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.

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.

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.

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 (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.

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: