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Tag Archives: romance

To my love on Valentine’s Day

14 Wednesday Feb 2018

Posted by Betty Zhang in Poems

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Tags

books, f scott fitzgerald, literature, love, poem, poet, poetry, romance, valentines day, writer, writing

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Hair: blonde
Eyes: green
Height: 5”8’

Signed in your cursive hand,
Each letter a musical note
So soft and so lovely,
How befitting an ode.

But darling you’re black and white
And try as I might,
I can’t seem to get it right:

Blonde hair but how blonde?
Green eyes but what green?

5”8’ I can see in the mirror,
‘Kinda short for a fella,’ I’d say
If I didn’t already know ya;
We’d stand shoulder to shoulder, but
For you I’d make an exception:
A song by Leonard Cohen.

And to be perfectly practical,
I don’t have to stand on your books
To kiss you though that’d be cute—
Catch me if I fall, though maybe I would fall
Just to fall into you.
Then we’d both be on the floor,
I’d land on your chest,
Crease that three-piece suit,
Tousle your hair, loosen that tie,
Tease till finally you pin me down,
Messed-up hair falling in your eyes
Pale gold and baby emerald, diamond-bright.

Blonde but how blonde?
A darkish blonde I imagine, the prettiest kind Save for Marilyn’s.
Green but what green?
The clear bright green of a river at the height of summer I imagine, the kind doomed Lovers would like if I’m Wright.

You’d make a dashing actor Love,
Actually they cast those to play you and your characters:
Leo and Tom and Brad and Matt,
Million dollar men, young and beautiful,
Blessed with beauty and rage.

Hollywood’s love bloomed late,
Poor fate, you thought
Broke and broken, maybe long forgotten
—Never more false! Love,
You’re alive again, risen from the debt
They owe to you.
Your name, your books,
You’re Lazarus wearing Adonis’ face;
Boy, the shows and movies they make
You have to see to believe.

Your timeless quintet and more,
In jackets of turquoise I adore,
Crazy in love, j’adore
F. Scott Fitzgerald in elegant font,
Honestly I’ve never been so fond—

Oh! Tender was
Your heart till it fell apart,
Broken instrument I fancy
Mending into art!

Still art thou black and white,
Long ago departed from life.
Love thee true I do
Yet be thy wife
I never could—
All I can do is write.

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Can’t buy me love

26 Sunday Feb 2017

Posted by Betty Zhang in Opinion

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Tags

life, love, marriage, music, musings, Opinion, romance, song, the beatles, thoughts, writer, writing

the beatles.jpg

“Tell me that you want those kind of things/That money just can’t buy/I don’t care too much for money/For money can’t buy me love”: these are the words of wisdom sang by Paul McCartney on The Beatles’ 1964 hit “Can’t Buy Me Love” which he wrote with John Lennon. They send me soul-searching every time I hear it, and I hear it a lot because A Hard Day’s Night is one of my favourite albums. Continue reading →

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There’s something gorgeous about French, no?

15 Sunday May 2016

Posted by Betty Zhang in Beauty

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Tags

art, Beauty, culture, france, french, language, linguistics, love, music, romance

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Le français est beau: French is beautiful. This subjective statement is almost an universally accepted truth in a world where revelation that something (the stylish bag you bought in Paris) or someone (that cute guy over there) is French is guaranteed to be met with an ‘ooh’ and a knowing smirk.

Oh, yes, indeed! How Frenchy, how chic, how cultured and sophisticated the French thing/person is! This is, of course, due to the enormous amount of cultural capital attached to words like ‘French’, ‘France’, ‘Paris’, or ‘Parisian’ as a result of the country’s longstanding influence on culture, art, and design in every form, from priceless paintings in the Louvre to how luxury cosmetic products are packaged and advertised.  Continue reading →

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Curiouser and curiouser: the sexual awakenings of a bisexual girl

06 Wednesday Apr 2016

Posted by Betty Zhang in Uncategorized

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Tags

bisexual, lgbtq, love, memoir, personal, prose, romance, sexuality, writing

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The first part of my sexual awakening took the shape of Tuxedo Mask, Sailor Moon‘s resident overdressed douche who, while standing atop a crescent moon, would throw red roses with comic gusto to save the (usually crying) title character/heroine from her plight. Unaware of the now infamous damsel in distress gets saved by Prince Charming trope, of feminism and girlpower, my princess-obsessed, Lois Lane wannabe five or six-year-old self was smitten with him. ‘Oh, mother, look how handsome he is!’ I had gushed day in, day out, while brandishing shiny trading cards bearing his angelic image. Unsurprisingly, I wanted to be Sailor Moon, that immaculately beautiful yet adorably clumsy celestial princess whose fair skin, blonde hair and blue eyes were, retrospectively, to blame for the onset of my inferiority complex: that rude shock whenever my mirror reflection revealed black hair, black eyes and yellowish skin instead of Little Miss Victoria’s Secret (ft. Bouncing Blonde Curls & Sea-Coloured Eyes). Things worsened when cruel, inevitable adolescence arrived and ushered in page after page of glossy models who looked nothing like me, but who looked good in everything…but this is a tale for another time post. So, I was five or so and I loved Tuxedo Mask and I was a girl and he was a boy and it was all easy-peasy.

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Throughout high school, especially after my (re)discovery of boys at the age of 14 after a long, Barbie-fuelled hiatus, I continued to pine after good looking penis owners, be they effeminate Japanese idols or vampiric teen heartthrobs by the name of Edward Cullen (yes, I was a crazy Twilight fan, the type who had all the books, DVDs, T-shirts and merchandise). I had heard of gays and lesbians, I think, but not bisexuals. I had a very limited knowledge of the LGBTQ+ community, as it were. Straight was the norm, and I even had a crush on a string of cute male teachers (textbook daddy issues; pun intended) so I never even thought about my sexuality.

Then came university, and the second part of my sexual awakening. It took the form of one Ellen DeGeneres. Continue reading →

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A love letter to F. Scott Fitzgerald

14 Sunday Feb 2016

Posted by Betty Zhang in Letters

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

author, f scott fitzgerald, letter, literature, love, romance, valentines day, writer, writing

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Dear Scott,

If I could have the moon, I’d give it to you. Wrapped in satin, with white roses too. Will you love me then? Will you kiss me, caress my hair, stroke my face the way lovers do?

How I wish to be held in your arms tonight, safe from the dark, the cold, the unknown. Close our eyes and forget the world; dance to the soundless music of our souls as they meet and entwine—oh, just think! Or feel, with your soft lips on mine, what it is to be understood and loved and forgiven, all at once.

If I could take your hand and place it over my heart I’d show you what I mean when I say ‘I wish you were mine to love, to protect, and to love some more’. Were eternity not an illusion I’d promise to love you till the end of time, my dearest, darling Scott.

‘Oh, he has such a way with words, it pains me so…really, it does!’ I thought and said and sighed, chasing you across the page, dizzy with delight. Eyes wide with wonder and heart wild with desire, I traced your thoughts over and over again with a shaking hand, savouring their beauty. I etched them deep into my hungry soul; prayed they’d nourish all its hollow crevices. They did so much more than that: I fell in love with you.

It is with the conviction of a madman that I write this letter, my phantom beloved. I love you with all my heart and I bequeath my mind and soul to you; do treat them well.

With more love than there are stars in the night sky,

Betty

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