D

A mistake.

It was a mistake to come back this semester.
It would have been a mistake to be cowardly.
It is a mistake to choose to do assignments instead of sleep.
It is a mistake to choose sleep and get nothing done.

It is a mistake to go out and have fun.
It is a mistake to stay home, you don't get anything done anyway.
It is a mistake to be around friends; you're a downer.
It is a mistake to be alone; there is nothing to distract you.

It is a mistake to keep trying when everything is going wrong.
It is a mistake to run away.
It is a mistake to keep hoping.
It is a mistake to lose faith.

Depression is a mistake. A mistake, after mistake, after mistake, after mistake.

A ball.

At first full of texture and colour,
Then it begins to grow dull.
You stare, anxious, and hold it tight.

Then it becomes softer, slippery,
And everything is shades of gray.
You struggle to hold on, but it keeps slipping away.

Soon, it will become nothing of substance,
Fade away, bit by bit by bit,
Until you have nothing to hold onto.

Reality is a little ball. You do your best to hold on to it, frantically squeeze it, but it fades, confuses, and slips out of your grasp.

Depression.

Depression is a mental illness. ('It involves some combination of the following symptoms: depressed mood (sadness), poor concentration, insomnia, fatigue, appetite disturbances, excessive guilt and thoughts of suicide.')
Depression saps the energy we need to live, and eventually the will to live.
Depression is contested to be a chemical imbalance in our brains, but we have no solid facts on how it really works.
Depression is as real as being blind, having cancer, or having the flu. In fact, it is so common it's called the 'mental flu'.

Depression is an illness, not some made up thing, and let no one tell you different.

Depression is not just feeling sad.
('It isn't even something — it's nothing. And you can't combat nothing. You can't fill it up. You can't cover it. It's just there, pulling the meaning out of everything.')
Depression is not something people make up to get attention or blame their failings on.
If you believe so, or if you pretend to have it to do so, I have something for you.
Depression is not something you can will, wish, or hope away.
('But people want to help. So they try harder to make you feel hopeful and positive about the situation. You explain it again, hoping they'll try a less hope-centric approach, but re-explaining your total inability to experience joy inevitably sounds kind of negative; like maybe you WANT to be depressed. The positivity starts coming out in a spray — a giant, desperate happiness sprinkler pointed directly at your face. '
Depression is not something that we should fear, make fun of, or have a stigma against.
But we as a society do, and 'That's what makes you hold it in and hide it. It's the stigma. So you hold it in and you hide it, and you hold it in and you hide it, and even though it's keeping you in bed every day and it's making your life feel empty no matter how much you try and fill it, you hide it, because the stigma in our society around depression is very real.'

Depression is not something. It is nothing.

Depression is different for everyone.
It exists in various stages, and everyone experiences it differently. That's why no one can say 'I understand completely' and not be lying. Not even from one depressive to another.
Depression lives in your mind, in your body.
It knows everything about you, and uses all of that knowledge against you.
Depression is widely misunderstood and pretty much not understandable, even by the people who are depressed.
'So when your spouse sees your actions and perceives them as a sign of you being sad, he is naturally going to assume that it should be easy to fix by simply doing something fun and chasing the sadness away. He is failing to realize that you cannot experience the sensation of "something fun", because the parts of you that are responsible for feeling that are "asleep". And when you tell him "this is not sadness, it is depression!", what he hears is "this is not sadness, it is sadness!", since the word is so widely misused. And then he does something that should make you feel better if you were just sad, but you don't, and he assumes that you simply refuse to feel better, because he can't experience what you are experiencing.'
Depression is war.
It is a one man struggle against what seems to be an infinite darkness. Leaves us exhausted, broken, changed, and sometimes dead.

Depression is your personal demon. Your worst nightmare, catered especially to you.

Depression isolates.
Not receptive. Sad. Negative. Empty. The depression drives everyone away, friends and family.
Depression condemns.
You can't finish your assignments. You don't show up or do enough at work. You can't even keep your house clean without losing your mind. You're a FAILURE.
Depression numbs.
'It affects the ability to think clearly, to feel anything, to ascribe value to your children, your lifelong passions, your relative good fortune. It scoops out your normal healthy ability to cope with bad days and bad news, and replaces it with an unrecognizable sludge that finds no pleasure, no delight, no point in anything outside of bed.'
Depression kills.
'Up to 15% of those who are clinically depressed die by suicide.'
'One person in the world dies by suicide every 40 seconds.'

Depression is a murderer. 'It is a slower way of being dead.'


And yet.

Depression is curable. It is treatable. Some people have to take meds forever. Some don't.
Depression, if overcome or beaten, makes us grow. 'and as much as I hate, as much as I hate some of the places, some of the parts of my life depression has dragged me down to, in a lot of ways I'm grateful for it. Because yeah, it's put me in the valleys, but only to show me there's peaks, and yeah it's dragged me through the dark but only to remind me there is light. My pain, more than anything in 19 years on this planet, has given me perspective, and my hurt, my hurt has forced me to have hope, have hope and to have faith, faith in myself, faith in others, faith that it can get better, that we can change this, that we can speak up and speak out and fight back against ignorance, fight back against intolerance, and more than anything, learn to love ourselves, learn to accept ourselves for who we are, the people we are, not the people the world wants us to be.'
Depression doesn't make you a weak person. Please, never, ever, EVER believe that, even if everything screams at you that it's true. You're ill. And anyone can get sick with depression. Even children.
Depression (probably) can make us stronger than before. Because you've done it. You've run on empty, you've faced your darkest fears and come out of it in relatively one piece. You've been able to live despite feeling nothing, feeling like nothing, feeling so much pain that you just want to lie down and not wake up forever. And that's a fucking miracle. I've known a lot of people (not personally, but still) who have come out to the other side, battle-worn and worse for wear but still alive. And they have triumphed. And they have thrived. And they have lived lives that are fulfilling and reach out to help those who are still fighting their battles. And I, I believe in them, even if I'm still wandering in my own bleak world.

