moments of madness

dear jess,

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

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

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

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

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

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

bah!

jess

swinging it

dear jess,

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

just another day, in a public school..

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

punch or none.

yours,
jess

loneliness

dear jess,

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

but, alas, all my attempts fail.

he continues to sit with me.

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

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

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

yours,
jess

brazillian barbaque

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

in essence

dear jess,

its officially half a year.

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

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

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

change comes slowly. for sure.

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

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

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

yours,

jess

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

lets keep them in prayers.

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

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

poker time!!

my first ostrich meat

congrats, mr and mrs drieberg, 777

a cost for the cause?

dear jess,

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

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

so.

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

or not.

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

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

but really. there was something initially.

simply this.

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

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

once a druggie, always a druggie.

yours,
jess

heaven be my strength

dear scholar,

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

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

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

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

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

yours,

jess

i am edgar

there is no other name that knows my pain

than the beautiful annabel lee

loved by him in the chilling wind

edgar's annabel lee.

dear jess

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

how can one love so greatly and murder so lightly?

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

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

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

on that note.

yours,

jess

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

-part of edgar's annabel lee-

LiVe shOws roCk!!

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

the anniversary of the diary..

dear jess,

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

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

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

you still make me cry, anne.

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

yours,

jess

biTchInG thErApy?

dear jess,

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

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

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

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

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

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

i learned something recently: our true friends are those who are with us when the good things happen. they cheer us on and are phased by our truimphs. False friends only appear at difficult times, with their sad, supportive faces, when, in fact, our suffering is serving to console them for their miserable lives.

from The Zahir

yours,

jess

speaking of fathers...

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

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

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

who's your daddy???

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

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

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

ive reached the end of my road

dear jess,

i want to jump out of a plane.

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

and im tired of it.

i am.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

jump with me?

jess

baCk to WorK

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

the sun sets in malacca

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

the engraved waterfall in dataran pahlawan.

the man who makes his ketupat dish.

topped with coconut, peanut sauce, sambal and "tempe" or other ingredients you wish

some pretty darn good rojak mee

rowing his boat in the make shift venice..

one of the best parts of having a friend who owns a bar, and cooks reallllyyyyy well.

i.g.r.i.d

dear jess,

"i want to change the world, instead i sleep."

ingrid michaelson

i want to be young again. not because i need to look younger or feel bouncier or have more energy to talk more nonsense. i simply need to be younger and to be filled with that sense of being able to be anyone i want in the whole world and being able to change the world.

in the past few days i have been able to learn more about people, and it never seems to be something i can come to like. people, are clearly strange. and they, like animals, seek out security. they work in packs and tend to stick in those groups. i remember over the weekend that i had wanted to hang out with that one person, but he was clearly too busy being in his pack, and i tried to make new friends but breaking into their pack probable meant becoming their dinner.

so there i was. alone but with people who somehow manage to be with me, but was never part of me. what was i looking for? acceptance? love? solace? trying to break into the normal social acceptance of these people sticking with those?

or the truth that i dont have a pack and am okay with that?

i'd like to think that im ready to face the world again. that i can stop being conscious. that i knew i was holding my wine glass wrongly on monday night and actually not be bothered by it. that i can stand before you and not be afraid to be flawed.

that i don't need a pack. and in reality i don want one.

so the question you must be asking is if it doesnt bother me, then why am i so bothered with it?

i dont know. perhaps its because if im sleeping things may seem better than if i woke up to find that i would rather just be sleeping.

yours,

jess

counting down..

my jaw dropped as they showed the preview, it was too hard to imagine that my favourite cartoon characters were larger than life, and it was then i realised how much i loved...

and oh! they look soooooo awesome in life size

i guess after this my simpsons comic collection will be worth more? of course id never trade my 'family' for cash. candy, perhaps ha ha

so be it

dear jess,

theres a strangeness in the air. if you care too much, you self destruct, if you dont, you will self destruct too. we really know the things that we only grow up with, and we usually end up thinking that they are right. life pattern, religion, sexual preference, violence, love, freedom of thought and speech, anything and everything.

very rarely do we break the role that we have been predestined in by people who bore us, or are friends with us. breaking the role, means breaking familiarity and that scares the hell out of us. very rarely, indeed very rarely are we allowed to truly be free to be ourselves.

