A is for apple.

A flash

2009-07-08T02:29:00.000-07:00

That's how time went by here.

In a few hours I will be boarding a plane back to Melbourne. And I'm ambivalent...em-bee-va-lent. That's how I hear the word in my head.

I love being home-home. It's safe, old and warm. I never want to sleep when I'm back here. It's as if time is too precious to be WASTED on sleep. There are a million things to do with a million people. Like go for breakfast in Taman Desa with your girlfriends (Jean and Addie) and have a nasi lemak tambah sotong for RM 3.50. It's comfortable.

Elsewhere, life is a bit more uncertain. It's tougher, newer and colder. I don't know what to expect and I find myself having to think on my toes. And it's easier to mess-up but you learn that you can deal with the mess. And every experience teaches you something. Like shifting houses- packing, unpacking and adjusting. It's exciting.

I once had to answer this question on Jared's umm friend questionnaire.

"Comfort or excitement?"

Both at different times. That was my answer.

I guess it's time for some excitement, hey?

Love is in the air.

2009-06-28T09:21:00.000-07:00

I am in the middle of preparations for my bro's wedding. It's happening this Saturday. Ahhh, weddings. The thought of them makes me dizzy with bliss.

Anyway, I found this in some file. It was a journal entry I had to write for my 'Families and Individuals in Society' class in college.

I re-read it and thought it was cute.

We were discussing what love and infatuation were. Here's what I came up with:

---

In my personal opinion, infatuation and love are two very different things although in many cases, they are often mixed up. When it comes to mate selection, especially at this age of adolescence, I don't think I know what or maybe who I really want. My ideal Mr Man-of-my-dreams keeps altering the same way I want chocolate flavoured ice-cream one day and vanilla the next.

Having said that, yes I have been infatuated. I've had crushes that melted my stubborn heart and made me swoon at the thoughts of our hopefully fairytale future together. During this period, I cannot control the quickening of heart rate, the sweaty palms and the tell-tale smile that plasters itself all over my silly face. Just a glimpse of him, a thought, an sms, a friendly 'Hi'...and I'm well, high (pun unintended).

This I will call infatuation.

However, love is commitment. Love has staying power. It is enduring and pretty astonishing so that it bears both the tough and the mundane times. It is not just feeling good anymore but being good instead. It is saying I'll take the chocolate ice-cream today even though I prefer vanilla because I believe in the relationship. It's not so much what I can get out of the relationship as it is, what I can put in. It's when I may not have to like the person right now, but I do love him, and I will like him again...just later. It's when I can separate what he has done, from who he is and accept him for that.

This is a peek of what I think love is.

How will I know which is which? Why, that's the kazilion dollar question. In my opinion, love is action. Why? Because actions are activated by motives and because we can't know the true intent of another's heart (not unless I'm God which I'm not) I guess the next best thing to watch out for is action. Action not just in the first minutes of a relationship but over a period of time. For sure, stress will test this, lust will test this, misunderstandings will test this, people will test this, the world will test this, little things will test this and at the end of all these tests, if both are still faithful, then maybe, just maybe, that's love.

---

I am looking forward to this Saturday...and beyond that.

Alice in wonderland.

2009-06-04T05:15:00.000-07:00

So I had to come up with such a topic. Great. Finally got myself to churn something out.

Here goes:

---

Hello, my name is Alice.

I can’t quite say whether or not it’s a pleasure to meet you. I can’t quite say anything at all. These are my thoughts and as far as I know, thoughts don’t make any audible sounds. Then again, I just met you and I assume that like the many others, you would prefer if I just shut up.

Every time I meet someone new, I have this urge to ask them what their story is. I wonder if it’s the same for you. Would you want to know my story?

To tell you the truth, I don’t even know how it began. It doesn’t seem to have a proper structure. No there isn’t a ‘once upon a time’ beginning, a build up that leads to the climax, or the dynamics a story should have.

It just is. As long as I can remember I have been living here. In the streets, in the dark in the stinking filth of the city.

Every day I wake up to the same smells, the same streets, the same life. Only the people change. Today it’s you, tomorrow it will be someone else.

You would think that doing the same thing for so long would allow me to adapt. For sure I have adapted. For sure I’ve grown numb adapting. Physically, there’s nothing anymore that really hurts me. But being numb is like death itself has come over you. And even though being numb really means you don’t feel anything, you still manage to feel empty.

