dear jess,
in the surreality of things, even great men die. Its odd really, as i was talking about the purpose and legacy of lives. i read the news minutes ago, and i felt i could hardly breath. This just from finding out about a man i dont even know.
i "met" krishen last year. Actually i had to act in front of him. It was the most horrifying experience ever, i had to strut out in front of krishen, marion and jit murad and do my stuff! The wobbly knees and full bladder screaming, i had to act in front of pioneers of theatre, and the very place where my feet were, was owned by him. I was in front of a living legacy who has been practising theatre even before i could walk, and practically created the arts world to where it is today! He's written books, lectured, directed, and is perfectly synonym to the word theatre. And there he was sitting down to watch me act! In retrospect now, it brings sweat to my palms.
And what does one do in the presence of a legacy? Put your head down and shyly avoid eye contact. What can i say!
Im speechless, i would love to in all flair write about the arts, krishen, etc but i cant right now, im just lost for words. Ive never had to write a letter this way. I know for a fact that the arts community pauses in time as they reflect on the great loss. He was 65, and still actively directing and contributing to the arts. Perhaps what strikes me most of all about this man i knew not was that he made changes in what he was passionate about.
I guess some of us do make a mark in the world that leaves impressions for a long, long time. We've really lost a huge part of the arts, but his legend and contribution will live on. How many of us can say that about anything we do?
yours in memory of krishen,
jess
Saturday, April 30, 2005
Tuesday, April 26, 2005
wiNe, tHe cOLoUr oF yOuR hEaRt
dear jess,
You smile as you think about your fascination of drinking that shimmering glass of red wine, with harry connick jr. in the background, the rain tapping gently on the window, you just had a warm bath, not shower, a bath, one that was foamy and relaxing. You bring the glass closer to your lips, smell it, and give it a slight twist, letting the wine 'breath.' The first touch of red gold on your lips is satisfactory, not too bitter, and not too sweet. It slides down your throat, and the warmth tingles the throat and the soul. That was the last bit you had. The one you saved for a special occasion or simply just to be selfish. He told you it was a speacial blend, made from four different grapes, and can't be bought here. You curse a little, knowing that that was the last time you'd appreciate that refiness on your lips, from this specific brand.
Then in your old fashion manner of being melancholic you start to think about the process that took just to give you that small moment of pleasure. The four types of grapes, which only purpose in life was to give you that intoxicating satisfaction.
Then you think about yourself, sitting down all alone in the couch listening to the rain tap, and you can't help but to wonder the lifelong purpose of the pleasures you might remotely bring into other peoples lives.
Your work, was that your purpose in life? or just distraction? Your loves, your passions, your "unselfish" time investing into other people's lives, your studies, your strives, your good fights for what you believed in, your work outs at the gym, your habitual movie watching, your gleam at buying new jewellry, your fantastic race car driving habits, you trying to make others happy when you're aching inside, you making a mark in the world so it remembers you.. all distractions?
They're very good ones, if they are, because with all these distractions you tend to forget your purpose, but then again, you dont really know what your purpose is in this life do you? So in the meanwhile, you might as well pile up on distractions? Perhaps until the harvest comes, and the grapes are picked, and you're squeezed into wine, where somewhere, somebody will reflect on their own purposes in life.
You smile as you think about your fascination of drinking that shimmering glass of red wine, with harry connick jr. in the background, the rain tapping gently on the window, you just had a warm bath, not shower, a bath, one that was foamy and relaxing. You bring the glass closer to your lips, smell it, and give it a slight twist, letting the wine 'breath.' The first touch of red gold on your lips is satisfactory, not too bitter, and not too sweet. It slides down your throat, and the warmth tingles the throat and the soul. That was the last bit you had. The one you saved for a special occasion or simply just to be selfish. He told you it was a speacial blend, made from four different grapes, and can't be bought here. You curse a little, knowing that that was the last time you'd appreciate that refiness on your lips, from this specific brand.
Then in your old fashion manner of being melancholic you start to think about the process that took just to give you that small moment of pleasure. The four types of grapes, which only purpose in life was to give you that intoxicating satisfaction.
Then you think about yourself, sitting down all alone in the couch listening to the rain tap, and you can't help but to wonder the lifelong purpose of the pleasures you might remotely bring into other peoples lives.
