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.

He proposed.

And lucky, lucky me.  I get to hold on to those amazing million little moments, again and again and again.

Memory Lane Mondays: Reliving prom.

As we finalize decisions and game plan for our Asia trip (17 days!), I find myself in slight panic mode, as I am still without a formal gown for the "Bollywood-themed" gala we will be attending while in Singapore. I think I hit the jackpot when I stumbled on http://www.promgirl.com/ last night, as there are many affordable, gorgeous styles in beautiful, vibrant colors. (Whether or not I will need to get the dress tailored is another story altogether.)

Which got me thinking: my highschool prom was sort of a disaster. Several people got stuck in traffic that day, including myself and the bestie, so we all ended up missing our dinner reservations. My then-boyfriend and I had also gotten into a huge argument at the beginning of the evening, which soured the rest of the night's festivities. But, worst of all, the dress I had oh so carefully designed and saved up money to get personally made -- the dress whose details I had several discussions with the seamstress months beforehand -- was ill-fitting, too short, and looked nothing like I had envisioned it to be.   

But there were definitely some bright moments. My aunt, who has been my hairstylist for years, did my gorgeous updo for free. We all had a good time ordering in pizza, relaxing and hanging out at my girlfriend's house beforehand. M and I were also thankful for the extra two hours we suddenly had on our hands to continue primping and getting ready.

And although prom itself and the after-party was a little lame, I am all in all very glad that I got to experience a staple American tradition, with funny stories and memories to share for years to come.

Traveling Thursdays: The enigmatic wonders of Egypt.

As everyone complains about the oppressing heat we've had in DC lately, my mind wanders off to all of the Egyptian cities and villages I was fortunate enough to travel to with T in November 2009.

As our extremely knowledgeable guides took us to see the temples and tombs, I was in constant awe, day after day, at the level of intricacy of the artwork adorning the walls and ceilings. Despite the throngs of modern-day tourists at every corner, I felt such a deep, intimate connection to the hundreds of thousands of workers who spent their lives building these amazing establishments for the pharaohs and their families.

Considering the pyramids are some of the oldest structures in the world - the Great Pyramid of Giza, specifically, is the only one still standing out of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World - I also felt incredibly small, both on a physical as well as historical level.

I will never forget the completely insane and constantly congested streets of Cairo, the grandeur of Karnak, kissing on a camel's back, and admiring the sun set as we sailed down the Nile together.

Traveling Thursdays: The very first time.

My first trip abroad happened exactly two Memorial Day weekends ago. I had flown across the Atlantic on my own, and randomly met a French boy named Alex while getting lost, trying to find my hotel. Then, for the rest of the weekend, he showed me the City of Lights by foot, bus, metro, and a few times, via piggyback as well. I got to see everything -- Notre Dame, la Seine, Moulin Rouge, le Louvres... I lazily lounged in les Jardins des Tuilleries, enjoyed the warm weather and people-watching in le Parc Monceau... yes, it was truly an unforgettable experience.

Two years later, I still feel incredibly nostalgic whenever I think about those 48 hours in Paris. Not because I fell in love while I was there -- oh no, far from it, that would have been such an unfortunate cliche -- but rather, I still feel a certain sense of sadness whenever I remember how carefree I felt; how utterly alive, and young at heart, I was.

And yet...

And yet, I had also felt so empty, and so hollow that very first night, in that wonderful foreign city, as I laid there by myself, with the windows wide open. I had tried to run away, telling myself I was running towards something. But the truth was that I had come to Paris with a heavy, broken heart then -- a broken heart that shattered into pieces again when I saw the Eiffel Tower light up the evening before I returned home. And as everyone around me marveled aloud and cameras flashed away -- in that moment of laughter and noise and beauty, I realized that it didn't really matter where I was.

All that mattered -- all I wished for and wanted so badly and still so fervently hope for -- was for love to find me and be with me again soon.

A manifesto.

I love wandering around, taking photos, but uploading them for the world to see really isn't my forte. An acquaintance's incredibly tragic and senseless loss recently moved something inside of me, and I found myself holding onto Manfriend just a little tighter at night, and just a little longer in the mornings. I sat on a bench, feeling the sun on my skin, taking my time chatting with my mother and brothers.

Tonight, I sorted through a few memories. Crooked smiles, first times, and all the art and nature we could possibly find.

Love is so beautiful. And life is too short.

Oh, snow.

