Monday, February 28, 2005

luck be a lady

"the cruel cruel irony of life: liverpool captain steven gerrard scores own goal in dying minutes to cancel out an early goal by riise to give chelsea revived hopes of lifting the carling cup."

i sent the above sms to friends last night, while watching the cruellest game luck has ever played on anyone. the moment gerrard gained great hangtime and headed the ball into his own net, i knew that liverpool were done for.

done for.

it seemed like lady luck was sitting on the shoulders of the reds as riise scored in the first 45 seconds and chelsea seemed to be firing into soft foam as liverpool managed to hold chelsea's advances for the next 80 minutes. the fans were already singing songs of victory, taunting the chelsea supporters with cheeky chants. i was beaming, just praying that the fantastic liverpool defence could hold out for the last 10 minutes.

and then gerrard soared high above two of his teammates, headed the ball with the objective of clearing it...and the world watched in despair as it flew past a stunned dudek right into the net.

extra time was a blur for me. the resurrected energy of chelsea resulted in them scoring yet another two goals. tempers flared on the pitch. liverpool pulled one back. my friend kept answering my smses of disappointment. it was too much for me. i went to bed.

i awoke this morning to an sms informing me that chelsea has won their first piece of silverware in years with a 3-2 win over liverpool.

somehow i thought that since luck (or lack of, depending on which team you are rooting for) played such a huge role in the game, it should have gone on to penalties. just to make things fair. but no, lady luck had other plans on her mind. maybe it was to show gerrard that it's time to leave liverpool. or to give chelsea a renewed hope of winning a treble this season. or perhaps to remind everyone who's boss.

all i know is someone was having fun last night. it sure wasn't liverpool, and it sure wasn't me. lady luck is one heck of a whore.

lishun at 7:23 PM

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Sunday, February 20, 2005

...and people wonder

people are sick. sick sick sick @#$%^ SICK!

$10,000 to have sex with a 5 month old baby.

soldiers ordering a son to rape his own mother.

i don't know what drives people to do such things.

my initial reaction upon hearing of such incidents was to be so darn angry at those heartless men that i mentally took a gun, lined their sorry arses up against a wall, and shot them all dead.

and people wonder why there are still those who doubt the existence of God. to be honest, i was so angry for those few minutes that i blamed everything on Him. how could He, the God who is so compassionate and forgiving, stand back in apparent apathy while the human race of His creation carries out such atrocities on one another? how could He, a God of wrath against those who are against Him, allow these men to get away with such cruelty?

what have these women in congo done to deserve having their whole selves ripped apart by beings i can't even call men? what justifies having children in this world exploited like lifeless objects?

how could anyone even begin to believe in God, in light of all this brutality?

yet a woman, who was gang-raped, could still say, "i hope God forgives the men who did this to me."

why? how? how could i attempt to understand this? i don't understand any of it. i don't know if i should even try. it just doesn't make sense at all. none of it makes any sense.

it just doesn't make any sense.

lishun at 9:02 PM

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the lady of shalott

But in her web she still delights
To weave the mirror's magic sights,
For often thro' the silent nights
A funeral with plumes and lights
And music, went to Camelot:
Or when the moon was overhead,
Came two young lovers, lately wed;
"I am half-sick of shadows," said
The Lady of Shalott.

- from "The Lady of Shalott" by Lord Alfred Tennyson


When I was in primary school in Hong Kong, one of my teachers introduced us to a poem about a woman who was cursed to live in a tower, forbidden to look at the outside world save from a mirror in her room. All day, she would weave patterns depicting the reflected images she saw into a cloth. Alas, this woman fell in love with Sir Lancelot, one of King Arthur's Knights of the Round Table; the same Lancelot who later ran away with Queen Guinevere.

When Sir Lancelot passed the woman's window one day, singing "Tirra lirra", she immediately ran to the window, thus bringing the curse into effect. She was doomed to die. She lay down in a boat and, with her life's work torn into pieces, she carved her name onto the side of her boat, making very well sure that Lancelot saw her as she floated, dead, into the village.

The woman was The Lady of Shalott, a character Tennyson based loosely upon a real woman named Elaine of Astolat, who died of unrequited love for Lancelot.

To my 8-yr-old mind, the poem was only a poem. It was part of my English lessons (yes, lessons are very much more interesting there) and I spent most of my time looking at sad images of the nameless fairy-woman of Shalott. The picture of her, lying dead in a barge, will forever be etched in my mind, but only as a memory from my childhood in a school that brought me much joy.

