Needles and scars won't break my bones

I was in the hospital for a week last month, to fix a superficial problem that had marred an insect bite-size hole on my old scar, like a mild leakage puncturing through layers of patch-ups on an old pipe line. Which means I now sport a double tiered scar upon the multi-operated area. While I am not comfortable to publicly point out which organ of mine is congenitally impaired, I will, however, state that I had major operations done on it before. So, compared to those, this recent minor surgery is a heavy rainfall to the previous hurricanes I had weathered.

But I have learnt something significant as I retched my way through the recovery phase upon escaping the grasp of general anesthesia. There is a thing about having a serious medical intervention, one that involves the hospital: the patients are so caught up in all the negativity and anxiety that they forget that in Mother Nature’s principle of give and take, they have received a gift in return. Though I cannot say I blame them. Lying bed-ridden in a white-washed room that is perfumed with the sterile scent of antiseptic does not leave much for imagination, even without beeping monitors and the call button for help that add to the sense of vulnerability. Not to mention the check-up rounds the doctors do, which always caused a mini heart attack every time they so much as frown at your report, though they may just be squinting at the horrible handwriting. Solero Shots are nothing against the single line from a medical staff, “Hey, this does not seem right…”

Hence, I relish fully in the relief of being discharged, not just because I am finally free of tubes and tasteless food. No, it is more than that: I have now been given a chance to continue living my life as a whole again; I have gained the freedom from the mental stress that built atop the ground of health condition, its height parallel to the time spent in the hospital; and I am reassured, that for the moment, everything is going to be okay. But we tend to forget that, above all this, the biggest blessing we are bestowed upon is the strength.

Having a surgery gives us just that; pure, mental and spiritual strength. From observing the nurses pricked the skin again and again, trying to find the vein, to the moment of being wheeled into the operation theatre, to the undoing of the bandage, we need that, and many of us forget that we have that in us. We do not realize that we are enduring everything solely, despite our loved ones around us, despite all the aid provided, because it is only us who will bear the physical pain and feel the fear broiling beneath the brave façade, alone; so when we leave the hospital, we leave with more strength packed into us than we ever will know.

And it is this form of strength that will get us through the craziest of life. So whenever I think I have gotten the worst of something, I just need to chant to myself my personal mantra: If I am strong enough to face a surgery on my own, then I am strong enough for anything the new semester throws at me. 

Long live all the rainbows we painted and the unicorns we rode

Every writer has his personal golden masterpiece; a self-acclaimed crowning glory, so to speak. Well, I have a few. Posts and essays that always make me smile; that stop time to let me revel in precious memories locked away; that remind me of how beautiful I had felt then and drive me to capture that feeling again. And these written photographs are always about the same six people. Amanda. Eu Chern. Joanna. Jing Hua. Chee Kin. Lucinda.

I know I am not always confident about my writing skills (if you think I am good, go read Eu Chern’s, Jo’s, Jing Hua’s, Amanda’s, Jyh Ling’s and a hell lot more) and tend to do double takes at my own pieces, but the ones on Les Sluts…there must be some sort of divine intervention, albeit twisted. They say we write best from our hearts; I say Amen to that.

When I write about our rendezvous, our frivolity, our derangement, I write as me. You can see from my blog that sometimes I would try in the angle of a journalist, of a sociologist-in-making, of a music student, of a narrator of the day’s event, but never with posts on you guys. I am me when I am with you, so I do not see the need of being anyone else when I recount it later on.

Granted, I have not mentioned you for a while now, but that does not mean I do not miss what we had, and hopefully, still have. Just like not talking about my grandmother does not signify I am not grieving; I do not plan on letting her go anytime soon. Yet.

Yes, I live with my friends. Yes, I see them 24/7. Yes, I travel the country with them on spontaneous spurts. Yes, I do practically everything with them, considering the proximity and circumstances.

But they are NOT you people; they can never be. I love my college friends, I appreciate and am grateful for their companionship, but it is different from the way I love the six of you.

