Letter number one hundred and thirty-eight: I think of my mom...

Dearest J, 

It is not often that I dream of you.  Many a times I wish I do but I just don't.   A week plus ago I did, in the dream I was down with something, unwell, not ill...but just not well - fatigue, I think.  You administrated something for me, some kind of supplement or medicine...I don't remember much details from the dream now.  Wish I had written it down on the same day.

This is CNY day two (day three now, past midnight).  I came home from Genting at around 2pm.  After a tiring and exhilarating work trip with The Shang Sisters.  I am grateful to be working.

I am feeling melancholic, my recent winds of mood.  These days, when performing mundane things like wiping down myself after a shower, or washing up a pot after meal, or changing the bed sheets; I often think of my mom.  I savour what it feels like to be able to perform these tasks, and think of mom now who needs someone at the retirement home to help her take daily showers, and change clothes. 

Of course it makes me sad every time.  My mind becomes misty and it takes a few seconds for me to focus again on the task at hand.  

The last few visits I saw mom she has looked well, in fact, better than before.  She recounts what she does in the home, etc.  The last time I saw her was 4 days ago - right before I drove up to Genting for the CNY shows.  She touches her own face and said "muscle", in English.  She said the muscle on her face, she said there's "more muscle" on her face now.  "Because I eat so many things here."  "The lady boss cooks very well." 

It's been a seriously hectic past few months, I work all the time.  Right after parents moved to the retirement home on November 4, last year - I have been working nonstop.  

If I am to trust my own mind - my conscious mind - and what I remember mostly about my emotional world lately, it is a cycle of feeling melancholic, gratitude, and irritation, reacting to things and people around me.   And, loneliness. 

It feels as if I enjoy feeling lonely, like...it feels that being lonely, and feeling lonely is an accidental remedy or a "concoction" that I feed myself for my restlessness.

Sometimes I wonder what I'd be like if you were still around.  Whether or not I'd be less restless and agitated if you were still here, being the pillar of wisdom, kindness and ground for my mindlessness.

Who knows...

I'd never know.

Saw your parents last week, at Tristan's 12th birthday dinner party.  His age is exactly...well, almost exactly how long you'd left us.  This year, 2022, is the 12th year since your last bike outing.

Your mom has lost so much weight.  For most part of the dinner her tremor was not seen, but towards the end of the dinner I saw it, right hand shaking uncontrollably.  Your dad really adores Tristan.  The sight of him doting on him makes me sad and happy at the same time.  

The thought of your parents having lost you is a bottomless pit of sorrow.

Mama broker her femur bone about two months ago, she has a full time helper at home now.  A 41-year-old Filipina lady named Bing.  

Feels good to be writing these down.  There are much more in this head of mine.  I do wish I make more time to write more frequently.  

Miss you terribly, 

B

 

Letter number one hundred and thirty-six: a day in my parents' life in KL

Dearest J, 

I'm in much better shape today - mind and body.  Alive, and have things to live for.  It's not perfect but I'm relatively happy today.  

...so glad the dark clouds have blown over for now.

As usual, I sat by the dining table after I finish eating, and let mom have her airtime, to just talk.  I didn't see them at lunch, I cooked some dishes for dinner and asked them to come up to eat together.

Mom told me her morning routine.  Things she does every morning.  It sounds lovely, I think routines are wonderful.  The first thing she does after getting out of bed - washing her hands.  Then she cleans her dentures, puts them on.  Washes her face next.  She takes the milk out of the fridge, reheats it over the stove, sometimes she takes hot water and makes her oats, with the milk inside, sometimes not with the oats.  The milk is a new thing for her in the past month.  Using the gas stove is something I'm proud of for her - she was petrified to use it at first.  Things come to her in her own time, when she is not being pushed.  I'm glad. 

Then she will spread butter over a slice or two of bread, she would spread peanut butter for dad too.  But on some days he'd skips the bread.  He always have two soft eggs for breakfast, and a mug of rolled oats.  She spreads the butter over bread, and cuts them delicately into six pieces...or is it four pieces, per slice.  She takes all of that to the dining table, she says a prayer before she starts her breakfast.  She said dad too say his prayer before he eats.  Giving thanks to the food they're having.  Such a moving thing to know right?  

After breakfast she hopes to go toilet.  She told me she even have a silent monologue, or a quiet pep talk - to her stomach..or to the toilet.  She said she would talk to her stomach, "You've had bread, milk and oats - that's a lot to eat, so now it's time for you to behave and let me poop.  Let's make it smooth."

She said dad too prays for his smooth bowel movement.  These are both amusing and poignant to hear. 

After that she would move around the apartment, exercising.  She has her version of a cycling movement exercise - seated on a chair and make cycling movement with her legs.

"After that what do you do?" 

"I would sit around, wait for updates about lunch - wait for your text message to inform us about lunch plans."

I asked her what does she do after lunch.  She naps.  

-------------------

No doubt, self-inflicted guilt is a real issue for me - I feel I'm on a treadmill of a workout.  The workout is taking care of parents.  How much have I clocked in and all that.  Like many other things - I am aware most of my problems are self-inflicted.  

-------------------

With parents, my emotions are a pendulum.  I go from feeling annoyed, to being grateful for having them near and I can have a part in being useful to them, to feeling stressed about their problems, to sheer bliss of just enjoying their company - the kind that is much different from being with my friends where I absorb knowledge and exchange ideas and inspirations.  With parents, I just be.  I might not share much with them, but I just be.

