migrated!

2008-06-23T23:30:00.006+08:00

I have moved.

Sorry for the inconvenience, but I've opted for something simpler with a better user interface.

Please redirect yourself here: Rachel Chew.
Much thanks!

bowel education

2008-06-16T18:12:00.003+08:00

I'm not doing too well. I have come to believe that I've developed a love-hate relationship with Penang. Once, the island gave me my worst bout of flu that landed me with 5 stitches to my head (a long story which involves very strong medication and a lot of pain). This time it's diarrhea. The uncertified doctor in me (thank you, Google) suspects it to be either traveler's diarrhea or stomach flu.

Dirty eggs from the ochien (fried oysters, probably dirty too, in egg batter) store in Penang.

And while perusing Google and Wiki, I discovered what caused a certain trauma to my bowels 5 years ago. I was hungry for some cheap hawker style fish and chips so I stopped by the nearest store. A few hours after eating, I had some "interesting bowel activity." I will spare you the details, but it was not at all date-worthy. Some people however, had it worst. In Hong Kong and Singapore, the fish was sold as a knockoff version of cod. I don't really understand Mandarin but I believe this is about the fake cods.

Lesson in inconvenience: Avoid escolar, also known as butterfish, oilfish, Hawaiian walu and white tuna (served in sushi restaurants, but the portions aren't substantial enough to cause a reaction) or cheap cod meat or Chilean sea bass. Or just avoid cheap fish and chips. What you save in dollars, you pay in embarrassment and excessive use of toilet paper.

Since we're on the topic of fish, it's only fit for me to share about my recent nasty encounter with fish. At my last bite of a stir-fry fish fillet meal, I found what looked like a strand of noodle in the meat. With some simple fork prodding, it turned out to be a cooked roundworm. The same kind found in the feces of a dewormed pet. This is gut churning, but it's also called education.

I have downed 2 tablets of Zentel since the encounter.

As for my souvenir from Penang, I'm setting up a date with the doctor.

chiang mai

2008-06-07T16:27:00.005+08:00

People. Tut tuts. Bells. Chimes. People. Chili powder. Sandalwood. Lights.
People. Too many people.

And the occasional "Konichiwa!" and "Mushi mushi" from street vendors who assumed I was Japanese.

I never thought Chiang Mai would be so commercialized. Almost every business is geared towards tourists. American bars, Mexican food, dim sum, sushi, a three-storey Starbucks and several used books store with English, Japanese, Dutch, German and French books (one hung a Trainspotting and Che Guevara poster over the cashier counter. Can't try any harder for touristy effect).

There were also posters and billboards of their king in various dignified poses throughout the city and its outskirts. Many also sport orange colored silicon bands embossed with "Long Live Our King."

Thailand was never colonized, yet in a sense it has.

Escorts with "extra services" were advertised openly behind tut tuts. And then there were the old farangs with young Thai girls.

Armed with a hook-and-hammer-like apparatus, elephant trainers scratched and nicked the elephants' thick skin to subdue them. The elephants painted on canvases, tote bags and t-shirts with the 'help' of their trainers.

Clap clap. More bananas. More sugarcanes. Whack whack. Clap clap. And pose. Click. And pose again. Click.

It's the way of life for some and who am I to judge. I'm only another sojourner in this thing called life.
On the really plus, plus side of things is that there were many coffeehouses all around Chiang Mai. Locally grown and roasted fresh.
I also saw the borders of Burma and Laos, visited an opium museum and saw the Golden Triangle. It was at best, interesting and informative. At worst, depressing.

However, I loved the bamboo raft ride which lasted almost an hour along the Mae Taeng River. It was quiet, far from other tourists and it rained. The only thing that wasn't drenched was my camera. Awesome.

(Taken just outside the Burmese border.) I will try to upload more photographs from Chiang Mai here.

Next: Staff retreat in Penang.

keep coming home

2008-05-29T15:46:00.003+08:00

I couldn't really sleep the other night and I'm sure it wasn't because of those political (or anti) videos I was watching online. One of the things that went through my mind was about the holy and profane.

My thoughts were everywhere and quick, I probably should've written it down when it was fresh. But here I am, trying to piece together a string of thoughts that will most likely end up looking like a tangle of hairs collected in the bath drain. So here's the untangling: I thought about Moses and his encounter with the burning bush.

Holiness and profanity. We remove our shoes when we enter into someone's home (Malaysia and Asia, at least). We don't carry in dirt. We leave "where we have been" when we come Home. The building/place isn't holy, we are. When I enter into the life of another, I need to remove my shoes because it is holy ground. The burning bush lives in us... and encounters like this happens everyday. The profane becomes sacred. When there isn't such a thing as ordinary, only blindness to see beyond the apparent. I need to acknowledge the holiness or sacredness of and in another...

I will be leaving for Chiang Mai tomorrow morning. Have a great weekend, people.

no, never. ever.

2008-05-20T21:46:00.001+08:00

i have a habit

2008-05-14T17:11:00.006+08:00

I’m on a terrible adrenaline rush lately. At work, I mean. I love it when I’m inspired and feel completely lost when nothing amuses me. So I have been designing, constructing and moving pixels. Rush, rush!

(That reminds me of a very old Paula Abdul song I heard on the bus to school, circa 1991. And... dare I say it… Beverly Hills 90210. Thank God for puberty.)

To add to all the rush, my boss came back with a souvenir from New Zealand.
I’ve also been keeping consistent with my 2008 Moleskine weekly notebook. I keep it as a journal for everyday and random thoughts, but most importantly, it’s my weekly menu. It’s a log of what I’ve eaten and what I will be eating and drinking.
Some excerpts:

Sunday, April 20
Sushi. No Country for Old Men. Waffles.

Saturday, April 26
Homemade zaru soba with tempura battered sweet potatoes, long beans and carrots. Soba-tsuyu sauce. An Inconvenient Truth.

Tuesday, April 29
Starbucks coffee + tomato cheese basil sandwich. Job 38. Barbecue pork rice + chinese tea. Tom Yam fried rice.

Thursday, May 8
Green tea. Black pepper burger from Burger King. Bleh. Milo. Rice with pickled cabbage, vegetables and tofu. Add ribbon to dress.

Wednesday, May 14
Bavarian Kreme from Dunkin Donuts. Dark chocolate (70% cocoa, as seen above). Maggi goreng. Now I smell of onions. Yuck. Coffee bean roasted chestnuts. Mmm.

On a side note, I have to mention how I dislike J.Co and Big Apple donuts. I don’t get why Malaysians line up to eat trash. There. I. Got. That. Out. Of. The. Way. Finally.

And some things that inspire:
1. Julia Rothman
2. Style Me Pretty
(Because I will be photographing and designing for a friend's wedding soon.)

= •

2008-04-16T18:34:00.003+08:00

Hello. It's time for an overdue break.
A few things I've been contemplating on:
[=] and [•]

Grace and forgiveness does not mean fairness but similarity.

And a whole lot of centering.

Love.

sweded

2008-03-26T00:08:00.004+08:00

Good driving music is good music.

Good driving music makes you want to keep driving because you don’t want the song to end without really ending.

But I wasn’t listening to anything when I was driving home from work the other day. I don’t even remember the conversation I had with my sister in the car. We probably talked about what we had for lunch or Juno or Be Kind Rewind. I don’t usually take the direct road to get to my house, I’d skip my road and take an alternative route that follows a big curve. Every time I drive along the curve my mind would picture something really sinister. A middle-aged jogger with multiple sweatbands, a kid on a bike or someone’s ugly toy dog running towards me, at my blind spot. I always anticipate to anticipate something totally imaginary right there.

I followed the bend and as usual, there was no middle-aged jogger, kid on a bike or scraggly dog. But by the road I saw a man squatting, hugging his daughter. He had his back to the road and her little head peeked over his shoulders.

I slowed down and they were still holding each other.
I passed them and they were still holding each other.
In my rearview mirror they were still holding each other.
As a blur blob in the horizon there were still holding each other.

Maybe a car before me almost hit her. Maybe he saved her. Maybe he was leaving and she did not want to let him go. Maybe it was someone’s birthday. Minus all the drama, maybe they just like hugging a lot.

It felt a lot like flipping through a book and reading a random sentence from it. Out of context, like real life. ~~Sometimes.~~

I suppose that is how being still is… to be embraced and protected just because.

one hundredth

2008-03-20T14:19:00.003+08:00

I’ve been on a hiatus, I know.

Too many things on my plate, really. Too many mouths to feed.

A little tired, yes.

And contributing to this tiredness would also be my putting off of coffee, tea and any chocolate drink. Those black and brown (and sometimes green) liquids of hope had to stop filling my cup. At least for three weeks. A few more days left for the putting off to end and when the putting on begins.

I’m not counting, but fasting really makes one more aware of one’s lack… perhaps a more heightened awareness of one’s cravings. Maybe it’s called withdrawal, but I like to think of it as an education of one’s daily necessities. What I will die without versus what I will live without.

Besides work and needs, I was in Singapore for a little distraction.

It rained as much as Seattle.

Being lost while commuting on the MTR and bus made hell in my stomach that sounded like a waterfall of gastric juices. It took me ransom for food, or else I would be treating stomach ulcers. The signs said no eating and drinking allowed. A wee step closer to a breathing ban.

Múm was a saving grace though. They made music about berries, marmalade and a horse to bless everything that grows. The kind of imagery Iceland conjures.

(I shouldn’t have dropped my melodion classes at six.)

Happy Good Friday and Easter. Although personally, I like thinking about the day in between.

I hope you like the new header.

unbusy me

2008-02-29T17:45:00.002+08:00

I've been coughing for 3 weeks. My nose is leaking and my eyes are watery.

Being busy and busy coughing.

Being busy.

I had no idea what I meant until I wrote that. I'd rather be busy being. But this is what's been going on. There are too many things to get done and it's only the end of February. My mind might know the dates but my body is convinced that I've gone past July.

Wordless music best describe me right now.

Sand dunes. Mild sun, cold breeze. It doesn't smell of the ocean but of wood. Brown and green. Blue and white. Amber. Open fire. Sparks escape the family fire in random fashion to evaporate into the cold air. Where I want to be.

We frosted 120 cupcakes last night.

I found a quote from a book I may want to pick up:

Antonio Monda: You believe firmly in God, but you live in a world where suffering, injustice, and tyrrany exist.
Elie Wiesel: It’s the great torment of my entire existence. The question I don’t know how to answer and that I don’t think anyone can answer. But even in these terrible moments I see not an absence but, rather, an eclipse.

letupan di langit*

2008-02-20T10:45:00.002+08:00

That was how they introduced themselves. And the crowd went wild.

It was amazing (and I need more adjectives).

Note to self: one more reason to know that I have lived.

*Explosions in the Sky in Malay.

faith, more or less

2008-01-31T01:32:00.001+08:00

I was having a conversation with my atheist friend the other night and I think we share a lot more in common about faith than we once thought. It’s not our beliefs in the existence/nonexistence of God that found common ground but that we both agreed that we can’t fully know God and His thoughts. I guess that when we say we do, we’ve missed the point.

Do I sound like a heretic already?

I could write a disclaimer here about how I believe in Jesus, but won’t. There are better places to do that. Not here. I’m glad we had that conversation. Among the stuff we talked about was that we both agreed that a selfless Buddhist would probably make a better Christ-seeker than a bigoted Christian.

On another note, I’ve been so caught up with the busyness of work that in between that and my coffee breaks, I managed to relieve myself from some stress by indulging in some randomness:
The CD Album Cover Game from Damien Correll

1. The first article title on the page is the name of your band.

2. The last four words of the very last quote is the title of your album.

3. The third picture, no matter what it is, will be your album cover.

When I’m not designing for work, I’m designing to relieve stress. Amazing.

I’ve also bettered the frosting recipe (it’s chocolate mint cupcakes this time). My sister got a little bit carried away with the decoration and the piping nozzles. I call her ribbon cupcake ‘Louis the XIV.’ She also made one that resembled his baroquesque wig. Too grand for a photo.

I should sleep now. The sound of raindrops suicidally slamming their tiny bodies on my window is too tempting.

past, present, future, sugar

2008-01-25T16:23:00.000+08:00

I don't know about you, but when I was a kid I had many dreams. When I was a teenager, even more. And when I became an adult (maybe not physically but perhaps mentally), my dreams aren't so 'grand' anymore. Here are some of them, fulfilled (√) and unfulfilled (×).

[ √ ] have a dog and a cat
[ × ] learn Japanese (I took a class for two months before the teacher quit on us)
[ √ ] make a short film
[ × ] complete writing a screenplay
[ √ ] do a full storyboard
[ × ] be like Michel Gondry
[ × ] be like Wong Kar-Wai
[ × ] visit Europe
[ × ] travel Tibet
[ √ ] go to Hong Kong
[ √ ] visit India
[ √ ] climb the Angkor Wat
[ × ] ride a horse in Mongolia
[ √ ] travel America again
[ √ ] visit NYC
[ × ] go to Africa
[ × ] grow taller
[ √ ] put up my work in a gallery
[ √ ] snorkel in the sea / swim with wild fish
[ × ] sew my own clothes
[ × ] space travel
[ × ] dance without feeling / looking awkward
[ × ] make perfect soft-boiled eggs without the timer
[ × ] experience Death Cab For Cutie / Sufjan Stevens / Sigur Rós / Arcade Fire live
[ √ ] catch Explosions In The Sky live (this February 19th, KL)
[ √ ] catch Múm live (this March 13th, Singapore)
[ × ] have my art/photographs published
[ √ ] own a retro looking Polaroid camera that works
[ × ] get a Hasselblad
[ × ] go to Afghanistan
[ × ] study overseas
[ × ] have my own dark room
[ × ] go vegan (I can’t give up steak, cheese, sushi and hamburgers. I’m sorry.)
[ √ ] not step into a certain mall for a year (a personal protest)

More to be added.

Here are some cupcakes my sister and I frosted at midnight. I followed an American recipe and found the frosting too sweet. There's a possibility that one cupcake has as much sugar as a can of Coke. I will do better next time.

I found this interesting.

yes, you are

2008-01-23T02:04:00.000+08:00

I know I can be fickle. This is the second - and hopefully the final editing done to the blog template.

I need to sleep. If only I knew creating two columns for my flickr badge would take me more than an hour.

Html/xml/css/ihavenoidea is for geeks.

Next: cupcakes!

1-2-3-4

2008-01-16T02:07:00.000+08:00

So I changed my blog header. And I had my first paid photo shoot last weekend for a hospital's cancer ward. Not the most creative or uplifting, but some extra cash will come in handy. I'm looking forward to this weekend, however.

Pirates. Children. Eye patches. Gold chocolate coins. More chocolates. Yes.

