Why I find you in a bookshop, explained.

My life is super boring, and that is all my fault.

Not that I wasn’t aware of that. Before I moved to this city (so that I could finally live too far from home for my parents to interfere with me making stupid yet cool decisions), I’d had this whole vision for myself: partying ‘til midnight, “tasting” all the most hideous bars in the town, smoking weed as a creativity boost, having a tattoo that guarantees freaking out mom, stuff like that.

Yet, 2 years from those naïve years, I could qualify as a nun if judged by my very own standards of “living life”. And no, of course I still have not had any tattoo yet.

In fact, on this Saturday afternoon I am here. In a fucking bookshop.

What the hell happened, Daly?

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They say you can’t teach an old dog new tricks. Well, I’d say it’s even more impossible to teach an introvert some extrovert tricks. And in my case, not for the lack of trying. I once went to this bar named Apocalypse at around 12am (back when I still believed I could be cool), and at first glance I thought that was going to be my utopia. The music was so loud I could feel my heart jumping to the beats, and we literally had to roll tissues into small earbuds to prevent some terminal hearing damage. About three steps from our table, I could see a round of black men in fine suits, the exact kind of male vibe that could hit me weak in the knees; they were seated there with two beautiful girls – two model-standard beautiful girls in slutty attires that clearly declare they either were celebrities, or prostitutes. I was in ninth cloud, and it wasn’t because of the haze of weed and shisha smoke that was surrounding us. The clashing sounds of EDM were attacking us in every dimension, shots were ordered, and my friends (colleagues, to be precise) started to shake to Calvin Harris in all kinds of moves.  It was strange and quite fun seeing my grumpy boss join the crowd of ecstatic youngster on the main floor, and myself swaying in the most seductive, playgirl demeanor I could pull off.

Then, there it happened.

My mood suddenly shot down South. It was a spiral impossible to stop track. All joy evaporated, leaving me a hollow shell of my very own person that clearly is craving some peace and solitude. God I hate this place. I hate the vacant looks and the annoying laugh and the shouting of people trying to talk above the deafening music. I feel awkward dancing when no one is looking, because everyone is so damn consumed in their own pretentious passionate dancing shits. I like music and dancing, but not like this. Not here.

I wanted out.

I did not bail that day, and actually stayed until the last minute, but I knew this was it. That was the first epiphany for me, before the second time when I inhaled the first puff of cigarette “for experiement” in my life, only to loathe every bit of it. The nerdy freak inside me has spoken. “This just isn’t for you.”

Oh but I digress. Look, this whole post is supposed to be about a bookshop, right? When I can’t think of anything to do on a weekend, I go to a bookshop. You can read a lot about a person when you are at a bookshop with them. At the entrance of the store, which can be understood as the “Star spot”, they display the most trendy books, mostly by young authors, some of them are just barely over 20. A young girl, shoulder-length hair, white t-shirt tucked in a long dress, complimented by a pair of Hunter sneakers that finish up her very unique-like-any-other-unique-and-average-girl look; she is strolling around the “Star spot”. She scans through some books and pages, and finally adds one more into her arms that are already piled with seven books, all of which are proses or inspirational modern fairy tales by the aforementioned young authors. On the other side of the shelf, a guy with eyes of a tiger was digging up the Trump collection, and next to him a thirty something man searching for something Buddhist. Then me. As a profoundly sophisticated young woman, I have no interest in those mundane literature, and just proudly walk past all of them, eye on my one and only true calling: the manga/comics section.

I come out of the store with one volume of Conan, as I’ve done for the last 15 years, and another comic about diet. Neither of these books are important, to be honest, and I just bought them to satisfy the greedy nerd inside me. But I decided to go here for virtually nothing, didn’t I? One or two years ago, I must have been that “unique” girl in the “Star spot” section, looking for answers, or maybe just someone to talk about my very “unique” pains of being young. Several years from now, maybe you’d find me there among those Buddhist-something shelves, again looking for answers in my life.

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I think it is the kind of therapy that bookshops offer us. As soon as I walk in here, the soothing scent of papers tells me it is going to be fine. You have left life outside the door, and in this quiet little corner, the only noisy thing is your vibrant mind that is travelling miles into the fictional world painted by words. And that, to me, is pure happiness.

