Blurred.

I had a dream recently where I was stuck in this pink house, trying to escape.

I finally did, but realized I had a small boy with me. I ran and ran from an invisible entity behind me, and without looking back, I threw the boy to safety ahead of me. I screamed out to the blurred vision of a crowd on the other side.

Then I woke up. The frantic panic is still with me.

Love list.

Right now:

*Fall

*Fall colors

*cashmere cardigan

*sweater weather (...sweather?)

*well-worn leather riding boots

*wake-up hugs

*morning kisses

*sunlight streaming in through the curtains

*unlimited Japanese green tea

*French crepes

*outdoor dining

*women helping women

*the power of words

*the promise of amazing weekend plans

I love making lists.

I love making love lists even more.

Hyper with words.

I've long self-diagnosed myself with hypergraphia - the overwhelming, compulsive urge to write. 

My writing patterns as an adult mimic my writing patterns as a child - where I once kept multiple diaries and secret journals with pen and pencil to paper, I now log in and type out my thoughts or advice on various online platforms.  The only difference now is that I no longer look over my shoulders to see whether my mother is reading my musings or not without my permission.  

I'm not deluded enough to believe any of what I write is brilliant - not in the least.  Half of the time, it doesn't even make much sense, and the paragraphs are often riddled with tangential overtures.  To be honest, they're generally mental, internal ramblings that I desperately need to get out of my system.  Sometimes, it's because it's, well, yugen.

But most of the time, I write to capture it all, and to look back on what once was and what could be or what could have been.  Isn't that the goal of many writers and bloggers these days, in this digital age?  To keep record; to keep tabs?  And, more so than to remember, to not be forgotten?

Neglect.

I've completely neglected this here blog.  But I don't know how to come back to it.

It's like asking for forgiveness, without having a clue whether you'll actually receive it or not.

2046: "Why can't it be like before?"

I'm still not sure if it was the combination of hormones and too much wine that night, but watching Wong Kar-Wai's 2046 not too long ago left me feeling emotionally hollow and melancholic in the best way possible, even long after the credits had finished rolling. 

A bit choppy, a lot moody -- but the film's cinematography and costumes were superb and seductive, heightened by the right amount and timing dialogue and music.  The movie is actually a sequel to In the Mood for Love, which the interwebs tell me is just as beautiful a film as its second sibling, if not moreso.

Lost love and regret are themes that have been chopped up, cooked up, and served to the masses in a different million ways before, but somehow the characters of 2046 and their struggles resonated with me so much more deeply, as if I had never known pain before and their suffering were just as much as my own for the very first time. 

Oh and Zhang Ziyi looked beyond exquisite in each and every outfit.  I am so excited at wearing a qipao during my wedding reception next year.