Múm in March. Singapore. Yes, yes.

2008, you are looking up.

sans zombie-style

2008-01-08T21:25:00.000+08:00

A couple of nights ago I received news that someone I knew from high school passed away. This was not the way I imagined 2008 will begin for anybody.

We mostly sat together in class. She would talk about Baz Luhrmann's Romeo + Juliet and Leonardo DiCaprio. We were fourteen. Once when we were waiting for the school bell, she told a group of us about her parents' Catholic beliefs and how they called a priest to exorcise spirits from her house. It was a lady with a flowing red dress, she said. The sky was thundering and raining heavily outside and we had a sudden power failure. We screamed and giggled. I remember those moments vividly. Mostly of her smile, liveliness and cool stationery.

Death is never polite. It didn't sink in until I saw her obituary in the newspaper today. She was still smiling beautifully.

I know how to feel but I don't know what to think. Births and deaths are peculiar ways to gather people together... when you were born, adults gather around to see when you'd take your first step. When you're dead, friends and family gather around you hoping the doctors made a mistake and that you'd resurrect. Sans zombie-style.

In many ways I wish I knew her beyond high school. I regret having such shallow memories of her, but they were good ones.

I suppose when you pass away your story doesn't end with you. It starts with the people you loved and those who loved you. They will tell your story for you and others.

If I'm able to contribute anything to the storytelling of her life, I'd retell her house exorcism story.

Ng Shu Zanne, 1983 - 2008.

You are loved.

For all we've lost, Iron & Wine's The Trapeze Swinger.

dignity and shame

2007-12-29T21:19:00.000+08:00

A few nights ago I was having dinner with some friends when a panhandler approached our tables. It was raining. His hair was wet, white and sparse. He held his paper cup close to his chest but shook it a little. He said nothing.

I remembered a mother and a child who approached me and some friends over lunch some time ago. I gave them some money and my friend's dad was unhappy. He said I was the reason they were begging. He said that they could find a job if they really wanted, but they were lazy. He said I should never give them money and encourage them to remain poor and lazy. I don't remember saying anything after that.

So I stared at him. He came to my side. I don't know what's right or wrong, proper or inappropriate, but i took out my wallet. My friend who was sitting next to me said under his breath, "Sucker." He took out his wallet as well. "Suckers," I corrected him. When we dropped some money into his paper cup, the three of us smiled. Me, my friend and the old man. He still did not say a thing except bow and clasp his hands together to show thanks. He did it many times. He then went around our tables to shake our hands, even those who ignored him.

As he was walking away to another table, something in me wanted to know if there's more. More to what, I don't know. But I asked my friend if it'll be fine if he joined us for dinner. My friend said yes. So we invited him to sit with us. If there's something you need to know about Chinese dinners is that food is communal. The same spoon you drink your soup with will be the same spoon you use for any other dish. Saliva and Hepatitis. Mmmm.

As he was eating, he was also gesturing how much each dish would cost and the price of the dinner. He wrote on the table with his finger. He was pretty good at math. I was moved when I saw my friends mounting food on his bowl like he was our grandpa and we were his grandchildren. Very lovingly and respectfully.

He finished his meal and got up to thank us again. One by one, he shook our hands. Instead of begging at another table for more money, he walked off. All he wanted was money to buy food, I suppose. I don't know why he chose to panhandle or if he had any choice, but I do know that he was full when we looked at him, fed him and acknowledged the dignity we failed to see in him at first impression. As a man, as a person and as a human being.

Some people say that beggars are shameless. It's true and I want to embrace that. I don't deserve so much of what I have right now and I don't really own anything. Breath itself is a gift. I want to have my hands open, waiting to receive than fold them tightly over my chest, thinking I'm too good or great or noble to humble myself to be like a child pauper.

So here's to whatever 2008 has to offer. May whichever road you take lead you to love and hope. As for me, I will remain a sucker.

.

2007-12-21T12:42:00.000+08:00

I have much to be thankful for this year. New friends, old friends, lost much, found some, gained a little, restored, reconciled, searching, rested.

Wishing you eggnogs, warmth, cuddles, Pictionary, long talks, long walks, some clarity, some mystery, truth, realness and love. Love.

I love you.

*That's me on the Brooklyn bridge. Taken by her.

new york city

2007-12-13T18:05:00.000+08:00

Let's just have the photographs.

New York is empty sometimes.
Ground Zero.
I'm now back home in Malaysia. The humidity kills.

P.S: America, I like you. I like your light. You're a natural.

irene and seattle

2007-12-05T01:39:00.000+08:00

Meet Irene Huang.

I met her at the library. The library was space-agey and so very hi-tech. Unlike most libraries I've been to, this one had bright yellow escalators and huge glass windows. It stood out from downtown Seattle like it was a few centuries early.

Back to Irene.

She had the sweetest smile. I didn't know her but she was so warm and friendly, I felt like I did. We talked and she showed me the purple muffler she knitted and the purple sweater she was knitting. Purple is her favorite color. Then she took out a book of English poems. She loved English poetry so much she had been coming to the library everyday to type out every poem and save them into diskettes. Yes, floppy disks.

We talked more and she shared about an accident she had that left her lower body paralyzed and how she was unconscious for 45 minutes. And how God healed her. She also shared about how her neighbor's wife who had an accident. She passed away. Irene didn't mention about whether God was there when her neighbor's wife died, but I like it when some things are left unsaid. Some stories are sad and some are less sad. Both are important. Both have something to offer and how we respond to that changes everything.

And because she loved to share stories from her life, I followed her around town. She took my hand and we walked all around. She's too fit to be 65 years old. We moved in and out of buildings and she would tell me how to take a picture.

"No, no. That's not good. Here. Take it from here. You can see better this way."

"No, no. Turn your camera the other way. Let me see."

Her love for Seattle was so infectious. She gave me too many reasons of why she loved Seattle. She would end her sentences with "... that's why I love Seattle."

She also took me and my sister to her son's favorite dumpling restaurant in the International District. Then we walked a lot more and took many buses. And that's why I love Seattle. It was that good. Food here is good. Sushi here is fresh. Cheese aplenty. French is cheap. Coffee shops are everywhere. A city surrounded by the sea and mountains.

And there's Piroshky. What's not to love?

"No more picture!"

This post is actually a few days late as I was having some internet problems. I'm currently in Pennsylvania and it's snowing a ton and I'm having too much eggnog. Here are some photos from Seattle.

My last sunset in Seattle.

seattle

2007-11-29T15:36:00.001+08:00

Seattle is cold and the sun plays hide and seek here. Mostly hide.

The plane ride here was nothing short of amazing. We scaled the clouds and drifted over snowcapped mountains. We also dove into the clouds and got lost a little. And we landed in nothingness. Fog. Completely out of the Twilight Zone.

We saw our breath escape our mouths and our fingers curl in. We walked in the rain as little paper cups of coffee warmed our hands. Seattle, I hate your cold winds.

Being here made me realize how I've taken Malaysian weather—or the sun for granted. Or how I look for stars in the night sky and forget that our sun is also a star.

But I like being here. This is probably the most laid back part of the trip for me. The first night here was good. We were at the Green Tortoise and it was a free dinner day. Pasta with meatballs. Buffet style. Eat all you want/can. They have a mini library, free internet, a dvd and vhs (yes!) collection, communal fridge and free tea/coffee/chocolate. Friendly people.

There was a girl in my dorm stripped in front of me. Not a pleasant sight in the morning when the last thing you want to see is someone else's butt. But I guess it's a bargain... all the good things for a butt.

I've since moved out of the hostel. Not because of the butt, but because a very lovely couple opened up their home. They have the largest flat screen TV I've seen and a very posh apartment. I didn't like the monster sound the sink disposal makes, but other than that, it's all lovely. The dishwasher sounds like a little waterfall if you can imagine. (We don't use dishwashers in Malaysia. We're still old school.)

Right across our building, there's a bigger more posh apartment with bigger windows and a lonely girl. Every night she has the TV on till late and would play solitaire alone. Appropriate and sad. I could make a sign that says, "Hello" or "You're not alone," but that would scare her I think. Tonight she had her curtains down. Methinks she saw a strange Asian girl staring at her, invading her privacy.

Here are some photos as usual. More to come.

northern california

2007-11-25T11:19:00.000+08:00

Today is my last day in San Francisco. Yosemite is so gorgeous it will put the fear of God in you. Tomorrow morning I will leave for Seattle.

I have too much on my mind for my own good. But Múm is helping. Till then, here are some photos. I hope they tell a story somehow. Enjoy.

And here's Amoeba, again.

southern california, nevada and arizona

2007-11-18T12:55:00.000+08:00

Here I am sitting on an air bed in the home of a WWII veteran and his Malaysian wife in Arizona. They don't have internet access and I'm stealing wireless connection from someone very generous.

America is a very weird place. The first person I stopped to ask for directions from was a man outside a warehouse by a van. Then I saw fuchsia and orange colored lights coming out of the warehouse and his van sported phrases like "striptease dance" and "lingerie dreams." Very helpful and polite man he was.

While waiting in line, I heard too many people talk about their myspace. In one store, a girl yelled to her friend, "This song is in my profile!" And a lot of people greet you with "how are you?" without expecting a real answer.

The food portions here are huge. I can never finish anything I ordered. Despite being pro-green, most eateries here use a lot of plastic and paper. Walking into a supermarket is like being in a gastronomical Vegas. Everything here tempts you to eat more, drink more and have more. Speaking of Vegas, I hated it. I know hate is such a strong word, but I can't find a more appropriate word to describe it... okay, maybe sleazy. And um, artificial.

I stayed in Silver Lake in Los Angeles. Very lovely environment... I'd come back to America just to walk around Silver Lake, Echo Park and Sunset. Possibly. I caught a glimpse of that Elliott Smith wall on Sunset Blvd. the other day but could not stop to photograph it. It was a stab in the heart.

Oh, and there was Amoeba. Love.

Los Angeles can be quite a lonely city. There's so much activity going on, so many people everywhere but there's something sad about it. Something vacuous. Listening to Rob Bell share about reconciliation and life minus the Christian jargons at the Wiltern was refreshing and much needed. I left knowing I'm cared for because God can be trusted.

And then there was the Grand Canyon. Catching the sunrise at 7,000 ft in toe-numbing weather was breathtaking. You stand in the midst of greatness being more aware of your breath, your breathing and life. Strangely, people watching the sun rise over the canyon don't talk. They whisper. It is as though talking would disrupt nature or cause the sun to halt or stir the canyon from its slumber. A fitting way to respond to majesty, I suppose.

Here are some photographs:

Los Angeles

Nevada and Arizona

Walking alone along the edge of the forest in the canyon was good. Very good. Then came the squirrel poop, rabbit poop and poop by some larger unknown animal.

I'll leave Arizona in two more days for Yosemite and then San Francisco.

hello 18hrs of flight

2007-11-07T18:14:00.000+08:00

1. I’m leaving tomorrow.

2. I will upload photos here every now and then.

3. !!!

this and that

2007-10-26T13:07:00.000+08:00

[Above] That's my sister. And it's not a wig. And yes, those noodles tasted good. Red rice noodles and Chicken 65 (a kind of Indian spice I got from India).

So I've been neglecting this space for a long time. I've been busy. As always.

I'm getting better, I'm recovering from the rash but now I have to think about what to wear besides my usual sleeveless tank and shorts attire. Most people are afraid of rash, so I heard. I think I lost count of the times I explained my condition and how it's noncontiguous to the people around me that I sound like a dermatologist now.

You should ask me about hives. I will tell you everything you didn't know.

In about two weeks' time I'll be leaving for the States. Here's when and where I'd be:

November
08 Los Angeles
14 Las Vegas
15 Grand Canyon
16 Arizona
19 Yosemite
21 San Francisco
25 Seattle

December
01 Ebensburg
08 New York
11 Home

I’ve been conversing with Gideon from Vox Veniae about church, communal living and downward mobility and it’s all good. So good. I am encouraged to know that another way really exist beyond a faint rumor or a passing thought. My route doesn’t take me anywhere near Austin, TX and I don’t know how that will work out logistically, but it will be more than great to spend some time and connect with the people there. How that will be, I don’t know but I have a 10 year visa, no? Who knows what will happen next year. Or tomorrow.

(I hear that I might be going to Nepal next year.)

Two nights ago my sister and I received aluminum balloons from some friends who wanted to celebrate our birthdays early. Personally, I prefer the ones filled with helium in the shape of a goldfish. I like them floating. We also caught some overly dramatic spoken word poetry and some subtle gems at Wayang Kata.

That was Ciplak with Fahmi Fadzil. They should’ve really done an encore because beer bottles are handy for more beer bottle slides. I told Aziz from Ciplak that it was good and I liked it. He asked if I popped some E.

scratch this

2007-10-05T18:38:00.000+08:00

1. I'm unwell. I have a rash and it's highly unlikely that it's due to an allergen. I'm taking some medication and they making me drowsy. And I can't even typing proper.

2. I took most of the week off and it was necessary.

3. I went back to work for a day and it was silly.

4. I'm reading Brian McLaren's The Secret Message of Jesus when I'm conscious and not drowsy.

5. I cooked. My domesticated friend laughed when I told her I'm cooking soba noodles. She thinks the only thing I can make is instant cup noodles. Anyway, I cooked soba noodles with olive oil, black olives, romaine lettuce, black mushrooms and a dash of balsamic vinegar. Next I will try squid ink noodles, black olives, crushed black pepper, beef and black mushrooms. Black is my favorite color.

6. I tried to be healthy. Made a drink from watermelon chunks, ice, blackcurrant juice, lemon juice and chopped cilantro.

7. I'm applying steroid cream.

8. I wanted to take photos of the rash, but that would be gross.

9. I had a haircut and I prefer odd numbers.

my waterwings

2007-09-20T23:15:00.000+08:00

It’s 22:25 and I’m still at the office. My colleague put on some music from the gramophone era. Creaky vinyl and black and white film. I haven’t had my dinner and my eyes hurt. I am stressed, can’t you tell? My week had been crazy. If deadlines were living creatures, they’d be monsters that stick close to you with their reptilian fingers wrapped around your arm. They’d have smelly breath too... an onslaught of fish markets, onion and garlic.

Whenever I get stressed, I don’t think a lot—this I have to admit. My brain shuts off partially to an auto-pilot mode. Don’t talk about feelings and emotions with me during this time because it will come out constipated and diced. I will frustrate myself and you.

