Dawn,
you slipped the dead of my night into my room softly,
you stirred the melancholy of my dreams to your restful caress.
Dawn,
I released the promise of my love into your room faintly,
I borrowed the cuddle of your dreams to my famished spirit.
Morning,
you roused the hush of my reverie to your mellow goodness,
you gently revived the firefly from my repose.
Morning,
I dwindled in our phantasmagoria and bathed myself in your tenderness,
I regretfully resurrected the firefly anonymous.
Day,
the gloom offers itself to the light,
the firefly dances himself to the song,
I cede myself to you.
Day,
the light abandons the gloom,
in the firefly, his dance and song romp,
I cede myself to you too.
Evening,
You slipped from my hands, sands of bliss never wanting to be held,
You stirred from my arms, silhouettes of dreams in the memories of my room,
Evening,
I yearned for the loving clasp of your hands, bliss, slipped when ---- beckons,
I pined for your arms again, memories of your room contour my delicate dreams,
Dusk,
a weak surrender of the night,
a poignant ghost of reminiscences
a pallid pale of passion.
Dusk,
a somnolent resignation of the night,
an antecedent of bygone days
a lurid poem of twilight glow.
A firefly in the dead of the night.
A phantom in the melancholy of my dreams.
A nothingness in the hollowness of love
A praying mantis in the fortune of salvation.
A visitant in the darkness of her heart.
A cadence in the wholesomeness of emptiness
Thursday, August 28, 2008
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
dedication
"The cattle on a thousand hills will suffice for our most hungry feeding, and the granaries of heaven are not likely to be emptied by our eating. If Christ were only a cistern, we might soon exhaust his fulness, but who can drain a fountain?"
dedication to a little girl who buys herself a watch - she desires the visible presence of the watch to freeze her in that injurious state-of-mind - don't mourn for her but crown her.
dedication to a little girl who buys herself a watch - she desires the visible presence of the watch to freeze her in that injurious state-of-mind - don't mourn for her but crown her.
"Kiss The Rain (Hienie Version)"
VRS 1
I often close my eyes
And I can see you smile
You reach out for my hand
And I'm woken from my dream
Although your heart is mine
Its hollow inside
I never had your love
And I never will
CHORUS
And every night
I lie awake
Thinking maybe you love me
Like I've always loved you
But how can you love me
Like I loved you when
You can't even look me straight in my eyes
VRS 2/3
I've never felt this way
To be so in love
To have someone there
Yet feel so alone
Aren't you supposed to be
The one to wipe my tears
The one to say that you would never leave
The waters calm and still
My reflection is there
I see you holding me
But then you disappear
All that is left of you
Is a memory
One that only, exists in my dreams
CHORUS
VRS 4
I don't know what hurts you
But I can feel it too
And it just hurts so much
To know that I can't do a thing
And deep down in my heart
Somehow I just know
That no matter what
I'll always love you
VRS 1
So why am I still here in the rain
I often close my eyes
And I can see you smile
You reach out for my hand
And I'm woken from my dream
Although your heart is mine
Its hollow inside
I never had your love
And I never will
CHORUS
And every night
I lie awake
Thinking maybe you love me
Like I've always loved you
But how can you love me
Like I loved you when
You can't even look me straight in my eyes
VRS 2/3
I've never felt this way
To be so in love
To have someone there
Yet feel so alone
Aren't you supposed to be
The one to wipe my tears
The one to say that you would never leave
The waters calm and still
My reflection is there
I see you holding me
But then you disappear
All that is left of you
Is a memory
One that only, exists in my dreams
CHORUS
VRS 4
I don't know what hurts you
But I can feel it too
And it just hurts so much
To know that I can't do a thing
And deep down in my heart
Somehow I just know
That no matter what
I'll always love you
VRS 1
So why am I still here in the rain
Monday, August 25, 2008
Yesterday's praying mantis
In gentle reverence, she posits herself in the manner taught to her. She prays and preys. There was no hint of camouflage though she was herself, a master of it. Unnoticed, she baited for the timely moment to appear. That moment had to come uninvited, for the entirety of her life hung sparsely on it.
She was already floundering in the blazing rage of the firefly. Beyond her normal inclinations, she endured her blistered waiting and remnants of faraway troubles were now to her, every emotional investment.