Your work, was that your purpose in life? or just distraction? Your loves, your passions, your "unselfish" time investing into other people's lives, your studies, your strives, your good fights for what you believed in, your work outs at the gym, your habitual movie watching, your gleam at buying new jewellry, your fantastic race car driving habits, you trying to make others happy when you're aching inside, you making a mark in the world so it remembers you.. all distractions?
They're very good ones, if they are, because with all these distractions you tend to forget your purpose, but then again, you dont really know what your purpose is in this life do you? So in the meanwhile, you might as well pile up on distractions? Perhaps until the harvest comes, and the grapes are picked, and you're squeezed into wine, where somewhere, somebody will reflect on their own purposes in life.
Everyone seems to have a clear idea of how other people should lead their lives, but none about his or her own. (The Alchemist, Paulo Coehlo)
yours sippingly,
jess
Wednesday, April 20, 2005
wHeN sHoPPiN iS a CuLtUrAL vIsIt
the vibration on the handles makes the water.... BUBBLE,
i think its an ancient chinese thing or something...
sOmeThiNG oLd, sOmEtHinG nEw....
Things are cherished more when they are gone, therefore how does one cherish it when one has it?
dear jess,
in a land where the sun is always shining seemingly hotter than back home, and your now-under-your care nephew is in desperate need to use the loo, surprisingly, you can become a tourist in your own home.
Back in my native roots of malacca, where the only few portuegese words i speak from bong natal to well kumi arus, the others being to vulgar, i find interesting revelations. Do you realise, that you can be a tourist in your own home? On my first monorail trip to kl today, the dirty streets of kuala lumpur suddenly had an appealing sense of beauty and strangness to it. I noticed the artistic beauty of the temple, the church and the messyness of the melting pot heritage.
In malacca, i longed to go back to "my" A famosa or the bits that was left of it, and just bask in the glory it once was, of course i didnt get to, cos that would be quite an oddity to say i wanted to visit those places wouldnt it? after all, ive been there a million. Instead, i found myself appreciating a many other things, i guess due to my thirst for local culture. Shops that sold bargain goods at RM1 had really expensive looking sculptures that spit water.
So here i was in awe of things that weren't totally strange to me, in fact we've all seen it a thousand before. It felt somewhat like an out of body experience permitting me to see things for the first time again. Maybe that's how it should be isn't it? When you pause and appreciate something like you were doing it the first, and never before. Well, yeah perhaps that too, and of course the wonderful, wonderful taste of durian cendol and satay celop.. sighhh i can feel myself sinking in the chair right now.
yours in need to burn some off,
jess
dear jess,
in a land where the sun is always shining seemingly hotter than back home, and your now-under-your care nephew is in desperate need to use the loo, surprisingly, you can become a tourist in your own home.
Back in my native roots of malacca, where the only few portuegese words i speak from bong natal to well kumi arus, the others being to vulgar, i find interesting revelations. Do you realise, that you can be a tourist in your own home? On my first monorail trip to kl today, the dirty streets of kuala lumpur suddenly had an appealing sense of beauty and strangness to it. I noticed the artistic beauty of the temple, the church and the messyness of the melting pot heritage.
In malacca, i longed to go back to "my" A famosa or the bits that was left of it, and just bask in the glory it once was, of course i didnt get to, cos that would be quite an oddity to say i wanted to visit those places wouldnt it? after all, ive been there a million. Instead, i found myself appreciating a many other things, i guess due to my thirst for local culture. Shops that sold bargain goods at RM1 had really expensive looking sculptures that spit water.
So here i was in awe of things that weren't totally strange to me, in fact we've all seen it a thousand before. It felt somewhat like an out of body experience permitting me to see things for the first time again. Maybe that's how it should be isn't it? When you pause and appreciate something like you were doing it the first, and never before. Well, yeah perhaps that too, and of course the wonderful, wonderful taste of durian cendol and satay celop.. sighhh i can feel myself sinking in the chair right now.
yours in need to burn some off,
jess
Sunday, April 10, 2005
aLwaYs iN tHe "LaIn- LaiN" cAtEgOry?
I told him that i had been in love many times but had been worried about whether I could ever become serious with anyone. If I had continued that way, it would have led to a solitary old age, and I had been very fearful of this.
I dont't think you look to love as a means to a comfortable retirement.
Coelho, The Pilgirmage
Dear jess,
If you can take a snapshot of your life, what would it be? The day you were born? the day you graduate? Close your eyes and imagine with me for a moment a photographic collection of your black and white pictures, almost faded, the one with your mum carrying you as a child, and the one with your first birthday, the one with the wild 21st party or the one with the whole family at Christmas.
