dear jess,

Ive been mooning over this letter for some weeks now. The ending or beginning of something always perplexes people to consider, reconsider, think, re-evaluate, look back and then forward. Perhaps sometimes with little point of the ever throbbing repetition of history, the same mistakes we will make, the same unachieved dreams, and the same wants of success and the blah blah’s of human cycle.

Sometimes, its difficult not to be bleak and dark when in reality our life seems so much like groundhog day. If not yours, then mine, perhaps.

In my quickie of re-evaluations I tend not to ponder on for too long, for the fear of a dip in the dark, ive come to see that in just one year ive had people closer to me than the skin on my bones, now familiar faces in a crowd of strangers. Friendship is a strange and deceiving thing. Ive always been biased to having male friends and ive realized that in my life to date ive had 3 girl pals who’ve betrayed me and my friendship. Perhaps that, in comparison to the one who has remained loyal for the last ten years makes up for the pain.

To be honest, I am empty and therefore re-evaluations and trying to be poignant just because it is the end of the year will be a failure by the end of this letter. Perhaps ive learned to be more patient in the face of accusations that I haven’t been nice enough or that ive used people or neglected many in the last year or maybe I’ve learned not to trust anyone anymore, or perhaps ive just learned to drag my legs in a world where my dreams are getting slightly bleak.

We always call Christmas a pagan festival in replacement. But I reckon God had a plan for that. Perhaps now in my evaluations, I see that no matter how you’ve failed me and how I’ve failed you, how I know the next year will be as filled with pain as joy, when I reach the end; there is hope, and that is the one single word that keeps human beings living and dreaming.

And perhaps the single hope I have for me and you this Christmas? Is that we find hope too. Bless you and as we say in my mother tongue bong natal.

yours this year and the next,

jess

tHe cOnStaNt pOunDinG iN yOUr heAD

.dear jess

The spread of humankind is plagued by verbs that limit us. Fear. Is that a verb? I never paid much attention in English classes. It was. Boring.

Life is a funny thing. When you have to do something that might be important to you suddenly you fear. You fear going to the audition because you don’t want to be rejected, or worse still if you got the part you fear you will really know how much you weren’t made to do the part.


The little voice that plants fear in your head always gives you the easy way out. You have no time. You have no money. You don’t really need it.

We fear making ourselves more interesting, or was it just plain laziness. We are too lazy to discover the deserts of western Australia, is there a desert there? I never paid much attention to geography, and yet I minored it. We aren’t too bothered about aiming for studying somewhere or working on a cruise ship that will take us places, because it’s much easier to be a computer technician here. We are too lazy to rock our world.

Here’s my “favourite.” Regret. Most of us live most of our lives in regret. We think that if we regret enough that we will have punished ourselves enough. We regret that one night but its too late because now we have Aids, we regret that one week, but now its too late because the due date has been long gone, we regret that one second, because now its too late, that she’s dead, gone and she will never know.

In that too often than not more than one moment we always wished we did this and didn’t do that. Went for this and not that, said this and not that.

Funny things we are. Human beings. And yet, more often than not we don’t find ourselves laughing.

Through all the world there goes one long cry from the heart of the artist: Give me leave to do my utmost. -Isak Dinesen

yours,

jess

conGrAtS :)

weDdiNG dAy :)

I mAkE a LoUsY frEN aNd iM noT asHaMeD!

Dear jess,

Someone asked someone (why do most stories began that way?) if the reason I hadn’t met up with that someone was because of a boy?

As I ponder in thought – not for an answer to the question but rather for how I should react. As I did, think; some things crossed my mind, do I seem like the type who would ditch people for a boy?; do people not know me? and of course do I really care enough to react?

Whilst it is the easiest and most reasonable to pick on that reason, the privacy of my quirky, less unfathomable personality must once again be made known much to my discomfort.

I don’t make a good friend.

And admittedly I don’t intend to. As selfish, ignorant and down right silly that sounds, one must be given credit for being honest.

With the best of persons there are, I sometimes just cant be bothered. I love going into my hole and being there by myself. The much noisy and extrovert person I thought I was has a stone in which she hides in for months.

Perhaps there are reasons for this. Sometimes it’s because meeting up with people means the worse of all; being put in a position where I’m somehow obligated to tell them my personal life. Being ‘friends’ and having a past together means I have to tell them my present. Or perhaps that there is nothing much that have changed; and even more so nothing that changed that they can accept as much as they would like to believe they can.

I am strange. no doubt. when im in a gleeful mood i feel that im in love with the whole world and want to have coffee with everyone. hence the bipolar disorder i claim to have

Im probably one of this people who will die a lonely death (laughs to self) or contrary; a crowded one with people all looking for me because i havent met up with them in months.

yours,

jess

Your Quirk Factor: 42%

You're a pretty quirky person, but you're just normal enough to hide it. Congratulations - you've fooled other people into thinking you're just like them!

How Quirky Are You?

i WenT anD goT mE a FisH :)

my first cAtCh :)

SO irresistably adoring.. thanks sis or rather i just stole it off your blog :) 

poSt cOLLoNiAL bULL****

dear jess,

ever since ive been accused of being to casual in my research writings, ive transfered my ‘need to be’ into using my large aesthetic words here, instead. lacking anymore emotional or personal depth and repeating regrets, ive decided to pick on something else instead.

as i was rereading comments from 'oh-so-great' theatre practitioner cum owner of studio cum im white but actually lebanese who once lived in australia, i came over this horrible play he once did. and when interviewed it was interesting, his reply was. to the question 'theatre goers did not enjoy your show, but non theatre goers did.' he loudly 'kutuk' theatre goers and applauded non theatre goers that he manage to 'entertain' them, because that was his aim.

you see, in a country where i-can-win-a-reality-competition-alto-i-cant-sing-dance-or-even-look-good but simply because im a village boy; one strives for the faintest, littlest hope that once again the stupid white men can save us.

but of course, that is post collonialism bull****.

why do white men walk into OUR theatre doors and pretend to understand gamelan and mak yong and wayang kulit whilst in the way they speak and look at you, you know they thing they're better than you?

simply because.

we let them.

my best example is the i-can-win-a-reality-competition-alto-i-cant-sing-dance-or-even-look-good boy.

we let them

we let the talentless win competitions, and the ones with the talent who fail to admit that even they can put up shows that fail, performances that will fall flat, theatre that has gone bad.. to those, we instead suck up and tell them that it was good, so that we get on their good sight. it still feels like we let them rule us. we've let ourselves become the product of post collonial... all together now..... ******

tesco's anyone?

yours

jess

bUttEr pRaWnS aNyOne??

dear jess

I sat there for three hours, squatting and standing and rarely blinking whilst my heart waited in anticipation and pounded like crazy when I caught one.

I was prawning.

They should allow that word in the dictionary, after all fishing for prawns is quite an oxymoron. jessica has got a new hobby (big grin)

As I sat there a few minutes before I discovered my new obsession, yes obsession that leaves you thinking of the next prawning session, I waited on the boys to finish their snooker game.

And just as it were to be me, it occurred that there are either two things wrong with the world. One, is that the world is very much male biased, OR two, is that women, lack hobbies.

Everything non “passive” that doesn’t resign the female gender to watching movies or shopping consist of generally male based hobbies. Fishing, snooker, pool, arcade, golfing etcetera.. of course I said generally. Most of this stuff is done by my male counterparts.

The strangest thing is that never will you see a woman taking a man and say hang on whilst I play three rounds of snooker. A woman just doesn’t do that to her man!

Nope. Not saying that one is better than the other, after all I caught seven prawns on my first prawning session and my experienced male counterpart, two.

Perhaps going to fishing ponds four days in a row and being the minority, or sometimes the only female will tend to induce baffling thoughts on any chick. In the meanwhile, I recommend prawning. The feeling is quite indescribable.

