Saturday, December 29, 2012

The Evolution of Un-uniqueness

I am in a maze that has no exit, pretending I know my way around.

I am the cowardly attendant of the Emperor, pretending to see finery that was not even there because I am too scared to be different.

I am the quiet girl that waits until everyone is done talking until she gives her opinion. In her head. To herself.

I am slowly choosing to be an un-unique nonexistence.

No marks, no dents, no scratches, slightly used but in mint condition.

Just another speck of dust in somebody's eye.

A grain of sand in somewhere at the bottom of the hourglass.

That is who I am becoming.

And I am frightened of it.

Live while we're young

Live while we're young, live still when we're old. Never forget that growing up doesn't mean that you can't look at life with innocence or curiosity anymore.

Never lose your zest for life.

That is what separates growing up from growing old.

The Applause of Pots and Pans

She likes washing dishes. The feel of the cool water running over her hands, the soap suds, the act of making something clean again. It was a silent ritual, an unspoken prayer of singular devotion. As she hums to herself in the middle of the bubbles the dish washing soap makes in perfect harmony with the water she fancies them as the clouds, or sea foam, both things she has not seen in a long time.

She thinks of the bubbles as fluffy white clouds, telling of freedom and independence and vast plains and horizons as far as the eye would please to see.

She thinks of the soap suds as clean sea foam that bespoke of sunken treasure and countless adventures, of daring sword fights and lovely siren songs and the refreshing life there is to live outside the boundaries of four walls at home.

But alas, there are no clouds or sea foam, only bubbles and soap suds. It was not the sound of the sea but of the gushing of tap water over her raw hands. It was not plains she could see but mountains, mountains and piles upon piles of dirty dishes and glasses and utensils and pots and pans to wash and make clean to be dirtied and soiled again.

One can look at her and sigh and pity her. She was living the life nobody has dreamed to live. She has hummed a million songs and had the kitchen sink as her only audience, the clanging together of pots and pans her only applause. They only see her longing but do not understand her contentment.

But they only look, and not see.

They only hear, and do not listen.

Let Love

With every word and image you have inflicted you are ruining the last bonds they could have as a family. It pains every fiber of their beings, and yet you continue.

For you know no mercy. Only love. Or what you think is love.

You have been consumed by these emotions, knowing in your mind that you have nothing else to hold on to except that fluttering on your chest of that muscle that pumps blood into your veins and feelings into your being

You are not in control.

And you are forgiven.

For what are humans to do against the biological need to feel fulfilled? What are humans to do against these emotions when logic and reason does not seem to suffice?

What are humans to do against love?

But please let us not use love as an excuse to hurt anybody. Love is not meant for hurt. Love is meant for the creation of beautiful memories and existences, not the tainting and destruction of them.

Let love be meant for what it is meant to be.

Let love be itself.

Love. Let it be.

Sunday, December 23, 2012

Too much thinking, too much feeling

Yesterday kept flashing through my mind. Of how close you were, of how we sat next to each other but I couldn't even look at you in the eye, much less talk to you. All the teasing and the half-meant words, if they really did mean something at all. All the words you said were on a constant replay. If they were heavy with meaning or just empty air, the question kept resurfacing. I don't know if I was just reading too much into things, but it doesn't change how I felt. We don't talk after the wave of jokes were over, and I think that it was all in my head.  But then you do something--a smile, a laugh, a set of words that makes my heart do that stupid thing of falling all over again.

What did you mean by that?

Please don't keep me hoping about something that doesn't exist.

Please tell it to me straight, because I am too dense to understand hidden signals and too imaginative to understand half-meant jokes.

And my heart is not a toy that you can play and entertain yourself with, only to leave it battered and alone when you're bored and done with it.

Sunday, December 16, 2012

Yet to See

Your face, surrounded by your hair splayed all over the pillow, is the most beautiful sight I have yet to see.

I just have to make do with watching you sneaking naps in class for now.

You are stronger.

Lift your head. Don't be scared.

You are stronger than all the dragons and bullies in your head.

