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*