I can't deny there is an empty feeling now within me. Perhaps it has to do with growing older and finding myself but I seriously feel like connecting with people on a deeper level is difficult for me. I've weighed the possibilities that perhaps my friends are not right for me or perhaps I am... Continue Reading →
Never compare your chapter one to someone’s chapter twenty.
Because let's be realistic, your environment will never be exactly like there's and your results will never be the same. Comparison only devalues individuality.
New Characters?
I've been struggling with the aesthetic of the characters for a while now and I've constantly asked myself How should I bond the character with it's character poetry? I've gone from numbering each line of poetry and printing its corresponding number on the back of the characters, to simply writing down the poem in a book.... Continue Reading →
End of the Month: An excerpt from Porridge: A Memoir
"I'd be good to you," he says to me over bites of sushi and spilled soy sauce. "I'm good to me," I tell him and stare down at my roll. I hopped off a bus less than an hour ago to visit a city I had once been so connected to. The boy I am... Continue Reading →
Grab a Bowl
I visited my hometown yesterday: My hands became cold as I climbed off the bus. This place never gave me any comfort, just anxiety. l/r
Bad Poetry
Bad Poetry is a term I use to refer to a series of tragic, ironic and consistent events that occur within a character's life, without conscious reason, but simply for the pleasure and entertainment of the Gods. It can be found on that particular morning when your alarm clock fails to go off, where you miss... Continue Reading →
I Forgot My Name (2015)
I Forgot my Name (2015) is a mixed media work composed of a mixture of sentimental items including clothing tags, receipts, event tickets, important dates and old poetry. The work explores the ways in which tangible items are used to compensate for memory. The work is a self-portrait without formal characteristics: It recalls fragmentation and... Continue Reading →
Hot wax on my bare skin always reminds me of good days, and bad too; I still can’t tell them a part.
819 My boyfriend was a warrior, in the street and in our bed, but his silent kisses were more painful than his infliction. Hot wax on my bare skin always reminds of good days, and bad too; I still can't tell them apart.
Famous Last Words 