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

aNd oF coURse..

You Are 60% Cynical

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

How Cynical Are You?

hiLariOuS!

Your Deadly Sins

Pride: 40%

Envy: 20%

Sloth: 20%

Wrath: 20%

Gluttony: 0%

Greed: 0%

Lust: 0%

Chance You'll Go to Hell: 14%

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

How Sinful Are You?

oH deAr..i NeeD hELp

You Are 19 Years Old

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

What Age Do You Act?

eVeryThinG thAt feELs gOOd mUst bE sinFuL

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

-Alfred E. Wiggam

dear jess,

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

It’s a really cute tie pin.

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

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

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

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

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

Like I said I was sarcastic.

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

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

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

yours,

jess

dAys WheN yoU juSt Go *bLeAH*

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


dear jess,

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

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

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

Its six days for goodness sake!

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

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

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

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

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

There. Who said I ran out of silliness.

yours,

jess

tAkE OnE huNdReD anD tWo

dear jess,

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

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

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

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

Ostracized

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Doing nothing is rather, awfully, terribly, tiring.

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

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

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

your live entertainment,
jess

evErYonE sAy, AwWwW...

dear jess,

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

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

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

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

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

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

What if we just stop reading into chick flicks?

yours,

jess

nOw, cOunT wiTh mE..

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

vegetarian restaurant, Lentil is anything, Melbourne

dear jess,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe some decisions should be thought out.

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

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

just give me another 5 seconds,

jess

roAd tRiP babY yeAh

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

dear jess,

hungry. nothing unusual there.

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

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

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

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

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

yours on the way up,

jess

mY 15 seConDs oF coNTeNtmEnT

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

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

dear jess,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

yours,

jess

dOinG iT wRonG, riGht?

dear jess,

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

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

Socially wrong I would call it.

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

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

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

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

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

yours,
jess

fiRSt couSin onCe removed, remOved couSins fiRst?

dear jess

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And I was so getting used to being called aunty.

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

tHis muSt be GoD puNIshiNg mE foR beInG aN ATheiSt

dear jess

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

unfortunately yours,
jess

dRunK on DiaPers

dear jess

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

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

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

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

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

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

change me please,

jess

jiNGLinG noNa, Yo kErE kAzA

Dear jess,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yours,
jess

prettyyy girlssss and me :)

kAis pAgi maKan pAgi, kAis petAng maKan pEtAng

kepada jess,

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

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

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

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

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

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

Begitulah.

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

sia,
jess

reMind me thAt i Love yOu

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

Dear jess,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

yours wet,

jess

tHe boOk of dEfiNitiOns

If you analyze anything, you destroy it.
Arthur Miller

dear jess,

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

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

Then there’s the nameless. The undefined.

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

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

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

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

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

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

the one they call,
jess

poStage pAid

Dear jess,

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

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

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

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

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

yours, as usual,

jess

aNotHer yeAr, anOthEr nUmbEr

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

dear jess,

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

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

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

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


blowing out the candles,
jess

bLessEd eAsTeR

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

.. im your father..

i fEeL prEttY?

dear jess,

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

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

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

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

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

an all time low,
jess

thE muCh oVeRraTed tErm

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


dear jess,

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

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

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

He asks me.

Friends?

Pause.

Overseas.

Here?

Pause pause.

Pause.

Work. Girlfriend. Wife. Work.

Pause.

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

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

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

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

Friendship count.

Pause

Pause

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

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

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

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

your friend,

jess

oNe aBsoLutE, on ThE roCks pLeAsE

dear jess,

Free spirit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Absolutes.

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

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

We either are, or we aren’t.

No in betweens.

You are either black or white.

Me? im quite literally brown.
jess

wHat iS the CoLouR of yOur LiE?

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

dear jess,

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

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

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

The prize that no one wants. Honesty.

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

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

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

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

yours,

jess

aLL thE woRld's a StaGe

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

Dear jess,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The coffee gets cold, and so do i.

yours offstage,
jess

hEy mA..

dear mum,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yours, no matter what,
jess

twiDdLing mY tHuMbs

dear jess,

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

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

I wait.

And wait.

I will not do anything without inspiration.

It’s true.

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

But still I wait.

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

My letters to you.

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

In return, life treats me that way too.

It works on its own time.

He waits.

I wait.

But like I said.

Inspiration.

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

yours in wait,
jess

uNdeFiNinG tHe dEfiNEd..

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

dear jess,

james blunt.

I knew it.

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

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

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

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

Random moments.

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

Random emotions.

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

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

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

He strums.

I smile.

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

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

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

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

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


yours,
jess

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

dear jess,

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

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

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

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

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

yours driving out,

jess

reNaULt ZooMs bY.. 

wAsTed, tiRed anD anGry. aLL in A dAys wOrk 

tHanK GoD its ovEr.. 

ugLy nAkEd guYs :P 

relucTaNTLy hEaDing iN  

jeHan miSkin! 

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