Sunflowers are my favourite flowers. Hands down.
If you were to check my camera uploads, it is clear that I photograph them often. With their bright colour and beautiful form, how could I not?
A little while I decided to write a poem inspired by my the flower, and how we as people, may in some way relate to them.
Like a sunflower we follow light,
we wake at day
and sleep at night.
Some of us stand small,
smaller than the rest.
Others grow tall,
reaching for their best,
to be the biggest stem in the field.
Working hard we grew,
trying to outshine the sun
(something a flower cannot do).
Our fresh petals
burned by its scorching glare,
yet some forget their lesson
and the bravest dare
to go at it again,
to grow how they please,
maybe they will soon be
one day at ease.
This summer flew by, and it flew by fast. I did enjoy it though, with an abundance of picnics, photoshoots and hangouts with friends.
Now it is the day before school starts and I can safely say — I am excited to go back.
Do not get me wrong, I definitely wish summer could go on a little longer (minus the heat we have been getting).
But I am excited to start my new classes.
Excited to see my friends everyday again.
Excited to be involved in clubs again.
Of course, no one is really excited for homework, tests, or tedious projects, and the stress that comes with them. While I guess it is inevitable, I still feel like this year is going to be a good one.
I hope it is a good one for you too.
Inspiration is an important player when it comes to the game of anything and everything. What inspires you to do something, what drives you to create? Where do you get your inspiration from?
I commonly see these questions, the last one specifically.
Personally, I do not get inspiration from one particular source.
My inspiration is like a thunderstorm, a common occurrence. I get my it from my surroundings such as friends, family members, nature and of course, the goldmine that is the internet. I could be scrolling through Instagram one day, and bam, it will hit me.
That is the thing with inspiration, it can strike you any time, any where. (Like at 1 in the morning, when I should probably be sleeping yet instead chose to write this blog post…)
Sometimes the storm of motivation and ideas is fleeting, yet other times it lasts longer than you originally could have hoped.
Once it passes, it is always such a sight to see that the thunder and the lighting may lead to something, a rainbow. That occasion where your inspiration leads to something beautiful.
It has been a while. I have not posted since last year, although it has been less than 2 months since the clock chimed 12 and 2018 began. I wanted to post something special for the New Year as I was hoping that 2018 would be special, exceeding my expectations and being a good year overall. However nothing I tried to write, or film felt right.
Inspiration often strikes me at the most inconvenient times, such as 12AM on school nights before I have to fall asleep. Similarly, last week, I started to write again and messily scribbled down some poems. I decided I liked one enough to share on here, and feel that new poetry is the best blog post to start off the new year with (ignoring the fact that I am about a month and a half late).
One Minute for a Thousand Hours
A delayed reaction
to the slip of paper,
About to be opened,
flashing to what might
You are up on stage
in front of a face-filled sea,
but all that matters is that paper
and what could be.
Once it is opened,
it is all over.
That fleeting moment on stage
is all you have to show for.
– Sarah Hesp
If you enjoyed this poem, check out my Instagram (linked here) as more writing will be popping up there soon. Until next time…
When people ask me what my favourite colour is, I never know what to answer with. I cannot possibly just pick one colour.
I do not just like colours because they are pretty, but because of what they symbolize and remind me of. That makes each of them special to me.
If I am made to choose, I tend to go with blue. Not a standard blue but cerulean or navy, something rich and dark or darker. Blue reminds of the ocean, of the salty breeze in the air and the lapping of the waves on the sand. It also reminds me of my mom as it is one of her favourite colours which she incorporates into her art. The colour blue is special to me because it is special to her as well.
Grey is a dull colour according to many, (including my mom) but it reminds me of clouds, and days inside. I love rainy days and the bursts of creativity they bring with them, which the colour grey reminds me of.
White is a very modern colour that goes with just about anything. Everything in my room is the colour white, which gives it somewhat of an empty look if you were to take everything out of it. However the colour allows me to fill up the room with my own colourful creativity which stands on the milky coloured walls.
The colour red is a one that I actually do not know how I feel about, but am including nonetheless. Red to me is such a passionate colour, and a colour I used to hate with a passion. Recently it has been creeping into my life in little ways and I have grown to like it, as I have become passionate about a few things myself.
Here is my answer.
Poetry is magical.
Just a few choice words are able to paint murals in the minds of millions, taking readers on emotion-filled adventures. Poems can take ugly truths, big ideas and even mundane daily activities, turning them into something of beauty. Writers are able use words and literary devices to illustrate their ideas, requiring reading between the lines and thinking outside the box to decipher the author’s intent and message. It is able to give humans a sense of fulfillment in whatever lacking, and answers to some of life’s many mysteries.
However, more often than not, poems leave you with even more questions than when you first started reading. More mysteries than when you first opened that dust covered book on a Saturday afternoon, the papers rustling with whispers of merriment.
I remember when an eraser was my best friend. With a few strokes, that unplanned line was long gone, or a misspelled word had vanished from my page.
I loved writing in pencil because nothing was “set in stone”. You had unlimited do overs, infinite lives.
Now, note the past tense, loved. Because while I used to bask in the idea of erasing it all away, I learned that (figuratively and literally), mistakes can be good.
I now write in pen, for most of what I do. I love seeing where I started with something, versus where I end up.
Mistakes and ideas can be built upon and turned into something beautiful, even better. Not everything has to be picture perfect, so don’t hide your mistakes.