The Exile

('O Desterrado', 1872, António Soares dos Reis | Museu Nacional de Soares dos Reis - Rua D. Manuel II, Porto)

It was my birthday last week, and I chose to start it with a big breakfast and a book in bed, and end it at dinner with my parents and sister. As far as emotions go, it was a very loaded day, but the afternoon was surprisingly tame. Peaceful and neutral and quiet, just the way I like it, as I walked around a museum with my camera and looked at things as if I actually wanted to see them. I was taken aback by this statue. I'd seen it in books before and it was the main reason I actually chose this place instead of, who knows, maybe the marionette museum. I stood there staring for way too long. Long enough for someone to come check on me. But I was just so... fascinated.

I know exactly zero about art, for the record. Art movements and eras and artists pass me by. I evaluate painting by the highly scientific standard of 'would I hang it on my wall' and sculpture by the rather more pragmatic question 'how hard coult it possibly be to hammer this out of a freaking stone block', rated on a scale from 'I could do that' to 'ancient aliens'.

Well... I guess we do what we can to appreciate what we don't fully understand. Photos of the paintings shall be posted sometime soon. Right now, I really just wanted to share these little details. I can't stop staring. This one statue, I'm telling you, was worth what I paid for the ticket.

*sigh*
Have a nice weekend?
xx

Passing The Torch

The time has come. I have fully destroyed my favorite pair of boots. I bought them... maybe four years ago. I saw them in a magazine, looked once, looked twice, and told everyone in my family that I had to have them. A few days, two stores and a fight later (we couldn't agree on which size fit better), it was done. These boots weren't only beautiful, they were comfortable, too. I took that as my excuse to abuse them. Looking back, I've replaced the zippers at least twice. I've somehow managed to end up with holes on both soles. I've ripped the lining on both heels - and the leather everywhere else, where the foot bends.

They're simply inanimate objects I wear on my feet, I'm aware, but it's sad to cast them aside. It's like I've invested in them, you know. They're very much mine. I've worn them so many times that they fit just right. Every crease is a tell-tale sign of a repeated motion. Every rip is a testament to my unending courage and optimism - I'll wear them again just this once, I promise, and then I'll get them fixed. Right. Liar.

The good news though, is that it's only taken me a bout a year to find a suitable replacement - the nice and shiny pair of the left. They were about half the price of the original ones, so I won't demand too much - just half the life with half the damage.

I'm wearing them right now, and I swear they feel just like torture devices.
Yup. It's going to be a long couple of years.

xx

365 Days Ago: February '12

Well... it isn't February anymore, but if it was, it'd be February 30th, which still sounds like a somewhat legitimate calendar day, which is all the convincing I need to pretend this small delay never happened. Move along then. Go on. Nothing to see here.



I took this photo on Valentine's Day. I think it was about 2pm and I was set on taking myself out on a date - hence my all-time favorite dress. I can't remember (exactly) what else happened on that day. But I know I had fun.





Birthday loot. Pillows, a bedside water bottle, a fancy pen to keep around my dresser, a butterfly guide, and... yes, that is a framed photo of Kim Jaejoong, yes, it's been on my bookshelf ever since, and yes, it's a long story. It's titled My Sister Is A Troll.






















And the biggest butterfly collection I've ever seen (though to be fair I haven't seen many). Visiting it was an absolutely mindblowing experience. A monastery tucked in the middle of nowhere, a monk guiding me through the collection and wishing me a happy birthday, his complete and utter kindness as he offered to show us the church, the cloisters, the birds he raised (hopefully still raises) as a hobby. Spotting a temporarily caged crow, picking lavender as we walked through the grounds, being offered oranges as a token of gratitude for our visit... it made me think back to everything I know and admire about monastic life. All religion aside, I've been always been rather fascinated by the way rules and discipline, when applied to the body through an external source, can free the mind to focus on the bigger picture. Because self control is a finite resource, you see. So maybe if I didn't have to resort to mine to get up every morning and spend the next sixteen-to-eighteen hours hitting all the required checkpoints of modern life, I'd be able to devote the most significant part of my attention to, I don't know, actually improving myself.

xx