To never forget

“To love. To be loved. To never forget your own insignificance. To never get used to the unspeakable violence and the vulgar disparity of life around you. To seek joy in the saddest places. To pursue beauty to its lair. To never simplify what is complicated or complicate what is simple. To respect strength, never power. Above all, to watch. To try and understand. To never look away. And never, never, to forget.”
-Arundhati Roy

One of the signature quotes at the end of email messages, one of the quotes that always stun me in an absolutely refreshing way.

It is so easy to become immune to the violence and distress that once so thoroughly disturbed us during our daily news reading. It is so easy to frown and wrinkle our noses in disgust at the dirt-filled rat-infested conditions which the beggars live in, and then to walk on buy into the comfort of the five-star hotel, and out of sight, the poverty temporarily goes out of mind. It is so difficult to imagine and witness the pure joy on the faces of the little ones who spend their whole days playing with a simple ball, a game we take for granted, a game we are bored with, and it strikes us so hard to see these young children with more joy than us with all our expensive ostentatious goods. It is increasingly hard to appreciate beauty in what we do and have, when we have become shaped to complain without batting an eyelid, and to shout at what is not going well. We have became what we eat, and in this world of fast food, fast service, we have lost our patience for even the simplest things, we do not see anymore than we do not get nourished. It shocks us to see a woman with cancer encouraging her loved ones not to be upset, when really it should have been the other way round. We have become so accustomed to the grind of life which tells us money and status rule the world, that people high up on their pedestals should be treated like gods while poor people and those junior staff should be disregarded, ill-respected and not worthy of our time. We forget that sometimes certain things are just as they seem, and we spend precious amounts of time complicating two-dimensional matters when we should be spending more time solving and analyzing the world we live in. We become masks of insecurity mingling at events for the sake of networking, when actually we just want to spend some solitary time to gather our thoughts. What are we rushing to, where are we colliding headlong into? Why do we look away from that which is not pretty, nice or even just normal? Why do we forget so soon the things which have taken place? Why are we shocked when things which have been building up ages suddenly happen? What do we need before we can remember?

My sky and yours together

Have you ever felt that you missed some people so much, you felt your heart wasn’t with you, but with them, in some far off corner of the world?

I want to be somewhere else, living a different life, knowing I am with the person that I love, away from separation. Maybe I have never felt happy living a boring but secured life, stable yet lacking in passion, doing what is expected all the time. The longing to live out a dream, soaking in brilliant bubbles of happiness and joy, has constantly been my companion for as long as I can remember.

I want to be where the people laugh and live with every molecule of their beings. I yearn for a life, where like a drawing board I can start from scratch, creating the design of my life the exact way i like it. To be able to make a dashboard of all the elements that I want to keep, and throw away those that I abhore.

I imagine building a life with beauty, a deep sense of belonging, a knowledge of belief, faith and trust. Where people burst into song and dance, where love enshrouds everything. Where practicality doesnt even register in the first few priorities; and worries of the future are but just dots in the sky.

Growing up through the years, I’ve seen birthdays and anniversaries, weddings and friendships blossoming. And among all of these, I wonder how many are but just customary, and how many else are blooming out of true radiant joy.

I want to live in a world, where my sky combines with yours, where the sun never sets, the rays of delirious sunlight stay like crystals protecting us, where my day is yours as well. I want to build a life with you, a paint the picture both of us are in, walking hand in hand. I want to hear the birds chirping instead of cars zooming by; I want to see rivers and lakes and swimming fish, instead of neatly printed roads and factory buidings. I want to be finally at home…and home is where the heart is.

Purchase delivered: Experience

There are conversations that linger in your mind for a while after the speakers have returned to their daily lives, and recently these conversations have been resonating with the same frequency and heartbeat of my questions to life.

In the last month or so, I have been either the initiator or participator of engaging discussions whose individual impacts on me have transformed into compounding and increasingly urgent needs for me to know why I am where and what I am. I used to think when reminiscing on old times and looking at time-stained photographs, that we tend to believe that each instance in our lives are the best that our lives are, up till then. But frequent and subsequent contemplations of this theory convinced me that is not true. Many encounters with peers and elders alike have showed me that many are not happy where they are; perhaps they had made a wrong choice some point in time and unwittingly suffered the consequences of their actions. Or perhaps they simply chose not to reach for what they wanted, and as a result paid for it with an unsatisfactory existence.

