Booey

Emotional validation

2011-09-14T02:48:00.002+08:00

I don't wish to seek emotional validation from you - far from it. Ideally, I'd find someone else to invest my emotions in. Sometimes, in the dead of night, I long for a familiar touch, a gentle whisper as I fall asleep...I want to feel free and a deeply satisfying sort of happiness, the stable kind, the one that falls short of ecstasy but lasts longer. I want to be able to cry into his shoulders, if I ever need to, and be told that everything will be all right. I want the familiar quarrels as I fight to keep my emotions below the surface while I struggle to open myself to him.

He would be the antidote to your poison.

Why can't I let you go? I've broken my own promise repeatedly. If I don't feel anything for you, why is it so hard to cut you off from my life?

Perhaps it's the intensity of every transient moment that holds me. Maybe the way how violence and tenderness are inexplicably intertwined.

But then, maybe everything's already over as I write. It's hard to tell. There is a start to this story, but I don't know where it's been heading since.

unbreakable

2011-02-13T02:31:00.002+08:00

It's been about a year since I last wrote here. So why am I here on this quiet night? I find him compelling. No matter how hard I try, I can't get him out of my bloody mind. He's lodged in a tiny nook at the back of my mind. I long to shatter his image as easily as glass, swept away with other useless debris. But it's as hard as diamond shards, unbreakable.

sigh...

Perhaps one day I will wake and scream 'enough'.

Holding on to dreams

2010-02-08T22:07:00.003+08:00

Someone prayed that my mustard-seed faith will grow into a tree. A most appropriate message, considering that I am at a crossroads, sure of my destination but uncertain of its path. But for once, I believe that God is crafting and molding my destiny and dreams. Without dreams, the world will lie in darkness half-asleep and half-awake, engaged in dead-end jobs and meaningless activities. They are not stuck, but they choose to think they are - it's a good excuse for not moving, being "stuck".

But in any case, I hope that more light will shine on the path I am to embark, sooner rather than later...me of little faith. I've been told often enough that I'm young and idealistic. Just another way of saying that I'm still holding on to my dreams while others have let theirs die a cold death buried underneath a stack of paychecks.

The big MC - marriage and career

2010-01-11T00:27:00.003+08:00

It's been almost eons since I last posted. What with two other blogs to manage (a book review blog and a social angst blog), it can be quite tricky managing this emo blog, as I name it. It's a new year with an unpredictable path ahead of me, awaiting to be trodden with some trepidation. Marilyn Monroe has the seven year itch; I seem to have a one year itch. Can't seem to stay long in any place for more than year.

But, I've always believed that three's the charm. The third career path that I'm about to embark on will be the one that I intend to stay on for long-term. Need to rein in that restless, capricious nature of mine.

This year is the year when we plan to tie the big knot. Somewhat expected, he is feeling a fair amount of anxiety and wonders if he is truly prepared for an eternal marriage. It wasn't till lately when I have begun to experience more than a little anxiety myself; I've also questioned myself if I can hold steadfast to one partner for the rest of my life, which presumably will be decades and decades of time. I get bored extremely easily.

But I have stuck with him through the worst heartbreak one could possibly experience, and still look forward to holding his hands and kissing him. Will those things remain only inchoate shreds of memory?

a stirring

2009-10-16T23:53:00.002+08:00

I'm beginning to feel a stirring within my spirit..for the past few weeks, I've felt the occasional susurrus of words longing to spill on white pages. The feeling is like a sliver of moonlight falling on water, so soft and light. I've only just begun to be conscious of such stirrings.

I long to return to writing. The last I wrote was about 5-6 months ago..pretty long. It's been quite difficult lately because of work and ministry. I'm usually busy several evenings, and during the ones that I'm not, I'm quite exhausted and I'll start to nod off at 10.

Dare I take the step to realize my dream of becoming a writer? I was asked, "What do I see myself doing for the rest of my life?" Leading a cell, or doing ministry, is an answer. I can imagine myself leading a cell group for several years and yet not wanting to give it up totally. Sure, I'll get tired many times, but I know I'll persevere because I love doing it. Writing is another thing that comes to mind. I know that if I did nothing but write for the entire day, I'd still feel happy and fulfilled.

There are so many things that are pulling me back from achieving my dream - but I think that the only one that is really holding me back is myself. My fears about my writing ability, and my survival, are stopping me from turning my dream into a concrete structure.

writing writing

2009-09-24T22:10:00.003+08:00

Wow, it's been almost a month since I wrote in here. Well, lots of happened since then...most of it is really just reflections on what kind of career I really want, my passions and where I want to be in life in the next coming year or so.

By nature, I think I'm a rather restless person. I get bored easily and when that happens, I tend to look for stimulation outside, rather than trying to find creativity in the current things I am doing. I suppose in whatever job I do, there will be elements of mundaneness - so I need to find some way of reviving my interest by doing things differently, maybe.

Year is coming to an end soon. Should start planning for the new year. Off the top of my head, the few things that I will focus on next year is writing (be it short stories or my novel), cell group and my office CF. Those 3 things should more than suffice. Prayerfully, my cell group will multiply by Q1 next year. It's growing at a rather slow pace, but I'm sure God will bring in the harvest. :)

A really great thing to note is the near completion of my X Evangelism Explosion (XEE) training. It was a pretty grueling training (12 weeks of classes) and several on-the-job training (aka Connect Activities). But it was a very exhilarating experience of learning a great way of sharing the gospel. I think more than that though, it stoked my passion in evangelism. Am really excited in training some of my cell members in XEE as it really is comparatively the best method of sharing the gospel.

Holy Spirit session in Alpha

2009-08-27T22:58:00.002+08:00

Today was an awesome Holy Spirit session during Alpha. After the dvd talk on Who is the Holy Spirit, I talked a bit about how Jesus has promised us an abundant life. When we accept Christ, we receive the gift of the Holy Spirit. But many of us just leave Him there in the living room of our hearts. He becomes just a guest, when He really should be the Master of our lives. Have we given him the key to every room in our heart? Or do we keep some areas tightly locked under our control, thinking we've got everything taken care of.

If we want the abundant life that Christ has promised us, we need to give the Holy Spirit the key to all the rooms in our heart, and surrender to Him sot hat He will be the master. I issued an altar call, and a lot of the non-CF members raised their hands. Some people prayed for one of my colleagues, who started to cry. At my end, I prayed along with a girl to rededicate her life to Christ. There was also another colleague who recognized that she couldn't let go of everything to God yet. But I can see the passion inside her; she just doesn't know what to do with it. When I prayed for the baptism of the Holy Spirit though, the former said that she didn't feel anything. Haha. I was crushed (a little), but then, it is the Holy Spirit who convicts. And a true experience of the Holy Spirit is more than just an emotional physical experience.

There's only one day left of the Alpha Course. It's really exciting and it looks like our CF has grown much bigger.

women's bodies

2009-08-16T23:32:00.002+08:00

I hate the self-righteous manners in which people claim their "rights" over women's bodies. Women's bodies have been made into public property whereby people (both men and women) think they can claim ownership over them by dissing or sexualizing them. When rapes happen, people look at how a woman dresses. Flip through a magazine, watch a movie or tv ad, you'll most likely see hyper-sexualized women. They're so sexy - they doesn't even look real anymore. Plastic sex on humans.

If a sex video or naked pictures of women leak out, women always get the flak and are gossiped about as "loose", "slut" and a whole bunch of derogatory terms. There is no equivalent of those terms for men. A man's reputation is barely dented, compared to that of a woman's, if his naked pictures or sex videos get out.

See a woman in a bikini - and a bunch of self-righteous people (who are most likely women - ironic, isn't it) question her morals. What is this obsession with women's bodies? Why are women's bodies equated to her morality? There is no such equation with men, so why women? Personally, I am sick of such shallow people who think they can judge women just based on the way they dress up their physical body. A body is just flesh - the real person lies within that body. People who can make such judgments reflect their inner person, showing just how "high" their morality is.

Women's sexuality have been controlled and manipulated for far too long. I for one, am very tired of it and wish that everyone would just grow up.

Alpha Day Away

2009-08-15T23:06:00.002+08:00

Alpha Day Away was great! Although there were only two non-CF members, it was awesome to see one of them grow spiritually through the Alpha Course. She's becoming more and more passionate to know God; a bit like how I was when I first accepted Christ. For my other colleague, just praying for the Holy Spirit to convict her heart and open her eyes to see the truth.

It was just really good getting together and knowing each other outside the office. I felt quite relaxed and it seemed almost like a holiday trip (because of the lovely greenery and swimming pool, I suppose). The Holy Spirit was present with us throughout the event and I believe that this is just a start of it.

One thing that struck me was when Steven said that the Holy Spirit should be in the driver's seat, we should be in the passenger's. Recently, I admit that I've been in the driver's seat and placed the Holy Spirit in the back seat. Perhaps that's why I've been so tired and stressed out lately. This was a timely reminder for me to take a step back and just let the Holy Spirit control and guide my life - to obey His will rather than to insist on following mine. It's difficult. But then, why stress and try to control things so much when really all we should be focused on is following God's will and leaving everything to Him.

Song: Why do I still stay?

2009-08-10T23:10:00.003+08:00

This is the first song I have ever written in my life. Don't try to read between the lines too much - just enjoy the song as it is. :-)

Why do I still stay?
I go to sleep alone
You call and kiss good night
My paper dreams crash and burn
I look for you, but you're not here.

Chorus
Why do I still stay?
You can see the cracks in my heart,
The marks you left behind,
Tell me why we can't kiss and part.

Why do I still stay?
You promise you will sing for me,
I try to sing along with you,
But there is only silence to be.

Verse 2
Tell me my crime,
Shoot me first, ask me later,
Did you kiss her good morning?
Held her close when you woke her?

Bridge
With kisses you lied to me,
Sweeter than angels' tears,
I wanna fight alone,
Save myself from fears.

Chorus
Why do I still stay?
You can see the cracks in my heart,
The marks you left behind,
Tell me why we can't kiss and part.

Why do I still stay?
You promise you will sing for me,
I try to sing along with you,
But there is only silence to be.

Penang trip

2009-08-06T22:59:00.004+08:00

I'm feeling bored. Restless. My trip to Penang with my cell friends was good. Found out that I have pretty high tolerance for long-distance driving; actually drove back from Penang to KL for 5 hours with only one break in between. Also discovered some quirky things about some of my cell friends.

There was one really funny quarrel about money. I thought that the seven of us could sit, calculate the toll cost per person and just dole out the payment then. It came out to RM27.74 per person. Naturally, John the accounting student rounded it up to the closest which was RM28. I thought it was pretty reasonable. But then, Jin felt that it wasn't right and asked "Why not just discount the 74 sen and each person can pay RM27?" He got quite worked up about it and thought we were trying to make profit. And John and I were trying to explain that mathematically, RM27.74 rounded up is RM 28. Anyways, we didn't want to make a big deal of it and I just handed everyone RM1 back. Geez...was quite a silly argument. Haha.

Also went to Monkey Beach, which had no monkeys. We took a boat there. It was raining rather heavily in the morning, so we were praying like crazy for it to stop raining. When we got the beach, the rain subsided to a light drizzle, and we were optimistic enough to buy a trip to Monkey Beach (RM43 per person). When we got into the boat, the rain started to pour again. Waves got choppy and the boat man thought it was best if we headed back to Batu Feringghi and wait for the rain to subside. Was quite tempted to stand on the boat, hold out my hand and say "Wind and waves - be still!" After all, Jesus did expect His disciples to have faith in the power He had given them to command the wind and the waves. Read Mark 4:35-41, especially verse 40: He said to his disciples, "Why are you so afraid? Do you still have no faith?.

In any case, I didn't do that. Haha. Me of little faith. And anyway, the Bible says we're not to test the Lord our God. I prayed though..and just a few minutes after heading back, the rain stopped completely and we just continued our journey to Monkey Beach. It's a pretty nice place - though there are no monkeys and no corals or pretty fish. Just lots of oysters, crabs and snails. My cell members caught some poor snails, suffocated them in a plastic bottle, intending to cook and consume them upon reaching our apartment. We never did - just ate a ton of chips instead.

We had a great time. Snapped lots of pictures in me and my new white bikini, which unfortunately got stained pink by the bright red life jacket I was wearing. Sigh.

Another conflict occurred again in the evening. We were pretty tired after a long day at the beach, shopping at Gurney Plaza (bought gladiator-like sandals), eating fantastic Taiwanese beef ball noodles at Gurney Plaza, and a horrible supper at Gurney Drive. Gurney Drive has really terrible food. Ordered fresh cockles and I could only taste mud in each cockle. Urgh. I'd have better chance of finding and cooking my own cockles. Played pool after supper - John-Aidan won five games in a row. Tsk.

Later that evening, there was another fight. Was looking for a peaceful relaxing holiday and my sheep are just clawing at each other's throats. Sigh...so anyway, John wanted to go out with a friend of his and Jin. Abby wanted to follow. But John and Jin gave all sorts of excuses like "We're going to a 'dangerous' place" and they promised to take her elsewhere some other time etc etc. In the end, they must have tricked her, disappeared and left her alone to walk back to our apartment unit. I was quite upset for them pulling this on her - was wondering why on earth couldn't they have let her join them. In the end, they came back rather apologetic; I confronted them and John said that he had told his friend he was only bringing Jin. They apologized to Abby and all was forgiven in the end. :-) I just felt like a mummy the whole time, complete with nagging and waking up at 3 am and all. Haha.

novel manuscript

2009-07-31T00:37:00.002+08:00

I finally dug out my novel manuscript that has been lying the shelf for more than 5 years and submitted it to an MPH editor just for her opinion. She said that it has "interesting content" and suggested me trying Marshall Cavendish or Scholastic. Thinks that my manuscript may be too explicit for Malaysian audiences. Haha. In any case, she also said that my work needs rewriting with the help of a professional editor. And even if it is written, she can't guarantee that it will be accepted by publishers mentioned above.

Sigh...I don't know how much professional editors cost. How far can I really go in achieving my dream of becoming a writer?

Don't know if all this is just fanciful thinking or if God is behind this dream of mine...

writing something new

2009-07-21T22:39:00.002+08:00

I am writing something new...have written one page on a woman who is painting her house when the sun disappears. It's not a solar eclipse. And then there's a man she's having an affair with who wants to make love to her while her husband's not around.

Haven't figured out what the story's about. Will just let it run on its own and see what comes out. Fun.

There is a mentally ill man whom I meet almost every day as I walk from my car to office. He wears a tattered shirt and torn jeans with a huge rip just below his butt. I can see him talking to himself or occasionally, he'll shout and sing out loud in the middle of the road. It's really rather sad seeing him that way. He even sleeps on a dirt mattress on the ground, which I can't imagine how it feels like after a rainy day.

I wish I could do something, but the furthest I've gone is thinking about giving him a new shirt. Place it on his mattress so he can get it himself. Also thought of going right up to him and healing him in the name of Jesus. But that's terribly scary and he might just end up molesting me.

My heart and passion is for the lost and the sick, those whom society despises and are trodden upon. Although I lead a college cell, I'm passionate about those people, not so much college students.

How do I start? Not quite sure. I want to do something that has never been done before. There's already feeding centers in KL that cater to and have gospel-sharing with drug addicts and homeless people. I think I need to pray more, and operate less in the flesh.

time

2009-07-19T21:32:00.002+08:00

It's been a very fast week. Soon, July will be almost over, and I will get to holiday at the sunny beaches of Penang! Okay - Penang isn't the most exciting place to vacation, but it's still pretty decent. I bought a pretty white bikini specially for it too! Haha. It's still No Shopping Month, but the bikini is an exception because it is a necessity.

Lately, I've been feeling rather tired of our linear perception of time. Sometimes, it seems like we're just shooting forwards with no end in mind. Sometimes, I also tire of the rites of time - starting work on Monday, going through Tuesday, struggling with Wednesday, coping with Thursday and barely working on Friday. Then, the weekend arrives and soon everything starts all over again..

a vacant spot in the heart

2009-07-05T22:35:00.002+08:00

Life is too short, or too long as someone once said, to be spent doing things that are meaningless. I want every second of my life to count - to be spent on things that bring value and meaning to me. So before I choose to get angry or to sulk, I remind myself if I want to spend my time doing things that will only result in unhappiness. Along with that, I've also decided to cut down on spending. Hence, I've labeled July as my "No Shopping Month". I will not do any shopping whatsoever, except on necessities like food, personal hygiene etc.

I think I'm on a quest for significance. I'm looking for that something that will fulfill me. I have a great loving relationship, my ministry is going rather smoothly and has expanded beyond the church I attend, my job is going well. But I'm still searching for that thing that will completely satisfy me. Maybe it's not really a thing to do or to search for; life is about being, not doing. I tend to get caught up in doing things most of the time.

There is just something in my heart that is vacant and can't be filled with the things that are in my life right now. Maybe I'm just looking for the next big thing to throw my heart in. I've submitted my novel draft to a few Malaysian publishers. Silverfish rejected me, as expected. I'm still awaiting a reply from the MPH editor who personally edited my short story. I'm wondering if I should continue to pursue this and approach comic book publishers instead. Part of me wants to, but the other half wants to just dive into a completely new story still unwritten...

Six months past...

2009-07-02T00:28:00.002+08:00

It's already been six months since I started work at JobStreet, and a year since I took over as cell leader. In regards to work, it has been an exciting journey - and I am glad to say that I have progressed much and enjoyed good favor with my manager and top management. It's all by God's grace, really. With the coming months, I can only pray for God's wisdom to be upon me so that I will have the maturity to move up the ranks.

