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

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

the stranger in town

Loneliness is, ....was a stranger here.
But he knocked my door and dropped his bag at my feet,
Saying he needed a place to stay for a week or two.
"It's full everywhere else."

I look him in the eye,
"OK, only for a while."
- a case of hesitation and reluctance gave way to kindness?
He walked in and declared,
"What a nice home you have, for a tired stranger like me."

Hmm, gosh, I hope he likes the same books that I read.
I made tea and sat next to him,
"I don't drink coffee, but there are some 2-in-1 over there in the second drawer.  Help yourself."
He smiled while staring at my painting on the wall and said,
"No worries dear, I'll have whatever you're having."

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

How Do I Love Thee (for Unreserved, The Malaysian Reserve)

For Unreserved's Valentine's Day issue

Printed in [Unreserved] by The Malaysian Reserve 

February 2014 volume 1 issue: Love - the seasons and reasons

I first met him in 1996 when I took a job in

n his company during my college break.  Years later after I left college and started working at a place that happened to be near his house, we started hanging out sometimes.  He told me much later that he got interested to get to know me better after watching me compete in a singing competition back in 2002.  

Thereafter we started spending a lot of time talking, and do things like attending talks (I remember we had a date attending a DAP dinner forum), watching concerts at No Black Tie, queuing up to get a passport renewed, go for bike rides and taking photographs of the night sky, etc.

We became a couple after we talked about our feelings for each other, after months of hanging out as buddies and exchanging lots and lots of conversations.

My understanding of love has extended over to my growing (but never ending) understanding of life and how I aspire to live, through my relationship with Justin.  Our approach to love and romance is similar to how we look at life – live and let live: to give full support and encouragement to your partner in doing what he loves to do.  To love someone is the desire to makehim or her happy, by understanding his dreams, passions, his hopes and his nightmares.

That is what I have learned from my relationship and friendship with Justin.  When I first started seeing him I was clingy and dependent, and wanted most of my activities to revolve around being a couple but it hurt us badly and we broke up for a few months.  When we got back together we were better friends and lovers, I guess we had found a balance between being our ownpersons and being each other’s best friends and lovers – we found the perfect match of space and intimacy for two friends.

In many ways I guess I could say that it’s never changed since the day I saw him for the last time - Justin met with aroad accident on his bike outing with friends more than three years ago and departed.  I think of him now with the fondest memories of course, abide the melancholy tone of loss.  He has left me (and am sure many others too whom he had touched with his kindness and life’s outlook) with one of the best gifts in my life – the desire to be a kinder and generous person, and to live simply, but not without passion.  

I have no regrets.  If I hadn’t gotten into that relationship with him, who knows if I would be driving today – he took my hands (literally) and walked meto a nearest driving school near his house and signed me up for driving classes, “So that you can drive yourself around to attend auditions and rehearsals.” He said.

If I hadn’t been with him, I might remain a silly petty person who gets angry over things I have no control over, instead of going with the flow and make the best out of situation at hand.  If I hadn’t been a recipient of his affection and admiration,I may not have the courage and balls to remain in my job now as an independent and freelance performer who needs to know how to strife for excellence, fails and picks herself up again, over and over in this road to passion.

I am not seeing anyone at the moment but I am seeing a lot of myself though!

the necessary conversation

I started this entry quite a few weeks ago but didn't finish it.  I was at the height of some pretty strong emotions then, wanted to take more time to record my thoughts and my journey so I didn't finish the entry.  Am in a calmer place now so today's the time to come back and finish this, the journey so far.

**                 **                  **                **  
I never knew I have never left the spot where his body lied, covered in newspapers and my tears - since 2 years and 11 months a go.

I have went on to grieve and mourn my loss all this time, but thinking I have moved on to live and new life by myself, independent and new.

Every time I am shown a little love, or care by someone else, it breaks my heart and makes me cry because I always wish that it was him instead.  Many would tell me, "See, he is still around and he has come back to love you and care for you in the forms of other friends and admirers."

Every time someone express a little interest in me I tell myself it is not right...just not right.

...and to earn another's love and fondness, admiration is such a magical thing.  What do I still have in me that could make anyone look at me that way?

What would I do, how could I ever meet another soul, like Justin, who fell for me like he did?

How could there be another person on earth who would be attracted to me for simply the glow he saw in me when I start to sing?

How could I recreate another .......so pure his intention, "I just want you to be happy."

Maybe I suffer because I had hoped to find one more in this life.  And in the back of my head I already understood that no two persons are the same.

Furthermore, I have grown older, and have become something else in the past years.  

What attracted him to me back in 2002 was a one time in the universe event and to hope that something close to that `explosion' to take place in the future, to be similar in nature, is entirely impossible.

For this person who felt like that when he saw me singing on stage, has ceased to be alive.  And the person who sang on stage back in 2001 has lived on to be something else.

He was a mere mortal with flaws, like me.  But the ingredients of his love were, to me, pure and quite out of this world.  He just wanted to see me sing, and sing more he wanted me to do - because it made me happy, pure bliss.  And the same he wanted of others, he was just a boy who loved to make others happy.

Yea.  I laugh to myself now, how could I trust that I would come close to such fortune ever again?  If never ever to find something close to that, what would I do to convince myself of the meaning of this remaining life?  I throw many options at myself, all these 35 months of time.  Music, music, music, become a worthy being to others, music, be a worthy person...etc.

Along the way I have discovered my many many weaknesses, my weak mind, how easily I succumb to the negative end of a situation, how vulnerable I actually am, how terrible a cry baby I am, and how self-centred I must smell like in my little whirlpool of loss and mourning.

There have been sunny days too, and many many fantastic new experiences made on my own, with new people, new friends, new things, new routines.  On those days I just sailed.

But somehow this new year of 2013 has been nothing other than a funk of confusion, self-doubts and clouds of depression, all mixed up in a big ball of activities.  I have done some little research on depression and what people do about it but that didn't do anything for me.

Then came July the draught, the unpaid bills, more doubts, lots of time to be alone and think, and read.  Reading makes me feel better and calmer, cooking too.  So I read and cook, eat, and read, and play music, listen to CDs.

Then came a point one day quite recently when I was lying in bed thinking some more...something just snapped, and I decided that I was tired of feeling like shit, I have enough of the shit feeling.  I wasn't sure what I was going to do to keep it away, I just knew that I was sick of staying and being in the gut.

This soul-searching is both tiresome and/but tireless for me.  I reviewed the friendships I keep with others, I review the way I work, reminders of how little I plan for my future (practically none), review what are my real strengths, review my songs, my voice...review my views on relationships, on men..etc.

On men, back in 2011 I saw myself as someone eager to learn to love again.  I allowed work and music to take the front seat and cruised along with glee because the work fulfilled me, there was not a quiet moment to wallow in the absence of someone special.  Time passes and gigs came and went, I grew more lonely and there was lots of longing for him or someone.  At the same time I was growing attached to my convenient...what I called, the `single singer life'.  Too comfortable in my cocoon, I did nothing to change my status - a deliriously tragic and foolishly romantic widowed person, indulging in her easy single-hood, just stay missing him.

Besides, this is not a good place to be fishing for new romantic relationships.  My environment (circle) is far too homosexual; working and meeting married men is a norm of my routine, and ah, working and meeting men a decade or more my junior is usually the case.  I cherish the new friendships I found at work and some new friends I have made.  Granted, friends are not lovers like him whom I counted on for much more support but the good ones are those I talk to, to keep my sanity intact.

The road ahead won't get easier, at least I don't want to expect it to be.  I just hope to stay focused on what keeps me alive while he is no loner alive.

The deeds of his life.

Music.

My sports and hobbies.

His family.

Watching others live.

I will promise myself to keep this conversation alive and honest.  There is no shame in coming out as a tragic person as long as I have decided to stay alive and contribute.

Letter one hundred and twenty-three - The days go on

Dearest J,

I don't feel very strong lately.  Maybe to some, it seems that I have just been putting on a front of a lady who struts and lives, all pains under the carpet.  It wasn't my intention of hiding the pain, just that, I feel there is a time and place for everything, and I have not learned how to share my pain with others.  Remember you were like that too..?  That special moment when we watched La Vita e Bella together at your house...we shared many pains and joy together.

Am walking on the line of between feeling driven to feeling confused.  Am drifting from week to week with a mixed bag of emotions.

I guess the moment I have decided to pick up the pieces of my life together since you left, I have entered the church of work.  Work has become the sole religion I hang on for dear life.  Music work is most trusting and always objective, I find that I seek helplessly from it, I seek approval, solace, refuge,  joy...

When I was wondering and feeling confused, I didn't feel like seeing Mama at all.  I delayed many visits to be with myself, hoping to come to some better conclusion of emotions.  So to still make my presence in your house, I would ring her some time to talk to her, and to let her talk to me for a few moments.

We have learned that by focusing on others, other than ourselves, we could feel better.  Diving head in into work has been a healthy distraction for me...it fills the void.

Time has not brought any cures for the lonely heart missing you, time only make new routines set in, and make things different, the heart does not get less lonely.  As the calendar brings me further and further into the future, I find myself more and more set in my convenient ways of living alone.

I find myself looking for things to do that have less to do with personal emotions.  I work with musicians a lot and we get projects going but we are mostly focused on feelings and things are not so private.  I signed up for new classes and courses to attend, alone.  I learn new things by myself, it's all within my control, it's easy.  I volunteer for community work, it's hardly personal, it's easy.

Bumped into lovely Angela Hijas on Saturday in the mall, spent a few minutes talking to her.  She said single-hood could be a trap, I agree...things are less complicated and convenient, I decide all the time, only one person's demand and request to meet.  Dating is noisy, and messy.  I left the heaven when you went away and am starting to feel that it's easier to just remain here alone, just making a new heaven for work, smaller one without the messiness of a new human.

But the void stays, so the music stays, the work must stay.


Steadfastly yours,

B