Don't believe what they tell you, for you are stronger than what they want you to believe.

You are stronger.

And that. That is the only thing you need to believe in.

Untitled No. 1

To be shunned, back and forth, by the people you are supposed to love.

What are you supposed to feel?

Hurt, because no one seems to love you enough?

Cheated, because life is just too damn unfair?

Sad, because you feel you are not wanted?

Suicidal, because no one seems to care anyways?


Because it was just too much?

Seeds of Memories

Moving from place to place, I have yet to plant my roots.

But I am leaving seeds of my memories at every opportunity I get.

Leaving my mark permanently as a part of the earth.

Now no one can say I never existed.

Thursday, December 13, 2012

My Friend William

I have a friend we all know by William. He's far gone from this world but his words live on through time.

He writes these awesome plays and I had the opportunity to read one of his famous works. I was frowning halfway through the story; when I finished, I set my copy down and sat quietly. He tapped me on the shoulder and asked me what's wrong.

"Do you want me to be totally honest?"

He nods.

"Sorry old man, but I didn't like it. Of course, I love how it's written... but story-wise, I'm not fond of it."

He nods understandably though. I liked that, so I took a deep breath and braved on.

"Why did you have to do that? Why do you have to instill in the minds of people that having a tragic love can be one of the best things in the world? Why do you have to make such an effort to help people feel better through this?"

He inclined his head, his ear touching the starched ruffle around his neck, but remained silent. I felt the fight going out of me and I look down to my hand still holding his book, my index finger serving as a bookmark to the final page of the final scene of death and supposed love.

"I... I just think you didn't have to go that far to prove your point..."

I could feel his curious gaze on me but I kept my eyes down, looking at the words he had written and reading them again and again, thinking that maybe through this I could read him as well and finally understand a little bit better.

"Romeo and Juliet's ending to their story... maybe I just can't understand the kind of love they had. I'm happy that love conquers all--even death--but do they really have to go that far? If love was such a beautiful thing, why do they have to die for it? They loved--love--each other so much... why do they have to be 'star-cross'd lovers'?

"I never understood why people wanted their love stories to be like Romeo and Juliet. Didn't they die at the end because they though the other was gone to them forever? Does one have to leave for good to realize the intensity of their feelings for a person?"

He prodded my arm gently with his elbow and I smile at the rough fabric of his sleeve. Maybe I am just being grumpy over everything.

And we were both silent, until I sigh and shrug my shoulders.

"No offense Mr. Shakespeare--William--,  but if ever I should be lucky enough to have my own love story, I don't want it to be like Romeo and Juliet."

He raises an eyebrow, a question on his eyes.

"I don't want to love the person I love like that. I wouldn't want a person to lose himself over me either. Being forgotten when you are gone is a sad and scary concept, but I wouldn't want the person I love to follow me to my death. I want him to share his existence to the world, so the world would know why I loved--love--this person.  wouldn't want him to miss the people he should have met, the experiences he would have had, the scenes he would have seen. Because I would love the world to know the beauty of love. It doesn't have to be tragic to be beautiful.

It just is."

I looked around and I was alone. 

"Thanks for listening, old man," I whispered to myself.

And I stretch my arms over my head and set out to make my own story.

Sunday, December 9, 2012

It Was Still There

Your jacket is hanging in my closet, your scent still in it.

Its left pocket, still warm from the many times we have tucked our hands into it.

The hood, too large for your head of dishevelled, fluffy hair, was still there.

It was still there.

Saturday, December 8, 2012

Don't Run Away; Please Don't.

You told me you don't need anyone to protect you, that you can take care of yourself.

But you were the one who needed saving the most.

Friday, December 7, 2012

It's All About Believing

"Why do you read books about creatures that don't exist?"

"Who said not to? And what do you know, maybe in another world they're reading about us and wondering if we're real."

The Assessment of Value

"Will any of these things matter after everything?"

"Maybe to others it won't. But it matters to you. Isn't that what matters the most?"

You Better Not Think About Jumping

We all hurt somewhere. It's a matter of living through it and not to be confused by it.

