Wednesday, September 23, 2009

Hairy Business

"Attired to please herself: no gems of any kind

She wore, nor aught of borrowed gloss in Nature's stead;
And, then her long, loose hair flung round her head
Fell carelessly behind"

Bed hair is Kristen Stewart.
Why can't I roll out of bed and look like that?

Dear Santa,
I want Kristen's bed hair for Christmas.
I need to cut down the routine 2o minutes "hair-time".
Pretty please with a big fat cherry on top.

Love, Jess.


Monday, September 21, 2009

Reel @ Real

Robsten aka Edwarella

Rob and Kris holding hands...not! The wonders of Photoshop manipulation ya'll:)
Can somebody teach me how to do that?
I would love to manipulate my own pictures:P
Pic Credits to Ellashy

Saturday, September 19, 2009

A Peck Of Gold

'Relief' class. Form 4.
Bunch of live wires.
Time's up. Making a move to leave when..


~shy smile
"thank you"

Oh, the small things that can move you.
It's like discovering a peck of gold on a black canvas.
A pleasant surprise.

Friday, September 18, 2009

Jess is artsy after all (Part 2)

I Wandered Lonely As A Cloud by William Wordsworth
I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced, but they
Out-did the sparkling leaves in glee;
A poet could not be but gay,
In such a jocund company!
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

p/s gotta get out more. enjoy the view. be one with nature.

Thursday, September 17, 2009

Jess is artsy after all.

Let's face it, poetry to me, used to be a collection of gibberish that requires deep thinking to get to the real meaning (s).
I swear I could never get poetry. I remember reading a few in high school.
If, The Road Not Taken, Monsoon History, Si Tenggang Homecoming and Death In The Opposite House.
I understand them. Oh, the wonders of BUKU RUJUKAN.
But I never cared for them. Poetry is like a bad smell that I knew I had to endure.

Poetry, fortunately is not boring. It's intriguing. Alphabets sewn together to make lines of words.
Lines that are traitorous because they never conform to your understanding. At least to me.
That's why poetry and I don't mix. We will never be on the same page.

And then I changed. Five years of doing literature can do that to you. (pun intended:D)
I stopped worrying about whether my understanding of poems matched with other people.
I realized that I am not like other people. I do not feel like them. I do not think like them. I should dance to my own beat. I have been afraid to break away, scared that my own interpretation is gonna sound silly to the ears of artsy fartsy people.

Oh how wrong I have been.
Poetry is many things to different people.
The beauty of it is..
when it evokes some sort feeling in your heart (or stomach),
when it resembles the story of your life narrated in 10 compact sentences
and especially,
when it gets you through the day like a mojo that unlocks one of the many mysteries of life.

I decided that I do get poetry.
I even like some of them.
I am entitled NOT to like some of them.
I may understand them differently than other people.
But that does not make them right and me, wrong.
Because I am me. Other people will never be a second me.

Yes, just like my dear, dear books,
Poetry let me be me.

Here's a recent favorite:
He Wishes For The Cloths Of Heaven by William Butler Yeats
Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

Wednesday, September 9, 2009

More Than A Beautiful Mess

If a doctor, lawyer, or dentist had 40 people in his office at one time, all of whom had different needs, and some of whom didn't want to be there and were causing trouble, and the doctor, lawyer, or dentist, without assistance, had to treat them all with professional excellence for nine months, then he might have some conception of the classroom teacher's job.
~Donald D. Quinn

Dear Teaching,
Been telling everyone i'm gonna be a teacher someday
yes, yes, since I was 7.
Here I am, finally living the dream
A far cry from my ridiculous ideal.
All these times, it was just silly crush,
And you, being unpredictable and stubborn and rude, are slowly killing me
But I think I can love you.
Heck, I'm halfway there already.
This thing, between you and I,
is only going to get better.