-------------------

I hope I write more to you.  Making this a more regular routine, and an outlet of therapy for me.

Talk soon.

Love, 

B 

Letters number one hundred and thirty-five: Ten years ago today

Dearest J, 

Before the day is out, to make a note, to make a scribble of something on the timeline, of another moment in time.

It has not been an easy day.  A day shrouded in pain in more ways than one.  

The pinched nerve on my upper back, persistent and stubborn.  The hangover migraine from last night's drinking on empty-stomach after my show with Cher Siang at The Curiosity.  Yet another episode of lip-swelling, felt like the worst of all cases so far.

And the pain of missing you.

It's starting to blur - the shape and touch of missing you - of what is it that I am missing.  

I gave myself a few moments of good crying today.  It's been a while since I just sit here and concentrate on missing you. 

The body is stinging from a fatigue of stress, overthinking, overdoing, inflammation, and all forms of personal hell.   Typing these out is a horrendous sight to my eyes but I want to document this.  This too shall pass. 

I guess the hollowing fact that this is ten-year mark of your departure is weighing down on me.  Painful as it is, I need to allow the emotion to pass through me.  The weight of sadness eats into my flesh, and the throbbing of my pinched nerve is a literal message of the pain.

Believe me, telling you all these is far from fun.  Like I said, I want to document this moment in my personal history.  

Could not bring myself to see anyone from your family today.  I stayed away.  Your mom told me there was going to be a picnic at the columbrian.  

I peeled myself from the bed at 920am to a breakfast at Wild Yeast Bakery, to meet with those who wanted to be with me this morning.  Went to bed past 3am, I was drunk beyond my realisation.  When I cannot recall how I got into bed then, I knew how bad it was last night.

I should continue another time.  I need to physically remove myself from this screen and attempt some form of rest - although resting can sometimes be a challenge, but try I must.

Today came and, going off.  I am tired, but keep living I will.

Just let me wallow a little today.  I promise I will get up and get going tomorrow....or when I am done resting just a little.

Yours, 

B 

Letters number one hundred and thirty-four: The days go on (it's 2020)

Dearest J,

I checked.  My last letter to you, was June 29, 2018.  That's crazy.  Crazy long while ago.

Of course I know you cannot hear me.  Just that it still serves a bit of comfort for me to start an entry with "Dearest J".   I read a bit of my old entries while searching for the last entry when I wrote you.  The letter number one hundred and thirty-three.

Was not in a good place earlier, so I tucked the phone away and watched Breakfast At Tiffany's on Netflix.  Enjoyed the good cry, mixing my own tears with tears for them characters.

Don't know how to break the news to you, but I do feel like I've failed you somewhat.  This is the 10th year since our 'separation' and I cannot say that I am in a 'better place' yet.

Moments such as tonight.  I am afraid to face myself.

I started writing some diary sometimes.  Like, really writing them, with a nice pen.  I wrote to myself: feel like a freak show, a lone woman so far removed from love.

I've been hurt lately, by an innocent remark from someone I'm close to.  A honest opinion from this friend on my state of things with men, or the lack of; possibly due to my behaviour...of my mind.

Back to why I feel like I've failed you.

The further I am from you, in the aspect of distance in time, the further I feel plunged in the abyss of darkness of the mind.  One that was so well hidden I didn't know it was there.

So often that I announce that I am not one who needs the conventional relationship, I believe it myself.  I still think that even now.

If so, how come at the slightest poke of an honest comment about no wonder I am alone, because the way I am pushes people away - broke me into pieces?  I have to be hiding some dark gaping wounds to be this easily pushed.

It's ego.  Always the ego right?

Afraid to let go.

Afraid to admit that I too need what all the girls around me want.  They want to share themselves with someone, they want to go home to a husband some days.

My need for solitude seems real enough.  I feel at ease and at peace with all the space at home for myself.  Is this the same thing with wanting to be alone?

I wish I could print a headline, announce it to everything and everyone - that I don't have much held together.  I am a clueless fuck about most things in my life.  I don't know what I want and I don't even know if that is true or I'm lying to myself.

Meanwhile, I cannot take off and go to a hole and figure it out.  I've gone too far down the road of engaging in 'adulting' activities that I don't have the luxury of 'just stop'.

Parents are old now and needing care, a lot of time.  And money.

No time for fucking around with shit like that.

My favourite line of late - This too shall pass.

No one has asked me or made me pretend that I got my shits together.  I have done unto myself this burden of looking and walking confident in life.

I told Winnie and a few friends a few nights ago that - the worst feeling I have with you not around me anymore, is that - I can no longer turn to you at moments of chaos and doubts, to ask you what should I do.  You've said many times you too don't have answers for me.  But to have you there to stand taller than me and to admit that you don't know better than me - was comforting and assuring.

But worry not.  For this shall pass soon.  Life is too busy.

Till the next dark cloud comes.  I have ways to distract myself.  I deleted Tinder app again from the phone.  I can read more books.

I might get some help.  I will be fine.

Wish you were here.

Love,

B

Letters number one hundred and thirty-three: The days go on

Dearest J,

I was at an event yesterday, scheduled to sing at a WWF project launch...when in the holding room, I met someone we used to know (I've forgotten that this person knew you even), Dr Ong Kian Ming.  He is now a politician and member of parliament with DAP and Pakatan Harapan.  While in mid conversation about the new government, he paused to ask me about you.  "I wanted to ask you if you know what happened to that friend of yours, that guy who used to do the Food Not Bombs work with you.  Where is he now?  Still in the country, etc?"

