Hope my queer-eyed doll reaches the hand of an unfortunate child. 

And bring hope.

 God bless Japan.

Made a visit to one of the few artist village today, and, although it was deathly quiet except for the occasional black box theatre rehearsals, I enjoyed passing through the studios and admiring their exterior decor. The little patch of sunlit open space on the roof with grass tufts made me feel a little chirpier despite the emptiness of the space. But then when I think about it, I like emptiness and vast, open spaces. Space that seems to go on and on forever on a blank white canvas and envelopes you into their inviting embrace. Waiting for a motion to make a mark, draw a curve, paint a dot. While we were traversing this factory of studios, he wondered out loud how much would it cost to rent a space and transform it into our own wonderland where we are able to produce our own little novice works of art.

A rather creepy welcoming, but I adore it nonetheless!

Continuity.

Tree of steel.

Man-made nature. 

I remember these lining the walls of village houses from my childhood days. Half the time they were filled with colorful printed pamphlets.

Peeking.

The symmetry yet lack of symmetry,

Overheads are not empty and uninviting.

So adorable! Think I may need one?

Spring roll cans.

Fabric. The smell of lavender, the softness, the way it moves with the wind. Simply heavenly.

Said tufts of grass. I was so delighted.

After-dinner dessert with my favorite Bulgarian, Ivelina - doesn't she have the prettiest of names? Consuming an entire bowl of char siu fan just doesn't make it for us!

So inspired by the foray of art works I've been reading about recently. It makes me want to create something with my hands!

Here's to a good hair cut.

When it comes to hairstyling, I am always on the ferris wheel of change. When it's jet black I want to go blonde. When its wavy split ends emerge and I have them chopped off into a bob. But now the change has become a cycle and the cycle has become a pattern, and so, it is no longer a change but a habit. I tried voicing out for opinions on a curly bob, but my petition has been shot down so far. I suppose it's time for me to lay off on the dying...

A series of unfortunate events sent two girls hurtling through the startlingly quiet daytime of LKF, morning over the un-festive Mui Wo, gliding through the fortune telling stalls of Temple Street and ending up as smothered as mashed potatoes on the Dundas Street of Mong Kok. Wandering the streets sneaking shots of old men reading newspapers in order to board the slow ferry, falling asleep on the blue plastic seats with our heads flung backwards, spilling Ovaltine on the table at the tea diner and water when having stone pot rice - "let's just say we're not on an assignment, but we're having an adventure". 

Said old men reading newspapers. My partner was the cutest thing, opening her forest green umbrella to shield our actions from our subjects' gaze.

Happily plucking these adorable little cards with a chatty group of Filippino ladies! By the time we were finished we each had a little stack stuffed into our pockets.

Not really my type of doll but I can't deny that it is cute. Sadly, cute would not suffice for a news photo story.

A backfire attempt but I like it nonetheless. It has a sci-fi fiction slash Frankenstein feel to it.

Had to refrain myself from snatching them off the countertop as they looked so so good!

When we think of nightlife, we think of flashing neon lights, looming skyscrapers, and speeding minibuses. I wonder what the same term would mean for her? Indifferent customers, the smell of barbecued meat, perspiring from the heat waves of the steam...

He was a most curious one, dancing to the tune of his partner's voice in a pink, silk costume and a pair of sleepy eyes like that of Chinese vampires.

Jolliest lot on the street. Who put down the stereo, turned it on full blast, and started moving to the music

The last two shots were made by my undauntingly cheerful partner. It's always easier to do kinds of things like photographing shopkeepers with angry stares with in a pair. She enjoys capturing the whole picture, its movements and interactions. I, on the other hand, love simplicity and composition and have an obsession with colors, contrasts, and close ups. Overall, I think we make a good duo. 

Happy Birthday to the most gentlest man in the world, with the kindest of hearts and cutest of smiles. Look at mummy there trying to make him look all prim and proper for a good Christmas photo! 

Whiny complaints are the buzz of mosquitoes flittering beside the ears. One has to resist the urge to smack them away. But not God, no. I was surprised to receive nine lessons this week. Thirty-seven and a half times nine rounds up to a three hundred, thirty-seven. Not good, but much better than the last week of three. He provides. Now if only my rising ocean wave of apprehension concerning the summer could subside back into the deepest, darkest parts of the sea...

Friendships. For me, they are so hard to come by. Like sifting through the multitudes of sands for that one precious shell. Maintaining friendships is like playing the xylophone, you grow close and you grow apart. A few weeks ago, in the three-hour long News Photography, I met the most delightful H. In my lazy afternoon imaginations, we are the bestest of friends, spending every single weekend together doing the most darndest of things. Not so is reality. Today A appeared. They had lots in common. She could speak putonghua, she has worked in Beijing, she liked H, she did not like to make conversation with me. My day, which started out with delightfully roaming the FCC with H, ended up sitting alone in the two-seater of a minibus, behind the two chattering away in front of me.

Please let my seat be free come Thursday.

Besides, goldfishes - of which I have an affinity to in terms of not knowing when to stop eating, I do not take too much to ocean creatures except for the jellyfish. The beauty of its long elongating trails, and the pictures that they paint. If only I too, am capable of producing such beauty. God's beauty.

I've never been one to give 100percent. Never in blogs, yoga, and sadly even, relationships. It's that feminine time of the month again, maybe that's why I'm acting like a teacup filled to the very brim. Those tears threatening to liquify. But then again, when do they ever retract from the windows of my world? When I'm happy, so it seems. Last night, the boy told me that he wished that happiness would be the only reason ever for those teardrops to tumble.  Does laughing til my belly aches and eyes glisten count?