sunday afternoon

in 18 days, this semester will be over. let's give it all we've got. by the collective pronoun i am referring to me, myself and i and all the many manifestations. i.e, the mugger mei, the hyper mei, the ambitious mei, the can't-resist-a-dance mei, etc. no i am not schizophrenic. someone in a class of mine pronounced the word, "shit-zo-phrenic", almost on reflex all the lit majors imperceptibly caught the raised eyebrows and sniggering eyes of each other. such elitists we can be at times.

my diana F+ deluxe kit and instant back and leather cases have arrived from hongkong, courtesy of lomography and a certain indulgent creature. the timing is a sure test. but i will be firm and steadfast in my rejection of premature ecstasies. for years and years i have left this blogosphere dusty and neglected for fear of reporting trivial details that no one cares to know of let alone read of.

throws caution to the wind

oh heck.

in my deadline ridden schedule, riding on the coat-tails of a certain looming exam season, i caught the movie bright star on rental. it is about the life and love (yes, singular) of the great John Keats. he died believing himself a failure at 25 (egad. a year younger than I am, now) and posthumously is recognized as one of the greatest Romantic poets. Shall we be mesmerized by his verse? (some of us might be more mesmerized by his dark, brooding eyes as portrayed by his character in the movie).

lines from john keats (1795-1821)

Bright Star
Bright star, would I were steadfast as thou art —
Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night
And watching, with eternal lids apart,
Like Nature's patient, sleepless Eremite,
The moving waters at their priestlike task
Of pure ablution round earth's human shores,
Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask
Of snow upon the mountains and the moors —
No — yet still stedfast, still unchangeable,
Pillow'd upon my fair love's ripening breast,
To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,
Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,
Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,
And so live ever — or else swoon to death.

it is sunday afternoon, and always a tinge of excitement nudges me. a languorous thought of afternoon tea teases me away from the piles of text on Oedipus Rex and Antigone. fret not. the day is still young and i will yet fashion another decent essay but for now...tea and scones, anyone?

random thoughts to kick start the revival of this blog

confession

kaleidoscope

my best days are ahead of me by danny gokey

Blowing out the candles on another birthday cake
Old enough to look back and laugh at my mistakes
Young enough to look at the future and like what I see
My best days are ahead of me

Life hasn't always been a party, but mostly it's been good
There's only one or two things that I'd change if I could
I don't get lost in the past or get stuck in some side memory, yeah
My best days are ahead of me

Age ain't nothing but a number
Sometimes I have to wonder what does it really mean
But hey I'm still puttin' it together
I keep getting better
If I keep getting better
I can be whatever I wanna be
My best days are ahead of me

Age ain't nothing but a number
Sometimes I have to wonder what does it really mean
Hey I'm still puttin' it together
I keep getting better
If I keep getting better
I can be whatever I wanna be
My best days are ahead of me

I've got sunsets to witness
Dreams to dance with
Beaches to walk on and lovers to kiss
There's a whole lot of world out there that I can't wait to see
My best days are ahead of me
My best days are ahead of me

what kids say...

my primary one student said to me today.

"WOW. it's 305pm already!! time is FLYING HERE! because i'm having fun, teacher aster!!"

first day of creative writing classes. not the first smile of the day.

looking back, looking forward

my mum is the best. on new year's eve, she rounds us all up, we sit around in a circle in the living room, jammies and all. and we know we're in for a ride, rethinking the past year, setting goals for the year ahead. i love the breath of a new year, unfettered, uncloying..light and breezy, waiting for a new whiff. the old year sits like a backpack on your back, full of memories, moments, experiences, and of course, the lessons to take away.
and so the new year has begun, whizzing by. resolutions down in pen. let's take a big bite out of 2010=)

you are the butter to my bread and the breath in my life...

Isn't this a lovely kitchen?
It's Julia Child's kitchen, the French Chef portrayed by Meryl Streep in the recent movie Julie & Julia, which i just saw this afternoon, flopped in bed in my jammies, down with a throat infection that made me feel like dying.

The movie made me feel like living, though. and cooking. so i pottered out to the mart downstairs in the slight drizzle and cobbled some meat and seafood together. What Julie Powell did in the movie and in real life,really, was embark on a radical journey. To cook 524 recipes from Julia Child's cookbook in a 365 days and to blog about it. It's the radical journeys that the world takes notice of, really. Like when Chin Yew quit his job and painted every day for a month and 30dayartist.com sparked off. These are the things that changed lives begin with.

It is still the first week of the new year. There is time yet for me to be inspired and set off on something that will take my "writing" out of my head of sandcastles and onto some permanent plane of existence.
Meanwhile I'm off to cook.

