The Cat and The Moon

My Book of Love, My Book of War

2011-06-20T16:28:00.000+08:00

I wrote my book of Love at the end of a decade. I write my book of war at the beginning of another.

My book of love is full of hopes, illusions and truths. Fata Morgana. My blinded spirit thought it was Truth, but this truth did not exist. My book of love is not for me. It was destined to reach the hands of one I will never see. Destined to reveal my thoughts, my feelings and my hours, minutes and seconds as I waited for the moment that I can finally rest the book in his safe-keeping. It was a request - fill blank white paper with black ink. Black ink which flowed with time. Which evolved into tears, and then into bile. My book of hopes, illusions and sacrifices, now conferred to rest in the depths of the ocean. An offering, a thanksgiving for the strength I have always received from the Deep. Black ink will be erased by saltwater. Paper will disintegrate and dissolve into nothingness. Words will disappear into the deep.

I wonder, will the tides carry my words across islands and mountains? Will the one who boldly requested for words from deep within me ever hear these words carried by the tides? Will these words touch his soul? Will he suffer when he hears me in the wind and sees my shadow dacing on the waves? How long more will he continue in his madness to seek me, having no possible means to get close to me? For now it is I who have become Fata Morgana. How long more will he let the madness rule him, when will Time and Tide erase the memory of me?

I believe...I do not believe. I wonder, but I do not wish for answers, because I do not really care to know. Because my book of Love is now destined for destruction.

Destined. Destiny.

When I started the book of War, I was of the mind to perfect my skills in the art. Physically, mentally. I have searched, and will continue to search, long and far for all the knowledge which has been given to me. This book is destined for me, and there is no ending, as the pursuit of knowledge does not end. The book of War will always grow. I planted the seeds within me, now it has taken root and grown. It is yet a very young tree, a sapling, which others nurture and I treasure. But as I write the book of War, my consciousness asks me, "WHY, who are you fighting?"

Destiny.

My eternal opponent. My friend and enemy who has seen fit to throw in my path those who use guile, deceit and force. Fickle Destiny, friend at one moment, foe another. I never know which it will be. Destiny's violent generals have not gotten the better of me yet. But each opponent she sent has only gotten stronger, as though to test my limits, to see if my strength has grown or slackened over the years. How long can I last? How much can I endure? Her last general was a worthy opponent. He used the best strategy: DECEIT and AHIMSA. Begging for words from the deep to be transcribed on white paper. Deceit hurts, therefore is not the way of Ahimsa. Ahimsa from one who uses force on my friends, subjects them to his will, do his bidding, in order to take a step closer, since he was far removed from me. But I can smell violence beneath the skin, I can read chaos in the mind. Yes, I can be an animal when I choose. He did not win. And my victory holds a certain defeat.

Laugh at every defeat, it keeps me sane. Cry at this victory, it drove me insane.

A deflection, Destiny's general now wishes to enter my camp. But I have no camp, and no place for traitors. Once a traitor, always a traitor, the lowest form of life. My ruling command - no quarter, no mercy.

My book of War sharpens my mind, teaches me to focus, opens up doors to many other aspects of life. The words of wisdom given to me, or those which I beg for, glean, cajole or steal, yes steal, have taken life on white paper. And they will grow and flow. They flow within me as I write. They flow from me as I fight. They wait, ready to spring to life when I summon them from their slumber on white paper. Ready to take on the next crazed general Destiny launches my way.

As of 01h00 19 June, the battle is renewed. My book of War will be my companion, my weapon. It is full of words of teachers from years ago, and those who I will meet in the future. Words in strange languages. So many languages that sometimes I forget my own. Words which act as a light on my path as I fight through darkness and chaos. Yes, that is my ultimate opponent - Destiny. I object, refuse, reject what I KNOW is not good for me. Send me your best, most violent, most worthy champions...

Only the Almighty rules over life and death. In my turbulent spirit, there is no such thing as "It is written by Destiny."

It is written by me.

My book to be destroyed, and my book which will grow, IS WRITTEN BY ME.

For My Lover - Samudera

2011-06-15T23:21:00.000+08:00

I close my eyes.

I fall over backwards into your embrace. Carried away by your strength. Plunged into your depths. Lulled into a trance by your calm, your power, your silence, your grace...and your beauty. In the heat of the day you claim me again and again. In the darkness of moonless nights and starry skies you encompass me with a gentle heat. You embrace me within and without, a maddening caress no human could better.

For my Lover is not human.

Many names You have. Saagar, Samudera, Maha-Samud - these are my chosen names for You. Some worship You, live by Your grace. Some fear You. Some use Your bounty and profane You. I, simply, am bound to You from before the time of my birth, and all my life thereof. When You summon, I must run to You, or suffer an empty, restless existence, until You take me into You again. Until You are in me. Until I taste Your salt. Until I breathe while I am in Your grasp.

My Lover, I cannot stay long in Your world. Unless You make me part of that world. Many times You have attempted to, from the time I was 7, until now, You have selfishly tried to take me away from this existence into Yours. My time has not yet come. Maybe one day You will succeed. Maybe my final resting place is indeed in Your embrace. Am I to become one with You for eternity? Am I to dissolve, to disappear, to be re-invented in Your Depths?

With each union You reveal more and more of Your secrets. You show me Your mysteries and give me a better understanding of who and what You are. My human psyche will never be able to unravel Your depths - You teach, give me knowledge. You put others in my path, others who will help me, push me closer to You. I am humbled by all that You have given me. But I am not of Your world.

How long will You continue to summon me as such? Will You ever let me go?  I have given up others in Your name. The sacrifices I have made...just to have the taste of You on my lips. Salt. Is it the same salt that runs through my veins? What I have running within me is salt, is fluid...and it runs hot when I think of all the times I have come to you. Blood, it runs hot to go back into Your fluid embrace. You are fluid, yet Your will is as hard as steel. Your power burns me. You have been rough, and calm. Been beautiful, and angry. You have shown me a million faces which is beyond description. And I love You in all Your guises. Yes, even when Your wrath is ugly and threatens to destroy me, I still love You.

But I am like the wind - I come, I play, but I never stay. It is against my nature to stay. A gypsy from the sea. Tied to You for life, but always running away, until the time and distance that separates You and me becomes unbearable. Every single cell in my body begs to be returned to You. And that is when I seek You again. I am as selfish as You. I treasure my freedom, yes, even from You. I am bound to You, but I am not shackled.

For years I have always thought of You as a feminine, motherly, presence. Strange then, that You revealed Yourself to me in the form of a man, and a lover. Golden like the sun, clad only in a simple cloth, You came to me and staked Your claim. Even then You showed Your wrath, because I failed to recognise You. How could I? I thought it was all a dream. Since then, Your summons have been more frequent. More intense. Your call have made me steer my life in a different direction. I have embarked upon a way of life which I never dreamt of 365 days ago. A life which I dedicate to You. Like a priestess from an ancient lost religion, I have dedicated my life to You and Yours. I'll stand forth and protect and preserve what You hold. The wonderful and dangerous life within You I cherish.

Barely a fortnight ago I surrendered myself to You. And now You summon me again. My Lover, I am not of Your world. I am only human, and You, my love, the endless ocean. The beginning of all Life. And if You are to be the end of mine, I will gladly accept.

One last plunge into You, one eternal embrace, one with You.

When the time comes,You can have me. When You cease to exist, so will I. For I do not wish my consciousness to linger if You are to become a barren desert.

I will close my eyes.

What My Father Told Me

2011-03-18T14:15:00.000+08:00

Once upon a time, many years ago, the father of my heart sat me down to talk to me about LIFE. My life. As it had been written, a longer time ago, by a Hindu priest who documented this journey I had just embarked upon. The journey many call LIFE. A voyage written in the stars. An astrological birth chart which haunts me to this very day.

Destiny, Fate, What is Written - I never believed in everything I was told. I believe I am the Master of my own Destiny. Many a moment I had fought against what others would have simply accepted - "So it has been written in my Fate." Through hell and high water, when Fate conspires to defeat me in an all out battle, I will fight, and emerge victorious. I am proud to say that I never let any of Destiny's nasty surprises keep me down. Rebel, warrior, fighter, a cunning strategist and a worthy adversary, I have been that to Destiny - never docile, never accepting what is simply to me, unacceptable.

LOSS

This is what my father told me. "In your life, you have, and you will suffer many losses. Including of those who are very close to you. You will suffer for these losses in ways deeper than you can imagine. They will bear a profound mark on your soul." Yes, that is true. I have lost what other people don't cherish, what others take for granted in their daily lives. What I have yearned for all my life, others have, and never think twice about. I fouht against turning into a bitter person. A "victim", how I hate that word. I kept myself happy. I threw myself headlong into different worlds, cultures, arts and activities which have gained me so many true friends. Perhaps never to replace what I have lost, but to sustain my soul. Feed my soul with the knowledge, affestion and love that I received from so many.

FRIENDSHIP

"In your life, you will come across many friends who will give you love. Many who will love you because you give them love, and in doing so, you give them respect, a respect for themselves. Some will seek to possess this love, and when they realise you cannot be possessed, they will start hating you. They will envy you. They will try to hurt you in one way or another. Beware Jealousy. It will surround you like a dark cloud, all your life. Some people are not happy to see happinness and strength in others. This jealousy will consume you and give birth to despair within your soul, for you are not able to understand jealousy from those you hold close to your heart." Yes, this is also true. Upon rare occasions, friends have become foe. Being forewarned, my only recourse was to cut them off from my life. I am not happy being surrounded with dark clouds. For a short while I will be sad, then I throw myself once more into different worlds, and my soul regenerates. I am ME once more.

ANGER, MY COLD AND CONSTANT COMPANION

"In your life, Anger will be your constant companion. You will be angry at the injustices of the world, at people exploiting the weaknesses of others, at your own helplessness to make things right. You will be angry at people who do not understand you. My Rebel Queen, you will not be able to steer the thoughts and actions of the world. But you MUST, you MUST, tame your anger and make it into a friend. Don't let it hurt you. Use it, to your own good." How difficult it has been, to turn Anger into an ally. It is still a constant battle. Yet as the years go by, I find that Anger is indeed a great companion in life. It had shown me ways to win over enemies. It has been used, in its pure and cold form, to conquer matters beyond my understanding. It has been used, unfortunately, to plot the downfall of others who dare croos me beyond limits. And this dark part of myself I embrace and keep close, for many a times, it kept me afloat and brought me to safe harbour when I felt I should drown. It kept me awake and alert when others crept up with a knife destined between my shoulder blades. It has kept me alive, awaken my senses, and allowed me to see things in many dimensions. My Anger, my cold, cold companion.

