Posts Tagged ‘tôi’

This is something I haven’t done for a long time. Writing. It’s difficult. With life in chaos and things falling into unwanted places. Books and news. TV shows and social media. I got caught up in that mayhem of things I didn’t want to see, but eventually saw for I had feared of being left alone with my thoughts.

It was difficult.

I noticed the rare occasion in which I found myself writing, albeit in my head, was when I was half asleep, with my lids heavy on my eyes. Things flew behind the blackness of they fragile sets of skin. Images. Words. My thoughts materialised into moving pictures. As disorganised as it was, sentences came out in gibberish, and yet they made perfect sense. When I got up, however, they just simply evaporated.

It takes me lots of efforts to organise my thoughts for writing. Indeed, I have concentration deficiency. And as easy as life goes by, when it happens, it’s also all over the place.

And that is how I often excuse myself for not writing. Always busy. More like restless. Always in the middle of doing unimportant things. Petty things. To get over myself. More like distracting myself from myself. It was soul-sucking.

Yet sometimes, times like today, when this restlessness got me stay up all night. My body is exhausted. I have no more energy to put up any reasoning. Words, finally, come easily. This is when I realise I have so much to write about: LIFE. Life! My life! Things! Everything. Things that changed me. Things that changed. Things that stayed the same.

This is why I chose to write from the beginning. I wanted memories to last. To be scripted down one by one. To have things impacted me documented. So after years went by, I could look back and say “Here, look at this. This is what changed me. This is when I was destroyed and reborn. Never the same ever ever again. For better. For worse.”

How different everything is since the last time I updated. And it’d be insane for me to attempt to talk about everything at once. So here’s the first thing that came to me when I was dozing off last night. It came crashing in. Vivid. In technicolour. So intense that it woke me.

These pictures were taken last July, during my visiting in Los Angeles. It was summer, and I was having the worst major depression crash of my life yet. I’ve always had this weird thing about summer. Too much sunlight. Too bright. Things were burning. I was burning. Colours seemed too washed out, too blunt. Or whatever. Thing is, my depression always get worse during summer. Yes, the season when people are supposed to go out and be happy. Plus, with the things that was happening to my life during the time, it got worst. I felt like I was going to kill myself almost everyday. It was horrible. It was bad.

So, Bridgette Lee, the one and only whom I could never possibly ask anything better in a friend, she was sort of my LA host, and was taking care of me the entire time when ever I was under the curse. So one day she decided to take me to Malibu to show me the mountains and the waves. She was trying to convince me to move to LA, for all that mattered. We left early, stopped by the Getty Museum. Got hungry and decided to stop for some lunch. We ended up drinking some expensive wine under the dying afternoon sun. The memory of our conversation was warm and hazy. I remember being very content.

Bridgette and I share the love of drinking during daytime. It is, indeed, the best. The way you are light on your feet but things are still bright so you could see. The colours pop. The sound of seagulls. Waves kissing the rocky shore. The gigantic blue mirroring the sky. The signature faint in the head given by the wine. It was charming.

We then drove down a couple miles heading towards the pacific coast and finally stopped by a well-worn path that leads down the rocky shore. I believe people call it the coast line, because it was literally just rocks and water. The sun was setting but the moon was already out. Round and bright. And we just sat there for hours looking at the moon and listening the the waves crashing into the rocks – chunky black rocks which we sat on. That was when these pictures was taken.

As shitty as a phone camera could do its best, they reminds me of the real sight that I was lucky to see in person. The darken sky lit with only the soft, silver light of the moon. The sounds of sea water crashing on the black rocks. The white foams. The ocean aglow under the full moon. The salty wind from the sea that sweated my face. I remember wishing I was high at the time, but then realising it wasn’t necessary. Because this, this is so out of this world. I felt like I’d traveled through time to witness such calmness. This is the world we left behind, as we pedal ourselves with glamour and city lights we’ve forgotten the things darkness has to offer: ourselves.

This is where we found ourselves: in the blackness of the night coated under only the faint light of moon and stars, we stopped blending in between lights and shadows, and started seeing ourselves.

For the first time in years I was able to let go of my thoughts and let it come back to me, like waves coming from the sea. The way dreams come to you when you’re drifting into sleep, they come when you’re awake as well, if only you learn to stop polluting yourself with thoughts and let them.

