TO SHIVER FROM THE COLD
and to melt from the cold again.


January 7, 2012 - It wasn’t my wedding but I hoped badly that it was. This thought gripped me (startled me) because I was never the one to think of marriage, no, not this early. On most days, I don’t even believe in it. But I’ve heard people talk of love as if it were electricity and that each body within proximity was a conductor. That day, I felt my body give in to a gravity I’ve never felt before. When the bride and groom looked at each other, my bones sighed. When they kissed, my bones disappeared— and they were right— we became energy and we drove the room electric.
(More here.)
328/ January 2, 2012 - The startling In bed, the blanket a tangle representing my life. Troubled, we hold hands but only lightly, ready to let go.“Do you think I’m sad because I read too many books?”“No. I think you’re sad because you like being sad.”And in that moment, he knew me better than myself. High-res

328/ January 2, 2012 - The startling

In bed, the blanket a tangle representing my life. Troubled, we hold hands but only lightly, ready to let go.

“Do you think I’m sad because I read too many books?”
“No. I think you’re sad because you like being sad.”

And in that moment, he knew me better than myself.

[excerpt]

But of all the things I have to let go of, I must first let go of myself. There is a prayer in my body that sings of triumph; the strength of my limbs are ready to climb the troubled terrain of hearts, mine and yours. It is time, it’s about time, it will be time for death to die. My escape will be thunderous, hope will grow hands to clap for me, and I will run with wind rattling like chains not of last breaths, instead, first gasps. (327/365)

I went home with a notebook heavy with scribbles. I don’t recognize my handwriting sometimes, the same way I look back at these pictures and wonder about the moment the picture was taken, why, by whom. Much of storytelling starts with the recognition of a sequence. What comes first, why this should be last— exercises in selective memory and the risks, the resilience of a young life. High-res

I went home with a notebook heavy with scribbles. I don’t recognize my handwriting sometimes, the same way I look back at these pictures and wonder about the moment the picture was taken, why, by whom. Much of storytelling starts with the recognition of a sequence. What comes first, why this should be last— exercises in selective memory and the risks, the resilience of a young life.

LiveJournal’s not being friendly so I’m posting photos here. Something about Tumblr feels lacking, but ah, may these pictures make up for that seeming lack. This is the house we stayed at. Here, we rebuilt friendships, tested patience, stretched tensions and laughed and laughed and laughed like life meant nothing, like life meant exactly everything.

Paul Highness x Pilar Pedrosa Pilar: Paul and I have been online friends (or real life acquaintances) for a long time now, which makes me thankful for that weekend in Baguio where we broke the ice of Internet anonymity. We were huddled across a fireplace, unlit, and yet I felt the warmth of finally finding something familiar, that of making a friend. We talked about blogging, its ups, lows and downright silliness at times, and we realized we had more in common than our online profiles ever showed. I hope to run into Paul again soon, and I’m happy I’ll be saying more than just a shy “hi” this time. 

Paul Highness x Pilar Pedrosa Pilar: Paul and I have been online friends (or real life acquaintances) for a long time now, which makes me thankful for that weekend in Baguio where we broke the ice of Internet anonymity. We were huddled across a fireplace, unlit, and yet I felt the warmth of finally finding something familiar, that of making a friend. We talked about blogging, its ups, lows and downright silliness at times, and we realized we had more in common than our online profiles ever showed. I hope to run into Paul again soon, and I’m happy I’ll be saying more than just a shy “hi” this time. 

I’m back from Baguio, but my body refuses to believe that I am here. I have a tremendous amount to tell and show you with hopes of making you feel what I felt while I was there. Stay tuned. Love, your fireplace princess. High-res

I’m back from Baguio, but my body refuses to believe that I am here. I have a tremendous amount to tell and show you with hopes of making you feel what I felt while I was there. Stay tuned. Love, your fireplace princess.