Money Money, 2020

 Posted on Facebook on December 15, 2020

(Wanted to save this long post/blog under FB Notes, and just realised that they have done away with Notes and it seems I have LOST ALL MY FB Notes - silent wails....all my writing for years)

[Money Money] - long post

This blog is about money. I’ve never written stories about my relationship with money. I want to tell the story now. The story so far. 

Was washing some baby spinach for dinner two days ago when an idea flashed my mind. I looked at the greens floating in the clean water, and thought to myself, “From now on, I’ll only buy my groceries at places that aren’t over-priced. Yup. That’s all I can afford now and that’s what I should do.”

Though I was used to buying my groceries without looking at price tags, this new ‘project’ – I want to take it on as an exciting lifestyle change project and my usual attitude towards making changes in my life is usually with a lot of enthusiasm and zest, why should this be any difference, right? 

Right.

I have always been mesmerized with stories about people who live great lives with limited finances. Two of my favourite protagonists are Justin, and my girlfriend ML.

Justin bought his first big bike back then (around year 2000 or so) and was determined to pay off the loan fast so he spent months living simple. He told me he was paying back the loan with a huge portion of his monthly salary, so he couldn’t afford a lot of everyday luxuries after paying the instalment. “I could only order ais-kosong at the mamak while I watch my friends eat fried noodles and fried chicken.” He said he ended up just mostly stayed home and read, or watch TV, until he paid off the bank loan. In his own words, “I realised that it was actually not a bad life. I read a lot of books, stayed at home and still enjoyed myself, a simple life.” I admired that a lot and this story stayed with me all this time. 

ML was a girl I met at some of my earliest singing gigs, long before I became a full time performer. She is from Kulim, fiercely intelligent and the most resourceful person I knew back then. I remember being ultra-impressed with how she lived. As a young lady on a humble salary, but by being excellent in budgeting, ML managed her expenses and extra-curriculum activities so well…I thought she lived the most interesting life. She had a small and charming, rented attic room. She had enough to eat well (she taught me how to cook with rice cooker), took tabla class and capoeira class. To me, her life was such wholesome abundance, so rich and full, and it wasn’t an expensive life. She remains one of my most inspiring friends. 

And so, me and my money, the story so far.

The story now is, I am having a tough time with it, yes, with money. (I did have second thought about self-censoring on this particular topic, it being so personal and all. But then I shrugged a second later…although not every aspect of my life is an open book, talking about money feels like something I want to write about now - for my own sake. It’s a self-reflection that I like to face with positivity, albeit the situation I’m in.)

The one thing I think I’ve done poorly with money in recent months - since March - is that I did not change my spending habits soon enough. I spent carefreely for months, despite having all or most to my bookings cancelled and postponed. And the subsequent months, I continued to dig into my savings every month - to pay bills, to pay for everyday expenses, donations, etc. I look back now and realise, I was deliberately delayed serious planning of personal finances in this pandemic climate, why? Such immature behaviour, and so quintessential Janet – the irresponsible spender.

My ‘hardly-think-twice’ habit. I always go for the better seats at theatre shows (more expensive), I would buy any food I want to eat without checking the price tags (thinking I was eating well), I bought costumes and costume jewellery enough to open a shop (or two), I went on exotic holidays, I paid for two self-produced albums and solo concerts in the span of five years.

Now I am reviewing every expense item and checking what I can cut down. It is a huge change, but majority of us are going through this same thing too. So, so what if I am doing it now. In fact, as I said above, I should have started changing my spending habits long time ago.

I think it is ironic. As a child, from a humble family. Though my dad was able to provide everything I needed, we had nothing too fancy - we didn’t take family holidays, the first car from my childhood memories had no air-conditioning. I grew up thinking I’d be lucky if I could get a decent job and be able to pay bills and stand on my own two feet. I didn’t have a lot of faith back then, in my academic skills to get into a so-called high-paying white collar job. 

So it was bewildering, after I settled down as a full time, honest to goodness full time performer with income enough to pay for bills and then some. I put aside savings, money that would eventually buy me nice stuff – like my two studio albums and self-funded solo concerts. I was living a life beyond my wildest dreams. 

Hah, now look at where I am now. I find myself back at where I started as a strange weary child, worrying about my later days with money problems. The difference now is that I have acquired fine tastes and having experienced very nice things in life. But don’t get me wrong though, I am not depressed about being broke. I have a roof over my head that isn’t going anywhere, I still have a healthy body and sound mind, and hands – there are plenty I can do to survive. This is a wake-up call diary to remind myself to be more penny-conscious. 

Spending less does not have to mean misery. As Justin and ML have shown me, a simple and economical life can be just as satisfying and rewarding. 

May the force be with us. Stay safe and stay kind.

Namaste. 

#janetwrites #onmoney #personalfinance #moneymakestheworldgoround

 

 

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

Dearest J,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It's ego.  Always the ego right?

Afraid to let go.

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

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

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

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

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

No time for fucking around with shit like that.

My favourite line of late - This too shall pass.

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

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

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

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

I might get some help.  I will be fine.

Wish you were here.

Love,

B

the other kind of loneliness

A new experience tonight.  Just a short while ago.

This kind of loneliness - you're home early from work and you still have the evening free to rest, catch up on some reading, long shower, slow emails and a leisurely prepared dinner, the solitary kind as usual.   You're in a good mood - always enjoy the quiet evening in at home with lights set as dim and low as it allows for slowing down the day.

The late dinner is good, you're too lazy to do the washing and chopping up for a stir fry so you made a sandwich - sourdough, salted butter, basil & garlic cheddar, organic tomatoes, local cucumber, and a fried egg - it's oily and juicy and full of flavours.

It's so good, you chow down the last bite of the sandwich and get up to wash the plate...just then, when the tap water hits the plate with your hands covered in dish soap you think, "If someone's here with me now and he is hungry too, I would have offered to make him this sandwich too and I'd be curious to see if he thinks it is as delicious as I did."


"I would gladly feed someone right now."

Except there is nobody hungry here, next to you.  It's just you, and the toaster oven next to the sink, still warm from the toast 10 minutes ago.

You're a bit lonely tonight, you realise.

It isn't entirely unpleasant, just a bit lonesome.  You know you haven't anything to complain about...you like the solitary life; walking around naked, making wonderful and silly meals for one, sleeping at whatever hour you fancy and playing music at whatever volume you like, and doing laundry for one.

Yet, sometimes, you just realise, that you would like to cook the second portion for another person - watch a man eat the meal you'd put together and take in the satisfaction from the corner of his mouth that work into a smile, "This is so good, thank you."

Conversations not needed, just the tenderness of chasing one's hunger away with some gift of love in the form of a meal made by you.

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

Dearest J,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And I am just tired, and lonely.

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

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

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

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

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


Love you much,

B

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

Dearest J,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No complaints.

Forever,

B

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

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.

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.

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?

What lies beneath the MAC foundation...

Make-up is something you put on your face.  To hide things.  Among other things.

I got up late this morning.  A phone call from Mama got me out of bed.  I cleaned my sleepy face with water and pat it dry and look into a mirror at myself and look, I looked at its reflection long and hard.

This face doesn't look anything like the one on stage last night.  I was belting out happy tunes and when I walked into the audience to sing, a lady whispered loudly to me over the music and say, "You are so beautiful."

Good make-up hides many things.  Signs of aging, results of lack of sleep, not-so-flawless complexion, a skin break out, etc...a bad life style.

It's karma all right, what you do to your body (or not do to your body) will manifest and sprout signs of bad karma all over your...your face.

That's my morning today.  Part one of the story was my dream.  I was idling in a house, it felt like both my house back home at parents' and J's house.  It felt like days after a funeral, my folks milling about doing chores, or some cooking, something...to try to get back into some normality of life. There were visitors around whom we were trying to send them back to their normal lives too, arranging transportations.  I remember desperately trying to help a lady go back to Johor Bahru.

I remember telling my dad (or was it his dad) that my big iMac has stopped working but I would like to use the big screen on a new computer.  I remember walking out to a wet market, a square that I have never seen in my life and watch trucks driving away with their wares and little wind of dusts circling round and round the square.

A few moments later I notices a change of time - it signalled to me as the end of a school break and school season was starting.  I saw droves of school buses full of kids in blue and white school uniforms driving into the market place, I saw a private car driving towards me, in it sat a parent and his two teenage school-going boys.

I wish somehow by strange fate, or some out of the planet (out of the dream) magic would bring him back to life.  I told myself it doesn't matter even if he doesn't know me or love me.  Maybe he could come back as his silly and younger self, like that uniform-clad school boy in that car.  I don't mind.

