Saddest Poem

(Apologies for the absence.  School has been extremely busy; especially for a freshmen as myself, I have been adjusting and getting used to college life.  Other life troubles also contribute to the m.i.a but it's all good.  Life is not bad. I will try to queue up more posts during Winter break. Promise.)

Saddest Poem

by Pablo Neruda

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight. 

Write, for instance: "The night is full of stars,

and the stars, blue, shiver in the distance." 

The night wind whirls in the sky and sings. 

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.

I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too. 

On nights like this, I held her in my arms.

I kissed her so many times under the infinite sky. 

She loved me, sometimes I loved her.

How could I not have loved her large, still eyes? 

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.

To think I don't have her. To feel that I've lost her. 

To hear the immense night, more immense without her.

And the poem falls to the soul as dew to grass. 

What does it matter that my love couldn't keep her.

The night is full of stars and she is not with me. 

That's all. Far away, someone sings. Far away.

My soul is lost without her. 

As if to bring her near, my eyes search for her.

My heart searches for her and she is not with me. 

The same night that whitens the same trees.

We, we who were, we are the same no longer. 

I no longer love her, true, but how much I loved her.

My voice searched the wind to touch her ear. 

Someone else's. She will be someone else's. As she once

belonged to my kisses.

Her voice, her light body. Her infinite eyes. 

I no longer love her, true, but perhaps I love her.

Love is so short and oblivion so long. 

Because on nights like this I held her in my arms,

my soul is lost without her. 

Although this may be the last pain she causes me,

and this may be the last poem I write for her. 

'I no longer love her, true, but perhaps I love her.' This poem is so sad and so beautiful.  It contains so much emotions, so much memories and feelings of lost love.  It is so honest, brave and sacrificial.  And I think, the most powerful of all is the acceptance at the end.  The imageries of the sky and the stars, of nighttime and of nature complemented one another perfectly and paint exquisite and calming images of memories of the past and unsalvaged love.

Call me selfish, but I do wish I could find a man that feels such emotions for me.  Or perhaps it will be the other way round.  I would write poems as such, filled with hurt and beauty, for the man that would once hold me.  I wish when the time comes, when pain hits, I could produce elegance as such, and through my words, my lost love would live forever. 

Shell

"What if we could remember things we didn't experience."

This is probably the first Wong Fu short film I've watched, if I hadn't remembered wrongly.   And after watching so many other short films from them, this still stays my favorite.   

The quietness and calmness in this video, with the silent background and the occasional piano background when Chris speaks his fictional memory, hits right on point and make the short film so poetic and beautiful.  Just as Wes said in the video's commentary, "the visuals we imagine are often more brilliant than truths and reality we experience."  The juxtaposition of the two locations, one in the city with all the metallic themes and city lights, and the other in the fields with the mellow and embracing sunlight creates a stark contrast between fiction and reality. And Chris's voice over is so full of emotions and the last line, "and then, fiction becomes reality..." just killed it.

This film is as if poetry in video form, and I enjoyed every single bit of it.  I felt as if I understood more and felt more, and even differently, every time I watch it.  It seemed so complex, the first few times when I watched this, but slowly, it all makes sense.   I really enjoyed the quiet conversation between Chris and Mimi, and especially love how the entire video is capturing just, perhaps, a single short and clipped moment in real life, but in such detail.  To remember things that never existed, and create memories that aren't real but wished they were?  It is such a beautiful, romantic and abstract idea, and yet it can all be represented in and explained by a shell; how people hear the waves of the ocean crashing ashore but never having been near to the ocean and know what the waves sound like.

This short is pure perfection and I hope you'll love it too.   Let me know below what you think about it, I'd really like to know.

mama's girl

To honor the ending of my birthday week, (yes, my birthday is such a big deal that it lasts whole week) here is an extract I found on tumblr and really liked.  And it kind of echoes with, or kind of offers a different way out to my hopeless birthday post/rant on Monday, that while being older and an adult, we lose our innocence and naivety.