It was...an interesting experience - to tell an old friend...(ok, perhaps more appropriate to call Kian Ming an acquaintance) who knew nothing about us, what happened to you.  I just realised now that I told him nothing else yesterday - other than the fact that you had a fatal motorbike accident...and that you had attempted a few times, some rehab work with a few addicts we met at Food Not Bombs.

Guess I was caught off guard, and I wasn't sure what else to share with him.  Anyway, Kian Ming gave a wonderful speech at the launch.  It was a collaboration project, [Wedding Without Fins], between WWF and Association of Wedding Professionals.

I am getting more and more used to the fact that I can tell that I am forgetting more things about you.  There are days when I think of something about us and wanted to dig up a piece of information and I just cannot recall... like now, I cannot remember what I couldn't recall about you, the other day.

This getting used to is not a great feeling, it's a bit of a pain - the kind you can't do anything about and you are too sad to want to linger any longer at it.  So I would scurry off, mentally...to busy myself with other things or thoughts.

=====

I was hanging out the laundry just now when I had this thought:

'A dream come true', on papers and in writing in a sentence, looks like a fantastical thing that happens to someone.  I realise in my life, I have had a few dreams came true and in real life, the actual experience of the 'dream come true' is nothing like how it sounds like when you put it in a sentence like that.

Here I was doing the laundry, and in less than a week I would be on stage, playing and singing a role in an opera.  This is a dream coming true for me.  A year ago I wouldn't dream of doing what I am doing now - not the doing the laundry at home bit - to play a principle role in an opera.

Living out a dream in real life has an almost sloth-like sequence and quality to it - the millions of seconds of doing a million of different tasks that may eventually lead up to the moment when you pause and gasp, "Wow, I think my dream just came true."

Take this opera singer dream thing for example, the first second of the millions that took place was when I decided to accept the invitation to audition for the role.

What happened after that were hundreds of boring, some scary, some frustrating, many thrilling, nauseating moments - printing out the audition scores, making appointments with pianist to work on the music, meet the pianist, record the music I need to learn and memorise, getting distracted while trying to learn the music, realising the music is hard, fearing the music, getting over the fear and frustration, getting the music, enjoying the lines finally, memorising the lyrics, forgetting the melodies, remembering it, attending vocal lessons for the song, being nervous about the audition, paying the pianist, trying to stay warmed up before the audition, singing at audition, enjoying the passages, feeling awkward at some points, feeling shitty about certain high notes, feeling relieved that it was over, leaving the audition behind with other distractions and not giving much damn about getting the role or not, feeling proud of myself for auditioning, feeling proud of myself for having learned a difficult piece of music...

You get the drift - I am narrating the millions of tasks and emotions that lead up to my laundry moment of realising - this is a dream coming true - next week.

The offer came a few weeks after the audition, accompanied by the reminders from the vocal coach that the gig does not pay much.  The next defining moment was when I did nothing to turn down the offer - thus accepting it - knowing the money is little, the work would be tough, I would be stressed amongst other things.  But clearly the pros make up for all the difficulties.  Despite the stress, and my very noisy and busy inner chatter about what could go wrong in my performance - I am pinching myself everyday and saying thanks to the universe for this gig.

I'd go through moments of wondrous gratitude in the most mundane times of the day, sitting in a traffic jam, getting dressed to appointments/rehearsals.  It moves me to no end that in the height of my weariness about my quiet and down times in the booking calendar, I am living in full sobriety and being aware of the gifts I have in this life, at this moment.

I have music, I perform music, I have a roof over my head, a car that takes me to and fro rehearsals and home, I have food on the table and in my fridge (cabinets, drawers...).  I have more than just music in my life, I am such a privileged being to perform beautiful musical works, and much more than that - I have my endless fascination and admiration for these exquisite things of life.

Anyway back to the 'dream come true' - dream-come-true is made up of a millions of mundane-scary-stressful-frustrating beautiful things.

I want to make a diary or a list of my past "Dreams Came True".  But now I best whip some dinner and prepare to go to the sitzprobe rehearsal for the opera.

Hansel & Gretel, next week :)



Love, Always,

B

Letters number one hundred and thirty-one: The days go on

Dearest J,

It's been too long.  Since my last letter here.  More than a year.

I took my parents on a beach holiday last week, with the great help of my sister in hand.  I don't know if I have ever told you, but I grew up at home never knowing what a family holiday was like - we never had any.   It didn't seem like I missed anything - I mean, you don't miss something that you didn't know anything about, right.

It dawned on me that I'd better take mom to the beach while she is still reasonably fit enough to move about.  So I went through the trouble of planning it.  I'm not one who does many things for my family, but I knew I had to do this.

Well, it was worth all the trouble.  In fact, halfway through booking all the logistics for the trip I even manage to start getting excited about the trip for myself.  Mom was really really thrilled with the experiences - she said it many times over that her wish really came true: the beach dream.  Nervous and frightful as she was, she survived it: getting in and out of boats, putting on life jackets, the boat rides, learning how to walk on soft sandy beach (both dad and mom were unstable walking on soft sand, at first), walking to and fro from rooms to meals, getting in and out of buggy rides, etc.   She took it all in, the things she was wishing for: walks on the fine sand next to the sea, playing with sea water, dipping her ankles in the water, posing for photos, sunset sightings...etc.

