What’s wrong with the world that I find it my personal mission to address and make right?
The suppression of youth today. What do I believe in that counters this problem?
I believe in Jesus Christ. He’s my Saviour and God, and He lived a life that is the best example of how to live the way we’re all meant to live.
I believe in a good family that will never forsake any of its members, love and forgive each other unconditionally, and encourage each other to change to become the best.
I believe that our leaders should set a good example.
I also believe that our leaders should be men and women of faith, who are not afraid to trust God wholeheartedly, who intentionally forsake their comfort zones for the sake of surrendering the fact that they can’t do anything by their own strength.
I believe that every person is influencing others. The thing that matters is whether that influence is positive and makes changes for the better.
I believe that you and I can be leaders.
I believe that each of us is given special, unique, and amazing
I believe we’re given stewardship of those talents to use them not only to achieve success for ourselves, but to benefit others.
I believe that we are given so many second chances.
I believe that no one is beyond redemption.
I believe that origins should never be a barrier to success.
I believe that change starts with me.
I believe that no matter where we are right now, that place is always goodenough to start from, enough to start looking at ourselves and seeing how we can change for the better.
Waiting for the light to come. Waiting for Windsor Airlift’s “A Lovely Marriage: Snow and Sky” to come round again. Waiting for another moving president’s speech such as Ronald Reagan. It was so surprising to have come across this song mixed with his speech. I think he was an artist too, or whoever wrote his speech. Nevertheless, his voice portrayed the feeling in his words clearly.
I feel that it was a time for him and the whole of America to stop waiting for the salve for their grief and just be still at that time, paused in time, staying wholly in the present.
Maybe when we truly feel and allow ourselves to be moved is the moment we stop waiting for something new to happen, and open our hearts to stay in the moment.
We lavish each second in those times. We wish they wouldn’t slip away from our fingers like sand. When they pass, though, we return to the past and wish we were stuck in those memories forever. They touch our hearts now even if they happened a very, very long time ago.
Why are they like that? What is their purpose? Maybe to remind us that another world, a world apart from this world of strife, is possible. It is manifest during those moments of time when we feel alive in emotion deeper than our soul.
I began my love of writing at a very young age by writing in journals. I started with a High School Musical book and penned the happenings of my daily, ordinary, and fun homeschooled life. I moved on from notebook to notebook, adventure to adventure, until I took on writing a fanfiction of an Enid Blyton character I had a crush on, during one boring day I had to wait while my parents attended a meeting.
I’ve loved books my whole life, and they fed my mind and avid imagination. I used to make up tons of headcanons at night and at naptimes when I was supposed to be sleeping. My stories did not have much importance till that day I chose to write that fanfiction. My own, made-up history for Lucian made so much sense to me, because the possible background that he had was so close to life.
I also wrote a second fanfiction, a mash-up of a mystery I got the wind of from a real life social situation concerning important people in my life, Club Penguin, and my own characters based on birds’ species names and crushes.
Both of them are pretty bad, but I remember my passion and fiery imagination during that time, so I appreciate my old self for such creativity back then.
I started this off by saving a picture of Douglas Booth as Armand Roulin, the main character, besides the eponymous man, of Loving Vincent.
I also found out that the actor is dyslexic, which is somehow connected to van Gogh’s overcoming spirit as an artist and person. (Just think about how hard it must be for Booth to read out his lines!) I read the whole Wikipedia page on van Gogh one day at a cafe, and I realised how tragic this man’s life was. He was rejected, under vices, uncelebrated, and he relied on his brother for paint money – and yet, as the blue inn lady Adeline Ravoux in the film said, “he was a kind, quiet man” who worked hard to finish many, many works. He proves to be an inspiration to me, because he only took up painting when he was 28, and still ended up as a master!
