everyone wants a new slate, or so they think

dear jess,

the year comes to an end, and im thrilled. somewhat, atlhough i dont know why. there are chances though that i will be terribly depressed as i go into another "age zone" in less than four months time..

ive read a book, and it tells of how in order for us to become better, or something like tat, we have to erase our personal history. and, at first that shocked me. for our personal history is who we are, isn't it? but ive come to realise that perhaps that is true. our personal history may trap us more than it gives us a sense of identity. our past traps us to think that we've made unforgivable mistakes, or that being a student and playing with snow was the best times of our lives, or that because we were once handsome, we might still have hope to become that again. ive seen people living in the past, and to a certain extend i do too, and truth be told, its getting awfully tiring. like tat old record playing over and over again or the uncle who keeps telling you the same story over and over again.

well, if i succesfully erase my personal history, that leaves me with not much writing material; of course with the excpetion of annoying people that i will always be able to write about.

sounds good right? im turning thirty soon (just to say it makes me quiver) and i dont have anything to succesfully show for it. im not worth a certain amount, im not at a certain social strata and for all the asians reading this, who rate success this way, im not married with kids. i guess what makes it okay would be that i dont care, i never have and refuse to. there, no personal history there?!

our attachment to things, experiences and routines are like personal histories.

If you have no personal history, no explanations are needed; nobody is angry or disillusioned with your acts. And above all no one pins you down with their thoughts. It is best to erase all personal history because that makes us free from the encumbering thoughts of other people.

Begin with simple things, such as not revealing what you really do. What's wrong is that once people know you, you are an affair taken for granted and from that moment on you won't be able to break the tie of their thoughts. I personally like the ultimate freedom of being unknown. No one knows me with steadfast certainty, the way people know you, for instance. From now on you must simply show people whatever you care to show them, but without ever telling exactly how you've done it. You see, we only have two alternatives; we either take everything for sure and real, or we don't. If we follow the first, we end up bored to death with ourselves and with the world. If we follow the second and erase personal history, we create a fog around us, a very exciting and mysterious state in which nobody knows where the rabbit will pop out, not even ourselves.

If you really want to learn, you have to remodel most of your behavior. You take yourself too seriously. You are too damn important in your own mind. That must be changed! You are so goddamn important that you feel justified to be annoyed with everything. You're so damn important that you can afford to leave if things don't go your way. I suppose you think that shows you have character. That's nonsense! You're weak, and conceited! In the course of your life you have not ever finished anything because of that sense of disproportionate importance that you attach to yourself.

excerpts from Journey to Ixtlan by Carlos Castaneda, on which Paolo Coehlo based his thoughts on for The Zahir.

so, looks like i have alot to work on for the new year. Well, happy new year and as they say in my mother tongue bong anu nobu :)

yours
jess

its starting to look like..

dear jess,

im sitting here on the floor of a hotel, with the lappy on a makeshift table, which is a chair really. i dont really have anything to say except be like everyone else and perhaps i should somehow talk about the year and so on so forth.

i suppose we can measure the year in wat we've accomplished or how many people love us or how much we've done. which is why i usually dont do much of that. the only thing that i can count is the books ive read, which i tend to be quite proud of, even if its two.

but what i thought i was going to say, as i was on the way back from my grandmother's, grandfathers' and great grandmothers' graveyard this afternoon, here at the little town with 13 firsts of malaysia, was that we humans need to measure stuff, or do something in order to feel that we are of value or that we are alive.

we put flowers in the grave, despite the fact that it really wouldnt mean anything to a person who cant appreciate it anymore, people whomewe probably never bought flowers prior to their death, but it makes us feel good, or that we have something to do in the land which represents the absence of activities.

so anyways, the year, right?

i was looking forward to december, its a time of enjoying the christmas season, but not so much this one, because im crunching on my work and i need to finish that before christmas. otherwise i would be tagging along from shopping mall after shopping mall, and i would be in singapore, plus i would also be planning a childrens carolling in puchong. instead im stuck here, on my make shift table.

so i need to do those things, and buy those candy's i never eat so it feels like chrismas, you know.

back to the year.

well, by now, you would probably have realised that i have nothing to say about the year really. however im really proud that i manage to keep my life compartmentalise. does that make sense? perhaps not, because you're in one compartment that doesnt always have to understand what i was saying. i suppose im proud that i manage to keep my life to myself, and to me thats a big accomplishment. no award, no calculation just a personal satisfaction.