We come to bookshops when we have a question. We’re looking for the answers in the books, which, sometimes, actually just give us even more questions. But chances are that we will find happiness on the way, then what is the loss?

So nerd up, and head to a bookshop.

Da Ly, April 2017

Your name

I guess I know the feeling.

when Taki checked his phone, only to watch Mitsuha’s notes vanishing in front of his eyes.

when he tried to write down her name, but that name just slipped out of his head, completely. Evaporated. Like it’d never existed.

when it all seemed like just a dream.

What if? What if it was just a dream?

what if what I heard, the call, everything, it’d never existed?

What if these words would vanish one day? And the name would slip out of my head, too?

Your name is the dearest sound. My name through your voice is my favorite in the world.

But nothing is real. Not real enough.

I wish I had it written on the palm of my hand.

But no. Just nothing.

It all will be just a dream.

Even your name. The sound of it, will slip out of my lips once in a while. When I can’t help it.

Nothing, but the longing, is real.

Sad, isn’t it?

There comes a time, like this

I have two blogs. This one, and another one that is supposed to be private.

I rarely post personal things here. All posts, to some extend, are crafted fiercely, sometimes “hatched” for months (mostly due to my laziness) before being published. Sometimes, it’s tiring. Sometimes I just want to post “something” to keep this alive, but then it bugs me like hell, since this blog is supposed to be “professional” – a step closer to my professional writing career, which, by the way, has not taken any advance for the last 2 years. I can’t just post “anything” here. It has to come with a concept. Nice photos. Crafted wording. I know, it sounds lame but that’s what I’ve tried to. Flaunting my (boring) life has never been the cause of this blog.

Hence, the other blog. The “Depressed” persona.

It’s like Sadness to Joy, really. (Inside out, anyone?). If I let Sadness and Joy run blogs of themselves, this would be Joy (really Da Ly, your Joy can only be this happy?), and Sadness the other.

Aaaa, I’m starting to ramble again. But that’s okay, since it’s just me, rambling unrelated stuff since my head is so messy. I think it was just an accident I had two blogs. I happened to press some button, and WordPress created two blogs on the same account, and it just took more time to find a way to delete, than to establish a new one. The Depressed was the original. This one is just, mmm, a clone?

Point is, I’m not sure what I’m talking about. This post isn’t supposed to be “professional” (mind the quote marks!). I just feel like saying something.

For, I have too many things on my mind. And I can’t write it on the other blog.

It’s too depressing. Really. I’ve scanned through it, and I wonder how I survived those times. It hurts to just read it now. It may bring my mood downhill, downer than it already is.

I’m not sure how I’m actually feeling. I think, at some points, we may feel this. Feel that we are not sure how to feel. That something is stuck. That you can’t figure it out. (Tip: You will never figure it out, you just find something more urgent to care for the moment.) Feel that happiness is just not for you. Feel that, your attempts are never enough. Or your non-attempt may finally pay back. Feel like after all this time, you’re still absolutely nothing.

Look, it’s not like I always let Sadness dominate my brain and flood it with depression. It’s just like, my Joy can’t find a way to shine. She just can’t catch up with Anger, Fear and Disgust. And Sadness, obviously. It’s like, Joy is not Joy anymore.

Where are you, Joy? I need you, Joy.

March 2017, Da Ly.

Ở lưng chừng con dốc

Giáng sinh 2014 là những ngày lạnh cuối cùng mình còn ở Bắc, mà bố mẹ đi Hà Nội thăm cháu cả. Trước khi lên tàu mẹ hỏi “Ở nhà một mình có buồn không?”, mình bảo, tối con rủ bạn đi chơi. “Con có bạn bè không?” Lại thế nữa. Chẳng lẽ lại không có. Có đầy là khác. Đoạn mẹ thôi không hỏi nữa.

Nói vậy, chứ đêm đó đi một mình thật.

Thường Noel là lúc đông đã vào độ rét ngọt, không dở ương ngày nóng ngày lạnh như hồi tháng 11. Mình không theo đạo Chúa, thấy tiết trời lạnh mà đèn hoa giăng khắp nơi ấm sực, lại có nhạc rộn ràng, thì thích vậy thôi. Noel ở xứ không theo Đạo, người ta nô nức đổ ra đường thuần chất chỉ để cho vui, để hưởng một đêm hiếm hoi nghe tiếng chuông nhà thờ gióng dài, Chúa Hài Đồng sáng rực rỡ trên tháp cao, và Đức Mẹ hiền từ nhìn xuống đám người vô thần đang thở ra những làn hơi lạnh. Thành phố bé tẹo chỉ có hai nhà thờ, một Thiên Chúa, một Tin Lành, đến đêm Giáng sinh người đổ cả về hai nơi này. Nhà thờ Thiên chúa lớn hơn, năm nào cũng đầu tư trang hoàng đèn hoa lấp lánh như công viên; bên trong Thánh đường con chiên kính cẩn nghe Cha giảng đạo, bên ngoài khách vãn cảnh chen chân qua cổng để chụp cho được vài tấm ảnh trong sân nhà thờ rồi về.

Chẳng mấy chốc mà thấy ngộp trước cảnh đông người, mình bèn tản bộ về nhà thờ Tin lành ở mạn Đông thành phố. Tầm 11 giờ đêm người đã vãn. Có lẽ Cha vừa giảng đạo xong, nhà thờ chỉ còn lác đác vài người ngồi lại cầu nguyện trong tiếng nhạc Thánh ca bật to qua loa. Mình dậm bước vào, ngồi xuống một hàng ghế trống. Nghĩ về chuyến đi vài ngày nữa sẽ thay đổi mọi thứ, tương lai vô định, thấy chới với như ở lưng chừng một con dốc đứng. Cô ca sĩ trên loa giọng cao chói vói, cứ vút mãi lên, cảm thấy như đã chạm tới trần nhà, rồi xuyên qua đó lên thẳng tới Trời. Nghe một bài hát mà người hát đặt trọn tin yêu vào Chúa, có khi nào mình cũng “lây” được một chút. Đôi khi, cái ta cần chỉ là một niềm tin mạnh mẽ, bản năng như vậy mà thôi.

***

Đà Lạt cách Sài Gòn một giấc ngủ đêm. Lên xe, trùm chăn lại, mở mắt ra đã thấy rặng thông nhấp nhô trong cơn ngái ngủ. Sau một Giáng sinh ở Sài Gòn nóng mà đông đúc đến phát bực, mình nghĩ ngày này những năm sau nhất định phải ở nơi có chút lạnh. Xe buýt thả xuống trước một con hẻm dựng đứng heo hút gió núi. Bầu trời đầy sao nhưng gió rét thổi vù vù, có mơ màng cỡ mình cũng không sao đứng đó mà thưởng ngoạn được. Với cả, điện thoại đang hết pin. Và mình quên địa chỉ homestay mất rồi. Lúc ấy là hai giờ sáng.

OK, fine.

Vừa hay có nhà hàng bi-a lắp ổ cắm ngoài cửa, mới đứng co ro ở đấy mà đợi điện thoại lên trở lại, trong khi anh trai nọ đã lượn xe máy qua chỗ mình vài lần, không biết có phải muốn hỏi giá không.

Phanh đã lên đây từ một ngày trước, từ tối đến giờ thắc thỏm mình sẽ lên lúc nào. Lúc này nàng ta đã cùng bạn chủ homestay chạy ra hẻm đón mình. Homestay 4Quarters mới khai trương một ngày trước, chúng mình là hai trong số những khách đầu tiên thuê phòng – đúng ra là thuê giường, ở đây. Mình đòi lấy phòng dorm để trải nghiệm cảm giác ở chung với nhiều người, lỡ đâu đêm dậy đi vệ sinh lại ngã nhầm vào giường bạn Tây cao to nào đấy, eo ơi… Rốt cuộc lên tới nơi thì phòng mới có vỏn vẹn hai đứa, cùng với bạn chủ nhà cũng chung phòng luôn. Mình nằm tầng trên, giơ tay chạm trần; dây đèn trang trí xoà thõng xuống, có cảm giác Giáng sinh sẽ rơi xuống phủ lớp lên người mình trong khi vùi đầu vào chăn ngủ.

