unclairjour

Regarding the philosophy of sadness

2012-01-19T05:05:00.000-08:00

“Doyou think it's fair to say something like 'you should not be sadbecause it will make other people sad for you?”

“Itwill make people worry for you (being sad). It is part of beinghuman.”

“Soin conclusion if one is sad, in order not to make others feel upsettoo, one should keep the sadness into him/herself.”

“Youshould seek help. It's always helpful to have someone to talk toabout your sadness.”

“Whyshould we seek help? If being sad is part of being human why is itperceived as if it's a disease which needs to be cured? Why don't weaccept sadness the way it is?”

Anda lot of other why why why.

“Becauseone cannot think logically when he/she is overwhelmed by emotions.Being social creatures human copes by communal support.”

Whichcreates another series of why why why.

“Icannot see why one can't think in the midst of emotion becauseemotion is, after all, a product of thinking. By thinking our emotionover something is formed. I think communal support tends to beone-directional because most people are selfish (human's nature to beselfish).”

Thisis a product of reading too many introductory philosophy book at thebeginning of the year.

The Saturday Morning Sky

2012-01-07T20:48:00.000-08:00

it's never too early in one morning for one to look through the sky.

His shadow is everywhere. I was half wishing that the dustsglistened by the morning sunlight would gradually solidify and itwould form him. I did not feel sad, you know, that kind of sad that evokes youto cry, neither did I feel happy like the kind of happy thatmakes you start giggling.

There is something quite wrong, like looking at the empty lecture hall on one summer day.

I should feel rather thankful for so many memories have been painstakingly planted around me. He used to say that I have a delicate, fragile heart and he feels completely responsible to protect, from what he is not sure, but perhaps by blanketing me with these bubbles ofmemory he would be able to protect me as if he were here. Perhaps he believed it would make things easier for me. But this means that I do not really put my feet in thereality as his shadow is always lurking around.

I promised him that I would start writing again.

He once asked me, "How many angels do you think are up there in those blushing clouds?"

I asked him back, "How many angels do you think are playing basketballs up there?"

That Saturday morning the sky was clear.

So the angels must be hiding somewhere, probably they were too sad to sing their usual heavenly choir.

Love,

Amber

Merci pour attraversiamo!

2012-01-01T05:13:00.000-08:00

My title for 2011 is Attraversiamo, inspired by Liz Gilbert's strong will to move on. Attraversiamo means "Let's Cross Over".

Have I crossed over?

Proudly, yes :)

My title for 2012 is 'The Great Expectation"

Hope all of you are well, and wish I can be a better blogger although sometimes i don't feel like blogging especially when real life has been drenching my energy.

But I can't resist writing ;)

The greatest gift

2011-12-20T20:05:00.000-08:00

Someone that shares with me the delight of taking off glasses and seeing beautiful artwork of light

someone that can run with me. (Photo from the cover art of 'Never Let Me Go', Kazuo Ishiguro')

Someone that will wait for me while I was looking up at the silhouette of tree, never thinking that I am silly, only would he look up above, sharing the its silent beauty.

Because that's what matters.

Oh Charlie, oh Charlie

2011-11-28T05:25:00.001-08:00

Dear Charlie,

Everything will turn out well. Please do trust me. I am your friend.

love always,

Amber

La Belle Epoque

2011-11-14T06:53:00.001-08:00

“But I do not want to leave in the1920's of Paris during the rainy days. For me, the best time isduring the belle epoque. This is where I belong and I do not want togo back to the present.” Adrianna, the lover of Vincent VanGogh (Midnight in Paris, 2011)

Summer Night, 1890, Homer Winslow, courtesy of Le Musee d'Orsay

There is always the melody of thesaxophone twirling and teasing the two young hearts before they aretangled into the intimacy.

After all it was so relaxed andunconditional, devoid of emotional disturbance. After all it is justhim sitting over there ensuring me with his eyes that there will beno force, there will only be a calm river.

We started to hold hands, swingingamong Les Grandes Arts de Renaissance, among Van Gogh, Monet, Renoir,Manet, Cezane, to whom we were befuddled, mesmerized by the irbeauty.

We strolled along the masterpiece, thegreatest of the generation. Hands pointing underneath the soft yellowlight and the shadow beneath, my Monet's favorite, les bassins deNymphea, the beauty of Giverny. The strokes, the gradient. He sensedit, he felt it with the tip of his hand. He shared the beauty withme.

Can't people die because of beauty?

Can't we purhcase Les bassinsdes Nympheas1, put it in our living room?

The black velvet lady tossing hergloves2, her left eyebrow and her calm eyes were staringat us, glancing shyly at our intertwined fingers.

What an enigma3! How thefallen angel and the sphinx were so surreal! How we were so surreal!

For us is was our summer night4,where we were dancing, dancing, there, me and him and all the smiles surrounded by the warm ocean. The two of us were blanketed and filledwith the spirit of tangerine, perhaps with a slight sandalwood andmusk, and roses, just bloomed last night, and then all thesefragrance lingered,  like those mysterious, glowing light beneath theocean, the unknown reflection which was lost within the horizon.

For us it was our Starry Night5,full of undescribably incandescent dream.

Somewhere in Verona? In Lucerne,perhaps?

And it was our Spring6, too.It was our rainbow and our soaring hope.

Regardless of the chart I haveconstructed painstackingly, the list of questions as the armor of theheart, regardless of the awakening of the alacrity, where my oldHermione Granger alter ego took her action, he was just listening.

We went through the factors,biological, psychological, emotional, everything under the sun.Countless paradox, questions who chase their own tails.

After all the masterpiece, I was tryingto cling into the starry nights, but there I was listing the factorsdown, organizing them, categorizing them, drew a chart, a timeline,many arrows, fat, thin, with the cross, without the cross.

Cause and consequence, risk and action.So scientifically I elaborated on my armor, the Spring, the Rainbowand the Starry Night were almost forgotten.

However, who dares to fight the mothernature, like the eternal breeze frozen by the strokes of Monet?

We are one. We will work towards thetrophy, towards the end of the timeline, towards the horizon wherethe reflection blurs, towards the land beyond the rainbow.

At far I heard the Beatles sang, “Thelong and winding road...”

6th November 2011, millesbaissers

Magnolia Amber, with love. 

footnotes: 

1 Les Bassins de Nympheas (Monet)

2 La Dame au Gant, The lady with the gloves (Carolus Durant)

3 L'Enigme, The Enigma (Gustav Dore)

4 Summer Night(Homer Winslow)

5 Starry Night(Van Gogh)

6 Le Printemps,Springs(Francois Millet)

le papillon dans le pot du marmalade

2011-10-31T01:44:00.000-07:00

image from weheartit here

The butterfly emerges, fragile andevanescent

flattering and translucent

I wish I could trap her in my marmaladejar

not to let her flutter far

so I could reminisce her dance till

her shadow stands still.

I'd rather crush her to her deathbed

than letting her leave me behind, jaded

I swear I am up to no good.

Because I gladly let her swooped

away from her tangerine chamber

to what end it does not bother

me for I do not fear the insanity oflosing her forever

As long as she could be bathed withnectarine

Under the bright light, would I look upat her and dolorously grin

Benjamin's curious case

2011-10-26T08:24:00.000-07:00

Said he:

Said me:

Why are you smiling?

Said he:

I just want to smile :)

Said me:

What are you thinking? :)

Said he:

I am thinking about my swollen knee!

Said me, pondering, tiptoeing on the light:

"A wise man smiles

Mind wanders miles

Away, I thought he dreams of climbing trees

Instead he ponders over his knee"

Said he, immediately:

"I think it's the tension

To attract my attention

The tenderness of the tendon

Pain in an unjust fashion

What to do with it??

Think I'll have to ice it!!"

tiptoeing on the light

A poet always hides. I wish to read him 'So bright and delicate' but a soul must wait.

L'exposition d'orchird

2011-10-26T08:22:00.000-07:00

"Aren't they shy?"

"Alas, they are just orchids."

"Would not you think that while some extravagantly bloom with such bold purple, the others are so pale?"

"Like painted improperly?"

"It's in their gene."

"To display such improper display of purple streaks?"

"How would you define the improper pattern of purple streaks?"

"Ask the flower."

"I can't, they are too busy blooming."

"The pale one smells nicer than than the boldest purple."

"It is not their fault to dedicate their energy to the color instead of smell, blame the cross-breeder."

"Cross breed, like Richard Dawkins mentioned in his book... natural selection is the greatest show on earth."

"Poor little pale orchid, can't somebody stand close enough and touch your petals with their nose and discover how truly beautiful you are?"

Lost under the bright light

2011-10-16T01:14:00.000-07:00


You cannot lose what you have never had

When you daydreamed too long, the ferns were already withered under the bright light

What is left is old photographs, diminishing sunshine, wrapped solely with the delicate ribbon

A tribute to Fanny Brawne2

2011-10-08T21:00:00.000-07:00

Elle est morte

2011-09-30T02:26:00.000-07:00

One Day, David Nichols

Emma Morley, 35 years old, a lover of Dexter Mayhew for 22 years, an English teacher, bachelor of English and History first class from university of Edinburgh, a prude, a best friend of Dexter Mayhew, a teacher-turn-writer, only barely married with Dexter, never succeeded to have a baby, about to visit her new home finally with her barely new husband, was thinking about her childhood portrait in swimsuit, and of Dexter waiting in front of Cafe Belleville which they built painstackingly after Dexter's divorce, died.

And Dexter must have waited for her because Emma was so, so late.

A tribute to Fanny Brawne: The brights and delicates (1)

2011-09-17T19:00:00.000-07:00

The naked wall.

The faceless ballerinas

The mummified roses

Endless white clouds

dozens of old encounters, she called it magic.

a bird of hope.

Extreme Dosage of Coco

2011-09-17T18:54:00.000-07:00

"Pour Coco, pour Coco!!"

A woman in love is helpless, like a begging dog. (Coco Channel)

Better be mistress than a wife (Coco Channel)

In the marriage the worst is the couple.

My mum is the idiot, she married because of love and she cried every night.

(toujours a grande mademoiselle)

The amazing black and white photos are copyrighted, taken from here, a page dedicated solely to her.

Finally published!

2011-09-17T18:43:00.000-07:00

My latest piece was in the end published in lablit.com, a website dedicated to the literature of the scientific life.

Visit "You are $540: On the price-tagging of a human scientist" here. Thank you for reading:)

Sciences get juicy.

The wall without plaster

2011-08-12T23:37:00.000-07:00


A window to the past. The rumpled old calendar panorama which I have stolen from Mummy's diary when I was seven.

Fairy dust.


Forest berry teabag. Drenched.

In this new chamber of amber with wall so naked, I was busied by the extensive tradition of sweeping mopping brushing pouring antiseptics and disinfecting the corners, and followed by brushing and rinsing and mopping.