on that, let me leave you with a bizzare note, everyone should have carls jr, at least once in their lives, despite the fact that the burger cost 17 ringgit and the set 20 plus. yes, it is that good.

your,
jess

leave me be

dear jess,

a friend of mine was asked today if i was attending another church.

it makes you wonder, that in my anger should i just start binge eating in the next few hours? or perhaps it makes you wonder why i would be angry in the first place?

see, the thing is, i have had a strange history with church. the "church" and me have not been the best of friends. we were, once. then the "church" betrayed me. it said things about me that were not only untrue, it has scarred me so much for a few years now, that i have changed.

when i was younger and slightly more idealistic, i did what was me, and did not bother what others should think, less their assumption was wrong anyways. but apparently in light of that, i was still accused of being certain things, from people who had spoken less than two words to me in my whole life.

they seem so sure. they would say, jessica is...... and that would follow a warning. i would be so angry and yet i couldnt do anything about it.

so, after i was severly scared i decided that the church and me had to have a slightly new relationship. one that didnt see me talking too much, or hanging out with too many guys, or laughing too much. my church relationship was one that got me there and back again with little view of me, less it was necessary.

thus, it shouldnt surprise you if you hadnt met my new pet, my new dress, my new attitude or even a new person in my life. i have worked so hard and keeping it all away, nothing in my life should mingle, lest they, she, it, or he be judged.

so my anger isnt in a statement, or in a perception that at least i was attending a church, even if it isnt the one that i really am attending. my anger, yet again, i think frustration, is in the fact that no matter what i do, people find a fascination in assuming about me, my life, people who i probably havent said more than two words to.

perhaps i should look on the bright side of life and realise that i still have true friends who check these strange statements with me, or perhaps assume that other people's lives really arent interesting and they find that they just have to talk about me. perhaps that i should think that im like a superstar in my own life, getting "rumoured" about my oh - so - interesting life.

when my human spirit feels like its failing in me, when i feel that im so fed up and i have been doing good by not laughing too loud, or talking too much, or being seen and all else has failed.. i guess it brings back haunted memories.

im tired of being trapped as a creature of my past. so im going to pull up my sleeves and roll with it. the next time someone asks, tell them i attend a church in singapore every weekend, my boyfriend is brad pitt and that im migrating in the next two months. if someones going to talk about me, i should at least have some fun, no?

yours, and by that i mean mine,
jess

knock knock

dear jess,

it seems that perhaps no one really had anything to say at all in the first place. that in the light of "facebook" maybe everyone really never ever had anything on their minds to say in the first and now that no one will pay attention to our blogs, we move on. maybe thats all we really want. us human beings. attention. im sure thats not a maybe.

perhaps thats all that makes us feel like we are part of this world and thats why we do the things we do. apart from facebook or bloggin that is. we get a fancy job, so we get attention, oops i mean so that we belong. or we do something different and travel or work odd hours, so that we belong, and yet dont belong enough for other people to envy us.

well, at least in my little crazy world where i try to find privacy on the web and yet have the feeling that im telling everyone and yet no one. perhaps this is just the perfect world for me.

Better go hungry than to be alone. because when you're alone - and im talking here about and enforced solitude not of our choosing- its as if you were no longer part of the human race. coehlo in zahir

yours

jess

mirror mirror

dear jess,

there is a lesson we learn or realise every now and then. sometimes its about ourselves, sometimes others and sometimes ourselves through others.

the biggest puzzle in the world perhaps is our own selves. and the delusions that relate to us being ourselves.

its so interesting how we only see parts of ourselves that we want to. and largely, interpretation really is in the eye of the beholder.

ive come to realise how wrongly i can be interpreted or how perhaps wrongly ive interpreted myself. like how someone i know thought i was probably being annoying when i always think out loud and seemingly hesitate to make decisions, when to me i was just processing my decisions out loud. or how someone thinks that he is good at most things when i think he is just a pain.

perspectively, we always think that we are right. perspectively we think that we are independent or confident when people think that that aspect of us is just cocky and annoying. we shrug and just shove it off as thats me, accept it, and not just that, we become proud of those aspects because we think that people not liking us is their own fault, not ours.

i always knew delusion was my best friend, i didn't until recently realised it was everyone elses too..

yours,

jess

...

