Wednesday, 12 December 2012

I Am From

I am from red clay pots sitting along hard grey roads,
warm sunshine and heavy raindrops tapping tills
lone animals treading quietly,  the swish of cattle’s tails mingling with the cries of the market.
Fiery dragons breathing columns of fire,
jaded pedants bearing rabbit pads.
Of crystal flutes chiming along to the deep rumble of the Tabla.

I am from Paramore and Taylor Swift
P!nk, Ed Sheeran and Three Days Grace.
I am from Jasport backpacks and shiny silver Macbooks,
of pretty dresses and black converse.
I am from spiced air and soaring skyscrapers
Embassy standing proud as hooves soar above striped oxers.

I am from blue china plates, dove wings fluttering across glass as tall flutes tinkle merrily.
The loud bark of a Yorkshire Terrier, golden brown and grey merging with light.
Gleaming stainless steel food bowls and knotted paw-printed leashes.
From opinions and beliefs, colours brightening and molding across a sheet of canvas.
Music notes black and fleeting yet lingering in the soul
fingers strumming guitar strings and pressing frets lovingly.

I am from crisp white paper stained with musings of my mind
of ink shaping ideas, of characters and places skirting through my dreams.
Paint spattered canvas, ink stained fingertips, charcoal covered palms.
Fine paintbrushes splashing life into grey and pencils sketching endlessly.
I am from battered Beanie Babies and scattered rainbows of rubber bands
messy buns and loose waves tickling the cloth on my shoulder.
Shifting dreams and warm, steady love from my mother’s open arms,
of my father’s never ending support and comforting, confident voice.

I am from the pale moonlight dappling lakes,
mysterious, tender silver setting the murky water aglow yet leaving some hidden.
Fluffy orange dipped clouds drifting slowly along the setting sun,
bursting with memories and full of glimmering hope tinged with acceptance.
I am from the trees, the flowers and the wind;
from the night sky and the breathtaking dawn.
I am from Cassopeia as she glows duskily against the stars,
from the abstract, storytellers of the universe.
Faint stardust spinning through space,
soft red powder forming my features in the timeless void of memories.

Tuesday, 4 December 2012


I love homemade cookies.

They're warm, soft and moist with chocolate chips, melting and good at the tip of your tongue. They taste wonderful not only because it is full of lovely chocolate-y goodness but also because home baked cookies are full of love. 

Love from the baker shaping the round dessert, love from the person consuming the lovely food, love from the atmosphere around it. When you bake cookies it is not a process but like meeting an old friend; you do not merely follow the instructions but make it your own. 

Making the cookiedough; nibbling chunks of semisweet, chocolate bits in a snowy white plain. Shaping the circles, placing them onto a powdered mat with the careful cautiousness of holding a newborn baby. Baking a cookie is a like an experience itself with new and old.

In a way baking a cookie is a little like life. The first time you bake one you will make small mistakes whether in the temperature of the heat or the amount of butter you've added. But you learn as you bake them again just as in life you learn from your mistakes. You can experiment with your shapes and ingredients just as you can experiment with different situations and styles in life. You can rush forward carelessly while baking a cookie or tread with slow caution just as you can approach life.

Cookies represent life and life is in a cookie.

Wednesday, 28 November 2012

s u p r i s e me

As Ric Elias locks the audience with a quiet, frank gaze I can't help but feel awe, compassion and respect for this man on my computer screen. How he felt when he faced death in the eye that he said that he did not feel afraid but felt sad. Saddened because he loved his life and didn't want to let go but mostly because he wanted to see his children grow up.

I watched this TED Talk which had Ric Elias one of the 155 occupants of Flight 1549 that crash landed in the Hudson River talk about how he felt, the three things he discovered about himself. How he never wants to postpone anything in his life anymore and how he is so thankful for the fact he can see his daughters grow up. 

I found this talk inspiring and very respect worthy. Seeing your entire life slipping out of your grasp and into someone else's control must be horrific; there is so much you want to do but you don't know what will happen. I guess that's why everyone discovers things about themselves when they face life threatening situations or are in danger of dying–they might fade away and the fear, the horror of that humbles and enlightens you.

xx tanisha (:

Sunday, 25 November 2012


Music. Light flashes of song in the air; nimble fingers creating breathtaking, gorgeous sounds; something brimming with so much emotion and passion it just connects with you right in the heart. It sets your soul aflame, refreshes your mind and is an outlet for people to escape.

Today I was reminded about my love of music when I restarted my guitar lessons. Music had always been something wonderful and magical too me because when I was younger–about in kindergarten to third grade–I was really shy. I had friends but had trouble interacting with strangers and would drift away in my own little world. Music and words were my escape from the world I had so much trouble in; the trouble which faded abruptly after a sudden change in fourth grade where my previous awkwardness melted away as quickly as it transpired. But the memory of it remained fresh in the back of my mind, swirling around with other distant thoughts and lurking moments.

The strums of the guitar and soft tunes on the piano morphed me into a place where I could converse as easily as any other seven year old and exist in a place where everything was wonderfully happy; a small little haven. The hardship of trying to make my voice as loud as my five best friend's in second grade melted away in that small room where I visited after school on Thursdays, surrounded by guitars, pianos and words. The smell of ink and wonder in the air.

Touching my guitar today made me recall those days spent in that special place–the place where my time as a shy, socially awkward kid were spent after school; the time where my six best friends who were more confident and louder drowned out my voice. 

I guess the memory of who was in second grade will never completely fade whenever there is music or words. 

Wednesday, 14 November 2012

a whisper

The whisper of the willow trees mingling with the soft lullaby of a stream instantly stirs up memories. It relaxes me, calms me; makes me feel wonderfully calm and content without any negative emotion tainting my blood. 

It morphs me into something timeless.

A fragment of the wind–constantly moving, frequently searching but always stubbornly never changing. The gusts of air whether vengeful, soothing or tragic will remain rushing throughout the world; the rays of sunlight kissing flower's petals.

Everlasting. Unforgettable. There.

I don't know why but willow trees and small, quiet streams always elicit a change in me. They make me into one of them–a graceful, eternal willow tree. They weave a spell made from their music though seemingly non existent is present. Always there if you're willing to listen. 

xx tanisha (:

10 Things I Know Are True

1. I hide my anger or sadness when I’m around other people.

2. I loathe it when people judge upon sight–it irks me.

3. The Aurora Borealis is one of the most magical, beautiful sights to grace the world.

4. Beauty is everywhere if you just open your eyes.

5. Grass wouldn’t be green if llamas hadn’t treaded upon earth.

6.. Emoticons make chat fabulous.

7. Travelling is one of the best things about the world–exploring new places, meeting new people.

8. Flaws have their own unique beauty.

9. Warmth, style and color are expressed in fingerless gloves.

10. Invader Gir is the cutest, most adorable, vegetable-like icon in existence.

Those are my ten things that I know to be true.

xx tanisha (:

Tuesday, 13 November 2012


I didn't really want to share my vignettes on my blog however I thought about it for a while and decided to go for it. After all this may be the first of many assignments to post and it wouldn't really achieve anything to just refuse to post them. I edited the four so read on. :3

Sea of Sonance

Happiness warming, sadness piercing my soul as waves washed over my ears. Burning cries of anger raging through the passage of my ears, completing the howling, clashing sea of sound and colour. The water calm and sweet, filled with mermaids singing of happy things and sweet loves and other dark, swirling - roaring hungrily for vengeance and howling with fiery rage.

A lone current swims quietly, weeping. Tears lost deep into the churning pools of water - making an impact; a vibration of sound and bitter tears of lost dreams. The sea is alive, thrumming with vibration, with melody, with passion yet it is not shared with anyone else - not the crowd of dark blurred figures on the far off strip of golden brown sand or the birds rising up ahead.

It is my sea of sonance; drifting farther and farther away from the people on the crowded, battered bus going steadily to the hills and further into my beautiful sea of music.

The Different Sides

Dark, haunting eyes, soft fawn-coloured fur rustling in the wind. Four white socks beautifully contrasting with the tawny pelt bristling with flaring spirit, wild as any stallion as she glides forward. Delicate, smooth paws moving willfully, purposefully without any restraint; a strut to her step and bite to her mew. She carries herself gracefully to the center of the wall; a wall of decisions and acceptance.