Jonny Jr mentioned the fact that humans are intrinsically beings who need freedom of choice (amongst others in the Maslow’s hierarchy of needs); and it is often the limitations that are already in place that constrain our spectrum of choices, frustrating those whose lot in life determines they be the unfortunate few with restricted choice.

Another friend commented, on a totally separate occasion, that given limited resources, particularly resources called time and money; we should use them to attain things with the most lasting utility. Material possessions have the ability to make us incredibly happy and proud; for just one moment, before shoving us into the spiral of unending covetousness. I understood this the moment I started working and earning my own keep; suddenly every bag looks like it needs to be adopted by you; each watch seems to tick and coax you hypnotically to pick it up, and once you do so, you find something else that calls out to you. There’s an unending stream of utility in buying material goods; with the fine print that you also need an unending stream of finances. It seems that given the limited time and health that we have, a generally agreed purchase which would provide energizer-battery-style long-lasting utility is, and always will be, experience.

If at any point in life, you are the sum of all your past experiences, then shouldn’t we make a conscious effort to increase the experiences that we have all the time? The lasting impact every scenario life places us with usually makes up a piece of the puzzle we are trying to fix. But at the same time, we do not buy our paths in life off the shelves as we would a jigsaw puzzle in Toys ‘R Us. Our puzzle in life is akin to a painting yet unfinished; and each decision we make results in the coloring of that little piece of the ultimate picture that is unraveled to us in tantalizing candy bits and pieces. And the more we choose to value experience over the mere attaining of a goal while dreading the journey, the more texture, vibrancy and hues our paintings will exude.

And so, let me finish my sales pitch. Buy experience; but never, never at a discount.

The European continental story.

As often as the mind wanders to a time past and memories cased in silver, the heart stumbles upon the road winding into the garden of life, love and beauty. The frosty winter night, waiting for the tram to bring them home; the lights twinkling in the chilly dark, the jingling of the bells announcing the arrival of Christmas, they hold the keys to her heart. Gluhwein in the sunny afternoon, next to the church on the street bursting with life; the river enshrouded in the season’s mist, the cobbled streets, strong and sturdy under their feet.

So many events, so many friends, through chance encounters or similar timetables, sitting on the bus ride home, chatting, bonding, breaking the ice between the massive differences in cultures. The route to school was always new, each day bore forth a separate adventure, a different path, a unique encounter. It was the summer’s end which began the story, the scorching sun on the grand schloss’ windows. The first glimpse of Mannheim, the flowers singing in their pretty blooming heads, it was hope, and a journey whose twists were anticipated, and savored.

Bags packed and doors opened, train tickets and the travelers sauntered, into the voyage they dreamed up of; through nights and days of endless planning. Finally, the earth seemed ready, for their exploration and eager souls. The sculptures, the great stone structures, next to carefree artists; yet again spilling their love of art from the magnificent sunset onto canvas. The ancient bridge, sturdy as a rock; and there they sat, glued, to the glory of nature’s masterpiece. Rivers and canals and squares and quaint shops, they dotted the self-explored map of their adventures. The mountains and landscapes unraveled the lost history from where Mozart was birthed. It was a stunning beginning; a blindingly magnetic draw, to continue in the continent which separated two ends of the earth.

Settling down in a town now home, for months to come; the classes began, a system different yet strangely familiar. It was their first time away from home so long, so brilliant and beaming with dreams and experience. You take some time to adjust they always say, but once you have, and have found their little nook and cranny in the mould of your heart, you feel less homesick and more alive. That summer ended; and autumn took its place on stage, a gorgeous rehearsal of auburn reds and rose-burn shades. Leaves which lined the pathways and cascaded in the smooth cool breeze, landed on the ground, tracing the doorways of their hearts. Friendships blossomed and reciprocated acts of kindness brought forth the surge of confidence to do what they would never have done before. A walk by the sea in Lisbon, city of seven hills, and trudging in the sunshine. It was time of indulgence and feeling the vibes of wherever they were.