Thursday, December 6, 2012

I Bury My Regrets Away

Death was the final fanfair of the song. It wasn't gloomy. Light, lilting.

The casket was light.

The parade went on.

Tuesday, December 4, 2012

The Universe in my Heart

These feelings will become stars, just like I would be.

All You Need is Magic (the most powerful kind)

I've loved fairies ever since. They grant people's wishes and make them happy.

Magic powers and pixie dust I have not, but I can try making you happy.

Will you let me try?

It's More the Learning than Graduating

You are studying to know more about life. People are hired for their ability to decide and to relate. It is the reason why the hiring department is called "human resources". Good grades can help you go up, but if you are all about substance then it is the same as hiring a computer or an encyclopedia set. 

You have to have sense. 

A sense of life.

Sunday, December 2, 2012

Our Story

Our story doesn't need a million words or a Nobel prize for literature.

But I'll be happy if people would know about us.

They'd read our story and know that fairy tales can be true.

And they don't need wicked witches or dwarves or poisoned apples or losing a shoe at the stroke of midnight.

True love's first kiss can be as sweet, and as magical.

Even more so, because it is real.

Friday, November 30, 2012

Escapist Tendencies

I am running, and running, but I still feel like I could never catch up to everyone else.

Will the world slow down and keep pace with me instead? Or maybe I'm just not running hard enough?

What About Tomorrow?

"The future" is such a scary concept, and yet everyday we get closer to it. Pretty soon, the future that we are so scared of would become the past. And then, we will find another future to face.

Throw this away.

I continually feel that I always need to say sorry.

"I love you. I'm sorry."

To love is...

These feelings are important. It doesn't matter who feels it.

Because it will always matter.

To Hope?

I'm trying to forget my feelings for you. In fact, I do believe that I'm over you.

But believing can be different from the truth.

No matter.

I already started hoping again, anyway.

Wednesday, November 28, 2012

To Sleep is to Heal

Sleep was always welcome. It is an old friend. One that I always found comfort in. For I can forget what troubles I had when I was awake, unless my dreams (nightmares, if you may) choose to remind me of them. 

But it had always helped, in a way.

Tuesday, November 27, 2012

Cool Warmth

It is the North, the land of altitudes and mysticism.
She was a legendary beauty, her skin as fair as the snow covering the mountains and plains of her homeland.
And she was impenetrable, a princess of ice. Her gaze, glacial and without warmth.
She had no ability to love. She had no want, no need for it.

It is the South, the country of trees and nostalgic atmospheres.

He was a brave warrior, his eyes bright as the blazing sun.
They were lit up with the hopes and dreams of his people. His heart, burning with the fervent passion for his homeland.
And he loves. So much. He had so much love to give, so he loves. Unendingly.

And so when the North and South met, it was a song of ice and fire.

He is dampened by the snow but instead of dying out, the destructiveness toned down to warmth.
She was engulfed by the flames and she had melted, but the ice was broken and what was once freezing was cool. Comfortingly so.

This is the story of how two opposites and how they attract.

This is the story of how love can defy the very roots of logic.

This is their story.

About the Two of Us...

I don't have to love you. It's not something I have to be forced to.

I just really do.

Sending Love Letters to Space

I'll continue writing letters to the person I love. I'm not sure who you are yet, but it's funny how I'm thinking of someone while I'm writing this down.

Maybe we'll meet at some point? It doesn't even have to be halfway? Sorry for being impartient and wanting to meet you sooner.

We're not in Fairytale Land

Wishful thinking...

What if...

Before I let that thought finish, I sigh and bury it under my pillow. 

Maybe some fairy would come and turn these feelings into some semblance of reality.

Mixed Messages

Incomplete paragraphs, sentences without periods or commas or apostrophes. It is but a word, a phrase, and you thought it was enough. You thought (more like hoped) that people cared enough to understand.

Life is already full of complications. Tell them what you feel.

Monday, November 26, 2012

Not Just There For Display

"Isn't it annoying, having to smile even if you don't feel like it?"

