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

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

fErAri GO! 

bReAk timE, or So We ThoUght 

tUg, TakE anD ruN!

tHe rEAL toWers

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

lUna bAr viEw

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!

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,
jess

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,

jess

going to the chapel and we're.. gonna get married... 

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.. 

congratulations and celebrations! poor sister of mine.. not in the pic..  

wait for me... 

chiLdLikE wiSdOm

Grown-ups love figures. When you talk to them about a new friend, they never ask questions about essential matters. They never say to you: what does his voice sound like? what games does he prefer? Does he collect butterflies?

They ask you: How old is he? how many brothers does he have? How much does he weigH? how much money does his father earn?' It is only then that they feel they know him. If you were to mention to grown-ups: 'I've seen a beautiful house built with pink bricks, with geraniums on the windowsills and doves on the roof..' they would not be able to imagine such a house. You would have to say to them" 'I saw a house worth a hundred thousand pounds.'

Then they would exclaim: 'Oh! how lovely'

-excerpt from "The Little Prince" by Antoine de Saint-Exupery

pAst mY beD tiME..

In most of us, by the age of thirty, the character has set like plaster, and will never soften again.

William James

dear jess

This is probably not the best time to be writing to you. I can see that there are bags beneath my eyes, which I don’t usually get owing to my long love for the bed. As I sip my coffee at 4.02 am, threw up 3 hours ago from too much coughing and waiting for my body to wake up as it is usually is at its peak about now, I realize why I love being awake at this time.

The rest of the world; in my part of the world anyways, is dead.

No one is in your way, no one is rushing to become better than you and just for a while, that one moment, everyone is in a land of subconscious that they have forgotten or repressed in order to become part of the norm.

One more yawn, one more sip.

There’s the girl who’s gone to another country for six months yet spent the rest of her life here that says give her time before she can speak ‘malaysian English’ again. There’s the other girl that will only cook spaghetti that way because she always has been.

Growing older does not equate to becoming wiser. On the other hand it means that I will be more stubborn, more convinced that iam wise and right and who iam at 27 (I must say 27 before its too late, too soon..) will be who iam at 33, amplified and unchangeable. It’s a fact of life. Human beings eventually grow up to be donkeys. As stubborn as hell.

I cant stand it. People who’ve left this country and come back speaking like they aren’t Malaysian’s. Perhaps they need to express their deep longings of learning and experiencing. And worse still I cant stand people who don’t want to learn something new.

The scary part is that one day I wont be able to stand myself and by that time it’ll be too late.

yours creeping out of her 20's,

jess

iN pReParAtiOn Of mE

dear jess,

yesterday I met an interesting “boy” who’s backpacked across Europe for 8 & a half months and china for a year! Ironically he’s a sarawakian like my travel guru who originally inspired me to travel for good and even more so, when I asked him which is his favourite western European country? He says, Spain and nicely adds, you’ll love it “siesta and fiesta”!

the boy I dunno, knows me.

its weird. I think, at the risk of sounding like an idiot I’ve found a fellow bohemian cum traveler cum psychopath who. Once again at the risk of sounding like an idiot, i could tell from just looking in his eyes that he is waiting and wanting. Waiting for that moment when he decides to leave again, or to change his life drastically.

silent Desperation. The term made famous by our lovely neighbours at desperate housewives.

lives of those that will not be succumbed to security and constant income. The lives of those that will not allow the high paying cheque guarantee the trip for weeks to New York and come back to a continuous flow of pay cheque’s, double degree’s, white shirt and tie’s, or the nagging of family that they are doing the right thing.

the lives of those who travel and not tour. The ones that come back with more than just stories of tour guides and cabbies on what the locals were like. The ones that left the accountant job to go travel.

and so. Apparently just looking into the eyes of a finance graduate accountant who left his job in the US of A to travel for that period of time can tell me that my silent desperation is nothing but silent.

it’s inflamed, angry and waiting to come out. But no. I will wait. For that will be the essence of my passion that will bring much fulfillment. I will wait for when the west winds flies past me and takes me away. For I’m not one that will allow myself to be in a high paying job and let that piece of paper forget what my eyes so strongly tells me.

my desperation will always be shadowed by my fear, that one day, someone will look into my eyes and convince me that I should be in that job and that I shouldn’t upset my parents by my youthful idiocy.

that one day I will be overcome by the paper.

but for now somebody else’s silent desperation helps me to remain that bohemian cum traveler cum psychopath wannabe idiot I’d like to think I was born to be.

once a dreamer, always a dreamer,
jess

mY litTLe "ChE"

dear jess,

do you know, how sometimes some dreams are so good that you dare not realise those dreams? like a passion you've waited for 2 years and another 2 and when the time comes to grasp it you'd rather not? Not because you're afraid, or perhaps a little, but maybe because you're afraid that your dream would actually come true. Or worse still, it remained so much sweeter when you were dreaming.

when you waited for your first kiss and when it happens you only remember how you forgot what its like. or when you promised to see someone again that when the time arrives you'd rather not? Or that you want the job, but when its finally here, you're afraid to fail.

