I’ve never been a music guru. Being Asian, naturally my parents tried to keep me on one of the three instruments of the Asian world: piano, violin, and flute. I had the piano and I loved it but I was never musically talented, or actually patient. I wanted to immediately play Bach and Beethoven. Instead I got Mozarts small children’s tunes.

After five years of suffering, my parents gave me the reprieve and instantly I began to sing, the very thing they dreaded. I actually was born not to sing, but I convinced myself that I could. I’ll never be great though but I can hold a note and sing in a choir.

I then ventured over to Ocarina (yes, because of The Legend of Zelda) and Ukulele, because that’s where my home home home plays. I just traipsed about for ages trying to find an instrument that I’d love, even trying Trombone.

Watching a concert tonight I realize that I am not musical, and I’ll never have the patience or the drive to be so. I can appreciate it, but I’ll never subject somebody to suffer as I did.

In the meantime:

A cafe

Wandering outside the house, walking, musing. Admiring all the people gathered outside for festivities. Getting pushed around by people and becoming slightly claustro/agoraphobic.

Lovely days and lovely nights, finding myself in a beautiful little cafe while tasting Sweet Potato Soup and people watching as the sky falls and the winds pick up the cool air, sending chills into our world and many huddle together for warmth.


When I first started blogging I just figured that I would silently document my life in memories as I always have. Like most bloggers I actually have a camera but a faux photography background; but when I opened up this page I decided to keep the details vague and leave the reader guessing. A mirror to my plight in discovering myself through the use of words. I figured, if it’s in my hands, in my room it’ll become a doodling pad and I would not write every day, if it was public, then perhaps maybe.

It’s much harder with a camera and photos to keep the reader guessing – it’s still hard with text as I want to over document my life as documenting delight does almost every day, lauding her love for her children. I opted to under document it and highlight with (changed) phrases what was eye-opening for the day, week.

I have to refuse to share where I am, my circumstances are different; I’m younger, less wise, more naive and I have nothing to show thus far. I’m not famous; lots of people do know me though through various means. I’m not talented; my work has not been prolific and established world wide. My writing style is nothing like the road is home.

But I’m finding that maybe it’s because of my youth, my confusion, my personal stories that I’m finding myself at peace with this project. It may not be everything that you want it to be for a blog, but just a way, a place where I can hide myself and show my true personality on a piece of paper (in this case on electronic script) and kind of truly be at peace with myself.

The two blogs listed above are the two that got me into blogging. I am inspired by them everyday and hope that one day I can learn to love as they do, to show my talents as they do. I read them religiously and hope and pray and hope and pray that my writings can touch the hearts of people as theirs do.

That said, I should go back to self-discovery starting with the first and most essential question: “who am I?”

Just one of those moments where

I feel as if I’m going to drown.
As if my body has no buoyancy and all of the happiness has just washed away upon the sea.
Sometimes I feel this way, I try not to, bad things always happen.

I’ve been trying to keep it out of my mind.
I just… I did try to pass this class by myself but ended up falling back onto my father who told me I can do this and understand this but he really doesn’t get it.

I have no idea what I’m doing in this class. Regardless of how much studying I will never understand.


Very recently I’ve taken to noticing a dimple on the right side of my face. I’ve always had it but never paid that much attention to it until I cut my hair.

What’s funny, and kind of awesome is that by simply chopping it all off, I have a new perspective on the world. As if I now have to rely on outer beauty or inner. Like Talia does. And looking in the mirror practicing my big smile I noticed the dimple amidst all of the acne craters and forming pustules.

It’s on the right side of my face, and is rather deep. It is no scar. I remember distinctly that my human anatomy teacher told me that one-sided dimples are so rare, that I was lucky. I wore my bangs in front of my face when he said that and half-listened to his compliment.

I smiled and the dimple was there, it is beautiful, wonderful, uniquely me.

Money means nothing

I feel as if somebody just slapped me across the face.


I feel as though my entire world has crumbled beneath me. I feel as if I’m drowning underneath the weight of words and fantasies.

Most of all, I feel as if my final decision is frowned upon by many people I love and adore.

And a silent voice calls out from the darkness. Tells me it’s okay to be scared, it’s okay to ask questions, it’s okay.

Because I’m not the only one.

Not the only one who was so scared of their decision and loving their life because it was theirs. The rest will watch your happiness and follow.

I want to prove them all wrong, that I can be good and happy at the menial jobs they chose and at the salary I want. Money means nothing.

“When you feel the most down about your position, you are at your most vulnerable, it’s then that friends will come to your aid and kick you back into shape or watch you drown.”