snapshots -  courtesy of the pond and the theatre practice

08 July [keeping my cool // being cool]

the heat of passion sometimes lends itself to a volatile spirit, a mouth boiling over with scalding, scathing words and a steamy, suffocated heart. so i've been learning to be the calm i want to experience. still learning. ever learning.

on another note, today as i was trying on some outrageous pairs of vintage shades - i realise that for awhile now, i've stopped checking and censoring myself with questions of whether i'm being too contrived, whether i'm being a poser, whether i'm trying too hard to be cool. maybe, perhaps, possibly i've begun to discover that i am, in fact, pretty cool.

i bought those shades.

22 April ["another sweet song, another heartbreaking story"]

the seasons have returned. from change to change. this year though, it feels like i'm taking a little longer to feel the warmth.

it will come, surely. i sense hints of it already. though, i wonder if it's because i've peeled off too many layers, too soon, or if it's because i've insulated myself too well.

perhaps the seasons haven't changed at all, and it is my person who is overcast with the weight of clear skies and sunny days.

27 Jan [she is not unlike you]

the saddest song that i'll ever sing

is the silent one that you'll never hear -

a wordless melody to even heartbeats, against the syncopation of my tears as they land and wet each page of the narrative that diverges as our pens part ways

the saddest song that i'll ever sing

has a refrain that repeats again and again

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intelligence. laugh. warmth.

no persons are identical, no experience can be relived. but multitudinous uniqueness condemns us all to banality.

perhaps, that is why we find solace in similarity. by compromising the innumerable differences into neat little categories of different-but-same-same, we make it easier to understand (for the self) or explain (to the other) our world, our actions and our choices. 

26 Nov [waking thought]

in my first few moments of lucidity today, as i was lying in bed, i had a thought: i am more fascinated by extraordinary people doing mundane and inane things, than i am with ordinary people pulling off extraordinary feats.

translated, this means that i enjoy voyeuristic watch-how-your-idol-cuts-his-toenails type experiences, more than seeing a man save a child from a flaming building.

further translated, this means that i prefer trashy tabloids to readers digest. even though neither constitute my regular reading.

hmm.

on a somewhat related note, i am really enjoying reading The Unbearable Lightness of Being for its voyeuristic descriptions (beyond the physical, and into the psyche) and brilliant ability to weave philosophy and politics into the multiple narratives of human existence at the most micro-level.

28 Oct [trusting your body; conception and reality]

after surviving two weeks of big gigs and recordings while battling laryngitis, and then delivering a piece with conviction inspite of my own suspicions, i am now going to go on a trip that i feel i could never be prepared for (yet always harboured fantasies of).

i'm constantly reminded of how fragile my instrument can be, yet also empowered by the realisation that my will is stronger and more powerful than i thought it was. i'm not talking about perseverance or mental stamina - but rather a somewhat mysterious power that translates what i conceive, into reality.

"you are the universe,

and there aint nothing you can't do

if you conceive it

you can achieve it

that's why i believe in you

and i believe in me"

- "you are the universe" by the brand new heavies

sounds cheesy. but it's a great song, and a powerful idea.

28 Sep [departure]

is difficult.

21 Sep [lullaby nomad]

i did it. afterall!

thank you. you you you and every you.

02 July [commitment + stamina]

a (very talented) friend said to me, "usually after playing 2 sets, i'm ready to go home. it works both ways: if the sets were bad, then of course i'd want to get out of there. but if they were good, and i was really committed throughout, i'd be wiped out by the second set anyways"

being committed to the music. it was a profound revelation, that it wasn't how fast, how hard, how loud you played that should tire you out. it's how committed you are.

i thought about my singing, the EP, my relationship.

what sort of exercises can one do, to build one's commitment-stamina? i suppose the golden axiom applies: practice makes perfect.

i think i should practice this with the one thing i have to do everyday.

i shall commit to being alive.

18 June [charity]

i don't think what i gave for the various charitable events i was involved in the past few months was anything of a worthy offering. i had the time, they needed it from me, and that was it. yet, somewhere in the cosmic balance of things, it's all coming back to me in such manifold ways that i feel almost embarassed that my gift was such a paltry one to begin with.

recording music independently is not only daunting, but also remarkably expensive. yet, i've encountered so much generosity both from loved ones, friends, and also people who barely know me, that i feel overwhelmed with regret for the times i thought the project was impossible to undertake.

it is affirmed now, that it would've been impossible on my own. but an "independent" recording, doesn't mean that i have to do it alone.

yay!

21 April [origami]

Tabula Rasa

i'll teach you to love me:

crease

(you with each kiss)

fold

(you in my arms)

repeat.

tenderly, tediously, fastidiously

delicately, deliberately, dexterously

a plane; a crane; a box with a lid

a flower; lawn-mower; a boy and his violin

the strength of my soul in my fingers

so even when you must unfold

the lines from my love linger

25 Mar [best.]

to quote a friend: "best is a big word" - and so big it is indeed i feel apprehensive about associations with it. yet, regardless of the veracity of the claim or the credibility of the title, an award is an award is an award.

for which i am thankful.

if i had made a speech, this would have been it:

i would like to thank the theatre practice and the production team for taking that leap of faith in casting me, but more importantly for their constant and tireless endeavor in helping me fulfill the vision they had for the character. the directors: jianhong and alvin (who are now cherished friends) for showing a genuine interest in my personal development, rather than only that which was instrumental to the production. the outstanding cast whose energy was electric onstage, especially george, who was inspiring, patient and generous - a model of an actor, and person. and my mother, to whom i owe (apart from too much else) the ability to communicate in mandarin.