Then what would come after that? Hot air.

What is this all about?

The chain of endless jargon, the urge to take down the crumpled diary and to start making list and the unbearable tendency to eliminate one line after another.

The inexorable yet compulsory routines, of waking up, of breathing, of stretching of looking here and there and falling down asleep and waking up, heart thumping, jumping between the conscious dream and unconscious reality.

The overwhelming passion to purchase a soft board, to install it on the top of my wall, and to punch it with colorful pins, message by message, little papers, crumpled, signed, scratched, with or without fragrance, all to fill from the top left corner to the right bottom one, all against the wall.

In this new chamber I have the petite window with the gossamer purple curtain and

When night falls the yellowish street lights flickers adorably.

And the whitish, wizened wall , glowing hauntingly by night and serenely fall asleep by day.

The quilts and pillows and blankets one over the other, calm as it should be.

I don't understand.

The naked wall.

I don't understand.

My swami Sai Baba portrait. It says, "SURRENDER."

I don't understand.

This new chamber of amber is supposed to be the safest place to hide.

Yet this is not.

Pretty thing. Clean. And polished.

But I am still swinging in no direction. Whining.

Among the cacophony of endless humdrum, drama, gossip.

But on the naked wall there is no stop button.

Maelstrom and wraith

2011-07-08T01:43:00.000-07:00

It is strangely comforting.

You can find it when you close your ears, and then slowly let your fingers to space a bit and let the air goes in to your eardrums, singing its cacophony.
Isn't this the kind of humdrum a desolated prisoner would hear when they look at the calming water of lake Geneva?

To leave or to be left,

To laugh under the rain and to cry under the bright light.

dans une promenade

2011-06-25T21:40:00.000-07:00

a home no more, my old library.

Books no more, my lovely pages.

Hail and go.

Long gone, la vie de l'universite

2011-06-12T08:03:00.000-07:00

"Books! And cleverness! There are more important things--friendship and bravery..." (Hermione Granger, Harry Potter and the Philasopher's Stone)

So it was all over.

Still, the first time I arrived in the university I thought I was about to stay in the forest, in the soliloquy and being faraway from my then-beloved, and back then I was very unhappy and deeply troubled.

But grey days in here were soothing, if not rather depressing. This place was always breathtaking, though.

But came the unstoppable days. Life seemed to have no brake, it was as turbulent as riding the whirling teacup, madness!

I had to tell myself to sit, clearly instructing the subconscious not to be nauseated.

It is determined that this place will once be abandoned, like those ghostly-looking summer postcard.

However if so unhappy I was before, why does the butterfly in my stomach has always been tingling? What is this endless wonder and anxiety?

Why, I do rotate the music box and let the nostalgic echo fill my room.

Summer, 2011.

(I am counting down the last days of my stay in this little piece of peace)

summer, summer 1

2011-05-20T08:34:00.000-07:00

digging out possessions. Moving out.


Little Swedish house, a gift from a friend who shared with me the sunshine of Alpines.

A warming marmot from my Bangladeshi friend who managed to climb to Zermatt, private collection of chocolate boxes, a music box from my Russian friend.

The magic book which I borrowed and haven't returned, and the old CD a gift full of gentle songs.

Good old times.

requiem

2011-05-11T05:25:00.000-07:00

It is all just a mere disbelief of my existence. If the emotion is relative, then what is the relativity of resentment?

"Amber, where are you? Amber, where are you? The sky is orange, the air warm, soon the storm will arrive."

Amber, I sent this to the gentleman of no address, who does not have a phone. If the song is cryptic, would he comprehend this?

Amber, I sang this last night when the milk tea carried my mind away.

I think I was laughing and wrote "Cambridge, why, is your sunshine so faraway. It's all I could say."

Amber, do not giggle, please, would you listen to me?

"I am not seeing you this October, maybe we will catch up next year?
Until then, do not cry baby, because I am going to sing you a lullaby."

Lullaby and baby do not rhyme.

Amber, please.

"Because I am going to sing you a lullaby, so you can sleep like a feather, and peacefully surrender."

Dear, I am here, I am here.

Amber, will he come alive after the fifth 'beep' sound?

My dear, he does not have a phone and he has no address, how do you think he will ever receive your message? Miracle does not appear from thin air.

La médiocrité ne fini jamais

2011-05-03T05:52:00.000-07:00

(The mediocrity never ends)

I have yet to see this due to the very long engagement I have committed.
picture via here

only to kill la naïvité

only to erase dreams

only to erase the innocent hunger and thirst

only to doom the sparkles of pure joy

only to make this scientific dimension vegetate.

(*in response to mine receiving an honor of admission in University of Cambridge without a scholarship; in response to the lifting/uplifting of ban in stem cell research; in response to unnecessary mistrust which only leads to the bottleneck of publication; in response to lack of trust, space, fund... SINCERETY and probably lack of microarray chips; in response to bold article by Dr. Jenny Rohn; in response to the hype of Nature's calling everybody to rethink PhD)

Combien de jeune que nous définons comme la jeunesse? Jusqu’à les blanc cheveux faitent ses apparition. Et voilà c’est la médiocrité.

le mariage royale

2011-04-24T07:22:00.000-07:00

I recall watching the video of Princess Diana's marriage to Prince Charles when I was 7. It was hazy, but I knew at that time I have never seen such a beautiful lady. The more I grew up, the more I discovered why she was truly a princess. at heart.

I watched King's Speech recently; King George VI's speech definitely entered my favorite-speech-list, the second after Martin Luther King's "I have a dream". Spoke like how a King should speak! I feel so proud of him. If I were to have a king on those dark days and listen at his voice from the radio, I would surely be deeply comforted.

Unfortunately, some people just resent the happiness of this royal affair. If you understand that this is not merely about playing the game of king and queen, prince and princess, you would not be one of those shallow people. Kingdom has been our history, our humanity. The role of king/queen transforms throughout the time, but they are paramount in any society.

I can see the quality of king and queen in this coming royal couples; in this very world, full of chaos and confusion, it is important to have a figure who knows his role and know what he is supposed to do. Serve as an example. Calm the public turmoil. Lead well.

All the blessings for Kate and William, and all the best for the rest of the journey ahead.

Cracking Creme Brulee

2011-04-09T08:54:00.000-07:00

Overwhelmed. Hyperventilated. And all, just like melting marshmallow, burst. Like cracking Creme Brulee, like a teabag. Like caramelized apple pie. Aspirin. Bittersweet.

How could you take such a long time to appear here, in this place? When did we meet last time? Remember, nobody was noticing you and I was just staring above and I saw you for the second time in my life. You you you. You are me and we are one, aren't we? Where were you when I was sipping my bitter, too hot, coffee and croissant all alone on those unfamiliar Parisian station, blown by the wicked wind?

I wish that we could have the time turner and I could rest upon your shoulder again, watching the blurred nights. You know those long rides, where we wished we would never arrive home? Because without home we could hold onto each other, and your shoulder would always be there for me. I would fall asleep. I would be awake, watching you falling asleep. Wasn't it lovely, the silhouettes? As rain blurred all the lines, our silhouettes were unified.

When tomorrow never comes, when we shall not prevail, I would have no regret.

You know.

La pain

2011-03-16T07:29:00.000-07:00

For me, breads are always a breath during famine. Flood, tsunami or earthquake, food will be scarce.

I do not lose hope in Japan, I adore them for their well-preparedness for earthquake. Tsunami is even a Japanese word. I do not want to be sad because I know Japan will go through this tragedy, and the government would do something. All I am worried is those red-cheeked toddlers or frail elderlies who may get infection due to the absence of clean water and food.

I totally understand the horrid of watching the crumbles. My cousin escaped recent Christchurch earthquake. I live in a community where I would be reminded whenever news report any natural disaster in my home country.

I totally understand.

You've worked hard. Now rest easy.

2011-03-08T06:55:00.000-08:00

One mentioned that the game of mind can't be fooled. What if you are drowned and never return? But to conquer a fear, would not it be the greatest bliss?

I think this summer it is time for me to rest easy, take my pen and start writing. I have not truly written for almost 8 years ago. I forgot the joy, I forgot the infatuation of writing. Watching Matt Damon in the recently released 'The Adjustment Bureau' brings back that yearning.

Therefore, I might not be able to dedicate as much energy as before for this blog. Not that this means that my blog has been better. I believe that there are yet so much things to learn from hundreds of inspiring bloggers I have visited, yet this time is my time. This time I have to write my story. I see so many talents of being a writer, talents of playing with words, inventing poem, musing a complicated topic, I have read many.

Thank you because each of you have been my source of inspiration. Thank you for reading. Thank you for visiting.

But what I am going to do is not about posing cool and putting up sophistication. It is not for the art of expression per se.

Meanwhile, wish me luck for the upcoming solitary diving, and I wish you could also find this lovely biscuits to accompany you, all lovely people. I wish you a good day.

Tres comfortable

2011-03-06T06:16:00.000-08:00

P.S: When your eyes are blurred, nobody can blame you if you hit something. However, it is not so interesting to be always blurred and hitting something because you would hurt your knees.

Beaded necklace, the spirit of family reunion and familiarity.


I sent this ribbon to a baby in Lausanne along with a poem which I hope would be read to him once he grows a little older. His name is Linus.

post-mortem

2011-02-22T00:23:00.000-08:00

"After dark falls, the smoke of the fireworks could still perhaps show me the way home."

My heart goes to countless families who are waiting anxiously for their loved ones to go back home safely. The rest does not matter, actually.

Au Revoir Oprah

2011-02-19T06:57:00.000-08:00

I was flabbergasted after rampaging through the page turner Kitty Kelley's Oprah. Flabbergasted. Irritated. Bored! So Madam Kelley, I don't know whether I have to thank or curse you.

I think the 13-year-old me was too naive to realize the behemoth business behind Oprah Winfrey Show and only took the message from the show for granted, adoring her 'Live the Best Life'.

"With and without camera....you might see the transformation of personality." But the problem is that I did not expect that from my Oprah and I was not ready for that.

I learned English from Oprah's show. I learned how to communicate, even if I did not write and speak in English back then, I knew this lady was a great communicator, warm, compassionate. Plus the Oprah's list presents.... my dream was to someday go to Chicago and watched her show. Three years later (I was around 17 years old) I discovered that you have to buy the ticket to watch the show (I was always under impression that if you are a good person you would eventually be selected to watch Oprah live from her studio). That was still OK. OK, honestly, not so OK, I imagined Oprah is already rich and now she is selling the ticket? But another part of me was pacifying, "Oprah needs the money ticket for charity". And I was self-satisfied with my own explanation.

I used to make notes on the 'Oprah's most inspiring episode', even recommending the show to my mum and she, too, became a faithful viewer of the show. I believed I was way smarter than any of my classmates because I watched Oprah.
I think I was not becoming smarter now that I have discovered this autobiography.

