Of life around the globe & how the kids are actually writing

Every day I wonder, as I’m typing an article for work or tying up my hijab, what are the other people on the other side of the globe doing? What is the time there? Does Ashton Kutcher know I exist? Good thing to know that there are people out there who notion (almost) the same & make ways to find out.

“In City One Minutes life in each city is divided into 24 one minute portraits, each depicting one hour of the day. Every film is a personal impression of the city in which the artist lives or in which he is staying.” (via swissmiss)

And remember when they say an age at illiteracy is at hand? Apparently Andrea Lunsford, a professor of writing and rhetoric at Stanford University found out otherwise.

“The first thing she found is that young people today write far more than any generation before them. That's because so much socializing takes place online, and it almost always involves text. Of all the writing that the Stanford students did, a stunning 38 percent of it took place out of the classroom--life writing, as Lunsford calls it. Those Twitter updates and lists of 25 things about yourself add up.” (via Noah Brier)

Don’t you just love conundrums? Even saying it feels so witty. Also, I will be away again these weekends so please be good & if it’s not much of a bother don’t forget to feed the cats for me. (Photo from things magazine)

A little Monday lift-up

It’s Monday, and I hope amidst the hard effort to get out of bed to go to work this morning, this umbrella skirt could bring a smile to your face.

Also, according to the list prepared by a certain Chris Abraham, apparently I look Indian (not that I mind) and I’m a “rat race riding copywriter with a designer heart” with a blog with “links to beautiful things”.

Rat-riding sounds terribly awesome, don’t you think? Very Thumbelina-esque.

Do know

Reblogged from Wani Ardy:

"The unpredictability of life scared me to tears recently. We could never know who would leave us and when will they leave us. We will only know the moment it is happening.

People could leave us in many ways and for many reasons. Death. Coma. Money. Status. Distance. Changes. Misunderstanding. Miscommunication. Rumours. Lies. Insignificance. Incompatibility. Fight. Break-up. Subhanallah, the possibilities are endless.

What’s even scarier, sometimes people don’t need a reason to do what they want to do. At least not a solid one. They just need to believe that their action is right.

Be it family, friends, or partner; they are all humans. Humans are subjective; forever uncertain. The more we love them, the more it hurts. The more it hurts, the more we realize how much we love them. And the fact that we don’t matter as much, saddens us even more.

I truly appreciate each one of you for sticking around (alhamdulillah), for not leaving me (yet) and for accepting millions of my flaws (and still counting).

Just in case one day things change between us, regardless whose fault…

do know that I’m sorry."

(Photo from I Wrote This For You)

Random pukeworthy fact (aka grammar class)

Azry and I never had a mamihlapinatapai moment. Once we start to gaze into each other's eyes, then it will happen. (Photo credit goes to the rightful owner via endosymbiotic)

Zero star

Twin brother artists Frank and Patrik Riklin have partnered with Minds in Motion to reveal the subterranean Null Stern Hotel, a Swiss nuclear bunker converted into both art installation and business venture.

The cleverly-branded Zero Star Hotel (you have to love their motto: “Where the only star is you!”) offers bedding, limited hot water, complimentary slippers (for roaming the cold concrete floor), and little else, all for a recession-friendly £6 a night. The Brothers Riklin are planning to expand the Zero Star Hotel brand to other bunkers across the world.

(via HELLO BAULDOFF also using the words of his [thanks Joe!] because it's the end of the day and I am pretty tired - wait do I need to include so much info. Later.)

A letter for everyone

In April 2009, Lenka Clayton & Michael Crowe sent a personal, handwritten letter to each of the 467 households in the small Irish village of Cushendall. They hoped these unsolicited letters would prompt neighbourly discussion, spreading across the town, promoting community curiosity.

This project had me clasping my hands together to my chest & sigh away softly. (via swissmiss)

My kind of weekends

Late last week, we found a smoky grey kitten strutting his stuffs upon the ledge of our bedroom window on our 2-storey terrace so we summoned him down with the signature lizard chirp. He quickly stole our hearts with his constant purr & sparkling helpless eyes that sent Michael (our another cat) spitting furball of envy. Upon the first impression he looked like an Oliver to me, so Oliver he became from that day on. On most days, he’s Ollie, or when I’m feeling maternal, he’s Ollie Mollie Schmollie. (Photo from sine qua non)

Sometime last Saturday

There was a moment of silence when I protested upon Azry’s request to head home. When he asked why, I said, “Isn’t it nice when this kind of moment (having cendol by the roadside of Jalan Ipoh accompanied by stray pigeons) will never have to go away?”

I thought he would sit on the stool next to me or gripe in return, but instead he said, “Honey in case you haven’t noticed, the cendol sucks. I thought we should go for sotong bakar at Bangsar.” I nearly embarrassed myself with a huge wide grin & my hypocrisy over such sentimentality that I was defending minutes before.

Good-bye pigeons. The grilled squid won. (Photo credit goes to the rightful owner via FFFFOUND)

All is well

Saying praises, and life resumes as normal.

Spot the difference

Hey, it's the weekends, let's play a little game shall we? Stefan Sagmeister's art piece above & Absolute: Anthem campaign, the latter. Spot any difference? (via Design Observer)

Life afloat

'Snuggle' mobile hotel, the world's largest free floating bubble, the Cinnamon restaurant at One World Hotel 1 Utama. Happy weekends!

From an Atlas of the Difficult World

I know you are reading this poem

late, before leaving your office

of the one intense yellow lamp-spot and the darkening window

in the lassitude of a building faded to quiet

long after rush-hour.

I know you are reading this poem

standing up in a bookstore far from the ocean

on a grey day of early spring, faint flakes driven

across the plains’ enormous spaces around you.

I know you are reading this poem

in a room where too much has happened for you to bear

where the bedclothes lie in stagnant coils on the bed

and the open valise speaks of flight

but you cannot leave yet.

I know you are reading this poem

as the underground train loses momentum and before running

up the stairs

toward a new kind of love

your life has never allowed.

I know you are reading this poem by the light

of the television screen where soundless images jerk and slide

while you wait for the newscast from the intifada.

I know you are reading this poem in a waiting-room

of eyes met and unmeeting, of identity with strangers.

I know you are reading this poem by fluorescent light

in the boredom and fatigue of the young who are counted out,

count themselves out, at too early an age.

I knowyou are reading this poem through your failing sight, the thick lens enlarging these letters beyond all meaning yet you read on

because even the alphabet is precious.

I know you are reading this poem as you pace beside the stove

warming milk, a crying child on your shoulder, a book in your

handbecause life is short and you too are thirsty.

I know you are reading this poem which is not in your language

guessing at some words while others keep you reading

and I want to know which words they are.

I know you are reading this poem listening for something, torn

between bitterness and hope

turning back once again to the task you cannot refuse.

I know you are reading this poem because there is nothing else

left to read

there where you have landed, stripped as you are.

- Adrienne Rich (via tarts) (photo from weheartit)

Sniffing humanity

Synaesthesia has always been a subject that interests me. Cited from link "synaesthesia is when one type of sensation evokes another sense. For example when a sound is experienced in part as a color, or when a color prompts a sound."

From link the term is also often applied in literature to the description of one kind of sensation in terms of another. In The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, Peter's voice upon entering the Beavers' hiding place is described as being "tired and pale in the darkness".

But can we actually do some reverse engineering and create a scent based on an act of humanity? Interesting.

The bestest blog ever

Well, aside from mine of course. "People who shoot film simply do because they choose to." Amen to that.