dear jess,
in the surreality of things, even great men die. Its odd really, as i was talking about the purpose and legacy of lives. i read the news minutes ago, and i felt i could hardly breath. This just from finding out about a man i dont even know.
i "met" krishen last year. Actually i had to act in front of him. It was the most horrifying experience ever, i had to strut out in front of krishen, marion and jit murad and do my stuff! The wobbly knees and full bladder screaming, i had to act in front of pioneers of theatre, and the very place where my feet were, was owned by him. I was in front of a living legacy who has been practising theatre even before i could walk, and practically created the arts world to where it is today! He's written books, lectured, directed, and is perfectly synonym to the word theatre. And there he was sitting down to watch me act! In retrospect now, it brings sweat to my palms.
And what does one do in the presence of a legacy? Put your head down and shyly avoid eye contact. What can i say!
Im speechless, i would love to in all flair write about the arts, krishen, etc but i cant right now, im just lost for words. Ive never had to write a letter this way. I know for a fact that the arts community pauses in time as they reflect on the great loss. He was 65, and still actively directing and contributing to the arts. Perhaps what strikes me most of all about this man i knew not was that he made changes in what he was passionate about.
I guess some of us do make a mark in the world that leaves impressions for a long, long time. We've really lost a huge part of the arts, but his legend and contribution will live on. How many of us can say that about anything we do?
yours in memory of krishen,
jess
Saturday, April 30, 2005
Tuesday, April 26, 2005
wiNe, tHe cOLoUr oF yOuR hEaRt
dear jess,
You smile as you think about your fascination of drinking that shimmering glass of red wine, with harry connick jr. in the background, the rain tapping gently on the window, you just had a warm bath, not shower, a bath, one that was foamy and relaxing. You bring the glass closer to your lips, smell it, and give it a slight twist, letting the wine 'breath.' The first touch of red gold on your lips is satisfactory, not too bitter, and not too sweet. It slides down your throat, and the warmth tingles the throat and the soul. That was the last bit you had. The one you saved for a special occasion or simply just to be selfish. He told you it was a speacial blend, made from four different grapes, and can't be bought here. You curse a little, knowing that that was the last time you'd appreciate that refiness on your lips, from this specific brand.
Then in your old fashion manner of being melancholic you start to think about the process that took just to give you that small moment of pleasure. The four types of grapes, which only purpose in life was to give you that intoxicating satisfaction.
Then you think about yourself, sitting down all alone in the couch listening to the rain tap, and you can't help but to wonder the lifelong purpose of the pleasures you might remotely bring into other peoples lives.
Your work, was that your purpose in life? or just distraction? Your loves, your passions, your "unselfish" time investing into other people's lives, your studies, your strives, your good fights for what you believed in, your work outs at the gym, your habitual movie watching, your gleam at buying new jewellry, your fantastic race car driving habits, you trying to make others happy when you're aching inside, you making a mark in the world so it remembers you.. all distractions?
They're very good ones, if they are, because with all these distractions you tend to forget your purpose, but then again, you dont really know what your purpose is in this life do you? So in the meanwhile, you might as well pile up on distractions? Perhaps until the harvest comes, and the grapes are picked, and you're squeezed into wine, where somewhere, somebody will reflect on their own purposes in life.
You smile as you think about your fascination of drinking that shimmering glass of red wine, with harry connick jr. in the background, the rain tapping gently on the window, you just had a warm bath, not shower, a bath, one that was foamy and relaxing. You bring the glass closer to your lips, smell it, and give it a slight twist, letting the wine 'breath.' The first touch of red gold on your lips is satisfactory, not too bitter, and not too sweet. It slides down your throat, and the warmth tingles the throat and the soul. That was the last bit you had. The one you saved for a special occasion or simply just to be selfish. He told you it was a speacial blend, made from four different grapes, and can't be bought here. You curse a little, knowing that that was the last time you'd appreciate that refiness on your lips, from this specific brand.
Then in your old fashion manner of being melancholic you start to think about the process that took just to give you that small moment of pleasure. The four types of grapes, which only purpose in life was to give you that intoxicating satisfaction.
Then you think about yourself, sitting down all alone in the couch listening to the rain tap, and you can't help but to wonder the lifelong purpose of the pleasures you might remotely bring into other peoples lives.
Your work, was that your purpose in life? or just distraction? Your loves, your passions, your "unselfish" time investing into other people's lives, your studies, your strives, your good fights for what you believed in, your work outs at the gym, your habitual movie watching, your gleam at buying new jewellry, your fantastic race car driving habits, you trying to make others happy when you're aching inside, you making a mark in the world so it remembers you.. all distractions?