Maybe you feel the same way. Maybe you’re here because you want to fill that emptiness and you think that a night with me will do the trick. Maybe you think that just because you have another body to be close to, to get into, to feel one with that you will feel fuller.

Trust me, honey, it never works. I see the men walk in here empty, and somehow they still manage to walk out with emptier souls and emptier pockets. I look at the way you hold me, almost grabbing me, almost suffocating me. You don’t understand do you? That all this isn’t real. As much as you are here, as much as I am here, that this is smoke. You won’t find what you are really looking for. You will leave without a second look. You will pay me and you will leave.

Then, I will clean up. I will have a shower, tidy the room, change the sheets. I do it without thinking anymore. It is my job. It’s how I live, no, survive, no not even that…it’s how I exist and keep existing. I don’t know life beyond this. I wish I did.

Oh look, my next client has swaggered in. I should attend to him.

Hello, my name is Alice. But as far as I know, this isn’t wonderland.

Fire

2009-06-03T05:40:00.000-07:00

I've got 3 assignments due in the next week. I'm usually a frazzled nutcase.

But now the only thing I can think of is how much I want to do great things. My dreams overwhelm me and sometimes I feel too small to contain them. Sometimes, I think that the ingredients the Potter used in this clay is not enough. Who am I to question?

But I still want to DO something. Teach, write, speak, love, live, die...for the cause.

In the words of Britt Nicole, I want to set the world on fire.

Till it's burning bright for You.

Dear Jared

2009-05-27T22:51:00.000-07:00

Well if it makes you feel any better. I'm quite sick. I've caught the cold, or really, it has caught me and if you were where I am right now, you would find me bundled up in 3 jumper like tops, trekkies, socks and with a mug of honey-lemon on my desk.

Like you, I'm not one who likes to admit to being sick. Until I cannot anymore. This is a major flaw my parents have always bugged me about. I definitely wasn't the toughest child in the sandpit. I was strong, but I wasn't the strongest.

I have always valued your honesty. And I have always valued your opinions. Except, sometimes I still dont know when you're serious or just a gummy bunny trying to be funny. Maybe I'll discover that slowly. It bugs me that you're holding something back but that's okay. There's always the next letter hey?

...

I find that I tend to be extremely honest in my letters. Something about writing them down to someone forces me to bare all which can be kind of scary.

I don't really know if I feel closest to God when I need him most or when life is dandy.

I guess for me, at least the time that I'm going through now, makes me realize that I need God all the time. It's not a when I'm weak thing... it's like I'm ALWAYS weak.

It's like I cannot get enough. I'm always wanting more... more of God in my life because that is a good thing.

Maybe in terms of your story on magic, I'm always desperate. I'm always wanting, needing magic. I'm just that sort of person.

That said, sometimes I hardly see the magic in my day. Somedays it takes me forever to think of something to be thankful for. Somedays, I think that I'm making the magic up or whatever.

But I keep wishing.

And hoping.

And praying.

Yours,

Kris

Pressure

2009-05-08T21:18:00.000-07:00

Pressure

I am chucked into the water. It’s 27 degrees. Temperate. Mild. Bearable. Until it rises.

I notice the difference. I feel it-the heat creeping around me, lurking. It teases me and I cannot do anything about it. If only I had hands.

It taps me here and then there. It’s 70 degrees now. I start to worry. But my worry only adds to my affliction.

The temperature continues to escalate and the water is no longer still. A tiny bubble floats upwards. And then another. And then too many to count. I feel the heat in me now.

It is 100 degrees. And I persevere. It is no longer temperate or mild. And I’m not sure if I can bear it. I will soon find out.

One, two, three, ten minutes go by. I am still here. I emerge the winner. I haven’t cracked under the pressure. Instead, I am tougher still. I am harder, stronger on the inside.

Yet it puzzles me. That after all that pressure that I have taken, the heat I have endured, I am left to cool. Then I am taken out of the pot, cracked open and finally, they have me for breakfast.

Life’s a cruel joke.

--

A short one this time. Oh and I'm supposed to come up with the next topic yes? Okay well, I'm just being really random but here it is:

Alice in Wonderland

Knock yourselves out.

