Blues

On a day when the sky seems more teal than azure, what keeps me alive?

I came home a little under the weather, and am still feeling lethargic and out of sorts. Plus, a few not-too-peachy things have happened and it all leaves me a few notches short of "chirpy".

Still, I will remember that:

1. I'm not the only person in the world
2. Plenty of other people are going through much worse
3. I've been through worse, and survived
4. A lot of the things I'm tempted to worry about are beyond my control
5. A month from now, most of these things won't matter. A year from now, all of these things won't matter.
6. I'm not alone
7. I'll always have chocolate. (Or I would always have chocolate, if only I weren't fasting from it.)
   

I think I summed up my current state of mind pretty well in this e-mail to a good friend:

"Morning [name withheld],

"Help... I am leaving for Shanghai in less than 24 hours and fluctuating between a mellow, 'It's aaaaaaaaaallll good' state of mind (complete with illusions of warm yellow sunlight, and daisies, and bright-coloured VW bug carting me off to a blissful 2 days in Shanghai) and absolute panic, as in, 'What do I ask Paul Marciano [at the press conference]?', 'How am I going to look glamorous and get through an alcohol-soaked party (no problems with the alcohol 'cos I don't drink, but what about the other smoking, drinking, possibly not very coherent after a while, but doubtlessly very nice, people???)?' and 'Whose life is this, and how did I end up living it?'

"Hahahaha... can you tell that I am a little overwhelmed? The good thing is, my boss and colleagues are lending me their glammed-up outfits so clothes-wise, I think I'm ok. I am not even intimidated at the thought of meeting international fashion and entertainment celebs... after all, if I could *ahem* interview such illustrious, world-acclaimed artistes as... uh... Afroman? One-half of A1? I can... I can... siiiiiiiiiiiiiiigh. Of course, my conscience won't let Philippians 4:13* out of its sight... [SNIP, this is where the relevance ends.]"

*"I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me."

Which is, after all, the bottom line when I think of any of the other challenges in life.

From the cat's mouth

This is Mudslide, posting on behalf of Sharon. She's one of my two humans who live in this house: the one who feeds me less frequently and usually with less yummy stuff. My other human, Pops, understands that all a cat really asks is three square meals a day of nothing less than boiled chicken in broth. That, and hourly grooming sessions, and to be left alone until I want a human foot to kick/scratch. Really, it shouldn't be so hard to understand. My remaining two humans who've moved to Bangkok seem to have the balance of chicken-in-broth/grooming/play sessions just right but well, they're in Bangkok.

Oh, all right. I'm not so ornery as that. I do enjoy the company of the two humans who live here. Which is why I like hanging out on the bathroom mat while Pops is taking his shower. So that when he comes out, I'm right there to greet him. Either that, or I'm right there to trip him up because he doesn't often look down where his feet are going.

Sharon just wipes her feet on me if I happen to be there, which is why I've learned to see who's going in the bathroom before I lie on the rug. Humans are filthy. This is why I always give myself a thorough cleaning right after they wipe their grubby hands on me. That's another thing about humans. They don't seem to know that such things as "hand towels" exist; they're always rubbing mucky hands on you and acting like they're doing you a favour.

Anyway. Sharon's down with bronchitis, which she at first thought was the common cold. So she doesn't actually know what she wants me to write about. But I'm an intelligent cat, in case you didn't already know, so I can take over writing for her this time. Most of us cats are naturally very intelligent. Although I've heard talk of a cat who used to have these same humans. His name was Nermal and he was, in Sharon's words, "a few catnip leaves short of a scratching post". Apparently, Nermal wasn't quite stupid; he was just "different".

Like, he would get put out of the house for jumping on the dining table and similar misdemeanours. After which, he'd stay outside the glass sliding door, miaowing his head off piteously at the great injustice done to him.

But Nermal was, after all, Not Stupid. So he learned: if you want to get out of the house and all the doors are closed, what do you do?

And he'd jump on the dining table, because that always got him thrown out, without fail.

After which, he'd stay outside the glass sliding door, miaowing his head off piteously at the great injustice done to him... for about 20 seconds, before he realised he'd asked for The Great Injustice and went off to his kitty appointments.

