Somehow...

Update: I remember...was watching "Be with me" on the plane back and the story about an old man pining for his wife; with her standing beside him for a long time cos he couldn't let go of the fact she was dead.

This particular post from my past came back to haunt me the past few days telling me to re-visit it.

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Romeo and Juliet. People wept incessantly when Claire Danes woke up only to find Leonardo Dicaprio dead. The story itself in other forms and versions brought up memories of love lost. Why? Because it was a love unfulfilled, too young it couldn't blossom. It was supposed to be a passionate love that could never reach its potential.

I don't envy young love. It lacks the robustness like fine wine, young love tastes tannic, leaving a sour aftertaste. Young love has the impulsiveness and passion; but lacks the understanding that all is trivial and the fact you have each other is more than sufficient. Young love is the little boy that sobs when his favourite toy is taken away from him. Mature love is the little boy that shares his favourite toy with his loved ones. One selfish, one giving.

I sobbed silently as I read it what he wrote. Unable to fully comprehend and feel what he must be going through now, yet touched deeply by their love. They had such long lustrous years, seeing the grey hairs grow on each other; but finding beauty in the lines that framed their faces. They had three sons, two daughters, numerous grandchildren and friends. One always looking out for the other. Husband and wife, for better and worse. He used to buy her flowers on special occasions, held her hand and always asking for her whenever she wasn't by his side. This continued all the way till this Monday when they were parted by death.

'I'm all alone' he said, 'but i'm always with you' she whispers.

'I'm so lost, how can i carry on without you being in my arms? I want to take care of you.' he prays silently.

'I love you. I'll never leave you.'
Then she moved on. She didn't leave, she didn't go away. She just moved on to a better place so she could make it comfortable till the time he came to join her. As always, she's looking out for him.

On the taxi, I sobbed silently again. Recalling all the love behind unspoken words that he wrote. I sobbed for the love I lost and paid tribute to the love they had. I was jealous too...Why couldn't I have that?

I want a love like that.

Farewell my love......

Goodbye Nikon film camera. I remember in our affair, the stolen moments, carrying you around the streets of Shanghai and then relunctantly returning you back to the man that owned your body. Once I thought of possessing your body and accessorizing you like a queen. You would be my only, my only lesbian relationship. And I would have loved you forever. Forever.

Frequent flying flier faints

I have the shittiest flights from 16 Jan all the way till 25 Feb and taking a midnight flight out of Singapore. That's 10 straight working days and out of that, 5 days in Jakarta. Jakarta's probably not as bad as not sitting near glass windows and walking zig zag on the streets. Not really an entertaining though when I could be having fun going to Yellow mountain. SIBEI SIAN!!!!!

So I'll be in Singapore for one extra day (20 Jan) at Grand Plaza ParkRoyal, 10 Coleman Street and going off in the morning to Jakarta. So bunking in with me is up for grabs. Most likely 3 people to a bed (including me). No overnight karaoke sessions as well; though we can do it on 19 Jan :) Will have a Singapore number, my partners in crimes will all hear from me. And not to forget, there's always Skype & MSN.

Update: Flying SQ all the way! Wooohoooo! Mileage here I come! Free ticket not so far away!

Went to Myanmar in the first year I started my first proper full time job. We were on a guided tour because I knew about the political situation in Myanmar and didn't want to spend so much time planning since it was a rather impromptu trip with my mom. It would have just been too frustrating. So off we went with a bunch of shopping obsessed silliporeans who could not appreciate the sweltering heat, lack of shopping malls, stupas and frolicking children by the street. Yet they ignored the mother with her infant baby but were reverent to the monks in the monastaries. Acts of kindness had to be packaged to those they thought worthy. Evidently compassion was a transaction - I give you stipend, I feel like I got blessed. Bloody silliporean aunties.