10 Feb [fourth wall]

while reading an article on mei lanfang (acclaimed bejing opera actor), i came across this:

"Stanislavsky believed in the 'fourth wall', Brecht wanted to demolish it, while Mei Lanfang felt that such a wall did not exist and so there was no need to pull it down."

and i thought a little about the production i'm rehearsing for, the references to the "wall" and how satirical admissions of its presence is employed for comic effect, the symbolic conventions in chinese opera...

...and then i thought the "wall" as an analogy in general. built for protection, defence yet also to divide and incarcerate.

somewhere in those misty thoughts, i must have contemplated my own metaphorical walls. those around my heart. my pride. my beliefs. how i've had my defences built up, and torn down, and built up again...

i think i'll keep my walls up. but i'm putting a door in it.

and a window.

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uncannily, i was also just discussing with a friend, what to do with the bare wall in my newly refurbished room. perhaps, customised wall decals?

28 Jan [exorcism]

quiet now, you old spirits

your names shall no more be

hurt, indignation, jealousy

leave now, stubborn tenants

you have outstayed your welcome

you shall cease to call me Home

06 Jan [2Oosh8]

we kicked off our first saturday of the year with a spontaneous oosh all-stars jam with tribal tide (casey, and mohd noor), mario, and myself. dj yusri joined us for some scratchin' action on the decks, and we also had guest drummer rizal grippin' the groove. 'twas a night of mad music and drunken debauchery.

so dj yusri asked - how? are we having you back after your musical in april?

well, if this is a sign of things ahead for the year, i'm putting my name down in blood. watch out y'all. this joint is where it's all at!

05 Nov [assessment]

i may never be legendary

but greatness is not out of my reach

i can't all the world's burdens carry

but i can love it without needing to preach

not impenetrable, but resistant

not invulnerable, but resilient

not immortal, but i shall be remembered -

if not by many, then by the few to whom

i was friend or fair adversary

or did one or two of life's lessons teach

20 Oct [softly]

the rain falls like static to my ears

pre-morning:

already, wet tires on wet asphalt

crescendo and diminish

panning my ears in a breath

i wanted to write about you

but my cpu hums and the air-con

drones, still

the traffic murmurs

and the closest sound to quiet,

is my inside smile

whilst

the rain falls like static to my ears

10 Oct [the unproductivity of happiness]

i think that happiness must be a consumption good. a perishable. 

payment may be made in a variety of ways, or it could be given as a gift, picked by the wayside and perhaps even be stolen.

were i able to, i would grow my own. just enough for subsistence.

but for now, all labour else halts - its delicate fresh flavours demand to be savoured without delay or distraction.

yet always you know even as you taste that tender, succulent happiness, that your teeth will eventually strike a dry hard seed and all that will remain is a slippery memory of your tongue's delight.

17 Sep [subliminal, subconconscious, substance, subverted]

two consecutive nights of unsettling dreams.

teeth falling, re-growing haphazardly.

re-run of my greatest public success, yet understudied by the one who has already taken my place, and responsible for my greatest private failure.

vivid. so vivid.

i can still feel the sensation of teeth rolling about on my tongue before i spit them out.

i can still see her face of surprise, mild embarassment and bewildered satisfaction.

11 Sep [i am]

the accumulation of my yesterdays

the aggregade of decisions i've made

the weight of my will

the form of my feelings

the definition bestowed by others

the realisation of self-defined potentials

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if there're seasons... has come to pass for now. i am grateful for the growth, epiphanies, opportunities and friendships. it is testament to how someone's faith in you can take you a long way. it is also now a (happy) responsibility for me to shoulder - with every gift, is the obligation to receive and reciprocate.

every decision now becomes a choice. the opportunity cost for each choice weightier than before.  every price to be paid/ prize to be had, is  measured by the investments made in me especially in these past three months.

i could be so many things, but for this moment, i shall be thankful.

09 Aug [singapore]

you are not perfect, but you are mine.

and i am yours.

20 July [med]

modernity is condemned to mediocrity.

the contest now, is for the most.

17 July [snowy evening]

smoky sticky humidity. and yet there is talk of frost.

two thumbs touch; a point of connection.

yay. palindromic possibilities.

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"The woods are lovely, dark and deep./ But I have promises to keep,/ And miles to go before I sleep"

01 July [petrified]

if i'm moving on, then why was i rooted stone-cold?

but if i've not moved on, then why do i feel comforted that our chance encounter only evokes a mere shadow of a heartache?

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i appreciate that the people i work with care not just about the immediate performance, but about my growth as a performer, my maturity as an artist, and my well-being as a living person.

it moves me.

it is beautiful to contemplate that any relationship can be woven with this much honesty, generosity, humility, pride and integrity.

07 June [indelible]

just as your shallow existence bears no trace of the profound love we once shared, so the disappointment with your choice is indiscernable from my easy smiles.

29 May [humid]

the tension of my history saturates and hangs heavy in the atmosphere - i can feel it against my form as i walk through the thick invisibility, my body cutting it like a blunt knife on lukewarm butter.

yet a cold spoon digs into my heart.

22 May [id-]

i'm fond of these terms: ideology, idiosyncrasy, idiom and id

but of late, i have been contemplating mostly identity. 

presentation, interpretation, negotiation and affirmation of that still amorphous identity confronts me now, as it has before. though no longer in the throes of teen angst, i'm no less frustrated with having to defend something i have not yet, and may never fully comprehend.

that i do a decent job of dealing with nay-sayers, critics and fools belies the fact that i am deeply affected by non-reciprocity of reflexivity, empathy and tolerance.