Oh mantis, was there a prophecy that you were about to gesticulate? Or were you simply longing for the firefly’s violent, incandescent masterpiece? She recollects the human tendency of sacrifice and unadulterated passions through the firefly’s aglow. Giving up to give. It was yesterday she was given to, when the firefly gave up.
Arduous, were the incongruous discords birthed inside her. She could only renounce the prisoner she was fashioned and permitted to be. The prisoner of sexual and mental fevers that propels her will to survive, that also compels her second-class citizenship.
In a fractured second, she fell from the heights of illusions. Hard rock hit, she was still brawling and worming into the throes of yesterday.
She was already floundering in the blazing rage of the firefly. Beyond her normal inclinations, she endured her blistered waiting and remnants of faraway troubles were now to her, every emotional investment.
Oh mantis, was there a prophecy that you were about to gesticulate? Or were you simply longing for the firefly’s violent, incandescent masterpiece? She recollects the human tendency of sacrifice and unadulterated passions through the firefly’s aglow. Giving up to give. It was yesterday she was given to, when the firefly gave up.
Arduous, were the incongruous discords birthed inside her. She could only renounce the prisoner she was fashioned and permitted to be. The prisoner of sexual and mental fevers that propels her will to survive, that also compels her second-class citizenship.
In a fractured second, she fell from the heights of illusions. Hard rock hit, she was still brawling and worming into the throes of yesterday.
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Friday, August 15, 2008
Thursday, August 14, 2008
Excerpts from thoughts during Jatiwangi Art Fest 2008
I articulate my stay here with a word ‘relearning’,relearning how blessed I am as a Singaporean, and how untainted the Indonesians in Jatiwangi, West Java, are. I come as an abomination somewhat, with my laptop and digital camera.Not that they have not seen them before, but they may not have the chance to ever own these things. Most of them do not have passports at all, when I naturally think everyone should have that. Yet this is beautiful land, the million stars hung up the sky like an artistic installation along with the space wide enough for my mind. It being untouched by the claws of modernization allows me into a land that belongs to the 80s. That is the stark difference between a first world and third world nation.
The language barrier also trains me to uproot my frustration and humble myself to be understood. I think I have been working hard with my Bahasa to improve the communication. I can only just keep on trying. But in all sanity, despite the fact that our communication is made up of gestures, and few words, there is a bond that exists between the people and I. A bond that spells out - respect for each other and humility in our spirit.
I had also thought that I needed to be here with significance. Not just a touristy Natasha or high-maintenance artist, but someone being radically different in the positive light.I thought my way of one-for-one exchange with the villagers who made clay with me was clever, until I realized I have overpriced English. It is not that important for them to learn English after all. They are not going to get out of Jatiwangi, perhaps only a few fortunate ones.Technology? They had their fair share of play with that dumb laptop. Yes it fascinated them awhile. But I re-evaluated. Isnt it taking away the true fun and joy of artistic creation by swirling around with a stylus pen? I felt that the kids too were irritated by the cons that technology brings.I have learnt new ways of folding an aeroplane, new ways of creating objects with clay, and diligence in living. They are the artists, not me. I am not so much different, just really that fortunate.
I thank God for being here with me. Even my bones shout of that. Beyond measure and above strength, I am always learning new things that enrich the soul. And the soul has travelled great a milestone this time.May the Lord be magnified in the prosperity of your servant here.
I had a dream the night before. Dreamt that I was already on the way back home, to the familiar people, except that I missed dear at the airport. When I woke up, I was shit, still here. And I slightly dreaded it, yet was talking in my head, ‘so what’s today about?’ Like I told Ezzam, there are really moments when I don’t want to be here. But yet, there are moments that can drive me to tears. I realized it is not just about the silent conversations we have and the many times we think we understood one another, it is about the life here. It is secluded, not that it is bad, but it is really just a long wait for death. And that itself, is hopeless. I get annoyed when things get abit slow, but annoyed also when I cannot meet up to certain expectations. I get paranoid when things are not being communicated, and I wonder what ‘Singapore’ I have brought to them. As I have articulated it, this is a beginning that is an ending itself. The happiness and joy here is shortlived because I am just not going to be here. Coming back? I don’t know. I really don’t know. I enjoy learning (brajah) Bahasa. I can finally have a little conversation with full sentences and not just words.
