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

Dearest J, 

Sometimes I wonder if you're still around - would you love this person that I am now, this 2017 version of the woman you were in love with.  I know I'll get nowhere with that thought...just a silly wander and wonder of the mind, like when I wash dishes after a meal at home.  

I cook for myself so much nowadays, and loving the taste of it so much that I could barely stand eating out at sub-standard restaurant/mall eateries.  Sometimes I get a little embarrassed with myself, how much I enjoy cooking for myself...not that I hate sharing my cooking with others.  I wonder if it is a case of being conceited?  That I love to cook for just one.

Rationally, I'd say it is just one of the manifestation of me enjoying my own company.   I do think of friends and people when I eat alone, so and so would love this dish, etc.  I've shared my cooking numerous times with friends, they enjoy it.

Quite sure you would approve of the cooking if you were here to taste it :) You always liked those pasta thingy I made, those rare occasions when I did make them.

Lost my voice last weekend, at a gig.  It was horrifying but I think I came out of it pretty well on the show, I have proof --> audience came up to me to ask to buy my albums, and many more wanted to have photo taken with me and said how much they enjoyed my performance. 

Saw ENT twice in one week, got prescribed steroid, antibiotic and bunch of other medicine.  Recovery is apparent, but too slow to do another show now.  I had to cancel two gigs this week.  Spent the week excelling at writing apologies to clients, and had bouts of disaster recovery training on the go.  I am giving myself an award for Best Performance in Disaster Recovery, or was it Disaster Management?

Had a lot of time at hand, thinking - besides cooking, going to doctors, napping, popping bills, chores, looking for replacement singers and firing orders.  

Thinking, why had I worked so hard and done so little travelling for myself?  

Thinking how I could work on a paradigm shift so I could focus - and be less kiasu - on experiencing more...the world, outside of the work.  

The notion is to work and achieve as much as I can now, while I still have the fire in me.  I think the fire is strong still, and thinking about performing always excite me...except now my body is slowing down.   The days after the Kuching-Singapore "tour" I dazed through my classes, rehearsals and appointments, sleepy at most hours of the day.  Sore throat started as early as Sunday itself after I touched down from Singapore...really didn't see it coming, of how that would eventually escalate to losing voice a week later.  

I haven't cancelled on any clients or shows since 2008.  I remember that time when I lost my voice completely for weeks and sometimes you'd come over with home cooked from Mama :) It was also October then...it was super stressful then, cancelling 3 shows and dealing with different levels of wrath and scorn from clients and agents.   I think this time round things were more calmly managed, though the emotions are the same - poignant, regrets and upset. 

The bright side of things...there are always positive that come out of bad things that happen; the good things that came off this are: 

1) Realising how much I have established (unknowingly to myself) in my stage profile that clients really see me apart from others.  What I have been delivering and building, is indeed in a class of its own -- despite all the shortcomings I've encountered and nitpicked my performance.  

(It's hard to find replacements for the jobs that I was supposed to deliver, it was hard to convince clients to work with the alternatives)

2) A quiet time to reflect on my future perspectives and some past ones.  The all important question: What and who am I living for? 

3) I could pack leisurely at home for the NZ trip coming up in 3 days!

So, I want to start doing something about the wanderlust - travel more.  Not just in the frame of mind to 'take more holidays', but to travel more, see more.  

The papers for the condo transfer to 100% my name is almost done...after 7 long years with the laywer...high court, land office, etc etc.  I am down to my bits of paying back Alex for the bank loan that he paid for Viva.  

I've worked hard to accumulate cash in my bank the past 7 years, but I think I have spent quite fiercely too...I could be a little more stingy but it wouldn't be me.  What is money for if you don't spend it?  I hope you look out for me when I am out and about on my own, learning to move around the world, little by little, on my own.

Miss you lots, 

B

Quote from [My Year Of Meats] by Ruth Ozeki (FB post)

Fresh off two separate Jane Goodall's outings last week; having just finished reading Ruth Ozeki's [My Year Of Meats] (definitely not what I expected when I started); and halfway watching Leonardo D's [Before The Flood] documentary; and also signed up to go to the Cowspiracy Screening by Malaysian Nature Society - I am juggling between trouble-shooting at work and self-reflective mode. The need to balance work and life, rest and work, and to simplify, and empathise. 

I will take my time to organise my thoughts of them all in due time, in the meantime I am compelled to remind us, an excerpt from Ozeki's novel, in the second last chapter of [My Year Of Meats]: 

"I would like to think of my 'ignorance' less as a personal failing and more as a massive cultural trend, an example of doubling, or psychic numbing, that characterises the end of the millennium. if we can't act on knowledge, then we can't survive without ignorance. So we cultivate the ignorance, go to great lengths to celebrate it, even. The faux-dumb aesthetic that dominates TV and Hollywood must be about this. Fed on a media diet of really bad news, we live in a perpetual state of repressed panic. We are paralysed by bad knowledge, from which the only escape is playing dumb. Ignorance becomes empowering because it enables people to live. Stupidity becomes proactive, a political statement. Our collective norm." 

#reading #reflecting #goodreads #RuthOzeki #janetwrites #books #novels#JaneGoodall

I Trust You, and brief encounters (FB posts)

August 26, 2015

"I trust you." I find myself saying that a lot in recent times. Whenever I say it I have a good feeling about my life - that I have been able to surrender my hope, faith and goals into others whom I have found and earned my trust. 

I think it's a wonderful feeling when you can tell someone that - "I trust you." Maybe in some ways, even more powerful than "I love you." More than love, is when that person has done things that tell me that I can lean on him/her, and hold hands with him/her to achieve dreams and goals together.