17 May [profligate]

squandered time is my answer to love's wasted discourse:

no longer waiting, nor moving on -

only passing

only passing

01 May [you can hang up because]

i hear your heart beating everywhere

when we're apart i can close my eyes and hear you there

i hear your heart beating everywhere

everywhere i go

- jackson browne, everywhere i go

29 April [never is an absolute]

never to be wholly understood again

never to be heard honestly again

never to be held like a dream fulfilled

never to be, never to be me

the way i was to you

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the tables have turned yet i find myself in the same place as before. i give the same advice i've given before. i offer the same option as i've done before. this isn't deja vu. this is the rare trace of consistency in my being.

you have no obligations, save for what your heart really desires. i only ask that you listen carefully to it; decide, and persist.

the tables have turned, but i am still here. i am the axis, i am here, i am. but never to be. the way i was.

23 April [you]

you are the reward for my generosity

you are the comfort i was denied in adversity

you are the answer to the prayers friends said for me

you are the new day i can now turn my face towards

you are you.

you have me at a loss for words

you are late, but you're just in time

17 April [the alchemist & the bandits]

i met two friends, and heard about one book; i lost one earring, but gained two friends.

i was never good at math, but i'm liking how this all adds up.

16 April [gently]

rest me gently. like the crumbling end of a cigarette, in tentative disintegration.

wisp of wistful wishes.

so we are, in tandem deindividuation.

14 April [that you exist]

dear friend, if you feel that this might be addressed to you, then it is.

we both know, that the sorrow will take a long time to fade; that as much as you'd like to help, there really isn't much else that can be done.

this didn't come as a sudden revelation. but i must reiterate: that no matter how brief or transient our time together may be, the simple fact that you exist in my life, gives me hope, and strength to take each step that must lead to the next.

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i watched shall we dance? again. it's really just another feel-good movie, starring the ever charismatic richard gere. but it reminded me of the joys of learning to dance; of liberating your body by subjecting it to new rules.

it is even more joyous, to introduce someone to the dance, and have it alter their life quite irrevocably - this is a gift to the giver.

i can take myself away from the swing, but the swing cannot be taken away from me. that is a mark of ownership. and it only makes sense - for you can only give something away, if it belonged to you to begin with.

09 April [nothing comes of nothing]

king lear is on at esplanade in july. sir ian mckellan will now add lear to magneto, dumbledore and gandalf. the seagull should be good too. i like chekov. i'd really love to go, but i doubt that will happen.

there was also some student work on display at the concourse, large drawings tracing intricate outlines with thin continuous lines. two pieces appealed to me.

they were exchanging anecdotes in the car, and i was silent. their conversation was revelatory, moving and humorous self-disclosure. as i listened, i tried to commit the details to memory, and then remembered, that i won't be re-sharing these stories.

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when we stepped into the studio, i heard a familiar voice on the cd. i asked, "is it lisa or silje?"

as the layers and layers of hairspray was piling on my already heavy head - its sticky stiffness reminiscent of tears and mucus dried up on a cold cheek - i heard a familiar trumpet introduction, then those lyrics i know so well...

i found only enough strength to ask them to skip to the next track.

as the bobby mcferrin cd started spinning, i thought about not ruining the thick cake of makeup on my face. i thought about unlikely/untimely coincidences, probabilities and pathetic fallacies. i thought about pathos intermingling with bathos. i thought. about. you.

08 April [waywt]

- my heart on my sleeve

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some relationships are like raw denim.

beginning is difficult. the jeans start out stiff and even abrasive at first, but you are eager to break them in, so you spend all your time off work in your jeans. as it starts to take your shape, you grow ever so fond of your denim because they fit no one else but you perfectly, and make you look good. as the honeycombs and whiskers start to develop beautifully, you feel immensely proud of what you have painstakingly created, and you cherish the jeans for you have invested much time and effort in them.

eventually the indigo fades, and sure, the colour isn't as intense, but it's what is necessary for the jeans to display some character. the ones that look best are the ones that have really been put through some rough conditions. but all this is appreciated only if you're a true denim connoisseur.

there are those who develop a lifetime relationship with their jeans. perhaps straying to some others from time to time, but always returning to their favourite pair. those who grow fat from greed and sloth, resent the jeans they once loved for suffocating them. others, are only interested in the process of breaking in the jeans, and move on when they tire of the current pair.

a gem of a pair of jeans can only be achieved with time, careful handling, and most importantly, with true quality denim. do not be deceived, just because it looks like it is selvedge, doesn't mean it is. if it takes your shape too easily, if it doesn't put up a struggle when you put it on, if it costs you less than you know you should be paying - then the fabric may not be what it purports to be, and while you revel in the easy satisfaction that it may bring, you should also know that this fabric was not made to last.

yet inspite it all, there is never a right or wrong pair of jeans. only what you prefer to wear. there is never a better or worse type of denim. choose only what makes you feel truly happy being in.

07 April [try;pry;cry]

with every last ounce of love i have for you, i pry my fingers from their white-knuckled grip. spreading my tiny hands open, palms-up to the sky - ready to catch you, should desire ever let you down.

but for now, forgive this distance. i overestimated myself. i cannot bear to stay and watch. i've always hated horror films, and this tragedy strikes too dear to the core of everything i am.

yet, you must know i am with you. always. 

someday, that which i still believe in shall be vindicated. i guess, that day is not today.