How right my father was, to tell me these things.

WATER AND WIND

"In your life, some people you will meet for only a brief moment. You have a purpose in their lives, and they have a purpose in yours. Do not regret their leaving. More than others, you will meet transitional souls, as you yourself are in constant movement. Like water, you cannot be contained, like the wind, you have to be here, there, and everywhere. Ask yourself, what is their purpose? What lesson do they bring you? And what lesson did you give to them? Then let them go. Do not seek to stay, for that you cannot do." Those of you who are my friends, YOU know I won't let go that easily. Some of you have been with me for years and years. Yes, people I meet briefly are plenty, and some I have already forgotten. Some, though far, and lost, are never forgotten, such were the lessons they brought as a gift to me on my journey, when I met them at one crossroads or another.

PROSPERITY

"You will bring prosperity to others, like Lakshmi the Goddess of Prosperity you are to me. You brought me prosperity from the moment of yoru birth. In your absence I feel the loss of my well-being, my happiness, my prosperity. So will you be to your close ones. For you will gladly give all you have to those in need. Beware, for there are many who will seek to use you in this way. You will always have enough to live on, and happy in all that you seek to achieve. But you yourself, will never be rich, as you tend to use money only to please yourself. You do not save for a rainy day, and this you must learn to do." I never consider myself a good luck charm for others. Never thought that helping a friend in need is a big deal, even if it means I have to tighten my belt for a while. After all, my friends have also helped me in times of need. Yes, I do help blindly, and I don't listen to common sense. Yes I know some people will conveniently disappear after taking what they need. Deception - also part of life. I do not hold a grudge against them, because deep inside, I know they cannot help be what they are, cannot help their own weaknesses.

As I cannot help my own weaknesses.

A TWIN SOUL

"In your life, you will meet your twin soul when you are older. He will be younger than you, not of your culture, nor of your beliefs. He will be of a family with means. He will also be a Twin, like you. He will think you are a TIDE which comes and goes. He will not recognise you. Until it is too late. And great will be his regret. And you, turning into the coldhearted twin you carry within you, will turn your back, and carry on your journey alone. You will carry this knowledge. It will be a burden you carry in your soul till the end of this lifetime. As much as it will be a burden on your twin soul who will forever be haunted by his loss. My daughter, do not be so quick to judge others, for their world is different from yours, your strength is not theirs, your spirit they do not possess. My Goddess of Prosperity, I pray that you will learn to forgive and forget."

Father of my heart, understand I can, accept I can, forgive I can. Forget I cannot.

AN IMPORTANT YEAR, A MILESTONE

At this point in my life, when I look back at all the things I have been through, it seems as though many reveleations, pre-ordained by a simple Hindu priest, divined from the stars, seems inevitable. My comfort is that I have never taken it lying down, never thrown in the towel.

This year is a turning point in my life. I steer myself towards new directions, new destinations. Achieve new goals which I set at the end of 2010, at the end of a year which saw me enter into a new decade, a new beginning. Bring it on, I'm ready to face the bad and embrace the good. I am born under strange constellations, but I have NO grievances. I have all things, all the people which have made, and will continue to make my journey a wonderful one. Pitfalls and obstacles are just the simple topography of an extraordinary adventure: LIFE. And I am still full of hope and dreams.

Thank you Father of My Heart, for all the things, too many to write, which you have given me, shared with me, told me, advised me. In this very important year of my life, I wish, above all other things, for you to be walking next to me, holding my hand. Yet, I will be content to know that you are at peace.

Black, White and Shades of Grey

2009-12-18T14:14:00.000+08:00

2009 has been a year painted with black, white and shades of grey. A little burst of colours as vibrant as Paul Klee’s works, in the form of my beautiful friends. I could not have survived this year without you, Karen Thibault, Fadila Arar, and François Guillevic. Thank you, from the depths of my heart and soul, for your peerless friendship. These are the friends that say “How are you?”, and really care, and wait to hear your answer. The friends, who, like those few I left behind in Belgium; I carry in the depths of my soul. Heart of my heart, blood of my blood, soul of my soul.

I lost one friend forever this year. Duli, I have to admit after grieving I became angry. A reversal in the grief process, but despite my anger I will miss you for a long time to come. My stomach still churns when I think of what we could or could not have done to help you.

I ‘lost’ two more friends to the recession and ups and downs (down being the operational word) of the corporate world. Last night my two friends finally crossed the continents and oceans which will remain as physical barriers for a time to come. A short time I hope. Fadila and François have gone back to France to start a new life, a better life. I will miss the breaks, the conversations, the movie sessions, the swimming sessions, the good food, drinks and fabulous desserts. You kept your hearts and home always open to a mongrel like me. I didn’t have enough time, and I think that forever would not have been enough, because the friendship you gave me was as infinite as the universe. Unconditional. Thank you.

Karen Thibault, I have no definition for you, nor for those I consider my friends. You are just Karen, a Being, a hybrid, divine. Forever you will remind me of the Guns N Roses song Sweet Child of Mine. A hybrid just like Laetitia Sedou, Thomas Govaerts, Duncan McIntosh, Sophie Renson, Nonka Matsuda and all the people who really mean something. Karen, I cannot imagine this year without you. Your presence in 2009 is probably what kept me together, and thanks for sharing Sher Khan with me for a while. You did not desert me during the blackest moments of 2009. Your strength was always a beacon guiding me as I fought to keep myself afloat. Tears and laughter, songs and dance, languages and sleepovers, dreams and nightmares, what would I have done without you?

2010, my fourth year in Singapore is approaching. I have no sense of belonging here. My country is within me, and the laws I follow are my own. I know I will never “belong” anywhere or to anyone. For people who forsake, betray, cheat their friends, people who call you friends and abandon you in the next breath, I will never understand your modus operandi. I may feel sad at your act, your motivations, but I know that I have not incurred a great loss. A blessing, to be rid of such users. My God is with me, and He doesn’t tell me to make others conform to my beliefs, nor does He demand for bloodshed and violence. My allegiance is only to those I love.

A social butterfly, a bookworm. Un oiseau de nuit (a nightbird - party animal), un rat de bibliothèque (a library rat - bookworm). My acquaintances have defined me as all of the above. My friends have no definitions, and what I love about them is that they don’t even try. They accept me as I am – me, myself and my solitude.

Thank you for being my pillars of strength, my books of wisdom, my guiding lights, my dictionaries and my "Google search engines". Despite my solitary nature, you climbed over "the great wall of China" and gave me your friendship. Thank you for being my friends. I feel in my bones that 2010 will be a better year for all of us, maybe because we will be one year wiser. I'm wishing all of you a very merry X'mas, with your families or close friends, drink one for me, smoke a joint for me, eat loads of desserts for me, my thoughts will be with you, imagining that I'm sitting right next to you for a while, until I move on to the next table. Then the New Year, 2010...for those across the seas, time to think about a little visit here. I will come to you at the end of 2010. In the meantime, my best wishes for all of you. You are all very precious to me.

Memories and Monstrosities

2008-01-19T00:33:00.000+08:00

Footsteps on a sandy beach are washed away by waves. Soon all traces of them disappear, and the sand is smooth as it heralds the coming of a new tide and the onslaught of new imprints. Why then does memory lingers in the recesses of our minds? Are we supposed to learn from our past or are we shackled, tortured by these memories? Why do some among us mutate into mere shadows of what we can be? Instead of a sublime buttefly that spreads its wings to tackle the world, those who let their past reign supreme over their present and their future evolve into a hideous monstrosity. A shadow - neither human nor animal.

Revelling in an existence of survival, of the basest instincts; eat drink, fornicate. No pursuit of intelligence nor growth. Stagnation, like a cesspool that only contains rot. Slowly decaying with age. The contrary of good wine which matures with age, they turn into vinegar, sour. But even vinegar has its place in the scheme of things.

Senses numbed by the weight of the memories they carry. Empathy raises their hackles, sympathy they spit upon. False pride they wear like a crown. A keen interest in the downfall and dirt of their peers, the knowledge that a close one or one far removed has weaknesses they carry like a valuable sword, to be used at their behest only to wound, or to kill. Feeding off every misstep, every downfall. Feeding off...

That is what they have evolved into - the most vicious of parasites, for want of a better word. Yet even parasites serve a purpose in nature - desease, elimination, decomposition. Are these monstrosities parasites in human form? Are they meant to cause the downfall and the death of their peers? Like an infectious desease, are they supposed to turn others into weaklings like them?

Survival of the fittest then. Only the strong remain unscathed in wake of these parasites. The weak will succumb and wither away, one more pawn succumbs to the tireless attacks of a monstrosity with no name. One more flower deprived of its short life due to a desease. But the flower nurtured by love and nature prevails, strengthened by simple elements it draws its life from. For these are the simple elements which we need to grow strong and true.

A strong flower will mock the desease - I will not wither in your presence. My strength and my tolerance you cannot conquer. I will leave and breathe. I will dance in the rain and the sunshine till my time comes. My beauty and essence are for others to appreciate. The elements which have made you into what you are are the same elements in the same universe which feed me and makes me strong. You have used them for all the wrong purposes. You have not learnt, you have not grown. I am not a monstrosity like you.

Black Snow

2007-11-22T18:03:00.000+08:00

this one's for T.G.

The white tomcat looked at his fast disappearing paw prints in the black snow. He knew that the black snow will overwhelm him sooner or later. He has been trying to ignore the possibility for as long as possible, but he is cold and tired now. His destination is nowhere in sight. He had in mind a nice warm nest where he can curl up and rest for the longest time, but the cold hurt his eyes, and he couldn’t see clearly anymore. “Just get it over and done with, no point prolonging my misery,” he thought. He felt like roaring at the black snow, pretend for one instant that he was one of the big cats he descended from.

Roar in insolence at the black snow which had claimed his companion. Being black, he didn’t realize that she had succumbed to the blizzard way back on their journey. “She should have tried harder,” he thought. He knew she was complaining of the cold, but she always complained of the cold. “STILL she should not let the black snow defeat her. She lost the battle, she lost herself. Maybe that’s what she was planning all along, just give up.”