I stood there with emotions and stared, stunned by what I felt.  Then my phone rang and I woke up.

It was Mama.  I was part relieved, part happy to see the caller ID on my phone.  It was like she got summoned to get me out of that poignant, melancholic situation.  She called to tell me that she's made some fried peanuts with ikan bilis and want me to have some.  She offered soup.  She knew I have a show today.  She asked me if I have time to go over to drink the soup and take the peanuts home.

This would be another long day out on the field, doing my thang...like how he used to put it, he liked watching me doing my things: singing class, rehearsals, talk a lot...singing, hair appointments..

Lunch at Mama's, singing class with Cecilia at 1pm, hair appointment at 3pm, sound check at 5pm, vegetate till showtime at 830pm, catch a show at No Black Tie at 10pm.

The signs of undesirable life style is showing on my face.  Late late nights, skipped meals.  Mainly just these two vices, big ones.

I have to tell myself I have to keep this body well, for him...because the music has to keep playing.

Routines and bag habits are tough to break.  But the hard work has to start somewhere doesn't it?

Wandering mind

It was a careless and harmless chat, with one whom I respect a lot.  Puts a question on my table, in my head, on my plate.

Just how much happiness can a single person stomach?  A single, unmarried, not-romantically-attached person.

Our conversation forced me to examine my stand on being single and happy, am I really THAT happy?

I can cross my heart and hope to die that each time I experience true bliss, it is 100% genuine and unadulterated.  Lately my bliss has been coming in forms of `humble-grandeur' (absolute oxymoron?) like standing at my kitchen counter and watch Thursday eat, or stroking and talking to her after being out for days, watching the sunsets or traffic and night lights from my flat, or tasting every strand of salad in my mouth, or buying a new book...or looking into the mirror to admire how wonderful a new secondhand dress look on me..., etc.

Am not complaining, not yet.  These experiences are by no means, very private activities and I feel incredibly sensual experiencing them.

I just wonder how good it will all last.  I still miss sitting next to him watching whatever documentary he was watching and complained that I really need to take a shower.  The sofa now looks empty without him there playing on his Airbook, but it's been so long now since anyone lie on it to play on a laptop...time does really do things to you.  It makes you adapt to new routines, new habits, it makes you get used to things, like being alone and no one answers you back.

Anyway I told my good friend agrees with me that each to his own, it's possible to have a perfectly grand life staying single.  He just thought maybe I'd spent time thinking about having options.  Options of other than being alone.

I have thought about expiry date.  I said to my friend that I hope I don't look to him as a woman who looks about to expire and who needs help.  

Speaking of expiring...thank goodness for my dream job that always keep my soul in check, intact, and what do I know, with that, I even got an offer (just last week) and access to free skincare products.  While making baby step effort to maintain what's left of my calendar, thank heavens also to wonderful writings such as this one: Creativity in Beethoven and Coltrane, by Brad Mehldau.

And now it's good night and cheers to early mornings!

Heaven and Hell

I was feeling almost reptile-like, a cool-head, clear mind thinking person a day ago.  But a day later I am overwhelmed by so much emotions that I almost laugh out loud at the absurdity of life.

You know that feeling of sheer helplessness that contort your face into a frown and a bitter smirk?  

I fed Hussein this evening, I stood outside his house watching this creature chew on rice and bones and truly miss him all over again.  That sharp-knife wave of sadness always get to me every time I look at Hilary and Hussein at his place.  I feel very sorry for the cat and dog that he who used to talk to them and play with them is not around.  On other side of the thought, I am very grateful that J's family never fail to make sure the animals get their feed everyday, even when they are away.

Alex and I sat in silence long enough to register our inner thought, after I brought up the Marco Simoncelli accident over dinner.  The bike crash tragedy made front page of The Star today, replaced the original story of Dama's end of the In Perfect Harmony concert run.  I was sipping champagne last night after the show when Glenn from The Star told me about the horrific death of Simoncelli at 2pm yesterday.  

As much as I'd like to know more details on the Italian rider accident, I guess I couldn't read it in front of Alex.  Anyway he took  the paper from me and read the coverage nonetheless.  His left leg is in a cast, he fell from his bike last week, now fresh out of an ankle surgery.  He showed me the x-rays and told me he will be on leave for the next six weeks.

