Everyone requires a little privacy. Privacy isn’t just being able to close a door. It’s about personal space and freedom and interference. Everyone needs some of that to keep themselves sane. I need a lot of that, and I’m not getting any of it. And it is pissing me off. I don’t have a room to call my own; I don’t even have a door to close. And now I can’t even go take a walk without someone wanting to tag along and bitch about my life when all I wanted was just silence. Am I asking for a lot? I don’t think so. So why is it so hard to just fuck off and give me some peace and quiet?
*I apologise for the crude choice of words, but then again, I suppose certain words exist in the English language for a reason, for times like these.
I love him to bits as a friend. But I have never, do not have, and never will have feelings for him. I think it is the same for him. It is such a comfortable platonic relationship, and that is hard to come by. I would hate to ruin it, and it helps that neither of us have emotions involved in it. It is annoying that he can be so selfish and irresponsible sometimes though. I am really quite disappointed in him at the moment, but more than that, I think I expected too much from him. No one is ever responsible for you I guess. You have to rely and be responsible for yourself. That is the lesson I have learned.
I need to get my shit together. I like drinking, always have, but I need to stop wanting to get trashed. It’s not like I care whether it is healthy for my body or anything. But my losing control, the feeling of losing grasp on my sanity, bothers me. I have always been a rational person. I need to find that in me again. Writing is helping. I can get my thoughts out without being judged. And I think too many people judge without empathy these days. Sympathy is easy. Sympathy comes with an elevated position of power. Empathy comes from an equal footing, personal experience, and you don’t come by that easily.
The naked female body is treated so weirdly in society. It’s like people are constantly begging to see it, but once they do, someone’s a hoe.
I may come off as a casual, loose person. But it’s not true. I just happen to have a more liberal approach to my body. Only two things matter to me, holding hands and having sex. I want to make love to the person I love only, not just having sex. The rest of my body though is just a skin to me, something I can do with or without. I was sexually abused once. My body has been violated everywhere except in there. So if I am to change my perspective, I would have to accept what happened to me, and I don’t want to. My virginity is probably the only clean thing about me, and I want to keep it, for someone who’s actually worth it. Not just some random hot guy I hook up with. Kissing, making out, touching, none of it really matters to me, as long as it does not intrude on my two remaining insistences. Is that weird? Maybe it doesn’t even matter, but I want to preserve that last shred of purity about me.
Sometimes, I think about why it is that it is. There should be some element of self-blame, or some sort of remorse, but there isn’t. There isn’t even anyone else to blame. But all I feel is being trapped in this one-way downward spiral. I’m not sure if this is a good thing or a bad thing. I’ve become more focused, but at the same time more detached from everything. I want to be with people, but at the same time I want to revel in this reclusive utopia. I question my existence, and wonder about the significance of existing. If there is a purpose, I haven’t found it. If there isn’t, then what am I still doing here? It seems like a waste to throw away what little I have when I have yet to discover this said purpose, but would I reach an end only to realise I’ve wasted time reaching it? I think I’m just scared of many things. I want to write about my fears but then I realise there’s little to write about. I realise this is probably not the best mentality for anyone to be in, but I’m lost and alone. I think I want someone to pull me out of this state. I think I need to know I am living for someone, before I can live for myself. I am definitely not suicidal, just, it’s become more of a question of existing. I am not free enough to do whatever I want, yet I don’t feel tied down enough to anyone or anything. Maybe that’s why I want to see him. To know that I need to exist.
Sorry for being MIA the last couple of months, but good news is that I have been getting a new writing project called ‘After Zero‘ started. This blog will continue to function as a personal blog focusing mainly on design-based topics, but as my new project is a collaboration it will not be incorporated into this one in any way.
I would like to encourage you guys to check it out though as I myself am super excited about it. It is a ongoing story based on a real person. Unlike many ‘true life stories’ we get these days, the intriguing part about this one is that the protagonist is neither famous nor spectacular. It is a story about a girl in the city of Hong Kong, just another person who you could walk past on the street and never remember. She is not the kind of person you would look at once and never forget. But her story is. She has been through and made choices in her life which the average person may judge, but hasn’t everyone?
