JB Saturdays

It doesn't help that I only dropped off at five in the morning. Mum staggers to my door barely four hours later and starts her early morning chatter:

"Jenny, you wanna go Pasar Tani? Or you wanna go for breakfast? OK come, let's go for breakfast. Hurry up girl!"

So I wake up and shake sleep from my hair and throw on some crumpled clothes. Mum eyes me askance. "You didn't iron that." Then she shrugs philosophically. At least I'm up and that's saying something.

Chubs, who has been shaken out of sleep is also grumpy. I come down to greet the two doggies. I don't understand why Elliot is looking so worried (I realise later that he thinks I'm leaving already - poor Elliot, his life is so full of uncertainty, we come, we go, and he remains tied up).

Anyway we arrive at Kerala Restaurant too late for the appam. Uncle Joe is sitting at his accustomed place at the cash register looking placid. He smiles and nods. We order roti canai instead. And mutton curry. The mutton curry arrives sans mutton. Apparently they don't have the ones that have been chopped up small small. Bru Coffees all round. Mum glances at her watch and mentally calculates what time we can call Jackie to wish her. It's her birthday. I'm hoping that she has received all the cards by now.

Then it's off to Pasar Tani. Chubs stops near the rickety stairs. He's gonna stay in the car and read his PG Wodehouse. I am going to follow Mum and be the pack horse. I look around trying to take note of this pageant around me. Two people quote higher prices than what is written on the cards and Mum bristles up in conscious reproof. The vegetable ladies are grumpy. The fruit guys are jovial. One old fruit guy offers me a slice of jackfruit. It is very very sweet and soon my fingers are sticky with juice.

"Alamak, mak mertua lalu belakang tak nampak." (roughly translated: your mother-in-law has just passed behind you, you didn't see her)

I stare at the man in surprise. "Sorry?"

Apparently it is a pepatah Melayu (Malay saying). I'm not sure if the saying has to do with eating jackfruit, or sweet fruit, or sticky fruit and forebear to ask. I am allergic to mothers-in-law, imaginary or otherwise.

Being a lazy child, not interested in lugging around a lot of heavy plastic bags I make frequent trips to the car where Chubs is relaxing, seat back, reading his Wodehouse and listening to the radio (some things never change).

Finally, all the marketing is done and Mums has arrived at her plants stall. This signals the end of or Pasar Tani trip. Her mouth opens slightly and her eyes zone out into her junkie look. (some things really never change)

Then I think, OK we're off home. But it is not to be. Mum doesn't get a chance to run her errands often, what with Chubs busy with peak period at the office and all (altho I did tell her I'd be back for a week this time, which means we could spread them out), so she wants to go to the Post Office to pay a bill. And stop along the way to buy bread. Lack of sleep is starting to get to me and I feel myself getting grumpy.

But Mums says - go get your refund (the car petrol hike refund thingy) and I say, aiya dowanlar...and Chubs says, you'd better, after all, they reduced petrol prices today, so they may take this off. So I go, pay the bill and get my refund (it takes all of five minutes, for which I am pleasantly surprised) and then finally, finally we make our way home.

Time to shower and sleep. Except that I need to get on the net to check my Facebook and email. Mum looks at me and shakes her head: "You are addicted, aren't you?"

I nod, eyes riveted on the screen.

For sure.

Say What You Need To Say

Even if your hands are shaking
And your faith is broken
Even as the eyes are closing
Do it with a heart wide open

Say what you need to say...

I'm back home in JB. Took a slow drive and calmed down. I am a child of highways, the road soothes me, it lulls me into a meditative peace. I need to drive alone. I need to switch off the phone and just be alone with my thoughts for a while.

From that calm sometimes leviathans emerge, but oftentimes I just watch the procession of thoughts tread by in my head as my fingers search out the best radio station. Sometimes I hit a song I like. Sometimes it all goes distorted. Sometimes, there is only silence.

And I talk to people in my head and tell them what I have to tell them. I compose beautiful letters and messages and blogposts (pity I forget what I think as soon as I sit down to write them)

And what I need to say is:

No cause. No cause.

It explains everything. And nothing.

So you go figure it out.

Going Home

The morning after a binge, the world seems tinged with ashes and dust. The light is rusty, the air unclean. And the music comes to me distorted, like a soundtrack by Teenage Fan Club.

Let everything that is to fall, fall, beginning with tired love.

I'm glad I'm leaving. If only temporarily. There are places to visit, people to see. Nothing to tie me here. There was little before and now there is even less.

We met Rejane yesterday. And that was interesting. We met Richard (not the yoga nazi) yesterday. And that was interesting. We ate the best prawn sambal in the world, at Backyard and that was interesting. We shared some very honest moments fuelled by the alcholic haze. (OK Richard and Mary weren't drinking, Rejane and I were, but everyone seemed sober and real. Very real)

I had four whiskies (four!) all told, and still drove back sober (I am seriously going to have to do something about my increasing tolerance level).

Mary and I are out to Mid Valley today to eat the incomparable chicken rice. And get a refund for my lost parking ticket. And then I'll be off with Nits and Adek to WIP. Maybe call Rejane to see what she is doing later as both my amigas are going to ditch me early. Prior engagements.

Maybe it will be an early night as I intend to take off early tomorrow.

I just want to go home.

The Morning After

I wake with a pit of heaving magma in my centre. Doesn't this feeling go away in the morning? Isn't it a denizen of the night? Apparently not. Apparently it will stay with me until it is fully out of my system.

I sometimes wish I had a few more skins.

I like how it feels not to feel.

Think I'm gonna get drunk tonight as well.

Later for you.

Desperado

OK I'm drunk now. I'm writing this on two whiskies. Which is like way above my limit. Although I wish I could open a bottle of wine by myself and chug it down like mineral water. Maybe that would numb me.

Everything hurts. A mass or raw nerve endings.

I drove to Backyard with Mary Zack of the broken toe fame. She came because I told her I seriously needed to get drunk and there was so much shit going down that I could no longer handle it. Too much sadness and misery and despair and illness and hurt. All at once.

Too much!

More than I could handle. Not without a drink or a hundred.

I think my tolerance is rising. Two whiskies and I feel nothing. I mean everything is thrown into sharp relief, even the pain, even the sense of abandonment, but still...I discussed Jane Austen and Jane Eyre and drove home sober. Although I was drunk. And my heart felt like a lump of lead in my chest. Even then.

Look for the girl with the broken smile, ask her if she wants to stay a while and she will be loved.

But I'm not.

Changes

OK time for a good old update, the old-fashioned kind, the kind that tells you what's going on without me without resorting to poetry or metaphors or streams of consciousness. Or hints.

A lot in fact. I quit my job. My last day was 8/8/8 which is kinda cool. I still work for the company though. Sort of. I'm supposed to be on retainer. In fact I'm at D'lish Bangsar waiting for the ex-boss to come and practice his speech. Same old same old.

Having given up my job, I had to surrender my laptop (definitely the more painful sacrifice of the two). But it was a blessing in disguise. Having to surrender my laptop, I had to go see what was available in the shape of laptops. And I got my wonderful PollyAnna, a red Dell, which is not just functional, it's pretty. And having a laptop, I needed to get a laptop bag. Did you know that these are now fashion accessories? Go figure. Well anyway, I got a pretty red laptop bag from Mid Valley. I love it. Fits all my stuff. And PollyAnna. What more could I ask for? (I'm getting the 'my life is now perfect' feel to this).

I'm supposed to buy a digital camera, and the one I want, I'm attracted to because of aesthetics rather than functions. It's so pretty. When I asked the girl to remove it from the display window, I felt a thrill. It's red, see? BMW red. I love red. Or did you already guess that? However bossy boots little sister asked me not to get anything without checking with her as cameras may actually be cheaper in the UK. So I held off. With heroic restraint. Sometimes I actually make myself proud of me.

I lost my parking ticket. (Which is not a major change, but just the kind of pulling a Jennifer that I thought would amuse you). I found it again after I had paid the fine. It was on my windscreen where some kind soul, who found it on the ground, had put it. By that time it was too late to get a refund (apparently the refunds need to be approved by executives and the mere cashiers who took your money cannot give it back) so I'll have to go to Megamall once again. With Mary. Maybe not. She is still hobbling. Her toe remains broken.

I'm supposed to be a freelancer now but haven't actively started looking for work. Feel tired. A bone-deep weariness that comes from somewhere and goes to nowhere and there is nothing I seem to be able to do about it. Can't wait to get to Campion's sequestered vale, altho Jackie has threatened to drag me off to France instead (but since I love France and Paris is my favourite city in the world, I'm not objecting).

Last night I dreamt somebody loved me.

No hope.

No harm.

Just another false alarm.

The more things change, the more they stay the same.

Groundhog Day has decided to extend its run.

GroundHog Day

I did it again. One every year. Every 10 years. Who knows? I never seem to get out of today and into tomorrow.

Yeah, the body ages and weakens. The mind becomes more clouded. So we mark the passing years with decay rather than the onset of wisdom.

Round and round and round we go, where we get off nobody knows. Moving in circles, always pain, nobody to turn to, nobody.

I wish I was real.

I wish I was not a watercolour.

I wish I didn't wash off.

A Dream Within A Dream

The crow lands on my shoulder: "Give up Jenn. Move on..."

"Quoth the raven, nevermore?" I retort mockingly.

"Poe? I would have figured you for better...but if that's how you want to go...Take this kiss upon thy brow," he pecks me hard and flutters away.

I lift my hand to stem the trickle of blood from my forehead and continue where the denizen of doom left off:

I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand --
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep -- while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?

Why I Love Tristan

I am surveying the wreck of my latest almost-relationship. There is my heart lying battered on the ground, smoke rising from the crevices. It feels strangely peaceful to have my heart outside my body for a while. It doesn't hurt so much.

Tristan appears behind me and looks over my shoulder.

"Another one Jenn? Boy, you sure know how to pick 'em."

"Sometimes, they pick me," I say, hiccuping between a chuckle and a sob.

