Letting Sleeping Dogs Lie
Like a dream...
I am done done done (repetition for effect)
with marking.
Bloody hell... I am done.
Oh man... the pain of reading 8 classes of essays and directed writing! The freaking PAIN!
So, after the drama... comes the reward...
I have a long weekend to look forward too (Happy VESAK Day!)!
To start the wham bang of joy and sheer happiness...
The weekend starts this evening as Prince Charming and myself further our cultural immersion in the form of an avant garde ballet performance by an acclaimed French dance ensemble...
Review will be anticipated, I am sure...
And tomorrow... HELLO... PULAU UMANG!
A private beach... 6 hours drive away from Jakarta plus a 30 mins boat ride!
Oh my... crystal clear waters... snorkelling... tanning... and relaxing! I deserve it!
Before I even forget... I just confirmed my plane ticket for my trip back home!
Thank you Lord!
Enjoy the long weekend! Be back on Sunday!
LOESJE "TIckle the Power"
THE WORLD IS MORE BEAUTIFUL WITH YOU
I took this photo! Nice composition!
I took this photo! Check out the angle and perspective!
During the long, long weekend, I went to an exhibition "LOESJE: Tickle the Power" at the Erasmus Huis (at the Dutch Embassy). LOESJE is a movement that started in the Netherlands (in the late 1980s) by a group of activists who wanted to use the power of WORDS and HUMOUR to spread messages. Messages of hope, diatribes, implicit and explicit criticisms against governments... basically, anything goes. Here are some of the photos!
Looking at the lovely photos... I think I want to start taking more photos. Create a photo-journal of sorts! Heading off to the library (after ALL the MARKING is done!!!) to borrow a book on photography!
I will post some of the LOESJE messages tomorrow. Left the book about it at home...
Different Realities
I was trying hard to understand what is meant by the term "different reality". People live in different realities. We were brought up with different values at different places with different people and ultimately face entirely different situations.
My growing up years and this life's experience of mine is nothing less than beautiful. In the true sense of the word, it has been a life that my parents have worked hard to give me, a life that I did nothing much for or earn. It was a given gift. Blessed with a happy family, a comfortable lifestyle, cosy friends and everything else provided for, I grew up in a reality of 'wants' not 'needs'. I had all my needs and only wanted more. And, more often than not, I got the wants without much trouble at all.
Nothing really fazes me because I never had to face dire consequences... somehow, I always manage to get out of messes, get over messes and never really had to pay for the mess. That is my reality.
My reality is devoid of reality. I have trouble when I try to describe my reality to others. Afterall, most of my friends come from a similar reality and I guess this recent toughie occured because I am trying to make my reality a part of his reality and vice versa. I am encountering a whole new reality that I have trouble understanding, I feel foreign, misunderstood and I can hardly understand. Perhaps I don`t want to understand.
How do you try to let someone into your world, when your world never did exist in their world?
How do you try to understand their world, when in the first place you don`t really want to be a part of it?
I am who I am, because of my reality. You too.
I miss having my reality.
I want to be in my world again so badly that I don`t know how to understand yours.
I recognise the symptoms. I want to go home. When I see the faces of those who love me, when I spend time with the people who have always been in my reality and doing the things that make me real.
I try, I will try and I have to try. The question of realities.
But,
when do you know if you have tried hard enough?
Oooo... Splash!
Like a game of paintball, I realised without much trouble really, that I have been bitched.
Dare I say the word?
Sure will. I am no lexicographer... words often evade me, I use the same words all the time and how else can I explain this phenomenon where a seemingly innocently posed question, jolted me?
Not out of the blue... nah nah. Perhaps I felt orange, green and maybe even pink. Accustomed to the the oft repeated ritual of being bitched, I take it all in my stride.
Splish Splash.
And I realised, I really have been bitched.
I wonder if you noticed that during the attack of the paintballs, all players are sprayed with blobs of colours that only serve to indicate that you, yes you honey, will not be spared.
Vulgar diatribes are no longer my
thang, I grew sick of tit-for-tat reflex reactions. Instead, I am now enjoying the crescendo of my career as a
bitch. I am no
asshole either.
I have since moved on to posting my rants on my blog. How`s that for keeping up with the times? IT savvy? Aye aye... that`s me.
So, in typical Cowgirl fashion I choose not to declare war, instead, I will again ride into the sunset. Just me and my little pony...
The paint will dry up, then you (yes, you out there) will realise that colours suit me just fine.
Of phonecalls and smses
Routine.
And even feelings can become routine. I have my routines; every morning, when I return home from work, before I go to bed and of course, my beauty routine.
I am very aware that there can be a routine to feelings. I miss my family (the most) at approximately 5:30pm on Sundays. I start to feel a bit edgy, I try to deflect the uneasiness of being away from them, I try to ignore the annoyance that crawls on my skin. I get annoyed when I can`t have the things or people I want to be with. I do things. I read, I try to sleep and I even watch a little television. All I want is to be at home, enjoying our pre-dinner chat, munching on snacks with Mal... and feeling the familiar warmth of family.
It has been bugging me a little. How feelings acquired can easily be displaced because it has become a routine? I feel all gossipy when I meet Ginger and the rest of the duckies, I feel nostalgic when I meet Luke, I feel like a lady when Emilia comes along and I feel safe and protected with Siao. With family, feelings are routine, but that routine brings security. The dreaded routine of work, when I shut out the dread of marking, when I eradicate the pain of doing the things I don`t want to do. But, when feelings for a person feels like a routine... then.
Last night, I recieved a phone call from someone familiar. Uncannily familiar, but also strangely foreign. It has been a long, long while since we last spoke and to see his name flash on my mobile... I hiccuped. That is strange. Actual hiccups.
The conversation flowed easily, like how two people who have known each other for years talk, laugh and confide. But, it was also distant. Updates of our lives were one-liners, cursory questions about mutual friends, family members and even the state of our hobbies. How queer. The proverbial question was waiting to be asked. He asked, I answered. With a lump in my throat, how else could I have dealt with the situation then to be entirely honest?
Like a routine, we promised to keep in touch, to take care, to visit. I guess our conversations will always end that way. Promises that are always waiting to be kept. Will we ever visit? The fear of seeing each other face-to-face almost brings about suicidal thoughts. Like a routine, I feel the same flood of feelings I always feel after speaking to him. Like a routine, I try to validify my emotions, I try to pin them to some explanation, a practical solution even. I deride all possibilities that account for the way I feel whenever he comes in to play. Play with my mind but not my heart.
That is out of bounds.
It has been a routine. The same 'what-ifs', the same 'whys', the same 'it could have beens'.
Like a routine, questions are never answered.
And like a routine, I had a sleepless night, sob a little and confided in the only one person who knows how I really feel.
Routines are bad habits.
Send me a card.
Buy me a present.
And perhaps, when I mean enough, you tell me how you feel. No routines though.