I do not mind Oprah's dark secrets from the past, for me she is the amazing women because she has fallen so deeply and rose so angelically high. When I was reading the book I was trying to put myself on Oprah's shoes, self-assuring that there should be psychological reasons of why Oprah was behaving like that. She has been through hard times, dark, very dark times. I understood her for being very driven as I am myself, although in a rather different fashion... and her sense of insecurities, oh I understood that totally! She and American history, that was not an easy part either. I know how it is to be a minor, but I am sure hers were more intense experiences...(or probably a mere exaggeration which she keeps reminding everybody?)

What I resented is when things have been too much... all the narcissism, all the charity's publicity, all brouhaha of 'Oprah's Book List' (I am an avid reader so this concerns me so much)!

Oprah, I will always remember you as a person who taught me how to be a compassionate communicator, and how to be happy to give. But alas, I will not be so obsessed with being the Richest, I will not exaggerate facts, and I will not let myself forgot the joy of being 'anonymous'. Naturally I tend to exaggerate as I am writing but no, moving readers/ viewers into some falsehood is beyond my ethics.

Au revoir Oprah-as-I-remembered-you, I wish you health and wisdom for the rest of the journey, but I think you are already so famous I think what I think does not bother you, as you once said, "This is America, I can do and say and think like what I want."

One of the questions which is quite serious

2011-02-12T05:00:00.000-08:00

I recently purchased books I have been wanting to purchase and I felt happy as I found them in suprisingly reasonable price after waiting for some time.

First, I bought my first French storybook, Harry Potter et la Chambre des Secrets (My first English book was Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone).

Second, I got myself Mitch Albom's Have A Little Faith (I have been waiting to buy this book for half a year long. I am quite ashamed that I took it for so long. I think I have been very frugal to myself but after Mr. Albom's books are always my favorite self-gift).

Third, I purchased Oprah's Biography. This one is still unwrapped.

After all, for the beginning of new year, this is not bad. Oh I read Liz GIlbert's Committed at the beginning of the year, it took so long for me to wait and purchase her books (Eat, Pray and Love included) as I was waiting to find the best deals.

I have to be frank, I love reading, but for me books are always a luxury.

So after dumping of what were like 10 pieces of tissue papers after Mr. Albom's recent book while reading the last chapters, here I would like to share part of the books which I have been musing all through my life.

Here Reb Albert Lewis and Mr. Albom were musing:

"Even in our own faith, we have questions and answers, interpretation, debates. In Christinity, In Catholicism, in other faiths, the same thing--debates, interpretations. That is the beauty. It's like being a musician. If you found the note, and if you keep hitting all the time, you would go nuts. It's the blending of different notes that makes the music."

The music of what?

"Of believing in something bigger than yourself."

But what if someone from another faith won't recognize yours? Or wants your dead for it?

"That is not faith. That is hate."

"And if you ask me, God sits up there and cries when that happens."

Living as a minor Buddhist among Christians, was forced to abandon my parents because they are sinners, was sickened by Sunday routines attended by hypocrites, swallowed Christianity for 12 years, adopted free-thinking and liberalism for 3 years, read many books (Khalled Hoisseini's include, was considering to buy Koran but decided not to as that would shock my parents).... here I stumbled upon my Baba*. I did my own pilgrimage although I did not really fly to India like what Ms. Gilbert did. I stumbled upon bits of this and that, all religions which I have encountered throughout my life.

I used to weep after people ask me, so what are you actually? Buddhist or Christian? Now are you Hindu? Mind you, Baba is not teaching me to be a Hindu!

What I want to tell them is that, "I may be bit of everything, you know. Maybe." But most of the time I swallowed these words and let them judge me. Whatever.

One may lose faith in people, but spare a little faith for the universal love.

*Sai Baba. Just google it or read up in Wikipedia, like everyone else does.

La Buée

2011-01-25T07:25:00.000-08:00

(The mist)

Tonight the mist was such a rare occasion. Thanks for the street lamp I found you.

Tonight I decide that I should let my feet become blurred with you.

There will no boundary whatsoever, no boundary...

until I have to say goodbye.

Goodbye Les Vacances (deux)

2011-01-15T00:57:00.000-08:00

Nah. Mr. Vacation still says hello when night comes. Echo, echo, echo.

Where I live, I have no neighbors whatsoever. I can see glimpse of human being 50 meters away. Do they know that I am here? Get out from the shadow, hello! I think they would come next week. Not that civilization affects me much.

Ms. Elizabeth Gilbert's remark on writing hits me hard, by the way, if you have read it.

I wish that I live in the film. If I played all the Alexandre Desplat's Potter Requiem and close my eyes, well, I will still be here. Nothing changes.

(Do you know the most painful sinking moment of watching epic cinema? To walk out from it.)

Be thankful that you were not lost forever here. Otherwise mother will be very upset.

Be a good girl, darling.

Goodbye Les Vacances (un)

2011-01-08T07:33:00.000-08:00

I'm being lousy blogger. I am so sorry. But let me share with you wonders that I have discovered throughout my December break... So let's cross over, or what Ms. Gilbert mentioned in Italian "Attraversiamo!"

joyeux joyeux Noel!

2010-12-21T17:22:00.000-08:00

Jolly time! I'm flying back home:) These days remind me of old good memories...

The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe. Narnia Winter Escape

A Little Princess.

Oliver Twist


Harry and his first wand. Copyright Warner Bros


Mischief managed!


Hedwig the Snow-Feathered Owl!

Joyeux Noel:) I am looking for Mr. Keats' letters to Miss. Fannie Brawn. Haven't found it tyet.

Les Bebes

2010-12-06T03:00:00.000-08:00

A shy little girl from Ouchy. Shot by Ms. Dorr yester-summer.

Twenty one years do not happen in a night.
Babies are born. Try close your eyes, and
they grow up, become toddlers, then teenagers. Funny that
they then meet each other, fall in love with each other
yet some hate each other afterward.

When they were born, the babies cried.
When they started to hate each other, they cried as if they were babies.
but having passed twenty one summers, does it mean that they can't cry anymore?
Sometimes I wonder why we stop crying.
But they said that babies have to crawl to walk.

Those babies who met to separate, I wonder why they should have ever met.
But as all parents wish, every baby is a miracle.
And so perhaps do all those encounters.
And so does every summer. Miracle grants good wishes and
good graces for the babies' health and happiness
or sometimes when the babies have forgot of their ever being babies
we wish for them many wisdom and a pure heart.

Because we are all babies at certain point, who, after all, never born with wickedness.

(An unsent poem for my ex's birthday, for he has never wished me one once he walked away.)

Pour Le clandestin

2010-11-27T06:22:00.000-08:00

(For the undercover)

He felt that if they both did not dissemble and spoke without, as they say, beating about the bush, that is, said what they really thought and felt, they would just have looked into one another's eyes and he, Konstantin, would only have said, "You're going to die, you're going to die, you're going to die!" and Nikolai would only say in reply, "I know I'm going to die, and I'm afraid, I'm afraid, I'm afraid!" And they would not have said anything else. had they really spoken of nothing else but of what was in their minds.

Anna Karenina-Leo Tolstoy

Levin made me thinking a hard day's night about death.

I want to know how to fall in love again before I die. It seems I forgot how. Or is once enough? Then I shall dedicate my life for other the unfortunates. Tell me, tell me, tell me.

post-human

2010-11-19T08:15:00.000-08:00

Dawn. October 2011

I am aware that this page withers.

Nobody loves my protestation; I love them neither yet one does not deny the fact. One should not tell lies. I shuddered when Bellatrix engraved the word 'MudBlood' to Hermione's fair hand. One must not tell lies.

They would rather imagine Christmas snow, thick sweater and lovely boots. I would not rest until 22nd. I have no Christmas snow, and I have no boots. I have neurons, beating hearts, twitching muscles instead. And there are also, up there, a flame, flickering, disappearing only to burning brighter. 

The rising sun I have dreaded. How many (more) times that I have to telltale for destiny? Isn't it supposed to be a secret?

Allons-nous a Ruby Pier

2010-10-31T09:10:00.000-07:00


Ouchy, Lausanne, sometime in August summernight

dedicated to my sisters, the fourth moon of Rome, and the smaller one, a honeysuckle.

"Let's go to Ruby Pier*."

"Why? Aren't you too old to go there?"

"One is never too old to go there and play a merry-go-round."

"One will. Sorry to disappoint you."

"That's is why, it is important to go there before it is too late."

"Why me?"

"Because it is important to go with you."

"Why is it so important for me to go with you?"
"Because one day, perhaps, when I cannot look back because I am too old, I want you to cherish today. I want you to remember the headache of musing around the carousel, and me looking back at you shouting 'isn't it thrilling?' I want you to remember that."

"Why, then, is it so important to remember that? This is dark by the way."

Heavy breath. Dreamy head. Foggy eyes. Hand swaying lazily.

"OK. Maybe next time" and there, no more Ruby Pier.

At least, if I could tell you, the darkness of night is perfect for Ruby Pier because it gives some comforting shadow, and while my tears drop, I could weep silently without letting you know.

p.s: Ruby Pier is from Mitch Albom's "Five people you meet in heaven"

The Sorting Hat

2010-10-28T04:13:00.000-07:00

"Not Slytherin. Not Slytherin."

Once in a while in this life you will find yourself having the Sorting Hat, sight blocked and confused and you hear the voice, "Where should I put you?"

Hopefully my Sorting Hat has the wisdom of the Sorting Hat of Hogwarts. Divination.

L'absurdite

2010-10-24T08:57:00.000-07:00

Slowly but sure I become a masochist who cut her own period of sanctuary. Planned, and be planned. Many silent letters, more unsent ones. Argot lamented, honesty was questioned. Smile was presented, tears-at-the-corner-of-eye was disguised. Goodwill and trust was combined with a flowery, empty intention and looking-good dignity.

I start to chew the red leaves, like that boy whose eyes always staring away. To the trees he mentioned "I know you can hear me."

Why, you are hiding the summer from me. You are hiding my mother, my soul. You make me full of disdain. What a dark humor you have.

Maman et les Verts

2010-10-13T08:30:00.000-07:00

Le Marché traditional près du Bastille. Aout 2010.

I miss Momma and home cooking. I miss seeing her busy ensuring the soup is warm, and the rice is faithfully steamed, and the Asian greens sauced with fermented soya bean is freshly cooked and awaiting my Dad. I miss her asking me what I want to eat on that day, is it Japanese style Katsu-don with the intense miso soup, or is it a tofu-based Asian delight? Is it a spagetthi bolognaise or a home-made dumpling soup?