The more he thought about it, the angrier he got. Walking with purpose now, he was bent on getting out of the black snow which had cost him his companion. Little did he know that his anger which was tinged with despair would save him one of his nine lives.

Every step he took brought him back to sunny days passed with the black cat. She was as black as he was white. He found her years ago injured and abandoned in the woods he called home. He nursed her back to her paws. She loved to chase birds and butterflies. “I just wanted to play…” she would complain when they ran away from her, or when she accidentally hurts one of them. Her right ear would fold over with shame and regret; she would walk with her head down looking like a perfect portrait of wretchedness. Only the tomcat can lift her spirits when that happened.

“It’s alright. It’s your nature to be playful, but you must remember that they are fragile,” he tells her time and again. She loved to laze in the sun, snapping at the occasional fly or swiping her paws, trying to catch the sunbeams. A sunbeam could have saved her now, he thought, “Too bad we can’t capture and keep sunbeams forever, and use it when we most need it.”

Strange companions they made. Apart from their day and night coats, they liked the same things; wandering in big tall grasses, peeping at the humans and their weird ways, racing through the fields till they felt like a bird themselves. If only they had wings, they would rule the skies, thought the tomcat. “Then there will be very few birds left!” said the black cat to her companion.

Both of them would laugh themselves silly with the thought of sprouting wings. “I want butterfly wings, as colourful and ethereal,” she would say. “Typical impractical female. I want eagle-wings, built for power, go everywhere on those wings. By the way, you’re too heavy for butterfly wings…you need vulture-wings to carry you!” he would say. Usually they end up squabbling over such talk, and many other small talk. But the tomcat never could stay angry for long.

He couldn’t voice out his despair, not yet, he thought. “Let me get out of this damned black snow first.” His anger also took him to the darker moments when the black cat would be melancholy. Lately, those moments were getting more and more frequent. “It’s just that I can’t see the blue sky anymore, all I can see is black snow, I can’t see your eyes,” she says in tears, complaining as they got into deep winter. “I want the blue sky, I want to see your eyes in the sky,” said the black cat.

She had a special name for him. “Blue-Eyes”. The white tomcat’s eyes mirrored a cloudless summer sky. “So look at my eyes and NOT the sky”, says the tomcat, “Let my eyes hold you through till the myosotis come out again,” he said.

“Alright Blue-Eyes,” that’s was what she said, secretly in shame because she felt like a weak little kitten, and because she made him shout at her again. He couldn’t bear her sadness. One day he made the decision to go where the sky was always blue, and where there is no black snow. “Then you can always see the sky, AND my eyes,” he told her.

Blue-Eyes didn’t know that his companion’s despair had taken a toll on her body and her spirit. To him the black snow was merely an annoyance. The black cat on the other hand, had only recently come to live in a land where black snow was more frequent than sunbeams, and she hated its oppressing presence. It coats everything, and even during the day, it made sunshine gloomy. Such was the power of black snow when it falls without reprieve. She became just a shell of a cat. She grew more distant, slipping into the shadows as the black snow continued its descent.

The tomcat didn’t understand why his companion was so terrified of black snow. It paralysed her hunter’s spirit. She couldn’t reason anymore, like a trapped animal, her only will was to escape, run, and disappear. Her fear became worse each time it fell. In the end she could not overcome her dread, and the very thing she tried to run away from claimed her.

Blue-Eyes’ howls made the hairs on humans stand, and gave them goose bumps. The animals in the barn where he was passing through could feel his suffering and became as agitated as he was. But he was just passing through. The thought of being surrounded with other creatures did not appeal to him. As the snow continued to fall mercilessly, the tomcat put one paw in front of another and forced himself to continue.

At that moment, he did not know which he hated most, the black snow or the black cat.

He hated her for succumbing to the coldness. He hated her for abandoning him, when he had promised to bring her where the sky stays blue. He hated her distance and melancholy, and thought of her as a weak spoilt little housecat, and not the feral prowler she really was. She was never grateful for everything he has done, or tried to do, he thought. He just hated her.

It took him a while to realize that he was howling. He could see the beginning of a new day at the edge of the woods. He has walked far enough. Blue-eyes looked for the closest shelter, which happened to be an inviting wooden cabin with opened doors, with a cheerful-looking fire burning at the hearth. An old man was standing at the verandah, peering into the darkness of the dawn. He was wondering where the caterwauling came from. He saw the poor white tomcat spotted with black snow a few steps away. Blue-Eyes didn’t know how the human would react. “That’s all I need now, a crazy old-human male who will end my suffering with a blow to the head,” he thought.

The old man came closer. Blue-Eyes, too tired to move, stayed very still.

“You look like you’ve been through hell,” says the old man. “Let’s get you nice and warm now.” He picked up Blue-Eyes like he would a human child, and brought him into his home. “I’ll just stay a while, rest a while,” thought Blue-Eyes. He was placed in front of the fireplace, and he snuggled into an old blanket which smelled of mothballs, a strange new smell for the tomcat which made him sneeze a few times until he got used to it.

Blue-Eyes slept through the next few days, barely waking up and hardly eating what the old man placed in a small tin bowl next to him. He just couldn’t. Even with his eyes closed, he could see black snow. It was gone, but he could still feel it on his fur, and even under his skin. He refused to open his eyes and look out of the glass windows.

The old man thought Blue-Eyes was dying. He left the tomcat alone until he became exasperated with worry. Kind soul that he is, he finally decided to talk to the tomcat. “It’s alright now. Everything is alright. Look, the sun is shining, the birds are singing, and the trees are beginning to bud. A healthy tomcat like you should be running around catching mice now,” says the old man, stroking the tomcat’s head. Blue-Eyes screwed his eyes shut even tighter, because the old man’s words made him think of his black companion trying to “play” with the birds and waiting impatiently for the myosotis to appear.

It took him a few more days before he ventured out of the old cabin. No more black snow. No more black cat. Yet it was so peaceful here, he thought. “I’ll stay for a while”.

Over the days to come, Blue-Eyes became the old man’s companion. The old man was a painter. He loved to transform blank canvas into nature, and Blue-Eyes would become one of his subjects. When he would have other human visitors, he would tell them, “No matter how much I try and capture his essence onto canvas, there is still something missing. Some thing I cannot capture, as though he is bearing a burden which I cannot see,” says the old man, whose visitors would think he was getting senile.

“Only close friends can see these things,” thought Blue-Eyes. It took the tomcat even longer before he started racing through the forests again, but he never pretended to be a bird anymore, nor did he ever wish for wings again. That part of him was lost in the blizzard, lost along with the black cat. Now he had the forest, the cabin, and the nice warm little nest he could snuggle up in. He had found what he had always wanted.

Only when the forget-me-nots blossom and the butterflies dance, would the old man hear spine-chilling caterwauling again… on a cloudless sunny day when the sky is blue. - by a.h. sharm

The Bridge With No Name by A.H.Sharm

2007-11-01T17:47:00.000+08:00

Everyday, the Bridge with No Name bears the burden of a hundred assaults. Feet, paws, hooves and countless other creatures charge on the bridge. It has withstood all these and the ravages of nature, but it still stands. The question is, for how long?

Each day, the squeaking gets worse. Each day, a piece falls of the bridge. Oh…it is still considerably strong, but it is falling sure as the sun rises from the east.

The Bridge with No Name links two villages across a river almost half a mile wide. By now, thought most of the villagers on both sides, the Bridge should have already been named…but every name given to it has always been erased with time, as though the river flowing beneath it could not tolerate having a named entity above it.

The River brings life to the villages and the lands miles before and thereafter. The River itself has been given many names, yet none stuck. So if the River doesn’t have a name, how can the Bridge have one? It seems as though they were resentful of each other, the River and the Bridge. Sometimes, during the months where rain clouds take over the skies, the Bridge is submerged by the raging River. The villagers can hardly see it, and they stay away from the River, knowing that it is on a rampage. Anything will be swept away and swallowed.

At other times, the River is calm, docile and inviting, the bridge the perfect place for lovers to stand and admire the Moon and her reflection in the water. They make such a lovely pair, the villagers thought of the River and the Bridge with No Name. But the Bridge is constant, and cannot withstand the ravaging nature of the River as it breaks its banks and overflows, drowning livestock, destroying homes and sometimes taking lives of the villagers who love it albeit its capricious nature.

As for the Bridge, it has no choice. “I am a bridge, and this is what bridges are made for”. Linked against its will to stand over an unpredictable force, it stands patiently bearing the brunt of the River’s frequent brutality. At times, the villagers can hear the Bridge’s long sad sighs. The more sensitive souls among them feel the Bridge’s burden as though it was their own, but what can they do about it? They need the Bridge as much as they need the River. To them, the Bridge seems to say, “Let me go, it is better to collapse and disappear into chaos rather than be linked to a frenzied companion like you.”

The Bridge with No Name no longer objects to falling apart. It has given up hope. It no longer wishes to be walked upon. It is used for the villager’s own purposes, and is at the River’s mercy. Though strong and stable, it wishes it could crumble and be forever free. After all, who would really care? Another bridge would be built in time, and maybe, this new bridge would have a name. Just another bridge to be walked upon. Do the villagers even realize how vital the Bridge is?

No, every single creature takes the Bridge for granted. They see the Bridge as an inanimate, insignificant structure. There to facilitate their lives. So what can a Bridge do?

The Bridge decided that it would break free. No compromise, no patience. It would use the River’s own violent nature to break its bondage. Thus the Bridge with No Name began it own assault on the River. It would be a long and tedious game, and the Bridge hated games. It was a game with high stakes. The Bridge is staking its very existence, willing to buy freedom at its own expense – willing to exist no more.

The Bridge with No Name one day began its assault on the River. “How mellow you have become, how smooth and tame. Any human child can wade in and piss in you…”

The River, startled out of its banks, never thought for one moment that the Bridge was taunting it for its own purposes. It swells and churns and yells back, “You useless piece of wood, I have only TOLERATED your irritating presence over me till now. I’ll bring you down for good if you continue your senseless chatter. I’ll show you what I’m capable of”.