More often than not, I think great loves are those built on great trust and friendship. It's all interconnected - without trust, it's no way to build great friendships and partnerships. 

Over the past one week, I have been asked a few times about my blatant and prolonged singlehood since Justin. "So what is it now? You've gotten too picky haven't you?" I don't know if knowing what matters to me and being picky have become the same thing, haha.

Maybe many people go through partners in their lives, each time hoping to find the ultimate person who fulfils them, or a relationship that fulfils his/her soul. In the absence of that special man who fulfils me and the empty position of "partner/soul mate" - I found many fulfilling partnerships and platonic relationships that can seriously rival a seat named 'boyfriend'. 

Perhaps it's my luck, or perhaps I have done something good in my youth - I have been meeting and working with people and friends whom I say "I trust you" a lot to. Sure, no one can compare to what J has done for me; but what these friends have done for me are honestly, no less sincere and passionate like J's contribution in my life's path.

I am grateful for having these people in my journey. I hope I am doing all that I can to treasure their friendships. 

And so my answer to my friends who have asked me about seeking the next guy who would hold my hand is, "I think I have found him...but it's in fact, more than one of them...and sometimes it's not just men - it's like a whole bunch of wonderful special people, men and women." 

(Inspired to share this because of the planning of my upcoming music video shoot, am working with the crazy talented Tan Choo Harn - am so f*cking thrilled that he is making my MV - and whom I have been saying "I trust you." to, like 3 times a day)

Tay Cher Siang Nell Ng Wong Horngyih Julian Chan Seah Song-fan Pc FooAlex Ls Tan Jaynell Ling Chong See Ming Zalina Lee Melissa Teoh Yon Lynn Tan Range Yau Winnie Majig Fung Chern Hwei Suhaili MichelineCheong ZhiLing Ruoh Peng Chiew Nick Choo Susheela BalasundaramCyrus Chin AJ Popshuvit Kj Wong Woon Fook Sen  ‪#‎restlessheart‬‪#‎janetwrites‬ ‪#‎grateful‬ ‪#‎trust‬ ‪#‎janetleemusic‬ ‪#‎friends‬

September 22, 2015

I'm not bothered by brief encounters and having met people you can't keep in your daily routines, people we meet are messengers - carrying important lessons and insights that we can benefit from if we open our eyes, ears and hearts to them in the brief time we spend with them. Treasure all your chance encounters and friendships. ‪#‎reflections‬ ‪#‎janetwrites‬ ‪#‎friendships‬‪#‎messengers‬ ‪#‎lifelessons‬

Zen @ Adult Ballet Class

Joining an adult ballet class.

The usual reaction from adults are usually:

"Huh?  For what actually?"

"How to do ballet now?  So old already."

"Can meh?"

"How do you do it?  Eee I cannot man, I'm not so flexible at all, sure die one."

"Do you need to do ballet for your singing?"

Actually I don't need it for my singing la.  Neither do you need adult ballet class for your interior or graphic design career, or for your event planning business, or your emcee career.  None of us in my adult ballet class is planning a professional ballet career.

And that's the point, for me at least.  (and to answer those who lament they are not good in being flexible or not good in dancing, hence joining a dance class is out of the question, my answer is that - I didn't sign up for dance/singing classes because I was good at the craft, I started because I want to learn to suck less at dancing and singing, and more importantly - because I enjoy singing and dancing, whether or not others are watching or listening)

This morning was my 4th class with Miss Nell​.  I have been doing the classes in ballet tights and leotard, no skirts - so my hips, bums are all in clear view of my own eyes, in figure hugging fashion.   At the end of every class we stand in front of Miss Nell's camera and (suck in) and strike a pose (or two, or three, four, five...).

Last week we jumped, many times.  The photos looked wonderful.  I have a room full of performers and actors as classmates and they know something about working the lens.  I looked at all the photos that was shared on social media and spotted myself in mid air.  The first reaction was self criticism - "My turn out sucks, my toes are not pointed enough, my legs are so kang-kang - no grace...I didn't realised my hips are THAT wide...in photos."

Those feelings stayed with me for a week, of course by the weekend I forgot about my wide hips and was glad that my legs and hips helped me through my almost 9-hour walk at Bersih 4. 

But when I face my reflection in the mirror this morning in class, my less than forgiving inner monologue started again. "Actually my legs are quite short, I always thought I had long legs for my height." "I have to work harder at weights to tone these muscles." "I wish my turn out is better, I have to not confuse that with clenching my butt." So the nagging voice stuck around for first half of the class.

And then I remembered the short documentary clip that Miss Nell shared with the class that I watched a few days ago, about an adult ballet class in San Francisco spearhead by Kathy Mata.  The 20-minute film sufficiently illustrated the importance of intention in what we do, in our choices. 

I looked up again at myself in the mirror in that thought, and I looked around my classroom at the strong-willed individuals next to me - most of us way past 30s and most of us have never learned ballet in our `younger youth' (I consider anyone under 50 a youth). 

"Remember this, Janet - we didn't join this class because we think we have beautiful and neat, flexible hips; or that we have beautiful and graceful ballerinas gait and turnouts.  We join because we want to work towards the better versions, and our best versions of our own ballerinas."  It was a moment of epiphany and relief.

So I concluded then, adult ballet classes are important for me (us) because: in this heavily glossed over society of digital imaging and aesthetic beauty-workship culture - it is mighty cathartic for a 38-year-old to face herself every week in ballet tights and leotard;  attempting jumps, plies, pony trots, tendus, demi-runs and making friends with her physical limitations; and her less than perfect body. 