I guess the inner child in us never dies and shows up whenever we feel different emotions.  I particularly was touched by the line, "or maybe some days you might need to sit on your mama's lap because you're scared, and that's the part of you that's five."  True, no matter how old I get, I will always need my mama, perhaps not sitting on her lap because that would probably cripple her; but her embrace and her comforting presence, I will always need.  I will always be her little girl, and that for one I know and gives me console when in face with the cruel and the unknown adulthood.

The Spectacular Now

It sure was a spur of the moment decision when my sister and I decided to watch The Spectacular Now.  I was drawn by the poster, as any romantic will do, and in we went into the movie theater.  It is a great decision.  I enjoyed the movie.  I love movies that tugs at my heart strings slightly, and it is exactly what this movie does to me.  I give it a 4 out of 5 perhaps.

It was quite a lovely coming-of-age movie, with the mixture of modern day love and family issues, and adolescent innocence, as well as complications.  The movie depicts average life, and the little bits and pieces of hardships and miraculous moments among the average.  It captured the beauty of average and of love.  Miles Teller gives a wonderful performance of Sutter, a troubled teen trying to find himself amidst the many unanswered questions and insecurities in his life.  Upon meeting Aimee (Shailene Woodly, btw she's so pretty), Sutter started to figure himself out.  I was sucked into Sutter's journey of finding his true self, and during the process have experienced reflections of my own.

I am like Amiee, I think ahead.  Unlike Sutter, who have to learn to think for the future, I have to learn to live in the present, and embrace it no matter good or bad or just meh.  The Spectacular Now.  It is such a wonderful title for the movie, for any movie.  It is such a beautiful phrase, and it speaks the truth.  The present is spectacular, and as Sutter says in the movie, 'we will never be as young as we are tonight.' (it's something similar, I forgot the exact wordings, sorry)

This is the first movie I saw in the States, and I saw it with my sister, who I haven't hung out with for more that a full year.   I am in America, waiting for my new adventure to begin.  I have my family by my side, and my whole future ahead of me.  This is my spectacular now.

Poetry,out loud: Sarah Kay

This TED talk is from quite some time ago.  It is she, Sarah Kay, who introduced me to the world of spoken word poetry.  I have to admit, I have not tried it before, and I don't think I dare to in the near future due to my over-self-consciousness and hate for being in the spotlight and performing.  I still love watching her, and other spoken word poets nonetheless; listening to their words, their thoughts and their worlds.  I'd love to one day be one of them, and produce beautiful poetry that moves people, inspires people and leave people in awe.  Here are a few of my favorites of Sarah Kay, apart from "B" and "Hiroshima" in the above video.

Devendra Banhart and Ana Kras

I've seen this in my tumblr dashboard for a few times, but lately, I have no idea why it keeps coming up agian and again.  Anyway, Devendra Banhart and Ana Kras has, like, the most amazing and romantic love story in my opinion.  I don't think I could ever be so spontaneous. Oh, and they are one of the chic-est and coolest couple out there in my opinion.  I want their life...

 (He looks so much better with short hair, btw.  And seeing him and ana in fashion shows and Kooples posters...gosh, such transformation.)

Ten Thousand Days

This short dark comedy, written and directed my Michael Duignan is pretty darn amazing.  I love how the plot/ fate was playing games with the characters and messing up everything.  Just imagine the frustration you'll feel when you know you were supposed to die on one specific day and you got all ready for it, but then you just couldn't. (right?)  And I think that was quite a spot-on presentation of how life is, how fate messes with us.  There are bad timings, things that we thought should have happened but didn't, things that we thought wouldn't happen anymore all of a sudden befall on us, etc... So props to you, writer of the film.

I also really enjoyed the background music in the video, it just adds so much more flavor and emotions to it.  The color grade was spot on as well, I really enjoyed this old-movie-polaroid-type of presentation.  And the little twist in the end is the cherry on top.  (how many cousins are there lol)

And there is no reason why I shouldn't have quoted this following from the film.  I'm sure you fell in love with these lines too when you were watching.  So, I quoted it and here it goes:

Tell them life is short.  

I love too much and I fear too little.  

Tell them I never wasted one moment

 for doubt or hesitation, or regret. 

 I was a lover and a fighter and a poet. 

 Tell them I danced on the edge and

 I drank down life to the last sweet drop.

I wish I could say that about my life when it is my time to go.  I wish my life could be summed up in a poetic way, just like that.

Mad Girl's Love Song

(I always get creeped out by old head shots of people.  The way the people in those photo seemed really give me chills.  This is already a less creepy one I found of Sylvia Plath.  I apologize in advance if you have the same problem with old head shots.) 

I came across Sylvia Plath's Mad Girl's Love Song recently, and I really like it.  Here it goes.

I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan's men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I fancied you'd return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

Reading this poem was as if an insight into how the actual 'I'm madly in love with (insert a guy here)' feels like. Reading the poem, I felt sucked in into the speaker's snippets of dreams.  I was brought into her imaginations of being madly in love with her man under the night sky, kissing madly, and feeling as if the world is theirs and that they are invincible and infinite.    Indeed, this is a love song, and even so, a mad girl's love song by a girl fallen madly in a love that isn't mutual.  Perhaps it really is so magical when one finds THE person.  Perhaps it really feels so extraordinary when one is in love.  I don't know yet how love feels, and I cannot judge.

The line "(I think I made you up inside my head.)" also made me think.  I remember watching an interview with Edward Norton for "The Painted Veil",  and he said that when people fall in love with people, they fall in love with what they want them to be, or what they thought they are.  This is really true, and I think this idea is kind of expressed in the line.  Another thought about this line is, I was thinking, perhaps when one first falls in love with a person, one would see all the beauty and perfections of that person, and would start to wonder if such perfection can really exist in a person, or doubt if one had made it all up in one's head.  Am I right?

I've studied Sylvia Plath's poems at school, and I didn't really like them.  I thought they were all so depressing and dark (I was half weirded out and half confused when I read Poppies in July), and I didn't get them or know what to do about them.  I am lucky enough to not have felt such tragic feelings to be able to relate to Plath's troubles.  But this poem is different.  Sylvia Plath wrote this poem when she was twenty one and I guess that is the reason why I relate to it more: because, perhaps I am still just a teenager, and I get this, or I am still waiting on the day when I will get this poem.  I think many girls will connect with this poem, because feelings like this can really hit us, right?

Disclaimer: Hope you guys liked my sort-of-romantic side and my crappy thoughts on the poem.  I am still trying this analyzing-poems-alone-and-in-structured-thoughts-and-sentences-thingy out.  Please let me know if I did really bad, I'll stop.  Promise.

Sunday Inspo: Always.

I've stumbled across this poem on tumblr for quite a number of times and every time I see it, I'll just pause and read it over and over again.  I really love this poem.  It is direct and honest, unlike some over-flowery poems that just beat around the bush to confuse you and make you feel dumb.  Another reason I love it so much is because, I guess I was feeling the way the speaker in the poem felt when I first came across these lovely few lines.  There was a connection.  And now, every time I read it, I just remind myself of that feeling.  And yes, just like the poet, I so happen to love sadness.   Not the extreme heart-breaking-ly sad kind of sadness, but the gentle sadness that tugs at one's heart, that reminds one how to feel.

Sunday Inspo: Dr Martens #firstandforever

It's honesty hour, folks.  I am seventeen, almost eighteen, and I've never been in love.  Being a girl that I am; or rather, being the type of girl that I am (ie. my head's always in the cloud and I kind of live in the future), I always imagine what first love would be like.  

First love would be the awkward touching of the back of hands, until you were brave enough to catch love firmly between your fingers.  