The surroundings became very still, the birds stopped singing and the bees stopped buzzing. The River summoned its element: more water. Rainclouds gathered, and along with Water came Wind. Strong Wind. The villagers ran into their homes, leaving their fields unattended. They knew a storm was brewing. A storm heralding a battle of wills.

The storm grew in size and strength, the River continued its mad swelling. It called out to Earth, and the ground shook. The Bridge with No Name reveled as the banks began to tremble and send jolts of force down its length. Big chunks of wood broke off from the Bridge. But still it was there.

Laughing now, the Bridge taunts the River further, “You call yourself a River? You’re nothing but a stream, a trickle. A human alchemist could make a better storm than that, and YOU call yourself an elemental? Go underground and hide like all the other tame trickles.”

The River raged. Its cohorts Wind, Water and Earth bound by nature to its aid, increased their assault on the Bridge. The banks shook the Bridge. It swayed as the Wind blew big pieces of it away. It rattled as the Earth ripped its foundations. It flags as Water washed away at where it was deeply rooted to the banks. On both sides of the banks, the Bridge weakens. As it weakens, it felt a joy it has never felt before. “Not so long now”, it thought. One more assault and it would crumble.

“I’m too strong for you River, you cannot destroy me,” was the last thing the Bridge with No Name screamed at the River. Beyond control now, the River gathered her last reserves and blasted at the banks, gouging out the Bridge from the ground it clings upon.
The Bridge began to cave in the middle. Creaking, swaying, trembling. It falls slowly into the River’s madness. The storm continues. The River’s fury unabated. The Bridge falls.

The villagers heard the Bridge with No Name collapsing. In each and every heart, a worry – how would we get across now? No thought was spared for the Bridge, only for themselves.

The Bridge loses itself in the mad embrace of the River. Shattered and battered, it lets bits and pieces of itself be torn apart. As it disintegrates into the crazy River, its last thoughts were “I am free”.

***
After the storm, an eerie calm settled upon the area. How ugly the banks look without the Bridge. Gouged-up earth, holes in the ground, like a desecrated graveyard. Battered trees, some even uprooted, some stripped of their barks. Wind, Earth and Water are still. River calm, but in the calm was there remorse?

“What have I done? I bragged to be the giver of life, yet I have stripped the villagers of the Bridge which they need for their livelihood. Oh yes, they will build another bridge in time, but it would not be the same old friend that has been with me and endured my caprices silently for so long…what have I done?” laments the River.

Slowly, the villagers came out of their homes to witness the River’s brutality. They looked at it with disrespect. For the villagers, now that the Bridge was gone, the Bridge was a friend, and the River suddenly became their enemy. Silly villagers, valuing the Bridge only after it has disappeared. Well, they will learn their lesson in time, as they build a new bridge for themselves, and not take for granted their own efforts.

After many months, the Bridge with No Name became sorely missed as the villagers tried without success to build one in its place. The banks and the earth around the same area were loosened; so badly damaged by the storm that no solid foundation could be built upon those shores. Furthermore, the River that runs through it does its very best to bring down any structure that was built. Soon the River became known as bad luck.

***

Hundreds of miles away, where the River was joined by other bigger rivers, bits and pieces of wood littered the banks of other villages. These villagers gathered these wet soggy pieces of valuable wood. They found good use for the wood in one way or another – to repair leaking roofs; drafty walls; make a small chair or table out of it. Soon the Bridge with No Name became a part of households miles away from its origins. It is said that the “driftwood from the river” brought luck and fortune.

The Bridge of No Name had gained its freedom, and its spirit and benevolence cannot be drowned by a raging River.

The Kingdom of Lies

2007-07-02T13:30:00.000+08:00

Dark times, dark times indeed...

Once upon a time, not so far away from our day and age, lived a King who thought he had the answers to the mysteries of the world. The King was so sure that he was right, that everyone else was wrong. The King was sure that he was true, that everyone else was false. He was sure that he stood alone, that the few loyal subjects he had were mere fools.

The King looked to his loyal subjects with contempt. He had already judged them to be worthless. Their crimes against him were unforgivable, and the punishment meted out was without mercy.

Banishment.

The few remaining loyal subjects he had he banished to the deserts. Never again must they enter his kingdom. To do so would mean certain death. Yet their parting would also mean a certain death. Death of the way of life they had known for generations. Death to their families and friends, for they are not allowed to meet thereafter. Each person who passed through the boundaries of the kingdom left a large part of his soul at the gates, and walks forward with a burdened heart. The King had condemned his loyal subjects to wither and die.

Such was the folly of the King of Fools.

In the kingdom of lies, the only law is deceit. The sovereign keeps company with his boisterous henchmen, whose favourite pastime is treachery. His preferred company was those who used others for their own purposes. The King and his band has one motto - “be practical” – a very important survival skill in the kingdom of lies.

The King, the king of fools, living in his kingdom of lies, built a citadel of illusion around himself, fortified in his own sense of false security. Blinded by song, dance and beauty, the King could not see what tomorrow hides. In his kingdom of lies, only Today mattered.The sovereign’s band of profiteers very quickly depleted his treasures. The King’s constant need for merry-making and sugary words soon reduced his riches. The handful of loyal subjects had been cut down, one by one, if they were to even whisper to the King words of advice against his self-destruction.

“YOU WISH ME EVIL!!!” the King would scream. One by one he executed his well-wishers, judging them to be his foes. The cruel monarch’s judgement was swift and without mercy. His violence he used with his power against those who wished him well. All along, evil-eyes looked on, maliciously giggling to themselves, gloating in the misfortune of others.Evil-eyes behind beautiful faces. Evil-eyes which even a stunning smile cannot hide. Aura of menace emanating from beautiful bodies.

Envy and Greed, circling around the King like a pack of hyenas. Waiting for the sovereign to weaken before the kill.The court Seer, an ageing woman, was the last to succumb to his cruelty. The woman had warned him of his excesses, telling him his downfall is eminent. The King’s rage was as swift as a merciless hurricane. He grabbed her by her frail shoulders and flung her against the palace walls. Seeing that she was still standing, though in shock, he strode towards her and struck her cheeks. She fell backwards, amidst gasps and gloats of his “loyal companions”. He bent over, forearm pressing her neck in a stranglehold, right knee on her ribs and screamed, “What right do you have to speak to me that way? Who in damnation do you think you are? You will DIE for your words…”

The lady tried to remove the King’s arm from her neck, but she was pinned down by his force. His raving and ranting did not cease, so incensed was he by what he thought was the lady’s blatant disregard for his sovereignity. His mad cruel eyes spoke of such hatred that the lady felt cold fire seeping from his arm through her veins.

But of a stronger mettle was she. Descendant of Seers and Mistress of Spirits, she cursed the King through the noose which his arms had become.

Cursed are those who are blessed with sight yet blind

Cursed are those whose eyes are open yet cannot see

Out of sight souls who are compassionate and kind

Out of reach, time to let the sightless soul be…

The King sprang backwards as though he had been bitten by a venomous snake; who better to know how potent her curses are. The Seer rose from the floor, freed from the arms which a moment ago was a deathhold. The monarch who had all the answers did not see evil-eyes glinting. His henchmen’s thoughts were as simple as they were primitive, “Now that he is cursed, he will surely fall. Who will take his place? It COULD be me…” each one muses.

He did not see the contemptuous smirks nor did he feel the cold-fire touch of malignant souls. Too engrossed was he in his world of make-believe that he only saw the Seer raise her hands as she began her call to her guardian spirits – those who protect and obey only her. The court began to rumble with anxious whispers as King and Seer stood their ground in stubborn confrontation.

The King drew his sword and advances like a predator almost ready to pounce upon his prey. Arms raised and eyes closed, an eerie song emanating from her as though her whole body was singing, the Seer awaits his blow.

The sword grazed her neck and the King so ever gently cut through her skin, like a butterfly brushing against a flower. She opens her eyes.

As the pressure of the sword increases and the sting on her neck begins to burn, she utters her final words which will seal his fate.

I was once that was who nurtured you
I was once who in your sorrow you turned to
Yet your sword you have used on your own shield
You are a fool to think I will yield

“YOU will die, alone and friendless, but first, for each drop of tear that has been shed by your loyal subjects, you WILL SHED TENFOLD, for each stab in their souls, YOUR soul will burn, for each live you have destroyed, YOU will bear the grief and suffering of ALL their loved ones till the end of your days…” said the Seer to the King.

The King in his kingdom of lies staggered. As his rage grows, so did his fear.

What will happen to the diminishing King?

End of part one.

The Stage of Dreams

2007-04-25T11:57:00.000+08:00

"All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players.
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages."
--From As You Like It (II, vii, 139-143)

An actor told me I should stop dreaming. What greater paradox can there be?

Suspension of belief, entrance into a dream world, the world of make-believe, which is an essential part of acting. Manipulation of the mind into believing something which is NOT. What happens when the acting is off-stage? Reality fades into a hallucinatory trip.

What happens when an actor manipulates reality?

The world becomes his stage, and the audience his pawn.

The pawn caught in a web of dreams. Yet the mind is such that a small voice cries out caution, though the nature of the pawn is to be the first to perish, game after game after game. It falls, it stands up, and it fights again. Fight for dreams. No matter how insignificant it may be perceived, the king will stand unprotected without his first line of defense.

Fragile dreams, made of delicate handcrafted glass, beautiful dreams, made of sheer iridiscent silk, potent dreams, as powerful as forces that define nature.

Why stop dreaming? I will stop breathing. Dream, and make dreams a reality. Then go on dreaming, repeating the cycle - that is how life is best lived. Open the mind's eye, look at something else besides what is material and tangible. Close the senses, unleash the spirit, see your dreams. Then come back to yourself, and MAKE IT REAL.

When you find yourself trapped on someone else's stage of dreams, remember the pawn. Perish, and come back. No stage, no make-believe world, no consummate actor can destroy a strong spirit. Die in one act, and reappear in a new play. Till the last act, when life draws its curtains. For the consummate actor, just as the pawn, will one day perish.

What dreams will we have then?

"We are such stuff
As dreams are made on and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep..." (Tempest IV, i 156-157)

Till then, I will dream. If one dream shatters, others wait to be crafted. I will craft them out of bare hands, my heart, my strength, and little else.

Nainon Ka Zehar Nasheela

2007-03-19T18:38:00.000+08:00

O, beware, my lord, of jealousy!