And if you’re gonna ask the men to wait for five rounds, make sure its not just five rounds around the shopping mall.

yours,
jess

iF i SeE yOu aGaiN, i SwEaR iLL kiLL yOU!!

dear jess,

At 1.30 Tuesday afternoon today, I was about to get into my car on the way to teach at school. The care was parked outside my house. As I was picking off leaves of the car, which I had just washed, admiring it, I see by the side of my eyes and hear the sound of the motorbike with two men skinny, young men on the bike. Reflex tell me to get in the car, which I do and out of paranoia, habit and mostly by Gods grace I lock the car door even before starting the engine.

As I start the car I see in my rear the two idiots on the bike coming back my way, I shift the auto gear into D and once again something in my heart and mind told me to get ready to drive off.

One of the men jumps off his bike, and pulls the door of my passenger seat open. And as if I could see this all happening in slow motion, the only thing between me and my perpetrator was the door of the car, I hear the door click- as it remains lock. I horn, and ram my car. In panic im not sure if my car moves but he runs back on his bike, I drive and turn the car, perhaps subconsciously wanting to drive into them and kill them but in my state of panic I didn’t get a number plate or anything.

They leave, im left shaken, now, three hours later all I really want to do is stay indoors for the next twenty years. Its really scary and I figure they wanted to open the door and grab my bag on the passenger seat, or come in and sit next to me with who knows what intentions.

All I can say is that if I see them again I swear ill drive into them. However since this is the by far the scariest thing that has happened to me, drivers, women and men, regardless please be aware of your surroundings and lock your doors BEFORE you even start the car.

Thank God, who clearly protected me, my ever present help in times of trouble. thank God, thank God, thank God, cant say it enough..

Im gonna go hide under the blanket for a while and pretend that my world is a safe safe place.

yours shaken but safe,

jess

coNfOrM, oR LoOsE yOuR sAniTy. .

dear jess,

On some days, like this one, you lie awake in bed at four, you scream the quiet scream till your jaw hurts and when you finally realize that sleep or any peace of mind will be as far to you as the chances of winning a lottery, you wake up and write a letter hoping that solace will find you.

On some days like this one, you feel so tired. So tired of fighting and justifying and saying you know for sure that the decisions you made in life were the right ones, that the man you chose will never leave you, that the job you wasted your life away for will eventually pay back.

I use to not want to have a child because I would fear that eventually I wouldn’t be able to tell her what to do and that one day she or he will make their own decisions, most likely those that I wont want them too.

And sometimes it would be so much easier to pick the easy choice and live up to expectations of everyone around you. Let them tell you what to do. Almost as if life itself was one whole big arranged marriage.

On days like this, you feel like rolling over, so that by doing that the tears will stop rolling, the confusion will end and in reality no one ever wants to be different. The punks punk their hair because they'd like to think they’re individuals, but of course, only with a group who all have the same punk hair. More so the popular girls at school, the not popular ones and all the odd ones.

Everyone thinks they want to be an individual but only if there were a few others like them.. Being an individual isn’t always being special anymore than what the word already is- being alone.

Woe is the woman who will not fall for the man of her parents dreams, who will not let her friends think for her, who will not let the way she was brought up affect the way she chooses her future, who will let herself be.

Woe is that woman, for she will indeed spend many a sleepless nights and share many silent screams.

yours,
jess

sMeLLs LikE sEptemBer, AgaIn

dear jess,

I have a box with a sarong, four pieces to be exact, a bottle of brylcream, a comb, a small radio, a mirror and a little purse. All belonging to my grandmother. Its been only the second or third time ive opened this box in what is now the last two years..

And the reason ive opened this box so few times is because in a lot of ways I always handle tough times by ignoring they happened. Because everytime I smell that bryclream or let my face feel the sarong’s or look at that comb, more than just my external senses are awaken. In fact, each time I see an old lady that remotely resembles her I hurt inside.


I miss taking her to the movies, where she would talk and laugh at the top of her voice or watch her holler at the nephews and neighbours in crude Portuguese, or write numbers on that paper of hers or even stand in the kitchen for hours and help my mum make chips for Chinese new year, the same old lady with more energy than any young person i know, that will dry her pickles in the sun and remember to write everyone's birthday in her little book. There’s a little bit of her in all of us.

Death in the family can be so painful, but missing someone so much and not being able to do anything except smell brylcream can be worse.

The world population on eleventh january two thousand and six is 6,554,023,161. Six billion people, and sometimes all you need is just one.

yours, and always yours,
jess

yOur viLLaGe cALLed mE yeSterDay, thEy wAnt TheiR iDioT baCK..

dear jess,

its true. Eventually our sins catch up with us. sometimes physically, sometimes emotioanally, mentally sometimes all of them. sometimes on days when grace is far from sight, you go into a deep dark place and think that maybe crying will help you, but it doesnt come to you.

sometimes you feel like staying away from church because that is the one place you find you may get stoned instead of love. sometimes people tell you that forgiveness lifts the weight and yet the more times you ask for it the harder the weight seems to get off.

spend my whole teenage life trying to do the right thing and my whole adulthood realising that im only human and all my rights can be instantly changed with a single wrong.

there is a dark, cynical side that still feels she needs saving. there is an angry side that wishes people were more honest and then there is always, always the psychotic side that will always deny that any of this happened.

yours,

jess

ps. the title comes from a hilarious car sign and has been bought for a particular frens birthday. cant remember when he's birthday is, but how can you possibly pass up a sign like that? :)

*nO tiTLe*

Its not that I don’t want to tell her. Its that I don’t think she would be ready to listen to what i have to say.

dear jess

I hate modern day multitasking. As we speak I have papers on my floor, lap and table. Im typing a letter to you, messaging and doing my bible study homework. My mind is always on call.

Ive grown somewhat tired of my letters to you, and I must think you should too. Maybe there isn’t anything new left to tell you, and maybe it really doesn’t matter.

On days when you have to live with the fact that freedom is far from being able to just chuck all the papers in the air and run naked or lie down on the beach you planned and paid a holiday for that you knew would never happen.

At the end of the day, our stories are all the same, self pity with several successes, a dash of shock that someone in the family is different or annoying, someone’s getting married, somebody else is moving away, someone’s in love, and someone is out of love.

Yet, we still get shocked when we are told.

yours,
jess

*siLenCe*

dear jess,

there is no way to dignify death or hardship with a pen and our most poignont words. not from me anyway. i think, as i always have that words, mine anyway, justify little our deepest feelings. someone told me today his aunt has sixty days to live.

what left is there to say?

dumbfounded,
jess

*grOan* *siGh* yAwn*

dear underachiever,

The feeling of nothingness in a non changing world that neither challenges nor changes, neither hurts nor fulfills. I sit in the electric train that is filled with blazing advertisements, seats made of leather and men and women with Gucci and prada’s all getting off at the sky scrappers, offices and high powered places.

I’m not sure if the train is moving and I fail to realize that the yuppies have come, gone and come back again. I also fail to realize that they are sitting in a completely different train from me and that my train has yet to leave the station.

Shut my eyes to avoid the sun from waking me from slumber. Curse the over achievers. Scoff at life. Go back to sleep.

In my dream I have renamed myself to “unmotivated, over educated, under achiever”.

What’s worse than failing at I was passionate about is not having anything to be passionate about.

an awakening is yet to come. Woe is me if it doesn’t.

yours,

unmotivated, over educated, under achiever

tHe "i" iN iRoNy

dear jess

there are a few ironies in life that amuse me greatly, and most of them are often found within religions.

Ironically, no place judges greater, forgets longer, or hates harder than within the four walls or religions, churches, mosques, and the places that preach love, peace and all the wonders in the world.


Its ironic that love by definition is supposedly free of judgment, pre-conceived ideas and discrimination but instead it was meant to be wholly enveloped in grace, benefit of doubts and kindness.

Now. What happens if I fell in love with a scruffy looking drunkard and was going to get married to him in the midst of all my Christian friends? I would then be subjected to scrutiny, madness, a lot of anger and the very thought that I must have not really grown up a Christian because im loving the very man that didn’t get a university education?

Wait did you say university education?

Ironic. Ironic that some churches proudly claim that they will discriminate you if you marry a non-christian. But why is it that they don’t discriminate you if you were business partners with a non-Christian?