03 April [plateau]

we arrived here long ago - running, laughing, loving the view and chillin' in the breeze. but what was freedom in uninhibited comfort, what was space to run free, became a weary distance; what used to be soul-binding intimacy, became heart-numbing familiarity.

so we hastened to find other mountains to climb, seeking thrilling adventure to rouse our too-calm hearts, the rush of sneaking up a secret trail overwhelming and obscuring what are afterall...only memories.

i fell.

and so did you.

and from the chasm i looked up, and realised that this plateau we've been on, is higher than any mountain peak i will ever know.

not everyone aspires to great heights. but most aspire towards happiness.

having returned here, there is no where else to go but into the skies. let this plateau be the long runway you need for take off. if you can, take my hand and let me soar with you. but if you must, then let me drop, so that you're light enough to fly towards that which you know makes your heart leap for joy.

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or perhaps... just perhaps, if you'd like...we could stay here. and take this barren flatland - build on it a stylish refuge, with sleek aesthetics, warm neutral colours, floor-to-ceiling windows, a bookshelf filled with everything from escher to bourdain to marx, and a living room where we will spend hours talking with each other, or our witty friends over culinary experiments and beer staples and and and...

30 Mar [way up in the sky little lamb...]

...do you see what i see?

i wonder if people wonder. what it's like to be who i am, and know what i know.

how is it possible for someone to see me as i see myself, and not love me? yet, it must be so, because even now, i do not seem to know how to love myself.

27 Mar [lady day, it is as you say]

i'm a fool to want you

words & music by jack wolf, joel herron, frank sinatra, 1951

recorded by billie holiday, 1958

i'm a fool to want you

i'm a fool to want you

to want a love that can't be true

a love that's there for others too

i'm a fool to hold you

such a fool to hold you

to seek a kiss not mine alone

to share a kiss that devil has known

time and time again i said i'd leave you

time and time again i went away

but then would come the time when i would need you

and once again these words i had to say

take me back, i love you;

pity me, i need you.

i know it's wrong, it must be wrong,

but right or wrong, i can't get along

without you

18 Mar [camomile]

hot tea; warm hug.

and everything else between was cool.

15 Mar [300]

i seldom borrow clothing, because i don't feel comfortable wearing items, knowing they do not belong to me.

but there will be those who will borrow more than just your clothes - your ideas, your ideals, your lifestyle, your love - nothing is sacred.

some return what they borrow. others borrow and start to believe the things are really their own. and then there are those whose intentions were never to borrow, but to rob.

most contemptible are those who strive and scheme to obtain what they desire, without really caring to know the true value of their plunder, or worse, simply lack the capacity to appreciate it in its entirety.

it is not my place to tell anyone to stop doing as they wish. but what is mine, i will defend. what i believe in, i will hold on to with tenacity.

i am no spartan, but i am not one to ask for sympathy, or hope for charity, or subordinate myself senselessly. my fragile heart may be scourged and drenched in tears, but my will is indomitable.

13 Mar [veritas et/und verstehen]

three pairs of white pointy shoes.

one, worn by someone for whom it wasn't intended.

one, a gift received with ambivalence.

one, stubbornly soiled and stained.

one can wear another's shoes, but never become the other person

one has put oneself in both other's shoes - empathy sans sympathy

one can tread wantonly, but must expect consequences to linger

three pairs of white pointy shoes.

two versions of the truth.

one metaphor; one marvelous mess.

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where will your felonious feet take you next? between unequivocal understanding, and selfless submisson, between testing your pride and pride in your testing, between one who thinks you're worthy, and one who's worth depends on you. as always, i know you have no answer. as always, i know.

01 Mar [kewts are kopyrighted]

this is a kewt. created by urchin and pumpkin.

if you are neither urchin nor pumpkin, then you should realise that by reproducing it in any form, you have trespassed the boundaries of decency. show some respect please.

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often, my past self gives insight to my present self. here's something i observed awhile ago:

"the beauty of the promise is in itself, not the keeping of it - that would be another kind of beauty." - pleb manifesto, 15th june 2004 

19 Feb [hyperbole]

i've always liked the word, but i don't like what it is.

i prefer measured metaphors to exaggerated expressions. but it's just such a cool concise word to describe all those lavish claims lovers like to make. because the human condition resents itself - for its frailty, capriciousness and mortality - and seeks to transcend that, even if only in words.

Our Love is Here to Stay - by George and Ira Gershwin

It's very clear, our love is here to stay

Not for a year, but ever and a day

The radio and the telephone and those movies that we know

May just be passing fancies and in time will go

But oh, my dear, our love is here to stay

Together we're going a long long way

In time the Rockies may crumble, Gibraltar may tumble

They're only made of clay

But our love is here to stay

16 Feb [...in the state of denmark]

it is a strange battle where no one seems to know who the attacker or victim is anymore. only a quietly terrifying and intangible violence that is so sweet we lap it up feverishly. the morphine for our suffering souls.

15 Feb [placid]

greet everything with a placid smile:

for then my secret thoughts are safe.

13 Feb [those three words]

tomorrow is the day in a year when those three words will be most wantonly used. and whilst most attention will be placed on the verb, the operative words are really: "i" and "you".

the "you" bit is easy enough - if the other person doesn't feel like you know them, it's not going to be very convincing when you claim anything about them.

what's often neglected though is: if one has no sense of self/ an identity of one's own, then there is no "i" to even begin with.

9 Feb [onion shoot]

it is gratifying to be in a position of benevolence. to give another life a chance, especially when it displays desperate determination; he who tries is deserving. it is all the more meaningful, when you are aware that you show no such aptitude for persistence yourself.

yet, what about those who simply are? who effortlessly surpass the basic requirements of being alive. who thrive without trying? it seems to be irrelevant whether or not they are deserving, because they appear self-sufficient and not in need.

but there is only one pot, and so you plant the onion shoot in it, rooting for it to grow and choke the plant that already lives in it. because being benevolent makes you feel good.

you forget though, that the plant has been thriving on little. that it didn't wilt inspite of your neglect. you forget that the plant inspite of it's lush foliage, is fragile. you forget that the only reason you have a pot, is because you wanted the plant.

benevolence, justifies the cruelty needed in order to deliver it.

or perhaps this is all irrelevant. your benevolence is a mere excuse. you can eat spring onions and you can't eat a plant. and that's that.