I stopped for a moment and enjoyed that moment of truth and soak it all up.  Given all that I have in my life so far, I have lived to this ripe-young-age of 38 years of age and survived it.  All my limps are working fine still, and I have managed to stay in love with the finer things in life - arts and music after so many years.  I have earned my place to accept that my body is less than perfect, my tummy isn't as flat as I thought it is, and my legs are shorter than I remember. I am goddamn 38 years old.  I should be fucking proud to be doing this, gotta shut up that nagging voice and keep practising my turn out.

And then, life is, quite truly, fucking perfect.  Till the next class. Here's to remembering our intentions and keeping the gratitude.

Thank you to my beautiful (and noisy) classmates who are immensely inspiring. And to the "Miss Nell" who indulges us in our dreams and hopes. Love.

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.

FB post dated June 18th - "Que Sera Sera" by my dad

[what-I-learned-from-Dad-lastnight] In the rather toxic matrix of the city's hustle and bustle, am often blinded by small problems, temporary hurdles, etc...I often forget to look at the big picture and get a grip of "What's more important?" and "What's the big picture?"

Drove parents out earlier to visit friends, after I absent-mindedly ate my dinner with them at home - mind crowded and distracted (stressing over logistics for the concert project early next year, in conjunction with album release, etc).  My dad asked me from the backseat if I knew the song title of a famous English song, he started singing a tune that wasn't anywhere in tune and his lyrics didn't quite make sense.

"Dad I don't know this song, I cannot tell what you're singing." (I just wasn't present enough in the conversation nor I had the patience then to try to figure it out)

He started telling us that the lyrics of the songs is about not knowing what the future brings.  My mom immediately said, "Oh I know the song!" :) I knew mom knows that it's Que Sera Sera that dad was referring to - she also sang it better than dad.

So I put on the song in the car for them, Pink Martini's version of Que Sera Sera from the Sympathique album.  And dad started relating how life is indeed like the song itself - you cannot tell what the future brings.

It brought a smile to my face thinking how, as a kid back in school, to live this life I have now would have been the wildest dream.  Who would have thought that my parents would be cool enough to let me live the way I do when I first quit my day job?  Never in my wildest dreams as a kid did I dreamed of working on an album of my own; never would I have believed that one day I would live my days as a storyteller on stage, singing songs of dreams and hopes for live audiences who indulge with me - even though I have written more than once in school homework that my ambitions and dream jobs were these: author, novelist, actor, singer and dancer.

"Hey you", I tell myself, "This is the moment - of being alive, staying alive, ironing out problems, big and small...charging along; both your parents still around and they are playing witnesses to your life's events - of your big and small achievements - being proud to have given birth to you." "So why so grim?  There's nothing you can do that can't be done...nothing you can sing that can't be sung..."

Yea, I gotta learn to set my perspectives right and understand the scale of my `predicaments'.  So thank you dad, for singing the song, though out of tune and lyrics not quite right - you have taught me and reminded me last night on "what's more important".   Que Sera Sera.

FB post dated March 31st - "Talk yourself out of bad situations"

The lesson this morning is 'trust' and 'positive-thinking' - not something I instinctively subscribe to every minute of my day - you can say that it's not yet my second nature.  But after my experience this morning, I would definitely want to make it as part of my reflex :)

This is a bit of a long-winded roundabout way story but I trust that should you choose to read…you may enjoy the ride :)

I went to the wet market down the road that I have discovered recently (of course it's been there for years) - to shop for fresh goods.  The market is a lot smaller on Mondays, the number of vendors for fruits and vegetables were no more than two or three stalls each. I looked around under my hat and from behind my vintage shades, sense of self-doubt welling up: how could I make sure I would pick the freshest produces and how could I make sure these ladies at the stalls won't rip me off at prices?  I walked around looking and thinking, quite convinced that they would charge me more because I look clueless and new there.

Fortunately the will to have fresh vegetables and fruits to eat at home this week was strong enough that I didn't turn back and leave.  I bought three pieces of sweet potatoes, was charged RM 4…I thought it was expensive, but I paid up anyway. I stayed with this stall and bought more from this lady, 12 apples for RM 10, one kilo of passion fruits for RM 10 - I think these prices are fair.  At that point I have decided to trust this fruits stall lady and trust that she wasn't out to rip me off, so I bought bananas from her too - at RM 5 per kilo.

Next was vegetables.  The first item I picked up was a a packet of jagung, two fresh ones in one pack.  "How much?" The skinny elderly lady there told me it's RM 2.50.  I recall that this would cost more than RM 3 if you find them in the supermarkets - so I continued to snoop around and put more vegetables in my basket.  One bunch of Hong Kong choy-sum, RM 4. I also picked broccoli, french beans and two cuts of lotus roots.  The whole bill came up to RM 14 for all that - I was happy.  I think it's pretty good deal - RM 14 for 5 types of vegetables.

Happy with my purchase, I rewarded myself with breakfast at the corner restaurant down the road from the market.  I ordered a bowl of curry laksa noodles.  The huge bowl came, filled to the brim with cockles, curry chicken and fish balls, among the eggplant and long beans, all cramped in the thick curry soup.  I returned the bowl and explained that I don't want any of the cockles and chicken business; and that I was used to curry laksa noodles with only the noodles and vegetables and tofu.  They removed all the meats for me and served me.  The noodles looked deadly overcooked - I was convinced.  I was right, the meehoon and yellow noodles were soft and slimy.

