Friday, March 31, 2006

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,

Tuesday, March 28, 2006

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.


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

yours in wait,


Monday, March 27, 2006

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


Monday, March 20, 2006

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,


reNaULt ZooMs bY.. Posted by Picasa

wAsTed, tiRed anD anGry. aLL in A dAys wOrk Posted by Picasa

tHanK GoD its ovEr.. Posted by Picasa

ugLy nAkEd guYs :P Posted by Picasa

relucTaNTLy hEaDing iN  Posted by Picasa

jeHan miSkin! Posted by Picasa

mR. SanDoKaN wAs therE toO
dO yOu knOw thAt oUr coUntRy is kNown foR a famoUs fiCtiOnaL piRate SanDokan wHo TrIed takiNg oVer BRooke, fAlls in Love wIth A LabuAn beAuty anD the StoRy is A bOOk anD A TeLesEries thAt iS thE onLy thIng An iTalian pRobAbLy knoWs off abOuT mALaySia, And evEn cHe guEvera wAs inSpirEd by!

pS. thE iTaliaN wriTer neveR visiTed MalAysia Posted by Picasa

i KnOw whY i HavE a SkiRt on, bUt Why Do yOu? Posted by Picasa

fErAri GO! Posted by Picasa

bReAk timE, or So We ThoUght Posted by Picasa

tUg, TakE anD ruN! Posted by Picasa

tHe rEAL toWers Posted by Picasa

hOw mAny fOstErs doES iT taKe To mAkE tHe tWin ToWeR? Posted by Picasa

lUna bAr viEw Posted by Picasa

asian: u want to eat?
italian: what the ****?

was rUsSeLL rigHT? apparently deepending on the situation.
ps. now i can speak more italian. Hand signals that is!

Monday, March 13, 2006

dEaTh bY dAiQuiRi'S

dear jess,

I wonder who invented words so that the limit of my expression of my inner being is subjective to the words that I know. So that the expression of my inner being is limited to a language, a phrase, a letter that I would rather write you not.

There was one thing I reckon that God created similar in all human being’s across the globe. One single thing and it heck as wasn’t the way we talked or how we said it.

I shall lie sleepless and puffed eyes the next many days perhaps wondering if I made the right decision, wondering why I didn’t listen to my original intuition and wondering why I wasn’t cynical enough.

I always think that im learning something new about myself every now and then. IN truth the world is learning something new about me every now and then too.

Ever since the day man was born all they have been trying to do is to express their emotions. Language, gestures, touch, music, movies, books.

And yet there is one thing that they have yet to learn. That in the hundreds of ways they can express, there is a million more that is said in the silence, in the vagueness, in the stares, in the cry, in the sleeplessness, in the look of the eyes that reflect deep pain, in the sullen silence of knowing that for once, words fail me.

Behind every single cup of a sweet daiquiri is a bitter combination hiding itself.

yours spitting out,

Tuesday, March 07, 2006

diFfErEnt DeLiRIoUm

Dear jess,

It’s thundering and threatening to rain. Inside my orange walls of my place of solace I find no sleep. Usually that’s a bad thing but it won’t be for some time.

Perhaps it’s true that I haven’t allowed myself to be deliriously happy. I remember once I was talking to my best fren about another friend and why we’ve never ever seen deliriously happy.

I get the stare.

I’ve been so afraid of being disappointed that I’ve never allowed myself to be expectant and in anticipation of anything or anyone.

I’ve forgotten how much I love the feeling of anticipation, the shivers down my spine, the racing heartbeat, and the sweaty palms.

The feeling you get from standing on the side of the stage as you wait to go on, or the feeling of love perhaps, or even the feeling of just waiting on a friend to come see you.

As if to turn against myself and what I’ve been saying all this while, I say in reverse, what is wrong with having anticipation? Of people. Of friends. Of men. Of women.

Why shouldn’t we expect people to come see us, to remember our birthdays, anniversaries, to call, to be nice, to love and be loved?

Why shouldn’t we expect men to call us and to be honest? Why shouldn’t we expect women to be nice and loving?

Why shouldn’t we raise the bars on humankind instead of letting them get away that easily?

Why have we so many times went ‘I’m use to it, he’s always late’ or ‘its ok he never calls’

It rains, cats and dogs and I remember a friend in Britain who loves our southeast Asian rain as much as I do.. and as I’m tired I smile because I’m sleepy and exhausted but deliriously happy..
I hope you will be too.

in exchange of sleep,
going to the chapel and we're.. gonna get married... Posted by Picasa
my cousin weds, our side (except me and my bro in law =P) tears, as they all remember aunty marie who wasnt there. time doesnt heal all wounds.. Posted by Picasa
congratulations and celebrations! poor sister of mine.. not in the pic..  Posted by Picasa
wait for me... Posted by Picasa