I understand that in many a cases we are constantly an irony to ourselves. You see I fear. I fear that one day I will be too flexible in light of avoiding being to legalistic.

Ironic, charles spurgeon was a great speaker with a bad smoking habit. Is he remembered for his sin or his faith?

If and most likely when I do end up in the asylum it would most definitely be because I couldn’t come to peaceful terms of all the ironies that live within my head.

I try to do so many things right that I end up doing everything wrong.

The irony is in me. the irony is in that I will as hard as I try to want to hang around with my churchy friends who seemingly do everything right and seemingly end up marrying the right people that i never will bother to try.

I am the irony. I am the irony who may or may not end up with that “drunkard.” I am – I assure you the irony that you will one day stand there and judge me for seemingly making the wrong choices and picking the wrong man because he was more a charles than a charles spurgeon.

I am that irony and that one day when you “tsk” at me just remember, that of all the in capabilities of life that I ended up with, i have found, and I hope I do find the courage to say that I’m not afraid of loving someone I know no one will ever approve of.

It’s a sad state to be in. What I would give to be normal and go “tsk.”

yours,

jess

WhErE hAvE aLL tHe yOuNg mEn gOnE?

we have rubber trees because rubber trees were brought here from Brazilby the British. Chilli is not indigenous. Chilli was imported from South America 500 years ago. What comes from Malaysia? We buy our rice from Thailand now and our sarongs from Indonesia. Was the novel invented in Malaysia? No. Did we invent film and television? Is painting indigenous to Malaysia? No. Is abstract art an outgrowth of weaving mengkuang? Like f*** it is. So why should anybody expect me to be original? It angers me when after hundreds of years of importing aspects about other people's culture some politician in a 4000 ringgit Italian suit complains about Western values and such-and-such a thing is not from our culture. Our culture is everybody else's culture. We've never had our own. Deal with it and grow up. Would you like some coffee? No? It's Colombian

-Huzir Sulaiman. Notes on Love, Life and Painting.

dear jess

I am halfway; or rather two pages into kee thuan chye’s 1984 Here and Now. Being a “drama student” I never read it till now. It’s a script after the 1969 events outspokenly talking about issues of racism, biasness & political unfairness in our country.

Its daring. Its truthful. Worse of all, its honest.

You have all this Independence Day events when youths try to explain what freedom means to a 3rd generation Malaysian.

Sometimes I think we have stopped fighting or we’ve been fighting for all the wrong reasons. We dare not speak up because it really won’t change anything or we would rather just get into the rat race and make the most of how much cheese we can bite.

We have somehow become like the frog in that sitting pot where the water is getting hot and we’ve adapted to the heat of unequality; if we are born into a different skin colour we have different privillages simply apparently because we aren’t the ‘original’ country men.

What’s worse than that?

Refusing to say anything because standing up for our rights could mean our security, lives, comfort for causing ‘political uprising’

We are the ones causing political uprising?

What’s even worse than that?

We haven’t done anything about it since before the 70’s.

What’s even worse than that ?

We are really comfortable where we are and we’ve accepted that we are being treated unfairly and have adapted to it.

Happy independence day. We should start celebrating early this year.

yours,

jess

pEniS eNvY

dear jess,

its true.

there is so much of pressure living without that organ in between our legs.

you would think im crude. and i would have just made my first point.

ive come a long way from being a female equAL rights person to simply just wondering how i became a female. ive done my fair share of male bashing and this is definitely not one of them.

there is so much pressure just because my organs look different. not only do we have to live up to the expectations of men that we need to look 'presentable' if not hot, we need to pretend that we havent dated too many men before you; when we drive a car at night we need to be extra cautious, we need to be saved, protected and at the same time look after your ego's whilst remaining pretty and pure.

we need to bear your child and at the same time loose the baby fat.

when we travel alone we need to worry about getting raped and robbed or followed and stalked. you just need to worry about where to get the cheapest beer.

when we follow our desires its selfish, when you do, its honourable and inspiring.

when we listen to you talk, we nod and support despite thinking its selfish, when we talk, we get written out as being emotional and irrational.

see, i get it that we are different. i just cant stand it.

all because of an extra flesh..

And no, im not gonna apologise for being "crude."

yours,

jess

nOticE: iN neEd oF neW bAck

dear jess,

what would you like to know?

i drove in to kajang today, and realised that some roads have changed causing my mind confusion, and yet in the many inner parts of it, plenty had yet changed. the roads leading to buildings grey and old, the dodgy boys who would holler at anything with two legs that wasnt male; still do, the dusty misty air, the stationary shop, the shopping complex, the same satay stalls i ate at when i was in first year uni, second year uni, third year uni..

its so easy to scoff at places and people that havent changed at the same time many of us look for familiarity because we can relate as well as condescend.

this is why im a stubborn believer that people dont change. people become grumpier and more vocal of what they think they deserve in life, but rarely do people change much. people stop habits, grow prettier or uglier but rarely do they become better.

so im a pessimistic, or ive failed ot hope in humankind.

or perhaps its just ive heard from boys returning from london (thats a fast changing country) or girls from who knows where quickly stating how things and people havent changed. how the church still have pews and people still do the same thing.

perhaps its true people do change. they so quickly forget how a crappy old place they came from and use to eat satay at meant something at one point. and they quickly scoff that it hasnt changed because in contrast they think they have changed, simply because now they dress better or have body piercings.

i guess you know by now i can't stand hypocritical people who been away and think theyre better (silence the 't' if youve been abroad please) than us. however, if i ever make such statements, its because im better than you. (dont forget, annunciate the better with a silent "t")

in the meanwhile, the only thing that needs a good change around me is my back.

yours,
jess

it looks like the heavens are opening right on the ship. brought back so many sweet memories of me helpin out there ten years ago sigghhh 

sunset on the ship 

..cHasiNg rAinBows..

dear jess,

I find myself forever explaining. In my head it runs like a lifelike wheel trying to explain every actions I do for my past and my present. Fortunately ive come to some conclusions.

Whilst I write this I think of two women I know. One is due for china and the other spain, one for a few months and the other undetermined, and both alone, out of passion the need to learn and much more.

Women I would at any day take my hats off too.

Like I said, conclusions. Ive come to the conclusions, consciously that I will in the near as well as distant future be doing things that most people will not agree with me. the man I marry, if at all will most likely end up on the list of ten men I should last date made up by my mum and maybe even the family.

It’s a strange realization to come to. For the last twenty million years of my life I have always seek the approval of people around me, even if they didn’t know me well, and risking to sound like a rebellious teenager its time to accept these changes in me.

The mothers of the women leaving have mothers that would’ve freaked ( I know one did a little ;)) to hear their dagther go, my mother may or may not think whats wrong with my daughter wanting to date this guy? My friends may think that im stupid and that those decisions are wrong. And ive had that happen to me. unfortunately for me, at many points of my life i listened and let too much.

Here’s the thing world.

I see some of my dreams being phased out and away. I dunno if my heart will reach its desire to see the world. I dunno if the man im gonna marry is going to end up being a good father or a husband. I dunno if ill pick the ‘right one.’

But theres one thing I know. Im going to make the “wrong” decision. And all you can do is watch.

It delights me that we live in an age when women I know can one day tell their children they’ve gone out to see the world, on their own. I just hope hard that one of those women may be me someday.

Have a good life.

yours,
jess

tHe siGht oF a cAnceRous LuMp

dear jess,

the presence of my most intimate soul and reasoning, feeling and drowning of tears will always be written in the hard to swallow lump in my throat. It will neither have the capability to write, express or explain itself in its entirety.

Two worlds crash as it frequently does. And as always the lump of reasoning hides itself, but enough to tell itself to never totally give itself up emotionally.

Sometimes I think I never know what I want and most of the time I let all reasoning go and follow my emotions, forever sworn to do that which my heart deserves, that which comes without judgement or resentment, that which eyes see different from the world, from friends, from family, that which some people call the eyes of love.

Just once when you stop guarding your heart, just once when you stop imagining that you are strong, just then you become vulnerable…

As the lump turns to mock at people in love, people who profess eternal commitment, the lump comes out, get stuck and realizes the man sitting at the corner with a cigarette in his hand, social taboos, spiritual impossibilities and yet he is smiling at her.

