Buddha meditating with Naga as the protector - If only I could spend the whole day in the Angkor National Museum, more sketches would have been added to the notebook for reference.

It’s close to midnight and so many things are running through my head. Work starts tomorrow night and then there’s that meeting for another trip to Chiang Mai for work, classes and those darn Spanish conjugations…

What is really bothering me is how much I miss the atmosphere in Siem Reap. The  sights, food and drinks, the air (though dusty but not hazy), the crispy edible insects… but oddest of all, I miss the people the most. Although I was cheated by swindlers in temple sites, harassed by desperate child peddlers, constantly followed around by other tuk-tuk drivers offering me rides, mistaken time and again for being a Cambodian even though I took pains to look like a foreigner… all these and yet I miss it.

It’s been a while since the trip but there are nights when I stay awake wondering why. I suppose that knowing their violent and sad history has something to do with it.

By morning, when I wake to go for breakfast, I am cordially greeted by the Front Desk staffs as I walk pass them to get to the cafe. While quietly having my meals, they would quietly approach me, shyly asking for my opinion if the meal is agreeable. The never failing and always punctual Mr. Kea, our tuk-tuk driver for the duration of our journey – who, despite all those long hours and biting hot sun, never lost his smile even once (except when he thought hard about something I would ask him). The children who followed me around, cajoling to begging me to buy whatever they are selling – anything at all starting from one dollar. The many landmine victims I would encounter as I walk around the ancient sites, playing musical instruments, making beautiful & haunting music with whatever limbs they have left just to earn a few dollars to survive. My heart still goes out to them.

Ta Keo, the mountain temple : One of the top most challenging ancient sites to climb up to! Later saw a shirt in the night market stating - "I survived Cambodia" and out of some 4 sites printed on it, Ta Keo was mentioned~! Coincidence? I think not!

Their faces are etched with the many memories of how their earlier generations were taken from them without warning and without mercy. The nation which crumbled in the hands of one man because of an ideal gone wrong and the 2 million who died over of it, leaving behind survivors who are physically and/or emotionally crippled, scarred, helpless, desperate… Children who are growing up not knowing their grandparents and are struggling to survive by selling on the streets, bootleg copies of books, postcards and all sorts of other curios.

I am glad that they have all those marvelous ancient sites left for them to look forward to. How magnificent their past must have been, judging from the many intricate and sometimes impossible stone masonry. Just reading back into the notebook I kept of that trip makes me feel like a part of me is still back there.

This is going to take me some time to figure out on how I want to write it. They should be remembered well because they need it. Their desperation is just something else. I just hope that with whatever meager vocabulary I have, I won’t make their existence seem like a passing remark.

Don’t Jump by Tokio Hotel

Probably one of the many songs that still haunts me whenever I listen to it. It isn’t morbid but what caught me about it is how the singer had called out in a pleading voice, not to give in to depression. There is no easy out, there are people who still loves us, life still beckons… The lyrics does not exactly say such, but the voice that delivered it made it felt. Yeah, that’s the main reason why I will always like this one

Aikawa Nanase

Lovin’ You by Aikawa Nanase 相川 七瀬

The moment I heard this song, I have never stopped playing it for more than 10 years now. It is in Japanese and I have no idea what is being sung for a long time but it is never absent in any device of mine that can play music. Just totally in love with it.

Update : Finally found the translation to Nanase’s “Lovin’ You” song. Here it is in Romaji :

Kono heya ni hibiiteta
Amaoto wa yukkuri to yuki ni kawatte
Kasaneatta kuchibiru
Konna ni kanjiteru no ni modokashikute

Kodomo no koro ni yume mita nukumori
Hito wa itsu demo ai wo sagasu ne

Lovin’ you
Anata no yurikago ni dakare nemuritai
Kodoku sae mo yoru no yami ni sotto tokete yuku
Lovin’ you
Donna ni ai shitemo tsutaekirenakute
Todokanai itoshisa kono mune ni furitsumoru yo
Lovin’ you

Itsumo hito no omoi wa
Daiji na mono oitsumete kizu tsuketeku ne
Toorisugita kisetsu ni
Koboreochita namida wa kakushita mama

Toki no nai sekai e futari de ikitai
Ai dake wo tada zutto mitsumete

Lovin’ you
Wakaregiwa no kisu wa mune ga setsunakute
Doa wo aketa ushiro sugata sotto toikaketa
Lovin’ you
Hito no kokoro itsuka iroasete yuku no?
Ai wa itsuka konayuki no you ni kiete yuku no?
Lovin’ you

Lovin’ you
Konna ni ai shitemo tsutae kirenakute
Todokanai itoshisa kono mune ni furitsumoru yo
Lovin’ you
Wakaregiwa no kisu wa mune ga setsunakute
Doa wo aketa ushiro sugata sotto toikaketa
Lovin’ you
Hito no kokoro itsuka iroasete yuku no?
Ai wa itsuka konayuki no you ni kiete yuku no?
Lovin’ you

English (Translation)

The sound of rain that echoed through the room
Has slowly turned into snow
Even though the kisses we lavished on each other
Felt so good, I’m still impatient

For the warmth I dreamed of as a child
People are always searching for love, aren’t they?