I miss her reminding me that I have to finish my chicken broth because it is good for my frail health. She was tired most of the time, too, she should have that chicken broth instead of the young me, but she was just glad whenever her daughter come back home from school, bringing her the stories of this complicated world, of how exhausting all the education is, of how irksome the colleagues are, or something simpler like how I happen to meet this guy in the corridor and he was smiling at me. I wish she could read what I write in English, what her selfish daughter trying to conceal from her. Ah, despicable me.

I wish she knows that I really want to bring her strolling along French market, introducing her to non-Asian vegetables, telling her that European carrot is slightly larger than Asian, and grabbing a bouqet of celery to let her be filled with its wonderful smell. Oh, and planning what we might have for dinner, and debating which greens to buy, too, if only it were possible. With her I could have learnt the art of bargaining one more time, like what she used to teach my younger self, whenever we were in the market on Saturday morning, bargaining for extra dinner budget, bargaining for our hungry stomach...

Are you currently away from your parents? I wish that you have your chicken broth and dumpling soup, whatever version it is.

ca ne va pas

2010-10-05T08:27:00.000-07:00

Pardon. I need a space to write, or as quoted from J.K. Rowling on Oprah's interview, "I need to write otherwise I'll be insane." Sometimes I feel, indeed, I have written great things here. People praise. I feel grateful. Sometimes, I write so badly, so lack of deepness and exploration, so self- centered, so imaginary it does not touch even the slightest reality, and no, it overexposes all the fragility instead of sophistication. People still comment. Less, though. It is discouraging, and I blame myself for that. Let me tell you this. Let me emphasize. Magnolia Amber is a girl of afternoon's rainbow, who once dreamed to walk holding hands with her truly loved one among the evergreen trees. She loves morning breeze, her hair is fuzzy but soft. She observes the unimportant ones, her heart goes with the suffers of old ladies, little daughters and sons, abandoned homo sapiens. She weeps silently during the night, and has that-kind-of sadly looking smile. She wears sweater amost of the times because she can catch cold easily. But she always wakes up in the morning with a hope that on that day, the bright sky will give her space for her rainbow. She smiles for that simple optimism.

I am not her. I am not even her reflection. I am drifting away from her, but she draws me close. I am constantly running away from her, but she is the one who grabs my hand whenever I fall down. Who is constantly being deceitful and being deceived? Now that I am in the midst of preparing my dPhil application, the blog strucks me more than ever. I feel bad of seeing so many friends blossoming with their writings, handcrafts, stories and everything. My writing dried away, and blew by the wind. Nothing extraordinary. Nothing magical. Plain English, that's what the Cambridge yellow box said.

As stated in the heading of this page, I used to be simpleton; I think everybody is born simpleton. While some are groomed well, I was not. I was not offended by my pastime. My sister used to say that I love torturing myself with such a strenuous discipline, like Hermione Granger, always like her, perfect, perfect, perfect, determined, strong, courageous.

Mlle. Amber does not help with her fragility while I am writing my thesis or my personal reference. But she has somehow shadowed me, no, no, she is not disturbing, I have told you she is a quiet girl. And that is why having her around is comforting when Hermione's head feels like a bubbling cauldron. She weeps for seeing me torturing myself so much. When she weeps, I feel significant, like having a very faithful friend. If I have to let her go, what sort of wretch creature I would be, I dare not imagine.

It is not working well, right, my dearest fellows, whoever you are? No wonder I always feel alone. I know you love Magnolia Amber but while the monstrous side of me arrives, will or will not you stay?

I do not intend to break the fragile bubbles full of wonder. Nobody has right to do so. I am building the castle all alone, like those old legends perhaps.

Corrigendum

2010-10-04T05:53:00.000-07:00

Referring to my previous post 'Les Aventures Extraordinaire d'Adele Blanc-Sec', there is one thing that I need to clarify: the director of Amelie is Jean Pierre Jeunet, not Jean Luc- Besson. The possible reasons I could think of this serious error is first, both directors are great French movie directors, second, they have similar surname, and third, the narrative part of 'Les Aventures' has that similar quirky style of Amelie, and finally, the concept of 'a life from the point of view of this Parisian Lady' is exactly what makes me love both movies. Indeed, Amelie is much more humble than the grand mademoiselle Adele, Amelie is more fragile than the adventurous Adele, but somehow both movies have quite a lot of similarity despite the completely different plot.

I love Luc- Besson's directing style. He is always known to produce award-winning movies, like Le Grand Bleu, Nikita and Taxi.

However, I am a great fan of Amelie, and Amelie will remain the only movie I could associate myself most with, thus I feel it is very necessary to emphasize the mistake and acknowledge M. Jeunet for his great film...

les aventures extraordinaires d'Adele blanc sec

2010-10-01T21:36:00.000-07:00

Vous aimez beaucoup 'Le fabuleux destin d'Amelie Poulain'? Voici l'autre masterpiece de Jean- Luc Besson!

(Fabulous fabulous fabulous. If Amelie makes you feel nostalgic in such a melancholy way and ask you to have a lot of reflection in such a calming, serene fashion..., this one makes you laugh at life after death, and appreciate life more...)

Je presente la promenade a Paris de 1911 avec c'est une tres belle mademoiselle Adele Blanc- Sec!

here

La Question

2010-09-28T08:49:00.001-07:00

Forgive my ignorance, but I found a term 'hopeless romantic' quite intriguing. How would you define this? (Oh I', talking in Hermione Granger tone, you know.)

L'universitaire qui semble... Hogwarts

2010-09-24T08:06:00.000-07:00

from here

and here

Cambridge. St. John's College.

Since I was 12 year-old I have been wishing that they would take me in. So much so for a letter from Hogwarts and selected to sleep in Griffindor.

la cercle temporaire

2010-09-17T08:55:00.000-07:00


hot sparkles and a piece of rainbow within, all blasted and vanished. and what did you see, my dear?

darkness.

The mistress of the house has been worried about which bonnet she has to wear in the next party, she could not decide whether it should be the dark blue with white feather or the soft orange with the white veil. Sometimes she would summon her cousin to put on those gorgeous bonnets, for, according to the mistress, the cousin has a head petite, and a sleek countenance, a characteristic of hard life.

The cousin would soon feel honored, for she knew that, with her father's modest income, she would never afford such elegant a hat. When she saw her reflection, she beamed at the dark blue bonnet. Yet she felt ashamed due to lack of grandeur her dress brought to the room.

The little cousin wonders and sobs during the night, for a bonnet is indeed as important as how a woman does her hair, and her hair is neither silky nor wavy, and for such imperfection she has no bonnet to cover. She wonders whether to be allowed to try is an occasion more fortunate than never to try at all. However, she sobs because she could not bear her longing for the bonnet, for a dark blue brings to her skin a queer radiance, which somehow she likes because she almost believes she is indeed a beautiful creature, like any other woman.

Un jour dans un petit ville

2010-09-10T22:52:00.000-07:00

The Milk Boy. Taken from the photo collection of Le Musée Gruyère, la maison du fromage.

Breathe easy, and smell the daisy.

Hear the wind blowing, the cow's bell were echoing,

far, nobody knows the distance.

Hear here, dear lost feathers.

Girl with a broken wing, girl whose eyes are somber

with fatigue, tears and days so unbearable

Breathe easy, breathe. I know how hurt your heart is to watch your legs swaying lazily instead of tiptoeing into the forest. I know how fishy your skin feels to be exposed with such artificial a coldness, mercilessly finger numbing instead of be pampered with fresh breeze from the mountain. I know how aching your eyes are due to the blinding sun. It is helpful sometimes to close your eyes and trying to recapitulate, painstakingly, all the details of those days in a small village.

Cents

2010-09-05T05:33:00.000-07:00

The hundredth post:)

(Jardin de Tuilleries. 2010)

Thank you for reading! Magnolia Amber will keep posting! No Hiatus.
You are all welcome to ask me anything. I know you have hundreds of wonderful queries.

Stare!

2010-09-03T09:55:00.000-07:00

(I do not hate tourists. I do not hate Japanese; nevertheless, it does not take a genius to know that a mass beauty will eventually be less beautiful.)

Professional camera, blitz, continuous clicking and posing, a polished smile, the same with the one in the previous 200 or so photos. You and La Tour Eiffel, you and L'arc du Thriomphe, you and Le petit palais, you and Le grand palais, and like anybody would even exclaim happily for you, "Oh you have been to the small and the big one!"

Then it was raining so hard, as if they were mocking you, "Stop taking pictures, la mademoiselle japonais." I was not even a Japanese.

I shared what I stared at 2 months ago. Then you were stammered, "Oh, Paris, you are so lucky!" I was only there less than 48 hours! Fine... and oh, another 36 hours or so in different occasion. Fine.

(Instead, I stared at clocks and watched them lazily swaying their arms and realized usually 10 minutes later that Paris likes to steal your times.)

Uncountable images of Eiffel, be it blurred, be it taken from 1 km above the city (perhaps by standing and strolling the fence of Sacre coeur de Monmartre), be it taken from the bottom of the tower, be it taken with le camera amateur, then edited with Picasa or other free software... so by the name of Amelie and the macaroon of Laduree, why do I have to even care to display them? I am sure that the readers would be bored to be (indirectly) asked to comment: "Oh, I love the tower!" (like me, or anybody else adores it.)

Indeed, I went so far to stare and enjoy, not to snap pictures hilariously.

Towards The End

2010-08-25T00:33:00.000-07:00

(Dear lovely readers, I apologize for the lack of post this month. I have been very occupied by my internship. I will try my best to juggle the writing with my research career, and post more frequently. Thank you for your patience and support! Unclairjour is still alive with Magnolia Amber.)

When the train announce that we were approaching the next station, I had no idea how soon it would be since we were in the dark, windy tunnel. No light at the front, nor outside of the window. All you would hear is the 'train music', the somber echo sound decorated by the hissing noise and the tinkles of the steel. Knowing only the name of the unknown land did not help a lot, especially when the total darkness was haunting and throughout the 'music', the train somehow groaned its lonely, awkward noise as if it wanted to call many unknown passengers. What is outside of the station, civilization, for sure, but indeed civilization is just as absurd as sitting alone with your muse.

Then came the mist, and the pine trees, hundreds, thousands, nobody ever really count them because they prefer not to be counted and indexed, they do not like their barks being pierced. They were shakily saying hello. Welcome to the numb, cold morning. Ah, they were hiding something, I could see a glimpse of aquamarine, bluish reflection.

So this was how all journey started, the curiosity, the fear, the happiness, the loneliness, all were merged into the longing of seeing and feeling the aquamarine...

I could not but wait patiently until the next station arrive, and I could run out, find the aquamarine and the sand and dip my toes within.

