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.
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.
(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.
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.
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.
It was amazing (and I need more adjectives).
*Explosions in the Sky in Malay.
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:
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 should sleep now. The sound of raindrops suicidally slamming their tiny bodies on my window is too tempting.
[ √ ] 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.
I found this interesting.
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!
Pirates. Children. Eye patches. Gold chocolate coins. More chocolates. Yes.
Múm in March. Singapore. Yes, yes.
2008, you are looking up.
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.
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.
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 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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
