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

(thank you, Josh)

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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:

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.

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.

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.

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.