again, I moved.

http://myneonsignlullaby.com/

http://myneonsignlullaby.com/

http://myneonsignlullaby.com/

new blog

http://myneonsignlullaby.com http://myneonsignlullaby.com
http://myneonsignlullaby.com http://myneonsignlullaby.com
http://myneonsignlullaby.com http://myneonsignlullaby.com

I finally decided to "officially" move to wordpress.

http://myneonsignlullaby.com/
http://myneonsignlullaby.com/
http://myneonsignlullaby.com/
http://myneonsignlullaby.com/
http://myneonsignlullaby.com/
http://myneonsignlullaby.com/
http://myneonsignlullaby.com/
http://myneonsignlullaby.com/

I paid for a year for this domain. You bet your ass I will be keeping it till then. =O!

My Scandinavian mix.

I am continuing to do my "Saturday theme songs." I honestly don't know if I will be doing this every single week. Let's see how it goes.

What makes life worthwhile?

I lost 12 pounds so far but after eating all this, I believe it is back down to 10. Go figure. It's worth it. I went to an Argentine restaurant and got myself a steak. Ahem. Moreover, I found these cute little shoes in Target. Maryjane's, at that. The only box that was closest to my size was 6 1/2 but I had to try them. I felt weird considering they weren't big on me.I went home and saw it in the shoes: size 6. My husband says that he was glad I went with my gut and bought them. Funny how things work out like that.

Which reminds me, I need to get a haircut. STAT. I am just so...lazy. My hair got so light due to the chlorine from the water. I've been swimming hours on end each day.  Honestly though, I can finally say I have a healthy, happy lifestyle. What am I grateful for?

• Witnessing compassion with my own eyes.
• Traveling with my husband. My travels would be dull without him.
• Listening to music. Well, the notes I can actually hear. I'm tone deaf.
• Drawing; it's therapeutic for me.
• Hearing stories of people who "beat the odds."
• Drinking coffee while having mindless conversations with my husband.
• Learning Taiwanese; it's a beautiful language.
• Meeting people who change me from the inside out.
• The combination of French cheese and wine.
• Bubble tea. One of Taiwan's creations.
• My ancestors; they suffered so I wouldn't have to.

I’ve realized I blog just so I can reach somebody from the other side of the world, even though most likely I’ll never meet the person face to face. I can die tomorrow, but I left a piece of myself for someone to find. I am sure it sounds vain, but I don’t mean to sound like that. I secretly read thoughts of such fascinating people, and I’m glad they’re willing to share their thoughts to a random stranger. I never thought I could change from the inside out by exploring somebody else’s life on the world wide web. I’m such a fickle girl; I move like the waves of the ocean. I explode on impulse, but only ‘cause I feel like my entire body is a time bomb. I hope growing older means you become more wise. I need all the wisdom I can get with my weak palms. I want to explore till my legs can’t take any more and go out with a bang. I want to leave a mark just so somebody know I was here.

Farewell to my New England life.

  

I realize I wont be going to my New England home to meet up with my family members this year, which is fine. I admit, I kind of don't miss..the New England lifestyle? Is it wrong for me to say that? Probably. Maine is a great place to visit but to live? I guess it is if you're lucky enough to even find a job for yourself. Regardless, I do miss the coastal towns. I do miss my childhood home cooked meals. I even miss how pretty it gets around this time - when the leaves change. I didn't think too much of it while I was living there, though. Go figure.

I, at least, had my husband visit where I grew up. My family members loved him. Success. On the other hand, I do get homesick...but it goes away quickly. Ahem. Just saying.

I've also got to visit Salem, Massachusetts. It's a lovely town. I would love to go back, honestly. If I feel like living in New England, this might be it. Maybe.

I am pretty sure my husband does not miss the weather. Not one bit. Poor bugger; he was wearing so many layers and he still couldn't wait to hide inside. This picture was taken in Bar Harbor, Maine.