It is the green-eyed monster which doth mock

The meat it feeds on.

- Shakespeare, Othello

Omkara - Ajay Devgan's intensity was enough to keep me glued to my screen - coupled with Saif Ali Khan's wickedness. Excellent movie. As good as Laurence Fishburne and Kenneth Brannagh in the English version. Of course, Omkara had a little more spice - song and dance.

Intriguing how a movie leads to many things...Omkara was shot in Uttar Pradesh. The "dialect" used in the film is Bhojpuri. There were many familiar words from my childhood, though I would not be able to say where or who said those words. Yet they lurked beneath the surface of consciousness. The song Beedi was enough to bring back memories of "Mamu Subarli", his gentle smile, and of course, the odour of beedi. I can still smell it. I will always associate the smell to him.

Omkara is raunchier than Shakespeare, though the bard's metaphors in Othello WOULD make certain people blush. I wonder what they would think of Omkara's rough language. I suppose it would be difficult for most young non-Indians to understand the "subtleties". I had someone to guide me through the language. It is interesting to learn even raunchier words from my guide.

Since then I have been desperately trying to turn my brains inside out to come up with sharp retorts. Not easy. Which brings me back to the point - watching a movie can lead to a lot of other activities.

For those who have not yet watched either - DO IT. It is worth your while. Read Othello if you like Shakespeare before watching either films.

Just a few lines from my favourite song from the movie Omkara: Naina

Bin baadal barsaaye saawan, saawan bin barsaatan

Bin baadal barsaaye saawan baanwara kar denge

Naina thag lenge...

When Pigs Fly

2007-01-23T17:35:00.000+08:00

18 February 2007 marks the beginning of the Year of the Pig in the Chinese calendar. I am currently writing an article on it, and have absolutely no inspiration, so I started looking at all pig-related proverbs. My favourite one so far has been:

When Pigs Fly

Pigs are supposed to be one of the best signs in Chinese astrology...those born under the year of the pig are fortunate, have a wonderful life (huh??? subjective, subjective, but I can't complain about mine), and are great people to have as friends and partners. On the negative side, they are naive (as they trust people so easily) and love to spend money, indulging in luxury and never saving for a rainy day.

I was born in the year of the pig...and the year of my birth was that of the Metal Pig. Metal Pigs are hardworking, easygoing, party-people, but once challenged, they are formidable foes. As someone in my entourage recently discovered, I will fight tooth and claw (metallic ones) for what I believe in. I do not believe in hitting below the belt, but hit me below mine, and you will not know what hit you. And honestly, I still stopped myself from being too abrasive.

Never show your ultimate strength, - your foe will be able to gauge your weaknesses.

The astrologer was right after all, a metal pig is a monster when in "colere".

I do not believe in insults, or violence or even arguments for that matter. I believe that intelligent human beings have been given the power of speech to communicate (effectively); the power of critical thinking to analyse, and compassion to emphatise (well, I have the right to be naive, I am a pig). Sometimes, I feel as though I am speaking an alien language. I am misunderstood. Is that because I was not communicating effectively? Being a pig also means that I do not like to ask for help from others, and would rather solve my own problems...but after my verbal kickboxing session with my nemesis, I had a good chat with a friend, and we concluded that although humans are given the capacity for logical thinking and effective speech, there are some out there who do not know how to employ these gifts. They blunder in verbal chaos, lunging out at the people closest to them, hurting most the people who cares about their well-being.

My friend happens to believe in the goodness of humanity and says that with proper re-education and experience, these Philistines to the benefits of proper interpersonal relationships may change.

The metal pig in me had one answer to that: WHEN PIGS FLY.

MAYA

2006-11-30T15:39:00.000+08:00

I always see her hanging around, and sometimes she would greet me, as though she has known me for a long time. From time to time, she follows me a short distance.

Then one day, about two weeks ago, she followed me right into my home, and made herself very, very comfortable. SCARY. She leaves when I leave for work...when I come home she is downstairs waiting for me.

She is small, but sounds big - as though she has a built-in amplifier. Quite loud in a quiet apartment. She is a mixed breed - bengal and tabby. Spots and stripes, orange and brown. 2mm of the left ear missing. Golden eyes. Temperamental, wild, probably flea-infested. Sweet sometimes, and most of the time she is well-behaved. Loves attention, and doesn't agree to share mine with anyone else - even a phone conversation is enough to set off her loudspeaker complaints. SHE LOVES TO NAG. And doesn't do anything about cockroaches - except look at it when it is dead.

I cut up a box and filled it with sand last week, and a few days ago I bought her a litter. She's got an enormous appetite. One week's supply of food gone in 4 days.

It took me some time to get her the right name. I call her MAYA.

She adopted me.

Eid Mubarak

2006-11-11T13:11:00.000+08:00

Eid Mubarak...

My first Eid in Singapore since Tata's passing. Not the same without him, and a part of me wished I was still in Belgium, so that I don't have to celebrate this Eid here, without his presence. An unreasonable wish...totally selfish...

As usual, all the delicious kueh-mueh and the morning at Simei...Let the pictures speak for themselves. The eve of Eid, Momot was so curious about all the ruckus...all the new scents in the house...at last he settled for his favourite past time - chewing somebody (in this case Mak's) fingers!

And Mr Ramdan Khan having a catnap of his own, in front of the tv, while an animated conversation is going on (as usual).

Eid Mubarak folks, and to Tata.

Sing a Song of Sixpence...

2006-09-08T22:36:00.000+08:00

Bobby Singh's Euro Asia Project performing at the LunchBox, Esplanade

Candid shot of Munir & Weixiang fooling around during Euro Asia Project photo-shoot

29 August 2006 marked a milestone in my life - for the first time, I released my writings to be used in a context other than work. Two songs...one happy, the other sad. The songs were performed at the Esplanade by Euro Asia Project - I am as of now the first Singaporean songwriter who wrote an original song in Spanish. Both songs were in Spanish. The team of people I worked with included a musical genius, Weixiang - pianist and composer.

Weixiang gave music to the words. He does not speak nor understand Spanish. I gave him a brief background on the "feel" of the songs, and he composed. Weixiang captured the spirit of both songs. The talented man also gave music to a Hindi song - written by Navin Kumar, Euro Asia Project's percussionist. Navin is the first Hindi songwriter in Singapore. Weixiang's composition of Tere Bina is an example of his versatility and understanding of different music genres. Under the guidance of band leader and music director Bobby Singh and Weixiang's compositions, the words I wrote became a song.

The first song I wrote in Spanish is El Conguero Mulato (The Brown-Skinned Conga Player). It is written for a friend who is a percussionist. It is a happy-silly song, about a village girl-meets boy-next-door. It is a Cuban guaguanco crossed with salsa, resulting in an explosive rhythm. Heavy on the percussions, yet simple. El Conguero Mulato was an easy song to write because it was sheer fun, using the idiosyncracies of my friend - a picture was painted in a song. All three percussionists in Euro Asia and guitarist contributed to making the song complete.

No Me Castigues, the second song, was written for someone as yet too young to understand the implications of the song. One day he might face the issues in the song, and maybe the lyrics will give him the answer he seeks. I wrote the song for someone in great distress and anxiety. The emotions were too strong to ignore, that was how the song came about. I must add that the guitarist Syed Munir gave the final touch that made the song heart-wrenching. The song was built around one line "Amargo la lluvia que cae de mi cielo..." which means Bitter the rain that falls from my sky. Mi Cielo in Spanish also means my love, and the rain symbolises tears. How bitterly sad it is to see tears in the eyes of our loved ones...The words kept haunting me, and the rest of the song I constructed around that line.

So where do I proceed? Currently I am looking at the possibility of working with the same group of people, or others who may be interested in words I wrote. My only criteria is that they are respectable people, dedicated to their art, not interested in fame or glory, and serious - as I mentioned in my earlier blog - I cannot tolerate bullshit.

The following is an extract from something I recently completed:
In Chile "Vivo de amor y aire fresco" literally means living on love and fresh air. Means living the poor life. The proverb stuck in my head, and eventually grew into a song. I haven't given it a title yet (not happy with the ones I have so far...)

Vivo de amor y aire fresco
El mar es mi muro, el cielo mi techo
Vivo de amor y aire fresco

La mejor manera, el mejor dicho

Vivo de mi arte vivo de mi canto
Vivo de amor por todo lo que es bonito
Vivo en paz vivo con poquito
Vivo de amor por todo lo que es bonito

I live on love and fresh air
The sea is my wall, the sky my roof
I live on love and fresh air
The best way, the best saying

I live on my art I live on my song
I live for love for all which is beautiful
I live in peace I live with very little

I live for love for all which is beautiful
(copyright A.H. Sharm)

Realisations - Mutations

2006-08-07T01:25:00.000+08:00

I have realised a a few very important things in the course of the past few weeks. The most important being that I have no fear of loneliness, and prefer to be by myself than in bad company. I have evolved from a social butterfly into a closed book.

I have no patience with frivolous and superficial people - especially ladies who think that shoes make the most interesting subject of conversation. They can go on talking about ridiculous topics for twenty minutes (e.g. how expensive, which colours, handbags to match...). Sheer frustration - being at the same place at the same time with people like this. Since I don't expect help from anyone, I usually leave the surroundings to breath a little easier, before I blow them away with my rudeness. (Oh, I realised that I can be extremely RUDE). But then again, why should I waste my time listening to pure utter complete crap. JUST SHUT UP if you have nothing interesting to say.

Guess I'm being hard on people, but my solitude has made me intolerant of CRAP. And how much CRAP is out there in this place, is beyond my comprehension. I suppose my idle chatter can and will annoy someone else - so I beg you, please tell me to shut up if I ever do that.

I feel like wearing a sign (these are my personal favourites)

"Intolerant to Bullshit - Stay Away".

"Intolerant to Jealousy - Drop Dead!"

"Intolerant to Cock & Bull Stories - Sell Them Somewhere Else".

"Intolerant to Terhegeh-Hegeh - Leave Me Alone."

"Intolerant to Lies - Fuck Off!"

I realised I have no patience. I am intolerant to CRAP. I am able to talk nonsense from time to time - but cannot sustain that for long. Conclusion - I have evolved into a "too intense" person. I prefer to shut up and write instead of talking about shoes and handbags. I prefer to listen to my friends' philosophy of life than talk about my personal life, except with very few kindred spirits. I prefer to be alone than to tolerate bullshit people (WOW so many).

