Sunday, July 31, 2011

More Than Words Can Wield 

These moments grip me so hard I feel like crying and laughing at the same time and I don't even know why. I attribute it either to womanly foibles or my out-of-whack emotional makeup. I think I am more a ball of matter than a thinking being because I feel so much, so fast, so intensely, so rapidly. I imagine I'm a little ball of emotions, melting from from a stormy blue hue, to a warm and golden cadmium yellow, to a ebbing peaceful shamrock green, to a screaming scarlet. Changing, changing, and changing, like a chameleon high on aphrodisiac. I reckon it's why I have little sense of subtlety, because I'm feeling so much that everything strains at the seams, waiting to burst the dams of my facade. 

This weekend was one I want to remember forever. I am wrapping it up in a nicely packaged box and placing it near my heart. Friday began with cross-country where I felt genuinely happy while running in a new place, hearing it all pound in my head, feeling my heart beat like a oversized african drum, feeling the wind in my face, feeling my own ragged breath, feeling the smiles of the wonderful teachers who were stationed at different stops. Feeling, feeling, feeling, straining at the limits of my physical capabilities, and then spending time with T, talking, jogging and learning. You've been a perfect present from God to me y'know Trish? It's been wonderful talking and raving and running with you- you're a feel-er too, and it's absolutely brilliant.

Then I spent the rest of morning gallivanting around West Coast, trying to get the the double Js to lighten up, acting like a 5 year old with Grace, throwing caution down the freeway. And I don't care if you tell me kid means baby goat; it sounds more happy than child to me, so deal with it, please. We found an obscure shop selling all types of tape, drank Koi and then in the evening I watched my friends do their stuff on stage. It was a stunning show of talent, molded around Natalie's script, so honest, so genuine. It took our deepest insecurities, things not nice to think about, unpleasant to face, uncomfortable and awkward, took them and turned them into a play of (at risk of sounding like a overused motivational speech) fighting for what you believe it. Yep, that was slightly cringeworthy- I'm sorry, but it was the best I could think of!

Saturday was languid and slow, of realizations and sleepy mornings, and of sadness and meeting strangers, and old friends, and midnight runs. I think I might be in love, in love with the night. Which is very dangerous, as being in love usually is, because school is in the morning, and I am a creature who is fueled by sleep. 

And then there's death- which is so pervasive and unfathomable. 
SY has just passed away and it's disconcerting. Uncomfortable, and I'm not sure what to feel. It's not even confusing, it's like I'm not feeling anything, and it feels awful because I cannot summon the sadness  and it won't come. I feel heartless. 

I don't think it's normal for it to be more difficult to decide what to feel then to deal with the natural influx of emotions. I don't feel sad, because he was suffering and I think he'll be much happier in heaven where he probably is right now. All I feel is traces of pity for his family, and I feel like sweeping them into my arms and giving them all the comfort I can extract from my being. 

Dear Lord, 
I know you will take SY into your loving arms. I offer up this prayer for him and his family, that you will cover them in your love, to take away the hollowness from their hearts.
Amen.

I've said it before, but death painful if only for those it leaves behind. 

When I die- I want there to be a celebration, with a live band and I want my ashes to be thrown into the wind. When I die, those I leave behind will remember me, but they will rejoice. 

Sunday, July 24, 2011

I Wont Share You

It's been a while. I have just eaten a huge, huge lunch (instant noodles+curry+prata+blueberry yoghurt+apple+kiwi+cadbury chocolate) and my tummy is so full I feel like all my energy has accumulated and pooled in there and my brain is a-floating somewhere away in the sky. I'm listening to "Asleep" by The Smiths and the aircon is blasting and I'm cold and Morrissey is singing me to sleep is and it's all adding to my semi comatose state.

It feels like one of those days where everything is still and quiet and suddenly all your hairs stand on end for no reason. It feels like of those days where music is not words but emotion. It feels like one of those days you like you're in a dream and you can't decide if it's a good dream or a bad one. The Smiths are gorgeous. Asleep does something to you- it's The Smiths at their darkest display of human emotion, magical as well as destructive, a song so deeply tortured yet enchantingly beautiful, most like the shadows of the human soul.

The past week has gone by quick and I never knew it was possible to feel such contrasting emotions in such a limited frame of time. It has been multicoloured, from the fervent splash of happiness stemming from a delightful Racial Harmony celebration, to the slow emotional ebb of pulsing reality when we received our midterm results. Then there was the wonderful comfort of seeing Alex, Tieh, Shaunald, and some other seniors return to visit school again- because I knew, I just knew, that Queen was right- These Are The Days Of Our Lives.

