Butterflies can’t see their wings. They can’t see how truly beautiful they are, but everyone else can. People are like that as well.
Jane, your name maybe shared by a million but you appear unique to me—as a person, a friend, a writer and as an inspiration. I can formulate the fanciest compliments in a whim but I guess they’ll pale, feeble and bland even in describing how wonderful of a person you are. I guess, this is one of the few times where conventional adjectives, and figurative languages, juxtaposition, and idiomatic expressions won’t do any justice. Anyhow, so I’ll picture your prose in a paradox— subtle yet powerful. And you know, subtlety is a rarity these days. With writing meant to connect to the receiver as explicit and clear as possible, dubbed as gems are the ones who can do it. And another thing, there are many writers here and they’re really talented but most of them (I’m no exception), have reservations. I read you because you seemed carefree; I need not delve no more, what I read is what I get. Ahh, this is what I get from following your ‘Dear Future Husband’ blog. Now I’m starting to regret it. Truly, continue creating, there’s no one here who can write with the same beauty as you do, as if in a trance I find myself drawn to it. It’s mesmerizing, and promising and riveting. Anyhow, I can continue writing like a madman here, but the length would just be fancy elaborations of how dear you are to me. I guess I have to stop. Hope to see your book/s soon in bookstore shelves. And I was right all along, it’s a good choice to place you in the 16th. It’s my favourite number, birthdate and I’m saving the best for last.
There’s really something special about the way I can cyber-bully you with all the subtlety I mustered over the years. I don’t know what to make out of it, if that’s something to be happy about or it’s a manifestation that my age has gotten into me. And the things I deemed humorous is something plain to you, and to everyone your age for that matter. But I guess I hate it, I hate that no matter how sarcastic I try to be you still think of it as something sweet. Let me put it this way, I try to be as careful as possible with friends, people in entirety. I have to have this imaginary fortress so people can’t inflict damage in me the way they used to. “People come and go” that’s one of the saddest truism of life, and this particular truism makes people appear black and white to me. But I’m just a human person, and I become attached, and I take risks because I need some growing up, too. So some people become an exception, and you’re one of the exceptions. And with you being weird— your way of embracing sarcasm as compliment and all that, you appear colorful to me, vibrant even. Thank you for the friendship, thanks because you returned as abrupt as you left. Everyone loves you because you’re good-natured, and the innate sweetness and the light-feel radiated by your aura even if you look sad in photographs. And speaking of sad, Third Eye Blind’s song is playing in my head and I hope you can sing with me, “This is the story of a girl, who cries a river and drowned the whole world. While she looks so sad in photographs, I absolutely love her, when she smiles.
Lira, you know Paulo Coelho right? I mean he’s okay. So to speak his book Veronika Decides to Die has been my favourite book of all time until J.D. Salinger’s Catcher in the Rye stole my heart away just last month and the book probably threw away the key. But I’ll always be a fan, VDTD will always occupy a special space in my heart and a big chunk of my subconscious. The statement “Those who don’t fit in social norms aren’t the ones crazy, the ones who conform with the stupid standards of the world are.” is forever be my guiding light, it’s where my values are rooted and my so called principle formation. But the hipster in me is a traitor so Coelho, Mandino, Albom, maybe Murukami and other mainstream writers cannot suffice for my pseudo intellectual, philosophical craving and written cliché of read-and-question-your-very-existence. And you’re one of the few here (others being Nicole, Asilentfirecraker and Unamed, Eatsleepmorsleep) who constantly satisfy my daily dosage of wisdom. Every other blah blahs and innuendos here are preparatory. It’s not an easy job but you’re pleasing me in such effortless manner. I believe your intelligence is something innate, something that complements to the innate non-conformist in me. You really are an amazing writer and I won’t stop recommending you until your works are read by a wider audience, because you deserve no less than that.
Mad portrait skills plus fairly intricate writing style plus killer boots and eyebrows plus Ben Gibbard girl alter equals Banawe. Sweet juices, that’s too much I shouldn’t say another word. You know my good friend, I have this certain belief, albeit lacking universality, that I conjured growing up: Good photographers are good writers. People like Jim Paredes (Jimparedes), Regina Belmonte (Vivatregina), Hannah Reyes (TheYellowadventures) Kitty Gallannaugh (Heartfuldream) and Glenn Galendez (Pseudoperfection). Haha, what a feeble attempt to be funny. Nice effort, nice. I guess science can explain it, the more you worship aesthetics the more you gain a deeper understanding of things. And I guess it’s one of the many things photography and writing share in common. I know that you know why I’m saying this. Yes, you’re right, you are one of them. But I guess it’s not something new to your ears. So accept my sincerest apologies. I’ll always be one of the many who constantly claps in the background, and whatever brought you in the limelight, be it written or photographed, you deserve every inch of it. Cheers to the original gangster, cheers to you Nawe. I’ll see you tomorrow right?