We actually really hung out, as a family.  For once, we just sat around and chatted, and ate without rushing off anywhere for the next appointment.  4 days 3 nights.

Dad is 76 now, mom is 71.  She told me she was never given that beach holiday since married dad.  I mean, I know them well in the sense that they have not had the chance to 'learn' to 'enjoy life' as how I know.  There are too many things that are too late for them to pick up at their age, with their background.   As limited options I have to 'make them happy', I just had to try to service their wishes.  I am glad we took the trip to Redang.  I booked a really nice resort for us, everyone was happy with the space.  It was sister's first holiday away from her kids and hubby, my first with my family, mom's first beach holiday...dad's first too.  All of our firsts.

I try to cook for them at home as much as I could, showing mom new recipes of simple and delicious dishes like pasta options.  My impatience with them remains, I still can't wait to get back to my own routines of life, and having the pad to myself.  I've learned to control it better, my mind seems to get into this "service-mode".  I want to do the best I can (given my limited patience) to provide my care and services as a daughter to mom and dad.  I cannot yet see how our future will pan out, their wealth conditions and the way they live out in Taiping stress me a bit but I am determined not to let that ruin my days.

I'm 40 now.  I don't know how to describe this but it seems, I feel that I've never really grown up - inside me everyday I have many moments of surrealism....the memories of that really young, insecure, feels ugly, un-clever girl - she lives in me still, everyday I see her - even as I am doing big, clever things like taking care of business, making things happen.  I am 40 but I feel like a 8-year-old who has grown used to getting round to do things she's never thought she would one day could.

Can't put my finger on this feeling - what you call this...

I've recently - just a couple of days ago - got re-aquainted with my old diary, the 1996 one.  I was 19, left Taiping to live in the city with sister for the first time.  The city, the new home, new life - it was also my sister's big new life that year: marriage, first born, a new house, a husband...she was only 24.

There were so many entries that shocked me, for I couldn't remember the things that happened.  I stayed shocked and feeling messed up for two days.  My thoughts when I first read the diary: maybe I am really messed up as a person, and maybe I don't know how I got here but maybe the past had something to do with it.

I feel much better now though.  So many things happened this year.  I managed to cough up my second album, Cinnabar Rouge; managed to produce and stage another concert...it was bigger and grander - I went through hell with all the work (stress, as the leading lady and as the producer).  It was a challenge to find a moment to feel proud with the work/achievements of this team - of Janet Lee.

Really, I cannot complain.  I wanted to do all that: another concert, to dance, to entertain and to work with the people, the music - to give a good show.  I guess I just wanted a shoulder to lean on.  I cannot even imagine how it would be like if you were still around.

Post concert - post album launch depression came.  Things are different this time round, times are harder, ticket sale took a while.  I had 80% attendance.  Album sale is slow now, I work from day to day to figure out what is next step to sell the next album.  I paid off everyone, having savings helped. The low-down isn't in the fact that I dig out savings to pay for things - it is in feeling inadequate to market this piece of work better, the fact that I am not getting as much attention from people as before - it is just my feeling.

I understand, as my work matures and the higher I climb - the higher the expectations and the bigger base I need.  Yet I haven't a bigger base - fan base hasn't grown big enough, I still work alone...

And I am just tired, and lonely.

Strangely though, after I was done making a check list of all the downs and feeling bad about feeling bad - I have a surreal sense of excitement.  I wonder where all these emotions are taking me next.

While I am sorting things out - or waiting it out - or just floating along - I am hooked on Alain de Botton's work.  I got addicted to watching his The School of Life videos and his talks on YouTube every night/day.  His teachings on pessimism calms me.

And back to basic - I am allowing music work to excite me and to ground me once again.  Forget the shits of life for a moment, I shall face the music and let myself get whirled into its magic once again.

I am inherently grateful to be alive.  I think of your kindness.

The pad is quiet again, it's back to just me here.  I love it here.


Love you much,

B

Letters number one hundred and thirty: The days go on

Dearest J,

I don't know if you have ever stopped in your track, and think...everyday, at every juncture of predicament and challenge in your way - you are learning how to live.

Does it ever get tiring, I am refraining from asking you questions because I know I have to answer everything myself.  The answers come much later down the road.  They will come.

The way I see my life now is in two parts, the one with you in it and the one AFTER you.  Honestly, in the most ironic, perhaps morbid and unromantic way - I feel like I've only start to 'live' this life after you left.  It feels like the life with you before was my university years, preparing me for the real thing after you go.  After you let go of your firm and reassuring grip on me.

Off I go.  It still feels like sometimes such a tiresome chore to be treading this road of life.  At most times I look around and see so much to be thankful for - even without anyone to hold on to.  Isn't it so true, that we come into this world alone and we go alone.  With families and closest of friends, we are always, all the time alone, inside ourselves.

Here I am J, coming to my second album soon; surviving the big unknown again.  Still feeling almost lost in looking for my voice, still looking, at my 11th year of working in music; still looking for myself at my 39th year of being alive.  And oh, learning in giving my body and my mind to the pleasure of the flesh a second chance, learning from scratch in becoming a woman again.  Learning new tricks to pick myself up each time I fall prey to fear and doubts, learning to listen to old advice like a trusted therapist.