Trudging through inches upon inches of snow always reminds me of my childhood. Those Canadian winters were harsh and in all of my 14 years growing up there, I can only recall schools closing down once, when I was in the eight grade. Some white powder and ice never stopped anyone. We celebrated it, with winter festivals like Carnaval in Quebec and Winterlude in Ottawa.

We didn't have a car back then, and my mother and I took three different buses and walked miles upon miles once a week to get to my piano teacher's home, located in a far more affluent part of town. The one-hour lesson never seemed worth the amount of time we spent on the road to me. I hated the way I felt inside, watching all those big and beautiful houses silently go by as I blankly stared out the windows. I resented my mother for putting me through it. I slumped down to my knees once, simply because I no longer wanted to go on, and sat like that in the icy cold snow like a statue, refusing to move or even try. I cried and cried and was utterly miserable and repeatedly demanded she flag down a cab to take us home. But she said nothing. She waited and waited and waited until I was too numb to be stubborn and proud anymore and finally got up to quietly follow her. We got home so late I didn't even eat dinner that night.

Tough love. Snow reminds me of tough love.

Getting into the mood.

{I know how to touch all the right buttons.}

Despite attending a fun firm holiday party this past Friday night (the first of three this season), I haven't really been in the mood lately -- the festive Christmas mood, that is! Ahem. This could probably be due to the fact that I literally spent the first few days of December fighting off a cold and ended up sleeping away about 75% of my weekend instead of being out and about like last year.

I did, however, tried getting into the holiday spirit by cooking up a meal filled with green and red bell peppers tonight, and we also insulated our windows and put up some Christmas lights as well. In addition to decorating our tree and stockings, and baking and cooking up a (snow)storm in the next upcoming days and weeks, there are plenty of holiday events around the city I'd love to be able to cross off my to-do list as well. Am sincerely hoping some friends and family can join us!

1) Freeze while we breeze through ICE!

2) Take a stroll through the Garden of Lights at Brookside Gardens

3) Wish I could dance like the ballerinas in The Nutcracker

4) Celebrate this Seasons Greenings at the U.S. Botanic Garden

5) Reveling in the musical Joy of Christmas at the National Cathedral

Capturing it all.

I do not consider myself to be a writer, much less a very good one, at that -- but for some reason or another, many people have been compelled enough by my writing to go as far as compliment me.

And although I have never been very good or gracious at accepting praise, I always make it a goal to thank them for their words. Because for what it's worth, however genuine or critical or superficial they are, their words encourage me to keep making sense of my thoughts, so that I can keep finding the right words to capture it all.

Because I have to capture it all, you see. Or else, no matter what I delude myself into believing, those memories will quietly make their escape one day, sooner or later, one way or another.

And when words fail me and refuse to come to me -- well, this is one of the reasons why I have been getting more into photography lately.

Bad boys and blurred boundaries.

Late-night motorcycle ride around town with Manfriend this past Saturday, before he had to skip town for business this week.




My mother, usually a high-strung woman, gave me her blessing before he stole me away.

"Have fun, and hold on tight!"

And then, I shit you not, she started giggling like a little schoolgirl.

I guess I'm not the only one who feels silly and giddy around him...

Sleepless princess.

4 a.m.

The lover is sleeping soundly in the next room, and I am sitting here, on his couch, wandering the world (wide web) on his Mac, not wearing much, thinking too much, yet once again.

...

As far as I can remember, I have always had trouble sleeping. As a child, I recall waking up in the middle of the night, wondering and worrying about many things -- too many things that a five year-old most certainly should not be wondering and worrying about.

We lived in a quiet part of a rather quiet city back then, but that didn't stop me from hearing and seeing and feeling things -- things that made me fervently believe that the Night was very much alive; that, unlike her scorned lover Day, she was mysterious, devious, thoroughly envious of his Light.

I remember those nights. On those nights, little demon childs were awaiting in the shadows, waiting for me to fall asleep so they could steal my baby brother from me. Many a times, I had to gather enough strength from my Blanket of Courage, and many a times, I had to tiptoe past the Creature in My Closet, the Dragons in my Drawers, the Dog of Death guarding the door, to get to my brother's crib. Once there, my hand then slowly, ever so slowly, reached out to him through the bars, and gently rested itself on his beating little baby heart.

And when I was absolutely sure that my little brother was safe -- that he was who he really is, and that he was still breathing evenly -- only then did I borrow a tiny piece of his peacefulness to take with me on my perilous journey back to my own little bed.

When I have a daughter of my own, I will make sure to paint Pegasus on her walls, along with an invisible but most invincible armor for my little warrior princess to protect herself. And she, too, will win the war against Night all on her own, without the help of any army or princely Knight.