the weekend

Guys,

I am worn out. How was the weekend?

Friday night through the wee hours of Sunday, i spring cleaned. Occasionally taking breaks to snack on something, phone a friend, or check what's going on cyber. While at it, i realised that i might need another trip to my physio. A sharp pain would run from my knee up to my ass each time i place constant pressure onto my right leg for more than 10 minutes? It's developed from what it was and i'm in a lot of pain. I can't act on it now since Eid is around the corner so i've been sighing endlessly and screaming when it hurts.

On a MUCH happier note, Aaron had a mega hawaiian-themed birthday just yesterday and i had sooooo much fun. A party is close to perfect when you're around the people you love. And who doesn't love Aaron? Aaron's beyond inspirational and he is king of kings when it comes to friendship. I love Aaron and i believe just about anyone would too, if they take time to get to know him. Happy Birthday Aaron!

I've got plenty of pictures from yesterday, I'll have them out in the next post or so. Depends.

Sally came out with me and my folks just now for some last minute shopping. My dad and i were just too into the grand prix that we spent a quarter of the journey imitating the sounds of the race. SO! We drove up the Benjamin Sheares and got a slice of the action by slowing down the car and looking down at it. And suddenly, we were all hooligans, cheering as loud as we can with the windows down. My brother got lucky with free tickets, so since he was watching it there, we figured we should share some of the madness. My father became a sudden supporter of all Renaults in the race, since it's the family's car and oh my goodness, what a kid! Pretending to race and accompanying that idea with his version of how it all sounds, what's left to say? My crazy old papa.

I had a nice night. I hope you did too, yum-yums. Check in again tomorrow and i'll have some pictures up. I hope. Till then

young artist

No less vividly, i remembered the incessant nursings of my dancing self just a little more than a year ago, pursuing the hopes of emerging an artist. The sore body, the bruised ego, adhering to a strict diet, the extinguished strength, depleting confidence, the fragile mind, the broken heart, the scattered soul. I, just like many others, took the plunge and decided- this is what i need, this is what i want to do, this is all i want to be, this is me and i am not in my skin if not here.

Art is a one way ticket, it's not even like going to war, you climb into the magic school bus and you're not coming back. Getting there or otherwise, will never matter. There is no turning back, you're never coming home to the pre-decided you. Go on and run but hiding is tomfoolishness at its best. Much of your life will either suffer or rejoice from this altered routine. You leave it and it comes searching for you, almost haunting, carrying all the impact of a restless spirit. With what little i know of art, i know this much well enough.

Infusing the maelstrom of events that followed since welcoming a new head of department and that unfortunate accident equating to a busted knee of close to an eternity, this fat cow of a kid upped and left. One Tammy Wong randomly charged forward, bulldozed her zeal and badly shakened up, 18 year-old Maria walked away. WITHOUT A FUCKING FIGHT. Supposedly meek but sadly, an apparent coward. And eversince, nothing but lies.

The aftermath was made of endless attempts to digest the idea of a shattered dream and the end of school life, followed by jugs full of tears, fits of irrational behaviour, unstoppable rants and cursings of oneself. I was the reigning drama queen for some months. Somewhere in the process of healing, i hatched a little plan to kick my own ass and move on. I took up another diploma which bears no relevance to art in any major degree. I lied i would like it, maybe to get by, i was never serious but i never regretted anyway. Funny how the grades came back quite promising when i hated pretty much all things media. Life goes on anyway but lies wouldn't, ain't it? And i scurry on to a place, not wholly a home but very close. We forget the acrimonies of past and proceed on to tomorrow. I hate sulking and brooding over spilled tits milk. In a matter of months, I'm moving on to do art all over again, not in college but in university this time. It's hard to kick this drug and the high it brings.

In the spirit of preparing myself for another shot at fate, i've been reading, contemplating, discussing old art theory notes and other materials. And back in school, i remembered our dampened spirits as soon as we arrive at a plateau in our learning, trying to comprehend our stagnated abilities. While the more advanced dancers struggle to find an identity for themselves because copying the identical of a teacher combats the idea of individuality, which is, promoted in dance or art anyway. Everyone toughens up against the pressure, everyone hungers for inspiration.

There comes our idols, icons and masters of the field, readily standing in like a commited teacher past midnight. Recharges you with wisdom, ideas, propellors to throw you back into the arena like a brand new person. During that difficult time, Yoko Ono had my back (and now, she is becoming a statement and trend, FYI). Who's got yours?

Which brings me to share some good kicks in the ass:

Book: Letters To A Young Artist

You'd have to read this yourself, it works like a booster pocketbook and inspirational bible.

Video: Alan Moore, to a young artist.

You'd probably need earphones.

happenings of last week

As promised.

Late-nights across the border- A typical supper: Johor Malaysia.

Date night, buka- Indonesian Food Marathon: The Rice Table.

Sally's Birthday- Friends and Barbeque: Not too far away. (image by Nini)

(image by nini)

Birthday girl with 'fan' and friends. (image by nini)

Mommy's birthday- A good dinner, a tiny surprise: Home

Presents- For the bookworm, cat-lover and most beautiful woman in the world: Borders.

P.S mom does not approve of her pictures in this entry being posted because she's without a headscarf but agreed eventually because she thinks, she looks cute. What's a daughter to do? That's mommy for you.

Looks like a warm Wednesday. Have a lovely one, readers.

a rough time

Good morning,

Maria has been feeling lousy and hope that explains the slow coming of entries. Lots of unexpected motion and soul searching, of late. Not forgetting, planning two birthdays in a week and some reunions. Until some matters get fixed, plenty of my projects are on hold. More on that when it comes.