I believe, that depression is something that everyone should know about, because knowledge is the first step. If I didn't know I had depression, I'd probably be suicidal by now. 'I'm lazy, slow, I can't do anything productive, I'm a waste of space. I don't deserve to live.' These are the thoughts I've had before, and now I can say to them, 'no, I'm depressed.' A close friend I confided in told me she had actually guessed that I had depression 3 years prior to my confession. I was shocked. And absolutely horrified, because I hope that if someone is depressed, someone can come over and tell them, 'Hey, you're not lazy, slow, or a waste of space. You're probably depressed. I heard it's a mental illness that's like a living hell. Let's look up about it, maybe see if we can do anything about it.' That this 'pathetic' being isn't you, it's what depression has made you out to be. Sure depressed people hide it, some hide it so well no one suspects a thing until they see on the news that person's jumped off a building. But that's the point. Fight the ignorance, fight the intolerance, and people might be able to speak out. That's what I think, and that's what I'm going to believe in.

http://www.nami.org/Template.cfm?Section=depression
http://hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com.au/2013/05/depression-part-two.html
http://www.reddit.com/r/explainlikeimfive/comments/23xtul/eli5_how_to_explain_depression_to_my_spouse_who/
http://www.reddit.com/r/MorbidReality/comments/23or37/heres_a_few_posts_to_rsuicidewatch_who_have_since/cgz8rs5
http://www.ted.com/talks/andrew_solomon_depression_the_secret_we_share/transcript?language=en
http://www.ted.com/talks/kevin_breel_confessions_of_a_depressed_comic?language=en
http://www.thestar.com.my/Lifestyle/Health/2014/10/13/Suicide-kills-a-person-every-40-seconds-WHO-finds/
http://theovernight.donordrive.com/?fuseaction=cms.page&id=1034
http://www.allaboutdepression.com/gen_04.html

The Death Of Freelance Illustration, Passion Projects & Why We Quit Our Dream Jobs (Chris Oatley & Noah Bradley): An interpretation

Note: This is just my interpretation/ translation of the talk.  

This is a talk show(?) by Noah Bradley and Chris Oatley on YouTube. Be warned that it's 2 hours long. 


You can also go to Chris' blog post, but mostly it's to encourage you to listen to the talk and many, many links (relevant to the talk).

These guys have things they want to express and they're actually great ideas, but it was a little hard for me to get what they were saying. So I made this post as a kind of note to myself and for anyone who is trying to get a better picture of the talk.

While Chris Oatley was a Character Designer for Disney, Noah Bradley was an illustration freelancer for 3 years. They BOTH QUIT what they were doing, and now are doing their own personal projects and businesses for a living. Chris has his website, paperwings project, and Oatley Academy, an online art programme he teaches. Noah has just quit freelancing recently, 2 or 3 months ago, and has an art education programme, Art Camp and his own IP project called sin of man (the last bit I heard him say but don't comprehend)

Noah and Chris were both at a fantastic position that most of us only ever dream of; a freelance illustrator that can pick and choose the jobs he accepts, character designer at Disney... But when it comes down to it, anyone who ever entered the art industry did it because they loved art. They love to draw and to paint. Fundamentally, all of us are artists. That is our core. And as artists, these two wanted to take things to the next step. Noah here says he never liked doing what other people told him to do, and basically working for any company or person would entail that. Thus he quit freelancing, and is trying to do what every kid dreams of doing-doing what he likes and getting paid for it.

What Chris is saying, STOP looking at the industry in a traditional way of 'Disney dream job, and stable income OR freelancing fun but dangerous and unstable'. With the internet our choices are much more expanded, and you can take different approaches now. HOW and WHAT he does not elaborate, because he thinks it's different for everyone depending on their artistic skill set, preferences, and most importantly goals and dreams. Ultimately, what is it you set out to achieve? what is it that you want to take your art to? and from there you take steps, and you can initiate your own way of getting there.

What Noah is saying on the other hand, is while freelancing seems like the ultimate dream job if you can live on it, freelancing is completely dependent on getting clients. No clients=no job. And he's a damn famous and damn good freelance illustrator, and basically he found that the limit for freelancing is pretty low. You get to his level of fame and skill, and gets all the high paying awesome jobs, but that's about it. There is no 'up' from there. So he quit, and now he's trying out other stuff, not freelancing nor getting a job working for someone or some company.

But what about the financial side of things? Which is probably as important as our artistic goals itself, since finance provides the support. This is where the two says that yes, the financial side is important. Before quitting their respective jobs, Noah and Chris had saved enough to live on for about 6 to 9 months without income. That is because they know whatever personal venture they embark on will not immediately start paying good money, and is an important step of their transition. They DO NOT recommend doing your own thing without having financial security, which is basically the conundrum since all of us have jobs to finance our lives.  The point is that they're talking about this so that those of us who haven't yet reached that point in which 'doing our own thing' is an option know about what they're facing. Especially for art students and fresh grads, while doing our own thing might not be a viable option, it is important to note what they're saying because then we have an idea of the path we want to take. And, Chris adds it's extremely important that your family supports the decision to 'do your own thing' (you'll see me using this term often in the post). 