I debated with myself on whether or not to just pay up and leave to eat at the other stall that I frequent more.  "The boss would think am such a brat to do this, with no regards for money." ...I decided to sit back and try to eat maybe only the vegetables in the oily curry soup and talked to myself, "There's no need to waste this bowl, what you could learn from this is not to order this again from this stall, or to go to other stalls if I want curry laksa.  This is just one meal out of so many future meals am going to have - there's no need to kick a big fuss over a breakfast."   The minute my mindset changed, my breakfast began to taste better - somehow the soft meehoon wasn't as slimy before and the vegetables were great.

I didn't finished the entire bowl but I finished most of it, not wanting to overstuff my stomach.  Awe consumed me the whole time - I was amazed at how quickly the quality of my experience change at the turn of my thinking.  Never before I was this convinced about positive thinking.

So there, I had a great time this morning because I learned to trust that people aren't out to con me and that things aren't as bad as they look :) If you actually read this far, I sincerely trust that your week ahead would be a rather fantastic one, if you could talk to yourself like I did this morning ;p

#living #janetwrites #trust #positivethinking #vegetarian #groceries #jalanipoh #currylaksa #wetmarkets #reflections

FB post dated November 30th - "Picking the winner"

How do you pick a winner in a singing competition?  An overall polished performance but safe, making less mistakes but pushing no further than being safe, versus a risk-taker in pushing one's boundaries and bringing the audience to the edges with raw emotions and heart, display fair amount of vulnerability and imperfections.  An ideal winner is of course a combination of both great skills and great emotions but when you have to pick one, how do you do it?

I learned something this morning, maybe not exactly something completely new to me but definitely something I should spend more time thinking about.  

Was on the panel of judges for 2013 World Children's Day Refugee Talent Competition, organized by UNHCR Malaysia. Six of us, three judges from the dance field (Cecilia Yong, Amar Singh and Gonzalo..didn't get his name proper) and three of us from the music field - Reza Salleh, Arif Akhir and myself. 

The children were being judged based on ability, stage presentation and audience appeal for their singing and dancing performance. There were only six finalists in each category and their age group vary from eight years of age to teenagers.  Being children and still fresh on stage, it wasn't hard recognizing who had the best singing technique and who did better in appealing to a live audience and performing on stage.  Choosing the winner at first seemed easy, the gap between the finalists was obvious - but the exchange of a few words with my fellow judges before I was ushered to hand in my final score - gave me new insights into the world of `judging a winning performance'.

We all agreed that deciding on a winner under this sort of circumstances is hard - the children's skills vary quite a bit, they obviously have very different background (though were all refugees in Malaysia), they all excel in different aspects of performance of singing.  

So when it came to time to put down the pens and choosing the one for top marks this morning, it was also time to decide what the judges were going to reward - do we pick the performance that showed us power of trusting, faith and soul, or do we pick the performance that displayed just adequate skills and flair?  

In my heart, really, despite the cliche we have all heard, all the kids were winners to me - they have all won because they had stepped out of their comfort zone, invested their time, resources, heart and soul into the project, braved the nerves, and faced the panel and audience, bared themselves `naked' and be the subject of judgement for 5 minutes.  That's how much (and more) artists and performers are willing to sacrifice for their craft, and art.  

Opss...I have digressed. Back to the crunch time of decision this morning - there were three of us on the singing panel.  The winner was the little 8-year old girl who went for her faith, sang with truck loads of gusto and heart, gave dynamics in her singing and basically, she bite the bullet.  Yes she still lack  finesse in her vocal control and technique.  But she has those other elements that would send her to a different place all together, when she acquire more technique later, if she doesn't stop singing after today.

For someone who is obsessed with the importance of training and technique, I am guilty of bringing my classroom and my singing teacher with me (inside my head) on stage.  But I love telling stories and connecting my live performance with the people in front of me, so it's usually a close fight between the heart and head.  I think the heart usually wins - that means I'd go back stage later, cursing and wishing I had more practice and that my pitching and production were more put-together.  But after this morning's experience, I am reminded of the meaning and spirit of a live performance - the bottom line should transcends learned skills and technique, and it should be about making a shared experience that aims to change something in the audience, move a few souls in the room, stir up imaginations or memories, taking people to places with the singing (dancing, acting..etc) - and sometimes it won't come from being the best in technique.  

I need to stress again, my point is that technique is VERY IMPORTANT in performing arts, but it won't be the sole deciding factor in a winning performance.  

So many factors make a performance special and memorable, so many things at stake when you're on stage, the performer is both powerful and vulnerable…guess that's part of the allure of this thing called performing arts huh?  

Thank you Reza Salleh for  your insightful thoughts and Ariff Akhir for letting me pick your brains :)

FB post dated November 14th - "Shut the fuck up at concerts."

Attended a lovely concert last night with some colleagues in the music circuit.  The experience was marred by a few issues.  I could forgive the Arctic-like, severe and intensely bone-chilling drafts of the air-cond that blew right on top of us from 830pm to 11pm.

But I can't quite rest my heart at the `sakit-hati-ness' of the behavior of the audience.  For the reason that I think what I have observed last night reflect a much bigger issue facing the…youth of our society today.

We were sandwiched by a row of elderly audience behind us and a group of four young ladies/girls who sat in front of us.  At numerous occasions during the intimate moments of the performance there were audible chatter behind us - please note that it was chatter, not whispers.  In front of us where we had no choice but to look between the four heads belonging to the four young ladies, to enjoy the consummate performance on stage.

The performance featured vocalists, a jazz band and contemporary dancers.  For the most part of the evening whenever the dancers make appearance, the girls in front first watched (though I think it looked more like they were gawking), then exchanged remarks among themselves, then giggled uncontrollably…non-stop.

Now, how the dancers' performance fitted into the music performance is another issue - but the fact that these young people (ok, I am assuming by merely guessing that they look young, they look early twenties to me) thought it was okay to start a forum about the performance right there in the middle of the concert, among other audience - is beyond my best effort tolerance.

I practice self-censorship consciously in all my self-published content - blogs, FB tweets, instagram, etc.  Outside of the cyber world I try my level best to do the same.  As I age I put in more effort in behaving myself in public, when dealing with frustrating people, I try to put peace and solving a problem before satisfying my urge to reprimand - I really try, trust me - I used to be a lot louder and wouldn't think twice about telling someone off in public, loud.

At the beginning of the concert I turned to the chatting elder-lies behind me and smiled first, gestured for them to shut their gaps and said softly, "I want to listen to his singing."  I looked into the pair of eyes I met, sitting behind me, on a face of a woman who clearly looked old enough to be my mom - they looked happy to be at the concert…except they really didn't know how to stop their chatters in a concert like that.

Unfortunately for me, I was expecting a lot more from the girls in front of us.  They were young people who were clearly privileged enough to attend such a classy event - a live music concert; they looked like they are at university-attending age and they each had a piece of paper with them and they would sometimes write something on the papers in the dark (I wish I knew what the papers were).

The four of us behind the girls watched the show patiently, it was a long and cold night.  Towards the end of the performance the lead performer engaged us in a most soulful, and quiet ballad, featuring a dancer.  One of the girls continued her antics of mocking the performance by covering her mouth, stopping herself from laughing, and exchanged words a few times with her neighbor.  I decided to talk to her, I tapped her lightly on the shoulder and said, "This is closing to the end already, could you please pay attention to the stage?"

The girls didn't quite stop their gawking and giggles after that but their moronic behavior was reduced.  I could tell that the girl whom I tapped was dying (inside of herself) to take a good look at me and stare right down at me.  After the show I spoke to some musicians about audience etiquette.  Our conclusion was that - the older bunch had no idea that talking during a performance is fucking rude - they simply had no idea what renders appropriate behaviour at concerts.

The young ones?

Many people talk of Malaysians being people lacking in exposure of worldly things - specially in the arts and music industry.  Comments like, "Yalah they don't know ma what world-class standard is like."  "Not bad already for a Malaysian/local show." …..etc.

My point is, long winded as this entry is (apologies) - so yes, we are village folks, we don't know any better, but are we ready to remove ourselves from our narrow-mindedness and our so-called `backwardness'?  And for those of us who know better - are you ready to educate and help open the eyes of those who don't any better yet?

So if you know that when you attend a live performance with three hundred other audience in the auditorium, you are to put your phone on silent, and leave conversations with your friends for appropriate break of the performance - would you do something to ensure that your fellow audience do the same?

Or would you just sit there and ignore the bad behavior for the sake of peace? Of avoiding making a scene?

A few years ago I sharply told a mother off for talking to her family (a pair of parents and two teenagers) during a performance in a theatre.  This lady received several warnings from other member of the audience during the show - "Please keep quiet, I didn't pay to hear you talk, I paid to watch him dance." etc.  So on my way out of the auditorium I stopped by her seat and told her that she really shouldn't be a bad example to her children.  Her reply was, "No we didn't talk, we didn't do anything wrong. I don't know what you're talking about."

Later on at the foyer of the theatre I saw her again, again I approached her and told her that everyone who sat near her could she and her family talked during the show, ahem, she was so good she actually scolded me and called me a bitch loudly…with people near us who looked on, disdainfully.

I rest my case.  Again, I apologized for the lengthy writing to illustrate one point.

Again, my question again - if you know better in being a worldly person with manners, would you care enough to educate the others to improve themselves?  Clearly, if there are not many of people like me around to single out the spoiled kids like the ones we encountered last night at Tribute To Yao Ming's opening concert - I would always look like the bitch who is self-righteous and a snob who tell people off.

The road to a more mature society, getting to the first-world country…and all, seems very long and cold.

Solidarity-Compatible

I have a syndrome, I call it over-compatibility of solidarity.  I don't know if it's a healthy condition to be in or it is a sign of a bigger problem.

But so far I have yet to suffer from this condition, it has not done any harm to me physically or mentally.  At times I wonder if I could be suffering from a possible attack of self-denial.  This wondering comes when am I am consciously celebrating my love for solidarity; for example when I am walking alone somewhere, anywhere, and smile in an almost maniac delirium of feeling free, and alone.

That's it.  I think the rationale behind my fondness for solidarity lies in my love for freedom.  Everybody loves freedom no doubt, but I guess freedom is interpreted differently by individuals.

To some, freedom means being able to pursue one's interests without restriction from family or friends or society.

To some, freedom means being able to travel to anywhere.

To some, freedom means being out of jail.

To some, freedom means sleeping with different lovers and not be punished for it.

To some, freedom means being able to speak freely without having to pay for it in a lawsuit.

For me, being alone is freedom.  Roam as slowly or as quickly through a strip of shops.  Being alone I can sing as loudly as I wish at home in the wee hours.  I can skip meals or cook at 2am.  I can read in bed till 12noon and not get up till I finished.  Being alone I don't need to sound clever, be polite to someone boring, or impress someone I like.

I try to be less of trouble to others. I try my best to be a careful driver.  I try to be kind and listen to my compassion department.  I try to be my best at work and with friends.  I try to be less abrasive.  Basically I strife to be mindful and live with awareness.

And on top of all that I love being alone.  Sure, it feels like I do spend endless hours missing my days with him around, missing having his intellect, his loving and caring ways.  I miss his smell, his touch, his voice, his sloppiness, his silliness, his science, his ideas, him.

We built a life together based on our ideals of a fulfilling relationship - where the value of our romance was not based on the number of hours we spent together, but rather it's about what we bring to share in the hours we spend together.  We treasured what we did apart as individuals.  The sum of our romance was who we are when we do things NOT being together, so when we get together we combine our passions as a unit.

That could be the reason why I have become so compatible to solidarity.

So much so that I find myself wondering much, "Is there anything wrong with me, like this?"

In a society where piety, and company of family and friends are highly prized - I feel like a delinquent..preferring my own company to another human being.

But hey, I am fantastic with people.  When am with people, I am good fun and a functional company.

I just don't need too much of it.

But yet, I have a keen interest in people.  People amuse and fascinate me.  I can spend whole day (away from pages in a book) watching and study people.

According to David Foster Wallace, fiction writers have this syndrome too - the passion of standing at the side to look and stare, ogle at others.  Well, I am not a fiction writer, I just enjoy looking on.

So yea, I wonder if this over-compatibility to solidarity is a sign of selfishness?  A syndrome to an illness?

Am hungry now and I have a manicure and pedicure appointment in an hour's time.  Best I get some urgent done before I get out to beautify myself.  How lovely that I can order in a wonderful sandwich at the salon while Joanne works on my nails.

thoughts dots dots

"Good things must share."  was what he used to say a lot, and advocate.  I remember with much fondness that he used to encourage sexy wardrobe for his girlfriend, "You look so yummy in these clothes, you should go out like this so other guys can enjoy your beauty - good things must share."

And he offered to lend my beautiful winter jacket to his female colleague for her business trip, "...a good winter jacket should be shared, since you don't need it all the time, might as well make it useful for another person."

This came up when I was ruminating and chatting with Lynn about my philosophy in dealing with insecurity.  I was inviting her to come on my show again to sing a duet with me and as usual, I'd feel slightly terrible of having the guest performer to only perform one song after all the trouble of making rehearsals, going to sound check (not forgetting dressing up and waiting all night for that one duet)..etc.  So I asked.

"Let me know if you wanna sing more songs on the show, am running the risk of having your beautiful singing upstage mine - I'd still ask...because Justin used to say - 'Good things must share.'  So I'd share."

Lynn likes the way that I'm funny.  I know this well I think - the good-natured self-tease to compensate for something less.  I think it works that one is funny on stage, it is pleasing and audience will always be more giving and overlook even if your instrument is less than perfect.

And for peers who are better than me in the craft, I realize am always happy (maybe too happy for my own good) to admit and acknowledge when someone is better than me and I'd be happy to share the spot light with her and not feel threatened.

It feels like...
I am perpetually inspired and motivated to be better than my yesterday, because I always surround myself with peers who are better than myself.  Though, I think with a chuckle, this energized and spirited state of mind does not always transform myself into a super high flying genius artist - but it keeps me in a place where I hardly need to deal with insecurity.

I would gladly and openly tell others that there are many colleagues of mine who are better than me in music.  But I don't loose in the `game' - my strength is in my honesty and transparency.  I think when you get rid of the fear of being the second best on stage you can truly shine in your own shoe - even if it means your shoe is a bit discolored.  I guess this is a case of "I am the best second-best performer on stage - look at me, there's no one quite like me here."

What a load of brain fart here, does any of this make any sense?

Dream a little Dream of me

Not too long ago I dreamed of J, I was crying good and loud in his arms. That felt very good, I only wish I get dream like that more often. It felt good because I was with him again, you know, literally with him - in his arms. From that experience I think I understand why people go to the medium to talk to their departed loved ones...you miss someone so much that you'd do anything just to 'see' him and 'talk' to him again.

Everything has been working out just grand in his absence. I can't say if I have willed everything to turn out this wonderful for me, single-handedly...me - manifested the whole series of good things. It's not my nature to think that naturally.

But when I stop and ask myself, then what did? I couldn't see other reason or cause of event other than the cause of ME. It's too funny. I had spent the good whole eight years of our relationship dedicating all my gratitude for all the good things in my life to having met him and made him loved me. And now, still living in the shadow of our memories, I think I have taken over the entire responsibility of my mental and household welfare and sanity, among other things.

That's a potentially really stupid statement, how else would a person NOT be responsible for her own welfare? That was me, the last nine years or so, thinking that he was my universe which has provided me with all the most important things for a person's welfare in many ways. I learned to drive because he made me go to driving school. I left my day job to be a singer because he took my hand and told me he would help me in all that he can until I could stand on my own. He went house shopping with me and gave me a home in this wonderful down town flat.

Anyone could have done all of that by herself and more. Well, I had him.

Then, as if I was possessed, I started taking charge of my own business. As if I had just been given my first magic wand and a book of spell, I start to cast wonderful things all over me.

(Including going to bed at 4am!)

I cooked a big pot of courage and started getting myself somewhere with my music.  I invite myself to the stage of KL's most prestigious jazz bars.  I start singing songs that I didn't dare dream of performing.  I started to say yes to travelling.  I started to scat at performances.  I start to read more, and listen more.  I started going to jazz gigs a lot more, alone, to just listen, and learn.

And the rest of the movement just followed.  I started getting more bookings, more frequently...etc.  A whirl of new activities came and more new ones followed.

Amidst the buzz of things I would feel a hungry yearning, a throbbing desire to talk to him, to hold him and make him see my life now, and wanting to seek his approval in all I do. I would sometimes stop in the track and look out somewhere, hoping to catch a glimpse of him somewhere so I can look him in the eye and say, "See, am a clever girl.