7 Feb [song for me]

dear ernesto sings this whenever he sees me, and it's the most beautiful song anyone's written with my name in it.

Joanna - by The Walker Brothers

Joanna,

I can't forget the one the call Joanna

We own the summer hand in hand, Joanna

And now she's always just a tear away

Goodbye you,

You long lost summer, leaving me behind you

Repeating things for lovers that may find you

I still hang on to every word that day

You passed my way

Joanna,

You made the man a child again so sweetly

He breathed your smile, looked in your eyes completely

And in his heart there's still a trace of you

I loved you,

But nothing in this world could make you mine

Yet still in time, Joanna

Joanna you may remember me and change your mind

5 Feb [where i must be]

purgatory for the disenchanted

no jolt, a thud or startling landing

no apparition or blinding light

no journey or catastrophic reckoning

no open wound and no closure

only a buoyant detachment

only an ungraspable memory

only indefinite anticipation

only here and only now

31 Jan [one down, only eleven to go]

a dozen months, and we are now one short. it's unequivocally stated there on my calendar, and yet it's not real to me. this is a familiar predicament. must be the motif for the month.

something i wrote spontaneously some time ago for a track feng arranged:

in the scheme of things

a wasted minute seems

like fragments of a dream

that's never been redeemed

the tears she cried

couldn't buy him time

the years he tried

have all sublimed

27 Jan [phenomenological + rhetorical]

if i am not allowed to believe what i feel, from the depths of my being to be real, then what can i believe? what distinguishes knowledge from faith, and faith from delusion?

what is intuition? is it as nebulous as that crazy little thing called love?

shhh. don't try to answer, nor tell me not to ask; there is no need to speak, as there is no need to flee.

the only refuge one has is silence and inaction - anything else is an admission to what you are most afraid to reveal.

23 Jan [reformatted]

not just that, i had my motherboard changed too. the viruses have been cleaned up apparently. now if only i could do that with my life.

i don't want to really. it means i'd have to reinstall programs again. it means indicating my preferences and reconfiguring everything. tedious. above all, it means i might lose some files, and never recover them again. never. lost in some abyss of neglected nothingness.

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because i had no computer, i decided to neaten up my room. i came across my thesis, pristinely bound in black and gold, and read it. all of it. i can't believe i wrote it. i can't believe i had that in me. i also can't believe it took me two months to write just forty-five pages. yet, there in those pages, it seems the 'me' of two-and-a-half years ago left a profoundly empathetic reminder for the 'me' today - i quoted my favourite book on one of the chapter-dividing pages:

'Who are you?' said the Caterpillar.

This was not an encouraging opening for a conversation.

'I -- I hardly know, sir, just at present -- at least I know who I WAS when I got up this morning, but I think I must have been changed several times since then.'

'What do you mean by that?' said the Caterpillar sternly. 'Explain yourself!'

'I can't explain myself, I'm afraid sir' said Alice, 'because I'm not myself, you see.'

'I don't see,' said the Caterpillar.

Lewis Carroll, Alice's Adventures in Wonderland

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i remember how you arrived as i was there collapsed on the garden swing completely defeated and nearly deranged, wanting to give up on that last examination paper of my academic life just a few hours before i was due to sit for it. you came and gave me the strength to go through with it.

looking at my results slip (it was still in its envelope, carelessly tucked in the pages of my thesis), i realise now, that was the examination for the module ananda taught.

now he is dead, you are silent and i am here.

16 Jan [i remember now II]

Piggy-back pool treks

Olympiad kayaking

Papaya spa

Beetle stalling mid-turn

Lavender

Pear cider

Finger portraits on a mirror

Rain showers

Mushroom head

Feeble fights

Cheek prodding

Finger pointing

ggyy!

Cow eyes

Best friend

11 Jan [ananda]

i couldn't recall what you taught me, nor what i had written for that term paper. i couldn't even recall what you looked like when i first heard the news. but i remembered that you had been nice, and that i liked you. i attended your classes once a week for three months, and that was it.

they said you always insisted we addressed you by your first name. that sounded vaguely familiar.

i went for the wake, meaning to catch up with those who are still living. i went for the wake because i've been forcing myself to go out and meet people - and for once i knew i wouldn't need to smile if i didn't want to. i wasn't really there for you - you meant little to me, yet when i saw your face in the casket, i felt a genuine sense of loss.

i felt privately embarassed that i was there, when others to whom you meant more were not. and yet i felt reassured that if you are who they say you were, then you wouldn't have minded. you couldn't have minded anyways - you're dead.

i was glad for the downpour, so i could sit there legitimately for longer. i ate alot of peanuts. 

there will be eulogies written for you, as you so well deserve. i only have a humble apology, that i am so base as to exploit you in your passing.

09 Jan [two songs with no music]

one was written two months ago, the other written today. they may never be sung, but that's okay. futility can be beautiful too. 

listen to me baby

hear the things i'm saying

know that i'm not lying

don't give up on me

hold me to you baby

feel the pain i'm feeling

see i'm not pretending

don't give up on me

i've made my mistakes;

you trusted my stories

i've tired your soul -

said too many "sorries"

i've watched you in grief

as your heart turned from me - yet i had to agree

that you need relief

which comes with this distance

the regrets that i have

won't make any difference

but as much as i know

i must let you go

baby don't give up on me

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this song will never be finished

'cos i'm struggling with the words

searching where it hurts

should the chords be diminished?

should this song be beautiful?

like these memories of you...

my heart will never recover

from the flights of fantasy

and the fall from love's glory

but if i could, i'd start over

and over and over and over...

bridge:

for beginnings are sweet

and the ends should be too

but the 'coulds' and the 'woulds'

are seldom the 'shoulds',

as if the things meant to be, must never be so

and so it goes...

this song will never be finished

for if i fail this one more time

our romance will have a friend

so i'll stop after this line

then our story need never...