He looks at her with those possibly what they call, eyes of love.

She looks back. With tears.

Too much symbolism. Too little time.

crushed,
jess

san pedro festivities, saint peter and his fishing ship 

crowds, ballons, line dancing, and Portuguese songs 

mini zippo's at five ringgit, mines the silver :) i love mini stuff..  

aNd oF coURse..

You Are 60% Cynical

Yes, you are cynical, but more than anything, you're a realist. You see what's screwed up in the world, but you also take time to remember what's right.

How Cynical Are You?

hiLariOuS!

Your Deadly Sins

Pride: 40%

Envy: 20%

Sloth: 20%

Wrath: 20%

Gluttony: 0%

Greed: 0%

Lust: 0%

Chance You'll Go to Hell: 14%

You will become famous - and subsequently killed by a stalker.

How Sinful Are You?

oH deAr..i NeeD hELp

You Are 19 Years Old

13-19: You are a teenager at heart. You question authority and are still trying to find your place in this world.

What Age Do You Act?

eVeryThinG thAt feELs gOOd mUst bE sinFuL

A conservative is a man who believes that nothing should be done for the first time

-Alfred E. Wiggam

dear jess,

Wearing my slippers every week will be my act of silence defiance. I told this to the boy who currently just started working in that oh so famous top five and now matches the pastel colour of his tie to his cuff pins that probably cost hundreds.

It’s a really cute tie pin.

The boys were told to come dressed ‘properly’ no jeans, no slippers. The women? Well for their sakes they were fortunate to not have put leash on me as I walked into the cold place filled with young people in my jeans, flip flops and a baby tee.

Its simply hilarious to me, once again that Asians living at the khatulistiwa who would’ve been dressed in office attire the whole day are required to come to bible study in those same clothes. If I was a male I’d come dressed in the most down to earth thing, perhaps minus the flip flops.

This is my problem with people in my faith. We are wound up so tight that when I was walking into that church I could’ve been walking into a funeral, my tie pin friend taught he was walking into a school.

Just before going, I started to think that studying the bible was starting to look fun, of course me and mr. tie pin couldn’t stop laughing at the high strungness of the whole thing.

So there I was, feeling fortunate that I had a friend next to me who was unlike the rest. My sarcastic brains started to scan the crowd of boys with thick glasses, pants as high up as their neck, and women who looked silent and sweet…

Like I said I was sarcastic.

So. If I ever start a bible study id probably ask people to wear their party clothes and come to celebrate the fact that we believe in a religion that’s suppose to be joyous and it would really be nice to see more ‘uncouth Christians’- those that don’t shun away from fun, slightly non geeky pants and talking loudly because sitting on the pew has hurt their bottoms.

Am I going back this week? Heck yes who else is going to make fun of structures, organisations, and other people's dressing? Of course after one or two weeks who knows what will happen to me. hopefully ill still be wearing my pants at the same level.

And I wont compromise my slippers. Or so I think…

yours,

jess

dAys WheN yoU juSt Go *bLeAH*

The power of accurate observation is called cynicism by those who have not got it.
-George Bernard Shaw


dear jess,

I usually began with stories of coffee cups, or self stupidity, but today I’ve ran out of silliness.

On Sunday I sat in on a conversation of a boy on his first backpacking trip to a nearby country for a mere six days. Yes six days should rarely qualify for all the over-ness that I had to hear over my two weeks of carrying two backpacks.

So there this boy goes talking to this man, who hasn’t been into this country because this man was borrowing (lending?) this boy his 600 dollar backpack. And he tells him, be careful people will just walk away with the bag (this are things you will face when you go to that country..) or his wise questioning on will you leave your bag at “base” or carry it around…

Its six days for goodness sake!

Okay, so perhaps part of my irritation is that I just got myself an 80 dollar backpack for my upcoming two week backpacking trip to two or three countries if I get lucky. Or that neither of them would look me in the eye or hear what I would have to say when I’ve been there. Well somewhat in the next country. Or the irony of using a 600 dollar bag on a ‘backpacking’ trip for SIX days. But still mostly that no one was listening to me.

And people ask me why I don’t tell them about my trip or about myself. This is exactly why. People rarely want to listen.

And whilst I’m deeply in love with my eighty dollar backpack, it needs to be exchanged due to sewing issues. Yes, perhaps because six hundred dollars can pay for half or more of my trip I’m glad to say that I don need air conditioning, hot water, or even fully clean beds to survive in another country.

But once in a while, I do need, yes I need people to look me in the eye and listen or talk to me, like I’m a real human being.

This does help people from sliding into depression, murders, nonchalant –ness and perhaps, you know; talking to themselves in letters.

There. Who said I ran out of silliness.

yours,

jess

tAkE OnE huNdReD anD tWo

dear jess,

I know I've said that I sometimes strife to put myself in uncomfortable positions. Okay so maybe i didn’t say it out loud, but I learned something some time ago from my travel partner to always try something I usually wouldn’t. Like, trying unlikely styles of sunglasses or clothes. Or eating bugs.

And to be flexible. Like not being too grossed out when my cousin’s cousin pukes next to me, with traces on my hands and feet.

Now, really, that would make a girl think she’s all prep for life, just by being puked next to and on.

And then there are those moments when you dread so terribly much you wished you could just walk out of. Like yesterday at my shoot in my mInute malay speaking role on a tv show.

Ostracized

It reminded me of awkward theater days when because you’re new in the business no one talks to you and there is no way of you acting funny, cute or even interested in people’s conversation that will get you anywhere.

Actually, it reminds me of moments of a school kid’s first day at school, except I was the only kid in a class of seniors who have been together for years.

And then of course there were the moments where repeating my lines in the stage of my little head just meant forgetting them more.

Then the sudden panic that this isn’t theatre and there were no rehearsals or emotional build up and better yet, the person I’m suppose to be acting with, I wouldn’t have practiced lines with till we’re in front of the oh so intimidating cameras.

Then there are moments when I coax myself that it’s just for fun.

Of course, all this when I’m alone.. by myself..

After seven hours, its close to midnight at the apartment of the scene which I got to at 4 pm; my small scene still wasn’t near being shot.

Just as things began to pick up and I actually found that one person who found me funny, I was told my scene wasn’t going to be shot today.

Despite the improvement of my emotional well being, all I wanted to do was leave. Sitting around the whole day just waiting for my scene to be shot, trying to look busy is probably the best acting I’ve done.

Doing nothing is rather, awfully, terribly, tiring.

Tomorrow. Again. Shooting. Waiting. And repeating my lines in my head. Being nervous. Wondering what to do with my hands. Wondering what malay line ill screw up.

Well, at least I still have the one person who finds me funny.

Wait. What if he doesn’t come to work tomorrow?

your live entertainment,
jess

evErYonE sAy, AwWwW...

dear jess,

After strutting about in my much adored one day old sleeping pants and celebrating my solidarity of being home alone and watching bridget jones one and two, any idiot can tell that that isn’t a good combination for a girl like me.

After attempting to eating a dinner of fruits and failing, walking around in my lazy pants, cleaning and brewing coffee; slouching on the couch does wonders to ones spirit.

Then again, after the first few hours of being alone, I wondered who I could call. Chat. Bug. Be with. But then I remind myself again I like being alone, kind of.

Its interesting. Bridget. Ive seen it but never thought about it, perhaps not assuming more to love stories than a bunch of silly movies made up for the over romantic. Her over powering need to be accepted and to be loved just the way she is, as everyone should.

What if I fell for an overweight guy who smokes? Do I try to change him? it could be good for him, except maybe I want it to be good for me? as much as we claim that we are women who don’t dream up of our prince charming anymore, we do, women, the high powered, independent ones all the more than the ‘domesticated’ ones.

But “alas” “we” fall for normal guys. And that is always a good thing, except at moments when we try to change them more than they try to change us.