However, I do enjoy the times when I don’t have to think a lot. Little activities and gestures that remind me how it’s ok, that things will be fine and good. Here are some of the many:

Grass and bare feet. Naked stars and being alone.
When I was younger, my sister and I would lie on our beds and stare up at the dark ceiling. We’d create stories with characters and a plot. She’d come up with a scene and I will continue, not unlike storytelling ping-pong. Sometimes I got so carried away I cried for the characters like in a movie. But in between stories I’d close my eyes and imagine walking in the universe and wondering if I’d reach the edge of it. I usually picture myself scratching at nothing, only finding more to the universe but never the end of it.

Underwater handstands.
Because it messes me up. Everything is upside down, downside up. I can’t hold it for long so it usually ends up being an underwater somersault. I’m not a pro. Yet.

Drawing portraits without the chin.
I used to draw human faces that resemble a dog’s face profile. Don’t imagine.
Now, I draw them chinless. Not that great, but still an improvement. I think.

Breakfast.
Wholegrain bread, butter (loads), ground black pepper, ham/bacon, mustard, zucchini slices, salsa/hot sauce (chunky)/ketchup, black olives and cheese. Let me know if I missed out anything. No, I don’t like raw onions.

I met a mute old lady in the alley behind my office today. She had huge glasses, pink pajamas-~~looking two-piece~~ and a packet of cat food. We couldn’t communicate fluently and she had her own sign language system. Male = two fingers drawing a moustache on her face. Female = both hands touching her ears. And ever since my grandma passed away last year, I’ve had this inkling to “adopt” every old person... or rather, have them adopt me.

Alright, I should leave the office soon. Have better days ahead.

here, now

2007-09-05T01:27:00.000+08:00

She’s so precious. The lines on her face say so much. When I first met her, she looked so sad. Her children left her alone and her husband, a man too old to be working odd hours, found it hard to find money to support the two of them. Traveling to work would easily finish up a day’s wage. Some days they go without food.

Her knees are weak and her eyes don’t lie. They tear easily and the skin around them folds and creases when she laughs and smiles. She speaks about abandonment and loneliness but also of hope and love. When she doesn’t have enough to eat, Ramya, her 19-year old neighbor would share her food. We sat on the floor of Ramya’s little home that afternoon. We had tiny orange biscuits and sweet tea in metal cups.

We talked about family, Ramya’s love for her husband and about being disowned and adopted at the same time. They didn’t talk about community or service, but they were living it. I found this to be true in the tsunami orphanage too. India was filled with paradoxes. The lonely weren’t alone. The poor were rich. The meek had what no one can steal and money can’t buy. The abandoned had homes in human hearts and a shelter. The orphans were adopted into a bigger family. Frail beings with the divine in them.

I still have the luggage tag tied to my messenger bag. I can be stubborn and sentimental like that, but I know I should move on. Life is more than a destination. If I would put myself aside, I’m sure I’d find scandalous paradoxes here or anywhere.

Where I end, He begins.

india, i miss you

2007-08-28T14:14:00.000+08:00

I wish I knew where to begin.

India was amazing. I may have had the best week of my life thus far. I touched down at 6am, finished unpacking my bags at 8am and slept till 6pm. The moon, lightning bolts, thunderclouds and stars were too distracting for me to sleep on the plane and I was uncomfortable about coming back.

After the tsunami, families were displaced and moved into government funded squatters, children were orphaned, husbands and wives widowed. From afar, the squatters looked neat with nicely painted walls but as you walk into the village you see and smell bad irrigation and sewage. Running water was not as common as cow dung. There were puddles of mud, feces and urine in front or next to the homes where the children took their toys into and made into bathtubs.

The people here walked around with a toothbrush in their mouths. I felt at home.

We entered the homes of many and listened to their stories. So many were desperate and hungry for goodness and grace to happen, it’s hard to not hold them and cry with them. Although I had a translator with me most of the time, I really sensed a lack of unlikeness. We do not share the same culture and language but we were able to laugh and cry together... pain, loneliness, love and joy are universal experiences that don’t discriminate against race, nationality and religion.

I’ve met some of the most amazing people as well. People who’d walk into an ankle deep sewage puddle to greet a woman on the other side, people who risked everything to follow Jesus, people who are able to love orphans as their own flesh and blood, people who’d pray hard for electricity and people who gave up marriage to serve the underprivileged. What they experience daily I was allowed to experience in a week. I couldn’t have asked for anything better.

My mind was constantly being renewed. There were times (and this happened very often) when a prayer was not as powerful as a hug or embrace. When you begin to understand why Jesus touched the leper when He could have simply said a word for the man to be healed. When the skin is unfamiliar to touch, a touch is what it needs. When the hand is empty, another hand needs to fill it. When words are unnecessary.

It’s true that there is no such thing as a godforsaken place, only a church forsaken place. So God was already there and all we did was show up.

Here’s a glimpse of my week.

This was a common flower found by the road and pathways. I asked our guide what kind of flower this was and he said it is used as a female infanticide. It contains a sticky sap that is mixed into the milk for the baby. It’s heartbreaking to see how something so beautiful can be so lethal. As soon as he told me that, we passed a bunch of young boys hanging around a sweatshop.

At the 2nd longest beach in the world. There were lovers under the scorching afternoon sun, wooden carousels and ferris wheels, fishermen and extremely good seafood.

india

2007-08-19T13:25:00.000+08:00

Hi. Thank you for reading and keeping up with me. Thank you all for the generous words and emails. It’s been surprising and humbling to know how people from across the world could connect through the interweb. And to the lurkers, thank you as well.

I’m leaving for India in a few hours time. Hello airplane breakfast in neat little boxes. I was given a mini crash course on Tamil last night and I hope to embarrass myself with silly hand gestures and lousy intonations.

I will see you in a week, hopefully with stories to share and a new understanding.

trembling

2007-08-15T02:48:00.000+08:00

Americans can get pretty good at being paranoid if they wanted to. Generally.

I got my visa done last week and it wasn’t the most pleasant experience. Passing through a metal detector at the guardhouse, I had to remove my belt and empty my bag of all my electronic devices—iPod, headphones, handphone, USB cable, and car keys. After this hurdle, I still could not put on my belt because there was another metal detector before entering the building.

Obviously the B-word is more deadly and foul than the F-word.

Then I was in the waiting room semi waiting for my number and semi watching and gasping at the “video” on proper embassy conduct and procedures. Very PowerPoint savvy. Pretty much how I’d react to a horror film. (I know, I hate being a graphic designer sometimes.)

When there is nothing much to do—the only magazine available is Expatriate and you’d have to do a 360˚ to watch the weather on CNN—the best thing to do is to be civilized and eavesdrop.

There was an old woman who could not speak a word of English and wanted to go to the States to stay with her friend’s daughter who was getting married and whose address she could not produce. They denied her a visa. There was also this kid who wanted to go to Michigan to study and live with his uncle. He just graduated from high school and did not have an acceptance letter. The interviewer suspected that he’d be working there instead, so she denied him. Then there was another kid who was almost close to tears, begging the interviewer to approve him so that he’d get a chance at better education. They denied him too.

I felt really bad for them.

Then it was my turn. The lady told me my photo (which I took a few days prior to the interview) was not recent because I look the same there as in my passport photo (which I took 2 years ago). I think she expected me to grow a full beard, dye it red and pleat it within two years. And because she was so amazing, I spent extra RM40 on new photos. This time I didn’t smile. I went back to the embassy again and another lady looked at my photos.

“So what was wrong with your previous photo?”

“I have no idea.”

“I think your first photo works just fine.”

“Thanks.”

But they used my non-smiling photo anyway. Grrrrrr.

She left me annoyed and pissed. So pissed. I started to think about how everyday they have a certain reject quota to fulfill. I also started to imagine about how she was sadistic and would laugh about this over coffee in the pantry. And then coffee will squirt out her nose. But I caught myself. I couldn’t bring myself to forgive her for not making sense, for making me rush for a photo (ugly) and waste RM40 on it.

But I was reminded of how I should think of what is true, noble, reputable, authentic, compelling, gracious—the best, not the worst; the beautiful, not the ugly; things to praise, not things to curse—even when I can’t see it. Ok, so she had really nice glasses. Very chic, Tina Fey style. Then I saw her as a mother, a loving mother with her own children. They’re happy. She’s a wife and a best friend to her husband. They’re in love. She’s a person and she’s really beautiful.

There’s something holy about the space between her eyelids and the gap between her teeth. I become less human when I don’t forgive, as though a part of me dies when I withhold love. Unforgiveness is as corrosive as gastric juices in an empty stomach. It eats you up from the inside out. Unnecessary.

Finally, they gave me a 10-year visa and I’m not complaining.

I need to work on trembling at a love bigger than my own.

malaysian, kind of.

2007-08-10T02:15:00.000+08:00

This is the month of flags, fireworks and parades. The intern in the office risked his life to hang the Malaysian flag over our balcony while I stood inside looking out at him from the window hoping he’d make it, partly worried for him and partly worried for my lack of patriotism.

In school, we learned about how the British colonized the land. Some changes were good but unfortunately for us, they also brought in their worst invention—the roundabout.

Soon Malaysia will be 50 years-old and it’s about time for a life-altering midlife crisis, I think. I’m a bit cynical about the country so I will stop talking about what stinks. I have friends who left the country, friends who want to come back, friends who want to leave and friends who love it here. As for me, I’m drifting between wanting to leave and loving it here.

I can’t say much for our government, but here is a list of things I’m thankful for/love about Malaysia:
. Penang
. stray animals
. Ramly Burgers
. secluded islands
. Malay subtitles for Chinese dramas on TV
. rain
. 24-hour food stalls
. night markets
. mamaks
. tropical rainforests
. caves and rivers
. diversity
. languages
. Manglish (because we can)
. Ramly Burgers
. Furniture
. random power cuts (good excuse to play pictionary and charades in the office)
. my friends and family

(You don’t want to know how long it took me to compile that list. Seriously.)

Yes, I also put up some cheesy bird photos for your enjoyment. Moving on.

A few days ago I received a Coney Franks box filled with old newspapers and a Polaroid camera from my professional handsurfing friend (I owe you). Possibly one of the best gifts ever and it’s not even my birthday. I’m very, very stoked.

!!!

08

2007-08-05T21:17:00.000+08:00

Hello August. You found me sleeping late again, waking up to crusty eyes and a stubborn desire to pull the sheets over again. You found me with breakfast pastry crumbs between my feet. Between life and death, you found me.

You hold much for me. June and January are distant now and I’m glad for us. Yet there were times I wished you were October, November or December. I was wondering last night if you'd be so great I could burst. But I know you and I won't last. In due time, September will pick all my broken pieces together, lay me out on the grass and assemble me once again.

So what are you going to be about? Chances are, chances being from anything to everything, we would be having a lot of fun. Yes, me and you.

August, we will live and love for nothing. Yes, for nothing.

Love,
Rachel

P/S: India.

[I’ve been shooting/uploading a few dead, dirty and ordinary things from the back alleys as of late. Dried grass, wild flowers, cracks, rubbish, dew, stinky birds and some discarded has-beens interest me. I don’t know how long this will last, but I like ordinary quite a lot.]

Link for the week: Soundtransit. Now you can travel with sound. This is home.

rain, for better or for worse

2007-07-28T21:38:00.000+08:00

It’s been raining consistently this week and everything about rain gets me in the sweetest mood. The sound, scent, wind, splatter, breeze, cold and random drizzles. If the scent of rain could be captured, I’d wear it as a perfume.

A random stranger sheltered me with his umbrella across the street once. And watching a movie in an open field under the rain is an experience worth repeating. A rain-soaked dog might not smell like waffles in the morning but it sure as heck is comforting to massage its ears as your lap pillows its head. There’s something about the rain that brings people together, just like beaches and lakes.

So here I am—indoors—blogging about the awesomeness of rain because my sister canceled out on me and our little date to the outdoor cinema because she just got her wisdom tooth removed, feels drowsy with the painkillers and it’s raining. Painkillers, I hate you (sometimes). Anyway, I was looking through my little book collection and found a mini book of questions. Some questions were silly silly and others were interestingly silly. Here are some:

Which would be better: taking a cross-country train ride or a one-week trip to Disneyland?
A cross-country train ride, of course.

Which would be worse: being an impatient person or an inconsiderate person?
The latter. You can be impatient and keep quiet about it or be inconsiderate and lash it out on others… which reminds me, I was at Borders this morning and was contemplating purchasing Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs by Chuck Klosterman when a really loud and obnoxious man in the Mind, Body and Soul section broadcasted his phone conversation about funerals, being open-minded, wills, cremation or burial, taboos and casket packages. He was inconsiderate and I was impatient with my indecisiveness so I walked off.

Which would be better: living a simple life or having no worries?
Trick question.

Which would be worse: having no sense of humor or no common sense?
Having no sense of humor. If no one laughs with you, at least you could laugh at yourself. Besides, common sense might not be as common as you think.

Which would be better: working with wood or working with clay?
Jesus or Ghost. Jesus. Ghost. Jesus. Ghost. Yes, clay. I like Jesus the carpenter but I hate splinters.

Which would be worse: watching an execution or a fatal car accident?
Sick, sick question.

And, I’ve learned a few things this week.

Fiction: Guinness goes well with everything.
Fact: Guinness does not go well with mangosteens. Not at all.

Fiction: God makes/allows certain things in life for a reason.
Fact: Wisdom teeth and appendix.

That is all.

church

2007-07-20T03:01:00.000+08:00

She is broken. Sometimes selfish. Usually misunderstood. Maybe bipolar. Maybe antisocial. Loving. Busy. Tired and in need of some rest. Prone to lie. Believes in confession. Understands adultery. Famous and infamous. Messy. Alive. Loose. Frightened and fragile. Usually trembling. Addicted. Romantic. Her knees, bent. Her arms, folded. Starving. Laughing. Occasionally overfed. Dirty. Self-righteous. Desperate and longing. Tender. Reaching. Bedraggled. Rich but poor. Thirsty. Good. In pain. Brokenhearted. Knows murder. Backstabbed. Kicks and screams. Misrepresented. Patient. Loved. Foolish. Undeserving. Under-served. Beautiful. Human. To die for.

She is most likely one of us. I don’t know if I like her, but I’m learning to love her.

Surely God has a sense of humor to love people.

little news

2007-07-11T01:38:00.000+08:00

I'm still talking to my difficult friend. And I still get tired out. She talks about how one mistake can mess up one's life and how it's the end of the world and I will tell her that it's not the end of the world. And she will talk about her mistakes again.

And I want to take a swim.

It's quieter there and even if I cry it won't be so noticeable. Underwater, things are quiet and when I need to catch my breath, I can float up to rest and surrender to the mass below me.

I probably sound like a desperate escapist, but if you knew me, you'd (probably) drive me to the nearest lake/river/beach/swimming pool pronto. I will show you how I do a somersault underwater and maybe we'd try to sing too. Or skip that and pass me the Wii.