Only WE would smile when stepping into a book store

Only WE could comprehend the intensity of fervor for the release of our favorite books.

Only WE would celebrate the existence of Lady Gaga, Britney Spears, Fergie, Rihanna and other disastrous music misfits.  

Only WE could make a picnic possible.

Only WE could spend every grain of our hour glass taking photos and still feel we do not have enough.

And I cannot share any of these with anyone now. I am tired of feeling stuck and awkward on what to say in a conversation I have no connection to; I am exhausted from hiding my enthusiasm for subjects beyond my field of study; and sometimes, I am just tired of being mature, like how I have to respect people’s choices by sitting through Hong Kong movies with them should the majority favored it, despite my not able to stand that genre of film.

I want to be me. I want to be with you guys. I miss us, a lot. I am just not good at showing it (and I hate this Asian-ness about me).

Screw life for not giving me that. Then again, who hasn’t?

So yeah, just so you know. 

I know Chee Kin is not in here but this is the only almost-complete photo of us that I have not put up a gazillion times. 

I sang along while I was swinging

I find it ironic that my Intro to Sociology result comes out higher than any music subject I have ever taken. And I did not even work hard for it because I enjoyed it so much and the classes throughout the semester were like the redemption I sought. I mean, it is different from the A I get for Music Business; I had to overcome prejudices I had about the subject and got pretty lost and frustrated at my lack of understanding before opening myself to it. But Sociology was… amazing, I love it; the concepts, the theories, the application, the subtle necessity, and its role in my music world. I almost feel guilty for obtaining good grades for doing something that makes me so happy. Then where does music stand now? I supposed this makes it obvious that I need time off before deciding on what I want to do for Masters. Maybe go pick some apples in New Zealand or something. Or visit my French family :) Definitely looking forward to next May, when all this music shit ends.

On a side note…play the Circle of Life folks, for I am about to introduce to the world my little gal, Candy! *Holds ma bay-beh up like that old monkey did to Simba*

If you are demanding why I did not prepare you for this momentous event beforehand, well, that is because I did not foresee it either. I swear we went to the IT Mall with the sole intention of getting a Canon Ixus 115 with the miserable sum I earned from caroling, when my mom went, “What a waste of money. Your sister has the same lousy camera. Why not I top up some money for you and you get yourself a DSLR?” Yes. Double you tee eff. I did not know how serious my parents were till they paid, and the camera is wrapped up prettily in my arms. I nearly shit bricks.  And all this time I was wondering who I got my impromptu streak-genes from.

When the angels come to take you, I'll be right where you left me

This is perfect. He is perfect. 

She tiptoed and tangled her fingers in his hair. Then it was all a blur of pale face, delicate fans of lashes and golden locks. The languid taste of cherry sweet kisses made her drunk on the wine of his breath. When he opened his blue eyes, they sparkled and shimmered like the surface of a clear lake caressed by rays of sunlight. And as he smiled, she knew her lips reflected the movement. My angel. But no more.

He pulled away slightly, and murmured, “Please be strong.” Then, with a kiss tenderly planted on her forehead (even in this form, he never failed to be protective), he turned and started to leave, the shuffling of his favorite frayed jeans against the parquet floor a slow and steady pulse beneath the hummingbird thrumming of her heart.

Be strong?

This is not in the script. This is not what he should say as he did something he never did before; he had never walked away. For the first time since he came to her in her dreams after his death, she felt an undercurrent pain swirling beneath the immense joy at seeing his face. Unlike in the previous visits, she reached out to grab his arm, forcibly spinning him around…and her heart sank at the look that crossed the features that she had memorized so well. 

“Baby?” it was barely a whisper, her voice raspy and choking under the weight of fear, the tips of its fingers already trailing along her freshly healed heart.

He sighed but held her close, both leaning into each other. After heartbeats, her heartbeats, too many to count, he tilted her face and searched her eyes.