The Accident (finally)

2009-04-14T05:07:00.000-07:00

The Accident

I overhear them talking in the kitchen. They are whispering. Quick, sharp utterances dart across the room as it often happens when adults talk about someone. It takes me a while but I soon figure out who this person is. They call him ‘an accident’.

I strain to listen, my body leaning as closely as possible but not too far out so that I remain hidden behind the door. I hear them describe the event in a manner that emphasizes their disgust for it. The love-sick teenage couple, the sinful act in the school’s cubicle, the missed period, the many missed periods and the bump that held the baby-the accident.

By now my body is aching, but my mind is racing. I compare this information to what I already know about him. He was the guy who won first place in his school’s spelling bee competition at 7, was elected ‘employee of the month’ when working at McDonald’s at 15, dated the most beautiful girl in university, went on to marry her, was voted ‘most likely to live past 100’ at his graduation, taught in several third world countries with his wife, screamed louder than his wife when his first child was born, was asked to leave the room for the second one, discovered a way to eat noodles with one chopstick (taught his kids this skill), is able to sing the alphabet backwards (is still teaching this his kids this skill), bakes the best chocolate chip muffins ever, tells the funniest stories and always always remembers our birthdays. This boy, who is now a man, has accomplished and is still accomplishing so much.

By now, I am sure as sure that their information pales in comparison to mine. Knowing about his history doesn’t change anything. I only feel sorry for the people who would label him, and because of that, fail to see what a great person he is.

I relax from my stiffened position and creep softly to the living room. There he is all 6 feet 2 inches of him reclining on the couch. If I can add another talent to his list of many, it would be his ability to sleep in any position, at any time. I see his bowl of half-eaten noodles on the table, and yes, just one side of the chopsticks in it. I remember when he first taught me how to do that and how patient he was when I didn’t get it.

Taking the bowl away, I lean close to him and give him a kiss on his cheek. He opens his eyes and smiles. “Thank you, Sweetheart,” he says before closing them again. “Anytime,” I reply. I am about to walk out when I pause at the door and look at him. His chest rises and falls as air enters and escapes through his half-open mouth. Other people may still see him as an accident, especially if they’ve heard his story, but for me, all I see, is a very sleepy Dad.

To do...

2009-04-09T07:14:00.000-07:00

I have these things that I want to write, yes it includes the 'accident' piece that I'm already late for. I'm so sorry guys, it's just been pretty crazy. I also have this bra story I want to write. I have the idea, but not the time to actually sit down and piece it together.

Things that have been taking up my time:

1. I had to prepare a history lesson as part of my asgmt and then analyse it. It's worth 50% if my entire mark so, hey, it's got to take up some time.

2. I've been sleeping over at Ad's a whole lot. Which means that we spend most of our time 'studying'...the lives of Blair Waldorf and well, of course, Meridith Grey.

3. 'Feed Kristy Week' is over. And suddenly I have to do things like grocery shopping and cracking eggs shells and washing and taking out the rubbish and turning on the stove, and turning it off again.

I'm sure you understand why I've been absent yeah?

Back

2009-04-06T17:43:00.001-07:00

I'm back to pb and j sandwiches. -_-

But Edmund and Jen are arriving tonight. Which possibly means,

REAL FOOD.

:)

p.s. When I get my turbo oven, I will cook okay.

Smile like you mean it

2009-03-21T20:05:00.000-07:00

So finally, here we go:

SMILE LIKE YOU MEAN IT

You can always tell when the smile is forced. I’ve got numerous pictures for proof. There’s one of my cousin forcing his lips so wide apart so that his lower teeth reflects the flash of the camera. His cheeks squash his questioning eyes and he looks more constipated than happy.

“Say cheese.”

We love pictures with happy people don’t we? It’s most important that the picture looks good. Whether the people in it smile because they mean it is kind of secondary. Something we can deal with later so long as we’ve all got wide pageant smiles in the picture. After all, we don’t want our friends on facebook to tag unsmiling faces of us, do we?

“Give us a smile.”

Parents love to ask this of their children especially when they’re down. Honestly, I don’t think kids appreciate it very much. It’s not the best feeling in the world to force a smile through your tears. I don’t think it’s a very pretty scene either. But it makes our parents happy, so we do it.