Its true. We are our hardest critiques. In life and in love.

I couldnt live with myself if i wasn't good at what i do. If i was mediocre. And yet being just that is what i want sometimes. When i fail and suck, i hide. Nobody knows if they're positively the best at what they do, and sometimes its better if they didnt.

The time has almost come. Like a little girl risking everyone laughing at her for the hope of just a glimpse of what could've been, for the moment when looking into that light coloured eyes will bring back flashing memories, for the moment of reality, of realisation that maybe, just maybe letting it remain a sweet, sweet, dream was the best decision i should have made.

some dreams were meant to remain just that,

jess

ciAo bAmbiNA

dear jess.

Its the Sabbath, well sorta. I should be in bed early but I’m here gulping saliva. Sitting down pondering on the situation I’m considering of throwing myself into.

I’m about to soak head, feet, eyebrow and just about everything in a situation that might just bring me remorse and a lot of sadness. So I sit here and anticipate, consider, think and everything else to little avail.

How do you stop everything you’re doing, go on a plane, pack, pay, leave and go see someone you haven’t in the last half a year, without having pre-expectations and wants to be filled?

Gulp.

And then there’s the other option of not going, and never knowing what a blast or a crap time I might’ve had.

So much for rubbishy theories of no expectations.

I got to have a story to tell the nephew and grandnephew's, right? Catch me when I fall. Please…

yours sighing,
jess

tAkiNG thE tRaSh oUT!

Human beings are not born once and for all on the day their mothers give birth to them… life obliges them over and over again to give birth to themselves.

Gabriel Garcia Marquez

dear jess,

Anger makes me progress. Yes, others get into gang fights and road rage. I? progress only with strong emotions. Fortunately and unfortunately. Today. Today was the final straw. I hope.

One thing sparks another. Its time to throw all the trash out of my life. Or at least attempt to. The bad habits, the inferiority complex, the excuses and most importantly the people I’ve been patient with for far too long, the ones that prioritize movies and hommies above my company.


As I sat there and listened to him tell me stories of how his experiences with directors, actors, scripts and the lot, my life went into flashback mode of a time when I was there and yet wasn’t. A time when I wanted to tell others the same stories but I didn’t. the times when I should’ve spoken out, but didn’t.

The greg’s, john’s and adam’s in my life have got to go. My security, my space, my cling’s of what coincidently have been given male names.

Anyone’s got a big bag to spare?

yours sneezing,

jess

iNcOGniTo

dear jess,

My favourite moments swinging on the hammock and talking about dogs that we think are evil to mutual friends. Friendship is a funny thing. It’s a marriage without the sex.

Swing right.

She tells me that someone says I’ve changed.

Swing left.

I laugh thinking back, just in case I have without realizing it.

Swing right.

Apparently I’ve become more sarcastic.

Swing left.

Laugh in the midst of swinging.

Swing right.

Feeling rather giddy now.. maybe I should stop swinging.

That’s when it hits me. The balcony that stops my swing. And.. me.

We only know the people we know, because that is exactly how we want to know them as. Let me repeat. We make our friends become who we want them to be and not who they really are.

We hide the fact that we are party animals in front of the friend that would judge us for it, we become less sarcastic to people who hate us for it. We become lesser of ourselves, sometimes to people we are closest to.

And then, when we finally meet someone who lets us be ourselves; our friends say we’ve changed. In actuality, we are just revealing who we really are.

The legacy of hypocrisy brings itself to another level.

The real me?
jess

eNgLish LesSoN #101

we interrupt the flow of the letter writting to bring you a collection of words, terms that are inconsistent with the english language, unique and fun. may or may not be included in future letters... remember you heard it here first :)

-dictionary of jessense (jessica's nonsense)-

look left syndrome

generously contributed by a certain serani boy.

1.
a. to employ ones sight in the given direction.
b. to search

2.
a a phrase to describe a temporary syndrome suffered by girlfriends only when they are in the passenger seat of cars belonging or being driven by their boyfriends, causing them only to be able to look left, no matter how boring the scenery is. Caused by something the boyfriends did or did not do, the syndrome will only disappear after being coaxed succesfully. Syndrome can last as long as it takes.

ps. note to boys - dont ask her whether the scenery is nice.

