a lonely busker

On Bourke street, close to Exhibition street
there's a busker with his brown guitar and his brown hair coming down to his chest
playing songs that can only be heard from an inch away
he smiles at people who never throw him coins
and he pretends he is warm in the icy temperature

today I was leaving a voicemail message on someone's phone
and when I mentioned the word 'love' I happened to walk passed this busker
and ours eyes met. he smiled at me.
the busker stopped his secretive song immediately and started to sing
a song that started with the word I had just said
I said a short goodbye and hung up and went up really close to the busker
to the point where I could see his split-ends
maybe not that close, my eyesight is just over the top

he sang a non-reciprocal love song with lyrics trying a little too hard to rhyme
it was a sad one, but a fervent one too
his voice seemed a little louder than usual and his blinks became longer
and longer each second the song progressed
I just stood there, in the space that helped me cry a couple of days ago
and listened to his aching memory

half way into his song I rummaged through my bag to find some gold coins
and held them in my fist
he saw my movement and managed to pause for a smile
when the song was over I opened my fist to throw them into his shabby guitar case
where a countable number of silver coins sat
and gave him the biggest smile I could
I felt a little sad that by the time he picks up my coins they will be very very cold

I talk about the temperature of coins
because where I work I handle lots of coins
and sometimes I receive really warm coins because they have been held in someone's hand so tightly
- especially in children's. children tend to grab on to their coins with their lives
because those coins can get them something really special

I hate it when I sit in a tram or a bus or any kind of public transport
and the seat is warm
the indirect contact with the previous sitter's bum makes me feel a little queasy
But touching warm coins fills me with joy somehow

I seem to have digressed from my point
but I just felt sad that the busker doesn't get to feel the warmth of the coins
maybe next time I see him I should tell him about it
and perhaps he can sing a song that starts with Coins
and doesn't rhyme too much

Writing about the shabby guitar case, I was reminded of her.

[Digital Photography]

There's a first for everything

My brain feels like it's deep fried in an unwashed pot
with really unhealthy, hot, hot oil
it feels crispy and greasy and it will probably give birth to many new pimples
there are still bubbles of oil attached to it, making sound close to silence 
In a few hours it will be soggy and damp with cold oil 
and it will be completely mute

I stood in the middle of Bourke street today at 12:15 a.m.
saw the entire glass of a phone box shattered all over the ground so exquisitely,
the phone box looked unbearably naked after dedicating its part on street art
that's true art, i thought
here and there there were cops in yellow vests
looking bigger than they actually are,
in front of a bookshop that no longer showed a sign of life
there was a couple sharing their temporary peace with their lips
it was a strangely balmy night for winter
the street was warmed by drunk people's breaths

I stood in the middle of Bourke street today at 12:15 a.m.
and cried.

Now that's a new experience
and it's refreshing to know that I've still got a first for something when my brain is already  fried irrevocably
I wondered how many firsts I will be encountering from now
and got calmly excited.

[Black and White photography. experimenting in the dark room with the 2 photos of my dangling feet and of the ocean]

a less selfish entry

My bed at Julie Banana and John's house. A dream guest room.
The room reflects the couple perfectly. Warm, cosy, classy, and lots of interesting details.

Julie Banana and John's cat #1, Grace.
She slept with me for the two nights. She was an attention seeker and didn't let me sleep the first night, but the second night I was too tired to notice anything.

Tazi. John said he looks like and owl and I couldn't agree more.
He rarely stands up on his own. He has his own place on the couch and spends all his time there. Jules has to pick him up and put him in the litter box so he can pee.

Cleopanda. Jules and John found her injured on the street.
She's an emo cat with dark eyeliners but she's gorgeous and I love her name.

Bubu. She's on strike and never enters the house.
Quite a strong-willed one, but adorable.

I'm going home now, I used to say.
This building, which is the school dorm, used to be my home.
It was a place full of teenage drama. Our world used to revolve around this place.

I wonder how much time it took the artist to paint this.
I've never painted outside my comfort zone, and I admire this artist.

And this is what I was in New Zealand for.
She was a beautiful bride. The weather was happy for them, too.
It was a small wedding that felt big.
Congratulations, Ashley and Graeme.

Wood fire at Charles' house. Charles can be a fulltime fire starter.

Charles' cat was showing off her flexibility in the centre of the living room.
I fell in love with her instantly.

Oh, the ambiance.
Charles plays the guitar. He used to teach me how to play it on Skype: long distance education. His baby fingers move in the most fascinating way when he plays.

Mr Kelso and Ms Vazquez's most active baby, Finn.
The dictionary definition of warm is: having, showing, or expressive of enthusiasm, affection, or kindness.
Mr Kelso and Ms Vazquez were boiling.

A trace of tractor at Dolly's farm.
I loved the squelch of the mud under my shoes. It felt like the ground was alive.

There was life in Dolly's roof gutter.
I believe that anything can start owning a life where Dolly lives. She's got that power.

Who knew cows and a rainbow go together so well?

I wanted to touch and play with the cows but there was a thin barrier I could not break.
It's incredible that something this fragile-looking can make the cows feel so safe.

My two favorite people in my favorite setting. A perfect combination.

I owe Charles my life for letting me have this experience.

I don't like airports.
Goodbyes get harder and harder every time.



I think New Zealand has cast a spell on me,
and being back in reality makes it very difficult for me to breathe.

[I'm not putting up too many photos; there're more on Facebook]

give me more words

Have you ever thought about the moment of your death?
Like how you die, where you die and who you're with?
Because I have; lots of times.
I'm not suicidal. Death does not have to be a morbid topic.

Whenever I think of my moment of death, I think-
no, I can't die now, because I haven't opened Jaelato yet
or because I haven't owned a pretty house yet
or because I haven't given birth yet (I am terrified of the pain mothers tell me about, but I am also curious about the actual level of pain because a lot of these mothers did it again)
or because I haven't got a driver's licence yet
or something like that.

But this trip to New Zealand made me think-
I could die now, and I won't be sorry.
And again, I'm not suicidal.

I'm sure there are many more beautiful ways to describe a memorable trip,
but I just can't find them. Those beautiful words are not beautiful enough.

I took over a thousand photos during the seven days.
And I went through every single one of them just now, looking for pictures to blog about.
There's a well-known saying that a picture can paint a thousand words.
Bullshit.
It doesn't paint a word. The pictures are silent.

I can paint a million emotions just by imagining what I've done in New Zealand.
I don't need photos, and even if I upload photos it won't paint any words for you because you were not there.
And there is a big difference between being there and not being there.

And this makes today's blog a very selfish one.
You will feel like you just spent your precious time reading a vague blog entry, without any photos for entertainment.

So I will post some photos in my next entry, but the explanations may be brief.
I wish there was a word for every emotion that exists.
Then I'll find it a lot easier to write about my trip.

tomorrow

i will blog!

AHHH

there is no time to blog!!

See you tomorrow,

New Zealand!