A snowy, wavy pelt with a silver tint, gentle observant caramel eyes flickering about languidly. Waves of polished, groomed fur with a sleek tail waving lightly in the breeze. Refined with a certain youth; gullible and sweet with an edge. An edge of complete insanity, of wildness hidden by mannering and grooming of years; an edge revealing itself while she stepped gracefully to the middle.

Browns met; two dark and wild, two calm and sweet. A moment passed, a moment of silence. The two noses touched and the two sides converged; unconsciously becoming a single cat as a click pierced the air; freezing the moment in time forever. The tool was lowered, saving it away with the other little memories and moments.

Tumblr Tree
Millions of tales written on leaves. Intelligent opinions, passionate remarks, irksome stupidity. The sharing of ideas, laughter and wonderfully delightful small treasures around the world:  

Beauty scattered on each bit of foliage with more arriving each day. Being a part of one of the most diverse, unique families in the world. Making yourself well known to your fellow brothers and sisters. Becoming more than the tiny, seemingly insignificant leaf on the ever rising oak tree the leaf appears to be absolutely alike to all the others perched on the branch. But if you peer closer there are differences; tiny details that make each of special and different and one day, some of those leaves will grow into magnificent, bold fronds viewed by the creatures underneath with wonder.

If you look closely, past the obvious, you will discover some of these leaves hiding in the shade. Those are just as pretty, just as unique. And those who notice the hidden finery will be attracted to it; eventually becoming attached and viewing every little step and thing it does while taking pleasure as it begins to grow. Those observers become friends or foes. They offer support but also abuse the leaves withl plucks and pecks of distaste and hate. They alone can help the leaf blossom or wither; help them rise to greater heights or cling closely to the bark.

Ink Stained Fury
The tip of the sword pierced the page as anger welled in me, blue blood spattering across the surface. It attacked; flashing in and out beginning its began its formation with an odd grace. My rage, frustration, hurt began to take shape on the companion; the sweet, mellow creature who endured the fierce assault - allowing emotions to spill out in beautiful, soft azure. Words spun their spell around the struggling sword; words soothing, words whispering. The battle continued fighting anger and trying to tame the emotion onto the palate. The fight wore on–the sword giving one more blow before withdrawing victoriously; leaving behind a beautiful mess of words depicting rage, anger and the battle won of hateful emotion.

The Right Angle
Step to the left, turn to the right. No, not too close. Not too far either. Your eyes narrow slightly, framing a mental picture in your head as you tilt the camera a little.

No! A scowl tugs at your lower lip. You stare at the ballet flat on the pillow; wasn’t it supposed to look gorgeous and creamy? The color of a blush rose, bathed in the rays of sunset?  Not so ugly, grey and creased. Maybe from another angle?

Careful fingers adjust the shoe on the satiny pillow, arranging it diagonal to the window. Eyebrows furrow slightly in concentration while you duck down, holding the camera upright, a click piercing the air. You eye the screen in apprehension, touching the key hesitantly.

An image of a delicately pretty pair of flats fills the screen, bathed in fading light and seemingly aglow. A grin curls your lips, your eyes taking in your hard work with pride, seeing a little of yourself in every picture you take.

Tuesday, 6 November 2012


Okay, so this usually isn't a topic I ever talk about but I am overcome with pairing feels and the emotion so I've decided to release it onto my castle in the air.

I bet it would flood the moat.

Anyway, I'm just so incredibly obsessed with Gadge. The pairing between Gale Hawthorne and Madge Undersee; two characters in The Hunger Games. Two of my favourite characters who I ship and love. They're one of my tags in tumblr–one of my one true pairings.

I sound like a lovestruck fangirl but it's true. I love Gadge. The way they clash, their interactions the small lines of canon in Catching Fire and what could've been.

I'm still angry how Madge died in Catching Fire–the second of the book of the Hunger Games–in the bombing. I mean, why. It was bad enough that Suzanne Collins used Mockingjay as an excuse to end the GalexPeetaxKatniss love triangle but using Madge as a way to do it rather than sending our lovely scowling miner away into District 2 would be so much more interesting. 

Another thorn in my side about Mockingjay is Finnick's death. It happened in a whirlwind of chaos and terror that I'm not even sure it he was properly given the death worthy to him. I mean he was developed, lovable character who I adored and he just died; killed with some confusing paragraph describing how Katniss magically developed telepathic powers and looked into Finnick's mind.

