Yummy Tartlets!

I have a sweet tooth, there's no denying that. The mini fruit tarts above look dazzling, yes? Also the VerryBerry cake (it's cranberry + strawberry, sour sweet yummy). Not only they make such an eyecandy, but they do have a fine taste, not overly sweet, a bite full of fruits with a lingering sweetness from the cream. 

My brother's friend made this.

I too, wish I could just start learning to cook and bake. If only I had a decent kitchen and a supply of decent, if not state of the art, appliances. 

I would just be happy to invest my free time in a kitchen. I've always thought making foods is one form of art, because they evoke responses from human senses.

Sometimes This World is Kind

When you really do things truthfully, sincerely,honestly, people will just recognize you. We're talking about work. Or task. Or assignment. You may be struggling at the moment, and come exhausted at the end, and your heart is pounding upon your boss' evaluation, but in the end, even if you cringe, people just can see it and reward you with what they think is best.

Sometimes this world is kind. 

Warm and Full

Coming back home after several days away from the city, taking a quick shower and then tumbling over the bed only to find blissful comfort as you snuggle against your pillow and blanket and the familiar bed sheet under your skin. 

I never missed home and bed so much. 

The next morning, I woke up with my stomach growling, eyes aching to close again for another round of sleep. I was still groggy from sleep, with a series of throbbing headaches constantly attacking my skull, so I slept again. And then woke up in the next two hours to find that my stomach had stopped growling. Nonetheless, I ate my mom's cooking, sardines soup and  meat, and the rice was still warm and tender and spongy but not mushy. All perfect. 

Nothing beats the feeling of a warm, full belly after eating a simple yet delicious and warm dishes with well-cooked rice.  

Simple, yet authentic happiness comes one after another. 

Savor every littlest thing, be appreciative with what you have. Find simple happiness in the present moment. 

To Take or Not to Take…

I am talking about chances here. After all, this is what life is all about, right? Decisions, chances. That is basically how we build our lives: we make it and shape it into what we want it to be. Actually it is simple… on the surface. But we face so many crossroads (and blocks), and to survive we need to decide which path to take, and each path will lead us to a different destination - walking down on one path may take you to a completely different destination than the one that you might reach, if you have taken another path. If you think about it like this, it is a little bit scary, isn't it? How you may end up differently, if you do B, instead of A. 

How your own decision impacts your life. 

And who you are. 

That is why, we have so many regrets in our lives. They say, “Live without regrets!”, but that's completely bullshit. With so many life has to offer, with all those choices we have to make everyday, with all its bends and crossroads and forks and doors and slopes, we can never be free of regret. 

No matter how insignificant the regret seems to be, no matter how faint the impression, or the trail your regret has managed to leave on you. 

Now, this topic could also breach to something else: unfairness, which stems from jealousy. 

I came across this in a short story written by Haruki Murakami titled “Shinagawa Monkey”, in which the main character, Mizuki Osawa, leads a dull life that if one listens to her reciting her life history, he may yawn in utter boredom. This Mizuki, she never gets jealous over somebody else. She understands enough that everyone in this world, each of us, every individual, leads a different life and it is just so strange to start comparing one’s life with another. As she comes to accept this fact, she also comes to think that jealousy is unnecessary.

Well, that is also correct, in a sense that we all live a different life so why don’t we come to a mutual understanding then, that what you have – what she has, what he has, what they have – what we all have is ours. Our respective matters.  

But anyway. I have always believed, and will always believe, that our future is defined from our present. By the decisions we take. If you grasp the principle, you should be able to hold onto it. If you are worried by your unforeseen future, rather than putting yourself to dwell in the uncertainty of the unforeseen future, you’d better start investing your energy and all your thoughts in this present moment.

Right?

Quite a Diverse Choice: Kawabata, Reeve, and Bukowski

My next TBR pile :)

Palm-of-the-Hand Stories by Yasunari Kawabata, Mortal Engines by Philip Reeve, and Post Office by Charles Bukowsi.

I once read another book by Yasunari Kawabata, Thousand Cranes, and although it's a short read (147 pages), finishing this book was not easy and in the end, leaving me instead with this unresolved feeling in the back of my mind. This something, I can't explain it, was left by the shadows of the story itself, but more profoundly felt was from the characters. But this was strangely interlaced with beauty - yes, there was a hidden beauty inside it - an effect perhaps only Kawabata could achieve. 

Somehow, reading Thousand Cranes has become one of those exceptional reading experiences that I would most definitely be delighted to experience again. Which is why, I decided to pick another book of his and the choice went to Palm-of-the-Hand Stories. It is a collection of short stories; which Kawabata mentioned not less remarkable than longer prose fictions - just as well like haiku is no less beautiful than a longer poem. 

I look forward to reading this soon! 