I was talking to one of my closest friends' dad the other night. He speaks rather slowly and when he cracks a joke, he will tell it with a straight face, you'd wonder if he was joking at all. And then he will pause and smile. He gave me his two cents (and more) about handsome men. He said that there are two kinds of guys: 1.) those who are physically handsome and 2.) those who are handsome because of who they are and what they do/don't do. He said I should stick with the latter. He's wise and I couldn't agree more.

He then went on to dispense advice on marriage and love like I was going to elope the next morning. (Eloping would have been fun, but it didn't happen the next morning.)

So it’s true. I’m finally going to India in a month’s time. Thinking about it puts a smile on my face. Indian food. Curries. Bread (mmmm...). Dirt. Mud. Red earth. Cows. Banana leaves. Monkeys (I don’t like them). Bicycles. New faces. Unheard-of traffic rules. One week is too short.

And... here’s my Please Let It Not Be Too Cold In America tour in November (one month of unpaid leave. Yay.). I haven’t bought my plane ticket to the States yet but this morning I bought a ticket to the gods aren’t angry tour (L.A., November 13). I don’t know when I will reach or if there will be plane tickets on the dates I want. I hate planning ahead of time so I’m just going stick to what works: pray and trust.

This weekend: football match at the stadium with the kids. I couldn't be in a better place than here right now.

salt

2007-06-28T23:27:00.000+08:00

I've read somewhere about how salt of the earth refers to salt added into the manure (fuel) to enable the fire to last longer. Now I'm beginning to see a glimpse of what He meant. You get rubbed in all the wrong places, you get in with the seemingly undesirable. It stinks and it usually hurts.

I'm tired.

For the past week I have been listening to someone so adamant against love, hope and change, it's draining. I also read that sometimes you live to change the world and sometimes you have to live to keep the world from changing you.

Some things are simply beyond me and my heart is allowed to ache and break. So I'm beginning to see the cracks. Common sense tells me to seal up the cracks with putty or superglue, but these cracks are good. Water leaks from a crack, light breaks into darkness and grass pierces concrete.

As cracks are good here, salt is good for the dung. Even when they don't know what gives the fire its flame, meals get cooked, people are fed and kept warm.

Today I left the office early and went for a walk with my camera. I didn’t have to walk for long, but walks are good when you have nowhere particular to go and no appointment waiting.

So I spotted an old couple with their beat-up VW Beetle. They looked sweet together... he was wearing one of the thickest black rimmed glasses I have ever seen and her nails were stained with chipped pink polish. Way fashionable for their age. She told me in a hush voice of how her husband absent-mindedly left the headlights on and now their battery is dead flat.

“He and that damned car.”

Her husband was busying himself with a spanner, trying to get the battery out from the bottom of the back seat like it weighed an ocean. I know nuts about cars, but gave the thing a go anyway. It’s not everyday that I get myself greased.

Then she asked, “What is your religion?” A little taken aback, I told her that I believed in Jesus.

“No wonder. I guessed it... Jesus’ followers like helping people.”

I felt my perspective shifted and put into place like tectonic plates from a graphical diagram in the National Geographic, sending little quivers and quakes down my spine but expressed outwardly in goose bumps and a smile. Unexpectedly humbling. We went on to talk about faith and her weekend date with her girlfriends.

The heavily salt-crusted battery was soon dislodged and we waved goodbye. I watched them as they walked home together with the car battery in a trolley. Cutest couple ever.

How lost, how amazed, how miraculous we are.

.

2007-06-25T18:30:00.000+08:00

Yes, I'm learning to pause.

breathe.love

2007-06-15T01:29:00.000+08:00

There are two things I've been telling myself: breathe and love. Or rather, those were two things I've been reminded of these few days/weeks/months.

The children's home painting project was a disaster in every logical sense. I've heard more complaints than anything else. Some volunteers were complaining about how boring scrapping paint can get while some complained about the music from the radio. Others complained about being there.

(Teenagers.)

My friend tells me I have to filter. He's right. There's this giant invisible sieve hanging over me, reminding me to breathe and love.

There are also gems to be held from the filtering. Some pedophobic guys started to volunteer and my 13-year old brother decided to give away his comics to the kids because comics are/were important to him and the kids have only one comic book in their library.

So in the illogical sense, the home painting project was a success. I liked how we were doing it together, mothers, husbands, sons, daughters, brothers and sisters. Families don't always have it perfect, and that was what we were: family. Unknown to us at that time, we were following and being the hands and feet of the One who came down... literally covered in (His) dust and debris.

On another note, I received my credit card bill today and it’s one of the nicest things this week.

Total amount spent: $0

Love.

you are

2007-06-08T18:01:00.000+08:00

I had a good lunch with a friend yesterday. And this happens pretty regularly, come to think about it. We’d go for long lunches and talk, laugh, sigh, sometimes tear a little and eat and drink. A part of me lives for lunches like these.

We were talking about yesterday, who we were five years ago and what we will be five years in the future. I realized that I’m terribly shortsighted. I don’t quite remember much about the things I did and said five years ago. I’m very much the same person, but I think my outlooks changed. Yet the past seem like a blur… dusty even. The future on the other hand, is out of reach.

So we were there together. She was digging into her spaghetti and I was twirling my noodles. We exist now. Today we have each other. Today we live.

Today is all there is.

Today is now.

She suggested we write down our current state. She didn’t really explain why we should do that, but I think we both desire to remember who we were today and choose to be conscious of today.

So here goes.

Today I am:
◦ uncertain
◦ content
◦ yet a little bored
◦ eager
◦ hopeful
◦ smiling
◦ trusting
◦ holding on
◦ remaining
◦ a little sad
◦ a little happy
◦ tired
◦ ♥
◦ wanting to swim in a natural body of water
◦ overdosed on tea
◦ getting rid of ifs in my vocabulary

less home

2007-06-06T02:17:00.000+08:00

It’s been raining rather consistently lately and it’s just bliss. A stranger walked me across the street with his umbrella and new carps were added into the mini fish pool outside my house.

On the weekend I stumbled upon a second-hand book sale at the mall. I don’t like the mall in general (terrible artificial lighting, unnecessary spending and the crowd), but it’s kind of inevitable. I didn’t expect to buy anything, but I did. I left the mall with four second-hand books. I can be quite nerdy.

Here are my purchases:

Freedom’s Children: Young Civil Rights Activists Tell Their Own Stories
By Ellen Levine, RM3.00
This is a collection of true stories of 30 African-Americans who were children or teenagers when they fought segregation and discrimination in the South from the 50s – 60s. This book feels like a Ziploc bag on the verge of exploding its contents. If only all books can be so blatantly simple yet powerful. One of my favorite stories in this book (so far) tells of a black woman serving a homeless white man some food. And from that story, I found one of my favorite lines: “People are people, even though they are not always good people.”

Traveling Mercies: Some Thoughts on Faith
Operating Instructions: A Journal of My Son's First Year
Both by Anne Lamott, RM12.27
I’m currently reading Plan B and I couldn’t find Traveling Mercies at Borders and I love her writing. These two books are definitely a steal. I love the way she describes the unseen... the dust and wind and the holy. And how laughter is carbonated holiness.

Can You See Me? Images of Atlanta's Homeless
With introduction by Lee Walburn, RM5.00
Above is one of my favorite photos in this book. It’s by Louie Favorite (an awesome name, I reckon). The other photo of the two old men is by Billy Howard. Below are some of my favorite quotes from this book:

What is it that keeps the human spirit alive in a body that is always too hot or too cold, a stomach that is always hungry, and a hand that clutches a bottle always too empty?

What happens when they long for sex and reach to touch skin that is like peeling paint and smell the breath of decaying food and twice-tasted whiskey?

Do they fantasize about perfume and fancy colognes?

Or do they just want to go home?

+

I’ve been living under this bridge four years now. Every year it starts getting cold, y’all come around with your cameras. You take lots of pictures. And nothing ever changes.

running to/from

2007-05-31T19:14:00.000+08:00

During my short stint in Singapore a year ago, I lived with an apostate of Islam. She was disowned by her family in Malaysia and could no longer return to her homeland. But she lives freely today. And the whole Lina Joy case got me thinking about freedom again. They could break our bones and change our names, but they cannot steal our hearts. Freedom is more than living free from oppression. Freedom is to choose life when everything around you dies. And to choose to love despite having every reason to hate.

Before I left Singapore, she gave me five smooth stones she collected from Israel. It’s good to remember these things. It makes me want to... um, declare independence.

On another note, for the past few weeks I have heard far too many wedding ideas for one person to hear. A good friend of mine is planning her wedding and we find our conversations veering toward flowers, the color pink, door gifts, cakes/no cake/cupcakes, deco, bubbles, photography, more pink, invites, venue, honeymoon, children and all things pink/horrifying/beautiful/however you see it.

And I can only deal with this much pink.

Apparently, he hasn’t officially proposed yet. But she’s waiting. If you have no idea where to begin, The Postal Service’s ‘Brand New Colony’ is a great proposing song. I think.

good

2007-05-21T15:56:00.000+08:00

Lately, I have the fascination with the word, 'good.' I don't know if there's another word to really capture the meaning of 'good.' But we say she looks good. That tastes good. He's got a good sense of humor. It was a good film. It smells good. We feel good. It was good catching up with you. A good man is hard to find.

Good is so fluid… yet we somehow know when something or someone is good.

Whether adjective or noun, you can either feel ‘good’ in your hands or call it a mystery. I like the idea of both. Yesterday I met some people who are living the kind of life that I could only call good. The quality of life they live defies the norms of a quality life. What they have or don’t have is not the good, but what they do and how they live with what they have or don’t have. I know many people who live this way and they make me want to spend more time with them. Something about them draws me in and causes my heart to race a little.

Some of them do not have a monthly wage. Most live by faith that God will provide for their next grocery purchase. A friend has only RM30 in savings. A married couple doesn’t know where their money comes from, but it always shows up whenever it is needed. A boy is adopted. A father cries in the bathroom because his son is safe. A husband makes a mistake and his wife forgives and loves him more.

On Saturday I met a 22-year old girl and her third baby. I also met her mom and her sixth child. Her children live in shelters. Not ideal. But I saw that her children are her good. And her children are good. This is good.

I love that good does not mean perfect.

‘Good ending’ makes no sense and is an oxymoron because good doesn’t have an end and it grows. The best movies and books are open-ended. Good is in us and in the world we come in contact with. Me, you, them, fish, horses, worms, pandas, frogs, valleys, mountains, sushi, trees, moss, rocks, water... all very good. I’ve come to know that this is true.

together we are enough

2007-05-14T22:13:00.000+08:00

So I got my test photos developed and the camera is dandy. I finally peeled off the price tag. It’s a keeper.

I was just pondering about this thing that I’m doing—the just-in-case habit. Keep the price tag on, just in case you find out the camera is messed up. Take this along, just in case it rains. Keep this, you might need it one day. Write it down. Take a photo. Record it. Maybe I just desperately want to remember things and have the memories with me forever.

I’m a memory hoarder. Maybe.

Yet there are some areas in my life where the just-in-case habit doesn’t apply. My car has insurance that someone else is paying and I don’t have insurance because I can’t afford it. My health “is not covered” and they say anything can happen. I’d never know.

I don’t want to know.

There are things I can never take with me and there would be things that will follow me. Some things I carry unconsciously. Some things I leave behind by choice.

A few minutes ago I let my dog out to pee and caught the sky exploding in streaks of lightning. It was quiet and beautiful. White-yellow lightning echoed orange in the clouds. And I didn’t have my camera with me. Strangely, it felt good. I don’t want to photograph something out of the fear of losing it. It was me, my dog and the sky. I was in the company of greatness.

My dog, being blind and slightly schizophrenic (understatement), was darting here and there but it was a good moment. We have nothing to remember it by, but somehow, it felt “enough.” We have enough, we don’t need more.

I know, my scanner caught some dirty lately. But I'm in no rush to clean it yet.

no schism

2007-05-09T23:41:00.000+08:00

I was at an orphanage on Sunday. The pastor who runs the home turned down an offer to a new Mercedes Benz for a bus so he could ferry the 100 children to school and back. They have bags upon bags of rice and countless school shoes near the cross at the sanctuary. That (above) is their Tamil bible and some eggs (trays upon trays).

I love it when charity is brought back to its original meaning of love instead of good works. I love it when we no longer help because of pity or conscience sake, but because it’s the only true thing. When we no longer see the need, but the faces, names and lives of the people before the need. When ‘us’ and ‘them’ no longer exist.

There are also some things I enjoy more than others. Here are some of them, in no particular order:
- cold water
- rain
- steamboat dinners
- steam escaping a cup of freshly brewed coffee
- my new flats
- jeans that can take me everywhere
- this isn’t the job I was dreaming of when I was in college, but it’s better
- Krispy Kreme (someone brought some back from Australia today. Mmmm… food that traveled across continents)
- ‘k’s to replace ‘c’s—like Kraftwerk, kontakt, etk.
- winding film in the dark
- waffles (basic or the Belgian kind)
- maple syrup in decorative tins
- the pure pleasure of cotton buds in my ears every morning/night
- empty white walls
- photos on walls
- Ikea’s RM1 soft-serve ice-cream
- stray animals
- corrugated boxes
- old books and magazines
- old photos
- new shirts
- being underwater
- running with nutty children
- airplanes
- ferries
- bridges
- tunnels
- empty roads at night/early in the morning
- my friend, Selina’s room

I could go on. But I shan’t. You people deserve better randomness.

After having lunch today, I walked into a second-hand shop just for the heck of it. And I came out with a Yashica FX-3 (RM155, batteries not included) in a pink plastic bag.

I also had my black and white Holga shots developed and printed. Here are some. For better (bigger) viewing, go here.

everything is as it should be

2007-05-05T23:15:00.000+08:00

She passed away a year ago and for the first time, I'm washing the muffler she knitted for me. She started to knit when her cancer was at the last stage. She would sit on the couch and knit shawls and mufflers while watching tv soaps. Her hearing was deteriorating so she'd turn the volume up to 11 and have a reception bell by her side - just in case no one could hear her calling above the din. My muffler is white with orange-brown patches, warm colored and too warm for Malaysia's weather. I use it in the office mostly... but I will probably use it proper in November.

I love watching time lapse footages. What seem like forever is fast-forwarded into minutes of plants growing, flowers blooming, babies developing, sun rising and seasons passing. Little changes too tiny to be seen with the naked eye in real time now seem significant and vital to the bigger story.