One Afternoon

2010-07-30T06:06:00.000-07:00

Perdue tous les jours

2010-07-25T07:02:00.000-07:00

Sometimes if my fingers were not stiff due to cold, I would think of what I would write and start typing. Sometimes while I have the opportunity of sitting quietly and looking over my white awning window and the copious pretty balcony across the side-street of my apartment, I would think of wonderful stories to write. The only problem is that there are so many beauties to be shared; too gorgeous they are to be chosen above others. If I was not dolefully stunned by them, if I was not too slow to catch my dark blue umbrella which was blown by the lakeside wind, I should be able to think properly and write. My hand was bare for I was too mesmerized by the perfectly clean blue lagoon. Indeed, the wind was harsher than what I have in my hometown. It was hard and stupefying, and I heard it was muffling something like “Whiuff Whuff Whiuff”, but though they were fast, I knew they were clean and pure.

And what more, flowers are everywhere; nobody told me they could be so hypnotizing! Iris, Dahlia, roses, various breeding were racing to bloom, and their fragrances filled the air, and I was told by the nice patron of the garden to smell them. So appealing they were that I almost attempted to steal their petals! Shame, I told myself, I could not keep their beauty but watch them dying slowly! What a pity! Therefore, I have been spending too much times to stare at them like a fool only to ensure that I remember their texture, color and perfume, and study the other wonders as well, which are time- consuming, and thus write less because sometimes when you feel too serene and peaceful, there is nothing tantalizing to write.

I am currently lost, that kind of happy lost like a Pooh bear with its honey jar.

Paris Daydream

2010-07-08T12:05:00.000-07:00

Somehow, there is a mysterious magnet which attracts all the lost souls to here. A place of few which aroused a strong sense of belonging. People were smiling and greeting, "Bonjour!" regardless how chilly the wind was. Paris looked like the black and white photography, the beautiful ones you see in the masterpiece of Jean-Luc Besson. On the other hand, she brought all the color and thrilled the mood. I was in a photo, I was sure, nothing could present a beauty so contradicting: the gloom of the metro and the clean Jardin du Luxembourg were so alluring.

People have been appreciating the summer and the joy of night in Paris. Or even the winter wonderland. I love rain, and my happiest moment was to walk in Paris when it's raining with my white umbrella.

How would you find yourself in Paris at 3 pm? Tell me.

Désolé

2010-06-28T18:14:00.000-07:00

My cousin has a good deal of Shabby Chic.

Hello friends, how are you? I hope you are enjoying the heat of summer, or the winter for those who stay in Australia and the surrounding regions. Thank you for your comment, thank you for following UnClairJour and for reading...

I apologize for the lack of post. I did not even spend time to reply some comments and comment on your blogs, too! It makes me feel bad and I promise that I'll soon post more writings and photos... which, I hope, could brighten your day:)

I am currently making the most of quality time for my family, and have been thinking a lot these last days about my plan in the next 5-10 years. Can't be figured out in a night, I am sure it happens to most of you. Other than that, I have been preparing my IELTS. Some have called me silly for taking IELTS but let me assure you, I am, after all, not genuinely English speaking and some institutions in which I hope to be affiliated demand solid proof of my proficiency. And I was preparing for my internship in Lausanne as well... so I knew that I had to sacrifice my time to write this month. I wrote, though, but I decided not to share them... not yet. Waiting for the correct moment... and wisdom.

Warmest regards,

Mademoiselle Magnolia Amber

Les Jours Gris (Grey Days)

2010-06-07T18:25:00.000-07:00

My lethargy brings another ironic fascination. It is true the body was still, but the mind was wandering vary far with an exquisite old New York, with the helpless soul of Newland Archer* being a merry companion. Like an old man with his smelly cigarettes slowly murmuring the secret of the Old World. Family affairs, they were indeed embarrassing. But I wonder: don’t the gentlemen and their dames of honor enjoy the intrigue so much that once, they drop their mask and jump with madness?

The sky of Saturday and Sunday were all but grey, as pale as the skin of those vampires from Paris. Many vampires were around, each claiming their humanity. They were as empty as they used to be, but perhaps little Claudia* is an exception, even the porcelain doll could not but envy her fair skin. But what is this frail fairness to be coquetted, wouldn’t we be wise to behave as still as a doll? A doll, after all does not rummage the soul.

And Holocaust, here and there, there are many Holocaust, as pointless as they have been since the Old Times. Farewell, innocent soul, farewell. Who could really penetrate through those bricks? Not the exhaustive soul, one can be sure. After all, who could really forecast the sun of the Wednesday?

A little bit of defiance would do no harm, wouldn’t it.

(Fine days do not come in a night)

*Tribute to Edith Wharton’s ‘The Age of Innocence’

*Tribute to ‘Interview with the Vampires’, which I believe as the most elegant of its kind.

Late Bloomers

2010-06-01T17:46:00.000-07:00

“The imprecision of their goals means that these artists rarely feel they have succeeded, and their careers are consequently often dominated by the pursuit of single objective. These artists repeat themselves, painting the same subjects many times, and gradually changing its treatment in an experimental process of trial and error. Each work leads to the next, and none is generally privileged over others…they typically believe that learning is more important goal than making finished paintings. Experimental artists build their skills gradually over the courses of their careers, improving their works slowly over long periods. These artists are perfectionist and typically plagued by frustration at their inability to achieve their goal.”

David Galenson, “Old Masters and Young Geniuses: The two life cycle of artistic creativity”

As quoted from Malcom Gladwell’s What the Dog Saw, on his chapter “Late Bloomer”

This I completely agree.

Trouvée

2010-05-26T07:02:00.000-07:00

Found amongst the smelly dust of the old house. Exactly where I have been living this last month.

Lovely, lovelier than ever. Homely made dishes. Meatballs sans preservatives. Forests awaiting beyond the window. A girl with a delicate smile. Holding hands of the couple. Budha statue. Wooden artwork. And endless les papiers pour mon éxamen française. And oh, many windy days.

And apparently... the gossamer. Nevertheless, the day was too windy that that bluebird was afraid of me. It flew away just when I tiptoed one step further, and I lost it forever. What a queer, though.

have a tea, have a tea, because it was the most bizarre creature I have ever seen.

***

Comment allez- vous?

2010-05-20T03:51:00.000-07:00

(How are you?)

found via weheartit

I apologize for not communicating routinely with you all, dear readers. I thank each of your comment, short or long, relevant or irrelevant... oh well, few are irrelevant, don't worry;) I am grateful that there are indeed, not just one, but two, and three and more people are reading what I have written, what I have gleefully thought, what seems to be just another opinion from one of few girls in this amazing world.

Frankly, the total readers grow very slowly. And they are not a lot, I should say. But again, I keep reminding myself, that I blog not for gaining followers, I blog not for comment, but I blog to find my true soul and grow a serenity. Other than that, I write to touch others, to make others happier, and hopefully find the end of their wandering, too.

Since I blog without giving a slightest hint of my natives, most of you are from faraway countries. I can't deny that such personal, friendly interactions with persons you have never known before, are really wonderful! I think it is not the first time I mentioned that we all sleep under the same big sky? Be happy, you are not alone!:)

I might not be able to dedicate so much time to write due to the other important mission(s), but I love writing so much that when I stop, it hurts. It's true, I still need to improve a lot, but I have as well learned and observed many new wonders along with my readers.

If I have the opportunity, I would slowly disclose my missions. hey are still somehow unclear, like when you are developing a film with the old method, you have the red lamp and some tapes to guide you, but I am still adapting my eyes to the darkness. Soon I would find the comfort.

If my readers are happy, I would love to discuss about the world and its turmoil. I think this is partly the reason why I do not disclose my twitter; I tweet about completely different subjects on what I am discussing here, though with similar style. They are still somehow unclear, like when you are developing a film with the old method, you have the red lamp and some tapes to guide you, but I am still adapting my eyes to the darkness. Soon I would find the comfort.

When I am in Paris this July, I hope I could find something interesting for some giveaways, and meanwhile, thank you for your patience!

Grosses bises,

Magnolia Amber

Écrivons- nous de plus en plus des lettres!

2010-05-14T19:49:00.000-07:00

(let's write more and more letters)

It seems a long time since the morning mail could be called correspondence. ~Jacques Barzun, God's Country and Mine, 1954

a tribute to Anna of Sydney, a girl with blushing cheeks and nails:)

Pour une limonade

2010-05-07T08:12:00.000-07:00

For a lemonade.

To my dismay, these hot summer days are what used to bring all the remembrance, which are way too overwhelming. With a bottle of canned lemonade I was trotting along the corridor of silence, the bright blue sky was sinfully mocking my deliberate melancholy, of which I have been forgetting, and come all over. We used to have those old school days where they would open their blue stripped umbrella, following the shadow underneath, oh the refreshing lemonade! Yet they are now gone, gone like my old self who was devastatingly struggling through the test papers and sinfully wishing your close presence. How glad I would be to share my lemonade with you, how pleasant I would be to walk along with you, enjoy the lazy and serene summer days while those bamboos were absorbing the stinging heat.

Nevertheless, the fact that you were never there but always been as far as the end of May. While you were dangling through the timeless air and total boredom, the summer rain has already forced them to close the umbrella. Farewell, farewell, oh poor fellow. Now that this become the hurtful truth that we are truly far, as far as we wickedly wish, those lemonade shall never be shared, as well as those kisses of sunbeam. Pray.

Magnolia amber

Reminiscence

2010-04-24T05:10:00.000-07:00

15 nights to summer.

Écoutez (listen)

2010-04-04T04:26:00.000-07:00

I heard Summer is summoning.
And its heat suddenly overwhelms me, so blinding I could not close my eyes and mind anymore.
Like a broken old recorder, it vomits out all the merry memories.

Road! The long and winding, so long that while you were up there, it acted as if it were a time machine.

The lone and deserted road, so deserted that nobody would prevent you to dance upon it.

Forest! Trees that looked like mushroom, trees that look like heart, skinny trees, withering trees
or the huge ones which leaves are flying...

I know they are all calling from within my heart; they can't wait to be freed.

"We shall be reunited within 30 night.", whispered them.

Well comprehension, oh dear wicked mind, well comprehension!

For the triumph of summer only belongs to the one who tames his own mind.

-with this, I apologize for the upcoming rare acquaintance.
I perhaps should announce hiatus... until I could embrace my Summer:)

I love you all, and I wish a bunch of fine days and blesses!

What more could I ask...?

2010-03-31T08:39:00.000-07:00

(blogging has ensured me that indeed we are not lonely.

Indeed the world still has so many lovely heart. Thank you, Olivia.)

"If you are delighted, I would be delighted for you with my utmost sincere. If you are not feeling well, I would wish for the betterment, more merry days for you. If you feel lonely, like I have always been, remember that we are all never really alone. We all sleep under the same sky and see the same stars."

Thank you, HopeChella, for the award. I feel grateful.