"Yeah sweetie, but you can always say no."

He examines the grooves on my heart and shakes his head: "Addiction."

"Not love?"

"Nope."

"I thought for sure it was love this time."

I lift the messy organ off the ground and hand it to him: "Why don't you stomp it some more while you're at it?"

Tristan smiles, dusts off my heart gently and places it back in my chest cavity. "A sting, and then peace..."

I start to cry of course. It's all I ever seem to do at this stage and he holds my hand and just allows me to wail. (This is why I love Tristan. This is why I will always love Tristan)

When the sobs subside, he swings my hand in the air: "Let's run away."

"OK, where?"

"The beach?"

"Cool."

So we pack into his rattletrap of a car, stopping along the way for supplies. At the beach we unpack our cask wine, served up in jelly glasses and prawn cocktail, which we eat with our fingers. Somewhere at the back of my mind I am aware of the consequences. I know I am going to feel plenty sick tomorrow. But who cares? Tomorrow is tomorrow. And it is still only today.

As we chug the cheap wine, we grow maudlin, sing songs, swap stories. I ask about boa constrictor girl, one of his girlfriends who insists on sleeping with her snake. And I don't mean that in a sexy way. Tristan shakes his head and sighs. She was interesting, but she is so over. I ask about the bliss-fairy and he perks up. Yes, they went out a couple of days ago. May be something there.

And he asks about Rumpelstiltskin, my latest disaster. And I tell him. Thus, we reduce our exes to some strange quirk or body part, draining them of humanity. They're easier to deal with like this. Not real people anymore. Just a collection of foibles and ANYONE can get over a collection of foibles.

Even me.

It's early and the sun is rising. Tristan gathers me close and I lay my head on his shoulder and shut my eyes. There is a hush in the air, and in that magical moment, the pain dissolves.

I open my eyes to find Tristan has vanished.

I feel sick from the cheap wine and cold prawns like I knew I would.

Tomorrow has come.

But I feel better all the same.

And this is why I love Tristan.

There Is A Crack In Everything God Made

Look at me.

Look closer.

Right deep into my eyes.

See the crack?

Yes, it's been there for so long now. Tired of trying to hold it together.

Everything crumbles. Everything fades. Everything tastes of ashes.

See the crack?

I don't remember when it got there. But I feel it at the centre of my being.

See the crack? I'm Humpty Dumpty and you can't put me together again. I'm Alice in a Wonderland falling through the hole. Slick walls. I cannot hold on.

You can't help me.

Nobody can.

I know you want to protect me, but you can't.

Nobody can.

There is a crack, a crack in evertyhing
That is how the light gets in
That is how the light gets in
That is how the light gets in...

Fray is Right; I'm Starting to Unravel

In sooth, I know not why I am so sad.

Maybe it's all the late nights. Maybe it is the unaccustomed alcohol. Maybe it's the new people seeping in at the corners of my life. But I feel like something's changed, something profound and I'm left helpless, staring, wondering what's down that road, what's around the corner.

Words bleed from my fingers...I can't stop them. And I re-read things I wrote before and think oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, I remember how I felt then, oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, this blows my mind.

Lear: Be your tears wet? Yes, faith. I pray, weep not.
If you have poison for me, I will drink it.
I know you do not love me; for your sisters
Have, as I do remember, done me wrong.
You have some cause, they have not.

Cordelia: No cause, no cause.

Once More Into The Fray

I'm back from yoga and in a slightly surreal space. I wonder how Richard manages to trip so lightly through life. He is so disciplined with his practice but he doesn't seem to sweat the small stuff. Or any stuff. Heck, I've never seen that guy sweat. Like ever. Which is weird in a yoga context.

I, on the other hand, have all sorts of things lying heavy on my heart. Which I just can't seem to shake.

And sometimes, when I'm tossing and turning, in the furnace of the night, I wonder...

Things are changing very quickly and part of me wants to get swept up in the tides and part of me wants to get my bearings and part of me wants to step out to the sidelines and just watch.

Ever have I been the spectator.

The solitary dreamer.

The one who writes the story.

But is seldom a part of it.

And now?

The Squirrels Are Eating The Rambutans

It starts to rain before I've even left Selangor, and I'm very sleepy. Too many late nights. After nodding off (or nearly nodding off) at the wheel a few times, I pull up alongside a trailer at the next stop, push back my seat and take a nap.

Of course, Mums knows I'm coming back and she doesn't know what time I left which means my phone will be buzzing continuously. Not that I answer it. I've left the bluetooth device (which I never use, anyway) back in KL.

When I arise from the sleep of ages, the rain has stopped and I make my way through the traffic..which clears after Malacca. Heroes out on the road today. But I don't feel like speeding. I'm averaging 80 and the radio is set to light and easy and I'm just breathing through the journey.

Everytime I move into the overtaking lane to pass a truck that's going even slower than me, the impatient badawa rascals tailgate me, flash, flash, flash, until I get out of their way. Funny. At one time this would have agigated me. Today, I just go slower, to irritate them for being so rude.

Yeah, go on flashing, why don't you?

When I arrive outside our gate, the two dogs go crazy. Elliot is barking loudly, sounding fierce and forbidding, in case it isn't Julie (it isn't). Maggotty recognises the car (I donno how) and starts yelping. Mummy staggers out with a big grin the gate.

"Be quiet!"

The dogs subside and Elliot wraps his chain around her. She swats him away. Anyway, after much drama the gate is opened and I glide in (haha, Chubs has gone out for a movie so I get to take his place).

So I'm home to kueh teow...

Mum: I made your brother come home before going out with his friends...told him to bring back some kueh teow

which is way nice....

and tea (Mum says, hot drink, you wanna hot drink?)

which is also way nice...

and Old Christine...which is only so-so. I was not into Julie Louis Dreyfuss on Seinfeld, and guess what? Still not into her. However as I'm too lazy to change the DVD, I still through the first half of the first season, wishing I could watch The Hot Chick instead, because that's one of my favourite JB movies. I've also brought my Joan of Arcadia to watch, but too lazy.

This morning, I go to say good morning (way after afternoon when I finally emerge from the mists of Morpheus) to the doggies and realise that they're filthy. My hands are black so I say Mum, I going to bathe the patis...and she says OK. And I do. And they behave really really well, which is a surprise but I think the lack of set up for bath may have had something to do with it...they stand there and shiver as I hose them with icy water and then rub the shampoo deep into their fur. The dog getting the bath is quiet. The other one howls in jealousy. But that's OK.

They're clean now and Mums is ladling out their food.

A little later we'll be going out to fix my car. That bloody Skoda (the drunk who backed into me at the traffic lights) did some damage without me being sengaja of it. I can't open the bonnet...

I tell you ah...

Time To Move On

I brace myself for the inevitable and still, when it comes, I feel sad.

Lost in the silence.

You look at me. You look through me.

It's as if I'm no longer there.

Perhaps I never was.

You need me like a fish needs a bicycle.

Yes, that was what I wanted. I wanted you to make it on your own. Without me. And still, it's hard to let you go.

There is so little left between us and soon, even that will pass.

Thank you for what you have given me. I forgive you for what you have done to me. And I know you will forgive me.

It's time to move on.

Perfect Time

Why is the measure of love loss?

Maybe if I breathe slowly, hold the image, relax into it, maybe then...

I am not ready. She's coming for me. I was stalling and she told me there would be a reckoning. She warned me.

No escape.

Child, stay awake.

Why is the measure of love loss?

It's time.

No, I'm not ready. Sometimes the wind is moist and the raindrops make me cry.

It's time.

Sometimes on a cloudy afternoon, I can hear music on the wind.

It's time.

Sometimes there is chocolate cake in the oven and a mother who smiles and lets me scrape the bowl.

It's time.

Sometimes there is a glint of warmth in the eyes of a stranger.

It's time.

Sometimes there's an afterglow.

No more words.

I'm not ready. I haven't learned it. Please...I'm not ready.

Why is the measure of love loss?

Because there is no love.

Only loss.

Love, Actually

I sometimes wonder what it is we're looking for.

Bliss? Peace? Love? Happiness?

All of the above?

And yet we move in these tortured circles. Same faces, same stories. Different faces, same stories. Reliving the same script over and over and over again.

When will I ever learn?

No, really.

When?

Peaceful Easy Feeling

As if the musical healing wasn't enough - I went for a Sekhem session yesterday. The healer said the energy was particularly blocked in my knees and shoulders. Apparently that is where we keep our beliefs and memories.

Words employed to describe me:

Rigid
Inflexible
Kinda hard on men.

Right, right, and oh boy, right again!

She said there may some "healing reaction" after the session. There was. I imploded, became depressed and felt like that guy who pushes a stone up a mountain only to see it roll down again. And again. And again. Hasn't anything helped? Haven't I made any progress at all this year? I thought I had. But there it is - rigid, inflexible, blah, blah, blah.

As for rigid, Richard, my Yoga Nazi could have told you that...when he tries to adjust me, he says, surrender, Jennifer, surrender...and the harder I try, the stiffer I become. Four months of yoga and I've barely moved forward. I sweat a lot, which is good. But everything is still a struggle.

Then today, I decide to get rid of stuff (an impulse bubbling up from my healing session?) Anyway I fill a black garbage bag with old handbags, old shoes, old trousers. While emptying my cupboard I came across a colourful bedsheet a friend gave me as an engagement present. Decided that since my present bedsheet is being laundered, I would use this thing of mirrors and bright colours to adorn my sleeping quarters. Also I will unearth the pillowcases given by another friend as a another, yeah, you got it, engagement present.

I found the beautiful album George gave me. I leafed through it and wondered what I would put in it. Something...it will be my dream book. The most special one. Oh yeah, another thing the healer said was that I could achieve anything I put my mind to. And I wondered - as present dreams centre around being a vagabond and wandering through the highways and byways of this old dusty world, sloughing off identities, picking up stories and generally moving forward with the rest of my life.

