photographer: nagano toyokazu

Toyokazu Nagano is a Pentaxian Japanese photographer who is getting quite a buzz over the net. I found his Flickr account, thanks to Baby and Breakfast, and since then cannot stop flipping over his stream. What got me is his ridiculously adorable set, "My daughter Kanna", an album that features the many funny and amusing faces of his daughter, who seems to love yelling a lot.

Here are just some of his amazing works. Check out his portfolio in full.

















The last photo. Being my favorite.


If this ain't cute, I don't know what is.

Truth Thursday: I'll Give

I was the breadwinner. Well, sort of.

...

My family, financially, was below average, above rats. Yes, I guess one can say, we were poor. It was sad for some reasons; one being, I watched my parents had their fights over money. I was five. Everyone was tired, physically. Though I honestly think it was more than that.

My dad, he was a jolly man. The jolliest man around. He could easily be Mr. Claus. He was friendly, and humble. He was worthy of a good novel. He was also a great dancer. Or probably not. But that's [one of] what I love most about him.

But that guy, he was the most tired; I saw it in his eyes.

...

What would you give, if you can have anything, if you have everything? Well...

I gave my grades.

It made him happy. I almost always got a perfect score on tests. I joined contests and quiz bees, academic or otherwise. I almost always won. In every class, I was ranked first. Every year, they would go up the stage to receive my medals. He bragged about it. To his friends. To his boss. To neighbors. To strangers. I made him proud.

Grades meant higher hopes.

Of getting there. Where food ain't scarce.

...

What would you give, if you can have anything, if you have everything?

I gave my time.

I learned [some of] his favorite songs. In guitar. He would smile every time I play. And he would sing. I love it when he sings. He is the kind of a singer, who isn't a singer [technically], but is a singer [by heart]. He had his eyes closed, and his lips curled into a smile. He really loved music. His head was swaying. And there would be childhood memories, which I guess was his. It would play, but not really, but I was able to look at them by looking at him.

Time spent, love earned.

I have to quote this song, "I'm just a living legacy / To the leader of the band." There's no other way to translate it; I gave him respect.

...

What would you give, if you can have anything, if you have everything?

I was his baby girl.

I decided to always be at his side. He was drinking. I was on his lap. He was delivering packages. I sort of delivered some, too. He was sleeping, I hugged him tight. He wasn't home yet? I slept outside, crouched on the ground, waiting. He had a big fight with mom; it was his fault. But when he asked, I stayed.

I was his baby girl.

I became his favorite. I became his life. I was his happiness.

...

What would you give, if you can have anything, if you have everything?

My family, financially, was below average, above rats. We were poor. For that very reason, some dreams were dreamed. We had all things money can't buy; only thing left to hope for was a better life or living. I have to correct you before you even read this; they weren't stupid, nor shallow, nor materialistic, nor earthly because of these.

They had hoped for a better house.

We were living in a room, all five of us, in which the kitchen, living room, and bedrooms were one. we didn't have a bathroom/C.R. We were using my aunt's to shower, to pee-pee, or to poo-poo.

The man hoped for a better motorcycle.

It was his life; It was his living. He was a messenger. Still is. And believe it or not, he's using the same motorcycle 24 years ago. Yes, you read that right. One year freakingly older than me. It's no surprise, that the thing is close to retiring. My dad just can't let it go, but if he could, it would.

These were just some of their dreams. But these became my motivation. My push. My drive.

...

What would you give, if you can have anything, if you have everything?

I gave them my word.

I promised to give them a taste of 'better life'.

I swore.

...

My family, financially, was below average, above rats. We were poor. But we were happy, and tough, and bonded. We loved each other. We love each other. I love them to death. More than anything.

...

What would you give, if you can have anything, if you have everything?

I haven't crossed out a single thing on his wish list.

...

What would you give, if you can have anything, if you have everything?

These are what I ask for every night when I pray to God.

Time. More years on their lives. To stay with me until the time that I can finally make their dreams come true.