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Giáng sinh sẽ rơi xuống…
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Homestay 4Quarters rất dễ thương

Lần trước lên Đà Lạt mình ốm bẹp trên xe, cảm thấy căm ghét cái thời tiết sáng rét run trưa nắng phát hờn này. Oan thay cho Đà Lạt. Lần này lên thấy thành phố đáng yêu hơn nhiều. Vì lần ốm ấy đã lết đi được gần hết những điểm quan trọng, lần này mình muốn tìm vài chỗ để chụp ảnh chơi vậy thôi. Đường Cô Giang là nơi được bạn chủ nhà giới thiệu, mà đúng là chỉ có người đã từ phương xa dạt về chốn này, dành cả mấy tháng lật tung thành phố lên, mới biết được. Con đường vòng cung ngắn tẹo, tìm mãi trên bản đồ mới thấy, là nơi tập trung những biệt thự cổ có kiến trúc rất lạ, đã bị bỏ (có vẻ) hoang phế. Nơi đây được chính quyền bảo tồn và cho thuê, chủ yếu để quay phim ma. Đà Lạt giờ vẫn còn nhiều biệt thự cổ như vậy, cho thấy từ khi nơi này được phát hiện, nó đã là chốn dừng chân của những kẻ bải hoải sự đời sục sôi bên dưới con đèo kia, mà lẩn lên đây tìm chút lạnh.Screen Shot 2017-03-13 at 2.32.06 AM

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Phanh vừa gặp ma.

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Sự tích về những kẻ sống hướng nội, chỉ thích ru rú ở nhà (chú thích: một mình!) là có thật. Mình chính là một trong số chúng nó. Kéo được cái thân ra khỏi Sài Gòn đã là kì tích rồi, nhưng lên đến đây mình chỉ ra ngoài độ hơn hai tiếng là lăm lăm về homestay. Không, chẳng phải lỗi tại mình; con nhỏ Phanh nó cũng lười quá cơ, nó cũng thích về ngủ. Cái thời tiết lúc nóng lúc lạnh ở đây làm cho người ta ra đường một lúc là lại phải về điều hoà thân nhiệt rồi mới đi tiếp được. Vả lại, Đà Lạt là thành phố nghỉ dưỡng chứ chẳng phải để du lịch. Đà Lạt chắc cứ làm người ta muốn nằm hoài để ngấm cho trọn cái uể oải kiều diễm của xứ này đó mà.

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Tại Phanh lười chớ không phải tại mình đâu!!!

Đêm Giáng sinh, tụi mình định ra chợ đêm Đà Lạt, nhưng ở nhà ấm quá nên thôi. Thực ra nhà nghỉ có tổ chức tiệc nhỏ. Tiệc kiểu Đà Lạt, có bánh rán, sữa đậu nành nóng, có chủ homestay còn đông hơn khách thật, là hai đứa mình. Trong mấy người góp vốn, chẳng ai là người Đà Lạt, hay sống ở Đà Lạt; họ đều có công việc ở Sài Gòn hoặc Hà Nội, nhưng vì lý do gì đó mà hội tụ cả về đây. Chỉ có Tân, người đã ra đón mình đêm hôm qua, là ở lại đây coi sóc nhà nghỉ, nhưng chính Tân cũng không có ý định ở lại mãi. “Rồi Tân sẽ về lại Hà Nội thôi.”

Bữa tiệc chủ yếu là bốn người bạn ấy đàn và hát với nhau, còn mình và Phanh ngồi hoạ theo. Họ hát, như là ngoài kia chẳng có gì buồn. Họ đệm và mớm lời cho nhau, toàn nhạc chế mà ai cũng thuộc, ai cũng biết diễn. Mình vốn không thích tiệc tùng, tiệc với người lạ càng không, nhưng đêm hôm ấy, không cảm thấy xa lạ. Một phần, chắc do bốn người ấy gần như hoàn toàn diễn với nhau, và mình chỉ cần ngồi quan sát. Cũng giống như Giáng sinh năm xưa, những ngày cuối cùng còn ở Bắc. Lạnh hơn một chút. Được ngồi đó nhìn ngắm cuộc đời, trong khi chần chừ đã đến lúc nhảy vào dòng nước chưa, hay đợi nó liếm tới mình rồi cuốn đi luôn?

