaning. 

Human experiences surpasses races as well as time, don't they?

A dejavu brings back precious memories that are as light and short-lived as fog and as fragile as a soap bubble.

Whenever I come across such striking moment which always seem like to bring me back in time with its magical power, I get so taken away that I find myself holding my breath or breathe as softly as possible.

Those moments are so precious that I fear that the sound of myself breathing could break the moment and bring me back to reality.

Yesterday I had a few moments like that. 

So overwhelming that they made me speechless.

I was brought back in time in just a split of a second.

It seems like it was just yesterday that I was a student (and I still like to be one), but I could barely remember how it feels like to be one----so familiar but somehow so different now.

Interesting how a change in identity changes a person in just a very short period of time.
I knew time passes and life goes on, but I savored every second of my mental journey of going-back-to-the-past.

While certain things and people change as time passes, I'm glad certain things and people don't.
Reading at my withdrawing room, still one of my favourite and most soothing things to do.
The scent in the air, the sound of typing on a keyboard, the funny sounds that smart phones gives off, the comfortable silence, the calmness that is so pleasant and precious.

The familiarity of a dejavu gave me something that I have been lacking these days----
a deep sense of security as I shut the outside world out and a moment of peace though perhaps a temporary one.
It feels like time stopped but the truth is time flies.
Open and dive in a book, a few short chats and the next thing I know is that hours have passed.

My journey back in time empowered me.
As I was leaving the familiar place, back to the outside world filled with strangers' faces, I felt peaceful. So much better and more ready for the unknown.
Dusk is the time when feelings and thoughts are particularly powerful.

My mind wandered free with random thoughts.
But having a better mood means my brain comes up with nicer thoughts.

One of the many thoughts I had on my way back home was the flawless and timeless Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers.
Earphones plugged in, the voice of Frank Sinatra brought me on yet another journey back in time--the time that I wish I were born into.
The good old glamorous times when manners mattered, when men were gentlemen and women were ladies, when music was better and dance was an art.
I'm very stubborn for certain things and values that sometimes I find myself an alien in this modern but rotten world.
You may say I'm old-fashioned in certain ways, but this is just me. :)

Oh Fred and Ginger, watching them dance is such a delight.
I could watch them hours and still feel amused.

The Way You Look Tonight

Cheek to Cheek

A journey back in time brings back memories so pleasant that I am grateful and humbled.
I dedicate this post to people who I can never seem to thank enough, for simply being in my life and making it so much better. :)

Love,
N

A Dream Within a Dream

I had a great dinner and made a fairly ugly but still tasty apple pie.
I was tired but contented.
It was supposed to be a good night of sleep.

But something woke me up in the middle of the night--I heard myself crying.

I was having a dream.
To be more accurate, a dream within a dream.
In my dream, I was dreaming about my cousin.
And when I woke up (still in the dream), I was telling my mother that I have been dreaming of my cousin a lot these days.

The dream looked very real, only except in reality I don't go around crying and telling people what breaks my heart or what drives me crazy.
Well, maybe this is what I'm doing now, here.

I was in both sorrow and frustration, much like a spoiled kid crying in front of her mum asking for a new toy.
Pretty lousy comparison, in terms of comparing a life to a toy.
But you know I'm only talking about the feeling of sorrow and frustration.
Not only do they combine, they also magnify each other.
That feeling hurts.
It hurts so bad.

In my dreams I was almost shouting as I cry, something that I very rarely do in real life.
Why do we do things we normal won't do in dreams only?
Why couldn't I even cry and shout in real life?
Do I not even have the courage to do that?

In my dream I spilled out everything I feel about my cousin's death.

I hate this feeling that I'm dying to see him again but not being able to, no matter how much I miss him.
I hate not daring to even say his name because it puts me on the verge of breaking down.

His face, his smile, his words and those happy childhood memories.
I hate when memories emerge from the night around me.
No, not only at night.
But anytime, anywhere and for no reason.
Memories just creeps up on me as they wish.
Both the good pleasant ones and the ones less pleasant.

Whether or not it's a pleasant thought or not, I can't help having tears blur my vision every time I think of him.
A thought of my cousin.
Tears blurring my sight.
Memories become so vivid as if I watch them replay with my own eyes again.
Hurts me so bad that I have to close my eyes and shut it out.
Tears drop and roll down my cheeks.
It happens like that every time I thought of him.
Every single time.

I hate the blunt cruel truth that he existed but not anymore, especially when memories are still this fresh and vivid.
I feel helpless and angry, when death sort of turns my cousin, a real person with flesh and blood, into an imaginary person who never existed.
He was there in my life.
He was THERE! But where is he now?
I am still helpless and frustrated months after his death.

One day, we will be gone. And then life goes on and people move on.
The world doesn't seem to change.
But it's never the same.
It's never the same anymore.

Does it even matter if a person exists?
Will I be remembered? For how long?
It scares me.

The moment I poured out everything in my dream, I was in silence.
Just empty silence.
The kind of silence that makes you wanna hold your breathe because breathing is simply too loud.

I spilled out all my feelings and now what?
Does it change anything?
Does it bring him back to life?
Does it make me feel any easier?
You and I both know the answer--nothing's gonna change.
Even in my dream, I knew the answer.

Perhaps it's not the sound of myself crying that woke me up, perhaps it's reality that woke me up--the reality that I lost him forever.
I opened my eyes only to see that I was surrounded by the darkness of the night.
I was hushed by the silence of the night which seems to tell me 'crying and shouting: forbidden.'
The moment I was awake, I was also awaken to the irony of dreams and reality--when I could be so genuinely expressive of my emotions in my dream while not having the courage to do the same in reality.