Just minutes before that, I lied next to Mama listening to her updates on relatives.  I haven't been to the house for weeks since the Dama run started.  A thick cloud of guilt swept over me as I lie there listening to the updates on everyone.  The elderly circle is full of a gradual escalation of health deterioration of sorts.  Inside of me, the guilt of being busy was eating me in large bites.  I could see that I have a role in this family, I am meant to be the daughter they didn't give birth to - the desire to spend more time with his mom and Mama is very great.  

I had very urge to leave the house at once so I could be alone to deal with all the emotions.  So I distracted myself with two large bowls of ABC soup and rice...the TV was playing Shaw Shank Redemption.  Tristan was running around playing with everything.  

Less than a day ago I was full of concern over my own doubts and feelings.  Right now am in funky mix of weariness and anticipation.  There's never going to be enough time to do everything that I want to do, to make things right, to feel right.  

When I left my flat earlier to drive over to his house, I was  happy that the skin on my face can finally breathe freely without a trace of make-up.  Then I remember how he used to remind me that I look very good to him when am without any make-up.  I look into the lift lobby mirror at my sallow skin and dark eye circles that scream attention, I guess tonight is the time for some private indulgence of very serious sentiment - missing him.

I've been so busy with life, the life am making without him.  Guess I have earned the right to now sit here, to do nothing and just miss him.  

Letter one hundred and six - Day three hundred and forty-seven of your vacation

Dearest J,

Felt particularly aimless last night and tonight, right after my gigs while driving home.  The feeling was like I felt like going somewhere, meeting someone, doing something - but I didn't go anywhere else other than home, didn't go meet anyone because I didn't feel like meeting anyone other than you, and didn't feel like doing anything if I wasn't going to meet you.

The aimlessness came from, I don't know if the feeling is loneliness?  It seems odd that I would feel that because I thought that going around, in and out of shows, and going home alone have been something most natural to me... I always have something to look forward to the next day - after a show.   I always have yet another something to do the next day, the next week, the next hour, when I get home, etc.

Just that in between that something coming up next, my next appointment, that next show, next rehearsal, etc, I don't have you in between - to distract me like you used to.  Remember how I used to complained that I had to go to bed late because with you around, I couldn't just sit there at my desk and finish a piece of work and hit the bed....

Thats'w what you used to complain too, you didn't get to sleep early when you come round.  You would watch TV while while waiting for me to get off my PC, or you'd finish your book and am still not done - or we would stay up late just talking so much before you look at the clock and screamed the time.

These days I have Thursday around to stop me from my track at home, sometimes I just stop whatever I'm doing, to play with her, pat her or comb her hair, mostly I just stop to watch her.  She still doesn't purr, or meow.

A few months ago Michelle emailed to tell me that she would like to dedicate a new soap she was making to you and I, named Songbird, a soap to represent freedom, childlike hope and optimism for the future..and the joy of noticing the relishing the present.  I finally met with her at a weekend market and got a whole bunch of soaps for myself and some friends.  Here you go, it's our soap and it's square, the way you like it.

In her words...


For scent, I'm thinking of blending the sharp, fresh and outdoorsy scents of pine, eucalyptus, cypress, and perhaps bergamot for a light citrusy-floral note. For colouring, I'm thinking sunrise over a field or forest - so the bottom will be a muted green, while the top of the soap will have swirls of orange and yellow clays.



It's a very busy time for me here.  I haven't been allowed the time or leisure to sit there and count the days to your anniversary.  Though a week ago I made a FB page for you.  Many people have since then left many stories on the page.

Ok, I have sat here long enough, the feeling of loneliness has long been drained out.  Now it's just tiredness and anxiety for tomorrow.  I need to work all my dance numbers - much work is needed.  I need to sit dow and work on all my talking notes for my NBT show.  I need to...many many things.  See, am that busy.  Given that, you don't have to worry if I would stay lonely for long ok, there are always things to do, places to go, people to see, songs to sing.

And maybe, I do enjoy feeling lonely and missing you every now and then, my little pockets of indulgence in my sweet misery.

Letter one hundred and four - Day three hundred-and-nine of your vacation

Dearest J,

I was picking out flesh from a fried fish this evening to eat, at your place.  Remembering how you used to do that for me, you would pick out all the fish bones first, and put the fish on my plate, rid of bones.

