E: Amber

There used to be a gas station at every other mile.
The lemonade for machines
on a hot, dry day —
chugged down a gaping cavity
of a metal mouth.
Lemonade,
cool, fresh, amber lemonade,
lemonade for an empty tank.

My tank is full.
I speed on.

Foot on the accelerator
cloud of dust in the rear
it grows
it grows
and gradually —
the dust tints the gas station
sepia
and like an aging photograph
it soon it fades

completely

from view.
from memory.

There used to be a gas station at every mile.
But now there is not.
Now there is an expanse
with nothing but
dust
& nothing.
I am thirsty.
The needle wavers far from F;
flirts dangerously close
to E.
I want your work in Early.
You will have tests Every other week.
(Nearer, my God, to E.)
The Entire chapter is coming out.
Everything is being tested.
(Nearer yet to E.)
You will present this in front of Everybody.
It is not good Enough.
More Effort is required.

E. I grind to a halt.

E, Empty.

Good Times

I was chatting with Ellie over Facebook, and she dug up an old video:

I really miss making good music with her! Can't wait for the holidays — we need to jam :)

I Do Not Love You

i do not love you

for what you can give me

is little.

i

you cannot give me wealth

for your riches have been

pillaged

plundered

and you are left a pauper in robes.

ii

you cannot give me peace

for a sharp sword

curved, in a wave-like pattern

slashes

strikes

destroys what love

my siblings have for me

and i for them.

iii

you cannot give me justice

for your scales are tilted

willfully

weighing down

yes, weighing down oppressively

against a backdrop of blue gloom.

i do not love you

for what you can give me -

for what you can give me is little.

but it is not to say that

i don't love you.

i do.

i love you for who you are.

land of the lah, land of the sambal, land of the durian.

Change That Arm

So here I am, curled up in a ball on my mum's lap on the couch, grousing to her about my workload.

"I really don't know what's my problem."
"Hmm?"
"It's just as if my face screams out to people, 'I want work! I like work! Give me more!"
"Ah."
"It's like, there can be a whole lot of people around me to whom work can also be given to, but most of the time, the work usually just ends up with me."

Pause.

"Girl, maybe you just have to learn to be mediocre."

"Oh really?"
"Yeah. Why jump so high when you can jump, say, just one foot high? Oh, for goodness' sake, just let the other people jump. We can watch them."
"You have a point there."
"Maybe you don't have to jump so high. As long as you don't go under."
"Mmhmm."

I crawl further into her lap, just as I used to do as a child. All over again, I feel like the young, naïve child in the arms of a wise sage.

"But how? I can't help being the way I am."

She laughs and straightens herself.

"Well, first, you've got to stop looking like a perky Energizer bunny. You can do this—"

She let her body listlessly slump over her right arm.

"—and after a while, you change arm."

She switches from her right arm to her left one, slumping even lower than before. Then she sits upright again, with a twinkle in her eye.

"No one's going to want to give work to anyone in that kind of state."

We laugh together on the couch. She knows — and I know — that this mediocrity thing is probably not going to work out for me. But sometimes it's just wonderful to have a parent who gives unconventional life lessons.

Liquid Diamond

As I write this, I am still dripping.

I went out for a jog today. But as Murphy's law would have it, as I turned out of my street and began my run proper — it began to drizzle. The gentle drizzle lasted for all of ten seconds. Then heaven's water broke; and the sky began to deliver millions of little liquid diamonds to earth. They pelted all around me, each only as ephemeral as the time taken for its descent. After which, if one splattered on the road, it became gray as the pavement; and if another splashed on a tree, it became green as the leaves; and if one spattered on the mailbox, it lost it crystalline, prism-like quality and gave up its unique self to become a dull, rusty red.

An elderly aunty opened her umbrella and shuffled into her house. The boys playing football in the park wistfully picked up the ball and headed home. Unseen people zoomed along the road, sheltered from the rain; their double headlights illuminating glistening rays of raindrops. The cars sped off as quickly as the droplets hit the ground.

I was alone.

Then the wind began to whip the liquid diamonds in a sidelong fashion; and the trees sprinkled gold dust for good measure. 

And I stood on the gray pavement, dripping — not with sweat from the jog — but with the sheer beauty of nature. 

Unlikely Victory

During yesterday's sax lesson, my teacher told me a story that I'm not about to forget anytime soon.