It’s funny how our world loves its smiles. Something in a smile makes its recipient feel better somehow. Service with a smile is a skill we are taught to learn. Smiling has become a service that we perform a lot of the times, for others.

But we also get the real smiles. The ones that creep up on you. You know, the ones the photographers love for their candour and frankness and just humanness. They’re unplanned. They make you look silly especially when you’re smiling to yourself and it’s visible to the strangers in the same room. The same one that plasters itself across your face when you take a sip of that aromatic French vanilla latte or a scoop of crème brulee.

And how about the ones you get when you remember something funny? When you feel like you’re the happiest person in the world. Or when there’s so much to be grateful for-your family, your friends, that dress you got on sale, the wind today, a goodnight’s sleep, your football club winning, a surprise visit from a friend, and just being alive. Or when you discover something new, when you truly love what you’re doing when there are things to look forward to.

“I can’t help but smile.”

These are the smiles you smile for yourself. The type no amount of force or coercion can stifle. These are the smiles that actually mean something. They tell you something real about the giver, and its recipient is usually, always infected.

Yummy!

2009-03-19T21:52:00.000-07:00

Sam came over to my tiny tiny kitchen/room/hall yesterday. And he brought fresh crabs from the market. And pasta too. I admit, he is a good cook. If he ever gets bored of the corporate world, I believe he has something else to pursue.

Sam and the fruit of his labour. I helped to chop things up!!!

THE DISH OF THE DAY- CREAMY BUTTER CRABS
It was good as. All three of us, including Adeline, couldn't help but smile when we took our first taste.

Yes, we're the lucky pair who got to enjoy the meal that Chef Yee cooked up.

Can you tell we did a good job?

There was pasta too. I forgot to take pics of that. I've still got some leftover.
YAY! Finally some real food after days of pb and j sandwiches and tuna fried rice.

THANKS SAM! Let's have lobster next? Yes?

Storm Petrels On Deck

2009-03-07T03:47:00.000-08:00

Check this out.

Jean, Sarah and I started a new project. Letters of reality and non-reality to each other.

I really think that I need to have a more organised writing plan to improve or something. I'm always floating. Bit of this and that. But I don't think I can really commit to anything big for now. This and that will have to do.

Btw, I've been in Melbourne for a week now.

It's been a good week.

I am learning to 'Be thankful'. It makes so much difference.

Seven Days

2009-02-21T20:05:00.000-08:00

Seven days is a week. That means just one Monday, one Tuesday, one Wednesday, one Thursday, one Friday, one Saturday, one Sunday.

That's all I have here.

Time always puzzles me. And as much as I try so hard to seize the day, it seems that it hardly is something you can corner, grab by the neck and say that you have caught. It slips away whether you notice it or not. It does not need my permission. I only get to work alongside it.

Maybe I should do things faster. That way time will go by slower. Some theory of relativity. Seven days does not seem like alot of time.

Then again, in seven, well six days if you want to be technical, God created the world.

Little Women

2009-02-17T07:28:00.000-08:00

I love the movie, I love the books.

Oh and Amy and Meg and Beth and of course, Jo. How they steal my heart for being such rich characters!

I take my hat off to Louisa M. Alcott for piecing together such a story. True, her didactic tone does get to me at times, but the story; I like. I didn't know I could learn so much from novel about four girls growing up.

And she so craftily snuck in references to women's rights and love and ambition. And even 'transendentalism' which I googled but still don't really understand yet.

I like how each sister had their strengths and how the learnt from each other. I like how Jo wrote as a young girl. I like how she was proposed to by Laurie, and decided that as difficult as it was, it was best that she declined his offer. I like how she set off to pursue her dream and married a professor. And I absolutely like how she became a teacher.

I must read Little Men next.

Oh no, less than two weeks to go till I'll be back in Melbourne.

Oh time, stand still!

Working

2009-02-05T07:16:00.000-08:00

I really haven't been working. Not a job anyway. But I've started on my story. And it's forming. This is a story for the MPH competition. I don't know how far I'll go but I promised myself I will write it. By hook or by crook. It will be done.

So far, it's been good. It has been ages that I've felt this way. I think my writing style is evolving. I read some of my old pieces and I felt like it was written by someone else. I used to think and articulate my words alot more when I was younger. Now I just write. I think I need to strike a balance between the two.