Only when you’ve blackened everything. Things of desire. Suggestions planted in your head. Things you were told that you wanted. That you needed. Everything. Deafened by the darkness so once you peaks into them and shine a faint, tiny light, only the things worth shining get lit up.

I was reminded of my purpose, of the meaning of this life I’m living. All things pretty are often simple. Like the ray of sun filtering through storm clouds. Pu-erh tea in a rainy night. Dandelions. Phone calls. Heartbreaks. I’m here to see this, to experience these mundane things that are often brushed off like dandruff on a cold shoulder.

I was happy, and I was suffering.

I was living.

These are the things that I do. The paths I led. How I was damaged and broken beyond mendable. How I continued to love and to lose.

This is me hurting, and breathing, and still keep moving.

Because if all things get to come home. All waves will just turn to foams. This is me crashing into pointy rocks until they are smooth as pearls.

I am the force that obliterates ships before I am foams.


P/s: this is me being a nerf ball and that was literally moon light reflecting in the waves.

God bless.


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That surely is a tough topic that I don’t really wanna put my finger on. Nope. Yet to think about it, I barely have any friends, and my “so called” friends don’t really match with the definition of “friends” I have for my own.

I think it’s all about how each person perceives the meaning of “friendship”. Some just easily call anyone who talks the same language and get the same jokes their friends. Indeed, they could have several “best friends” without feeling any tingle on their tongue saying the word. Some would have a narrower social life, have some friends and one or two best friends whom they tell everything and understand everything. Some even more reclusive, have the smallest count of friends but still they do have some.

And after all that three categories, you’re left with people like me. Those who have no slightest idea of how to socially communicate and “make acquaintance”. I saw it clearly when I had to stand at the reception at the university event. It was cruel and brutal and I was totally lost. We were in the same room, speaking the same language and laughing at the same jokes but I never felt so aliened.

I do communicate, I understand what people say to me and what I should say in response. But what I don’t get is what they call “the social small talks”. I don’t gossip and have no interest in putting my nose into other people’s lives, not to mention judging them. But that’s what keeps the conversation going when you’re coming to a mingle or a social mix up. When I was standing there squeezing my brain out to find what to talk about, people just simply stroll around and talk about things that don’t necessarily link together.

I’m outcasted like that.

And friends? Of course I have “friends”, or that’s what they claim to be.

I don’t know anymore, because the closest persons I might call friends are like, always make me feel bad about myself. And they don’t even seem to care. Maybe they’re just looking for a companion, since they claimed to “have no friend”.

Funny how they can be friendly with everyone, anyone, and claim to have “no friend at all”. But criticize me for not being friendly or “social” enough. Of course I know that would cost me issues when I go out and work in an office environment, but why keep making me feel like a loser? If in your view I’m that incompetent and impotent then why bother keeping me companion?

I don’t see any special thing about our relationship. I’m just the plaster you used to fill up the crack caused when your “bestie” went away.

And I’m not even cement, I don’t cling to that.

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Achilles’ heel

We all have histories that don’t want to be excavated. They’re like the soft spot of your toned body, the Achilles’ heel, which if was poked with a dullest knife your body would all start to fall apart.

Think of it as a wound you had when you were an infant. Your body was so soft so fragile and it was damaged at that one little spot and you were so defenseless to stop it from happening. Soon it would heal, and turn in to an ugly scar you don’t want no one to look at. So you cover it under you newly grow skin, and under several layers of fabric. But that wasn’t enough. It still stays, right there as the most vulnerable spot on your body whom you should not forget to protect.

Yet years after years, without anybody discovering or touching it, you soon grew to be oblivious to the protection duty you had over your weakness, which makes perfect sense. Who would ever care about the infant wound that was overgrown by skins and bones. And you’re even stronger now, more comfortable in your own skin; you can protect yourself as a whole so why bother that small thing that you don’t even remember it exists?

But there will come a day when someone eventually put a finger on it. All they have to do is just saying it, addressing the scar that in fact is still a healing wound. And that’ll do. You’ll fall down to your feet and cry like a baby, just like the first time that knife entered your skin. You’ll see yourself living all that pain again and it’s even more hurtful because you realize no matter how hard you tried to fix it you still couldn’t. It will still be there like a phantom knife that never rests from sliding in and out of your skin. No matter how strong you are or how tough you’d grown.