dear jess,

i write this with some amount of hesitation. i was tearing three days ago at the hospital when i saw how he looked, how much weight was gone and i dreamed of him that night and the next. on that third day, he passed away.

its simple. i don know him like everyone there, his sisters, nieces and nephews, but he was to me the one thing that no one else was. he acknowledge my presence and he made time to talk and smile and to just be nice.

and for someone ive known seemingly so little off, im grieving.

you will be so dearly missed, john marcian carvalho.

yours,
jess

distinguishing it

dear jess,

i recently threw out a big basket of clothes. skirst, baby tee's and other 'valuables.' i would do it every once in a while but this one was a "major" one. i had bought three dresses, a sandal, four tops, a shorts and im sure some other stuff i dont remember in the span of just two weeks. i was and still am the tee and jeans girl who doesnt comb her hair. still.

yes, it wasnt budgeted and most of all i had shopped for dresses, something i despised till recently.

i was, and to some extend still hanging on to tees i love but cant fit in anymore thanks to the bulging tummy. tee's that i had probably worn few times, because they were "branded" and most likely will never fit into even if i starved myself to death.

im a believer that people can change, but more often than not, we dont. we still think that the pants or the bag is in style because its "us." how many of us try a style of sunglass we'd never think we'd like or a pair of clothing that "isnt us"? and how many of us actually end up buying those..

as usual, i digress.

ive thrown out those i can't wear and am aimed at trying more new "threads." i hope that that subconsciously transmits to my personality and not just my wardrobe. we all say we've changed after ten years, but have we really? are we still wearing the same type of flip flops with the same type of pants and shirt that everyone can spot us a million miles away?

change is good inside and out, as long as it isnt a V-neck shirt on a man or strange cowboy motif shirts. Ah! fashion is so difficult..

yours,

jess

simply put

dear jess,

im convinced. we, at some point of our lives complicate things, just because. usually attributed to all these reasons and blamed on reasons like our personalities or that we dont think its the right time.

i don't get it anymore though. and worse of all it frustrates me.

the boy likes the girl, the girl likes the boy, but its not right because its not right yet. the girl loves the boy but has to be away, so he breaks up with her, because?

wasnt love meant to triumph over such "trivial" things like time and space? were we subconsciously waiting to leave or waiting to find the "right one" or waiting for the brick to hit us on our head?

nope.

i think its this.

we humans, subconciously dont want to be happy. not all the time anyway. we like to think of ourselves as tortured souls.

fall in love with the girl we cant have.

distance wil keep me from loving you.

maybe its ancestry and since the majority of us will not get killed or tortured for being in love with someone different, we subconsciously torture ourselves.

what happens if a girlfriend decides one day to leave for the jungles of the amazon? the girlfriend usually follows the boyfriend or husband but men sometimes work differently and dont immediately see to living the dreams of their better half. perhaps this is a womans curse.. do dreams end for us, where relationship starts?

are we all just subconcious human beings waiting to scream that we are tortured souls, so that the world will pity us and we can write great songs and poems?

i hate it that it seems im the only one who really does think that life is that simple if we let it be. but i guess not everyone is ready for simplicity.

yours,

jess

ding dong bell

dear jess,

im sure i thought of a reason to write. a theme to my life or just to manage the letter writing habit that is slowly going obsolete in everyone's life. the problem is i dont remember anymore what the reason was and the danger is i might rant on about things in my life that i might take for granted that that would in any way interest you.

still. here i am trying hard to remember.

i watched a film today. 1957 i think it was called. my partner rated it 2 out of ten and i couldnt really disagree considering i could have read a book instead and it might have been more interesting.

ah. and now i remember my initial thoughts. its hilarious really, i was at church the other day and a few people said they hadnt seen me in a while. i attributed it to me being away, here and there but i didnt get into the details. one said hi and asked where i was worshipping now.