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***

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Sáng hôm sau, Phanh kể mình nghe chuyện của bạn chủ nhà nghỉ. Năm trước, trong khi đi du lịch xuyên Việt, bạn hẹn gặp người yêu ở Đà Lạt. Rồi họ chia tay ở Đà Lạt. Cái thung lũng bạt ngàn thông này giống như một dấu chấm chuyển dòng vậy; hôm trước còn bên nhau, hôm sau đã khác. Mình nghe câu chuyện trong khi đang rét run người vì lái xe ngược chiều gió trên đèo Prenn. Nắng lúc ấy đã trải thảm vàng rực xuống thành phố bên dưới kia rồi, nhưng nắng chiếu qua kẽ lá thông chưa đủ làm ấm người. Và những câu chuyện, về những con người đang dang dở. Đà Lạt, ở nơi lưng chừng núi này, cứ như một chốn người ta lánh về mỗi khi xáo trộn trong lòng. Tình yêu, sự nghiệp, ước mơ, tương lai… Cả mình nữa, mình về đây đâu chỉ vì chút gió lạnh?

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Mình thấy mình ở giữa lưng chừng con dốc. Bước lên thì mệt, đi xuống thì dễ. Nhưng chẳng có lẽ nào lại quay trở về?

Dạ Ly

3 words, 8 letters

"3 words, 8 letters, say it, and I'm yours."
"It's pointless, like tears in the rain."

The 8th of March, here it is

Let me tell you a little story

About the little girl with a butter heart,

Been sleeping inside of me.

 

One day she woke up, petrified

The world she’d known dropped out of sight

“Where’s our Rainbow of Hopes?” she asked

“And where is the Fool’s Paradise?”

 

“Calm down, my girl, they’re somewhere near.”

Soothe her I did, feeling my own fear

Her tiny hands, I feel the warm touch

Caressing my face, wiping my tears

 

“I’m sorry dear for sleeping so long

There’s a reason I’ve woken up this time

Only we fathom, the feelings are so strong

When we damn know it can’t be wrong.”

 

“Let me tell you a little story

About the little boy that came visit me

Pieces of heart hidden in the dark

He carries the weight that you won’t believe.”

 

“I looked into the hole in his chest

“Where’s the thing that should be beating there?” I asked

“It’s no surprise my life is a mess”

With a wicked smile, he said “Nothing will last.”

 

“Sit down my friend, sit down with me

Tell me where have you been beyond the sea?

Every place marked with one piece of your heart

Shattered, poisoned, anyhow, show me.”

 

“So he sat down, by my side, he sat

The boy that carries a broken heart

He opened the bag, showing me the pieces

Each comes with a tale, or blurry images.”

 

“Last time feeling whole? I don’t recall

All I remember is a constant fall.”

Lamented him, keeping his smirk

“What matters now? Nothing at all.”

 

“I gathered his heart, piece by piece

Sharp edges hurt my hand, but so be it

Reflected on this fragment of glass

His cold daring set of black eyes.”

 

“You will be fine, my friend, you will be

It is not so scary, walking through shades of melancholy

Let me tell you, a secret, a spell I was taught

When I traveled through Valley of Fantasy.”

 

“This can be fixed, with my spell, I promise”

Gathered in my hands, pieces of his heart

Then you can guess, I cast the spell

That ancient one, 3-word, 8-letter, you can tell…”

 

“It was a flame, aye, a crimson flame

Burning like a phoenix that can’t be tamed

And that’s when it happened, I knew it would

My butter heart melted, for whatever came.”

 

“3 words, 8 letters, it’s that powerful?”

“Yes, my dear, ever thought it would even work?

Bit of madness, of sorrows, and lustful amour

Our heart melted, my dear, ‘cause of his flaws.”

 

“Where is he now,” I asked, “the little boy”

“I wish I knew, really,” with no tears of joy

Streaming down her face now, the reflection of grief

“I think I lost my little boy”

 

“Where is the Fool’s Paradise

And where is our Rainbow of Hopes?

They all disappeared, when we need them the most

3 words, 8 letters, can my heart even revive?”

 

“Because I’m scared, my dear, I’m scared

And that’s why I’ve woken up

3 words, 8 letters, the spell we were taught

Is it with an L, or is it with an H?”

 

“Because I’m scared, my dear, I’m scared

Will it ever be really worth it?

The longing, the loss, the bouts of pain

Will they all be tears in the rain?”

 

Oh my little girl, now she’s sobbing

Her butter heart melting down her chest

Laying down the floor, me and little girl

Drowning deep, silence is our mess

 

The 8th of March, here it is

Let me tell you a little story

About that spell we’ve all been taught

3 words, 8 letters. And the boy beyond the sea.