For so long now, I've simply felt stuck. Like I was not where I was/am supposed to be. I've been easing into a new identity (altho I find it's not so new and I'm still the same old me, with the same old issues) this year.

Which is a long way from that mouldy hotel room in Fraser's Hill drinking myself senseless and wondering how to end it.

I gotta peaceful easy feeling
I know you wont let me down
Cos I'm already standing
On the ground.

I Could Have Danced All Night

So there I was with a map in my lap, desperately trying to negotiate unfamiliar roads. In Setapak. Which is like, beyond the boondocks. Zafrul had a shoot at nine in the morning and I was already late. I got to the place indicated on the map. But it didn't look right. I mean, I was supposed to get to an old folk's home. And these were flats. Not a house. Surely, it would be a house.

So I get right out of there, turn tentatively into another road and find myself in a kampung. I mean, like literally. I drive as cautiously as I can trying not to run down baby chicks who were not smart enough to get out of my way.

Then I pull over on the verge and take out my map for another look. I read the address carefully and slap my forehead. Goddamn! It's a flat. I'm supposed to have gone to a flat. That first place was the right place after all. Now how to get out of this mess. I drive around a bit. U-turn. Nearly land up in a drain. And then, find my way out and get to the flats in question. Where's there's like a big sign saying...Nascom. The place I want to get to. Which I didn't notice the first time around.

I get out of the car and sprint towards the flat in question. Huh! Luckily I am dressed down in jeans and Birkies. I get there and see the contestants who smile a good morning...and the boss, well, he's not there to scold me cos he is driving around somewhere loster than me.

Anyways, after waiting a while, texting him to find out where he is and finally calling him, I, with the help of the human GPS, Kim, realise that he has missed a crucial turning and gone miles out of his way and needs to turn back. We take the car out to the traffic light he missed, wait for him to turn in and then lead him miles and miles into the interior, to this God-forsaken place...where we rush for the shoot. The sun is blazing and it's not long before his shirt is clinging to him like a second skin. Throw in an ear wax impaction, and you do not have a happy bunny.

What with all the offscreen drama, I don't get to have the meeting with him that I was supposed to, to clear some outstanding office business. Trying to get a meeting with this man is like trying to get an autograph off Juliet Cynthia Jacobs. Not exactly the easiest thing in the world. So I say...but, we need to go through such and such...and running, he says...OK, can you meet me at Carcosa at 2?

I nod and get there at one. After which I text the boss to tell him I'm there waiting for him (as if his life didn't have enough pressure) and he's forced to rush his business to be there as quickly as possible. (The good thing about all this is that we get to clear business at hand). He is there for some KLBC meeting or other and his friends start arriving and rock up to interrupt...he says, give me a minute, need to clear some work, please give me a minute, OK? And they clear off obligingly. That's the nice thing about accountants...they're so civilized, y'know.

And there's a lot more stuff...but it's 1.39 now and I'm tired and I just can't wait to be king. Oh no wait, it's I just can't wait to get to bed....

Bed, bed, I couldn't go to bed
My head's too light to try to set it down
Sleep, sleep, I couldn't sleep tonight
Not for all the jewels in the crown....

Surreal

I seem to have taken a vacation from reality...last night I was baking a brownie and I fell fast asleep and woke up to pull out the burnt crusty thing from the oven...and my hands were heavy with sleep and I nearly dropped everything. But don't worry, it was not burnt all through. Just the top part, which you could remove without anyone being the wiser.

I met Ambikah for lunch today and brought along a few pieces for her edification. She broke off a little for a taste. Then a little more. Then a little more...we were at Angel Cake House and they looked at us askance for eating cake not of their making...but she tipped them generously. I think she likes the brownies.

Dadda is talking in his sleep now....I don't know what he just said.

And I saw Addy later and she said she would love some dessert. Anything chocolatey. My kind of girl, I say.

There was yoga today and my Yoga Nazi was in a good mood. Splendid. He wasn't too tough on us and I barely broke a sweat. Although we did some heavy breathing on purpose. Kapalabathi or some such thing which involves forced exhalations.

I also got to hang out with Stephanie the artist today and I love her house because it is full of her paintings and I love her paintings because they are all the colours of happy.

I'm not making any dessert tonight. I need to take a shower and stretch out on the sofa and maybe watch a DVD or maybe fall asleep or maybe just lie there and drift.

Nothing is real.

I can't make it real.

Sweets for the Sweet

A fresh chocolate raspberry streusel bar reposes on the counter. I just made it. It will be our dessert for the next week. And if it should finish halfway, as I expect it to do, I will make another one. I got enough ingredients to do so....muahahahahaha!

Last week, it was chocolate chip cookies. The week before that, fresh lemon curd cake. You can say that I've been baking with zest. To say nothing of chocolate chips, raspberry jam, lemons, butter, sugar and flour. Lots of flour. I love the way my belly jiggles softly as I enter the room about 10 minutes after it. It's good to play drums on. Thwack, thwack, thwack. (Yeah, yoga notwithstanding)

But considering I only bake when I'm happy (sort of), I feel that everything is pleasant and nice and buttery and chocolatey and coated with honey.

I have strange dreams at night, but that must be because of the books I've been reading. Yeah, there was this one with a glass window and waves that slammed against said window and broke it threatening to overwhelm me as I stood watching in helpless fascination thinking - wow, how beautiful, strange and terrible and beautiful...

Anyway, back to desserts. My friends have taken to avoiding me. Or tying themselves up in knots trying to tell me politely (so as to not hurt my feelings, you know how sensitive I get) that no, please, they don't want anymore cake, and don't ask them again, like ever, have I noticed how nothing fits anymore and get away from me, you temptress, you devil incarnate...NOOOOOOOOOO!

So I laugh (because I'm so happy for no particular reason) and just leave my goodies at home, where we will have them with our tea every day...Dadda likes to have something for tea, and now there is always something. The chocolate chip cookies are not nearly finished (although I must say Julie did her best, polishing off half a tin, in one short day) and now there's a chocolate raspberry streusel bar. And the ingredients for another crsb in the fridge. As well as the fixin's for a hazelnut white dark chocolate brownie. Yum!

And my friends say, stay away from me you devil. So I smile, lick my fingers and say...OK whatever. And some point out delicately that dear, dear Jenn, you are moving towards embonpoint, not to say fat, well OK, fat....maybe you should cut down a little dear.

And I laugh and wave and cram my mouth full of cake and sing yummy yummy yummy I got love in my tummy....

So am I evil?

Or simply misguided?

I Saw My Life Flash Before My Eyes (But It Was Only A UFO)

I dragged Mary to Backyard last night. I was buzzing, buzzing, buzzing and she had an early bus to catch this morning for a wedding on Saturday, which meant early to bed - was there ever anything so inevitable?

Anyways, there we were, me digging into my mutton varuval and Mary chatting away when who should rock up but Mark's Victor...who joined us. We didn't mind him so much - he's very much the strong silent type (though not so silent with us) and we chatted about gigs and Chianti and bounced cheques and new rulings by Bank Negara and other subjects of similar potency. He was struggling with his first glass of stout. Then he struggled through his second glass of stout. Finally he struggled through his third glass, at which point, we left.

Although it was later and later, we stayed on - and then this real creep - large ugly Indian thuggy looking guy with a posh Brit accent, to say nothing of snobby demeanour - joined us. Now, we don't like this guy. The only time I had shared a table with him, he hit on my friend Michelle-Ann, and continued to hit on her through the night until we decided to leave. A noxious bastard with pretensions to grandeur.

However, he unseated my bag (which was parked on a chair) and sat down, purportedly on his way out. And didn't leave. So we had to. He was contemptuous about my coffee table book. Nuff said!

Anyways, on the way back, Mary and I are at the BSC traffic lights chatting, when the Skoda in front of me starts backing up...alarmed, I honk. He keeps backing up until he bangs into me.

I mean to say what?

This red-faced man (he was drunk, not embarrassed) gets out of the car, waves his hands around a bit and asks if we are all OK. I say...what was that? He says, sorry, I put the car into the wrong gear. I checked out my front bumper - there wasn't any visible damage.

So I got back into my car. Mary said, that guy was drunk. Did you see how red his face was? I said, really? She said yes.

So we thought about how surreal everything had suddenly become. There we were, on an ordinary night, at an ordinary traffic light, making ordinary small talk, when suddenly a Skoda backs into us.

At work this morning...early. There's a staff meeting. Mary is on the bus, sleeping.

My colleague Nik is next to me, checking his facebook.

My life is constructed of all these strangely disparate moments. (Hope Zafrul, who is already 18 minutes late for the staff meeting he called, keeps it short. N'am saying?)

Journeys of the Heart

I've picked up 12 copies of my coffee table book (OK I had to pay for them, but still...) I picked up five free copies (one for me and four for the people I interviewed) and have spent most of today (OK, after lunch, before lunch I was head down, bum up, working) delivering the copies and catching up with people. I can't even begin to describe how wonderful it feels to reconnect with these amazing people.

Halfway through I was hungry, so I headed off to Lucas's place for my bacon sandwich (that's real bacon and not that fake beef bacon) and orange juice and coffee. It was on my way cos I had just delivered Dominic's book at Plaza Damas. Lucas was very impressed with the book. He thought it was beautifully put together and he read all of one story (mine, of course, or I would have clunked him on the head). He thought I was leaving a copy for him, but I said, no can do...this book is spoken for. He said he would borrow my copy at some point to read. Mary wants to borrow my copy some time soon as well...little does she know...(evil laugh)

We went to this new restaurant Red at Medan Damansara, for dinner last night. The lamb stew was divine - but it was so very little - that I was still hungry after. So maybe I will have to dig up lamb stew recipes and make my own. At least I will make enough to go around, so you're not hungry after. And I will whip up a crazy dessert. (what is wrong with me? I keep wanting to make desserts!)

And now I'm bathed in the lambent glow of a productive day....it feels good.

And...there is something wrong with my eyes. Everyone seems to be drenched in luminosity. Glowing. Beautiful.

I am living. I remember you.

