LORD help me to remember
that nothing is going to happen to me today
that you and I together can't handle
- a morning prayer
that nothing is going to happen to me today
that you and I together can't handle
- a morning prayer
These words are carved onto a simple piece of wooden frame that used to hang on the wall of Atah's office in the brewery. After he retired, he gave it to me. He said no matter how bad the days would get at work, those words always gave him much strength. Now it hangs on the wall where my study desk is, garlanded with my glow-in-the-dark rosary and no matter how terrible the thesis writing gets these days, those words are giving me much love, hope, comfort and perspective.
..........
Perhaps being her firstborn, Mama and I share a telepathic link that finds her calling me up on the phone whenever I find myself alone in my darkest hour. In tears after a heated quarrel, when I felt like giving up, when panic left me fear-stricken or when I was festering in homesickness, the phone will ring on cue and Mama's cheery voice would go "Hallo Ah Cheh!" on the other end. Perhaps I gave my emotions away each time with the nervous laughter, the long pauses or the one-word responses... Mama would somehow know there was something troubling me.
Gentle admonishments, wise advice or just simply listening as everything came unveiled in a torrential outpour, Mama would clear away the storm clouds above my head and the barbed wires around my heart.
..........
Have I told you lately, how much I love you?
Wandered into an art gallery in town with Meng Teck the other day and found several paintings by a Vietnamese artist that completely took my breath away. The oil on canvas paintings depicted simple rural scenes, female portraitures and still life. There is something arrestingly soothing about each of the painting with its almost monochromatic palette, earthy peacefulness, bold strokes, and a quaint juxtaposition of textures.One particular painting kept floating in my mind and I just had to reproduce it. My sketch of it barely resembles the original but is somewhat close in recollection. Hee... I need to go back to find out the artist's name, the title of the painting and for the pleasure of seeing it again...
..........
Note: Went back again in September but the painting's already sold, hence its title will remain to elude me. The wonderful artist's name however, is Nguyen Dieu Thuy and she hails from Ho Chi Minh city!
When I left him that afternoon, he walked me out into a steady downpour. "Ah, a light rain," he said appreciatively, guiding me to my car. "In Sicily, in a rain like this, a man will always walk as slowly as possible, to show he isn't affected." And as the car pulled away, and I saw him standing in the driveway in the rain, on his way to Irian Jaya, I thought back to the line of Edgar's at the end of Lear:
"we that are young / Shall never see so much nor live so long."
"we that are young / Shall never see so much nor live so long."
"You work your ass off to get all As and you get Aquaculture. Stupendous logic. Makes a mockery of all that stress and care in filling each of the 8 choices, doesn't it?"
"None of our local university offered him Engineering but NUS did. Alas he won't be able to afford it even with a tuition grant unless he also takes a student loan."
"She was crying buckets when I called her. She's devastated they gave her zoology."
Today during dinner at the kopitiam downstairs, tears flowed and they wouldn't stop for awhile. Utterly embarassing but I couldn't help it, a frustration tempered with sadness that has been simmering with heartache and disappointment needed to come out somehow. Perhaps it was the distress in reading about the kongsi raya=haram issue in the papers on Sunday. Maybe it's the growing realisation that my country really does not love me back. I feel like I've been living in a giant protective bubble wrap and slowly, the bubbles are being popped, one at a time. Rose-tinted glasses are fogging over with disillusionment and there is nothing I can do about it.
"If God made me rich beyond imagination, I'd set up a scholarship fund to help these STPM achievers so that nobody can deny them their dreams!"
"Ah Su, you are already richer than you can imagine."
"I don't get it."
"You may not be rich with money but you have a great family and upbringing. That is more wealth than most people have."
"How does that help anything or anyone?"
"Your sister and all her peers, like us, they will survive and be stronger. We went through the same system but it hasn't stopped us from achieving what we want, right? So like us, they will find another way. A harder way but eventually, they will be better than those who got opportunities handed to them."
God bless Ah Tan, gem of a friend and anti-fog specialist.
How do you reconcile studying so hard and scoring great results with outright denial of what you want to study in the local university? I am of course refering to the oft neglected STPM scorers and not the circus -worthy feat of achieving 12 or 13A1s for SPM. Why don't our educational system and scholarship bodies recognise the efforts of these students? Why are there more scholarships available at the SPM qualification level than for those with great STPM achievements? What kind of crap meritocracy is it when the matriculation program is put on par with the STPM? Doesn't the fact that STPM remains the only Malaysian pre-university qualification recognised by overseas universities say something obvious? Why is something that is so plain to see remains so obtuse to the people who create and carry out our educational policies? STPM scorers are intent on one single purpose which is to make the grade to pursue a course of their choice in our local university. If they could afford an overseas education, they do not have to choose the STPM as other globally recognised pre-university qualifications are aplenty.
