i wrote and sent one of my poems to some fancy poetry magazine without proofreading & editing. sorta regretting living on the edge..
inspired by miss sewon, i decided to create a list of actitivies i should do before turning 24. (on the peice of paper, i had written '25' - totally forgot that i'm still 23 years young). most are personal (the above example) nothing politically shocking about the list - will share them after this allergy episode of mine dies out. sneezing like a dead trumpet.
Like a little kid, I still fall easily in love with train sets.
Heavy with thoughts, I'm rather glad my handwriting's chibi-small, you won't be able to read what I wrote.. I wouldn't want your passionate curiosity to die, hehe.
Mm, what am I saying?
I can clearly read snippets of these.. Oh well.
This song comes from the Japanese drama original soundtack MAOU; meaning DEVIL.
It's calm, horrid and has an easy level of niceness to it; can't get enough of it.
For lunch, a stroll - a wannabe adventure. Compared to last summer, my allergies gotten better - still having the occasional rash outbreaks and the morning runny-nose.
if i were to publish an artbook, i'd call it turquoise black. i like this blend. they aren't my favorite colors. in turquoise black i'd have a collection of personal sketches, snippets of arabic poetry i wrote, stopshows corners with chatty inserts about happenings in my life. wishful thinking for now. hard+working in the middle.
Drawing my cat made me cry, cried again when I told my friend about it, wah! I miss him terribly. His name was Prufrock, y'know, after the poem by T. S. Eliot The Love Song of Sir Alfred Prufrock.
Ever since the end of winter/spring 2011 semester (heavy packed time table) I started getting up early, and paint until the whee time of the night, occasionally blurting gribbish on my twitter. I hope I don't upset too many friends over there. A good friend of mine told me she goes on twitter just to see my tweets, 'When you write in Arabic, it's funny - killa ghalat!!' (meaning: everything is grammatically wrong)' Yeees, I'm considering this as a compliment since it's from a friend. Again, I can't help the way I speak.
Can't we pin up a Creole-like situation sign over here? Pretend I'm the upcoming generation that will make broken Arabic surface. Let's!
Painted this while watching an old movie of 'Detective Conan', & at the age of 23 I still love that little boy with all his smart gadgets. I wish I had a voice-changer, fool my friends and never get caught. I doubt this - my broken Arabic would reveal my identity...
That night, I inhaled too much varnish (the studio windows were shut .... bad idea!). Had to sleep it away until the half of the next day. I stayed typsy as I watched a new episode of 'The Simpsons', but everything was right by the time the sun hid again.
Go get yourself some fresh air, it must be a beautiful day wherever you live. As for me, I'm going to work on some projects and collabs - It's too dusty to play outside.
While keeping two friends of mine company as they studied for their final examination: Philosophy and Kuwait History. Amazing combination at the library I took plenty of time-off checking photographs of paper crafts, mini apartments in Tokyo online distracting me from my book...
So suddenly we heard the fire alarm turn on, a little disturbing how me and my friends sat staring at one another, we were supposed to be panicking and up our seats, right? Maybe it's the familiarity visions that kept us from understanding the danger of the situation, growing up we were subjected to long months of heavy drills due to political issues with our neighboring country Iraq, drills that were meant to secure us if anything went wrong - If they decided to repeat the causalities of '90. I remember being with my high school friends and we would form a line of two, walking quickly towards the gymnasium, I was always aghast at how we, my entire all-girls school would fit in it. Now that I'm older I'm not very surprised, the gym was big and we were small. Time went by and we grew accustomed to the sounds of the yellow horn above our school, it sounded like a whacked up donkey being grinded inside a spaghetti machine. I had nightmares about it, my white teddy bear Lilia would be sitting in the middle of a grey background, I would see the vague movement of wheels trying to crush her in the meantime, that ugly frustrating noise would be playing - silently growing louder and louder until I woke up in horror.
I don't remember when it stopped.
My sense of danger is quite slow, as for many of my generation I believe.We hear a loud sound and start staring around. Look at our friends wondering if they have the answer: 'What was that?!'Your head keeps repeating, you pretend you're in that gymnasium and the teachers would cry out loud 'Remember girls, even during terror we should be brave!'.
After a reminiscence of the past, we got off our behinds and tried to lookout what was going on. It was a sandstorm; the sandstorm came abruptly and so strong that the ventilation system went haywire. The weather's been crazy ever since winter left.I'm glad we were fine - hungry, stuck at the library for the next 2 hours - but I'm glad nothing bad really happened.
I have to admit that this is fairly old. Way before dying my hair into halves. One Saturday, I was invited out for brunch at a nearby restaurant by my former boss, a bunch of my ex co-workers were there too. I got to eat free Indian food. It was a pleasant set-up. (*´ω｀*) Afterwards, we decided to enjoy the afternoon wandering in an amusement park nearby, with the crappy music echoing faintly one couldn't get into the right mood, I was disappointed by the empty carts and the quiet whispers of children. Back when I was young, it was noisier. Errr, a little note: I'm not that old. I could remember children happy yawns, cheerfully asking parents for tickets, something about the place reminded me of the tapping sounds of my mother's heels whenever she would drag me away from those swirling cups and the smell of her tweed coat. I remember being afraid of Ferris Wheels.