"Well, it does get depressing at times..."

"Why are you still doing it, then?"

"I want to make people smile when they don't feel like doing it."

Sunday, November 25, 2012

A Shadow from the Past

You hurt more than paper cuts and car crashes yet I can't let you go.

You are that garbage bag of memories that I always throw out but sneak back eventually. Countless times.

You are that frayed teddy bear with its stuffing peaking out through odd places, yet always loved and hugged and sung to sleep.

You are the only blanket that can never make me feel warm.

You are the receiver of the letters I never send.

You have the second movie ticket, the couple ring, that perfect pair.

You are a dictionary to the emotions I never understood until I met you.

You are the reason why I can't drive again, because it's different without you there riding shotgun.

You are what made us.

You are.

You were.

Why did you have to go to a place where I can't follow?

I miss you. I always do.

Woes of Connection

A bundle of wires and steel and copper, connecting you to the world.

Your cold, impersonal monitor separating you from it.

Saturday, November 24, 2012

Smile Song

The feelings your voice can give to me.

I wish I can make you hear the rhythm of my heart too.

lub dub, lub-dub

Can you hear your name?

The Worlds You Make

Every time you put pen to paper, you're not exactly sure what to write.

And then it makes contact, and things become alive.

People are given names, places are given landmarks, music is given lyrics, life is given meaning.

And you lift your pen, stretch, rest, take a break. Maybe you begin again, maybe you decide to write again later.

And in your wake you leave another world behind you. And it lives on from every moment since.

Friday, November 23, 2012

Circle of Love

Reading about love again and again and again. It becomes part of you, until you search for it yourself. For yourself.

And we realize we are a part of love already.

It is all a big circle. It encompasses everything.

Thursday, November 22, 2012

Two Sides

There are always two sides to every story.

Your shadows looked like you were holding hands. You were probably in love.

You weren't.

Your outlines looked so close.

You weren't.

Your heads, bent close together, made it seem like you were whispering into each other's ears; of promises that were not made to be broken.

You weren't.

You looked like you cared for each other the way more than friends do.

He wasn't thinking like that.

You looked like you knew what was happening, but truth is he likes her as much as she likes him.

She wasn't thinking like that.

You two looked like a couple in love.

They were.

They are.

Your shadows meet, and it looked like they describe love.

There are two sides to every story.

(Read this from the previous line, bottoms up.)


Have I been so drunk on the concept of love? Is it so potent that no one can help but be hung over, be head over heels in its wake? Will its intoxicating spirits forever entice me with promises of happy times in its presence?

Ah, to be drunk in love, to abandon logic and reason and just be free. To be so trashed, so wasted, yet these people addicted to it keep going back for more. 

And more. 

And more. 

Sometimes it can make you so sick that you throw up and swear you'll never try it, you'll never do it again, but the next day finds you with a different drink, in varying shades of red and pink. But there were grays, and yellows, blues, greens, clear, murky, all unique flavors, all love. And you are addicted.

Too bad I don't drink.

Tuesday, November 20, 2012

Paper Cranes

You are in a room full of paper cranes. Varying colors and sizes, all folded into the same glorious bird. They lay in colorful heaps on the floor

You count them. It takes up a lot of time, but there are 999 of them scattered throughout the room.

The door opens.

Someone walks in, holding the last paper crane.

"Make a wish."

You look at the person and smile.

"It came true now."

The person smiles back.

"I'm glad."

And the room comes alive. It is the paper cranes, lifting their paper wings. They rise into the air, hover above their heads, except for one.

The one the person is holding in front of you.

It is now handed to you, and the 999 paper cranes all edge a little bit closer.

And now it speaks.

"What wish shall we grant?"

"I want all my dreams to come true. To be happy by having a stable future--"

"Ah, but the future has never been stable. Anything can happen, O Little One. We are but guides; you are, ultimately, the one who would decide."

You look from the folds of paper in your hands, to that person.

And then, you knew what to say.