*blink*

i should've given a bizarre answer, something i wouldn't hesitated at either, if i wasnt too much in shock. i should have said something really strange and jaw dropping.

what the heck, im sure ill be given another go at that sometime in the future.

yours,

jess

rain, rides and roaches

dear jess,

it seems that the typhoon signs have reached here. i see the bit of roof waving at my window and i remember our five hours "layover" for our bus down north. we were soaking wet, so that our umbrella that i had bought from home actually came in handy and yet not handy enough. little did we know that about 30km away the typhoon was about to kill five people. we bought our poncho's and walked to the tailors at hoi an, vietnam.

by the time we were done, all our clothes were wet, i had nothing to change into, but another semi wet pants. we had to change because we'd be doing another twelve hour bus ride, at least. we were then halfway through our 48 hour bus ride. we were given the impression that we would sit in the same confortable bus for 48 hours straight, yes thats a two day bus ride non stop but as usual, no one tells us anything in this country. we took a twelve hour bus ride from hanoi, which where we started our trip and were first greeted by men touching us, annoyingly asking us where we were from and women who had no patience or want to understand tourist. it was all becoming a cold country, just like the crazy typhoon.

the next thing we knew we were on the hard seats of those busses. it was, and i will never be able to do justice to the explanation, but it was like sitting on a horse (id imagine) in a bus. there were these five lines on the road, painted perhaps so vehicles should slow down, and every 10 seconds apart i could feel them grinding through my brain. the bus it seems, was not only hard seated, we could feel every bump, every grind and every horn, which the locals would do every 10 seconds or so. thats right, no one would be on the road and we'd still hear the horn.

my bus rides have consisted of a roach crawling on me, a vietnamese man leaning over my seat to sleep on my hair, an old aunty slapping my feet as i climbed down from my bunk bed, a vietnamese lady literally, yes literally kicking her BARE foot into my face and tossing and turning on the already hard seats only to be greeted with? stinky feet in our faces.

i think ive reached the point where i can laugh at those incidents. im not sure i can say the same for my travel partner..

yours,

jess

sleeper bus, we were given the impression we'd be in these for 48 hours...

a total of 60 over hours were spend in busses like this, cramped, hard and crawling wit roach

fifteen minutes to late

dear jess

im growing irritated of having to upload pictures in three different places and lack the want to write to you about my trip. and ive just realised that i can just post the facebook link. so this is parts of it and the rest will be on facebook, still being uploaded. vietnam has been one crazy ride but i dont really feel like writting. i suppose the blog is being phased out in my life slowly. perhaps?

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=16828&l=54869&id=652088209

yours,
jess

ho chi minh's mauseloum, where they keep his corpse, despite his death wishes to be crimated. it was close, the body gets send to russia everytime this year for "upkeeping"

nine million population, four million motorcycles, and a honk from one vehicle every four seconds. imagine it. thats as far as you'd like it to be! its absolutely crazy

ladies selling the old fashion way

side stalls in hanoi, all chairs are small and scattered every side walk and street serving desserts to crabs and seafood!

market place outside our guesthouse, hanoi. all the streets in the old quarter look like back lanes.

baguette bread by the street, hanoi

kiss me?

dear jess,

for some reason i decided not to change the language of this blogger from vietnamese to english. partially due to the fact that my internet time is being charged as we speak.

ive had my first real shower in two days. 40 hours of sitting in a bus, one sleeper, three hard seater (thats why they call it that) few hours of waiting in between, two skipped dinners, sleeping across the seats, bus rides that threw us off our seats and getting all our clothes in our bag drenched, a bed and a shower is the best thing thats happen to me since.

the one significant trait of all backpackers. we all stink.

when the man comes up the bus, he goes "kiss me, kiss me, five minute for lan and the we go to the bust" translation? excuse me- lunch and bus.

its all good as long as i can shower. sometimes life should be that simple.

kisses,

jess

good honking vietnam

dear jess,

wandering the streets of vietnam, there's no mistaking you're here. people on the bikes; and there are millions of them; honk all the time and crossing the road becomes a matter of life and death.

well, thats all for now. tired, sweaty and no time to write.

till then,

jess

soap to wash your sins away, women falling on you, clubbing and going to the hospital at 530 am? welcome to singapore!

every girl should have a fix it kit to look good for Jesus? im speechless and highly amused. it was such a novelty i wanted to get it. they also had lip balm that would, and i quote "return you lips to near virgin condition."

was god saying something??? :)

giant turkish ice cream anyone?

the giant lanterns, clarke quay, singapore

the man who swing giant beads, orchard street, singapore

clubbing, drinking and random people talking to us? old men doing the finger dancing, women LITERALY falling all over kit and karine stealing the lead singer's hat. just another ordinary day!