No, I do not need answers to the questions I'm asking. I know all the answers (don't we all?) and that is why the tears came streaming down. This is what you call kik sim-ness yang tidak terhingga.
My heart breaks many times over for all the good STPM scorers who are denied of any of their eight course choices or are refused a place in the local universities altogether. Perhaps as Ah Tan wisely said, pursuing your dreams via the harder route will make success all the sweeter and more meaningful. Have a good cry and then move on. Find out your alternative options and have faith, there are always many different paths to arrive at the same destination. We may not be able to change a moronic system but we are fully able to chart the routes our own lives take. Journey well and may you walk with a happy heart.
"None of our local university offered him Engineering but NUS did. Alas he won't be able to afford it even with a tuition grant unless he also takes a student loan."
"She was crying buckets when I called her. She's devastated they gave her zoology."
Today during dinner at the kopitiam downstairs, tears flowed and they wouldn't stop for awhile. Utterly embarassing but I couldn't help it, a frustration tempered with sadness that has been simmering with heartache and disappointment needed to come out somehow. Perhaps it was the distress in reading about the kongsi raya=haram issue in the papers on Sunday. Maybe it's the growing realisation that my country really does not love me back. I feel like I've been living in a giant protective bubble wrap and slowly, the bubbles are being popped, one at a time. Rose-tinted glasses are fogging over with disillusionment and there is nothing I can do about it.
"If God made me rich beyond imagination, I'd set up a scholarship fund to help these STPM achievers so that nobody can deny them their dreams!"
"Ah Su, you are already richer than you can imagine."
"I don't get it."
"You may not be rich with money but you have a great family and upbringing. That is more wealth than most people have."
"How does that help anything or anyone?"
"Your sister and all her peers, like us, they will survive and be stronger. We went through the same system but it hasn't stopped us from achieving what we want, right? So like us, they will find another way. A harder way but eventually, they will be better than those who got opportunities handed to them."
God bless Ah Tan, gem of a friend and anti-fog specialist.
How do you reconcile studying so hard and scoring great results with outright denial of what you want to study in the local university? I am of course refering to the oft neglected STPM scorers and not the circus -worthy feat of achieving 12 or 13A1s for SPM. Why don't our educational system and scholarship bodies recognise the efforts of these students? Why are there more scholarships available at the SPM qualification level than for those with great STPM achievements? What kind of crap meritocracy is it when the matriculation program is put on par with the STPM? Doesn't the fact that STPM remains the only Malaysian pre-university qualification recognised by overseas universities say something obvious? Why is something that is so plain to see remains so obtuse to the people who create and carry out our educational policies? STPM scorers are intent on one single purpose which is to make the grade to pursue a course of their choice in our local university. If they could afford an overseas education, they do not have to choose the STPM as other globally recognised pre-university qualifications are aplenty.
No, I do not need answers to the questions I'm asking. I know all the answers (don't we all?) and that is why the tears came streaming down. This is what you call kik sim-ness yang tidak terhingga.
My heart breaks many times over for all the good STPM scorers who are denied of any of their eight course choices or are refused a place in the local universities altogether. Perhaps as Ah Tan wisely said, pursuing your dreams via the harder route will make success all the sweeter and more meaningful. Have a good cry and then move on. Find out your alternative options and have faith, there are always many different paths to arrive at the same destination. We may not be able to change a moronic system but we are fully able to chart the routes our own lives take. Journey well and may you walk with a happy heart.
There was an Iswara in front of me, awaiting traffic to ease on the opposite lane so that it can turn into the housing estate on the right. I was in my Kancil waiting for the Iswara to turn so that I can move on. The traffic on the left was too heavy for me to switch lanes. Oh well, it's just one car; I'll just wait. My eyes darted between the front car, the right lane traffic and the rearview mirror. Suddenly, everything that happened next unfolded as if in slow motion. A car was fast approaching from behind but something was amiss. It didn't seem to slow down nor signal to switch lanes. My heart raced, hands gripped the sides of my car seat tight, eyes transfixed on the rearview mirror and the pair of bright growing headlights. No, no, no way... stop. SSSTT...