Usage Sample: Wei see the couple there? look left syndrome!

Usage Note: only funny to her when it isnt her.

ViSiTaTioN hOUrS bEgiNs nOw..

Dear jess,

This is where confusion, anger and annoyance become one. If someone were to say to me that im a person who seeks attention, (all the time that is) and for one second id let myself believe that that is true, this will be an exception ill keep in mind. So apparently I’m sick. And someone, apparently, wants to visit me. Now with a normal person this wouldn’t bother them the least, with an attention seeker, she’d jump at the opportunity, but with me? Annoyance, annoyance, annoyance.

My sweet visitor wannabe, whom I’m sure has the best interest in heart (and I say this without sarcasm-yet) text messages my mother to say ‘I hear jess is sick, can we (who’s we?) visit her?

What’s wrong with a sweet urge like that? I’m tempted to call it blind hypocrisy, im sure God is going to punish me. She does not message me to ask me how I am, but my mother? And she wants to visit me???? Personally, im still sure she meant well, and yet im still left annoyed.

So there it is, jess’s theory three-thousand-and-twenty-two. Blind Hypocrisy- the ability to be a hypocrite, without knowing it.. This theory brings to memory people who are accustomed to wanting to be nice that its simply done out of habit, duty..

Now, there’s only one other person who knows im sick, a certain boy I was and is and forever will try to avoid from seeing, being or even remotely having to converse with. My theory (three-thousand-and-twenty-three) is that he put her up to this visitation nonsense perhaps?

Which brings me back to theory three-thousand-and-twenty-two. I want to avoid annoying boy. Boy wants to go have drink. Once im better and regained my voice, and lacking in excuses from seeing him do I :-

a) become theory three-thousand-and-twenty-two and fake niceness? Have tea, be polite, and let him think he is charming hoping he’ll never bother me again?
b) avoid him and use all the excuses I can come up with till it’s a dead end?
c) be honest. Tell him I’m not comfortable with him, and admittedly we’re not friends anymore, so just leave me alone?

You see, this is the problem with being Asian, for one, and being an Asian Christian, secondly. We fake niceness, because we’re suppose to be. And we punish honesty, because that’s ‘not nice’.

Do I have the guts to tell him to bugger off? Hell no. im half Chinese. The other half of me? That’s the culture that dodges everything, especially appointments...

*pauses to breath*

bugger off, oops I mean, *smiles* I appreciated you having read this…

sugar, spice and everything nice,
…….

i CaN gEt nO sAtiSfAcTIoN!

dear jess,

I sit in the hot sun; you’d think the rain immediately after CNY would continue, and see the poslaju man drive past, eating a goreng ketiak, I mean goreng something in his hand as he does his rounds. It hits you that feeling. That smell. That insanely unexplainable feeling of being normal.

The same smell that smells like Chinese new year or hari raya. The same one that makes you feel that its ok and good to just be me. With the exception that all I smell now is phlegm and that even yawning hurts my infected throat right now, of course.

Contentment seems to be a sin. If you’re poor, you need to upgrade your lifestyle, if you haven’t traveled, you need to do so a.s.a.p, and if you haven’t gotten married by 30 god forbid you be found to be happy.

My passion to not be me sounds pretty idiotic at times. I’m sure I’ve had moments of contentment. Having breakfast by myself in khao san road, sitting in the middle of the national theater in Bangkok watching old ladies chatter gleefully, as I later sit in a 2 hour play without understanding a single thing, sitting in a hammock on my cousin’s balcony discussing possible business ventures..

And then there’s here, in the car, watching this man eating his goreng whatever. As if in slow mo, I think there are people with a thousand lives worse than mine, and all I can think about is where I should flee off to next or what form of escapism can last me the longest and make me sound the noblest.

That doesn’t stop me from being discontented. As long as I’m human and worse still, as long as I’m me, ill always be discontented and contented with only but a fleeing seconds of contentment as unexplainable as walking down the stairs and smelling Chinese new year.

I can’t explain it, but I can smell it. My feeling of contentment has a smell! How much more original or psychotic can one get? Time to hit the hay, heal myself and smell again!


Sniffling off,
jess

my latest favourite shirt :P 

DoN’t caLL mE hOnEy..

dear jess,

Its almost impossible to write on an inspiration. Its even more impossible, if that were possible, to write on too much material. And that is where I am at. Its rush hour, Jakarta, in my brains.