But that's another blog post.

xx tanisha (:

Tuesday, 30 October 2012

koh samui ☼

Sandy white beaches–pure, fresh air scented with the aroma of delicious Thai food and the salty tinge of the ocean lapping at the small island's shores. The Thai island that my family and I were spending four days on was beautiful with many things to see, taste, do and touch. Sparkling azure waters which many creatures called their home and small stalls hosting an array of goods to buy. The sound of voices good naturedly bantering as people haggled and laughed. Trickling waterfalls that granted the presence of the sure-footed elephants bearing human passengers–and all amongst it all a tall, peaceful golden Buddha statue, towering and tall as it's peaceful gaze overlooks the shops and markets nearby.

I loved Koh Samui. It was just so lively yet peaceful–bustling yet strangely still. It contained a bit of everything, of any emotion at the tip of your tongue and its opposite. I learned how to cook a few Thai dishes during my stay which was fun and delicious; I love Thai food! The flavours and how fresh it tastes. 

Another thing I loved about the Thai island was the shopping. The shopkeepers were friendly and haggling down the prices was fun; especially when both the customer and the merchant get intense. However it's a good place to shop out of Singapore–I bought a lot from those tiny little stalls along the roads.

The sea was gorgeous too; turquoise and aquamarine in some parts and when rain fell from the skies those glimmering colours morphed into a cold, biting grey. A beach that stays in my mind is the lonely little stretch of sand with only the perished coral gathering close and the abandoned shrine to keep it company as the indigo sea lashes out viciously. That beach will always stay in my mind.

xx tanisha (:

Tuesday, 9 October 2012

s w e e t sonnets

The night is shattered and the blue stars shiver in the distance

A line from the smooth, mournful sea that is known as Tonight I Can Write The Saddest Lines. A poem that murmurs of despair but does not wail with grief. Each line is wrapped in a tender, almost silent misery with the smallest of sounds but the intricate detail of sadness.

The way each line flows, the emotion flavouring each word; the choice, the way it rolls of your tongue leaving behind the taste of rain and the bittersweet tang of heartache. 

Each word speaks of the poet's love for the subject of his poem whether a tall, graceful woman with inky locks and blues that rival the Cornish sky or a pixie-like,quick girl with amber curls that twirl in the wind, fringe framing dancing forest eyes.

But it is not a happy love, it is a sad one. One of love lost and hopes swept away by the rising tide. People who have been in love can relate to this poem; connect to it.

The thing which struck me about it was how he wrote it, how each line was packed with emotion and painted a picture that stayed with you. How the poem bubbled with their love and the silent cry of what could've been.

~ tanisha (: x

s t e r e otypes

Glasses hovering over irises; unfashionable clothing covering skin; eyes trained on a textbook.

One of the world's most famous stereotypes; the nerd.

Everyone, every single student knows what a nerd is. The socially awkward, highly intelligent girl or boy that is teased for his or her excellence in academics; her interests alien to her other peers'. The nerd - banned from the social groupings and ladder known as popularity.

It's a cruel stereotype, a label. One that I dislike because I loathe stereotypes.

Once in a while a stereotype is funny; a common blonde joke or a quick little remark about a race. Something harmless, tossed casually into the air - to have a brisk, pleasant laugh over.

However when a stereotype starts taking over, becoming serious and controlling, influencing other's opinions and views it irks me. Especially school stereotypes; goths, preps, jocks, band kids, geeks and the infamous nerds. Being teased because you're smarter than most? Really? Just because you favour the colour black and a little eyeliner means that you're suddenly a depressed, moody person? 

What really irritates me is that half of these stereotypes are exaggerated to the point where the actual meaning is lost. To where it defines who you are as a person in the eyes of others and that provokes my anger. Nobody can be summed up in a single word; not any single living thing in this entire planet be it insect or reptile. Not one breathing or still creature. Even a chair can't be described, be defined in a lone word.

And what I find depressing is that how so many people go out of their way to hide their interests, to hide parts of who they are because they're afraid of being labelled, of being rejected. So many lie, so many fail tests that they could easily pass; so many shove clothes that they would love to wear to the backs of their closets due to the fear of being rejected, of being pushed away. To not be called a nerd or a goth.