6.00 am, alexandria hospital, singapore, dr. mike gives us a description with his hands about.... sandwiches? hmmm doesnt look like it.

so good id curse

dear jess,

i just have to post this. i like the way talent works. its unfair and you cant really blame yourself for not having or having it.

i couldnt believe it when i saw nick's photographs. it was so good, i cursed! and at the same time im completely god-stricken and now think the world of his photos. damn i hope he doesnt read this.

i now wanna go around telling people i have a friend who takes awesome photographs and is so humble. i myself, just started the interest this year when i got my first decent camera and im so proud that nick's taken pics without a digital slr. like my bro in law says, its the person and i believe so, it is the person not the camera.

heck what they say about talent. im gonna go do the water drop experiment and ill show you what crap shots ill get. HAHA.

nicholas cheong's pics can be found on flickr.com

drooling and idolizing,
jess

all rights to this picture belongs to nicholas cheong. hmm altho i did take it.. *dont sue me* :) nick did this as an experiement and got his lens wet too. that boy has some amount of patience.

very quickly now

dear jess,

technology was suppose to make my life easier, but instead its made me work three times as hard. for example. i want to update all my pictures right now and i do it here, on flickr and on facebook. the same damn thing because everyones connected everywhere. it feels stupid. however i think facebooks the best because it has everything you need in one.

the weeks have gone like crazy, i had the worse ear infection because of my piercing and didnt even get to show you the pictures, yet. it went red and swelled HUGELY and then it bled. it bled right down to my the tip of my ears and wouldnt stop. i hate piercers who dont know an ounce of what theyre doing.

anyway's the dutch were in the historical city this weekend. i think ive rediscovered this city over and over again and i still love it.

so now we're down to me just updating you on my life.

ive arrived.

laughs,
jess

http://www.flickr.com/photos/81691123@N00/

i love the dutch cows :) there were six brightly painted ones, i caught three, skipped two ugly ones and missed one.

the dutch brass band came to town, fully dressed with their clogs and all, and they were great fun

hotel anyone? it comes with spiral steps too.

ringo's bar. quaint. nice.

portuguese bake fish. awesome. but not as nice as the otak otak :)

i tried these, the big shells (bigger than my whole hand) had the skins FULL and alive but shrunk to a ball once they were cooked. it tasted like salt water :) haha

we are here again

dear jess

it shames me to say that i had forgotten. i tried hard to remember but i couldnt remember your date.

she.

she was my ally. she would say that it was okay if i got back late and would always take my side against my mum. she would back me up and i would take her to movies.

the last time i took her to one, i still remember which it was, she would laugh so loud; imagine that; an old lady laughing so loud i was slightly embarassed. then she would say a million times that coming to the cinema would be imposing on my fun.

whenever she went to the shop, she'd buy me egg tarts because i loved it, and i would buy her the 'split' ice cream or the chocolate ones because she loved those.

she was always apologetic and never wanted anyone to go out of their way for her, and yet even in her 80s she'd clean my room!

you know, i have a problem till today because of her. i simply cant look at another granmother or someone aged. i found that it literally made me cry and i have had once broken down in the most unpredictable of times because i was completely surrounded by them.

there is no way, as i initally wanted to, to write to you eloquently about her. it wasn't always what she did or said but it was who she was. she was an old woman who had so much of energy, a grandmother who made everyone around her laugh and be happy, she was my mama.

it made me feel so handicap that i had no grandmother anymore, and for some years already. i had no one to open the door and ask her to come down for supper, no one to watch wash her long white hair in the bathroom, no one who wears a sarong in the house, or tell us not to take pictures of her, no one she would call penis in portuegese, quite literally translated, no one who would sundry the eurasion pickle, no one to love, and all i still want to do is love her.

im sure she's retained every ounce of her sense of humor in heaven, im not sure about the cursing though.

*helen theisera passed away third september, 2004.

yours,
jess

who am i really?

dear jess,

who am i when you're not with me?
who am i when ive stopped moving,
who are you when you've stopped travelling,
when you're all alone and there is no one to define you, but you.

i become me, when you're here. i become great, when i am with you. i become who i think i was always meant to be.

how is it possible that i can only be me, with you?

yours,
jess

back to school

dear jess,

in the hype of my craziness, we had decided to search out the tattoo shop, to get a piercing. and then i just decided to get not one, but two piercings, rather spontaneously.

the massively tatooed piercer gave me a pen and told me to mark myself and i looked at my cynical half who laughed and then subsequently refused to pen me.

he countdown and my mind tried to imagine what the pain was like because it had been at ages since i had pierced the ears and probably six years for that other spot. so i hadnt any idea. the first one hurt and then we went lets get another. HAHA. and it wasnt all that bad. well not till later.

so, i have my three holes on ear. next time i do something spontaneous, it should be less painful. its been three nights sleeping on one side. still, it was fun.

yours,

jess

it almost feels like its a new year..

