could the world make any more sense

early in the week, my dad was eating lunch with some colleagues at a restaurant. as he sat down, directly opposite on another table sat someone glancing at him — not because the other guy was creepy, but their tables faced each other. my dad thought for a moment, 'that guys looks awfully familiar.' but he brushed the idea off of knowing that guy and started lunch.

after he finished the guy came up to him, and asked whether he was from insert university where they both did their masters degree, and BAM! my dad replied insert name and things began to unravel... they did the same masters degree back in the 80's and the last time they saw each other was in '88. in '92 this guy went to london and my dad in '94 moved to new zealand.

who knew that 20 years later they'd meet again, sitting opposite each other at a restaurant half way across the freaking world! story of their lives much? maybe the world does go around.

be a good listener

much of life is trying to make sense of life. we do that through attempting to express our experiences and then evaluating it to see whether they ring true. we normally need another person to hear our attempt so that we can hear it ourselves. often we don't ask for a problem solver, because we need a listener, one who lets the other friend tell the story, and have the imagination to be with them in it.

world wide web

for some narcissist yet seemingly credible reason i have decided to make a domain for my photography portfolio, it's not very good but all photography is mine. you may not use it without permission. but feel free to email me if you do have any questions in regards to it. it's not really set up properly yet but here is the link:

www.aimeehan.com

puss puss.

the only boy from bohemia

my baba use to take me kite flying every sunday. this was when i was six and we lived by the sea (it's starting to sound cliche, but we did!). because he'd be busy all week at work, we'd spend sundays together. we'd go to church in the morning, then afterwards he'd take me to the amusement park. there were two opposite each other, and we'd rotate which one depending on the week. one of those days we went into a kite shop newly set up outside. i picked out a kite with the image of a phoenix. from then on we'd fly the kite every sunday afternoon on the roof top of our building.

then i turned seven and moved north to live with my grandparents. the kite broke. and we haven't really flew any kites together since. but everytime i see a kite i remember those times.