It was the winter, however, whose early chill and soon-settled nights made them more aware of life and love, of desires and longing, of a need to be met. Sitting at the stairwell, the night of the party itself, fears dissolved and will suddenly so strong, it took just that moment, after endless persuasion, to make one crucial decision. Just days before a temporary separation, that not known then, but it was a decision to stake it all and feel, the need to love and chance, to try and dare without looking back. Fighting back all tears and fears, it was in another city, where having been etched in their hearts as the seabed of their bittersweet memories, where an exchange of pieces of their different lives was made.

A jigsaw puzzle pieced carefully together, a beautiful picture, stunning and finally completed.

Gold trimmings on the leather bound book

Bits and pieces of me all around the world; residing where my close friends and loved ones are. The world feels so much smaller now than when I was little, maybe because I desperately wish it would be. All around the globe I have people to whom bits of my heart have been given to, a gift for them to keep and take care.

Sometimes I sit at the bus-stop thinking back on times past, of memories gold, and friends of old, who I love so much. Somehow the friends who you unexpectedly find like a treasured book in a second hand book store turn up at the doorstep of your life one day and by some random order, you establish a bond with them. A bond which you would never have made with the next-door neighbour, the classmate who you see everyday, or even family. And somehow, the similarly random order throws by some odd nature of life, chances for these jems to soar the world and achieve their dreams and aspirations, in work, in life, in love. And just a quickly as the precious encounter that allowed that friendship to develop and bloom chanced upon you, an equally unexpected turn of events leaves you finding that the people you love so much are suddenly so far away.

Yet it gladdens my heart very much, to find that despite the distance and physical separation, these friendships and relationships remain, still shining regardless of time and different lives. Sometimes our workloads and busy schedules keep us from writing and skyping as much as we would like to, but each time we talk, I know that friendships dear to me matter as much to them as well. Auburn leaves started a bond that began in autumn, the season whose colours always remind me of friendship and being found. Christmas markets and the walk in the winter’s cold make me smile wistfully, at advice given and taken, and a genuine listening ear. Sitting at the desk learning another language from scratch and using hand gestures to get my point across, yes that was a chance to understand and be understood, teacher and student to friends. Dinner after work on an impromtu desire to meet up, sales sourcing for favourite brands, and make up lessons, they remind me of so many wonderful moments. Dancing across a frozen lake, chasing in the wind, hearing the children laugh and play, that reminds me of you.

The most beautiful thing about these, arent that they make great memories, but that on top of being so, they are still very much alive and remain, shining and true, like gold trimmings on the leather bound book.

Cultura.

It’s been a long time since I last wrote, but today’s lunch with Juan invoked the cultural enigma that has eluded me since I was old enough to wonder and realise that the world I live in is a book, a fairytale, not the reality of the rest of the countries.

I watched the Truman show a long time ago, when secondary school worries like crushes and fitting in with the coolest of society flooded my mind. Watching it, I felt sorry for Jim Carrey, and my most vivid memory of it included how I marvelled at his ignorance that he was being watched all the time, every single second by everyone else; where his life was a movie dictated by the creators of his make believe world.

Now that I am about a decade older (hopefully wiser) and more attuned to the rhythms of the world and the cultures that are embedded in the peoples who live somewhere else, I am lost between the awkward realization that I have been living in a snow bubble and the absurdity of which the people similar to myself have swallowed it whole.

The word “Culture” stems from the Latin world “Culturar” which means to cultivate; and in light of the way we change and get used to certain ideas with the passing of time, it is the definition of us.

Someone asked me not too long ago, if I was comfortable here in Singapore; I had to think more than 2 seconds before answering. Comfortable is too vague to agree or disagree; life is pleasant for sure; we are used to efficiency and quick responses; anything slow or not up to standard earns itself a huge medallion of complaints and safety is increasingly taken for granted. I am comfortable yes; too much perhaps stuck in my comfort zone that I am lost in its maze of expectations and things I am used to. Yet I am also strangely uncomfortable in this Disneyland society. One of my mantras in life has always been to experience; soak up the culture in each place I go to, live the way they live without turning up my nose at them, and to empathize with the fact that each people is the way they are because of their upbringing. In Singapore, we frown on things that vaguely resemble potential outliers; we mark them from the start and separate and segregate them from the higher potential beings; there is an imprint on them right from the beginning of the race that puts more obstacles in their path to a better life.