From Julie Powell's real blog...

Friday, August 13, 2004

I don’t know what to say.

Julia Child was ninety-one years old when she died, late yesterday, in
her sleep. It’s the death that all of us want, after a life so full it
would seem she was one of history’s true lucky souls, if only luck had
had anything to do with it. She enriched the lives of thousands – my
life she quite literally turned around. She died well-loved, and I
hope she died well-fed. There is no tragedy here. It’s a day for
remembrance, and celebration.


So why am I so fucking sad?


I heard this morning. I was working on my book – I’m always working
on my book, only “freaking out over” would probably be a better term –
when the emails started pouring in. Condolences from my relatives, and
my friends, and my blog-friends, comforting me as if I was suffering
the loss of a family member. I never met Julia Child. I have no
particular reason to think she’d even have liked me if I had. I have
no claim over the woman at all, unless it’s the claim those who have
nearly drowned have over the person who pulled them out of the ocean.
And yet I do feel this loss personally, as a great six-foot-two hole in
my world.


Julia Child began learning to cook when she was thirty-seven years
old. She started because she wanted to feed her husband Paul. She
started because though she’d fallen in love with great food late, when
she did she’d fallen hard. She started because she was in Paris. She
started because she didn’t know what else to do.


Who knows how it happens, how you come upon your essential gift? For
this was hers. Not the cooking itself so much – lots of people cook
better than Julia. Not even the recipes – others can write recipes.
What was Julia’s true gift, then? She certainly had enormous energy,
and that was a sort of gift, if a genetic one – perhaps the one thing
about her you can pin down on the luck of the draw. She was a great
teacher, certainly – funny, and generous, and enthusiastic, with so
much overbrimming confidence that she had nothing to do with the
surplus but start doling it out to others. But she also had a great
gift for learning. Perhaps that was the talent she discovered in
herself at the age of 37, at the Cordon Bleu School in Paris – the
thirst to keep finding out, the openness to experience that makes life
worth living.


She was no bending reed, of course. She had no use for silly,
fear-driven food fads; she could be set in her ways, even mulish, and
when she wanted to she could be withering. That’s fine. That’s good
even. We don’t need saints. Who changes their life under the
influence of a saint? Okay – don’t answer that. But the point is –
Julia was so impressive, so instructive, so exhilarating, because she
was a woman, not a goddess. Julia didn’t create armies of drones,
mindlessly equating her name with taste and muttering “It’s a Good
Thing” under their minty breath. Instead she created feisty, buttery,
adventurous cooks, always diving in to the next possible disaster,
because goddammit, if Julia did it, so could we.


This morning, I was writing about lobster murder. As anyone who’s
here will remember, Julia’s instructions for Homard a l’Americaine were
particularly troubling. Now, bisecting a living lobster is not an easy
thing to do – not for the cook, and certainly not for the lobster. I
still feel a little bad about it, and this morning I was writing
something maybe a little resentful about how I had visited this torture
on a crustacean on Julia’s directive.


She told me I could do it, so I did, and it was hard. I don’t ever,
ever want to do it again – not for her, not for anybody. But it was
important that I do it once. Killing that lobster made me face up to a
lot of stuff that bothers me – stuff about responsibility, and hard
decisions, and carving (bad word, maybe) a place in the world I can be
comfortable in. I would not have done it without Julia to tell me –
“Go ahead – What could happen?”


There’s so much I would not have done. Because it would not have been
there for me to do. Without you here, I would be a different person –
a smaller, a sadder, a more frightened person.


So thank you Julia. Thank you.


I don’t believe in this kind of thing, and I sort of get the feeling
you don’t either, but I’m going to make an exception in your case. I’m
going to choose to believe that tonight, you’re eating sole meunieré,
with Paul, and you’re lifting a glass to toast whatever comes next.


Bon Appetit.

for you

metafiction

i do not write on this blog often. when i do, i coat it with ambiguity. i do not write of specific happenings, or dissect my feelings and thoughts on this, that or the other. i don't want to be reduced into something less than what is. i do not want to be bare upon the table, a cadaver for an enquiring mind.
but i have a voice that sometimes longs to be heard in words, strung along into a chain of meaning. a meaning that reflects a truth. a truth that is often masked... how can i say something to someone and no one and everyone at once?

it is a cold, chilly, rain-dripped early sunday morning. in my mind it is still saturday because that makes the weekend seem longer. so it seems like i have more time to slowly pluck off the post-its on the side of my desk. each yellow post-it note bears an essay or assignment to finish in the next couple of days or so. the post-its are yellow but not so sunny.