Criminy!

It's the boss's birthday today. I sent him an SMS at 1.37am and he replied at 4.51am...still the same old Tune Money and our SMS-ing at ungodly hours.

My review on the play Sybil is out on Kakiseni today. To say I am thrilled would be putting it mildly. I guess after being a PR for so long (OK, it's only been a year but time is relative), it feels good to see a byline.

And Ena from Ayesha Harben called to say that the coffee table book on Families (I contributed a chapter entitled Choices and Challenges way back when I was still an insomniac freelancer) is out now and I can go pick up my copy as well as copies for the families I interviewed. I can't wait.

And I made two fresh lemon curd cakes this week. The second one I am going to distribute among friends...I think something positive is happening as I feel like baking all over again. (I only cook or bake when I'm happy or when it's Christmas and I have no choice).

And now I am supposed to sit down quietly and write an article for the boss. But I'm buzzing, buzzing, buzzing...can't sit still...oh my!

Sapphic Delights

I'm watching Sappho - would not recommend it. The acting is kinda stiff and definitely B-grade...but if you want to ogle at pretty people - and watch two pretty women get it on - then be my guest:

Helene: If you are lucky enough to love somebody who cares if it's a boy or a girl?

Starbucks

I'm flickering. Like a firefly. Buzzing. Like a bee.

A picture forms. It's somewhere else and I'm wandering along, wearing my home on my back and I glide over pavements and the air smells of Lalique and the leaves drift lazily and settle in my hair until I'm something of a cross between a snail and a dryad.

That guy in the red kurta who's just rocked up, with the diamond drop in his left ear, he looks gay, and the girl with him looks suitably moneyed. Oooooh the joys of fag hagging. (I'm the only gay in this village, Myfanwy)

(Nothing's gonna change my world, nothing's gonna change my world)

The lady with fine long straight hair and a carefully tended fringe, bites neatly into her sandwich and regards the man in a pink shirt intently. She smiles in all the right places. Looks coy. Tilts her head to one side. Dabs her mouth with a napkin. Offers pithy observations. Laughs. Her hair is so perfect. Surely he sees that her hair is so perfect. Does he know how long it takes to get it this perfect?

(All you need is love, love, love is all you need)

The ballerina with her hair pulled into a bun and her symmetrical parting, bends over her book, latte in hand. She looks tranquil. She's classically beautiful - all lines and angles - smooth like white marble and just as unyielding. No softness anywhere. Sits cross legged in her armchair. Reaches out to sip her latte. Bites her fingernail. Stops. All intentness for the page.

(The yearning to be near you, I do what I have to do)

The guy in a bright blue shirt is fiddling with his earlobe. His ice latte in a clear plastic cup, balanced precariously on the wooden barrier. He gazes at his laptop. Scratches his head. Then caresses it. Bites a fingernail.

A man walks into the Travel Zone. He is old and Caucasian and he looks clumsy with contentment. He walks into Travel Zone because he can afford the luggage there and it does not faze him that this is Bangsar Village and everything is expensive. More expensive than most. He walks around surveying the pull bags.

Two strangers seated in separate circles are having a conversation. One a bald, bearded Indian man in a light brown shirt. The other a funky young Chinese guy with moussed hair and a cheeky smile. Older guy advises younger guy. He's shaking a finger. Young guy smiles, amused.

(I require plenty conversation with my sex)

Ballerina is feeling cold. She winds a scarf around her neck. Then it's back to the book. Guy at Travel Zone has just picked a bag. A medium sized pull bag. But then he gets attracted to another one. He comes back to original choice. Hmmmm...decisions, decisions...

(Baby, baby, baby I got so much love in me)

Family seated around a laptop. Dad tries to work. Son on his lap with arms draped around Dad's shoulder. Mom craning her head to see what the other two find so interesting. Dad smiles. He has gleaming white teeth. Mom limps. Uses a walking stick. Son, clearly adopted. Happy families being happy together.

(No one needs to know, where you may carry me, you can take me down your stream and show me what my wishes mean)

The baristas are smiling. Attending to two girls in short shorts. They're getting coffee to go. And maybe some pastries. No, we really shouldn't. Oh come on, I can resist everything but temptation. Oright then, just one. Just one. Creamy, puffy, sweet centre. Yum yum.

(You scumbag, you maggot, you cheap lousy faggot, happy Christmas your arse, pray God it's our larst)

And the guy next to me is blog surfing. Leaving comments as he passes through. Kinda like how I wish you would....

Not Beyond Love

For some time now, all I have been good at, for those bothering to stop by, is to ladle out that daily dose of depression. So I decided to reach out to someone else to give you something more cheerful and uplifting. Nutritious. Like rice pudding. Good old David Whyte. And yes bro, wo/man was born free but everywhere, she is in chains...

When your eyes are tired the world is tired also
When your vision has gone no part of the world can find you
Time to go into the dark where the night has eyes to recognize its own
There you can be sure you are not beyond love
The dark will be your womb tonight
The night will give you a horizon further than you can see
You must learn one thing
The world was meant to be free in
Give up all the other worlds except the one to which you belong
Sometimes it takes darkness and the sweet confinement of your aloneness to learn anything or anyone that does not bring you alive is too small for you.

Broken Light

At about one in the morning I suddenly realise I no longer know how to write. Otherwise why should this review be so damn hard? I know I have performance anxiety, but still. I have deleted about 20 false starts. Every word that comes seems trite, stupid, inconsequential.

Full of sound and fury.

Signifying nothing.

Always, nothing.

Dear God, I have forgotten how to write. How did this happen? How did I let me slip away? A simple review, and here I am tied up in knots, unable to produce a damn thing. 187 words, most of which I will delete. And I need 1,000.

Across from me, Mary sits, reading her cheat notes for Streetcar Named Desire. She is hoping she will come across some passage, some sentence, some word, some phrase that will help in this process. She sees that I am in pain. She offers me water, tea, fruit, music, anything to ease the constipation.

She gracefully deflects all my delaying tactics and forces me to write. Rubbish, if I must, but just write.

When did I lose it?

I remember churning out essays at university. OK, the process was increasingly painful. But still, at the end, I would have something I was proud of.

Now, I read the few incoherent sentences jotted out, and think, sheesh, call this a review? Why is it that I am having so much difficulty stringing two words together?

Mary makes an expansive gesture.

"It's everything. It's the environment. It's what you've been writing. You're not happy."

No.

I'm not.

This is not me.

This is not me.

This is not me.

This is not me.

At 3 in the morning, I've finished my first draft. I read it out to Mary, making adjustments along the way.

She says put it away until tomorrow, then look at it again. I nod. Sigh. Drive home. Shower. Crawl into bed. Sleep.

The words have disappeared and there is only silence.

If I Sang Out Of Tune

I'm seated on a meditation mat on the floor of my room, contemplating the mess that is my room, the mess that is my life. There are clothes strewn everywhere. The wastepaper basket is overflowing. Everything is covered in about an inch of dust. And there are unwieldy piles of books on the table, the side table, the floor, the bed. My bedsheet looks grotty.

Ugh.

Seriously.

Ugh.

Cleaning up my room will just take a little elbow grease.

The second, um, that's a little more complicated.

I want to quit my job. But now there are red flags being raised all over. By my mother (who is on her knees praying furiously that I don't make yet another colossal mistake in a life already peppered with colossal mistakes), my friends, who, brows furrowed in concern, ask me, are you sure, are you really sure about this, think very carefully, don't do anything rash...

What with the recession, the rising cost of fuel, the tremendous, tremendous fear that everything is going to hell in a wirebasket.

And all I want to do is slap on a backpack and take off to parts unknown. Where I will make friends, smoke some pot, sit around the fire and listen to stories from people I have never met who will be my new best friends for a couple of hours until I stand up, dust off my shorts and push on.

Where is it you want to go, child?

I don't know.

What do you want to do, child?

I don't know.

How are you going to support yourself?

I don't know.

Jai Guru Deva, nothing's gonna change my world, nothing's gonna change my world...

I'm so tired of being sensible. OK, not sensible exactly, but as sensible as I will ever get. In a job. With a desk. And business suits. Or at least Raoul shirts complete with cuff links, sensible corporate court shoes and dark trousers.

I hate structure. I hate bureaucracy. I hate being forced to write on demand for people I no longer care about. I hate turning my thoughts to what I don't want to turn them to, and trying to figure out solutions to problems I don't give a flying fuck about.

That drunk at Backyard was right. I AM a prostitute and the worst kind, at that.

If I died tomorrow is this what I would spend today doing? Writing an article about the fuel hike for a youth newspaper? Preaching to them about tightening the old belt?

Emphatically not.

Everyone I talk to these days mirrors my disillusion. There is a weariness in their eyes that I feel right down to my bones.

What happens now?

Another suitcase in another hall...

Where Late The Sweet Birds Sang

Thus in winter stands the lonely tree,
Nor knows what birds have vanished one by one,
Yet knows its boughs more silent than before:
I cannot say what loves have come and gone,
I only know that summer sang in me
A little while, that in me sings no more.

We've decided to give Backyard a miss on Mondays for the next few weeks. We went yesterday. Mary was out of sorts from work and I was, well, I am always up for Backyard on Mondays.

But that was before this Monday.

We arrived and it was not that crowded. Mary ordered a beer (for variety) and I, a red wine. Not the two hot teas we expected to order, but then, let us be different, or die.

Mark was tuning his instrument. He looked a little out of sorts. He joined us for a while and told us that he was not in the mood. Really not in the mood.

Uh oh.

He started playing soft, slow numbers. Normally, I love his soft slow numbers. Today, however, I found myself yawning and trying not to nod off. There was something missing. Life, perhaps. Soul, definitely. His heart was not in the music as he strummed and sang.

Nearly two hours later, he came off stage for a break.

"You're really out of it today, aren't you? Macam takda daya nak hidup," I told him. Mark nodded morosely. He WAS out of it. Though it was unkind of me to have noticed. Because that meant he would have to do something about it. Mark is the consumate showman. And he can't bear criticism or to be thought to be less of.

