: humans of new york

Humans of New York, HONY, creates a photographic journal of the stories of ordinary people on the streets.  Be it sad, moving, happy, or just something so ordinary it touches us more as it could easily be us.  Nothing much to say, perhaps the best people’s photographer I have ever seen.  Here’s two out of the hundreds that really moved me.

These two were acting like complete teenagers. When I walked up, she was nuzzling her head against his shoulder. She giggled the entire time I talked with them, while he kept a big goofy grin on his face. And whenever I asked about their relationship, she clutched his arm, looked at him just like this, giggled, then said: “We’re not telling!”

“What’s your greatest struggle right now?” “I wouldn’t have volunteered if I’d known this conversation would be so long. But to answer your question, I’ve got a wife that’s sick. And I wish she wasn’t sick so that I could live life with her, and so that I wouldn’t have to be alone.”


link_ humans of new york

being _late

Everyone’s been late before. Unexpected situations happen to everyone. Personally I am late quite often when it comes to 09.30 morning lectures, or dinners with unwanted relatives. But just like how a day can be quantified by twenty four hours, and an hour can be quantified by sixty minutes and a minute by sixty seconds, similarly “being late” can be quantified into varying degrees of severity.

To be late to class, yes that’s not exactly good conduct, but it concerns yourself more than anyone else. To be late to occasions which negatively impact others though, is simply impolite. As I am typing this I am sitting in Starbucks sipping at an empty drink, watching people come and go, and waiting for a friend who was supposed to be here an hour ago. Why do people take this patience for granted I wonder? Is it my fault for tolerating it every time that they believe it is perfectly acceptable? How does it make sense to ask a person out yet be outrageously late? How is it even possible for a person to live an hour away be on time and yet the one who lives fifteen minutes away is not?

I can wait five minutes, fifteen minutes, in fact half an hour is within my tolerance level. Over an hour though, isn’t that breaching the point where “being late” simply becomes offensive? And I mean offensive, because the only reason a person is late is because the occasion is not important enough for them to be on time. When something or someone is important enough, you will be able to manage regardless. For a friend to stand me up for so long, I am not even mad anymore, just insulted at the realisation that I was worth this little.

update: waited for two hours …

purpose of religion

“I’ve been a deep believer my whole life. 18 years as a Southern Baptist. More than 40 years as a mainline Protestant. I’m an ordained pastor. But it’s just stopped making sense to me. You see people doing terrible things in the name of religion, and you think: ‘Those people believe just as strongly as I do. They’re just as convinced as I am.’ And it just doesn’t make sense anymore. It doesn’t make sense to believe in a God that dabbles in people’s lives. If a plane crashes, and one person survives, everyone thanks God. They say: ‘God had a purpose for that person. God saved her for a reason!’ Do we not realize how cruel that is? Do we not realize how cruel it is to say that if God had a purpose for that person, he also had a purpose in killing everyone else on that plane? And a purpose in starving millions of children? A purpose in slavery and genocide? For every time you say that there’s a purpose behind one person’s success, you invalidate billions of people. You say there is a purpose to their suffering. And that’s just cruel.”

Humans of New York

Why did this happen? Estranging myself from my mother.

Originally posted on katie naum .com:

Why did this happen?

There is no answer to that question.

There are too many answers to that question.

If your childhood was unhappy, if there was someone who hurt you when their role was to protect you, you may never know why it was that way. It may not be possible to reconstruct how their weaknesses and angers and sorrows were weighed, over and over, against their strengths and sense of responsibility and their love for you – and why they all too often came up short. It is dead weight you will carry on your back, in your mind and your heart, without ever seeing it in full. It is dark matter pulling unseen at the stars in your sky.

If you estrange yourself from them, you will grieve this loss for years, like the death of a beloved. Giovanna Calvino, daughter of Italo, spoke of timelessly mourning…

View original 919 more words

d.i.y _space

One of my old structural models built with wooden sticks is now home to most of my jewellery, perfumes and lipsticks.  Extremely easy to do-it-yourself, and tailor-made to your own needs.

porcelain bangle with gold engraving  __  The Peak Galleria
semi-matte rose gold bangle  __  H&M 
plain rings  __  Zara
‘O’ of alphabetical set rings  __  number 9
dream, love, believe’ bracelets __ H&M
top hat and moustache necklace __ Langham, HK
perfume  __  Tokyomilk



Dear [insert prestigious University],

Thanks for the diploma. It’s nice knowing that the most expensive purchase of my life is a piece of paper I can’t read.
Speaking of which, though the assumption that mail carriers are literate is reasonable, it breaks my heart to inform you that it may not be true. The instruction “Do not fold” was not followed to the letter. (No pun intended)

Still, crease or no crease, much obliged,
[insert name]

Posted by a friend who, with much gratitude to her University, has finally graduated.

: tokyomilk



Not for the faint of heart, fragrance to pique your curiosity.

Introducing TokyoMilk by Margot Elena, a brand renowned for their unexpectedly intoxicating scents.  No one product in their line is similar to the fragrances normally seen on the market.  Their sweet perfumes do not give off just a feminine sweetness as Chloe and many other luxury brands so.  Their scents, regardless of type, all have this remarkable complexity in their formula which draws you in.

Their TokyoMilk Dark line is especially intriguing.  Having tried all the available ones out at the store, I am sure they were beginning to get annoyed as I finally decided on La Vie La Mort #90 from the Femme Fatale collection.  The curious thing about this particular scent is that I cannot fathom what it is.  Normally by smell we automatically categorize things into ‘sweet’, ‘bitter’, or so on so forth.  But this.  It is like the smell of the forest, the smell of damp earth, the smell of grass in the morning, but also like the smell of candy, and also like the smell of dirt.  There is bitterness within freshness within sweetness.  But combined makes this perfume no less feminine than any other.

Strange yet addictive, truly objects to desire.


PS   Their line of lip balms is also highly recommended, and the packaging is designed so beautifully they make perfect gifts.

link_  tokyomilk

20 abandoned_wonders



Currently working with concrete I made this little container with leftover material, and the result was surprisingly satisfying.  Having potential to serve as both a card or jewellery container on my desk, the decision is a tad difficult to make.  That aside, I am loving the raw feel of the concrete; the slightly jagged edges, the skewed proportion, and the solidity of it all.  The possibilities this suggests leaves me wondering what my next piece should be like; I can definitely see my studio desk organised by concrete assortments only.