I want to live well because I was loved.

Your dad told me at dinner that they are taking a weekend holiday at the Sands, to watch Lion King, staying at the Sands Hotel.  Mama told me last week that her passport was renewed because your mom was taking her to Singapore.  I am so happy that your parents are making time to enjoy themselves, with Mama in tow. Alex and Yan also booked the Sands for the weekend.

Mama made lots of food for me for dinner, I had two helpings.

Over 300 days passed.  So many occasions came and passed, where I wish I still have you to go to when I have doubts, when I need you to guide me through certain cloudy moments.  I remember how sometimes you just look at me and smile, to say, "I also don't know any better."

Am in one of those moments now, really wishing you're still here to make me feel less doubtful.

But because I was loved, I shall march on.

Seeming reminds me recently to keep inspired by you, to do good in your memory.

Evelyn at No Black Tie finally sent me an email, two months later...to offer me a slot there this September. This is big for me.  Am happy.  Singing keeps me happy.

made Brandon take pics of me with piano 

Much love,

B

Letter ninety-six- Day two hundred and thirteen of your vacation

Dearest J,

Missing you, mad.  Have been feeling some and haven't told you about it...so here goes.  It's dark, gloomy, nothing necessarily useful but it feels needed to be said, so I shall.

Real torture is holding back tears, a refrain from crying.  I was starting to enjoy it a lot but my eyes started to react to it and couple with stage make up (and the removing of it), these eyes need proper rest and care.

I didn't expect it to get worse, I thought that with time, I ought to feel better in time.  But now as the clock ticks and from 6 months going into 7 months and beyond, the missing gets worse.

On a day like today when I function incredibly well, almost more efficient than ever, organised as hell, rational behaviour and all that - when am in my corner facing my hot shower for the night, I feel quite close to a creature in a mental asylum, gone quite mad.

`Everything' is going so well, I am not incredibly busy and swamped with work, but busy enough...steady is the word.  I feel well, I thought I do.  This inner world somehow seems to a mad roller coaster of weathers.  Am starting to guess, maybe am being suppressed by my rational mind.  The minds tells me to behave, and reminds me there isn't any point and benefit in dwelling in this emotional state.

It's like, having the feeling that I haven't spent enough time, to hide away long enough, to just lash out with tears and all things grey.  As if I haven't spent long enough time with the floods, stormy weather, raging waves...hence the sunny weather is looking to be short-lived.  It's like someone who hasn't completely been cured off a bad case of food poisoning, now the diarrhea is looming near.

Feels as if I moved on too fast for my own good and now I face the repercussion of my speedy recovery, like someone who's gone on a crazy highly effective and fast diet and now face with the side effects of the diet.

Maybe I can go on a hideout trip again by myself, just to spend time missing you and do nothing else.

Until then, the sun rises everyday...some mornings here have been gloomy and very cool.  I have been lonely.  Just today I thought to myself, and asked myself to relax, and just enjoy it...enjoy and embrace single-hood.  Wasn't I the girl who truly loved life a lot being single? - I reminded myself.  Be that girl again.

Seems like a tall order, there were many unfulfilling dating experiences I went through.  I was truly home when I had the wealth of you next to me.  Imagine one who has gotten used to the luxury of a bed, a roof over a head, now one has to be out in the elements and embrace it.

All right, bed IS a pretty attractive option right now.  Distractions and my rational behaviour aside, these are my darker moods when no one is looking, when am alone in our space, when I live in my inner world.

I think I will be fine.  Maybe I have been taking something for granted, I tell people am good, well and fine all the damn time...sometimes I just don't know if am fine but that's the line to say, "Am fine.  Thank you."

Good night darling.

Love,

B

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

Dearest J,

Zal and Fang said this picture remind them of you, whenever food is being ordered.  Makes me cry and smile all the same time.

I went over to your house after my gig at Eastin, I finished early, nice.  Even managed to sit down for a few cups of tea with Kian Yew before I went to yours.  I woke Mama up from her sleep to hang out with me for a short while.  She went to sleep early, it was just over 930pm.