I have not followed the rules of previous award. To be honest, it is exhausting for I have already been through a hard day's night. But my readers deserve it. My readers deserve to know me more...

1. My first stories was about a girl named Catherine who was haunted by her Grandmother and by her blurred memory of childhood 2. I fell in love with 2 different persons with the same name 3. I used to call UFO, innocently believe that they are just like us, the wanderer of Milky way 4. I am fond of many types of foods without really eating them frequently 5. I could not stand the moral burden of being charity workers and I resigned from my post despite I managed to gather more than $10,000 6. My first language is not English 7. I always feel the strange queer when I see Ireland.

Those are 7 random things about me. And here are 7 bloggers I would love to award. Thank you for sharing with us your delicacies!

1. mermaidism 2. The Bird and Frue 3. Where the wild wolves dream 4.Screaming Swans 5. A Sight To Be Seen 6. As I Wrote One Day 7. And My Reflection Troubles Me

Thank you for reading Unclairjour. With you, I would love to make the more millions of other fine days. Sit for a while and please wander around...

Plus de clover s'il vous plait

2010-03-29T08:40:00.000-07:00

(more lucky leaves, please)

When the amount of mistakes you have accidentally conducted steadily increased, it might be wise to take some nap. Nevertheless, some occasion shall not allow you to do so. The fault should not be relayed from one party to another; only the selfish self would be courageous enough to constantly relay it without asking back his/her hidden heart.

I apologize for not providing a necessary translation for my previous post. It was my pure mistake, but who I am that I have the power of satisfying each party of this humbly great world? I was too afraid to ruin the beauty, hence please leave it that way... I beg your pardon. I am, with my deepest feeling, have been in a great sorrow for I do not succesfully acknowledge the wisdom of spreading happiness. With my sentences I would like to share happiness, spirit and pure hope, but at this moment I just have to surrender to all the creeping shadows. They whispered to me and they blew a cold, dry wind that hit the soft eyes and brittle bones. They drenched my power, hungrily, greedily. But I refuse to give them their way.

***

La journée magnifique..allez ici s’il vous plaît!

2010-03-23T08:18:00.000-07:00

30 secondes avant la bonne rève j’ai la trouvée

et je ne comprends pas pourqoui il y a une délicatesse

comme elle, comme les poêmes, comme chaque élément de sa sensibilité.

Les étoilles étaient très, très brillantes!

ici

(Quelques photos par Greg Freiser)

Quand il est pluie...

2010-03-20T20:52:00.000-07:00

"I like to iron and play some magic with my clothes, especially when it is raining.

While the hot metal moves back and fort, I was left wondering:

about home, mother, her afternoon biscuit and tea

about the faraway country, along with its river and prairie

And about why am I alone

these last few years,

left with piles of soft cottons and laces

which absorb the tears of grief
and memory which have gone?"

La sourire d’été

2010-03-18T21:21:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I want to be as beautiful as this.

(Paris Lady; http://sartorialist.blogspot.com)

"I want somebody to take my portrait, put me in the right frame, right angle and right lighting;Sun beams are gladly reflecting my smiles.

And I don't want to be aware it.
My arms fly, my hairs are dancing with the wind, my eyes glimmer, my laugh are all the way long through the land behind the rainbow.

He should catch my delicate bones and blushing cheeks, he would lie beside me on the greenest grass of earth.
Him with the checkers shirt, me with the summer gown. We are barefoot."
"Summer, your smile is the warmest I have ever had."

Bienvenue A Laussanne!

2010-03-13T19:16:00.000-08:00

Sometimes when you wait, stars do falls down onto your palm. Two out of my 4 months of summer break will be spent here.

Lausanne, Switzerland.

Ne vous inquiétez pas.

2010-03-09T04:22:00.000-08:00

(bright star)

la prèmiere lettre:

“Ma petit sœur,

don’t you be discouraged. Nobody told me before that growing the tree as bright as a star is so heartbreaking. Should you think it would be your labor of love, don’t hold back.“

la deuxième lettre:

“Ma jeune fille,

hold your tears, be daring. Sometimes you have to close your eyes and ears and mouth and listen to your heart. It is all right.“

(bright star)

Le ciel est tombé.

2010-03-07T02:10:00.000-08:00

(picture taken from here)

I hesitated, but he seemed listening.
"Well, I want to make the trees glowing during the night so that the children will not be lost in the wild."
I looked at the floor, I was afraid for his reaction.
He sighed. Said he, "Listen, do you really want to that?"
I stared at his eyes. "I do." But I know that he felt my feeling nervous.
Awkward silence.

"You have to think about that because it is not that easy." His voice grew louder, indicating his seriousness.
Continued he, "Whilst it may be discouraging, I knew a lot of those that lose the battle." He smirked. "Farewell."

I was trembling, but I let him knew that I completely understood what he mentioned.

My sky has been falling.

Meanwhile, he looked away, like before.

Le billet doré

2010-02-28T07:05:00.000-08:00

(Charlie and his Golden Ticket to The Chocolate Factory)

My little stars,

I apologize for the temporary absence. I lost my golden ticket lately. I bought the chocolate last January, however I was so hesitant to eat it. I was about to unwrap it, but then I wrapped it again, until at the end of January I decided to open it to see whether the golden ticket was there.

When I saw the shimmer of it, I was so triumphant; I thought the future was in my hand already. "Tomorrow I shall go to the factory and I shall show him my Golden Ticket and the journey shall be mine."

But I forgot to collect it from my pocket that the delicate paper was soon swirling with the innocent bubbles, among the soap, water and troubles. There the magic ceased.

I was so unhappy, but never shall I give up on finding the correct chocolate and never shall I give up hope for another one to bring me to the Factory.

My fingers are crossed.

Chère Maisonnette...

2010-02-19T07:18:00.000-08:00

"Home, I apologize for I could not afford to seal you and bring you with me as well. I do not have such a huge leather bag to put you in. In 3 warm months of our ordinary rendezvous they would teach me to grow cherry blossom. Perhaps when I return I could bring some fresh potpourri and you would be glimmered with the lovely scent. You, I, we would sleep together, as usual... like the day when I was crouching in your corner, eyes up to count the moving cloud. As usual... like the day when I glanced through the window and saw all the laundries were dancing with the winds. We would giggle. We would burst with laugh."

Yet we would part again.

"But I shall see you again. I shall, I shall see you again. I chant the spell every time it was raining here...

...I will keep chanting until I could seal you with kisses and bring you along with me."

Les Mêmes Pluies

2010-02-16T03:46:00.000-08:00

"When you feel lonely, just remember that we all sleep
under the same big sky. Don't cry."

Chère Maman (J’ai une lettre)

2010-02-10T07:16:00.000-08:00

(Young Mother Sewing – Mary Cassatt 1844-1926)

Dear Mamma,

I believe you must be wary for my haunting memory,
You might wonder how incessantly I let them preoccupy me... yet it is almost over.
Maman, through the silent spring I have discovered
that it is neither the coldest night vexed my soul,
nor the mourning sun dropped my spirit;
it is the fear of the past, the present and the future.

From the past, I was afraid the memories would shatter and someday disappear.
At present, I am worried my hair is messy and my visage too scarry
In the future, I fear the sight of the murky houses with me sobbing in disdain...

You are such innocence, dear Mamma, so lucky a creature, you shall never be hurt and have never been.
For you the happily ever after was so undemanding yet you brought me to the world and never have I been
familiar with that...

It is neither your fault nor mine that the misfortunate swifts away our enchanted world.
I raised my head already, my hands are holding yours.

Why should you worry if you have all the love in the world?

I promised you a solid, warm hut for you. I promised you I will be finding a gentle guy;
we would walk together some afternoon, he is on your right, I am on your left, holding you tight.
And I would Mamma, I would. Trust me.

Les baissers d'Hersheys

2010-02-07T23:43:00.000-08:00

Good grace. Loyalty. Empathy... and more warm kisses.

La maison temporaire

2010-02-01T06:39:00.000-08:00

When I lose followers, I am a bit upset for it seems like I lost a friend:(

But it is a total freedom for any dreamers to read any blogs, perhaps I should write better:)

Maybe one blog is like a temporary home, so everybody is free to dive in and out...

see you later; hope I, you and everybody's here feel better...

Ici, ce n’est pas le prémier photo de cette maison temporaire. Je sais que je partirai d’ici en une année. Ceci est toujours le place de la détermination, du isolement pendant le weekend. Mais elle a m’assisté trouver de la consolation. Elle me va manguer.

(This is not the first photo of this temporary home. I know I will depart from here within a year. This is always a place of determination, of loneliness along the weekend. But she has assisted me to find my consolation. I am going to miss her)

This is indeed my second home, with its soft green apple wall.
Woody tiles, splendid when the rain has just stopped.

Les Nouritures avec La Semaine Très Occupeé..

2010-01-29T04:57:00.000-08:00

(read: the meals with the busy week)

Oh, this is already my 70th post! Dear fellow bloggers, would you kindly suggest any improvement or critiques for my blog? I have always read all of your comments and I just want you to know that they always make my day. Merci, merci, merci!

It is a busy and challenging week because I have spent most of time writing essays for my summer research fellowship application; meanwhile, I am still helping my mentor in her research, attending lectures and tutorials, studying, attending curricular meeting, attending project meeting and scribbling essay in French.

If I were lucky, I would spend my 4-month-summer-holiday either in New York, Laussane or Michigan. The worst case scenario would be staying either in Singapore or in my hometown.

I used to collect what people do not collect. One of them was images of cuisines: cakes, tarts, cookies, bento(s), red wine, champagne... They perhaps reflect what I really want to eat yet they might be quite unaffordable to be eaten by an international student who mostly dine alone...

But here I would like to share the other category of cuisine, The Warmth Ones. They refer to meals I consume when I really need to feel the warmth of home, at least for 15 minutes or so... and they are proven to always relax my frigid mood during the busiest day.

aglio olio
the picture itself was taken from the web of Aglio Olio, a fine French restaurant in Singapore. Nevertheless, I could find the more affordable, refreshing and warm ones in my campus. Heaven.
raisin bread, taken from this recipe website
Apparently, I like the recipe because I love milk and honey! They are such a simple, basic and warm nourishment for the tired one...
La solution pour un clair jour. Un bon petit-dejeuner!

In fact, I used to save the image above for my private collection and on last Tuesday I accidentally encoutered the Lady's blog, of whom I should tribute to. I have never known these lovely portraits come from a blog! She is such a superb painter; through her watercolor painting she shows her fondness of Paris, and for sure, her blog name is Parisbreakfast. She is now offering a 'set-yourself-in-Paris' painting service and I think it is such a brilliant idea! I really wish to have one for myself but I have been constantly moving through my dormitory life, and hence I could not keep too much thing:(

What would you like to eat now?

Sans clé

2010-01-23T03:22:00.000-08:00

Journal photo/ Mary Murphy. A lonely berry.
The photo was taken from here.

