dear jess,

Ive been mooning over this letter for some weeks now. The ending or beginning of something always perplexes people to consider, reconsider, think, re-evaluate, look back and then forward. Perhaps sometimes with little point of the ever throbbing repetition of history, the same mistakes we will make, the same unachieved dreams, and the same wants of success and the blah blah’s of human cycle.

Sometimes, its difficult not to be bleak and dark when in reality our life seems so much like groundhog day. If not yours, then mine, perhaps.

In my quickie of re-evaluations I tend not to ponder on for too long, for the fear of a dip in the dark, ive come to see that in just one year ive had people closer to me than the skin on my bones, now familiar faces in a crowd of strangers. Friendship is a strange and deceiving thing. Ive always been biased to having male friends and ive realized that in my life to date ive had 3 girl pals who’ve betrayed me and my friendship. Perhaps that, in comparison to the one who has remained loyal for the last ten years makes up for the pain.

To be honest, I am empty and therefore re-evaluations and trying to be poignant just because it is the end of the year will be a failure by the end of this letter. Perhaps ive learned to be more patient in the face of accusations that I haven’t been nice enough or that ive used people or neglected many in the last year or maybe I’ve learned not to trust anyone anymore, or perhaps ive just learned to drag my legs in a world where my dreams are getting slightly bleak.

We always call Christmas a pagan festival in replacement. But I reckon God had a plan for that. Perhaps now in my evaluations, I see that no matter how you’ve failed me and how I’ve failed you, how I know the next year will be as filled with pain as joy, when I reach the end; there is hope, and that is the one single word that keeps human beings living and dreaming.

And perhaps the single hope I have for me and you this Christmas? Is that we find hope too. Bless you and as we say in my mother tongue bong natal.

yours this year and the next,

jess

tHe cOnStaNt pOunDinG iN yOUr heAD

.dear jess

The spread of humankind is plagued by verbs that limit us. Fear. Is that a verb? I never paid much attention in English classes. It was. Boring.

Life is a funny thing. When you have to do something that might be important to you suddenly you fear. You fear going to the audition because you don’t want to be rejected, or worse still if you got the part you fear you will really know how much you weren’t made to do the part.


The little voice that plants fear in your head always gives you the easy way out. You have no time. You have no money. You don’t really need it.

We fear making ourselves more interesting, or was it just plain laziness. We are too lazy to discover the deserts of western Australia, is there a desert there? I never paid much attention to geography, and yet I minored it. We aren’t too bothered about aiming for studying somewhere or working on a cruise ship that will take us places, because it’s much easier to be a computer technician here. We are too lazy to rock our world.

Here’s my “favourite.” Regret. Most of us live most of our lives in regret. We think that if we regret enough that we will have punished ourselves enough. We regret that one night but its too late because now we have Aids, we regret that one week, but now its too late because the due date has been long gone, we regret that one second, because now its too late, that she’s dead, gone and she will never know.

In that too often than not more than one moment we always wished we did this and didn’t do that. Went for this and not that, said this and not that.

Funny things we are. Human beings. And yet, more often than not we don’t find ourselves laughing.

Through all the world there goes one long cry from the heart of the artist: Give me leave to do my utmost. -Isak Dinesen

yours,

jess

conGrAtS :)

weDdiNG dAy :)

I mAkE a LoUsY frEN aNd iM noT asHaMeD!

Dear jess,

Someone asked someone (why do most stories began that way?) if the reason I hadn’t met up with that someone was because of a boy?

As I ponder in thought – not for an answer to the question but rather for how I should react. As I did, think; some things crossed my mind, do I seem like the type who would ditch people for a boy?; do people not know me? and of course do I really care enough to react?

Whilst it is the easiest and most reasonable to pick on that reason, the privacy of my quirky, less unfathomable personality must once again be made known much to my discomfort.

I don’t make a good friend.

And admittedly I don’t intend to. As selfish, ignorant and down right silly that sounds, one must be given credit for being honest.

With the best of persons there are, I sometimes just cant be bothered. I love going into my hole and being there by myself. The much noisy and extrovert person I thought I was has a stone in which she hides in for months.

