artern

[artern]

a thread for a new creative pursuit.

a little foreshadowing:

hugely inspired by ‘the starless sea’ - erin morgenstern, particularly the story of fate and time being lovers.

i think about the stagnancy of life and the ebbs and flows. i think about the time someone said to their best friend: i’ve read loads of stories, but i’m curious to find out what ours will be like.

i think about a re-imagining, the blend of fairytales, myths and legends. i think about the way the gentleness of the mundane can seep into the rush of the present, ever so fleeting.

this is a thread for a new creative pursuit.

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i could get used to this.

i think about the way you smiled at me as i walked down the sidewalk. it felt like a bookmark tucked on a page, calling it an interval.

i think about the way you waved at me, just in time as i looked up.

i think about the way i left that room after saying goodbye to you, thinking “i could get used to this.”

maybe i can. maybe i will.

but honey, i don’t make promises i can’t keep.

[artern]

a love letter to the pairing

dear ‘the pairing’,

you’re the story i’d thread my fingers through, as you’re sitting comfortably on my lap. the story i’d grin from ear to ear, lay my head on your shoulder. feel the thrum of passion for life, for taking up space and art in my whole being.

you’re the divine intervention in this recharging season.

you’re the story that has enveloped a new galaxy in my vast cosmos.

and as rilke wrote, “how will i keep my soul from touching yours?”

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so close, yet so faraway.

it feels like a reflex to sit back and be a backstory.

to feel so close yet so faraway.

to wander around the mysteries of the unknown only to stop and look around.

sometimes looking around can feel like trouble.

to go back to old patterns. to feel like a backstory.

to feel like the gap wouldn’t ever be bridged, but we’re working on it.

and honestly, sometimes we gotta take a few steps back to propel forward. to take the leap of faith.

so if this is my leap, i know there are open arms to catch me. to pull me up and pull me close. if this is my leap, i know we’ve got each other.

and my love, if you’re already feeling it, i’d say we’re taking the leap. i’m ready when you are.

[artern]

an energy reset.

an energy reset.

where i cleanse the things that no longer serve me so i make space for the new era i’m beginning to embark on.

where’s there’s nervousness but also excitement in the inquisitiveness of the human experience. where the zest of life is more than just squeezing a lemon, but actually savoring the sour just like i’d savor the experience.

oh, I am so glad to be here.

[artern]

a love letter to heartstopper

dear heartstopper,

you’re the story i come back to for three seasons. the story that holds my inner child close to home. the story that feels like a soft spot, the book i’d want to re-read even as the leaves change color, even when the branches have no leaves, and when new fruits blossom in the flowers.

together, we stroll on a journey of healing, recharging and an expansiveness of our individual cosmos.

till next time,

love,

me.

[artern]

a love letter to anne with an ‘e’

dear anne with an ‘e’,

you’re the story i’m so grateful i crashed my heart and soul into. the story that cradles my aura, reassuring me that it’s okay to have so much love to offer. so much curiosity to be around with. and also a temper that sizzles just as it burns.

you’re the story i tuck under my pillow, an honest and sincere tale of a chosen family, friendship with fulfilled promises, and a love that transcends over letters, hopes and ambitions.

you’re the story. I have paused and sauntered around the weeks as if the seasons were changing, finding beauty in the people that I love and in myself.

thank you for holding my heart, as each season unfolded with hope, joy, sorrows and prayers. with glorious words, and anecdotes. with gilbert, diana, and cole. with aunt jo, marilla and matthew. with bash and mary.

here’s to the stories that make our cells dance.

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a soft spot for my artworks.

it’s safe to say when i looked at the metal pieces i made last year, now. it felt like there’s always something to look forward to.

the light dancing, shadows creasing like folds, the shine glistening under the ceiling light.

in the mundane routine, this would feel like washing your face after a wholesome nap. the sun-kiss when it streams through your window. listening to a song you’ve loved at one point but then coming back to it after a couple of seasons.

combining all of this, it’s as if i never got over the pieces i left behind.

I have a soft spot for them.

no matter how old i grow, or the adventures i’ve been on.