My brother lives in Bangor, Maine. It was pretty cool to see his apartment (he moved into a better one with his girlfriend recently). I had some dreadful Japanese cuisine, though. That is the one thing I don't miss about New England: Asian food. Well, if you can call it that. (swallow nervously).

Once in  my life, I've been to the good part of Boston. No, not the South of Boston. Miracle. I finally ventured outside of the south of Boston. Ah, New England. Let's face it, my family has some history here. For an example click here for my grandfather's first cousin story of becoming the first aviator in Maine.

back-to-school influence.

point of view.

I waste my youth on sour apple lollipops and vodka. This point of view you bought me remains on the dusty floor. You can mold me, break me, and make me hollow. You can even lick the cocaine from my cold, dead fingers and imagine beauty queens with shiny blond hair (but I don't have shiny blond hair). Time of month; you ignore the warning labels. The ballerinas dance like malfunction machines. I only become an idealist in this world and you take my hand to follow where the rosses lead us ---- abandoned garden.

You can dig up the inside of my body. You can also put out my flame ---- steal what's important. If you see lady bugs running my heart, can you just let them be? This is no make-up body, I swear; it's my organs that sing nothing but broken melodies. If I get sick out of the blue, can you tell the believers not to bother to save me a seat?

This point of view you bought me remains on the dusty floor. You can mold me, break me, and make me hollow. You can even lick the cocaine from my cold, dead fingers and imagine beauty queens wearing crowns with glitter (but I don't wear anyone's crown).

I was carved perfectly, you know. The dress did fit me like a glove; your stains there as a lasting memory. You know what, sir? You can put on your own creation. I'm sure pink is your colour. It makes your skin glow.

It really does.

Merle L Fogg - the first licensed aviator in the state of Maine.

Granted I look nothing like my English side of the family (the Foggs). Still, it's pretty intresting to know something about that side of my family. Merle L Fogg is my great grandfather's first cousin.


Merle Fogg eased the control stick back in his little biplane. It rose from the ground and soared over the bay towards Fort Lauderdale beach. People near Las Olas Boulevard heard the engine chugging and looked up. They saw sun sparking from the wings, marveled at the wonder of flight and the daring young man who braved the sky.
By 1928 Merle Fogg had become one of the best known and best liked residents in Fort Lauderdale. He was the operator of the city's first flying service. The rides he gave thrilled residents and gave them their first taste of flight. Time and time again he demonstrated the utility of his primitive craft by performing aerial surveys, taking photographs of the city, transporting passengers around the state and teaching residents to fly. Fogg was a visionary who believed in a bright future for aviation and although he would not live to see it happen; he would begin a series of events that would take aviation in Broward County from the era of the barnstormer into the jet age.

Fogg was born on May 26, 1898 in Enfield, Maine to Leslie and Alberta Fogg. He served in the Army during World War I, although he never saw combat. After he was discharged he studied engineering and graduated from the University of Maine. But Fogg was smitten by aviation, an avocation not endorsed by his father. Leslie Fogg did everything he could to deter his son from becoming a pilot. In 1922 Merle traveled to Okeechobee, Florida. He reportedly told his parents that he merely wanted to winter in a warmer climate, but he was really there to take flying lessons from Ralph De Vore of Clearwater. His parents were made aware of his activities when he shipped an aircraft engine back home.

After learning to fly, Fogg barnstormed around Florida for about a year before flying his biplane to Maine to barnstorm in his home state. It was a glamorous, dangerous way to make a living. An account in the Lewiston, Maine newspaper relates that both Fogg and his wing walker, George "Daredevil" Sparks, were nearly killed when at an altitude of nearly a thousand feet; Sparks walked out to the wing tip, lost his grip and nearly fell from the plane. As he tumbled over, Sparks wedged his ankle to a lift strut and hung suspended from the biplane. Although he didn't have much altitude Fogg dove toward the ground and made a sharp turn, flipping Sparks towards the wing. Sparks grabbed a flying wire and pulled himself aboard. Fogg finessed the controls to end the dive before crashing into the ground.

