I’ve been thinking a lot about sadness lately, but only because it seems to have elected itself as a permanent sheen on my otherwise pretty good life. I have found myself getting sad over the littlest things like having to explain things to people twice, social exclusion, accidentally exposed rolls of film and, most recently, withholding tax.

Once, Reggie wrote that she doesn’t even remember what kind of things she used to be so sad about in high school. I know what that feels like, when it comes to my life, too. Because, I don’t think my life was ever severely lacking, at least in the ways that mattered. It’s just like that Smashing Pumpkins song, I’m in love with my sadness, but believe me when I say that I never truly mean to be.

At some point in my life, I agreed with a lot of things that John Green’s female protagonist in Looking for Alaska thought. Alaska said, “Pudge, what you must understand about me is that I’m a deeply unhappy person” and briefly, I believed with all my heart that that was just the kind of person I was. Lately, I’ve been giving in to sadness and negativity, and the truth is, I haven’t felt as disconnected from myself as I do now.

It’s not like “I don’t know myself anymore,” but it’s more like “I don’t feel good when I respond or think this way.” I don’t think I’m alone when I say that sadness is beautiful. It’s beautiful in a way that honesty and vulnerability are beautiful, especially in the face of ugly, painful things. I’m drawn to it, because it opens up a more interesting complexity in humanity, reveals a side that a lot of people would just rather ignore.

“Brod discovered 613 sadnesses, each unique, each a singular emotion, no more similar to any other sadness than to anger, ecstacy, guilt, or frustration. Mirror sadness. Sadness of domesticated birds. Sadness of being sad in front of one’s parent. Humor sadness. Sadness of Love Without Release.” — Everything is Illuminated; Jonathan Safran Foer.

But, just because it sometimes can be beautiful, it doesn’t mean that I should constantly seek it out and put myself in situations where sadness will prevail over everything else.

It’s no secret that I relate to a lot of coming-of-age stories. These stories reflect basic human pains, stings of which are often felt for the first time, and then they tell of how young people overcome them. The first pangs of betrayal or rejection might just be some of the worst feelings in the world. Sometimes, it gets worse, but we learn, we grow, and we cope. That’s how the world works. I think sad situations are inevitable, but ultimately, you get to choose how you respond and how much of yourself you allow to be affected.

I don’t mean to say that it’s better to be a happy person than to be a sad person, but I think that I personally should know by now how to better deal with these bouts of sadness and these tiny tragedies, without having to feel like the whole world is ending or that my heart is imploding on itself. My So-Called Life‘s Angela Chase is an early adopter in Wallowing, but I imagine that even she eventually had to suck it up and deal with her feelings, too. I’m thinking, maybe, so should I.

“Do you have doubts about life? Are you unsure if it is really worth the trouble? Look at the sky: that is for you. Look at each person’s face as you pass them on the street: those faces are for you. And the street itself, and the ground under the street, and the ball of fire underneath the ground: all these things are for you. They are as much for you as they are for other people. Remember this when you wake up in the morning and think you have nothing. Stand up and face the east. Now praise the sky and praise the light within each person under the sky. It’s okay to be unsure. But praise, praise, praise.” — The Shared Patio; Miranda July.

I haven’t been taking loads of pictures, so imagine how gravely disappointed I was when I found out that the black-and-white roll I tried came out of the developers as a long, black strip. Apparently, the ‘X’ meant that it was “exposed” and not “expired.” Lesson learned, I guess.

What I’m about to share with you right now is a chronicling of my first foray into Lomography. My cousin, Nicole, was the first person I knew who had a really cool camera that shot multi-framed stories instead of capturing single stills.

I was intensely attracted to the idea and so I got my own—a Supersampler! I loved pulling the string and hearing the four clicks when I pressed the button. The results were always surprising and fun, too.

I brought that thing with me everywhere. And it was nice how my dad indulged this obviously non-cerebral, anti-art—at least in the way that it’s supposed to evoke deep meanings and underlying themes—kind of photography. I mean, it was really nice of him, because look at what I have now! A bunch of memories from a really fun time in my life. I had no idea how expensive film and lab fees were. Now, I do, so I appreciate it all the more.

It’s just funny how photos from this camera represent to me things that I miss, as well as some of my oldest dreams. I miss being silly, and I miss feeling big enough to actually maybe live in New York City someday. In high school, I always thought I would be there by the time I was in my mid-twenties. Now that the date is nearing, I kind of doubt anything will come of that dream, but it’s still nice to have a reminder of who I was, precisely, when I fell in love with that city.

Here are some more photos of New York and me coercing my classmates to make silly faces.

I’ve gotten really cool stuff in the mail the past few days! First up is a 7″ and a postcard from one of my favorite friends from far away, Zet! It’s really sweet of her to do this, because it was totally unexpected.

I’m glad she included a return address because I still owe her a package from when she was in LA for school. She sent me a couple of postcards, some pinback buttons and this! I’m really the worst at mailing stuff out at first, but when I get the hang of it, I promise you, I’m the funnest.