They're very good ones, if they are, because with all these distractions you tend to forget your purpose, but then again, you dont really know what your purpose is in this life do you? So in the meanwhile, you might as well pile up on distractions? Perhaps until the harvest comes, and the grapes are picked, and you're squeezed into wine, where somewhere, somebody will reflect on their own purposes in life.
Everyone seems to have a clear idea of how other people should lead their lives, but none about his or her own. (The Alchemist, Paulo Coehlo)
yours sippingly,
jess
Wednesday, April 20, 2005
wHeN sHoPPiN iS a CuLtUrAL vIsIt
the vibration on the handles makes the water.... BUBBLE,
i think its an ancient chinese thing or something...
sOmeThiNG oLd, sOmEtHinG nEw....
Things are cherished more when they are gone, therefore how does one cherish it when one has it?
dear jess,
in a land where the sun is always shining seemingly hotter than back home, and your now-under-your care nephew is in desperate need to use the loo, surprisingly, you can become a tourist in your own home.
Back in my native roots of malacca, where the only few portuegese words i speak from bong natal to well kumi arus, the others being to vulgar, i find interesting revelations. Do you realise, that you can be a tourist in your own home? On my first monorail trip to kl today, the dirty streets of kuala lumpur suddenly had an appealing sense of beauty and strangness to it. I noticed the artistic beauty of the temple, the church and the messyness of the melting pot heritage.
In malacca, i longed to go back to "my" A famosa or the bits that was left of it, and just bask in the glory it once was, of course i didnt get to, cos that would be quite an oddity to say i wanted to visit those places wouldnt it? after all, ive been there a million. Instead, i found myself appreciating a many other things, i guess due to my thirst for local culture. Shops that sold bargain goods at RM1 had really expensive looking sculptures that spit water.
So here i was in awe of things that weren't totally strange to me, in fact we've all seen it a thousand before. It felt somewhat like an out of body experience permitting me to see things for the first time again. Maybe that's how it should be isn't it? When you pause and appreciate something like you were doing it the first, and never before. Well, yeah perhaps that too, and of course the wonderful, wonderful taste of durian cendol and satay celop.. sighhh i can feel myself sinking in the chair right now.
yours in need to burn some off,
jess
dear jess,
in a land where the sun is always shining seemingly hotter than back home, and your now-under-your care nephew is in desperate need to use the loo, surprisingly, you can become a tourist in your own home.
Back in my native roots of malacca, where the only few portuegese words i speak from bong natal to well kumi arus, the others being to vulgar, i find interesting revelations. Do you realise, that you can be a tourist in your own home? On my first monorail trip to kl today, the dirty streets of kuala lumpur suddenly had an appealing sense of beauty and strangness to it. I noticed the artistic beauty of the temple, the church and the messyness of the melting pot heritage.
In malacca, i longed to go back to "my" A famosa or the bits that was left of it, and just bask in the glory it once was, of course i didnt get to, cos that would be quite an oddity to say i wanted to visit those places wouldnt it? after all, ive been there a million. Instead, i found myself appreciating a many other things, i guess due to my thirst for local culture. Shops that sold bargain goods at RM1 had really expensive looking sculptures that spit water.
So here i was in awe of things that weren't totally strange to me, in fact we've all seen it a thousand before. It felt somewhat like an out of body experience permitting me to see things for the first time again. Maybe that's how it should be isn't it? When you pause and appreciate something like you were doing it the first, and never before. Well, yeah perhaps that too, and of course the wonderful, wonderful taste of durian cendol and satay celop.. sighhh i can feel myself sinking in the chair right now.
yours in need to burn some off,
jess
Sunday, April 10, 2005
aLwaYs iN tHe "LaIn- LaiN" cAtEgOry?
I told him that i had been in love many times but had been worried about whether I could ever become serious with anyone. If I had continued that way, it would have led to a solitary old age, and I had been very fearful of this.
I dont't think you look to love as a means to a comfortable retirement.
Coelho, The Pilgirmage
Dear jess,
If you can take a snapshot of your life, what would it be? The day you were born? the day you graduate? Close your eyes and imagine with me for a moment a photographic collection of your black and white pictures, almost faded, the one with your mum carrying you as a child, and the one with your first birthday, the one with the wild 21st party or the one with the whole family at Christmas.