Evolved, mutated....

Roses and Tiramisu

2006-07-18T00:51:00.000+08:00

My B-day celebrations began in the office with a delivery of roses from Boy Next Door. Then came Serene's yummy tiramisu...it was a great excuse to forget about work for a while, and party with coffee. Serene's tiramisu was gobbled up quickly enough, but the dillying and dallying continued for a while longer...

Later that night, Boy Next Door organised a party for me at M-Hotel. Initially it was supposed to be a couple of people hanging out - it turned out to be a full-blown party with people I have never met, but were good company. We ended up in Bollywood Dhoom at 4am, and partied till 6am...At Dhoom we came across a bunch of Gurkha guards letting their hair (not much) down. Strange..to think of strict guards with rifles and whatever that dagger is called dancing away with Bollywood dancers...

Party continues the next day at Rochester, so beautiful. I'm glad Serene shared that place with me. My colleagues gave me a b-day treat AGAIN! Ain't I the luckiest???

The next day, I went back to Rochester. I Really LIKED that place.

On Sunday, my family held a celebration...almost everyone was there, and those who weren't were sorely missed. Well, that's an excuse to have ANOTHER party.

How many days/times did I celebrate my b-day? Seems like it started on 1st May, and ended on 3rd June...who's complaining?

There were some things I wished for on my b-day - Billie, and my friends who are far away. I miss all of you.

Three Hundred Ducks

2006-05-07T21:43:00.000+08:00

Ok curious people - if you've been wondering what has kept me from my blog for so long - here is a brief glimpse into my activities since 1st May 2006. Work, work work, and the occasional party with the usual bunch of friends. Miguel would probably kill me if he saw himself on my blog, but we had great fun that night (Labour's Day Eve), which led us to continuing the party at the beach the next day.

Serene is a colleague who sits in the cubicle next to mine - I have lovingly decided to call her "psycho-bitch". The office is very noisy with our antics, and others have joined in the foray. Like Annie (accountant) says,"One woman is equivalent to three hundred ducks", so imagine how many ducks there are in the office!

"The Whiskey Club" (uuurrrrghhhhh) at Ruby's B-day...I had a fever: 39 degrees Celsius during the Alliance Francaise Gala Dinner, and after had to attend Ruby's party. I was swaying on me feet. A few degrees more, I would have been hallucinating.

And the picture of me with the "Thingie" at WA - Surface Temporaire d'Autonomie vernissage. It's my favourite mural painting at the exhibition.

And yes, that's my cubicle at the Alliance Francaise. It's cleaner now (I swear!).

Crazy People Beach Party

2006-05-07T21:29:00.000+08:00

1st May 2006 - feels like my Birthday celebrations has begun. May always feel like a holiday, though I am bogged down with work. I love my job, and I am having a good time with my friends.

Here we are after a long night of partying at East Coast Parkway. Indians, Colombians, Cuban, Spanish - sharing one common bond - music. Latin and Hindi. Whoever thought the two could mix? In my world they do, and it's a great mix.

The Crazy People had their own soccer match that day, ending up in Manuel getting cut on his nose by the ball which hit his sunglasses - who plays soccer with sunglasses? Who plays soccer with sandals? Me, and I broke my right sandal. Why do I call us Crazy People - need I explain? Raj spread on the sand after a heavy night of drinking and not sleeping.

Grandpa gone digital.

2006-04-24T22:35:00.000+08:00

Cha and Adam going to Dubai same day and time Grandpa left for Australia.

Me sending of Grandpa at the airport. Rushed from work.

Le dernier fois j'ai vu mon grandpere, j'avais 21ans...

This time I was lucky to catch him while he was here in Singapore. I was afraid I might find a fragile, stooped old man, but I was pleasantly surprised. He still walks upright, as graceful as before, as quiet. His hair might have turned white, but it was the same warmth shining from his eyes, welcoming a long lost soul.

Grandpa took the best pictures. He documented my childhood. The pictures you see below as I am growing up were all taken by him (though I must admit, I hated being the subject, and I still dislike being made to stand in front of the camera). He gave me a love for photography though. Over the years I realised how important his photographs were to become to me. Especially those who captured the images of people I never got to know.

Grandpa has gone back to Australia now. Who knows when we will meet again. I am thankful to see him once more, and to be able to document this meeting in my own way.

And yes, Grandpa, who used to be a Yashica and Nikon freak, has gone digital too!

Hare Krishna Hare Raam

2006-04-15T19:35:00.000+08:00

Dum Maro Dum - so goes the song, and so goes my fortnight in Singapore.

If you're wondering the significance of the song, let me explain.

I'm on a constant high. Since I've been back, I've been in a daze. I have not yet confronted the reality of my situation. I am having a great time. Work is a drug I can't get enough of, and my friends are there to keep me in balance.

I miss all in Belgium, especially Billie. I wish I could bring you guys here at least for the weekend, I miss you guys.

I am doing well here, having a blast as usual. Workload is heavy, but I am not complaining, as it is exactly what I want. The burden in my heart of missing those close to me I still carry. I will never be able to replace the people I love.Only know that my heart is big enough to love you always.

I am high as a kite, minus those small moments when I cross the path of a hypocrite or a psychopath, which happens once in a while. I don't think I will ever be able to stomach hypocrites - I prefer psychopaths.

Cha is taking me out to eat all my favourite local food, as you can see in the first pictures. Good food, good company, good friends, good music and laughter. Sharm is high on life, Hare Krishna Hare Raam.

One Thousand and One Nights

2006-03-31T15:45:00.001+08:00

One Thousand and One Nights - Henri Matisse

If I was Shehzade, I would be able to tell stories for one thousand and one nights...Stories that takes you from the north to the south pole of emotions, and stories that spans from the east to the west of your senses.

No, the stories aren't about me, but the people I have met, and continue to meet. Just yesterday, I met a man of such charisma, such beautiful voice and manners of speech, and a million dollar smile. Glad to say that this man will be a colleague. I wonder what his story is.

We are each of us part of a story, our own, or someone else's. Sometimes we are the protaganists, good or evil. Sometimes we are the villain, plain evil. Sometimes we just play a minor part in someone else's story. What do our stories say about us? How will people judge us when they hear our stories? How much does it matter?

There are two sides to a coin, but between black and white, there are so many shades of grey. The storyteller must refrain from letting her judgement influence the listener's conclusions, but how many humans can remain detached and without judgement...how many can speak without their own morality, self-righteouness, and bias creeping up upon their voices? The same story brings different messages to different people.

We interpret and accept bits and pieces of a story which relate to us most, disregarding the rest as mere annoying details. These details may be someone else's important points, and so it goes on. Some among us, blessed with empathy, are able to relate to all, understand all, and suffer the impatience and contempt of their counterparts.

If I was Shehzade, I would still tell my stories, knowing that human nature is the biggest story of all. Our own mysteries, will we ever solve them?

Treading On Familiar Ground...Laeti's Vision

2006-03-30T19:03:00.000+08:00

It seems as though I've lived here before, I've walked this way before, smelled the spices in the air, heard the same drumbeats...Yet I am looking at everything with a new set of eyes. Eyes that see as a stranger sees. Am I a stranger, or is this where I belong? If I do belong, why does the ground seem unstable under my feet? Why do I take tentative footsteps?

36 hours now since my return. Nice to hear familiar voices filled with warmth, nice to see familiar faces light up with joy and nice to have friends planning a get-together to celebrate my return and my new job. Been to see my new employer, looks like I will be very busy for at least a year. Nice to know that I will be using my brains once more, that my abilities will not waste away.

Paula, friend and confidante in Singapore, said that she admires my courage. Said it took guts to confront and change my life 180 degress. I don't know if it was guts - why stay on the same path when it leads nowhere, and we aren't happy going nowhere? It would be more logical to change directions, discover new challenges, always keeping our objectives within sight.

What is my objective? It is still to work as a teacher in a third world country. Yesterday I received an e-mail from Laetitia that really warmed my heart :

ESCRIBE, DIBUJA, EXPRESA, SE TU MISMA Y PERSIGUE TUS SUEÑOS, no tengas miedo, tienes tantos talentos Hay una sola via posible en la vida: "ir p'adelante". tengo una vision: 2 cuarentonas en un pais del tercer mundo (el que sea), una educando niños y otra peleando por sus derechos adivina quienes son :-P :-D Te abrazo fuerte fuerte fuerte.

I believe in this vision, and I will work towards realising it. I hope that I have enough strength in me; those who have been my pillars are a world away now to walk with me on this which is my homeground. Isn't it bizarre, to have pillars of strength so far away from my roots? I can only carry them in me, and hope that my footsteps on this familiar ground will eventually lead me to Laeti's vision.

Today Is A Good Day To Die

2006-03-28T06:53:00.000+08:00

Billie, wondering at her pawprints and the snow falling on her soft fur. Billie loves snow.

01h00 here in Leuven, Belgium. It is my last day in my home. My last day of the eight years I've spent in this little country with its eccentricities. I've had a beautiful day; been "kidnapped" for two hours which stretched into four; my best friend is sleeping in my bed after hearing my "adventures" and tolerating my nostalgia; Billie is on my lap, enjoying the last few moments of warmth I can give her before the next time she is once more in my arms. Billie, my companion of seven years, who I will have to leave for three months due to circumstances.

All considered, I've had a wonderful weekend, and today a beautiful day. TODAY IS A GOOD DAY TO DIE. I would be happy to go underground for good today. There are days like this, when I feel in the core of my being that I have been lucky indeed. Bizarre, this feeling of contentment that can arise in the most adverse situations. I believe that we must be happy with what we have, not yearn for what we don't or cannot have. If we can see and appreciate what we are blessed with, la vie est belle!

Some see me as independent and nonchalant. Some see through me. I have been blessed in my life. If I died today, I will die happy - therefore today is a good day to die.

Llora El Corazon

2006-03-27T02:56:00.000+08:00

How do I say au revoir to the most precious people in my life?

With the excellent cuisine of Aline and Laetitia. With cheerful African music, and lively Mexican music. With the heart-wrenching songs of Nina Simone and Chet Baker. With champagne and wine. With tears and laughter.