Patience. To wait for more. Because it will come. To not never look at me as a huge disappointment. To not give up on life. And hope. And faith. To keep on believing.

Love. To let them know I wish for nothing but their happiness. To let them know I am still keeping and working on my promise.

Happiness. To keep moving forward.

Faith. To always be happy. And content. To find inner peace. To always trust God. To never lose God. To always have faith.



So... What would you give, if you can have anything, if you have everything? Well...

---

Truth Thursdays exists to connect people through writing. To initiate something honest, thoughtful and meaningful.

If it was Me Reading the Signs

Something about my job is addictive. I would sound geeky, but there's something in (or that comes with) programming that makes me float.

Eighteen years ago, I was five then, and I wanted to be an artist. I still do. I draw doodle a lot. Which is relaxing. Especially, painting. Hand painting is the best. And colors. And layers. And merging. It was is my happy place. When I want to feel safe, it is where I go to. But you see.. I never wanted to just play it safe. I want life to be like a Math quiz bee; I have to press the button, and raise the pencil and board (with the correct answer) within a minute.

I crave for speed.

Sixteen years ago, I was seven, and I wanted to write. I envied hailed columnists, and journalists, and book authors. I was seven and I wrote and I started with poetry. Most, if not all, were about the flower pet I got, i.e. a bougainvillea. Poem after poem I depended on living things nearest me: nature, dogs, sky, dad. And when I realized I had no more, nothing new to describe, I stopped. I shifted to a longer version. Prose. Essays. Blocks of text. It felt good to be more than a certain number of syllables. The longer, the better. I didn't know where to stop. Ideas flowed and it was got too much to edit. I had to stop. It was frustrating; I wasn't good enough to write. I either had too little a dictionary, or too much. With writing, unfortunately, I got limits.

I had to be limitless.

Fourteen years ago, I was nine, and I was going to be a lawyer. Litigator. I wanted to be the arguing type. For only one thing: there's this thrill I enjoy from winning. Which was obvious since I was a kid. The time I started asking too much, I was three. And I never accepted the answer 'just because'. There were longer, annoying, different versions of 'Why can't I let barbie kiss the baby? How can that be possible? Did the doctors tell you that?'. Honestly, until now, I am considered impolite. Disrespectful. Something I don't agree with. How can reasoning be synonymous to being stubborn? If I just accept everything being thrown at me, how can I know what is and what is not? I will always have the urge to fight for what I believe in. I had to be a lawyer... Until I learned that it comes with SEVERAL years of studying. Even after college. So I told myself, scratch that!

I can't wait.

Fourteen years ago, I was still nine, I wanted to be an architect, instead. But not an engineer. For unknown reasons, I never wanted to be an engineer. But an architect, it was in my list. And this was because of Peter Pan. And his 'cool' treehouse¹. I had to have one. I made the most amazing designs [which were based on my silly standards]. I was happy. It was fun. Until I became an adult-ish, and (Sorry Walt Disney!) I accepted gave up. Unfortunately, it wasn't something to press me; I/it felt silly.

I need something to push myself to do more.

So how I ended up in a relationship with computers, well...



Something about my job is addictive. I would sound geeky, but there's something in (or that comes with) programming that makes me float.

I am in love with what I do. I thought I chose this [just] because A) IT apparently got loads of cash; and B) I got no other better option. But yeah, surprisingly, I am destined to be... THIS.

---

¹ Peter Pan's. [Not my designs]

Truth Thursday: To Answer Your Question

"How are you?"

No one¹ has asked me this recently. For, probably, a year now. And sadly, still counting.

No one has asked purposely. With, uhmm I don't know, care? Because yes, asking 'how are you' when we "BUMP" to each other doesn't count. No, it most certainly don't count when you decide to ask just to cover up our obvious heavy breathing.

Not one person told me 'hey I miss you'. Not recently. Not one person asked for a date. Which is, I believe, synonymous to
Not one remembered nor cared.

Which sucks. Because it made me realize how empty my hands are when it comes to people. Or more accurately, friends. (It hurts that) Life recently doesn't involve you or us. What we had was real, (Sad fact) but what we had don't exist anymore.