As the car slammed into mine, my eight beanie bears on the dashboard flew like confetti and the backseat became a mess of files, notes and clothes. As I watched two big burly men alight from the Iswara in front, I felt like I lost my brains for awhile. I got out of the car, feeling weak in the knees and looked at the car behind. Great, another Iswara. Why didn't you stop? I felt my own voice tremble exasperatedly as I faced a dazed-looking man flushed pink in the cheeks. "Mei pan fa, xiao jie. Mei pan fa," he said repeatedly with an irritating silly smile. Excuse me, no choice? Mei pan fa? One of the two men from the front Iswara came up angrily and demanded to know what happened as the other inspected their car. In the blur of car horns and a heated flurry of Mandarin and Cantonese, I remember staring at my poor Kancil all banged up front and back, sandwiched between two perfectly unscathed Iswaras.
Traffic was fast building up on both sides of the trunk road. No signs of pesky tow-truck operators. Pheww. I had to borrow one of the burly men's mobile phone to call Atah as my phone battery conveniently died ten minutes before the accident. My Kancil thankfully could still start. After a short exchange of instructions with the intoxicated idiot and some words of thanks to the kind burly men, I drove my Kancil to the nearest police station, chanting the idiot's vehicle car plate number to the accompaniment of painful clanking engine sounds and a mental replay of colourful flying bears.
Sometimes at night when sleep eludes me, I lie awake and that incident a few years ago returns in a perfectly vivid but odd recall. I can feel my chest tighten and hands grip an imaginary car seat as the mind fixes itself upon the anticipation of being hit. An imminent crash. Except I can't see any oncoming vehicles or bright headlights. No rearview mirror. Just a huge sigh and eyes wide open.
As the car slammed into mine, my eight beanie bears on the dashboard flew like confetti and the backseat became a mess of files, notes and clothes. As I watched two big burly men alight from the Iswara in front, I felt like I lost my brains for awhile. I got out of the car, feeling weak in the knees and looked at the car behind. Great, another Iswara. Why didn't you stop? I felt my own voice tremble exasperatedly as I faced a dazed-looking man flushed pink in the cheeks. "Mei pan fa, xiao jie. Mei pan fa," he said repeatedly with an irritating silly smile. Excuse me, no choice? Mei pan fa? One of the two men from the front Iswara came up angrily and demanded to know what happened as the other inspected their car. In the blur of car horns and a heated flurry of Mandarin and Cantonese, I remember staring at my poor Kancil all banged up front and back, sandwiched between two perfectly unscathed Iswaras.
Traffic was fast building up on both sides of the trunk road. No signs of pesky tow-truck operators. Pheww. I had to borrow one of the burly men's mobile phone to call Atah as my phone battery conveniently died ten minutes before the accident. My Kancil thankfully could still start. After a short exchange of instructions with the intoxicated idiot and some words of thanks to the kind burly men, I drove my Kancil to the nearest police station, chanting the idiot's vehicle car plate number to the accompaniment of painful clanking engine sounds and a mental replay of colourful flying bears.
Sometimes at night when sleep eludes me, I lie awake and that incident a few years ago returns in a perfectly vivid but odd recall. I can feel my chest tighten and hands grip an imaginary car seat as the mind fixes itself upon the anticipation of being hit. An imminent crash. Except I can't see any oncoming vehicles or bright headlights. No rearview mirror. Just a huge sigh and eyes wide open.
Excited kids, happy cousins, proud parents and a freezing ballroom.
Oh yeah, sea cucumbers are gross no matter how you cook them!
Was talking on the phone with Supra as I was going through Sugeo's photos of the FIFA World Cup 2006 where he is currently a volunteer with the HostBroadcastServices (HBS) in Munich, Germany. Suddenly the top right corner of the Flickr page caught my eye...
Told Supra and we spent the next five minutes in a laughing fit.
Hee.. lawak...
Guten tag! Take a look behind the scenes with Sugeo and the Smurfs at the Allianz Arena Stadium and the International Broadcast Centre in Munich, Germany!
Told Supra and we spent the next five minutes in a laughing fit.
Hee.. lawak...
Guten tag! Take a look behind the scenes with Sugeo and the Smurfs at the Allianz Arena Stadium and the International Broadcast Centre in Munich, Germany!
