The difference_01

Someone told me: "I miss you, Rachel"

And I looked back and smiled a sweet, tiring, understanding, pitying one

"no, dear, you don't miss me, you just simply start thinking of me a few second ago"

and... so many people do not see the difference... between missing and thinking of.

When you miss someone, it's a permanent ache, a pain that eating you up - every minute, every hour of your conscious existence, you long for the presence of that particular person/object/feeling

but when you think of someone, it's just for a sec, a moment, a quiet period - and they all, fast or slow, fade away, like clouds on the sky. You function well, without that person/object/feeling. It's a plus to your life, not a must.

so make up your mind... wouldn't it be nice to say things, as you mean it, not just for the sake of saying it, as if you mean it. 

I knew the difference now, I knew it now, because back then when grandma was alive, I thought of her every now and then but now that she is eternally gone...

I miss her every single second, every single minute, every single passing hour...

...and somewhat this is killing me inside

[One shot] Wrong Number - HAPPY BIRTHDAY YUNHO

Wrong Number

“You’ve got the wrong number” – that was Yunho’s first lesson at SM. It was applied to all – all means all age groups: young or old, not too young and not too old; all genders: male or female, even anything in between; all including even his parents – during busy days, his best non-member friends – during concerts. “You make contact with necessary people, at necessary time” – like a broken tape, this warning had been repeated again and again ever since the first moment he signed the contract, sealed his fate. . . For a particularly obvious reason, it became his allergy. Yunho could feel his stomach well up, churning acid fluid all the way from his tummy through his throat. Sometime he could hold the urge to vomit, spit it out this whole hypocrite craps about stardom – that “sometime” only made sense when there was JaeJoong and his understanding eyes, Changmin and his light rebellious smirk, Junsu and his innocent face, Yuchun and his dry laugh somewhere behind his back. However it was not now because all of them weren’t here. Yunho threw up pure acid, on the grand party of his birthday, in SM.

“You’ve got the wrong number” – that was what Yunho was taught/ trained/ made/ forced to say. Maybe after 6 years of knowing too well what SM could do to harm people he loved, Yunho formed a bad/ basic/ immediate reaction whenever his phone received a “wrong” number. Wrong in the eyes of WHAT? WHO? And WHY?  - he no longer cared. End of the day, as long as Junsu could reach out for his dream and performed the musical without any restriction, Changmin could give his all in the next coming drama – without being sued, JaeJoong could have sometime to break away, soul searching for inspiration without the chain around his neck, Yuchun could spend more time with his dogs and family without constant nags … He was very very willing to reject a call from 3 numbers he memorized by heart. “Who’s that, Yunho?” His manger would ask with scrutinizing eyes and he would shrug his shoulders – like an actor, and shake his head – like a pro saying politely, short and sweet: “Wrong numbers, huyng”. Wrong numbers? Wrong his ass! Each of these numbers that connected together to create the three combination of link between his and the other partners’ line was music to his ears. Since he could not dial – he could not prank call, just to hear their voice – he could not do anything with them without harming the owners, he whispered them like his own melody. His secret code, his assurance, his tiny bit of faith left hanging; that as long as the other end of the line would catch his S.O.S connection any time any day when all these craps are over… He would be very very willing to suffer, in silence.

9 p.m. and the bloody SM party for the ASIAN best boy band’s leader was not over yet. There were, of course flowers, cakes and beauty – guys and girls, talents from every field of the entertainment industry. He simply felt those happy birthday songs – though sung by professional singers, those greetings – from sunbae and dongseng were pure cacophony. They held no weight because they did not come from the heart. His mind trailed back to the depressing days – now he would call them the golden days of his youth: somewhere in the past, somewhere in an unknown apartment in Japan, in a cheap corner near dance studio, he was celebrating his birthday with Junsu and JaeJoong, then came Changmin and Yuchun. They did not have shit, not three level birthday cake – since when SM cared? – not even enough food for dinner – JaeJoong’s signature ramen defined delicious. He would trade all these craps – even that something expensive from that tiny little box branded Lee Soo Man’s special attention. For. Just. The. Presence. Of. His. Members.