Which sucks. Because I loved us. I loved every bit that happened. And it is killing to wish for more. Because yes, we can get together, and laugh about a few things, but see this? There's this abnormal space now. Awkwardness that came from being distant. Physically and otherwise.

Which sucks. Because it made me realize I probably got the wrong bunch of crowd. Or more possibly, I am what is wrong in "our" crowd. Which is no way better than being empty. For one, it made me question myself. How much of a crap can I get? To choose the wrong apples. To let go of the right ones. What's wrong with me? Probably everything. I probably wouldn't like me if I were someone else.

Which sucks. Because I am a people person. I've been labeled as 'feeling close' many times before. I crave for attention. I depend on emotions and people and relationships. Is that the reason I always come off as a whore? Or as someone who is just plain annoying? Probably, also why no one dared and dares to ask.

Which sucks. Because I want someone to ask. I want someone to feel. I want someone to know that I am not okay. I wasn't okay. And if truth be told, I can't picture myself 'okay' in the coming weeks. As pathetic as it sounds, I am craving for sympathy.

Which sucks. Because. Who wants to be miserable, really? Who wants to be alone? Who wants to be so empty? No one. Especially not me. I am jolly. It has always been 'she who always smile' or 'she who always seem happy'.

Which sucks. Because I am not happy. I am. But I'm not. And that sucks. Because it's confusing, and it makes me realize how much I am clueless about myself. I am fake. I am pretentious. It's not something I want to be, but I am. I have built walls to guard myself; the 'I am perfect. I am okay.' thinking. Because I don't want them to know how vulnerable I can be. I don't want them to know how much of a loser I've become. I am embarrassed to admit the sad truth: I am lost.

Which sucks. Because, if it ain't obvious yet, to pretend is a disease. Fatal, really. To always 'look' ok, it had made me tired. And it had made it even more obvious, the fact that I have no one right now. No one to talk to. A pat on the back? Or A reassuring hug? I long for someone. Something. Anything. But nothing.






I guess what I am trying to say is. I am not doing well and I could use a couple of hugs, or any version of 'there there it's gonna be ok', truth or not.

I miss a lot of people. I miss old and supposed-to-be current friends. I miss having relationships.

And no, it's not their fault. It's all my fault. For being so cocky. For being a know-it-all. For being such a pain in the arse.

I had blamed myself harder than I can take; consumed in so much guilt that I feel so suck-y, right now. Which is another issue. (Embarrassing to admit) I seem to have a lot of issues.




....

So let me just leave the rest of explaining to Jason Mraz's 'You and I'.

To memories we had, and to myself being sad and reminiscing.

Was it you who spoke the words that things would happen but not to me
Oh things are gonna happen naturally
Oh taking your advice I'm looking on the bright side
And balancing the whole thing
But often times those words get tangled up in lines
And the bright lights turn to night
Until the dawn it brings
Another day to sing about the magic that was you and me

Cause you and I both loved
What you and I spoke of
And others just read of
Others only read of the love, the love that I love.

See I'm all about them words
Over numbers, unencumbered numbered words
Hundreds of pages, pages, pages for words
More words then I had ever heard and I feel so alive

Cause you and I both loved
What you and I spoke of
And others just read of
And if you could see me now,
Oh love, no
You and I, you and I
Not so little you and I anymore, mmm...
And with this silence brings a moral story
More importantly evolving is the glory of a boy

Cause you and I both loved
What you and I spoke of
And others just read of
And if you could see me now
Well I'm almost finally out of
I'm finally out of
Finally deedeedeedee
Well I'm almost finally, finally
Well I'm free, oh, I'm free

And it's okay if you have to go away
Oh just remember the telephone works both ways
And if I never ever hear them ring
If nothing else I'll think the bells inside
Have finally found you someone else and that's okay
Cause I'll remember everything you sang

Cause you and I both loved what you and I spoke of
and others just read of and if you could see me now
well then I'm almost finally out of.
I'm finally out of, finally, deedeeededede
well I'm almost finally, finally, out of words.