They go on to talk about  being an art teacher in their programs, and how fulfilling it is. Not much information to digest here.

Their next topic focuses on health insurance.You can read Chris' post on his blog about it. He's from America, and this part is only relevant to those living there or are interested in the topic.

So what's happening with freelance illustration? 

Freelance illustrators need to take whatever job they can get because of the fierce competition and limited choices, and as a result they do odd jobs here and there. It is most likely a lot of the jobs they have to take on are ones that they don't necessarily enjoy. Which is why they strongly encourage people to do their own thing, create their own intellectual property. It's better if you're both a good artist and a good storyteller, as one compliments and supports the other. If you can do both, it broadens horizons and gives you leverage.

Because of the overflow of talents, companies don't pay very well and don't pay on time. This is a given, and is the status quo. Chris and Noah say that instead of working for peanuts, you can create your own art and actually make money out of it. For example, Chris highlights a case where this artist was illustrating a card for a 100 buck, when he could probably sell 5 prints of the same illustration and earn as much, while retaining all his rights over the images and handling of his product. (Now in my opinion, you can only do this kind of thing if you're both well-known and a great artist, which a lot of us aren't. They cover fanbase and such later in this post.)

Another common thing in the art industry is 'free art tests'. The company asks you to draw stuff for them for free, and after that they'll decide if they'll hire you. MANY or I would say most senior artists advocate one thing on this: DON'T DO IT. You're doing work for free, which should not happen, and your portfolio should be able to show if you are capable. If not, recommendation from previous clients can work as reassurance, or something similar. Many shady companies, or one that just start up ask for that. Some also ask you to do free work for reputation, which is nonsense. (Case in point, TJ Wright's case) Side note, free art tests and story tests for animation companies are different.

Instead of working for someone else, try creating your own creation, which you have full rights over and that you can control, for example making your own interactive story/comic, or app. What Chris and Noah is trying to say in this entire podcast/talk is, stop thinking and looking at the industry in the traditional way, take things into your own hands, find ways to make your own creations. If they're good, you can definitely make money out of it. (An important note here is the 1000 True Fans concept by Kevin Kelly. I will link to it again at the bottom of this post for uniformity.)

So, if doing your own thing is so great, why do so few people actually doing it? The main reason is that there is no guarantee. We fear without our lifelines. We have families to take care of, bills to be paid each month. For freelance illustrators though, that's not much of a difference in that sense. That's why the things Noah and Chris are talking about isn't for everyone. If you like working for other people, go ahead! That's great. If you're looking to create art creations of your own though, you ought to try to do it, starting with making considerations and planning. It's extremely tough because you have to market, budget and do everything on your own, but that's the price that comes with the freedom of pursuing your own artistic goals and interests. Nothing of value comes easy, and being able to create your own art (and make a living out of it!) definitely isn't easy either.

If you want to do your own thing, and make money out of it, you obviously need a fanbase, which is in a way, your 'clients'. So how does one go about getting a fanbase? Chris says, by creating something great. Now this is where I think everything comes together: You're an artist because you have something you want to share with the world, and a creation can only be great if you're invested in it, or passionate about it. If you have something like that and execute it well, you can touch people. And when they're touched, they become fans, and fans buy your creations, which fund you for creating more art. Social networking is important, but that is just to share your creation with as many audiences as possible. You can't create a fanbase on nothing. And the main element for creating something great, is that is is special. Unique. And that uniqueness comes from your own art sense and personality, what you like and so forth that cannot be duplicated by another individual.

Doing your own thing though, requires that the individual has many different, necessary skills. In particular, Chris and Noah talk about being able to code and launch their own website, which Chris learnt the basics of when he just started out and was doing odd jobs, and needed to brush up a lot before working on his own webpages. Noah on the other hand learnt most of it before he was out of high school. The point is, to find out the skills you need and are lacking, learn those skills (it's becoming easier and easier since you can learn just about any skill online now) and apply them. This is where you need discipline and hard work, to find skills you lack and to polish skills that you have to outshine others in the same field.

Another thing they discuss is about side income. I personally think it applies whether you're doing your own thing or working with a stable job. If you can make money out of it, even just a little, like prints or affiliate links, why not do it? You won't lose anything and all of the accumulated little money you get adds up to something.

Nuggets of wisdom (The Q&A Part of their talk)

Get an accountant, saves a lot of hassle and saves more money on tax returns, since the accountant knows the in and outs.

If you're comfortable to walk away from a job/deal, you have some power in said project. If you need each and every job to pay bills, you have none.

Wordpress for people with no web design or coding knowledge.

People live free stuff. Doing giveaways or creating a piece of work to be enjoyed for free every once in a while is something to consider.

They don't recommend paid advertisement.

Communication skills are extremely important. Proper grammar and punctuations, spell-checking shows that you care enough to at least say things right, and leaves a good impression. Be polite and professional whenever you communicate.

If you do something to promote yourself and your work, that something should have to do with yourself and your work, i.e making tutorials about making comics if you're a comic artist. Don't randomly make a tutorial about something else, which might lead astray the attention of people to something not related to your work. This is a part of the 'specialisation' thing that they support.