07 Jan [feet on the floor]

i was standing paralysed in the middle of the room and suddenly the only sensation i was conscious of, were that my feet were in contact with the floor. skin against cold tiles greyed and scratched by years of careless trodding.

it should have been a moment of epiphany. it wasn't.

i thought about the fact that i was upright, no, vertical. felt the existence of appendages called toes, located the muscle in my arches, the floor started to feel warm. i took a step, and another, and the moment was over.

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and even though there's this pervasive feeling of emptiness and bewilderment. in between there are spates of hyper-lucidity. in these moments i can see in the near future, where we will look back at this and smile. in the deep recesses of our consciousness, there must reside a knowledge (or a belief, what have you) that we are still the best of friends.

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it is yet another piece of social evidence for my thesis observation, that the virtual has become the preferred medium for impression management, when an important relationship can be terminated not face-to-face, not over the phone, not via sms, but on msn. mediated by another contact on your list. i felt it was very inappropriate at first, but now i can hardly think of a better way it should have been done. i'm laughing! because it's brilliant. heh. goffman is good!

31 Dec [two thousand and six]

too much. it is all too much.

to remember, to feel, to regret, to celebrate

to sit back and appraise

appraise, a phrase, aphorism, abhor

i've done too much; too much was done to me

"two thousand and six" - say it really slowly and it begins to sound strange and meaningless

say it again a few more times, enjoy how it slides off your tongue - because in a few hours, we will abandon this string of sounds for another, with an additional syllable.

it's all just a sound.

but i've must have already made this observation years ago when i wrote this:

love is but a sound

Verse:

love is but a sound

they say

it goes

to your head

with dismay

pain is but a price

you

pay to feel

life each day

what we think we know is faith

that's built

on claims

we make

Chorus:

take my hand

let's fly away

drop the work

come out and play

say no more

see things my way

forget your plan

to seize the day

Verse:

honesty is rare

but why

do we lie

when things

go awry

power is a game:

we try to make

them comply

what we want to own are dreams

we hope

that time

can buy

Bridge:

question a little more

doubt just a little less

not every victory needs a protest

relax a little more

procrastinate less

even the passionate take a recess

let's all take the time to learn

let's not be afraid to rest

29 Nov [lick]

a cat licks it wounds. rough tongue on delicate spot.

does it not know time will heal its wound?

ah but the cat is wiser.

what is clean will heal, and what is left as is caked in filth

will fester - and so

a gentle prod at the pain again

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reflexivity. it is a curse. it troubles the mind, renders one
wretched. it robs you of sleep, and the joy of innnocent faith.

you say you do not learn anything from her - but what do you learn from me?

only the ugliness of humanity, the baseness of our beings and the
madness of our minds.

16 Nov [much to celebrate]

my dearests, it is a dark dark time, and yet, i had great cause to celebrate. because you are here. "happy birthday", means something to me. even now, the day-after, the effects linger and i am still happy, and i am still being reborn.

14 Nov [i remember now]

when i first started out posting on this page, i was careful to express only thoughts that were (somewhat) relevant to who i am professionally. of late, it has gotten increasingly personal. i really cannot deny that it's not for everyone to read but only for very few, or just one.

i wrote my thesis on this, and yet i can't seem to understand anymore why it's easier or even necessary to put your most private thoughts in a most public space. why a message for one, needs to be read by all. perhaps because there are codes to intimacy. that precisely because everyone can read the same thing, but only the ones for whom the messages are for will fully comprehend it; that the message achieves its purpose of reminding the reader of their relationship to the author. i guess this is the same reason why poems are published and songs are sung.

absolute speculation aside, this will probably be the most esoteric of all my writings. contrived? so what. sincerity is not measured by spontaneity.

I remember now

12 Nov [broken]

Everything is broken

Except the silence

Like a muffled womb

Around a growing, living pain

Shhh.

Shallow shelter for the sounds of an

Unsteady heartbeat

Everything is broken

Except the silence

29 Oct [7:48am and still awake and remembering]

strange that i struggle to recall the memories attached to this song, but i can remember every word of the lyrics in spite of never having performed it before. stranger still, that this is what i will be remembered for. all so fitting, for that is what i am now - a stranger.

Two Sleepy People

 - by Frank Loesser and Hoagy Carmichael

Here we are, out of cigarettes

Holding hands and yawning - look how late it gets

Two sleepy people by dawn's early light

But too much in love to say goodnight

Here we are, in a cosy chair

Picking on a wishbone, from the Frigidaire

Two sleepy people, with nothing to say

But too much in love to break away

Do you remember the nights we used to linger in the hall?

