Here’s to all the hours I’ve spent in orchestras, theatres, art galleries, museums, parks, reading tons of literature and creating art. I shamelessly admit to all the money I’ve spent buying books, entrance fees, and spending doing art ; be it writing or drawing. There’s a certain kind of comfort and quietness that art gives someone. It is like how Leonardo da Vinci once said “Painting is poetry that is seen rather than felt, and poetry is painting that is felt rather than seen“. There is a kind of beauty that the art carries with it ; be it a dance, a painting, a picture, a sculpture or a book. It’s as if the artist left a part of his/her soul for you to learn from or to know about. So here’s to the art galleries that comforted little parts of me that I didn’t know how to comfort. Here’s to the orchestras and theatres where it was brought the kind of safety and calmness a wounded soul needs. Here’s to the books and museums that were (still are) my greatest teachers of life and love. My old high school literature teacher was right about art. It reminds you on what it’s like to be human again.

“A man should hear a little music, read a little poetry, and see a fine picture every day of his life, in order that worldly cares may not obliterate the sense of the beautiful which God has implanted in the human soul.” 
― Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

 

All visuals and words belong to Win W.™ unless stated otherwise.

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Serenity

  
With the wind blowing the loose strands of hair from my pony tail, I parked myself at the beach with the city skyline on my right side and beach houses to my left. As I look at the sea in front of me, I found comfort in Elizabeth Gilbert’s writing (the irony, I know) while I highlight lines like I was studying the book.

‘Soul mending’ are the words I told myself as I walked out of the house to the beach. It wasn’t ‘soul searching’ but ‘mending’ instead. It somewhat needs a little ‘recharge’. It was the place. And I didn’t really need people because only you know how to fix yourself. I mean, after all, you know yourself the best.

I closed my eyes and surprisingly, the massive storm was calm. Everything (emotional, mental, and physical being) in my body was quiet. It was that kind of peace that I’ve been yearning for and right there, on that beach, I had it. I began realising that I was one with my body, as if my soul just…mended. Take it from me that the most difficult thing to do is actually loving yourself and believe that all your flaws are stitched together with good intentions. You can’t keep seeing yourself as the enemy and start accepting yourself for who you really are.

That’s what I told myself as I sat there on the warm, soft sand. ‘You can and you will ; you got this‘. I was in the most utterly contented moment with me, myself and I. It was that time at the beach that I found out that I grew as a person. For me, at least, it was the kind of different where it changes you to be better.

Like Haruki Murakami once wrote in Kafta On The Shore (a book that I still have yet to buy and read),

“Sometimes fate is like a small sandstorm that keeps changing directions. You change direction but the sandstorm chases you. You turn again, but the storm adjusts. Over and over you play this out, like some ominous dance with death just before dawn. Why? Because this storm isn’t something that blew in from far away, something that has nothing to do with you. This storm is you. Something inside of you. So all you can do is give in to it, step right inside the storm, closing your eyes and plugging up your ears so the sand doesn’t get in, and walk through it, step by step. There’s no sun there, no moon, no direction, no sense of time. Just fine white sand swirling up into the sky like pulverized bones. That’s the kind of sandstorm you need to imagine.

An you really will have to make it through that violent, metaphysical, symbolic storm. No matter how metaphysical or symbolic it might be, make no mistake about it: it will cut through flesh like a thousand razor blades. People will bleed there, and you will bleed too. Hot, red blood. You’ll catch that blood in your hands, your own blood and the blood of others.

And once the storm is over you won’t remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won’t even be sure, in fact, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm you won’t be the same person who walked in. That’s what this storm’s all about.”

Above all, your best friend first.

Dear Deia,

I love you and may this book comfort you. I know it’s nothing much but I read a few of his work online and I went ‘That’s it. I’m getting this for her!” I’ll always love you, best friend. You’re the Meredith Grey to my Cristina Yang ; literally. Thank you for never judging me. Thank you for listening to all my rants, complaints, babbling and every little detail of my life. Thank you for being there when I’m sad. I honestly have no other way to tell you how grateful I am to have you around. I mean, who else can I fan-girl with over Orphan Black, Hannibal, Grey’s Anatomy, How To Get Away With Murder and all those shows, movies, music and books! I honestly would never want to share you with anyone else because no one is going to sit on the grass with me at the huge park and just listen to me pour my heart out.

I hope this book brings you joy and I hope that the beautiful words of Murakami inspires you. I love you, bestie. ALWAYS ; because we’re warriors.

With love, Win.

Yes readers, love comes in all forms and mine come in me giving my future maid of honor an Asian literature book.

The Beatrice Letters

I will love you if I never see you again, and I will love you if I never see you again, and I will love you if I see you every Tuesday. I will love you as the starfish loves a coral reef and as kudzu loves trees, even if the oceans turn to sawdust and the trees fall in the forest without anyone around to hear them. I will love you as the pesto loves the fettuccini and as the horseradish loves the miyagi, and the pepperoni loves the pizza. I will love you as the manatee loves the head of lettuce and as the dark spot loves the leopard, as the leech loves the ankle of a wader and as a corpse loves the beak of the vulture. I will love as the doctor loves his sickest patient and a lake loves its thirstiest swimmer. I will love you as the beard loves the chin, and the crumbs love the beard, and the damp napkin loves the crumbs, and the precious document loves the dampness of the napkin, and the squinting eye of the reader loves the smudged document, and the tears of sadness love the squinting eye as it misreads what is written.

I will love you as the iceberg loves the ship, and the passengers love the lifeboat, and the lifeboat loves the teeth of the sperm whale, and the sperm whale loves the flavor of naval uniforms. I will love you as a drawer loves a secret compartment, and as a secret compartment loves a secret, and as a secret loves to make a person gasp…I will love you until all such compartments are discovered and opened, and all the secrets have gone gasping into the world. I will love you until all the codes and hearts have been broken and until every anagram and egg has been unscrambled. I will love you until every fire is extinguished and rebuilt from the handsomest and most susceptible of woods. I will love you until the bird hates a nest and the worm hates an apple. I will love you as we find ourselves farther and farther from one another, where once we were so close…I will love you until your face is fogged by distant memory. I will love you no matter where you go and who you see, I will love you if you don’t marry me. I will love you if you marry someone else — and I will love you if you never marry at all, and spend your years wishing you had married me after all. That is how I will love you even as the world goes on its wicked way.

Lemony Snicket : The Beatrice Letters

My sister sent me this and told me that some day a man will love me like that.