Where my ministry is concerned, I have only recently begun my marketplace ministry at my workplace through the Alpha course. It's been tough, honestly, and I've realized that adults really aren't that much different from young people. It just feels like leading another cell group with members who have differing priorities. As I've learned in cell, we have to meet people where they are, not expect them to come to our level. Of course, sometimes challenges are needed to propel people forward, but most of the time, patience and understanding are the important ingredients.

In regards to cell, it has been an up-and-down journey. The first six months of my leadership (July - December 2008) was full of transitions - with transitions of the cell home several times as well as people transiting in and out of the cell. The next six months (January till June this year) were filled with conflict and transitions (again) - whether it's the cell home, cell/ church model or people slowly dropping out. But we have solved almost all our conflicts and we are at a stage where we are quite comfortable with each other. I believe we are now at the Community-Action stage of the cell lifecycle, where I want to develop new leaders and propel this cell forward to doing greater things for God.

Spiritual warfare and apples

2009-06-20T01:04:00.002+08:00

I realize how long it's been since I last posted. Well, things have developed since then. I believe that God is using me for greater things. At my workplace, the CF have launched the Alpha course! Click on that site and you will see the Alpha course at my workplace listed! The first session was incredible - there were lots of non-Christians and Catholics who came; the group leaders and I had very engaging discussions with them about who Jesus was. It was really exciting and I'm psyched about the next Alpha discussion!

Surprisingly, I ended up with a group of Catholics. I thought that I would get the non-Christians, as I usually evangelize to non-Christians during my Christian life. So, when I saw that everyone in my group was Catholics, I was a bit uncertain and didn't quite know how to tailor my discussion. But perhaps God has something to teach me. I'll need to pray a lot more for the Holy Spirit to guide me on how to minister to Catholics.

This week was the week where I launched the first Alpha session, and also had a cell visit to a cell member who had not been coming to cell. On Tuesday, I woke up and just threw up four times that morning. Subsequently, I felt really weak and had stomach cramps. Lost my appetite and every time I ate something, I felt like throwing up. My mum and John said it was spiritual warfare, and it felt like it, because I knew that I was at the point of taking one big step for God in my workplace and in cell.

I managed to survive the illness, though I had an appendicitis scare yesterday. Went to a hospital, and found out that I didn't have appendicitis after all. Whew! Of course, I incurred a hefty RM 500+ medical bill. There goes half my medical allowance for the year. Bugger. Pray that I won't fall ill till end of the year. Haha.

Just now at cell, I said that an apple best represented me. I chose the apple because an apple is a rather symbolic fruit (think of the fruit at the Garden of Eden and in Snow White's fairy tale) - I think I can be quite mysterious and recondite at times. Also, the apple's a rather tough and crunchy fruit. I believe I am a very determined character who pulls through things no matter what. Jin however said that an apple can be easily influenced by other things, like a worm worming into an apple. So, he warned me to be careful. And John said the same thing too; I gotta watch out for negative influences. Funny...I never thought of myself as a person who is easily influenced.

Faith

2009-06-07T20:48:00.002+08:00

Came back from a cell leaders' retreat. Was utterly relaxing and I believe God spoke to me and revived my passion for cell again. I had been feeling rather tired and a little discouraged about the cell growth. But again and again, I am reminded that numbers is not everything. God only encouraged me to continue to go the extra mile and to invest in my cell members' lives - to serve them as how Jesus served His disciples by washing their feet. Jesus came to serve, and not to be served, although He was a king.

Likewise, if I want my cell to grow spiritually and to be passionate for God, I need to serve them as how Christ served us. I have faith that my cell will grow and multiply by next year! Although it seems like a far-off vision, but I have faith that it will come to pass by the grace of God.

rewriting my novel

2009-05-18T20:38:00.003+08:00

I think I will revive my novel, which I started writing 5 years ago but has been lying buried in the dust of forgotten drawers. Will rewrite my first chapter and send it off to as many publishers as I can, and see what response I get.

Pray for me and wish me all the best!

surprise for mum's birthday

2009-05-07T23:59:00.002+08:00

I organized a surprise with my siblings for my Mum's birthday yesterday. We bought her roses, a spa gift certificate, and decorated the dining room with those items as well as balloons on each chair. She's normally the first to arise and come down. So she did - and was pleasantly surprised!

Hehe. At least, I HOPE she was surprised...

It was great doing something nice for her anyway. I only hope she'll remember that she has a spa gift cert and claim it when her head's not busy with the thousand and one things she's involved in! It's an hour massage, scrub and lovely jacuzzi bath. Mm...I need a break too. Feel like I'm beginning to get involved in too many things...cell leadership in church is taking up most of my free time already. There's also CF at my workplace which I'm indirectly trying hard to keep its momentum going.

Counting my cost

2009-05-02T01:09:00.001+08:00

I had a talk with a good friend today, and I realized that my head is still in the air when I think about marriage. Right now, I have a vague, misty idea about marriage being a blissful place where you can have someone warm to embrace you every night...someone to chase your fears away...someone where you don't have to travel miles just to see because we have the same place called home.

But, if I'm really serious about getting married in the near future, I have to start counting my cost, literally. Do my partner and I have enough money for the kind of wedding I desire? Do my partner and I have enough to rent or buy a place to stay? Will we both have a stable income close to our desired wedding date?

I admit - I have not begun to make such calculations yet. If I'm serious, I should start counting now.

healing

2009-04-19T21:31:00.003+08:00

Last week was one of the greatest storms I had faced for some time...the pain that ripped my heart to shreds was almost unbearable, had it not been for the grace of God and the strength that Christ gave me. I am picking up the pieces now...the brokenness strewn on the floor like shattered glass. I have forgiven...I have tried to put the past behind me.

I believe I have...the anger has disappeared.

What is left?

Restoration? Healing? Only God can heal...

Imitating Christ in forgiveness

2009-04-15T23:24:00.003+08:00

What is love? Can love really take away a multitude of sins? Does love keep absolutely no record of wrong? How could Christ have said "Forgive them, for they know not what they do" while He hung on a cross.

If we are called to imitate Christ, surely we are also called to imitate His forgiveness. After all, God said that He will not forgive those who do not forgive others. A very hard, and almost impossible, commandment to obey at times...when you have been hurt so deeply, how difficult it is to forgive...

Yet, it isn't impossible. I have been hurt...and I have forgiven...I only pray that God will heal the wounds in my heart so that they will not sting any more...

Be holy

2009-04-11T10:48:00.002+08:00

Good Friday came and passed. I wonder how many Christians really think about the huge sacrifice that God paid for us to come back to him - lost, wandering sojourners that we are...when I pause to think about it, it is scary - it is huge and overwhelming...to know that Christ went through hell (ie: separated from God) just so that I would be able to come back to God.

Christ's sacrifice should not be taken lightly. When we continue to dwell in our sinful nature, we have already forgotten the sacrifice that was made for us to take us away from sin. Why do we give in so easily to the desires of our flesh? It is a constant battle every day to fight against the flesh, from the minute I wake to the second I fall asleep. How can we remember Christ's sacrifice daily and appropriate the holiness that has been given to us through Christ?

To walk the long stretch of our life on earth, flesh and spirit constantly dueling for control...really, it would be so much better to enter heaven straight away, rather than continuing this tired war...

But then, I suppose that we shouldn't forget that we can do all things through Christ who strengthens us (Philippians 4.13). And all things would include the efforts at holiness...

Memories..

2009-04-06T21:46:00.002+08:00

How would you feel, knowing that your mind is capable of deceiving you thoroughly? The heart is deceitful beyond cure...but the mind? One would think that the mind could be somewhat more reliable than the fickle heart.

I feel cheated. And I wonder just how real I really am...how solid am I? Or am I just a collection of fragments of unreal memories hastily put together?

New phase of my life

2009-04-02T20:47:00.002+08:00

I feel excited, raring to venture forth into new horizons that beckon. It has been a very satisfactory first quarter where I'm working now; and thank God, He has opened up many doors for me at my career. I have been given great new responsibilities, which I am certain, with God's strength, I will be able to achieve all the goals that I have set.

In my love life, my lover and I have passed through several stages. It feels like we are running a race, passing endless hurdle after hurdle, not quite seeing the end yet. I have a rather huge goal to achieve in this area as well - to be courageous enough to be emotionally open with my partner, and to embrace the vulnerability of the heart. It is rather discouraging to feel an incapability to relate with one's partner on the emotional plane.

In my Christian walk, again, another uphill battle. For the past month, it has been a wonderful journey with God, sacrificing pleasure for the sake of seeking His face. He has blessed me with many answers to my prayers, especially the cell.

Truly, it is amazing..

Love me emotionally

2009-03-29T00:19:00.002+08:00

What would I do if I loved you? Would I dare to journey back to the past with you, hand in hand? Explore the dark with a trembling heart, not knowing what hideous thing I may find unwittingly...for so long, I have erected strong, impenetrable barriers to protect me...From what? you ask. They have turned upon their purpose and now serve to imprison you. I cannot reach you from inside when you will not let me in...Indeed, you have forgotten how to free yourself from the locks and boundaries you crafted.

You say that you cannot love me with emotions...not when you cannot reach the deepest chambers of my heart, kept in the dark, untouched by light or warmth. Not when I refuse to untangle the web of my past that keeps those locks in place. I confess, I long to break free and dive without fear or hesitation into the complexity of the human emotion. I desire to have an emotional connection to you that can only be fully expressed through the unspoken language of flesh and blood.

Help me to get there, my love...and I may find myself free from these walls and turrets of anger, fear and hurt.

Constructing a library

2009-03-24T22:46:00.003+08:00

It's been a while since I last wrote. It's been crazy busy the past week or so. I have been spending many late hours constructing a library. Or rather, an e-library so to say. Haha. Been revamping an intranet website in my company. And yes, I don't have an IT background at all. So, it's pretty amazing that I can actually create a rather decent website - many thanks to Microsoft Publisher. :-) I'm rather proud of my work, which is one reason why I don't really mind the late nights.

Of course, it's wreaking havoc in my eyes. Haha. Need to regain my beauty sleep.

On a separate note, because of the work I've been doing, it doesn't look like I may be able to write a new story for the MPH competition, which is due by end of the month. Tsk. Well, I've gotta keep in mind my overall goal, which is to publish an anthology of short stories. I don't need to enter a competition to do that.

Gearing myself up to write continuously is the tricky part, much like exercise. Once you take a small break, you lose the momentum, and it's rather difficult to get back on track.

Quitting the organization I used to work/volunteer in turned out to be a good decision after all. If I were still an active member, I probably wouldn't even get the time to write my first short story in the first place. Haha. And I would be dying from overwork.

Learning to say "No" is a worthy lesson to learn. It saves you from overwork and reduces the risk of burnout. Plus, saying "No" gives you more time for yourself, which is something that a lot of people are afraid to demand for, strangely. Time alone with yourself or with God is the one thing that will rejuvenate your spirit. Most of the time though, we're too caught up in the humdrum routine of work and life, and trying to please other people, that we forget to pay attention to ourselves.

OK - Time to pay attention to myself and go to sleep. :P

The hidden side of domestic violence

2009-03-09T01:19:00.003+08:00

Finally finished a 6,000 word short story that had been lingering about in a skeleton frame for weeks. Took me a whole, relaxed Sunday to complete it. And now, it is finished! I'm in a daze from the amount of writing I did today...pretty exhausting, though exhilarating as I crafted the lives of a violent couple.

My story is about a man who is abused by his wife. It is told from his point of view. While writing the story, I read personal stories of men who had been abused by their wives, mostly located in the United States. The stories are rather horrifying - the abuse inflicted by women on their husbands, and the lack of support and injustice that men receive from the social system, is heartbreaking. There are also cases of violence in intimate same-sex relationships.

This goes to show that domestic violence may not fully be the result of a gender discriminatory, patriarchal social system. Violence is endemic in society and should be condemned with equal severity, whether it is committed by men or women.

Here in Malaysia, it is not known how many men are actually abused by their wives. According to Women, Family and Community Development Minister Datuk Seri Dr Ng Yen Yen, 90 % of domestic violence survivors are women, which implies that 10 % of them are men.

What support is given to them? None at the moment. Even the present support mechanisms for female survivors of violence do not suffice, and they still face a tremendous amount of vilification from society.

My story is entitled "The Hidden Side of Domestic Violence". With much prayer, I hope that it will win the MPH short story contest. :-) I get RM 5,000 and a laptop if I snag the top prize!

Will you love me?

2009-02-16T23:42:00.002+08:00

Will you love me? Perhaps I had expected too much from you...I had hung perfection on you like a noose. I expected you to love me perfectly with every shard of your heart, with every bloodstain of forgiveness and loyalty. But of course, you are only human...as am I. Mortals entangled in an imperfect love.

Will you leave me? How I have asked myself that question many times since that eventful night. I was once asked how would I feel if you did. Will I survive? Do I need to safeguard my heart? Lock it up from the barbs and stings of loneliness and abandonment? But if I did, there is no need to be by your side, to place my trembling heart in yours...

I try to place back the shattered pieces, hoping in vain that it will somehow metamorphose into a strong, beating heart. I can't find all the missing pieces; I forget that I have given some to you, to carry in your heart...

There would be no heights to reach in love, if there were no depths. Do I dare to leap into love, no holds barred? Risking the deepest cuts of love, the emptiness of loneliness...to experience the purest joy and ecstasy of love...

Night falls

2009-02-09T01:21:00.000+08:00

Night falls like inky rain,
I search for you in the dark,
Cheeks tear-stained,
Broken heart shards.

Hallway after hallway,
In this darkened place,
Where shadows stay,
Of you, not a trace.

I waited in vain

2009-02-07T21:25:00.002+08:00

I used to be afraid of the darkness, creeping like serial killers swathed by night. But last night, I found something that terrified me more than darkness...it was sudden and unexpected, like a heart attack, like ripping off a scab revealing bloody flesh. I felt the room shrink and tighten upon me as I feared that I would lose you. I did not fear that the most; my worst fear was realizing that fear.

You had always come back to me. You never ran away. You never left. But, you always came back like a faithful lover. Yet, this time, you did not. You walked, and kept walking without looking back.

I waited for you to return, and waited in vain.

It is funny how the tables have turned. Never did I think that I needed you as I had always perceived that it was you who needed me. Only last night did I realize that it was I who needed you. As you have said with such mighty conviction, you do not need me. Need...a word that evokes such ugly images of beggars with cheap plastic cups in their hands, or foolish women with broken hearts and dresses stained by tears.

If you do not need me, I most certainly do not need you. My heart, which I had placed in your hands to cherish or shatter, was not in such a safe place as I imagined it to be. I cannot take back what I have given you, but I can protect what pieces are left, and shelter them from cruelty and
abandonment. Perhaps, abandonment is too fancy a word.

You did not abandon me after all; you just discarded me as one would discard scrunched-up paper without a second thought. Dunk into the wastepaper basket without even a glance; I am sure that you would not miss your shot. With abandonment, there is a possibility of return, no matter how slight. But last night, I felt that you would not return at all. One does not go back to retrieve discarded paper, unless there are desired secrets.

But I do not think that you wish to seek such secrets from me. As you have said, you do not need me anyway.

Enter my dreams

2009-01-28T22:28:00.004+08:00

I feel afraid..and I don't quite know why. I know that you are always with me and you have promised me that if you are for me, nothing can be against me. So, why does fear still wrap my heart in the damp and dark? Why do I wake in the middle of the night, trapped in the twilight between sleep and consciousness, suffocated by fear?

The only fear I should have is of you - a holy and reverent fear. Everything else are minute grains of sand compared to you, unworthy of such a strong emotion as fear.

I pray that you will enter my dreams and fill them with the sweetness of your embrace, the fragrance of your presence. Let your light chase away the dragons of darkness and illuminate your fair face. Do not leave me to fight my battles alone. Rather, accompany me with your sword and shield so that I shall not falter in my moments of weakness. Then, my spirit shall be strengthened and I shall not fear with you by my side.

Women's support group or men's group for gender equality?

2009-01-25T00:27:00.003+08:00

I still haven't set my goals for this year..so I plan to. One of them is to be more fit - more specifically, to be able to play a full game of basketball without feeling like I wanna die halfway. I'm already starting work on that - have played two sessions of basketball with my boyfriend the past two weeks. :-) When I say two sessions, I really mean just going through the basics of shooting loops and dribbling. Haha. Well, babies have to learn how to crawl before they can run, don't they?

Besides fitness, I also want to focus on my cell group and on my career. There's something else, however, which has me in quite a dilemma... I have been involved in a local NGO for years, whether on a voluntary or staff capacity. I fight for gender equality, and recently, I've developed a passion to focus on men's active participation in the cause for gender equality. In Malaysia, gender equality is still very much seen as a women's rights issue. This perception is not too far from the truth as most women's and feminist NGOs do place primary focus on women in their work. There is no structured or intentional focus on reaching out to men as equal allies in this cause.

There has been little work in terms of engaging with men for gender equality; but that little bit of work has slowly fizzled out due to dying interest and half-hearted efforts.

What I really want to do now is to start a group of men who are passionate about ending violence against women and to fight for gender equality. Impossible? On the surface, it looks like an idealistic dream of a young woman, easily popped as a soap bubble. But, I believe that if God is behind this dream, this dream will succeed.

Currently, I'm a facilitator of a women's-only support group. I also had initially big dreams for this group, wanting it to be like the AA and having replicates in other towns and cities. Therein lies my dilemma - I don't know if I should continue in the support group or to focus my energies on creating a group of men passionate for gender equality.

If I were to be asked right now where my heart is, I will tell you honestly that my heart lies in the latter. Why? Perhaps, part of its appeal lies with the fact that in Malaysia, there is currently no organization comprising men who want gender equality. And I want to be the pioneer. If it is solely my pride pushing me into this, then I need to reevaluate my dreams and understand my true motivations behind those dreams.

