purismblog

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Crab Restaurant in Dagupan City, Philippines

Filipino vintage postcard

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I majored in English- could've really used this.

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PNGs of cat donuts from this post

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Anne Truitt, from a diary entry featured in Daybook: The Journal of an Artist

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My peace began where your gravity ended. ( ✩ )

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Pretty bookshops in France, vol. 2

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Pioneer Headphones, 1974

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I love listening to what artists talk about while their hands are occupied with color, shape, and light. Simply put, while they are creating their masterpieces. In those moments, they are especially honest. Their voices become an extension of their brushstrokes — unhurried, a little pensive, as if the words, too, are searching for their place on the canvas. Sometimes they speak of love, more often about art. News comes up more rarely and disappears quickly, like accidental drops on a palette.

But today, I heard something different. A female artist from San Diego, with a soft voice and glowing eyes, was telling her neighbor at the easel about a Harvard study. It turns out, there is scientific evidence confirming that friendship extends life. True, deep, unconditional friendship. And it especially affects women. The artist had read that this is proven — the connection between high-quality relationships and longevity is clear. When there is someone near you who understands you, stress levels decrease, the heart beats more calmly, and life becomes easier.

It sounded logical, I thought…

But that wasn’t what truly struck me. It was her final sentence. “Can you imagine,” she said, “it’s not only those who are loved who live longer, but those who love. Those who help, support, become anchors and mentors for others.” She said it’s precisely the role of mentor, best friend, and helper that adds years to your life and brings joy to the heart. Not sacrifice, but giving. Not exhaustion, but fulfillment. And this isn’t just philosophy or theory — it’s a biologically measured fact.

I paused to think. We often fear burnout, fatigue, losing ourselves in caring for others. People around us, in today’s world, tend to believe that giving means losing. But in reality, it’s the opposite. In a world where it’s so easy to hide behind a professional role, staying simply human and sincere is almost an art in itself. Being a teacher who not only explains but also nurtures, supports, and truly feels — that’s no longer just a job. It’s a path where every step returns to you as kindness and light.

Sometimes such simple thoughts return to you like revelations. And suddenly you understand that living isn’t only about moving forward, but about being there. For someone.

Every day. Without a reason. Without a benefit. Just because you can. And that is true happiness.

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Franz Kafka, 1912

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“What are you afraid of losing, when nothing in the world actually belongs to you” - Marcus Aurelius

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IBM Research Center La Gaude, Marcel Breuer, 1962

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I often write about the Kingdom of Bahrain, but today I want to speak about the sea.

The water here is like a gentle breath. It speaks to me without words, whispering through the soft, infrequent waves the feelings I sometimes forget to notice. At times, it’s as clear as glass; at others, it turns a deep, rich blue, like a heart overflowing with memories. Yet it always, unfailingly, mirrors my mood. The moment I step close to the shore, everything within me grows quieter.

I love walking along the bays, the beaches, the marinas. Each place feels like a story of its own. One beach invites silence, another—laughter, as carefree as childhood. Here in the Kingdom of Bahrain, the sea is not just a backdrop. It’s a mirror of emotions, reflecting the sky, the sun, and even the things we try to hide from ourselves. And without fail, it always inspires me.

Sometimes I catch myself falling in love with these same waters again and again. Every day I gaze toward the horizon, and each time I’m astonished by the beauty of the sea’s colors. How do you explain that the sea remains the same, yet the feelings are always new? Maybe it’s the wind, the hour of the day, or the way the sky’s colors merge with the water’s. Or maybe it’s because we ourselves are constantly changing.

When I sail from one island to another, I feel like I’m living inside an ancient fairytale. Thirty-three islands—like thirty-three letters written by nature itself. Between them, there is silence and depth, where peace quietly resides. Only the rustle of waves and sunlight on my face, like a blessing.

The Gulf is not just geography. It is inspiration, emotion… a state of soul. It heals, listens, and keeps silent with me. And every time I return to it—not to search for answers or to grieve, but to feel and to hear. Most often, to hear myself. By the sea, we always hear ourselves more clearly.

But why? That’s what I keep trying to understand.

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Oscar Wilde, from a letter featured in The Selected Letters of Oscar Wilde

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Roses from Wargemont (1885) by Pierre-Auguste Renoir