I used to be so easily satisfied.

In some ways (or sometimes), I still am. (like how flowers and little fishes or childhood items make me happy when I'm feeling down. I don't really like flowers and fishes, actually. The simplicity of these things makes life seem a little easier when you're able to admire them)

In others, I am not.

I used to think art pieces with themes such as "materialism" and "facades" are so cliche, that they get so boring I don't even want to look at those pieces. But when you see them becoming so real, you start to understand why so many artists carry the same statement.

Art is about creating something that's personal. We ought to be living our own lives, not trying to live life like others who are "above" you. Well, in what way? The definition of the word above is really subjective. In wisdom, intelligence, wealth or happiness? or...?

I'm still not satisfied.

Not satisfied with the kind of life I'm leading right now, the shallow soul that resides in me. Not satisfied with the absence of a mind with a thirst for knowledge, or a soul which yearns to do better, or the lack of a disciplined mind. This dissatisfaction is good, is it not?



Here I am, typing these words out while trying out the new pair of boots I've bought, new scarves and clothes and accessories.

I know everything here sounds so cheesy, and you'll probably feel this is so cliched (just like many of the artpieces I've seen) -- but you know what, this is my space afterall and I feel there is a need to write something to wake me up from my senses. Not yours, but mine.