The snapshots of our lives that contain people we love, the ones that contain people who've died and left, but forever looking so happy in those pictures, and in every picture, people are always smiling. Rarely if ever at all, do we catch snapshots of tears. I remember when mama passed on, i took pictures of the coffin, i know its madness, but something voyeuristic, if i may use that word, made me do it.,
Whats my point really? No man is an island they say, but even more so for people who are extreme extroverts. For them, us, and me, a short walk to the shops nearby can seem like hours without anyone next to you to express how stupid that guy looks dressed in those shorts, or how beautiful those plants are.. They have a constant need for companionship. Some people are created with the amazing ability to be single all their lives and some people just have the ultimate aim of wanting to get married. But perhaps the worse, or the best, depending on which you are, are the people who have the constant need for companionship (not necesarily romantic) and the high explosive need to be independant- even of the companion, adventorous and just plain mad.
Watching a movie, shopping alone, and even havin lunch on your own feels like a liffetime of torture, and yet the idea of living with one person for the rest of your life is just too much to take. These 'free-spirited' folks confuse people who dont understand their diversed need for companionship and yet independance.
What scares me the most is that the jess i once knew who had so confidently said that she can live without marriage and have a ball might one day become the jess who looks to love as a comfortable retirement. Perhaps if my girl bestfriends who are all in this limbo category never get married, we would start a womans fraternity and live the rest of our old age having loads of fun, drinking champagne's nightly, and traveling the world and when we need a man to come change the lightbulb, well we'll look for one then.
your companion,
jess
Saturday, April 02, 2005
eL cAmiNo dE sAntiAgO
"the ship is safest when it's in port, but that's not what ships were built for"
"we must never stop dreaming. Dreams provide nourishment for the soul, just as a meal does for the body"
Dear jess,
im writting to tell you exciting news about a new man in my life. Now, before you draw any brash conclusions, let me tell you that the man i speak of is none other than the great Coelho, Paulo Coelho. Yes, the famous author and inspirer, if there be such a word. Okay, fine, i havent had the privillage of meeting my portugese counterpart, but i did meet him on the road to Santiago.
As you, can see my great love affair with the little i know about Spain is far from over. And my limited knowledge is contented with wanting to eat tapas and paella, whilst drinking Sangrias in Andalucia, the place that invented the guitar, but where i really want to be is on that Camino that extends for miles and miles on a pilgrimage that would teach one so much more than just reaching an end.
The famous road to Santiago is one of the three pilgrimages that Christians take ending in the place where the apostle James is believed to be buried. Regardless, it has brought upon me the thoughts of these wonderful dreams. Sometimes when i sit back and wallow in thought, iam brought back to the time when i sat under the moon with a best friend, and i swore never to be contented with a 9-5 job, a stable income, and a 'wonderful' life that promises security, a high rise apartment, a dog and a husband that comes along with the package. Ironically, today he has a stable income.
As i was saying, when i met Coehlo on that Camino, his friend Petrus was saying this, maybe ill just let him tell you himself...
The first symptom of the process of our killing our dreams is the lack of time, the busiest people I have known in my life always have time enough to do everything. Those who do nothing are always tired and pay no attention to the little amount of work they are required to do. They complain constantly that the day is too short. The truth is, they are afraid to fight the good fight.
The second symptom of the death of our dreams lies in our certainties. Because we dont want to see life as a grand adventure, we begin to think of ourselves as wise and fair and correct in asking so little of life. We look beyond the walls of our day-to-day existence, and we hear the sound of lances breaking, we smell the dust and the sweat, and we see the great defeats and the fire in the eyes of the warriors. But we never see the delight, the immense delight in the hearts of those who are engaged in the battle. For them, neither victory nor defeat is important; what's importnat is only that they are fighting the good fight.
And, finally, the third symptom of the passing of our dreams is peace. Life beccomes a Sunday afternoon; we ask for nothing grand, and we cease to demand anything more than we are willing to give. In that state, we think of ourselves as being mature; we put aside the fantasies of our youth, and we seek personal and professional achievement. We are surprised when people our age say that they still want this or that out of life. But really, deep in our hearts, we know that what has happened is that we have renounced the battle for our dreams-we have refused to fight the good fight.
I believe that when one has quoted Coelho, one need not say more. I hope to someday see you, and myself on that Camino de Santiago. For now, adiós..
yours still dreamin,
jess
all quotations are taken from "The Pilgrimage" by Paulo Coelho
Wednesday, March 30, 2005
mY bLeSsiNg, My cUrSe.
