The last time I wore this warm 5cm jacket (which must have been with me for five years already), I was really sick. The same has caused my somewhat long absence.
Jacket, Izzue; reversible sheer tee, cK Calvin Klein; jeans, Bench; belt, Brave Beltworks; loafers, Bass Weejuns
Well the sun is out and there has also been lots of work to do. Articles to write, necklaces (gasp!) to finish, and a long backlog of To Dos. Though I am not really that well yet (after one endless week), the forced slowdown has also made me realize (yes, this has happened before, but maybe not as clearly) that I really should start applying myself to other loftier, more creative, and more satisfying things. (Tsk, tsk. This is what I also get for teetering dangerously close to 30.)
You see, I studied Management for my degree: numbers and how to order people around and in the process get really rich, really quick. Blame the inertia of aimless youth. But what I didn't escape was an accidental calling (yes, I presume this much to call writing and poetry a "calling") midway, which reached deep enough to shake my confidence in what I wanted to do and what I wanted to become. I could do something else so much better and in a way I think that could affect more people, (I hope) for the better.
That is why I love mornings: everything is possible. Fast forward seven years later (it has been that long since graduation), after three very different jobs (and many in between) that have brought me to all sorts of places (cities of both map and mind), though I feel much has changed about me, I feel as if I have only taken a few paces forward. Problems solved and deadlines (well, most of them) met, yet the same old crisis (better make that plural) remains.
How to live life spending myself in the most productive way.
If I may have played a trick on you, my dear readers, in slowly changing the direction of this blog, from a fashion zine to a personal "style" diary, I must apologize. Fashion at its best, and according to my cousin, is a metaphor for self-expression. Sure, it remains one of my loves, and when I have the time I will of course share all the things that I love about it (in fact, I have been in the process of publishing a two-season review on Prada before I got sick), but I opt to share more of myself. Clothes and things, and little trinkets of wonder and delight, will always be a bridge for me to illustrate my thoughts.
Let us not talk yet about latent contradictions, or times and places where such pleasures are deemed indecent. It has been a strange journey — not that I am announcing the end of this stretch — but maybe just warning that changes I have long felt adrift will be more obvious soon. I am not yet certain how change will assert itself, but rest assured you will still recognize me. My voice in perhaps a different form, but still noting the details in the seems, the inspiration stitched in the fabric.
Photos by Patricia Suzara, who also expects developments soon...