So he went up and started rocking the joint. Patrons unglued themselves from their seats and started to gyrate wildly on the small space that passes off as a dance floor. We kept to our seats and observed all this. I leaned over to whisper to Mary.

"The boy seems to have woken up."

But observing him carefully, I realised it was all a performance. His heart was still not into it. Some guys took to passing behind him on stage, invading his personal space, because the dance floor was too crowded to pass. I saw the flash of irritation on his face and realised that despite the upbeat tempo and the few smiles, he was actually pissed off.

Seriously pissed off.

Nevertheless he kept it up, pushing himself to the limit. Though I didn't think he was going to play Mary's request, Travelling Light. Because it would not have been suitable for this crowd. Although he did oblige with her other favourite, Call Me Al(coholic).

I wished we hadn't come. Backyard on Monday nights is usually quiet, empty and soothing. Today, however, Jerry had organised a wine-tasting/pool night which meant an infusion of patrons. When he saw me, he slapped his head, and said he forgot to invite me for the wine-tasting. No matter, Edmund let us have some of his excellent red Chilean.

Mark continued to rock the joint but by now I really wanted to leave. Except that it would have been rude. So we stayed. Being Malaysians, we don't like to offend anyone. Especially people we happen to like. Even if they're in a pissed off mood.

One of Mark's friends, or rather patrons, a Datuk something or other came up to me and asked what my favourite song was. Without thinking, I said: "Fire and Rain." He then went up to Mark and insisted he play it. Which was not good for the boy in his already inclement state of mind. He raised his eyebrows, glanced icily at me and said: "Indeed?" when the pushy Datuk insisted he play the song.

Then it was time to wrap up, and pushy Datuk came over to chat.

I must backtrack however. Another unpleasant thing about last night was the number of men who kept hitting on Mary. She was just not in the mood, and too tired to fight and fend them off, so I gave them bitch glares and did it for her. One kept glaring at me like: "You're the reason I cannot sit by this fascinating woman and engage her in conversation." And I glared back: "You're not good enough to tie her shoelaces, bucko, so fuck off!"

Brian, one of the three Indian dudes who had harassed us when we first came to Backyard way back last November recognised me and said, oh hello, in an unsmiling way. He didn't want to be thought friendly, to say nothing of over-friendly. I stared back stonily. "Hello." And looked away. (Bitch, bitch, bitch, went off in my mind. I don't give a flying fuck! I answered myself)

Anyways there was a particularly persistent Bhai guy who went for Mares hammers and tongs, and she gave him a pained smile that grew more pained as time went by. So I put my arm around her and pretended we were lesbian partners. And glared at him. He got the idea.

There were two very attractive girls dirty dancing with each other and they looked like a hopeful lesbian hook-up. They turned out to be first cousins.

My life is a perfect graveyard of buried hopes.

Anyways, back to pushy Datuk. He graduated from forcing Mark to play my song, to telling me I should marry him. (Mark, that is, not himself) I reeled. I mean to say, what? Then he invited Mary and I back to his large house in Damansara Heights where they were taking the party for a jam session.

I declined politely. He insisted. I declined politely again. Told him I had to send my friend back. He said, send her back and come then. Did I happen to mention, pushy?

I was tired and my nerves, never at their best at this time of the night, were seriously frayed. Mary had started making tracks for the car. Mark rocked up to say goodbye.

"You're pissed off, aren't you?" I asked him.

"Majorly," he replied.

One of my many useless talents that will never go anywhere. Being able to gauge Mark's actual mood behind the performance.

We left. I sent Mary back and then drove home. Had to have the obligatory "wash Backyard cigarette smoke out of my hair" shower and crawl into bed.

Tired. Very tired.

Woke up early this morning for a meeting that never took place. Not only did it not take place, nobody told me why it didn't. The portly major who was supposed to show up at our office at 10am with boasted military discipline and punctuality, didn't. But since Zafrul wasn't here to receive him, that was necessarily a good thing. Which means they must have cancelled the meeting without telling me.

I really, really, really need to get out of here!

That time of year thou mayst in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.

Bricks and Mortar

Mary and I figured out that the neck and shoulder pain has to do with my heavy new bag. I loved it because you could fit so much stuff into it, unlike all my old bags which were crammed to the overflowing and couldn't be zipped up once I had tried to fit my new wallet and my new sunglass case into them.

Problem is, I have simply stuffed this one to the brim so it requires a mini crane to lift it. Hmmmmm. And then of course my shoulder started to hurt something awful. And I couldn't (still can't) turn my head properly.

"Angel child, what do you have in here, bricks?" was her gentle comment, on having to carry it for a bit.

Went with Mary and VJ to Backyard last night. We sat outside and enjoyed the gentle sounds of Raymond Cheah while sipping our hot tea drowning in hot milk. It was soothing.

I have a busy day ahead. What with my hectic social life and all. Am meeting Meera earlier in the evening. And possibly Michael later in the evening. And Adeline either earlier or later.

Neck Pains and Near Misses

I am perched on the sofa with my laptop on my lap, and a crick in my neck. Have just returned from Sunday morning yoga (I told Richard he gives a whole new meaning to easy as Sunday morning) and an inexplicable pain in my shoulder. And I find it difficult to turn my head.

Last night I was out with good old Vij (the young one, not the old one konon superstar) and we watched Prince Caspian, which was enjoyable even if they did change the story and play up the supposed hidden animosities between Peter and Caspian and invent a romance between Susan and Caspian and make Peter so much less than he was in the book. Why, I wonder. Anyways, the movie finished at 2.30 in the morning, and I got back around 3.

So there I was lolling in bed, too lazy to get up, reading my book, when I came across this passage:

"Why do we practise Yoga?"

I had a teacher once ask that question during a particularly challenging Yoga class, back in New York. We were all bent into these exhausting sideways triangles, and the teacher was making us hold the position longer than any of us would have liked.

"Why do we practise Yoga?" he asked again. "Is it so we can become a little bendier than our neighbours? Or is there perhaps a higher purpose?"

I smiled. And then gasped. Because I had remembered.

Oh crap, yoga class. 10.30.

What time was it now? 10.10.

20 minutes to get from PJ to Bangsar.

I wondered whether to give it a miss but the thought of my Yoga Nazi instructor had me leaping out of bed to the bathroom for a quick face wash and throwing on some crumpled clothes all anyhow and speeding off.

Of course, it being a lazy Sunday morning, all cars were driving at a leisurely pace not in keeping with my frantic breakneck need to get to class in time. I overtook dangerously, car careening sideways.

I parked illegally and all but ran to the centre. Class had not started yet but everyone was either lying or sitting on their yoga mats, in repose. One girl with pants like a belly dancer, was meditating fiercely. And I mean fiercely. She turned out to be a very advanced student who had mastered that holy of holies, the wheel (which I was able to do when I was 14, but sadly, not since then). She was bendier than the rest of us, and took off straight after class without the customary glass of juice (I have a beetroot ginger concoction which is to die for). I don't think she was very friendly. But whatever.

My heart which had stopped racing, started right up again when Richard took us through these vigorous sun salutations (A), which is a variation on the sun salutations, and added the triangle pose in between for hip opening purposes. Being the least bendy in the class, the hip opening poses are a real challenge for me.

Anyways, after class, pouring with sweat, I had my juice and then took off for home.

Usually I feel great after class. But today, I'm in pain.

I wonder if it has anything to do with the late night and the mad rush to get there. I need to set the alarm for Sundays. Or confine my classes to the weekdays.

This will so not do.

The Week That Was

I am stretched out on the sofa, feet resting comfortably on the coffee table. Near me is my Eat, Pray, Love that I am reading for the third time, splayed open. There is a programme running on the large screen tv. Something motivating and life affirming. (Yesterday I watched The Hours which was beautiful and tragic).

It's been a sorta peaceful week. On Monday, I went to Backyard with Mary and we watched Mark preform and cheered alongside. There were some irritating people over there, but they didn't bother us none. OK, they didn't bother me none. They did bother Mary a tad. But Mark was looking especially cute, so I was not easily distracted.

Then on Tuesday, yoga. After yoga, I went mamaking with Mary, and against my better judgement, ended up at Nirwana for banana leaf. I paid for it the next day with a cheerful day of diarrhoea...would have taken pills, but thought, better out than in.

And then Wednesday, when our Goverment in all its wisdom decided to announce a hefty fuel hike. That did not go down well. And everywhere I went, there were traffic jams leading to the petrol stations. At midnight (when the hike was supposed to come into effect) I heard raised voices. I think a fight had broken out at the petrol station near the house. I ignored all this, however. Despite one phone call and two SMSes telling me to go fill up, I made my way to Kanebo in Bangsar for a very relaxing facial. OK, it was relaxing once she had finished what is euphemistically known as "extraction". I bled. I bit my lips. I didn't scream. And really, the facial lady, Lisa, was very gentle. It cost her a pang to have to hurt me.

Then Thursday. Ah, music therapy with the good Dr (I don't remember his name, only that he's from India), playing his flute like Krishna and activating our chakras for peace, love and relaxation. At the end of it, you feel like melted butter. Or at least, I do. I met Mary later for dinner. OK, I had dinner...fried rice at the Chinese place in Lucky Gardens and we were attended to by Miss Congeniality. Prabs and Mary named her because she has never been known to smile, even in the most smiling circumstances. Actually, that's not true. I caught her smiling. At this dude in the BMW SUV who sat in his car, called her down, ordered his food. She tripped along merrily fetching and carrying for him with wild abandon. Ahh...the joys of driving a BMW SUV.