It’s true to say there are points in life you’d need a shoulder to cry on and a spreading arm welcoming you home.

I need it. But there’s none for me.

If they’re all gonna leave then what’s the point anyway?

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Some mad hopes.

want our hello/goodbye hugs to be a few beats longer than a casual friend hug,
but never so long that it becomes a lovers embrace.

I had a chance to see for the first time of my life the violet sunset at the beach when I went on my reclusive trip to Cancun on thanksgiving. If I hadn’t see it I wouldn’t have believed that the thing actually existed. The burning lights when the sun went down reflected with the blue water created a very warm, soothing color. The color of magic and mysteries and nostalgia, it coated the whole view as if somebody had casted a spell and let it spread out to the endless sea. The beauty left me stunned in awe of how precious nature could be, and at the same time, filled me up with some mad hopes.

Magic, myths, superheroes…those are just the emphasizing of dreams and hopes of human kind, for things that were hard, irrational or even lunatic, to become easier to believe in. There are hopes that boosts our thoughts, gives us strength and encourages us to keep on. There are also hopes that kills us, tearing us apart but we can’t chase them away just because we can’t stop those who keeps pouring them in. Because it is painfully easy how a small spark could just simply ignite the explosion of the jammed damp, blowing them all off for hope to rush in, flooding our mind and drowning us.

That spark could simply be a brush, a smile, or just some unintended teases or flirtations that would start it. It could be the shortest of a “goodnight” text, no punctuation, no capitalization. It could be the longest of the 240 miles distant conversation which was only about how pretty the stars were and how the signal sucked staying in the cabin. It would just simply start it. A small candle light that lit up the condensed darkness that we had tried so hard blocking all the lights from coming in, to keep us from longing for the greatest good. From dreaming instead of sleeping.

One should acknowledge that giving out hopes is a crime. Especially when such hopes would do nothing but lead the others to nowhere, and they would soon exhaust and break and cease to exist on the road of self-deluding.

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Hôm nay trời đẹp. Sáu giờ sáng là nắng đã lên rồi, và mình dậy sớm.

Hôm qua căng thẳng bài thuyết trình quá nên lúc tối lên thư viện định học nhưng cũng có học được đâu. Cỡ chừng mười giờ rưỡi là mắt mở hết nổi, lết về nhà, quăng balô vào góc, hư mẹ cái phẹc mơ tuya, lột đồ ra và quăng người lên giường ngáy ro ro.

Hôm qua thầy Ross mới ra đề final. Hai bài luận về vấn đề xã hội. Thầy ơi em khổ tâm lắm thầy biết không! Thầy tính tình dễ thương, dạy hay nhưng cho bài về nặng quá, em chỉ biết khóc!

Lẽ ra mình nên ngồi soạn bài để ôn thi cuối kỳ đây nhưng ở trên đời thiệt có lắm thứ khiến tâm hồn người ta xao động, khuấy đảo sự tập trung cao độ cần kíp mà khi bình sinh mình cũng hiếm khi có được. Mình nghi mình bị ADHD rồi.

Mình đã gửi tin nhắn cho người ta. Kệ rồi, giờ ra sao thì ra, thất tình thì trời vẫn xanh, gió vẫn thổi, nắng vẫn ấm vàng và cây cỏ vẫn đung đưa, không cớ gì mình phải khổ tâm vì bạn. Bạn không thích mình nhưng bạn đâu có quyền cấm mình thích bạn. Quyền tự do yêu thương mà. Tất nhiên nếu yêu thương được đáp trả thì tốt, nhưng nếu không được rồi thì có ép uổng thì cũng chỉ khổ sở. Được ở gần bạn là vui rồi, lâu lâu gặp nhau, hang out và tip talk, ngẫu nhiên gọi bạn bằng tên mình nói nói cười cười về người tình giả tưởng mình tự tào lao ra.

Mình biết, những người như bạn, sẽ không đi thích những kẻ như mình, như thế trái ngược với quy luật của tự nhiên. Nhưng dù gió có thổi, trời có ngẫu nhiên khóc mưa rối rít, mình cũng không nản lòng.