Just for fun, my friends and I decided to explore memory lane one more time, maybe just maybe I got the whole thing wrong. But after visiting the haunted castle, shooting arcade, almost uninhabited pet stores, expensive souvenir shops and the local eatery we were convinced the place had lost something. The energy was nonexistent, a few families in the place looked zombie-fied. Or rather everything about this visit was a reflection on my own psyche. Meh.
We compensated wasted time with choco-vanilla ice cream. Damn summer's coming.. ( ´－ω－`)
With each ending semester the parking lot turns empty. يزعل مرات. Makes me sad, sometimes. Having a two hour break between classes all semester gave me the chance to relax with the company of good people and food, these few weeks in particular were interesting.
I realized that a gallery was within walking distance from my university. Having spent 4 years studying literature and destroying every ounce of my self-identity, and not knowing about this place shocks me. I think by the time I graduate next semester, I'll still be wearing that shocked-"ORLY?"-expression whenever I enter. After my 10:00 A.M lecture was cancelled last tuesday, I decided to check the gallery and tagged a good friend along after having herbal fusilli and washing it down with a fresh orange juice, (paid) courtesy of Coffee Beans and Leaf cafe. Hah.
To my surprise they were presenting an artist's exhibition (every two weeks). Her name's Aya Khair. The paintings were beautiful, there was a giant notebook in the entrance I'm pretty sure the artist put out for visitors, lovely comments and encouragements flowered transparent pages. I was going to say something nice, which I did but I ended up scribbling blue ink all over the corner.
Before leaving, I had some inquiries for the art director of the gallery, funny enough she insisted I speak Arabic (in any form; formal or the local accent). It's difficult for me to write objectively about how I speak Arabic without sounding too emotional. I attempted to push the conversation into English, a clumsy try into saving face, her "I love to encourage young people like yourself to use the Arabic language" argument got to me... Not to feel too bad, I poured myself a cup of Arabic coffee and gulped petty yummy sweets. .اشحلات قهوتهم! بالعافية اقول
i wrote and sent one of my poems to some fancy poetry magazine without proofreading & editing. sorta regretting living on the edge..
inspired by miss sewon, i decided to create a list of actitivies i should do before turning 24. (on the peice of paper, i had written '25' - totally forgot that i'm still 23 years young). most are personal (the above example) nothing politically shocking about the list - will share them after this allergy episode of mine dies out. sneezing like a dead trumpet.
Like a little kid, I still fall easily in love with train sets.
Heavy with thoughts, I'm rather glad my handwriting's chibi-small, you won't be able to read what I wrote.. I wouldn't want your passionate curiosity to die, hehe.
Mm, what am I saying?
I can clearly read snippets of these.. Oh well.
This song comes from the Japanese drama original soundtack MAOU; meaning DEVIL.
It's calm, horrid and has an easy level of niceness to it; can't get enough of it.
For lunch, a stroll - a wannabe adventure. Compared to last summer, my allergies gotten better - still having the occasional rash outbreaks and the morning runny-nose.
if i were to publish an artbook, i'd call it turquoise black. i like this blend. they aren't my favorite colors. in turquoise black i'd have a collection of personal sketches, snippets of arabic poetry i wrote, stopshows corners with chatty inserts about happenings in my life. wishful thinking for now. hard+working in the middle.
Drawing my cat made me cry, cried again when I told my friend about it, wah! I miss him terribly. His name was Prufrock, y'know, after the poem by T. S. Eliot The Love Song of Sir Alfred Prufrock.
Ever since the end of winter/spring 2011 semester (heavy packed time table) I started getting up early, and paint until the whee time of the night, occasionally blurting gribbish on my twitter. I hope I don't upset too many friends over there. A good friend of mine told me she goes on twitter just to see my tweets, 'When you write in Arabic, it's funny - killa ghalat!!' (meaning: everything is grammatically wrong)' Yeees, I'm considering this as a compliment since it's from a friend. Again, I can't help the way I speak.
Can't we pin up a Creole-like situation sign over here? Pretend I'm the upcoming generation that will make broken Arabic surface. Let's!
Painted this while watching an old movie of 'Detective Conan', & at the age of 23 I still love that little boy with all his smart gadgets. I wish I had a voice-changer, fool my friends and never get caught. I doubt this - my broken Arabic would reveal my identity...
That night, I inhaled too much varnish (the studio windows were shut .... bad idea!). Had to sleep it away until the half of the next day. I stayed typsy as I watched a new episode of 'The Simpsons', but everything was right by the time the sun hid again.
Go get yourself some fresh air, it must be a beautiful day wherever you live. As for me, I'm going to work on some projects and collabs - It's too dusty to play outside.