Tears that run down delicate cheeks of beautiful friends with beautiful souls. Warm tears that my own breaking heart forces out of my stone-cold trembling body. Strong arms pressing me close to sincere hearts. I will miss you.

Laughter at the expense of my notorious "grande-guele". Advice to stay zen - be like "un canard mouillé" in frustrating moments. Laughter at my antics with the digital camera, trying to record every moment of my last "party". Laughter - never has anyone been so fond of parties. Laughter bittersweet. Laughter edged with salt.

All present are close to my heart, even those that I do not see often. Sofie said "Tu ne me laisseras pas tomber, Sharm". A dagger through my heart that. Enchanting Sofie, with little magic Luna, how can I ever forget your friendship, and working with you and Mauro? Nat who I have not seen for so long, petite et belle Nathalie, I was glad you were there to say au revoir, along with your charming Stephan. Aline, gracias por tu cariño y presencia de mama, nunca te olvidare. Nonka, seven months along and Lumu kicking your insides, thank you for your understanding and support of my decision. Arigato gozaimasu for your stoicism. Yannick, chef de un petit village Togolais, "Hasta Siempre!". Sexy exotic Yvonne, and smart Alex with his fart box, brought as a special treat for squeezing even more laughter from my heart which was in pieces. Thank you for sharing the picture. Raphael, best advice to give to a "grande-guele", thank you for letting me know Kim, who is not yet at the stage of pregnancy to say"get out of my body already..." And Laetitia, merci pour la fête, pour me faire comprendre la difference entre un torchon, une serviette et une eponge, et surtout de ne pas parler de "lavette" avec un Français. Merci pour ecouter mes conneries, et la tolerance de ma comportement completement egoiste de mes dernieres jours parmi vous. Gracias por tu amistad, y gracias por amar me tal como soy (Que locura muchacha!). Pas rendu compte! I will miss our gossip sessions, "Las Aventuras de Sharm en Belgica".

Those absent, you do not mean any less to me. I cherish all of you, and I still wonder why Fortune placed you in my reach. Why you care, why you were there. Nonka said "It's a small world Sharm, we will keep in touch, and you'll see us soon in Singapore, or we'll see you here once more". Till then, chers amies, I will always remain yours.

Each of you embodies the reasons of how love, need and understanding can make a human being reach for and soar to its full potential. Je vous remercie sincerement, ma petite vie sera vide sans vous.

The Prodigal Daughter Returns

2006-03-24T06:57:00.000+08:00

8 years I've been away.

Been through heaven and hell. Wouldn't have given it up for anything in the world. I have finally found myself, and found peace within me. Friends that I will never forget, faces that I will always carry in my heart forever and a day.

When I left I never thought I would return. Strange that I made up my mind to come home within 48 hours of arriving from Singapore in January, and have been working towards that goal since those 48 hours.

DHARMA pushed me to make this decision. Understand DHARMA and my decision will be clear. I do not know if I shall always stay in Singapore, but as long as I am needed, I will stay close to those who needs me.

I want music, joy and laughter, sincere friends and a full life. Those who share the same philosophy are welcome to be part of my life. Those who are against my sense of adventure and joie de vivre please stay away, I do not need any negative people in my entourage. Life is so short, isn't it better to go through it smiling and humming, rather than crying and bitter?

I will probably move again as I cannot seem to stay in one place, but my next goal is to teach in a third world country (in about five years, if all is well). Call it a crazy dream, a silly ambition, but hey, it has always been what I wanted, and it hasn't changed.

Don't forget, you can't hold a moonbeam in your hands, can't tame a cat gone feral and can't change lead into gold, unless you're an Alchemist. So live and let live. Remember that when I'm among you.

Why do I sound pissed off? Well, I can already imagine all the gossip that I've probably caused by now...and all the busybody matchmakers who will try and find me my soulmate. Please don't bother...I am incapable of loving anyone, as I am actually a stone sculpture brought to life for a very brief period. So enjoy me as I am, while I am still among you. Who knows when I will be turned back into stone again? Or when I will dissappear with the wind once more.

The Prodigal Daughter returns for now. I hope to find a lot of love amongst all of you, for each other, for me. I hope there are no bitterness in your lives which will overflow into mine. I may leave and never return should my heart of stone not be able to bear your bitterness (wonder if I'm asking too much?). That's all I'm asking for.

Sharm's Surreal Situation

2006-03-24T02:48:00.000+08:00

The irony of life - discover a kindred spirit one week before my departure to Singapore.

The wicked irony that due to delicate circumstances, I have to put an ocean between us.

A tragi-comedie.

Laugh at life's little ironies, to keep a semblance of sanity in my demented life.

Rare to meet a kindred spirit. I admire this person's professional capacities. Intelligent, quick to decipher my convoluted thought processes. Honesty to the point of being cruel. If I am not alike, I would have hated instead of appreciated my kindred spirit's pointed questions.

No one can psycho-analyse me. I don't think I am intelligent, I am complex. It is a relief to be with a kindred spirit, as they accept you for who you are - no need for nice clothes or makeup, no need for carefully planned dialogues or being coy (I can't do that anyway, it is against my nature) - spit it out - whatever you have to say, good or bad, and we'll find a solution if it is a problem that you have just spat out like something bitter stuck in your insides.

That's what kindred spirits do for each other. Be it of the same or opposite sex. Isn't it a pity that I met one more just before leaving? No...

My admiration and respect for my kindred spirit will tide me through the next steps I will have to take. Some people have the ability to inspire you, just by being themselves, and for no OTHER reasons. Inspiration which has given me courage to say, "hey, I CAN do THIS". How to put into words the energy that pushes you to believe in yourself, to be positive, and that you are as bright as the north star? Only sincere friends can make me a believer. I need no excuse to say I want this person to be in my inner circle of friends. I have always been lucky in my choice of close friends.

But that is not to be. Circumstances beyond my control has made a friendship impossible. How strange are the ways of the world, that sometimes friendship is frowned upon.

I don't believe in Fate, nor do I believe in coincidences. So I find myself in a surreal situation, one that I dare not analyse nor name. Caught between the Devil and the deep blue sea. Surreal - two communicators dancing around words like jugglers at Cirque du Soleil doing an act with fragile and beautiful glass artifacts. Caution... Once the artifact drops, the act is over - leaving broken pieces on the ground that may cut and hurt not only the jugglers, but those along the same path.

Once more, Distance, like a constant companion, will take centrestage in my life. So many things better left unsaid. Bravado a mask we wear to evade uncomfortable truths. Truth, in a surreal situation, though lurking within sight, is best barred from entering the arena. Truth, when shining upon the surreal - destroys the woven illusion.

What illusion we create, what strong boundaries we build, and what humour we use to fan off Truth. A dance that will soon come to an end. No applause...only priceless memories to carry me through life. One more chamber of solace in my memory palace at times when the rainclouds hover. An endless roofless chamber that opens up to a starry night, the sound of waves just beyond unseen, impenetrable walls, a locked trapdoor on the floor that leads to the oubliettes, where all unnamed horrors lurk. More surreal than a hallucinogen-enhanced trip. A self-indulgent trip, pulling all the restraints not to overdose and suffer the consequences. Four days to go on this surreal trip.

Leaving Leuven, my hometown for the past four years

2006-03-24T02:09:00.000+08:00

I love to shop in Leuven. 15 minutes walk from my home, lies Bondgenotenlaan, and my favorite boutique ZARA. Not to mention other equally tempting places to spend my money.

The Oude Markt at night - it looks dead in winter, but go in to any of the pubs or restaurants - I don't need Brussels to have a great time. Every kind of music and crowd lie right here in the Oude Markt.

Voilà! Where I take the train every morning to go to work. Or to explore other corners of Belgium. I love this train station - getting my coffee to drink in the train, watching the colourful people go by, busybusybusy, and good-looking train employers doing their work. Not too busy, unlike Brussels. Just the right combination of an old building and modern services.

Tall????

2006-03-24T02:04:00.000+08:00

If you think I'm tall, then you must think Paul is a giant. I've known him for seven years this policeman extraodinaire. Always a friendly smile, always there when I get a bunch of difficult people at Le Quartier St. Gery. Wonder if I'll meet nice policemen in Singapore?

Sandwiches & Coffee on a curb at La Rue Neuve

2006-03-24T01:57:00.000+08:00

Airticket in hand, outside Connections, Schuman. Laeti, my guardian angel, with me as usual. We hit La Rue Neuve right after, shopping. My meagre bank account reached level of poverty when I finished.

Is it normal for a couple of women in their thirties to sit on a curb and eat sandwiches right in the centre of town? Well, if their names are Laeti and Sharm, it is absolutely normal. This day (19 March, Saturday 2006) we went to get my airticket. I will miss Laeti - words can't describe the feeling. Kindred spirit, confidante, what will I ever do without her close by?

Favourite Spots in Leuven

2006-03-24T01:02:00.000+08:00

Pata Negra - my fav pub at the Oude Market. Crowd is relaxed, laid-back...hippie-looking students and devil-may-care adults. I like the music, which ranges from Buddha Bar to Rock and Roll classics. Of course, also one of the last pubs to close in Leuven!

Brasserie Wiering - Delicious Food, nice interior, always a chic crowd, and just about the best place to have dinner in Leuven.

This place is about five minutes walk away from where I live. In summer, when I'm too lazy to go to the park or too bored to stay in my garden, I come here with a good book. I'd sit under a tree with a bar of milk chocolate in one hand, the book in the other. The book is just a pretext, most of the time I'm dreaming or looking at people walking by.

Grote Markt

2006-03-24T00:58:00.000+08:00

The Grote Markt in Leuven, lively pubs, great place to people-watch, and in summer nice terraces to sit down and bask in the sunshine (and attention).

Still in the Grote Markt - these buildings always make me feel like I am living in the pages of Brothers Grimm fairy tales...

How Will I be Defined in the Dictionary (True, True...)

2006-03-15T04:24:00.000+08:00

sharm --
[noun]:

A hermit living in the big city

'How" will you be defined in the dictionary?' at QuizGalaxy.com

Vincent van Gogh

Vincent van Gogh should paint your portrait. You are a passionate and obsessive person. You are prone to doing things spontaneously, without thinking a lot about them. You look at the world in a different way then most people - and you are able to see the best and the worst at once.