The last few days have been a mixture of happiness, anger, joy discontentment, introspection, contentment and way too may thought provoking idleness.

This time next week, I will be sending in my law suit to Webster dictionary. The letter goes something like this.

Dear Madam / Sir,

I’m suing you for the term ‘men’ seemingly to exist in your dictionary. I’ve seen and have had to tour seven aussie men in the last few days and I am convinced because of them and looking back in memory, that the term men, does not and should not exist. It should be changed from hereon to boys.

You see, dear madam/sir, that boys never really do grow up. Not only do they still buy comics and toys, but if you ever witnessed the way these creatures behave in groups, they are far to say the least amusing. They play, push, walk off when not kept an eye on, wrestle and tease each other in public. They splash in the pool one after another despite the forbidden sign to dive and create waves in the Jacuzzi that everyone else is trying to relax in. and need I even say anything to explain the group who name themselves ‘jackasses’?

Don’t get me wrong, after witnessing this I wished I was a boy too, they seem to have more fun, contrary to what Madonna says. In fact they seem to be so unconscious around the millions of people staring as they go by that I wish I didn’t have to be a woman who had to always concern herself about being ladylike, pretty and capable all at the same time. *bleah*


Whilst I’m still a woman, unable to monkey around, I insist you at least consider changing the term men, as it is indeed non existent.

Thank you.

Sincerely.

Rush hour Jakarta. I just drove past a bad accident and at the same time saw a couple holding hands behind me. Maybe ill save that for another day, after all just because im stuck in a jam doesn’t men you have to be too.

sincerely.
jess

self claim exhibisionist..

one boy stripping another boy..

"boys" rushing to weigh and outweigh themselves!

snEeZinG sELfiShNEss

dear jess,

Lying in the dark, I see the shadow of my fan spinning. I can hear things that go thump in the night louder than ever. My heart rate increases and my tongue feels ever so bland from the flu and fever im recovering.

Im hungry but I feel like puking all at the same time. When you’re silent and when you’re sick and everything around you shuts down.. its then when you start to think. Its then when you start to remember those around you that have passed on.

I told my cousin today, life is too short to stay angry.

There is something about being a dreamer and an artist at the same time that will equate you to being selfish. And so true that is.

The irony is, everyone thinks they have it better. Those that study overseas will claim to the day of their death that studying overseas was the best thing they did, those that didn’t just thank God they didn’t spend so much of their parents money. Those that have dreams and adventures will always live for those and will always pride themselves in having a form of future that they look forward too. Those that marry and have stability, pride in just that. Those that even have nothing pride themselves in thinking they don’t want more.

We like to think that we’ve grown, that in someway making that decision was the best thing that happened or will happen to us. And we will always, always gage ourselves better than the classmate who left for US but ultimately came back, or the friend that has to work 24 hours a day or the one that has no job. The one that has no personality, the one that hasn’t changed, the one that remained unchallenged.

Empathy, humility. Almost non existent in today’s world. in fact almost non existent in people we actually know.. especially ourselves..

Excuse me while I go puke. Kidding. But still there’s always a good reason too.

All the people like us are We, and every one else is They.
Rudyard Kipling

always wishing im asleep, finding myself wide awake,
jess

pRouD tO bE inDiaN

it says "born as indian die as indian" way to go macha!! oops is that a racist term?
speaking of 'racist', Russell Peter's stand up comedian is the best thing ive seen! go download it ive seen it about ten times and it cracks me up EVERY time!! he's the god of standup comedy..

fAB4, bAby YeaH

came across memory lane, one day when he's an inspirational lecturer, she's a famous *whatever it is she really does* woman with guts and loads of heart, and he's the succesful salesman cum busineman cum everythin, im going to use this picture to bribe you guys. shucks i miss US so much. urgh must be all this depressing james blunt music.. *hugssss*

tHe daWn oF a NeW dAY?

dear jess,

We live in a society waiting to suck. The old lady with brown hair as shiny as her pride lives next to the house we intended to put a kindergarten in. Unfortunately, we needed her signature.

She, in her aunty like pee-jays smile’s at you and tell you with dripping level of cynicism that supercedes… me? “I wont sign anything. After all there is no one nice in the world.”

It felt like the world stopped. I could feel the chill run up my spine, im not kidding. The thespian has found her guru. And she reaches a level beyond my comprehension, confusing you with the friendliest smile, and intonation that neither reflects hate nor sarcasm but as bone chilling as when ning baizura hits the high notes.