That’s all.

At 11.30 when all hope almost shattered. He came back to the dorm in perfect loneliness. Changmin and his silence protect and the fact that he was losing weight as fast as Yuchun losing hairs on his forehead were depressing him to the core.

-                   - Yunho, happy birthday. – that was the very first time Changmin opened his mouth since the past… months out of his will.

They stood together in almost pitch dark, eyes on eyes, and Yunho suddenly found the strength to walk over and give Changmin a bear hug.

--                       - Thanks, bro. Are you sure you are doing fine?

-              - Not really, but I am sending a clear message to them-whom-I-would-not-bother-to-name. – Changmin smiled weakly – Huyng, you keep flipping your phone, checking it every moment today. What’s up?

-                          -  … nothing much – Yunho smiled back – I was just waiting for a miracle.

-                           -  I believe it will come, Yunnie. You deserve every bit of it.

And just like that, the 1.86m tall – going 1.90 something model’s eyes sparked like the shining Cassiopeia, before he retreated to his own room. Between the five of them and especially Changmina and Yunho, there were always gaps between words… silence understanding… non written principles of undeniable love. Just with that tiny spark in his brother’s eyes, Yunho knew one thing for sure, Changmin knew exactly what Yunho was. for.

That’s just enough.

11.59.40 pm, his phone rang its heart out a familiar tune… “Wasurenaide” And Yunho – from the bathroom, with lighting speed sprint out to the living room, naked to catch the birthday message from the very very, yes, very very very “wrong number”

“.:*Happy birthday, my lovely Yunnie ^^*:.! May happiness J, love <3 and success*** find you – wherever SM is hiding you from us. May this horrendous period of separation not break us apart but reminds us how precious our togetherness is. May all bashes and despicable lies not creep their filthy hands into our hearts but strengthen us and our trust in one another. May all those take-away food make you treasure my beautiful signature taste – cheapskate ramen ^o^ - don’t you dare skip meals, ok? With all my love <3 and theirs :x ”

Without looking at the number, simple counting those idiotic/ absurdly cute emocon, Yunho mouthed the name of the sender with all tenderness and longing. This number was not registered in his contact list – so indeed it was clearly a very very wrong number.  However as Yunho stood naked in the living room smiling like an idiot, while Changmin stared blankly at you-know-what before screaming his unique “mirotic” scream, Yunho and of course Changmin knew one thing for sure…

It wasn’t a wrong number. It was, indeed, a very very right combination of 9 characters. And to hell with all SM’s craps, Yunho finally smiled wholeheartedly on his very very 25^th birthday.

Hope till the end.

the idea of it - 1.Vespisti

Life is beautiful. She is certainly my type of heroine. I love the very fact that every time I walk out of my door and embrace Her. I find something bitter, something sweet, something heartbreaking something heartwarming. All in one - the ideal of it - brings me to the nightmare of youth, of people forcing themselves to "like", to "love", to "pretend" to live in the illusion of what is supposed to be the truth... Life would be exhausting if you don't dare to be yourself.

Here the story goes. My bitter epiphany, my sweet love. Small bits and pieces that bring me together to the realization of the "idea of it" 

Hey kids, do you really know what you desire for? Do you know what it truly mean by loving someone - someone abnormal, someone wickedly cool, someone politically incorrect? If you don't. stick with who u are, and trust me, you are fine, very fine with that

1. Story 1: Love me love my Vespa- not the idea of me having a Vespa. 

"I love Vespa, Wow, you are so cool" - these are the lines I have heard since 15. No cliche. When all the "chick" magazine, teenage newspapers started writing cheesy immature love stories about Vespisti (people who ride Vespa), back then in 2000 there was a Vespa wave among the youth. I read all those craps written by people who never bothered to land their precious arrogant butts on a Vespa, not to mention live with it, love it (even in sickness or in pain). My generation grew up with the thought that Vespisti were cool bunch of wicked freak. Maybe we are, maybe we aren't. 