He gently shrugged my scarf and bemused. "Are you that cold?"
"I like to feel warm when I have the cold morning," I replied.
Whether he mocked me or was sincerely concerned, I have no idea.
He threw me his usual smile and walked away.

I chose not to remember yet I still wrote it here. Why am I so hesitant?
If you know the unknown room is locked and you are not supposed to have the key, why bother knocking?

Excusez-moi...

2010-01-17T04:01:00.000-08:00

Lately, I was dreaming of Furano. I was reading 'For The Rose', a manga about family and love 5 years ago that took Furano (Hokkaido, Japan) as its setting. Every time I read the book, I acquired different advices. I wept. I sat and wondered.

First week of school did not spark me to run faster, I was confused and my steps were short.
On Monday, I received a letter from the faraway Miss Olivia. She, and other bloggers as well, was as talented as the morning breeze delicately touch your skin in writing. Her words flow and she has such a warmth to send me many glittery spirit. That time, I was in such a turbulence that I think I should stop blogging.

The rest of the week I was trying to cramp a part-time job as a receptionist, a voluntary attachment in life science laboratory, campus life i.e. lectures and readings, and filling up the essays for my summer research program application. They dropped my confidences and wretched my mood.

Second week is calling; I want to stop typing but I can't resist it. Refraining from writing was just as grave as asking me to stop planning to be a scientist. I have so far not yet found any scientist blogging. Such fact is quite stressing.

I hope you enjoy your morning, and I would like to share this. Yataro Matsura, I believe, really express how he witness the warm ambience of the soft morning. His photos soothe me. Tomorrow I shall run faster without falling.

Les Vieux Hommes Qui n'arretent pas Travailler

2010-01-12T06:43:00.000-08:00

(The Old Man who never stops working)

I was working part-time as a receptionist in my school's General Office when some old men came in different occasion. They were as old as my grandfather; with their shy balding heads, their black dots of ageings, their shrinking bodies and curved backbones, they approached me. One was a driver, his eyes looked tired and he needed to pick somebody from my school while he did not receive a clear information from his supervisor. Who to pick? He did not know who to contact. His hearing must not be as superior as when he was young. My supervisor suggested that if he could not find his customer, he might leave. He was quite confused and I tried to help him as best as I could for I was still new and back in my country, you did not expect an elderly work with a job burden of a 30-40 year-old gentleman. In the end he left. I saw him walking slowly back and fort, quite unsure to which direction he should go in this very huge building.

My mum would be furious because I did not help this old uncle to find his way out. "Hush, you impertinent child!" she would say. But I just could not do that because I was not allowed to leave my spot.

My supervisor told me that the worst situation is that the uncle's supervisor, which I believe will be much younger, will be fierce to the uncle, while we know that it is the supervisor's fault not to give a complete information.

My supervisor smirked, he thought it was funny. I was frowning. My grandfather was enjoying every single second of his retirement, while this old uncle is going to be scolded by a young gentleman. In my country, we do not scold old people, unless you are so wicked a child.

The second was a courier, this uncle did not know where to collect the packet. I helped him to call the customer, which unfortunately never took up the phone. The office was almost closed, so the uncle had to leave with no package, full of confusion and exhaustion. Who knows what would happen when he is back to his headquarters?

If you ask them why they have to work, they would answer that it is better to work than to stay at home. "Child, it is an exercise for us," once the auntie who is cleaning the public toilet in my dormitories stated. She was taking her painkiller to relieve her rheumatism. "At least we don't have to depend on our children for the meal money."

Aren't we the children should at least make effort to ensure their meals when they grow old? What a bad, very bad child this country is!

Le Voyage et Le Voisseau

2010-01-09T03:35:00.000-08:00

I have been thinking about my fear of taking risk these last days. I could not both walk and mend the road altogether, could I? I would be exhausted at the middle of the voyage.

My father’s new car is a treasure. He would not hesitate to be furious on me if I do not close its door with his favorable manner. Well, if you do not mend the road first and leave that huge black hole over there, any car which goes over it might break down, right?

Am I smarter than anybody who accidentally crashes their new car upon the hole? I could always call a mechanic. Car can always be fixed. It might not be as perfect as it was but we could still drive it to reach our destination; to end our voyage. Or I would hitchhike. Anything is possible yet I would not risk it. At this point, should I blame my parents for raising me with that pattern of thinking? They were poor; they could die in vain if they take a risk and this is not mere hyperbole owing to they were living in completely different circumstances.

But I can choose to be a little bit daring. Well, a lot, if you wish. I would try to be as careful as possible not to break my car, but if the hole on the road is too big to be fixed while I should drive at the same time… I would avoid it so long as there is still enough width of road body. Although that puts me to face many cars from the other direction, it is worth trying.

l'entree

2010-01-04T06:01:00.001-08:00

"When I see those fences standing along the horizon, I wonder what would I find behind the boundary? Mystery.What bare Earth could offer was so pure for their true origin. I sang the joy for the soil, the wind and the flower scent. I wish I would disappear to be the part of the morning breeze, delicate as it always be.

The year is still four days old but what could I learn does not know age.

The saddest thing is to realize one of human source of conflict without owning any courage to change it.We, as stubborn, naive and proud as we always are, love to protest and blame and criticize; we could not but feel slightly angry when others throw them to us.we shield, we shriek, we defend ourselves for pride could not be disgraced. How ashamed to myself, and pity others yesterday, today... and who knows tomorrow?"

Movie Parade

2010-01-01T18:36:00.000-08:00

My December is so far a movie parade. I do not celebrate Christmas so I might have extra time than those who were preparing Christmas presents and Christmas dinner (which, on the other hand, I envy.) Well, isn’t contradiction a little part of us?

In fact, I abandoned most of my biophysics books, even my GRE books and DELF books (GRE is Graduate Record Examination and DELF… well, DELF is not a bigger brother of ELF, but should you love French language, you had better perform its proficiency test.) and I went down hunting with my remote control instead. To be honest, I am ashamed for I have refrained from studying. Pray my sisters would not shriek to me and about “people are not supposed to study during Festive Season”. Not necessarily.

Anyway, let me share what I have watched so far. Perhaps you found something interesting and extraordinary…

I watched:

Rumpeltiltskin; Stardust; The Grinch; Horton; Vacancy; Wanted; In the Line of Fire; Mr. Magorium’s Wonder Emporium; Home Alone; Avatar; Zombieland; Moulin Rouge; Batman (Tim Burton); Batman Forever; Narnia: Prince Caspian; Zodiac; Driving Lesson

…and I barely remember the rest.

I am going to watch Sherlock Holmes. I wish I could watch local movies, they are flourishing indeed! But somehow I still prefer to watch something absurd, unreal and I avoid scenes of socialites like ‘Sex and The City’. I mean, their reality might not be my reality, and by watching that it brings sorrow instead of entertainment. Thank you, but I prefer my Harry Potter.

Hope you enjoy your private parade, should it be movies or books! BONNE NOUVELLE ANNEE!

La Vieille Ville Jakarta

2009-12-27T18:33:00.000-08:00

Oh, parents! I could hardly go here to hunt the loveliest, ransacked buildings of Jakarta all alone. The old sentiment still persists and I applied a tough persuasion to ask them to accompany me here. My city, Jakarta, is not a perfect city. It is chaotic and dirty, even in this touristic site. But above the complicacy of Jakarta, here I find comfort.

I promise that I will be off hunting again and will present you how I view this city. Someday if have more courage, I would tell you about 'the old sentiment'.

savoir-faire

2009-12-21T15:57:00.000-08:00

We human are always left with dissatisfaction, but my stubbornness and arrogance sometimes shield the wise whisper that stated that, isn’t it true that our stupidity lies deep in ourselves and cause these disappointment? Stupid because we know the sculpture of our hand, yet we still take the sands more than it could hold, stupid because you could only groan in agony when you see the golden sands slip through the crevices of your fingers…

I plan and expect too much of home. My home is full of warmth and love yet not too supporting of lying lazily with the story books, the romances, and the reading for the whole day. My home offers comfort of what nobility should receive; what I requested is granted in the humblest way it could give… clothes I barely purchase when I was abroad and foods I barely eat when I was away from home, and a deep, long sleep!

But there, at the furthest corner still lies my worry. What I mean comfort is not the same comfort my second home offers when I am abroad. I have time to read calmly. Yet in here while my mother was calling me to help her in the kitchen or simply to help my sister studying, that reading without distraction becomes so hard. Perhaps there is too much comfort of human interaction. But what poor wretch am I that complains about too much comfort given?

I am craving for knowledge, and silence that allows the fine details of the knowledge to be absorbed. My current circumstance obstructs the unlimited source of noble knowledge and the beauty of poem and literature. I have finished ‘The Count of Monte Cristo’ in such a hasty and fragmented manner that I barely appreciate the beauty of its language and its complexity. In home, life is still too primitive to enjoy such luxury. How could you discuss the knowledge if you have to think of how you would compliment the knowledge itself? I am faced with the troubles of my beloved country and I cannot close eyes to such a weary, yet the savvy of knowledge needs sacrifice, of time and money and heaven’s forbid, I have to make sure that the lovely sister does not stumble into turmoil!

Really, what differentiates the poor and the rich is that the poor thinks of how to gather money while the rich is busy thinking how to retain his legacy.

Afternoon

2009-12-19T16:35:00.000-08:00

Bcause the light is low and it makes you drowsy that I am worried I could not bounce back from this temporary transformation of holiday procrastination...but who can resist the jolly december warmth?

Catch the Fish!

2009-12-15T16:23:00.000-08:00

“..A joke that has been told so many times that it is no longer funny, but one day it becomes new again.”

“My father has told me a lot of stories that he becomes the story himself.”

“Big Fish” is a story about a person telling stories, bringing Tim Burton behind its not-so-fantastic setting. Ewan McGregor starred Edward Bloom, an extrovert with a lot of extraordinary stories to tell, so much that his son could no longer believe in any of his father’s adventures. Their relationship grew worse until his son started to discover the truth behind the stories during Edwards’s dying.

It is indeed very imaginary, dreamy with its own humble way, and adventurous with surprisingly no adrenaline at all. A comforting movie to watch for self reflection, I should say, for it makes our mind wanders far…

Have any of you watched this movie before? I don’t think this is kind of a blockbuster movie. It is neither magic like falling in love with vampires, nor too real like revealing the ugly truth of life; with its simplicity, “Big Fish” taught me that life is full of surprise if you choose to let it surprise you.

This movie plot reminds me of “Five People You Meet in Heaven” a bestseller by Mitch Albom… the flashback of life which keeps its own mystery.

(Any of you like Mitch Albom’s books? Share with us your opinion!)

I hope I could have courage to face more adventure…to complete what remains incomplete.

mais il a changé...