Recently, I searched the internet for the full text of Tennyson's "The Lady of Shalott". Reading the poem again, 12 years after I had first heard of it, was a whole new experience. I had never liked poetry set in medieval times - especially after the choral speaking disaster of "Lochinvar" by Sir Walter Scott - but The Lady of Shalott somehow touched me, with its vivid imagery and classic tragedy.

Looking through a mirror can mean many things. For The Lady of Shalott, it meant seeing life as "shadows", probably referring to the fact that the image one sees in the mirror is often nothing but an unworthy reflection of what is real. She must have found it frustrating to view the daily lives of the people she cannot touch in a distorted manner where right is left and left is right. The pain of having to process everything she sees in her mind, to correct the wrongs that may be depicted through the glass finally took its toll when she sees the man she loves riding and singing past her window. She snapped, and had to forfeit her life just because she wanted to see her beloved with her own naked eyes, for once.

Staring at myself in the full-length mirror in my room, I can relate to how the nameless beauty must have felt. The mirror literally feeds me an image of myself and my room that is strange and unfamiliar. It has also made me realise that I have been seeing things through a mirror within my head. This mirror inside me is one that is coated with my parents' thoughts and friends' expectations instead of silver. While I look at my life through my own eyes, the image that is eventually processed in my mind is one that is no longer my own. It has been flipped right side wrong, inside out, by people who have completely shut out my own voice. As a result, I have to work hard to dig down into these layers of contamination to even begin to find what it is that I really see.

It is tiring. I do not blame The Lady of Shalott for succumbing to her frustration and choosing death over a lifetime of never seeing the truth for herself. I would do the same thing in order to regain control of my life. And yet I also have to remind myself that this control itself is but an illusion, also an image that the fun house mirrors of life like to tease us with.

I don't know who or what will eventually lead me to muster up the strength to fight the curse that has blinded my view. All I know is that when I finally walk to the window in my tower, I'd be honoured to take my place inside the boat - beside the bravest woman I know: The Lady of Shalott.

lishun at 4:06 PM

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Friday, February 18, 2005

do you pray?

do you pray?

do you whisper words to God
send Him your tears
in an envelope of humility?
do you laugh and smile
as you tell Him your stories
or thank Him for the gift you are?
do you pray
about every fragment of thought
that passes?
do you close your eyes
and clasp your hands
while your lips deliver your dreams
your hopes
your loves
your sorrow
to the ears that lie in heaven?
do you pray for others
people you hold in your hands
or nameless statistics in the news?

do you pray
as you tell me to?
i can only imagine
you, kneeling beside your bed
a beautiful figure saying beautiful words
in all honesty and sincerity
purity and truth.

do you pray?
do you?

i dunno why i'm in such a poetic mood. or such a blogging mood either. heh.

lishun at 9:53 PM

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Sunday, February 13, 2005

bridget moment #23

Sunday 13 February

10st (gaaaaah chinese new year cookies!), alcohol units 0, cigarettes 0, calories 10845 (season of prosperity).

9:22 a.m. Ooh goody. Am going out with cousin and friend whom have known online for yonks but have never met in person. Am rather anxious really. What if friend is not really friend but 40-yr-old maniac with malicious thoughts in head in manner of Norman Bates of Psycho? Hmm...will ask cousin to bring baseball bat in case.

Anyway am excited about watching Constantine. Whole battle of greater good vs evil v. intriguing indeed. Reminds me of whole Prince Charles and Camilla Parker-Bowles issue. Can't help but think is evil to betray Princess Diana, yet is greater good since now Charles will make his mummy happy and William and Harry will have a new mummy. Of course is not good parallel between wooden hottie Keanu Reeves' battle against hell and whatnot, but comes close enough.

Oh goodness. Valentine's Day tomorrow. Why? Why? Why is entire world geared to make people not involved in romance feel stupid when everyone knows romance doesn't work anyway. Look at royal family. Look at Jennifer Aniston and Brad Pitt.

Why is it always Jennifer Aniston and Brad Pitt? Why not Brad Pitt and Jennifer Aniston? Brad and Jennifer Pitt? Jennifer and Brad Pitt? Well of course now is not Brad and Jennifer (Jennifer and Brad?) but more like Brad and Angelina, which must somehow disrupt the "cosmic balance" as in words of creepy angel of death guy in last week's episode of Charmed.

Am glad do not have Smug-Marrieds as friends as would be creepy since have not reached the two decade mark yet. It's a relief not to have to face up to "Durr...haven't got yerself a fella yet, eh Shun?" from relatives. Am dreading going back to work tomorrow since teachers have already begun to drill me about lack of boyfriend. Plus have ballooned to unacceptable dimensions thanks to unlimited flow of Pepsi Ice at relatives' homes.

Will die alone in house and will be found lying face down with part of back eaten up by mongrels.