What if we just stop reading into chick flicks?

yours,

jess

nOw, cOunT wiTh mE..

dont be afraid that your life will end, be afraid that it will never begin.

vegetarian restaurant, Lentil is anything, Melbourne

dear jess,

Have you ever been one of those indecisive people? I am. Or at least it takes me hours if not days to decide or come to a conclusion that appeases my own spirits and many others. Maybe that’s it. I just try to please too many. On days when I bother too.

I’m in the midst of one right now. I don’t want to be somewhere and I hope that Monday might open options to work on a shoot (yay a small part in a tv series I don’t know what its called) so I don’t have to say yes to going. And if it doesn’t, do I say no because I simply don’t feel like it or say yes and go to please a few or yes because at the back of my head going may be good for me, bearing the few days of loneliness and having people who rarely see me ask me my most dreaded question “what are you doing?”

Speaking of dreaded, there is this one ‘boy’ who smirks at me when I say I teach creative dramatics. *smirk* whats creative dramatics? *smirk smirk* How can you teach drama to a bunch of 13 year olds? What do you really do full time? *smirkkkkkk*. This is what happens when people return from overseas and get the same pay here. So don’t go telling me that being overseas is always good.

Okay, now that I’ve focused my energy on other peoples weaknesses, as I was saying. Decisions.

Sometimes it would be nice if decisions were one of those 5 second stomach pangs that Malaysians get for eating the wrong food up north. 5 – stomach hurts like mad, 4- you tell your driver to look for a toilet quickly, 3- driver steps on it, 2 – you look for toilet paper, last 1 second you run to the toilet like crazy and squat. This happens several times over my next two days in such pain (and I’ve had way too many in regards to that area) that is beyond unbearable.. my tush felt raped (sorry to be too crude it’s the only describable way).

So if those 5 second decisions were made, like jumping up to dance on the grease stage, or sing like no ones hearing and act like no ones watching, wouldn’t that be nice?

As I write this to you, seconds ago I almost drank a cup of one week old coffee as my right hand reached out for the cup, instead of my left, where the fresh coffee sat.

Maybe some decisions should be thought out.

I still love my in a heart beat decisions that make me dance harder and be less conscious simply by telling myself, I wont be here one day, I wont see this people anymore.

The truth is, I hate being on tv. Im super conscious of how I look. But maybe my new motto in life these days is to do everything once. At least. Well, maybe we can minus out that almost drinking fermented coffee, with a layer of only heaven knows what on top.

just give me another 5 seconds,

jess

roAd tRiP babY yeAh

the survival of humankind is not based on how much we know, but how much we are willing to learn.
jessica ong

dear jess,

hungry. nothing unusual there.

leaving you a note to tell you that im going on a road trip up north with the cousins, and the usual expectations of crazy fun and stuffing my face with good old fashion food.

you know. ive been thinking (with the usual hazardous results to that) i usually think of myself as someone honest and blunt and amazing vividness to tell you how i feel about you. its funny how if i turn the tables on that that can seem somewhat obnoxious. and that if the opposite person to me was the same, they would have equal amounts to say about me. sure i can't stand a load of people who think a certain way and dress a certain way and judge me in a certain way.

for example. how i never cap my 'd' in the dear jess and in every sentence begginings in this letter and i think thats cute, but the "geek" (there i go judging again) i know may say its messy.

sure there are alot of other people less smart than me and more annoying than me, but im definitely less smarter than others and more annoying than most.

one step closer to self actualization? no way. im still the self centered person you know. this is what happens when i think on an empty stomach.

yours on the way up,

jess

mY 15 seConDs oF coNTeNtmEnT

who of us would want his or her life summed up in one moment, one act?

- the father, Six Characters in Search of An Author, Luigi Pirandello

dear jess,

i walked in the rain today, with my big blue file over my head, after being interviewed by over 10 people under a 30 second interview. What was seemingly threatening turned out to be a pleasant day out rethinking my life.

As I was playing ‘shuffleboard’ (the true nature of the activity has been edited out for the possibility of being accused of being ‘wrong’) with the cousins, drinking coffee, and in need of absolute sleep due to the 3 hours of sleep the night before, I felt contentment. It was that moment where you don’t want to be somewhere else, you aren’t rethinking your past, worrying about the future and in that singular moment, you are happy and fully there.

Usually this is attributed to the cooling rainy weather, awesome company and the sudden lack of pressures in my little unshaken world.

Pirandello questions the attributes of reality, our roles in the world, as the play unfolds, the characters in the script come to live, arguing out the actors who play them on stage and question the script writer and director.

He says “can any of us be certain of our identity when others hold radically different perspectives of our actions, on who we are?”

And so, it is time to stop. To stop figuring out who I am, and even more so letting people tell me who I am and who I should be. If I never wanted to travel, and enjoy the fact that I would work at a job I don’t dread waking up to, come back in the afternoons and play shuffleboard with two other people who know me intimately and watch the birds go by that’s alright. Or if I wanted to go and leave all that is so good and sweet behind that’s okay too. But most of all if I’m at a point where I simply just don’t know and that’s fine by me.

I can’t and shouldn’t let people tell me that being somewhere else is better than being here, or that being here is better than being somewhere else. I may or may not find that out. But wherever I am, and in that piece of land that I consume I must in all its difficulty find little moments of contentment. If I can’t find it here, I wont find it anywhere else.

yours,

jess

dOinG iT wRonG, riGht?

dear jess,

Doing the right thing as they say is hard. Telling on a friend, the miraculous possibility of a clean politician, not being bribed, giving bribes or attempting to sneak away from a bribe. You know. Being Malaysian.

But doing the ‘wrong’ thing can be equally as hard, if not harder. Coming out and telling your parents you dig women instead of men, and vice versa, letting them find out that you’re smoking or have tattooed your oh so precious bum with a picture of a skeleton, coming into the office wearing funky pink and flip flops, dating and marrying someone who ‘doesn’t deserve you,’ not buying an apartment and settling down before thirty… the list goes on.

Socially wrong I would call it.

I suppose ill always be mystified and angered as well as complicated of being tired of living up to being and doing the right thing. In a turn of unexpected events I told someone today that no one influences what I do and who iam and that what I do is out of my own choice. Of course I do things that are “wrong.” And like all “socially wrongers” out there, we live behind the invisible shadow that we look like we are doing what’s right.

Doing the right thing is as easy as daisies in the social world. Find a job, a wife and an apartment and most of all don’t be gay. Don’t smoke, don’t be out till late on a weekday, and once in a while be seen at starbucks.

There is a thin line in the world of social innocence. Most of the time it is build by what our parents, friends, wives and husbands want us to be. Most parents will throw their hands in the air and go I cant do anything if he is a son, gasp in disbelief and blame your pals if you are a daughter; wives will threaten and sulk, whilst husbands will disapprove strongly.

Perhaps the hardest ‘right’ thing to do is to accept people for who they really are and stop trying to make them into that imaginary girlfriend, husband; ideal wife, boyfriend; perfect son, innocent daughter.

Perhaps the easiest ‘wrong’ to do in the world today is to live in our little untouched bubble named denial. In the meanwhile I’m thinking a tattoo on my cute tush to be somewhere else. Perhaps.

yours,
jess

fiRSt couSin onCe removed, remOved couSins fiRst?

dear jess

Its funny how we fervently protect things we don’t even know. Or didn’t even know if we knew. If you happen to be a Eurasian, have Eurasian friends or family, you will inevitably, I dare bet a lot of money on it (if i had alot of money), that at a Christmas, a wedding, a luncheon, or even in the toilet you most likely would’ve had or heard this conversation.

He’s your second cousin. No. he’s my nephew. First cousin once remove. Second cousin once remove. Nephew. Cousin.

It happens. So many times that if I hear it again, I thought my head would blow. The funny thing is I never hear it from my Chinese side, who all accept that my cousins son is my nephew.

Its funny how we fervently protect the truth we have no basis for.

Finally. I decided. Im going to end this debate to which, not a single Eurasian can tell you what exactly this son of my cousin is to me but can fervently tell you that he isn’t my nephew.