I’m the most terrific liar when I said I’ll have a break on Tumblr, it’s likely of you to think that way. But you know, there’s this thing about me – being impulsive— it’s menacing and I’m trying to throw it out my system. I thought I can do this and that, and I just go on and shout to the world that I’ll, problem is that same impulse betrays me. I guess the only consistent thing about me is inconsistency. So I checked my blog, and post once every three of four days because I don’t want my page dead. And there are really people that are irresistible, ones I’m used to talking to, and it just happens you’re one of them. Man, why am I talking about myself when it’s supposed to be you. Anyway, “I love your photos” I said it a million times but it doesn’t make it any less true. I like their colours, how you contrast them with hazy feel—it’s cool. Even the monochrome ones, the absence of hues can’t stop me from clicking that heart in the upper right part. And, maybe I should be grateful that you seldom write, because everytime you do, you blow me. Like you did when you account that tragic part of your past. I hope we can do another collaboration, but this time please, don’t overwhelm me with ‘choice modalities’, ‘eclipsing’, ‘remorse’ and ‘rose buds’ you juxtaposed with the human heart. I died, when you did that. I mean, who wouldn’t?
I really can’t imagine what kind of a ‘writer’ I am had fate didn’t give me a chance to know you. Maybe I still have this juvenile rapture— constantly talking but never connecting, feigning to be in the brighter shade of rut. How do I sublime it, it’s still rut. Where I am now, talking about my place in this writing community, I owe it all to you Sarah. I’m truly grateful you gave me a chance, featuring one of my writings in your blog and somehow welcoming me to that virtual confine where heart is the paramount inspiration to write. Where the soul is embedded with every haiku, poems, short stories and random rants. That soul that in mainstream writing, likely traded to what pleases and what sells. Thank you because that piece bridges my world to people like David, Cindy, Courtney, Amae, Melissa, Diane and others. And I can’t think of Tumblr without them in it. Books helped, my environment helped but for the most part it’s been this wonderful blogging world that allowed my growth as a writer. Regardless if I have what it takes to be considered one or not, it changed the way zero my demons, it changed the way I express them and the best perspective and tone to write complicated things that usually trouble the mind understandable in human language. Wherever you are right now, hope all is well. Thank you, thank you.
Konnichiwa, Naoko’s happy alter. It’s really the first thing that comes in mind when I think of you these days. It’s kind cool though, who would’ve thought that it only needed some tweaking and stuff- a little make up, natural lighting glinting your killer long straight hair, a pseudo photoshoot of sorts, the perfect angle and Paula’s (Threecheersforfiveyears) photography skills to capture a whole new you. You do look Japanesey there, really. Oh, by the way, my friend Watanabe aka Alex is anticipating to meet you, and I can’t really blame him you know. The way I can’t disagree with my cousin, you have this contagious smile, that cliché kind—which turns a bleak mood into a bright one, one conveying this angels-singing-in-the-background feel, one that makes anyone throw his worries away. But more to the seemingly perfect facade is someone genuine, sweet and witty. Kash, I hope you realize, you know, that you already shot the moon with you being beautiful (see, not pretty or less) and how it’s mirrored in your blog. I got things to thank Murukami’s Norwegian Wood for, after all. And yes, you can refuse to take flight ‘Naoko’, you will always be (my) the Little Bird.
Hello, Amae? I hope the sun is taking care of you and Sebastian is doing an excellent job pestering you, or eating your food so boredom won’t have the chance to mess up with your consciousness. Zarah and her friend told me they really love the way you write, particularly because you remind them of John Green. I don’t know how to react about it, basically because I haven’t had the chance to read Green’s books, but what I do know is you have what it takes to write bestsellers. I mean it, truly. You have this way of weaving your words that makes one anticipate for the next sentence. I find myself holding my breath because it’s exhilarating and fascinating and well-captured and beautiful and that style is uniquely yours. The absence of commas, vivid imagery and wordplay like spring water that penetrates even the hardest rocks— I mean it’s not close, but it is what it’s like it seems. You’re one of favourite writers here, and the extra u in colours, favourites etc (British English?) is one of the many things I learned from you. I’ll always be a fan and nothing can change that—no amount of heartbreaks, intimidation and past’s pallid iridescence— you will always be my Ekoh.
