The Chronicles of Miss Shola

The blog's epitaph: Miss Shola came and went as she pleased

Archive for December 2009

Home Project #2

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Pebble art – a day, a night and a ladybug in between.

Written by Miss Shola

December 22, 2009 at 2:35 pm

Posted in Home Projects

Kundera quotes

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Advertising transforms everyday objects of life into poetry. Thanks to advertising, everydayness has started singing.

She suddenly thought of her dead child, and a wave of happiness flooded over her. Soon she would be frightened by this feeling. But no one can do a thing about feelings, they exist and there’s no way to censor them. We can reproach ourselves for some action, for a remark, but not for a feeling, quite simply because we have no control at all over it. The memory of her dead son filled her with happiness and she could only ask herself what that meant.

Everything changed when I met you. Not because my little jobs became more exciting. But because everything that happens around me I turn into fodder for our conversations. Two people in love, alone, isolated from the world, that’s very beautiful. But what would they nourish their intimate talk with? However contemptible the world may be, they still need it to be able to talk together.

~ from ‘Identity’, Milan Kundera

Written by Miss Shola

December 17, 2009 at 12:53 pm

Posted in Quotes

Friendship

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Gia’s drawing table and chair? Checked. Casio gifted by her favourite aunt on her fourth birthday? Checked. Big teddy bear that her father got from Bangkok? Checked. Now just one more carton with her soft toys and books needed to be loaded onto the tempo.

She skipped around the big vehicle, peering in every now and then, as more objects from her everyday life were hauled and stowed away into the tempo. It didn’t bother her much. She was told that she would be able touch and use all of them in her new house – new house in a new building with new friends.

No feeling of nostalgia crossed her five year old mind as she looked around the building compound. She had cycled here, played ball, hid behind parked cars, raced across the length of it; but there would be other places she could do all this, and more.

She was busy in her own play-world but conscious of the chaos around her: orders being yelled out from the window of her emptying house, loaders precariously lugging heavy suitcases, impatience writ on every face. Amidst the cacophony, someone called out to her, “Look who’s come to meet you Gia”. She turned around and saw Dia, her best friend of two years standing with her father.

An inch shorter than her and punier in size, she stood with her arm outstretched. She held out a gift, home-wrapped in silver foil, from which peeked out Gia’s favourite jelly sweet. Gia happily accepted it. No words were spoken between them.

“Let’s go Dia”, her father said. Dia obeyed and walked back towards the building portico hand-in-hand with her father. But before she could reach the landing, she heard a familiar voice call out her name. She looked back to find Gia right behind her, offering her a freshly plucked leaf as a souvenir of their friendship.

Written by Miss Shola

December 16, 2009 at 12:19 am

Posted in Shorts

Anniversary Cake/Dessert

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Courtesy Mom.

Written by Miss Shola

December 15, 2009 at 11:46 am

Posted in Shots

Murakami quotes

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“What is right? Would you tell me? I don’t really know what’s right. I know what’s wrong. But what is right?”

On the flip side of everything we think we absolutely understand lurks and equal amount of the unknown. Understanding is but the sum of our misunderstandings. In the world we live in, what we know and what we don’t know are like Siamese twins, inseparable, existing in a state of confusion.

People have to come up with a clever strategy if they want what they know and what they don’t know to live together in peace. And that strategy is thinking. Otherwise, no mistake about it, we’re on an awful collision course. 

The answer is dreams. Dreaming on and on. Entering the world of dreams, and never coming out. Living in dreams for the rest of time. In dreams you don’t need to make any distinctions between things. Not at all. Boundaries don’t exist. So in dreams there are hardly ever collisions. Even if they are, they don’t hurt. Reality is different. Reality bites.

We each have a special something we can get only at a special time in our life. Like a small flame. A careful, fortunate few cherish that flame, nurture it, hold it as a torch to light their way. But once the flame goes out, it’s gone for ever.

Falling in love is always a pretty crazy thing. It might appear out of the blue and just grab you. Who knows – maybe even tomorrow.

Do you know how the Chinese built gates? People would take carts out to old battlefields and gather the bleached bones that were buried there or lay scattered about. At the entrance to the city they’d construct a huge gate and seal the bones up inside. When the gate was finished they’d bring several dogs over to it, slit their throats, and sprinkle blood on the gate. Only by mixing fresh blood with the dried-out bones would the ancient souls of the dead magicians revive. Writing novels is much the same. You gather up bones and make your gate, but no matter how wonderful the gate might be, that alone doesn’t make it a living, breathing novel. A real story requires a kind of magical baptism to link the world on this side with the world on the other side.

~ from ‘Sputnik Sweetheart’, Haruki Murakami

Written by Miss Shola

December 11, 2009 at 3:13 pm

Posted in Quotes

Endangered? Not us!

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At a traffic signal…

Written by Miss Shola

December 2, 2009 at 3:35 pm

Posted in Shots