Lovin’ you
I want to sleep cradled in your arms
Even my loneliness will melt into the darkness of the night
Lovin’ you
No matter how much I love you, I can’t tell you
The love that won’t reach you piles up in my heart
Lovin’ you

People always hunt down the things that are important to them
And hurt them with their thoughts
All the time I’ve been hiding my tears
For the season that has passed

Let’s go together to a world that has no sense of time
Where we can just gaze at our love forever

Lovin’ you
Our goodbye kiss caused a pain in my heart
I asked a silent question to your back as you opened the door
Lovin’ you
Will the colour of peoples hearts fade someday?
Will love eventually melt like the powder snow?
Lovin’ you

Lovin’ you
No matter how much I love you, I can’t tell you
The love that won’t reach you piles up in my heart
Lovin’ you
Our goodbye kiss caused a pain in my heart
I asked a silent question to your back as you opened the door
Lovin’ you
Will the colour of peoples hearts fade someday?
Will love eventually melt like the powder snow?
Lovin’ you
Source : http://www.kiwi-musume.com/lyrics/aikawananase/ID/lovinyou.htm

The disastrous interview made it hard for me to swallow anything and the lunch invite was something I would like to turn down and in fact I did, but the sister insisted that I sit with them before I leave. Being seated next to the company's only trusted staff who was cold towards me was also a huge dampener to my spirits.

They were all having chinese noodles in soup and I was given a pair of chopsticks and a piece of tissue. Shrugging, I took them all and wished everyone at the table 'bon appetit' and only started eating after the lady boss had her go, just to be polite. Her sister asked me in a very serious voice if the noodles were to my liking. Not wanting to offend anyone and yet feeling I have nothing to loose, I just went right ahead and answered her what came to my mind.

"The soup's nice but the meat's a little too salty, but if at with the noodles, it's not too bad," I said. She looked at me and blinked. The company's staff who had given me a cold shoulder before told me to just eat up. With that, I bent my head over and concentrated on my forced lunch.

As I ate, in less than a minute, I noticed a silence around the table and I looked up, fearful that I might have probably slurped too loud or maybe spilled some soup on the table… All of them stared at me and I freaked out even more – but in a calm voice, I asked them if I did anything wrong.

The lady boss gave a beautiful smile (where she had not previously in the interview) and then laughed. Her sister laughed with her and I was so ashamed without knowing why. Once they were done laughing, the lady boss nodded at me and told me that nothing was the matter & that I should finish my noodles before it goes cold.

Once lunch was done, I offered to clear up the table but I was hushed and told to wait. At the exit, I rehearsed my thank-yous and other pleasantries, quite sure I will not see them again when the lady boss came up to me.

"I expect that you start work immediately," she said, with that serious look on her face.

"What?"

"Yeah, when can you start coming in?"

My knees nearly buckled due to my relief, since my funds were running low and this job would be my life saver then. It wasn't until later into the job that I got to know the boss better and she told me what made up her mind to hire me.

"It's because of the way you used your chopsticks when you ate lunch with us," she told me once day, when I finally had the guts to ask.

"Why is that?"

"You can tell a lot about the character of a person by the way he/she holds and uses the chopsticks," she said kindly and then ended it with a smile.

Jan, my amazing ex-boss, was really encouraging and would constantly monitor my driving progress. The day I started my lessons, was the day she made me drive the van around the factory area as practice, with her as my moderator at the passenger seat! So besides getting official lessons from the driving school, she was my driving mentor after work hours. Every day after work, she would sit next to me in the van and instruct me patiently on how to be a careful driver.

The main thing was my first time ever driving a vehicle without supervision. The experience had been thrilling and frightening. The first drive was a long two hours (after 3 months, I officially recieved my driver's license), from work to out of the city just to go to a colleague's home to pick up a couple of things. When we had gotten back to the office, my colleague immediately told Jan that I had driven that distance. It was to my satisfaction that she dropped her jaw in disbelief that I had dared do such a long drive unsupervised. From then on, she had allowed me to drive on my own.

Always, the imagined specter of my boss would be my companion even as I was driving to work, for meetings, to deliver goods, to pick her up from meetings, to pick up her daughters from school…etc. Some would think of it as an odd thing to do, but in fact, I enjoyed being behind the wheel. Just like Jan, who had been my best encourager, I would always love driving.