Listening to and watching Anne Bogart present her thoughts in person on the relevance of theatre in the context of the global environment is humbling, illuminating and awe inspiring. Despite presenting her talk as the viewpoints of an American on the global stage, her explanations of what theatre means and what theatre can do were indeed close to heart and home. Each "rubric" she presented and the practical examples/applications she gave was easily assessible on a personal level and applicable to a local context. Her charismatic presence was electrifying but in a delightfully grounded, earthy and sincere manner. I couldn't help feeling really blessed to have had the opportunity to be her "student" for two hours... imagine being her graduate student at Columbia University or working with her in SITI. A beaming Mr. Suaidi remarked that Anne Bogart is the kind of person he wants to be when he grows up. Hee... yeah, she is truly inspiration and aspiration embodied.
Anne Bogart spoke of seven roles she felt theatre can play in the context of post-9/11. I loved how she communicated abstract concepts by simply stressing the keypoints and illustrating them through real daily life examples. Peppering her talk with interesting anecdotes and stories, she also drew rich inspiration from the sciences like mathematics(Gödel's theorem? or was it proof by contradiction?), physics(observer effect) and biology(mirror neurons). In demonstrating how scientific concepts are applicable to expanding theatre's definitions and roles, she had, as Mr. Suaidi aptly observed, also illuminated the encompassing relevance of theatre across society and for humanity.
... to intensify(kinetic and static), enthusiasm, to remember (a poet and watering holes, legacy in retelling), to expand what it means to be human, to articulate (and finish your sentences), to affect catharsis (etymology: shining light upon dark), challenging certainty with uncertainty, the fanatic extremes that follows absolute certainty, the magical creative place/position of not knowing what to make of something or being unsure, to work within a paradox, famine of the spirits (to be attentive), rehearsal is sacred, balancing the vertical and the horizontal, humour as a very important (but oft underestimated) tool, spectacle as 1/7th of a performance, relevance: not to affect only a particular group of audience but to speak directly to a particular part of all kinds of audiences, having the right intentions, the future is created by those who write rather than the ones wielding political power, the powerful silence that follows violence, the gym of the soul...
Most of all, Anne's talk taught me about owning a conviction, which is utterly empowering and yet is not selfish. Perhaps knowing what I do not want to do is indeed the best enlightenment. She articulated so many thoughts and emotions that I had never been able to convey to Mama and Atah; so much about what I love learning, doing and being a part of, so much about a pursuit of purpose and happiness. Pondering on these thoughts in the evening train, a quote from Mother Teresa comes to mind- works of love are works of peace. In a personal sense, perhaps to find peace is to do what I love and own it with all my raisons du coeur...
Anne Bogart spoke of seven roles she felt theatre can play in the context of post-9/11. I loved how she communicated abstract concepts by simply stressing the keypoints and illustrating them through real daily life examples. Peppering her talk with interesting anecdotes and stories, she also drew rich inspiration from the sciences like mathematics(Gödel's theorem? or was it proof by contradiction?), physics(observer effect) and biology(mirror neurons). In demonstrating how scientific concepts are applicable to expanding theatre's definitions and roles, she had, as Mr. Suaidi aptly observed, also illuminated the encompassing relevance of theatre across society and for humanity.
... to intensify(kinetic and static), enthusiasm, to remember (a poet and watering holes, legacy in retelling), to expand what it means to be human, to articulate (and finish your sentences), to affect catharsis (etymology: shining light upon dark), challenging certainty with uncertainty, the fanatic extremes that follows absolute certainty, the magical creative place/position of not knowing what to make of something or being unsure, to work within a paradox, famine of the spirits (to be attentive), rehearsal is sacred, balancing the vertical and the horizontal, humour as a very important (but oft underestimated) tool, spectacle as 1/7th of a performance, relevance: not to affect only a particular group of audience but to speak directly to a particular part of all kinds of audiences, having the right intentions, the future is created by those who write rather than the ones wielding political power, the powerful silence that follows violence, the gym of the soul...
Most of all, Anne's talk taught me about owning a conviction, which is utterly empowering and yet is not selfish. Perhaps knowing what I do not want to do is indeed the best enlightenment. She articulated so many thoughts and emotions that I had never been able to convey to Mama and Atah; so much about what I love learning, doing and being a part of, so much about a pursuit of purpose and happiness. Pondering on these thoughts in the evening train, a quote from Mother Teresa comes to mind- works of love are works of peace. In a personal sense, perhaps to find peace is to do what I love and own it with all my raisons du coeur...
The 18 sekawan are back from their long overdue Annual Bath!! A little bit of drama and trauma this time around though. Nevertheless, all are clean and bright once more. *Yeay*