March 2017, Da Ly.

Thank you 2016

Thank you 2016.

It’s been a ride.

It wasn’t such a ride that includes a full tour around Europe, or conquering Fansipan, or BDSM plays, or marijuana parties, or orgies, etc. The kind of things that I thought would make one hell of a ride.

It was just… there.

It was the year of firsts.

It was the year of, for the first time, everything seems to make sense. *touch wood*

It was the year of tries and failures.

It was the year of crying. And smiling. About things I’d not experienced.

It was the year of nudes… Oh guess I should not mention this haha. But it was fun.

It was the year of conflicting beliefs. Of new knowledge. Of new attitude.

It also was the year I lost Mimi. But as proud as he was, I would move on. Goodbye, Mimi.

 

2016 was the year of comes and goes. Old people and new people. Some encounters I never thought would happen.

 

It was not about achievement. I don’t know what to say. 2016 was like, okay, the line is here, let’s start. Slow and careful. Nothing really matters, except for progress.

Life wasn’t easy.

It won’t ever be.

 

So thank you 2016 for teaching me some lessons. And giving me some joy. Some sorrows. A little this and a little that.

 

I’m coming, 2017. This time, you better give me lots of orgasms.

1/1/2017

After Apple

This story is purely fictional and for recreational purpose only.

So they’ve taken the apple. Adam and Eve.

“Mmm… not so bad” – exclaimed Eve – “Sweeter than I thought.”

“Would we die? This could be poisoned…” – said Adam worriedly

“Oh dear, we will see if anything strange happen to our body…”

“Adam, what is it?”

“What…”

“That dangling thing before you… why is it…”

“That thing… oh what? Why? Why is it erecting?”

“Has it happened before?”

“No. No. You’re with me all the time… You see it right? It’s supposed to be soft and dangling right?”

“Oh God… Is the apple poisoned?”

“I guess so… Eve… I feel hot… my whole body… never like this before…”

“Let me see… Your body is really hot now…”

“And this thing is so hard… and hot… I feel like…”

“Like what? Tell me Adam… I am freaking out…”

“I don’t know… I just feel like looking at your body… suddenly… like… I think you’re beautiful… wanna touch…”

“Adam… the apple must be poisoned… You’ve started talking strange…”

“Anything happening to you now? We both ate it…”

“Mmm… I’m not sure…”

“Your face has turned blush… Are you feeling hot too? Let me feel you…”

“Your body is hot… like mine…”

“Yes…”

“Maybe we need to lie down a bit and take a rest…”

“Mmm…”

“Eve…”

“Yes…?”

“We’re getting hotter…”

“Yes… I’m sorry I brought you into it… I should have never thought about trying the apple…”

“No… Eve… We made the decision together, didn’t we?”

“I’m feeling strange… like… so sweaty…”

“Mmm… me too. What is this feeling?”

“That thing is still hard?”

“Yeah… and I feel like…”

“Like what?”

“Like… rubbing it…”

“Mmm… let me try maybe…”

“Oh… your hand… I like your hand on my thing so much… why we’ve never tried this play before?”

“I don’t know… it’s kinda fun huh?”

“Yeah… and can I try… touching those two bags…”

“These? Yeah… Not sure why I have these two bags on my chest…”

“They feel so soft…”

“Eve…”

“Mmm…”

“Stop Eve… Something is happening… like… an animal wants to escape my body…”

“How are you feeling now? Tell me Adam… Don’t scare me…”

“Like… wanna put this thing into some hole… I don’t know why but it’s what I feel like now…”

“Mmm… that will make you feel better?”

“Maybe… don’t know… where should I put this in… a hole…”

“Mmm… Adam… I think I have a hole…”

“A hole… where?”

“Down here… I’ve felt it before but not sure what it’s for…”

“Down there? Let me feel…”

“Yeah… you have a hole down there, and I have this long tough thing…”

“Mmm I feel so strange down there too…”

“How are you feeling Eve? Tell me…”

“Like… hot… and wet…”

“I can feel… very wet… is it always like this?”

“No… never… before it was always dry… But after we tasted that apple and I looked at you and your hard thing… and I just feel leaking…”

“Strange…”

“And… and…”

“And what Eve?”