That was years ago. Ever since then, I have driven a variety of cars, vans, a truck… and even one of my colleague's bus. Until today, I am still looking to try new vehicles

Face to Face

It has been a trying few days for Wulfie ever since this brown-furred toy poodle, came into our family unexpectedly (thanks to my sister, Amy and her erratic impulses).

Amy : I’m buying you a Valentine’s present!

Mom : Don’t tell me you’re getting me a puppy!

Amy : Awww! It’s no fun now that you know what I am getting you.

Mom : I don’t want another dog in the house anymore!

Somewhere along the way, while I was absent during the first 6 hours Coco came in, mom’s heart had melted and both toy poodle and mom are now good friends. Watching the little thing tumble all over the cage and yap excitedly, her eyes shining in curiosity, I can see why mom likes her so much. There’s a lot of energy and fight in this little one.

I was tasked with naming the pup because everyone in the house (mom, sister and brother – and brother’s girlfriend included) was against dad’s suggestion on naming it “Gigi”.

Eeew.

Even my good friend shuddered at the thought of even calling the poor thing “Gigi”.

“Your dog is not from Hong Kong!,” Kyels said. I agree with her.

So in that one night, we came up with a list of names and before hitting the sack, I slipped it into my sister’s room and by the next morning, the decision was made.

“We’ve decided on the name Coco!” Amy announced happily. Even mom was relieved. Dad looked a little sour but even he couldn’t stay pouty for long. Coco, will be her name, and mom’s best friend.

Welcome to our family, Coco Wulfie will just have to get used to you in time.

The Way to Paradise

One of the reasons why I even picked up this book was because I have never heard of Mario Vargas Llosa.

Why did I?

It’s because he wrote about Paul Gauguin. I have never understood Gauguin’s paintings when in college studying art and writing essays about their work. Gauguin was friends with van Gogh, one of my favourite artists, but that’s about it, very little was known of this painter who favoured painting aboriginal people. Perhaps after reading this book, I might hop over to the bookstore and actually get a collection of Gauguin’s work from Taschen publishers.

What an odd way to know the artist before the real thing. I suppose at some level, I want to know him through fiction before facts, in order to better appreciate his work…

Although “The Way to Paradise” was written in 2003 (and I am sure there’s been many reviews written about it), I am writing mine not as a review, but … as something more akin to self-discovery. Being a person who loves paintings and have studied art before, it is always refreshing to see how artists are portrayed by others. There’s always that ‘drive’ in a creative person that is hard to capture in words, the unspeakable obsession with ‘something’ – the obsession to get to an object, person or destination -  and I guess that’s what attracted me to it – to read if Vargas did see the characters that way. For artists or writers or any sort of creatives, at some point of our lives, we recognise that ‘drive’ that assails us from time to time.

It’s a daily struggle to be a visionary creative. The last book I had read about artists were “The Agony & The Ecstacy” by Irving Stone and of course, “The Swan Thieves” By Elizabeth Kostova. Irving Stone’s depiction of Michelangelo’s life felt very real and tragic, which made me agree to the novel because it made me feel the artist. I can never read that book again but it’s also one that I will never ever give away to anyone – one of my top favourites.

The book is already very gripping in its narration about human struggles, portrayed iin two different characters, Florita Tristan and Paul Gauguin, grandson to Florita. I suspect that it’ll end with something close to Irving Stone’s Michelangelo, and hopefully, the ending will not be disappointing. I’m already glued to it enough to abandon my work for a bit here and there, Who knows, I might finally develop a taste for Latin American writers after this book.

“Oh~ That. It’s a hummingbird.” Then she collected some left over laundry and went back inside.

A hummingbird!

In the coming darkness, sitting on the little bridge that connects the side porch to the garden which is separated by the little pond, I watched as it flitted and flew very quickly in between the flowers. As I have never seen a hummingbird before, I never knew that they are so tiny. Its wings moved so fast into a blur, the one thing that lead me to think that it was a bee. The little hummingbird was probably around a little over 1 inch in length, brown and dark in the fading light of day and so tiny. Without light, I am unable to see its colors.

It flew about the bonsai plants, especially the ones which has just flowered with white fragrant tiny bells. Its beaks touched them ever so lightly as the white bells shivered before it moves on to the next at the top, then to the bottom, then to the top, and then side…

“It comes around every day,” dad said when I mentioned the hummingbird. “Every morning just before light, and every evening just as the sun sets. Always when it is not bright.”

Despite all my depression or loneliness or boredom, the tiny visitor is such a comfort whenever I see it in the garden.

“What? Who are you talking about?” I couldn’t get over his shocked look.