"Someday, I wish this would all be true. That I would never forget the feeling that whatever bad things might happen, I would not lose the feeling of knowing that everything would be fine in the end. That I'll have that someday and tomorrow to look forward to. 


The person in front of you smiled. You smiled back, and learn that everything can be really disappointing but it's going to be okay.

The paper crane in your hands glow, and with a soft light so does the 999 others. Then they all surrounded you, their sharp-edged wings giving you paper cuts, but it's okay.

You know life wasn't all about the pretty words and wishful thinking, and life would hurt sometimes.

And these paper cranes, they all bunched together to form one huge majestic bird, extending each of its wings to you. And that person. You each touch a wing with your hand, and you are engulfed.

And, as you know you would, you wake up.

That dream, it stays in your memory. A beacon of hope in your darkest moments, the light at the end of the tunnel.

Someday fades away, and today stands in its place.

Tomorrow was yet a story untold, yet you look forward to it with the brightest of smiles.

Next to you, the person stands. The smallest fingers of your hands are barely touching. 

But you feel the warmth.

Your 1,000th paper crane.

Sunday, November 18, 2012

Shame on-- what?

We've all got our embarrassing moments.

Mine today was screaming at a coffee shop.

All I know was that I heard the truth, I just didn't know how to accept it. 

You were real after all.



"...Can I have feelings for you for real?"

It sounds stupid but that's how I felt.

We've all got our embarrassing moments.

Mine in the summer of my sixteenth year, I fell for a friend again. This time, I confessed. He said, please just forget about it. Three years later, I'm not yet sure if I kept my end of the promise.

Do I like you or do I not like you or do I like you?

How many flower petals get shredded before I know the answer? 

We've all got our embarrassing moments.

Stuffing erasers up your nose because they smell nice, rolling around on the school ground because you were rough-housing.

I did all the weird things little boys would do. 

Sometimes, I'd look back and laugh and wonder if all my memories were true.

It was fun but as you get older it would be the stories you'd tell.

And you can tell anyone who'd listen, "Yeah, I did that. So much for dignity."

You only live once.

We've all got our embarrassing moments.

While watching a play I squealed a little too loud when my favorite character confessed to the girl he liked. I buried my face in my friend's shoulder and was thankful how the theater was dark.

But why should we embarrassed about being happy with love anyway?

We've all got our embarrassing moments.

I volunteered for class and I had to show them what was inside my bag. The table ended up being filled with things I bring everyday. 

I never realized how many notebooks I had.

But each of them had a thought and word, a part of me I could share.

Never be embarrassed about who you are. 

What is essential is invisible to the eye. 

We've all got our embarrassing moments.

I cried in school June 2011. Just, put your head in your arms and suddenly tears come out type of crying.

Call me sensitive. Call me shallow.

You can never judge someone unless you know the reason behind their tears.

Is it a bad thing to feel sad for people you treasure; people who helped you smile in the darkest moments of your life?

You don't understand.

We've all got our embarrassing moments.

It was a magical night, and as we hugged I may have held on a moment too long, held you a bit tighter than necessary.

But it was a magical night, and we all have excuses.

Mine was: I was happy.

Holding on to that moment. Never letting go.

We've all got our embarrassing moments.

You sit in a circle with your friends, and catching up would always bring up a cringe-worthy story.

And as you laugh, and blush, and hide your face behind your hands, you remember.

And these people. They made it possible.

During those moments you might just wish that the ground would open up and swallow you whole; it would be better than be in that shameful spotlight life throws at us sometimes.

But then you look back and look forward.

There is a new day tomorrow. A day to redeem yourself.

...........or maybe just make more moments.

Moments that would turn to memories.

One day you'll be grateful for them.

We've all got our embarrassing moments.

Revel in them.

Saturday, November 17, 2012

Finger Circles

We thought daisy chains and crowns were too mainstream, so we made santan rings. We would sip the nectar from the flowers and string them together in various colors. We were the stars of our own fairy tales.

There was once a young little boy, the brave prince with his twig sword and big heart.

There was once a young little girl, the beautiful princess in a bed sheet gown and a nectar-smeared smile.