Launch of Urban Odysseys

2009-01-22T10:34:00.004+08:00

My story City of Flesh will be published in an anthology of stories called Urban Odysseys! The official launch in MPH is on February 10, 2009, retailing at RM 35.90.

So, buy a copy and check out my story! :-) It's published under the name RK Boo.

It's my third piece that I have published. The first two pieces were a short story and a poem that were published in a book called Young Women Speak Out by the All Women's Action Society (AWAM).

If you buy a copy, I will give you an autograph. ;-) I thank God for His uncountable blessings! Hopefully, this will help kick off my novel project, which I have been procrastinating. My ultimate dream is to publish a novel (that millions of people will buy, of course!). Before I can sell a million copies, I need to write it first. Haha.

I cannot forget

2009-01-18T22:13:00.003+08:00

I can't tell you all the answers; neither can I forget what happened. You ask if you are disappointed. You ask what should have remain buried. Pointless questions. What has happened can never be undone or forgotten. Such is the irony of the human mind. We forget so easily what we should remember, and we remember with such vividness what we long to forget. Certain memories burn and leave a permanent mark in our minds and hearts, stubborn as bloodstains...marks which we weren't aware existed till they suddenly flared up, catching us offguard and submerging us in pain and limbic anger.

I cannot forget. Period.

learning to self-reflect

2009-01-11T21:57:00.002+08:00

I've created a new blog which will be entirely focused on political and social issues, which I will try my very best to update as regularly as I can (ie: everyday). I will still write in this blog, though as you can see, I generally write only every fortnight or so. But, I believe that in order to grow and mature, one must take the time to self-reflect and just enjoy a little solitude...that is unfortunately, something that most people do not value as they scurry through their lives with meaningless activity.

Of course, having said that, I myself haven't been the most diligent of most persons in self-reflection and prayer. It is funny how self-absorbed we can be in doing things, but not in just being...I am becoming increasingly aware of my mortality, and I wish to fill every minute of my day with meaning. Yet, I know that I am a high-strung, impatient and restless person who always needs something to do. I can never sit still and just relax in my own dreams and thoughts...perhaps, this comes from me placing my worth on my deeds, rather than on my identity. That is why I always feel the need to do something...something that displays my worth and moral fortitude. My narcisssism is probably another factor in my drive to do things all the time.

Perhaps this year, I should slow down and appreciate my worth in God, not in the things that I do. It is very difficult though...as I intend to achieve so many things this year, like establishing a women's support group, a men's group on fighting for gender equality etc etc.

Making each day count

2009-01-01T22:44:00.002+08:00

I remember making some New Year resolutions last year, though I can't remember what they are. So, pretty useless. Haha. I will not make any New Year resolutions this year, though there are some good habits which I want to cultivate.

First, I want to get serious about getting fit. I'm a skinny person - but my fitness level is quite mediocre. I've barely exercised or played sports at all last year! The only exercise that I used to get was walking from my house to the bus stop, which is some 15 minutes away, in order to get to work. But that stopped once I started getting a car. Haha. I also want to take up self-defense. But a lot of self-defense is taught in martial arts, which I don't want to get into as most of them have spiritual roots. So, I thought of taking up kickboxing classes, which seem to be a suitable alternative. If anyone knows where to take classes, do let me know!

Second, I want to spend more time writing, whether it's fictional stories or acidulous letters to the editor. I also want to have more of my fictional works published.

Third, I want to establish a men's group fighting for gender equality. I also want to get a support group for women going, which I hope to replicate it in other places in the near future. I also want my cell group to grow not only numerically, but more importantly, spiritually. That one (and all the other things) will need a lot of prayer.

I'm so greedy - I want so many things. Haha. Well, as each new year passes, we move closer to our death date. We don't have eternity at hand - only today. I intend to make each day count.

Reflections of 2008

2008-12-30T22:55:00.002+08:00

This year has been absolutely amazing! This year, I ventured for the first time into the working world - into an NGO, no less. I have gained an invaluable amount of knowledge and experience working in a feminist NGO as a social worker. I had already been exposed to feminism in my college days, though mostly on intellectual ventures. But, my experience in the NGO lent a human touch to the movement/ belief/ cause which I had so long been intimate with only on an intellectual level. And now, it appears as if I have come a full circle. I first came into the NGO as a volunteer three years ago. This year, I became staff. And next year, I'm back as a volunteer!

The most significant event this year was when I dislocated my kneecap, and was rendered "legless" for a good three months. That taught me a great deal of humility; I'd always found it difficult to accept help from others. Having to depend on other people to help me perform even the simplest function like walking was extremely frustrating. But, it was a lesson well taught. I am not entirely humble now - but little by little, I am beginning to soften my persona of "Miss Independent". I've adopted that nickname for a very long time...I remember listening to Kelly Clarkson's Miss Independent song and loving it. Perhaps also, a heartbreak or a loss had occurred at that time - and my mind told me that the best way to protect myself was to be independent of everyone.

This year though, my romantic relationship taught me that where love is, independence cannot exist...like darkness and light. I felt afraid, even terrified...as my relationship grew and blossomed from a tiny bud into a flower with thorns. There was pain as love strove to banish the shadows of pride within my heart. I had once asked someone "Which is more important - your relationship or your pride?" That someone answered, "My pride." Pride is self-deception..it's nothing but a false comforter for the lonely. The greatest lesson I learned from my relationship this year is the selflessness of love. Love is not based on sacrifice; for if it were, one would always be calculating the amount of sacrifices s/he makes, which usually is incomparable to the other. Love abounds in generosity, and love places the other above oneself. There is no place for pride.

And in terms of my spiritual walk, well, that has been the pattern of a heartbeat on a machine. This year, I became cell leader. And that has taught me a great number of things. Patience was the first thing I learned. I've also realized that in ministry, it's really not about how much you do; but how much you allow God to do, based on the faith you have. So many times, I know that it is God who makes all things work. I can only be His servant and plant the seed; it is God who breathes life.

So, cheers to the new year! Another new step in my career, significant life changes for my partner and best friend, more changes in my ministry...as long as I place God in the center of my life, whatever circumstances that arise are irrelevant as my joy is found in Him, not in anything or anyone else.

Urban Odysseys and something revolutionary

2008-12-20T10:07:00.003+08:00

Urban Odysseys: KL Stories will be published in February next year! Those of you who are my loyal fans AND friends - you MUST go grab yourself a copy of the book. My story, City of Flesh, will be published under the name I use here, RK Boo. Check out Eric Forbes's blog for more details!

Next year looks like it will be a blast! I just had a discussion with a couple of young men on feminism and gender equality, and how they can form a group to fight for gender equality and stop violence against women. The discussion went very well and all of us managed to reach a consensus on the philosophy of the group. I am so excited! This is the birth of something revolutionary. Of course, I know that there may be conflicts within the group and also from outside the group. But I believe that if gender equality is to shift from utopia to reality, men and women need to be active partners in the movement. For too long have we fought, distanced and divided ourselves in bloody battles of the mind and heart...languished in our fears and stereotypes of the other gender...satisfied only with fighting and subduing, but never reconciling. How long do we want to keep fighting the other? Such battles only result in winners and losers. No one wants to be a loser.

Women and men do not live on Venus or Mars - they live together right here on Earth. Isn't it time to begin a healing process? To start treating each other with mutual respect and love. Love conquers all. Where love is, there is no prejudice, no discrimination, no subjugation, no oppression, no fears, no selfishness, and no inequality.

That is what I want.

BIGGEST shopping spree!

2008-12-10T09:00:00.000+08:00

I have gone on the BIGGEST shopping spree of my life...I've never spent so much on a single trip - about RM 700 plus on corporate wear! Such an OBSCENE amount of money! Those of you who know me will know that I hardly ever go shopping. Perhaps I'm a shopaholic in denial. Haha. My shopping didn't even include shoes yet. :S I bought three striped shirts - my mum commented that they were masculine and asked why didn't I buy any flower-patterned shirts. Honestly...just because I'm a feminist doesn't mean I always try to look masculine. It just happened that Padini only had a sale on striped shirts. At least they're of different colors. I'd also bought two skirts and a pair of trousers from G2000, a blazer from Parkson, a blouse from Forever 21 and two blouses from online boutiques. I'd also gotten myself some new lingerie and makeup. Have yet to get myself some belts and shoes...as well as a laptop. Haven't done my Christmas shopping either.

Now I know why women like shopping. Once you start, you can't stop! Ah well...I'll recover from this binge after Christmas. Next year looks like an exciting one for me - new look, new career, more personal time with my loved ones and for ministry, and hopefully, publication of my short story! It has been a great year, full of memorable experiences and learnings, deepening relationships, intrapersonal and intellectual growth.

Here's to Christmas and the new year!

wresting my moments back

2008-12-03T00:04:00.000+08:00

Now, I don't feel so anxious anymore. The past few months have been nerve-wracking - going for multiple interviews, facing rejections from some, and yet also receiving several offers from others. Now, I feel a sense of calm, not relief...just peace and calm, knowing that my future is secure in the Lord. He tested my faith again, but I think I pulled through relatively well. :-) Money should be the least of my worries; I know that no matter what, God will always provide. He always has all throughout this time, whether it's a simple thing like clothes or even a car. Now, it looks like I may be getting a laptop.

At first, I was ecstatic after making my decision to accept a certain job offer. But lately, I've begun to feel a little wistful, maybe even a little sad...it could be the people that I am beginning to miss, yet it is also not the people for it is something beyond any individual; it is the cause that I have been fighting for, whatever that cause is as different people stick various labels on it - call it feminism, women's rights, equality etc etc. At the end of the day, the essence of the struggle is the same regardless which word you throw at it. Activism stretches beyond the 9-5 limits of a job. So, despite my job change, I will never stop being an activist. Activism is a state of being - a state that constantly changes, struggles, innovates; never static but a continual renewal of the mind and heart, thoughts and action to better the world.

I am happy, satisfied with my decision. I value my personal time with God, myself, my loved ones... I'm young, but money is not everything to me. If it were, I would have gone straight for the highest offer. The past few months have been draining me of that time, till I find myself just doing doing doing things with never a moment to stop, and enjoy re-reading a favorite book, or dream on a lazy evening...play the piano, creating soft melodies tinkering through the night...writing a shining line of prose when the moment strikes...

I am wresting my moments back.

Faith

2008-11-17T20:59:00.000+08:00

The past few weeks have been extremely interesting. Relationships were healed, new insights were gained, and new horizons were explored. I discovered that forgiveness only looks as hard as you think it is. But once you actually try it, you wonder why you never tried it earlier. I am contemplating traveling a different path come the new year. I only pray for God's will to be done. I have my own desires, but when something looks too good to be true, it usually is. It's odd - when I was hunting for my first job, I was like a rabbit scuttling around, stuck in a forest fire. Yet, God had pulled me through in His perfect timing.

Again, I sense that God is reminding me to trust Him and to have faith. It's a huge struggle for me - but I know that God is taking care of me. So, just have faith, darn it!

happy birthday

2008-10-28T00:26:00.000+08:00

Yesterday was my birthday - am 22 years old now. I tried riffling through my journal to see what I'd recorded on my birthday a year ago. There was no entry. I only found one on Oct 23 and another on Nov 14. Tsk. Was my birthday that forgettable a year ago? I thought I would have made some resolutions or something useful like that.

Anyway, it is a time for reflection. A lot has happened since a year ago. I have made a transition from college life to the working world, which has been interesting, exciting and challenging all at the same time. Before I graduated, I was so sure that I would end up being a counselor. Now, I'm not so certain anymore. I no longer have the same certainty I had when I was 15, possessing the full confidence that I want to study psychology in college. That same confidence does not lie within me anymore - what remains is a sense of uncertainty. Not fear or anxiety - just uncertainty... I search, but I do not quite know what I am searching for. I don't know what I want - and that is the problem. If I knew what I wanted, I would focus all my efforts on achieving my end goal. It's a rather novel experience for me - not knowing what I want. Usually, I know what I want and I go for it, whether it's an A, or a high score on a presentation, or getting a project done.

Now, I am just utterly unsure as to what I really want to become in ten years time. Psychologist? Consultant? Writer? Manager? Activist? Argh! Well, I do know what I want - my fondest dream is to be a writer. As I'm speaking, I'm realizing part of that dream as I'm currently in the editing process of publishing my short story. But, I'll have to find something that puts fuel in my car. One thing I know - I have to start at the bottom to move to the top. The thing is - which part of the sky do I want to reach?

Enough meandering...I had a very enjoyable birthday...my boyfriend wrote me a song and sang it as the melody played on the strings of his guitar. I almost wanted to cry - I did not expect it at all. As his voice sang softly of laying down my cares and worries, I felt the gentleness of God's reassuring spirit, telling me to seek and trust Him.

take my hand

2008-10-19T00:56:00.000+08:00

Surprisingly, the past few weeks have been extremely challenging to me, not only in my workplace but also in my relationships. My workload has become heavier and heavier, and it's not going to get any lighter soon due to a major company event and a few workshops which I will be facilitating. I can only probably start breathing in December. Haha. I've also experienced intense heart-wrenching conflicts, some of which have caused me to severely question myself. Perhaps that was what I needed, seeing that I haven't had much time to engage in self-reflection. Also, I've begun to learn the complex challenges of playing multiple roles as a Christian leader, mentor, daughter, sister, lover, friend, feminist etc. My identities are fluid, constantly shifting and melding according to the currents of the situation. Because I love to categorize things neatly, I find it a almost a hair-tearing struggle to manage the intractable flux of my identities.

So, I just give up and let God take care of everything. I've also realized just how irrational I can be, especially during times when fear shrouds my heart and my defense mechanisms kick in. It is during those times when I wished I had more courage...but I have been slipping too long behind a fortress of ice and steel whenever I perceive a threat. It has been a refuge of warmth to me; the only safe place that I can withdraw to when everywhere else seems fraught with danger.

You ask - would I allow you into my safe place? Or can I take your hand and walk with you into a place created just for us...ensconced in peace, tranquility and a warm love like glowing embers...away from the baleful glare of the world?

I want to walk with you, I reply. Only, show me how.

our first anniversary

2008-10-02T00:52:00.000+08:00

Yesterday was my lover's birthday and our anniversary of our one year relationship. We'd went on a wonderful road trip to Port Dickson, where we ate, drank and toasted in joy at the beauty of our relationship - real as stars bursting light upon a dark night sky. We have come a long way indeed from the day we became a couple...yet, through the many storms we survived, light always broke forth. And that is what gave me hope to persevere to partake in joys that overshadowed the pain, and love that conquered despair like the sun dispelling night. It doesn't matter how many tears were shed and how much anger and hurt there was - what matters is now. The past is transient as shadows...so, let the past hurts vanish and let us remember instead the smiles and laughter, the ardent whispers of love, and the gentle caresses of forgiveness...

May God continue to be in the center of our relationship as we work our way towards marriage and beyond...to partnership and equality, to a fusion of souls, to the embodiment of a love sacred and pure.

Love is too weak a word to capture the full complexity of the mental, physical and spiritual aspects entangled in this phenomenon. No piece of glittering star or shard of raw diamond could possibly illuminate the beauty of love. Love is beyond the boundaries of the mind and the creations of the universe. And it is that gift which I present to you, my lover...to be cherished and kept close within the chambers of your heart.

I love you.

return

2008-09-22T00:14:00.000+08:00

I'm going through a particularly challenging period of my life. Throughout my life, I barely remember a time when I feared failure. I have failed before - my first piano exam. Surprisingly though, after that exam, I suddenly knew how to read notes. After that, I seemed to fly with success most of the times, especially through my college years. Now, however, for the first time, failure seems quite real to me. And it scares me. Yes, failure is the step to success...ladida...just trite banalities to comfort a losing soul.

But I was reminded of something recently...to return to God. I've suffered persecution and discrimination on account of my faith. And I have allowed the stinking sap of my multiple activities to dampen my spirit and relationship with God. Don't be mistaken. I do not put the church first - I put God first. God is everywhere, not just in the church. There is a difference between spending time with God, and spending time doing things for him. Jesus preferred Mary's devoted listening to Martha's frantic cooking in the kitchen. While I am stretching myself to the limit with a ton of other things I am doing, I am again reminded to release all my burdens unto Him. A sense of ineffable peace settles over me as I do so...He has called me to Him, me who is weary and heavy-laden, and He will give me rest.

I read a storybook today. The simple joy of reading a good book was immeasurable. I had almost forgotten what it was like to just immerse myself wholly into a good book...and embark on an adventure crafted by the mind of the writer...to see, hear, touch and feel as if one were in an entirely new world, real as air. My fingers also begin to yearn for the cool touch of musical keys...I haven't played the piano in months. Perhaps that is one of the reasons for my tension. I desire to feel the majestic swell of music raise my spirit to greater heights...to soar beyond the confines of the physical world into a realm where no words can clasp and immure. To write a piece of memorable line of words which holds the power to capture one's breath...to release a burst of emotions and memories like flowers in winter.

It is time to regain what I have lost...

WWRP 6 Workshop

2008-09-17T23:33:00.000+08:00

The WWRP 6 workshop is in November this year! All young women, apply for it if you are interested in empowering yourself and gaining knowledge on social justice and women's rights. Everyone, pass the news forward!

The Writers for Women’s Rights Programme

Call for Applications

Are you a young woman between the ages of 18 to 32? Are you interested in what's happening around you? Do you have a passion for writing? Do you want your voice heard in the mass media? Have you been thinking of getting involved in activism but not sure where to start?

