The faces you clutch at desperately slip away; it’s when you’re not thinking about them that their features flash past.

It can happen on a street corner, at the turn of a staircase, because somebody said a word, because some image, an image has passed. Then the face is there for a split second, very fragile. One mustn’t grasp at it, or it whisks away. One might as well try and catch a cloud.

— François Maspero, Cat’s Grin

A Revisit.

There’s something profoundly affecting when the end of a year is within sight. Playing back memories of the day-to-days, it’s the little things that seem to stand out to me. The touch from a loved one, the hug from a close friend, the knowing smile upon meeting a stranger with whom you know you’ll be friends for years to come.

The peaks and troughs, the laughter and anger and tears, the hurt and joy and misery - I think about how each little bit has shaped my year, slowly but surely, never really noticeable at that time. It’s strange how events so seemingly insignificant can end up being such pivotal moments in the year. 

Perhaps my biggest takeaway is the importance of self-happiness, and the practice of keeping one’s sense of self close at all times. It’s not about being selfish, but it’s about being honest, true and fair to myself with every choice I make. Because that somehow seems to be the only way to get through life intact. 

All in all though, 2013 has been quite an experience. And I can’t wait to see what 2014 has in store. 

Do not let your fire go out, spark by irreplaceable spark in the hopeless swamps of the not-quite, the not-yet, and the not-at-all.

Do not let the hero in your soul perish in lonely frustration for the life you deserved and have never been able to reach. The world you desire can be won. It exists, it is real, it is possible, it’s yours.

— Ayn Rand, Atlas Shrugged



M: This is the sleeping bag we took to the museum, isn’t it. 
R: Mm-hm.
M: Why did you do it? Because of me?
R: Yeah, but it’s not your fault.
M: You’re not gonna do it again, are you?
R: I doubt it.

Re-watched The Royal Tenenbaums and fell in love with Margot and Ritchie all over again. 

A Theory For Free.

When I was fifteen, I came up with a theory that every single one of us belong to either of three categories: 

The Mixing Bowl is one who is often too emotional; all his feelings and thoughts are jumbled up and he can’t really differentiate between them. Or maybe he doesn’t want to. 

The Pill Box is one who seems unemotional, but the truth is that he simply compartmentalises. Each feeling, each thought comes strictly bound to its own relevant occurrence, and he works hard to keep it that way. 

The Sauce Plate is, predictably enough, the in-between of the two. He tries as hard as he can to separate everything within its own time, but some things will eventually spill over.

Probably entirely presumptuous and only about 12% right. Strangely enough, it’s governed the way I deal with events, things and others around me, and it’s never failed me so far. 

The Machine Stops.

"Oh, tomorrow - some fool will start the Machine again, tomorrow."

"Never," said Kuno, "never. Humanity has learnt its lesson."

As he spoke, the whole city was broken like a honeycomb. An air-ship had sailed in through the vomitory into a ruined wharf. It crashed downwards, exploding as it went, rending gallery after gallery with its wings of steel. For a moment they saw the nations of the dead, and, before they joined them, scraps of the untainted sky.

- E.M. Forster

God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,
courage to change the things I can,
and wisdom to always tell the difference.
— Kurt Vonnegut, Slaughterhouse Five

The only obsession everyone wants - love. People think that in falling in love they make themselves whole? The Platonic union of souls?

I think otherwise. I think you’re whole before you begin. And the love fractures you. You’re whole, and then you’re cracked open.

You do what you think is right. You don’t care about the outcome.