Indeed. Someone would look into my semi innocent eyes and say that’s the world, which I choose to defy is the truth. The world isn’t made out of a bunch of crotchety people who think that everyone is out to get everything out of them. The world still has some nice-ness left in it, even if it’s harder and harder to see everyday.

Im surprised. Im surprised tat it still surprises me when someone is nasty, rude, or just plain out right.. (bites hand from using profanity) ..mean

Another chill down my spine. Do I miss-I-cant-stand-anyone-anywhere-anytime, expect more from the world? Where’s my skepticism and cynicism in an air tight jar ?

Someone told me that in a country I refuse to admit is better than mine, people are appreciated for the work they do in a way that amazes me. Employers ensure that you don’t feel exploited even if it’s a volunteer job!

Scoff at that ever happening here. Ah, so looks like the skepticism and cynicism is on the right hand side of the fridge where I left it.

Welcome to the real world? That’s just a term idiots use to justify their unacceptable, ignorant selfish behaviour.

What can I say? The world is definitely better off without a whole lot of people in it. But then we wouldn’t have people to grow crops, run businesses and make movies. Yes, then we wouldn’t have people to tell us what to do, what to eat and what to wear. Now perhaps that is the real world.

As ma’ hommies would say “where is da love?” ;)
jess

ChRiStmAs & nEW yEaRs piCs

christmas eve (top)- picture taken at 7am, slept at noon, after 26hours of being awake! walking in settlement like idiots at 2.30am, "coconut island" (its a padang!) at who knows what time, hanging out with 'serani mabuks' talking really loud when you're only inches away from them, chicken ball rice at 4.30 am, chatting on balcony till 8.30, swimming at 9am, breakfast at 9.30, continued swimming till 11.00, in bed by noon!

christmas morning (bottom) - after christmas eve supper, getting caught in a jam at the stroke of christmas! home after supper in anticipation to see the lighted houses in settlement, soon to be ruined by a eurasion whom all have a time lapse of 2 hours, when they say "for a while more" in that accent of theirs which they always do.. it means i'll be there in two hours, if you're lucky, or if theyre not too pisst.. eurasions, eurasions tsk tsk

sunrise, selat melaka.. opposite century mahkota appartments, and sunset at portuguese settlement.. *sweet*

fOoD gLorIouS fOOD!!!

welcome to a range of portuguese dishes- pickle, devil curry, 'sei bak,' and keluak curry (below). house hopping, christmas day and eating like no ones busines.. tsk tsk

cHriStmas in thE viLLaGE..

lead singer, jude's house; lighted trees everywhere and lighted reindeers and lighted everything at .. yes the settlement..

larGeR thAn liFe

christmas tree at the center of Portuguese Settlement, and a larger than life Santa in one of the many deecorated homes

nEw yEaR's

spending the new years at OLd sChoOL, and several new year day's with chunliang, like the oLd days

moRe jeSs-iSm's?

dear jess,

At some point of my insanity, approximately now, I can claim that I should be above and beyond the 19 century philosophers in the lights of Jean Paul Sartre and Kegaard.

Existentialism gives the notion that existence precedes essence, which means we exist, then we determine our life’s path, and decisions, even when we decide to not decide..

Now, this is where my attempts at philosophy start. In existentialism I’m suppose to be responsible for whatever result my choices are. In jessexistentialism, the choices I make within my control should have the outcome I want with the emotions that I am in control wit.

Therefore, I get to choose how I feel and be in control of my choices and results. See, existentialism can’t be right if control would mean that there are external factors that I cant predict but in jessexistentialism there is.

For example, choosing to steal the chocolate bar should mean that im aware i should be in control of not feeling guilty later because i know what i was doing and dating the wrong guy should mean i musnt regret it later or be affected and working in a dead end job should mean i musnt let myself feel like im being cheated or used or go into a self pity trip because i chose that path, and im choosing the outcome, which must lead me to not feel negative emotions..

For the simple minded I suppose I’m just a control freak. For the philosophical minded I suppose I’m just crazy. For those who subscribe to jessexistentialism, email me.

In your face Sartre,
jess

WhEn yOu pLaY wiTh fiRe, yOu gEt bUrnEd?

dear jess,

the beauty, the heat, the flicker and the very sense that a fire can grow into something wild and dangerous is the same reason we are attracted to it.

You know you might get burned but yet you can’t resist it. You think you can handle it. And that you will always win.

The problem with life is that everything can be set on fire. Everything comes with expectations. If I call and talk to you for over two hours id expect you to call me back, if I bought you a Christmas gift I’d expect one in return or at least a thank you. If I drove to see you, messaged you to see how you are, I’d expect you to put in the same effort into it if not more than I do.