“And I feel like there some animal that wants to get out of my system, too…”

“Oh… coincidence I feel the same way…”

“Adam… I feel like… having something put deep in that hole… to pull that animal out…”

“Should we use this thing? I need a hole, and you want some stick to put in your hole, and… it just all makes sense Eve…”

“Yeah… all makes sense… Do it now Adam… I want it so bad…”

“Mmm… let’s see what happens…”

.

.

.

Humans happen.

Da Ly

Image

Trịnh ca

“Nắng dùng dằng như đi như ở

Vết son mờ tỏ chút tình vương”.

10/2016, Hà Nội.

Goodbye Mimi

Today could’ve been a normal day.
But I felt something. When I asked about you.
I just suddenly felt something was wrong. Like you’re not there anymore.
You’re not there anymore.

Today could’ve been a normal day.
If only I did not know. You’re not here anymore.

We grew up together.
Now it’s just me. I don’t know if I want to grow up anymore.

Last Tet holiday, I wanted to take a picture of our family together. Everyone. And you, too.
I felt like it would be too late to wait another year. I was afraid you would be gone this year. I don’t know why I felt that way.
But we never took that photo.
We can’t now. Not anymore.
You’re not here anymore.

Two years ago, you were terribly sick.
At some points, you hid yourself in a dark corners for days. You suffered. You bled. Sheds of blood marked every way you ran. You were thin and weak. We could smell your wound. It was terrible.
The vet came and said you were dying, and that we should give you “the shot”. It was easy.
But family could not do it. Because you were still our little greedy boy. You could eat. You could run. I couldn’t just “kill” you.

Now I wish I had.
I wish I had killed you that day. I was too selfish, I wanted to keep you for another year, two more years, many more years.
You could have died in my arms. I could have bid you goodbye. I could have held your little paws, pet your head, and said “Sleep tight.” I could’ve been the one to bury you.
At least that way, I’d known you’d lived your whole life happy with us. And that you slept your way into infinity.

But I was too selfish. I kept you. You got better, magically.
You stayed with us for another year.

But now you’re gone.
You’re just… gone. We don’t know where you are.

I asked mom where you were going. Deep down, honestly, I hope she’d not tell me. I’m not ready to hear the story.
To me, you’re still somewhere home. How can you be anywhere else?
It’s a cruel world out there.
How can you be anywhere else but home?

I’m not ready.
I’ve prepared myself for this a long time ago. Yet today, I’m not ready.
I can’t let you go.

We grew up together.
Now it’s just me. I don’t want to grow up anymore.
Who wants to grow up anyway?

Goodbye Mimi.
I love you. I did not know it’d hurt this much.
Family love you.
I know you loved us, too.

Mimi, 2002 – 2016.

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The Theory of Pens

I believe our decisions define who we are.

And vice versa.

Every little thing we do, every decision we make

Reveals a lot about the self underneath

 

OK, I’ve been beating about the bush

I’m not even thinking that big

Just that

I’ve tried to analyze things

And come to conclusion that

Maybe, our favorite kind of pen says something about us

But why favorite kind of pen?

Who knows?

Brain works wonder. I just happened to have a pen in my hand.

So here’s, the Theory of Pens.

Who you are through the pens you choose.

 

  1. Pencils

People like me: commitment issue.

We like things to be temporary.

Not exactly. But “permanently” is a word that may scare us.

We like to write down words that are easy to erase.

We don’t like memories that stick.

We want adventure, but only if it’s safe

If possible, we want the chance to screw it all up and edit or just start over.

But life is not written by pencils.

We can’t erase shits. We live with it.

 

  1. Ball-point pens

Take-nothing-serious kind of people.

The one that will grab a ball-point pen and write down things.

Comfortable. Humble. Laid-back.

Fast and furious.

In dire need of changes. It’s OK to just throw a ball-point pen away after used up, since it’s so cheap.

We should all have a ball-point pen around. They’d keep our feet on the ground.

 

  1. Fountain pens

This classic guy/girl is either your classy I-love-art nerdy friend who is so into traditions or weird rituals, or purely just a Nazi you can’t put up with.

Kidding. Everyone has one friend like this. A little old-fashioned. Love art. Have expensive hobby. Strong-willed and overachieved. Strong commitment.

 

I only know three kinds of pens, so that’s all. Could well be bullshit, but well, it does not hurt to think about life once in a while. I’m feeling so deep now.