If you are, then the Writers for Women's Rights Programme may be just what you have been looking for.

Organised by the All Women's Action Society (AWAM), the programme will help develop your understanding of gender and social justice issues, writing and analytical skills, and media relations.

If selected, you will attend a live-in workshop from the 13–16 November 2008, where you will receive training from experienced AWAM writers and trainers on those areas. You can look forward to connecting with a motley crew of inquisitive young women who are passionate about social justice and social transformation!

KEEN? Apply now!

Write or email a short statement (500 words) explaining why you are interested in the programme and what you hope to gain from it. Include a brief biodata or CV, write 'WWRP' as your subject heading and send it before 30th September to:

Snail mail: AWAM, 85 Jalan 21/1, 46300 Petaling Jaya (fax: 03-7874 3312)
Email: advocacy-programs@awam.org.my

Applicants may be asked to attend an interview. Selected applicants will be notified by 15 October 2008.

Selected participants are required to pay a workshop registration fee:
Students or unemployed: RM 50
Others: RM 100

If you need a waiver or a reduction of the fee, please write to us explaining your circumstances with your application. Waivers or reductions may be granted based on the discretion of the organizers.

feeling over-stressed

2008-09-04T01:20:00.001+08:00

I think I'm taking too many projects or responsibilities under my wing...and feeling the stress of it all. I am:

Pioneering a group of men fighting for gender equality.
Forming a domestic violence support group.
Spearheading a project of brochures on my working organization, violence against women and rape.
Being involved in logistics and performance presentation for a huge company event end of this year.
Organizing a 3 day workshop for domestic violence survivors.
Organizing a 1 day gender workshop for a service provider.
Co-organizing a 3 day workshop for young women who aspire to be writers.
Co-editor of my company newsletter.
Regular writer for my church newsletter.
Working on my short story which has been selected for publication.
Leading a college/young adult cell group.

Now that I've listed everything down, it does look quite impressive. Haha. More like suicide mission mode. I'd actually considered adding freelance writing, joining a political party, or attending Mandarin classes as my 12th item.

But I think that's just being stupid. Already, I feel like I'm dying underneath all this workload. Hence, the numerous breaks that I'm taking this month. First was a trip to Penang, next will be a trip to Miri. Then, a trip to PD, though that can't really be considered a break as it's really a camp that I'm going for - a 3 day camp with hours and hours of preaching and hot sweaty team games crammed in. Hopefully, I'll be able to fly off to some nice cool mountain and relax there. Well, maybe not mountain...highland perhaps.

I'm a doer. I spend too much time doing things that I barely have enough time to just spend time with myself, reflect, write fiction, or to spend time relaxing in God's presence. Most of the vestiges of the free time that I have is spent taking care of my other personal relationships. Sigh...I think perhaps I place too much expectations on myself - that if I don't call or spend time with certain people, I feel that I'm neglecting my responsibility as a lover, mentor, leader, daughter, sister etc. It's time to get rid of the shoulds in my mind and to just release everything to God to take care of, instead of clutching everything tightly to my bosom.

I want to go on another trip. This time, an utterly relaxed trip with no itinerary or must-see places to visit. Then only I'll enjoy true relaxation for just a few days. It'll be enough, I'm sure.

reaching toward my dream

2008-08-18T22:26:00.000+08:00

This feels surreal...I've already begun receiving requests from MPH to submit my photo and answer some interview questions and whatnot. I watched a movie called Evening recently, which scared the hell out of me. It was about an old woman who was reminiscing on her younger days...she lay in bed full of regret as she recalled memories of wrong decisions made and dreams never fulfilled. After watching it, I swore that I would fulfill my dream of being a writer. If you ask me to name a career, I would say counselor, politician, social worker, counseling psychologist. But if you ask me to name a dream, I would say writer.

I've actually never seriously considered becoming a writer as my full-time job...if such a wonderful and glorious thing can be reduced to something as banal as a "job". This is because I didn't think that one could actually pay bills by writing for a capricious audience. Worse, a lackadaisical butter-thin Malaysian audience, most of whom have barely read a book since getting their SPM or college degrees. Sometimes, little niggling fears worm at the back of my mind as to whether I'm good enough to be a full-time writer. I may be good enough to do it as a hobby...but as a career? I don't intend to follow the mob's tried-and-tested formula of sex, violence, and brainlessness for my book to hit the popularity ratings in bookstores.

If I don't pursue my dream, I may grow up to be a crabby crotchety old woman regretting the many dreams that she lay waste in her mental trash can. But if I go ahead with it, I may find myself with a bruised head and an even bigger bruised ego from hitting brick walls. I've never been one to shy away from a challenge...nor am I afraid of trying anything new. Is this worth a gamble? I have a short story that has already been selected for publication. That could possibly be my launch into publishing a novel. It's not going to be easy, especially if I have commitments that require regular cash coming in. But, if my dream is indeed God's calling, I believe that He will make all things possible for my calling to be fulfilled.

eyewitness at Bar Council forum: conversion to Islam

2008-08-10T23:53:00.000+08:00

A letter to the editor that I wrote. This is my first letter that has an emotional tone. If you think I sound angry in this one, this is nothing compared to how I felt as I exited the building, pelted by jeers and insults to my ethnicity, scorned with hatred and anger. I was not a person to them - I was a symbol of a perceived threat to their rights.

Compared to the Bersih demonstration I witnessed, this demonstration was boiling with rage and hatred, ready to ignite into violence at the slightest spark. The obstreperous crowd would probably have stoned me if there had not been police and FRU officers. Anger removes the guise of civilization and reveals our true beastly nature. Their anger and hatred made me equally angry and I was ready to fight back at them, if it had not been the Holy Spirit cautioning me restraint. "Blessed are the peacemakers" (Matthew 5:9). So, I calmed myself and just left without saying a word.

Now that I'm in a calmer mood, I wrote this:

Eyewitness at Bar Council Forum

I attended the Bar Council forum on conversion to Islam, hoping that I would gain insight into the legal and practical difficulties of having two legal systems in this country. Instead, what I learned was how fearful some people can be, how that fear leads to close-mindedness, and how such close-mindedness leads to anger and violence.

The demonstrators were afraid that such a forum would cause them to lose their special rights and privileges. Hence, they were not willing to listen to a multifaceted dialogue about the issue, to which even Syariah experts were invited. When other people exercised their right to hear such a dialogue, they reacted violently by disrupting the forum and insulting other ethnic groups. When a Muslim woman bravely spoke up in defense of the dialogue, she was angrily told to shut up.

As I left the Bar Council building, demonstrators jeered at me and insulted my ethnicity. The whole incident left me feeling angry, sad, and disappointed that despite 50 years of independence, the Malaysian mindset remains the same. We are not mature enough to have open inter-faith dialogues. The thin veneer of peace that we have is based on fear and silence. Such fear only exacerbates misunderstandings that will eventually lead to anger and chaos.

What disappointed me further was the bias of the government in handling this matter. When Bersih and Hindraf organized peaceful demonstrations, the government cracked down heavily on them. However, when demonstrators illegally assembled outside the Bar Council building and disrupted the forum violently, the government did not even talk of arresting them. Instead, the government threatened to use the ISA and Sedition Act against the forum organizers! Will the government please stop being so hypocritical? If you allow some illegal demonstrators to continue, then for goodness sake, stop playing favorites and give all illegal demonstrators that same freedom!

Unless the government actually practices what it preaches, fancy promises about justice and equality remain empty words. I do not feel like a Malaysian. I feel like a foreigner discriminated by my ethnicity and religion. If the government is serious about rebuilding Malaysia into a solid, unified nation, the government needs to take active measures in protecting the equality of all Malaysians, regardless of ethnicity, religion or gender. Right now, Bangsa Malaysia is just a frivolous concept.

Where were you last night?

2008-08-07T18:58:00.000+08:00

Nightwish - Where Were You Last Night?

Still
Spinning round in my head
How I regret everything that I said
Why did I tell you to go
Saving my pride but losing my soul

I'm here all alone
Still wait by the phone
The hours go by
What else could I do but to cry

I call and I call
Just to make things right
Have I lost the fight
Where were you last night

I beg and I cry
I keep asking why
Where were you last night
Where were you last night

Lost
In the dark and my fears
If only you saw the tracks of my tears
I think I'm losing my mind
Where did you go and what did you find

I'm here all alone
Still wait by the phone
The hours go by
What else could I do but to cry

I call and I call
Just to make things right
Have I lost the fight
Where were you last night

I beg and I cry
I keep asking why
Where were you last night
Where were you last night

I call and I call
Just to make things right
have I lost the fight
Where were you last night

I beg and I cry
I keep asking why
Where were you last night
Where were you last night

[synth solo]

I'm here all alone
Still wait by the phone
the hours go by
what else could i do but to cry

I call and I call
just to make things right
have i lost the fight
Where were you last night

I beg and I cry

I call and I call
just to make things right
have i lost the fight
Where were you last night

I beg and I cry
I keep asking why
Where were you last night
Where were you last night

Where were you last night
Where were you last night

my dream

2008-08-03T23:48:00.000+08:00

I learned one thing at a workshop a few days ago - that the graveyard is the richest place on earth. Why? Because it holds unfulfilled dreams, unsung songs, unwritten poetry, ideas that never materialized...so, we talked about our dreams. And from the depths of my heart, my dream really is to be a writer. A novelist, to be exact. Being a counselor or a politician are things which I know I would enjoy doing...but being a writer is something that brings a rush of passion to my heart. I've never considered it a serious profession though, noting how near impossible it is to be a successful writer in book-shy Malaysia.

The speaker said that goals are dreams with time lines and details written in ink. My vague goal is to be a novelist in ten years time. Thankfully, God has held my hand and guided me on my first baby steps - I've already published one short story. Another one is on the route of publication for sure. From there, then I'll see if I still want to be serious about publishing my novel. Haha.

Why do I love writing so much? Writing is a solitary activity that forces you to delve into the recesses of your mind which had remained crouched in shadows for so long...indeed, I realized a pattern when I reread some of my stories and novel. They usually have something to do with a father figure leaving the protagonist. Doesn't take a psychoanalyst to figure that out. It is only through writing that one truly engages on a journey of exploring one's heart and soul...without fear of shame from exposure. The last person we should hide from is ourselves.

MPH contract

2008-07-29T23:02:00.000+08:00

Lately, I have been so busy at work with meetings and whatnot, that I feel like crashing into bed the moment I get home. It is days like these that I wish I were a student sometimes, so that I could have all the time in the world to relax with a good book and a cup of tea...and not fall asleep while reading it. Whenever I switch off my lights and lie on my bed, it only takes me two minutes to fall in deep sleep, whether I'm talking or SMSing at that time. How then do I engage on my spiritual journey without knocking out two minutes after I begin? The best way is to being traveling while I'm wide awake. Coffee might be needed to preserve my alertness.

Just two days ago, MPH sent me a draft contract, requesting me to look through it before agreeing to sign it. I had almost lost all faith in them as the last time they informed me about my story being chosen was a long time ago. It has been too long since my mind engaged in the wondrous journeys of young dreams and unwritten stories. I long to return to my pen and write in the tranquil solitude of the night...of life in film reels and uneaten tiramisus left by a solo diner.

spiritual journey

2008-07-28T23:59:00.000+08:00

I have decided to embark on a spiritual journey. For the past six years of my Christian life, I have not truly experienced the spiritual realm in its inexplicable glory...most of what I learned stayed in the form of black words on white pages. I do not believe that religion can be condensed into mere written words - fallible tools that are insufficient to fully comprehend the world which we inhabit.

I long to feel the sweet breath of God's spirit upon me as I seek Him...I desire to hear gentle words of wisdom, soft as wind...I want to see His glory shine like light reflected from a shard of diamond...I wish to enjoy His indescribable love for me...

Church and social justice

2008-07-09T23:59:00.002+08:00

This is something I felt I needed to write. People might think it's too harsh. Everything must be done in love, Christians love to say. That is aptly said...but the truth hurts. Deal with it.

The Church and Social Justice

Go to any coffee shop and you are likely to hear people lamenting about price hikes. When fuel prices increased, we griped about the discomfort it created in our lives. Never mind the extreme poor whose livelihoods have been drastically threatened. Why are our eyes blind to the suffering of the minority? Why don’t our hearts break for the violation of human rights?

When copies of the Bible were seized by Malaysian Customs this year, we Christians did not reprimand the Government for its failure to protect religious freedom. When people were arrested under the Internal Security Act, we kept mum. When women are constantly being violated and discriminated against, we say nothing.

Isaiah 1:16-18 (NIV) states “Learn to do right! Seek justice, encourage the oppressed. Defend the cause of the fatherless, plead the case of the widow.” The church has been quiet for too long. This is the year of Empowerment. Halfway through the year, what have we accomplished besides enlarging our congregation? Have we empowered the oppressed? Have we spoken up for the minority whose voices have been silenced? Have we petitioned the State to uphold gender, religious and racial equality?

Unfortunately, we have not. Social justice is not relegated only to activists. The Lord calls all Christians to uphold justice. Christ himself advocated for the oppressed. So, speak up! Type a letter to the editor of a newspaper about a social issue. Voice your concerns. Then, people will see the light of Christ reflected in our voices defending the cause of human rights.

---

tapestry of changes

2008-07-03T01:00:00.000+08:00

Things are exciting! A tapestry of changes weaving around me as I speak...new horizons begin to rise, evoking a desire of exploration and stirring feelings of excitement within my spirit...I am an adventurer. I long to traverse over new terrain and discover things that were once beyond the boundaries of my daily life.

A new job, new roles to play, new relationships to build, new abilities to hone...but through it all, the same God to guide me in every new thing.

A birthday is coming up in a day's time...will I reminisce? Or will it pass just like any other day of the year? We will see come Friday.

sunshine slices of forgiveness

2008-06-22T23:09:00.000+08:00

If there is one quality that sets a partner apart, it is a forgiving nature. Very few people can absolutely and completely forgive others for the wrongs committed against them. In an intimate relationship especially, hurt and bitterness can rankle deep long after the deed is done. Guilt on the other party's side is a natural consequence. An unforgiving malaise upon the relationship sours the guilt into anger...till both partners eventually destroy one another in an insidious long battle of unforgiveness and bitterness.

Forgiveness opens the path to freedom. After Christ forgave the world its sins, He was freed from the shackles of humanity. Free me, my dearest...and let us soar into endless skies of perfect love glittering with sunshine slices of forgiveness...

never

2008-06-18T03:27:00.000+08:00

Someone wise made me realize the important duty I have and great testimony I carry as Christ's representative - I should be Christ-like in how I act and what I say to display Christ in me. Sometimes though, I get carried away and do things rashly without thinking how it might affect the testimony I bring. So, for that, I apologize for swearing on these pages previously. It was written, and hence, could be prevented...unlike being in the heat of a shouting match.

Moving on, I thought that I would write something on Father's Day itself...maybe pour out some tedious mawkish reminisces of days long past. But, I have decided not to. It's because I do not have such reminisces...people say that all you have are your memories. If that were true, it would be very sad being a human. My memories fade like arcane script on ancient yellow paper, till all that is left are a few images...blurred snapshots of anachronistic moments. Give it several more years, and those images will cease to exist all together till all that's left are little sentences describing a memory, a picture...like an emotionless caption on a dull newspaper photograph. All this won't matter now...memories are not all I have. Heaven is everything I have. And that is where I will meet him...and memories and photographs will not matter anymore.

Should critical thinking and questions be a symbol of unbelief and doubt? Can they not be a measure of faith? Or must faith always remain silent like a muted lamb? The latter seems to be what a lot of Christians think it should be. Well, I will never stop questioning. I will never stop challenging my own beliefs. I will never stop searching to strengthen the foundations of my faith.

Never.

Father's Day dinner

2008-06-09T12:21:00.001+08:00

My last few posts have been depressing. So here's something to cheer my readers up. :-) Yesterday, I whipped up a 5 course-meal for my uncle, in conjunction of Father's Day. Yes, I can already see the wrinkles of surprise forming on your face. My mum thought that yesterday was Father's Day (it's actually this coming weekend). And since my father passed away about 6 years ago, my family has drawn closer to my uncle (my mum's brother).

So, anyways, this is the FABULOUS meal I cooked with the help of my sous chef - my sister.

Appetizer was Cream of Mushroom, which my uncle claimed was better than Victoria Station's or San Fran's. This dish is relatively easy to cook. Just fry a diced onion with 2 cans of button mushrooms for 3 minutes. Then add chicken stock. Add a dash of oregano, fresh parsley, a bay leaf and some white wine. Simmer for 15 minutes. Then, blend it all using a blender till it's smooth. Add however much chicken stock and whipping cream you want to make the soup more liquid. Season with salt. Ladle into a bowl. Sprinkle a trail of whipping cream on it and garnish with a slice of mushroom.

Next dish was Biarritz Potatoes.
This is simply mashed potatoes with diced ham and red pepper. You don't have to use much salt as the ham is salty enough. The red pepper brings a nice crunch to the soft texture of the mash. Its brilliant red color also makes the dish more colorful. Scrumptious!

For salad, I made a Pasta Salad. This was a mix of pasta tubes, boiled egg, tomatoes, diced fried bacon, and diced cheddar cheese. To add color, I added fresh parsley and dill herbs. Then, I sprinkled lemon juice on it and mixed it all in mayonnaise. Yum!!! The bacon lends a nice crunch to the dish while the cheddar cheese adds a stronger flavor. Simply delicious!