For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.

lack nothing

2007-05-02T17:30:00.000+08:00

There are a few places in the world that captured my heart. One of them is San Francisco. Another is Cambodia. San Francisco because I've never really felt Chinese or Asian or anything till I was in that city. When in Hong Kong and China, I felt like a foreigner. In Malaysia, I'm mostly struggling to understand and live what it means to be Malaysian. I didn't feel foreign or local in Cambodia, but it felt right. When I was there, I didn't want to be anywhere else.

A can of Coke costs 0.50 cents. Internet cafes charge 0.50 cents per hour. Besides these two things, everything else costs one dollar. Scarves, books, a stack of postcards, tacky touristy t-shirts (I bought two, yay!), fried rice and a child (maybe).

I was on the airplane on my way home and all I wanted to do was turn back. I'm still missing Cambodia. I don't really know why. The country is poor, corruption reigns, undiscovered landmines in remote areas and mosquitoes are everywhere. AIDS, dengue and tuberculosis. All for a dollar. For the first time in my life, I was called 'madame'. I've always associated that term with snooty ladies with a pointy nose, an extremely long cigarette filter in one hand and a fat wig-wearing rich man in her arms. So that was disturbing.

Apparently, Cambodians like their pastors mashed.

I was at a meeting the other night and one lady was sharing about her experience at an orphanage. She brought her own kids with her to that visit so her kids could see beyond themselves and another kind of life. The 100 orphans live in two sheds built over a drain where the children sleep beside. Cleanliness is secondary to everything else: shelter, food, spirit. Instead of making new friends, her kids did not want to sit and be around the orphans. They squirmed and did not desire to be there. The lady was hurt... angry and sad not because her kids were bad, but that she felt as though she failed as a mother. I can't help but think that God feels the same way when we withhold love from others because of their lack. Because they have no political power, health, wealth and social network. Because their 'lack' reveals our lack.

I received an email today, detailing a one week trip to Chennai, India this August. Sounds all too exciting, but the tasks the trip entail seem overwhelming. I will sit on it though. What do I have to lose, right?

it was 42˚C

2007-05-01T20:14:00.000+08:00

I was going to write about the land, food, people, children and the ruins but Blogger was giving me problems. I'm frustrated and will go read a book now.

Here are some photos. For more, please visit Flickr and Being (ever growing). There are more Cambodia photos in the latter.

second-hand advice

2007-04-24T02:27:00.000+08:00

I’ll be leaving for Cambodia this Friday and I’m so psyched, I can’t concentrate at the office. I’m too easily distracted. Seriously. As much as I can’t wait to be in Cambodia, I’m sure that when I’m there, I’d be itching to come home so I can upload some photos. This itch needs some restraint. Seriously.

My friends told me of some strange temporary monks and plastic pails of alcohol. I read about the landmines and the usage of pot as garnishing. (Pat, I hear that silk shawls there are US$2/each. Catch me before I leave!)

I’ve also been reading a well-worn travel guidebook that was handed down from friend to friend. I don’t even know the person who owned/s it. And apparently, someone who used this book previously circled some interesting places such as “Heart of Darkness” and “Manhattan Club” under the nightlife section. Dodgy. Oh, how I love used things/second-hand books.

(Side note: I once bought and Eastpak bag for my sister from a second-hand shop and the guy there told me that they get their goods from America. Then he whispered, “The Americans think that they’re donating to a third world country.” Ah. Right. I paid RM50 [approx. US$14] for a bag someone thought was going to charity.)

(The shop closed down sometime later.)

I finally put the pack of plasters I got for Valentine’s Day to good use. I have a blister from walking and it’s nothing Superman can’t save. The man of Metropolis stole my heart. He and I will be traveling together.

We'll see you soon.

p/s: sorry for the lack of updates of late. If I'm not posting here, I'll be at Being, where try to post daily. And by the way, have a listen to this, if you will.

shiny happy people

2007-04-18T22:54:00.000+08:00

So I have a photoblog now. It’s called Being and you can find it here. (I’m still figuring out how it works though. And if you're observant, you will see that I added new links and changed a tab here.) I will try to be a little bit more consistent.

I’ve been extremely busy lately, but I had fun. We made body glitter with the kids on Saturday. I didn’t expect the boys to like the idea, but they were eager to have a go at a little shine.

Boys with glitter playing football. David Bowie will be proud.

My sister took that photo of me taking this photo. I didn’t know. Apparently, I don’t know a lot of things.

But here are some things I know (rather roughly):
- completeness and rest go hand in hand
- we live in a wreckage
- we can make it beautiful
- thunderstorms make me feel small, but that’s ok
- surrender is not a bad word
- free airline tickets are the best
- deadlines make me nervous

taxidermy and everything else

2007-04-11T01:43:00.000+08:00

It was unusually good to wake up at 5am, make some last minute amendments to my shirt (cut and sew), skip breakfast and drive off into the sunrise. I like having dew on my car, it makes me think of mint and grass. But I think I like escaping the office more.

We reached Muar a little later than expected and everyone was waiting—the kids, teachers and the food. The flood came and left them with discarded computers, watermarked walls, clogged drains, lost records, deaths and an extremely dry season. By the time we passed out the stationeries, books and cookies, I was literally melting. I don’t know if I have any sweat left in my body.

Later, we visited another school in an oil palm estate away. It was built in 1941 and had an old building with a glass cabinet filled with taxidermy and dust. Strange, indeed. Fun? Of course.

As I was wandering around, four little kids stumbled upon me. Everything about them is so tiny, you could so pick them up with one hand and carry them off. I was talking to one of the girls and she’s got one of the biggest set of eyes I’ve seen. Really beautiful and arresting. Our conversation went something like this:

What’s your name?
Puteri (Princess)
And what’s your brother’s name?
Putera (Prince)
… And who’s the Raja (King)?
My Daddy

washed

2007-04-05T16:18:00.000+08:00

Good Friday is coming and she’s been on my mind.

She was a little quieter than usual, and maybe a little bit more serious too. She came into the room with a basin of water and a towel over her arm. What she was about to do seemed familiar in the imaginary sense, but none of my imaginings prepared me for this reality.

A little apprehensive at first, but I knew I had to get my feet in the water. It wasn’t comfortable and neither was it natural. But it was freeing. Something about it seemed so wrong, it must be right. Looking at her from where I was seated, I was looking at her upside down.

So this is what He meant.

After she washed our feet, we got on our knees and washed her feet. One by one, little digits and gaps. She didn’t ask for it, but we knew we had to follow. Not in the obligatory sense, but in the I-know-this-to-be-true sense.

That night, we washed each other of our skewed ideas of what it meant to love. Like a child again, someone else was washing me. Like a child again, I was learning and relearning, ready to love and be loved. It was as though we were ‘baptizing’ each other into each other in all our vulnerability.

We belonged.

I found a different kind of grandeur.

This was years ago, but it’s still ringing for me. Thank you for showing me what it meant to follow and be found.

fathers

2007-04-01T00:41:00.000+08:00

*edit
I was at flea market and saw many fake Rolexes and old vinyls. I haven’t got my turntable fixed and could not carry off a fake Rolex so all I could afford was a spiffy glass with little chipmunk illustrations.

I’m going to Cambodia at the end of this month. Ecstatic.

+ + +

My dad and I don't get along that much. When I was young, he left me outside a movie theater while the family went inside because I wouldn't stop crying because he wouldn't buy me some snacks that I don't remember because I'm probably repressing the memory. When I was slightly older, he kicked me out of the house because we argued over something I don't remember as well.

He's never the kind of dad who is verbally expressive or affectionate and I'm the kind of daughter who finds the term "daddy's girl" foreign. He'd say stuff, that my mom will later tell me, he doesn't mean. My mom knows him better than he knows himself.

We argue less these days because we talk less. Movies with father-daughter scenes still make me cry because 1) I can't relate and 2) I want to relate. Having said all that, he's not a bad father. I was just a difficult kid.

On Friday morning we visited his father at the cemetery. My grandpa died young in a barber's chair. He drank too much, partied too hard and worked too little—that's what my grandma said. My dad doesn’t speak much about his father, but he did mention that as a kid, his father would make him eat vitamins that tasted bad. My dad would pop them into his mouth and pretend to be a good kid. When his father wasn’t looking, he’d run to the balcony to spit them out. But one day someone discovered all the tiny tablets of goodness on the ground below. It didn’t make anyone happy.

So we were at the cemetery and the Buddhist temple. My dad brought the hell-notes, paper clothes and shoes and made a bonfire of it. Nothing really Buddhist about it actually, but it’s a belief that has found its way into tradition. My dad doesn’t see it that way though. We see things differently.

But we are so alike.

That morning he asked me to get some flowers for grandpa. He called it my contribution. It was like an invitation to join him in remembering his father. I was glad. It wasn’t a “grand gesture” but I enjoyed picking the flowers. I liked how my dad asked me with a smile. I liked that he asked me. And that he liked me.

And that I saw glimpses of another Father in him.

Here are some black and white photographs I took that morning.
And here are some happy colored photographs.
These are from the Buddhist temple. I thought pagodas and ornate doors are too familiar so I took a bunch of “rubbish”—my dad’s description of my kind of photography. Above: some thorny plant and below: a cup of burnt joss sticks. So my dad is right (sometimes), I know. But I like the way the colors turned out anyhow. For more rubbish photography, head to Flickr and Virb. My photographs are here and there. You can find some holga shots there too.

Unfriendly nuns are scary.

ache

2007-03-23T17:47:00.000+08:00

I'm a bit unwell. I need more sleep and some pancakes. Some cheese will be great too.

(thank you, Josh)

port dickson

2007-03-19T00:31:00.001+08:00

The beach was a lot dirtier than I expected it to be. My family would frequent this beach when I was younger and we’d collect hermit crabs and empty shells (I know, it’s not the smartest thing to do, but I didn’t know any better. So get off my back). But I didn’t see any hermits there that day. No hint of any of them.

Years ago, this place was the place for a budget beach holiday. We’d rent a bungalow, eat some battered shrimps, burn some mosquito coils, play with some stray puppies and catch a few jellyfish. But this time when I returned with a bunch of friends, freaks and friends, the bungalow seemed smaller. And the ping-pong table that I used to race hermits on became a proper ping-pong table. Except that I can’t play proper (or just don’t talk to me when I'm playing).

So here are some photos from the beach.

This is Dinesh, a kid I befriended at the beach. He was really shy when I pointed the camera at his face. So I lied to him. When he thought I was done shooting his back, he’d turn to face me and I’d press my shutter down. Eventually he found out and ran away from the camera. But he loved seeing himself in the camera and insisted I show it to him again and again. He kept asking me why I wanted his photo. But I see myself in him. We have much in common.

I will upload more photos when I get the Holga shots developed.

the blind will see

2007-03-15T03:54:00.000+08:00

A friend sent me this the other day. I don’t know what it is like to lose one of my five senses. Without sight, the world seems stranger than it already is. I love taking photos and drawing and I don’t know if I will cease to be me if I can no longer do those things. Am I defined by my dis/abilities or something else?

So I tried to go blind.

And my skirt was caught in some wire mesh. Embarrassing.

Here’s the step-by-step guide to experience seeing beyond sight:

1. Blindfold yourself.
Wear shades or tape your eyes shut.
2. Go out in public and make your way in the world.
Go 1 block, 1 hour or 1 roll of film; go with a friend or alone; make up your own process.
3. Photograph things you notice. And, just notice.
What do you notice differently about objects, people, actions, interactions?
4. Embrace the whole experience as much as the picture taking.
Engage. Have a conversation with people you encounter. Take it all in.
5. Share your story.
For each photograph write a caption about your experience - a few lines or several paragraphs if you want.
6. Challenge some friends to do it.
Email them the link: sf0.org/seeingbeyondsight

I will be away at a rented bungalow with 30+ people this weekend. We have the beach and a barbecue pit. I have a Holga and no batteries.

love is not a sasquatch

2007-03-11T23:01:00.000+08:00

When I told the kids that we were going to clean up the park, they sulked. Bad idea. But it’s ok to be unpopular, I figured. So there we went walking to the park in a row and me looking silly with a huge black plastic bag tied to my sling-bag.

The strangers who were staring at us must be thinking how cruel it was to subject these kids to such punishment. Picking crap, sheesh.

Then one kid asked me why. I told him that the park is dirty and if we want to play here, we need to do our part and clean this place up. He bought it. When others saw him picking up thrash, they followed suit. From sulky kids, they turned into eager garbage collectors. Like children on an Easter egg hunt, every candy wrapper and plastic bottle were like treasures. They were/are amazing.

After getting our hands dirty, we headed to the skate ramps. Climbing up the ramp, they slide down on they backs. When tired, they laid their bodies outstretched on the ramps with their faces looking up to the sky. This is heaven.

One guy even allowed these kids to hijack his skateboard while he took cigarette breaks. After a while, he’d take the skateboard back and show them how it’s done. But the kids still prefer to sit on the skateboard in twos (and sometimes threes). And the guy didn’t mind. We need more people like that.

When we bought them ice-creams, I thought to myself how I should also get myself some. But before I could take out my wallet, one kid shoved an ice-cream to my face, insisting that I share it with him. Soon, every kid started to shove his or her ice-cream to my mouth. They wanted to feed me. I was/am just blown away. I told them that they’re amazing. We all laughed. Two boys gave me flowers they picked from the park on several occasions that day. One of them even covered my car seat with white flowers (I love white flowers). I don’t know why they did it, but I think they will do well romantically when they grow up.

I think these kids ministered to me more than the other way around. They have a way of showing what love is like, rather than what love is not. While it’s always easier to finger-point and say what love is not, many a times we don’t even know what love looks like. And love is not like an illusive beast, Bigfoot or Nessy. It’s here in all the likely places and we only make it hard to find because we think love is hard to come by. I get uncomfortable when I hear preachers say that the only truth is found in the Bible. I don’t know how to respond to that because I keep hearing/seeing truth and love in people, music, art and books. Or comics. And all of these only echo the kind of love and truth that is Jesus. (Speaking of which, everyone reading this should check out Arcade Fire’s Neon Bible. Good stuff. ‘Intervention’ and ‘No Cars Go’ are currently on my loop.)

Before I left them, Saras came up to me and asked for a sayang (in Malay, it means deep love and care. Also an adjective). I thought she meant that she wanted me to sayang her, but instead she gave me a hug and planted a kiss on my cheek. I came here wanting to give love, but I received love instead. The dictionary will tell you that ‘thank you’ in Malay is terima kasih, but that doesn’t even mean much. Terima kasih means receive(d) love or acceptance. I've never found a more appropriate time to use it than now.

friday

2007-03-10T01:01:00.000+08:00

The day started off all hot and humid. By the time I was ready to leave the office, the sky unplugged itself and released its weight of glory. My shoes were soaked and I had to roll up my jeans like a fashionable fisherman.

Fantabulous freak weather.