How's your Ramadhan, darlings? This year's been fruitful on this side of the screen. Praying's picked up by 30%. Is that even worth mentioning? I suppose, if it's any consolation at all, we're at least seeing some figures this time round hey?

I'm trying to get some pictures out in the next post or so, just because i've been a mute these days. I could use some cheering up, so ask me out to the gym!

Anyway, who's with me on an anarchic society?

Ceritaku, Melayu

"From the semen of a father, swimming fast, moving forward, attaching itself to the egg of a mother, I am made. I, who have been in this bright cave, nine months long. Swaying my heartbeat thumping till my time has come. Tone of voice that shrieks from my tiny throat, no language, no idea of what is to come, I am suddenly Malay, made this way without guarantee."

Last week, I was invited to attend a little screening that had quite a lineup of short films produced by students all over the city. The evening was so pretty that I have to make a quick and special mention of where this was because i thought it was too charming. Anyway, it was housed at, urm well, House at Dempsey. It's really quite a tricky, humongous former barrack turned cafe, bar, restaurant, spa and art gallery. So you get the idea i mean business when i said huge. Humongous, rather.

Moving along, Syafiq's been doing so well lately that i can't resist to tell you little details about him. Eversince the infamous Lady Marmalade video for The Sally's, Fiq's moved on to do far better films. He's not Tarantino great, not Moore great either. But i'm smelling the possibilities of a big hit in the not too distant future if he sticks it out to the end. Also, a selection of his films will be screening across the border in the next couple of months. I just can't recall which countries those were. By the way, Fiq calls his works video art, part being the concept. I may appear blatantly biased to you but of the many films screened that night (too many i got restless), i liked his best. To further prove that i am innocent of friendship fueled biasness, i liked just one of two of his films. That'd be Ceritaku, Melayu.

Obvious even to the blind, Fiq's film hero is no other than the late, legendary P. Ramlee. Fiq also believes that filming his culture (in any sense of the word), is a movement with a purpose. And that purpose cannot ever be communicated if he cooked up a film, say about, the american dream? I don't know. Which is self-explanatory that most, not all, of his films are knotted to the roots of his being- Malay.

After the show, we were zoned into an excellent discussion on film art in general, the screenings we watched earlier, film art in singapore, the acceptence of new ideas and open-ness of the local malay society and heaps more. All squeezed into a very intense, some 35 minutes conversation between 4 (note: we're just a few art students/nobodies).

What i've gathered from our little chat at good ol' youth park is that Fiq's ideas are both radical and anarchic, too ferociously eager to attack Malay, in every aspect you can imagine and then demanding a movement. I think, he's all angst about the overrated, classic use of "blablabla, macam mana melayu nak maju?" or the also classic tossing of blame, "(talks about someone), melayu memang malas". Said to Malays by Malays. Did you really swallow that horseshit? We're all talk but we don't give a rat's ass about it, don't we?

Hence, unlike Fiq, i don't address these stuff and i believe i don't have the right to, judging from my influences and way of life. But just one more thing though, all those years of yaking these useless, catchy phrases, what a botch of it we made! Don't you think? From the mighty dumb and dangerously horny sultans, to the current self-destructive teenage mommy/murderer culture.

I understand how Fiq feels emotionally responsible to sprout change in our little society conveyed through his art. I, however, made me a simple stand. If you and i make the best of our lives, we, the supposed bums known as malays, will move eventually.

So shut up with those phrases before i join in the fun with an unshaded coy fish tattoo and GiNa_BoyAn for a name. Okay, just kidding, maybe BaBy_SaChek.

It's laborious work to get into details about this film of his, but i liked it best that evening because of the depth and commitment injected into it. The rest of the films were made of, well, polaroids, vintage bags, typewriters.. go figure. You can't blame them, they're "artsy". Hahaha.

So if you wish to watch this film, come on down to substation this Thursday evening. Details are up here. Plenty more brilliant films from all over will be screening the whole of this week. Have a good time, darlings.

Thank you, for wanting a better life for all of us- Malays.

.....

7.20 a.m and not a wink of sleep yet, have a good morning.

longing for 'spring'

I am ready for some quiet time. Inspiration has exhausted and the present season is not spring- for ideas.
......

As if a dance,
we create shapes, celebrated through space
and time.

But. And.

Sublime stupidity, wishing only to be square.
Eventually, a standstill.

We hate the awkward motion..
The clumsiness of two funny shaped sprockets..

And there. The standstill.

Exiled from shelter,
I put up with this.

Showering unto me like hail.

But. And.

Like a wounded dog, i crawl home.
.......

Clocking 9.00am, i leave for bed. Be back later.

clocking sleep

I know, i haven't been updating at my usual pace. I've been busy, i think. With? Your guess.

For now, i'm just clocking my sleep. Let's see.. it's 7.05 am.

Good morning lovelies, goodnight maria.

welcome!

Hello everybody,

I've moved safely and the transition was a lot of urghs and arghs. No suitcase for i left the baggage back at friendster so it's really just like 'starting anew' here at blogspot. There's quite a bit of getting used to around here and its funny, i'm actually feeling a little shy. If i could think of a way to explain why, it'd be that my ex-blog over at friendster, provided a smaller, quieter and more private home for my scribblings. I'm guessing that's why i'm feeling like i've been stripped butt naked. Still touring this place, by the way.

Friendster blog recreated itself into, let's just say, a space i don't fancy. The templates make me gag. Anyway, i did intend to move. So here i am, all rolled out.

Tell me if it's any better?

Its early and everyone's up, out and about. I, on the other hand, haven't slept in a little less than 24 hours. I'll see you later.

Okay folks, we're back in business.