And then Friday it was yoga again. This time, a make-up class. Richard said, I had been a busy bee that week, having come to the yoga centre all of three days. I said yes. He said, well, at least it keeps you out of trouble. And I said, no it doesn't. Indignantly. And he said, well it should. And I smiled and took my leave. I was feeling extremely tired (so tired that I was bumping into stuff for no particular reason) and just wanted to get a drink (as in Evian water) swallow vast quantities of it, and get home. So, I drove into Bangsar Village, ran out to get my water, and managed to do it within the 15 minute deadline so my parking was free. Then I made my way home, took a few wrong turns (yesterday was a day for taking wrong turns, even in roads I supposedly knew) and parked outside on the verge as Julie hadn't come back yet and one of us needs to book the outside space.

After which I decided I would have a relaxing weekend. Full of little things that give me pleasure. Like reading Eat Pray Love.

I think I've triple-booked on Monday. Which should be interesting.

Breathe, Let Go...

Every so often we have to let go of the older versions of ourselves to move into our dreams. To come into our own, we have to shed our tired skins. But tearing off a skin, like Kahlil Gibran so acutely pointed out, is not like casting off a garment. It hurts.

Part of me is stuck between worlds, wanting to move forward, wanting the comfort (although it grows more toxic by the minute) of staying where I am.

Time can move in circles and you feel like it has stopped and nothing is going anywhere. But stagnation is an illusion. We're always moving somewhere. Hopefully it's not into the Inferno (abandon hope, all ye who enter) but sometimes we need to move through the inferno, to shatter completely, until there is nothing of "us" left, before we can move out into Purgatorio and Paradiso.

I miss so many things. Some of them, stuff that never even happened.

And now, let me get back to it, to breathe, to let go, breathe, let go, breathe, let go.

Amidst the Din and Clamour

I'm at the office now. I had to be in early for a staff meeting (which I was actually on time for, sort of) and then send out press releases for our event on Saturday. We're sending it out today, so it gets into the papers tomorrow - coverage is never very good for press conferences over the weekend - and we have no choice about the timing of the event here - it has to be the weekend.

And now the office is full of a camera crew and the The Firm 2 contestants, directors, etc - as their nth task was to sell Tune Money cards. Dunno who won. My colleague Basil, is judge, jury and executioner.

The boss, who is not used to not being in the limelight has just strolled past on his mobile, to take a look at the action. He has been cooped up in the conference room since our staff meeting.

I was up until five this morning - had a night out with Mary who got back from SP yesterday. We checked out Kianti - this place in Kelana Jaya next to the Kelana Seafood - but only cos Mark was playing there. We bought a bottle of wine - Cabernet Merlot - but it wasn't Wolfblass and didn't have the same effect.

I am bound to think that not all Cab Merlots were created equal.

Mark was on antibiotics, what with his swollen glands and slight fever and a leetle grumpy, in consequence. But one of his singing partners - Sue - rocked up, and he cheered up. He was singing with Victor and it was not bad - but I preferred it when Sue went up and joined them. I first met Mark when he was singing at The Attic with Sue and that is still my favourite combination.

I asked Sue to sing "I Can't Make You Love Me" by Bonnie Raitt, partly because that was the first song I ever heard them do together, and partly because it suited my mood, but she said she needed the lyrics for that. Come back next week, she said, and I just might.

Will think about it. May not need to binge on alcohol next week.

Mary was a sight for sore eyes.

I wonder if I can sneak out now that I have done the needful with regards to press releases.

I'm not as sleepy as I thought I would be, which is very weird.

Containing Multitudes

You know what I love?

The absence of bitterness when it comes to endings.

As you know I am a past master of endings; I scatter them along my path like daisy petals.

I have the quantity. Now I just need the quality.

A beautiful ending is worth a multitude of good beginnings.

The Lost Kitten

OK I have a rewritten profile and a picture to send out and here I am faffing about with my blog. I went to visit with the powerful lunged kitten a few houses away. She (I am sure it's a she) has been setting up a racket for the past day or so. I found her comfortably ensconced next to a tyre and with a bowl of food laid out for her.

Maybe she's crying because she's lonely and her heart is breaking.

Maybe it is already broken.

OK, I have to get back to work now.

Sweet Obsessions

I stare at the white page. I click onto another window to play some Spider Solitaire. And yet another to youtube Annie Lennox doing a cover of Marley's Waiting in Vain.

OK what was good about today?

I ended up at Concorde (it was either that or be caught in a traffic snarl to beat all traffic snarls in the mother of all storms) so I got to catch Mark perform. All two hours of it. He started off grumpy (what with his swollen glands and nasty cough and searing headache) but cheered up once the music and the applause worked its usual magic. He actually even sang a song he wrote when he was 16 with cheesy lyrics.

Soon the place started filling up and the applause didn't only come for me. Mark is the quintessential performer and he blooms like a water lily in all that attention and affection.

I ended up in Concorde because I had spent nearly the whole afternoon acting as errand girl. There was something to be delivered and nobody to do it. So I did. Only I wasn't quite sure where I was supposed to go - so I ended up going to wrong way, after which I called for directions - my usual backward way of doing things. Once I got the directions, I found I was miles out of my way, so it was turning back in traffic so heavy, that it barely moved. I think I was stuck for close to an hour on one stretch of road alone.

The sky darkened ominously. But there I was, telling myself to live in the moment, the moment, with no past, no future, so the irritation wouldn't crowd in. It kinda worked. Sort of. Anyway after much ado, I found the place and delivered the stuff. And then made my way out as the sky started flinging rain drops on my windshield with wild abandon.

Which is why I decided that I would rather weather the storm with a hot tea in one of those plush sofas at Crossroads. I was going to work on an article that was due three days ago, but the music got to me and I couldn't concentrate. So after typing and deleting the same few lines, like 20 times, I closed my laptop and turned my attention to the funky young singer with the long hair and killer smile. It had a salutary effect on my mood.

Although I didn't go to Backyard today for the continuation.

Obsession, sweet obsession...

Thank You For Being My Friend

Fireflies flickering in the trees; wooden oars moving gently through quiet waters. It's nine in the evening, and the moon is a large orange balloon. We're singing Christmas carols. And then we're silent. There is a breathless hush in the air; a sort of magical knowing.

We know there are fairies in the trees. John saw one. Joseph, being of a more scientific turn of mind, wondered what made the fireflies flicker and whether it is part of their mating ritual.

My friend Addy said it was. She said the females flicker 3 times faster than the male. Hmmmm....

We're the only ones here. It's late and the rest have gone home. Or gone on. Or maybe there were not many here to begin with. It's a Thursday night and it's not a holiday and besides, as Joseph points out, this place is not very well-advertised. The "kelip-kelip" in Kampung Kuantan in Kuala Selangor.

I've been here once before. That was with the sibs and Simon. Using Lonely Planet as our guide (disgraceful konon Malaysians, except for Simon) we tried to find our way to the fireflies, but ended up going miles in the wrong direction on unlighted estate roads. I think I broke out in a cold sweat. I know Jackie snuck some goreng pisang into the car and was eating them quietly because she didn't want to share.

Anyways, having been there once, I thought I could find it again. John (Calica, of Last Night I Dreamt Somebody Loved Me fame) and his friend Joseph (otherwise known as Harold and Kumar) were game for an adventure.

So we drove into the night. Getting out of the KL traffic snarl took about an hour. Then we hit the North-South Expressway. After a very short time on that, we turned off at the Sungei Buloh exit.

Now, here's where things get tricky. The directions I got off the Net told me told me I had to go in the general direction of Sg Buloh/Kuala Selangor. I did. But the drive seemed interminable. I gazed at the little clock in the car in some consternation. What if we arrived, after this long, long drive and it was closed?

Despite this growing concern, we chatted lightheartedly about this, that and the other. John is the first of my blogging buddies to land up here. Or at least the first one that I actually got to meet. My friend Vijay is a friend of a blogging buddy, so he's like a blogging buddy, once removed, if you know what I'm saying.

I was feeling better that morning after all the emotional squalls of recent days and wondering why I was feeling this way. My Facebook status update said: "Jennifer is feeling happy for no reason in particular."

Then I received a phone call:

"Hello is that Jenn Jacobs? This is John."

The voice was pleasantly accented. I didn't recognise it.

"John?"

He told me who he was and it was like sunlight bursting through the clouds. Suddenly I knew why I was happy. John, being the modest self-effacing dude he is, asked if we could meet for breakfast the following day. Me, being none of the above, said why not tonight.

Of course, getting to the hotel proved a drama and a half. It decided to storm (after days of bone-dry weather) and KL at rush hour is never pleasant. Factor in a storm on top of that, and the traffic has to be seen to be believed. So, I ended up getting stuck in the famed KL traffic jam, inching forward everytime the traffic lights (and there were a lot of them), changed. Then, having misunderstood the directions the hotel guy gave me, I ended up going in the wrong direction.

I called the hotel again. This time another dude, a smarter, patienter dude, gave me step-by-step directions and I found myself outside the hotel. John and his friend Joseph were sitting inside. They saw me and came out smiling (despite the fact that I had kept them waiting more than an hour after the agreed time).

It was wonderful to finally meet him. (Hint, hint). The two boys were so nice and pleasant and easygoing that taking them around was a treat. They told me they wanted authentic Malay food and I racked my brains trying to figure out a decent place for Malay food. We usually have that at stalls.

Then my furrowed brow cleared. Of course! Rumahku! That was in PJ and now I needed to get out of Tengkat Tong Shin to find my way out. I don't know if the guys noticed but I made several false starts, getting lost in KL traffic, trying to get out. (But of course, I always get lost trying to get out of KL unless I am on Jalan Sultan Ismail itself).

Anyway we finally made it to Rumahku and they let me order - we had butter prawns, mutton porial (my favourite), asparagus belachan and mango kerabu chicken. John said the food was "flavourful" and both he and Joseph really enjoyed it. So did I. Hungry, we all dug in and made short work of the spread.

Then it was time for dessert. I told them we needed to go "mamaking" to get the authentic Malaysian experience. So we would have our teh tarek at a mamak in Bangsar rather than here at a restaurant (which was actually a converted bungalow) with a bathroom that was actually, well, a bathroom. We had cake and ice cream for dessert. It was pretty yummy. Joseph had to finish my chocolate cake because I am a wasteful child...and Jackie and Simon were not there to do the needful.