Its funny how this bunch of western heritage have implanted semi correct information about genealogy’s that come from western ideas. And somehow I get the feeling that this whole my nephew needs to call me ‘aunty’ is a Chinese thing with a lot of ‘respect’ embedded into it.

Results from my very reliable internet research has proven, that I am now nephewless. And I have a first cousin once removed. Hi, ian, first cousin once removed, wanna play ball, first cousin once removed, hows life first cousin once removed?

And I was so getting used to being called aunty.

Yours, losing a nephew, gaining a first cousin once removed, damn the person who thought this up,
jess

tHis muSt be GoD puNIshiNg mE foR beInG aN ATheiSt

dear jess

The sore sullenness of nothingness. Whilst people aim at the ultimate nothingness I live in it day after day, after day, after day and it doesn’t seem like nirvana to me.

As I lie in the uncovered sheets of my pillow, a sudden seriousness strikes me. One that lives without the drama, without the need for pity, one that tells me perhaps in reality there is really something wrong with me. Perhaps truly I live in depression day by day.

Have you ever noticed how your tongue becomes absolutely tasteless after a bad case of flu and nothing you eat or smell gives you pleasure. My life seemingly takes on that form these days. Everything I’ve claimed to be passionate about passes me by insignificantly. I don’t know what I want to do and perhaps worse still I don’t care.

Nothing excites me. Not the drive of a new venture, the attention of a boy or two, the claims of love and possible security, the possibility of changing, being, doing. Absolutely nothing.

It’s almost as if I’d be better if I was in the jungles of amazon looking in the eye of a cobra about to bite me as I think back about how much I’d rather be here.

I tell myself its time to grow up to get trapped in the world of nine to fives and that passion is a thing of the past that I should be thankful happened at all. Everyone does it -they go into the office, back home, a holiday once in a while and in a blink they’re ten years ago.

Ten years on. Ten years back. I’m indifferent to anything and everyone right now. And since I feel impassionate about anything in my life right now, I really can’t be bothered what you’re doing with yours. I’m sure its better than mine.

Perhaps it’s the realization that I haven’t anything to write, not even a mundane story of how work sucks and my boss should eat my shoes.

unfortunately yours,
jess

dRunK on DiaPers

dear jess

It’s the dawn of Thursday morning again. And the dawn of Thursday mornings always represents something. The wonders of my procrastination of the lack of planning for classes due in less than 12 hours time.

On grey’s anatomy today, Meredith talks about being an adult and responsibilities and asks how to make it stop.

Being an adult does suck a lot. And although it represents the wonders of choices that you can make without having to bother much about what the folks think, of course that’s just in theory, as always karma lives to haunt us.

Free sex means aids, single by choice means being ostracized, driving means paying for the accident yourself, working means paying back. The list goes on.

Of course once in a while we get lucky and dodge a few bullets, other times, like little children we just hide all our wise adult choices under the carpet and hope no one sees them.

And just like the adult I am, one of the things I probably fear the most are the decisions I made yesterday when I thought I really was an adult that will come back to bite me in the butt tomorrow, the day after, ten years later, when I do turn to become a real adult.

change me please,

jess

jiNGLinG noNa, Yo kErE kAzA

Dear jess,

I had an indescribable weekend that was filled with joy, laughter, anger, jealousy, awareness, fear, flattery and love. Its almost like a roller coaster that would’ve been better to watch than to be sitting in one.

My much anticipated weekend of Portuguese wedding (any Portuguese wedding is always anticipated) started and ended with four hour journeys each way of what usually is an hour and a half. Hence, me and my cousins found ourselves risking our eyesight’s as we made up in the car, and changed in jam packed highway toilets!

The wedding was awesome, with 1200people dancing, drinking and as usual making fools of them selves every once in a while. My jaw hurt from laughing and even the after parties were great.

The night was a downer with some misunderstandings that were eventually overcome. We left some people angry, some jealous and others just confused. But that should never be written.

Me and the cousins sat on the hallway at 4.30 am, after our failed attempt for early in the morning chicken ball rice. That’s when we heard the sound. Yes, a sound that wasn’t quite human. We took a one minute stare and we ran back in the room. Our hearts were beating fast and our hair stood on end and for those who will doubt me, it wasn’t a human-ish sound neither was it coming from someone else’s room. In a way it was a pretty cool and scary experience.

I love the beranyu’s (dances/dancing) and now, we can line dance to achy breaky heart that happens at almost all Portuguese-ish events. Cant wait to do it this Friday at the usual pubbing hangout for eurasions.

We guarantee a less than 5 minutes lesson of the dance steps. See you there?

Yours,
jess

prettyyy girlssss and me :)

kAis pAgi maKan pAgi, kAis petAng maKan pEtAng

kepada jess,

Sia rasa bagai emosi sia separti kiasan tadi. Yang dikumpul dari sawah pagi tadi, sia habis makan petang sudah. Yang sia ni sudah tiada kata-kata yang dapat menggambarkan perasaan sia.

Sia boleh duduk atau melantar tanpa arah, tanpa rasa ghairah, tanpa apa –apa yang tinggal sebab sudah ku habis makan kais pagi tadi. Perasaan sia, harapan sia, semua yang dikatakan esok itu bagaikan masakan ayam yang tiada rasanya, tiada tinggal sudah semua kemasinannya, atau sudah dimakan semua dagingnya dan ditinggalkan hanya tulang – tulangnya.

Tulang – tulangnya yang kurus, kering dan tiada tujuannya lagi. Tulang – tulangnya yang menderita memberikan semua dagingnya kepada yang tidak tahu menghargainya. Yang tinggal hanya kenyataan yang tiada lagi impian, tiada lagi keghairahan atau harapan yang dapat merangsangkan sia lagi.

Mungkin manusia paling sedih apabila mereka kosong. Atau mungkin mereka lebih sedih apabila mereka sedar bahawa hidup mereka it kosong sebenarnya.

Sia sudah bosan dengan diri sia, separti sia rasa kamu rasa begitu juga. Perasaan sedih tanpa arah, hidup tanpa ghairah atau tujuan. Sia sendiri tidak pasti kenapa sia kini begini.

Sia hanya tahu sia sudah letih dengan diri sia. Sia tidak boleh tahan lagi dengan diri ini yang lebih baik tidak hidup dari hidup tanpa keghairahan.

Begitulah.

Bagusnya hidup kamu itu yang tidak pernah rasa ayam itu yang tiada kemasinannya. Jangan risau, sia pun tidak berapa faham apa yang dilafazkan.

sia,
jess

reMind me thAt i Love yOu

There is something calming about swimming. Or even not swimming. When you put your body underwater, its almost as if time has stopped. the water streams over, the gush of silence, the sudden slow motion and nothingness is overwhelming. Sometimes I think that dying should almost be that way.

Dear jess,

Remind me that I love this. Remind me that that 3 out of 3 plans in the last two weeks have failed so far. Remind me.

Every time I walk into a class to teach I feel sluggish, almost as if my self worth was dependent on a bunch of 13 year olds, how they reacted towards me, if they listened or if they ended up chit chatting about a plasma tv right in front of me.

The first time in my life I make plans for the future, they all come crashing into failure. Unfazed I stride on bravely thinking God must have a plan.

So I do this. Over and over. There it lacks the satisfaction I use to get from teaching, the wonders from students suddenly becoming dramatic, the beauty of performance.

Sometimes we let too many a good thing go, thinking that there was something better ahead for us. And that is the risk we take.

And sometimes we forget. We forget how much we love doing what we do, or we are headed towards the love of our life. Sometimes calculating the credit card debts and the mounting work, the feelings and the rewards get in the way of me.

Tomorrow, I hope to jump into that water and let it gush over me, letting me forget for the few seconds that I can hold my breath that swimming should be as enjoyable as it is tiring. But I know better to expect too much from my plans.

yours wet,

jess

tHe boOk of dEfiNitiOns

If you analyze anything, you destroy it.
Arthur Miller

dear jess,

Some may say that the hardest part about being a human is having emotions. I say the hardest part about being human is explaining, defining, knowing.. We need a name for everything. Acacia, African daisies, internalization, diaphragm, schizophrenia, three different meaning to thongs/tongs, two different ways to say tomatoes; even the little lane in the plane is called a galley.