who are you have you asked? if without someone telling you you shouldnt, or you couldnt? who am i, have you asked, and will you be surprised and perhaps disappointed?

and the after a few seconds of questioning those fine wonders, you and i go back to the masquerade because in the end, fighting takes too much for too long and that too is self destruction. when will we be our true selves and be loved for it?

yours,

jess

bEst kEpt sEcReTs oF tHe sOuTh aNd mAdNeSs oF tHe miNd

dear jess,

I know you will believe me when I say I don’t want to come back. Its only a couple of hours away but still.. I suppose being away makes you feel that for once you don’t have to live up to everyone else’s expectations.

We do so many things to please people. family, friends and the ever saying yes to easter plays so that the confrontation of finding a better excuse other than “I don’t feel like it” won't be too awkward.

But when you’re away, all people expect of you, is to enjoy yourself. And sometimes, you realize that people back home, all they want you to do, really, is what they want. Or what needs to get done.

As usual. Just like the degree I majored in, I have more questions than conclusions.

Here’s my take on the best kept secrets down south, some i've discovered for the first time too, and well some other madness that kept me sane.

i have gladly drowned you with pictures after pictures after pictures..

yours,
jess

mosT exoTiC raNgE oF sEafOOd

needless to say, im still in shock and wondering what meal a snail the size of my palm with polka dotted body is cooked into? all the food displayed is still alive and moving. a stall at settlement, some of the delicacies are only available when the tide is high.

huge, and i mean HUGE snails

this is the king crab (horshoe crab) placed upside down, it will attempt to turn itself with its tail (see video). the crustacean is really a part of the family of the scorpions (!) and is baked on fire, and the front part open to reveal eggs aplenty. when caught its always in pairs, a male and female and the male thrown back in because there arent any eggs to eat in them. in malay, it is known as the belangkas, when the name is used on you? it means ure just to freakin sticky to your boyfriend or girlfriend. haha. all in all. its a MUST try for everyone. what an experience..

this is how it looks like cook, check out how much eggs it has!!!

huge living mussels

tHe LeSS poPuLar poRtuGuesE fOrt

up on saint john's hill, lies the fort that was built to keep out sultan mahmud, and it did for he never succeeded till his death and many more battles after. it also had a church. as usual, the stone steps are made of the original ancient stones. best way to see a fort without many, or in my case, any other tourists.

bEsT exCusE

you definitely cant say anything if the food is bad. it was ok though its been said that the quality has dropped.

tRadiTionAL deSSerTs

at the saturday ice cafe, the ais batu campur has been the same way it always has, red syrup, biscuits and all the usual, of course u can add ice cream.

mOdERn deSsErTs

locally packed ice lollies!!! that come in the flavours of assam, lime, orange, red bean and the blue one that taste like hacks sweet. i had fours sticks at one go because it was served at a steamboat buffet. im a pig and proud of it :)

tHe beSt bAr

my vote for the best bar goes to 'tribe- the house,' better known just as 'house' is a bar with exquisite furnishing of all white, shoes off on the fully cushioned sitting area. the furnishing doesnt beat the 'invited guest list' only where only frens or frens of frens are allowed in, therefore eliminating issues such as 'bar fights.' after all, you probably know everyone in there. definitely more delicious than most places in kl!

beSt scRibBLinG

grafitti stricken walls all over tribe and nearby lot areas, all hire the same guy to do the work on their shop too

wElcOme tO thE juNgLE!

my weekend of extreme madness.. game face didnt work this time

boYs - "iDioTs" u caNt livE wiThout!

so you see, for some reason they had "rules" to this game they called, "gladiator"

then next they put their heads to the paper (i mean weapon) and spin.. well i guess the smarter ones cheated

and this is how it goes.. using their 'weapons' they just beat the hell out of each other! apparently its something theyve always wanted to do. of course, for us girls it was entertaining..

the punishment for those who cheat was not pretty....

pErHapS i SuCk aT tHis

dear jess,

have you had one of those days where you doubt what you do? where you reckon that you werent meant for this; perhaps? i have those doubts, every week, if im lucky, if im not, more than one time every week.

i reach a point where i ask myself, maybe im not meant to teach. maybe i actually suck at what i do.