Perhaps there are reasons for this. Sometimes it’s because meeting up with people means the worse of all; being put in a position where I’m somehow obligated to tell them my personal life. Being ‘friends’ and having a past together means I have to tell them my present. Or perhaps that there is nothing much that have changed; and even more so nothing that changed that they can accept as much as they would like to believe they can.

I am strange. no doubt. when im in a gleeful mood i feel that im in love with the whole world and want to have coffee with everyone. hence the bipolar disorder i claim to have

Im probably one of this people who will die a lonely death (laughs to self) or contrary; a crowded one with people all looking for me because i havent met up with them in months.

yours,

jess

Your Quirk Factor: 42%

You're a pretty quirky person, but you're just normal enough to hide it. Congratulations - you've fooled other people into thinking you're just like them!

How Quirky Are You?

i WenT anD goT mE a FisH :)

my first cAtCh :)

SO irresistably adoring.. thanks sis or rather i just stole it off your blog :) 

poSt cOLLoNiAL bULL****

dear jess,

ever since ive been accused of being to casual in my research writings, ive transfered my ‘need to be’ into using my large aesthetic words here, instead. lacking anymore emotional or personal depth and repeating regrets, ive decided to pick on something else instead.

as i was rereading comments from 'oh-so-great' theatre practitioner cum owner of studio cum im white but actually lebanese who once lived in australia, i came over this horrible play he once did. and when interviewed it was interesting, his reply was. to the question 'theatre goers did not enjoy your show, but non theatre goers did.' he loudly 'kutuk' theatre goers and applauded non theatre goers that he manage to 'entertain' them, because that was his aim.

you see, in a country where i-can-win-a-reality-competition-alto-i-cant-sing-dance-or-even-look-good but simply because im a village boy; one strives for the faintest, littlest hope that once again the stupid white men can save us.

but of course, that is post collonialism bull****.

why do white men walk into OUR theatre doors and pretend to understand gamelan and mak yong and wayang kulit whilst in the way they speak and look at you, you know they thing they're better than you?

simply because.

we let them.

my best example is the i-can-win-a-reality-competition-alto-i-cant-sing-dance-or-even-look-good boy.

we let them

we let the talentless win competitions, and the ones with the talent who fail to admit that even they can put up shows that fail, performances that will fall flat, theatre that has gone bad.. to those, we instead suck up and tell them that it was good, so that we get on their good sight. it still feels like we let them rule us. we've let ourselves become the product of post collonial... all together now..... ******

tesco's anyone?

yours

jess

bUttEr pRaWnS aNyOne??

dear jess

I sat there for three hours, squatting and standing and rarely blinking whilst my heart waited in anticipation and pounded like crazy when I caught one.

I was prawning.

They should allow that word in the dictionary, after all fishing for prawns is quite an oxymoron. jessica has got a new hobby (big grin)

As I sat there a few minutes before I discovered my new obsession, yes obsession that leaves you thinking of the next prawning session, I waited on the boys to finish their snooker game.

And just as it were to be me, it occurred that there are either two things wrong with the world. One, is that the world is very much male biased, OR two, is that women, lack hobbies.

Everything non “passive” that doesn’t resign the female gender to watching movies or shopping consist of generally male based hobbies. Fishing, snooker, pool, arcade, golfing etcetera.. of course I said generally. Most of this stuff is done by my male counterparts.

The strangest thing is that never will you see a woman taking a man and say hang on whilst I play three rounds of snooker. A woman just doesn’t do that to her man!

Nope. Not saying that one is better than the other, after all I caught seven prawns on my first prawning session and my experienced male counterpart, two.

Perhaps going to fishing ponds four days in a row and being the minority, or sometimes the only female will tend to induce baffling thoughts on any chick. In the meanwhile, I recommend prawning. The feeling is quite indescribable.

