she danced

I should have known it was all over, set in stone (my place in France and my amazing writing talent – ha! ..demonstrated by this eloquent style, rhyming the words ‘France’ ‘pants’ and ‘dance’) when at age 9, I wrote this poem:

There was a young girl of France
and all she would do is to
dance, she got her best pants
and was ready to dance
and she danced
and she danced and she danced.


It’s strangely foretelling..

In fact I think a lot of people still believe that’s all I did in my five-year stint in Paris, shopping and dancing.. (in my best pants bien sur)

And yes, in my best moments, I did do my fair share of both.

and maybe, just maybe

Since my first grade debut stories: ‘How to make a peanut butter and tuna fish sandwich’ and ‘I hate Saturday morning cartoons’ I’ve had words at my fingertips and stories to tell. A few months ago I finally took the decision to officially give writing a go (despite the mere $18 in my bank account) thus I’m opening up my years’ worth of journals, memories, thoughts and stories. A blossoming writer/blogger/freelancer etc.. looking through the maps and navigating through the confusion of this new direction, and maybe, just maybe one day soon, I can show all my friends who just think I’m poor/lazy/irresponsible/crazy what I do up here all day, and why I refuse to get myself one of those ‘real’ jobs they always tell me about..

Four Quartets T.S. Eliot

What might have been is an abstraction
Remaining a perpetual possibility
Only in a world of speculation.
What might have been and what has been
Point to one end, which is always present.
Footfalls echo in the memory
Down the passage which we did not take
Towards the door we never opened
Into the rose-garden. My words echo
Thus, in your mind.
But to what purpose
Disturbing the dust on a bowl of rose-leaves
I do not know.

Four Quartets T.S. Eliot

words and photo booth moments

The time i spend before and after i smile for the picture.. this is how i capture it.

Sitting in photo booths, anticipation, never quite ready, hidden moments of truth in between poses, often too short, behind the curtain, waiting, in métro stations, whispers, laughter, all they see is our feet.. lost coins, fake smiles, young, old, timeless, that instant captured, walk away with it in your hand..

Scribbling words in the margins, capturing images of moments or memories that cross my mind, past and present mingle in words and whispers of how we think it was, or thought it would be. Snapshots and the moments in between.