Small Victories

August 21, 2017









As of late, our losses seem larger than our victories. But our victories sure taste so so sweet, giving me the impression that we got this. That a small trickle of change can infect the world. Much like it affects me. My heart swells for Charlottesville. It swells just as big when news came in from Boston. It swells differently. It hurts and swells. It loves and swells much similarly nonetheless.  And my posts generally aim at solving some sort of issue, seeking some sort of solution, whether personal, fashionable, or political. But I can see that am I am typing this, this post will not be that. I can’t think much of anything else but our current world affair. And if the media has been trying to make me jaded (Black Mirror, my god!) then it’s slowly winning. It is a post of open wounds. Of a season that began without me, a sleepiness that fell over me. And I feel hopeless, but I feel hopeful grasping at small but very apparent strong ends. I can’t say that I can find the source of this feeling in one occasion, one instance, one memory, but it feels uncomfortable. But strangely, it all doesn’t feel bad. The world sends me comforts in signs, like the ones held in the hands of the protesters against the “Free Speech” rally.  And I know we’ll be okay. Because we must be okay. But not if we’re lazy. United, we will be okay.



August 21, 2017
As of late, our losses seem larger than our victories. But our victories sure taste so so sweet, giving me the impression that we got this. That a small trickle of change can infect the world. Much like it affects me. My heart swells for Charlottesville. It swells just as big when news came in from Boston. It swells differently. It hurts and swells. It loves and swells much similarly nonetheless.  And my posts generally aim at solving some sort…








As of late, our losses seem larger than our victories. But our victories sure taste so so sweet, giving me the impression that we got this. That a small trickle of change can infect the world. Much like it affects me. My heart swells for Charlottesville. It swells just as big when news came in from Boston. It swells differently. It hurts and swells. It loves and swells much similarly nonetheless.  And my posts generally aim at solving some sort of issue, seeking some sort of solution, whether personal, fashionable, or political. But I can see that am I am typing this, this post will not be that. I can’t think much of anything else but our current world affair. And if the media has been trying to make me jaded (Black Mirror, my god!) then it’s slowly winning. It is a post of open wounds. Of a season that began without me, a sleepiness that fell over me. And I feel hopeless, but I feel hopeful grasping at small but very apparent strong ends. I can’t say that I can find the source of this feeling in one occasion, one instance, one memory, but it feels uncomfortable. But strangely, it all doesn’t feel bad. The world sends me comforts in signs, like the ones held in the hands of the protesters against the “Free Speech” rally.  And I know we’ll be okay. Because we must be okay. But not if we’re lazy. United, we will be okay.