And if you’re gonna ask the men to wait for five rounds, make sure its not just five rounds around the shopping mall.

yours,
jess

iF i SeE yOu aGaiN, i SwEaR iLL kiLL yOU!!

dear jess,

At 1.30 Tuesday afternoon today, I was about to get into my car on the way to teach at school. The care was parked outside my house. As I was picking off leaves of the car, which I had just washed, admiring it, I see by the side of my eyes and hear the sound of the motorbike with two men skinny, young men on the bike. Reflex tell me to get in the car, which I do and out of paranoia, habit and mostly by Gods grace I lock the car door even before starting the engine.

As I start the car I see in my rear the two idiots on the bike coming back my way, I shift the auto gear into D and once again something in my heart and mind told me to get ready to drive off.

One of the men jumps off his bike, and pulls the door of my passenger seat open. And as if I could see this all happening in slow motion, the only thing between me and my perpetrator was the door of the car, I hear the door click- as it remains lock. I horn, and ram my car. In panic im not sure if my car moves but he runs back on his bike, I drive and turn the car, perhaps subconsciously wanting to drive into them and kill them but in my state of panic I didn’t get a number plate or anything.

They leave, im left shaken, now, three hours later all I really want to do is stay indoors for the next twenty years. Its really scary and I figure they wanted to open the door and grab my bag on the passenger seat, or come in and sit next to me with who knows what intentions.

All I can say is that if I see them again I swear ill drive into them. However since this is the by far the scariest thing that has happened to me, drivers, women and men, regardless please be aware of your surroundings and lock your doors BEFORE you even start the car.

Thank God, who clearly protected me, my ever present help in times of trouble. thank God, thank God, thank God, cant say it enough..

Im gonna go hide under the blanket for a while and pretend that my world is a safe safe place.

yours shaken but safe,

jess

coNfOrM, oR LoOsE yOuR sAniTy. .

dear jess,

On some days, like this one, you lie awake in bed at four, you scream the quiet scream till your jaw hurts and when you finally realize that sleep or any peace of mind will be as far to you as the chances of winning a lottery, you wake up and write a letter hoping that solace will find you.

On some days like this one, you feel so tired. So tired of fighting and justifying and saying you know for sure that the decisions you made in life were the right ones, that the man you chose will never leave you, that the job you wasted your life away for will eventually pay back.

I use to not want to have a child because I would fear that eventually I wouldn’t be able to tell her what to do and that one day she or he will make their own decisions, most likely those that I wont want them too.

And sometimes it would be so much easier to pick the easy choice and live up to expectations of everyone around you. Let them tell you what to do. Almost as if life itself was one whole big arranged marriage.

On days like this, you feel like rolling over, so that by doing that the tears will stop rolling, the confusion will end and in reality no one ever wants to be different. The punks punk their hair because they'd like to think they’re individuals, but of course, only with a group who all have the same punk hair. More so the popular girls at school, the not popular ones and all the odd ones.

Everyone thinks they want to be an individual but only if there were a few others like them.. Being an individual isn’t always being special anymore than what the word already is- being alone.

Woe is the woman who will not fall for the man of her parents dreams, who will not let her friends think for her, who will not let the way she was brought up affect the way she chooses her future, who will let herself be.

Woe is that woman, for she will indeed spend many a sleepless nights and share many silent screams.

yours,
jess

sMeLLs LikE sEptemBer, AgaIn

dear jess,

I have a box with a sarong, four pieces to be exact, a bottle of brylcream, a comb, a small radio, a mirror and a little purse. All belonging to my grandmother. Its been only the second or third time ive opened this box in what is now the last two years..

And the reason ive opened this box so few times is because in a lot of ways I always handle tough times by ignoring they happened. Because everytime I smell that bryclream or let my face feel the sarong’s or look at that comb, more than just my external senses are awaken. In fact, each time I see an old lady that remotely resembles her I hurt inside.


I miss taking her to the movies, where she would talk and laugh at the top of her voice or watch her holler at the nephews and neighbours in crude Portuguese, or write numbers on that paper of hers or even stand in the kitchen for hours and help my mum make chips for Chinese new year, the same old lady with more energy than any young person i know, that will dry her pickles in the sun and remember to write everyone's birthday in her little book. There’s a little bit of her in all of us.

Death in the family can be so painful, but missing someone so much and not being able to do anything except smell brylcream can be worse.