Father didn't like you at all

Do you remember the reason why we married in the fall

To get a little rest, to get this little nest

And here we are, just about the same

Foggy little fella, drowsy little dame

Two sleepy people by dawn's early light

And too much in love to say goodnight

24 Oct [written on 19 Oct]

The mad gibberish of my heart

For a long time I've been trying to listen

To what my heart might be telling me

And all this while it's been stone silent

Now at last its tongue is free

But the murmurs grow too loud

I can't discern what I'm meant to hear

And my head it grows too too proud

Now at last it doesn't care

24 Oct [written on 19 Sept]

Baby, it's been so good to have you ride with me

We've loved long and hard

But now our hearts beat out of sync

Time to let go because we're on the brink

Of falling out of love

Of failing what we believed

We're almost falling out of love

I don't want to go there with you

Time to let go and endure this alone

Baby, we've always known forever is a farce

Yet we gave it all we've got

Though now the cynics are disproved

I guess it's time to make a move

Or we'll be falling out of love

And failing what we believed

I don't want to fall out of love

And feel we've been deceived

Lets choose to walk out on love

For if we've loved, then we have lived

Hold our heads high, and say calm goodbyes

To each other - the loves of our lives

06 Oct [finally]

sleep is finally coming to me

and i wonder if like this welcome rest

the wants of my heart will

fall in my lap

as my lashes meet

and i fall off the step

of lucidity

05 Oct [3/4, swing]

This is nobody's song

Sung on nobody's stage

Played by nobody's friends

In nobody's age

This is nobody's love

Writ in nobody's language

Straight from nobody's heart

Read on nobody's page

This is nobody's laughter

This is nobody's rage

This is nobody's life

This is nobody's message

13 Aug [stockholm + berlin + singapore]

it's been 3 months since i last committed anything to the virtual page, but i've only really been away for 3 weeks. i've been in 3 cities: i've danced and made music; seen the sights and did nothing; lost weight and made friends; spent a fortune and earned immeasurably. i saw fireworks when i was away, i saw fireworks the night i got back home. they are the same. bright sparks in a dark sky.

brief, bright sparks in an endless dark sky. a gasp, and gone.

i must have already said somewhere that beauty is necessarily transient. and there you have it.

20 May [contemptible mystery]

What demands that I continue

In this tangible reverie;

Can I claim a lifelong off in lieu?

From compulsory mediocrity

Always tangential to some great abstract cause

Im neither wicked nor the wise

Not wretched nor worshipped

I be one of many women

In a widely woven web

I am not parrot nor a poet

Neither preacher nor pest

I be a page of paper

In the plebian printed press

Ever instrumental to Time's secret discourse

If I bide, will truth be due

To me?

If I don't, I know there'll still be you

And this contemptible mystery

18 May [crossphasing]

Sometimes things end, without a flourish, a finish line or a curtain call or any ostensible end of any kind. Like a very gradual cross-fade into the next track on a DJs set, I suspect I have moved am moving from one phase of my existence into another. Like basslines and motifs, people and activities are muted out of focus; new ones are featured but the relentless drive of the groove continues, delivering a narrative that may have no moral to it, nor any clear intention, but is compelling nonetheless.

8 April [improvisation]

words thrown-up on a night saturated with tangential humour and sweet-but-sometimes-bizarre motifs thanks to colin the bassist / flautist/ pied-piper extraordinaire, and the patrons were actually listening (i think):

[refrain]

improvisation -

that's what we're doing

stop conversation -

begin to tune in

[bridge]

join in

or be left out -

you don't even have to shout -

just have to listen

(this time, was able to record this down because there happened to be a pen and scrap of paper nearby the stage. but i'm beginning to wonder if the transient should be left the way it is, because that's where beauty/magic resides)

21 Mar [glowzine cover feature]

looks like march is the month for media coverage. here's a full-length interview.

check out the nice pics (photoshop is amazing), but take the interview with a tiny pinch of salt  - expressions, vocabularly (i wouldn't usually say "bombard") and too many exclamation marks have been added to make me sound like i've had a spoonful of sugar too many.

and yes, i'm in a cheongsam again, but only because this was supposed to be a cny release, but ended up pushed back to march, which takes it all out of context.

also very interesting how i appear on the issue they decide to talk about mojo. there's even an article on specific positions you could take. brilliant! *ahem*

16 Mar [8days says]

here's an excerpt of 8days's review of mezebar:

"A DJ spins chilled-out acid jazz and old-school funk while a pretty, young vocalist does some random...erm, vocalising. Her Faye-Wong-does-scat routine is unnecessary, but it shows the hotel's effort to shrug off their fuddy duddy image."

i have no problems with being "unnecessary" - it's an existential question i ask myself everyday anyways. but the reviewer thinks i am pretty and young - now that's a compliment, and i'll take what i can get. :)

15 Mar [coll.eff review for mosaic]

apparently, i'm a hit with 7 year olds! see what else was said (somewhere in the middle of the page) about the coll.eff experience.

13 Mar [incognito live at esplanade + supper with tonys]

wow.

10 Mar [words... part II]

so i make up words to sing from time to time, but if you know me, i have an awful memory and i usually forget them after. transient indeed. these lyrics just drifted out of my mouth (and consciousness) during wednesday's gig at the mezebar and i had the good sense to take it down on my phone this time. expanded it when i came back.

Daylight burns on my skin

Im earning my living

Daylight burns on my skin

Im earning my living, just doing my thing

As surely as my fate is to die

Daylight turns into night

Thinking being

Which requires un-demeaning

Modes of making the dough

Sinking feeling

That my desires are reeling

Out of arms-length control

Daylight burns on my skin

Im learning but dying

Daylight burns on my skin

Im learning but dying, just doing my thing

As surely as I am now alive

Daylight turns into night

i can't remember the tune i was doing this to though. whatever. i wasn't thinking too much about it, and you shouldn't either. :)

9 Feb [words, meanings and communication]

i've always had an ambivalent position on words. i like writing, but then i don't. there's a great satisfaction from being able to express oneself through the literary medium, but i'm too often frustrated when the words fail to deliver my intentions.

words are misused, or misinterpreted. carry too much semantical baggage, or none at all. saturated;vacuous. i love and loathe them for those very qualities. as a vocalist, i'm also the only performer who is empowered with words, in addition to the music. this empowerment however, turns out also to be an obligation.

recently, because of the improvisational nature of coll.eff at mezebar, i've been spending a fair amount of time singing without words. some call it scatting. expressive experimenting suits me a little better. i love it. i love it when i can be liberated from the limitations of words. but as usual, emancipation is shortlived. my responsibility is to the audience, and until you start interpreting the music without needing words to distract you (or enjoy it without trying to make sense of it), i've been told to sing lyrics as much as i can.

maybe this entry will explain why this page is only updated once every time the cow jumps over the moon! heh.