The main course was Poulet Bonne Femme. It's a French dish of roast chicken. To make this, rub the chicken with salt. Stuff a quartered large onion into the chicken cavity. Truss it up (or use toothpicks to pin it together). Then, saute it in butter till it becomes golden. Remove it and place it in a roasting tin. Simmer 16 small onions in water for 5 minutes, remove them, peel them, then place them around the chicken. Repeat the same process for 6 baby potatoes. Sprinkle plenty of black pepper over the chicken as well as diced fried bacon. Stuff a bouquet garni into the chicken, then put it in the oven. Roast at 170 degree Celsius for about 2.5 hours. Baste occasionally. Voila! A delicious juicy tender roast chicken.

Finally, to wrap it all up is my Queen of Puddings dessert - a recipe which was made for Queen Victoria, but turned up to be less royal underneath my treatment. Haha. You mix 2 cups of freshbread crumbs, 600 ml of milk, 3 eggyolks which have been beaten with 1 whole egg, and 2 tbsp of castor sugar into a bowl. Let it stand for 30 minutes. Then bake it at 160 degree Celsius for 30 minutes. Remove it, then spread any jam you like (warmed) onto the pudding. Whip 3 egg whites so that they form stiff peaks, gradually adding 2 tbsp of castor sugar till it becomes thick and glossy. Spread it over the pudding, covering it completely. Sprinkle 1 tsp of castor sugar over it. Then, bake for further 15 minutes till meringue turns golden. And...it's done! It doesn't look as good as in the book. Haha. Think it's because the egg whites weren't whisked long enough to form enough substance to cover the whole pudding. Anyways, this hot pudding tastes great! :D

So, this is all for my wonderful dinner, washed down by Vanilla Coke. Would have loved to make delightful cocktails, but alas, some of my guests were not particularly fond of alcohol. A wonderful meal, nonetheless.

fussilade

2008-06-08T01:53:00.000+08:00

It's been a long night...an angry fusillade of words. Oh, fuck everything.

helpless

2008-06-07T02:42:00.000+08:00

After many days of falling, you sometimes come to the scary realization that you may never get up...or worse, you may not even desire to get up. You gradually learn to be comfortable lying at the bottom amidst the crushed broken pieces...the pangs of pain soon disappear and a voice tells you that they will vanish quickly like the last slice of the setting sun...guilt is just a quick needle jab of discomfort. Why care when you know that your spirit will crumble to motes of dissolute dreams? Why care when you know that your beating throbbing heart of flesh flagrantly ignores your best intentions? Why care when you know that the next day will be a home video repeat of today's banal crimes?

I care, but I don't quite know what to do...and I feel helpless...

falling

2008-06-03T01:10:00.000+08:00

In the midst of head-spinning ambrosial pleasure lies spores of doubt, anger and hatred...hear the sound of rubies falling to the floor, leaving a thin glittering trail of red..a lyric from a song...God will forgive me, but I, I whip myself with scorn. Do you know frustrating it is to keep falling and falling like Alice falling in an endless tunnel? Each time I get up, I fall again...and each time, the fall is harder, the pain more intense...till I feel my spirit bleeding from deep lacerations of crime and punishment. How many times must I fall? Till all my bones break from the heaviness of the chains that bind me? Till I scream 'Enough!' and withdraw from the world in a solitary cell of darkness and steel? Till hatred ravages my soul and spirit to splinters, glittering on the floor like cheap glass?

I hate myself.

hate

2008-06-02T02:48:00.000+08:00

Notes of melancholia play in the air trembling with the dreams of sleepers...the breathing of lovers caught in a passionate embrace of flesh, soul and spirit...guilt plays across my heart like a harsh-stringed violin, screeching a cacophony of metallic notes into the night...it feels sick and is the bilious color of vomit, thrown up over and over again like a habitual bulimic. I hate it, hate myself for the crime that stains my heart the color of shadows on a dingy street...hate hate hate...repeat it often enough and it becomes as meaningless as a jumbled bunch of letters.

letter: how women dress is not a factor at all

2008-05-31T02:21:00.000+08:00

My letter to the editor was published in the Star yesterday. Yay! :D Here it is.

How women dress is not a factor at all

I AM writing in response to the letter “Why some men rape?” (The Star, May 29).

I would like to question the writer’s assertion that “the rapists in them emerge” when men see sexily-dressed women in the media. This implies that TV-watching, newspaper-reading men are beasts who cannot control their lust, and hence rape women.

Yet, statistics show that 2,431 rape cases happened in 2006 (source: Polis Di Raja Malaysia, 2007) among a population of 26.64 million people. Assuming that half of this population is men, only 0.02% of Malaysian men rape women.

Therefore, how can the writer claim that watching sexily-dressed women in the media is the main factor causing men to rape, when 99.98% of men who watch TV or read newspapers do not rape women?

The writer also stated that “they are not rapists if they do not have the victims”, implying that the victims are to be blame for rape crimes. When will people stop pointing their finger at the victim?

We keep saying “it’s her fault for getting raped because she dressed sexily, went to secluded areas, visited her boyfriend’s home alone, etc etc”. It’s easier to blame the victim as we rationalise and comfort ourselves by saying that if we avoid the above things, we will not get raped. The fact is women get raped wherever they go, however they dress, whatever they look like.

I also would like to question the writer’s assertion that rapists rape old women and babies because they see a sexy woman in them. On what basis does he make such an assumption? If that were the case, then all men might as well be locked up and kept apart from women so that they don’t go out acting out their fantasies. After all, it is the men who are sick, not the women.

The writer said that many rapes happen in secluded areas. Statistics in fact showed that nearly 70% of rape cases in 2002 happened at home and that nearly 80% of rape victims know their rapist (source: Women’s Aid Organisation).

This shows that women’s dressing is a negligible (if it even exists) factor in causing rape. Rape doesn’t happen just because a man cannot control his lust. It is a complex phenomenon caused by both social and psychological factors.

R.K. BOO,

Kuala Lumpur.

late night writings with an injured knee

2008-05-30T02:54:00.001+08:00

Ah...it feels good to be back again, traversing the familiar pages of my online diary in the solitude of a gentle, cool night... I like that word - diary. It feels so much more comfortable, personal...like a return to childhood...than the dry academic connotations of the word journal. To those of you who do not know yet, I have been lying immobile in my home for the past 2 weeks due to a knee injury. I dislocated my right kneecap playing futsal - my first time. The last time I played football was 5 years ago when I still had the energy to run and jump. I've grown older, but not wiser. Haha.

I was playing futsal with the guys in my cell group. We were almost ending the game. I was standing still...the ball came my direction, I swung out, slipped, and dislocated my knee. Almost instantly, my knee burst into flames of agony...the pain consumed my bones to ashes. For a few minutes (it felt like an hour), I just lay on the ground, trying to bear the pain. Sweat rolled down into my eyes, stinging them. For a minute, I forgot the pain on my knee. Then, the guys gingerly carried me (I was the only girl) to a car and drove me to the hospital. I lay on the backseat of the car, my leg stretched out forth while one of the guys was sitting on the floor next to me. Everything seemed tolerable, until the driver went over a pothole and the car jerked violently. That ignited the pain like a burning match thrown onto petrol. I was crying my eyeballs out. If most of you do not know, I hate crying. I can't even stand crying when I'm alone, much less in front of others.

So, anyway, I reached the hospital safely - went through another three bouts of pain when three doctors started pressing my leg to see where the injury was. The orthopaedic doctor put me in a cast and told me to stay at home for 2 weeks. Here's a picture of my cast (after my friends signed on it).

So pretty, isn't it? Haha. When there's an itch, it's hell, though. I've been using a plastic ruler to scratch those places. Unfortunately, it's long enough only to reach my knee. Anyhow, my two weeks have been extremely relaxing. For the past 3 months of my employment, I've been working hard, barely having time to just enjoy time, to reflect or to even spend time with God. My mum insidiously commented that God has a reason for my fall, seeing how I've always portrayed independence. However, I refuse to believe that God can be so cruel as to put me through that almighty pain just so that I'll depend on others more.

What have I learned from this in the past 2 weeks of my immobility?

I've learned that a mother's love is so powerful that she is willing to make many sacrifices without even breathing a word of exhaustion. I'm sorry if I don't seem to notice them as often as I should...but I thank you with all my heart. And also that my siblings can be quite caring sacrificial people. :-) Doing chores ain't easy, I know.

I've learned that independence is not possible in this world. I needed help even to hoist myself onto a chair at the dining table. Doing chores was impossible. Thank goodness I could retain my dignity and shower and clothe myself without help. At first, I felt frustrated for not being able to do anything while my family ran around doing chores and helping me. I never liked being in someone's favor - it's rather difficult for me to accept help, especially if I can't repay the person. Yet, after a while, the discomfort eased as I realized that I really needed help. Receiving help feels contrary to my persona as Miss Independent. Being forced to receive help was another blow and for a while, reduced my self-worth. Somehow, I felt almost ashamed of receiving that help. Why is this independent spirit so strong in me? Honestly, I don't know...though it can be traced to my father's death...well, enough psychoanalyzing.

I've also learned the beauty, untiring and persevering passion of true love. My lover spent time with me doing what would seem to be nothing. Just spending, playing and enjoying time with me though we practically could not do much. Though it was tiring for him to come, he came anyway to see me, and did nothing. His nothing was everything to me - displaying the side of love so often overlooked in instant microwave romances...his love was not merely a crystalline shot of pure passion - his love was a slice of permanence in a world suffocated by the smoke of transience. With a smile like a blossoming dawn and eyes gentle as rain, my lover and I played with a yarn of endless, colorful time...

I've also learned that a friendship I thought was dead can be revived through a few words spilled with honesty. There was no craft - only the clumsy uninhibited confessions tumbling forth from a trembling heart...with the hope that my voice would not break. Another thing about me - I dislike expressing my emotions through my voice. The written word is easy - somehow, the very act of writing separates raw emotion like a sieve. The essence and structure of an expression is beautifully and accurately captured on paper - but the raw, fiery emotions that breathe life into words cannot be completely transposed onto paper...those only appear in starlit teardrops, or in the shaky reverberations of a voice caught in a threatening flood of tears.

freedom and a timeless ungoverned place

2008-05-12T23:31:00.000+08:00

Indeed, it has been one month since I last wrote on these pages. What have I been doing? Everything. I keep finding myself in a constant state of flurry and anxiety, as if I'm running on a never-ending treadmill while someone keeps throwing stuff at me to catch. I was recently confirmed - signaling three months in my job as a social worker. In those three months, I learned the art of adult deception called tact. Still refining it. I despise it all the more because it is so necessary. Other than that, I am really passionate about my job - about making a difference in the lives of broken women, and empower them to become whole again. It isn't just women that I help - there are a few men too who are searching for someone to listen to them while the rest of the world shuts them off. And I am always glad to be that someone.

What I do is extremely absorbing - actively listening to someone takes a lot of energy. Trying to empathize with her while minimizing unspoken judgment can be quite a struggle. It's not so easy taking the effort to take off your own shoes, and put on someone else's shoes. It's much easier to stand back loftily and observe one critically from a distance. You feel the pain when you begin to enter someone else's world...and then, you start to wonder how did such worlds come to be...how they should never have existed...and how they should have been nothing more than little houses in glass globes that rain plastic snow when shaken. So, most of the time, it seems much less painful to listen to another through a barrier of prejudice and distance, like a prisoner talking on a telephone to a visitor, separated by a sheet of the glass.

On another note, there is a yearning within my spirit for the freedom I once enjoyed. Perhaps, I am free now, but only make faulty perceptions of barriers that shimmer in and out of existence. I long for the freedom to remain accountable only to myself and God. I long to soar free above the hot heavy trappings of the roles of a woman, daughter, sister, friend, girlfriend, spiritual parent, subordinate, supervisor, mentor, leader, colleague, lover. Soon, the chains of accountability will multiply and thicken as certain events transpire. While I dread these heavy chains that bind me, I suspect that the biggest chain is the one that I may have been missing all along - my inability to be emotionally expressive even to myself.

I once thought that such a place, ungoverned by time or space...a place where one could be truly uninhibited, utterly fearless at having someone else look at your naked undisguised body, heart, soul...vulnerable to the smallest scratch or the deepest laceration. I used to think that such a place existed...or could exist. Yet, for the past several months, I feel that this place remains a lover's fantasy. Nirvana. Rebirth. As long as we are human, fear remains...and we will scrabble madly for a piece of cloth to cover a nude part.

Perfect love casts out all fear. When I love you with all my mind and heart and soul and strength, we will be a step closer to that place.

honesty is the soup of the day

2008-04-19T23:01:00.000+08:00

Today, I have learned that I have a tendency to blame myself if things go wrong, or if I don't do what I think I should be doing. It is as if I have this inner need to be perfect at everything I do - whether it's my work or relationships. And lately, I've been finding it a little difficult to balance doing house chores and my work and my relationships. Of course, most people would have been so used to doing house chores that they wouldn't give it a second thought. I, however, have lived most of my 21 years with a maid who did every single chore for me. And she did it most efficiently too. So, I never needed to lift my finger to do housework.

And suddenly, I find myself inundated with unending house chores. Balancing that with my frequent work meetings that end late at night is rather tricky. By the time I get back, I just wanna crash on my bed and snooze. But then, I would feel guilty for not doing my share of the housework. I suppose that part of the reason why I am feeling this drive to be perfect is because I want to prove myself as a responsible adult. If I don't do what I'm supposed to do or if I screw something up, I feel that I'm being irresponsible. And I absolutely detest being thought of as irresponsible or as incompetent.

Well, this is as honest as it is gets. It is my Uncharacteristic Dealings of the month. Hmm...maybe I should do that every month - do something that is totally uncharacteristic of me. So, next up would be - having sex with a complete stranger. TOTALLY uncharacteristic of me. Lol. To those who know me and are worried that I'll actually do it, I'm just joking. There are some lines which my capricious side does not cross.

free

2008-04-06T00:51:00.000+08:00

A simple sentence, a single word, a missing response...that is all I needed to open up the tightly-shut blinds of my heart to reveal the fears and desires I had nurtured for so long. It is indeed a painful journey to uncover those which I have kept hidden even from myself...but once it becomes illuminated, I find that they are not as ugly as I thought they were. Deception is only a pretty pie dressed up in honey glaze and plump red cherries. Truth is beauty in itself.

And now, at last, I am free.

me published in MPH!!!!

2008-03-26T01:10:00.000+08:00

OHMIGOSH!!!! MPH selected my story, City of Flesh, to be included in their anthology Urban Odysseys: KL Stories!

Never in my life did I ever think I would get published! And now I owe my friend a Black Label. Haha.

*cheers*

being miss independent

2008-03-25T23:33:00.000+08:00

I have to start following my daily schedule which I drew up, but never followed. My maid of 8 years of service left 2 days ago to balik kampung for good. So, that means HOUSE CHORES! Chores which I have not done for, err, a good long 8 years. Have been talking to some of my friends - most of them have been living without a maid. So, I'm one of the few exceptional spoilt brats who has had the good fortune of having a domestic servant. Haha. Now, however, is the time for me to learn how to housekeep.

I cook dinner twice a week. Realized that Eastern herbs (like batu keras, ketumbar, star anise etc) are way cheaper than typical Western ones (rosemary, tarragon, parsley). Followed one of my maid's recipe for chicken - family liked it a lot. At least it's something besides the usual black sauce chicken and fried fish that my mum only cooks. Haha. I'm quite an inefficient cook, though. I cooked the chicken first, which left black residue in the wok. So, had to wash it, then cook the vegetables, and then wash it again. Should have just cooked the vegetables first. And I also don't know how to chop chicken. My chicken pieces were too large. :S Well, they never taught us that in Kemahiran Hidup! That should be the FIRST cooking skill in the syllabus. Obviously the authors thought that chopping chicken is not a necessary living skill. Since I cook dinner twice a week, decided that Tuesdays can be Eastern cooking while Saturdays can be Western.

I took over my maid's room downstairs too. Used to share the master bedroom with my sister. If you don't know me well, you're probably wondering why my mum isn't using the master bedroom. Long story. My mum, bro, sis and I have been swapping rooms at least twice. Anyhow, my room downstairs is TINY, though with an extremely high ceiling. Walls are a dirty white and bare. Want to paint it a pale green color to match my curtains. Or at the very least, plaster some pretty picture on the wall. And get a nice lamp too - only have a fluorescent light on the ceiling. A colorful rug would So, it's off to Ikea tomorrow! Though it's a small room, I'm happy at having my own room. Also note that I've a bit of a compulsive cleaning streak. Haha. Will wipe the furniture every day, though my mum says only once a week is necessary.

Now, I'm several feet closer to truly being Miss Independent. :-)

what does "love" mean?

2008-03-20T00:12:00.000+08:00

I feel tired...so tired...my eyes are laden with heavy drops of liquid tears and my bones are brittle chalks of dust...what does the word "love" mean? Just a row of four letters arranged vertically like Scrabble tiles in a meaningless game. I fear that I have lost the meaning of love somewhere like jumbled words in a ragged bag of big block letters. It feels like misplacing my keys and searching desperately for it with frenzied eyes and disheveled hair.

I would like to say "I love you", but I don't know what it means. Would it still be the same to you? Would you still caress those words, soft as moonbeams, with the gentle embrace of your mind and spirit? Would you keep them carefully in your pocket, letting them glow shyly like sunshine slivers?

I don't know how to search for the meaning of "love". Would you help me look for it? Or would you leave me in the cold, searching blindly for it with my knees on the floor, while you quietly shut the door behind you? I do not think that you will do that...but I do hope that you will hold my hand gently in yours, as we search together for the missing meaning of the word "love".

new era in Malaysia

2008-03-11T00:25:00.001+08:00

So, Malaysia awaits. A hurricane of change has just swept through Malaysia. What trail it will leave, we don't know yet. I pray that it will be a trail of goodness and justice. Barisan Nasional has just suffered the greatest defeat in Malaysian history - losing Perak, Selangor, Penang and Kedah to the Opposition, while the Opposition also managed to retain Kelantan. This is even worse than the 1969 general elections, where the Alliance only lost Penang and Kelantan.