Letter ninety-one- Day one-hundred-and-seventy-five of your vacation

Dearest J,

Took Mama to a Hokkien play last night, I Am Not My Pimples.  It was an impromptu move.  I went to visit yesterday with this yummy carrot cake and stayed long enough to forget to inform the folks that I wasn't staying for dinner.  Then we realised she was going to be all alone at home - your parents were going to a wedding dinner, Yan & Alex also had plans for the evening, out.

So I watched her gobbled down her dinner and got changed, jumped in my car and drove home.  Thursday entertained Mama while I showered and got changed for the theatre.

Mama sat through the entire play (without intermission) wide awake, even though she couldn't hear much of what the actors were saying.  She just sat there watching the play attentively.

While driving her into town in the sunset, BFM was playing The Pretenders' Don't Get Me Wrong, a happy song, you would call it.  A tune that never failed to lift my mood anytime I hear it.  It was an incredible blissful moment for me.  You always liked it when I take Mama out on any `excursion'.  It was just a simple moment of perfection, I felt. With the sunset in the horizon, I could see it from my car, the song and its beat going, and Mama next to me.  We are your favourite ladies, in one car.  The missing one was you but somehow the moment was complete because Mama and I are bound by you.

So the thought of you, stirred well with the sunset and the Don't Get Me Wrong song and Mama being alive and kicking next to me, driving along to a play, conjured the prescription of how to live the times ahead - have lots of fun.  That was what you always prescribe for the both of us, to always have fun despite whatever.

I don't believe that when someone passes on the spirit or the soul stays.  But at this moment I can see that the spirit of you, the fun person, emerging to remind me how to be, and live through that perfect moment in time.

Thank you.

Much love,

B

a brand new life

Breathing in a new life...

Something good is coming.

So here's the first note of advice from a wise musician, "Imagine stories for songs, instead of memorizing songs."

Dun wanna be a NATO officer

NATO

No Action, Talk Only

I have talked of many grand plans, pondered and considered, but the execution part of the plans usually sputtered and died halfway. I consider these plans Grand because they seem so great that I didn't gather enough steam to reach the finish lines.

Basically am saying however big or small my plans were, I have the annoying habit of not follow through with my ideas and plans.

I still haven't started back on piano-playing.

There are still too many old songs I haven't quite mastered.

I still make a mess with the keys to my songs.

I still haven't started on learning more pop songs.

I haven't been practicing my classical repertoire...

I haven't been back in voice classes...

....boy.....

There are far too many books on my shelf that I haven't read, and wonder if I'll ever get to them before I leave this world, at the rate I'm going with one book.

I still don't eat well enough, too lazy to even get up to make a Milo drink, or a sandwich.

I chat too much on my PC.

With all that said, I'm having a fantabulous start of the year, can't imagine a year to start any better than the one am having.

Last year ended with a wedding dinner show on the 31st, I managed to get home and escaped the congestion before midnight - watched two sets of fire works from the windows of my room while talking to J on the phone from Thailand (he was on a biking trip and finishing a book before the clock strike twelve) - got all comfy and enjoyed a bowl of hot noddles - bliss.

My new year started with a great mini musical for a fundraising outing, they raised RM 200, 000 from the event.

Exactly two days later I took a week-long holiday down at Tasmania and Melbourne with Sush. A real holiday at last. Blew my Maxis account while I was there, bookings for me to sing in KL were streaming in while I burn my Ringgit on Australian fine food & vintage gowns.

I came home nine days later to J's waiting for me at LCCT and some nice char keow teow to follow. Then on full force to five gigs span over two weeks...strings of corporate appreciation dinners.

I just got home from my last gig for this month, another dry cleaning in the laundry bin. Thirty days gone in 2010. Eleven months left, fast huh?

Not that I want to live my life according to the calender and a string of "I-Should-Do-This"s. I am stopping in my track now to ask...

What have been stopping me from doing what I started out to do? The list of "I-Still-Haven't-Done-That"s.

I guess the answer can only be Me.

I get it.

I want to get better at my music & songs, there is no better time to start working on it other than now. Be it Dec of 2009 or Feb or Jan or July of 2010...the word is Now.

Now.

the future concept of life, on Star Trek, exploring on google chat

1am this morning....chatting with my man about the future, and now.

Justin: i'm a looooong term planner...just a little daft when it comes to short term planning

me: this long term planner...does he have his own savings?

Justin: no woh

me: your long term planning ahead requires no money for your future plans?

Justin: star trek

me: what is star trek?Justin: star trek evolves around the concept that in the future, there's no need for money, we have all we need to survive because we can make things efficiently without needed to work for it. You want a motorcycle, just press a button, you want a vintage dress, just press another button. Hence, the human species can concentrate on doing what they like to do as opposed to doing what they have to do. Hence, the exploration of deep space is what Star Trek is all about.

me: i think we need more time for that

Justin: planning too far?

me: so i dun think we will live that far into the future

Justin: scientist are working on it. they just need to find the gene to turn off aging. but that will introduce another problem - over population. imagine nobody dies (naturally) and just more and more are born. disaster

me: unless you are plannin to live into 300 years old, maybe you found a solution to extend human life to

300...anyway, i dun like the Star trek life, bcoz i cant figure how and what the purpose of living would be

if i press a button everyday to get what i want

Justin: you'll be singing for free

me: i guess...i duno if i will like it

Justin: but i guess, people don't have to hire you, they just press another button an a hologram of Janet Lee comes on stage, but if they want a real Janet Lee, they have to hire you

me: i will think about it...or blog about it, if i press a button n i dun need money for anything, how will i live happily....maybe i just post this whole conversation onto my blog can?