Dear jess, I knew one day, one of these two would get me into trouble of some kind. Number one, being an "artist" number two, being a girl who has male best friends. Little of course did i realise, that the combination of these two was fatal, in some psychological way. Sadly, due to the number two, my personal life has lately become a public life, and if you knew me as well as karine knows, you'd know thats the one thing i hate more than anything else in the world. Even more so i had to sit in what i would describe as being in the scrutiny of incriminiting question not just on my personal life but my personal most intimate feelings! Just so as to satisfy my accusers, i cringed answering, waiting for the ground to eat me or up or tears to well up, but nothing of that sort happened, just my luck, i wasnt dreaming. Hence, the saga of my life continues. A director once said, to be an artists- it is our blessing, it is our curse. It is our blessing because believe it or not not everyone has a passion for it (thank your lucky stars!) and it is our curse because we need to do it, love it, practice it in an insecure cycle of perhaps not getting a stable job - as that is the typical perception. It is the drug we need. Perhaps thats why most artists are always depressed and in their odd personality types they are strong against all odds of what society thinks of them. Then enters my story. So once again what does the equation of being an "artist" and the number two get you into? Trouble. Having been accused of several things that i cant wait to be proven innocent, amongst them is making other people love the arts and consider it as a future career, i sit here and for once, unlike all artist i wont mellow in depression. If it is true that i discovered and gave breath to just one other person who's passion and soul thrives on not just the arts, but using this gift for God, then i shall smile. I shall smile knowing that if ever you were privillaged to be an artist and have an "insecure" job, and that you have to rely on God for jobs, and for God to provide an income, whilst you so faithfully practice your gift, then so be it, blame me for all i care. After all, arent most artists misunderstood? yours the starving artist, jess |
Monday, March 28, 2005
iF itS sO fUnNy hOw cOme iM nOt LauGhInG?
dear jess,
Isaiah said My mind reels; my heart races; I am gripped by awful fear. all rest at night - so pleasant once - is gone; I lie awake, trembling.
its funny how human beings are.
ive been up to mt kinabalu and back, in the rain, the last one to reach, having an injured walking partner to support, leaving the jungle after 10 and yet human beings are the hardest feat.
Its funny how people can be.
my grandmother passes away and in less than 3 weeks my closes cousin's mum passes away. Today we have an extended adopted family who has lost a wonderful mum and my mum's closest sister in law. And yet the grief of another human beings words hurt longer and is remembered further.
Its childish how earthlings are.
The same day my grandmother passed- which was officially the worse so far because i had pre-anticipated a huge VIVA in front of lecturers and friends, defending not only my theses that gave me sleepless nights but my ego, which came out crumbling, fades in comparison to the fact that i remain baffled that people twice my age who have misjudge me, not only fail to confront me but sees it fit to bring it up to someone else of "higher authority" instead.
Its stupid how human beings can be.
need i even explain this one?
jess, ive always been nothing less than honest to you. In the depths of my heart i wish that i dont have to write such painful letters. But they are the truth. I can't tell you although you probably already know, despite being Easter, this Sunday was one of the worse days of my life. Ive never had an issue escalate so quickly and so out of hand that i dont know what to do. And so i sit here awaiting my fate, hoping that there is still some justice left on this earth.
Its scary what humans what humans are capable of.
I did a self mutilation 'cruelty exercise' recommended by Coehlo (maybe ill tell you about it one day) that left the skin in between my thumb raw for days and yet, the rawness of people thinking that they are right, and going all out to make my life miserable fades in comparison.
The consequences? I have to sacrifice a friendship. So please if i write more depressing letters dont hate me. Deep in my heart, i want them to stop too.
yours looking to the God of justice and hope,
jess
Isaiah said My mind reels; my heart races; I am gripped by awful fear. all rest at night - so pleasant once - is gone; I lie awake, trembling.
its funny how human beings are.
ive been up to mt kinabalu and back, in the rain, the last one to reach, having an injured walking partner to support, leaving the jungle after 10 and yet human beings are the hardest feat.
Its funny how people can be.
my grandmother passes away and in less than 3 weeks my closes cousin's mum passes away. Today we have an extended adopted family who has lost a wonderful mum and my mum's closest sister in law. And yet the grief of another human beings words hurt longer and is remembered further.
Its childish how earthlings are.
The same day my grandmother passed- which was officially the worse so far because i had pre-anticipated a huge VIVA in front of lecturers and friends, defending not only my theses that gave me sleepless nights but my ego, which came out crumbling, fades in comparison to the fact that i remain baffled that people twice my age who have misjudge me, not only fail to confront me but sees it fit to bring it up to someone else of "higher authority" instead.