“You know this day is bound to come”, as if it explained everything. His gaze did not flicker at the statement, did not flash with sadness, regret, frustration or any emotion. Just like that moment two months ago when she had watched the light dimmed in his eyes as his soul slipped away.

She winced at the memory. Thinking that it was the infliction of what he had just imparted, his expression soften, his voice merely a gentle whistling ocean breeze. “I didn’t mean to… should not have…hurt you, but,” he sucked in a little breathe and rolled it on his tongue before continuing, “but I have to leave.”

He brushed his lips against hers, as much as to soothe her, as a sign of affection.

“I love you, with or without a beating heart. The disease did not change anything. I want you to always be sure of that. For every second I fought to live, I did it to be with you a little longer. Heck, chemotherapy was a hell worth going through if it meant seeing your face for another day more. You have been everything to me; still are. If we were both on the same plane, my life would be devoted to making you happy. But we are not, and it’s time we accept that.”

He lightly pressed a finger on her mouth as it opened to protest.

“I am not asking you to forget me, if that isn’t what you want, though I will not object if you wish to do so. I am asking you to let me go, little by little. Summer is coming; don’t cage yourself up with someone who can no longer be there for you. Go meet new people; have fun; make new beautiful memories; fall in love again.”

“No!”

“I want you to be happy; I want you to be safe; I want you to not hurt; and the only way for me to have that is knowing you are with someone who loves you as much, or more, than I do. Be courageous, baby. Find the strength to take the first step, it’s always the hardest, but everything else will fall into place for you.”

“What if I wanted to be a coward?”

“But I know you are not.”

“What happened to you being my best friend? I thought you will stay by my side, help me get through this?”

“I am by your side, always have been, always will be. But not if it means stopping you from moving on.” He kissed her then; he kissed her as if she were the one leaving; as if her touch was all that was keeping him together now; as if time for them was running out. Maybe it already had.

“You are not mine and neither am I yours; maybe in the next life, or the one after. Just not in this. But I will always love you.”

“Will you ever come back?”

“I will. Someday. When you have moved on; when you have found happiness once again; when you are finally smiling for someone other than me. You wouldn’t need an ex-boyfriend then. But if you ever need a best friend, I will always be here. For you, just for you.”

Be brave. And she could only knelt alone as tears rolled down her dream-self cheeks, unable to do nothing as his essence faded away. But unlike the last time, he would not return. Forever.

She woke up with a start, her heart hummed a dull ache. But before she could woe, her phone blipped, indicating a text message.

Hey, Josh here. We met at Cadence’s party on Saturday. Thought you are a sweet girl. Just want to ask if you happen to be free this afternoon. Lunch?

A sad smile played across her lips. He was serious.

Yeah. Lunch’s cool.

She sighed in exasperation. I’m trying. For you, only you. 

I miss writing short stories.
I really do.
I am quite positive I am not having a writer's block now.
Just let me daydream a little more.

Be patient, Eu Chern.

Let There Be Rock, so that we would be In The Mood to do the Decadence Dance with Dindi amongst a Drowning Pool of Bodies through the Nights Over Egypt! Because Nothing Else Matters when there are Jellybeans and Chocolate and Ain’t Nobody could give us that other than MBE Concert!

“Let there be Simmy! And there was Simmy! Let there be Emily! And there was Emily! Let there be Ying Hui! And there was me! Let there be Keng Xhik! And there was….oh crap, where’s Keng Xhik?”

Said person jumps up into screen with a roar.

“Let there be Ink Air!”

Okay. That was sort of a lame way to introduce my band. Not to mention degrading to my reputation. But the crowd liked it, judging from the recording. Well, at least my college mates did. I think.

Anyway, we rocked the house down! I wasn’t sure whether it was because we were the encore act, or the power of the song itself, or the screaming audience, but I was possessed by some feral energy and I head banged the entire four minutes plus, while bruising my fingers against the keyboard. The adrenaline rush was immensely strong and the zing and zest between us on stage and our peers screeching in the darkness was intense, baby!