Anwar Ibrahim says:

This is a defining moment, unprecedented in our nation's history.

Indeed, it is. After 50 years of rule under the same government, the people have finally decided that they want a change. What next? is the question on everyone's lips. Will the Opposition deliver their promises? For a start, Mentri Besar-designate Tan Sri Abdul Khalid Ibrahim (PKR) wants to exempt Selangor from the repressive Official Secrets Act (OSA). That, at least, is a good start to wiping out corruption.

Now that the Opposition is in control of 5 states - they need to work their darndest to prove to the rakyat that they are capable of ruling the country. No more racial politics or policies. Those were the days of the old where everyone was looked at as Malay, Chinese, Indian, or Lain. Now is the time to see us all as Malaysians. One party to represent all voices without regard for race or religion. As long as Barisan Nasional remains in power, the mindset of seeing everyone as Malay, Chinese or Indian will forever be imprinted in everyone's minds and of future leaders yet to be born. MIC is already wiped out.

Some may see it as good; others as bad. After all, who now will represent the Indians in Parliament? But as long as parties divided among racial lines exist, there is no way that we will be able to break out from this racial mold that encrusts our mind. This moment of change has been long overdue. The rakyat is clamoring for change. We want corruption to end, racism to dissipate, and religious intolerance to vanish.

This indeed is a new era. And the Opposition must show that they are worthy in ushering it in.

book talk Young Women Speak Out this Sat!

2008-03-05T23:57:00.000+08:00

Hey all!

There will be a book talk on Young Women Speak Out - a collection of stories and poetry by young Malaysian women. It's a book written by the members of Writers for Women's Rights Programme (WWRP) in AWAM. The book will be out for sale in MPH.

Yours truly will be doing a poetry recital in the book talk! :D The details are as follows:

Date: 8 March (this Sat)
Time: 3 - 4 pm
Place: MPH, Mid Valley

Please do come and attend the book talk! Listen to what young women have to say about the common issues and challenges that are being faced by young women in Malaysia!

neglecting three

2008-02-29T00:32:00.000+08:00

It is often difficult to search within one's self and actively look for things that you do not want to find - things that you'd prefer to lock up in a dusty old cupboard and set it aflame. Due to the busyness of my work, I have foregone things that should never be neglected even once. I feel so far from God...for the past two weeks, I've only been saying a drowsy good night and a drowsier good morning to him, as if he were a next-door neighbor wearing dirty overalls and watering plants twice a day. I long to feel the warmth and closeness that I once enjoyed just spending time with him. I want to come back to his open arms and rest deeply...

I've also been neglecting my lover. People are not paper. They don't come in copies. Once you lose one, you'll never find another to replace him or her. I love you, and I'm sorry if I have been dumping you into a corner like a broom. It was not my intention...and I fear that I will someday lose the incandescent love you have for me...Let me love you again, ensconcing you in my embrace...overflowing the cup of your desire with the wine of my kisses.

The final person I've been neglecting is myself. I have not searched the thoughts and the sparks of emotion that have resided within me for the past two weeks. I just let the night wash it all away in waters of nebulous dreams...sometimes, I remember what I feel, or my mind makes a sudden ephemeral insight, which I have not tried to explore, letting it decay as my mind immediately switches to the work at hand.

It's time I thought hard about what I truly want, and what price I'm willing to sacrifice to get them.

triumph

2008-02-20T00:48:00.000+08:00

I've been working for about 9 odd days. It's been stressful, challenging, but extremely rewarding...especially so today. There's really such an immense feeling of joy when you hear happy stories from your clients...hearing their triumphs and their joyous voices. It just reminds me that the work I do DOES make a difference...somewhere...in the life of a person I'll probably never meet. And it gives me the push to persevere even when occasionally, everything seems dismal and endless, like a desert.

At work, there are so many things that I have to juggle more precariously, as compared to college. Now, I find that I need to focus really hard on what I want to do, what I should do, and equally important, what I should NOT do. I realize that I can't do everything at once, even if I really want to. Unfortunately, I have a tendency to think I'm invincible and that I can pretty much do anything and everything. Haha. Something I need to watch out for...if I'm not careful, there's quite a high risk of burning out. Although burning out may seem like some vague warning echoing a hundred miles away, it is a very real threat.

So, besides learning how to work, the more pertinent lesson for me is to learn how to relax.

I love you

2008-02-11T23:47:00.000+08:00

This feels like a glorious spring greeting us with a wide embrace as we continue to traverse, hand in hand...vagabonds upon a lonely earth. It's like a breath of sunlight, kiss of moonlight...a myriad of the most heavenly things mixed together in a potent wine, drunk slowly together in goblets held by intertwined hands...

Oh, how truly wonderful love is! Made all the sweeter by the bitter battles that we have fought that shattered the heart like broken dew drops. But we have survived and here we are...still bruised and scarred...but the pain is gone, soothed by the emollient of love.

I love you, my dearest.

my job

2008-01-29T00:15:00.000+08:00

God has indeed a funny way of dealing with things. Just when you think that your prayers were rejected, He fulfills them in a brilliant unexpected way. It's funny - now that I look back. At that time, I thought He was having a good laugh playing tricks on me like a boy stuffing a lizard in a girl's pencil case.

Well, for the record, after about 2 months of lazing around, memorizing grandiloquent words, I'm finally going to start work on February 1. I'm not working in DAP - my interviewer didn't think I was suitable because I can't speak Chinese. Haha. So much for me learning Italian and French - certainly doesn't enhance my employability here in Malaysia.

I'll be working as a social worker in AWAM. And I'm extremely happy to get this job. :-)

of dreams and callings

2008-01-22T01:31:00.000+08:00

This year is indeed the beginning of new things, challenges, horizons...nebulous dreams that once birthed in the mind have changed shape into something else...am I making the right choice? I don't know...a light tugging at my heart tells me that I am, a soft whisper in my heart...yet, I'm reluctant to let go of my dream - a precious jewel that gleams in the uncertain darkness. Must I let it shatter to a million gleaming shards that soon lose their light?

But if God calls me, I must heed His call.

Thy will, and not mine be done.

futility, grief, joy

2008-01-17T01:29:00.000+08:00

I try and I try, but it never seems to be enough. It is like a million futile attempts at striking a baseball rushing towards you, but never even making the slightest contact with the ball. I clench my fist, set my teeth, and sharpen my attention to a single point - but I still miss. Again, and again. Oh...the frustration...how it grips and gnarls my spirit like an ancient, forgotten god - bent with age, decaying with unbelief. I curse as I miss the ball, again...and again - a fool who waits, forever poised and armed, but never striking the target. I weep with anger, frustration and grief - tearing my heart to bloody slivers as failure blackens my spirit.

Have I never made you happy? All along, I thought I had left pretty little boxes with sparks of happiness inside bouncing ebulliently inside. I suppose that they were never opened or even seen. Maybe, the red ribbon was not bright enough. Or perhaps, they were too small for you to notice...

You seek everything that you have ever given, wondering if it will ever be returned to you. Your gifts were caresses light as clouds, embraces gentle as smiles, whispers soothing as forgiveness...oh, how blind I was not to see your desire for the very gifts you bestowed unto me! Instead, I showered you with harshness and asperity, foolishly thinking that they were gifts you sought...I wanted to make you happy...I wanted you to rejoice. Yet, I seem to cause you deeper sorrow and grief that break your spirit bit by bit, into tiny little pieces that disintegrate into ash. My heart breaks at the destruction I have wrought upon your spirit...if a slash to my wrist would cure even a little of your pain, I would grab the nearest blade instantly. What can I do? I cry in anguish. What?!

Softly...in tears...

Can I ever bring a smile to your soft lips? A smile of sunshine, daffodils and burnt orange skies? Will you ever find indescribable joy in our love? A joy so profound that it overwhelms the heart like a cup overflowing with wine...an ethereal joy of angel song and mortal love...

It is my fondest wish to see you rejoice...grant me that gift, and I shall never request for another.

sacrifice

2008-01-14T01:21:00.000+08:00

Sacrifices...oh, how the world is replete with sacrifices, or the idea of it. Right from the fire and blood sacrifices of antediluvian religions, the sacrifice of a savior upon the cross, to the sacrifice of a nursing mother for her suckling child...the sacrifice of dreams, tears and spirit...how beautiful, heart-aching, attractive, pompously noble, and ubiquitous all at the same time. An idea or action that travails the littered path of history and jagged edges of the world, eternal as time, omnipresent as space. Sacrifice...the badges of soldiers, swords of warriors, bombs of fanatics, tears of mothers, hearts of lovers.

Love demands, pleads, begs for sacrifice. For what would love be but a cheap disguise of lust in the absence of sacrifice? Does sacrifice sweeten the essence of love, like honey in wine? Or is it the very essence of love itself? Can sacrifice really be the essence of love when she continually draws blood and tears like a pillaging soldier in a village burning in cries of death and rape? Perhaps, it is the other way round...love is the essence of sacrifice. So, to sacrifice is to love - to love is to sacrifice. Oh, what a subtle negligible difference...so easily effaced by the lightest teardrops. Sacrifice is painful...so very painful...sharp as shards of tears that pierce the soul. Yet, the fruits of love are supposed to assuage the pain, make it all seem worthwhile. Worthwhile...are all sacrifices worthwhile? Or are some sacrifices cheap as plastic jewelry? Which sacrifices should be made, which should be unmade? Do blood and tears alone justify a sacrifice? Does LOVE justify a sacrifice while guilt necessitates it? Why do we sacrifice? For love? For guilt? For others? For self? For closeness? For escape?

I know not...only that sacrifice can be heavy as fetters...while freedom is light as cigarette smoke rising in the sea air...

buttefly wings

2008-01-05T21:18:00.000+08:00

She soars on butterfly wings, lifted high on currents of pure bliss...light as air. Her eyes dimmed by dancing darkness, she does not even sense the torrents that threaten to pull her apart, rip her wings to powdered dust. How blinded she is! One longs to cry out a warning to her, pull her to safety, and embrace her from the oncoming storm...sheltering her with protective arms. But, she may fall if one cried out...fall like gravity as her wings melt to slices of light, softly shining in the sky. So, no one cries. Silence reigns. Sinister forces begin to surround her, black nebulous shapes that fall upon her like a pack of vultures, tearing mercilessly at her wings, ripping them apart. As they ravage her, they become clearer and clearer...forming a single lucid figure. What she sees shocks her...her wings instantly turn to dust and soot, dispersing into the baleful wind.

She falls. As she plunges, the hurt sears her like a branding iron...more painful than a thousand shards of diamond slicing through the flesh. She had always thought that he was Love personified, armed with only angel gifts of kindness and goodness...bearing not even a shadow of malevolence. He plays an opera of violence against her...a musical savagery that rises in a vengeful crescendo...ripping her apart with such gentleness in his eyes as he looks upon her...whispering sweetness and kisses of cold cruelty. Pleasure sweeps through her amidst the pain...perhaps she has mistaken it for pain. Maybe he wasn't being cruel...maybe there is no pain. He pauses and looks at her questioningly, placing the bloody shard of diamond in her hand. 'It is yours to do as you will,' he whispers. She looks at it sleepily, like a child entering death's embrace, and puts it back in his hand to continue the opera's climatic finish. It is her hand as much as his that directs the final note.

christmas dinner cooked by yours truly

2007-12-26T00:35:00.000+08:00

It has been a fabulous Christmas. Spent the whole afternoon till 8 pm preparing and cooking Christmas dinner for my family. It turned out to be quite a splendid feast--my family loved it! Couldn't have cooked all this without the help of my maid though--she's actually a better cook than me. Faster and tidier. Haha. Anyways, this is my scrumptious Christmas dinner! Cream of Mushroom was my appetizer.

Family enjoyed it, though I thought that the flavor wasn't intense enough. Next was my Stuffed Baked Potato with Ranch Dressing.
Mm...baked potatoes have to be my absolute favorite dish. This one did not disappoint anyone, except for the jackets being slightly too salty.

Cooked two types of roast chicken too--Roast Chicken with Tarragon and Honey Roast Chicken. The honey roast chicken was gobbled down before I could snap a picture. So, here's a picture of a half-eaten tarragon chicken.

Ooh...not to forget my Caesar salad! Well, it's not really a Caesar salad anymore, what with me adding red and yellow peppers, slices of boiled egg, tomatoes and ham.

My favorite dish of the entire course, however, has got to be my Baked Apples with Raisin and Walnut Stuffing and Caramel Sauce. That was just absolutely divine...overall, a fantastic meal. Can't wait to get more herbs and cook more!

forever yours

2007-12-22T04:16:00.000+08:00

This song has always struck a resounding chord in my heart...I remember the melancholic notes that sang forth to my lonely spirit a long time ago...how painful the loneliness had felt...sharp as a surgical knife slicing through flesh...yet permanently blunt like a bruise that would never fade...No, this post is not about the emergence of loneliness in my life again. On the contrary, I have found the one love that I would dearly hold close to my beating heart for the rest of my life. Why post such a sharply lonely, depressive song then? Perhaps, it is because tears can never be truly shared...the heaviness of the heart that bears a liquid teardrop is not a loaf of bread that can be shared...it is solitary, like darkness.

Nightwish - Forever Yours

Fare thee well, little broken heart
Downcast eyes, lifetime loneliness

Whatever walks in my heart will walk alone

Constant longing for the perfect soul
Unwashed scenery forever gone

No love left in me
No eyes to see the heaven beside me
My time is yet to come
So I'll be forever yours

a place beyond love

2007-12-10T02:29:00.000+08:00

A place beyond you...a place beyond me. A place beyond love. I long to find you there...in a place unbounded by the rules of space and time. Free from the rules of tedious social mores. Unrestrained by the straitjacket of propriety and self-consciousness. No emotion, no thoughts, no opinion. What bridge can we build together across this infinity? No, not infinity. We are not two lost souls wandering in a Purgatory-like greyness waiting for the shrill sounds of pardon like deafening church bells. There is only us both...unbounded mortals. Free to partake the purity of the other's self - unblemished as pearl, true as faith. The self that has always remained veiled to the world, allowing only shady glimpses through opaque silk. The self that is now utterly revealed in breathtaking beauty and nakedness - to be cherished...or broken. No restraints. No defenses. No regrets. Life or death placed so lightly in the hands of the other...like an alcoholic tossing a gin bottle behind without the slightest hesitation. Will we break each other like porcelain roses? Shatter and crush into bloody pulps of dust.

Love/ hate.

Break/ build.

Desire/ apathy.

Love me. Hate me. Break me.

In this place, we swirl and dance, bond and merge like shadows melting into each other under the midsummer sun. Fulfill our primal desires, instincts without the restraint of second thoughts or courtesies.

Love.

Truth.

Liberty.

Desire.

phuket!

2007-12-09T01:20:00.000+08:00

I'm off to Phuket on Monday for four days! :D

So, don't bother calling me because I won't be bringing my cell phone.

Sun, shopping, and more shopping!

blanket

2007-12-07T01:16:00.000+08:00

She walks, runs, flies. The world is hers, like fluid in a magical bottle shaped at whim with her long fingers. Her fingers weave the sky with colorful threads of fog and mist, carve the earth with sharp shears of ancient stars, build a small figure with clay and sand. Her mind wraps her creation gently, lovingly in a warm blanket of logic and reason. As she kisses her child good night, she pulls the blanket tighter around her, caresses her once, then leaves in blue tendrils of smoke and ice.

Nightmares come riding on terrifying monsters that cannot be seen, unweakened by the withering glance of a human eye. They gather their strength from their invisibility--that way, they become Fear itself. They crouch around the child...tasting her with their tongues cold and sharp as broken marble, devouring her with flaming eyes of autumn, touching her with barbed fingers of rusted steel. The child shuts her eyes tight, willing them to go away, though she can feel them encroaching upon her, glistening red in rapturous lust. Hunger. Desire.

She pulls the blanket around her tighter--the blanket decorated with equations, woven with adamantine threads of logic and reason. 'Go away, go away, go away!' she mutters over and over again, like a worn out prayer. She can see them, surprisingly...though they are unseen to others. The monsters sneer in return, laugh at the stupidity of the child who clings on to her blanket with the faith of a martyr. In one slick move, they pull the blanket away from her and chew it till it becomes nothing more than a filthy torn ragcloth. Nothing covers the child...she feels naked, exposed, violated like a slave woman bartered for two loaves of bread. She cannot even see the monsters anymore--they have become invisible. Shape-shifters. Cloaked in emptiness, dressed in death.

They smile at her--a truly evil smile. And, she becomes blind. Helpless. She flings out her arms but feels only emptiness, cold and taunting. She tries to get up, slips and falls. The ground hits her hard like metal but try as she can to feel it, her hands grasp nothing. Nothingness in a shell of steel. There is absolutely nothing that she can do alone. NOTHING! She is utterly defenseless, helpless in a world filled with monsters, or emptiness. It does not matter. She cannot do anything. She cries and screams, like it will return her some semblance of autonomy, as if autonomy were a dog that ran away temporarily to play fetch.

The monsters laugh and flick her a knife. Somehow, it ends up in her hands. "There is one thing you CAN do," they whisper...soft soft whispers in her ear.

Her tears fall upon the blade, rubbing it with the shine of grief and pain. She presses it on her skin, feeling its soothing coldness. She slits her wrist.

"Well done, my child."

finally done in college!

