She possesses that dreamy look, like she’s always on her honeymoon. Look at her, and one will discover that, romance is in her lashes, heaven is in her eyes, and her feelings are her world.

Her hair, shades of black, levels of wavy, is freedom, always waving itself, intertwining with one another the way it wants, but she would always pull it to one side. Her shoulders are bare most of the time, for the bareness enhances her mood, though very often her top would slip and steal her dreaminess. She was born in the 90s, but she breathes the 50s. Her life is defined in black and white, grainy photos, dots and thin lines flashing occasionally in her videos. She is not a photographer, nor is she a filmmaker. She just lives in the art, following the rhythm of her heart. She has people’s envy, for they sense in her a fulfilled life. She does feel life deeply, but in a positive way? That depends on perspectives.

She looks untouched, maybe, but the truth is, she is touched. She once struggled to make ends meet. Bad guys came and left, yet she would always fall for those kinds of guys, bad, wrong. Her interests, different, even strange, bring her numerous trouble: her lover should be her father’s age, violence is charming, alcohol is splendid. Yet in the end, she is still merrily ethereal, for her sufferings are her bliss.