“you were always changing into something else
and always will be
always plumage, perfection’s broken heart, wings
and wide eyes in which everything you do
repeats yourself simultaneously and simply
as a window ‘gives’ on something
it seems sometimes as if you were only breathing
and everything happened around you
because when you disappeared in the wings nothing was there
but the motion of some extraordinary happening I hadn’t understood
the superb arc of a question, of a decision about death…”
– from Frank O’Hara’s Ode to Tanaquil Le Clercq
“I am an excitable person who only understands life lyrically, musically, in whom feelings are much stronger as reason. I am so thirsty for the marvelous that only the marvelous has power over me. Anything I can not transform into something marvelous, I let go. Reality doesn’t impress me. I only believe in intoxication, in ecstasy, and when ordinary life shackles me, I escape, one way or another. No more walls.” —Anais Nin
Dear Beansprouts, I found this photograph…from a long time ago. Do you remember where we were all heading to?
There was a certain dizzy lightness each time we headed out to the streets for the night. We would leave our law books behind, be wrapped up in scarves and late night jazz songs, head out for food options mostly recommended by P, walk on cobbled streets glistening from the afternoon rain…and I would be behind capturing your shadows, your every glance, your every step.
I am the mad, playful photographer who got her proper dslr and lenses too late, but there is always something in the little blurry images of above which bring a little tinge of a smile to me, in the lingering memory.
Just when I thought it would not get any warmer, W would break into sudden impulsive philosophies, P would theorize quickjack and translate jazzbeats into life and conversation, we would be ramen or London’s version of ramen or whatever it was, fish and chips and already you all filled me up with so much happiness. I would flutter off into half sleep but we would be heading for Hagen Daz at 2am and I can never remember the flavours we had but the cozy walks back to IH and the feeling that whatever would come, that would be for the next day, and we were left alone and free in London. I was surrounded by incredible souls who were willing and free to share these moments with me, who could not bear to return to the mundanity of any other sort of living.
If we were in a Victor Hugo novel, you all lived and thrived in the first few chapters where VH admonished the decadence. We were not romantic nor intense but we were happy beatling ripples dancing on the surface of the waters, we were the beings who would carelessly leaving our Fantines to cry.
Why is it that when I am with you, good food always has to be a part of it. Scones and jam is our space between us, Beansprouts. One day we must go on a HOLIDAY again and be alive again. Even if it is just you and me. Even if we spend our fortunes finding the best cognac pasta, fish on the beach before the grecian sea, wagyu a million miles above the ground.
And the day when we escaped in the afternoon during the law moot…and we went for Italian together… (was it?) and we had pasta and I had bites of your tiramisu (which is your happy dessert) and you were sharing with me stories from your childhood. Best friend moments.
You were so happy when you were with me, and upon our release searching for food, you turned back and I caught you in this shot…
How you have humoured me all these years.
And the day you got funky hair! We all miss you with funky hair…
A song I know instinctively that we will both love. That reminds me of you, somehow.
Co-written by Frank Sinatra for Ava Gardner. She was the love of his life.
You are the muse of my life.
On another sidenote…
Sorry for not returning to Skype today, Beansprouts. The Patriach entered the room and started using The Screen, and thus I was blocked from using The Screen and the Talking Box for several hours, and in the end I gave out and went out for ice cream and dinner with JRV, and got a cute red polka dot dress. I know, how irrelevant in the middle of my finance exams, but what better way to get through portfolio management and all manners of corporate finance formulas, with a red polka dot dress.
I also found out from JRV that his best friend’s dad reads my blog. Oh, and that his best friend’s mother reads my blog too. 0.0
I’m sorry lest I am not parent-friendly, most of the time, ha ha!
I am in love with Karl Lagerfeld’s short film, Remember Now, a sort of frieze on bright young things in Tropez. It is a scattered masterpiece of sorts, and I’m in love with that dark mysterious girl who latches herself onto the old French gentleman…
Another of those entries, that lapses into a letter to you, Beansprouts! Sigh.