The world population on eleventh january two thousand and six is 6,554,023,161. Six billion people, and sometimes all you need is just one.

yours, and always yours,
jess

yOur viLLaGe cALLed mE yeSterDay, thEy wAnt TheiR iDioT baCK..

dear jess,

its true. Eventually our sins catch up with us. sometimes physically, sometimes emotioanally, mentally sometimes all of them. sometimes on days when grace is far from sight, you go into a deep dark place and think that maybe crying will help you, but it doesnt come to you.

sometimes you feel like staying away from church because that is the one place you find you may get stoned instead of love. sometimes people tell you that forgiveness lifts the weight and yet the more times you ask for it the harder the weight seems to get off.

spend my whole teenage life trying to do the right thing and my whole adulthood realising that im only human and all my rights can be instantly changed with a single wrong.

there is a dark, cynical side that still feels she needs saving. there is an angry side that wishes people were more honest and then there is always, always the psychotic side that will always deny that any of this happened.

yours,

jess

ps. the title comes from a hilarious car sign and has been bought for a particular frens birthday. cant remember when he's birthday is, but how can you possibly pass up a sign like that? :)

*nO tiTLe*

Its not that I don’t want to tell her. Its that I don’t think she would be ready to listen to what i have to say.

dear jess

I hate modern day multitasking. As we speak I have papers on my floor, lap and table. Im typing a letter to you, messaging and doing my bible study homework. My mind is always on call.

Ive grown somewhat tired of my letters to you, and I must think you should too. Maybe there isn’t anything new left to tell you, and maybe it really doesn’t matter.

On days when you have to live with the fact that freedom is far from being able to just chuck all the papers in the air and run naked or lie down on the beach you planned and paid a holiday for that you knew would never happen.

At the end of the day, our stories are all the same, self pity with several successes, a dash of shock that someone in the family is different or annoying, someone’s getting married, somebody else is moving away, someone’s in love, and someone is out of love.

Yet, we still get shocked when we are told.

yours,
jess

*siLenCe*

dear jess,

there is no way to dignify death or hardship with a pen and our most poignont words. not from me anyway. i think, as i always have that words, mine anyway, justify little our deepest feelings. someone told me today his aunt has sixty days to live.

what left is there to say?

dumbfounded,
jess

*grOan* *siGh* yAwn*

dear underachiever,

The feeling of nothingness in a non changing world that neither challenges nor changes, neither hurts nor fulfills. I sit in the electric train that is filled with blazing advertisements, seats made of leather and men and women with Gucci and prada’s all getting off at the sky scrappers, offices and high powered places.

I’m not sure if the train is moving and I fail to realize that the yuppies have come, gone and come back again. I also fail to realize that they are sitting in a completely different train from me and that my train has yet to leave the station.

Shut my eyes to avoid the sun from waking me from slumber. Curse the over achievers. Scoff at life. Go back to sleep.

In my dream I have renamed myself to “unmotivated, over educated, under achiever”.

What’s worse than failing at I was passionate about is not having anything to be passionate about.

an awakening is yet to come. Woe is me if it doesn’t.

yours,

unmotivated, over educated, under achiever

tHe "i" iN iRoNy

dear jess

there are a few ironies in life that amuse me greatly, and most of them are often found within religions.

Ironically, no place judges greater, forgets longer, or hates harder than within the four walls or religions, churches, mosques, and the places that preach love, peace and all the wonders in the world.


Its ironic that love by definition is supposedly free of judgment, pre-conceived ideas and discrimination but instead it was meant to be wholly enveloped in grace, benefit of doubts and kindness.

Now. What happens if I fell in love with a scruffy looking drunkard and was going to get married to him in the midst of all my Christian friends? I would then be subjected to scrutiny, madness, a lot of anger and the very thought that I must have not really grown up a Christian because im loving the very man that didn’t get a university education?

Wait did you say university education?

Ironic. Ironic that some churches proudly claim that they will discriminate you if you marry a non-christian. But why is it that they don’t discriminate you if you were business partners with a non-Christian?

I understand that in many a cases we are constantly an irony to ourselves. You see I fear. I fear that one day I will be too flexible in light of avoiding being to legalistic.