That’s my sister. She has a love-hate relationship with her keloid. She hates it because it reminds her of the dog chase and that it makes her self-conscious when wearing skirts. She loves it because she thinks her keloid can tell the weather. It hurts like needles when it’s cold or when it’s about to rain. She will tell you that I made it all up, but I know she believes this with all her heart. While photographing her and doing some gymnastics in the car, I broke my mom’s vintage belt. The leather just snapped. I'm still hurting.

Here are some photographs I received today… um, I mean, yesterday. It’s still Friday for some. My friend, Josh, is in Uganda spreading his photography germs and providing humor to the orphans there like a good ambassador. I'm sharing about it here because it makes sense to me. Because sometimes/more often than not, the good news is in a bare-foot soccer match, a shared ice-cream, a new shirt, a smile and even in an arm stretched across the shoulder of a new-found friend. Or in this case, a Polaroid.

I also like how the colors from these photographs contrast the ones of my day. In one part of the world it is raining and in another remote area, sunshine is eternal. It reminds me that other countries really do exist beyond travel television, guidebooks and maps, and how real people dwell there. Real people with stories put a face to a country.

thursday

2007-03-09T04:44:00.000+08:00

It’s almost 5am and I should be sleeping, I know. And I'm sorry that it’s already Friday (for some) when I post this up.

Thursday was fun. I had a simple lunch: honey and peanut butter charcoal toasts, two soft-boiled eggs and a glass of refillable iced lemon tea. Anything with peanut butter is fun. And anything refillable is perfect.

To not bore you any longer, here are some photos of what happened on Thursday (still sorry that it’s already Friday).

I was at Laundry after work/dinner because my friend insisted that I must not miss a Tempered Mental gig. Not my kind of music, but Melina William knows how to work those magic fingers. She’s fast. Very fast. Did I say impressive?

Before the gig, I spent some much needed time at Borders and I picked out Shane Claiborne’s Irresistible Revolution. As I was reading bits here and there, I was reminded of one of my favorite books, The White Rose (die Weiße Rose). I found it in the Goethe Institute in KL, but I don’t know if the book can be found in your regular bookstore (edit: I just found it here). It’s one of those books that causes the idealist in me to rise up and not feel alone. The kind that makes you want to rise up with fists or hold a vigil. (I've done the latter, but never given the former a chance—yet). It’s about people believing in a cause greater than themselves and working “against the scourges of mankind, against fascism and any similar system of totalitarianism”. Against dehumanization.

I could run for Miss World. Almost.

So anyway, this weekend we’re taking the kids from the home out to the park. Instead of simply roughing it out, climbing the monkey bars, seesawing, swinging or going crazy (those are oh so important!), we’re giving them (and ourselves) a chance with the rubbish bags. We’d be picking other people’s crap. Malaysian parks are very colorful, we have candy wrappers everywhere.

Yes, we’re (always) looking for more people to help us out. If you’re free on Saturday evening, let me know. Yes, you.

And my hair still stinks of cigarettes.

wednesday

2007-03-07T23:57:00.000+08:00

Today is a good day to learn and enjoy.

I was doing some reading this morning about the Pentecost and grasped a little of what it meant to be baptized in the Holy Spirit. And the interesting part is that it has little (or nothing) to do with tongues but more of feeding the poor and helping the needy. I'm enjoying how reading the new takes me back to the old and vice versa.

And I also read about how to live is to walk. It helps keep me in perspective on where I'm going, where I've been and where I'm at now, and ultimately who I'm walking after. I'm enjoying how tomorrow and the entire year is not panned out. Ooh... the mystery of tomorrow.

Today I learnt to rest. When I rest, I'm not defined by what I do or the multiple roles I play. I'm enjoying how I don’t have to be anything or anyone else. And it’s ok.

tuesday

2007-03-06T23:05:00.000+08:00

The weather is extremely hot today. It didn’t rain and the sky was rather hazy in the morning. So most people don’t enjoy conversations about the weather (I hear they think it’s shallow), but I like watching the weather forecast on tv. I think it’s as therapeutic as watching a cooking program. Or as mind-numbing and pacifying as getting a haircut.

In the afternoon, nine people were reported dead from the earthquake that hit Sumatra, Indonesia. A while ago, the death toll rose to 70. All I felt from the quake was a slight tremor that made me giddy. It only lasted a few seconds, but enough to make some of us walk/run out of the office. Then I realized what an idiot I am when I escaped with my iPod in hand. Of all things.

I'm so messed up.

And I'm so sorry it took six tents in a soccer field to help me figure it out.

The best/truest thing I've read/heard today: "I have been where you are".

And He's still here.

monday

2007-03-05T22:45:00.000+08:00

Everyday my journey home from work finds me under a new kind of sky. The sun, cloud, weather and color differ from time to time. Sometimes I even get to see the moon, but this usually happens in the early mornings when the moon prefers to linger a little longer than usual. It’s always nice to see the sun and moon together on the same horizon. It also makes me wonder what people on the other side of the world are seeing.

So this is Monday. I'm hoping that I will be consistent enough to do an entire week. At least till this Friday.

There was a rainbow against dark rain clouds in the east. Moments later, I turned around the bend and it disappeared. It’s fun trying to catch a rainbow from a moving vehicle. You people should try it sometime. Just leave the driving to someone else.

Yes, home is a warm feeling. It follows you wherever you go like body odor, only nicer. To add more niceness, this (.pdf) is one of the best chapter of a book that I've read. Usually I cry at the end of a book, but I cried at this first chapter. It has to be something. I'm not fond of stalkers, but I found this project to be sweet and even romantic. People can be so lonely, sometimes.

empty handed

2007-03-03T15:16:00.000+08:00

I had lunch alone the other day. I bought a box of fried vermicelli from the 7-11 below my office and ate it in the tiny room we call a pantry. Eating a RM1.80 meal in a tiny space can be pretty cozy. I got to read the backs of cereal boxes and found out that our large toe is vital to our body as it helps us balance and keeps us from falling. Also, did you know that the fastest muscle in the body is the eye muscle? Anyway, I didn't know. But I love fun facts.

Then I caught sight of an ant in the sugar jar. It was the only black in the white landscape. The lid was shut and it was all the sugar an ant could take—and more. But it wasn't enjoying it. It was circling the circumference of the glass jar again and again. When the ant was satisfied with moving horizontally, it traveled vertically. Up and down and up and down again.

Repeat.

I've always thought ants loved sugar, but this one certainly looked like it only wanted out. Perhaps it had its share and had enough. Maybe it was having a sugar high. Maybe it thought that too much of a good thing is not a good thing. Maybe it wasn't good to/for the ant. I found myself empathizing with it.

So I opened the lid.

The amazing thing about the ant was not that it escaped, but that it did not (or made any effort to) carry a single sugar crystal out with it. The ant left empty handed and headed towards the unknown, where everything looked like giants. It's as though the ant thought that it was more dangerous to live in the sugar jar of comfort and abundance than in a strange place without a back-up plan.

And it was probably right.

impala

2007-02-25T21:48:00.000+08:00

I had a sleepover at the children’s home on Friday night. We microwaved three bags of buttered and salted popcorn. Watched two cartoon movies. Laughed at ourselves. Finished countless bags of junk and sucked on a few lollipops. The kids broke their 9pm curfew and slept after 12am.

I had drool on my arm and a girl fast asleep on my lap. And about six mosquito bites.

Before sleeping, a boy told me he prays before he sleeps. So we prayed together, thanking Jesus for the moon, stars and sun and for giving us our friends, families, brothers and sisters and the night. I liked how we didn’t close our eyes when we prayed. I liked how we looked at each other, smiling and yet conscious of what we were mouthing. Avinash is an amazing kid.

Here’s the kid, moments before he woke up:

Before I left, Darrsini gave me her drawing. I kept asking her if she was sure. She said yes, yes and yes. So she taught me a new word that day: Impala. It’s an African antelope.

Later, my literary friend and I went to a reading event at a posh-eastern-mix-western-artsy-fartsy-upper-crust home-turned-gallery-slash-library-slash-architectural-office. I did not shower since the sleepover, but no one could tell. I think. Anyway, she read a play she wrote about the world’s smelliest durian tower. The pigs loved her. As for me, I loved the open-air bathroom concept.

daddy's shoes

2007-02-19T19:27:00.000+08:00

I was out with the family visiting my aunt this afternoon. She still lives in a superbly decrepit flat. And I really meant that; superbly decrepit. It’s far from clean. It smells of old rubbish and the walls are peeling and cracking, as though it’s an ancient monster waiting to shed its skin for the first time. Only a few families live in this government project today. My aunt lives alone.

I remember hanging out in this building with my cousins. We’d run everywhere and play hide-and-seek. It was a lot noisier back then. I remember there were many Hindu families living here and they loved watching Bollywood flicks on national TV. Heck, you don’t need to be an Indian or a Hindu to love Bollywood. But I don’t remember the flat being so tiny.

As much as this place means to me, I felt like an outsider looking in. Today, I found out that my camera can be a weapon. Some of the residents gave suspicious glances while some called the guard. I don’t know them and they obviously don’t recognize me as the little girl who was screaming (and running) along with other kids 14 years ago. So I kept my weapon away.

It felt rude to intrude into their lives or turning their lives into subjects. I don’t want that.

Across my aunt’s flat, two Indian siblings peer out from the grill. They stare me down. I want to look down and walk away, but they’re too arresting. I crack a nervous smile. They smile back. I wave and the older sister waves back. Her younger brother doesn’t understand the gesture, so she takes his arm and waves it in the air. We laugh. And laugh again. This is the superb part.

I like the idea of exchanging things… pictures, letters, smiles, greetings, laughter, hugs, tears and waves. It was only a brief moment, but at that moment, our lives met one another. It’s about making contact. The photo I took of the shoes (above) belongs to them. The shoes belong to their family and the photograph as well. It’s their story. Those are mommy’s slippers, little brother’s sandals and daddy’s shoes. Daddy works as a security guard somewhere and his uniform hangs against the window. Mommy likes hanging out at the neighbor’s house. Little brother and sister will grow up. And I'm merely a witness to their lives. Nothing fancy.

et cetera

2007-02-18T23:00:00.000+08:00

A few days ago, I received an email I sent to myself a year ago. It brought a knapsack and a trunk full of emotions. At first it was weird in an I-know-what-you-did-last-summer kind of way, and then I felt warm and almost teary. I also felt silly. But all in all, I felt that I've grown. Not that I've ‘arrived’ or ‘made it’ (I doubt I will ever, or if I want to), but that I'm still growing and have been since last year. It excites me to look back and realize that although I'm still the same person, my mindset, thinking and perceptions are being renewed. I may feel the same, but my understanding is changing.

I don’t profess to know a lot or enough, but this is how I see it: life is like an onion—except that it’s ~~less~~ not stinky. Every experience is an act of peeling the onion, one layer at a time. And you’re stripping off all the unnecessary and life becomes more focused and when it comes to the core, only the important remains. I want to keep the important.

I bought two new wooden shelves from Ikea a week ago. I know my room needs some serious reworking. So this is my first step. Next: off-white curtains (to be spray-painted or hand painted with patterns or designs), drills, paint (in light olive green), frame up some old and new photographs, new cables for lights and empty boxes for many unnecessary items. I don’t like packing, but this I have to do. It’s more than a redecorating plan. I don’t even know how many more years I will be sleeping in this room. I find this temporary, but I will make the most of it.

So I wrote another letter to myself again. And last night, I wrote another. This process is important for me. I'm a forgetful person. I remember faces, not names. I remember pages and sections, not specific verses. My letters will arrive in my mailbox on February 14th 2008.

Check out futureme.org, if you haven’t already.

Note:
The fortune from my fortune cookie reads: *smiley* Your dreams are never silly; depend on them to guide you *smiley*. In that order with the smileys. I thought it was kind of cute so I ate the entire thing—sans the paper, of course. It was tangerine flavored. I hope my dreams taste better.

i will not be mushy

2007-02-14T02:25:00.000+08:00

My colleague was lamenting how life is unfair. I think it’s true. Life is unfair because grace is unfair. Every day I wake up in the morning, that’s unfair. I have food on the table, that’s unfair. I get to hang out with children who adore me, that’s unfair. That’s grace.

More to chew on.

Anyway, happy Valentine’s Day, people. I don't know what I will be doing, but I'm happy not knowing what I will be doing. And I will not be mushy.

post-its and indulgence

2007-02-07T01:42:00.000+08:00

Post-its (drawing without looking)
1. I was drawing the sidewalk on Sunday evening for a friend’s anti-Valentine’s Day event (I'm not against it, believe me. But it was a request, what can I say?). It was an open-mike gig with a host of funny people. I like the last guy the best. His songs were intimate in a very shy way. That’s a very loose drawing of a Camera Obscura CD cover.
2. I have an in-grown toenail. It hurts. And I don’t have an extra toe despite what you see here. I can’t count and draw at the same time. I'm bad at math.
3. Happiness. I have nicer teeth in real life.

Indulgence
1. A bag of ice-lolly bags. I thought the gorilla looked funny. I don’t know why I keep seeing gorillas these days. Here are some ice-lollies, apple-blackcurrant flavored.
2. Tiny crumbs from homemade banana muffins. Mhhmmm.
3. A really good book. Really. I bought the book from a bookstore which I'm a member of, but apparently they got my details wrong. According to the receipt, I'm a housewife and I live someplace else.

More indulgence

The best cream puffs ever. The shop is looking for a promoter. Very tempting.
For close-up, click here.

And my picture is also featured in Vox Veniae's blog.

icky

2007-02-02T00:12:00.000+08:00

I've been so busy these couple of days. I can feel my temperature rising. I worked 12 hours that day/night. Ickiness. It was my parents’ anniversary last night and they decided to treat the family to a nice dinner and not go off on a date by themselves. I don’t know if that’s a good thing.

The restaurant had live seafood and among the tanks of lobsters, there was a tank of hungry goldfish. They enjoyed following my camera. Black shiny machine… mhmm.

So I know, this is short. But this is how I feel with all the busyness:

feet on the dash

2007-01-30T00:18:00.000+08:00

I'm chewing on some pieces of dragon fruit. A part of me is nervous about tomorrow and another part of me is filled with anticipation. So I'm chewing harder.

I'm not fond of public speaking and it only makes it harder when I'll be sharing to a group of leaders—one of whom told me that I should remove thunderbolts from my designs because of its ‘satanic origins’. I asked him for references and he gave me AC/DC and KISS. Cool image marketing strategy, I thought. But he had other ideas.

Today, we received a mail from my grandma’s best friend. She wrote on tiny blue-lined yellow papers. She filled us in about her Disneyworld visit, her grandson, Ryan, and her casino adventure.

