of missing poems and broken hearts

I have decided to create a new photo album in my Facebook for sharing random poetry. I have hundreds stashed in my hard drive, in my journals, on scraps of paper, and a lot more crawling around my head.

And then some of them are on lovely paper in the possession of those who inspired them, if they have not thrown it away already (possibly accompanied by a shiver of dread.)

In any case, they have always been hidden. My little children. Offsprings of my heart.

Then last night there was this series of events. First, the "dark" side of writing a novel has reared its head. All the memories, angst, emotions I gathered material from are still out in the open, raw and pulsating under daylight. I have not had time to put them away and also I was still editing so I still need them for filling in plot holes. But without the mad dash towards a finish line or meeting word count requirements, there are now spaces for breathing and those raw things in the open started to moan and groan and suddenly I was a vulnerable mess.

Second, I stumbled upon a beautiful photo of a couple I know (on Facebook of course, where everyone gets to craft a dream life) and it was taken specifically for showing off how perfect and in love they are. Regrets for my own past failed loves keened and tried to find dark corners to hide in.

Third, I seem to have lost a poem I had written years ago. It was the only one I ever wrote for one specific person and I could not find it. I started looking for it after I saw the photo because I wanted to read it to soothe myself, to comfort the dis-ease in my own heart. And when I could not find it I was overcome by a feeling of loss so great that I felt I would die in my sleep of a broken heart.

In my desire to find the missing poem I was led into many forgotten files of poetry, both finished and unfinished. They made me weep, as if I died all over again, as if I got un-chosen all over again. After a mighty torrent of tears I quieted down. My eyes were red and swollen I could barely see through them.

This morning I started to organize my poetry, killing off the bad ones, cleaning up the good ones. Then I decided I would share them. Maybe that is what I am meant to do now. Instead of hiding.

Here is a remake version of the missing poem.

On a more positive note, I feel better today. A few ideas were released by the deluge of tears and I am now playing with them, seeing where they could lead me.

burst of sunshine and gold

I recently ordered two dozen yellow roses from Etsy -- but they are the kind that will never fade nor wilt. They are actually made of wood.

I have always wanted flowers in my home but they are way too expensive to buy regularly, not to mention quite difficult to find. The plastic flowers available in malls look too plasticky or the wrong shades of color. Imagine my delight at discovering Janice's lovely garden!

When I received my package of roses I took a milk bottle souvenir from Hong Kong and used it as a vase.

perfect distraction from my messy busy kitchen!

tick tock thursday

Time felt fast but it actually flowed syrupy. I got a lot of things done but I felt like I have not done enough.

Got a nice working lamp for the craft and sewing space. Got sturdy pretty containers for supplies at 50% off. Found out that thread is a rare commodity in modern stores and malls - didn't find any for proper sewing, only those that came in emergency sewing kits. Swam in the cold pool. Got my mail. Sorted through the scrap fabrics and segmented them by size (big ones for big projects, small ones for practice). Spent time with my family. Spent time with the turtles.

Did my first practice sewing project all by myself -- a small pouch. Mainly got the hang of working with the sewing machine, threading it and fixing gnarled thread.

Repainted an old wooden container. Now it's ready for use in the craft space and in the shop.

Felt like dressing up my makeshift bedside tables with lace doilies.

I will be grateful. I am grateful. Thank you, Universe. Please send me peaceful dreams tonight.

sunshine and blue sky

I stumbled upon this small painting I made on the page of a journal years ago. I can no longer remember what inspired me to do this, but that moment was also the time in my life when I started to emerge from a phase of slow dreaming through a dark tunnel. It was like a waking from a sleepwalk of long journeys, where every thing was a dream and every dream was a wish fulfillment that vanished and melted onto the next strange story.