Dear jess

Ever since Saturday I had consciously made a decision to be happy. Well, no, its not one of those self help indulgences. Instead, it’s a conscious effort to be this expression I call crazy happy. I wonder if i excel, id be like avril lavigne and loose my “mojo”

Or perhaps quite the opposite, id gain back who I thought I always was. I use to be completely spontaneous and mad. And that shall return, just as much as my beloved cynical half has. And with that, im going to pierce something.

I had gone to the auditions and for once, it completely didn’t matter if I got it. I was singing myself home. I had done something I wanted too and I was feeling complete. Like the thought that it doesn’t matter anymore if I can be this or that, as long as I have done it and enjoyed doing it.

I’ve learned so much about people over the weekend and in return learned about myself. Ive seen the ones that try to include their boyfriends in their conversations, and the ones that try to include themselves in it. And ive also seen the ones that despite being so exhausted, still manage to make everyone laugh.

As for me, ive been completely blessed by a bunch of teenagers, a quick talking 12 year old who I miss greatly and all she has as a memory of me is a spongebob keychain. How appropriate.

The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new lands, but in seein new eyes. Marcel Proust.

yours,

jess

k, can someone explain to me what that is on the right side of a photo that looks like a pic of a family or something.... i don rmbr anything being there!

moments of madness

dear jess,

ah! talking to myself is getting boring. in this hideous manic mood, everything seems possible. yes, a man once refused to be treated for his manic depression, simply because he said "i must have my manic moments."

well, whilst i still havent been diagnosed, my manic moment appeared in the form of extreme energy, positiveness of taking over the world and just being crazy. all proper symptoms of the former mentioned psychosis, mind you. i sat down at the table and was disturbing the person opposite me with singing from my written down notes, taking a hanger and shooting at his pimple and then going back to singing, amongst many other odd things.

its true, if you have your moments of manicness, you dont want to trade it in. you feel almost like a high, without even sipping a cup of coffee, you feel that your personality is capable of taking over anything and anyone, you find everything humorous and innumerable amounts of energy to conquer anything.

i remember being manic for more than a short time once. when i was young. i suppose getting grumpy is not necessarily manic deppresion as much as it is, ageing.

or perhaps the manicness can be attributed to the subconscious knowledge that the near future promises adventures and companionships. doesnt matter.

the only problem with anything, manic depression or mood swings; is that everything that goes up eventually comes down.

bah!

jess

swinging it

dear jess,

i rushed to pull the two boys away from each other. the punch was swinging and i was headed right in the middle of it. i closed my eyes and anticipated the punch to hit me. i realise this only much later. but, it didnt. i opened my eyes and as i tore the boys apart, i pulled them by the neck and headed the both of them to the disciplinarians office.

just another day, in a public school..

i surely didnt sign up for this and as long as i teach in a public school, ill always have stories to tell. do i hate it? hell no, i love those boys to bits.

punch or none.

yours,
jess

loneliness

dear jess,

when its late and i have no one next to me, a vague and yet slightly familiar friend visits. he sits with me and makes me fear him. he makes me think a little too much and feel slightly empty. i try in vain to search for something to watch, or do so that i dont have to be with him.

but, alas, all my attempts fail.

he continues to sit with me.

and i look him in the face and ask him. why does he visit me even when im with other people? why is he there even when im busy or when i have things to do?

as usual, he never answers. i suspect his silence is part of the ploy that he is here with me.

every now and again, i get lonely. even when im next to the one i love. i wonder and asks, and he still keeps silent.

yours,
jess

brazillian barbaque

i discovered recently that there is a brazillian barbaque buffet where meat is served on skewers and a salad bar where how much u can eat depends on your stomach. it was a really nice experience with my family. mmmm the garlic bread was soooo awesome ;) this one was chicken ham...

in essence

dear jess,

its officially half a year.

there is a certain amount of repetition in our lives that we become accustome to that we forget that its a repetition. alot of things become one too familiar. i know thats why people leave, migrate, but even somewhere else, repetition repeats itself, finding its place in the security of our lives.

we plan the same camp year after year. and then i realise that the year i dont, it doesnt make much difference because, really, we do the exact same thing.

