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lanie_m (1247234)

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Name:

Lanie

Website:

[ Soul Scrolls ]

Location:

Hong Kong

Birthdate:

1988-05-28

LJ Talk:

lanie_m

livejournal.com (Jabber)

MSN Username:

there_is_nothing_else

hotmail.com

Bio:

[Glimpses into my identity]

- I am ethnically Chinese, but lack a definitive sense of cultural identity.
- I am an intellectual and an idealist.
- I am a feminist and I believe in supreme equality.
- I aspire to gain a PhD in Philosophy and Theology.
- My passion is literature and I love to write, even though my works are few and far between.
- I carry immense past baggage, but I have decided I cannot let it determine my future.
- I acknowledge that it is the beauty of imperfection that makes us human, though I struggle with a long-term addiction to order and perfection.
- I truly and whole-heartedly believe that appearances are nothing in comparison with inner beauty and personality.
- I believe in the existence of hope, even in the face of dreadful desolation and extreme adversity.
- I live for God, love, and purpose, because these are beliefs worth dying for.

[Eccentricities]

- I collect earrings.
- I am a hopeless chocoholic.
- I am a compulsive workaholic who is pathetically obsessed with hygiene.
- I am addicted to angst and tragedy.
- I thought 'Alexander' (2004) was a really good movie.
- I have an obsession with trench coats and black patent leather.

[The Meaning of Life]

(Taken from Michael Cunningham's "The Hours")

We live our lives, do whatever we do, and then we sleep - it's as simple and ordinary as that. A few jump out of windows or drown themselves or take pills; more die by accident; and most of us, the vast majority, are slowly devoured by some disease or, if we're very fortunate, by time itself. There's just this for consolation: an hour here or there when our lives seem, against all odds and expectations, to burst open and give us everything we've ever imagined, though everyone but children (and perhaps even they) knows these hours will inevitably be followed by others, far darker and more difficult. Still, we cherish the city, the morning; we hope, more than anything, for more.

Heaven only knows why we love it so.

Here, then, is the party, still laid; here are the flowers, still fresh; everything ready for the guests, who have turned out to be only four. Forgive us, Richard. It is, in fact, a party, after all. It is a party for the not-yet-dead; for the relatively undamaged; for those who for mysterious reasons have the fortune to be alive.

It is, in fact, great good fortune.

Memories:

2 entries

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