Stories behind the Prints

"on my own"

looking out a solitary window at an unreal view, i see darkened plains and waters, a peachy pink sky overcast. and a house filled with warmth. the windows are alight with life.

but everything i see beyond this window seems unreal.
the colours a little too bright, too dark.
my hand is semi-translucent.

i am but a ghost, yearning for a reality that isn’t mine.

RM10 / A5 print

"ghost"

maybe i want to disappear, after all. maybe as much as i am afraid of being forgotten, i am not allowing myself to be remembered either.

i am my own worst enemy.

do i even see myself, hear myself, let myself be seen and heard? or have i just been obsessed with watching everyone else’s illuminated selves?

i will not let myself be heard. be seen. i am voluntarily erasing myself. i want to be erased, as much as i tell myself i don’t want to.

what’s it gonna be?

(made two versions: dusk and dawn, because often times i feel invisible both in plain sight, and in the hidden places.)

RM5 / print, RM10 / set of 2

"late bloomer"

30 and haven’t been kissed, haven’t lived on my own, haven’t earned five figures or more a month, haven’t — well, add on to the list.

i’ve never known myself to be a late bloomer. i remember as a teenager, i would be so sure of what i wanted to do, even when i wasn’t encouraged to pursue art as a full-time career. i knew what gave me purpose.

yet, as i grow up and watch my peers conquer yet another phase of life — from graduation, career, marriage, children, you know the path — i don’t feel an urge to rush myself.

i’ve grown to love this journey more and more, blooming in seasons and withering in others. i love the friendships i have today, and the things i get to do for a living. things aren’t ideal, because sure i’d love to live abroad in another city, or yeah i’d wanna get a cat or two and my own studio, but life in the late bloomin’ lane is exactly what God has planned for me, and i love every part of it.

thankful for every day, but i think i should act more like it instead of wasting them away watching Netflix and complaining about not having new books to read.

don’t worry about blooming “on time” — whenever you bloom will be on God’s time, and that will be exactly perfect.

RM5 / print

"of overgrown and wild feelings"

sometimes people only see the beautiful bits. the pastel petals, the fresh greens. they forget about the parasitic ferns, the stuff that’s taking over the inside of my ribcage, suffocating me from the inside. but i grow and glow nonetheless. even when it hurts. especially when it hurts.

i think this is how i am with my feelings most times. people can see most, if not all of it, and it’s been like this for as long as i can remember. my heart is for you to see — i’m not just very good at hiding.

RM5 / print

"i don't wanna love people from afar"

love is not convenient. it does not fit into the shape of your heart. it floods, overflows, and pours out from your chest. it is ever-changing in its capacity, growing as you grow in love.

love is messy. it’s not the scripted meetcute in your favourite romcoms. it’s not the eloquent eulogy at someone’s funeral, a single tear falling from a left eye. love is the snot and kisses from your nephew. love is the sloppy bowl of whatever your mom gives to you for dinner. love is cleaning up vomit, the post-break-up, the ugly truth. love is when you need to tell your friend that even though their taste in men is crap, you will still love them through it, though you really just can’t watch another crappy relationship take form.

i don’t wanna love people from afar. love is not meant for your convenience, packed in a exquisitely-designed onigiri package for you to unfold cleanly. give me the mess, give me the hard questions, give me the awkward silences, give it all to me.

and though we all start from loving people from afar, at first, i don’t want to stay there. i’ll apologise first, but i will, at some point, shove love into your life.

because you deserve the kind of love that isn’t afraid to get close to all of your darkness, your brightness, and everything in between.

(p/s: this written piece is a part of my "the thing about love" zine!)

RM5 / print

“bury me in flowers”

let me be born in the burst of wonder and die in the short-lived beauty. let me lay quietly in these fields, let me be nobody and be adored and loved and be forgotten all at once. let me be all that you never knew you wanted, and all that you can never grasp. let me be selfish for once — let me be buried among the flowers that you so love.