And how my grandma was the first to teach her the art of lipstick application. That’s really important.

My grandma loved seeing girls all prepped up and would be quick to tell me if I looked scruffy. When my mom made a huge deal about me tweezing my eyebrows (she prefers the 80s bush look), it was my grandma who affirmed my good taste. She had tattooed eyebrows that turned brown-green when she died. Still, she affirmed me—although I think she secretly hoped that the new eyebrows would bring home a boyfriend.

But what I like best about the letter is that she wrote, “This is life”. This is life. This is Life. There’s so much truth in that. It’s not about how she died, but how she lived. And that she lived.

My cat just swallowed some tinsel.

in my bag

2007-01-24T02:14:00.000+08:00

They say that the contents of your bag say a lot about you*. So I’ve decided to empty it all out here to be probed. I thought pictures would be too messy so I illustrated the goods (from memory) instead.

Here’s the list:
1. A very tacky touristy pen, but it’s my favorite writing companion. It’s a floaty pen with a tram cruising up and down the streets of Melbourne.
2. iPod. Last song played: ‘Love and Some Verses’ by Iron & Wine.
3. Used tissue. Not entirely hygienic I know, but it’s not that dirty either.
4. Lip balm. Raspberry flavored. After applying, #3 will come in handy.
5. RM5 Ikea notebook. I spray-painted blue thunderbolts on the cover. For thoughts, ideas, doodles, lists and addresses.
6. Trusty Explosions in the Sky mix CD. It comes in handy when my cubicle is too quiet or when everyone in the office is stressed.
7. Mints or gum. Mostly chewable mints. Refillable metal container.
8. Pay slips. Not a lot, but alright I guess.
9. Ace of spades. Never know when you need it, especially in a poker game… or as a bookmark.
10. Broken pieces of Pocky/Rocky sticks (depending on where you’re from). Chocolate or strawberry flavored. The best snack ever invented.

I don’t know how much that says about me, but one thing is for sure: I'm a liar. #9 and #10 don’t belong there. I ~~don’t~~ can’t play poker and I don’t keep crumbs in my bag. But I'm crazy about Pocky/Rocky sticks.

Ok, I will throw #3 away now.

*No idea who said it, to be honest.

about rain

2007-01-21T02:22:00.000+08:00

I was about to post something about the rainy weather. About how it’s cold and I’m enjoying it. About how it made me want to stuff headphones into my ears or turning it up to eleven. About how I then decided to lock myself in the shoe closet and shoot a picture for the growing picture project. Or about my sister at the Jens Lekman gig.

Or about visiting another life group and trying my best to fit in (and failing). And about how I have the new Do Make Say Think CD before it’s even out.

But then a friend sent me a link and introduced me to Rob Bell. It ruined my attempts at being shallow. But rain makes more sense now.

I’m looking forward to the next downpour and a chance to listen even when my ears feel naked without the headphones.

littles

2007-01-15T18:04:00.000+08:00

I was at the children’s home on Sunday afternoon and unlike any other day, this time not one of the kids was in sight. It turned out that it was their nap time. It was surreal and quiet, the resident volunteers were ironing the uniforms or folding the laundry, the television was turned off and the curtains were drawn. A tap was leaking. The fridge was purring. The ceiling fan was making its usual rounds.

While waiting for the rest to arrive, I took the chance to photograph little plastic figurines in their shelves. I found the green-eyed gorilla especially intriguing. I named him The Jealous Boyfriend. And then there was The Brave Hippo. I don’t know which kid set the scene up, but I love the one-scene narration-thing. The kids love the hippopotamus.

Then I found these little grocery lists securely fitted underneath the glass of the glass-paneled table. There’s something about finding grocery lists… it’s almost like snooping through the fridge or the dustbin. Or like the work of a detective or a private investigator.

Here’s the breakdown with English translation:

- Sabun cuci kain (laundry detergent)
- Susu powder (milk powder)
- Susu tin (evaporated milk)
- Milo (I love this, I could eat this on its own)
- Nescafe
- Beras (rice)
- Jem (jam, usually strawberry)
- Kaya (a spread made from coconut, eggs, sugar and pandan flavoring)
- Gula (sugar)
- Sardien [sic] (sardine)
- Clorox
- Ubat mop lantai (floor detergent or literally, medicine mop floor)
- Syampoo (shampoo)

What’s missing is ghee. They never run out of it.

But the silence did not last. One kid spotted me from his room. He wriggled and stood up on his bed to get my attention. And he did get it. When a resident volunteer walked pass, he’d burry his face into his pillow. It’s routine by now. He’d pretend to be asleep and I would pretend to be looking around like I was lost. But I think the resident volunteer knew and was only playing along.

We had fun while it lasted.

And I finally have a new template to play with.

the earth is warmer when you laugh

2007-01-04T02:50:00.000+08:00

I spent my New Year’s Eve watching Garden State (again) on DVD while stuffing my face with spaghetti. And it seemed so perfect to be reminded again that this is it, this is life and that is all we have. Then I got dressed and headed to church for the night service. I was late (again) but only half of the sanctuary was filled and that’s fine too. It was a very intimate service—by that I don’t mean to use ‘intimate’ as an excuse or cover-up for the lack of a better word. It was informal and our pastor left the preaching to the people.

One by one, they took their secret longings and visions to the stage. I don’t know if open-mike gigs could ever be this inspiring, but you know something is right when you see the church sharing their dreams with one another. They were calling something that is not as though it were. They were spilling bits and pieces of their humanity out there, unashamed like little children. Naked as we came.

With that, the midnight barbeque shindig later made more sense. All that sweating over the pit, talks over the semi-cooked chicken drumsticks, marshmallow burnt lips, oily fingers and carbon-filled bellies seemed worth it. And it still is.

my mother was a chinese trapeze artist

2006-12-30T18:59:00.000+08:00

Well, not really. Actually, far from it. She works in the media and receives free newspapers daily and magazines monthly. And that was a song title. But I must have inherited my innate desire to travel and the ability to land myself in painful situations from someone. I can’t stay put and I don’t know why. But not knowing why is not as painful and not being able to travel.

I feel like running. I don’t know what I’m running from or what I’m running to. I feel like Forrest Gump, running on and on and on—minus the beard and masculinity. Before I fall asleep, my mind goes into a marathon of sorts… reading maps (in my mind, I said), stepping on a new sidewalk, shooting down folks with my camera, running my fingers through foreign currency, falling asleep under a different sky, feasting with strangers, breathing in forest and timber, breathing out mist and telling others how Malaysians don’t live on trees.

2006 is probably the most turbulent year I’ve been through. Seeing my pets die in the past did not prepare me to see life slip away from my grandma. It’s funny what death can do to one person. It’s more obvious to me that the body is a cavity and hidden inside the folds of skin, muscle and sinew is life. I was tempted to take a picture of my dying grandma, but I did not because it didn’t seem right. It didn’t seem like her either. Yet it’s fascinating to know that early photographers could only use dead people in portrait photography. But that’s for another post.

Grandma was the only lady in stripes. This was her home economics class and I think the waffle-making machine stole their hearts.

Mom and dad. Much younger. This is my second year serving in a non-profit organization and they have been pressuring me to leave this job for a more financially rewarding one. It’s tough and I’m fidgety. Maybe this is what I’m running from and why I’m running. But it can’t be.

Despite all that confusion and strife, this year made me more vulnerable than expected. God still has a lot of work with this slab of marble though. Still a little shapeless and rough, I know I can trust his visions for me more than I can believe my own. I have no idea what he will chisel off, but the rubble would make a good collection in my personal museum I reckon. Everybody has a museum… a room of failed inventions, a room for mistakes and a wall of old (false) lovers.

Have a great new year.

two

2006-12-23T18:46:00.000+08:00

Two more days to Christmas! And so far, I have a sore throat, one newly neutered cat, 11 days off, extra Nutella icing, a box of peanut butter cups, a confirmed aversion towards coconut candy and no freaking turkey. It's going to be thrilling!

bridges + balloons

2006-12-18T20:39:00.000+08:00

The year is coming to a close and there are so many things I could write about but I guess I won't... well, not here... not yet. I've always loved December for a few reasons: 1) I get about a week off from work 2) Camps 3) Birthdays 4) Presents 5) Christmas decos and lights and Christmas itself... and also the pending year end. Knowing that another year is coming brings me much hope. It's almost like opening another chapter or a new book. You don't know what to expect, but the mystery of it keeps you going. And like every year's end, there will be some bridges to burn and some balloons to blow.

Anyway, here's to all:

living proof

2006-12-13T13:26:00.000+08:00

If I make the lashes dark
And the eyes more bright
And the lips more scarlet,
Or ask if all be right
From mirror after mirror,
No vanity's displayed:
I'm looking for the face I had
Before the world was made.
What if I look upon a man
As though on my beloved,
And my blood be cold the while
And my heart unmoved?
Why should he think me cruel
Or that he is betrayed?
I'd have him love the thing that was
Before the world was made.
- Yeats

diamond sea

2006-11-08T18:37:00.000+08:00

Here’s my week (or more) in reverse chronological order.

Besides having too many cakes (about six in total) for my birthday last month, the amount of chocolate and sugar I've been consuming is almost enough to make me not want to touch cakes and candies ever again. Almost. Above is Sel's latest effort, Rocky Road Fudge with chocolate, hazelnuts, marshmallows, dried fruits, some biscuits, chocolate... and more chocolate. I think my friends have a secret ploy to fatten me up. I haven't weighed myself to know, but last I checked, I need some extra 2 kilograms to graduate from my underweight status.

I was looking through a stack of old cassette tapes and CDs and found this gem. It's one of my favourite albums (and album covers). I can't find the CD version of it today in our record shops though.

That is Warren Ellis of Dirty Three (Oct 31st, 2006). He looked like Rasputin with a violin and a violent right leg. He spent most of the time facing his back to the audience and played lying down. I like how he looks headless here. Caught some really offbeat people in the crowd that night. This guy, let's call him Mersing 12, was so high he did air-guitar and air-violin while head-banging in his pyjama pants. He later discovered how cupping his ears on-and-off created another sound effect and quickly shared the good news with his friend. Then they were both making sound effects only audible to themselves. He was the most animated audience I've ever seen.

spoiled

2006-10-21T02:04:00.000+08:00

Here are some 35mm film pictures that were taken with a medium format camera when I visited Penang and Ipoh in the middle of this year. I like the vignette effect on the edges but I think I like going on holidays more.

Tomorrow I will be going to the spa with my mom and am contemplating if I should get the shiatsu or the aromatherapy massage. From Sunday to Wednesday I’ll be away at a retreat and am probably not bringing any camera with me this time for a change. I’ve been taking it on every getaway and been relying too much on it to jog my memory. I need to break that cycle and simply have fun and not worry if the bag is too damp for the camera or if someone’s going to hold it for me when I visit the loo or if I missed a good moment. And for someone like me who would habitually check if my car is locked a few seconds after I actually locked it, the thought of misplacing or not placing the lens cap on can be a real killer.

That’s a cake my friend gave me. I love blueberries and cheese (separate or together) but the mashed berries looked a lot like fattened dog ticks. And they tasted yummy. Thanks, Sel.

we are what you say

2006-10-13T12:26:00.000+08:00

The other night I had dinner with some friends and one friend asked me, "What do you want in life?" I paused. I have not been asked that question in a long time, let alone ask myself what I really want in life. I told her that I want to be happy. Another friend quickly added that my answer was too vague. And for a moment there, with a semi-chewed straw in my mouth and eyes darting from left to right, I felt obliged to give an answer to something I’m only beginning to understand.

I told her that what I meant was that I want to be content. I used to want to have my own business/gallery/restaurant/café... and in fact, a little part of me is still intrigued by the idea. But is that what I really want? And if I can have all that, then what? Will I want more?

I like how John Eldredge put it:
Contentment is not freedom from desire, but freedom of desire. Being content is not pretending that everything is the way you wish it would be; it is not acting as though you have no wishes. Rather, it is no longer being ruled by your desires.

That aside, I’ve also been getting busy with Sel’s baking business. Photographing food is not as easy as it seems, but tasting the fruits of your labour is worth the while—and wait!

Am currently saddened by how my Flickr account is running out of space. Oh well.

wild

2006-09-21T01:19:00.000+08:00

An injured bird was brought into the office a couple of days ago. It was calm and didn’t put up a struggle when we handled it or moved it from someone’s finger to another person’s hand. To my limited knowledge on fowls, it could be a dazed adult or a trusting young one. While holding it, I half expect it fly at my face and peck out my eyes, Hitchcock style. But it did nothing sinister except stare me down with its black eyes and extend its neck like a crane whenever it was moved up and down. I think the white lines above its eyes were supposed to make it look dangerous. It’s funny how the most delicate things in nature look the most defensive.

There are many things I could write about, but words escape me. Below are pictures depicting my emotional state (somewhat), although rather ambiguously.

saltiest cake

2006-09-01T17:47:00.000+08:00

Being lovesick is akin to having ulcers. To the people around you, you look alright although a little quieter than usual. Maybe a little gloomy, a bit sulky and somewhat brooding. You don’t feel much like eating and everything tastes like porridge. Bland and colourless. Smiling becomes harder when it stretches your insides in all the aching places. Nothing excites you anymore and your saliva factories have gone defunct. Like a bag of desiccant in an empty shoebox, life is dry and hollow. Things just aren’t the same.

I have two huge ulcers merging into one. In a non-attempt at being random, here’s what you can do when you’re feeling nervous while holding a bottle of beer.

not in kanagawa

2006-08-27T21:54:00.000+08:00

The above shot was taken in the ferry. The blonde lady was covered in freckles and was wearing a shirt that reads, “Crazy Horse”. While stopping over in Kuantan, I bought two Chinese magazines, which I will never fully understand, for only RM3.50. They came with travel guidebooks of Tokyo and New York, complete with pictures and maps. I still like imagining being someplace else.

I’m not so fond of beach photography so I took pictures of the ground and shadows instead. And that is my sister holding my ice-cream for me (she’s so useful). Unfortunately, the heart-printed paper wrapped around the cone says nothing about the taste of the ice-cream.

Here’s a Hokusai inspired shot. I’m too lazy to scan all the underwater shots, so that will have to do. A small blacktip reef shark swam across my face and was enough to send shivers down my spine. Darn those shark attack films!

lover and the sea

2006-08-17T00:45:00.000+08:00

Ten toes are itching to dive into sand and my lungs are dying to choke on salty breeze. To heighten the experience, I got myself a disposable underwater camera and a brand new roll of film today. Will be trigger happy from 18/8 - 21/8.

mellow gold

2006-08-10T23:10:00.000+08:00

I was driving home from work today when Tracy Chapman’s ‘Fast Car’ was playing on the radio. If the car could steer itself I would’ve closed my eyes and I would be in the passenger seat of a red Honda Charade. It’ll be 7am and I will be in my blue and white baju kurung. Every morning the same thoughts and imagination will play in my head: if only I’m on my way to the airport so I can leave this place. I will go to school only to wait for recess so I could sit by the drain with my friends. We’d dig up an ant hole, hoping to find something bigger, the queen perhaps. In the midst of probing the earth, we’d exchange ideas of what could happen if we were suddenly taken away in a helicopter and flown off to another location. We didn’t really care where, as long as it was not here.

