Kintsugi, Kinu

The things that, if you lose, it would feel like you lose yourself.


Hide and Silk

You remembered a cry,
I remembered a smile
Neither knew any name,
and life took its course


Here is place where I could feel calm and comfortable.
Someone else’s overflowing rage, worn as a mask to eclipse my sorrow.

The world is full of people who had to throw themselves away. When others begged me to do so out of love, my world turned crimson and then white.

A graze, a gash, a collocation.


Perfume and Pretend Lovers

Scent is one of the senses most strongly linked to memories. This series was inspired by a scent worn by a dear friend; the mark of time spent, love misconstrued and gentleness spilled on the wrong surface. Perhaps to hold back is not quite a kindness. Perhaps to hold nothing back is not quite an affection.

Crime of Contrition

Of scars, their surface and their disguise

There are tattoos that augment or adorn scars to make them more beautiful. I love the idea behind them. I wonder if something similar could be done to emotional scars as well.

Sometimes I would feel the impulse to reveal a scar, and perhaps chance upon another who could look at it as a natural and not a hideous thing.


Meanings wouldn’t soar forever.
Desires would be shed.
Promises would simply wither or perish.

However, you don’t have to experience every single thing to truly live.

You are alive, here.
You are alive, now.
You, and nothing else.


Direction, Perfection

Nothing’s left. It’s all right.


To keep on living without a sense of identity is very difficult. You desire to exist through the way you interact with the world, your very own blue and orange morality. You have always been trying to find yourself inside other people, but most are reluctant to show the way in. You simply stay in their orbit.

A lot of the time, you wish there is no shame in being vocal about the unorthodox things you truly love. You don’t want to regret the things you love and worked hard for. You wish you don’t have to feel this suffocated for the sake of peace.

But you do need that peace to dream.

Of perfection.


Jean lives a life of constant running, away and into. Jean has a lot of treasure and an equally lot of heart to lose.
Jean is an angel; the only one who could make falling the most beautiful thing.


There has always been a reluctance or restrain to show passion at its purest. Most times, it has to be purposefully trimmed, sometimes with a huge chunk chopped off. Then it grows back one way or another, as long as the root still has something to grow on, crooked or otherwise.


Years ago, I used to promise myself that I would try to be happy again, to be “here” again. I have lost (not quite) a lot of things. Just like many others, here I am, left wondering if those losses have made me incomplete.

Bitter Coffee and Blue Summer

Summer is a season filled with strong scents. For me, it is always redolent of youth. They said adolescence is a blue time. Mine was a vivid indigo blue. The beauty of its shade, I grind and crush into fine particles, add boiling water into, and wait until a strong aroma rise to wake me up.

There is no summer where I live.