Fogg returned to Florida around 1925, this time to Fort Lauderdale. The city was in the middle of a land boom and he was hired to fly a seaplane owned by land developer Tom Bryan. Bryan was also a State Representative and with Fogg as his pilot, he was possibly the first lawmaker to commute to Tallahassee by air. Fogg also opened a base for his land plane. His tiny airfield was tucked into a spit of land just north of Las Olas Boulevard, were it meets the Intracostal waterway. Its primitive wood hangar was visible from the road. Big bold letters over the door proclaimed, "Merle Fogg Flying Service." If he was on the ground working on his plane motorists tooted horns and waived as they went by. Merle must have liked the attention because he always waved back.

One of his young admirers was Dwight L Rodgers, Jr. Rodgers, a Fort Lauderdale attorney, remembered, "I saw him land a few times and it was great, really great!" Rogers says that Fogg's landing strip was only about a block long. "It was surprising that he could take off in that distance, but he could.He was certainly a well liked person."

You can read more about my relative over here.

I just had to see his memorial with my own eyes. There is a blog entry about my relative over here.

Stories & Broken Glass.

I'm Martianese, so does that mean the Martianese men own a part of me? I've been called a witch, a traitor, a mistake. How can I betray somebody I never even met? I fell for a man who happens to be from Pluto and for that, I've been spit on, cursed, and removed from society. My hair is not light like the sun and my eyes are not wide enough to be considered beautiful by men with empty bellies.

So what?

I doze off into a paradise dream and all I bring back is the sand. I have fish lips, bug green eyes, and short stems. I used to wish for my waist to be narrow and my dress would flatter the hole in my heart; my mood is like the waves of the ocean. I tremble when the light gets so bright like the stars that only exist in movies. I rush to capture the spotlight, but my hands are so small and my feet are like "graves in the ground."

I manage to write a message from the bottom and I drink water that is poisoned. Nonbelievers drown in rivers, and I barely hang on to a branch of a tree. I'm cold as snow, but I'll tell you how the skeletons twists and twirl. I'll even show you the mermaids who are now old and wrinkled but I promise you, they still have rhythm! The mermaids play their violins as if it's their primary language. I still have so much to learn from them.

I'm Martianese, so does that mean Martianese men own a part of me? I've been called a witch, a traitor, a mistake. How can I betray somebody I have no connection with? I fell for a man who happens to be from Pluto and for that, I've been spit on, cursed, and removed from society. I get tangled in nets by men who misidentify me as one of the mermaids. I can't say I mind when now all I have left are stories and broken glass.

It fits like a glove.

I decided to do "My Saturday Theme Song," series. Just because. I begin the series with "All Neon Like," from Bjork.

Carnival Blues.

My soul is asleep, so why do you expect me to be singing the blues tonight? Five years clean and I still manage to feel dirty. I vow to no longer go on the fast rides like I used to. I now focus on the streetlights and neon signs to stay calm somehow. I realize I only hide my turmoil in my shoes in fear that the people around me would write their own version on the walls. It's just as well.

Two lovers become three and heartbreak crashes the scene.
We stay in our shelter; together we fall apart.
I still wear my flower dresses on the weekends
and even though the spotlight is fake ---
I feel alive. I still believe.
signed brokencrowns&all.

My childhood friends say I'm making the biggest mistake. There is a world for the drug users and there is one I've crossed to. I can no longer see heroin as cotton candy. My hands behind my back and I've been shaking; shaking hands far too long than I should have. I may have weak palms but it doesn't mean I'm a nonbeliever. I even asked the Grim Reaper if I could stay in the sidelines with her and hopefully some kind of miracle would soon follow. The Grim Reaper refused but I can't say I blame her, especially when you see demons with wings and angels with horns.

I still think about the boy who used to live next door to me. The boy once told me that the magicians and the udertakers are basically the same. I asked what he meant by that and he simply replied, "They both can make the body disappear."