Anyway, I'm going back to Australia in what, 25 days! AMAGASH. I'm always ambivalent. I'm so nervous, but I'm also so excited. I don't know what to say.

Oh well, here's a little snippet from my 2008 notebook:

"In trams, I like sitting facing the same direction that it is going in. I like to see where I'm going and I don't enjoy [in fact I find it absolutely nauseating] watching things whizz pass me from behind."

I'm really relishing my days back HOME. :)

Holy Communion II

2009-01-20T21:09:00.000-08:00

Here you go Aaron. I took your advice and added a second piece.

Holy Communion II

Did he really think I didn’t know? They said that a woman could tell when her husband was being unfaithful. We picked on up the little signs like body language and the uneasiness that hovers when it was just the two of us. And then there were the words; the lack of or the excessive use of them.

He took my hand as we sat down. It felt awkward and I knew he felt it too. But he didn’t stop there. As if convincing the both of us, he leaned over and whispered in my ear. He told me he loved me. And he had to add ‘like no other’. At that moment I felt like stabbing him with a pair of scissors. The rustiest, sharpest kind there was. I wanted him to feel the way I had for the last few days.

I stopped myself. It was time for Holy Communion and I pulled my hand away to receive the tray from one of the ushers. I took one of the tiny plastic cups and a broken piece of cracker. I held them in one hand and closed my eyes. Deep breaths, I told myself.

I had always looked forward to Holy Communion. Ever since I got to know God for real anyway. To me it was sacred and not just religious. It was a time where nothing and no one else mattered, but us.

With my eyes shut tightly, I opened up my heart to him. We didn’t say anything. We usually never had too. It was hard to explain but this was how I can best describe it. It was like the both of us, touching foreheads with one another and staying. Staying in that moment as he breathed over me, into me. And our hands, we clasped our right palms together as if holding each other up.

In that instant, I knew him. I knew his love and I knew the cross. As I chewed the cracker and swallowed the juice, I felt his forgiveness cover my sins. I pictured that rusty, sharp pair of scissors in my mind. I was far, far, far from perfect. And for that moment, I felt a bit of what God must have felt when I disappointed him.

I opened my eyes and it all came back to me. I took his empty cup from him. I wondered how he would respond if I confronted him later. I felt him take my hand, kiss my fingers and place it on his lap. I wondered if I could ever forgive him. I left my hand there and thought about Holy Communion. I wondered if I could ever love him that way. I sat there, deaf to the sermon.

Holy Communion

2009-01-11T07:06:00.000-08:00

Aaron, Jean, Lydia and I are doing this thing where we write a fictional piece based on a theme. Our very first one is 'Holy Communion'. Here is mine:

--

Holy Communion

I couldn’t help myself. Before I knew it, there I was in her bed-naked, sweaty, breathing heavily from the past few hours of pleasure.

I had a wife waiting at home thinking I was away on a business trip. She must never know the kind of business I was involved in. I tried to picture her face if I told her.

A tap on my shoulder roused me. The communion tray was being passed out. There was that face, smiling placidly, innocent and kind. How could I ever tell her? The pastor read the usual words. I fiddled with the jagged piece of cracker between my fingers. I brought the tiny cup to my nose. It smelt sweeter than usual.

With what I had done earlier, I would have thought that it would have been impossible to take communion. But it wasn’t. At least not for me. I admit to some hesitation at first, after which, I continued mechanically.

‘…do this in remembrance of me’. That was our cue. I looked at the cracker before I slipped it into my mouth. I had hoped it would do its trick. I had taken the biggest piece I could find. It seemed like I needed it to be bigger this time. I also took the fullest cup of juice, and apparently, the sweetest I had ever tasted. This was a good sign.

I chewed the cracker and drowned the remaining bits down with the juice. Then I waited. I waited to feel different, to feel somewhat better, somewhat cleansed.

It didn’t happen. The aftertaste of the cracker and the sweetness of the juice had left but I still felt the same. Maybe it hadn’t worked. She took my cup from me and passed it along. Maybe it didn’t work this way. I took her hand in mine and kissed her fingers before placing them on my lap. Maybe this wasn’t what Holy Communion was about. I sat there, deaf to the sermon.