First love would be the weird first kiss, when you don't quite know yet, how it should be done, or how you should place your nose, your mouth, your tongue so that sparks fly and magic happens whenever the lips touch.  

First love would be the time when all the love songs you've listened to, finally make sense to you.  

First love would be the beating of passion and the fluttering of romance inside of you, when all you could think of is loving and being loved. 

First love would be the sweetness in your smile when you know that love is real, is alive, living and is tangible. 

First love would be the opening of chests of treasures, and of hearts; and the discovery of wonders and experiences that you know will stick with you forever.

This video from last year, by Dr Martens,  kind of summed up what first love would be like for me.  And until the lovefairy grant me the first man of my life, I'll just continue on with my imagination, and patiently (or not) await the coming of that special day.  

First love comes with first heartbreak, I guess.  Not everyone is lucky enough to get it right their first time.  I also imagine sometimes, what my first heartbreak would be like.  And I can only imagine so much until I experienced it.  

First heartbreak would be the shattering of hearts, when you felt that a piece of you was gone, tore away from the core of you.

First heartbreak would be sweetness turned bitter, when each memory, each promise had turned into a stain, a hurt, and a dagger stabbed into your heart.

First heartbreak would be the tears that ran from your eyes as you listened to songs of other heartbreaks and you would say to that voice singing, "I get you, finally. "

First heartbreak would be loneliness, when you felt like there is no one to talk to, no one to listen, no one to hug and cuddle, and no one to stand behind you, in front of you, stand by you.

First heartbreak would be the death of something beautiful, the death of smiles, of giggles, of joy, and of the magical sweetness of first love.

First heartbreak would be a sad revelation, when you realized you've been a fool for falling in love the first place, when you realized what you thought was forever, wasn't.

I don't know how accurate I am, nor if it really is how my first love and heartbreak will feel like.  What I know is, I will regret saying this someday, but I anticipate my first heartbreak as much as I anticipate my first love.  I know some people out there is probably rolling their eyes at me and saying spitefully, "just you wait" and "oh no, you didn't".  But to me, this rookie or even, this outsider in the 'love scene': heartbreaks, like love, is an experience.  Heartbreaks meant new emotions, feelings, and thoughts.  And I say, "one has not truly lived if one has not had one's heart broken" (I will totally regret this,and yes, I just quoted myself, sorry).  As a person who writes (not yet a writer, but someday perhaps), I treasure these emotions, these sentiments, because it is these experiences that will enrich me and my imaginations. I know, and I hope I will still know when heartbreak first come to visit, that no one is a fool for falling in love.  Being in love is a beautiful thing, and so is being heartbroken.  Because it is the sorrow and the grief you felt that made the past love real; and it is the shattered heart and bitter tears that made love all the more beautiful.

Sunday Inspo: Date a girl who writes

(via tumblr)

Date a girl who may never wear completely clean clothes, because of coffee stains and ink spills. She’ll have many problems with her closet space, and her laptop is never boring because there are so many words, so many worlds that she’s cluttered amidst the space. Tabs open filled with obscure and popular music. Interesting factoids about Catherine the Great, and the immortality of jellyfish. Laugh it off when she tells you that she forgot to clean her room, that her clothes are lost among the binders so it’ll take her longer to get ready, that her shoes hidden under the mountain of broken Bic pens and the refurbished laptop that she’s saved for ever since she was twelve. 

Kiss her under the lamppost, when it’s raining. Tell her your definition of love.

Find a girl who writes. You’ll know that she has a sense of humor, a sense of empathy and kindness, and that she will dream up worlds, universes for you. She’s the one with the faintest of shadows underneath her eyelids, the one who smells of coffee and Coca-cola and jasmine green tea. You see that girl hunched over a notebook. That’s the writer. With her fingers occasionally smudged with charcoal, with ink that will travel onto your hands when you interlock your fingers with her’s. She will never stop, churning out adventures, of traitors and heroes. Darkness and light. Fear and love. That’s the writer. She can never resist filling a blank page with words, whatever the color of the page is.