If you've read up to this point and are wondering why you just gave up 10 irrecoverable minutes of your life to read a post about some cat who's long gone to wherever good cats go, I'd sooner ask you: Why'd you start out reading a cat's writing in the first place? Surely you weren't expecting anything earth-shaking since after all, all I am is a small, fluffy creature who spends the better part of her days curled up on a cardboard box and nights skulking outside a suburban bathroom.

And aren't you wondering how I got this typed, seeing that most cats when placed on a computer keyboard will write something really profound, like "JIOP WEOHJH KHOIUEW JBFDJK(*GJKSD@*UO*#$"? Maybe, if you're really nice to me, I'll let you in on my secret so that you, too can get your cat typing. Just leave a comment with your e-mail address and I'll be in touch to let you know where to send the deliveries of gourmet chicken in broth as payment.

Sharon is now blowing her nose and asking me to stop "mucking about". Huh. Why do humans get so crabby when they're sick?

An all seeing-eye? I think not...

A few of Malaysia’s more outspoken bloggers and columnists have attacked the Eye on Malaysia, saying there are better ways to spend money. I’ll reserve comment. All I can say is, you would think something called the “Eye on Anything” would offer a widespread, all-inclusive view.

If I had lived my whole life without ever visiting the Eye, I would have been happy. I suppose I could appear kiam siap to some people, but I just like to know that every cent I spend is going to a worthy cause. What constitutes worthy? With me, it’s complex. RM10 for a ticket to just any ol’ movie for mindless entertainment’s sake: fail. RM10 for an ice-cream cone and coloured gel pen to cheer myself up on a bad day: pass. And so on. I’m sure not everyone would agree, but they’re not living my life, so there. So, RM15 is not something I’d usually spend on a Ferris wheel ride, because I’ve never understood the attraction of Ferris wheels. And being nonconforming me, I’m resistant to hype, publicity and everything that hordes of other people are doing.

But I’ve recently begun attending a college zone cell group again, and someone wanted to go there, and that someone happens to be the one who drives most of us to cell.

Now that I’ve gone, all I can say is that the name is really misleading. There is so much more to Malaysia than the KL city centre and the surrounds of Tasik Titiwangsa. So much that you do not see at the Eye. What things, you ask? Why, things like...

... the indescribably yummy banana pancakes from Penang. The ones that are liberally sprinkled with sesame seeds, fried in Planta, and are probably your heart’s worst nightmare... but bliss on the taste buds.

... the beggars you see in larger Malaysian cities, who just about break your heart with their disfigured bodies and raggedy clothing... then raise your suspicions with their Starbucks collection cups.

... the still remarkably clear waters off Sabah, where exotic fish (including nasty little ones that bite, but don’t draw blood) live.

... the views you get driving on the PLUS highway on a clear day (when you can see foreeeeeeeeeeeverrrrrr... sorry). All that blue and green can just about blind you with its beauty. Just add one Brahmini kite out on his daily hunt, and... bliss.

... the visual and tactile beauty that is only found in Nyonya beadwork. One pair of finely crafted shoes takes up to 50 (wo)man hours to sew... and that’s before it’s even made up into a shoe.

There is so much more to this country than what you see from 60m above Tasik Titiwangsa. Beautiful things; ugly things. That contrast is what makes the fabric of a nation, the warp and the weft. Frustrations aside, all things considered, I love this country. But what did I see as the wheel went round and round? The affluence of the nearby homes. The glaring brightness of the Twin Towers. And the slow-moving traffic of downtown KL. If this Eye gives some people the only view they will ever have of Malaysia, I’m sorry for them indeed.

That was Zen, this is Tao

Disclaimer: This post is not intended to put down anyone; if by any chance the people in question see it, they will have no doubt who they are and should know that I'm stating the facts.

I've been hesitant to post about this incident because I don't want my motives to be misread, but I realise that 1) it's not likely that anyone actually reads this blog anyway; and 2) people can interpret anything their way, but as long as I know why I write and my conscience is fine with it, let it fly.

A few months ago, I was asked to choreograph a dance for a church event. This I did, gathering the dancers I needed and rehearsing independently with them because the leader who'd asked me to do the job was buried over her head in other work.

Twice before the performance, she came to view the choreography, and both times she gushed approval. The second time was five days before.