2009-12-12T16:53:00.000-08:00

Back in home is a time to bring back the classic memories. Almost 3 years ago I managed to escape from the turbulence of the place of my origin, almost 3 years ago that escape marked the milestone in my life of breathe free.

Back then, the most arrogant side of me wanted the place I left to stay as it is, but my place transformed along with my own metamorphosis. My neighbors are married, my sister grew up, and family affair is getting more complicated.

When I was accompanying my mum to visit the nearby hospital for her general check- up, I accidentally met my pediatrician. This is the person whom I always visited whenever I think my throat was about to explode for whatever I ate inflamed me and the unavoidable heat of the tropics made it worse. This is the person who checked my heartbeat and I wondered whether he could also detect my curiosity with his stethoscope. This is the friendliest gentleman I have always loved to see despite my mum’s complaint (owing to the fact that my mum had to spend extra), and always soothed my mum’s worries, ensuring I would be able to go to school the next Monday.

We were in the elevator and there were also other kids and their mummies, shrieking happily, or babies with their pairs of innocent eyes, staring here and there. And me, and my dad, and him stroking the baby gently and threw a light joke to the baby’s mother. He grows old. His hair looks thinner, his body seems to shrink, yet the aura of the gentleness and ultimate intelligence never fade.

I was afraid whether he already forgot me. He was smiling to me politely as I entered the lift. “I guess he should recognize me as I was constantly sick during my childhood,” I whispered secretly. When we went out to the same floor, I pushed myself to greet him.

Surprisingly, he remembered me! Well, not exactly my name, but he know for sure I was one of his most frequent patient 10 years ago. He was gladly stunned, quickly shook my hand (I have never shaken any doctor’s hand, actually. My mum did that) and I did feel proud. He asked what I am studying now, how old I am now and when I told him I learnt biosciences, he could not be happier. “Great!” he shrieked with triumph. He seemed proud, too. He was happy to see that now I am a completely healthy woman transformed from little skinny, sickened girl he diagnosed decade ago. Then we parted.

Having dwelled with molecular biology, I know very well what happened to the body when it grows old, but it is not the graceful process of aging, or even the decaying death I am afraid of; it is the worry about whether I would be able to make my parents happy before they leave this world… or to make anybody happy before they leave. Or for me, to at least contribute something to ensure this earth, with all of the problems, can sustain life of human civilization… that kind of worry to prove myself that it is worthy for my parents to spend their money to educate me.

We are trapped in this natural cycle of life—I do not regret that. But when they are gone, I would not be able to see the essence of life from them anymore: their smile, laugh, or even cry. They only left memories behind. Paradoxically, those sentimental memories are just what make us human… aren’t they?

Christmas in The East can be Bizarre

2009-12-10T18:40:00.001-08:00

Ladies and Gentlemen, the watcher has returned. She is humming the hymne of 'Happiness through the ages', gleefully created by herself when she was wandering at the clear blue sky.

(Well, you might not want to me to sing it here.)

Look at what she has recently caught! She is lucky to live a melting pot, isn't she?

But it is hard to judge whether one fit the other. What do you think?

(Ah, I have found so many sweet, wonderful blogs displaying the image of the snow wolf, snow and delicate ladies, winter clothes, withering trees...wonderful, wonderful.)

(My limbs still do not want to cooperate with my enthusiastic holiday spirit; forgive me for lack of writings. They still want to have a rest so I should refarin from hourly writing after dragging a 20-kg luggage down the stairs yesterday. I live in a go-green place where they believe stairs are healthier than elevator.)

Les Vacances, J’ai arrivé!

2009-12-09T05:45:00.000-08:00

my serious expression with Mc. Donald faithfully accompanied.

Sorry, this is not an advertisement; it is instead an expression of how examination participants could be so stress that they started to abandon their health. They should have consumed Ginkgo Biloba to (hopefully) enhance the mammoth memory dumping.

For you who might wonder where I have wandered, here I come back after swimming through the turmoil of papers, frantic nerve and painstacking minutes of examination! I need to iron piles of clothes and pack. Don't worry, I will post something worth to read soon;)

Colin

2009-11-15T06:13:00.000-08:00

Look at what I have been doing during the examination preparation. How naughty I am...
But this Colin is so pitiable, so adorable that I could not resist!
I am sad for Colin too...

here

The Month of War

2009-11-10T17:26:00.000-08:00

Novembre, novembre, ma guerre privé
J’ai une saute d’humeur parce que le ciel est violet,
Je suis en faim tous le jour, je pense que jai envie du squelette
Mon professeur se lamentait
pour quoi les enfance etait disparu
Mais je préfère d’inquiter mes examens
parce que ils sont effrayantes!
Novembre, novembre, ma guerre très privé...

(this poem was written for I have no idea how to survive in the upcoming 25 days. I apologize for my absence...)

here is the translation. I do hope my french teacher does not read this for she would start to correct me grammatical error here and there...

November, November, my private war
I have a swinging mood because of the violet sky
I am hungry all the time I think I look like a skeleton
My teacher was lamenting
Why did the childhood disappear?
But I prefer to worry my examinations
because they are more terrifying!
November, November, my private war...

(Take-home lesson: do not translate a poem if you are not professional. Do not even make a poem in foreign language.)

P.S: Wake me up when December comes, I shall see you again in the midst of winter wonderland!

Syndrome

2009-10-30T07:12:00.000-07:00

"rusty lamp and berries"

"so desperate this thunderous night
one deserve a warm pillow and hug, tight
so lonely this solemn heart
crying silently, holding breath, hard."

(Have you ever fallen in love with guys with the same name? Have you ever encountered that your cousin and you tend to fall in love with a guy with the same name?)

Mais Je Prefère...

2009-10-29T03:20:00.000-07:00

Merci for the award, Tira...

I have not posted anything for a while because I was drowned behind the jeournal papers and laboratory report (Have you read about my The Metropolis Runaway Weekly Journal?)

Evolution deep thinking. The theory of Darwin.

I am playing with some drugs, how would it affect lung cancer progression?

How does your brain cell grow?

All those stuff. Now I am sure all the faeries over there will shriek,

"How dare you think the unthinkable and exlore the unexplorable?"

Hush, hush, my beauties. This time it's the award time...

Donc, je voudrais annoncer quelque choses...

Where the wild wolves dream

Silver Paper, Pink Bows

Pour vous!

Toast!

2009-10-22T08:26:00.000-07:00

Une verre de Bordeaux pour moi, s'il vous plait.

Perfect Bordeaux to celebrate the 50th post and the next journey to the 100th! Thank you for staying with me, I would give my best effort to improve the blog although my artsey-adobe-thingy is just fair... I would try my best for my dreamy head already pops up some fresh ideas...

one of my most feminine clothes, taken in the Indonesian traditional Spa Home
Heavenly place of humble heritage

Voici Julien et Elsa. They are the main characters in Le Papillon (The butterfly). And below is the terse, witty quote from ma chere Elsa.

"Julien, are you asleep?"
"Almost"
"I want to tell you my dream when I was little, smaller than what I am now.
I dream of having little canary, you know,
the little yellow bird,
and I hold it with my both hands,
and bring it to the balcony.
I ask it to fly aways, but you know what, Julien?
It stays.
And I am very glad...
Because if it chooses to stay with me,
that means it loves me."

A Whimsical Hope

2009-10-17T06:52:00.001-07:00

"I want to make the world
a better place of living

...maybe with a cure for a cancer
or a shiny trees during the night
so that the bulbs are used only during the winter"

-on decision to pursue higher degree

"Even if I will be freak than ever and
do things normal people won't do
and become really like a madhatter
will you all still read my nonsensical sharing?"

2009-10-13T08:38:00.000-07:00

On behalf of Elizabeth Bennet and the spirit of Jane Austen, I would like to herald:

To all the fair ladies in the world, the seeker of the passionate, true love, let me announce that,

"We, with all the delicacies and amusing complexity of our beautiful mind,

will someday find

our own Mr. Darcy."

(despite of whatever your disability is, including being geek like Hermione Granger)

Thanks to Melissa whose post is always inspiring and has just passed the ugly duckling period. I am sincerely happy for her...

Thanks to all the fellow bloggers that have shared your dreams and spirit and brightened up my day:)

via here

The Metropolis Runaway Weekly Journal

2009-10-09T08:58:00.000-07:00

Lundi

In a mood of a glass of Bordeaux. Pretending to be sophisticated, taking a deep breath and sip some vin rouge.

Mardi
Thinking about Prague. Escape from the hectic reality of the Metropolitan

Mercredi

"No matter how hard I run,
I am always left behind. I have fallen several times, my knees hurt so much and they start to bleed.
All the bruises has yet been dried but they may crack and I feel so chilly every time it happens.

Can't I just go back to sleep and you put the blanket over me?
Can't you tell them, when they knock our door, that I am very ill indeed!
Don't let the storm and thunder howl at my delicate nerves...

Look, my eyes are so hollow and my cheeks are sunken. Where are the warm water and a slice of bread that I deserve?"

Not a very bright Wednesday I should say.

Jeudi

Escape into the nearby Forest.

Vendredi

Sometimes you just want to jump the wardrobe, like little Lucy Pevensie went in hiding, and arrive in Narnia, the land of happiness. Yet even the wicked witch is still there ruining this little comfort. Brave your self, have faith like Lucy, be brave like Peter...won't you?

Samedi
"...there is a grandeur in this vie of life with its several powers, having been originally breathed into a few forms or into one; and that, whilst this planet has gone cycling on according to the fixed law of gravity, from so simple a beginning endless forms most beautiful and most wonderful have been and are being evolved..."

Charles Darwin, The Origin of Species, 1859

I really should start my report on the evolution and diversity of tropical rain forest and stop hoping that the trees will whisper the answer to me.

Dimanche
Bon Dimanche, toutes les mondes! (Happy Sunday, everybody!)

la Prairie est triste

2009-10-06T09:11:00.000-07:00

Padang is the main city of West Sumatra Province, Indonesia.
A terrible earthquake has just ransacked the earth of Padang.
Literally, Padang means a prairie... And the wicked idea of so peaceful a prairie being rumbled nauseated me these last few days.

My deepest condolescence for the victims
whose life perished with the mighty power of nature, whose togetherness vanished, whose joy and laugh anguished

Even my tears would not bring them back.

I found Ella May from DayDream Lily, and I think this describes much how hurtful I am to think that my family, who lives in Java Island are somehow in peril.

It's cliche, isn't it. Life's little mystery of how this ordinary breath and beating of heart is ragged.

My family have been living in such calamity for quite a long time and thinking back, then, should the time arrive, we know we love each other and we shall always be.

And let us lower our feet to the master of destiny.

Until we meet again...you should smile and enjoy this little sunshine and do plenty of good thing.