The problem with reality is that my expectations always get the better of my sensibility. My need to control the situation, the person, the outcome makes me almost always get burned.

Sometimes I wish that I was the kind of person who could live alone.

Lately, I’ve been feeling more and more like an idiot. Looking back on relationships, in whatever form, I realized that I’ve wasted too much effort. And then I sit down in expectation… and instead I get burned.

Its time I started living for me. In Selfishishness. And don’t you dare tell me otherwise. I don’t need praise or appreciation, advice or concern. I just need to stop being an idiot. But I’m not sure what makes me think ill learn that.


There’s an idiot born every minute,
I keep getting reborn every 4 minutes or so..

jess

whAt'S nEw??

dear jess

A lot of things are overrated. Resolutions, self development, plans. Actually, a lot of things are just me-rated. We live in a world of selfish buggers. Christians included. Things we want to do within the year. And at the end of the year we become failures for not achieving them. Another reason to beat ourselves up and go into a self pity trip.

I think more and more that humans love to self pity. Look at me I don’t have a boyfriend, I don’t have a nice car, or an ipod.. me, me, me. How annoying we have become. On new year’s, someone came apologizing to me in tears. Being skeptical, my mind went into a dejavu mode. Yes this has happened before, exactly a year ago I think. So tell me I have to forgive her seventy times seven times but I cant help being skeptical.

This is me. The year will pass by me again and I would have repeated the same mistakes I warned myself against. I would’ve learned a skill I’m proud of like swimming and come to absolutely love it. I most likely will relearn a thing or two about myself that I hate. I may decide on ‘big’ decisions like marriage or even leaving the country.

And yet all this things I do will not change the world. Just my perspective of the world. My graduation, or new job, my new love or new car makes no difference in the atmosphere. The world in the silent space will go on spinning as it were. People will continue hating each other, whether I’m in Malaysia or Spain. Someone and more than just some one will die. It could even be me.

That is life as it were. And yet every year we give ourselves false hopes that the year will be ‘better’ and come end of the year we open our lists, smile because we thought we did well or frown and go into self pity.

What’s on that list that only God knows who started reflects more of who we are than who we really want to be. But that’s just my opinion. After all that’s all that matters. Me.

yours,

jess

LeT tHe OvEReATiNG bEgiN!!

dear jess

I have the ugliest handwriting on the block. And I know that. I don’t need anyone else to tell me that and in attempting to write a romantic letter, if ever; it would definitely be a failure. However when I flip through them in my journal, it gives me nothing but great pleasure, pain and intrigue.

The shadow of time is slowly caving in on me. This year the world didn’t celebrate new years and my family didn’t celebrate Christmas, which makes this one slightly more stressful, with the lost of significant others.

The ugly handwriting fails me not and tells me of the pain that I had to go through in one of the darkest times this year, gained friendship, and the death of it. Accusations, harsh words, hatred.

I’ve caused a lot of pain too. Lost love. Wrong values. Bad judgment and decisions that have left people in depression, pain and even regret.

I’ve also been treated with grace by so many around me. Im contemplating naming these people but perhaps it isn’t wise as I may miss out those that may have given me grace without my awareness. My friends and family who’ve been there when I was ‘mistreated’ at church, work and even when I had secrets I couldn’t share with anyone else..

Backpacking beautiful Thailand is one that was written with so much care, at guesthouses, the lounge at my stay when I was alone, in a bus on the way to the next destination, even on the floor as I cried once. It’s something that means so much to me and yet so few can share this experience.

To grasp a whole year in my hands feels like standing in front of a work of art and describing it all at a go. You see, the only calculated achievement or lack of it was that I read slightly more than half of the books I had wanted to read.

It’s all in this one big feeling I have right now stuck in my throat and is welling up in my eyes. It’s not quite a feeling of pain and or joy..

Sometimes its great not to be able to describe or journal something. And that the feeling stuck in my throat is something that no one can duplicate from me.

The good and bad thing about going into a new year is that I can never anticipate what will happen. I thought I was going to be shivering with excitement that ill be headed off for Christmas, as it turns out the feelings are opposite now.

You’ve been good to me. The silent listener of all my moans and groans. Whilst my letters to you will taper off as I shall indeed be busy stuffing my face, thank you for being crazy enough to read my letters, yet nice enough not to hate me.

In all soberness and sadness I wish I wasn’t in right now, from the intimate spaces of my heart, I want to wish you merry Christmas in my mother tongue..

BoNG nAtAL!