Whether you're trying to expand your fanbase or promote your work, you can find fans of your genre everywhere on the internet, especially social media sites like Reddit.

Stay focused on improving your craft, whatever it may be, invest your time and energy so that you may excel in it, and remember the importance and how dire it is that you succeed in excelling in a craft that you want to make a living out of.

Help people if you can do so, whether it be answering their questions or helping them find a link or giving them suggestions. The help will be appreciated and helps you form relationships with others.

And that's it!

I will be linking the same links as in Chris' blog post about this talk for convenience and because there are one or two things he mentioned that he missed out on. (Note: I did not include the links to Chris and Noah's art program, which I feel would be advertisement here. If you are interested just go to their sites and you'll find the programs with ease.)

Will Terry's YouTube Video: My Speech to Illustration Students. There are 3 parts, approx. 45 mins in total.


http://ChrisOatley.com

http://NoahBradley.com

Seth Godin's blog

The Long Tail concept by Chris Anderson

1000 True Fans article by Kevin Kelly

Freakonomics: The Upside of Quitting

Will Terry's blog post: Where are my Freelance Jobs?

Noah's 100$ a Day post

Chris' Top 5 Illustration Portfolio Pitfalls post

Chris' Bad Clients post

Kwik (Photoshop plugin for creating apps.)

PACT (An organization dedicated to improving the working standards for illustrators. It seems quite promising.)

There are 3 book links on Chris' blog post, and if you're interested you should go from his link as he will get a small cut if you do and buy something on the site. I will just mention the title here:

Quitter: Closing the Gap Between Your Day Job & Your Dream Job by Jon Acuff

The Dip: A Little Book That Teaches You When to Quit (and When to Stick) by Seth Godin

The 4-Hour Workweek: Escape 9-5, Live Anywhere, and Join the New Rich by Timothy Ferris

Dance in Moonlight

Take my hand, my love, my sweet
And dance with me
What's wrong, sweetheart?
Bask in the madness of the moon full
Dance, darling, dance like a fool
Knowing only the sweet delirium of the moon



Just a quick sketch inspired by the full moon tonight (last night?) and slightly delirious feelings.

Tonight feels like a night to weep and be enchanted by the tears

Momma I'm Scared

Momma, momma, I'm scared
There's something in the house
Something big and bad
Something sinister yet sad

Momma, momma, I think it's coming closer
I can hear whispers in the dark
Telling me choking lies and putrefying truths
Turning into a sweet, sweet lullby 

Momma, momma, can't you see it?
That monster in the mirror right over there
Its claws pointing right at me,
Its crazed smile and demented stare

你不是真正的快乐 - 五月天 (You Are Not Truly Happy by Mayday) Lyrics and English Translation

你不是真正的快乐
作词：五月天 作曲：五月天

人 群中 哭著 你只想变成透明的颜色
你再也不会梦 或痛 或心动了
你已经决定了 你已经决定了

Crying in the midst of a crowd, you just want to become transparent
You will no longer dream, nor be in pain, nor ever be moved again
You have decided, you have decided

你 静静 忍著 紧紧把昨天在拳心握著
而回忆越是甜 就是 越伤人了
越是在 手心留下 密密麻麻 深深浅浅 的刀割

You silently hold it in, gripping yesterday tightly in your heart
And the sweeter the memory, the more it hurts
The more it leaves a dense, tingling, deep yet shallow knife wound in your palm

你不是真正的快乐 你的笑只是你穿的保护色
你决定不恨了 也决定不爱了
把你的灵魂关在永远锁上的躯壳

You are not truly happy; your smile is only the camouflage you wear
You've decided not to hate anymore, and also decided not to love anymore
Have your soul shut inside an empty shell that's forever locked

这 世界 笑了 於是你合群的一起笑了
当生存是规则 不是 你的选择
於是你 含著眼泪 飘飘荡荡 跌跌撞撞 的走著

This world is laughing, and so you play along and laugh with everyone
To live is a rule, and not your own choice
So with tears you walk on--drifting, swaying, stumbling, colliding

你不是真正的快乐 你的笑只是你穿的保护色
你决定不恨了 也决定不爱了
把你的灵魂关在永远锁上的躯壳

You are not truly happy, your smile is only the camouflage you wear
You've decided not to hate anymore, and also decided not to love anymore
Have your soul shut inside an empty shell that's forever locked

你不是真正的快乐 你的伤从不肯完全的愈合
我站在你左侧 却像隔著银河
难道就真的抱著遗憾一直到老了 然后才后悔著

You are not truly happy; your wounds have never been willing to completely heal
I'm standing on your left, but it's as though a galaxy separates us
Could it be that we're really going to hold this remorse until we grow old, then regret it after

你不是真正的快乐 你的笑只是你穿的保护色
你决定不恨了 也决定不爱了
把你的灵魂关在永远锁上的躯壳

You are not truly happy; your smile is only the camouflage you wear
You've decided not to hate anymore, and also decided not to love anymore
Have your soul shut inside an empty shell that's forever locked

你不是真正的快乐 你的伤从不肯完全的愈合
我站在你左侧 却像隔著银河
难道就真的抱著遗憾一直到老了

You are not truly happy; your wounds have never been willing to completely heal
I'm standing on your left, but it's as though a galaxy separates us
Could it be that we're really going to hold this remorse until we grow old, then regret it after

你值得真正的快乐 你应该脱下你穿的保护色
为什麼失去了 还要被惩罚呢
能不能就让 悲伤全部 结束在此刻 重新开始活著

You deserve true happiness; you should shed the camouflage you wear
Why after having to suffer loss, you have to be punished as well
Can we just let all the despair end at this moment, and begin living anew


I translated this so that it would be fluid in English while trying to make it as close to the original as possible. The sentence structures were mostly switched around, but the meanings are as accurate as I could get. Hope you find this useful!

