I can see your body movin'

You’d think that an overcast day would be like a curse, but today it’s moreso a concession for such a terribly, stuffy week. It’s still warm. Warm enough for my favorite skirt and flip flops. Also, I finally found how to get the grim of the city out of the soles of my feet. Occasionally, I believe that the lines from my flips and the tan lines left therefrom will never leave. It will be a mark that I forever bare.

The song that you hear the most is Shakira’s Hips Don’t Lie (and it makes me sad because La Tortura is more fun to dance to)—everyone tries to undulate their hips in rhythm & tune. The song comes on and you watch everyone go nuts.

It is nice to see break barriers. More like trample them.
I will say the same thing when I start hearing new music here.


Lately, I’ve found myself thinking too much of the future. Just turned twenty-three, which is too young to be thinking of any sort of definite decision. But it’s hard. It’s easier to think of far off lands, and imagining seeing things that were never seen before—and finding things that you never knew existed. Eating something you’d never heard of before. Something there isn’t a word for in your own language, your mother tongue. Connecting the dots to get there is something entirely different.

I think that maybe law would be nice. The whole logic-useage and arguments and nicely-tailored suits. But I don’t want to work for The Man forever just to pay off those student loans.

And I think that medicine would be better because Doctors Without Borders is quite possibly the best non-profit (outside of ours dearly, of course). I think about biology and regret not taking more science in university.

Then, at times, I realise I love dancing too much, and perhaps should put all efforts into becoming a go-go dancer.

In all honesty, we went to the Beckett exhibit at the National Gallery and it made my insides ache, a bit. I picked up a pen the other day and felt so damn good after scratching away at that page. The loops and swirls, commas and semicolons—subtle punctuation and changes that a paragraph or capitalisation can do and mean.

Beckett also had the most apt description of any painting written to his friend to the painting on the left.

Fantastic, as we say in the States.

I will set up a library card (perhaps today) and pick up Waiting for Godot, then I’ll go back to look at the replecation of the tree he made for the original set.

The exhibit also introduced me to Jack B. Yeats--holy shit. I almost want to say, NEVER LOOK AT HIS PAINTINGS ONLINE. NEVER a replecation, because you will never understand the depths and colors used.