Anyways, we left Rumahku (literal translation, My House) to head for My Backyard. The guys were pretty easy going and didn't mind that showing them the sights, meant, the sights I always chattered on about in my blog. Mark wasn't there (no matter, I dragged them to Concorde the next day to meet him, although they didn't get to see him perform because apparently he had already finished his set) but they did get to see this band playing, where the lead singer was a pretty young Filipina. At least, I thought she was pretty. And so did one of her raving fans who seats himself right in front of the band (kinda where I sit when Mark is playing) and cheers wildly at every cheesy rendition. John told me the girl wouldn't be considered pretty by Philippine standards and I was surprised.

Anyways, we had our orange juice and two Tiger beers (at least I think the guys had Tiger beers, they may have had Guinness) and chatted over the music. Vijay David was there. He walked in with all nine earrings jingling and I pointed him out to John who has met him elsewhere in these pages. He ignored me. Or at least, I thought he ignored me. Actually, he didn't see me. When he did, he came over and planted a very bristly kiss on either cheek.

We left Backyard to go mamaking...Devi's Corner Bangsar (where else) because I thought the boys should have a Bangsar experience...well, at least Devi's if nothing else. We talked some more - there was just so much to catch up on and they told me they only had one more day in KL after which they were leaving for Singapore.

I mean to say what?

We had the traditional teh tarek and fended off beggars as well as people who tried to sell us Mont Blanc knock-offs. There was a minor drama - a bunch of teenagers showed up and started distributing Clear shampoo samples. They left us out. John and Joseph were cool about it. I felt the steam start to rise. They must have sensed it because they provided us with samples as well. Haha.

Anyways, after mamaking it was back to the hotel, where I parked the car and we chatted for a while. I asked them what they were going to do the next day, and they said, dunno, maybe shop. I asked what their plans were for the night, and they were open...so I said, we should do something different. Hmmm. Different. What ah? That was when I came up with the brilliant plan to go see the fireflies.

The next morning, I had a meeting at the office. Having gotten into bed at one something and passed out at past two, I was very very sleepy. Hence, grumpy. But after going home and getting some shuteye, I was all nicely rested. I had to pick J&J up from KLCC.

(This is the part where I whisked them off to Concorde so they could meet Mark...Joseph said Mark had the folk singer vibe with his long hair and all). Then it was off to Kuala Selangor.

But I told you that part already.

The moon's a balloon.

Yeah, man.

The Turning Point

Pain ceases when you relinquish the struggle. As long as the answer is in the air, as long as you can swing either way, there is pain. Once you have decided one way or another, there is only peace.

I have decided. Now as I saw off the limb and set it on the waters, watching it drift away from me, I wave goodbye without regret. Yeah, there are some things I would have done differently, but what's important is that I did my best.

So no hard feelings, huh?

None.

Waiting In Vain

In sooth I know not why I am so sad.
Antonio, Merchant of Venice

I wish I knew what I wanted. I know what I don't want. But how can life always be defined by what we don't want?

We're near the end, so near, so very near, I can taste it. It tastes of ashes. And I smell ashes in the wind. Acrid, burning, unpleasant, sad. And all those goodbyes never said, rise up in me. All those goodbyes that bleed out into the cadaverous silence.

There are no echoes.

But I need the echoes. I need closure. I need the handshake, the gesture, the finality. I need to part on good terms.

Instead, I see bitterness. I see acrimony. I see hard little bullets glancing off my scars. To form new ones. Always new ones to cover the old ones. Scar upon scar upon scar.

I smell the whisky I will imbibe to forget. In so many anonymous bars. Until the air is no longer translucent.

Nothing is.

Nothing ever is.

Tell me something: How can you see through all this smoke?

I taste the bitter tears. And the bad aftertaste you leave in my heart. You weren't who I thought you were. I created you. Adorned you with qualities you didn't have, never dreamt of having, could never have.

My bad.

My fault.

My fucking lack of judgement.

Always mine!
Always mine!
Always mine.

Stupidity is inherent. Stupidity is what takes me from one moment to the next. Stupidity is what keeps me plodding through mistake after mistake. When all I want to do is give up. And lie in the soft dust, while everything around me crumbles, crumbles, crumbles.

And drift.

Because everybody drifts. And none of this is real. And life is just some cosmic joke and I wish, I wish, I wish I knew what the punchline was.

There's an art to goodbye,
Someday I'll learn it.

One Day More

I slept most of today. Until afternoon. Then up for breakfast. Then past afternoon. I just slept and slept and slept. The air was soporific. That, or I was just tired:

I did not live until today
How can I live when we are parted
Tomorrow you'll be worlds away
And yet with you my world has started

And now I'm up. I watched some TV. Dadda came and sat with me for a while. Jackie called and suggested I come to England in September. I can carry art thencewards and Kit Kats back. (Seems like a fair trade). And we will visit Wales. Or Lake District. Or Cornwall. And eat lemon drizzle and a lemony muffin and roast pork in apple sauce and scones (I love cream teas).

I had dinner with my friend Meera yesterday who said I was so miserable because I was not where I was supposed to be.

Tomorrow we'll be far away
Tomorrow is the Judgement Day
Tomorrow we'll discover what our God in Heaven has in store
One more dawn, one more day
One day more....

Waiting to Exhale

It's like we're on two different ships, drifting further and further apart. I wave goodbye. The other ships puffs gamely on, out of sight, ignoring me. I shed a furtive tear. Endings are always painful. I think we even grieve the loss of our tumours.

And today I am in here because of a misunderstanding. I didn't understand a request for meeting. It was supposed to be next Friday. I thought it was this Friday. Which is why, bright and early on a Friday morning I was seated at my desk. To find a very interesting letter.

Intrigue, intrigue, intrigue and more intrigue...

And the people revolve around me, as if in some alternate dimension, and I watch them and don't watch them, and don't appear to be watching them and check my email, and check my Facebook, and check my email, and check his blog where people have written in gushing about his latest speech.

I sigh.

I turn away.

And a colleague plunks himself down next to me and tells me he needs two press releases. This is a very novel way to be told that we need two press releases. It's usually the boss who tells me and then we thrash them out in no time at all. Speedy Gonzales, that's me.

This colleague says with a wicked chuckle: "I heard you went to Marriott yesterday."

He thinks it's a great joke. I don't.

Another colleague stops by my place. Forehead furrowed in concern.

"How are you?"

"OK," I shrug.

A chat with yet another colleague. Pretty enlightening. Who knew that a little office, barely a year old, would be so chockful of politics?

As he talked, I felt myself move further and further away from this place, this space, this air...exhaling.

Always exhaling.

I need to get this out of my system.

At The End Of The Day

I leapt out of bed today, my heart pounding. I had only dropped off past 2, a combination of the heat, the mosquitoes and a mind that would just not quit. What time was that blasted meeting again? 9? 9.30?

I turned on the computer and peered at the screen? Oh sweet Jesus! It was 8.30! And in the middle of KL. And it was already 7.15! A quick shower, no breakfast, throwing on my clothes all anyhow and rushing out. Ugh, 50 minutes more. I would never make it to the Marriott in time. And the jam. Better not to think about it. Just go.

Of course, my tank was only quarter full but there was no time to top it up. It would have to last. I screeched out of the doorway and took off on the long noisy highway. By some stroke of genius (NOT) I decided to take the Jalan Duta way. Got enmeshed in a jam of Malaysian proportions along Jalan Semantan and watched the minutes tick by with a slight trepidation.

Once I got onto Jalan Duta the road had cleared and I leapt ahead. A sleep-deprived head laced with a sense of panic is not the best for rushing to a meeting. So naturally, as I put my foot down to see what that baby could give me, I didn't realise I was heading towards a row of stationary cars, waiting patiently to inch their way out onto the roundabout...I braked, the smell of burning rubber, smoke. The car in front of me, got out of my way. Stopped with inches to spare.

Cold sweat. Shaking. Something impeding my foot. It was the car air freshener. I wondered what would have happened if I had actually crashed. Maybe died. Maybe been injured. All for some stupid meeting I couldn't give less damn about.

Shakily I inched my way forward. Got onto Jalan Kuching where the traffic was heavy. Very heavy. And then the nightmare that is Jalan Sultan Ismail. I looked at the cars upon cars upon cars and cursed the person who came up with the bright idea of having a meeting in the middle of KL at this ungodly hour.

By some miracle I managed to get there only about 10 minutes late. I parked the car and pounded my way to the lift, heavy laptop in tow. Then I got to the lobby and looked around. No familiar faces. Wondered for the first time where in this large hotel the meeting was.

I called MS. She answered, a little surprised.

"Where are you all ah?"

"What do you mean?"

"I'm at the Marriott. Where are you guys?"

"The meeting was cancelled didn't you know? We had it yesterday."

Ah. Cancelled. There would have been a notification on the calendar. Except that I switched off my computer by about 7. So I didn't receive said notification.

I sank weakly into one of the sofas, feeling a little sleepy, a little hungry, a little frustrated. A little furious. A little like I was not where I was supposed to be. And I hadn't been, for a long time.

All my fault.

No doubt.

But still...

The Beginning of The End

I woke up in the morning and stared out of my grimy windows. It was hot. It was muggy. It was airless. And it matched my mood to a t.

Yes, this heavy feeling had settled in my belly a long time ago. I had tried to ignore it. Resisted driving off the edge of that lonesome highway to crash into oblivion. Poured strong spirits down my throat. Same reason.

Fell sick. Got better. Fell sicker. Got better. Fell sick again. (If it doesn’t kill you, it can only make you weaker)

So how much more before the last time?

I felt things unraveling. How are you supposed to hold on when the threads are frayed and you can’t weave them back together?

No tapestry.

Only tiredness and dust.

Only smoky airless heat.

I know what I have to do.

And I’m afraid to do it.

Without Country

I was re-reading a letter from an old new friend yesterday. He sounded so happy. He was not happy before. And he gives me hope that as badly as you can work at messing up your life, something changes and voila, everything is back on track, better than it ever was before, and you're singing the Ode to Joy in German. (or whatever European language it is sung in).