No, I would say for sure that I am not comfortable here; in fact, I am sometimes repelled by the attitude with which we wrinkle our noses in disgust at people different than us. I find myself relax in the company of music drenched and dripping with passion, throbbing with life and emotions. I love the Latin culture; the music itself transports me into a different world; I am swept away by the vibrancy and deep desires they have for everything. The emotions displayed when they speak; the great need for physical touch and everything alive.

I am a sentimental person by nature; yet culture in Singapore has shaped me to be a person fearful of displaying my emotions; it was only living abroad that managed to edge me to the border, daring me to be happy, live and experience. Wikipedia writes a short snippet on shame and culture; on the feeling of failure in reaching others’ expectations. How much I can relate to that. How many times have I felt ashamed for not being the person someone else wanted me to be? Its impossible to count.

I spent the whole of last year questioning a lot of assumptions I used to embrace wholeheartedly. Now, here’s the question of the year. What kind of culture would I be comfortable in, loving every minute of it as opposed to dreading the unsmiling faces of the people around?

– 14th Jan 2009

It only takes a spark… to get the fire going

If I had to trace my love of writing back to the beginning, it would no doubt have started with a special person called Tom Iley, my first ever English teacher to have encouraged me to write with a fervency and passion that has lasted till today.

He was also the first Caucasian teacher I had ever had, since my first days at Morris Allen Study Centre, and the first time that I was exposed to the idea that weekends can as much be appreciated going to the theatre as staying at home and working on all that schoolwork. A native English speaker from England, he is one of the few teachers I remember so vividly; for his love for arts, life, and genuine sincerity.

Whilst clearing worksheets and books from many years ago, I came across once more the exercise book on which my Morris Allen masterpieces were documented. Flipping through the pages from almost 10 years ago, a nostalgic wave of emotions washes over the beach of my heart, as I take in the poems and prose I crafted during that very young age. What makes me smile is the little star stickers pasted next to the pieces, and short but always uplifting encouragements like “Wow! What wonderful expression. Great!”, or a small little arrow pointing to a face I had drawn as an outcry to having to do listening comprehension, followed by “I know how you feel!”

Looking back, I realise that it was such comments that spurred me to develop this outlet of expression and safe sanctuary that is writing. I’m undeniably astonished at what the exercise book revealed; each time I return in time to something that I had scribbled and poured out, not thinking about the future and how these current writings would have such a power to captivated me, I stay a little still, lost for just that slight moment.

A CANDLE… (by 14-year me)
I see a candle burning helplessly,
the flame flickering, beckoning
I think of one who has contracted leukemia
for the candle, like the patient, is dying.
It is crying ” Stop it, stop it!”
But I, the cruel master, refuses to agree.
It stops burning with determination,
but its flame seems weak, as if
it has resigned to its fate.
It creates an impression that
if is enjoying its last moments,
trying to live its best.
Its steady flame clams the room,
yet there is a melancholic air about it,
The candle is about to come to an end,
an end to its suffering,
but it still holds on,
with such fierce conviction,
as if it were a dying mother trying to smile for her sons.
The flame slows down and suddenly quivers,
trying desperately to catch its last breath.
It is saddening
for like a mother to her sons,
the candle is the light to the world.
It is dying out,
and with it will go the light.
Its flame returns to its steadiness,
as if knowing that its no use trying to fight
It is saying its last goodbyes to the world.
With an extremely sad, sad cry,
It dies.

In a blink of an eye

No longer unaccustomed to the hasty turning of time, not any more distressed with the furious ferocity with which the minutes become hours that evolve into days and eventually months. I stumbled upon the realization that it was already October, the start to yet another amazing finish of a certainly wonderful year.