Surprisingly, Myanmar turned out to be very safe. Because of the military and Junta, people were living under a thin veil of fear and disguised safety; that I didn't feel threatened walking along the streets at night (not like my experience at the bus terminal at LA on new year's eve). While we were there, we had to exchange US dollars with the tour guide who assured us with his betel nut stained smile of the thriving black market present in Myanmar. At the roadside, I surreptiously took a picture of a disheveled, wild greyish hair man sitting on a stoold in his sarong devouring a book. At one of the four faced buddha status encountering children who were mischievously striking poses for my camera and clamouring to view their own faces. Oblivious to the fact that in Myanmar, rich men would rather donate money to build a stupa than to build a school for them. This was not the kind of Buddhism I knew about. The tour guide explained that to build a stupa, it would bring blessings to 8 or 10 generations of their offspring. Ironically a school they could not envision would have brought even more blessings to so many more, and for so many more generations. On hindsight, I think how resilient these Myanmar people must be. To live under these conditions, rather than to romanticize it by saying they make the best out if it; they were trying their best to survive in the only way they knew how. To tune in to foreign news through second - or third- hand radios, books; learn to speak dialects and languages from tourists so she can make them be in awe at her and hopefully buy a set of postcards.

Two mental images I will never rid on my trip to Myanmar. One was the lady with her infant begging me for money. I was all ready to give her money tightly fisted into a ball in my palm so that noone else would take it from her. BUt was pulled away by a bloody silliporean auntie who couldn't mind her own business. She hissed at me " don't give it to her! didn't you hear what the guide said? there will just be more coming!"; almost as if we were being chased by the living dead rather than a harmless, desperate mother. After I was unwilling pushed on the bus, in the 'sanctuary' of my seat all my tears just spilled out uncontrollably. Unfair, too unexplainably unfair. In a parallel universe, I could be her. From the colour of my skin, to the texture of my hair and the light brown irises - we could have been sisters. But her skin had become leathery from the harsh sun, stretch marks lining her young body hidden under garments, child on her hip; made her a stranger but also another human being. I just wonder if others saw her as well. The second was enroute back to the junta-run hotel; two siblings were huddled and sleeping on the road divider. It must have been about 20inches wide, they were small undernourished children, it wasn't difficult to curl themselves up there. No street lights. Only intermittent flashing of low and high beams from headlights of the cars. Even my mom, who had seen these images in her days traveling, was poignant. We were distressed that the life of these children were so worthless. (Have to stop, I cannot write this without tearing and am in office pretending to work).

After I came back to Singapore I struggled; I wanted to go back to Myanmar in all its untouched glory but to do that may be to support the Junta. With all the press and news about their unreasonable ways (presumably by egoistic military generals rather than trying to obtain real benefits for people). What then? Till then, I'll just have to live in the memories of Myanmar tea I had a the roadside, like teh tarik but not. Alot more fragrant, authentic and mysterious.

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Damien Rice (someone can buy me his cds) wrote a song for Aung San Suu Kyi and her fight for democracy in Myanmar. Beautiful, charismatic, intelligent, determined; so much quiet strength. Diminutive in stature, enormous spirit. For the longest time has been a political prisoner. Not that I think democracy is a natural solution for all troubled countries, but to see an improvement of living standards through diversity of political parties who are sincerely working for the people would be a good change. Or is that an oxymoron? So disturbing and disappointing to find out news that Singapore has investment links for the longest time in Myanmar. Though at the same time I'm not sure if economic sanctions will be better because the current situation lies that the Junta does not care about their people; what impact will economic sanctions make?

"As Tay Thiam Peng, director of foreign operations at Singapore's Trade Development Board, bluntly put it in 1996, when it comes to business, morality takes a back seat to profits. "While the other countries are ignoring Myanmar (Burma), it's a good time for us to go in," Tay stated. "You get better deals, and you're more appreciated... Singapore's position is not to judge them and take a judgmental moral high ground." As Burma's number-one business partner, Singapore now has 53 projects in Burma, which as of January totaled nearly $1.2 billion"

Or is it better to go the softer, gentler route? They do have a Chinese saying that "吃软,不吃硬 (It's easier to swallow something soft than hard)". After all in Asean, our fates are interlinked.


Unplayed Piano

Come and see me
Sing me to sleep
Come and free me
Hold me if i need to weep
Maybe it's not the season
Maybe it's not the year
Maybe there's no good reason
Why i'm locked up inside
Just cause they wanna hide me
The moon goes bright
The darker they make my night

Unplayed pianos
Are often by a window
In a room where nobody loved goes
She sits alone with her silent song
Somebody bring her home

Unplayed piano
Still holds a tune
Lock on the lid
In a stale, stale room
Maybe it's not that easy
Or maybe it's not that hard
Maybe they could release me
Let the people decide
I've got nothing to hide
I've done nothing wrong
So why have i been here so long?