Hello, new found glory. I couldn’t agree any less when you said that it’s not only freckles that bind you and Zarah, it’s also your writing skills. Liz, how I wished I write even a quarter as good as you do when I was at your age. I’m probably an official madman now, but I still want it anyhow. I supposed to do you a separate recommendation but since I’m writing this, might as well include you here. You belong here, so to speak. If there’s one thing I love about summer, it’s because you’re writing tenfold more than you usually do, and it’s crazy. What used to be momentary glimpses turned writing in full swing flaunting a bright mind. It’s like engine in static going full throttle. Many have the ability to reflect on things that usually disturb the human mind, but a few has the ability to write them. That number can be filtered for fewer can express them vivid fashion. I hope I can muster the best word to describe how unique your writing style is, the way you animate your ideas through powerful imagery. What can I do, language is finite, or so it seems for me.
David, remember when I asked ‘What Did Life Make you See?” when you wrote that ‘Letter to My Future Daughter’? It’s one of the best pieces I’ve read in Tumblr. And I know I don’t monopolize the feeling (for the ones who read) and won’t if people read it. I tried copying your style right there and then, but I gave up halfway, because I stink at it, big time I admit. What I subconsciously imitated though, is your honesty and heart in writing, regardless if it’s written for future people or some fictional characters. I know, I’m not even close but I’m grateful for that lesson. And man, you have the best life, being a nomad and all that. This is sensed worlds, time zones apart, but I know you’re a good teacher, and I’m captivated by just a mere thought of the scientists, lawyers and philosophers etc. that you’ll produce. Poland will be mightier than she already is, because you altered something there. And yikes, settle soon, I’m excited to do your prenup shoot— will it still be a red-haired bride? I might steal her from you.
The way you zero the monsters that lurk in your head through writing is as intricate as the patterns of freckles painted on your cheeks. But hey, the way they put accent on your face is as beautiful as how your prose colours this dashboard. While I was struggling with my subject verb agreement and sentence construction at what 16? (and spelling at 26), you are polishing your figurative languages and idiomatic expressions. And while others at your age are writing about their first love you are fantasizing about your fictional alters and that so called parallel universe. Sweet heavens, parallel universe, that killed me. It’s the biggest two words I came across in my entire existence. The possibility of it, it’s comforting in a way yet it’s daunting, too. Dear Zarah, you don’t know how much I’m learning those vague yet intriguing concepts from you. Don’t stop writing (though it’s unlikely because writers will keep on writing until the faintest shade of sanity, sometimes even madness can’t overshadow it). I know how much you adore John Green, maybe you were him in that ‘parallel universe’. A recommendation in this odd letter-form is the least I can do to tell everyone how amazing of a writer you are. Not the phony kind of ‘amazing’, you know. That, amazing kind that even your prince charming with his dorky smile and graphic shirt or your Ryan Gosling cannot resist.
Truth be told, I was drawn into you because your name is the same with a music channel. After some conversations, I realized how lucky I am because we stumbled worlds, it’s the same happiness I get dragging myself in front of tube, watch the daily countdown, and catch a favourite music video for three or five days in a row. It’s the same amount of excitement that erases morning yawns and lazy days. Myx, I wish your schedule permits you to write more, I believe people will adore you for your writing finesse and the seemingly effortless wordplay you can verse in your prose. I, myself is anticipating for it. I don’t know if I told you this; I know quite a lot of friends venturing film photography. They can make decent shot, and I particularly die for those grainy ones, with light leaks in them but yours are premium. They’re beautiful, and I know it’s not easy with film cameras and all had my own ‘taking pictures’ skills betrayed me. Oh, teach me scanography, by the way, pretty please.
Hello stranger. I don’t know how to endear you on first name basis, I don’t even know if it’s a good idea writing about you. Good thing though, your URL is something cake to remember. You seemed so melancholic, but it’s an exhilarating kind of melancholy (see Fanny Brawne at F22, 30”)—and I find it interesting. Boy, I hope it doesn’t sound creepy. I don’t really know you that much, but I believe you’re one of the lucky ones. I guess people won’t have secondthoughts trading places with you. You know, possibility of studying architecture, the idyllic landscape, leafless trees perched with snow, the kind of shade your sun casts, the deserted train or was it bus on early morning commute, the dried leaves blanketing the paved alleys and your eye and skill to capture them in such a nostalgic feel. Dang, I’d kill for it. I’ve been hitting the backspace more than I should, because I’m fazed I might say the wrong things. I saw this candid picture of you facing your laptop I guess, sitting crossed leg like a monk and your head is like twisted for 180 degrees with your coy smile, amiable expression and your white hair—ugh, it’s perfection unfolding in the scene. Boy please, I guess it does really sound creepy.