The newsletter

2009-01-02T00:01:00.000-08:00

Dear Teacher,

I was asked to write a newsletter on behalf of my family. It's supposed to update friends, especially those overseas. Anyway, I attached it to this letter. This is what has happened in 08, in the briefest form possible.

-

Dear Friend,

I am pleased to announce that this is the first of many (fingers crossed) newsletters that will arrive in your mail annually. My parents, being firm believers in constant productivity, have created a list of things for me to do while back on holiday. Writing this letter happens to be one of them. So here I go.

A lot has happened this year in terms of transitions and change. The very first being my taking off to Melbourne to further my studies in February. Along came the dizzying assignments and the countless serves of Fish and Chips. But time flies and my first year is over. How quickly I find myself back home with the family I love, with their assignments and an endless supply of Fried Kuay Teow (noodles).

About the time I left, my brother, Edmund, got to know a girl called Jen. Before long they were going out, and their love for each other escalated to a whole new level. It was absolutely entertaining to see him so smitten. In July, Edmund proposed. In September they were married! They have since been living with my parents and are in the process of putting together a wedding for the middle of next year. We are all so happy and grateful to God for Jen joining our clan. We look forward to great times together as a family.

As for Dad, he is now semi-retired and finding it a little bit frustrating. If you know him well enough, Dad always, always needs to have something to do. He is still very much involved in community development in the Philippines and the ministry to the drug addicts here in Kuala Lumpur. But he desires to do more and continues to pray about it. On a lighter note, since Yeni (our previous helper) has left for Indonesia for good, Dad has put himself in charge of our 4 dogs and fishes and doing a good job at it. They never go hungry.

Mum on the other hand, ensures that we never go hungry. She has become familiar with the wok once again and Jen, Edmund and I take turns helping her out while learning the art of Chinese cuisine. When she’s not caring for our family, she’s out helping the women at a halfway home nearby. Her heart for others just keeps growing.

Both Mum and Dad paid a visit to Edwin and Mija’s in November. We all know the real reason for the visit. It was, of course, their pride and joy that came in the restless body of a three year old called Ethan. They spent every moment with him and loved it. They took him swimming, bird-feeding and kite-flying in Melbourne among others. I have never seen prouder grandparents than the both of them.

With this year drawing to a close, we are relieved for the break yet brimming with excitement for what’s ahead. But before we look forward in anticipation, we take some time to look back with so much gratefulness. Indeed, we have much to thank God for. He is good.

Wishing each of you a meaningful Christmas and joyous 2009!

Much love,

Kristy, on behalf of,

Alan, Maggie, Edwin, Mija,

Ethan, Edmund and Jen.

-
So there. Happy New Year to you!

is excited about the days ahead,
Twisty

Swim much?

2008-12-20T11:11:00.000-08:00

Dear Teacher,

You've heard about how life is described as a current, I'm sure. About how things become mechanical, rote almost. We do it because it's the way it's done. We bob along the current. The river rushes and it takes us where it wants to go, and quickly too. We don't question it.

Today I had a certain thought. Which is rare, so pay attention. I would very much appreciate your two cents worth. What if, just what if, the river stops? It comes to halt and a strange stillness comes over it, over me. What would I do?

Would I know what to do? Where to go? Will I swim, or will I simply float? Where do I swim to? In what direction? Would I even know which is which-upstream, downstream?

I think I sort of have an idea. I definitely want to swim. The only reason I won't is if I don't know where to swim to. But I see some vague directions. It's not very exact yet, but I know the area. It's more upstream. That's where I have to swim towards, even before the current seizes. While it rushes downstream according to its natural order, I swim against it, a little unnaturally.

Like salmon.

Just keep swimming,
Twisty

Control Much?

2008-12-18T07:37:00.000-08:00

Dear Teacher,

In relation to my previous letter, I would like to clarify what I meant. I do realise that the year has been quite a shaky one for me and I have to constantly remind myself that there are things I can't control. For those things, I have to believe in a certain grace or magic, whatever you want to call it.

But not everything is out of my control. I do possess a certain power. A certain responsibility over that power to do the right thing. I know the lines are blurred with right and wrong. Well maybe they aren't in actual fact, but they're definitely different in terms of perception- from culture to culture, person to person.