I see where they came from. It's one gorgeous chick, even a head-turner. Guys.girls, the elderly looked at us - even when they are on an SH bike, approximately 10 times to 20 times worth my Vespa. But hey, we are talking about value not price here. So as far as I am concerned, people think they love Vespa.

But guess WHAT? They don't. They love the idea of Vespa. 

You love it when it behaves, when nothing goes wrong, when guys whistle behind your back and people pointing at you with admiration - of u or your Vespa I am not too sure. But here is the thing, working well, not going wrong, looking fabulous... is only one part of having a Vespa. One tiny part to be exact. I had my 1st when I was 15, dying in the middle of a traffic jam, bursting smokes and making funny noises took a good 70% part of the whole package. Having pushed May - name of my 1st Vespa home - 5km plus plus at 3pm in June was not funny. Having Vespa means: no more heels, no dress i.e. flats and jeans - full time alert to avoid traffic jams. 

My story could be long. Yet in short, recently I was hit on - now that I know, my Vespa was hit on, not me. He - the arrogant and pretentious male complimented on my turquoise Iviee - my second Vespa: "I would love to have one" I was really flattered. Iviee who never broke down before, who had been nothing BUT a wonderfully well-mannered girl decided to open up my eyes. She burst and stopped in the middle of the road. How humiliated he was - on the contrary I was indeed calm. May taught  me well. When I was dealing with the situation, he gave some "encouraging" comment: "Next time you want to go out, let me know, i will come and pick you up, there is no need to show off" 

There he goes, and there - they will continue, as far as I am concerned, people look at Vespisti as cool chicks and dudes when nothing goes wrong but the very moment when their Vespa stop working properly, they will smirk and call us name. First they pity themselves now they pity us. I could not help but laugh to tell him off. I don't need a free ride. In my most pathetic state, not having enough money to pay for a bus ride, with my two very healthy feet, I will walk my way to my destination. Bikes broke down, everyone of them would one day tells you that they are tired. I wonder why people hold this prejudice against Vespa.

So I told him off and went to fix it. The trick was simple and it did not cost me more than 3 bucks before I was on my way alone again. 

The trade is simple. Once you love it, it's an addiction, little bit of happiness only you know. If it was fashion, well, it does not worth it. cuz there is no fashion made your leg bruise and your arm aches for weeks.Yet when it's love, whatever people say, it's your crazy love.

the idea of it, trust me, it does not worth it, all that trouble and physical pain. If you call it trouble taking care of your sick lover, then why hanging on? 

Travel Log_Chiangmai 1

coffee@airport

coconut juice@Chiangmai temple

Everyone need a trip

now and then

It's not about running away

but standing from another position and look back

where I was from.... what kind of life I had

just so I learn to appreciate what I have

that I am so blessed to have wonderful family/cousins who never left my side

and wonderful best friend - whose mom thinks of me as her own daughter

-whose sister takes best care of me when I am around

I am truly blessed

시간에 지쳐도 사랑에 아파도

He did not ask me a trick question yesterday. He did not laugh to his heart content, at the mere thought of my absolutely annoyed and frustrated face trying to figure out the answer yesterday. He did not send me the sweet goodnight wishes yesterday.

I saw it all coming. I laughed proudly at my ability to read people – men especially. However, my heart aches till this moment. Not for him - lol, He should not take that much credits for nothing but for the bleak picture of dating on earth.

He must be mad – lmao. At the age of 30, isn’t it hard to accept the rejection of a 20 year old girl? Surely he is desired by many. Surely he is proud at his ability, family background, the number of instruments he can play – and all that jazz. Surely he could not understand why I don’t line up in that long queue of girls who could not wait for his smile.