Reviewing the yellowed pages of my journal, the scribbles upon which details, events and emotions were set, I surprised myself by the peace and serenity with which I accepted that while time definitely flew by again, this year it was different. Since Germany in fact. Right in the beginning of this fresh new year, one bursting with promises of brilliant discoveries and bursts of spring joy, I made myself the promise to live life grasping each second and experiencing it, determined to stop letting the years slip by untouched, leaving me without first being able to absorb its essence.

I spent alot of time rebuilding relationships, listening to people as they listened to me; appreciating the beauty of persons put miraculously in my life, allowing the journey to be as important, if not more weighty than the outcome. I know my learning style is dictated by experiencial learning; and nothing makes me more convicted than having been through a circumstance, and enjoying the route no matter where the final destination leads to.

This time last year, my Grandfather was dreadfully ill, so sick that it scared me to my core as I had never seen him weak, nor so heavily reliant on others for even basic hygiene needs. Only being able to hear his voice, weakend by medicine and the pain, on the other end of a terrible telephone connection was heart wrenching. I remember being on the way to Hamburg just before his brain surgery, ashen-faced and trembling hands, telling him I loved him through the telephone, a first. Over the course of the next two weeks, I spend a large amount of my time sitting at my laptop, using VOIP to communicate with my family, and making sure i was kept updated about his latest condition. God was good, and still is good; He made possible what seemed so hard to believe; He made me be filled with faith and gratitude again. My grandfather recovered and within a month of having 2 major operations in a short span of a mere 11 days, he was up and walking by himself again, when just before his surgeries he was not even able to hold a proper conversation for more than 15 seconds.

This sudden change of events left me relieved; but so much more aware of the fragility of life, and my one deep desire– not to ever take anything for granted as I didn’t want any more regrets. Life was too short I knew. I didnt want to reach a place I thought I should be comfortable and happy with, only to find that the years that had elasped in between were just an empty vacumn devoid of molecules of emotion, joy and great memories of life and its impacts.

I started off 2008 so estatic and yet incredibly sad all at once. I was freshly in love; brimming with happiness, yet devastated at the fact that I might possibly never see him again. Yet it was a choice I had taken in November, and no amount of sadness at separation could have changed my mind; I knew I would repeat everything in a heartbeat. It was a side of me that I had never seen before; and I surprised myself, more than I surprised others. It felt like a huge gasp of fresh oxygen in a much polluted environment, and since then, I’ve been high on this
hunger to reach for this cosntant high of experiencing.

Coming back to home, I let that be my mantra; I stopped being so in need of fulfilling other peoples’ expectations of me; I let myself decide and because of that, realised I enjoyed life so much more, and that people around also ended up enjoying being around me more. I did cry alot over issues dear to my heart, but I also laughed alot, let loose so much more, and felt the vibe of this phenomenon called Life. I learned to separate peer pressure from my personal desires and aspirations; to prioritize the assets in my life in order of importance ( and not in any way did that come in terms of monetary values), and then to give these things which were and still are significant to me the attention and love they deserved.

I picked up alot more lessons of life along the way, from passersby who happened to be at the right place at the right time, from friends whose rubies of wisdom never fail to amaze me, and from family and the love of my life. My openness to experience and understand instead of judge and scorn allowed me greater understanding of life and its beautifully woven intricacies. It’s October, yes; 10 months have passed, yes; but I finally feel the power of Oprah’s phrase:

” Life is NOT a spectator sport.”

Live it. Breathe it. Love it.

The Oasis

in the desert. when you’ve found it, you know it, and you won’t let it go.

Fall in fabrication

A spool of light forming at the keel of the trees,
The mixing of olive and brilliant greens
So interwined the glow of sparkling stillness
As colour spills from palatte to canvas.

The slow enveloping of the morning dew
With the first sparks of the peeking sunrise
Sizzling across the gentle breeze
That sways with the incomprehensible pull of life

Auburn necessity and crimson brown
Strewn across the floor of nature
Effortlessly unaware, so totally bare
Still yet lulling in undisturbed sleep

Arriving in beguiling style
Taking in, drinking with such unquenchable thirst
The world is a stage
And Autumn has come to take her rightful place.

– Inspired in a spur, by The Satorialist, and dreams of something yet to come