Take this quiz at QuizGalaxy.com

La Petite Vie de Sharm

2006-03-12T07:33:00.000+08:00

I'm bored, and I don't like to be bored...so I put this together for those who often wonder how I live my little life over here.

At work (most of the time). With two of my colleagues during a private cocktail attended by bank officials. Spent 18 hours on my feet to put the cocktail together. By the time I got home, I dropped into my bed (clothes and make-up included) and slept 6 hours like a dead woman.

In the kitchen, cooking, for hours..usually for friends...I love to cook and learn new cuisines. There are so many spices, tastes, smells...Some cultures don't use salt in their cuisine, but flavour is added in the form of spices...(Wow! Live & learn, even in the kitchen). Cooking is a feast for the senses.

Nature - be it in Malaysia, Singapore or Belgium, the best way to spend a day off is sit on a blanket in the woods, with a good book and a thermos of coffee, and NO idiots around to spoil it for me. I'm 100% at peace when I'm in the wild.

Dancing salsa till I get cramps during the weekends at the Latin clubs. Better still if all your friends are great dancers, like mine, I'm proud to say...

Well, if you love to cook, you have to love to clean. I love to clean, and can spend hours just in the cleaning products section of a supermarket (hee hee hee...). I can't relax unless my house is clean. But hey, if I'm bogged down at work, then my home looks like a warzone. Clothes everywhere, socks missing, shoes all over the place...But I only have three hours to sleep! So wait till my next day off and spend it cleaning, with the latest magic-cleaner I found at the store.

There goes my day in the wild...

Which Ruler Would I Be?

2006-03-11T08:34:00.000+08:00

You are Catherine the Great.

You are very intelligent and a socialist. It is very important to you that all people be treated equally in a society. You are able to fully comprehend social problems and you are outspoken when it comes to dealing with them.

Take this quiz at QuizGalaxy.com

What's My best Excuse? (Soooo true....)

2006-03-11T08:29:00.000+08:00

sharm's best excuse:

"The power went down – in my head"

Take this quiz at QuizGalaxy.com

What will my "wanted" poster say?

2006-03-11T08:22:00.000+08:00

Take this quiz at QuizGalaxy.com

My Real Life WoW Race & Class

2006-03-11T03:05:00.000+08:00

Tauren Warrior

Tauren, the not-very-gentle giants of the Horde, stand out above the rest. Pastoral at heart, they may feel the need to defend their fields - or their honour, if someone were to insult their fuzzy, glossy coat.

As a warrior, you like to take charge of things. You feel that you're an important part of what's happening - and if things turn sour, you like to have a very large weapon on hand that you can use to negotiate.

Find out your real-life WoW race and class at QuizGalaxy.com

What Will My Epitaph Say?

2006-03-11T02:49:00.000+08:00

Take this quiz at QuizGalaxy.com

Tribute To Friends

2006-02-27T22:49:00.000+08:00

Friends - What makes them special, and what makes them dedicate themselves to your well-being? All these years, I have met so many people - some superficial "party-friends", some just not worth talking about, and some who have become a part of my life. They are my port during a storm, my sunshine on a rainy day, and the silent footsteps that follow as I venture into unchartered territory, ready to catch me should I stumble and fall.

Laetitia I have known since my first day in Belgium, we met at a university concert. Both of us have been through rough waters. Followed by a brief period of doubts...We overcame that. My life here wouldn't have been livable without Laeti. Passionate, strong, highly intelligent, Laeti is the epitome of a successful modern woman. Goes to peaceful demonstrations, can argue like a lawyer, dances like a pro, and has a great sense of humour. Laeti makes me see things from a perspective that I miss sometimes. 3-D. Never afraid to say the truth, no matter if the truth hurts...Lies hurt even more in the long run, she says. True. Don't know what I did to deserve her friendship.

Mauro & Sophie started out as my colleagues in 2004. Tall, voice like thunder, sense of humour to drive you crazy, Mauro breached that line between colleagues and friends, and entered into my world, bringing along with him then-girlfriend and now wife Sophie. Stylish, intelligent, enchanting Sophie. Frank and doesn' mince her words either, Sophie is strong. Fate has dealt some nasty deals for these two, but their strength is unbeatable. Proud to have these two in my inner circle.

Nonka, beautiful and fragile as a porcelain Japanese doll. Inner core of steel. Humble. Met her while learning Dutch in 2002. Who could have predicted that she would be a treasured friend? Nonka lives five minutes away from me, and is the only Asian in my entourage. Currently pregnant, I think she would make a wonderful mother. Always there, whether the rainclouds threaten to burst, or when the sun is in all its glory. Quieter than the other three anchors. Nonka and me share the Asian perspective. Though we live in Belgium and are "cosmopolitan", our roots are still Asian. We often discuss/complain about how our close European counterparts cannot see the logic behind our principles. So instead of watching the movie as we set out to do, we end up staying in a café, gossipping like two old ladies.

I could not have lived a normal life without these individuals during these eight years as a "pardesi". I deeply appreciate their friendship. I hope that they will still remain my friends, even if oceans separate me from them one day.

Dance, Life and Passion

2006-02-24T21:15:00.000+08:00

Here is where it all begins...Life without dance (and music) is like living in black & white instead of technicolour. Laeti, my best friend has asked me to go out dancing like we used to. Before work got the better of us and ruled our lives. Laetitia has been part of my life since day 1 in Belgium. Although we are different, her intelligence, dedication to her work, and zest for life made me realise how lucky I am to be able to call her my best friend. Laeti is the sister I wish I had. 3 years younger, and way wiser than I am. We used to hit the salsa clubs in Brussels every weekend, till about three years ago, when we both became overwhelmed with work.

Yet I'm still dancing, as I brush my teeth, as I cook, and as I clean the house. Hell! I dance when I'm waiting for the train (very discretely of course). Some people notice, but I'm not trying to get their attention, just living in my own world which is full of music and passion for dancing. It's something in me that responds, connects to whatever music I'm listening to, and I start moving. Favourite dances of all times are salsa, flamenco, samba, r&b and of course, Indian rhythms like the bhangra - feels like I'm flying.

Biggest regret - never learnt the Bharatanatyam when I was a kid.

When I was a kid, Madd's dad used to freak out when I watched Solid Gold (half naked women gyrating provocatively, he said). Badbadbad influence...Well, almost twenty years later, I'm still dancing. Alone or with partners, a dance is a dance.

Depending on which culture we belong to, dance can been seen as evil or good. Dance is so deeply rooted in certain cultures that it is part of religion (Hindus call Shiva Lord Of the Dance, Nataraj; in Santeria, the priests and priestesses often dance in rituals, and of course, the whirling Sufi dervishes as they get into a trance) , and other religions frown upon it. FROWN all they want, I'm still SMILING and dancing...

2006-02-22T01:03:00.000+08:00

www.raaga.com/channels/hindi/movie/H000749.html
Please listen to this song : Mathura Nagarpatti

Cat or Moon?

2006-02-20T06:08:00.000+08:00

I have always thought that my personality matched that of a cat. Until late January 2006, when I met someone who called me Chand (moon). Cold, unattainable, to be admired from a distance, he said.

Is that how people see me, I wondered, not my close friends surely? I have always loved this poem from Yeats "The Cat and the Moon", and his words led me back to the perfume-scented pages of my book.

When two kindred spirits meet, can one be aloof like the moon, while the other is troubled by his animal blood? Yeats thought so. Can the moon come down to earth, and be anything else but distant?

Kindred spirits who recognise their special bond have Fortune on their side. For one precious moment in life's journey, they crossed paths.

My kindred spirit believes it was his misfortune to have looked upon me - having known me, and not being able to keep me. Sad, to be considered a bringer of misfortune.

If I am really Chand, and have to look from a distance at my kindred spirit, then I would wish him all the happiness in the world. I would pray that he looks at me from time to time, and revel in what little light I brought into his world. I would be in my cold universe, surrounded by distant stars, hearing the music of the faraway earth, going through my phases. I would wait to catch a glimpse of the cat that gazed upon me with a multitude of fiery questions in his changing eyes.

Alas, the cat cannot hear the moon reproach the universe she spins in for the distance between kindred spirits.

Role Models

2006-02-20T05:28:00.001+08:00

A few days ago, my cousin Madah said that I was a source of inspiration to my cousins. I told her that her parents would freak out! Every parent would jump out of their skins if they knew I am seen a role model - simply because I've always been considered a rebel - not a good role model.

My role models are historical figures. Strong women, women with balls (figuratively speaking). They all died tragic deaths - Cleopatra (read Margeret George's Memoirs of Cleopatra), Jhansi Ki Rani (died in rebellion against the Brits in India at 22), Indira Ghandi (assasinated by her own bodyguards) and Boudicca, among others.

William "Braveheart" Wallace said, "Everybody will die, but who REALLY lives?"

I live and breathe, and try and squeeze all the things I would like to do in this fragile and momentary period that we have been granted by the Almighty. That means that I work hard, play hard, and when my body shouts "STOP! I'm exhausted!" I take time off to relax. Which is rare.

Seeing that all my role models died tragic early deaths, my own morbidity has led me to believe that my life will end prematurely. I fill my days with music, dance, laughter and I'm lucky to have good sensible, reliable friends. That and the thirst for knowledge, though John Lennon sang "the more I learn, the less I know". Absolutely true.

I am flattered to be a role model for some, though I must urge them to look for more examplary figures.

The Cat and the Moon

2006-02-19T21:18:00.000+08:00

The Cat and the Moon by W.B. Yeats
The cat went here and there
And the moon spun round like a top,
And the nearest kin of the moon,
The creeping cat, looked up.
Black Minnaloushe stared at the moon,
For wander and wail as he would,
The pure cold light in the sky
Troubled his animal blood.
Minnaloushe runs in the grass
Lifting his delicate feet.
Do you dance, Minnaloushe, do you dance?
When two close kindred meet,
What better than call a dance?
Maybe the moon may learn,
Tired of that courtly fashion,
A new dance turn,
Minnaloushe creeps through the grass
From moonlit place to place,
The moon overhead
Has taken a new phase.
Does Minnaloushe know that his pupils
Will pass from change to change,
And that from round to crescent,
From crescent to round they range?
Minnaloushe creeps through the grass
Alone, important and wise,
And lifts to the changing moon
His changing eyes.