Well, after seeing the trailer two years ago on Facebook and missing the film showings in Manila and Yerevan last 2017, I finally saw it tonight at a free movie showing in a room with twenty-plus Armenians and a small German library at the back. (They played a 15 facts about van Gogh video first, which taught me that I’ve pronounced his name wrong all my life. Instead of my ‘van Go”, it’s like “van Goh” with a g stuck in your throat and a hard h.) Unfortunately, the ‘Loving Vincent’ film which they’d downloaded from the Internet was in the 16:9 setting, which means that top and bottom parts were cut off. I also badly needed to pee. But besides those annoyances, I had a good time. I even won a Starry Night magnet at the discussion afterwards!
Since 2016, I yearned to see this film because it was about van Gogh and the story was told with his actual paintings. If you’re an art aficionado like me, this is a must-watch, and I would describe it as the film equivalent of strolling down a museum for an hour and 35 minutes.
There are two styles of art in the film: van Gogh’s signature brushstrokes and palette, and a film-ish monochromatic filter for the flashbacks. It’s absolutely breathtaking how they portrayed motion – thick, patterned rays of light encircling lamps and stars; the rustling of leaves; the flight of crows; light dancing in the characters’ eyes, and van Gogh washing his face in a basin. Weather was also particularly interesting; watching the rain pouring on Roulin was delightful, as well as the shadows deepening on his face as the day grew longer. It rained outside after the movie, which I was grateful for, and I began to see the reflections of lights in a different way, a Vincent van Gogh kind of way.
The heart of the movie is Roulin figuring out why Vincent van Gogh committed suicide. He’s the son of a postmaster who’s managed thousands of Vincent’s letters to his younger brother, Theo. Roulin’s quest is to deliver Vincent’s last letter to Theo, and on the way, he encounters several people who knew van Gogh and he interviews them to know more about what happened before and during van Gogh’s death.
I didn’t connect much to the story because I couldn’t really understand it, and there were so many conflicting views, but I guess the emotions portrayed by the voices and gestures of familiar-looking actors (such as Aidan Turner, who plays The Boatman and heartthrob Kili from ‘The Hobbit’) sort of compensated for me. The bittersweet ending was also thought-provoking, but since I didn’t get the plot, I’m not sure if it’s satisfying. I did get turned off at one of the early scenes, which was inappropriate and included a prostitute. It’s a scene I’d pay to forget, so, I’ll warn you to look away and mute the sound when black-and-white van Gogh goes into a dark alley. Ugh. There’s also blood and a severed ear, plus lots of drinking and smoking.
Anyways, I really commend the directors and artists for labouring for four years to give us this movie, which rather parallels to van Gogh – who worked hard to make something good out of himself, giving us another master to celebrate.
The way they pulled off the wonder of moving paintings is worth watching, although the story is draggy sometimes. The characters were interestingly built, though, and the music and cinematography complemented them. ‘Loving Vincent’ does justice to and is as memorable as any painting of Vincent van Gogh.
I’ve always considered the idea of an introvert ending up with an extrovert romantic. I say this because I think there’s a sweet reliance between the two.
The introvert is by nature a man of few words, but when faced with his love for the extrovert, his feelings spill out of him and he has to forsake his comfort zone for the sake of pursuing and confessing publicly his affections and intentions to the woman who has won him.
As for the extrovert – I speak for I am she – the introvert’s quietness piques her curiosity. Why isn’t he like everyone she knows? His silence and one-word answers makes her want to tear out her hair in frustration, but, his timidity, his shyness, and his slight smile is charming. The scarcity of his spoken thoughts make up their value. She yearns to hear more and since she is left with those few words, she is forced to interpret them and forced to gently get more out of him. And when he finally accepts her and opens up his life to her because he’s been comfortable enough and he’s observed her enough to trust her, she rejoices.
I see this complementary relationship in the husbands and wives I’ve met, and when they show how they’re opposites of each other and yet their affections bridge the gap, my heart is moved. No wonder I’ve had four long-time crushes on four introvert friends. HEHE 😀
“If a clock could count down to the moment you meet your soul mate, would you want to know?”