Praise God the giver of life who somehow sees me worthy to be His. I hope that you and I will see that this Christmas

If it weren't for the rocks in its bed, the stream would have no song.
-Carl Perkins

yours in need of a shot of christmas cheer,

jess

aLL mEn aRe.......................

....... idiots

dear jess,

We set ourselves up for disappointment all the time, just waiting for that moment when that one single person will pay our one single self attention for more than 15 minutes of their time.

So we make politically-incorrect-bias-sexist-remarks like all men are idiots. And by idiots I mean exactly that. Love lesson 101. When a woman is angry and you fail to call her? You immediately become an idiot. The excuse you swear by that is truth to you that goes along the line of ‘I was waiting for you to cool down’ is.. idiotic. How is she suppose to cool down when you were the only one who could make her cool down?

Failure to call her within the first hour of her fury being made known – you will face some anger, but redeemable.

Within the next two hours- begging is advised

Within the next 3-5 hours – be prepared for many hours of groveling phone time

After 5 hours – ask her to come see me for a reality check.

Perhaps it is us women who are idiots. The definition will range from female to female under the umbrella of giving losers who’ve wronged them second chances, waiting on them, waiting for them, and who knows what else.

I’m even more convinced that we are the idiots sometimes as we believe the empty lies of being wooed, romanticized, and hang on to promises that he will call, come or email.

Most idiots may or may not get that moment of realization when the brick hits and the realization dawns that if you were his or her priority; he would’ve called emailed or be at your doorstep no matter how tired, tied, or tried.

And there we go shaking our heads at ‘unhappy singles’, including ourselves. Who’s the idiot now?

From one idiot to another..
jess

rAw aNd ReAL

dear jess,

We love at the expense of getting hurt. We make good friends at the expense of being betrayed. We share at the expense of being laughed, mocked and shamed at. We ask at the expense of being rejected. We forgive at the expense of being wronged again.

We close ourselves up at the defense of our emotions. We are sarcastic at the defense of our own insecurities. We stay away from relationships at the defense of protecting ourselves. We fail to share the truth at the defense of letting people know who we really are inside.

I hate it when someone talks to me about my letters to you. Asking me why am I this way. As if I should explain further the raw truth that came so hard to explain to you in a letter read by so many. He would ask me this as if my purpose was to be dramatic.

I hate it when the person who claims my loyal friendship treats me as a stranger when he is back and doesn’t speak to me more than 5 words or ask me out for a catch up drink. And yet to someone else I do the same.

I hate it when I think that I can keep my feelings free from a relationship and then when I’m hurt I cry, off the lights and type a letter to you in the dark.

In the deep recesses of my mind I get the feeling that someone is going to get hurt. And yet I use him. Maybe because he’s nice or maybe because he makes me laugh. Or maybe because he’s just there.

Mutual misuse. Even then, someone is bound to get hurt.

There is nothing wrong with hurting and giving hurt, only when you know it might happen with or without your doing.

Honesty. Its such a hard thing to do. Impossible in fact. Someone told me she’s going to approach this single one person who’s done me wrong. Finally someone who’s fighting my battles, the one that has for so long left a scar in my heart, the one that no one came up to me and apologize for the scars they left permanently.

The other day I put on my gold chain and choked in tears for the person who gave it to me.

If I know so much about causing hurt why should I let him into my life knowing that someday it will be his tears, and mine too.

growing too old for my own games,
jess

i'LL bE hOME fOR chRiStMAs..

Dear jess,

After 27 years of being away this will be my first Christmas at ‘home.’ Christmas has always been a mad rush of putting up pretty things for people to come together and enjoy. We’d wake up at 6 and rush into a drained looking musical team who would later be completely happy with their performance.

In my years of being away, I have met a little few interesting characters. This one calls me when I’m asleep to tell me how happy he is that there’s breeze today and its Christmas soon! Then later, he would tell me stories of playing truant, gang fights and even sad suicides.

For once. It’s nice not to be the stand up comedian who has to tell stories and keep the other amused.

It’s also nice to have someone younger than me speaking Portuguese to me in bits and telling me that in the settlement, the week before lent is a water festival that leaves everyone drenched, whilst Christmas celebrations start from now with singing, late nights and of course the infamous boozing attached to it.

The format of this hedonistic lifestyle, somewhat amuses and attracts me.

Cracking into the nutshell of my life seems to be finding a balance in all sort of things. I seem to fail to reach it and perfectly hate the standards that others force on you. The spiritual will condone whilst the worldly will entice.