Stupid Streamyx is down.  Down down down all the way, since yesterday.  Spent 30 mins on the phone with its call centre this morning, sure murdered many cells.  I haven't quite overcome my phobia in talking to TM call centre folks.  From the first second the conversation starts (if it gets started at all, sometimes the call just doesn't get picked up) my blood temperature steadily raises...it's something that I have yet to gain control over, my emotional reaction towards TM call centre staff.

A Simon called me during my hair appointment today to inform me of a few crucial facts about my complaint.  He had the best intention to serve me and he was very initiative, I gave him a hard time all the way till just before I put down the phone, I said thank you very much to him and I appreciated his call.

I really hate the fact that I have no tech support now.  The Astro has been suspended, I have prepared the letter of application to transfer account ownership but I haven't been down to send in the forms and letter.

This is a record month, you'd be proud of me.  I don't think I ever had a month with 9 singing engagements.  This is the month.  I feel very good too, I can actually watch myself grow and improve as an `entertainer' and singer.  I had one of those incredible amazingly smooth shows tonight, my party guests listened to me and responded to me, I was suave tonight, I can't believe it but I was, tonight.

Tomorrow am going to KL Sports Medical Centre for my second session of physiotherapy.  I hope to do all I can to speed up the recovery.  An ankle out of shape it's incredibly troublesome and limiting.  I can't do any sort of work out...unless I just move my upper body?

Cher Siang just moved into the neighbourhood.  Rehearsals with him now is so convenient, a 5-min drive.  Am happy to tell you that he has invited me to meet him more to have him help me with music.  I just read his blog and looking back at mine, am really ashamed to compare (I shouldn't).

I `meet' the world out there through his blog entries, I see the world view by reading his thoughts and experiences.

Here what I report is how I feel, what I do, what I want, what happened to me...etc. The theme is me, me, me.  Why is this so?  I thought about it and I think there are a few reasons:

Because I hardly travel
Because I don't read the news
Because I don't read enough
Because I meet the same people all the time
Because I do the same things all the time
Because my routines are similar....I maybe doing different things everyday and different from week to week but they are essentially the same thing: quote clients, invoice them, set up new song lists, set up rehearsals, hang out with close friends, pick a dress for a show, send dresses for alteration, go to A Cut Above, pick up dry cleaning, fussing and getting anal over how clean my floor is, go to theatre and watch a play, meet clients, research and learn new songs...go to Singapore to watch a play...

Maybe, I don't know for sure what would help, I wish you were here to guide me out of this rut...maybe I should do things like:

Make a picnic for myself at KLCC park
Go to Chowkit night market at night
Spend a weekend off work in Shanghai
Visit parents in Taiping
Spend two days just hibernate and read some books and cook
Go swimming
Drive to Melaka and eat the roadside popiah that we shared
Go to singing class
Go to visit a Dangdut club
Visit PAWS?
Make a trip to Bangkok, alone...or Chiang Mai?

I still don't think am thinking outside of my box yet.  Maybe I will talk to Seeming.  She said she read recently that to stay creative, one needs to do something one has never done, on a weekly basis.

I miss you a lot.  Zal reminded me that I was damn loved (by you), and I had a good 8 years.  I will have to spread this thin - this wealth of our 8 years, to spread it thin and use the memories of 8 years sparingly, to last me for all the months and years ahead of me.

Life is precious.  Death is too common, and cheap.  It has always been the case, people dropping like flies.  Last week while waiting to see the orthopedic I picked up the papers and opened to one page, staring at me were two obituaries - one of someone I used to chat with online, a hi-bye friend who fascinated me with his wisdom, and the other one belonged to friend of a friend.

These days you get the news first via Facebook.  Who dies and who has jumped off a building, or dying of something.  If people here start to hire singers for funerals, I'd have a busier time.

I think I would love to sing at funerals.  I see lots of happiness (and stress) at wedding gigs, I share people's moment of joy and bliss - and I would like to be part of someone's grievance too.  With your departure I have experienced something deep and intense and therefore, I would like, if I can, to continue to experience this deep emotion with others.

If I sing at funerals, would I want my singing to cause more crying?  Or would I want people to forget their misery for a short time and trench themselves in music?  I don't think singing torch songs is appropriate...well, this would be a good research topic for me - good choice of songs and music for funerals.

It's so late now.  I shall end here and treat my precious life to a good shower and maybe a snack before I hit the sack.

I hope you would shed some wisdom, I know I will find some through the memory of you, soon.

Much love,

B