The Hole and Hourglass

There's a hole in my chest
Where an hourglass sits perfectly
Watching tears fall in uniform drops
Going drip, drip, drip.

There's a hole in my chest
The weight of tears now calm
Causes my hourglass to spin
Waiting emptiness into being.

There's a hole in my chest
Where my hourglass spins
In a dance of tears and hollowness
In measured despair.

Just a Dream

She didn't cry
She didn't scream
But whispered over and over
It's just a dream, it's just a dream.


Been awhile since I last posted anything here...

Stained.

Blue colour of a soul,
stained green,
spirals into a colour I cannot speak.

Coincidences... or not.

As they passed by housing areas, Corvina saw children playing catch in a small garden, in another, a woman was hanging clothes out to dry; a man hosed down his car, while his dog barked at the passing bus at the gate. The little sounds and images of everyday life brought a calm onto Corvina--to her, the ordinary moments in life, the peace and the calm, were beautiful in a soothing way.

As attuned to the rumbling vibrations and the quiet chatter on the bus as she was, she was fixated on the scenery outside, staring unblinkingly. There was something, she decided, about the looking at everyday scenes from a height--they gave a sense of different perspective, somehow.

"Those flowers for someone special?" Fred the bus driver asked, conversationally. She had been a daily passenger of his for years, and today she had said that it would be the last. The middle-aged lady had always been a quiet, gentle thing--he enjoyed their little chats, and was a little sad to see her go.

Corvina smiled without averting her gaze from the window. "Yes, they are." She was turning to face him when something on the bus caught her eye. She froze.

"Vina?" Fred called, quizzically. "Nothing." Taking out her phone, she snapped a picture of the bus' passengers.





People meet the person they must meet, at the time they must meet that person. The only thing is fate.
 And... parting  is exactly the same.

The quote whispered in Gabriel's mind hauntingly. He stared blankly, immersed in his own thoughts. Without thinking, he loosened his tie and the motion reminded him yet again about the reality of the fact that he had just attended his uncle's funeral. He looked at the pictures he'd taken on the little screen of his DSLR. A funeral casket. White roses. People dressed in black, expressions just as somber. A plague, Bernard Chanttinton. Uncle Bird. His chest constricted. He thought back onto the day that he received his first camera.

He was seven, and his parents were out of town. Uncle Bird was asked to babysit, and he had taken him to his home. All Gabriel could recall was that it was dark in the house even at noon, and that it was incredibly cluttered. Books, statues, ornaments, clothing were everywhere, and he remembered navigating through the mess tentatively.

His uncle had called for him, impatient. He was in the next room. And when little Gabriel went in, his jaw dropped to the floor. The entire room was filled with photographs--on the walls, covering the floor, heck, even on the ceiling. They were in various sizes, some in frames, some not, others in albums. Colour, black and white, scenery, people, nature, animals, plants. Anything and everything. A portrait painted in oil paint stuck out in the midst of the mess of photos. "Did you paint this, Uncle Bird?" "Yeah." His uncle was rummaging the shelves for something.

Gabriel stared curiously at the portrait. It was of a lady with an air of nobility, her expression regal yet elegant. A smile softened an otherwise stony face. She wore exquisite clothes, and a blue gem on a delicate silver chain winked at her throat. "I didn't know you could paint, Uncle." "It was a one time thing."

"Kid, catch." He had had to crash to the floor, narrowly avoiding the object in his hands from going to pieces. It was an old camera, the type that still used film roles and could only take black and white pictures. Uncle Bird lit a cigarette while he examined it. "It's yours, squirt."

Gabriel blinked big, brilliant green eyes at him. "Thank you, Uncle Bird! But, why?" He titled his head, puzzled. A puff of smoke rose as his uncle shrugged carelessly. "Figured you might like it. Anyway you can go around talking pictures with that junk for the rest of the afternoon. Don't bother me, 'kay? Uncle has work. Shoo."

"It has no film!"




Serafina walked aimlessly around the city streets, her hands in her coat, her crimson hair messy in the wind. She knew she shouldn't be walking out on the streets at this time of night, but she couldn't help herself. She couldn't sleep, couldn't bear to think about what she had lost, or the long days ahead. So she walked. She walked and walked, trying to walk away from reality but couldn't.

It was, ironically, a beautiful night. There was no one about these normally packed streets, and the silence and fresh air soothed her a little. She listened to the sound of her boots padding on ground with a muted thump, her mind blank of any thoughts.

She came to a sudden stop. Somehow, she found herself at the waterfront. Across the river, skyscrapers and other buildings illuminated the night, the light reflected on the calm river. But what made her stop was above--she tilted her head upwards.

The sky was full of stars. Normally, she couldn't see a single one due to the city's polluted air, but a storm had just cleared, revealing clear skies and stars and the sight made her catch her breath.