Unplayed pianos
Are often by a window
In a room where nobody loved goes
She sits alone with her silent song
Somebody bring her home

Unplayed pianos
Are often by a window
In a room where nobody loved goes
She sits alone with her silent songs
Somebody bring her home

Unplayed piano
Still holds a tune
Years pass by
In the changing of the moon

Before I crawl back into my shell...

Am in panic mode, so as usual, I do everything but work. Ok...in another 5 min.

I've been thinking how come chinese restaurants/ weddings have to serve shark's fin and why it's such a symbol of value. To show that you value that person's presence through serving them a valuable delicacy. That is becoming more and more mind boggling to me. My chinesey roots understand this innately as I had been eating it for many years before deciding to give it up. Of course there's also that slippery slope argument many throw about being extreme and going completely vegetarian.

However, speaking on value; to value people, is truly to give them - your time. Time to listen, time to appreciate your presence, time for them to get to know you and know that you accept them for all the weird ways they are, time to know they will not be lonely even when there's noone around them. I ask myself when I was truly delighted or touched; and trust me, none of them involved anything expensive. The most recent was just a few minutes ago when a girl I got to know working on a account (she's from an advertising agency) and she remembered that I wanted to buy a kind of toy that reminded me of my childhood; found a link to the toy online and sent me the link. The gift of remembering. Then there are times when getting a friend a long desired gift that she would usually not consider getting for herself is also very gratifying.

So this year, for my birthday, I'd like some of the following (all to be done throughout the year)...

1) Write me a long letter about what you like about yourself
2) Send me a postcard from wherever you're traveling and what made you delighted, joyful
3) An interesting photo you took and how come you wanted to send to me
4) Nice pop up/ shiny stickers/ or anything weird/ quirky when I say I'm having a bad day
5) Get Skype so we can have a real conversation
6) Anything that reminds you of our friendship

So many options to choose from, shouldn't be tough isn't it? Or is buying a present from a shop easier?

This is ah beng the hamster writing, I've just woken up from sleeping during the day and most of the evening. Although I am a nocturnal animal, but like my owner I like to sleep alot. She just sleeps at weird hours and wakes me up all the time either by shaking the chair that has the cage that I sleep in or blows on me. Usually I'm having a really nice dream about eating a huge corn cob or bathing in sunflower seeds, so I get very grumpy and start screaming at her. She thinks it's funny, that crazy girl.

Anyway, recently my owner has been playing around with her computer alot. Most of the time I can tell she's working and sometimes talking to the computer. Tonight I peeked over her shoulder and found her giving love advice to guys. Me thinks she should write a book. I also heard her give advice on what girls like to this guy that's been staying at our house. I'm very jealous of him, even bit him on the nose! He deserves it for taking up most of her time, she hasn't been feeding me that well because of him. oohh nooo...I hear her coming back to the computer, better log off before she finds out I've been telling on her. I have many stories, those will have to wait for the next time...

my dearest friends in hyderabad...

Can say I worry about your state constantly? Especially today when your 'Out to Lunch' on MSN is extra long. I mean, who the hell goes for 4 hour lunches? Even if it's with prof raju huh...must put a tag on you so that I know that lunch is lunch and not get into something by some trouble maker. Today I read in the news that they just arrested two people who were planning attacks in the city you are residing in. More unsettling is that they are targeting temples, research institutes and arty farty places; all places that you my friend often frequent. And then I worry about your family, lovely Amara and Siri. Dammit! So see? You're not the only one worrying about me till your hair falls out (well most of it has anyway, but not due to me hahahahahaha....)

ok back to work

Many forms of smiles

She was smiling because after so many years of being in love, they were finally going to share a common dream of serving the ministry and being the witness to each others lives. It wasn't unexpected, yet it still brought so much joy to her. I wish I could draw courage from their commitment, everything that I lacked, they embodied. And I envy, because I knew I can never give the way she does; not till someone gives me more.

...

She was smiling and everyone thought she was so naturally cheerful and witty. Yesterday after dinner when we girlfriends were taking stock of the year, going round asking each other what we liked about ourselves. To our surprise, she could think of nothing. Slowly unravelling her inner bondage, she revealed her jadedness towards life and the meaning she could not find. Death. If life was meaningless, death would mean nothing as well. As she wept at her inability amplify joy, we wept, or rather I wept for her inability to love herself, even after we told her how much she meant to us. The following night, we saw her in all smiles again, it was a blank, empty smile; apparent to those that knew her secret.

So lucky

Hearing voices from my family has been great.