Even we have names. Those we keep, those we change, those we think sounds nicer, make us look better and those seven different letters that define who we are and the little label tied to our toes at death..

Then there’s the nameless. The undefined.

There are days when you cry bucket loads and don’t even know why. Was it anger? Was it the fact that you feel unloved? Was it self pity?

You think that if you knew, if you just could explain, name the emotion, trace the reason then you will stop feeling this way.

Then you, me, those that are always named, find ourselves grasping hopelessly for an explanation that fits all those terms defined; anger, pms, fear, self pity, pain..

Must all tears shed be reasoned and if they weren’t would they be justified or just written off as being too feminine.

The undefined and the unknown perhaps scares us and that’s why we have a reason, an explanation, a name for everything. Once we name something, we own it. Once we own it, we control it. Once we control something, we are lured into the fallacy that it can’t harm us anymore.

I cry and I don’t know why. There shouldn’t be any fear in admitting that.

the one they call,
jess

poStage pAid

Dear jess,

My midnight online partner tells me I need some retail therapy, and so, retail therapy is what ive done. He’s probably right. I can’t get over my budgeted phone that allows me to play black jack and is coloured. Not only am I so easily pleased, one can imagine my last phone.

There ive done it. One normal-non thought provoking-emotionally bizarre - letter.

Oh wait I just remembered, over the weekend I was finally cornered by the person I was avoiding and I told him that I didn’t think I wanted to hang out with him because he makes me feel uncomfortable and that our friendship hadn’t reached the stage it was before where I wanted to invest time in it.

Being brave sometimes has the tendency of an air of bitchiness, nevertheless, ive thoroughly surprised myself, come to think of it, easter the year before had some terrifying confrontations too. Bizarre.

While im at the whole normal letter thing, I lost at black jack. Darn.

yours, as usual,

jess

aNotHer yeAr, anOthEr nUmbEr

I'm sure that, like all young men, you hold in your hands the precise formula for putting the world to rights. However, like all young men, you will one day be as old as me and then you'll see that its not so easy to change things.

dear jess,

The turning of tide as I age yet another year. It had a certain numbness to the feeling of bitterness of the unaccomplished yet a few days ago. I wasn’t sad or delirious, just sane? Calm? Sedated? perhaps just old.

Even easter had a certain numbness to it. Perhaps its just the feeling of normality. Whether its me turning an age older or easter. Its funny how these things are meant to be special but they’re all of a sudden normal. Especially easter.

Yet, there is a certain good feeling of not overplaying things, of normality, of just being around people who are closest to you and not expect anything but good company.

Proves that just cos im older, im not quite wiser. Two more years before I turn 30 and either accomplish a silly dream or just get caught in the norm pattern of adulthood. We’ll see.


blowing out the candles,
jess

bLessEd eAsTeR

mr potato head..
i could easily relate this picture to something easterish, but i wont. blessed easter and halleeellujjjaahhhhhhh :)

.. im your father..

i fEeL prEttY?

dear jess,

I had another one of those. I'll call them ‘episodes.’ I wake up with the feeling of fear and wanting to cry. It’s a feeling at 3 am when I have to wake up to prepare for lessons the next day and suddenly I feel that ive lost all aims in life, a gush and lingering feelin of emptiness.

And usually it goes in a matter of seconds. Except today, its still here. And I can cry for no reason. Well not that there isn’t any too.

The thing they call thesis that Ive been workin on for two years now threatens to be meaningless and useless and lacks everything and threatens me to be here for another year.

Its almost as if everything ive worked for and have had to face to idiots who give me the ‘whats taking so long’ look will just repeat itself. The other day when I found this out I just cried driving home. And to make things worse there was no one, no one I could tell this to that would understand. The only person I did just made me cry even more.

This is probably the one single time I do not know why im writing to you. Feels almost as if im digging low in pathetic ness to tell the world my pain and my emptiness.

an all time low,
jess

thE muCh oVeRraTed tErm

I learned something recently: our true friends are those who are with us when the good things happen. They cheer us on and are phased by our triumphs. False friends only appear at our difficult times, with their sad, supportive faces, when in fact our suffering is serving to console them for their miserable lives. when things were bad last year, various people i had never even seen before turned up to "console" me. i hate that.
Marie from The Zahir , Coehlo


dear jess,

He says hi. Im sure he’ll be quite pleased to find out that ive mentioned him to you, that is if he ever finds out. He use to talk to me on the phone whilst chewing an apple, with his mouth open and then walk over to pee, where I can hear him flush.

One day he thinks of me. And he calls. And we talk and talk and talk.

I tell him things that are closest to my heart and he does too. We use to be so good of friends.

He asks me.

Friends?

Pause.

Overseas.

Here?

Pause pause.

Pause.

Work. Girlfriend. Wife. Work.

Pause.

I stand on the ledge of being honest and perhaps knowing you wont like what I have to say. I have an allegiance to my soul to tell the truth that I’m too tired of hypocritical relationships that I do not want to put energy in for the title of friends, but not close, and yet seek the time when we need to be together and I have to pretend to get along with you.

Or the honesty of being tired of having to avoid you or to say hi and find out how you are doing when in reality I don’t care.

Or the honesty that I think all you want to know about me is just my juicy details in my life.

Or the honesty that if you were honest too, you too can’t be bothered and maybe that’s okay.

Friendship count.

Pause

Pause

At this rate, im sure I wont have to worry about friendship for a long time.

And to be honest, maybe that’s okay too.

I think id rather spent my time with those that talk to me with their mouth full of apple pieces than those that organize meetings at homes to see if we’re all okay.

Like I said. You may not like what I have to say.

your friend,

jess

oNe aBsoLutE, on ThE roCks pLeAsE

dear jess,

Free spirit.

There is something of an oxymoron in that phrase. Like as if we could trap that as vague and intangible as that of a spirit.

I’ve come to learn some things, not many, for fear that such statements may one day reveal to me the much unknown in the unknown worlds.

My fingers are numbed from typing, my knee scratched several times from the redundancy of sitting at the work table and my spirit tired.

My room is always a reflection of my current state of mind, and currently the room is in a perfect mess.

As you grow older, you realize that there are fewer people you call friends, that there are no such things as absolutes, that people no matter what will always, always put someone, some other culture something else down to justify their place, their position and their happiness.

That even if you’ve traveled the world, you still end up as that irritating boy sitting in secret recipe annoying the hell out of you, making generalizations on people he hasnt even met yet.

You go to the same place and you wonder how come it didn’t change him? or you? You see the same love, the same progress, the same awe inspiring beauty and your jaw drops but his doesn’t.

You can be in Rome and never seen the Coliseum, been to Malaysia and never tasted nasi lemak or let the tip of Mt Kinabalu leave you in tearing joy; or on the other hand you could’ve gone all the way to India just to say you’ve seen the Taj Mahal and still be left the way you are.

You go to say you’ve gone and you’ve seen, or you go and never.

Absolutes.

We’re so used to not becoming people who are layered with more than just one emotion that we either do or we don’t. We either are or we aren’t.

People in the jungle are either ignorant, or contented. We are either advanced or idiotic. Being here or there is either good or bad.

We either are, or we aren’t.

No in betweens.

You are either black or white.

Me? im quite literally brown.
jess

wHat iS the CoLouR of yOur LiE?

While I was fighting, I heard other people speaking in the name of freedom, and the more they defended this unique right, the more enslaved they seem to be to their parents’ wishes, to a marriage in which they had promised to stay with the other person ‘for the rest of their lives,’ to the bathroom scales, to their diet, to half-finished projects, to lovers to whom they were incapable of saying ‘no’ or ‘its over,’ to weekends when they were obliged to have lunch with people they didn’t even like. Coehlo, The Zahir

dear jess,

In a decaying world, human beings prize that which is the oddest. I can feel my body heating up, perhaps due to the intolerable amount of caffeine intake I am using in aims of finishing that which ive started two years ago or so in the length of one month

In his pride he asks me, was the Japanese scene good? In my mind I flash back to me being utterly bored and thinking how idiotic it was. I look at his hopeful eyes and go, lets change the subject.