that's what a job where you dont sit in a cubicle does to you. it makes you wonder. thats what a job when you cant gage satisfaction, amount of work done does to you. thats what you do when you decide to live on passion. thats how you will pay.

im not a disciplinarian. i dont know how to tell these idiots what they should and shouldn't do. maybe i'll learn someday and until then i will have to feed my depression by eating three meals after eight when i doubt myself.

i just needed to tell someone. and now that i have, i'm off for a holiday.

yours,
jess

i wOnDeR wHo rEaDs tHiS aNyWaY..

dear jess,

i guess its true they say you cant teach old dogs new tricks. i played with the thought of "advertising" my intentions as a post, and instead i ended up writting a letter to you. i don feel it is right if i betray my style now and advertise. ill probably just fit it on the sidebars instead.

i hate to gloat. ops wait, who am i kidding, maybe i do like to gloat. who doesnt? at least im honest. you know how sometimes you meet someone and they have a glare at you that goes "so what are you doing with your life now?" and they subsequently go on to say how well off they are and what big shot jobs they have? well my challenges in covetousness come from people who go "have you seen my play?" and i slowly creep into my hole knowing i auditioned for it, failed and now i have to watch some idiots (i say this lovingly) performing the damn thing. perhaps i think i like to gloat is because i have nothing to gloat about.

regardless. i've forgotten the point.

yes, advertise. i was going to "advertise" something but i've decided to just include it into the sidebars. as for the gloating. well i have to wait a year for the launch of what i shall perhaps aptly name "making my mark in the world."

yes. like as if you hadn't realised already how strange iam.

yours,

jess

doNt RoCk tHe bOaT

dear jess,

i went into the treasure of a chest bookstore, silverfish books, the only one place in this country where you can find malaysian books, scripts and films by theatre practitioners, activist and the independent, non popular and forever controversial works of such people.

my aim and idealisation, like everything else in my life was to acquire a malaysian film so that i can be the first to show an independent malaysian film to my students and perhaps inspire them. i brought home amir's dvd instead of james lee's and watched six shorts. i had to cancel out two of those short film because they had bad words, and still include one with a prior "kids theres an f word in there, once" and hope to death i don get fired. and then out of the few that i pick. and as i watch i wonder what will a person of this race think if he watched. will he get upset and claim that im putting this up as a way to cause some form of uprising and brain washing? i decide to take that risk.

as i watch some more i find it brilliant in the simplest way. you know why? because someone is telling the truth. ill be damned, it isnt me. as i watch i think about several people who will appreciate it, the discussion of the identity card, amongst others.

iam apparently on my way to being a postgraduate in performing arts. this is my first time i am watching an amir muhammad film. his latest, lelaki komunis terakhir has been banned here, but not in our neighbouring country. the dvd i have includes an interesting excerpt of the post discussion of community leaders on the film, and the issue of it being banned.

you see.

someone has made films just by telling the truth.

i am simply showing some of those to a bunch of my kids so that i hope that someone will in turn try to make things better by telling the truth.

so how come its not me?

fear is power,

jess

i reckon that we live in denial. me included. we live here and yet we dont count ourselves as being here. how many local literature, tapes, cd, dvd do we own? we are so quick to say that nothing good can come out of our own country. and then quickly complain about our neighbours and how they rely on us for water.

bLacK hOpEs anD reVeLatIoNs

dear jess,

does it feel like you are rotting inside while outside you remain inhumanely fresh. does it feel like you have nothing left in your soul or your heart and that you just hope its a feeling that will past. does it feel like you're standing on trial and everyone, if not now, soon enough will betray you.

sometimes i let myself stay in guilt, so as to be able to punish myself and to tell myself that i dont deserve any better. and then there are days i never knew when i wake up and think the feeling will past but it doesnt. look over my shoulder, think of ways to avoid it, wonder what ill do and end up knowing that im helpless.

i have become a bitter repurcussion of me. i did this and iam this. and every once in a while i feel like im being eaten alive inside, piece after piece till this is all iam left.

yours,

jess

flyin the flag for everyone to see..

the life chapel's 40th anniversary pictures on jess'sflickr taken by the new and long awaited love of her life, which she has named joaquin ;) enjoy!