Its stupid how human beings can be.
need i even explain this one?
jess, ive always been nothing less than honest to you. In the depths of my heart i wish that i dont have to write such painful letters. But they are the truth. I can't tell you although you probably already know, despite being Easter, this Sunday was one of the worse days of my life. Ive never had an issue escalate so quickly and so out of hand that i dont know what to do. And so i sit here awaiting my fate, hoping that there is still some justice left on this earth.
Its scary what humans what humans are capable of.
I did a self mutilation 'cruelty exercise' recommended by Coehlo (maybe ill tell you about it one day) that left the skin in between my thumb raw for days and yet, the rawness of people thinking that they are right, and going all out to make my life miserable fades in comparison.
The consequences? I have to sacrifice a friendship. So please if i write more depressing letters dont hate me. Deep in my heart, i want them to stop too.
yours looking to the God of justice and hope,
jess
Thursday, March 24, 2005
tHe ePiToMe oF pAiN
dear pain,
when will you leave me? when will you go and let me be alone? You seem to be there at every crevice and crack i hide from you. Leave me and let me be. I look to things and friends to help me, but it only eases you for a while, for you always return to me, swearing your vengence.
You reside in the depths of my soul and heart, and make my heart melt within me. My nights and days become dreary and hands shiver from fear. Leave me and let me be, can't you see im already wretched.
I can name the people who brought you to me, but whats the point? You wont leave. The pain you bring with these people who have come to claim me guilty, judge me, and what's more, now they want to confront me with this lies they so persistantly believe.
I long for you to leave, and give me back my peace. I long to taste the joys of existing without fear. The strength of confidence that i am innocent. My bed gives me no rest, my eyes wont let me stop tearing, my heart wont stop sinking.
I long to write letters with more dreams of joy and less pain, but alas that is not to come. I long back for the days when people loved without judging, when he understood, and when she let me stay in her home despite not knowing me well, when they showed me that being Christians were opening their lives to me, when he made me believe in myself. Those sweet days are strangers now.
Dont be alarmed, and dont think that you have to comfort me. I hope it passes, and when i come out of it, be it in failure or victory, i hope to write you letters of joy and dreams once again.
yours,
jess
when will you leave me? when will you go and let me be alone? You seem to be there at every crevice and crack i hide from you. Leave me and let me be. I look to things and friends to help me, but it only eases you for a while, for you always return to me, swearing your vengence.
You reside in the depths of my soul and heart, and make my heart melt within me. My nights and days become dreary and hands shiver from fear. Leave me and let me be, can't you see im already wretched.
I can name the people who brought you to me, but whats the point? You wont leave. The pain you bring with these people who have come to claim me guilty, judge me, and what's more, now they want to confront me with this lies they so persistantly believe.
I long for you to leave, and give me back my peace. I long to taste the joys of existing without fear. The strength of confidence that i am innocent. My bed gives me no rest, my eyes wont let me stop tearing, my heart wont stop sinking.
I long to write letters with more dreams of joy and less pain, but alas that is not to come. I long back for the days when people loved without judging, when he understood, and when she let me stay in her home despite not knowing me well, when they showed me that being Christians were opening their lives to me, when he made me believe in myself. Those sweet days are strangers now.
Dont be alarmed, and dont think that you have to comfort me. I hope it passes, and when i come out of it, be it in failure or victory, i hope to write you letters of joy and dreams once again.
yours,
jess
Monday, March 21, 2005
rEaLitY hAs a KnAcK fOr hItTiNG hArD - ALL tHe tImE
dear jess,
what is it with this man called Reality? i keep bumping into him every now and then. A colourful odd ball that one, carmouflages with just about everything. Just yesterday Reality disguised himself as a she, called me up. She claimed to be the mother of my best friend and said something terribly nasty. I listened carefully and thought, ah ive heard this voice before! The last time i heard it, she was making fictitious claims, that i must say terribly upset me. This time, i was surprisingly calm. So as i was saying, she claimed alot of anger in her words, and she even called me a ***** twice. Lets just say no one has, and this coming from a 40 plus mother was amusing to say the least. So wat do you do when Reality calls you and doesnt let you justify yourself, because Reality has already decided who and what you are? what do you do?? why, you hang up on him of course!
But, as some of us are already aware, Reality is a stubborn one too. Following that, Reality insisted on coming over for tea today and he got me thinking. He told me about this woman he met- Ms Dysfunctional. She is a pain in the neck. They use to date i think. anyways, what she does is pry into families when they werent watching. In my best friend's case, she was a long term house guest. The mother would pry into the private lives of her son or daugther and would then think that her adult son shouldn't be friends with this girl or guy base on external factors, youve heard them before, stuff like racism? Amazing, because Ms Dysfunctional has the amazing knack of making people think their views of the world and other people are all wrong, except theirs! so what do these mothers do? They actually call up their children's friends so that they can scream the very bad words to them that they've taught their own kids not to use.