Midnight, an apologetic sms came too late to restore my last bits of grace and kindness for men. Aren’t almost all of them the same? Isn’t selfishness man’s infamous trait? I don’t forget, though I may let things slide. Number … some 2 digit number, that maybe something for me to remember him by. The list will go on.  Over-confident boys they are, who love me, chase after me not for who I am but for the triumphant and egoistic thought of being able to tame, to possess and control this wild soul. I am not ugly, in fact pleasant looking - some may even say pretty, I am flattered. I am not awkward, in fact confident and dignified. I can surely talk to anyone – if I desire to and I have manners. Don’t you wonder why I am still single until this moment? Especially at the peak of my youth?

I believe in weeks to come, his good intention, attention and crushes will soon crash like those ignorant waves smashing into hard – sharp – indifferent cliff.

If you have  never ever read my blog, never talked to me when I am freaking mad/out of my mind – in my better language English, never knew/memorized my 5km to-do/future plan list – all of which have priority over nonsensical dates… then don’t you even think of messing up your life by shoving it into mine. I am old-fashioned. I hate pretty and expensive coffee shop. I loathed watching movies for dates and I feel like vomiting when guys- who barely know me, do that thing they think they do best - sweet talk. For crying out loud... do I look stupid and naive - do I look like I will faint just because they pretend they care at all?

Since when love, relationship, all those precious and pure feelings have become this cheap and pathetic?

Never before have I been this sure and happy about my relationship status. Single.

Damn proud I am single.

시간에 지쳐도 사랑에 아파도

turned around...

Turned around ...

and I did not see you anymore. You were not sitting there.You were not looking dazed like you always do. You were not waiting for me to return with our cups of coffee... I wanted Latte..  but for a second, I forgot the desire to taste sweetness of milk blended in the bitterness of coffee... what I did want more?... what I do want most, even now: that taste of the final latte with you or the taste of your lips, in the field, with winds enveloping us...

headstrong, totally disastrously the one and only you

I did not see you, I could not see you... chances were I would not be able to see you again

turned around...

And I was frightened... and I was traumatized... and reality hit me hard, I was at that very particular moment, lost again. I had been clueless in the maze of my grief after he passed away, but you came, held my hands and led me out of misery. My frantic mind became clouded with all the possibilities of the better - as you think it is, and of the worse - as I am so sure, even in this moment: losing you was the hardest part. Isn't it too cruel? You, the only person who bothered listen to my mumbles and chants messed up in uncontrollable sobs, now left me crying my eyes out alone on the roof top of our lighthouse... Why weren't you here to hug me like before? Why weren't you here to hear me confess: I really did not like you. The truth is, with every fiber of my being, I was in love with you.
Isn't it too cruel?

turned around...

and it all fades away... slowly, but it does... you and that curious stare I love, you and that hug when I was drown in those letters to heaven, you and that kiss in the plain plain green field... next to the old red post. Everything starts with you. Everything was beautiful because of you. Because all that perfect frame, perfect lips, perfect and strange mind belong to you, I get myself back in the sunshines

as simple as it seems
as heartbreaking, as excruciating as it actually is
you
were
gone

...............................................


turn around

"have we... have we met before?"
"where as in ... where?" - Reality checking and sanity checking... even in my wildest dream I could not imagine seeing you again. I am waiting for you, though my conscious mind reminds me you are gone. Though it sounds ridiculously unsound and obscure ... I am still waiting for you, with the couple of cherries around my wrist where you used to hold me firmly and dragged me out of pain...

turning around

"in the plains... old post... a mail box in the green grass..."
we trail off, and away...

welcome back...
This time, I won't turn around, not ever again, not away from you

from Hana to Jaejun

Hanoi, winter '09

inspired by Hana, and Heaven Postman

crying my eyes out

.:but I remember:.