Sometimes when there were a lot of red santan flowers we made santan chains and tied it around our little fingers and make promises of how our friendship would last forever.

A childhood as sweet as santan nectar.


I picked up a ring from the sidewalk today. It was cheap but it was pretty. I thought it would look nice on your finger, and there was no need for precious stones to make it more beautiful.


I saw an engagement ring on display in the jewelry shop we passed by on our way to work. I didn't say anything, but my eyes must have sparkled enough for you to kid that I must be a magpie in my past life and my love for shiny things. But we both know I was looking beyond the ring, and seeing the person who would wear it in the future. And somehow, in the back of my mind, I wished it was me. And somehow, in the back of my mind, I wished it was you who would give it to me. Down on one knee, sweet violin music playing on the background, a fireworks show when I say yes.

I must really be a magpie in the past.


The school bell rings and I tuck another love letter I wrote into my notebook, another letter I won't give to you after plans of confessing behind our school building after the school bell had stopped ringing--

wait, that was a different kind of ring.


We were in kindergarten and we played with Fruit Loops because it reminded us of how it looked like the wedding rings in our mothers' left hands, of how nice it would look like on our fingers. Too bad, even back then our fingers can't fit into them.

We said we'd find rings that fit us both perfectly.


I threw a ring into a river one day. It was full of broken promises, of promises of eternity that I thought I believed in. But circles, even though it had no beginning and no end, can be broken too.

Just like my heart.


Your voice, your question, that slight pause and hesitation.

"Can we give us a chance?"

It was all echoing, ringing in my ears--

wait, that's a different kind of ring.


We were sitting on a swing set in your favorite park where you said you had your first kiss, eating Roller Coaster chips and looking at the moon through the hole in each piece before eating bit by cheesy bit.

You turned to me, your face messy with cheese powder, and kissed me on the cheek but somewhere along the way you missed and we were kissing kissing. I mean without the tongue and all, but it was wonderful in the figurative sense and cheesy in the literal sense and I had all these thoughts running through my head and it felt perfect and cheesy in all sense of the word.

You pulled back. You were blushing. But we knew the other was kissing back.

"I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry because I'm not sorry."

"...I'm sorry for not being sorry either."

"You taste like cheese."

"Wha--oh no, did I have chips in my teeth? Oh my god, this is so embarrassing."

Oh god you looked so beautiful.


When you went down on one knee and opened that box with that ring we both saw on the display window of the jewelry store, I started crying. Not because of the ring and how sweet you were. But because I was just. So. Happy.

I would marry you even if you put a pop tab on my finger, you adorable idiot. Took you long enough.


It was a simple band of gold, a small circlet of metal. We had matching ones on our left ring fingers. No inscriptions, no fancy jewels, no anything else.

It was--is--perfect the way it is.

We've found the rings that were--are--the perfect fit.

Saturday, September 29, 2012

Imperfections Unseen

No, don't wait for it to load or anything. The picture you see is complete--black, a stretch of murky darkness. I was looking through my files trying to decide what picture to post then I saw this. A dark expanse... of nothing. One may wonder what this picture could have been. I know what exactly this should be like and why this picture turned out this way (faulty camera settings and trying to guess my way through using my new camera), but what would others see in this picture. I wonder. What could this picture have been in the minds of other people?

As I type all these words out I felt my fingers shake, tremble on the keyboard. As I stared at this picture of nothing I can't help but be bothered that this should be something. 

And I stop writing. 

No. I was wrong. It is a picture of something. 

We just can't see it.

Sometimes life is like that. You're faced with problems and you can't see the way you planned out, the path you know you're taking, because there's a huge roadblock named "obstacles" on your way. It's dark, you can't see the light at the end of the tunnel, but it's there. It hasn't disappeared; it's just temporarily out of view.

So you look at this picture, and other things that are dark and unfathomable, and know. Know, that darkness isn't always the absence of light. Know, that every picture--blurred, overexposed, out of focus, against the light, or in any way "imperfect"--though not always able to show or convey what we want to, was made for a purpose. Know that every action taken in this universe is meant to convey something. Though the message is unclear right now, it would never, ever, be nothing.