The snapshots of our lives that contain people we love, the ones that contain people who've died and left, but forever looking so happy in those pictures, and in every picture, people are always smiling. Rarely if ever at all, do we catch snapshots of tears. I remember when mama passed on, i took pictures of the coffin, i know its madness, but something voyeuristic, if i may use that word, made me do it.,
Whats my point really? No man is an island they say, but even more so for people who are extreme extroverts. For them, us, and me, a short walk to the shops nearby can seem like hours without anyone next to you to express how stupid that guy looks dressed in those shorts, or how beautiful those plants are.. They have a constant need for companionship. Some people are created with the amazing ability to be single all their lives and some people just have the ultimate aim of wanting to get married. But perhaps the worse, or the best, depending on which you are, are the people who have the constant need for companionship (not necesarily romantic) and the high explosive need to be independant- even of the companion, adventorous and just plain mad.
Watching a movie, shopping alone, and even havin lunch on your own feels like a liffetime of torture, and yet the idea of living with one person for the rest of your life is just too much to take. These 'free-spirited' folks confuse people who dont understand their diversed need for companionship and yet independance.
What scares me the most is that the jess i once knew who had so confidently said that she can live without marriage and have a ball might one day become the jess who looks to love as a comfortable retirement. Perhaps if my girl bestfriends who are all in this limbo category never get married, we would start a womans fraternity and live the rest of our old age having loads of fun, drinking champagne's nightly, and traveling the world and when we need a man to come change the lightbulb, well we'll look for one then.
your companion,
jess
Saturday, April 02, 2005
eL cAmiNo dE sAntiAgO
"the ship is safest when it's in port, but that's not what ships were built for"
"we must never stop dreaming. Dreams provide nourishment for the soul, just as a meal does for the body"
Dear jess,
im writting to tell you exciting news about a new man in my life. Now, before you draw any brash conclusions, let me tell you that the man i speak of is none other than the great Coelho, Paulo Coelho. Yes, the famous author and inspirer, if there be such a word. Okay, fine, i havent had the privillage of meeting my portugese counterpart, but i did meet him on the road to Santiago.
As you, can see my great love affair with the little i know about Spain is far from over. And my limited knowledge is contented with wanting to eat tapas and paella, whilst drinking Sangrias in Andalucia, the place that invented the guitar, but where i really want to be is on that Camino that extends for miles and miles on a pilgrimage that would teach one so much more than just reaching an end.
The famous road to Santiago is one of the three pilgrimages that Christians take ending in the place where the apostle James is believed to be buried. Regardless, it has brought upon me the thoughts of these wonderful dreams. Sometimes when i sit back and wallow in thought, iam brought back to the time when i sat under the moon with a best friend, and i swore never to be contented with a 9-5 job, a stable income, and a 'wonderful' life that promises security, a high rise apartment, a dog and a husband that comes along with the package. Ironically, today he has a stable income.
As i was saying, when i met Coehlo on that Camino, his friend Petrus was saying this, maybe ill just let him tell you himself...
The first symptom of the process of our killing our dreams is the lack of time, the busiest people I have known in my life always have time enough to do everything. Those who do nothing are always tired and pay no attention to the little amount of work they are required to do. They complain constantly that the day is too short. The truth is, they are afraid to fight the good fight.
The second symptom of the death of our dreams lies in our certainties. Because we dont want to see life as a grand adventure, we begin to think of ourselves as wise and fair and correct in asking so little of life. We look beyond the walls of our day-to-day existence, and we hear the sound of lances breaking, we smell the dust and the sweat, and we see the great defeats and the fire in the eyes of the warriors. But we never see the delight, the immense delight in the hearts of those who are engaged in the battle. For them, neither victory nor defeat is important; what's importnat is only that they are fighting the good fight.
And, finally, the third symptom of the passing of our dreams is peace. Life beccomes a Sunday afternoon; we ask for nothing grand, and we cease to demand anything more than we are willing to give. In that state, we think of ourselves as being mature; we put aside the fantasies of our youth, and we seek personal and professional achievement. We are surprised when people our age say that they still want this or that out of life. But really, deep in our hearts, we know that what has happened is that we have renounced the battle for our dreams-we have refused to fight the good fight.
I believe that when one has quoted Coelho, one need not say more. I hope to someday see you, and myself on that Camino de Santiago. For now, adiós..
yours still dreamin,
jess
all quotations are taken from "The Pilgrimage" by Paulo Coelho
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