I admit, I'm too much of a coward. I assume an air of nonchalance as if it didn't matter, take pains not to acknowledge your existence at the expense of appearing downright rude, find all means to avoid contact (how can I, when you're everywhere). Any alternative would be easier than having to face your awkward smile, or fumbling with small talk. A braver soul might try to risk it, but not me.

A little boy my friends and I spotted at Sentosa two weekends back.

On a side note, I miss having my own camera:( It feels like this shadow limb has been amputated and all that's left is an inconsolable emptiness...

Great House, Nicole Krauss

“…in truth it was all just an illusion, just as solid matter is an illusion, just as our bodies are an illusion, pretending to be one thing when really they are millions upon millions of atoms coming and going, some arriving while others are leaving us forever, as if each of us were only a great train station, only not even that since at least in a train station the stones and the tracks and the glass roof stay still while everything else rushes through it, no, it was worse that that, more like a giant empty field where every day a circus erected and dismantled itself, the whole thing from top to bottom, but never the same circus, so what hope did we really have of ever making sense of ourselves, let alone one another?”

"How little I understood of him then, of how the more you hide, the more it becomes necessary to withdraw, how soon it becomes impossible to live among others."

“The pauses between words became longer, when for an instant the momentum of pressing thought into language faltered and a dark spot of indifference bloomed. I suppose it’s what I’ve battled most often in my life as a writer, a sort of entropy of care of languishing of will, so consistently, in fact, that I barely paid it any attention— a pull to give in to an undertow of speechlessness. But now I often became suspended in these moments, they grew longer and wider, and sometimes it became impossible to see the other shore. And when I finally got there, when a word at last came along like a lifeboat, and then another and another, I greeted them with faint distrust, a suspiciousness that took root and did not confine itself to my work. It is impossible to distrust one’s writing without awakening a deeper distrust in oneself.”


 "Of course it isn't that simple. One doesn't choose between the outer and the inner life; they co-exist, however poorly. The question is: Where does one place the emphasis?"

" It wasn't always like this. There was a time where I imagined my life could happen in another way. It's true that early on I became used to the long hours I spent alone. I discovered I did not need people as much as others did. After writing all day it took an effort to make conversation, like wading through cement, and often I simply chose not to make it, eating at a restaurant with a book or going for long walks alone instead, unwinding the solitude of the day through the city. But loneliness, true loneliness, is impossible to accustom oneself to, and while I was still young I thought of my situation as somehow temporary, and did not stop hoping and imagining that I would meet someone and fall in love, and that he and I might share our lives, each one free and independent yet bound together by our love. Yes, there was a time before I closed myself off to others."

A series of photos taken with my phone

All of these films made me ache, but in different ways


Promote 升级 from magicboi888 on Vimeo.


Fragments of Iceland from Lea et Nicolas Features on Vimeo.



Coldplay - 'Paradise' by Shynola from Shynola on Vimeo.

conversation

soothing tea at RealFoodGrocer 

rainbows on table ( Photo credit: Evelyn)

bookmark from littered with books

beautiful sky and dragon-shaped cloud

Sitting on the steps by the river in the slight drizzle watching the boats go by had never felt so peaceful. We talked about the fear of not being able to find ourselves, the sadness we felt upon realizing that we could no longer talk to old friends because people change too much, how tiring it was trying to sustain those friendships, my odd trait of only lending books to people I thought were worthy of them, the wish that we weren't born in this city, our resolution never to become like another office clone trapped in those huge skyscrapers, her dream to become a wedding photographer, social hierarchies and the feeling of being an outsider, being attracted to people who could write, our tendency to idealize people till we fell in love with the idea of them; her ex, her fear of falling in love again-“ I feel like I can never give myself so completely to anyone again. It feels like I've lost a huge part of myself” and the quiet sadness in the way she held herself, and I thought about how life breaks people in places unimaginable and it made me feel heavy inside.

When it was my turn to talk, I was fumbling, stuttering, I couldn't speak, couldn't put across what I felt, I couldn't even begin to explain about him, what did he mean to me then, it was as if I had buried it so deep that trying to articulate it out felt like a pointless excavation. Speaking has never come naturally to me, but I was shocked at how much worse it'd gotten. Did something happen, she asked. I told her no, that I used to talk more in the past. Silently I added, I think part of me has died and I don't know why. But she was so very patient, and eventually the awkward lapses became less pronounced. She said, as an afterthought,“You're like a closed book” and “I sense that you don't really open up to people easily, and it's difficult for you to let your guard down” when I apologised about earlier. I realized that we weren't as alike after all- she was spontaneous and fickle-minded and impulsive, I was safe and stubborn and resolute. I marveled at her capacity to care for and love others with such pureness, I could never do that.

Later on, while tucking into my char siew pau, and she munching on her kaya toast and hot chocolate (simple joys in life), we lamented on the unfairness of having to earn the respect of certain people in order to gain acceptance. Also, we came to a conclusion that we put up our works online isn't for the sake of selfish reasons like instant gratification or stupid reasons like validation because we shouldn't base our self worth on the approval of others. Rather, it's about the inherent value of art, to use this platform so that our art can enlighten, inspire and connect with people. (hopefully)

Something she said struck me, “ In photojournalism, you look for art in the ordinary moments. But in other photography genres, you create art. There's a difference.” 

inspiration

Everywhere I look there is so much beauty to be found, I'm so inspired to create something like this:


I need one dollar (New York City) from Gioacchino Petronicce on Vimeo.




BALI, JE T'AIME! from artisland on Vimeo.

 By jessechan, go check out his work here 


i especially love this quirky film about the class divide in spore (also by jessechan)