I’m not much of a morning person, the times when I wake up earlier than 8.30am are usually when the bladder beckons. But lately I’m enjoying these sleep interruptions as they give me an excuse to lean on the window and stare out on the road I used to take to school. The sky is right, the colours are blue and yellow, the weather is cooling and the birds still sing the same song. And to my limited senses, the lingering scent of carbon monoxide only speaks of one colour—school bus orange.

Seven years later, the red car is sold off and I’ve not worn a baju kurung since. We don’t see each other much these days but I’d like to believe that in our own ways, we’re still digging the ant hole, hoping to chance upon something bigger. Something bigger than ourselves.

pictures from previous lives

2006-08-02T20:38:00.000+08:00

I was flipping through Granta 80: The Group and I found these really beautiful photographs by Susan Meiselas. I like how the pictures tell a story in its simplicity. They also make me want to take more pictures, but moreover I find the gaps in between each picture to be little pockets of time in which you fill with your imagination... and I think that’s precious. You’d make up stories and characters and chart their lives through paths you’d like them to take... and maybe conjure up an imagined life separate from your own.

And I suppose the whole coming of age thing fascinates me as well. Up till now, despite being close to a quarter century old (well, almost), I still feel like I just turned 21. I don’t know what state of mind I was in when I was 21, but I’m glad to be where I’m at... yet I miss being 21 so much. And to remember those nights my sister and I stayed up to tell stories to one another, or the time when I was bullied by some obnoxious girls on my first day at school, or when I punched a boy... or the time when my dad kicked me out from home... all are good. I wonder how my life will look like in photographs considering I’m behind the camera most of the time.

Here is our final screening (maybe) of Kit Ong's The Flowers Beneath My Skin.

flowers and ferns

2006-07-27T23:53:00.000+08:00

I came home from work today and saw this boy on a bicycle staring intently at three male cats surrounding a female cat across my street. They were taking turns. She was tired and could barely stand on her own feet. I’ve been listening to Ferns’ ‘Dear Derelict’ on a loop for the longest time. The song almost brought me to tears. My brother was trying to play The O.C. theme song on the melodion tonight. His fingers are sticky and he is munching on some garlic bread sticks while pulling up his pants. He is wearing the same bermudas since he was 11. The elastic is worn but he insists that he is losing weight. For the first time, I wish he’s right and I’m wrong. He likes to put his head near the speakers.

To those who came for the film screening on Tuesday night, thank you for making it happen with us. To those who missed, here’s a second chance.

half truths

2006-07-23T00:07:00.000+08:00

My dad used to tell me that God will cut off my tongue if I tell a lie. So I used to check the length of my tongue in front of the bathroom mirror. I also imagined what it would be like to live without a tongue... not being able to swallow and sing and stick it out for fun.

I grow up knowing it to be a lie and God isn't the kind to cut off my dad's tongue in punishment. But I've told many lies. I lied about my height mostly. And I also lied about living an ok life. I was told that I'm meant to live a great life but I think I'm starting to believe all the lies I used to tell (except the ones about my height).

Jim doing his thing:

peach plum pear

2006-07-16T19:14:00.000+08:00

He’s got hands like mine, his heart is like his father’s. Somewhere in the playground he found himself. A little colour blind and a little adventurous. In the eyes of another boy he is the most beautiful song. They say he is a peacock, but I’ve got a swan for a brother. Neck full of feathers and mouth full of laughter. Father loves him like no other.

daydream nation

2006-07-12T00:38:00.000+08:00

[my sister reading Craig Thompson's Blankets and my new bird car-freshener in fresh woodland scent]

I'm trying to write a 'straight' review instead of drawing my reviews, but it's hard, I tell you. It's a book of short stories by an expat who writes about Malaysian characters (with one story set in Singapore). My mind is taken on a pensive ride... wondering a whole lot about what makes these stories Malaysian . I mean, it’s about the people of Malaysia and so does that make the stories Malaysian, even if it’s written by an expat? I’ve met Malaysians who consider their citizenship a cancer or disease to themselves (and their unborn children) and desire more than anything else to get a PR in another country. So I don’t think anyone is Malaysian because it says so on his/her birth cert... it's probably more than that.

Yet in hindsight, I find myself guilty whenever I’m reminded of how I used to think when I was in secondary school. I’ve always loved music, movies and art and when I flip through a magazine or newspaper and find ‘bad design’ or when I hear a local band with indecipherable lyrics, I’ll poke my sister and say, “See so Malaysian la the design/singing... look at the font/listen to his accent... ughh.” Being quite self-deprecating, I believed that everything awful was probably Malaysian—which is not an uncommon thought among teenagers who are less exposed and misguided by the media. But the question still beckons, what is ‘Malaysian’? Is there a definitive voice/sound/visual/style that could be pinpointed as ‘Malaysian’? And are we too caught up in searching for a national identity to relate to that we forget to look within ourselves? Among the mishmash of cultures and languages, we try to find parallels of similarities without ever being personal—we easily leave it to seasonal Petronas ads to do that for us.

And so, perhaps what is ‘Malaysian’ lies not in the way we sing or play or write or speak because those are auxiliaries to who we are, but in the heart and passion of an individual. This is a multifaceted topic and I feel I’m only scratching at the surface and I’m sure many have covered this before, but this is definitely therapy for me before I work on my review, although I doubt it will be any easier. At least now I got this somewhat out of the way.

On another note, I was watching Kylie Kwong one night and found out that she doesn't know the proper way to eat a xiao long bao or Shanghai dumpling (the kind with soup wrapped in the dumpling). Anyway, she made a real mess, but that's ok I guess since people love her and she's got her own cooking show. I found this interesting diagram from a chopstick wrapper in Singapore's Din Tai Fung restaurant:

[click to learn!]

bed post

2006-07-06T16:22:00.000+08:00

I didn't get much sleep last night despite being physically tired. I'd skip breakfast and have my lunch earlier and eat my dinner a lot later. I'm fascinated by the patterns we make on the bed sheets when we greet the dawn. Sheets that were neatly tucked in the night before are now loose and creased. Every line crossing each other and folding into another mark the landscape like a huge map without destinations and cities. This is a flagless state. Unconquered and untamed, the leftovers from the dreams we had. We take the safe and hide the wild.

hdb heat

2006-07-06T01:24:00.000+08:00

Singapore was hot, humid and crowded. Being a few degrees closer to the equator makes a huge difference, I suppose. I also took my first ever first-class bus—I was served drinks, a meal (fish and chips) and a choice of tea, coffee or hot chocolate to wash it all down. In every seat you’d find a small yellow pillow for your napping comfort and if you’re cold, they’d even bring you a blanket. It was so comfortable, you wouldn’t even mind their constant bombardment of Celine Dion through the speakers. I can never afford a first-class plane ticket so this will suffice for now and I’m not complaining.

I’m used to taking naps in front of the TV but none of my napping experience prepared me for three nights on a deeply butt-embossed faux leather sofa. It was anything but luxurious, but at least I had a place to rest my head. All in all, Singapore was a much needed break for me. For four days, I had time to take my mind off work and every ounce of responsibility surrounding it.

The Man+God exhibition closing on Friday night was better than I expected it to be. I’m not so much a dance fan, but Lee Swee Keong was so conscious of his entire body, he made it seem so effortless... every muscle move is laced with grace. I used to think that contemporary dance was too stuck up and avant-garde to be understood, but that night I was converted. Maybe it was the live music performed by Ronnie Khoo (and 2/3 Ciplak) and gang of breathy musicians that made it work for me. Maybe it was in the knobs and shrieks.

I was also tempted to steal some of the interesting post-it messages to God. I don’t regret not stealing, but I pinch myself for not bringing a camera that night. Anyway, here are minor glimpses into my HDB experience. Pat, I’m so sorry. I couldn’t find any intellectual Singaporean guys for you (the closest I got was an old man who got his harmonica amped) but I did get you some interesting gifts. Oh, and I got myself an iPod.

jawwwws!

2006-06-30T14:33:00.000+08:00

Hello,

My name is Jaws. I’m about two months old and as you can see, I’m blessed with an off-white coat with ink-dipped ears. My eyes are painted in light blue and I think it’s the shade that best represents the Malaysian cloudy sky. Forgive the ugly picture as it was taken before my Dettol bath.

My owner likes to tell me how fortunate I am to be alive, but I think she just likes to remind me of how I have only seven lives left (I fell from the roof and was stuck in a very, very, very deep and hollow drain for a day). She also likes to rub my cheeks and chest to make me purr like a machinegun. But she can’t keep me for long as she will be in Singapore for four days and she has her hands full with a blind dog and a fat cat.

I’d appreciate it if you’d take me home (otherwise I would be sent to PAWS). My owner says that she would even throw in a scratching pole if you do! So please email her at thunderedcat@gmail.com if you’d like to give me a chance.

Love,
The kitten currently known as Jaws

P/S: Click here to see more pre-Dettol bath pictures of me!

water marked

2006-06-29T02:57:00.000+08:00

A picture taken at a restaurant and it has nothing to do with food.

It was my dad’s birthday and I didn’t get him anything except a hug. For my Singapore trip this weekend, I gave him some ringgit to be converted and to make me feel worse, he conveniently slipped in an extra S$150 for me to spend. Maybe he was politely hinting for a nice Singaporean bargain present.

[I wrote a bloody (literally) long paragraph here about how I found a kitten in my roof gutter and how I had to go prostrate on the ground with my arm in a very deep and hollow drain, but deleted it]

So anyway, the kitten’s lower lip is detached from its lower jaw and like most strays, it is suffering from cat flu and needs to be on antibiotics. My sister and I took it to the vet to get its lower lip stitched back and dewormed. I’m just thankful it didn’t die... I’m also looking for someone to adopt it, as long as you wouldn’t mind a kitten with a funny looking jaw. Will post up pictures as soon as I can. He (the kitten) is about 2 months old, cream body and Siamese-looking with light blue eyes. My sister wanted to call him Jaws.

Moving on, I was recently tagged by Pat (thank you, I love answering silly questionnaires). Ok, here are 6 weird facts about myself:

I love airplane food because they come in neat packages, containers and foils even if it is not very pleasing to the taste bud.
During the time when pen-pals were ‘in’, I used tell them I’m 1.72meters tall.
In primary school, my friends and I were so bored with class and as tic-tac-toe became predictable, we tore our exercise books to eat paper.
I wanted to be a mermaid and an astronaut. Actually, I still do.
In the confines of my car and with the windows rolled up, I sing to Britney and Avril because it’s easy.
I collect cheap boxer shorts. A recent addition is a black one with Homer’s Duff bottles and cans. My favourite is the glow-in-the-dark Gap boxers but it’s so pathetically loose now because I wore it too often. I also remember getting funny looks from other women for rummaging through the men’s underwear section like I’m looking for gold. But anyways, I think it’s good practice. Haha.

Yay, I feel so accomplished now.

Listen to the first five songs from Sufjan’s Avalanche here.

crafty!

2006-06-23T16:54:00.000+08:00

[click to enlarge]

Something I made at work that is not work related, but because I'm so inspired by Martha Stewart. Next, I will try stitching and I will be making my own snow globes and perhaps give them away as gifts. And maybe make those frangipani lights. And maybe finally get to make that orange fish fillet.

I've been scouting for floaty pens online too. Oh, I feel so industrious.

fuzz

2006-06-22T13:50:00.000+08:00

Some random pictures from this week so far:

The red chandelier was from The Attic where we had the screening for Kit Ong's The Flowers Beneath My Skin. The rest were from the Monosylabik poster show on Tuesday night. The last shot of Junkit's taken by Cheryl, it's among my favourites that night so I decided to put it up. No, I didn't shoot pictures of my poster.

I've never seen so many snobs in my life since high school.
But maybe like me, they were just shy.

You could sing a murderer to sleep
And water holds its form for You

possibly, maybe

2006-06-09T10:24:00.000+08:00

(Some stuff I made in between work and laziness)

Over the past few weeks I’ve been feeling rather down. There are many other things I’d rather talk about than myself and there are times I’d rather not talk at all. When I’m in the company of friends, I felt most alone and when I’m alone, I felt as though I’ve found a best friend. There seems to be a voice between every cricket song and a silent hum in the stillness. Can quietness be this loud?

In Penang I met up with an old friend from college. She updated me with things she’s been doing and all that she plans to do. It made me miss the blithe days I had in college, when life was simpler and when things made sense. It was also a bitter reminder that the world only spins one way and every book has its ending. The day closes without your consent and life can go on without you. But maybe life was also in the crack of smile I forced the other day when I didn’t feel much like smiling. Maybe life was in the tub of ice-cream I bought for my mother and sister when I was broke. Maybe when I was least myself, I’m most alive.

Ok, enough of abstractions. Here are some interesting dolls I found in Penang, although personally I'm not fond of dolls.

So may the sunrise bring hope where it once was forgotten,
Sons are like birds flying always over the mountain.
- Sam Beam

hey deer

2006-05-24T17:34:00.000+08:00

I went to a young adult camp last weekend to relax but it was anything but relaxing. There were four sessions packed in two days and each session lasted two hours. I had to doodle to keep myself awake (as seen above). Anyway, I don’t like talking about camp.

Visited a rabbit/deer/donkey farm on Sunday, but the animals were in a very sad state—which is not an unusual sight since many countries exploit animals for tourism. But still, it doesn’t justify. I found two very sick rabbits (due to over-handling and stress) lying on the ground with sand in its eyes and mouth:
A healthy bunny inspecting the soon-to-be-dead bunny:
Here’s a very friendly and jealous donkey (he pushed his friends away from me so I only take pictures of him). I wanted to stroke his head but he kept twitching and then I realized he’s infested with ticks and flies. And then there’s the deer with horrible skin problems.

- - - -

2006-05-19T18:21:00.000+08:00

I'm pretty much brain-dead over the past few days and to make it worse, I'm suffering from a backache. I’m supposed to finish two reviews but my mind won’t register, my fingers won’t start typing and my body won’t obey. Everything seems so numb these days. I don’t know if this weekend’s break would be great either. The only thing I have looking up for me is my new roll of slide film for my holga.

My home modem died so I have to do this at work.