Every day we meet so many people in our lives, but how many secrets are they hiding? A person crying could be weeping tears of joy or happiness. This protagonist is just a normal person who has chosen to strip herself of that facade, and present her own story. How many of us are brave enough to tell our own?
I never really thought of myself of a dreamer. I have always been aware of the difference between the world we live in and the world which lives in our head. But the more work experience I accumulate, the broader the spectrum of fields I try, I have come to realise that working as an architect may just be about the last thing I want to do. Having done a bit of freelancing graphic design, a bit of advertising and whatnot, the job of an architect can be a tad saddening under comparison.
As students we have great aspirations as we toil away in the dark depths of our reclusive studio. Designing something to be built, to last, to stand even after our existence is like the silver lining to our efforts as we meticulously craft our creations, imagining cardboard models to be real. But that is not the real world. Blinded by the asylum-like blank walls of studio where it is permanently day within, it is so easy to forget that there is day and night outside, just like how there are a trillion other competing students like you outside, and that there are office politics and annoying contractors and that only a handful of architects rise above to reach that silver lining.
In reality, when we are no longer students but are “architectural assistants” who are almost as insignificant and just as plentiful as a speck of sand on the beach, we realise that dreams sometimes don’t come true.
You work on the technicalities of designs which are not yours. You work on the drawings of designs which are not yours. You look at documents and regulations and laws. You come up with designs which get banned. You thought you were good at your job but apparently not good enough when everyone else is equally good. You don’t get overnight pay. You have deadlines every week which demand to be met. You have to work with other departments – creativity needs to integrate reality before becoming design.
And as such, I simply do not think I want to spend my time like this. I am a freer soul than this job demands. I love design, but this is not for me. So just as a word of advice to anyone who may decide to spend 7 years or so for an architectural license, just think again.
When was the last time you bought a CD? Or walked into a bookstore? Or, if you’re a gamer, actually bought the real copy of a game?
WIth torrents, audio books, music albums and whatnot roaming free on the vast Internet, it becomes a chore to buy the actual damn thing. If one button is all it takes to acquire a ripped version, why bother paying or making that deadly walk to the stores right? Might as well save some of that hard-earned cash from your exhausting job with super long hours.
But what about the people who worked to produce what you just ripped off the Internet?
They are living breathing people who work an equally tiring job, who pay their rent and buy groceries just like we do. Is it fair to pinch down on their income just because we cannot appreciate their creativity enough to make a purchase? Freelance workers may take the brunt of the blow, but so do major companies and their hundreds of employees. Just last year around February, HMV was on the verge of closure due to the increasing competition from the Internet.
And consideration, morality aside, I like the feeling of flipping the pages as I read. I like imagining a book as though I was directing a movie in my head. I like seeing the official album covers as I listen to music. I like playing GTA and Battlefield and taking note of how impressive the graphics are and the timeless hours which must have been put into it.
If we pay for meals at a restaurant and drinks at a bar, it is surely the same logic with creative content.
The dream studio. Israeli architects Ranaan Stern and Shani Tal has redesigned an artist’s Tel Aviv apartment into a compact, flexible studio. Tailored to the artist’s needs, the modular drawers were made to custom sizes to suit pieces of art with varying dimensions. Storage, work and living are also incorporated as an integral part of the block.
The beauty of this particular interior revamp design is that it is highly simple in structure but so unimaginably complex in terms of the consideration for the user. The team actually measured each object of the artist’s collection of art, before categorising, then designing storage units accordingly. There’s the small boxy drawers for papers and materials, then there’s the long sliding drawers for larger canvases perhaps, and the shelves hidden behind a movable panel, and so on. The perforated panel is an especially neat trick, as work can be pinned up allowing it to serve simultaneously as a display. And as we all know, nothing beats having a bed when you’ve worked until the dead of the night; in this case a single bed is stored behind that same beautiful panel.
What really gets me going about this studio is that it is just so minimal and efficient. Giving off the appearance of randomness with the oddly sized storage, yet made to be familiar and personal to the artist. It is like a puzzle which only one person can decipher.
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