Justin: but you don't need money, so you only do the acts that you really like, the ones you really believe in, like Dama can hire you without needing to pay you

me: ok, interesting one to think about...but, for now, for the next 50 years - i think we need cash ok?

Justin: imagine, all the things you do will be closer to the recyclist work as opposed to your theatre work

me: ..hows is that?

Justin: you're not getting paid for recyclist

me: but am not working in theatre bocz they're paying me whatever x amount of money, if they pay me zero also am likely to play the role anyway, bcoz the playing the role is priceless, ..so you see

star trek or not, it's already in our everyday lives -- there are things that money cannot buy...like the credit card ad says.

Justin: so imagine Dama and all other musicals, etc... and all other performances are purely for charity, you're living close to the Star Trek dream already!

me: well ya, but we still need to pay ppl who are not in the star trek live

, restauarants, doctors, teachers...

Justin: they will also be doing out of passion, not need - they teach because it makes them happy, they cook because it makes them happy and they save lifes because it makes them happy

me: err, but their grocers will want their cash when they buy a bread...so when they are teaching for FREE, in a way, they still have to trade it with cash to buy that bread - that has a price tag.

.....well, if the resources are all free, then i guess yes...ok it works. i think i understand this Star Trek concept better now

Justin: in the future, we're able to re-arrange the atoms and manufacture anything we need by just re-arranging the atoms, apple, honda-repsol, vintage dress, mustard, mountains, etc.. all things material are made out of atoms. The same atoms, rearrange them, we get a totally different item.me: maybe i should watch Star Trek n see what they do with all that freeedom

Justin: they just explore, explore, explore, some gossip, gossip and gossip all day, some fight, not for money but the other evil things like ego, power, etc...

me: what about me then? Justin: you? you just sing sing sing everyday!

me: no i mean, can you rearrange the atoms and make another me?

Justin: they cannot duplicate living beings because of the spirit

me: ok, you mean personality right?

Justin: can make another clone of you but it won't be you because it won't have the same experience path and learning

Justin: but that's Aeon Flux

me: wat?

Justin: your spririt, cannot clone one...

me: wat is aeon flux?

Justin: another sci-fi about the future of clonning, its a cult movie, started by MTV as a adult cartoon series, dark and sinister

Justin: goodnight...hope you feel better. and i'm saving, ok? not in terms of cash but in terms of intellectual capacity. i'm building myself to be able to do more things in the future. like your music training and voice training, etc...

.........

you want the future life on Star Trek?

Inventory of clutter?

related article here

An inventory of my belongings...

when does an item start to become a member of a clutter?

I will be moving into a new place in a few months, the thought of organising the move is daunting. At the moment, my personal belongings fill up quite everywhere, of this 840 square feet flat I live in.  One wonders how much can a bachelor person own?  Some women I know live with probably about 20% of the clothes I own.  

A a pang of panic shook me up when this realty agent lady commented on how much I have in this flat, when she came round with a potential buyer (who is now the actual buyer of this flat). Shit, I thought to myself, it's going to be hell when I have to pack all of these....clutters.

I went through the weeks thinking I'm a terrible hoarder of things, a woman who lives in clutters.

I walked around this small flat this morning, making a mental note of the THINGS I have with me here.  What exactly are these stuff that belong to me?  A single woman, no kids, no pets and living alone...  Why do I have things that can fill up a space of 840 square feet (I know it's not a huge place)?

I was looking for clutters, I took out a empty box I stacked up in my store room and was ready to pack some miscellaneous items in it.  

So what did I find in my flat?  Well, the list goes...

Clothes, in all of the three rooms in this flat.  Packed in boxes I have clothes that aren't on a regular-wear basis.  In the wardrobes are my show outfits and my normal wear.

Fine, clothes are fine, I have weeded out the to-give-away ages ago.

Next, I have books all over the flat, stacked neatly all over...They are all over the flat because I lack a big enough book case for all books I own, this include heavy volumes of music scores, magazines that I collect (Off The Edge & Australian Vogue), theatre souvenir/program books collected thro the years.  Verdict: books are for keeping because I love them and I haven't read most of them yet.

Next, I have stacks of CDs, DVDs all over the hall...most of them stacked nicely on a CD shelf (a wooden foldable shelf bought in flea market for 20 bucks), and some more in an Ikea plastic storage box.  Verdict: Of course for keeping, are you kidding?

Next, I have files and papers -- potential clutter!!!  Files of bills, certs and official documents, and music scores will stay, lots of other papers lying waiting for attention.  Verdict: Action required.

Next, I have costume jewellery and many kinds of accessories lying in boxes, drawers, wire display units, in baskets....hair accessories, feather boas, masks, earrings, brooches.  Verdict: Keep, of course, they are both my investment and passion, for both work and pleasure.

Next, I have bags, bags for all seasons and occasions, evening bags, overnight bags, travelling bags, hippie bags, lady-like bags.  Verdict: Weeding before packing is required.

Next, in the kitchen. Verdict: Definite a few out of use utensils can go right out of here.

Next, photo albums!!!  Remember them?  Before digital camera, flickr, and Face Book?  I have a few huge volumes of memories stacked neatly on the TV cabinet (don't own a TV so my `clutter' now reside on this cabinet).  Verdict: volumes of memories will stay.

SO, what do you think?  Do I own clutters or are these just things who make me who I am?  The bulk of my belongings are clothes, accessories and books (and I don't even have that many books).

Whatever it is, I know now the way to pack is to systematically arrange your things into a box, one category at a time and the way to do it is -- stay calm and collected.

Next, where do I get boxes?