I was the naive one, after all. I'm hitting (a number I refuse to announce) and I'm still reading fairytales. The boy knew I will only continue to make flower dresses for the rest of my days. I assured him that we can still pretend the spotlight is still shinning on us; he loved the idea but he knew that's all it really was --- a great idea. I wish I knew what he knew when I was his age.

The boy whispered to my ear, "Just don't expect me to be singing the blues tonight."

嬌小女孩, 巨大冒險

I want to feel alive. I want to be inspired.  I miss dreaming. I miss having goals. I want to know if landscapes collapse, will I still be wanted? I don't mind being heartbroken if it means I can still create. I actually embrace change. I simply just don't want to lose my identity in the process. I want to be able to wake in the morning with a clean slate. Without regret, insecurities, and cynicism. I refuse to let the past consume me. I'm honestly thinking about taking chances in my life for once. I know, all this thinking, how often do these thoughts go stale? My brain turns to mush.

It wasn't all that long ago when my husband showed me his childhood, culture, lifestyle in Taiwan. I miss the clean, reliable public transportation, the convenience of eating at the street vendors, the pleasure of shopping at the night markets, and having a time out at the temples. Most of all, I miss experiencing all of this with my husband. My future is uncertain and I am fine with that. I may start a new chapter in Taiwan sooner or later than I thought. I know when I do eventually move to Taiwan, I will have to start from scratch. I know there will be times when I will feel so out of place and question if I have made the right decision. I can only open my mind and do my absolute best; the rest will soon follow. Traveling to another country really does open your eyes to new possibilities. 如何在台灣生存? 我是外國人, 在台灣除了當英文老師外, 我能做其他的職業嗎? 有一件事是我可以確定的, 我野心很大, 所以我不會當英文老師.  Questions juggling in my head and it's okay. I mean, I still have a lot of time to ponder before my next journey begins.

I may actually move to an unexpected destination that is not Taiwan. I may not. Whatever will be, will be. I grew up going with the flow. I hold onto nothing. I don't mind falling on my face if it means I can get up from the floor with a lesson learned. I refuse to remain a person I once was and I hope I will be brave enough to say goodbye to the person I am today when the time comes. There are a few lessons I've learned over the years.

• You must love yourself in order to love somebody else. I've learned this the hard way. I've pushed people away 'cause I felt I didn't deserve to smile. I guess you can say I didn't want to cut myself some slack in fear I'll sound...arrogant? There's a fine line of self confidence and bullshitting. I don't want to be in the spotlight. I don't need validation or recognition. Still, I smile even when there are thunderstorms in my head. Smiling is contagious. I love myself enough not to drink the poison but I also refuse to act like "the cure."
• Who you hang out with does effect you. It's like a mirror effect. If you hang out with positive people, you will become more positive yourself. I'm fortunate to be with a man who encourages me rather than to belittle me; we're each other muses. When my husband succeeds, I will succeed. When I succeed, my husband succeeds. I need those kind of relationships in my life.
• Age is merely just a number. I need to remind myself that constantly. It's never too late. Well okay, it's a tad late for me to become a ballerina. Ahem. That's okay, though. I create new goals. I will learn how to tango for fun.

I may sing off key but I at least carry my own tune. Regardless what road I choose (or maybe it chooses me, who knows), I am going be just fine.

Bonjour, Montréal!

I went to Montréal last September. I can't believe the city is only 2plus hours away from Portland. I'm temporarily staying in South Florida and I finally got the chance to visit Québec. It's rather sad if you think about it, but I at least can now cross it from my list. I already miss the coffee, the market, and the French cuisine. I will make sure to visit Québec City one day. I promise.

On the other note, I take random snapshots when I travel; I carry my camera around like a backpack. To be frank, I haven't been doing that lately. I don't even bother. I hope to have my spark back very soon. I'm no professional photographer and I honestly don't give a damn. I just have a terrible memory; I find it hard to remember the details of my life. I use the photographs to hang on to the moments somehow.

If I take it way too seriously like a twat, I would probably drop it all together.

