Not everything has to mean something

And Our Faces, My Heart, Brief Like Photos

“What reconciles me to my own death more than anything else is the image of a place: a place where your bones and mine are buried, thrown, uncovered, together. They are strewn there pell-mell. One of your ribs leans against my skull. A metacarpal of my left hand lies inside your pelvis. (Against my broken ribs your breast like a flower.) The hundred bones of our feet are scattered like gravel. It is strange that this image of our proximity, concerning as it does mere phosphate of calcium, should bestow a sense of peace. Yet it does. With you I can imagine a place where to be phosphate of calcium is enough.”

― John Berger

Photo Update: 1st - 5th August 2016

Cutest card from Sharan (:

Impromptu KFC dinner with my mum on a Monday evening.

Weirdo primary school kid spotted on the bus.

I now realise that this picture doesn't show much, but IRL I had developed a really big blister lol.

This day we intended to have a photoshoot but it failed so hard, we perspired like crazy and did not take any of the photos we intended.

We developed an alternative mission though and that was a success hehe.

Random pet store that didn't dissuade us from cooing over and molesting their bunny :3

Lol

Double lol

Triple lol.

Lol x4

Date night, was craving for sushi!

The boy had saba.

Basic bitch brunch

I think this was the last week of $1 sushi :')

Mickey! Whom I haven't seen in weeks :'(

Thank you for loving me :')

Qt at the end of the week!

Friiiiiiiiiiday evening woohoo.

Storm

“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.”

― Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore