Cakes, which appear more often than your inedible gifts, are symbols of celebration – usually of a birthday, an anniversary, or a Leslie Knope friendship holiday. They are without a doubt delicious and fantastic especially if they’re half made with ice cream.Also, the candles make it more meaningful but we – let’s face it -don’t know why. That is a deadly question: why do we do the things that we do. Why would anyone think that a flame being blown out is special? Anyway, let’s not get into a dilemma here. Why does a cake matters? Cake is also a Jennifer Aniston movie which should have gotten her an Oscar nomination at least but didn’t. Besides telling everyone that my dream is to smash my face into a cake and eat my way out, the point of this blog entry is to tell you I’ve eaten cake. Yup, that’s all. A tall, beautiful, mango ice cream cake from a local store named Conti’s that is sure to melt even the toughest person into someone who may look like s/he’s having an orgasm (because it’s like sex all over your mouth – crunch, cold cream, raw sweet mangoes collapsing, yes, oh, yes on a small space inside your body). Yes, I’ve eaten it. A huge slice of it after dinner. But I think what’s more important is that we are not celebrating a birthday, an anniversary or a Leslie Knope friendship holiday. We, my extended beautiful happy family, celebrating a special day of togetherness. And that’s all. That’s the cake that matters.
“How marvelous were my fancied adventures as I sat on a hard park bench pretending to be immersed in a trembling book? (20)”
Quotes that will serve as captions are taken from Vladimir Nabokov’s novel Lolita, the book I was only able to read during plane rides, the book that I loved so much but haven’t finished yet. Also, this is the book I have described with a Russian accent for class last semester.
Despite not having read Susan Sontag, queen of philosophy and criticism on photography, I came up to the conclusion that pictures erases physical visibility (I’m not sure if I used that phrase correctly). This is a sad conclusion, F.Y.I., people will remember you by your pictures in your Facebook or Instagram rather than the person that you are in-person, in 4D. This is the reason why I take a thousand selfies and post only a handful of them.
I also think that if I take pictures of everything I see, I wouldn’t be able to experience them firsthand. All I will take home are pictures instead of an experience worth more than a thousand pictures. If I want to take a nice picture of Disneyland for myself, I could just easily Google Image search it and maybe find someone who has better photography skills (unless I want to be in the picture of course but most of the time I don’t (what is the point anyway of a picture of you standing outside The Peninsula Hotel for example? (no, seriously, you should tell me.))).
Also, if I took a thousand pictures of Hongkong and my mother just took two or three pictures, whose pictures would be more special? There’s something about the quantity of pictures that is related to the quality of the experience of the place. We may be immortalizing a place, a scene in life, a position, but our participation in it lessens.
A place is more than the historical sites, the pretty buildings, and fancy restaurants. It is also the people in it, the people who compose the country, the way they live, the slow-walk of their daily life and how we, tourists, destroy a routine by simply asking directions.
At the end of this blog entry is a vague itinerary. Hope you’ll like this. I hope I make sense.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, exhibit number one is what the seraphs, the misinformed, simple, noble-winged seraphs, envied. (2)”
Note: I will continue editing this post to perfection. I’m not even close to finishing this but these are all the pictures I want to post.