30 Dec [five hundred twenty five thousand six hundred minutes]

a year seems so much more eventful when measured in the number of different performances done, in such disparate genres too. six-piece jazz, dj-musician-vocalist trio, full-scale musical. it's been splendid.

but as objectively as i can manage, this has been a year just like the others. i fell short of my own expectations, and yet did better than i could have imagined.

i survived it, and i'm relieved.

28 Nov [example of soepom {re: Aug 18}]

Potent Desire for the Wasteland of Dreams

Wandering through spaces with dark crevices

Teeming with curious metaphorical critters

This must be my Subconscious:

I can recognize this Random Thought from last

Mondays wait at the bus-stop

Adjacent to it is that Lust for the thing

I knew I could afford but must wait to be given

Funny.

They seemed strange when I last considered them

Now normal.

Oddly prolific when Im not trying!

This indulgence is hateful, yet it is a welcome

Respite from discipline, order and struggling to think

Out of the recently neglected Box

19 Nov [returning to the theatre]

the recent weeks have been consumed by rehearsals with the SRT for snow queen. it's been years since i did anything that required this much discipline, and it's a much welcomed change. dancing for up to six hours a day, five days a week, my body has been pushed near its limits. conversely, my mind has had a good rest from anxieties about the future, lofty ideals and unwarranted self-doubt. this is a season of doing. suspension of thought feels really good.

18 August [soepom and red trucks]

this is a long overdue explanation of two ostensiby absurd expressions/references i often make in conversations. apart from the significant other, nobody else really quite gets them. through no fault of theirs of course. they are idiosyncratic expressions.

however this is hardly a real attempt to explain (the contexts are too subtle for me to articulate in brief here) -  rather it's way of telling the world (or who cares to know) that "i said it first!".

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soepom:

acronym for "surfeit of expression; paucity of meaning". really just an expression i coined for describing alot of music/art/literature i come across. the phrase is (somewhat) self-explanatory. 

do note that soepom does not necessarily carry negative connotations. and is very subjective in usage of course. nothing is inherently "meaningful". further, "meaning" is neither a necessity nor the sole criterion by which we appraise a piece of work.

red truck:

the red truck is in fact a red herring. it is confusing to most because people try to understand it. there's nothing significant about the red truck per se. it's really in the usage of the phrase.

the appropriate usage of the phrase is "...therefore the truck is red" (another permutation is "...because the truck is red"). whereby just about anything can precede "therefore the truck is red". it is not to be used indiscriminately however. 

the phrase is intended as a derisive/dismissive reference to a situation where justifications are being made tautologically, erroneously, carelessly or for it's own sake. it can also be applied in a situation where people go to lengths to explain an occurence, which in (my) reality does not need any explanation at all.

reflexively, this post is worthy of a red truck. i would describe it as "red trucks are red, therefore the truck is red".

the red truck originated as significant other and myself were vetting a friend's paper. it was his first attempt at writing one, and he inadvertently concluded his essay by repeating his essay objectives (which he stated in his first paragraph) as such "...therefore through this paper, i have fulfilled the task of [insert essay objectives]...", in spite of the fact that he had written the rest of his paper fairly out of point. thus we spontaneously compared his essay to something along the lines of having said "the car is blue, therefore the truck is red". pretty much a random choice of words but it stuck.

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i promise my next post will be something less obscure.

12 April [caught up with real life]

and so i've left a cool company filled with wonderful colleagues to do...what i've always wanted to do. it's been almost every bit as difficult as i had anticipated it to be.

this whole fantasy/fiction vs reality juxtaposition is so old. but i guess we find ourselves entangled in it time and again. a sweet reminder of the cool things i used to do at my old workplace: being an "ambassador" for the nokia 3230 - where "serious finds fun" and life meets fiction.

10 Mar [jazz is..]

i bought a book on the history of jazz - it was on sale at borders, as one might expect it to be (important or not/ popular or not, most things in singapore go on sale eventually). but for the price they slashed it to, one might guess that jazz doesn't sell all that well over here (then again, the hardcover harry potter books were going at 7+ singapore dollars only - and if harry potter isn't a benchmark for what sells, i don't know what is.)

anyways. this struck a (blues) chord with me:

(amongst many other things,) jazz is "...about solitude and loneliness and the nearly unbearable burden of consciousness. It's about suffering and celebration - it's greatly about celebration - and tapping your feet."

geoffrey c ward

jazz - a history of america's music

16 Feb [poetry]

today i was reminded of what one of my literature teachers once said when i asked how he would define poetry. "economy of expression". it took my breath away. i'm not sure if he intended for it to be so, but his answer was of course, poetry.

since then, i've strived towards such "economy of expression" in everything i did. it's a real discipline to restrain my eager desire to show how much i thought i knew/ had to say. 

i realised with singing - i need to know how to do the fancy shit with my voice, but use it only when it's meaningful to. i'm still trying (both learning to do the fancy shit, and not to over-indulge in it).

i want to sing poetically!