So yes, do not worry. I am by nature a rather flaky person but I can focus and I can care and give more thought when I want to. And I want to now.

I will take control of the things I can, because I can. I will spend more time thinking about what I can do with what I have, instead of what I can't because of what I lack. I will own my life. I will be in short, faithful.

Faithful in the little I can control.

yours faithfully,
Twisty

Slip-up much?

2008-12-04T19:40:00.000-08:00

Dear Teacher,

You for one will know what a careless, clumsy and clueless person I can be. The 3 Cs that make my life a mesh of misadventures.

I'm the person who said left when I meant right while giving directions. The reason being, I had crossed my hands so when I moved my fingers (cause that's how I tell), I was moving the opposite ones.

The same person who wore slippers to her graduation. Who walked up on that stage and gave her valedictory speech in them, their golden straps peeking from beneath her gown. Did not even realise anything was out of place until my friends told me after. After-when all had been said and done.

And how about the many times I've typed 'jajaja' when what I meant was 'hahaha' in my msn window. I know the 'H' is next to 'J' but I forget when I'm actually typing.

"Do it once and do it well," I hear your voice still crusty in my head. I really should put more thought to things. I have a very bad tendency to dive into the deep-end when the only stroke I know is a brush stroke.

It's a good thing I believe in magic. It's the reason I'm still afloat. Even when the odds say I shouldn't be.

Do you believe in magic? What about the Magician? Do you know him? Cause I'd like to tell him 'thanks'.

this clumsy fool is grateful,
Twisty

Obsess much?

2008-11-27T01:31:00.000-08:00

Dear Teacher,

Sometimes I wish I obsessed more. I'm usually not the obsessive kind. So I think. Okay maybe I am slightly obsessive but for non-lucrative activities like flossing. Oh, and arranging shoes. Can't sleep without flossing. Can't sleep knowing my left thong is paired with my right nike.

I used to think that being obsessive was a bad thing. Till I realised that it was pretty much the effect of passion.

Even you can't deny you were a passionate person. You were highly obsessive. Yes, you were. With your books. You could starve from food but oh no, never, from books. Even when I bumped into you the other day. You were all gaunt and I was slightly worried. I asked you what you've been doing and if you've been eating. 'Reading' you replied. I had forgotten how you lived on books, devoured their pages, tore them apart and were always, always, ready for more.

Well, attached with this letter, is a book. Your book. One of the many you loaned to the class. I borrowed it. Technically I am still borrowing it although it's been years. I have been meaning to return it but somehow, something held me back. The book has become more than a love story between Ms Bennet and Mr Darcy. It is representation of passion and obsession. Of wanting things and doing things. It reminded me of you, you see.

That said, I always knew I would return it to you. I was just waiting for the right time. It's still in the best condition-no coffee stains, no bunny ears. With your signature and date of purchase on the second page. Not to forget the white label on its spine with its Dewey Decimal System number on it. I can hardly understand that system.

So here you go, Austen's Pride and Prejudice. I hear you're releasing your first book soon. That's why I'm returning it. As much as I know I will miss it, here I am, hoping it brings you as much good as it has me.

is looking for a replacement book,
Twisty

Forgive much?

2008-11-19T05:16:00.000-08:00

Dear Teacher,

You never think the world would hurt you. At least I never did. I'm a happy person. I admit that as much as I know how uncool it is to be a happy person in this age, it is the naked truth.

But this can be a hard thing sometimes. Being a happy person makes it hard for me to ever think that someone else will try to snuff out my happiness. Whenever something bad happens, it's not uncommon that I blame myself. It's easier that way, I think. Cause then, I could just get over it and I wouldn't have to forgive.

You probably don't remember this but there was a time in class when you were explaining an idea to us. I asked you a question, a serious question. You said 'love is about chance'. And I disagreed. So I phrased it in a sincere question. 'Isn't it about choice?' I just wanted your opinion.

You got all defensive and dismissed my question saying it was 'irrelevant'. But I really wanted to know, to learn so I asked you again. This time you called me rude and disrespectful and to stop interrupting the class. You said I was 'incorrigible' and asked me to be quiet.

I did as you said. I kept quiet. I was seething. Furious. But quiet. I know you were wrong but I told myself it was I who was wrong. There was nothing, no one to forgive.