Tuesday, July 19, 2011

(On Two Kinds of Laughter)

Have been reading this author called Milan Kundera lately. I went to the library to look for a book called "The Unbearable Lightness of Being" by him, but it was loaned out- I found another gem instead:

The Book Of Laughter and Forgetting






















It's a sad, strange and disconcerting book, with sharp moments of wisdom and dollops of disturbing scenes which stir up your thoughts like a Wizard of Oz-esque tornado, sending them spinning and churning like Toto and Dorothy. It's a book about life, about politics, about sex, about smoking, about thinking, about poets, about writing, about more thinking, about death, about laughter, and basically about everything elusive and human. In fact it's rather unsettling. I wouldn't recommend reading it while emotionally unstable; might be dangerous.

There are some excerpts which I kept re-reading and re-reading because I couldn't understand it, yet it made so much sense.  It made no sense, yet it made so much sense. Reminded me of G 's quote today from The Civil Wars- I don't love you, but I always will.

Here Kundera postulates on (two kinds of laughter)

"The first time an angel heard the devil's laughter, he was dumbfounded. That happened at a feast in a crowded room, where the devil's laughter, which is terribly contagious, spread from one person to another. The angel clearly understood that such laughter was directed against God and against the dignity of his works. He knew that he must react swiftly somehow, but felt weak and defenseless.

Unable to come up with anything of his own, he aped his adversary. Opening his mouth, he emitted broken, spasmodic sounds, but giving them an opposite meaning; whereas the devil's laughter denoted the absurdity of things, the angel on the contrary meant to rejoice over how well ordered, wisely conceived, good and meaningful everything here below was. 

Laughable laughter is disastrous. Even so, the angels have gained something from it. They have tricked us with semantic imposture. Their imitation of laughter and (the devil's) original laughter are both called by the same name. Nowadays we don't even realize that the same external display serves two absolutely opposed internal attitudes. There are two different kinds of laughters, and we have no word to tell one from the other."



Semantic imposture.
They've tricked us with language and meaning and life- they've tricked us they've tricked us they've TRICKED US. Which laughter do I laugh? NO. They shouldn't both be called laughter to begin with, they've tricked us. The devil's sound should be called something else. I reckon "haighter" would be a good name. "Laugh" is a homonym for "Love" and "Haight" sounds like "Hate".


Haighter [Haig-ter]
noun
The action of making sounds of unadulterated evil.

ORIGIN Related to Dutch haten (verb) and German hassen (verb) or Old English hate (noun), also to laugh.









And here's another-

"Laughter? Do people ever care about laughter? I mean real laughter, beyond joking, mockery, ridicule. Laughter, an immense and delicious sensual pleasure, wholly sensual pleasure...

I said to my sister, or she said to me, come over, shall we play laughter? We stretched out side by side on a bed and began. By pretending, of course. Forced laughter. Laughable laughter. Laughter so laughable it made us laugh. Then it came, real laughter, total laughter, taking us into it's immense tide. Bursts of repeated, rushing, unleashed laughter, magnificent laughter, sumptuous and mad... And we laugh our laughter to the infinity of laughter.. O laughter! Laughter of sensual pleasure, sensual pleasure of laughter; to live is to laugh profoundly."
 
Laughter; the strangest things like this crack me up-






















Seeing Cedric holding his beloved pooh he had left forsaken at my house one day after a week was strangely funny. I texted my aunt and uncle when I found it and for some reason it was unbearable funny at the time.

I cannot think why.

Perhaps it was the strange but captivating charm of watching a little boy and pooh reunite.






Today was supposed to be a short and sweet post about my brilliant weekend meeting Bing/Wei/Dear/Nao/Shee/Qian again for a wonderful picnic near Swan Lake at Botanic, like a dream, with cheerful weather and gentle winds and green hills and happiness deep in my soul.

It was supposed to be nostalgic reminiscence of the old days with the gang, a lively ode to BH and newly minted in his 19 year old glory. 

It was supposed to be about how Harry Potter 7PII was melancholy and nerve wracking but ended on a comically unsatisfying note.

It was supposed to be a general rant about Neville's heroism and my beautiful Mei, and how stupendously glad I am to be her sister. 

I reckon I get too distracted by my own thought sometimes- it is awfully annoying.
Next time, maybe.

But for now-
OH THE PLACES YOU'LL GO!

Wednesday, July 13, 2011

Skinny Love.

Dear God,
I want to scream and shout and cry and laugh and sing and kick and yell and holler and hit and sob. I want to live.

Amen.

Wednesday, July 06, 2011

She Spoke Words of Wisdom 
Some people think that we have to go on epic globe trotting journeys to uncover the unfathomable mysteries of life. Some people think only a 3 year long holy mountain pilgrimage will reveal the secrets of being alive. And then there are the lovely Douglas Adams fanatics who believe that they already know the meaning of life, the universe and everything.