HaveNt cHaLkEd mY shOes yeT aGaiN

dear jess,

you know how it is, when sometime in your life, you meet people you havent seen for years and it comes back like a sweet gush of memories when we all sit down and talk about the boy who had a big hole in his pajama's, the girl who in university broke the egg for the 'egg test' during orientation, the boy who actually got up and sang 'lemon tree' with actions and it just goes on. and on.

everyone has that high school or university memory. and it will always be sweet.

then after more than several years meeting people in your past is like a moment when you feel that you want to be so much a part of their lives again, to relive the past and the moment is slowly overcomed by the sense that maybe in the present we dont have anything in common, except the past.

perhaps sometimes its because we like to live the past memories nicely in tact and then once every few years when one of us gets married, we can open the box and relive them. i guess that gives us assurance we'll always have material to talk about.

i was the one where the boy with a hole in his pyjama's wrote me a song, entitled little brown girl. and if that sounds like its suppose to be touchy, mushy and sweet, its not. i know what it is. its the sweet past that we wish we can still hang on to today, and yet we know it cant happen so we dont hope for it too.

for what its worth, it was definitely some of the best years of my life.

yours,

jess

iM coMinG hOme, wiLL yOu?

dear jess,

language is a strange thing. some things should never be translated. i remember people who tell me that they cant or wont listen to malay songs. to say they dunno what they're missing is an understatement.

Aku tak percaya lagi
dengan apa yang kau beri
Aku terdampar di sini
tersudut menunggu mati

Aku tak percaya lagi
akan guna matahari
Dengan mampu menerangi
sudut gelap hati ini

Aku berhenti berharap
dan menunggu datang gelap
Sampai nanti suatu saat
tak ada cinta kudapat

Kenapa ada derita
bila bahagia tercipta
Kenapa ada sang hitam
bila putih menyenangkan…

Chorus:Aku pulang…tanpa dendam
Kuterima.. kekalahanku
Aku pulang…tanpa dendam
Kusalutkan.. kemenanganmu

Bridge:Kau ajarkan aku bahagia
Kau ajarkan aku derita
Kau tunjukkan aku bahagia
Kau tunjukkan aku derita
Kau berikan aku bahagia
Kau berikan aku derita

Berhenti Berharap by Sheila on 7

dont take my word for it. i promise you there is no way you can hear this song without being moved. one wonders, how every now and then music that lives up to its definition passes us by..

itu kamu, (nama lagu dari kumpulan estranged ;)
jess

loVe diScRimiNAteS

dear jess,

remember how it was when we were growing up, girls would ask each other "whats ur ideal guy like?" and then we'd say something stupid like, nice eyes, etc etc. and remember how when we went for camps, people speaking would say, "make a list, so we know what to look for?" and then, we would idealise that we "deserve" that man because we are oh so great.

and then we'd walk in the shopping malls and say how that pretty girl shouldnt be with that ugly guy, or how that fat chick shouldn't be with the skinny dude.

its just that, i suppose we've been brought up to think that the very idea of love is something that we can dictate and have control over. perhaps there are some types of people we are prone to not fall in love with, others that we are, and then others that we never expect too.

the love checklist, however is blocked by the idea that it defines our "principles" and what we "should" look for in a guy. perhaps whats important to us and what should be important to him as well. if he fits just one or two criterias in the list, perhaps ill just force him to fit in the rest eventually.

we asians plan e-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g. even who we should fall in love. good luck with that.

yours,
jess

wHat's SpeCiaL abOuT bEinG sPeciAL?

dear jess,

we all like to think that we are special. the believe that we are different and that we contribute something unique to the world in some ways gives us reasons to continue living. sometimes we are so blinded at being "special" that we never realise that the term has somehow evolved since.

i suppose you can tell what a person takes pride in, in what he shows off, or if you like, in what he prizes. and some people prize in the strangest things. some people prize in being able to eat like a pig and not gain weight, or lose the weight in a week. others prize in the achievements of finishing their studies quickly, and still others because they managed to get hitched.

the modern day "special" isnt always nice and we sometimes use it on people who are deemed to be slower than us, or people way faster than us. someone once said that talent is a burden, its "a curse, a blessing"

does being special mean that you are the last three siblings of a generation only with your surname? you're probably just one of a hundred, if not thousands of rodrigues's, lim's or wong's. but then what happens when you are really special and you by some freak of nature end up being the only male left with your surname to populate the next generation?