It took him a while to describe to me who it was and in about 1 hour later, we were sitting in front of the television, waiting for the news to come about so that we could confirm it. It was the Mandarin edition that covered it, albeit only for maybe a minute or two. Even so, it was enough for us.

Mom, my brother and myself were all shocked, of course. The old lady or the “ABC-aunty” was a kindly woman who has (well, had) a huge local customer base of adults to school children of all age and sizes coming to her little store just to order her famous curry chicken noodles or just to hang around while slurping on a ‘ABC’ (Ais Bubur kaCang, a local dessert made from shaved ice and a mixture of jelly and sweets). My friends and I would meet there for late breakfast or lunch or sometimes, just an ABC dessert.

The aunty was such a wonderfully cute elderly woman who has the kindest face and friendliest smile. She would know what I want in my noodles and leave out the ingredients I do not fancy, even before I make my order. And she would always ask about mom and how everything is, making small talk but still listening while she busied herself preparing the noodles effortlessly. She had told mom that even though her own children has grown and that she is able to live comfortably, she had chosen to work anyway because it gave her something to do instead of being idle – and I suspect she enjoys seeing her regular customers every now and then, just eating at her stall. In fact, whenever I do go to her stall, she would always ask where’s my mom as she would like to see her come by. One of the reasons why I love going to her stall was because she reminded me so much of my late grannie whom I love and miss so much.

“I nearly went there today to get lunch,” mom said quietly.

“Why didn’t you?” I asked.

“I don’t know, it just suddenly dawned to me that I should make porridge instead of having noodles…”

Mom said that it was about 11am at that time when she made up her mind and did not make a turn into that stall’s area. The news reported that the incident happened at around the same time.

A mugger had attacked the aunty but it’s not immediately known what is missing. The footage showed police cordoning off the area and some of the officers carrying a body out by lifting its arms and feet. The newscaster reported that it’s a Mdm Tan, 61 years old – found dead, with wounds to her eyes, head and neck. There was also a shot of some of the family members crying by the side of the store…

What a way to pass this Chinese New Year. May she rest in peace now, safe in God’s arms.

And I hope the asshole who did this to her be found. God have mercy on his/her soul because surely, I am unable to forgive so easily.

Tanis Half-Elven sketch

Tanis Half-Elven of the Dragonlance Chronicles (Trilogies). I’ve been fascinated with this character for a long time and his inner struggles between his two halves. It’s interesting to me also because I am a Gemini, I guess Although he’s fictional, I had no one to idolize in real life, and since reading was the only thing I did as a past time, he is the most influential character in my life. Actually, come to think of it, I love all the characters in the DL Chronicles.

Note :

While I was given the option to add a picture, I simply searched online hoping to find a traditional Dragonlance picture of Tanis but wow – it’s really a surprise to see that this old drawing of mine is being used somewhere in one of those fantasy-community-forums. I still have this sketch somewhere in one of my drawing books. He was practically drawn  from pure imagination during my college years while coming up for some themes in my Illustration class. I think I might have done this around 1998 or 1999.

A good and often misunderstood friend of mine made an appointment to have lunch and a movie with me this afternoon, in which I accepted because I needed something ‘light’ to take the weight off my mind. So we watched “The Season of the Witch” in which starred (not-so-favourite-but-tolerable) Nicholas Cage.

I thought it would be one of those historical fiction stories which chronicles the witch hunts during the early dark history of Christianity, but boy, was I wrong. And for that, I enjoyed the movie as it was more to dark fantasy. I would call this movie as ‘light’ despite the gore and violence, plus additional demonic fight scenes, because it was nothing compared to what I saw the night before.

Just last night, I was made to watch “The Stoning of Soraya M.” a movie which is “based on a book by journalist Freidoune Sahebjam, it tells the true story of Soraya, who was accused of adultery in a remote village in Iran in 1986.” I was told I must watch it in order to understand what is really going on.

From the very beginning, I knew it would be a gut-wrenching movie, much worst than any other gory teen flick as this is real and undeniable, and in the words of my encourager : “It’s still happening now.”

A tender scene in which Soraya's aunt, Zahra supports her

Our of curiosity, I sat down like the obedient child and began the movie. The film is not easy to watch as the viewer would know what would ultimately be the end, but it is the amazing cast of how they portrayed the depths of the human kindness and also the evil within them that is undeniably heart-wrenching because it is all too real.

I told myself that I would not cry over it but in the end, I couldn’t stop the tears from flowing too. The excellent direction of the movie also made it all the more horrifying because the viewer could feel how the characters must have felt.

After the movie, I was treated to poetry and traditional songs in an attempt to soothe my assaulted emotions, and thank goodness it worked.