i am missing him. weekend after weekend i try to edge him out little by little so that i have more time to spend on my readings and other things to do. i want my alone time. i want my get my room in shape time. i want my space to breathe. it has only been 3 days and all i want to do is see him. let him keep me warm. tell him my thoughts on the Michael Jackson "film" I caught today. it is 8pm in Spain. perhaps I could sneak a call, just to say hello from across the oceans...

i am prone to displacement, replacement of thought upon thought, stream upon stream of consciousness. i can convince myself of alternate realities. I can, I am, I want, I should.
maybe i should.
just write my essays. and stop thinking, stop feeling.

meanwhile, i pray your brother finds his way home this very moment..

why do you let me tell you how to live

let me tell you how to live,
because i am older and more experienced
i have walked on this earth longer and thus should know
the curveballs that spring from the indentation of nothingness
i have been through the whole gamut of loss, pain and failure
but not the suicide of a peer

let me tell you how to live
because i know
that wall you build around your self, the one u insist you cannot move
i know that you can and within you there is power

let me tell you how to live
because i am composed most days
even when my flyaway hair has gone amok
and the colours i wear are mixed from a wavering brush
and even though the flinging hurt that lashes across from uninformed surmises
and that hollow echoing of blank stares pit me against myself


let me tell you how to live
because i know you deserve a love that is undeniable in its certainty
a love that wraps your soul and snuggles up to your own faltering ego
a love that laughs along with your bizarre cartoon outbursts
and skips along with you in the middle of the mall
a love that sings to your heart even when the phone doesn't ring

let me tell you how to live
because life ain't about not having things to worry about or to feel broken down by
but by looking back and knowing you found a way out of the pits
and knowing that every single fleeting moment you can decide
you can choose
you can reinvent yourself
and be the greatest you that there ever was
and that that will be enough
for you, for him, for her, for me, and everybody who cares to feel

let me tell you how to live
because we all have our own ideas
of how to live
and even me myself my plucky I
wake up every morning just to learn a little morsel more
face my path, climb my hills
for that glimpse of dawn
and that breath of serenity

how to be a stiletto by pooja nansi

Give the gift of power.

Not just by rising up to heights, but by knowing
that pain can be overcome
with stubborn audacity.

Show that appearances are more important than reality.

The blistered, chafed parts of you
must at all times
be covered in sequins,
so that even if you feel battered,
you look invincible in all your glory.

Expose the seduction, spunk, spirit that's been
quashed by the lazy wandering of easy flat planes.

Remind everyone that safe
is not wondrous.

Gratification
is not the same as contentment,

and that gracefulness
has nothing to do with
ease.

Recognise that red is your best colour,
that you are a tool and a weapon all at once.

Harness your ability to keep someone
under your heel and grant freedom
from the same point
of your existence.

Walk sufferers of low self-esteem
enlightened into the night.
Make sure they wince
only once the music dies,
when they are safe
from the public eye.

Lead hearts onto dance floors.
Lift them into the promise
of the music to the understanding that

a life lived afraid,
and in comfort,
is no life
at all.

incessant racket

it is always there
the grinding clamour
of cement brick and plaster
being blasted to smithereens
the deafening friction of machine on wall floor or ceiling
right next door
or below or above me
everywhere i go
in every country i can call home loosely or with firm conviction
with every dwelling i can park my self and my belongings at
every fucking where this incessant pounding and banging
racking havoc with my fragile head
it isn't funny when all i want is peace and some frigging quiet or if not that then at least
the prospect of a head that isn't throbbing
a mind that is free to roam without being hijacked by that whirring rumbling chugging of a ceaseless beast
do i really have to leave the sanctity of home or so it seems this is for now
and shuffle among the potentially unhealthy flu carriers in mall after mall to escape this noise
trade this for another version of calamity
where every penny i cling on to seems magnetized by something bright and colourful and price-slashed
not once but three times over...final reduction!
still my head throbs, my ears ring long after they have gone home to briyani rice
my pages blank unwritten stories and poems stuck within
my rows of books unread
all driven to a sadistic halt by the incessant racket

a musical legend died today

when i was 12, i got onto a plane and flew alone to kl for a major event. Michael Jackson's HISTORY world tour. It rained that night, but it didn't deter the 80,000 fans clambering for a piece of Michael Jackson's magic. For some inexplicable reason, I had been a fan since i was 5. It was when I was watching his Thriller music video, perched on the edge of a sofa and swinging towards the screen that i fell off and crashed into a glass cabinet and cut my face. I read his biography. I had a huge poster of him in my cupboard. and though over the years there were many reasons to be shy about being a fan of his, the fact remains that he was an incredible musical genius and has contributed immensely to the industry.
he dies mere weeks from his big comeback tour and it is very tragic indeed.
may he rest in peace...



