Archive for April, 2012

[A letter FROM Opal finally!  I like her better than “Oliver”, a name created by a special Sabina Latifovic for this anonymous sender of letters.  I still don’t know if this is the voice I really want for her, but it works.  A few notes: Opal wrote this when she was like 16, 17.  She’s never gotten any of Oliver’s letters, so she doesn’t know what he thinks of her.  She’s a strong-minded, adventurous, and independent girl.  She’s almost a little bit like Scout, from To Kill A Mockingbird]



When I was young, I used to think about what aging would feel like.  Aging, in those days, meant teen years, ideally.  I never thought it would physically hurt.  In fact, there was this idealism in the future.  In my dreams, I would dangle my legs off of the bed of my truck, sitting on the top of the world, in its literal sense.  I used to dream of the life that I lived vicariously through my books in those days.  I wandered the world with a sense of adventure in my dreams, nothing too different from what my childhood was like.  And yet, in every one of these dreams of becoming older, you were somehow there.  You were there as in your presence, lingering upon the air.  Sometimes I just saw you.  Other times, it was your voice I heard.  Most times, it was you and me against the world, like our days in the neighborhood.

Here I am, Oliver, in those teenage days, those dream days, and there’s a void in them.  You are the void.  I have swung over truck-beds and danced on top of the world, but inside I’ve left behind the piece of childhood I deserve—that I need.  Childhood should never die, regardless of age.  Yet, for me, it has.  I’ve lost all touch with my roots.  I’ve lost all touch with you.

When I was young, happiness was autumn colors across the mountains.  Happiness was a good scoop of ice cream from the truck and ice-cold lemonade for 25 cents.  Happiness was wearing my favorite baseball cap instead of frilly dresses and making fake circuses.  Happiness, most of all, was fake weddings when we would walk hand in hand into the sunset, across dirt roads, and honeymoon in the old oak in my yard.  Happiness was you.

You were always about words and I was about the dancing and moving around.  I made the games, you made the rules.  I sang and you wrote.  When we were ten, you had a journal.  I never knew what you wrote in it.  In fact, sometimes I still pass by your house and see you sitting on your porch furiously scribbling into the black book.  Always a mystery, Oliver.

I’m not one for words.  My eloquence comes in nowhere close to yours.  You can make a flower turn into a story with your words.  You could always do that, and even today, I admire that from afar.

In your own way, you were the boy of everyone’s dreams.  Only, you hid in the shadows until nobody could see you anymore.  But I have always seen you, for who you are, and I have loved you in these shadows you’ve hidden in.  Always, Oliver.



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Social Media-ing

So, here we are, at the end of the break.  It’s been quite the break, relaxing yet stressful.  I have done almost zero work, so tonight is really about cracking down.  Rather, this break has been about watching movies and eating food and expressing myself through music and finally writing again.  I went on one of my photo nature walks today, and I don’t know why I didn’t do it weeks ago.  It’s such a de-stresser.  Granted, the bike path next to the golf course is limited in subjects (dandelions get old after a while), but I still got some cool shots.  There’s a bench up there too, on a hill, and it overlooks the neighborhood and roads and mountains.  I love sitting there and writing or taking pictures or just sitting there.  Sometimes I go there with friends, but it’s kind of my place almost.

I’m becoming so much more connected through social media—-catching up!  So technically I have a Tumblr, but I don’t really know how to use it.  Plus, people who use Tumblr call themselves bloggers, and we all know that isn’t true blogging.  Most people just post clichéd quotes and pictures, like the Notebook.  Don’t get me wrong, I love the Notebook, but we all know the quotes from it.  Tumblr is like a middle school girl’s diary—hey, like my old blog  [just kidding, ish]!  Other than that, I’ve started using Instagram—well, over-using it probably.  I post about fifty pictures a day, but I try to make them nice!  Twitter is my main thing now, even more than Facebook.  Facebook is more for keeping in touch with people/chatting people/posting pictures, while Twitter is like thinking out loud.  I do a lot of that.

Anyways, I’ve been doing a lot of social media-ing over break.  A lot, a lot.  Plus, I’ve been out to lunch with various friends, gone shopping, gone to Starbucks.  Starbucks should pay me to market for them or something, because I’m always carrying around something from them.  It’s not that good….

Oh!  I’ve discovered a lot of new music.  Carla Bruni is the wife of the president of France, Sarkozy, and apparently a singer too.  From what I’ve heard, they’re both disliked in their country, but I also don’t know much about French politics.  Anyways, Carla Bruni is actually good, in both English and French!  I’m attaching one of my favorite songs of hers so far, L’Amoureuse (meaning lover).

I don’t have too much else to say, which is a first, I think.  I’ve started working on a letter from Opal to anonymous lover.  He technically has a name, but I don’t really know if I like it yet.  I’ll be posting it soon.  Paris Amour doesn’t have too much more still. I need ideas, inspiration, a new story.  Oh well.


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I actually cannot believe that I haven’t posted this song yet.  This song is….unbelievable.  It’s meaningful and beautiful and it’s, surprisingly, brought me close to a lot of people.  Plus, I get goosebumps every time I hear it.

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Dream (Cover)

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More of Opal

I found this in my notebook from a while ago.  Looks like Opal isn’t completely gone!


My heart has heavied itself with love once more.  Oh, do you remember when we used to laugh like we have been these past few days?  Nostalgia strikes me, yet these new memories are more than fulfilling.  Opal, there was a bench on a hill, where the the sun set on the horizon of middle-class homes.  I think of you when I sit there for inspiration.  That heartwarming look you so often possess, that used to arise when sunlight colored the sky–how I miss it so.

Opal, do you remember hours we spent talking?  It was intimate, the way we would confide in each other.  And to think–you turned into love, and I stayed a friend.

Tell me one thing Opal—how can you not regret?  Do you not hear your heart calling out for you?  It’s there, Opal, our feelings, emotions—it’s there, and it’s never escaped me.  How can one ever love someone for half their life—and forget?  Opal, it has to be there for you, deep inside, or this connection we have would be nonexistent.

Opal, I think I’ve found the meaning of love.  It’s about seeing someone beautiful and seeing your face in lieu of theirs.  It’s about knowing your smiles: one when you’re in awe, one when you feel compelled to laugh even though you have something pressing to say, one that’s loud and obnoxious, and one that makes me lose all sensation in my body.

Love is about waiting for words, waiting to capture the essence of your brown eyes (I’ve never noticed anyone’s eyes before); it’s about singing your voice over and over deep inside, because it’s that warm, familiar feeling that constitutes love.  Love is about writing these letters that speak my mind, and love is about not knowing where to go next.  In fact, I guess none of this is love, per se.  Rather, it’s what a lifetime is about–no title, just feelings that entrance themselves in few bodies.  Love, itself, is an illusion.  And Opal, what this is, what I feel, is not an illusion.


[shoutout to Sabina, who helped me decide on a name for this anonymous sender, aka Opal’s lover.  Except we have this cool thing going where she writes a letter in Opal’s perspective and I write a letter in his perspective, so I’ll reveal the name later]

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Again, I’m not a good photographer.  Most of these are iPhone pictures…some are intentionally done, others just for capturing memories.  But here’s a picture from each of the places I’ve been the past year.  Such good memories!

Washington DC—White House

Rome, Italy—Colosseum

Dennis, Cape Cod, Massachusetts

Calcutta, India—Tram Construction

Dubai, UAE—Burj al Arab

Dordogne, France—Chateau Hauteford

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