2007-12-06T01:58:00.000+08:00

I have just finished my final paper of my entire course in college. Finally...I'm done. I have been slacking so much this semester--those who know me well have said, "Su! How could you do that?!" when I related certain atypical actions of mine. For example, not checking the course outline and almost losing 10 % of my grade, which I didn't in the end. Haha.

A whole new life awaits me now. No more studying...not at least for a year. I'm bored with studying now. Four years of almost non-stop work certainly takes its toll on you. Reflecting on my college studies, only a few courses have had significant impact on me--namely Critical Thinking, Western Philosophy, Abnormal Psychology and Ethics in the Helping Profession. Few people have also been major influences--shaping my mind with gentle wisdom like an artist patiently sketching intricate stars of silver and ice. What have I learned through all my years in college? In a nutshell: how to question, think, and analyze (in that order of importance).

To those teachers of mine, thank you.

slumber

2007-12-02T01:21:00.000+08:00

Restless she wanders...her feet fall furtively on the gravelly road, cast in shadows from the small streetlamp, bent metal in diffidence and rust. Rows upon rows of houses lie still like corpses. There are people inside, but they are asleep. Dead. Asleep. It doesn't matter. She is alone all the same. Loneliness...solitude. She muses on the play of words, runs them through her fingers like flowing streams of rose and silk. The first word reeks of stale souls and slimy fish, abhorrent to the core. The second is a birth of star and song, quietly magnificent and redolent with the sweet scent of tranquility.

Does she long for solitude? She wonders...but knows not the answer. What does she desire? Her footsteps grow more hurried. She has always known the answer. Now, she does not. It makes her angry...her rage grows black as the simmering darkness around her. Cloudy with heat and spirals of cigarette smoke. Scream! Scream if it makes you feel better! The voices challenge her. She screams, not caring if she wakes the dead with her cries. She hears nothing...her throat grows hoarse, but the air remains mockingly still. The dead lie around her...they hear nothing. There IS nothing. Is she a fragment of their broken dreams? Made mute by their confused gunk of whims and fancies?

Slash.
Cut.
Heal.
Peace.

She plucks a blade from the air, glinting in the mustard yellow light. A conclusion to a short summary of existential angst. It sounds like a badly-written term paper handed in late in the afternoon, just minutes before the deadline. She smiles to herself, without humor. Nothing matters anymore. Everything is meaningless. For a moment, she wonders what that means. If everything was truly meaningless, that statement itself would be meaningless. Thus, meaning would have to exist. An amusing paradox...but meaningless all the same. It does not blunt the blade, neither does it sharpen it. The blade hovers in the air like a strip of silver star. She hates it. She hates herself. She hates the fortress of knowledge she has built around her. Unassailable. Safe as heaven.

To come into being, one must first learn not-to-be. The cold blade presses flat upon her skin, slowly opening the door to non-being. She hesitates at the doorway. It is too easy, surely, to leave a bag of skin and bones. It is far harder to cut the umbilical cord of self-will. She neither wills for life or death. There didn't seem to be anything in between. Slumber, perhaps. Rest. A long sweet rest...

The blade beckons again, singing a child's lullaby. She draws it lightly across the skin, the sharp edge caressing warm flesh. Pressing it deeper, she feels the thick trickle of blood. In the dim light, it is hard to make out the color. It just looks dark. She sinks to the ground, her skirts pool around her in gossamer and silk, stained. Everyone around her is asleep. Dead. Asleep. She thinks drowsily. It makes no difference. She will join them in their slumber and make dreams in rings of daisies.

what is democracy?

2007-11-30T01:07:00.000+08:00

The ballot box and protests

BRAVE NEW WORLD

By AZMI SHAROM

For democracy to have any sort of meaning, it must be part of our lives every day .

KUALA Lumpur has been a busy place of late. Roads closed, people marching around, sometimes in colour-coordinated outfits. It all made our capital that much more hectic and more colourful than usual.

Politicians too have been more hectic and colourful than usual.

The common thread of comments from members of the ruling party is that all these protesters are merely tools of the Opposition and, besides, we are a democracy and you can always let your feelings be known at the ballot box. Why take to the streets? It is not our way.

Allow me to deal with these two points: the ballot box and the idea that protesting is not “our way”.

Let’s look at the ballot box first. Every four of five years, it rises up from its resting place and it is supposedly all the democracy we need.

This is a bit of a silly idea because democracy is not like some mythical beast that slumbers for years and then rears its head every now and then to be fed.

Democracy, if it is to have any sort of meaning, must be part of our lives every day.

If one were to think that the ballot box is the be-all and end-all of democracy, then one is playing a zero-sum game.

It’s all or nothing, either you are with us or against us.

This is an oversimplification of George Bush proportions.

It is not just opposition people who engage with the Government. Ordinary people and civil society want to have a say, too.

Furthermore, there are people who support or even like most of what the ruling party does but disagree with some of its decisions. Surely, they have the right to voice their concerns?

That right of dissent is a vital component in a democracy, as it helps to ensure that governments are aware that their responsibility and culpability to citizens is something that exists all the time.

The question is how that dissent should be expressed.

Yes, the ballot box is one way but it is pretty much an all-or-nothing method of dissent.

One example of its downside is the slow registration process.

I know of young people who have registered to vote for months and yet their names still do not appear in the register.

Just how difficult is it to place someone on the electoral roll?

In this age of computers and MyKad, it should be a matter of hours or at the most days. Not months.

Furthermore, I can’t see the logic of having some large parliamentary seats with many voters and some tiny ones with very few.

The division of constituencies is such that in the last general election, on average the ruling party needed 16,000 votes to get a seat while the opposition parties needed 180,000 votes for each of their seats.

Another method of dissent is through the press. An argument against a dissenting press is that a totally free press is dangerous and the people are not ready for it.

Well, no one is saying that the press has to be totally free. Everybody is bound by laws.

The issue in question is the extent of repression that those laws exert.

As long as the Printing Presses and Publications Act exists, we can say that our press, despite good intentions, is on a short leash.

How much coverage can you give to dissenting voices when the object of those voices’ anger could whip away your licence to publish at any time?

What other methods are available then to show dissent? Handing in politely worded documents to the powers that be is all well and good, but sometimes an issue is so big that people want to express themselves.

They want to come together in a show of solidarity and to make as big an impact as possible.

For example, when US Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice turned up, there were people in the streets.

Maybe what is really meant is that opposing the government on the streets is not “our way”.

But then didn’t Umno organise demonstrations against the Malayan Union? That was opposing the government, wasn’t it?

Oh yes, that was in a different situation. There were no ballot boxes and the press was controlled by the British.

A democracy needs dissent. It needs a free press; it needs people to express themselves.

Anything less is disrespecting our inalienable and fundamental freedoms.

Brilliant article. Indeed, what Sharon says is true. Democracy is not a once-in-four-years activity of ticking a name on a piece of paper. The government keeps telling us that we have the freedom to choose our leaders - that's democracy. No sir, that is not democracy. That is illusive democracy. When we choose our leaders, this does not mean that they are vested with absolute power. In a democratic country, we have the power not just to choose who should rule over us, but also how they rule. It is the latter that is lacking in this country. In a democratic country, we should have the right to express our opinions freely without fear of retribution just because we disagree with our leaders.

Just use the Letters to the Editor section to express your grievances, one might argue. Sure, we can. But what are the chances of a letter supporting the Hindraf rally being published? If even MIC parliamentarian K. Devamany was told to resign just because he appeared to support the Hindraf rally by saying, "But 50,000 people were there. That is a failure. Therefore, I feel that these issues should be looked into seriously." This sentiment is echoed in foreign newspapers' coverage of the Hindraf rally.

While local newspapers like The Star only focused on the memorandum about the $4 trillion suit against the British government, foreign newspapers focused on the dissatisfaction of the Hindraf marchers against the government. According to Reuters, "Many protesters complained of a lack of educational and business opportunities, saying a government affirmative-action policy in favor of majority ethnic Malays had marginalized them". Al-Jazeera said "The Malaysian government has laws which favour the Malay Muslim majority, and many ethnic Indians feel that they are not represented properly."

Returning to the point I made earlier, if an MP can't even voice his own opinions without being told to resign, how likely is it for a newspaper to publish a letter supporting the Hindraf rally? Close to none, unless it wants its license revoked thanks to the Printing Presses and Publications Act.

Blog? Currently, the blogosphere is relatively free from censorship, though that is likely to change in the near future. Especially with bloggers like Jeff Ooi and Rocky's Bru being sued, the blogosphere is not completely safe.

holiday projects

2007-11-29T01:43:00.000+08:00

To cure my restlessness, I've come up with a few holiday projects:

Project KL or Chinese Story: Write a 3000 to 7000 word story (either KL or Chinese themed) to to MPH, who is looking for submissions for two anthologies.

Project Book Odyssey: Finish my reading odyssey of all the books that I've bought in previous book warehouse sales. Have quite a lot of them sitting patiently in my bookshelf, not to mention a few electronic books I have.

Project Christmas Dinner: Come up with a fantastic Christmas dinner for my family, unless my sister wants to cook this time, which I doubt. After a successful Christmas dinner last year and a birthday dinner for my darling John, I can't wait to try more recipes!

Project Job Hunt: Yes, this is my final semester. I only have less than 2 weeks of it left, which means that I'll be free come January. What do I do? Where do I go? I don't have the faintest inkling. Just wish I could lock myself in one corner and furiously complete my novel in flames of creativity and inspiration. Doesn't bring money, unfortunately.

That's more than enough projects to take me through this year.

fight for freedom

2007-11-26T22:50:00.000+08:00

What was supposed to be a peaceful assembly turned out to be a violent one, no thanks to the government who outlawed it. Hindraf (Hindu Rights Action Force) wanted to assemble in front of the British High Commission to hand over a memorandum to Queen Elizabeth II, urging the Queen to appoint a Queen's counsel to argue Hindraf's US$4 trillion class action suit against the British government for exploiting their forefathers as laborers in Malaya 150 years ago.

While the Bersih rally only merited a tiny column buried in the middle pages of the Star, the Hindraf rally was plastered on the front page, and even got 4 pages of coverage. All of it - negative. This one was violent, with four policemen being injured, and one even requiring stitches. Were there any protestors who were injured by the police? Probably - they just didn't merit coverage for whatever reasons there are. Maybe the injuries weren't bad enough. Or maybe, the Star just didn't want to portray the police in a bad light. After all, the Star is a government-controlled paper.

The police said that they'll go after everyone involved in the Hindraf rally. The PM said that "the situation could easily have turned violent if police did not take the necessary action to break up the demonstrators". On the contrary, it is BECAUSE the police were there that the protestors turned violent. If the assembly had just been allowed to go on with minimal police intervention, how can they possibly be violent?

People fight against others whom they think are trying to control them. Should the assembly be made legal, there really is no impetus for violence at all. In all likelihood, the people will march, hand over the memo, and go back home. When the authorities deny the people their right for their voices to be heard, they should not be surprised when the people react in violence. By saying this, I'm not condoning violence. I think that violence is unacceptable. But, violence IS a natural inevitable consequence of oppression.

Why does the government detest public assemblies so much? Is it because they fear that should they legalize such assemblies, those assemblies might one day, turn against them? Is it because they think that such assemblies will give outsiders a bad picture of our country? It may be a bad picture, but at least it's an accurate one. What the government seems to be doing is trying to paint a picture of a nice, happy family sans tensions bubbling deep within.

Public assemblies happen for a reason - they happen when every other outlet of expression has been tried and frustrated. They happen when authorities suppress the voices of the oppressed. The fact that such rallies like Hindraf and Bersih still go on, despite being illegal, show the intensity of the people's dissatisfaction. People would exhaust all legal means first to get what they want. If those legal means bear no fruit, or are ignored, then only will the people resort to illegal means to express their frustrations. People are conditioned to follow rules. But when the rules, which are meant to serve the people, fail their function - then there remains no other choice but to break them.

If the democratic government fails to serve the people, there remains no choice but to oust them. But, is the government really failing its people? After all, Malaysia right now is a relatively peaceful country, despite its underlying tensions. If we allow public assemblies to go on and groups like Article 11 to dialogue about religious issues, will that lead to chaos and May 13 all over again? It could, it could not. We don't know for sure. Why not err on the side of safety, then?, some may argue. Better to curb some freedom now for the sake of peace.

Yes, it may be peaceful now with the current status quo. But the fact that two illegal assemblies of thousands have occurred in just a few weeks apart recently shows that peace is no certain guarantee. Just because people don't talk about issues doesn't make the issues go away. It just intensifies underlying tension. So, not allowing people to talk about issues doesn't necessarily mean that racial riots will not occur.

Giving people a voice, whether it is the lay person on the street or the opposition, is the single most important thing in a democratic country. The Bersih event was orchestrated by the opposition - but does that decrease the validity of what they are fighting for? It does not. The reforms they call for are real. The government-controlled newspapers don't bother to give the opposition a real voice for their concerns. Is it any surprise that they choose to ring their voices on the streets?

I don't know if the opposition will do a better job than the current government at ruling the country. That, however, is a different question all together.

What I am fighting for now is the freedom to make that choice. An informed choice. When the electoral process is controlled by the government and the opposition is not given a voice, I am not given the freedom to make an informed choice. This is a democratic country - so I will fight for that freedom, even if it means having to take the illegal route.

restless

2007-11-23T00:56:00.000+08:00

Restlessness grips my spirit like a vice
I pace and pace
emptiness
grasping nothing,
slow
like an old man sweeping the hallway
faded blue uniform
wrinkled hand gripping
the broom
sweeping...slowly sweeping,
air listless and dull
like a writer holding a pen
writer's block paralyzing the hand
weak, listless
unmoving
skin crawling back from metal
like a contagious disease
what to do?
where to go?
yells ring out once
instantly muffled
by the glove of uncertainty,
what's left?
a straight line on the heart monitor
defunct.

bersih march - my account

2007-11-13T01:30:00.000+08:00

Sorry for the late post. I've been extremely busy with my newspaper project the past few days. I was there in the Bersih march, right on the scene. Decided to cover it for my newspaper. It was intense - just seeing thousands of people marching and shouting in unison. My boyfriend, John-Aidan (also my reliable photographer) and I took the train to Bank Negara. From the train station there, we already saw a long line of protestors.

From there, we ran towards the KL City Hall, and saw quite a number of protestors, as well as baton-armed police. We could see shield-armed police and police trucks blocking all roads leading to Dataran Merdeka. Suddenly, the protestors started running and the police began chasing after them. For a moment, I froze, wondering if I should run or not. In the end, I did...a little, just before John captured a shot of policemen kicking a protestor on the ground...police brutality.

It's not a really clear shot, unfortunately. After taking more pictures, we decided to follow the long line of protestors. Since they couldn't meet in Dataran, they had decided to march to Istana Negara instead, to hand over a memorandum. We followed them till the line suddenly stopped at the Pos Besar Malaysia. We had joined the line quite late, after spending some time at the KL City Hall. So I questioned a ring leader who appeared to be telling the protestors what to do, and found out that some of them, led by the opposition leaders, had already submitted the memorandum to the Istana. So, the next plan was to march back from the Istana Negara to Masjid Negara. I asked why they would wanna do that, and he replied "We go there to pray and to gather again."

So, John and I went to the Masjid, and we saw a crowd of people there--thousands of them. Upon reaching there, there was a Muslim leader who got up and addressed the crowd, telling them to pray. And so they did. It is rather amazing, really...a sense of tranquility resting upon the crowd in that single moment of prayer, suspending all anger and excitement.

After that, the leader told everyone to disperse peacefully and eat Deepavali food or go to the mosque to pray. So, thus ended the overall peaceful assembly at about 5 pm. It was a very exciting event, overall. I felt like a real reporter, running around from place to place jotting down notes...being right in the middle of the action, documenting everything for the public to see and read.

Pictures speak a thousand words. This picture says everything - the very reason for this assembly. Basically, the protestors had four core demands: the use of indelible ink, cleaning up the electoral registry so that 'dead' people don't vote again, elimination of postal votes, and the most important one in my opinion - granting fair access to the media to ALL political parties (rather than just focusing on BN).

So, that is the end of an historic moment of Malaysians rising up for Malaysia. Instead of taking heed, Pak Lah completely ignores the issue at hand and dismisses it all as an Opposition gimmick. Politicians are afraid of anything that threatens their power. Look at Pakistan - an extreme result from that fear. Is Pak Lah afraid that should he meet the protestors' demands, the elections will show the true desire of the people - more support for the Opposition, less for the ruling party? He should be afraid. At the march, there were some people shouting "Hidup Anwar!"

Anyways, this is my account of the Bersih rally. Overall, Malaysian newspapers depict it in an unfavorable light. The Pahang Umno chief even threatened the use of ISA. After the event happened, the Star relegated it to a small article somewhere in the middle. The NST didn't even report it. Only the following day did they publish some articles about it, again, mostly negative. Surprisingly, NST is more open than the Star, publishing a single article from an Opposition leader's point of view - the Star reported nothing at all from the Opposition.

While the newspapers here in Malaysia have been suppressing what is one of the most important events this year, foreign newspapers have seized upon it - CNN (which paints the rally in a favorable light), BBC (neutral), al-Jazeera (favorable) and the New York Times (mostly favorable). It's even in Wikipedia.

I just registered myself as a voter. Can I change the country's corrupted system with one vote? Probably not. But I can ensure that my voice is heard among other voices in a single concerted clamor for a just and fair democratic system. It is time for Malaysia to change.

birthday and 15 minutes of fame

2007-10-29T23:21:00.000+08:00

The past few days have been an exhilarating, breath-taking rocket launch. First of all, I turned 21 two days ago. Had the biggest surprise of all the birthdays I've ever had. I went for my usual cell meeting on Friday, thinking that they would probably do the usual ancient birthday rite of switching off all the lights, carrying in a birthday cake and singing "Happy Birthday". That didn't happen. What transpired was the usual cell routine with not even a wisp of a mention of "Happy Birthday".

