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this word has been on my mind a lot lately; the blaring image of teetering on the verge of something.

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everyday life studies; a poetic thing that's not a poem

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everyday life studies; a poetic thing that's not a poem

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the morning after too many things were said at 2 am. i found poetry in waking up and gathering stray dishes on my bathroom counter; there was something oddly striking in the motion of fishing oversaturated tea bags out of empty mugs. making two trips because i do not trust myself to not wreak havoc through the act of simultaneously taking on too much ceramic between two hands. empty tea cups, under the stark judgement of 9 am sunlight, carrying the weight of a 101 confessions -- vulnerability masked with a hint of organic honey.

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everyday life studies; a favourite image

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everyday life studies; a favourite image

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from Frank O'Hara's Avenue A;
We hardly ever see the moon any more
so no wonder
it's so beautiful when we look up suddenly
and there is is gliding broken-faced over the bridges
brilliantly coursing, soft, and a cool wind fans
your hair over your forehead and your memories

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i have selected this crumpled ticket to the art gallery to represent all of the ticket stubs, flower petals, receipts, sticky notes and flyers i have taped against dotted pages. i could perhaps be considered a hoarder, but i think it is more favourable to call myself sentimental. i tend to save things from a moment in which i think to myself, "this is going to make me smile in 3 months,". it is mesmerizing how a ticket stub can take me back to a long drive, bass reverberating in my chest -- how a dead flower petal can bring back the strain of resisting a smile for too long.

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And I said, "Hey, looks like rain" Then you lifted your hands and prayed

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And I said, "Hey, looks like rain" Then you lifted your hands and prayed

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plants (bonus that it is a coffee plant), stationery, poetry, notebooks.

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why making oddly specific and highly curated playlists brings me peace.

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why making oddly specific and highly curated playlists brings me peace.

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behind every song lyric is a bump in the road back at home, a late night with friends.

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green calcite -- balance, release, healing
amethyst -- cleansing, protection, healing

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sand beneath my fingertips
seashells rattling in my pocket
"come on, he needs a nose,"

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everyday life studies; word combinations

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everyday life studies; word combinations

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1. cilantro city lights
2. frostbitten champagne
3. corduroy rain
4. sea salt resonance
5. gentle ginseng
6. lavender flounce
7. birdsong laughter
8. honey whisper
9. preservation espresso
10. cactus calamity

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everyday life studies; personal universe

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everyday life studies; personal universe

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this photo is underexposed, and the saturation is admittedly very lacking. i would typically just hide the photo away in my camera roll, never to be seen, but upon closer inspection, i noticed the way all the silhouettes were couples, perfectly lining the shore.

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white chocolate macadamia nut cookies remind me of subway, and hot lunches in elementary school. white chocolate macadamia nuts remind me of craving what I cannot have (because the default cookies given in elementary school were the rainbow M&M cookies). i find it funny that the most mundane objects can connect us to so many different thought processes. amongst contemplations of childhood, white chocolate macadamia nut cookies now remind me of you. you asked me if I liked them in the middle of a busy grocery store on a sunday, the most average of days. the cusp of everything else to come. i told you they were my favourite and voila, there was another addition to the constantly growing list of items we could talk about, that would make your hazel brown eyes light up. because mundane things, of which two separate beings share a similar fondness, creates a sense of connection and i am very grateful for anything that ties me to you.

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i like having something to remember everyone by; a reminder to myself of each story i've had the pleasure of hearing, every path that has become intertwined with mine in one way or another.

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i first noticed this little flower while walking with friends, i remember the words "contrast" and "resilience" immediately came to mind. i did not initially take a photo, as i did not want to hold everyone back, but i took a mental image and carried on through the night. i walked passed it by myself two weeks later and was immensely surprised to find the flower still standing. surprised, pleased. i then decided the flower certainly deserved a feature.

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we were reading an article for a psychology course when i read the word "cognitive" and i had to stop for a moment to appreciate the way it rolled off my tongue. the way the word felt upon leaving my lips. some words simply take your breath away upon saying them, and i found myself frustrated at the idea that i'd felt this rush of excitement about language so many times, only to complete disregard the word. thus, you will now find this torn-out journal page adorning concrete walls of braeburn 268.

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I stumbled upon this on my first walk alone from residence, to the grocery store (maps open on hand). It was briefly after our CRWR synchronous session, in which we discussed embedding meaning into moments others may pass up on. I thought of the photo shared in class, of pills scattered across the pavement as I backtracked and took this photo. I had originally walked right passed it, before turning around and watching two others do the same, and finally going back to observe the crumbled, damp purple circle outside of the hospital. an angel right below the round toe of my blundstone boots.

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With love, from Bean Around the World Cafe.

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1. walking to the post office, iced coffee in hand, shivering against the windchill. i looked around, felt raindrops gracing my skin, heard the buses roaring by and suddenly was hyper-aware of the fact that I was alive, and in this moment, in vancouver, 1091 kilometres from home.
2. the softness and familiarity of my magenta Leuchtturm 1917-- i've been writing in them for years, yet after a long day (or week, or sometimes even month of immense writing blockage) i get the same rush from the consistency, which is usually something that scares me due to the idea of monontony.
3.writing on a post card from vancouver art gallery in bean around the world cafe, excitement bubbling at the thought of adhering a smooth (and very canadian) stamp to the upper right corner. knowing my friend from back home would smile at the discovery of it in her mailbox. there is also a particular satisfaction in writing on the correct material -- the type of surface that you can write on with a 0.38mm muji gel pen, and your hand will not smudge the ink.

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we walk around and select a piece of art that we would hang in our homes one day.
the future scares me, in terms of "big pictures", but i am a curator of small details. i don't know what i will be doing with my life, per-se, or where i will be, but i can see the exposed brick walls, the plants on the window sill that i will inevitably struggle to keep alive. little snippets of the art that will adorn the walls. the fact that i will have a coloured door.