Month: September 2012


Dropping an egg into simmering water
to make a poached egg
If this is how the solar system is created, this universe is truly elegant.

– dl.

Anh cần người mỗi sáng vặn nước rửa hoa quả lấy dao đĩa leng keng trong tủ chạn và nghe bài thơ ngái ngủ làm trong mơ của anh
em có hiểu không?

I wish I were not that sensitive, not that simple, not that strong, not that vulnerable, didn’t have that many feelings over every single thing. Every. Single. Thing.

Got stressed over nothing and everything. Right now just want a tight tight hug and someone telling me that: “I’m here, it’s okay.” Damn you, emotions =.=.









Nicest thing.

“I wish you had a favourite beauty spot
That you loved secretly
‘Cause it was on a hidden bit
That nobody else could see
Basically, I wish that you loved me
I wish that you needed me
I wish that you knew when I said two sugars,
Actually I meant three”

Randomly played this song. And I busted out laughing over those lines. “I wish that you knew when I said two sugars, actually I meant three”. Exactly :P.

Date a girl who write.

Date a girl who writes (Effie Sapuridi)

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.

It made my day.

“…có thể mỗi chúng ta đều theo đuổi những dòng suy nghĩ khác nhau, nhưng thật hạnh phúc khi biết rằng, kể cả như thế, chỉ cần xòe tay ra là có người nắm lấy, và chúng ta không cô đơn.”


I am the happiest girl in the world. Cannot ask for more :)

Khá là vui vẻ.

Hết Pi em ét. Bỗng dưng thấy đời vui vẻ trở lại. Mình thật thất thường mà. Có thể sẽ lại buồn ngay sau mấy tiếng nữa chả biết chừng… :)

Trời ơi so tempt to buy that lavender perfume ở L’Occitane store :((


Pi Em Ét @@

Tính khí mình thật thất thường. Hôm qua vui phơi phới vậy mà sáng nay đến office nước mắt cứ rơm rớm. Chẳng hiểu nổi vì cớ gì mà buồn bã.

Hoặc là mình biết, nhưng tự đánh lừa bản thân.

Grrrr đôi lúc thực ước mình không quá nhạy cảm, không quá cả nghĩ, không có quá nhiều cảm xúc. *Lăn lộn vò đầu bứt tóc*

Huhuhuhuhu *lăn ra khóc*






Chỉ muốn viết lại vì sợ mình sẽ quên hết mất.

Và muốn viết bằng tiếng Việt. Vì hôm trước ngồi journal bằng tiếng Việt, thấy cứ lúng túng không nghĩ ra từ ngữ. Rồi hôm trước rồi nói chuyện với Peti, anh nói: “I love my language. Do you love yours?”. Mình giật mình. Tất nhiên là mình yêu tiếng Việt. Tiếng Việt tinh tế và đẹp. Nhưng cũng từ nhiều tháng nay, mình không sử dụng tiếng Việt thường xuyên nữa, cả trong giao tiếp và tư duy, vì thay đổi môi trường sống và làm việc. Thế nên từ bây giờ quyết định sẽ journal bằng tiếng Việt thường xuyên hơn. :D

Buổi chiều ngồi nói chuyện với Béo, kể chuyện nhà chuyện cửa, những chuyện mình chẳng bao giờ kể cho ai. Tự nhiên thấy nhớ nó. Rồi đâm ra nhớ Ninh Bình, nhớ Hà Nội. Nhớ nhiều đến nỗi thấy lồng ngực thắt lại. Giữa giờ làm việc, mình chạy vội sang phòng bên cạnh, ngồi bó gối cạnh bức tường kính khổng lồ, nhìn về phía mặt trời lặn. Và khóc.

Hà Nội đang mùa đẹp. Mình rất nhớ những buổi tối ngồi sau xe Béo, lòng vòng qua tất cả những con phố thơm nhất ở Hà Nội, và dừng lại uống trà sữa ở Triệu Việt Vương trước khi về nhà. Béo luôn uống sữa chua trân châu. Mình lúc nào cũng chỉ uống trà sữa thạch cỏ. Lúc lên xe đi về những ngón tay đã lạnh cóng vì cầm cốc trà sữa và cả vì cái lạnh ban đêm của Hà Nội. Mình không nhớ nổi đã bao nhiêu lần đi với Béo như thế. Cũng không nhớ mình và nó đã nói những chuyện gì. Nhưng mình nhớ như in cái cảm giác vui vẻ hạnh phúc mỗi khi gặp nó.

Mình giở folder nơi mình lưu những tấm ảnh chụp film. Có vài tấm chụp ngày 22 tháng 9 năm 2011. Tức là 1 năm về trước. Mình, Reiko và Trang Bé đi xem Step Up 3. Vẫn nhớ ngày hôm ý nắng như thế nào, gió như thế nào, Hà Nội tinh tươm ra sao. Nhớ nhà kinh khủng khiếp!

Hôm nay khá là ốm. Đầu rất đau. Đau dạ dày. Điều hòa trong phòng rất lạnh nên cứ ho lên ho xuống. Đang ngồi ở lobbly khách sạn viết những dòng này và chẳng hề hào hứng để trở về nhà. Nghĩ đến khi về nhà, tự nấu nướng, tự nhắc mình uống thuốc, tắm rửa rồi nằm 1 mình trong phòng, thấy cô đơn như muốn chết đi được. Tự nhiên thấy mong muốn ổn định hơn bao giờ hết. Muốn yêu ai đấy và ở cùng ai đấy. Để những ngày như thế này luôn có một niềm vui khi trở về nhà, vì biết sẽ có ai đó luôn đợi mình, hoặc ít nhất có ai đó để mình đợi.

:) Chẹp, suy cho cùng mình vẫn là 1 đứa siêu đơn giản và mỏng manh dễ vỡ.