MUSE ; ANY ONE WAY, ANY ANY ONE ONE WAY.

do you ever wonder if you're the only one?

when you spend your wasted time envisioning a better life, placing yourself in circumstances. front row at your favorite concert. walking the halls of the louvre in silence. having your own column every month. living by yourself, free of all ties that have bogged you down. being where you wanted to be, being surrounded by all the opportunities you've ever wanted.

& finding that it just wasn't as special as it seemed.

you know you're not the only one.

it seems to you that everyone has a decent amount of friends circling them, somebody ready to hang out on a whim - as do you. but aside from the small number of outliers you can also perceive that these are just friends, not friends. people you could wake up & rant to any time at night. people you could bestow your greatest secrets to, & people who wouldn't change their attitude towards you because of it. people who you don't have to fear. above all, the one word that haunts us all, people you can trust. you can see you're not the only one - there's plenty more of you where you came from.

so why, why are we still struggling? still searching? for more, for more?

something tangible, something true.

you know you're qualified, you know you can accomplish things in this world. you got in here, in fact, so there must be something decent, something worthy. you can churn out grades when you feel like (when you really...do...feel like), sure; never mind that other people can do it better. never mind that someone else can study better, suck up better, treat others better, sing better, dance better, write better, be better. you know you're alright, you know you're enough...

am i enough? enough to stop comparing? enough to stop the jealousy?

when worries surpass you.

it's those words repeated over & over again to you when you voice your concerns. why worry about the future? why dream up these big sequences in which every possible scenario will falter, go wrong? why think of failure, set yourself up failure? why, why, why not just live in the present? let things be?

because good things don't last.

because if i don't think of this now, i will crash & burn even harder when it does.

because i don't believe, it is so hard for me to believe, that happiness could just be.

playing | "mach" - rainbow

photo | alison scarpulla ; flickr

PERS ; THINK ABOUT ALL THOSE NIGHTS ON LUCKIE ST.

i find myself falling in love with streets. places where my favorite shops are lined up, streetwalks that thrill me while i walk down. melrose, with its funky boutiques. third street, with the nicest street performers i've ever seen & the tourists touting their nikon dslrs. college & shattuck, both enigmatic street names 'too far to venture to'.

of these, the most accessible, the common & mundane, the dirty, grimy streets are the ones i fall in love with the most.

ventura, home to dan's subs, my favorite buffalo exchange, & most offices in the sfv. no one likes ventura, what with its bad traffic & cops lined up to hand out illegal u-turn & speeding tickets. but the simplest of memories like eating late night in&out & screwing around at the dollar tree, walking from shalimar to yogurt delite back when things weren't complicated, paying 13 bucks too much for an overrated movie, smoking hookah too young..ventura is home. it's everything synonymous with the valley, it's my entire latter high school life. mediocre & mundane it may be, but it's a sign of familiarity any sfv resident would know. a beacon, beckoning you to come home, home.

i can't say telegraph is my favorite in berkeley (college avenue is too pretty & entrancing to lose to a street lined with hobos & sexual harassers, to violence at bus stops & smell of weed all over) but i find it akin to ventura. the single defining street of berkeley, grotesque at first sight but surprisingly houses so much history & beauty, be it the beat generation that frequented cafe med, the fried chicken sandwiches everyone lines up for at bakesale betty's, the korean restaurants & bars that we frequent every weekend...& the ride back home, half in stupor, opening groggy eyes to see the glowing lights of the campanile letting you know...

these streets lead to home.

playing | "luckie st." - cartel

photo | google searches 1, 2

MUSE; WHEREVER YOU ARE IS MY BEST PLACE.

there are those times, difficult to describe but all the better to keep to yourself, when everything just seems to fall into place. each & every detail is immaculate, a thread away from perfection.

just like ♡ (a perfect morning) you open your eyes & you can tell it's morning with the sun streaming in through the blinds. you check your cellphone & you woke up three minutes before your alarm. you get up & stretch, feeling the muscles tingle. the shower water is already at a perfect warm temperature. the scent of shampoo is better than normal & today, you don't cut yourself while shaving. the air dries your hair just the way you want, no effort needed. you manage to flip your breakfast eggs without a spatula just by tossing the pan, a craft you've attempted for weeks but have finally mastered. the clothes you first see when you open your closet door happen to fit with the weather. you get your shoes & the laces are already unknotted. the key fits into the lock for once. every streetwalk light seems to turn green for you.

then there are most other days that fall in somewhere between mediocrity & downright unpleasant, where a tiny detail that anyone but you would miss brings a smile to your face. just that one.

when...
you're driving with your friends & that one singalong song comes on that you shout the lyrics to at the top of your lungs.
you get jokingly insulted & you have the perfect comeback waiting to kill at the tip of your tongue.
a 15 minute nap is actually refreshing.
you have a backup cardigan to wear when you're freezing in the library.
you're starving & your friends share their snacks with you.
you drink tons & tons of water but you don't have to go to the bathroom (yet).
you reach that level with a friend where silence is comfortable, not awkward.

perfect days are just perfect moments, perfect circumstances bounced one right after the other. a coincidence of sorts, a rarity for sure. yet better to be rare, if it would be cherished that much more.

playing | "내 곁에만 있어 (best place)" - shinee
photo | klickovic ; flickr

PERS ; SUNKISSED SKIN SO HOT WE'LL MELT YOUR POPSICLE.

sidestepping the fact that a year or so of my life was spent in the south (a year i wish i could recall with all my being, but i guess not too many crazy experiences would have been had for an infant spending most of her time in an apartment), i am 100% by definition a socal girl.

① taking 110 degree weather in stride
② busting out fall clothes in 80 degree weather
③ bitching at the slightest sign of rain
④ relishing the drive down PCH every time
⑤ donning sunglasses every day
⑥ driving to a neighbor's house a five minute walk away
⑦ peppering 'like' and 'omg' into everyday conversation
⑧ knowing the other (crazier) venice
⑨ not even blinking twice at fire alerts

however, i somehow never acquired the requisite traits needed to live here; namely, loving to drive (still haven't taken a car anywhere near LA and don't plan to...ever) and loving the beach. i bring my ipod and summer read each time anticipating hours of relaxing with the sun beating down on my legs, only to get irritated the second i get there with the obnoxiously scalding hot sand getting all over my bag and shoes. and then there's that whole part about how i can't swim so i don't go anywhere near the ocean, unless i feel incredibly ballsy only to lose my sunglasses i've owned for one day (true story). there's the feeling of running into the water and crawling out with a whole slew of seaweed wrapped around your foot. and finally after hours of bitching i leave with shoes full of sand and a farmer's tan.

that being said, there's something completely different about the beach at night, something i'm completely enamored with. staring out into the black with greater waves crashing in. hanging on the banister of the lifeguard tower swinging your feet to the cold air. it's that darker side kicking in; sunny beaches found repulsive but nighttime waters found something quite different. couples huddled up in blankets and sweatshirts. lone flashlights checking the scene while you, you try to stay a mystery.

the lazy, carefree, warm-weather-loving socal girl, that's me. but then there are those other sides of living here: the ones that crawl out at night, high tides and 90 mph on the freeway, no wind and air at a standstill: the other california girl, the one no one expects.

playing | "california gurls" - katy perry feat. snoop dogg
photo | we live young ; girls of sun