Hmph. Must change attitude. According to "He's Just Not That Into You", I am a goddess waiting to be worshipped. Valentine's day is nothing but commercial gimmick to sell more chocolate. Am totally indifferent to bloody red hearts on Friendster.

Sigh.

note to reader: not intending to turn into sad, desperate, self-help-book-expert with detrimental friends like bridget. though would be nice if can stumble into own version of mark darcy - top human rights lawyer. haha. kidding.

lishun at 9:43 AM

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Friday, February 11, 2005

my mother's voice

i heard my mother's voice today, for the first time in many years.

it was the voice that spoke to the baby i once was. the voice which must have been, one time or another, shaken with sadness or dampened by tears. she had a rough time as a woman who found herself rudely thrown into motherhood after 7 barren years, and yet she sang to me gentle songs of love. she touched me with her warm hands, and whispered words only a baby can understand with her sweet voice.

it was the voice that rang out clear in the house as she busied herself with housework. she crooned melodies that are so familiar to me. the treacle-thick tunes of teresa teng, the jolly numbers by sam hui...my mother had her own repertoire that she ran through each day. the sound of her voice was comforting to me as a child. it reminded me that i had the most beautiful woman in the world as my mother, and she sang the most beautiful songs in the world. she would burst into song at every opportunity possible, at every unlikely moment. there would always be a tune from the distant land of her youth that she wanted to share with me, and i waited for those tunes to emerge from her, like little bubbles bursting at the surface of a turquoise pond.

it was the voice i heard less and less through my teenage years. she never stopped singing the songs i loved so much, but in my self-preoccupation i unwittingly blocked her out of my life. i ignored her voice and chose to listen to my own, immature thoughts. i immersed myself with...myself.

in those selfish years, my mother grew tired. age was catching up with her, and she was beginning to feel the burden of having to raise a teenager as she passed the half-century mark. she had to deal with the pain of living in a body that could not catch up with her soul. my mother is a free-spirited woman who once found herself imprisoned by her selflessness. now that she can finally let go, having successfully raised one of her children to adulthood and ensuring the other has a safe future, she is betrayed by the vessel that encloses her very self.

and so her voice hid, as if my mother hoped that the energy and life her voice had would nourish her broken body if it were kept inside, safe from the cruel world.

but i heard my mother's voice today. in a sudden bout of happiness in the presence of her siblings, my mother picked up the microphone during a karaoke session. for years she would firmly refuse if anyone so much as suggested she display her golden voice, and yet today she readily grabbed the opportunity to remind us all what a treasure she had inside.

as she began to sing, i felt like a little child again. i was awed by how smooth her voice is, as smooth as molten silver and as sweet as it sounds in my memories. she sang one of the songs of my childhood, one about asking for a kiss, and her voice danced and skipped in a manner it hadn't been for a long time. she looked genuinely happy at that moment, and i felt genuinely happy for her.

i heard her voice today in a way i haven't heard in what seems to be forever. yet there was a tinge of sadness within the bright joy of the melody. that sadness embodied those years my mother kept her voice under lock and key, and the realisation that perhaps there won't be many more chances for her to release it anymore.

it isn't something i wish i thought about, but it is something both of us will deal with in our own different ways. still, i hope i hear my mother's voice again. i hope i never stop hearing it.

lishun at 11:37 AM

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Thursday, February 10, 2005

i dreamt

i dreamt of a changed mind
intervention by two
were they angels?
or were they sent to deliver misery?
they twisted the way
my image feeds into your head
surrounded me in roses
where there were once thorns
framed me in perfume
where there was once stench
and your eyes settled on me
more gently than before

i dreamt of a changed mind
a mass of green and purple and red
you handed to me
wrapped so softly in white
it came with a bashful smile
a confused look
like a deer newly born into the world

i dreamt of a changed mind
a beautiful creature
once was out of reach
now is mine to hold

i dreamt of a changed mind
not yours, but mine
the flowers were poisonous to my touch
your glance fed arrows
into the heart you once melted
but now is hard as stone

long ago in the fabric of dreams
i smiled at the stitches you left
when your hand held mine
as we crossed rivers together
as we shared our dreams
within mine

i dreamt of a changed mind
last night

this morning i woke with tears

lishun at 8:35 AM

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Monday, February 07, 2005

cake

there is a delectable chunk of chocolate cake sitting in my fridge. it arrived barely two days ago, a gorgeous piece of fudge with the most beautiful aroma surrounding it in all its freshly-baked glory.

the cake was delicately wrapped in plastic wrap, the kind you grab off the shelf at any friendly neighbourhood supermarket, but the translucent film looked anything but ordinary as it lay there, enveloping the absolutely inviting piece of cake. in fact, it looked proud, as if it were honoured to be the chosen adornment for that block of chocolate delight.