Và một chuyện nữa là từ hồi qua đây tới giờ mình vẫn chưa biết cái rạp chiếu phim nó tròn méo ra làm sao. Ngay cả ở dưới quê rồi mà mình còn quê hơn cả mấy người ở đây nữa. Bạn kia ơi, nếu có vô tình gặp, mình sẽ rủ bạn đi coi phim đó. Chuẩn bị đi!

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Em không dám nói nhớ anh. Nhớ rất nhiều nhưng không biết có phải yêu?

Được gì đâu anh, nếu em nói? Anh sẽ nói nhớ em hay chỉ lặng lẽ cười. Hay là những dặn dò bâng quơ, không nhung nhớ? Em đã nuốt hết vào để tim mình không vỡ, tự dặn mình không nói nhớ sẽ không sao.

Là em thèm yêu, hay em chỉ nhớ cảm giác yêu? Em không biết. Môi xinh và mắt cười, yêu dấu ơi! Em cần anh bước đi và đừng quay lại. Em cần anh buông tay, cần anh dứt khoát. Em cần anh ngừng yêu và chấm dứt đợi chờ. Giật đứt hết chỉ đỏ, và cắt hết mọi duyên tơ.

Ngay từ đầu đã chẳng là gì hết.

Em sẽ không nói không nhớ nhung không khóc lóc. Em sẽ không quăng bất cứ mối dây nào để ràng buộc. Em chẳng còn tin vào những lời yêu. Tìm ai đó khác đi anh ơi, cho em một quãng lặng. Em cần thở, cần nhìn quanh, và xác định em đang ở đâu. Trên mặt đất này và trong tim anh, em cần biết vị trí mình đang đứng.

Em lại nhớ lại cô đơn lại khóc. Rồi em gọi cho anh chi để nghe tiếng ngọt ngào dấu yêu. Rồi tưởng tượng ra mái tóc rối xù, mắt cười và môi mềm dịu ngọt.

Em cần quên để tìm ai đó khác. Em cần nếm thử môi hôn của những người tình mới. Tha thứ cho em tình đầu ơi. Em cần một khoảnh lặng để quyết định có nên tiếp tục yêu…

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Mua sách mua sách

Mình có một vấn đề mới xảy ra gần đây.

Hồi xưa mình chỉ đọc ebook, tức là electronic books, toàn là đọc trên máy chứ chẳng mua sách bao giờ. Vừa viết xong câu này là 1 anh đẹp trai bước ngang cửa tiệm 😐 Mới đây mình bắt đầu chui vào bao với Khánh Phương, và mình bị lây cái thói đọc sách. Ý mình là, sách giấy ấy, cầm trên tay, lướt tường trang và mỗi lần lật qua trang khác mình sẽ nghe tiếng giấy chà vào nhau và lật qua nghe lách tách.

Nhưng mình không phải là một đứa ngốn chữ. Ngay cả từ hồi xưa đọc fic mình cũng không ngốn. Mình thường chọn lọc, và thấy cái fic nào thật sự đáng đọc thì mình mới theo dõi. Mà mình không đọc thiệt nhanh, mình cứ nghiễn ngẫm từng từ từng từ, để cho nó thấm vô trong tâm hồn mình và cảm nhận được tâm tư của tác giả muốn gửi gắm.

Cho nên giờ đọc sách giấy cũng thế, mình ngâm 1 cuốn rất là lâu, có khi một ngày mình chỉ đọc vài ba chap. Chọn mua sách mình cũng khó khăn lắm. Tại mình phải chắc chắn là cái cuốn đó mình muốn đọc, nên cứ phân bua lựa chọn, có khi đi nhà sách về không mua gì, có khi gom cả đống.

Nhưng vấn đề là mình vẫn đọc rất nghiền ngẫm. Mà đọc xong rồi thì cứ muốn lưu lại cảm xúc của cuốn này một vài ngày, rồi mới bắt đầu đọc cuốn khác. Trong khi đó vẫn mua sách ào ào =))

Bàn học giờ chất đầy sách chưa đọc. Sắp thi final. Hỡi ơi….

Thôi cứ từ từ đã, ko việc gì phải gấp.

Có gì mốt lên máy bay đọc. :”>

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