"Gone Too Soon"

Like A Comet
Blazing 'Cross The Evening Sky
Gone Too Soon

Like A Rainbow
Fading In The Twinkling Of An Eye
Gone Too Soon

Shiny And Sparkly
And Splendidly Bright
Here One Day
Gone One Night

Like The Loss Of Sunlight
On A Cloudy Afternoon
Gone Too Soon

Like A Castle
Built Upon A Sandy Beach
Gone Too Soon

Like A Perfect Flower
That Is Just Beyond Your Reach
Gone Too Soon

Born To Amuse, To Inspire, To Delight
Here One Day
Gone One Night

Like A Sunset
Dying With The Rising Of The Moon
Gone Too Soon

Gone Too Soon

yet i wallow in the wading pool of mediocrity

there is nothing left to do for now, but to snap out of it. this looming gloom of every day which sends me tumbling through my very own slow decay. i am here, this is now. tomorrow will come, eventually but 'til then, this listlessness and sad foray will not do. i ponder and i wonder about this extrication of self and sorrow from the famed writing of tomorrow. unwritten, undigested.
yet i wallow.

"One Of The Brightest Stars"

One day your story will be told.
One of the lucky ones who's made his name.
One day they'll make you glorious,
Beneath the lights of your deserved fame.
And it all comes round.
Once in a lifetime like it always does.
Everybody loves you 'cause you've taken a chance,
Out on a dance to the moon, too soon.
And they'll say told you so.
We were the ones who saw you first of all.
We always knew that you were one of the brightest stars.
One day they'll tell you that you've changed,
Though they're the ones who seem to stop and stare.
One day you'll hope to make the grave,
Before the papers choose to send you there.
And it all comes round.
Once in a lifetime like it always does.
Nobody loves you 'cause you've taken a chance,
Out on a dance to the moon, too soon.
And they'll say told you so.
We were the ones who saw you first of all.
We always knew that you were one of the brightest stars.
And they'll say told you so.
We were the ones who saw you first of all.
We always knew that you were one of the brightest

yet another scam...what's the world coming to?

Colin Alderman
Partner
Barlow Robbins LLP
55 Quarry Street, Merseyside
Liverpool, L25 6EZ.
Direct Tel: +44 703 180 6846


Good Day ,


This is a personal email directed to you and I request that it be treated as such.
I am Barrister Colin Alderman, a solicitor at law. I am the personal attorney/sole executor to the late Mr. Dickson, hereinafter referred to as’ my client' who worked as an independent oil magnate in my country and who died in a car crash with his immediate family on the 4th of oct,1998. Since the death of my client in Oct, 1998, I have written several letters to the embassy with intent to locate any of his extended relatives whom shall be claimants/beneficiaries of his abandoned personal estate and all such efforts have been to no avail.

Moreover, I have received official letters in the last few weeks suggesting a likely proceeding for confiscation of his abandoned personal assets in line with existing laws by the bank in which my client deposited the sum of 30 million pounds.

On this note I decided to search for a credible person and finding that you bear a similar last name, I was urged to contact you, that I may, with your consent, present you to the "trustee" bank as my late client's surviving family member so as to enable you put up a claim to the bank in that capacity as a next of kin of my client.

I find this possible for the fuller reasons that you bear a similar last name with my client making it a lot easier for you to put up a claim in that capacity. I propose that 50% of the net sum will accrue to you at the conclusion of this deal in so far as I do not incur further expenses.

Therefore, to facilitate the immediate transfer of this fund, you need, first to contact me via email signifying your interest and as soon as I obtain your confidence, I will immediately appraise you with the complete details as well as fax you the documents, with which you are to proceed and i shall direct on how to put up an application to the bank.

HOWEVER, you will have to assent to an express agreement which I will forward to you in order to bind us in this transaction.

Upon the receipt of your reply, I will send you by fax or E-mail the next step to take. I will not fail to bring to your notice that this proposal is hitch-free and that you should not entertain any fears as the required arrangements have been made for the completion of this transfer. Like I said, I require only a solemn confidentiality on this.

Best regards,

Colin Alderman.

you show up

somedays you go to work a little late, a little less put together, a little less eyeliner. like none, really.
you trudge along. to the workplace. a little less motivated, a little less focused, a little less of a workaholic.
you surf, and browse and bang out a random poem in 5 minutes.