So when I look at the picture above, I see a world of possibilities. All the what-ifs and could-have-beens of this picture are astounding. It could be a picture of children playing. An old couple kissing. Arguing friends, tearful goodbyes, or a picture of a fly buzzing threateningly near your favorite food. Whatever this picture could have been, this picture is now, simply, itself. 

And yes, there comes that small tinge of regret whenever a photo turns out in a way you least expect them to be. But there are happy accidents, shots you never thought possible, until you actually take them. It took me this picture of nothing--wait, no. It took me this picture of something to realize this. Maybe I'm just overthinking everything. But this is how I choose to see life. Regrets are inevitable; it's a human emotion natural to everyone. But what you feel after that regret, how you get past through that regret, that's what matters most.

As I look at this photo now, I smile. And remember the things that happened that day I took this. The people I was with, the emotions I may be feeling at that very moment, even the thoughts that may have run through my head . And this photo slowly turns from a picture of nothingness into a secret corner of memories in my head, just waiting for that lamp in my brain to turn its attention its way so it can show what it has for me.

Just like life.

Tuesday, September 18, 2012

A Shot at Japanese Street Fashion

twirl for me

that one tiny glance


Model: Patricia Villarica

Here are the photos I submitted for the photography contest hosted by the Thomasian Nihon Kyoukai (TNK). This was all done in a rush and though I really wanted to shoot more layouts with more outfits but sadly we have TVProd and a nine-hour academic day ahead of us so we have to make do.

The theme was Japanese fashion, and as I don't have the time nor resources to do anything elaborate, I made a layout of the shoot in my head on the way home, called my blockmate to model for me (who thankfully agreed) and gave her some pegs on Japanese street fashion. Since she has a lot of clothes I figured there's bound to be something in her closet that would fit the category. The shoot got cancelled because of inclement weather but we thankfully pulled through.

I wanted things to look as natural as possible. I'd like to give the feeling that it was candid, and I was shooting a friend as we were walking around places. Whimsical thoughts and just being you - that was what I wanted to convey. Being free and being unconventional can be okay, as long as you know you're doing the right thing and you are comfortable with your own skin.

This shoot taught and made me experience a lot of things. How to ninja-shoot, how to try to always get the shot you like, how to always be ready because some candid moments actually look better (like the third photo; if I remember correctly, I didn't tell my model I shot this. She was still waiting for instructions and I took a photo and it turned out pretty well). I also had to direct the shoot, and for someone who doesn't like ordering people around it was a minuscule internal battle ^^;;; My model helped me out too, since she's more used to being behind the camera than in front of it (and tbqh, I do prefer to be behind the camera too :D) I really don't understand why we can't shoot inside the QuadriGym (the place where the first two photos were taken; they were ninja shots so eheh); it's a nice place where we can utilize a lot of elements of the building for nice photos ;;

And lesson learned: Lover's Lane (AKA the park inside our uni) is perfect for location shoots. Best to go on times were there are less people around :)

Anyways, I know I have a long way to go and I have a lot to learn, but I'm doing my best! There are a lot of pictures in this photo set but I'm still sifting through them because school. 

Tell me what you think? :)

Friday, September 14, 2012


Playing around with Adobe Photoshop Lightroom! One of the speakers in the photography seminar I attended last September 10, 2012 (which I will talk about in a separate post when things at school slow down) recommended to use this program as to Photoshop as it is more user-friendly :)

Post-processing photos from a photo shoot I did yesterday for a photography contest. More about that after the deadline of submission :)

Saturday, September 8, 2012




I want to try doing a photo series called 「背中」. People always say that facial expressions can tell you a lot about a person. Though I don't contend with that statement I also do think that people's profiles from behind can tell you a lot about them--how they deal with life, how they carry themselves, how they think they stand in the world they live in. Even if you can't see what kind of expression they might have, it brings you one step closer.

How do you think other people see your back? :)