[artern]

the things I think of when I'm in tears

a sketch, or an animation. you decide which medium you see this on (ft. your imagination).

the warmth of amma’s hug; the familial kiss on the cheek; the positive loudness when we’re having coffee together; our mother tongue feels more homely when we’re far away; an emergency dance party; the to-do list sparkling ideas only to bounce off them.

these are the things I think about when I’m in tears.

how many artistic ideas do I have, and do I not do anything about them sometimes?

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a level-up (trampoline ver.)

the touch of a cycle, only for it to collapse so it can rebuild. no wonder it’s a surprise when things we have loved before, are gradually transforming into either depth or distance.

a new beginning of sorts. or maybe a level-up.

even if it means to sort out our secrets and treasures before sailing them down the sea.

even if it means to close the back door and have the front door open because our plans are in the horizon.

even if it means to embrace the closet in our minds and rearrange them, or declutter them.

if this journey is a trampoline, we’ll bounce on it. we’re going up!

[artern]

a story i keep in my bodice

the thing about re-watching or re-reading mediums is that i feel like an auntie. a curious one and enthused one, who might be sewing or baking whilst indulging you on a tale. the marveling experiences i’d travel back in time for, solely to feel things twice.

not to change anything.

this is the story i keep in my bodice. or rather stories of mediums i’d re-watch or re-read as the seasons move with the cycle of life. characters i’d visit once in a blue moon.

so much so that the moral of this story is: that the older I grow, the more I feel like a beginner. past all behind me, and the future a mystery.

[artern]

a letter of gratitude

dear reader, it never fails to amaze me how the small things y’all do, they feel like warm reassurance. a like, a follow, or even a reblog. thank you for rooting for me, I hope y'all are enjoying your stay so far 🤞🏼 sending all gratitude, love and I am rooting for y’all! :D take care of yourself, and I’ll write to you when I do next.

ps: you're more than welcome to share your stories with me. we've got each other's backs. and any and all constructive feedback is also welcome :)

[artern]

a nomad of ideas

to absorb ideas like a sponge, wanting to dip them in a myriad of inks. however, each idea comes to a halt when another inspiration flows through. moonwalking back, only to trace the ideas all over again.

so surface level, in a passion that wants depth.

maybe this is why they say to choose something specific, so the pathway is clear and steady. a line of direction in sight.

don’t have one (yet), and it sounds like we’re wandering aimlessly. have two or three, and it’s like we’re switching when it gets hard.

eras of life, being a traveler, and a nomad of ideas. these are all for weaving a tapestry that’s to be continued.

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late night jazz

we do what we can \ we converse whilst we can \ I honestly don’t know where this is going \ just a way to stay up \ the reason why I prefer to stand\ for when I sit, my eyes want to close ever so slightly \ storytelling wakes me up \ but it’s interesting how the very same thing can place me to sleep \ maybe it’s the tone \ the soft call of the waves \ the passion surging through \ stories curving from one mouth to another, shapeshifting into new versions \ isn’t that a thrilling way for a story to be born?

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a soul opening

i could not find the exact words to describe this process, for it’s beauty lies within the uniqueness of the individuals and the union, either sacred, wholesome or in-between. perhaps it’s about a flower asking us to meet in the middle, with sunlight and rain. perhaps it’s about the star’s collapse for a better reunion, a greater celestial body. perhaps it’s the universe’s gentle fingers under our chins, encouraging us to welcome like and unlike gravitational pulls, magnetic fields growing closer.

(fini of a set of fragments).

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the journey in between

the source of energy you came for is no longer available, find one within yourself. the re-ignition of the drive, backburner waiting with their arms open behind them, and liberation from the responsibilities of being who other people want you to be waiting for the trust fall. it always gets harder before it gets easier. letting people go, and apparently there were always those waiting to offer love back, gratitude as a union. apparently there are more offerings of soul openings.

(to be continued).

[artern]

a giver's rebirth

innocence seeps through the mesh of rage, a fire chosen to be calmed, to be listened to, to be embraced. naivety seemed to be scoffed upon, but now it’s their superpower, even if it means they’re the only ones believing in it. even if it means they want to give to themselves, so they can give to others. giving is no longer an exploitation of weakness, an outsourced commodity, but it’s an act of service for the body, mind and soul.

(to be continued).