Ironic, charles spurgeon was a great speaker with a bad smoking habit. Is he remembered for his sin or his faith?

If and most likely when I do end up in the asylum it would most definitely be because I couldn’t come to peaceful terms of all the ironies that live within my head.

I try to do so many things right that I end up doing everything wrong.

The irony is in me. the irony is in that I will as hard as I try to want to hang around with my churchy friends who seemingly do everything right and seemingly end up marrying the right people that i never will bother to try.

I am the irony. I am the irony who may or may not end up with that “drunkard.” I am – I assure you the irony that you will one day stand there and judge me for seemingly making the wrong choices and picking the wrong man because he was more a charles than a charles spurgeon.

I am that irony and that one day when you “tsk” at me just remember, that of all the in capabilities of life that I ended up with, i have found, and I hope I do find the courage to say that I’m not afraid of loving someone I know no one will ever approve of.

It’s a sad state to be in. What I would give to be normal and go “tsk.”

yours,

jess

WhErE hAvE aLL tHe yOuNg mEn gOnE?

we have rubber trees because rubber trees were brought here from Brazilby the British. Chilli is not indigenous. Chilli was imported from South America 500 years ago. What comes from Malaysia? We buy our rice from Thailand now and our sarongs from Indonesia. Was the novel invented in Malaysia? No. Did we invent film and television? Is painting indigenous to Malaysia? No. Is abstract art an outgrowth of weaving mengkuang? Like f*** it is. So why should anybody expect me to be original? It angers me when after hundreds of years of importing aspects about other people's culture some politician in a 4000 ringgit Italian suit complains about Western values and such-and-such a thing is not from our culture. Our culture is everybody else's culture. We've never had our own. Deal with it and grow up. Would you like some coffee? No? It's Colombian

-Huzir Sulaiman. Notes on Love, Life and Painting.

dear jess

I am halfway; or rather two pages into kee thuan chye’s 1984 Here and Now. Being a “drama student” I never read it till now. It’s a script after the 1969 events outspokenly talking about issues of racism, biasness & political unfairness in our country.

Its daring. Its truthful. Worse of all, its honest.

You have all this Independence Day events when youths try to explain what freedom means to a 3rd generation Malaysian.

Sometimes I think we have stopped fighting or we’ve been fighting for all the wrong reasons. We dare not speak up because it really won’t change anything or we would rather just get into the rat race and make the most of how much cheese we can bite.

We have somehow become like the frog in that sitting pot where the water is getting hot and we’ve adapted to the heat of unequality; if we are born into a different skin colour we have different privillages simply apparently because we aren’t the ‘original’ country men.

What’s worse than that?

Refusing to say anything because standing up for our rights could mean our security, lives, comfort for causing ‘political uprising’

We are the ones causing political uprising?

What’s even worse than that?

We haven’t done anything about it since before the 70’s.

What’s even worse than that ?

We are really comfortable where we are and we’ve accepted that we are being treated unfairly and have adapted to it.

Happy independence day. We should start celebrating early this year.

yours,

jess

pEniS eNvY

dear jess,

its true.

there is so much of pressure living without that organ in between our legs.

you would think im crude. and i would have just made my first point.

ive come a long way from being a female equAL rights person to simply just wondering how i became a female. ive done my fair share of male bashing and this is definitely not one of them.

there is so much pressure just because my organs look different. not only do we have to live up to the expectations of men that we need to look 'presentable' if not hot, we need to pretend that we havent dated too many men before you; when we drive a car at night we need to be extra cautious, we need to be saved, protected and at the same time look after your ego's whilst remaining pretty and pure.

we need to bear your child and at the same time loose the baby fat.

when we travel alone we need to worry about getting raped and robbed or followed and stalked. you just need to worry about where to get the cheapest beer.

when we follow our desires its selfish, when you do, its honourable and inspiring.

when we listen to you talk, we nod and support despite thinking its selfish, when we talk, we get written out as being emotional and irrational.

see, i get it that we are different. i just cant stand it.

all because of an extra flesh..

And no, im not gonna apologise for being "crude."

yours,

jess