Human brain is such amazing thing.
In the midst of my confusion between dream and reality, and being consumed by all the powerful emotions, my brain could just pull out lyrics randomly with ease.
The lyrics adds to the irony, my confusion and sadness,

'Why live life from dream to dream and dread the day when dreaming ends?'

Love,
N

P.S. Today is the type of day when I couldn't leave my bed or my place.
Was supposed to be out to get something and for work out, but the thought 'maybe I will do that in just a moment' left me spent the entire day at home and screwed up all my plans for the day.
Day wasted.

Being A Mean Girl on Halloween

How was Halloween, everyone?
I hope the hangover isn't that bad.
I didn't have plans for the night, so I guess that automatically means I picked 'trick' over 'treat'?!
Sure it was a trick when I spent the whole night in excruciating pain...
Anyway, I hope yours were much more pleasurable than mine.


Isn't it peculiar when people feast, drink and party on Halloween?
What exactly are they celebrating: life or death?
And why don't we have a festival to celebrate life--something like Easter but without the Christianity element?
Well, we need excuses to party and celebrate, that I understand.


When the title of this posts says 'mean girl', I didn't mean I was pretending to be one of the girls in the movie Mean Girls.
But this post has a lot to do with those type of girls depicted in the movie--girls who dress and act like sluts.

Halloween is such a peculiar festival.
As I grow up, I began to understand that Halloween is of particular importance to party girls and sluts.
You don't see guys putting that much of effort into dressing up.
Probably because they put most effort in hunting for girls, because on this particular day, some people get their wish granted--wearing the sluttiest outfits, the ones that they hide in the deepest corners of their closet and still getting tolerated.
Actually not just on Halloweens, think about those Christmas bunnies and Little Red Riding Hoods outfits!

Mean Girls the movie captured the essence of Halloween best, with the following quote:
'Halloween is when kids dress up in costumes and beg for candy. In girl world, Halloween is the one day in a year when a girl can dress up like a total slut and no other girls can say anything else about it.'

Right on the spot!
They could wear their skimpy, tasteless sluttish outfits and still being tolerated.
And if men get a little too friendly, too close or touchy-feely, girls can always blame the guys by screaming 'pervert!' while stomping the men's feet with her killer heels.
Killer heels.
What a name!
Not only meaning that the heels kill with their sexiness but they have this name for a practical reason--they are a girl's best weapon, whether it's for self-defence or pure revenge or just to hurt.

Imagine being stomped on your toe (or worse, more important body parts) with that tiny but sharp heels...OUCH!
To make the weapons even more lethal, shoes these days are much higher. And uglier, so they hurt your eyes too!
Yes, I said it, they are ugly as hell.
I really don't care if other girls like it, the most important thing is that shops shouldn't let ugly shoes dominate.
Do you have ANY idea how damn difficult is it to buy a decent, nice pair of heels now?!

Sometimes I look at some girls feeling amazed by the diversity of sub-species in human beings.
Sometimes, with just one stare at them, I want to be a sociologist/anthropologist/ biologist:
1) Just where do they get the courage and pride to wear such outfits and think that they look attractive?
2) What is beautiful about sea-urchin-or--spider-like fake lashes, coloured contact lens, excessive lace and heels that look like moveable stage?

3) Do their eyes see things the same way other people do? Or special species like them see things differently?
4) Who is responsible for this 'standard of beauty'? Just who the fuck is he/she/are they start this? Fashion police should hunt those people down. What a crime!

Sea urchin and spider on her eye

Spider heels. This is REALLY scary.

Being a woman doesn't make me understand other women's thoughts and minds any better.
Okay, guys, I can hear your 'Uh-huh! you see?' and I see your nodding heads.
Yes, sometimes I just don't understand...

I'm not against dressing up or wearing costumes. Dress codes is one of the things I love the most.
Whenever I decide to wear a costume, it's either all or nothing.
Most girl don't put enough effort dressing up---a pair of animal ears or a fur ball on your butt and you call THAT a costume?!
Step it up, girls!

Girls, if you are DYING to show as much skin as possible and have your body be seen by as many as people possible, why bother to think of an outfit or a character to pretend and spend money on outfits that are made of cheap plastic?
You could just grab an apple, some leaves and you are ready to go--you are Eve!
After all, there's not much difference when you have more than half of your boobs out, forcing a cleavage up to your neck and your shirt is too short to even cover your ass.

Seriously, Eve is a much better idea.
It's refreshing, bold, daring, simple and cost effective.
I could really understand why men can find some women scary and appalling.
Poor men...

Okay, enough with me bitching about the bitches and witches on Halloween.
Something much nicer to share with you.

I know it's a little too late for Halloween costume ideas, but this vid is JUST too good not to be shared.
Ellen pretending to be Sofia Vergara.
Sofia Vergara is one of my favourite actresses.
She is sexy and hot but the BEST part is that she is so funny. Every time she appears on Modern Family, I can't help but smile the moment I see her.
And once she starts talking, I just burst into laughter, not to mention that her lines are usually clever.
What a fantastic woman she is--sexy, attractive, fun-loving, enjoys dancing and funny!

And Ellen, she did a great job pretending to be Sofia.
She's not bad in a wig, makeup and that 'feminine' outfit, actually better than her usual short hair!
Dear readers, enjoy.

Hope Halloween was a nice treat to all of you, especially for the little ones.
Don't eat too much candies, or else you will have a big bum like Ellen! :)

Love,
N