The alarm rings. I shudder in my white bedsheets, and tap the desk by my right. When I have finally admitted my wakefulness, I rise to begin the routine of each day. But then I do a double take, and remember something that has gripped me since last night stretching out to the week before. It’s today. I whisper it at first to myself, say it out loud, then shout. I quiet at once, remembering my father in the next room. But it’s today! I hurriedly raise my left wrist to my eyes.
One minute and fifteen seconds.
He’s got me pinned on the wall. I can’t move, I can’t get myself free, I can’t even crane my head around in desperation to see who they are.
My father. He’s making every second of my life suffer ever since Mom died. I tried to get away, but he’s got me. Got me now, right at this moment, and he’s taking me away from the soulmate.
I can only see the blank white wall and I squirm with all my might.
“Father… why are you doing this? …to me?”
The left hand which holds the time is under the shadow of my dark, long hair. I can barely see the numbers.
“Please, Daddy! Please! Let me find them and let them find me!”
I am pinned harder.
I must knock some sense into him.
“What if you were stopped like this… so you would never, ever find Mom?”
He stops pinning me.
I break free.
I look around, but there seems to be no one yet.
Then my father grips me.
I see his wrist.
We are in synchrony.
“Your mother…” he gasps softly, as he falls on his knees, tears slithering down his cheeks. “We were never meant to be. But then we never relented.”
“And now she’s gone,” I cry with him, and we embrace. “We’ll never see her again.”
“It’s just us now…”
“Just us.” I smile, laugh and cry at the same time. “Just us…”
Mikhael found me on the cliff pondering to myself. And I almost fell off the cliff after he came.
I snapped away from the murmurings of my half-asleep mind. The sight of the sea – pristine, vast and unbroken – crashed into my newly-opened eyes. It was instantly gone as I swivelled my head back at the voice who called. The voice came from Mikhael, a quick, musical and youthful voice that seemed to skitter and waltz in the air.
The first most interesting person I have met in six years, and the harbinger of catastrophe. Naturally, because he came to my town on a dragon.
So I tried Omegle (yes terrible, but I’m way past that phase. I even got punished haha) and I had this short roleplay on Sherlock. The stranger left probably because I took too long. This was from February 9, 2014 – way before the third Holmes sibling was revealed in BBC Sherlock.
Stranger: I love you. Pick me up from university again? I might have gotten kicked out again…-GH ((Sherlock and Mycroft’s little sister. Just got kicked out of college for the seventh time. Please respond as Sherlock or Mycroft.))
You: As long as you don’t mind sharing the backseat of my bike with a cage of black kites.-SH ((I’m sorry, it’s my first time to RP :c))
Stranger: What? Am I not allowed to sit up front with you?-GH
You: Well, if you’d like to risk the manholes. And you know how I circumvent manholes, Little Sister.-SH
You: But, I’ll attempt to hasten my habit of circumventing. Might try hanging on harder. None of those whiny little girls you call friends offer to give you a lift?-SH
Stranger: I don’t have any friends.-GH
You: Mhmm. [They’ve forsaken you and you’ve forsaken them ultimately.] Buckle up, I’m arriving. Don’t tell Mycroft.-SH
Late afternoons found me practising my violin on the balcony of my third-floor apartment. My humble abode was nestled in one of the quiet hubs of the bustling city.
And then, one opportune afternoon, there was someone below who caught my attention.
I felt that he had been standing there for awhile, and that he’d sacrificed the momentum of his brisk stroll towards whatever errand he had been previously headed to – to park his yellow sneakers under my apartment just so he could listen to me.
After playing the last upstroke, I eyed him clapping for my performance, and having a silly, but childishly happy, smile on his face.
Not knowing how to react to situations such as this, I reciprocated his smile, and gave a shy wave and bow.
Then he began to yell, “That was a very nice song!” His voice sounded like a matured young man’s, and it was very smooth – the sort you’d like to listen to and it had an attractive quality of humility in it.
“Thank you,” I yelled back. I was glad someone had noticed.