...then I grew up, from the day-dream that things would never change - that I, mighty me, would never wear make up or torture myself in high heels, that my best friends in high school would still be my very best friends when I am close to death... I am sure everyone is fine with this radiant transformation. People change - how cliche'- yet how true, we know it too well that no one want to admit how hurtful it actually is: our memories gradually fade away like the calendar flipping, thinning and being torn restlessly... The day I walked out of my house 29th Sep, 2005. I never knew I would return home today in this metamorphosis, 6th Dec, 2009. My once-upon-a-time-ear-shot hair now passes my waist. My half-hip pants now are now buried to the very bottom of my closet - getting ready to be given away... I wonder what will happen in 4 years time, after college... I still don't know, and I do not desire to make such undesirable assumption of miracles and surprises -  what supposed to be life's gift to me. You may discard these bits and pieces of the past - the days when we qualified the very definition of what we now laugh at: "country pumpkin". You may jolly well do it, but i

but I remember

I remember clearly the way I looked in secondary school and high school. As if it matters now, but somehow these memories complete the picture of my childhood - of the relationships I had with the people around me. I am sure I have always been one of the most undesirable girls in class, may be not the worst, but among the big NO-NO thanks to my dad who always cooks delicious food... How nice it is to blame it on someone else, especially my dear father who takes pride in this cooking skill... In short, rudely and shamelessly I was really fat, in the Asian definition of Fatness -  which in another word, I refused to believe I am any chubby in the West - though that was not the point. The point is, I remember how I once had to buy a guy shirt, in stead of a girl shirt as a group uniform with my 6 other close friends - who of course, finds size XS a little too huge. I was definitely humiliated and bitter. They did not know much, and I guess even Huyen Anh, who witnessed my tears rolling down on the way back from the stupid shop, would not remember but i, but I remember those days... Now I wear guy shirt, still. Loving it. Not by force or desperation like the sad old days but by choice, fashion anyway. With a tiny belt around my waist and there I go.

But then again. you may wonder why I am writing these things down... I am not a intention-less writer. Yesterday, I saw a guy who claimed to take interest in me - the new me - the already transformed me making a cruel joke about a chubby girl. She was not that bad, maybe she was like me, back then, I did not care that much and knew that much. I laughed - cruelly and bitterly at him, brain-dead him and left the table, without leaving a trace of my existence.

I may look different now... I may feel things, perceive things in a different way now... To make it simple I may not be the same girl I used to, once upon a time. But i, I remember...

I remember how hurtful it was to be laughed at because you are a plus-size chick, living among these sickly thin people - I still am FAT - in your very definition of Fatness. If I throw to u the i-don't-give-a-damn-if-you-think-I-am-fat attitude, it does not mean: I am not aware that you are rude. Just that your remark cannot hurt me like before.

They can change a girl's body shape - even in the most desperate method i.e. plastic surgery - I have NOTHING against it. But bloody hell, why can't they freaking understand that there is nothing they can do to de-stupid-ize a brain dead girl with perfect body? They can't replace her heart either - for a kind heart cannot be bought and shove into that perfect body they desire.

So I watch friend after friend going for body instead of soul... Ended up complaining to me their unlucky love life - well... well, well, well... they don't but i, i remember...

I remember their choice of partners, with much compromise of "buts" and "ifs" ... Since you treat it as a bargain, this is as much life can give to you... seriously why is there a need to torture yourself and make alibi for why he is NOT freaking there when you need him the most, why he could not say anything decent - or anything at all while you are sobbing uncontrollably? Is it a crime, for him to be himself and not the "him" you assume he is?

Being single is seriously not that bad, even in winter when people complain they need bodies to hug, to be hugged - I wonder where goes the need of clothes and scarf.

Instead of getting myself anyhow a boyfriend for the sake of being "warmed" this Christmas eve, I got myself a Zara basic, navy blue long coat, chick and class.

and I am good, sipping hot chocolate in my room, reading a few poems by Margaret Atwood

p/s: watch out Hanoi, I am learning to drive this afternoon. My dad is proud, mom rolls her eyes, complaining: "first bicycle, then motorbike and scooter, now CAR... when will you buy her a TRUCK or a TANK?" Dad and I sharing a tiny wink, thinking more or less of boat or plane rather than tank,we swear,but well,not to shock mom yet... say we are good with car. I am so excited