Three days before the performance, she blew into the hall like a very small, but very strong, hurricane and snapped that things had to be changed because the dance was "too Zen".

How she had managed to drastically change her mind in two nights, I still don't quite understand. The bottom line is, we managed to change the choreography to something she would accept, and in the end the dance was one of the least of her worries because there was a power failure on the day of that event.


My question is...
How can a dance be described as Zen? It's a variation of the question I always ask: how can a dance, referring to the motion itself, be referred to as "Christian"? Isn't "Christian" an adjective applied to people who've made the conscious decision to believe that Jesus was God sent to earth as man; that He died; and that He came back to life on the third day? How does a dance piece "believe" anything, being a passive, intangible object?

Back to "Zen", then. I choreographed the piece to reflect the importance of prayer, humility, submission and Scripture in our faith. Apparently, some people who viewed the last few rehearsals took issue with the movement motifs I had chosen to reflect these traits, as they resembled the prayer movements of other religions.


Lines in the sand
Where does the boundary between "arbitrary gesture" and "assigned religious symbol" lie? If I place my hands together and bow my head when I meet a Thai or Nepali, is this a religious act? More and more people, thank God, will tell me that no, it's an accepted greeting in these cultures.

In that case, I'd venture to say (and may I be corrected if I'm wrong) that it wasn't spiritual discernment that made certain quarters reject the dance; it was ignorance and fear. Fear of the unfamiliar; fear of appearing "un-Christian".

Why did I not say all this then and there? Because we were counting down the hours to the performance and the priority was to do whatever worked. Because my reason for agreeing to choreograph the piece was to come up with a work that would glorify God; not to give my artistic expression exposure. Because I was tired from that and Drunk Before Dawn and all I wanted was for it to be over.


My limits aren't your limits
I realise that living as a Christian today involves walking many fine lines: socially, professionally, culturally. The fact is that for each of us, the lines fall in different places. We need the courage to accept that if something's all right for me, it may not be for you and vice versa. It was a tough lesson, but one that this experience taught me in spades.

Oh and the title? I did have a split second of wicked inspiration when I wanted to change the choreography to something different, but just as Oriental-inspired, and shoot this wisecrack at the leader. But I didn't. Peace at all costs, yada yada. Plus, it was late at night and I wanted to sleep.

I Refuse To Be A Libran

My boss and colleague whose birthdays fall after and before mine, respectively, both align themselves to the star sign Libra and keep referring to me as a "Libran" too. I've made it clear from Day 1 of this job that I don't believe in horoscopes and refuse to have anything to do with them personally, but it doesn't appear to have sunk in.

When I was 10, my mother ordered a personalised zodiac sign letter tray for me; I never picked it up. Fast-forward 16 years later, to my first month on the job at this magazine, when I was offered a spa review called "The Zodiac Ritual". I only agreed to do it on the understanding that I would not play up the zodiac aspect of what was clearly nothing more than a marketing gimmick to differentiate that spa from the multitudes that have popped up in the Klang Valley.

People may think me overly nit-picky to so strongly stand against something that's become such a natural part of our culture, but I happen to know that the stars don't have any more control over my existence than I do over theirs. The last I checked, acknowledging and believing in something you know to be wrong is called either delusion or denial. I don't know about the next person but I prefer not to live in either of these two states. Even having to edit and proofread the monthly horoscopes for the magazine where I work is a required part of my job that I constantly struggle with.

I'm no monkey
As for Chinese zodiac symbols, I know many Christians won't even acknowledge them (although most of these people don't seem to mind listing their "Western" zodiac symbols in their online profiles) but it's something I use as a calendar system. It helps me to remember how old people (mostly my relatives) are, based on the sequence of years. I don't read Chinese horoscopes and predictions based on one's animal year, either, nor will I agree that I have certain character or physical attributes due to my birth year. I'm still waiting for someone to give me a strong, Biblical reason why I should stop even acknowledging the Chinese animal calendar system.

I don't force my anti-Zodiac subscription down anyone's throat; I respect everyone's need to arrive at their own convictions over any issue. I just state what I believe and why, and then it's up to them whether they agree or not. I only wish the same could be said of the people around me who still insist on calling me a "Libran".

A hurting person spoke to me...