This time around the hurt was far greater. I couldn't even blame myself. I couldn't shove it under somewhere, anywhere. It sprang up in my face to slap me over and over again. It was like someone took a dessert fork and stabbed my chest. That was when it first happened. Then I bandaged it. I told myself, "Forgive."

But it comes up again when something triggers my memory of it. And this time, it's like I know what's going to happen, I see the fork come closer but I really can't do anything about it. I watch. And then it's over. And I tell myself again, "Forgive."

And it happens again. I remember. I hurt. And then I forgive.

But today after the ordeal, I thought to myself- Maybe forgiveness is not an end. Maybe it's a process and I'm in the middle of it.

Is processing,
Twisty

As me.

2008-11-16T17:38:00.000-08:00

This time I'm posting as me.

Ahhh I miss this. Not having to think of what to post on my blog as Twisty.

Anyway, let me summarise my past months in 10 points:

1. I like it when it rains which is not very often here in Melbourne.

2. Living with a best friend who's a slob makes me realise what a control freak I am.

3. I'm flirting with my sociology major. Maybe falling for it even.

4. I still want to be a teacher/columnist/social reformist.

5. I prefer to sleep on the mattress on the floor than in my own bed.

6. I worked for money. Something I told myself I will never do. I was a research assistant and had the delightful task of calling up random people asking them for interviews.

7. It's been a wilderness year. Wilderness and a 'practice room' year. A preservation year.

8. I read books like-Memoirs of a Geisha, Dear Enemy, Ariel, Birthday Letters, The Barbarian Way, Soul Cravings, Dracula, and What's So Amazing About Grace.

9. I watched movies like- Die Hard 4, Memoirs of a Geisha, Tropic Thunder, Dan in Real Life, When Harry Met Sally, Gentlemen Prefer Blondes, Zoolander for the first time. And of course the ones I watched more than once-Juno, Pride and Prejudice, The Jane Austen Book Club, Chocolat, Blades of Glory and Ratatouille.

10. I eat things like-Yee Mee with Mushrooms and broccoli in miso soup, cereal and quaker oats for dinner, Subway's six inch roast beef sub on italian herbs and cheese bread, Monte Carlos with Milo (which I learnt from Jean) and if I'm rushing, it's a packet of 'up and go'.

Woah, I exhausted all ten pretty quickly.

Btw I'm done with uni for the year and it feels great. I can't wait to get back home-home. Where the land is flowing with teh tarik and rain is abundant.

Competitive much?

2008-11-12T04:10:00.000-08:00

Dear Teacher,

It's annoying how the words of a teacher mean so much to me. I used to anticipate the comments you would leave me, always highlighting the good bits and skimming over the less good bits. But you were an honest teacher, an objective one too. You told me what I needed not just what I wanted to hear.

Well, you'd think I would have grown out of it. You know, caring about my grades and what my teachers think of me. I thought I did too. I haven't and it gets to me. I envy some of my course mates who don't give a hawaiian pizza's pineapple about what they get. They just want to pass.

I'm not like that. I admit, I'm one of those kind of people. The kind that annoyingly wants to do well. The kind that makes a list of personal goals to meet. The kind that gives heart and soul just to print that little check mark in the boxes next to each fulfilled goal.

I am, in short, driven. And quite highly competitive. Sometimes more than necessary.

Don't believe me. Well let me tell you a story:
I was walking out to the shops two nights ago. I was going to get some eggs cause we were out. On my way back, I noticed that there was this lady walking in front of me. Suddenly my pace quickened. 'Overtake,' the goal was branded in my brain. She was a good distance in front of me and I was almost jogging (with the eggs, along a highway mind you) when we came to the intersection.

'Yes, a chance to catch up.' The lights were red and she had to wait for the green walking man to come on. It was then I realised how silly this was. I was competing with someone who didn't even know she was competing. I was half scolding myself when I realised the lights had turned green. I overtook her.

And I won.

I silently congratulated myself and heard the imaginary crowd cheer. Oh sweet victory!

Wait, did I mention that the lady I beat was about 40, okay fine, 78 years old? Oh and that she was pushing a load of groceries to feed her entire family for a week?

This is how bad I'm becoming.

needs to get away from capitalistic societies,
Twisty