Reality explained that people are far and beyond what we imagine them to be, that Ms Dysfunctional was the key to todays's society, that many children suffer under their parent's 'rule' and all this at the same time appearing 'godly' and pure to its finest degree, they are the same ones who emotionally torment their children, and anyone who dares to be close to their kids suffer the same wrath.
And while Reality was talking, baby Thanksgiving whispered to me, and looking back at my own family i rejoiced that my parents were gold in comparison to what Reality explained.
A little while over tea, baby Confusion crawled in. Confusion got me thinking about how could families like these exist not only in our society but in our churches? Confusion kept repeating to me past thoughts about names and gossips that have hurt me before. Confusion for a second even led me to think that it was my fault that cause all these dsyfunctionality.
Just as i was about to hit bulk of depressions, Reality put his heavy hand on Confusion, told him to hit the road, and reminded me of but another friend who had Dsyfunctional in her home for the last 20 years or so. In her home, Dysfunctional made her father hit her mother. Once again, this happens right under our noses! Is Dysfunctional still living there? will she continue to live on?
Reality then did something weird, he looked me into my eyes and he cried. He said jess, i hate to tell you this, but im gonna have to live with you for a long time. as long as you have best friends with Ms. Dysfunctional living in their homes, and as long as you have girlfriends who needs you when Dysfunctional makes her dad hit her mum, im gonna be living with you. So get use to the fact that i sleep anywhere i like, eat anytime i like, i dont flush after peeing and everything about me spells uncomfortable to you.
Well, i was about to tell Reality that no one tells me how my life is going to be and all the other nonsense i abide my life with when another voice hit me. Softer and yet louder that Reality's. Was it the voice of reason? Or was it the voice of Hilarious because i could still laugh? Was it the voice of Pain because it felt like my heart was taken out and chewed on, and then placed right back in? Was it the voice of anger that Carmouflaged itself?
I think it was a combination of voices. First came the voice of helplesness that just told me to lie back and let it go, because there is nothing i could do. Then came the voice of Hilarious that made me laugh because people like these were blinded by their own fault, and yet had the amazing capability of picking out somebody elses. Then came confusion and just about everyone decided to take the day of to visit me.
finally, came the voice of God. Yes, i've rarely spoken of Him in my letters to you, but dont be mistaken jess, He has been the very voice of Grace. I couldnt explain it but along with his voice came a sense of calmness and joy. Sure i was angry that Reality was going to be my permanent roomate and with that came a flood of other horrific emotions.
its difficult to explain. The pain and the longing to change things remain but as long as Reality is still walking aoround my room STARK naked i sit back realising that there is little i can do- for now.
yours schizophrenicly,
jess
what is it with this man called Reality? i keep bumping into him every now and then. A colourful odd ball that one, carmouflages with just about everything. Just yesterday Reality disguised himself as a she, called me up. She claimed to be the mother of my best friend and said something terribly nasty. I listened carefully and thought, ah ive heard this voice before! The last time i heard it, she was making fictitious claims, that i must say terribly upset me. This time, i was surprisingly calm. So as i was saying, she claimed alot of anger in her words, and she even called me a ***** twice. Lets just say no one has, and this coming from a 40 plus mother was amusing to say the least. So wat do you do when Reality calls you and doesnt let you justify yourself, because Reality has already decided who and what you are? what do you do?? why, you hang up on him of course!
But, as some of us are already aware, Reality is a stubborn one too. Following that, Reality insisted on coming over for tea today and he got me thinking. He told me about this woman he met- Ms Dysfunctional. She is a pain in the neck. They use to date i think. anyways, what she does is pry into families when they werent watching. In my best friend's case, she was a long term house guest. The mother would pry into the private lives of her son or daugther and would then think that her adult son shouldn't be friends with this girl or guy base on external factors, youve heard them before, stuff like racism? Amazing, because Ms Dysfunctional has the amazing knack of making people think their views of the world and other people are all wrong, except theirs! so what do these mothers do? They actually call up their children's friends so that they can scream the very bad words to them that they've taught their own kids not to use.
Reality explained that people are far and beyond what we imagine them to be, that Ms Dysfunctional was the key to todays's society, that many children suffer under their parent's 'rule' and all this at the same time appearing 'godly' and pure to its finest degree, they are the same ones who emotionally torment their children, and anyone who dares to be close to their kids suffer the same wrath.
And while Reality was talking, baby Thanksgiving whispered to me, and looking back at my own family i rejoiced that my parents were gold in comparison to what Reality explained.