And I do feel oh so lazy some days, a lot of days.  My laziness drive me to the kitchen, and proceed to intoxicate my mind with cooking...a pot of tea and some snacks and open pages in books, cleaning up the corners of the flat, dusting off books piled on the shelves, more eating and drinking tea in bed and sofa, more cooking...

And oh, I have finally caught up with you in the running/jogging.  I enjoy a run outside, whether alone or with friends.  The haze in the city has been bad each season and our clear sky days are quite numbered so that is quite an annoying deterrent for running outside.  I have learned how to do breast stroke proper, I enjoy swimming nowadays.  I have started a daily morning workout routine at home after I make my bed, this started after my birthday just more than a week ago.

Still lots to learn J. To stay constantly motivated to stay alive and be better in things.  I am slow but I never stop.

Feel good to talk to you.  Just needed to let this out so I can go on.


Much love, thinking of you,

B

Letters number one hundred and twenty nine: The days go on

Dearest J,

Two days ago, I finally packed your two pairs of pants away - the two pairs that have been hanging on the back of the master room door...since 2010.  Of course they were left hanging there intentionally, since you last left them there.  One blue jeans and one black working pants, a bit faded and one can't tell if it's really black or if it's brown.

Can't put a name to this behaviour - deliberately not packing away 100% of your belongings here.  Is it a secret desire, a secret wish that having your things around will make the memories of you linger longer?

What really happens is that I keep living, and moving forward with my life...but every time I start to clean up your things little by little - the moment I confront my decision to move the items away from its existing position, I am plunged straight to the hollowness and poignancy of the state of things: you  were here before.

I also finally clean out your bedside drawer, the tiny drawer on your side - what used to be your side of the bed.  I took my time before I picked out each and every piece of old receipts, used tissues, unused tissues, name cards, folded notes and what not - and placed them gently into a plastic bag, to be thrown away.  I found a 1 Ringgit note stuck in between a receipt.  These were the contents of your pockets then.  Your habit of emptying your pockets into this little drawer.

Clearing this drawer was a little more painful than the two pants - I checked the pockets of the pants, nothing left.

This home is a little cleaner and neater now, despite it being older now.  There are cracks on the cheap bathroom basin cabinets, the pale green kitchen blind is now stained with the years.

I really dig cleaning the flat, bit by bit, corner by corner, room to room.  Decluttering it slowly makes me feel "ready" for anything ahead.

Will I ever be fully ready for all that's to come? Will I have the courage to make things, people come to me?

Don't know, just live from day to day...

No complaints.

Forever,

B

Memories: breakup then and now

"Your face looks like it's been hit by a truck."  The first joke after our breakup.  He coaxed me to stop crying, well I didn't stop right away but that did make me laugh.

My first and only breakup was in 2004, after our first two years together.  Second year was lots of small but unpleasant fights, I grew overly dependant on him, the passion and fun were lost in the mundanity of a lifeless routine - I was too young and foolish to see that it was going to pieces, slowly.

"I don't remember the last time we have fun together anymore.  When we fight so much nowadays, it makes us forget all the good things we had."

"I didn't miss you when I was away."
"So what?" I said.
"I don't think we should do this anymore."

Though it was done gently, it was my first.  The gentle blow hit me like a truck indeed.  We lay in the darkened room and discussed what to do next.  There was no yelling or scolding.  All of that were done months before and led to the quiet explosion of that night when he said he didn't want to do this anymore.

Heart broke into pieces, tear gate flushed and there was no turning back.  But looking back now, I remember it was all very gentle, extremely gentle.

I remember we even went out for a night stroll in the city, Bukit Bintang area.  Either the night we broke up or the night after.  I wore a cotton army hat to cover my swollen eyes, favourite blue jeans, a black bra and a black see through mesh blouse.  He took a photo of me that night, the print is somewhere in some box in some corner of my house now.

We walked gently, talked gently, the gentle farewell to romance I guess.

After I found a place to move in to, he took me shopping at IKEA and bought me a few book shelves for my new home.  We took everything back ourselves and he stayed the day to assemble everything for me.  I bought a brand new super single bed.  My new place was beautiful, small, and clean.  My chief tenant was an aircraft engineer who lived in the master room and he kept the flat wonderfully clean.

It wasn't all easy and pretty like my new rented room of course - buying things for my new home was the easy part.  Walking away from the relationship in one piece took a lot more effort.  My colleagues back then were lovely bunch, I can't remember exactly what they did for me but I remember them being lovely to me.  The first few weeks were terrible - focusing at work and keeping a calm composure.

Before my move out of his place, watching him coming home late at night and being confused was hard.  Once he came home, evidently he had one too many drinks, he walked to our bed with his helmet still on his head and proceed to lie down.  I could only imagined what was on his mind, the not knowing was painful.  I wrote an entry about the not knowing and the cease of communication:


it hurts me to see you like this.  
it hurts to know that i don't know how you feel. 
it hurts even more to know that i have probably never really know how you feel. 
it hurts like crazy to know that i have stopped being the person you confide in at the end of the day. 

i'm still here. 

you've hurt me but i'm still here, you can cry on my shoulders. 
yes i know it's stupid but my heart tells me to. 
you may not love me anymore but i'm still the same person you talked to. 

damn it, i'm still the same person. 

you are feeling unjust that the world hasn't given you what you deserve for your efforts. 
you are feeling tired in the head and in the mind. 
you are feeling unhappy, i can tell from your face. 

if only i can be that person you confide things to again... 
if only. 

