The sky saggs low with convoluted cloud,
Heavy and imminent, rolled from rim to rim.
A bank of fog blots out sight the brim
Of the leaden sea, all spiritless and cowed.
The rain is falling sheer and strong and loud,
The strand is desolate, the distance grim
With threats of storm, the wet stones glimmer dim,
And to the wall the dank umbrellas crowd.
At home…the dank shrubs whisper dismal mooded,
Black chimney-shadows streak the shiny slates,
The eaves are strung with drops, and steeped the grasses,
A draggled fishwife screeches at the gates,
The baker hurries dripping on, and hooded
In her wet prints a pretty housemaid passes.

W. E. Henley (1888) A Book of Verses


Rain is my friend. Whenever it rains, I can’t help wanting to play “Kiss the Rain” by Yiruma with its soft, tinkling notes and cantabile feel.

Three scenes with rain:

1. The soft gray of the rain clouds paints across the sky and silver streaks of rain fall peacefully to the earth.

2. A drenching wall of water crashes down with a growl and breaks into a million glassy shards as the black clouds look on.

3. The sun shines, even though the pitter-patter of raindrops is heard. Standing outside in the oppressive heat, I watch as each droplet which reaches the ground immediately dissolves into mist, joining the dreamlike clouds which hover about my knees.

About the last scenario, they say that if you hold a mirror to your heart, close your eyes, and walk into a sunshower, you will hear the voice of the future. Interesting, n’est-ce pas?

What I want, now that the rainy season is here:



Finally some time to settle down and BLOG.

November is one of my most beloved months. It’s nostalgic without really having any actual memories, just, November comes around and all this hazy emo-ness washes over me. November makes me feel Blue (no pun intended).

There’s always these one or two songs that keep replaying themselves in an endless loop through my mind when I feel November winding his arms around me (Yes, November is a male, I just know it – intuition, duh). Even though I’ve been pretty over Jay Chou and all his depression, November is officially painted by his album “November’s Chopin”. For some reason, “Feng” “Nocturne” and “Black Sweater” define November for me (and yes, they are emo songs) with a background of “Nocturne 1” from “Trois Nocturnes” by Chopin.

Even while not possessing any vrai memories for me, November is the month of vivid memories. It is the month that creeps in right after Halloween, capitalizing on the sober feelings that always, unfailingly, come knocking after unchecked revelry. It makes us feel old.

There is always these two memories of November that I like to replay in my mind. One is of sitting in the empty fairgrounds while my younger sister flew a kite and just staring at the brilliant blue sky. The leaves of the trees were the most shimmering shades of red and gold – I have the landscape I rendered in oil pastels to prove it. The other is less exhuberant, but more in touch with the sombre beauty of November (almost like a lovely young widow in black crepe mourning). It is one of my regular solitary promenades and the sky was overcast, the softest shade of grieving gray. The air was chilly, not bitingly cold, but with an iciness that immediately touched one’s heart. I was depressed, I remember, about nothing in particular.

But then, there’s also the November of Rutgers Model UN and Christmas shopping and no school. And, suddenly, I’m in love with life again.

Emo-ness begone!

“You’re mad. I’m mad. You must be mad, or you wouldn’t have come here” quoth the Cheshire Cat

A welcome is in order, I suppose, to my madhouse of a life. In fact, I have about (checks watch) ten seconds to finish typing this and then jump into my dad’s new Prius (a hybrid bought when he finally buckled under my seventh grader sister’s environmentalist ultimatums) to get to my friend’s dinner at Chili’s with no time to spare. And I have just gotten back from a veritable CIRCUS of a morning literally speeding between SAT IIs, photocopying at Staple’s, and birthday present shopping. But I will be updating again, hopefully soon, with the latest updates on my hectic life and tidbits of insight regarding what’s hot and what’s not in CC’s little wonderland.

Through the Looking Glass


Read Me

An Asian American girl named after a once-upon-a-time Bavarian princess turned Austrian Queen who spends her days laughing and dreaming and obsessing (over K/J-dramas). Dark chocolate is sensuous and makes me melt. Frappucinos are my (legal) drug. Pikachu is mon cheri amour and Tomoko is my hero. AP French worksheets and SAT practice tests are great time-killers. And, above all, I love the sound of R.A.I.N

The Rabbit Hole