She asks me if the poem was any good and I think its crap, so I don’t reply.

The prize that no one wants. Honesty.

Its is no wonder that everyone secretly looks up to simon but no one wants to be him.

This is the sad trend in which we live, where men who stopped loving their girlfriends instead of saying its over, decides to ignore them and drag them in a failing relationship, because they are being nice. I call it wuss.

It’s a sad world we live in. Nobody is going to be honest with you, no ones going to tell you that you’re being annoying, selfish, or simply wrong or that they don’t want to be with you and that you are not worth their time. Instead however they will let you suffer for a long time till you finally guess what might be going on. Its like having booger on your face that no one will tell you about, but that they will let you parade it around town before you finally discover it yourself.

Until then, honesty is a myth we make up to tell our children what they should grow up into.

yours,

jess

aLL thE woRld's a StaGe

My dream is now realisable, but if i try and fail, i dont know what the rest of my life will be like; thats why its better to live cherishing a dream than face the possibility that it might all come to nothing. - Coehlo, The Zahir-

Dear jess,

The coffee sux. And if there is one thing I can’t stand its crappy coffee. And the idiot (I call some guys I know idiots, regardless of whether they’re aware of it or not) lets me try his ali coffee, which to my surprise, the idiot was right. It’s actually pretty good.

I went to the "palace of culture" today, and watched the much debated M opera, of which I have to say for all the negatives made me want to see men in skirts and tights dance all the more, and redefine sexiness. However.

The coffee on my table next to me sux but I drink it for the need of caffeine.

I thoroughly enjoyed my day today, Mostly because I met my past. The past that no one else I know in my present shares with me. The past that lets me relive my audition days; my days when I felt young and passionate about working for nothing. The make ups, the lights, the gossip about the woman who demands so much just because she’s on tv, the days when the now ensemble member in M opera use to be in a stupid musical with me, the front of house boy who is in a local tv series called KL lights is still the funny guy who bought me western food in KL, the days when we use to be inferior to theatre big names, and we still are. The people who’ve continued living a dream I once threw everything away for.

There was one thing that use to define my life. I always asked people this one thing. What is your passion? And when they stared blankly I’d think, ah he doesn’t know what its like to feel the fiery furnace in the pit of your stomach to go without sleep or food because being somewhere and doing something makes you feel temporarily whole, happy, in love.

The selfish idiocy of fulfillment and dreams and lost loves, the adrenaline high’s that makes living a little bearable. The illusion of real life, the secrecy of silent pain, the pretense of pretending, all under the one roof, they call the theatre.

The escapism of life claims to be the reflection of life.

Selfish fulfillments that make us for one moment believe that we really matter because of the applause of young men or the green eyed jealousy of being able to travel far and wide.

And yet, the unfulfilled selfishness can turn into lifelong regret.

The coffee gets cold, and so do i.

yours offstage,
jess

hEy mA..

dear mum,

although you have thought me honesty, you will never know me. although you have trusted me, I have betrayed it. Although you taught me to grow in beauty, love and all the sweetness in the world, I fear you will be disappointed.

For fear of disappointing you; you and the rest of the world will never know it. Almost like the homosexual who hides himself, not in fear that people will know who he really is but in fear for your fear. He isn’t protecting himself. He is protecting you.

The world that you’ve created, the dreams that you’ve dreamt for me, the wants that you’ve made me think I did.

In a world where daughters stay home, and love should be unseen, where Christians never party and dancing is a sin. In two worlds as far as my dreams are to me, that’s where we are.

Like stars gazing at each other, strangers brought together only because they are under the same big galaxy, never crossing paths.

I fear not that you will be disappointed. But that you will think it your fault.

And hence such will be the fate of mothers and daughters. Of yours and mine. Of you never knowing that I’ve written you this, and perhaps never knowing me for who I am rather than who I should be. And yet perhaps deep inside you already know, but in your generosity you are still trying to make me into that someone.

and perhaps, most likely, in a star as far as yours is from mine, you too have written a letter similar to this one.

Yours, no matter what,
jess

twiDdLing mY tHuMbs

dear jess,

Life’s pretty weird that way. When you force for something to happen, it never will. And then at the moment when you least want or expect it to, it does.

It works the way I do. With laze, slowness and in much aloofness. Not in the least bit bothered by human inventions such as deadlines.

I wait.

And wait.

I will not do anything without inspiration.

It’s true.

As artistic as this might sound to my ears, to the finance-businessman I know, its a plain rubbishy, procrastinating, excuse.

But still I wait.

An hour before class. A week before the big deadline. A minute before the script is needed.

My letters to you.

I wont, ever write, work or move without inspiration.

In return, life treats me that way too.

It works on its own time.

He waits.

I wait.

But like I said.

Inspiration.

When it finally comes, he might just not be there anymore.

yours in wait,
jess

uNdeFiNinG tHe dEfiNEd..

“Lord help me not to want a life that is long, but one that is full.”

dear jess,

james blunt.

I knew it.

That I would like his songs other than the overplayed ones.

It makes me want to cry. Almost as if I can see his eyes tearing and in return mine does too.

I sometimes have one of those moments when I hear him, josh groban or norah jones. One of those random memories that doesn’t bring any purpose. I’m sitting at the airport. I can smell the air, the hair on my arms stand as it gets so cold, the moment when I’m saying goodbye or hello. The moment when I’m waiting for a flight and checking if I brought my passport.

And even now as I close my eyes again I can’t see anything.

Random moments.

I close my eyes and try to cry but the tears fail to drip.

Random emotions.

Every time I teach a class I come out and analyze and re-analyze, I give myself a hard time if I felt I’ve failed and try to fix it. I suffer beating myself up more than anyone else is capable of laying guilt on me. I think and rethink decisions and need reassurance that I’ve made the right one.

I can’t live my life in randomness. In the randomness of crying now and not being able to explain it. In the randomness of remembering someone I don’t want to be with and at the same time do. In the randomness of being able to sit here, perhaps without a purpose for at least an hour or two.

I just let myself drift and feel the breeze. Not afraid that in my randomness I may never return.

He strums.

I smile.

Random moments that allow me to just be myself. Without explanation. Without apologies. Without the need to know if I should have done something else instead.

Creatures of the past that will never let ourselves go because of what we’ve done and not let ourselves grow because of what we haven’t done.

Perhaps that’s what it is. Like a jawbreaker that won’t break. Like the faint smell of chocolate chip cookies and the pain in the pit of your soul. Like the love that won’t let go and the grief that smiles.

In that randomness when the world pauses and I’m here and yet not quite, when you feel and don’t know why, in the randomness of past memories flashing and yet feeling like you are wholly here and now.

I’m glad no one person can explain everything. This way no one can take the liberty of telling me…. me


yours,
jess

hOw maNy iDiOts dOes it TakE to Go To thE rACe?

dear jess,

My first time at the race and I have to go dressed like a clown. The clown who hired us, and by clown I mean he is a clown by profession tells us that we have to be Carribean girls at the ‘mall’ area in the sepang circuit.

The usual lure of fame and fortune and the promise of fun and all that jazz ended up with us getting into costumes, complete with fruits on our heads walking down the ‘mall’ which turned out to be the most opened air area under the sweltering heat of 38 degrees and cloth with sequins, long skirts and sleeves and absolutely no wind blowing through on qualifying day.

Our wonderful instruction was for us to create a fiesta feeling and to just talk to people whilst walking around. And as we did we had tones of pictures taken, probably more because we looked like clown mascots (the promise of fame fulfilled) from people who were amused that there were three idiots capable of doing such a thing to Italians journalists who were probably thinking that the costumes were Malaysian traditional clothing.

When race day came, and we prayed that God would send us rain, he was much wiser and sent us clouds. Being able to watch the race up close seemed to brighten up the day (promise of fun), that is until elsa and I discovered our hand phones had been stolen (the promise of fortune…).

I can hear kanya singing to me. Nothing’s ever promised tomorrow today.

yours driving out,

jess