And then today, I woke up to this! I can’t believe it—a package from Visual Editions, one of my favorite publishers. They might be a bit newer than most people in the book business—they only have four books out—but their work is amazing. It’s really a visual understanding and representation of stories and words, especially in relation to the actual, physical space where these stories “happen”.

Anyway, the contents of the package I got were wrapped in discarded spreads of what looks to be their edition of The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Gentleman. Because of the gorgeous neon pantone and the creamy-smooth paper, and also because I am a packrat, I’m keeping this, heh.

Inside: an advanced copy of their fourth book, Kapow! by Adam Thirlwell. I can’t believe it! I’m so excited to read it; I’ll probably put down Chad Harbach’s “The Art of Fielding” momentarily just so I can get into this right away. For more on the story, visit this VE blog post. For more photos of this truly gorgeous book, visit this other blog post.

You can pre-order the book here. I cannot recommend the quality of their products enough. If you recall, I raved about Jonathan Safran Foer’s Tree of Codes a while back.

I got a postcard from them, too. Two lovely ladies who sought to make “great looking stories.” How about that? :)

Quarterly Co. launched a few months ago, gripping my attention immediately with its solid branding and clean design. The idea behind it is interesting, too. They select contributors—well-known and respected in their fields—and users can subscribe to them. Each quarter, you receive a special mailing put together by the contributor you’ve subscribed to—all for $25.

Essentially, you’ll get “personalized” (in that each contributor will think of something special and unique to send) snail mail from a famous person. Exciting idea, but risky, too, since you have no idea what you’re going to be in for. With that in mind, I subscribed to Bobby Solomon, the mind behind The Fox is Black, because I follow his blog and I trust his taste.

Here’s what I got in his second mailing (I missed out on the first):

A zine and a letter explaining the contents of this “issue.”

A die-cut sticker of The Fox is Black’s logo.

A typographic poster.

Here’s some selected content from the zine:

Let me start with my disappointments. On the whole, I enjoyed the content of the zine, but there were spreads like this one that I felt were unnecessary, or could have been represented better.

I enjoyed this interesting though short feature on weird circular produce. I wish there had been more fruits or veggies, so I can learn about them, too.

Great interview with analog photographer, with a selection of his black-and-white photos.

An illustration of a pug yin-and-yang by Gemma Correll.

Verdict: Though I enjoyed flipping through the zine, I don’t think I can justify spending $25 for it, especially with the exchange rate and all. That’s one hard-bound book! I took a look at other contributors, though, and am interested in subscribing to other people’s mailings once they open up subscriptions again.

Romeo Lee & the empty table of refreshments.

The roster of artists currently on display at West Gallery is infinitely interesting. Veering away from the typical four-show format, there were five solo exhibitions on display, with one show leaking out of Gallery two into the open space by the food. On Thursday, I experienced everything from talent envy to hoarse voice syndrome, having had to shout at Iris (sorry, Iris!) because of the music from Romeo Lee’s exhibit courtesy of one Jay Taruc.

I hadn’t been out to view exhibits in a while, but on that day, I remembered how fun it was to just mill around and talk to people, to look around and munch on free food—and drink alcoholic beverages your parents bought for other people.

Annie Cabigting’s Dietro Mona Lisa

Two paintings of the backs of the famed Mona Lisa, echoing works that I most know from Annie Cabigting. I’m a big fan of her “back portraits,” where she paints the backs of people who are looking for things. Nothing much else to say about this show that’s not already apparent from the photographs, but I do like it because it’s cheeky, well-rendered, and isn’t a great departure from the works of hers that had been familiar to me.

The history geek in me loves the idea of speculations of two Mona Lisas (which explains the two works), and I love that she painted both.

Sarah Geneblazo’s Escape

Click for photos of the rest of the exhibits

Heima’s paper display during Southern Stories. LC-A+ (wide lens attachment), Fuji Provia 100.

A few snapshots from April. I have lost all focus-knowledge of my LC-A+. I don’t know what happened, but I hope it just has to do with the ASA of the film. I need to stop overestimating the capacity of 100 ASA film. Anyway, here’s a bit of my April for you.

Sarie, looking at Charles Buenconsejo’s exhibit.

Isabel.

Summer Madeline.

Tito Simon, Iniko Matteo, papa.

Bono, the pug.

MRT, women’s compartment.

Nolita, Bonifacio High Street.

Church.

Carabao skull, on loan from Tita Emmy.

I don’t remember cross-processed Provia being so green! I don’t think I’ll be using this again unless I go on sunny trips to the beach or a different (bright!) city.

I’m tired of the blurriness of my LC-A+. I don’t know why I can’t get the hang of it. I think I need to have real practice. Or else, I just miss the manual SLRs that I used to use. I loaded the LC-A+ with an expired roll of black-and-white film that I’d been saving since high school. Hopefully they turn out okay.