I was born to live
I was born to love
I was born to be
The one that you deserve
I was born to thrive
I was born to bloom
I was born to smile
And lead you from your gloom
I was born to hold you
And keep you in my heart
I was born to breathe you in
And exhale works of art
I was born to shine
I was born to glean
I was born to make a life
That would something mean
I was born to live
I was born to love
I was born to be
The one that you deserve

and then it's time for lunch. you soak in the break even as you begin to feel, break from what, exactly?
guilt seeps in, in little beads. what have you done so far to deserve the pay you just banked in today. in the morning, before the weekend, which is why you were late in the first place. you keep your wallet closed like a mouth encasing gold, so you're richer for longer. so the pay day glow lasts.
you bank it all in, a sore lesson after having been robbed on pay day 2 months before. your mind dreams and roams and still, at work, you do minimally. work that is.

somedays you go to work, with a little less inclination to do your job. nothing urgent, nothing pending, nothing requires your innate skill.
but at least, you show up...

dreaming with a broken heart...

if who i am is what i have, and what i have is lost then who am i?

and what if what i've lost are not mere possessions? but a huge part of your soul?

and you know not how to mend the gaping hole, the bridge you burned to walk your own path.

you dream and your aching heart roams in a parallel world.

john mayer wrote a song," dreaming with a broken heart". he says of the song, it's about how you've had a fallout with someone and in your dreams all is well, then you wake up and realize man, that person still hates me..."

i liked the song long ago, never realized it'd end up resonating with me so well.

namecards...

after many weeks of meetings, concerts, networking sessions (and a primary school reunion) of meeting various who's whos in the industry and beyond, our HIGHLY dependable and EFFICIENT printers (ask me who not to use next time!) have delivered my new namecards.

this is not my first or second namecard, but it is the first that isn't under a company which belongs to my parents. haha. o joy.

and now to seek out the ideal namecard case, which will embody professionalism, class and a tinge of my individual personality with a touch of quirkiness. and can fit at least 10 cards at a time. think i can get one for sgd5? heh. 

anyone wants my namecard??=)

p.s the above post was written in a state of delirium brought on by acute flu n sinus attack. please ignore all degrees of nonsensicality. 

in the span between then and now

much has happened.

this is the biggest understatement.

my life has changed drastically.

i did it.

God did it.

they allowed it.

i travelled quite a bit. like a whole lot in fact when juxtaposed with my total travellers' miles in the 24 years before.

there was new zealand. 

oh the sights. the scenery.

there was the travel bit. and the journey itself. (spiritual journey as that fashion designer from london says) with my emotional baggage.

and the finally visiting marie leg of the trip which was sublime.

so many things about this trip was sublime.

so much so that the stories from here will form my first book. (no joke)

other travels included kl, kuantan, jakarta. my first visit to indonesia really, to rebuild family ties with someone and taste the life there. caught up a fair bit with old old friends in kl and had  a great time doing so. 

i have relocated to singapore. awaiting my return to university come august. meanwhile i have a job. a rather decent one too. celebrated a milestone. 

all the while, adjusting, adapting. spanning my wings. i carry in my heart, a heavy bag of sadness. i try to stuff it deep, wedge it away so i can breathe. so i can live. so i can move on and slowly think of how to make amends. how to mend bridges. 

during the new zealand trip, the pain was at its most intense, nay it comes back sometimes in sudden spurts, but then it was fresh, it was new, it was raw. and all i could do was look around at the beauty. surrounding. every corner of that land. and see God's big smiling face.

and then i could rise above it. 

and then there was christmas. i desperately tried to recreate some semblance of christmas as i knew it. and it was ok. christmas was alright.

it is a new year now. i have had my say. what little i could muster. it is far from fixed. but i can look ahead. to brighter times in that particular pasture and thank my God for bringing my through.

for still putting bright lights and pillars of hugs in my way. good friends old and new. near and far. and my patient perpetual companion. 

it is a new year now. 

and in the span between then and now.

much has happened.

here's wishing all of you a fabulous 2009!

the unthinkable

there is no easy way to do the unthinkable. how is it that we begin to cross the boundary in our mind, when do we take the first step over the imaginary line which demarcates the natural reflex, and the unthinkable audacity.

oh to be bold is to be weak?

to be daring is to be selfish?

to dream and wish is to insult your current position. commitment hitherto.

to do the unthinkable you must rise. above all expectation. all promise of condescension.

to do the unthinkable you must think it and grasp onto that hope that God will love you nonetheless.

i have done the unthinkable and i have begun to taste the sweetness of a new horizon.

in a realm where i can be just me.

and that is okay.

that is enough.

that can possibly even be noble.

or am i merely masking my guilt?