As a three year-old kid, David Sanborn contracted polio, and as a result, his lungs became extremely weak. His doctor encouraged him to pick up an instrument to strengthen whatever was left of his lungs. So he picked up the sax — and he never looked back since. 

Today, he's a sax legend. 

A kid with failing lungs becoming a legend at an instrument requiring a constant, intense stream of air? Hardly likely.

But where one feels the most frail, the most vulnerable, the most weak — perhaps, just perhaps — there lies one's greatest victory too. 

Dave Koz and Charlie Parker

Sax riffs and jazz bands don't get much better than this. Whoa.

This guy is phenomenal. And his bandmates too. I mean, who plays the grand piano and the keyboard at the same time just for kicks?

Edit: But having said that, my current ultimate sax jazz superhero is Charlie Parker. Yesterday, I listened to David Koz and his techniques blew me away. But today, I listened to Charlie Parker — the Bird — and immediately, I fell in love with his music. His music is more than merely technique. It's got so much soul; it's got that lovely weekendy, swingy, wistful, nostalgic, walking-in-a-dimly-lit-park-with-someone-you-love feel to it. It's magic.

The moment I heard his songs, I remembered the reason why I fell in love with jazz in the first place (as a little kid!). And I also remembered the reason why I'd always wanted to pick up the sax.

Youtube won't let me embed his videos in my blog — so search for his videos yourself!

For All Those Days That Are Not This One

Running.
Grind of the asphalt
Resonant thump of each
footstep
on the grass
thump. thump. thump.
Vivid forest becoming
an impressionist painting
as limbs accelerate.
Blur of green,
of gray, of blue.
The world is still
I am moving.
Breezing past a little girl
with the wind in my hair
Running purposefully
with no direction.
Breathing.
Breathing —
consciously, for once.
My heart lives in my throat.
I am alive.

Yet for all those days that are not this one
it is not the grind of the asphalt.
it is not feet kissing grass.
It is the grind of work
It is the resonant thump
of a new stack of tasks
on the desk.
Day after day.
Again and again.
thump. thump.
For all those days that are not this one
The world is moving
and though I run
I do not catch up.

I would like more days like this one.
But time runs
faster than I do

Aku Dibeli

When you unleashed them
free
in a bookstore,

did you buy their silence?

When you gave them
an education
which would have otherwise
been out of reach

did you buy their fear?

When you put a walker in the hands

of the elderly

A wheelchair under the 

thighs of the disabled

did you buy their assent?

When you took away
their land
their forests
their streams
their livelihoods
for a pittance which
seemed like riches to them,

did you buy their gratitude?

When you indebted the land
with all you have given us

did you buy our indebtedness?

A hundred
Two hundred
Five hundred
A thousand
may buy much

but hearts are crossed
crosses are on papers
papers are in boxes
boxes are in centres
centres are in regions
regions are in a nation
and a nation is in our hearts.

and hearts are not bought
they are won

Thanks — Thirty Times Over

I'll just be honest here — the past few weeks have been uncharacteristically hard on me. (No I won't be forgetting that meltdown anytime soon)

And so, in an attempt to preserve my sanity, I've put myself on a gratitude exercise.

Thirty days of regular gratitude.

It all began with an unused bulletin board — I'd seen it at Daiso a couple of months back, and although I had no use for it then, I had the feeling that it would come in handy sometime. Anyway it was only five bucks.
And also, after making a birthday card for a dear friend, I had quite a number of film-strip printouts left over. Coincidentally, there were exactly thirty panels available.

So it clicked.

Every night, for one month — no matter how bad the day might have been, no matter how busy I was, no matter how ridiculously late at night it could be — I would spend a few minutes to write down just one thing I was grateful for. One thing in one panel, with one drawing to brighten up the bulletin board. (And as of now, I'm at Day 11 of this exercise!)

And it surprised me what a difference just a little gratitude made.

In the midst of rough days and tough times, I found a new star each day to twinkle in the darkness. Of course some days were harder than others, and on such days it could be terribly difficult to find even one thing to be thankful for.

But on the whole, I found myself being more appreciative of the people around me, of life's little joys, of fleeting moments. Recognizing and naming the little things — like peaceful rest after a period of unrest; like that deeply healing conversation with E over dinner a while back; like a song that spoke to my heart — some of these have helped me get through some rather awful days.

I think God gives me little gifts each day. It's just a matter of whether I stop to notice, accept and thank him for them or not.