it may be somewhat faded..

but it's still there.


silly, eh?

(it rained today)

Cousteau?

At one point while watching Wes Anderson's Life Aquatic a few nights ago, I suddenly got the urge to watch some (but preferably all) of the original Jacques Cousteau documentaries.
I've always been strangely fascinated by these kind of documentaries..
People like Jacques Cousteau and Thor Heyerdahl were my heroes when I was a kid (strangely enough I was never really that popular..).

Someone please stop me before I pay a ridiculous amount of money for this boxset.


(or even better, tell me where I can find it cheaper than this..!)
(or wait. EVEN better, tell me I'm not the only one with this obsession.)

Lately, I've found it increasingly hard to stay optimistic. I don't know..

twirly, twirly

At one point in life
you will realise
that there are just
certain things
that you will never
be able to have..

In my case,
twirly moustaches
are one of those things.

i shall do more good deeds..

Such as:

• Pick up the pacifiers of stranger's kids when they spit them out whilst on public transportation, even if it means that I get the kid's drool all over my hands.
• Get up so seniors can get my seat on the bus, even if they seem really bitter and smell bad.
  
• Converse more with homeless drunks, even if they just wanna ask me out.
• Compliment people's shoes and ask where I could get a pair, even if they are hideous.
  

My aim is to make the world a better place by doing those four things.
(Did I mention that I hate public transportation?)

i was born fifty years too late..

One of my all time favourite photos. However, that should have been a cigarette in his hand, not a pair of sunglasses.

things in boxes

(yesterday, in a box i'd forgotten even existed, i found this big pile of old letters)

a bunch of letters in airmail envelopes, awkward handwriting and drawn hearts, from when we spent months apart, written at a time when there was still a naïve hope for us.

a few short letters, in that messy handwriting that was so strangely unlike mine, written at a time when all of her care and concern felt almost suffocating.

one letter that was almost impossible to read because he had no strength left in his hands, written at a time when we all knew that it was just a matter of months.

a couple of letters, handwriting almost like mine, in the envelope was faded pictures of their little family, written at a time when i still looked up to him.

several postcards, in that well-known round schoolgirlish handwriting, silliness, inside jokes and stories, written at a time when we were absolutely inseparable.


(things change)