being special isnt what its made out to be. But then again nothing ever really is. sometimes we just need to tell our children, that being normal is good; well that is unless of course you're that last remaining male of your ancestry.

yours,

jess

stUff iT

dear jess,

there is no apparent reason to write, no "agendas," no mindless philosophical debates, nothing, yet. i hate surprises, unless it was from someone im dating, my family or someone really close to me. otherwise i wouldnt consider a bunch of frens turning up at my house to give me cake a surprise, especially if i hadnt talked to them in the last few months or so.

i use to be the most unsurpriseable person in the world and id guess whatever surprise it was headed my way. so i guess when someone offers to take you out for dinner but instead decides to make the arrangemenst with my mother, i find that more than a tad irritating. however, in the spirit of trying to be nice, ive decided that maybe the intention outweighs the strangeness of going about such things.

the worse part about "surprises" is that it often ends up to be about the person surprising you, because you draw on your rusty melodramatic skills and feel oblige to go "oh thats soo awesome! i didnt expect that!"

all i have to say is. im gonna go fishing next week. :) salt water fishing, the kind where you wait for two hours before your first bite, and then reel in in anticipation as your fish fights the hell out of you to stay in the water, and you go "ohh thats awesome, i didnt expect that." and my fish wil just jump up and go "surprise"

yours,
jess

aRe yOu thE onE thEy cALL a hERo?

dear jess,

you know the feeling? the one where you thought, as a youth, you were going to make a difference? and then, money came along, and you thought i'll do it when i have bought my first PDA, my first laptop, my first house...

and then instead you thought, that what you really want, is the best for yourself. so you decide to leave, because someone once said, its better to be a third class citizen in another country than a second class in yours.

and then you decide, you're not happy, so you travel, because you can now afford to. first class seats, five star hotel and a tour guide to tell you whats nice.

then when you have children, you finally tell your children to make a difference in the world, or most of the time you just tell them to make as much money as they can and make a difference in your life.

someone once told me that when he came back from being overseas, all his friends could talk about was what new gadget they now own. pause and think what are we if all we have to our worth is a technology put together by somebody else.

hush now, we weren't meant to rock this boat. the country is too many men complaining about the few men conspiring against whats best for us. what difference would we be if we didnt do our best to seek out those who needs us the most?

yours, but are you mine?
jess

this is how i look like after only an hour and a half worth of sleep in twenty four hours..

We ArE wHat oUr faThErs WeRe yEsTeRdaY..

dear jess,

on days when i dont have the one i love or an obligation to work or studies that help distract me from life, i am but to be left with thoughts, a cup of coffee and people to irritate me. well, i did pick up a new hobby. skectching.

the thing is i use to hate drawing. i couldnt draw, and probably still cant. i cant even draw a straight line with a ruler, but my claim will be that if u have legs, u can dance, and i suppose if u have hands, patience, a sketch book. a 7b pencil, who knows. after all they think picasso is a genius.

do u know how they say that those who cant do, teach? this may be true. but i think perhaps it would be better phrased this way. those who cant teach, do. you see, teaching, is probably the most horrifying job in the world. and im starting to despise the modern young know-it-all generation. everyone says that children these days are smarter. i say, they are a bunch of smart arses.

so, when i do my best to teach people a simple thing like making their faces up, so that some day when im gone, at this rate im hoping sooner than later, they shouldnt question with their shrill, annoying voice, WHY? why should i put my own make up when someone else can do it for me?

that creates me to ask me why? why am i doing this? and to be honest, i dont think i know anymore. i've felt that way today, last week, maybe even last year. the truth is, im tired. tired of doing what i thought i love doing to people who dont.

i dont know how to draw. i have to be honest. i have no idea what rule number one is. and you know, my mum is a great visual artist, and im not saying that because she's my mum. perhaps, when i ask her some tips tomorrow, ill just leave her the sketch book, 7b pencil and eraser; after all she might make a mistake.

lets toast to the modernism we're so proud of; a land of immense knowledge and instantly thingratified ever-y-thing.

typing on behalf of her,

jess