He was very very kind to me, he helped me set up the new life.  After the new home was installed, I was independent again.  I wrote a lot of blog entries, I read books, I went out and have many meals alone, some with friends.  And he would be around sometimes, we stayed as good friends.  Back to our old days before our romance - we chatted at Mamak after work.

"Move out of his space, and let the bastard miss you." My best friend told me when she first got over the initial shock of the news.

The breakup was good for me - it forces me to grow up, to reflect on myself, and to chase after my independence and discover my art again (and that is another story).

The breakup was good for him - for him to break away from an almost abusive relationship and to reclaim his right for a more loving friend and relationship.

The breakup was good for us - we reset the friendship, reviewed our behaviour and started fresh as friends again. Our friendship was rekindled and we got to remind ourselves again why we enjoyed each other's company at the first place.

I know I was lucky to have only gone through only one breakup in my life, and what more, one that broke my ego and built me up again.  I don't know what you can learn from my story, it's just me putting them down in words, and share my reflection of what was experienced back then - all of 11 years ago.

We eventually got back together again, about 7 months later, as a couple.  The partnership took to a great new height and we hardly have fights after that, we bonded more, we truly appreciated each other more, we became 'bestest' of friends.  We live and let live and we promised each each other to grow old together, marriage or no marriage - we want to be each other soul mate.

So that is my happy ending breakup story.

I wrote this as a self-preparation for an imminent separation of a very different kind of relationship.  Romantic or platonic, I think separation and breakups are there to teach us and help us become stronger and better people.

Letters number one hundred and twenty-eight: The days go on

Dearest J,

I just finished reading Kafka On The Shore.  Don't think Murakami was one of the authors you read...? Not sure.

The album is out, the two-night concert was a success.  For a little while, of a few days, many friends and friends of friends talked about it.

It was all so overwhelming and gosh, I didn't know where my strength came from..

To work non-stop under the great stress of finishing recordings and organising the concert; of preparing myself for the concert: face my songs and the audience, and brave the enormous beauty of the 11-person ensemble for Restless Heart.

Yet I've lived.  I think I'm enjoying the fruits of my labour - my mind is pretty clear now for most part  - in the sense that I allow myself to sit back and enjoy the smallest and most important pleasure of being an artist now: the afterglow, the quiet afterglow.

Like today...

I woke up a minute before 8am, stayed in bed...slept a while more.  Woke up again a while later and drifted between reading Kafka and checking FB and sleeping more.  Got up finally at 10am.  I put some porridge to boil, hung up laundry, slowly stir fry some vegetables (long beans and broccoli), sautéed needle mushrooms, branched purple cabbage with olive oil and soy sauce, fried an egg.  I ate two bowls of porridge with the dishes, over the novel; I ate slowly and took my time to wash the dishes.  After lunch I treat myself further - reading on the sofa, not enough, I poured myself the Yozu sake I bought from Kobe.  I napped in between reading and finally finished the novel at 3pm.

What a life right.

Put all those months of rushing between gigs and recordings and late night meetings and rehearsals and deadlines and stress and sleepless nights and not eating well and getting skinny into perspective...

Every now and then, more so now that I can slow down pace, I think about you and wonder about all sorts of things.

Even though I move fast on my toes and sometimes too fast to catch a breathe, I always, often wondered why life would be if you're still around.

Would I have made the album?  Would I write songs?  Will we go to London together?  .....

What I know for sure is that if you were here when I make the album and concert, you'd be really happy for me and proud of it all for me.

Your parents and Mama came to the concert on first night.  I gave copies of my CD to Alex, Yan and your parents.  Your mom asked for 5 copies to sell for me.

The journey after this is pretty much...another chapter, I guess the chapter before and up to the point of concert was called "WORK IT".  What comes after this is perhaps "Make It Last"?

The memories of you will last for a long long time.  I like this conversation at the end pages of Kafka On The Shore a lot, put it down here for you:

"Are memories such an important thing?"

"It depends," she replies, and closes her eyes. "In some cases they're the most important thing there is." 

"Yet you burned them up." 

Forever yours,

B

Letter number one hundred and twenty seven: the days go on

Dearest J,

I have been in an emotional constant roller-coaster ride the past few months.  Endless negotiations (with myself) and pep talks, fears and hopes, nightmares and anxieties, fantasies and premonitions - facing the crucial milestones of my career.

Before I went to bed last night I had a thought about you, and the departure.  This is my reading of our story at this juncture of my life:

You met me and you took me in in your youthful but safe wings of love and care.  Though we both grew and mature into our own passions and as best friends - I felt more like the flower being cared and groomed in the garden of this romance, and you the carefree but certain gardener.

When you left, though it felt like at first that I got ejected out of the safe and warm green room and left alone in the wild jungle...

But now I feel all different and new now, 4 years apart and a gazillion emotional and spiritual awakenings later.  Your departure is what forced me to grow into the fiercely alive person who holds on to dreams and waiting questions, I became more patient with uncertainties and future, and with my own shortcomings.

You leave me so that I be better than what I was yesterday.

A somewhat tragic equation at first...since there is no turning back to that day of your Ulu Yam ride, I take this in a strike that this is how it's meant to be: You must leave me to make me a better human.

