individualist

Wearing | Mango dress • Sisley cardigan • Fossil bag • Marc Jacobs aviators

I consider myself as a relatively independent person. I'm not afraid of being alone. I would love to wander aimlessly around the cobblestone streets of SoHo in New York City by myself one day with a thousand strangers between elegant cast-iron architecture and spend hours in all the shops, completely and utterly carefree. One day I'm going to go explore Paris, France and tell nobody where I am. I rarely ask for opinions because I have more personal preference than anything. No one can change my mind once I make a decision. My slight case of OCD and moderately delusive perfectionism bridge with satisfaction of when things are done my way. I rarely ask for favors or help because I'd rather figure things out myself. I have my own unexplainable way of doing a lot of things. I'm a nonconformist in most situations. I don't mind breaking social norms. I'm not a follower but at the same time I don't like it when others follow me. I think I'm just one of those Froot Loops in a bowl of Cheerios...

let's pack a picnic and then go for a drive we'll go to a funfair and go on all the rides

(Shorter hair, and no more braces! I have a habit of buying tops two sizes larger just to call them dresses, and somehow I have a hoard of unworn scarves being abandoned in the nook of my closet...)

I see the nonchalance of his posture as he walks past her, his lopsided smile reserved just for her is now lost. I see falsely lit tired eyes, I see traces of regret following his footsteps. I see the remembrance and remains of unrequited emotions. I see two people, pretending to be strangers. They exchange hidden glances. Eyes closed, I could tell they're still a blur. Time is a blur. It was 11:11. I could hear the clock ticking on the wall, my tiny breath of a wish ghosted into the night as I noticed a young human being thinking only of herself. My mom makes my favorite childhood food, and I smell the aroma seeping through the space under my bedroom door... I miss camping out in my backyard for no reason and building blanket forts. I miss riding down stairs in laundry baskets, when a pile of sand and bucket of water was my own created world, and giant cardboard boxes were as infinite as the universe. We all grew up, and it's not as fun anymore. I doubt the magic has gone out these things, I just need to relocate my five-year-old sense of wonder. Most people think dinner at a fancy expensive restaurant wins the heart, but not mine. My idea of an unforgettable evening involves a woven straw basket of homemade sandwiches and a checkered blanket on a grassy hilltop, where you could watch dust motes dance in the rays of light beaming through tree leaves as the sun sets for dusk, and the sky is a gradient of purple and orange. Take me to the drive-in theater if you want to catch a movie.

i believe in fairytales

Photo sources: HeavyHearts and Vild on Tumblr, Pony_Tail on Flickr

I apologize if I start falling into an abyss, and I blame the beautiful sunshine for slowly luring me away from the blogosphere! I believe my past week of freedom and short relief from the schoolwork was a much needed mini preview for what I could see so far, a long-awaited three months of inescapable slumber, car rides with the top down, trips to the beach, and inevitable spending cash. I've got a sweet taste of spring break and now I crave for an even sweeter summer vacation. Oh, the day I finally get to slash June 23rd off my calender! Almost here. Almost here. Almost here. For now, I'm back to the daily grudging of early morning wake ups and late night crams as testing is woefully just around the corner. I can totally see how the word "bed" looks like a bed and the word stressed backwards is definitely desserts for a reason. Oh, and has anyone noticed how ironic it is that "studying" is student and dying combined? Time for a cat nap.

what is love?

Wearing | lace cardigan from mom's work • Forever 21 floral top • DIY black bandage skirt • cat-eye sunglasses from Rose Bowl flea market • Michael Kors bag

"What is love? Are your palms sweaty, is your heart racing, is your voice caught within your chest? It isn’t love, it’s like. You can’t keep your eyes or hands off of them, am I right? It isn’t love, it’s lust. Are you proud and eager to show them off? It isn’t love, it’s pride. Do you want them, because you know they’re there? It isn’t love, it’s loneliness. Are you there, because it’s what everyone wants? It isn’t love, it’s loyalty. Are you there, because they kissed you or held your hand? It isn’t love, it’s low confidence. Do you stay for their confessions of love, because you don’t want to hurt them? It isn’t love, it’s pity. Do you belong to them, because their sight makes your heart skip a beat? It isn’t love, it’s infatuation. Do you pardon their faults, because you care about them? It isn’t love, it’s friendship. Do you tell them everyday that they’re the only one you think of? It isn’t love, it’s a lie. Are you willing to give all of your favorite things for their sake? It isn’t love, it’s charity. Does you heart ache and break when they’re sad? Then it’s love. Do you stay because a blinding, incomprehensible mix of pain elation pulls you close and holds you there? Then it’s love. Do you accept their faults, because it’s apart of who they are? Then it’s love. Are you attracted to others, but stay with them faithfully with no regret? Then it’s love. Would you give them your heart, your life, your death? Think about it for a second..."

wild thing you make my heart sing

(I want to collect this tunic in every color)

la vie en rose

(Oversized shirt I found laying around in my house that I tied into a skirt, red lace top from some boutique on Sunset Blvd, and floral cardigan from F21)

A sense of saudade. I'm not sure what it is but the month of April makes me nostalgic. I remember what the crisp air tastes like and how the natural light out your window starts to dim the room at 6. I forgot how much caffeine tea contains and how the other side of the pillow is colder. My mind slips because I let it, in denial of being in denial. I see things but they're not there. I've always wondered why birds choose to stay in one place, when they can fly all over the earth. Sometimes I ask myself the same question. I desperately want to climb up a hill at sunrise. Everybody needs perspective once in a while, and maybe I'll find it there... I want to be able to tell you how the sun rose one ribbon at a time. I don’t know if you can hear this, the constant clicking of my fingertips on the keys, but I hope you wake from your sleep in another bed, in another city, in another state of mind. I hope you know the ringing you hear in your ears is my high-pitched humming of the songs we used to listen to. I've been longing for presence of the absence lately. I keep reminding myself that it's in the past, and things won't ever be the same. I’m lying here on this beige Victorian-style sofa, the television vaguely playing in the background with its noise but I can't thrust myself into the words. I suppose those words don’t matter, they’re just entertainment manufactured to be distraction. I want someone to show up on my doorstep with a Breton stripe shirt on, vin ordinaire in one hand, and a sack of novels over their shoulder, but that only happens in movies. People don't read anymore. It's a sad state of affair our society sustains in this growing technology generation. Reading’s the only thing that allows you to use your imagination. When you watch films, it’s someone else’s vision... isn’t it?