She’s the girl reading while waiting for her coffee and tea. She’s the quiet girl with her music turned up loud (or impossibly quiet), separating the two of you by an ocean of crescendos and decrescendos as she’s thinking of the perfect words. If you take a peek at her cup, the tea or coffee’s already cold. She’s already forgotten it.

Use a pick-up line with her if she doesn’t look to busy.

If she raises her head, offer to buy her another cup of coffee. Or of tea. She’ll repay you with stories. If she closes her laptop, give her your critique of Tolstoy, and your best theories of Hannibal and the Crossing. Tell her your characters, your dreams, and ask if she gotten through her first novel.

It is hard to date a girl who writes. But be patient with her. Give her books for her birthday, pretty notebooks for Christmas and for anniversaries, moleskins and bookmarks and many, many books. Give her the gift of words, for writers are talkative people, and they are verbose in their thanks. Let her know that you’re behind her every step of the way, for the lines between fiction and reality are fluid.

She’ll give you a chance.

Don’t lie to her. She’ll understand the syntax behind your words. She’ll be disappointed by your lies, but a girl who writes will understand. She’ll understand that sometimes even the greatest heroes fail, and that happy endings take time, both in fiction and reality. She’s realistic. A girl who writes isn’t impatient; she will understand your flaws. She will cherish them, because a girl who writes will understand plot. She’ll understand that endings happen for better or for worst.

A girl who writes will not expect perfection from you. Her narratives are rich, her characters are multifaceted because of interesting flaws. She’ll understand that a good book does not have perfect characters; villains and tragic flaws are the salt of books. She’ll understand trouble, because it spices up her story. No author wants an invincible hero; the girl who writes will understand that you are only human.

Be her compatriot, be her darling, her love, her dream, her world.

If you find a girl who writes, keep her close. If you find her at two AM, typing furiously, the neon gaze of the light illuminating her furrowed forehead, place a blanket gently on her so that she does not catch a chill. Make her a pot of tea, and sit with her. You may lose her to her world for a few moments, but she will come back to you, brimming with treasure. You will believe in her every single time, the two of you illuminated only by the computer screen, but invincible in the darkness.

She is your Shahrazad. When you are afraid of the dark, she will guide you, her words turning into lanterns, turning into lights and stars and candles that will guide you through your darkest times. She’ll be the one to save you.

She’ll whisk you away on a hot air balloon, and you will be smitten with her. She’s mischievous, frisky, yet she’s quiet and when she has to kill off a lovely character, when she cries, hold her and tell her that it will be alright. 

You will propose to her. Maybe on a boat in the ocean, maybe in a little cottage in the Appalachian Mountains. Maybe in New York City. Maybe Chicago. Baltimore. Maybe outside her publisher’s office. Because she’s radiant, wherever she goes. Maybe even outside of a cinema where the two of you kiss in the rain. She’ll say that it is overused and clichéd, but the glint in her eyes will tell you that she appreciates it all the same.

You will smile hard as she talks a mile a second, and your heart will skip a beat when she holds your hand and she will write stories of your lives together. She’ll hold you close and whisper secrets into your ears. She’s lovely, remember that. She’s self made and she’s brilliant. Her names for the children might be terrible, but you’ll be okay with that. A girl who writes will tell your children fantastical stories.

Because that is the best part about a girl who writes. She has imagination and she has courage, and it will be enough. She’ll save you in the oceans of her dreams, and she’ll be your catharsis and your 11:11. She’ll be your firebird and she’ll be your knight, and she’ll become your world, in the curve of her smile, in the hazel of her eye the half-dimple on her face, the words that are pouring out of her, a torrent, a wave, a crescendo - so many sensations that you will be left breathless by a girl who writes.

Maybe she’s not the best at grammar, but that is okay.