Stars are the souls of great heroes and wise kings past... of loved ones lost.

Her mother's voice echoed in her mind, and Serafina remembered her saying this when she was just a child.


Mom.

Mom.

Mom...

Serafina closed her eyes against the stars, tears falling from closed eyelids and she allowed herself to remember the woman who had given birth to her, loved her, and whom she had lost today.





Maria smiled at the child across from her affectionately. "You're a bright child, Michael." The six year old beamed proudly, his little chest puffed out in pride. He had beaten all his classmates in their exams again. "Mom will be happy, right? She'll praise me, right?" Maria's smile dropped a fraction, recalling something painful from the past, though Michael didn't notice. "Yes, she will. She'll be so proud of you."

She motioned for him to come to her. Holding his little hands in hers, she looked him directly in the eye, and said solemnly, "Michael, I have always loved bright children like you. But you have to remember this. Never use that brightness for your own selfish wishes, nor to hurt other people. Always remember to treat people the way you want to be treated. Remember never to hurt others for any reason, because you will be the one who's hurt in the end. Do you understand?"

Michael nodded solemnly, his bright eyes serious. "Promise me you'll remember this, even after you grow up and leave this kindergarten."

"I promise."





Daniel walked into the jewellery store peering around warily. Although it had a decent reputation, the name The Glimmering One sounded like a ridiculous joke. He eyed the pieces behind glass counters, looking for something suitable.

"May I help you, sir?" A young woman, one of the store clerks smiled at him. "Uh, yes. May I have a look at that?" He indicated the piece he wanted. The clerk handed it to Daniel with a flourish. She smiled appreciatively. "It's a beautiful piece sir. Your girlfriend is lucky to have such a tasteful boyfriend."

He chuckled, turning it over in his hands. It was of good craftsmanship, and the price was reasonable. "Oh no, it's for a friend's wedding."

Decided, Daniel nodded. "I'll take it." He handed her a credit card.

"Great, I'll get your receipt printed out and have it place in a suitable box and wrapped."

He dipped his head. "Thank you..." He read off her name tag,"Serafina."

"You're welcome, sir."





Kirstyn opened the diary and flipped to a random page. She read out loud, "...and there he was, sitting on my seat, playing with my watch, as if he owned the damned thing. He was talking to the girl who sat behind me during exams, completely oblivious to the dagger glare I was aiming at him--" Julia snatched the diary, laughing. "Enough!! Stop reading about my first crush and all my teenage woes."

"Oh, so that's your first crush hey? What's his name?" Kirstyn wriggled her eyebrows, a mischievous grin on her face. She rolled onto her stomach on Julia's bed, hands cupping her cheeks.

"Would you hurry up and help me move the boxes, instead of opening them and nosing into every single thing?" Julia said wryly. Then she laughed. "Besides, what's knowing it for? I'm getting married tomorrow!"





Maria closed the door shut behind her, sighing tiredly. She loved kindergarten kids, but they were extremely tiring. She put her thing down on the floor, then flicked on the lights.

A young man sat lounged on her couch, a gun aimed at her.

"Don't you dare scream. Move away from the door, slowly."

Maria stared, her hand going to her chest, and she clutched the table end for support. Familiar blonde hair, and ocean green eyes. She knew who she faced. "Rafael." She whispered.

His aquamarine eyes flashed. "So you do remember me, my old school teacher." He sneered. "I see you continue to play the role of a teacher, as unqualified as you are. Or have you forgotten? Forgotten that if you had done the right thing, if you had told everyone that the principal's son was bullying me, abusing me, then I wouldn't have been expelled from middle school. I wouldn't have disgust my aunt and uncle, who were already disgusted by my runaway mother and suicidal father enough. They wouldn't have sold me off--"

"I couldn't say it!" Maria burst out. "How could I tell the principal that you were being bullied when you were the one who burned his grandson's books, and vandalized the school with foul words used to describe him and his friends?"

"They deserved it!' Rafael bellowed. "They were the ones who called my father a spineless dick, who said that my mother was whoring herself out on the streets, and called me a bastard every single day."

"It was just verbal abuse, you didn't have to--"

"Just verbal abuse!?" Rafael exploded, and shot up to his feet. "They humiliated me. Belittled me. Crushed whatever pride I had left, as if they were all better than me. They made me a laughing stock, made everyone stay away from me. I had no one, no friends, no real family. All I had were whispers and rumours of whatever atrocious deeds my parents had committed. And I confided in you, my teacher. Only you. And you did nothing. And when I did something to make things right, you turned your back on me."

Tears flowed freely from Maria's eyes, tears of regret. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry that I assumed the verbal words wouldn't affect such a bright child like you. That you were above it. I'm so, so sorry that I forgot no matter how tough, how mature you appeared, you were still a child. Just a child. And I'm sorry that I didn't try to take you away from your aunt and uncle--I thought that even though they despised you, they still clothed you, fed you. And that that was good enough. But it wasn't. It so, so wasn't. And I'm sorry, so so sorry..."

Rafael's eyes were cold. "I've had enough of your apologies. They don't change a thing." He cocked the gun. "Any last words?"

Maria wiped her tears away, and tried to steady her shaking breaths. "I've failed you once, Rafael. I won't do it again. Don't do this. If I could atone for what I've done--or what I didn't do by my death, I would willingly die for you. But it doesn't, and if you do this you will come to hate yourself."

