kaori
i had to walk ten blocks to buy Coach key chains. i hated that, but then that was the only thing i could get my sisters from new york. i walked in the store, and said to a clerk without going into the back: "i need your help."
strong, strong. what's the definition of being strong? certainly not physical strength. people can be both strong and weak; there's no such human as a strong person.
on the table is a simple vase. glass. blue. transparent. i put in a tulip, which was halfway open, and i thought i saw Thumbelina.
i saw through a large glass door a barber cutting an old man's scarce hair. he was doing it calmly, not caring about how much he had to take care of.
i sat on the bench. nothing to do, just sit. it is not really comfortable, but a nice way to pretend i'm relaxed, waiting for someone, or trying to read a book, when all i did is feel i have nowhere to go.
I love mango. with all the juiciness and the sweet taste and all. But it is not a cheap fruit to come by. that's when I miss hawaii where i once lived. i could get a lot for much lower prices.
there are people who cannot find outlets for their talent. especially artists and craftsman.
but as they move forward, they do. i wish and myself luck!
i hate the idea of cards. cards are nice only when you receive them. after that, you just don't know what to do with them. you debate whether to throw them or not. sending cards is a way to keep connected with people you now longer meet, some say. is that so? if it is, nothing is more disheartening when you realize those people no longer send you cards.
he was fully charged back then. he could turn anything inspiring into art. he wrote poems and lyrics, and ventured into art forms he had neve tried before, like photography and sculpture.
where has the time gone? he is not as charged as he was back then, and not as creative as before, and feels kinf of blah. but still, he likes how he is now better than the days he was charged, without fear or sorrow.
I know many people with needle-phobia. and they are dreaded of a needle stuck into their vein as they get a shot. I'm not. I usually watch the fine needle slip under my skin to suck up my blood. I even find that interesting, to see some qutity of my blood without getting badly injured. What makes them afraid? i wonder. I certainly wouldn't enjoy observing a surgical operation,though.