---

¹ Except for those who I consider constant. Those who were there. Those who are and will always be there no matter what. Because they don't have a choice.




Truth Thursdays exists to connect people through writing. To initiate something honest, thoughtful and meaningful.

Hey Love

You are equivalent to

No bake cakes and cupcakes. Or easy bake cookie mix or brownie mix. Or even pancake or waffle mix. Especially when filled with melted chocolate. No, actually, you are everything chocolate filled. Or coated. But not only chocolates. You are also marshmallows. Especially when they're roasted. Melted. And in a sandwich. Or on a hot coco. Or just plain mallows. Or plain coco. Or just about anything sweet. Better to say... you are equivalent to an endless dessert buffet.


...

You are equivalent to

The perfect breakfast table. Served on bed. Which SHOULD have most, if not all of these. Soft boiled eggs or sunny-side-ups, that are cooked to PERFECTION. Fried rice. Overcooked hotdogs and sausages on butter. Bacon. Toasted bread, that has spent 2 or 3 minutes longer than expected in the toaster. Mango jam and cream cheese. Or pancakes and honey. And I SHAN'T ever forget. Brewed coffee, with the right amount milk and syrup.


...

You are equivalent to

Guitars. Strumming and plucking. Crazy dancing. Funny faces. Mitch Albom books. Esp Tuesdays with Morrie and The Time Keeper. Sundays on a library. Smell and crisp of old books. JASON MRAZ songs. Jason Mraz himself. Photography. Esp making bokeh and long exposure lights. Arts and crafts. Watercolor. Hand painting. Childhood memories. Losing weight. Shopping hauls. Greece. Paris. Japan. Sleeping in a forest. Riding unicorns. Finding the end of a rainbow.


...

You are equivalent to

All the things I love and had loved. All the things I dream and dreamt for. All the things I was, am, will be. You are in everywhere I find delight. More than everything I care for. Even more than all the love I had and have for the world.


...

Thank you for choosing me. I don't deserve you. I had taken you for granted. I still do that from time to time. Unintentionally if I may add. But nevertheless, as painful as every other disappointments I had given you. But...

Thank you for staying.


...

You care. Sometimes too much for my own good. You give in to my obsessions over little stupid unnecessary things. You make it your goal to make me happy. To keep me happy.

You understand. You listen. You forgive. Which seems to be important, given all those times I decided to be stupid.

You understand. You accept.

You fought for us. You protect. You are my blanket. You make me stronger. I feel safe when I'm with you. You make me feel dependent. To your scent. To hugging your arms. To stolen kisses. To your love. To every bit of your being. And I'm ok with that. I'm ok with feeling incomplete without you. Of feeling blue when you're not around. Of always looking for you. To always ask. To always want. To always need. I can live without you, but I won't be complete. I won't be happy. Bec you made me love you. You made me fall deep. And thank you for that.


...

I love you. And your silly dance. You don't know how to dance. You have two left feet. And your arms are like twigs. Your hips, your body a trunk. But it's ok. Bec you dance with happiness. You dance with delight. You make me laugh. You know you'll make me laugh. So you ignore and let go and be crazy, and you dance to make me laugh.

I love you. And your out-of-tune singing. You sing like you dance. But it's ok. Bec you sing to serenade. Or to put me to sleep. Or to let me know how you feel. And it's a great feeling you're giving me. Every time you sing, you make me feel loved. And then, I'd fall deeper in love.

I love you. And your cooking. And the pride you have when or from cooking. Esp when it's too much. Which is ok. Bec I love to see you happy. That smile you make when you make something. To that smile you make when I taste it and say yum. I love your cooking. I love that you put love when cooking. I love that you cook for us. I love that you love cooking for us.

I love you. And your WWE obsession. Esp when you try the moves yourself. You memorize the songs. And I find that funny. And silly. And cute. I love you being funny, silly, and cute.

I love you. And you being such a fan of The Rock. And Jackie Chan.