Rafael laughed, but the laughter was hollow. "As if I don't already hate myself."

Maria's eyes were sad. "Don't do this, Rafael. Turn yourself in for the robbery you committed. You're still considered a junior, and you have solid reasons for stealing--you didn't have a home, didn't have a guardian. We'll make a court appeal. And after, it will be a fresh start, and I'll help you. I'll apply to be your legal guardian, and I'll send you to college. I'll pay for your tuition. You're intelligent, bright, and you'll do well there. I promi--I swear. I swear it, Rafael, I do."

Rafael's finger was on the trigger. "You're lying. I'm being charged on two counts of robbery, two of theft and one of arson. Do you really think they're going to let me off just like that? Things are never that simple, never so easy."

"You're right, they never are. But I swear I'll be there for you." Her voice broke. "Believe me, Rafael. Please believe me."





Serafina sighed. The management was in an uproar since the theft fiasco last week. The thief had stolen 16 of the most expensive pieces they had in store, and somehow they were trying to find someone to blame. She just hoped it wasn't her--she really needed the job to support herself. The manager might be a devil, but at least the pay was good.

"Mommy, which one do you like most?" A child was pointing at their display at the front, excitedly tugging on his mother's sleeve. "Hmm... that one." The mother pointed to a pendant in the shape of a lynx, crafted in burnished silver.

"Then, when I grow up and earn lots and lots of money, I'll buy it for you for Mother's Day, mommy!" The child was all smiles. The mother smiled back. "You're such a sweet boy, Michael."

... Mother's Day, huh.





Julia fidgeted nervously, waiting for her makeup artist to arrive. She tried not rumple her white chiffon and silk dress. She was feeling extremely nervous, like there was a mini-tornado in her stomach. But who didn't feel nervous on the day they were getting married?

"Julia."

Julia whipped her around, startled. "M-Mrs. Dutcmond." Her mother-in-law to-be. She was a regal lady, her posture ever elegant, expression ever severe. Eragon assured her over and over that his mother didn't dislike her, but she had the feeling she wasn't overly fond of her either.

"Just Josephine will do, dear. After all..." She paused. "we are about to become family, are we not?"

Julia hesitated. "Josephine." She tried the words, foreign to her tongue.

This time it was Josephine's turn to hesitate. "I have a gift for you, for celebrating your marrying into my family." She motioned forward a young bridesmaid, who came carrying a black velvet box. In it, was a beautiful dark blue gem, surrounded by tiny diamonds on a thin silver chain. It was absolutely gorgeous. Julia gave a small gasp.

Josephine smiled slightly. "It doesn't fit all the requirements, but... it's something old and something blue." She moved to clasp the chain around Julia's neck.

"It's... it's wonderful." Julia stared at the necklace in the mirror, still stunned by its beauty. "Thank you, Josephine."

"It was given to me by the man who taught me how to love," She said it so softly that Julia almost didn't catch it. There was something in her voice that made Julia think that it wasn't a topic she would care to breach. She nervously babbled as the makeup artist arrived.

"Well, this dress is borrowed so all I need is something new."





Serafina laughed hoarsely when it began to pour. So even the gods were laughing at her. She had just gotten fired, and was now soaking wet, standing still while the crowd around her scrambled for cover.

She tilted her head towards the sky, recalling the night she saw the stars. At least she might have a chance of seeing them again tonight, if it rained hard enough. She sighed, wishing life wouldn't slap her in the face again and again.

Serafina sighed again. She knew she would have to deal with life sooner or later, so she might as well avoid getting sick on top of everything else. Glancing around, she saw that most of the shops were closed, but there was one open for an exhibition of some sort. She ran towards it.





Kirstyn ran hard, arms pumping at her sides, uncaring that she was wearing a dress. She was going to be late for her best friend's wedding if she didn't hurry! She weaved through the throng of people, calling out 'excuse me's all along the way. Suddenly, she ran right smack into a man and almost fell. He reached out and steadied her before she could. "Sorry, are you alright?" The man looked at her with worried green eyes.

She tried to catch her breath. "I'm alright. Not your fault. Rushing. Best friend's wedding." She continued to take deep breaths when she noticed that he had a DSLR hanging from his neck. So that was what that made her feel like someone sucker punched her in the abdomen. She gasped, "Your camera. Did I damage it?"

He blinked and looked down at said camera, holding it up for inspection. "Doesn't look like it."

"Good. Got to go, bye." And she was off like a rocket. He only shook his head, continuing on his way.





Reid brought the youth forward and locked him up in detention. "Hey Lucius, you take care of this one. He just turned himself in. Apparently he's got five charges against him--two theft, two robbery and arson."

Lucius whistled. "And he just... turned himself in?"

Reid shrugged. He didn't need to say that his friend Maria was the one who convinced him to do so. "You figure this one out. I need to get off work early today." "Let me guess, a date?" Lucius said dryly.

"Nope, sister's getting married."





Daniel watched as Julia and Eragon went around greeting friends and family at the reception. They were practically radiating bliss, happiness evident on their faces.

It was quite fun actually, talking to his old schoolmates. They were discussing about whose wedding their were most likely to attend next. He grinned as he absorbed the gossip that they relayed.

"Julia, get over here! We haven't gotten to tease the blushing bride enough yet." Daniel's old classmate hollered. They all laughed as Julia excused herself from some other guests.