It's been a rotten weekend. Bad news filtering in through the cracks. A few jellyfish stings about my writing ability, a goddamned article mocking what I wrote (I didn't see it, not reading the papers over here, but my sainted Mamma kindly told me, when I called to wish her for Mother's Day). And other stuff. Just stuff.

Now I feel myself sinking into a black funk. I want to crawl under my blankets and not come out. I want to cancel all my appointments for tomorrow. I'm not in the mood for cheer (not even the kind you have to assume for company). I want to rage against the heavens, cry, storm, shake my fist and collapse weeping on my newly mopped floor.

Yes, my newly mopped floor.

About the only good thing about this weekend was the fact that I finally got around to cleaning my room and removing acres of dust. No, I didn't find anything I lost in the debris. In fact, I discovered that I lost a few more things that I didn't even know I had lost. Like the beeswax guardian angel candle my friend Beatrix gave me when I spent a few days with her in France, in the springtime.

It was beautiful. Both the candle and Paris.

But then, Paris is always beautiful.

And Malaysia NEVER is.

It's high time I plotted out an escape route. I don't want to end the year the same way I started it.

There is a putrid excresence in the air and it's there every night. The kind of stench you get when maggots feed off a carcass.

Betcha by golly wow...

Rainbows and Scarlet Ribbons

My pay is in today. I logged on to my internet banking account and regarded the figures there with satisfaction. Now, ever since last month, I read about about "managing money" which means I need to divide and apportion the money for various things.

First thing to be cleared is my credit card bill. So I wrote out the cheque and made sure I transferred enough money from my savings to current account. Oh boy, that left a hole. But never mind. I will regard it as a one-off thing. Yes, one off. (Chubs, you still haven't paid me yet, you pandi!)

Then I shifted money across accounts for other stuff (like the delayed gratification account) and will be transferring a little to the "financial freedom account". I am pretty chuffed that last month, I actually made my first investment. Now, for someone who has never bought so much as a stock on the exchange, this is a pretty big deal. The company wrote to me and asked if I'd like to go for an investment talk this coming weekend but I had to decline with regret. I can't go home for weekends until I finish the present yoga card and choose different days for my yoga practice as I've decided I'd rather offend God than my yoga instructor. God would forgive me. The yoga instructor will just freeze me off. (I am a huge coward and coldness works better than anything else for controlling purposes, that is, until I cotton on to the fact that you're being cold on purpose to modify my behaviour).

I also wrote out two cheques for my "giving" account. I'm pretty pleased to have found charities that I like very much and I actually want to support. (To say nothing of the tax deduction benefits, which I only realised this year when Chubs, who was doing my taxes asked, what charities have you contributed to, and I shrugged, dunno, and asked why, and he said, it's a deduction, and I said, oh)

I love my filing cabinet. It holds my tax files, my book receipts and contribution receipts and all the stuff I need for next year. It's about the only thing that's neat in my nightmare of a room. I think tomorrow, I will have to work at cleaning it. It's really a disgrace and I cannot think in there. I mean, I haven't written anything in years. Literally. Because everything is so cluttered. Yuck!

Oh well, once more into the fray...

Spices and Condiments

So life is picking up, becoming interesting. I love my yoga classes. By the way, I missed two classes (the first time it was my fault, the second time, it was work and I didn't have no choice) and I discovered that missing yoga without informing the instructor beforehand is not a good idea. I went yesterday and he was furious with me in that quietly Zen way of his.

"Well, well, well," he said, when I rocked up smiling. "You said you wanted a detox class and I did one and you were not there." Pause. I looked at the floor. I didn't have any excuse. I didn't wake up for yoga class because I was out partying till six in the morning. I didn't wake up till noon the next day. And my class was 10.30. You see what I mean?

(Note to self: No more late nights out on Saturday. As long as I have Sunday morning class)

Then on Tuesday I had to go to Bukit Jalil as Zafrul was giving a speech. He was addressing the Yayasan Tun Razak, that is these bright young specially selected youngsters (18-year-olds) from all over the country. He was pretty good. He engaged with the crowd and those kids were lovely. They were bright and enthusiastic and funny and their energy just spilled over.

Although I was not too thrilled to be missing yoga again, I was kinda glad I went (or was forced to go). Those kids were just the antidote I needed for a day of bad and worse news which had me angry and heartbroken and confused at the same time.

The thing about bad news is you are not supposed to let it get you down. You're supposed to hold on to the dream, despite the surrounding chaos and destruction.

I just got a call from a friend. I recommended her company for a project not too long ago (remember that I'm the hook-up girl and I hook people up?) and she called to tell me that they got the account. And they want to give me a finder's fee. I was blown away. I've helped and introduced many people to potential funders or clients. This is the first time anyone has come back to me like this.

It's the thought.

It makes me feel so good.

Changes

There is something in the air. Remember how Mary Poppins flew away when the wind changed? That's what I feel like right now. Except that I always feel like flying away and never feel like staying put. I was born discontented and three feet from my body, trying to stay, looking to run.

Most times, I trip.

Most times, I fall.

First there was peace.

Then there was the churning (like butter).

And then there was change.

Isn't that always the way?

This Way To Hell

I can no longer rationalise my life. It doesn't make sense. It just fucking doesn't make sense. Everything is discrete, digital rather than analog. Events are non-connected, just little bumps on the road, no continuity, no one thing leading to another.

I must be seriously fucked up inside to have created this mess.

I'm sweltering. It's so hot. I can't take how hot it is. I can't take the heat waves that keep emanating from me. I can't take this perpetual burn.

Everything melts in this heat.

EVERYTHING!

They Say Her Face Was White As Rain

I feel tired and washed out. I had an accident earlier today and it was totally my fault. I was having an angry conversation on the phone while negotiating a very busy roundabout and I suddenly felt the car jerk from impact. I had hit the car in front of me. I hastily got off the phone and chucked it on the co-driver's seat to confront the blazing eyes of a very irate mother. She had her two small kids in the car. If we hadn't been practically stationary, there may have been serious consequences to my stupidity.

We parked there, at one of the busiest roundabouts in the whole of Malaysia and she growled at me: "Why did you hit my car...why did you hit my car." It was a little Kancil and there was a slight dent at the boot. I didn't want to stand there arguing so I started to offer her money to settle it.

Thank goodness I had a few hundred in my wallet at the time (courtesy of Jackie) and figured that it would cost about at most RM150 if she chose to repair it. As she was interested in how the accident had come about, I was more interested in terminating the scene. I took out my wallet and gave her RM200. After a few more rhubarbs she got back into the car and drove off.

I was badly shaken and had to find my way to the place I was going. It was very hot on the outside, and I was a freaking geyser on the inside. I got to the place (an artist's house) and tried to make small talk. She gave me ice water which I downed and kept downing and she topped up my glass.

Everything felt hot and sticky and just plain awful.

I drove home after, not feeling all that much better.

Then I watched one of the Jane Austen DVDs Mary lent me - Persuasion - and somehow that simple gentle story, penetrated this black funk that pervaded my being.

Something has to give.

I hope it's the sky.

We could use some rain.

Walking In This World

I'm sitting at the lobby of the Putrajaya International Convention Centre. The boss is here to shoot the opening montage for his appearance as The Terminator (the CEO for the last four episodes) in The Firm 2. It involves a lot of standing around and looking cool. I got bored watching, so here I am with my laptop plugged into one of the numerous power points (they are numerous but inconveniently situated), taking advantage of the excellent wi-fi provided. (I think all of KL should be wifi-ed, that way we will always be connected to our blogs and our Facebook, what else is there?)

OK Zafrul is now doing his opening shot which involves walking through automatic doors and answering his Blackberry. (The most natural shot of him, I think)

He told me his speech in Kuwait went OK. Thing is, the three other speakers on his panel spoke in Arabic. He was the only one to speak in English and everyone had these little earphones for translation purposes. He said his speech at PNB had gone better. Thing is, it's over, and he is not really interested in going through either to give me feedback about audience response.

All the contestants for The Firm 2 are sitting around. They look like a particularly serious bunch. One of them is so tall and formidable that I'm actually a little intimidated by her. They're all in suits. And here I am in my jeans and crumpled Tune Money polo shirt. They look tired. They've been shooting since about seven this morning. It's now past noon. (I think we've been booked to be here until 2 but I can't be sure).

I used the new highway to get to Putrajaya. It cost only RM2.50 in tolls (OK all roads lead to PLUS) which was not bad (considering) and it was fast and traffic was so very light. I wish I had used this way to get to the airport before. Next time I will.

It's funny that the most glamorous shot of CEOs these days is one of them walking while conversing on their Blackberries, heads furrowed in concentration, because they are so important that they have to be constantly in meetings, even while walking.

Stuff Like That

I miss Jackie. She's gone back to England (although she called and spoke at length). I miss Mary. She's gone back to SP.

But it was a peaceful day nonetheless. Started off with yoga at ten in the morning where I failed to distinguish myself (so what else is new). Then I came home and sweltered in this unmitigated heat (no, no rain, no rain at all, what is up with the universe?) and sweated, showered, sweated some more, showered some more). Then in the evening I took myself off to my yoga centre for a night of "musical healing". This guy plays various ragas on a flute. Each raga is meant to stimulate a different emotion (happiness, peace, etc).

We had to intone some notes to stimulate various chakras in ascending and descending order.

Then lie back and listen.

It was so good.

I fell fast asleep. I may have even snored. I came back up to the surface when Van (the owner of Yoga2Health)'s voice parted the mists of sleep. She urged us to do a namaste, open our chakra centre and send peace and love to various countries and people. If you're reading this, you were probably on the receiving end).

Anyway I emerged from there very peaceful. I think that all this healing makes me feel good temporarily because what's broken is still broken. I need to heal the cause rather than the effect. Sweep up the broken glass. Dissolve my pain body. You know, stuff like that.