3 year long holy pilgrimages up unpronounceable mountains in South East Asia might well provide the deep insight we all inherently search for. I don't even deny it- in fact, it sounds like a promising adventure for me. Perhaps I will finally find an answer to why I waste my time in the day and then stay up panicking and studying for tomorrow's exam. (Like thus).

The reason why I am thinking about wisdom is because of my darling Aunty Yeni. She's been with our family since I was 10- that's 8 years ago. She saw me up through my angst ridden pre-pubescent years into my current self actualized state of being. What she has done for our family is obviously well above the job scope of an average maid- she juggles being a a cook, a counselor, a cleaner, a nanny, a Markie-watchdog, a chauffeur (kinda), a masseuse, a personal shopper, a collector of old newspapers, a Missus Fix-it, a finder-of-lost-things, a control to my Gonggong's stubbornness, a friend, and a source of never ceasing comfort.

Our family adores her- and we absolutely cannot do without her. We resemble a rabble of lost sheep without her belligerent directions, explanations and guidance. My brother closes out his Youtube window instead of just minimizing it when she roars "I KNOW WHAT YOU ARE DOING, MARCUS". And when she bellows "I'M COMING TO CHECK" he actually switches off his computer, which is more than my feeble threats and my Gongong's nagging can do.

My sister depends on my Aunty Yeni for everything- including making her bed, finding her lost items ("Aunty YEEEEENI I can't find my library books!"), cooking, and basically most of her daily requirements.

My Gongong needs Aunty Yeni because she can talk to him for hours on end, guffawing at his jokes, howling "MY DARLING GONG GONG" when after they argue about one of their random marketing issues. And even if he won't ever admit it, I bet he'll miss her the most of all of us when she leaves for Indonesia two years later. She's his constant 4-D buying, marketing, news watching, massaging, hawker center buddy. She relieves his loneliness- the loneliness of growing old without my Mama.

My parents love Aunty Yeni too- she gives my mother the best massages, makes her her favorite mee siam every Friday, and when she has cravings for porridge on Saturdays, Aunty Yeni never fails to whip up a steaming pot for the whole family. My Aunty Yeni calls my mother "my mommy" even though they are almost the same age, and my mom refuses to let her go home, desperately lengthening her contract for as long as it can go.

Aunty Yeni appreciates my daddy's photographic/biking enthusiasm, and keeps his expensive equipment in shining, tip-top shape, all the time. She even tells her friends to shop at Coldwear to boost business for my dad's company.

No one could adore Aunty Yeni and her quirkiness more than me. She provides a blurry comfort in the morning as she gives me morning massages that shock me out of bed when I miss my alarm clock. She is a continuous source of love, adoration, food, advice, and comfort. She rather knows inherently when I'm in an awful mood, and cooks my favorite yi-mee, or creeps up behind me with a cup of milo to cheer me up. And it is in this simplicity that I find the most profound wisdom stems.

Today she was talking about her hateful husband, who allegedly waited for her for 8 years to get hitched. When Aunty Yeni offered him a huge sum of her savings to start a business, he splurged it all away and didn't return a scrap, nor bother to apologize for spending half her life-savings. Aunty Yeni is surprising calm about all this, though. She's got a beautifully optimistic outlook on life.

"I've got my Gonggong, I've got my mam, and my sir, and my 3 children. God has blessed me. I am happy."


This from the woman who grew up dirt poor, slogging away to upkeep her family back in Indonesia. This from the woman whose incompetent husband took her precious savings of 20 years working as a maid in Singapore to set up a doomed business and then splurged the money away.

This is wisdom.
If I could swear, I would swear it's wisdom. Since I cannot, I believe, very strongly, that it is wisdom.

Then she taught me somethings about life that I've always knew, but not really known, like how most things that strike us are things we sort-of-knew presented in a clearer way. My Gonggong had presented a picture of her going back to Indonesia and being courted by handsome men.

"You can't eat a handsome man." she observed. "You can't lick him when you're hungry. Only very salty."

I had laughed so hard the noodles I was eating nearly slithered out of my nose. Ick.

"Why you laugh? It's true. You cannot eat the handsome man. No matter how hungry your stomach, no matter how little money, you only can lick the handsome man. No use."

Then she went on to share with me that

"Love is from your little deepest deepest heart. When you love the man, make sure he love you very very much, otherwise your little heart will break because man is not good sometimes."


She basically taught me the very principals of life and it's simplicity, how to guard your heart for the right man, and to look beneath the appearances. All in her very own way.


Wisdom can come from anywhere, as long as we are listening.



She spoke words that would melt in your hand
She spoke words of wisdom
In the basement 
Many surprises await you
- Two Door Cinema Club. Undercover Martyn.