Since I am always asked the question of ‘When are you going back to Singapore?’ and ‘Are you married?’ and ‘When are you getting married? These are my answers in Bahasa:
Saya akan kembali ke Singapore pedan hari senin seplus augustus hari ini (I am going back to Singapore on Monday, 11 August this year)
Jika saya kembali lagi akan bersama swuami saya ( Next time I will come back here with my husband)
Saya bolem menika, Saya menika de bulan November hari ini ( I am not married, I will get married in November this year)
In fact, after tomorrow 100808- this will mark the end of my sojourn here in Jatiwangi, West Java. I do feel sad cos I think somewhat I have grown a little attached to the people here. And I know it can just be bullshit back again in Singapore. And also, no one will speak Bahasa with me in Singapore. I will do my performance tomorrow, I have worked hard and so may God bear fruits for me. Like what Demung will use, ‘the spirit (confidence)’ in performance. May I have the spirit tomorrow to plant a little seed in the hearts of people from anywhere who come to see the performance.
Goodbye Jatiwangi. I will miss being here. We are all rich creatures, rich in our souls indeed. I quote,’With God, life is easier. But with art, life is more beautiful’
The language barrier also trains me to uproot my frustration and humble myself to be understood. I think I have been working hard with my Bahasa to improve the communication. I can only just keep on trying. But in all sanity, despite the fact that our communication is made up of gestures, and few words, there is a bond that exists between the people and I. A bond that spells out - respect for each other and humility in our spirit.
I had also thought that I needed to be here with significance. Not just a touristy Natasha or high-maintenance artist, but someone being radically different in the positive light.I thought my way of one-for-one exchange with the villagers who made clay with me was clever, until I realized I have overpriced English. It is not that important for them to learn English after all. They are not going to get out of Jatiwangi, perhaps only a few fortunate ones.Technology? They had their fair share of play with that dumb laptop. Yes it fascinated them awhile. But I re-evaluated. Isnt it taking away the true fun and joy of artistic creation by swirling around with a stylus pen? I felt that the kids too were irritated by the cons that technology brings.I have learnt new ways of folding an aeroplane, new ways of creating objects with clay, and diligence in living. They are the artists, not me. I am not so much different, just really that fortunate.
I thank God for being here with me. Even my bones shout of that. Beyond measure and above strength, I am always learning new things that enrich the soul. And the soul has travelled great a milestone this time.May the Lord be magnified in the prosperity of your servant here.
I had a dream the night before. Dreamt that I was already on the way back home, to the familiar people, except that I missed dear at the airport. When I woke up, I was shit, still here. And I slightly dreaded it, yet was talking in my head, ‘so what’s today about?’ Like I told Ezzam, there are really moments when I don’t want to be here. But yet, there are moments that can drive me to tears. I realized it is not just about the silent conversations we have and the many times we think we understood one another, it is about the life here. It is secluded, not that it is bad, but it is really just a long wait for death. And that itself, is hopeless. I get annoyed when things get abit slow, but annoyed also when I cannot meet up to certain expectations. I get paranoid when things are not being communicated, and I wonder what ‘Singapore’ I have brought to them. As I have articulated it, this is a beginning that is an ending itself. The happiness and joy here is shortlived because I am just not going to be here. Coming back? I don’t know. I really don’t know. I enjoy learning (brajah) Bahasa. I can finally have a little conversation with full sentences and not just words.
Since I am always asked the question of ‘When are you going back to Singapore?’ and ‘Are you married?’ and ‘When are you getting married? These are my answers in Bahasa:
Saya akan kembali ke Singapore pedan hari senin seplus augustus hari ini (I am going back to Singapore on Monday, 11 August this year)
Jika saya kembali lagi akan bersama swuami saya ( Next time I will come back here with my husband)
Saya bolem menika, Saya menika de bulan November hari ini ( I am not married, I will get married in November this year)
In fact, after tomorrow 100808- this will mark the end of my sojourn here in Jatiwangi, West Java. I do feel sad cos I think somewhat I have grown a little attached to the people here. And I know it can just be bullshit back again in Singapore. And also, no one will speak Bahasa with me in Singapore. I will do my performance tomorrow, I have worked hard and so may God bear fruits for me. Like what Demung will use, ‘the spirit (confidence)’ in performance. May I have the spirit tomorrow to plant a little seed in the hearts of people from anywhere who come to see the performance.
Goodbye Jatiwangi. I will miss being here. We are all rich creatures, rich in our souls indeed. I quote,’With God, life is easier. But with art, life is more beautiful’
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