i have to admit, it wasn't love at first sight. having had to forgo such luxuries for the past two years due to *ahem* financial difficulties, it was alien for me to be drawn to something i saw as unnecessary, even threatening.

chocolate cake? no way, my head screamed, it would wreck your already ruined figure. nuh-uh, my heart protested, it's probably full of health-damaging oil. i looked suspiciously at the cake, my nose taking in one more whiff of the chocolate-y smell emanating from it.

and i grabbed a knife. by the handle, of course. the first thing i did was cut a slice for my already-salivating father. he grinned in pleasure at my mum and i as we watched the entire piece disappear. i then cautiously let the knife slip into the cake once more to produce a piece for myself. a small one, i told my already disapproving head, as i lifted the offending slice of cake into my mouth...

there is a reason why chocolate is seen as both boon and bane. on one hand, it triggers the release of serotonin, a feel-good chemical in your brain, causing happiness and a lift of emotions. on the other, it can become a kind of a "high" that many people, especially women since the female of the species has less serotonin than our male counterparts, become addicted to chocolate and carbohydrates in general.

for me, that kick i got out of the very first touch of the cake on my tongue was ecstacy. the way the chocolate coating melted in my mouth; covering every inch of my palate, tingling every taste bud, made me crave for more.

it was the sheer joy of being able to enjoy something so simple, so addictive that has driven me to wolf down almost half the loaf in the past two days. staying up for vital football matches hardly helped either, as the cake became my company during the time i spent in the wee hours watching unattractive men sweat, chasing a ball on a field that costs more to maintain than for me to pay for university.

cake. who knew that one slice of that brown solid mass of emulsion would cause me to have an abnormal obsession with it? even as i type, i am thinking about the remaining half, sitting cold on the top shelf of my fridge, still wrapped in the red plastic bag it arrived in. the memory of my latest encounter with it is still fresh in my mind, inticing me to head downstairs and reach for another slice.

cake. oh goodness...cake!

lishun at 9:40 PM

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Thursday, February 03, 2005

february blues

it's february. which only means one thing: valentine's day is just around the corner.

okay, i am one of those people who frown upon st. valentine's day because i think it's waaaaaaaay too commercial. i think it's ridiculous that people fork out double for flowers which die the next day, or go to lengths to get reservations for a posh restaurant in town - only to be caught in a traffic jam with dozens of other people with the same idea in mind.

yes, i am one of the million single and doomed-to-be-spinster ala bridget jones girls who don't receive any store-bought cards or openly blooming (aka stale) roses that cost RM15 a stalk every year. i have spent the last two valentine's days busying myself with making "friendship day" gifts - a marketing gimmick courtesy of the students' council - for my also single hostel mates. we spent the nights admiring the esplanade's magnificent lights and enjoying the cool music-laced air...while pretending that the dozens of couples smooching right next to us don't bother us at all.

when anyone who is single tells you that he/she doesn't give a damn about valentine's day and spouts some cliche like "every day should be valentine's day", that is an absolute load of bull. of course they mind! of course i mind. not so much before, because i had tonnes of single friends to hang out with, but more now since my single friends are all out of the country and the only friends i have left here in my dear homeland have a special someone, or at least a special ex to moan about, to spend valentine's day with.

the commercialism, the television specials, even the rose petals on the cover of this month's readers' digest all serve as a reminder of my singledom.

not that i have nothing else better to do than to be upset about it.

in fact, for valentine's day this year, i have planned to make unbaked cookies for my students in school, as a cheap bribe for them to perhaps think before copying an answer like "bilangan elektron = -2" into their exercise books.

also, since v-day (yes, that was coined intentionally to sound like d-day) is a monday, i am going to allow myself to enjoy a hair spa, a manicure, a face mask and a nice dose of diabetes-inducing romantic comedies on the sunday prior to it. that way, i can feel "fresh, cool and confident" - like the catchphrase of a tacky line of beauty products - when i distribute little packages of goodies with tiny purple ribbons to my (hopefully also single) students.

yes, i am revelling in my lack of experience in terms of relationships with the opposite sex, choosing instead to focus on the little things in life, like how hyperactive i want my students to become; which should theoretically be directly proportional to the amount of sugar i put into my cookies.

however, there will always be that little "ouch" from within, a constant reminder that i am now 20, and am still "alone". it isn't desperation: honestly i think about everything my sis is going through with her husband and i am so grateful i am free from such committment. but it's still there. that pinch still exists.

i can whip up a batter of chocolate hearts to set in the freezer, but i sure hope my own will be thawed one day.

lishun at 9:49 AM

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