So anyway, I went back home, slightly disappointed but amused all the same that the cell didn't meet my boring prediction. I theorized that they would probably celebrate it next week as there is another cell member whose birthday is on the 5th of November. Celebrating both our birthdays together next week makes sense - the church probably wants to save money.

Went to bed at about 4 am. A few hours later, I woke up drowsily to some blurry background noise of people singing "Happy birthday". That's weird, I thought. I rubbed my eyes, and a bunch of my cell members came into focus. They were at the door singing their hearts out and holding a birthday cake. I thought I was dreaming - perhaps my unconscious was expressing its unspoken desires of having my long-time cell members celebrating, or at least remembering my birthday! So, I closed my eyes, and opened them again, thinking that they would disappear. The singing continued, and the birthday cake was still there, its candle flickering for all it was worth. They were real, and I was in bed half-asleep with my rumpled clothes and bed-shaped hair! Very few people have seen me in bed, aside from my family. And almost half of my cell saw me like that! I wasn't even wearing a bra underneath my MNG singlet that I always wear to sleep! Thank God I'm the type of person who always wears something to bed, unless it's extremely hot.

It was really sweet of them to wake so early at 8 in the morning and come to my house to wish me happy birthday. Really big surprise, indeed. Luckily I wasn't snoring when they came in. Apparently, they had to sing the song twice before I woke up. Even if Pavarotti came in and sang his lungs out, I'd probably still be asleep.

That was my eventful birthday. Went out for dinner at a lovely seafood restaurant in Kayu Ara with my family, my uncle, my boyfriend and my sister's boyfriend.

The next big thing that happened was my 15 minutes of fame! I went to the WWRP Book Launch on Sunday in Armada Hotel, as I'm one of the writers of the book and my editor wanted me to recite my poem there. There were about 50 people in the room, including the media like NST and The Star. I was pretty darn nervous before reciting my poem...but thanks to John's extremely helpful training, I think I pulled it off quite well. After my poetry recital and readings from other writers, the photographers launched onto us like killer bees and took our photographs non-stop. Cameras flashing all over the place and tons of book signings. Mmm...I could get used to this. Haha.

This is the first time I've published, aside from the occasional letter to the editor. Hence, this event is quite significant to me. God willing, it'll be my first step to my ultimate dream of publishing my novel.

This is a picture of me - I'm the second from the left. They spelt my name wrongly, though. If

you've read the short stories and poetry that I've posted on this blog and you like them, BUY the book "Young Women Speak Out". It's only RM 15, and inside is a short story titled "Raped...or Not?" as well as a poem of mine called "Adam, Eve or Me?". You can call AWAM at 03-7877 4221 or email them at awam@awam.org.my to get a copy.

OK. That's enough egocentric rambling about my 15 minutes of fame. Really, it's God who deserves all praise as He was the one who inspired me in the writing of my story and my poem. Without Him, I would never be able to write.

i carry your heart with me

2007-10-23T00:35:00.000+08:00

A poem which I'd like to share. It's by e. e. cummings - i carry your heart with me.

i carry your heart with me

i carry your heart with me (i carry it in
my heart) i am never without it (anywhere
i go you go, my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing, my darling)
i fear
no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) i want
no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)

entropy and kisses

2007-10-20T23:36:00.000+08:00

It's been raining every day...light silver drops crashing upon granite and asphalt. The soothing rhythmic sound of falling rain while I lie curled up in bed with a good book and a hot cup of tea. I love rain...the cold touch of rain's caresses upon the skin...the smell of rain lingering in the air in the aftermath of a thunderstorm...the clean sharpness of the air after a wash of rain.

I just finished reading Stephen Hawking's 'A Brief History of Time'. A brilliant book, though I'll probably have to go through it again to properly understand his whole argument. There was one principle that caught my mind though - the entropy principle. Basically, entropy is disorder. And based on the second thermodynamic law, entropy increases with time. Using Hawking's illustration, it's like pushing a stable teacup off a table and letting it break into pieces. Order (perfect teacup) to disorder (broken teacup). But imagine if entropy decreased with time instead...the broken pieces would jump back into a whole teacup again. We would remember the future, but not know the past.

Imagine going through marriage first and falling in love the last. It would be saving the best for the last indeed. :-) Imagine the distancing rather than the slow nearing of lips in a kiss...waking up before the descent of dreams...

OK...I think I'm romanticizing the entropy principle too much. Haha. Now, I know where Thomas Harris got his teacup scene from in his book, Hannibal.

poem: stars and sea

2007-10-03T23:25:00.000+08:00

Stars and Sea

stars burst in tiny fires of ice,
bright glitter dust
spilled across black shreds of sky
I gaze upon them,
your hand in mine
as we watch the lazy trail
of a shooting star,
I rest my head upon
your shoulder in silence,
hearing nothing but
the quiescent murmurs
of gentle waves,
the soothing whispers
of sea-soaked breeze,
the notes of love that play
in the orchestra of your
gaze upon me...

dinner cooked by yours truly

2007-10-03T11:40:00.000+08:00

It's been a long time since I've written, so allow me to give you a brief update of my life. A few days ago, I cooked a complete dinner for a very special person (you know who you are)--which turned out rather well, considering that all the dishes I cooked were first-time attempts. Here is the menu of my fantastic dinner:

Appetizer: Vicchyssoise (a cold French soup) and a Waldorf salad
Main course: Baked potatoes in rosemary and Coq au Vin (a traditional French dish of chicken cooked in red wine)
Dessert: Sachertorte (the birthday cake! A rich chocolate cake filled with apricot jam)

Lovely, eh? Haha. Wish I had pictures to upload here, but my family scarfed the meal before I could start snapping. To be hoenst, my favorite dish is my soup. Makes a great midnight supper too--just take it out from the fridge and start eating it.

The dinner is just the beginning of something wonderful... *smiles wistfully*

short story: goodbye

2007-09-13T23:19:00.000+08:00

Goodbye

"Goodbye, honey," Lucy blows a kiss to her husband, sitting on the chair, reading his daily newspaper, its edges wet and crinkled. The idiotic delivery boy had thrown it blindly into a puddle of water. Just as she is about to turn towards the door, her husband gets up and kisses her hard on the lips. A shot of pleasure and shock rushes to her brain like a heady cut of crystal meth. Then, he continues to read his newspaper as if he had merely brushed lint off his wife’s suit.

Lucy drives off in her fancy new car, glittering red in the sun as if a thousand rubies of blood had cascaded over it. She hums to John Lennon on the radio as she does not know the words. The rush of wind blowing through her hair makes her feel sexy. She shakes her head a little, like the tall, taut models with perfect shiny black hair – shaking their heads at just the perfect angle, just the perfect intensity. Not too vigorously, nor too lightly. But, just right. Lucy wonders if they have been trained to do so, like contest dogs who undergo months of training to achieve the perfect degree of cuteness in their walk, their face. Seems like you can train anything these days. Lucy imagines slim models jumping up to catch a Frisbee, perfect hair adorned with fake smiles like melted plastic. Models flying through hoops of fire, their hair streaming out behind them like strips of paper in front of an air-conditioner. A model stumbles and her hair catches on fire.

Lucy starts giggling. The image vanishes. She lets her mind drift off to tranquil yellow beaches, a Roman amphitheater, a dense rainforest with the sounds of katydids blending harmoniously with whispers of wind and murmurs of water, a romantic Tuscan restaurant in the late evening filled with the lightest string serenades. Lucy sees a hand in front of her, inviting her for a dance.

"With pleasure," she replies, her heart filled with so much love. She reaches out to her husband’s hand – his skin is cold as diamonds. Her eyes fly open; it is not her husband. She is not in Tuscany, celebrating the love of her husband in a lustful tango under darkened lights. She has arrived at work. A large white building appears pompously in front of her, with large gold letters 'Bankers' Village' emblazoned proudly across its sleek white panels. Sighing resignedly, she parks her car, locks it, and walks off, before retracing her steps backwards to double-check the lock. A single click shows that it was already locked before. Pressing the lock button again, Lucy walks off slowly, her heart dreading the day before her. Already, she is counting the hours to 5 o' clock. She hates her job.

By the time she fights the traffic and beats the queue for pumping petrol at her favorite station, Lucy is exhausted. As soon as she opens the door to her home, however, her spirits lift and her feet feel lighter. She walks on air into her home, breathing the homey-ness of it. Her husband is waiting for her already, smiling at her. Dinner is on the table. Lucy sinks gratefully into a chair, and winces as her thigh hits the wood. She peers at it and sees a large purple bruise. For a moment, she wonders where she got it. Stroke of her hair. Touch on her cheek. Lucy’s husband looks lovingly at her as he withdraws his hand and feeds her a slice of pizza. Almost immediately, she spits it out.

"Darling! It's cold! You forgot to microwave it!"

Her husband looks apologetic and takes the pizza from her plate.

"No, it's all right," Lucy says, giving a tired smile. "I'll do it. You just sit down here, and I'll get us a nice warm dinner and some drinks."

She dumps the pizza in a microwave-safe bowl, stuffs it in the microwave, and turns it on. As the microwave quietly whirrs, Lucy pours two drinks: a whiskey for him and a glass of wine for her. When dinner is ready, they both eat. For a moment, they are silent. The silence is not awkward. It is the pleasant silence of a couple who have been in love for many years, and many more years to come. Lucy sighs happily as she sips her wine. She thinks of the many friends she has – Jenny, Marina, Zelda, Polly. They never ceased telling her what a bad husband she had, how she deserved better, how he never really loved her. They were wrong. Lucy snickers. They were jealous of her. After all, none of them had happy marriages. Jenny's husband ran off with the housekeeper. Marina's man decided that he was better off staying with his mother. Zelda never even got to marriage; all she had were empty white envelopes of promises and a costume gold engagement ring. Polly's boyfriend discarded her like trash as soon as a blonde caught his eye, leaving her with a plastic green toothbrush in her bathroom and a dirty Nike sock under her laundry.

Lucy knows that her husband loves her with such strength that cannot be conveyed with black print letters. Taking jewels of love from the star-dusted dreams of lovers all around the world, and roping them together on a silken cord of love-soaked whispers would not measure even half of his love for her. She pushes the tablecloth back roughly. Her wineglass falls. It breaks. Her husband looks at her with surprise. She jumps off the chair and grabs the lapels of his shirt. For a moment, their eyes meet. She kisses him passionately. He kisses back, with equal intensity. They both fall to the floor. As they begin to undress each other, Lucy notices a cigarette burn on her arm. She must have gotten it when she fell asleep with a cigarette in her hand. She shudders, thinking how close she must have been to death. Her husband’s lips begin to roam on her bare skin, driving all coherent thoughts away...

For such a wonderful night, Lucy is having absolutely the crappiest day at work. She wonders if it is karma – a balancing stick that prevents people from experiencing only good things. Why should there be bad though? Lucy wonders. Surely people should be allowed to love and dwell in a world redolent with little blooms of happiness and goodness. She is beginning to sound like a milk ad for kindergarten kids. Lucy shakes her head, and attempts to let the adult side of her think. But, that is exactly how she feels.

And suddenly, she is overwhelmed with a burning hatred for her job. No one seems to be listening to her. They are all acting as if she is invisible. There they go around to the photocopier, then to the coffee machine, and back to their cubicles. Each one after the other, like members of a tribe in a circle performing a ritual. Occasionally, they would stop to talk to each other, whispering beside the water-cooler, behind the photocopier, near the large potted plant. Small whispers that seemed to travel from cluster to cluster of people, like cigarette smoke traveling through the veins of a bronchiole. Lucy looks angrily at them. The whispers stop. As soon as she turns away, they continue, like the soft drone of dangerous wasps. Immediately, she gets up from her chair, and trips. Lucy swears, and sees her knee in red gashes. Blood begins to trickle. It is so bright, like glittering rubies. Like the ruby ring her husband bought her on their anniversary. The smell of the blood hits her. It is like copper and iron, drowning her in sheets and sheets of liquid metal. She begins to choke. Then, the smell disappears and all she sees is her wounded knee.

"What the hell happened to the carpet?" Lucy roars. "It's like gravel here!" Lucy looks at the ground. She is right. There is no carpet, not even a threadbare food-stained one. There is only gravel. She is on the road. Lucy stands up, a little confused. She hears the dirt-choked noise of cars and motorcycles while people are walking briskly in front of her, wearing black suits and carrying briefcases, looking important. They all seem to be headed one direction. She looks up, and sees a large white building with the words 'City Bank'. Lucy’s head begins to spin. Something is not right. She starts walking. Her husband will make everything okay. He always does. All she has to do is to tell him the truth about what happened and trust him. Her father always told her mother to be honest. Lying was the biggest sin in their home. Trust was the largest virtue, as her father kept expounding. Everyday, he would lovingly tell her mother to trust him, that everything he did was for her own good, even when it hurt sometimes. Especially when it hurt sometimes. Lucy begins to hum the song Imagine by John Lennon.

The minute she sees her house, Lucy runs to the door. She bangs on it hard, yelling "Honey, are you there?" Her husband opens the door, looking alarmed. At the sight of his face, she crumples into his arms. "Thank God you're here." As they embrace, Lucy's fingers start to feel for the ring on her left hand. The ruby ring. It is gone. "Where is it?" she whispers.

"Where is it?!" Lucy cries out loud. Her husband pulls back, surprised. "The ring!" Lucy shouted. “I lost it! Oh God, where is it?”

She begins to search the house frantically, digging into the sides of the sofa, turning out the cupboards. Cups and plates shatter on the floor. Lucy begins to breathe rapidly. Her heart races with worry and anxiety. She feels like crying. "I'll find it. I'll find it, my love. I'll find it!" Suddenly, she gives a cry and rushes across the room to the a chest-of-drawers at the side of the living room. She opens the left drawer. There is no ring. It is empty.

"Honey, I thought it was in –" Lucy turns around to face her husband. He is looking at her with cold, cold eyes. Lucy feels as if she has plunged into a well of ice water. "W-why are you looking at me like that?"

"Where is the ring?" his voice rings out loud and rough.

"I don't know. I just lost it! I'll find it. It's got to be around here…somewhere!" Lucy says, looking around frantically.

"You're a liar," he says, his voice even. "Stop pretending, Lucy. It’s over."

"What?" Lucy says, shocked. "What do you mean?"

"Just admit it, and I'll let you go. I won't be so hard on you, I promise. Not like last time. All you have to do is admit."

"Admit what?" Lucy asks, thoroughly confused.

"Your sin. Trust me, I will not be harsh on you, Lucy. Just admit it, and it'll be over soon."

"I really don't know what you’re talking about," Lucy starts to turn away.

Lucy's husband grabs her arm tightly. "Don't mess with me," he says, with gritted teeth. "If there's one thing I hate the most, it's dishonesty. Now, tell me the truth, and I will set you free."

Lucy looks into his eyes, and begins to feel afraid. Fear soaks into her heart and skin like blood. "I really don't know what you're talking about," she whispers.

Her husband sighs, and releases his grip. Lucy rubs the sore skin, looking down to see the red marks. She only gets to glimpse at it for a second. He hits her across the face, sending her sprawling to the floor. She stares at him in shock.

He is not smiling. Yet, he does not look as if he is enjoying it either, like a sadistic rapist. He looks almost pained, like a father reprimanding his favorite daughter. "Just be honest, and we'll get it over with, and everything will be back to normal." He is almost pleading.

"I would tell you, I swear, if I knew. But I really – ". Another slap across the face so hard that she crashes into a glass cabinet. Glass rains on her and she falls to her knees, which have bits of glass embedded in them. She tries to get up, falls, and scrapes her knee on a shiny shard. Blood begins to flow. Lucy begins to cry.

"Honey, please..."

"The truth."

He slaps her once more. Then, he fishes out a cigarette packet from his pocket and lights a cigarette. He inhales the smoke, and exhales deeply, as if he is trying to exhale all his frustrations with her. "I know you’re having an affair with Garden. That's why you hid your ring. So he wouldn’t know." He takes another puff. "But I know." Then, he casually walks over to her, crouched on the floor. He kneels, extends his hand, and pushes a tendril of hair from her face, almost tenderly. And with equal tenderness, he stubs out his cigarette on her arm. Then, he turns her over, takes off his belt, and begins to whip her with it, across her back, thighs, and buttocks. When his energy is spent, he goes into the kitchen and fixes himself some whiskey. As he passes by a first-aid tool box, he opens it and takes out a plaster. Then, he tosses it on the floor next to her, saying "Patch up the burn. Clean yourself up, then fix us dinner. You can heat up some leftover pizza if you're too tired to stand for hours and cook."

Lucy struggles to get up and get her bearings with her good eye; her left eye is swollen shut. The bruises begin to ache. Every move brings agony to her limbs. Her bare feet graze sharp bits of glass that stick to her skin like thorns. A trail of glass before her like the path of redemption. That was his favorite word 'redemption'. Incidentally, Lucy remembers her father saying it very often, too.

"I just remembered where it is, honey," Lucy croaks, hoarsely. Her husband turns, his eyebrow raised. "It is in the other drawer." Lucy forces herself to walk towards the chest-of-drawers though the vast expanse of floor before her is littered with glass. She opens the right drawer. There is a ruby ring, glittering blood-colored motes of light that bounce off the black shiny object next to it. It is a gun.

"Honey," she calls. "Look, I found it." She shows him the ring. Then, she raises the gun, and pulls the trigger.