I think that gothic culture is beautiful to be honest. The art, the colours, the clothing. The music; have you heard those instrumentals? The soulful lyrics? The makeup, though extreme, is actually pretty intense and shows off the nature of the gothic world - mysterious, dreamy and intense with a touch of romance.

So why are you afraid to express yourselves? Embrace yourself; be it. Take those clothes and wear them, write down the answers to those questions. Reveal those parts of your personality; they're beautiful and they deserve to shine.

~tanisha (: x

Sunday, 30 September 2012

S e a s & †rees

Different scenes painting many pictures; some bright and joyful some grey and dark. Dark, cool greens; whirling, energetic blues; a shock of the brightest yellow.

Painting these pictures were okay; it was somewhat enjoyable but not frustrating. Sticking to one representation of an object, keeping it present and not dithering was a little hard. I found that drawing our pictures in whatever way we wanted, in our own styles without any plot or targeted meaning was nice. It gave our scenes the chance to grow and develop; to find new colours and characters.

Relieving the memories and moments that gave basis - the structure - to our sketches helped me find out more about myself. What I liked to do; why I loved certain things especially one you start recalling more because of one thought or moment. Scanning my life for the traces of these early, important moments helped me find insight about myself. Find about more about my stories and maybe, information about my future paintings and scenes. 

x tanisha (:    

Wednesday, 19 September 2012

• p e t a l s•


Every flower is unique. Special and different in its own way. 

I really love flowers. They're just so beautiful; so delicate and flimsy but the colours of their petals make them glow in the light whether dim or bright.

However the special quality about flowers for me is the meaning behind each delicate stem and carefully arranged blossom.

My favourite flowers are the Asian cherry blossom; the soft, light pink of a child's soft blush - natural and fragile. 

I really love the meaning behind the cherry blossom. It's very fragile and has a short life span which is why it's known as the transient of life. In Japan a fallen cherry blossom represents a samurai's life because in an story, a cherry blossom tree grew on the lands of a Samurai for over a hundred years. When the Samurai became old the tree began to die. The Samurai grew very sad over his beloved tree's death. He was a brave and honorable man and thought of a way to save his tree. 

One night he committed the ritual suicide under the tree. His essence mingled with the tree's and within one hour, the tree began to blossom and continues to live even to today.

That story is really beautiful to me because of what it represents. If I visit Japan I would love to try and see  that cherry blossom tree.

A cherry blossom is also the sign of female dominance. 

In the language of herbs the cherry blossom is the symbol of love.

That's probably why the cherry blossom is my favourite flower. It means sacrifice, love, and has some feminist qualities.

x tanisha (:

Tuesday, 11 September 2012

c a n d l e s

Today I went to Ikea with my mum to buy some bits for the houses when I saw some scented candles at the candle section. Scented candles bearing the scent of lemon, vanilla, cherry and chocolate. Candles that reminded me of my friends in my old school.
Last year my friends and I pick a name out of a box - a small, dusty cardboard box covered in scribbles and old inside jokes - and there would be a name on it. We had to buy a scented candle for that person and the scent would have to represent them. 
My friend Molly and I kept on getting each other's names every year and we kept on buying chocolate scented and lemon scented candles for each other. They were pretty candles; one soft yellow and the other a dark brown.
Seeing those candles today reminded me of them so I decided to buy the flavours that my friends repeatedly got every year - one for each of them.

x tanisha (:

Thursday, 6 September 2012

∂nd the white merged leaving nothing but a s c a r

My glasses broke the other day - one arm fell off, leaving it disfigured and scarred. I thought that it appeared unusually pretty; whole on one side and distorted on the other - unique. My vision remained the same when I balanced the pair of the ridge of my nose; I was tempted to leave the arm buried under the vast, polluted ocean that is my bag but I went against at that thought and with the superglue and double tape I fixed the arm back on. Superglue and double tape are amazing - they can fix almost anything, however they can eternally attach a sock onto the curve of your fingertip. Fun.

Anyway, this is my hi˚hey˚harhar-whateveryoumaycallit hello post. This will blog consists of my random literary attempts among whatever I feel is important. My thoughts, things I want to share.

Random thoughts accompanied by writing and maybe more superglue. c:

Superglue is the Superman of stationery. Overrated but effective. 

:) x