I have so many other photos but this will have to do. Au revoir, Montréal! I should've visited you while I was still in Portland many, many times. I will visit again. I better dash! Cheers!

abstract on the brain. part two.

Some of my recent silly doodles. Click on the picture to enlarge. Which reminds me, I need more paper and (gasp) sharpie markers.

How I met my husband.

My husband, Da-Wen, is also my best friend. We talk of politics, goals, cuisine, and culture. We communicate like childhood friends. I don't have to say a word for my husband to know what I'm thinking; he insists my face gives it away. To him, I'm an open book. I'm fortunate to be in a relationship where I still have my own identity. I think that's important. I have a person in my life who challenges me; encourages me to be more adventurous. There's nothing worse than to be with somebody who only puts you down and sabotages your every attempt to improve yourself. I'm fortunate not to have such negative energy.

I met him online. Out of all places. Myspace, to be exact. I know, what the hell is that? I don't quite remember, myself. Da-Wen gave me a sincere, respectful message - so I decided to actually respond. Who would've thought I was responding to my future husband? Pure comedy. I took a huge risk by moving to South Florida with Da-Wen to start a whole new chapter. Luckily, the book turned out quite well. I never dreamt of marriage. To be honest, I simply just wanted to explore the world with a pan and paper. I didn't want to be planted in soil, so to speak. I wanted to move like the wind; I honestly didn't care where I was going.

(GASP)

I settled down, instead. Da-Wen was the one who planned the whole wedding. On top of that, he helped me pick out a wedding dress, and he let me choose a wedding ring (I got a ruby instead of a diamond). It's my thing. Don't judge. I'm not the planner in the relationship. Da-Wen is. Hands down. Da-Wen help me not be so careless and I encourage him to loosen up. We complement each other.

I still move like the wind. The difference is, I have somebody who's there to share the adventures with.

Cliches & Dried Up Spells.

Sometimes I just want to shake things up. My life on pause; I yearn to be inspired once again. I look at the clock and I feel I'm in the wrong timezone. I drink the sea. I vomit violets. My garden went in flames. Once upon a time, I had a big heart with small hands, but I honestly thought I owned the world. I pull down the shades and see my life in a new angle. I know I'm not the only one who has demons swallowing me whole. Swing set without swings. The leaves turn colour and detach from the trees. I would damage my skin even when there was no tragedy.

I eat poison apples. I fall off cliffs. Mice and their Cinderella stories. Dwarfs and their Snow White thoughts. I fish for love I know deep down, I cannot bare. No one will be having cake. No, not tonight.

I miss taking risks without question or fear. Not that fear is a dreadful thing. It can be healthy in small doses. I don't mind being heartbroken if it means I can create. I know, all this thinking, how often these thoughts go stale? My brain turns to mush. I may still wear my coat but I honestly thought I would finally be comfortable in my own skin. Even I make a difference. I have a voice of my own; a world I refuse to disown. Even I burn; have asteroids crashing to the ground. Even I try to stay strong to live through the tornadoes. Even I survive {to revive}. Even I fall.

Did I mention I don't mind being heartbroken? I just want to shake things up.

I may sing off key but I at least carry my own tune.

Once upon a time, I wanted to be a musician. I never let on I was born with fetal alcohol syndrome. I went through many years of speech therapy and had many ear surgeries. I can't dance. I have two left feet. I can't carry a tune. I'm tone deaf. I remember when I was just a little girl, I recorded my own voice on a toy-like machine, and smashed it because I simply didn't like my singing. I was a violent girl, eh? I may have terrible hearing, but even I knew my voice sounded dreadful. That was the day when I stopped singing. I've realized early on that it simply wasn't my calling. I don't mind. I couldn't speak well enough for people to understand me. I used writing as another way to express myself. I figured I may not be able to make music, but I can at least write the lyrics.

Moreover,  I can also just draw abstract pieces of creatures dancing, singing, and playing instruments.

I drew this for an online friend.