While keeping two friends of mine company as they studied for their final examination: Philosophy and Kuwait History. Amazing combination at the library I took plenty of time-off checking photographs of paper crafts, mini apartments in Tokyo online distracting me from my book...
So suddenly we heard the fire alarm turn on, a little disturbing how me and my friends sat staring at one another, we were supposed to be panicking and up our seats, right? Maybe it's the familiarity visions that kept us from understanding the danger of the situation, growing up we were subjected to long months of heavy drills due to political issues with our neighboring country Iraq, drills that were meant to secure us if anything went wrong - If they decided to repeat the causalities of '90. I remember being with my high school friends and we would form a line of two, walking quickly towards the gymnasium, I was always aghast at how we, my entire all-girls school would fit in it. Now that I'm older I'm not very surprised, the gym was big and we were small. Time went by and we grew accustomed to the sounds of the yellow horn above our school, it sounded like a whacked up donkey being grinded inside a spaghetti machine. I had nightmares about it, my white teddy bear Lilia would be sitting in the middle of a grey background, I would see the vague movement of wheels trying to crush her in the meantime, that ugly frustrating noise would be playing - silently growing louder and louder until I woke up in horror.
I don't remember when it stopped.
My sense of danger is quite slow, as for many of my generation I believe.We hear a loud sound and start staring around. Look at our friends wondering if they have the answer: 'What was that?!'Your head keeps repeating, you pretend you're in that gymnasium and the teachers would cry out loud 'Remember girls, even during terror we should be brave!'.
After a reminiscence of the past, we got off our behinds and tried to lookout what was going on. It was a sandstorm; the sandstorm came abruptly and so strong that the ventilation system went haywire. The weather's been crazy ever since winter left.I'm glad we were fine - hungry, stuck at the library for the next 2 hours - but I'm glad nothing bad really happened.
I have to admit that this is fairly old. Way before dying my hair into halves. One Saturday, I was invited out for brunch at a nearby restaurant by my former boss, a bunch of my ex co-workers were there too. I got to eat free Indian food. It was a pleasant set-up. (*´ω｀*) Afterwards, we decided to enjoy the afternoon wandering in an amusement park nearby, with the crappy music echoing faintly one couldn't get into the right mood, I was disappointed by the empty carts and the quiet whispers of children. Back when I was young, it was noisier. Errr, a little note: I'm not that old. I could remember children happy yawns, cheerfully asking parents for tickets, something about the place reminded me of the tapping sounds of my mother's heels whenever she would drag me away from those swirling cups and the smell of her tweed coat. I remember being afraid of Ferris Wheels.
Just for fun, my friends and I decided to explore memory lane one more time, maybe just maybe I got the whole thing wrong. But after visiting the haunted castle, shooting arcade, almost uninhabited pet stores, expensive souvenir shops and the local eatery we were convinced the place had lost something. The energy was nonexistent, a few families in the place looked zombie-fied. Or rather everything about this visit was a reflection on my own psyche. Meh.
We compensated wasted time with choco-vanilla ice cream. Damn summer's coming.. ( ´－ω－`)
With each ending semester the parking lot turns empty. يزعل مرات. Makes me sad, sometimes. Having a two hour break between classes all semester gave me the chance to relax with the company of good people and food, these few weeks in particular were interesting.
I realized that a gallery was within walking distance from my university. Having spent 4 years studying literature and destroying every ounce of my self-identity, and not knowing about this place shocks me. I think by the time I graduate next semester, I'll still be wearing that shocked-"ORLY?"-expression whenever I enter. After my 10:00 A.M lecture was cancelled last tuesday, I decided to check the gallery and tagged a good friend along after having herbal fusilli and washing it down with a fresh orange juice, (paid) courtesy of Coffee Beans and Leaf cafe. Hah.
To my surprise they were presenting an artist's exhibition (every two weeks). Her name's Aya Khair. The paintings were beautiful, there was a giant notebook in the entrance I'm pretty sure the artist put out for visitors, lovely comments and encouragements flowered transparent pages. I was going to say something nice, which I did but I ended up scribbling blue ink all over the corner.
Before leaving, I had some inquiries for the art director of the gallery, funny enough she insisted I speak Arabic (in any form; formal or the local accent). It's difficult for me to write objectively about how I speak Arabic without sounding too emotional. I attempted to push the conversation into English, a clumsy try into saving face, her "I love to encourage young people like yourself to use the Arabic language" argument got to me... Not to feel too bad, I poured myself a cup of Arabic coffee and gulped petty yummy sweets. .اشحلات قهوتهم! بالعافية اقول
My name is Thuraya Lynn (ثريا لين). Born in '88, Kuwait.
I draw, read history books and an avid follower of Haruki Murakami's works.br>
I'm an artist, paper collector and dreamreader.
CHECK LINKS FOR MORE ABOUT MY WORK.
The sky does magic. I love clouds.
I can't figure out why I have my arms T-crossed like that.