Mortal Engines by Philip Reeve is also equally anticipated. Mostly because it is steampunk, and well yeah there is no need to explain this, but you see, adventure books make up the most of my bookshelves. Some of them sci-fi. Most of them fantasy. Well, they never fail me - and I'm a sucker of another world with foreign elements and systems - an entirely different world like those you can find in games and illustration - which also explains that I'm a sucker of world building - which makes a book way more awesome if it is complemented with a world map. 

Not necessarily though. 

But anyway. 

Mortal Engines belongs to my usual crowd, and is something that you would expect to find in my hands ;)

And.... Post Office. What could I say? This is my first Bukowski book and I think I like it. I think. I just finished part 1 of the book, so I have 4 parts (or 5?) to go, but man. Henry Chinaski fascinates me so much! What in reality is perhaps a dull, boring - although sometimes not but when it's not it's extra unbearable - life, it is never the case with Chinaski. I adore this guy - he curses a lot, boozes a lot, screws around, always finishes his route late, he drags his life day by day but he definitely doesn't take his life so seriously, or perhaps he doesn't even care. Things may get downhill and I will perhaps find myself despise this guy a lot later on, but it's just getting messier and I somehow and somewhat like the way it goes.  

LP Discover Japan! I think I'll still pre-order LP Japan (new edition, to be released in this October if not mistaken) since this one still doesn't completely cover some places in detail.

I'm currently into Japanese literature and look forward to reading more notable works of Japanese authors. So far, my experiences with Japanese literature are still limited to Haruki Murakami, Natsume Soseki, and Yasunari Kawabata.

But I can't just help it.

Will definitely read Yukio Mishima's Sound of Waves soon.

This is Not a Conclusion, But...

I dreamed of someone from the past last night. I sometimes had dreams about him - when other guys rarely (almost never) appear in my dreams, but this one... he does. Not always, not often, but every time I do, in the morning, I always wake up with this lingering feeling of profound longing - this morning is not an exception - which I have come to loathe.

I won't ask "why". Why he appeared in my dreams, a number of times. Why he stays, when I label him as "someone from the past". I have known, and am well aware of it. Of the reasons.

That's because, so many things, feelings, that we ever had in our hearts, were left unsaid. Deserted. Abandoned. Buried inside.

We were, perhaps, too young to understand. To confront our feelings. Unwise enough to think that letting go without sealing anything was wise enough.

Somehow, this keeps haunting me, faithfully. I let a deep corner of my mind being haunted, relished in its bitterness. Yet the whole part of me recognizes the loss, a definite fate that can no longer be disturbed, and my heart cries out for something that I could never have.

And I, as I said, have come to loathe this feeling, all the memories we ever had, my own self for still harboring, even the slightest, hope of encountering a chance to meet this person again someday...

and I hate him. So much. So much so that I want to hurt him so bad. But as I am only a pathetic person, I can only imagine and construct the whole scenarios of hurting him: me being happy in life and showing him how happy I have been, all this time.

Not that it will hurt him anyway. I doubt it.

But we will never know the depth of human's heart; what's affecting, damaging it or how it takes in every situation. This fact I know, simply because people do not know mine.

This is not a conclusion... but I steel myself, in the end, with a decision that I won't, and don't want, ever, to see him again.

And off to my own path.

If we ever cross paths, later, there might be another story.

A Quietness of My Own

I turned off the lamp. I drew the curtain open. I sat behind the window sill. I hugged my knees tightly. Fat drops of water were still falling from the open sky. They were splattering the window, brushing off the dirt on its blur surface. Streaks of lightning appeared soundlessly across the pitch black of darkness that looked awefully plain without the gleaming stars decorating on it. Stars. If I had known earlier that they would never to be seen again from the city that I came to loathe, I would have cherished those awkward moments when I laid my back against the cold floor in my old house, lifting my finger upward, tracing the sheet of the sky – acting as if I could poke the stars.

I closed my eyes. I buried my face, didn’t even bother to set aside the loose strands of my hair. There was no light in the room. My glow in the dark stars attached on the ceiling didn’t even shine. I was enveloped in ultimate darkness. But abstract pictures came alive behind my eyelids. Outside, tires were slicing across puddles of water. The sound of engines and cars honking were audible, only to trail off and disappear in the distance. Inside, a subtle hum coming from the air conditioner filled the small room.

I was in my own world. This world, was quiet. A solitude, for I was the only occupant. I actually wish this tranquility wouldn’t come to an end since the idea of hiding myself from the rest of the world has become essentially tempting. I don’t have to deal with people. I don’t have to force out a talk, I don’t have to fake a curve of smile. I could care less about others. It’ll be only myself. Seems like, involving myself in the emotional twist of others’ are just too burdening.

Sitting by the window, eavesdropping the background music of falling raindrops and splashing water, blanketed by the soothing darkness, shielded from the blinding light, doing absolutely nothing – did give a piece of something comforting to my mind. It was cooling down from overheating.

Well, I wouldn’t mind being interrupted by casual sips of chocolate or soy milk... as it wasn’t really the time for a bottle of beer or a glass of whiskey.