some people have gone away and come back, and they are, the same. they have neither increased in a better etiquitte or reason.

change comes slowly. for sure.

sometimes all too slowly that we wait for it. i know. i should do more. everyday that i havent, everything else around me changes.

perhaps some days you wish you woke up to a musical, and everyone breaks into song and dance. and then you realise, you never would.

its been half a year. i look forward for the next half.

yours,

jess

in todays news, the korean christians in captive under the taliban movement has said that they will kill if their demands are not met by wed 730 GMT. two out of the group of 23 has since been shot, the first was their leader and pastor on what would have been his birthday, last wednesday..

lets keep them in prayers.

these are salted egg crabs, and yes they taste as good as it looks.... jusstttttt aweeesooommmme

on this side is rice dumplings, freshly made, on the other, a car workshop!

poker time!!

my first ostrich meat

congrats, mr and mrs drieberg, 777

a cost for the cause?

dear jess,

i dreamed i found my cable. and in reality i havent. my camera cable is missing, hence my long silence for i wanted to mail you pictures instead. i think they speak louder than my broken english does.

having woken up from the dream and into reality, my cable is still missing.

so.

perhaps i really do have nothing to say and its my frail attempt to try to tell you what's happening in my oh so interesting life.

or not.

im a letter druggie, in case you have somehow failed to notice that. in which i usually and only ever write when i am emotional. and hence when i don have such a drug, i write letters to you about my camera cable. *blink*

its like one of those conversations when you just sit and stare and update each other that the school will be showing a superb musical this weekend and you got the tee shirt which you think rocks or that tomorrow's a long day.

but really. there was something initially.

simply this.

after more than three years of doing what i call an obscure job and the prospects apparently might grow, do i then share what i have taken years to build? here, take the books and materials i use so that someday you can be better than me.

remember those aunties that leave out the ingredient in the recipe? i get them now, completely. and yet we still think the food rocks. imagine.

once a druggie, always a druggie.

yours,
jess

heaven be my strength

dear scholar,

im not sure if i preferred it when my life was dull and filled with naps which i enjoyed thoroughly or that it has now ejaculated into a frenzy of hard work, fear, and frustration. when the confusion of an established and renown person telling you that your work is good enough for publication versus that who has power over you telling you that your work is merely surface.

i vowed to take it in stride, to learn and improve and to slowly open the pages praying that my emotions will not be involved. and that i did, trying to be a true professional, until i saw words from what was suppose to be the scholar that reads etc, etc, .. "for heavens sake"

had my unscholarly-scholarly only heaven knows what made her so irrate that she had to bring heaven into the matter? certainly i admit that my writting had been less than scholarly but at least it should only make that one of us in this case.

this "thing" that i had believed i was destined to do, this "thing" that i had continually fought for, this "thing" that has made me poor and without a proper job for hundreds of years, this "thing" that still continues to persist that it stays with me and that it will be worth it and in the process let me loose my sanity. this "thing" that keeps me constantly angry and disatisfied, confused and incapable.

how sweet would life be if i was a comic artist.

yours,

jess

i am edgar

there is no other name that knows my pain

than the beautiful annabel lee

loved by him in the chilling wind

edgar's annabel lee.

dear jess

there is a curiosity in when you read, you find that his love for her was great. the curiosity lies in what happened when he died, and not so much she. for edgar allan poe, the great, the mysterius, revealed bodies in his backyard, of the women, all he had loved.

how can one love so greatly and murder so lightly?

we are all great contradictions. our love and passion as much as our hate and despise for the people and the things we are.

do i want to be annabel or edgar? am i either?

as much as we are repetitious, we are all contradictions.

on that note.

yours,

jess

for the moon never beams without bringing me dreams,
of the beautiful annabel lee;
and the stars never rise but i feel the bright eyes
of the beautiful annabel lee;
and so, all the night-tide, i lie down by the side
of my darling, my darlin, my life and my bride,
in the sepulcher there by the sea,
in her tomb by the sounding sea.