... and when I finally had the patience to listen, this is what I heard:

"Don't assume you have the right to tell me whether I should or shouldn't cry. Whether you would have cried if faced with the same pain doesn't make a difference to me and what I am currently feeling. Anyway, you can't possibly feel the exact same pain I feel because you're not God. My nerves are my nerves; if you saw me cut then took a knife and cut yourself, that would be your pain, not mine. It's the same with my heart. You can't know what it feels.

"However, if you dare admit your inability to do anything to remove my pain, you may sit by my side, take my hand, and cry with me."

Deprive me not

What are the things that you absolutely must have or achieve in your lifetime?

For most people, it boils down to: a home of their own, meeting and settling down with "The One", making a name for oneself in a given industry... or maybe climbing at least one really tall mountain ("really tall" being a relative measure) or owning a European car with an unpronounceable name.

For one man, at least, it was different.

"Two things I request of You (deprive me not before I die)," this man prayed.

"Remove falsehood and lies far from me..."

Not "keep me far away from annoying people like that family down the road that's always sending their kids over to borrow a few shekels of salt for their baking".

Or "deliver me from travelling Persian salesmen". (Maybe I read too much Asterix when I was younger.)

Or "please grant me a really hot wife with thighs like jewels, a neck like an ivory tower and breasts like twin fawns... by the way, that sounds like it would make a really great song!"

But a humble request for a truthful heart.

"... Give me neither poverty nor riches — feed me with the food allotted to me;
Lest I be full and deny You, and say, 'Who is the Lord?'
Or lest I be poor and steal,
And profane the name of my God."

I used to think I have simpler tastes than most, because I really don't aspire to own a huge bungalow or win a Pulitzer. Ultimately, what I want out of life is to pursue the best in every moment, and everything else will follow. And maybe one way to get to the best is to remember, and pray with, this old-time proverb writer that I will live a life of truth; a life of constantly "being content".

"Deprive me not before I die."

STOP or I'll...

How would you complete this threat?

"Stop or I'll shoot" is a common one. But I'm non-violent.

Anyway, why this entry? Because last week, from the moment I got up on Monday morning it was go, go, go with barely a pause. I was even thinking in my sleep of how the pages looked and which ones I still needed to clear. I dreamt that we hadn't actually closed March and woke up in a cold sweat before dawn.

Thursday night, I was so filled with remorse about having taken Friday off that I could barely allow myself to leave work, and that after having worked almost straight through lunch. When I finally left, my weary head thought it would at least get a half-hour's rest before my appointment to see a movie with friends. Then, when I arrived home, I realised (with the descending, discordant organ notes from a bad '60s horror movie) that I'd left not only my employee ID tag but also my wallet containing IC, driver's licence and cash in my drawer at work. So I took off in a run back to the office (which, thank God, is near home), hardly able to keep my eyes open. By the time I got home, I had just enough time to shower and eat before I left again. *And* I had to top up my tank so that I could safely reach PD later that night. Oh yes, PD. I was planning to watch the movie, then go home to grab my stuff, and drive for two hours to the nearest place I can go to feel totally at home, yet not have 101 things begging for me to attend to them.

I reached home with my wallet (and a whole bunch of other things I'd also left behind without realising) and saw that I had even less time than I'd thought. So I did what any sane person would do. Let me rephrase that. I did what anybody wanting to stay sane would do.

I stopped.

Kicked off my shoes, put down my bags from work, kept my dinner, and sat on the sofa with my eyes closed for five miutes.

It didn't matter who I had to meet in 25 minutes' time, whether my stomach was rumbling, or that my cat was pacing peevishly around me with her "I'm hungry" face. I needed to stop doing stuff for a moment.

Five minutes later (because I was, after all, on a schedule) I got up and went on with whatever I had to do. I didn't feel as rested as if I'd got my half-hour nap, but my mind was refreshed and definitely, peace was restored within.

I think too many of us have forgotten how to be still and experience life for what it is. Not that work or relationships ought to be neglected while we sit down over a steaming cup of tea, but we are meant to lead balanced lives and that's something that I and many people I know are still struggling to achieve.

My five minutes of silence may have pushed back my schedule and made me late for my appointment, but as I work towards cutting down on the things I need and want to do, it looks like something I have to keep forcing myself to take.

This blog is Not Dead

It's not that I haven't anything to say, just not the time to express it well enough.