"Well that's certainly a way to get my attention," Julia laughed brightly. She smiled as her old schoolmates showered her with compliments and well wishes.

As she chatted excitedly with a couple of her ex-classmates like they were still schoolgirls, Daniel lifted a hand to her auburn hair. He touched the silver hair ornament in her hair, the sliver wires swirling in an elegant pattern, a part of it encrusted with amethysts that formed the shape of a butterfly.

"Still have the habit of touching other people's stuff, I see." Julia addressed Daniel dryly, but her smile was affectionate.

He smiled back. "Well, technical it's mine since I bought it."

"Bought for me, so it's mine." She grinned. "But really, thank you. It's beautiful."

Just then, Kirstyn came barreling into Julia, and she was dragged away by a laughing best friend.

Daniel watched her go, his eyes a little wistful. "You are beautiful." He murmured quietly. Always have been.





As Gabriel arrived at the gallery, he was met by various friends and associates, all congratulating him on his first solo exhibition. He felt a little awkward, not quite sure of how he should conduct himself. He wasn't used to events like this where he was the center of attention--birthdays included. He disliked birthday parties.

Trying to ignore the stares and whispers, he walked around the gallery. It felt surreal to see his own photographs being featured on those white walls. As he walked, he recalled where and when he took each of them.

He cam to a stop at the centerpiece of his exhibition, the print trice the length of a man and as tall as one. As he ran his eyes over it, a single thought cam into his mind.

He wished Uncle Bird was here to see this.

Attending his funeral in the morning and going to my solo exhibition at night. If only he'd quit smoking, then he wouldn't have had lung cancer. Gabriel sighed. It did no good to think about 'if's. But he couldn't help wondering, what would he had said if he was still here? Would he be proud? Would he criticize his work? Before all that, would he even care? This was the man would shot down his belief in Santa when he was just six, after all. The memory caused his lips to rise in a bittersweet smile.

But really, what would you have felt looking at this, Uncle Bernard?

The photo was of the city at night, its multicoloured lights reflected on a calm river. The upper half of the photo was of the sky, which was glimmering, full with stars, vast above the skyscrapers. In the foreground was the waterfront, the pavement a cool cream white, a few dead leaves rustling by.

The focus of the photograph was at the far right--the figure of a young woman, her back towards the viewer. Her head was tilted upwards towards the stars, her billowing bright red hair a startling contrast against the rest of the photo.

Most people told Gabriel that when they saw the photo, somehow, through just the stance of the woman, they could feel all the loneliness and fragility that that back held--as if she was gazing helplessly at the stars, begging them for answers to questions that had none. The whole photograph was such that it broke the hearts of all those who looked at it, for all the loneliness that it symbolized.

At that moment, someone walked into the gallery and stood shock still beholding said photograph. It was the young woman in the photo, soaking wet from head to toe, her expression stunned speechless.

Gabriel blinked at her. "...What a coincidence."





Corvina got off the bus, thanking Fred for the last time. She pulled her cloak more tightly against her, a chilly breeze starting up. She walked into the cemetery, her thoughts everywhere. She moved slowly through the graves, the silence of the site made it serene. There was no one about.

She came to a stop, then laid her white lilies down on her brother's and sister-in-law's joint grave. She gazed at the inscription, trying to think of how to say all the things she wanted to say to them. All the things she wished she had said, wished she had done. Finally, she began in a quiet voice,

"I'm sorry for visiting so late, Colin. And Maeve. It's been eleven years since I ran away, and six since I learned that my only brother and his wife had passed on." She laughed mirthlessly. "Can you believe it? It was three whole years after you had died that I knew you fatal accident had occurred. I ran so hard, so far that I couldn't bear to look back. And when I finally did, I learnt that you had gone somewhere that I can't go." Warm tears dripped on cold marble stone.

"I'm sorry, brother. So sorry. I ran away from everything when I should have stood and faced my problems. I should have known that if I did, you would be there by my side. If I had just told you that my own husband was abusing me, you would have been the first to rescue me. You always were an overprotective, idiot of a brother, even since we were children. I was such a coward. I was afraid, so I ran from my problems. And I was so afraid, that I didn't dare come back to face what I had left behind. My job, you, and my son. I was such a cowardly idiot that I didn't take my only son with me." She traced the inscription on the grave as she spoke. "He probably hates me now."

"It took me this long, but Colin, I'm here now. I don't know if I can ever be forgiven for what I'd done, but here, right now, I swear this on your grave, brother. I swear that I will never run away again. Even if my own son turns away from me, I won't run away. I will take responsibility for my actions now. And... if he will let me, I will be the aunt that my nephew didn't have." Corvina smiled a small smile. "Your son looks just like you, you know. Tall, dark haired, brilliant green eyes. I saw him today, your Gabriel. And also..." She trailed off. "...my son."

She took out her phone, looking at the photograph she took earlier that day. On the bus, among the passengers there was an old schoolteacher, fast asleep, her head against the window; a young lady with bright red hair busily tried to comb it into order; a young man, holding what that looked like a wedding present; Gabriel, staring out the window, one hand over his camera; and finally, her son, with his fair hair, and turquoise eyes. Rafael.

There is no such thing as coincidence; there is only fate.

Corvina trailed her fingertips over Maeve's grave. "You always did like that quote--perhaps it really is fate that I got to see my son and nephew on the same day, after so many years."


*The two quotes about fate at the beginning and at the end are from xxxholic by CLAMP.