Date a girl who writes because you deserve it. She’s witty, she’s empathetic, enigmatic at times and she’s lovely. She’s got the most colorful life. She may be living in NYC or she may be living in a small cottage. Date a girl who writes because a girl who writes reads.

A girl who writes will understand reality. She’ll be infuriating at times, and maybe sometimes you will hate her. Sometimes she will hate you too. But a girl who writes understands human nature, and she will understand that you are weak. She will not leave on the Midnight Train the first moment that things go sour. She will understand that real life isn’t like a story, because while she works in stories, she lives in reality. 

Date a girl who writes. 

Because there is nothing better then a girl who writes.

Again, this is really beautiful.  There are several versions of 'Date a girl who writes', but here is my favorite!  I can't seem to find the author of it.  Please do tell if somebody reading knows!  

Sunday Inspo: Date a girl who reads by Rosemarie Urquico

(via tumblr)

Date a girl who reads. Date a girl who spends her money on books instead of clothes. She has problems with closet space because she has too many books. Date a girl who has a list of books she wants to read, who has had a library card since she was twelve.

Find a girl who reads. You’ll know that she does because she will always have an unread book in her bag.She’s the one lovingly looking over the shelves in the bookstore, the one who quietly cries out when she finds the book she wants. You see the weird chick sniffing the pages of an old book in a second hand book shop? That’s the reader. They can never resist smelling the pages, especially when they are yellow.

She’s the girl reading while waiting in that coffee shop down the street. If you take a peek at her mug, the non-dairy creamer is floating on top because she’s kind of engrossed already. Lost in a world of the author’s making. Sit down. She might give you a glare, as most girls who read do not like to be interrupted. Ask her if she likes the book.

Buy her another cup of coffee.

Let her know what you really think of Murakami. See if she got through the first chapter of Fellowship. Understand that if she says she understood James Joyce’s Ulysses she’s just saying that to sound intelligent.  Ask her if she loves Alice or she would like to be Alice.

It’s easy to date a girl who reads. Give her books for her birthday, for Christmas and for anniversaries. Give her the gift of words, in poetry, in song. Give her Neruda, Pound, Sexton, Cummings. Let her know that you understand that words are love. Understand that she knows the difference between books and reality but by god, she’s going to try to make her life a little like her favorite book. It will never be your fault if she does.

She has to give it a shot somehow.

Lie to her. If she understands syntax, she will understand your need to lie. Behind words are other things: motivation, value, nuance, dialogue. It will not be the end of the world.

Fail her. Because a girl who reads knows that failure always leads up to the climax. Because girls who understand that all things will come to end. That you can always write a sequel. That you can begin again and again and still be the hero. That life is meant to have a villain or two.

Why be frightened of everything that you are not? Girls who read understand that people, like characters, develop. Except in the Twilight series.

If you find a girl who reads, keep her close. When you find her up at 2 AM clutching a book to her chest and weeping, make her a cup of tea and hold her. You may lose her for a couple of hours but she will always come back to you. She’ll talk as if the characters in the book are real, because for a while, they always are.

You will propose on a hot air balloon. Or during a rock concert. Or very casually next time she’s sick. Over Skype.

You will smile so hard you will wonder why your heart hasn’t burst and bled out all over your chest yet. You will write the story of your lives, have kids with strange names and even stranger tastes. She will introduce your children to the Cat in the Hat and Aslan, maybe in the same day. You will walk the winters of your old age together and she will recite Keats under her breath while you shake the snow off your boots.

Date a girl who reads because you deserve it. You deserve a girl who can give you the most colorful life imaginable. If you can only give her monotony, and stale hours and half-baked proposals, then you’re better off alone. If you want the world and the worlds beyond it, date a girl who reads.

Or better yet, date a girl who writes.

So, I've found this off tumblr, and I fell in love with it.  It's so beautiful.  For the 'better yet' part, my favorite version of  'Date a girl who writes' comes next Sunday!