-part of edgar's annabel lee-

LiVe shOws roCk!!

i wore heels that made me a head higher because we were promised seats. we ended up standing the whole few hours but it was fun. the best were the hijau number and of course, judi's choreographed piece, altho i was too mesmerized with the violinist. enjoy the videos.

the anniversary of the diary..

dear jess,

i think that my cynicism is hugely attributed to the fact that i have met one too many people who think too much of themselves. they think they can write, or they can take a photograph and they pride themselves in that. however, the one that i find are true geniuses are those that never have to say how good they are at what they do. its because they have become a living (an oxymoron) prove.

monday, the 60th anniversary of the book "the diary of anne frank." i have cried reading this book, and none before or after. but years later this book inspired and change the lives of freedom writers - students who plagued with gangsterism, violence, death, racism and cruelty come to realise their worth and wrote "freedom writers," a compilation of their stories, now a movie, featuring hilary swank.

i suppose we continually look to be inspired by the wit and yet brilliancy of literary work at a painful and scary time of a twelve year old. get over ourselves. theres a world of difference one girl has made that we have yet to come close too.

you still make me cry, anne.

*anne passed away of typhus in march 1945 at the Bergen-belsen concentration camp, at age 15 two weeks befor the camp was liberated.*

yours,

jess

biTchInG thErApy?

dear jess,

its indescribeable. i sit days, if not weeks on end with no plans of entertainment except sitting in front of the television absorbing E! entertainment and being encouraged by the fact that there are actors who have faced rejection even at the height of their day.

days and weeks on end, when my escort is back from flights i spend hours being thoroughly in contentment. it feels like this imbalanced is in between advertisements when i start to think if i actually do have friends.

when you were growing up, having friends was nothing to shout about. i suppose being lazy and endlessly critical never helps.

for example i would try for a few seconds, if only to make a getaway or to slip in something sarcastic to endure the crotch-scratching-know-it-all. i would definitely endure longer times, the ones that have been real friends at points of my life but have somehow made catching up into an endless need to pry into my life. on the other end of the stick i somehow end up bearing with those that know nothing about me and seem to always be around me or those that i would crack a joke, on my way out to drive home and just go back to watchin E!.

the people who share my heart and soul are all around the globe, and those that are here are either too busy with work, or something else. we can take pride in the one dimensional world where our work has become gravely important that we hate it, bitch about it to our wives, and then quickly wake up the next day to go back to it till the sun sets.

its true, i do the pathetic self pity thing so i eventually get to a point where i feel better than you. Dont worry. i am not friends with you, to know you , to feel better than you.

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 truimphs. False friends only appear at difficult times, with their sad, supportive faces, when, in fact, our suffering is serving to console them for their miserable lives.

from The Zahir

yours,

jess

speaking of fathers...

homer simpson has been stolen!!! its true!!!!!!!

i dont condone stealing, athough i do find the whole thing amusing. seriously, who wouldnt give to have a larger than life homer in my crib?????

*well, apparently the stolen one is from one utama, not the cineleisure one that i got my pics taken with.*

who's your daddy???

dean asked me "is your dad some kind of celebrity?" i thought a while and said, "yes, he gets recognised when we go to one utama". and then grin silently

my dad wanted to be a pilot (id be getting free flights) but now he has authored four books, lectured in several countries, several television shows behind his belt, and knows herbal cures for all sort of ailments. one day i will be an ounce the man you are ;)

*book signing at the book fair, PWTC, 2007*

ive reached the end of my road

dear jess,

i want to jump out of a plane.

i resist the temptation to tell you that im tired of you because that wouldnt be right. but today, all that doesnt matter. today i felt like i have just reached the point where the road goes no more. today i walked in the rain and tried hard to cry.

and im tired of it.

i am.

people think that deppression is somthing you can change or grow out of. and as a psyche grad, let me educate you, it isnt.

but there is something you can change. oh wait, there is something i can change.

its true. i hate this point of my life where i feel like killing some thirty kids i teach and in the proccess people who have marked my research paper without understanding it.

and who wouldve thought? i got inspired watching the lifestyle of a hollywood star. and i want to take life by the buls horns. im tired of all these people around me bringing me down, and me not seizing life.

i want to sky dive. and i know only one person who would do it with me. :) god knows he'd probably push me out.

dont take my word for it. after all im manic deppressive and heck, this could be a manic moment.

"do you regret not having any children?" "it didnt happen, did it? How can i regret something that didnt happen?" Coehlo, the Zahir

jump with me?

jess

baCk to WorK

malacca, genting, frasers and then malacca again. well that was my holiday now back to the daily grind.. *groan*

the sun sets in malacca

carved pictures of malaysian history below the santiago of bastique, remains as part of a whole area that includes the infamous fort

the engraved waterfall in dataran pahlawan.

the man who makes his ketupat dish.