A little while over tea, baby Confusion crawled in. Confusion got me thinking about how could families like these exist not only in our society but in our churches? Confusion kept repeating to me past thoughts about names and gossips that have hurt me before. Confusion for a second even led me to think that it was my fault that cause all these dsyfunctionality.
Just as i was about to hit bulk of depressions, Reality put his heavy hand on Confusion, told him to hit the road, and reminded me of but another friend who had Dsyfunctional in her home for the last 20 years or so. In her home, Dysfunctional made her father hit her mother. Once again, this happens right under our noses! Is Dysfunctional still living there? will she continue to live on?
Reality then did something weird, he looked me into my eyes and he cried. He said jess, i hate to tell you this, but im gonna have to live with you for a long time. as long as you have best friends with Ms. Dysfunctional living in their homes, and as long as you have girlfriends who needs you when Dysfunctional makes her dad hit her mum, im gonna be living with you. So get use to the fact that i sleep anywhere i like, eat anytime i like, i dont flush after peeing and everything about me spells uncomfortable to you.
Well, i was about to tell Reality that no one tells me how my life is going to be and all the other nonsense i abide my life with when another voice hit me. Softer and yet louder that Reality's. Was it the voice of reason? Or was it the voice of Hilarious because i could still laugh? Was it the voice of Pain because it felt like my heart was taken out and chewed on, and then placed right back in? Was it the voice of anger that Carmouflaged itself?
I think it was a combination of voices. First came the voice of helplesness that just told me to lie back and let it go, because there is nothing i could do. Then came the voice of Hilarious that made me laugh because people like these were blinded by their own fault, and yet had the amazing capability of picking out somebody elses. Then came confusion and just about everyone decided to take the day of to visit me.
finally, came the voice of God. Yes, i've rarely spoken of Him in my letters to you, but dont be mistaken jess, He has been the very voice of Grace. I couldnt explain it but along with his voice came a sense of calmness and joy. Sure i was angry that Reality was going to be my permanent roomate and with that came a flood of other horrific emotions.
its difficult to explain. The pain and the longing to change things remain but as long as Reality is still walking aoround my room STARK naked i sit back realising that there is little i can do- for now.
yours schizophrenicly,
jess
Tuesday, March 15, 2005
wHeN iCe mELts..
Dear jess,
Although i have never been a fan of Sigmund Freud, I am reminded now, the 5 cycles of grief, or emotions similar. The first one? Denial.
If you havent met Cold hearted people yet, please, at all cost, avoid them. Although i too am not a believer of the study of astrology, some of it oddly seems to talk about me. An aries, people born in the fires signs as well, somehow encompass these Cold hearted people that i speak of.
Cold hearted people can make decisions in a split second, grieve or feel sad about it in a week, then move on. Even those that effect friendship and relationship. This bunch of oddities have a high ability of moving on in life, not looking back, starting anew and being competitive. Or do they?
As bad as i make us out to be, we really do feel alot. Perhaps it is denial to a certain extend that awaits a fresh encounter, or something that sparks the thought. Perhaps it is when someone you hurt mentions somethin, or a picture, or a thought that brings back flood of memories and emotions.
Perhaps it is the inability to change situations and the stark reality that makes us the cold hearted ones a misunderstood bunch. But nevermind that, whilst we are the last ones who would be seen as romantics and the first ones to be seen as ice queens, we do hurt for you.
Perhaps it is pride and denial that brings together for a nasty combination that will not admit how we feel. Perhaps it is the will power and strength of being rational that overrides our emotion.
Our gift, and our curse is the ability to separate our emotions, that really one day does come back to haunt us. And when it does, we too like you cry, regret and hurt for the fact that there are forces bigger than us and our emotions. Maybe we only feel that way for a short while, but in its intensity, we still hurt.
unfortunately yours ,
jess
Although i have never been a fan of Sigmund Freud, I am reminded now, the 5 cycles of grief, or emotions similar. The first one? Denial.
If you havent met Cold hearted people yet, please, at all cost, avoid them. Although i too am not a believer of the study of astrology, some of it oddly seems to talk about me. An aries, people born in the fires signs as well, somehow encompass these Cold hearted people that i speak of.
Cold hearted people can make decisions in a split second, grieve or feel sad about it in a week, then move on. Even those that effect friendship and relationship. This bunch of oddities have a high ability of moving on in life, not looking back, starting anew and being competitive. Or do they?