There are so many things wrong with the pictures in our lives today from going only as far as a stage to proclaim Christ to just being sarcastic about going only as far as a stage to proclaim Him.

Drenched, broken and still impossibly searching for the balance, I’m thrilled at the prospect of Christmas, going two hours away to a whole new experience with a group of people that even I know little about, and yet am related to alot and the promise of being taken to have chicken ball rice at 4.30 am by the interesting character, as a latest addition into my life.

It’s beginning to feel like Christmas, in any sort of spectrum possible.

waiting to wish you Bong natal,
jess

individually named christmas balls...

a sPooNfUL oF suGaR

dear jess,

its raining outside, again and makes an awesome time for still reflections, silent longing's and typing on my bed. someone asked me today if i was ok, and that i hadnt been my usual self lately. perhaps thats true to some extends.

my life feels rather stale. like the bland taste on your tongue after getting sick. its pretty hard to describe but nothing excites me anymore. friends, church, entertainment. i guess most people would call it the mundanity of life that they've come to terms with at accepting, except, ive had mundanity, and this doesn't seem to be it...

its hard to cure something when you're not even sure what it is.

swallowing,
jess

yOu caN rUn, buT yoU cAnt hiDe!!

dear jess,

Some people exist merely to torment me, I believe. As many as have come and gone, there are some that migrate back to promise and seal torture for my life. The scary part about these people is that they seem like lambs to others.

I’ve always told myself to trust my intuition more, like for example when I saw the unrecognized number on my hand phone and the little small voice was shouting out that it could be him. don’t pick it up!

You see, the problem with swearing by male best frens is that sometimes, ever so rarely, you get friends dressed as males, with the embodiment of a female. Something like the term wolves dressed in sheep’s skin. You enjoy the male accompaniment because they won’t sweat it if you forgot their birthdays, didn’t see them for a few long weeks, and wouldn’t argue over about watching a movie or doing something without him.

But every, now and then, a male exists without knowing that in reality he is more, if not worse a female. Well, for the sake of being politically correct, a male or a female that is high maintenance is absolutely riveting, hence my torment.

There must be some sin in complaining about a “friend” to you and not to him, which isnt right as I've seen some people do. But since ive told him in his face that he is high mantainance and annoying and also, confronting, plus everything else, I guess all that’s left now? Is to sit and wait till he corners me AGAIN about why I haven’t called him to spend my every waking moment with him so he can once again question why ive neglected him for the last 5 years. I wonder how long I can duck him with the 101 excuses before I have to see him and reveal intimate details of my life because he probably thinks he deserves to know whilst he stares at me and sits too close for comfort. Bbbbbrrrrrrrr a chill just ran up my spine.

Well, at least you can be sure that my letters to you will remain dramatic from here on.

Wish me duck, I mean luck.

Groan, groan, groan,
jess

screaming or smiling? asian monalisa... i say screaming, and no one hears me..

painted poster outside a theater house, bangkok

siNginG in ThE rAiN or MaybE thAts wHy iTs rAiNinG..

Dear jess

I have rain tappin on my roof, and Christmas music in the background. With the atmosphere that’s as close to perfect as it can be for a Malaysian girl who adores rain and celebration, it must be good days ahead.

Everyone loves Christmas, because it makes you remininsce. And sometimes the gifts, the friends and family, and of course the wine drowns out the sorrows of normality, past pains and losses, or the fact that you’re away from home.

Its interesting how family structures work. Ive never come close to appreciating mine till lately. Last week, we sat down and listen to country, even josh groban with beer, nuts and live band. Yes, my family ‘structure’ is one that you can take pubbing. Because of course, when I was 12, they took us to watch the very same band in a smoky pub, watch the band play with their boots, hats, and husky voices.

You wont think much of pubs until you’ve gone into a Portuguese owned one, that ensures on the way out they know your name, and you’ve said goodbye to everyone, and the next time you’re back you can take credit for beers and booze!

Of course there is nothing like watching a band that has been performing for so many years from a lead who can yodel as well as do a josh groban. Even local group too phat came to watch.

It seemed like music week too, when the cousin and I watched movie, had supper and told a certain somebody that if we have an album we will autograph it for him. All this only to discover later that the certain somebody was also the lead singer of a local underground band. If I found a hole in the ground I’d hide it there, especially after letting him listen to our recorded singing of going to the chapel! Or was it worse when we screamed at him that he hadnt heard of the country and western group? I cant decide, but talking about music to a band that apparently was the first to have their demo tape played on Malaysian airwaves?

Note to self, bring portable hole wherever I go.

yours,

jess

uncle charlie plays with os pombos