And how lucky that we have shared those wonderful 8 years (warts and all) together as lovers and best friends - the ingredients for my growing in the last 4 years.

I am good, am not sad anymore today.  We have lived and that's what matter.

I love you, forever and more,
B

Be your songs...Janet

Own your songs, Janet.

Go on, fly.

Letter number one hundred and twenty-six: The days go on

Dearest J,

I needed a break from my huge entanglement of work, desk work and music work...so,

I sat myself down and watched Sex And The City again, my first time since the last time I finished watching its last episode in season 6...and the two SITC movies.   Ordered a vege pizza, finished it while watching Carrie Bradshaw smart-assed her way around NYC.  I opened a can of beer..some Holland beer that was too bitter for me, good thing I had ordered a bottle of 7-up too from Dominos so I could mix it into the beer I otherwise wouldn't want to finish.

My first bunch of beers I brought home to this flat, for myself...bought them at this dingy shop downstairs of Petaling Street Art House after watching WVC Trio+1 gig - 7 ringgit for a bottle of Hoegarden.

I was having a real grand time enjoying myself on the couch, felling smug that I had pizza, beer and watched about 7 episodes of Sex And The City...then EJ jazz dude, his reply to my whatsapp message came in.  He is busy with his wedding preparation and he can't send in his music early for my rehearsals for a show in October...a show with 3 other singers, and two directors involved.  Wedding, of course I have to be forgiving, and understanding.

I just felt like crying then, like a need to just cry, whine and rant over something petty like work (which is what I feel married to now) -- and what I needed, is you.  I wanted to cry and whine to you, about work and my frustration.  You used to be the best shoulder to cry on, you say the right stuff to make me feel good again.

Like that time when I had a bad rehearsal with Evelyn for that Mozart gig in NBT.

And that time when I lost the singing competition again...

And that time after the Villas Lobos gig with 10 cellists...when I heard the recording of my horrible singing of Bachianas Brazilleiras No. 5.

You also said all the right stuff when I was happy with my work.  You told me I was getting to sing more and more, I was getting to be so much better on stage, I was getting around -- with gigs.  You told me one day you would just retire and be at home playing computer games because you won't need to work anymore, because my singing jobs one day, could pay for the life for two of us.

You were so proud of me.

Well, I think you would be really proud of me now if you were here.  You could listen to the first batch of raw recordings I have now for my album.  Who would have thought one day this would come to me, my own album, originals, recording booth, bands, writers...

Am going to dedicated this debut album to you.

Miss you very much,

J

Letter one hundred and twenty five - The days go on

Dearest J,

This letter has taken about week to be finished...better late than never.

Started this part a week ago and stopped halfway when I had to go off, but didn't want to end it abruptly...this is going to be a bunch of random but important updates.

------
This part of my life now is - quietly contented with everything...and the road ahead - the sense of purpose is grounding me on my feet, solid.

The last letter was dated October 2nd, last year.  I had quite a roller coaster ride...of the heart and head.  Was drying myself earlier after a shower and looked over the big scars on my right leg, left by Thursday late last year and thought - yup, this is the souvenir and a (possibly) semi-permenant reminder of the lowest point of my life...the road so far.  The cat turning feral inside of my home was both a wake-up call for my depression-prone cycle last year and a trigger for my reinforced efforts in getting a grip of my life: take care of myself.

-----
I was having a lovely supper by myself, next to strangers, at the mamak downstairs earlier - and thinking of you.  I imagine I was you, alone, late at night after work.  I shared the table with a stranger who was on the phone most of the time, he only had drinks.  I sat there because there were no other empty table for me.  I switched table once to avoid secondhand smoke.

Anyway I imagine how  you would sit down and eat a meal and how you would enjoy every bite of the food on your plate.  It was a good supper - roti ghee with dahl and a milo ais.

------
Wrote a long letter to Cher Siang in December to spill what goes in my head, all things related to our music work together.  There were loads of pent up emotions and insecurities on my part that were eating me from inside out - the whole of last year.  Though I took the long painful way to realise how easily I could have solved my problem...am glad I finally cross a hurdle of my own demons by sitting down to write that letter and came clean with my thoughts and questions, to him.  I just have to remember that with 001/Cher Siang, going straight to the point and being honest is the best policy.

We managed to schedule a breakfast meeting in early February, with his baby boy in tow.  I had plans to make studio recordings for one or two original works that we have been performing, to gain some exposure for the material.  Nowhere was I close to planning recording a full album this year itself...but by the end of the meeting we were already discussing rough timeline to record a full album for me, a first album.  "If you don't let go and put down the pen, you'll never be ready to make that album.  It's time to stop worrying about the material and start working on making the actual album."

I started talking about making the album and telling everyone who asked about my work about it - hoping that the fact that many people hear of this from me will hold me down, and lock in the determination I need to make the album a reality.

Then in early March...one dinner with Seeming and one question later, "So what's up with the album planning?" ....I don't how and where to start with the work...I replied her.

"WHY do you need to make this album?  Why do you want to make this album?"  I went home with a list of homework from Seeming.  "You need to write a mission statement, telling people why making this album is important, and who are the critical team members on this album, and get a budget out, and a timeline.  Show me in one week."

Filled with motivation and momentum.  I finished writing a short `declaration' as my mission statement for the album in less than a day.  You can see that this is a thing I need to do, for me...and in living out your spirit.