As bad as i make us out to be, we really do feel alot. Perhaps it is denial to a certain extend that awaits a fresh encounter, or something that sparks the thought. Perhaps it is when someone you hurt mentions somethin, or a picture, or a thought that brings back flood of memories and emotions.
Perhaps it is the inability to change situations and the stark reality that makes us the cold hearted ones a misunderstood bunch. But nevermind that, whilst we are the last ones who would be seen as romantics and the first ones to be seen as ice queens, we do hurt for you.
Perhaps it is pride and denial that brings together for a nasty combination that will not admit how we feel. Perhaps it is the will power and strength of being rational that overrides our emotion.
Our gift, and our curse is the ability to separate our emotions, that really one day does come back to haunt us. And when it does, we too like you cry, regret and hurt for the fact that there are forces bigger than us and our emotions. Maybe we only feel that way for a short while, but in its intensity, we still hurt.
unfortunately yours ,
jess
Thursday, March 10, 2005
wHaTs wOrSe tHaN dYiNG?
dear jess,
living an unchallenged life.
Being a possibly manic deppresive person, life couldnt possibly be more colourful. when you are happy and high, it feels like you just sucked the life out of a world of adrenaline, your heart starts to pump, the smile on your face refuses to fade and your talk becomes not just faster, but louder, excitable. You feel that you have fallen in love with the world all over again, nothing can change that or challenge that, and anyone willing to even let their shadow fall on your path is defaced, eaten up alive.
Then as if to balance out the yin and yang, you have those dreary days, normal people like to think that its depression they face, but God forbid it that they ever do. Life becomes dreary and stark dry like the dessert of the sahara and normal chores become an impossibility.
But then there is possibly another side that psychologist have yet to discover. The one where life becomes normal. Everything starts to set itself in pace, its just normal. How can one live with that? Its not an up, its not a down.. its a flat. flat! what do you do when its flaT???!!!!
There are the normal shares of people annoying you and also the ones loving you but so what? There are the normal shares of jobs to be done, money to be made, but so what?
Scripts to be done, performances to watch, auditions to go to, so what?
Suppers to gorge at, lunches in the heat, errands to be done, people to be met.. but so what?
I need something, someone or to go someplace to be jolted into gear. There have only been two people in my life who has done that. People who challenge me, my mind. One of whom i admire is already halfway around the world living out his dream. And so im left here thinking about my own pilgrimage i hope to make someday.
I need to find that place and i need to go there soon before my soul runs dry and im doomed to be trapped in the forever land of my flat, unchallanged life.
i do not like to admit that i might fear leaving this flat land, where it holds people and memories of those i love, taking the risks of changing those relationships and heading towards the unknown where i will melt into the faces, having no history, no ties, no one to fallback on. Perhaps that is not what i fear, perhaps what i fear is that i may never want to come back.
yours in hope of a pilgrimage,
jess
living an unchallenged life.
Being a possibly manic deppresive person, life couldnt possibly be more colourful. when you are happy and high, it feels like you just sucked the life out of a world of adrenaline, your heart starts to pump, the smile on your face refuses to fade and your talk becomes not just faster, but louder, excitable. You feel that you have fallen in love with the world all over again, nothing can change that or challenge that, and anyone willing to even let their shadow fall on your path is defaced, eaten up alive.
Then as if to balance out the yin and yang, you have those dreary days, normal people like to think that its depression they face, but God forbid it that they ever do. Life becomes dreary and stark dry like the dessert of the sahara and normal chores become an impossibility.
But then there is possibly another side that psychologist have yet to discover. The one where life becomes normal. Everything starts to set itself in pace, its just normal. How can one live with that? Its not an up, its not a down.. its a flat. flat! what do you do when its flaT???!!!!
There are the normal shares of people annoying you and also the ones loving you but so what? There are the normal shares of jobs to be done, money to be made, but so what?
Scripts to be done, performances to watch, auditions to go to, so what?
Suppers to gorge at, lunches in the heat, errands to be done, people to be met.. but so what?
I need something, someone or to go someplace to be jolted into gear. There have only been two people in my life who has done that. People who challenge me, my mind. One of whom i admire is already halfway around the world living out his dream. And so im left here thinking about my own pilgrimage i hope to make someday.
I need to find that place and i need to go there soon before my soul runs dry and im doomed to be trapped in the forever land of my flat, unchallanged life.
i do not like to admit that i might fear leaving this flat land, where it holds people and memories of those i love, taking the risks of changing those relationships and heading towards the unknown where i will melt into the faces, having no history, no ties, no one to fallback on. Perhaps that is not what i fear, perhaps what i fear is that i may never want to come back.
yours in hope of a pilgrimage,
jess
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