I love you. And your silence. And the fact that you're loud when with me. I love how that proves how comfortable you are around me. I love it when people ask how we talk. How we discuss things. How we agree on things. How you speak. How I listen. How I speak. How you listen. They believe you do the hearing, and I'm the only one doing the talking. I love it when I tell them you're funny. You're crazy. And I love it more when they don't believe. When they can't believe. I love how it makes me realize, how "MINE" you are. I love our inside jokes. Those that no one else can understand. Just us. Like having secret meaning and codes. I love that secrecy we share. As selfish as it sounds, I own you. And your secret world.

I love you. And your hair. Your 'I wake up with this mess' type of hair. Sexy. Messy. Sexy.

I love you. And your forehead. Your cheekbones. Your jawline. Your nose. The bridge of your nose. I love how it always reminds me of Superman. I find you so handsome.

I love you. And you being picky over everything. Clothes. Shoes. Everything. I love it more that you adjusted when we became us. You let me buy you thrifted stuff. You let me choose your shoes. You let me do the shopping. You let me decorate you. Which is another thing I love and I enjoy doing. Bec, I would repeat myself, I find you so dang handsome.

I love you. And that you are smart. That story your classmates were calling you 'Mr. Perfect'. Bec apparently, you scored 100% on all tests. Esp Math. Which made me love you more. Bec I love Math. And it's no surprise I fell in love and married a Math wiz.

I love you. And our story. How it began. The first time I saw you at school. You were a stranger then, but it didn't stop me from looking. Probably too much. For no reason. I love how it ACTUALLY began. I walked in the room. I saw you and remembered you from school. I smiled bec I remembered your face. And right there and then, I had you. You fell in love. I love how romantic that sounds. I love how cliche-y that sounds. How 'chick flick'-y that sounds. And I love that we have that story to share to the kids. To hold on to when things get difficult{er}.

I love you. Your every bit. Physical or not. Just everything about you. Everything that makes you you.

I am in so much love with you. Up to the tiniest possible detail of being you.


...

I don't want to sound cliche-y. I don't want to overdo it. I DEFINITELY don't want to understate. How to perfectly describe this relationship?

Feel loved. In love. Share love. Give love. Receive love. Feel loved. In love. Share love. Give love. Receive love. Feel loved. In love. Share love. Give love. Receive love. Feel loved.

August Broke My Heart plus Instagram: July 2013

There is no way to say this without breaking my heart, not that it ain't broken bec it is very much in teenie bit pieces right now if you'll ask me.

I LOST MY PHONE.
Or more appropriately.
MY PHONE WAS SNATCHED.

There I said it.

It wasn't bec of the phone; no, not even the fact that I never loved a phone until that phone. {Well, ok maybe I was a bit sad bec of that but} It was depressing mainly bec...

I feel like a huge disappointment and failure. I wouldn't be this frustrated if I were single; but now, I feel like I FAILED the people I cared most for. What happened made them unhappy, and that got me. So hard.

I cannot accept how stupid I got that night; how the fuh I let it happen.

Gah I hate having this kind of post. What a loser. But yeah. Hello August! You've been bad, you aint getting worse than that, I hope. Bye!



...

JULY 2013 INSTAGRAM COLLAGE

A bit of bg: I was going to do this days ago, but since these photos were taken using the phone {as mentioned above}, I unsurprisingly surprisingly found it hard to look at these longer than 5 secs, let alone put them in a post. BUTT! I'm kind of stronger now. {HA!} So...

Behold! My July 2013 in squares.






[1-4] acquisitions: new shoes + socks | dresses and socks for the Belle
[5-8] selfies vanity: fave casual selfies | i attended a wedding as THE photographer {ehem} | p.s. i made a crown | i became a man
[9-12] crafting {mommy duties}: puppet for G | 'will you be my Godparent' for the Belle's event | breakfasts for G {minion and taxi}
[13-16] MANDATORY family photos: H and Belle | G and Belle | we went to see the Despicable Me 2 movie | in the cab



Yay for happy endings! Even if it's sorta fake.