This is what I wrote:

I would have lived just as another pretty face in the crowd.  But one day years ago - through the medium of music - I was picked out of the crowd, by him.  He who looked deep into the soul of me, made me special...no longer just another pretty face in the crowd.

These eyes of mine see the world through his lens, they colored my world with the paint of no-pretension, compassion and lots of passion.  I wish to live out his legacy through my music and singing.

Too much has been poured on this journey to not put it down in a tangible form, to represent all the priceless intangibles that have been blessed in my life - music and my friends.

I have to make this album:
Because the music and stories need to be shared
Because of the people who gave me my voice and music
Because I need to look at my music in the eye and tell it -
"I know you are here, and I'm here with you, for you."
Because my music is me, Janet Lee.

I have to make this album:
Because a little girl years ago wrote in her school homework titled:
"My Ambition - when I grow up"...
That she dreamed of being a writer, a singer, an actress and a dancer
Because years later she had lived to be all of that,
and more than that...
Because she was loved by a good soul.

the 'Critical Team Members': 

Music director & producer – Tay Cher Siang

Producer - Janet Lee

Composers - Tay Cher Siang, Saidah Rastam, Nick Choo

Studio & engineer - Starmount Studio & Alex Tan

Vocal coaches – Zalina Lee & Cecilia Yap

Backup vocals – Zalina Lee, Elvira Arul

Core Musicians:

Tay Cher Siang, piano 

AJ Popshuvit, bass

KJ Wong, drums

Julian Chan, sax

Photographer - Wong Horng Yih 

Album launch concert director - Nell Ng

Fairy god mother & best friend :) - Chong See Ming 

------
Things got busy, my phone line went busy with calls from client.  I signed up for a part time dance course in Aswara and would start to collect bruises from dancing and rolling on the hard floor of Aswara studios.
 Then last month I started weight-training with a personal trainer, I nick name him as Sargent Naim.  I've done 11 sessions so far and am decidedly a pain junkie now.  I have desired for a more beautiful body for two years and have done nothing about it until now.  I see Sargent twice a week, one hour each session.  The dumbbells were killer, the results on my body is coming very slowly but the mental satisfaction I reap is immediate - food tastes so much better, meal time is always a heightened experience of `bonding with my food'...I remember when you were training for your half marathon, you were so motivated and happy with your running schedule and eating.

I also started going to the morning wet market down the road - finally found it after Seeming told me about it years ago.  It's become something I really enjoy doing once a week, a delightful routine I look forward to weekly.  Fresh foods are cheaper there, I am saving money on my groceries and I have been cooking more and eating regularly.  I love taking my breakfast at the market, and watch the market goes next to me, or read a book while I eat freshly made hot foods.   This feels good because I have learned to overcome fear of shopping next to housewives and people who know what they are doing - I overcame the shame of not knowing what am doing and ask the vendors to help me choose the vegetables and fruits.

Am obsessed with my stomach due to a prolonged bout of indigestion and bloating.  I started on some probiotics in March but it didn't seem to make any significant improvement on my condition.  I continued my conversations with many people on this and have settled for a formula/lifestyle of eating regular meals everyday and on time,  be watchful of my portions at every meal, increase intake of fermented foods and good fats, increase variety of foods, keeping up the routine of weekly yoga and weight training and try to make myself go toilet every morning/everyday.   The results are really not too bad,  the bloating has reduced...not gone totally, I still take a long time to digest the food but the day-long bloating has certainly reduced.

-----
Cher Siang roped me in last month to perform in Melaka for a charity online (my first live-stream performance!!) concert for Hospis Melaka and Cancer Society Melaka, on Unesco International Jazz Day - April 30th. It was my first working experience with Alex, the boss at Star Mount Studios, who will be the engineer for my album.  Alex and his assistant QE recently recorded Cher Siang's new album and they are all happy with the works and the new `family ties' -- Alex said their relationship is akin to family, as they have spent a lot of time together, working with passion.

I had to sing without stage monitors in the living hall of an old Colonial Melaccan house.  Alex explained to me how having monitors would not be the ideal setting for the line-up and acoustics of the location, "Yes, it would be a bit challenging but it's great training for you to...just sing out and trust, don't hold back."  The natural acoustics in the house was wonderful..I did it - with some nerves (want to impress Alex and the team) but mostly with a lot of loving feelings - the vibes from the boys and the audience that night was magical, unforgettable for me...plus I have done more practice on my own at home before the trip.  The reception was wild, everybody was in love that night.   We had a great evening of music and party.  The gang piled into one hotel room late that night and recorded an episode of WVC TRiO+1 podcast.  

The following day was spent with the boys in town, braving the Labour Day traffic and crowd.  Spending time with the likes of HY and Choo Harn was mostly fun and inspiring.  On the drive home I initiated a holiday plan to Japan in 2015, and recruited HY and Cher Siang on the project.  It would be a special reward for myself after giving birth to the album.  April 2015, a trip to experience Hanami and to begin a new chapter of travelling with new buddies.

-----
I think this is almost a perfect point of my life...isn't it.  I feel that I have come out of the pits that I was in barely months ago and now am living it out the best I can, living for the two of us.

It's mostly because I have the right stuff occupying my head since the beginning of this year - the album project is a proclamation, a coming-off age kind of life project.  HY said it is necessary because it's my way of saying "I'm here, am alive, hear my songs."

I miss you, but am feeling much better now...living for the two of us and making a life for you and I.

love,
B