No pre-performance jitters, no blank, panic moments on stage, no shit-I-just-hit-the-wrong-note/chord embarrassment; just pure, mad fun. Simmy was whipping her hair back and forth, Emily was shaking her ass, I was head banging in sync with Ian and Kevin, Keng Xhik was being… Keng Xhik the AC/DC vocalist: he sang, swag, pounced around, knelt while he yelled dramatically, and practically consumed the entire front portion of the stage.

It was a perfect ending to an almost perfect semester of Modern Band Ensemble. These three and a half months with Ink Air had been trip drifting along the lazy river in a tube, it didn’t matter how fast or slow the current pushed us, we only cared for the process, the lessons learnt, the bonds made, and how much we grew.

I guess this has always been what this class is all about; while it doesn’t give you a better understanding of your love-hate relationship with performing, it is a proof of how well you could overcome problems and issues you have with your team mates and make things work for a higher purpose. Nobody in this world would ever be a perfect fit to your personality jigsaw puzzle, but they could be your complimentary frame and be able to complete what you lack if you just give them a chance or take the time to understand them.

Yes, there are people who are hard to work with, like some of the members of my research paper group, but do you know why they act that way? Have you asked? Like sometimes I may seem selfish for not wanting to help moving the equipments, but doing so would have health consequences on me, as a lot of you are aware of. Would you judge me then?

So, thank you Ink Air for a beautiful semester together. I have learnt much from the three of you, as you have from me (at least that is what you told me in the sms). Here’s a toast to all of the steps we have taken, though it may not have gotten us to the Land of A’s, but they provided a wonderful journey nonetheless.

Merci <3

Let's groove tonight, and share the spice of life

Saturday night was like living the All American Rejects concert high all over again: sneaking into the VIP section, though with legitimate reasons this time; having your favorite songs blasted into your ears because of the proximity; taking a photo with them stars; staying up the entire night from elation even when you knew you had to get up early the next day.

But what made the performance more sugar-coated sweet and sinfully indulging was having lead vocalist smiled and looked straight at you as he sang. Good Lord, there was suddenly no oxygen in the air. Then when I thought I recovered, the other vocalist nodded at me in another song. I DIEDED ON THE SPOT.  

(Oh, just so you won’t get confused, I am referring to Earth, Wind and Fire, and ONLY Earth, Wind and Fire. The rest of the acts are simply insignificant.)

I know it wasn’t really professional of me, since I was covering the event under BRATs, thus a representative of the media, but I could NOT stop myself from giggling gleefully when they sang ‘When All the Love Has Gone’, then sort of screeched at the opening vamping of ‘September’. Not to mention me silently mouthing “WE WANT MORE WE WANT MORE WE WANT MORE!!!” along with the crowd at the end of their show, pleading and wishing so hard that when they did came back, I had to clamp my mouth tight to prevent my screaming from being heard. And as soon as it was obvious it was ‘Let’s Groove Tonight’, my heart combusted; it just could not take the heat.

If I must confess, and saying this would risk Ivy’s wrath, but yes, I DID reach out a hand as the singer’s swung low, but it was an instinctive and impulsive reaction, a natural move of a crazed fan. I mean, how could you NOT? But I did try to disguise it, like I was merely stretching my stiff limbs or shoving my camera closer to him, though I doubt it was convincing.

Whatever. It’s not worth my brain cells to fuss over my unprofessionalism. Besides, Earth, Wind and Fire was the only act during which I lost control, sort of.

That is, until the concert was over and we were released and I was FREE to STALK them. I’ve to thank the LRT for this, if the spastic system had not shut down before 1am, I would not have to call and wait for my dad to fetch me, hence would not have the chance to roam about.

I didn’t exactly plan on stalking them at first (I swear!) but as it became apparent that standing stock still in one spot would shine a wrong light on me and give people the assumption of me as a prostitute was dangerous, I wandered around….and around…and around… and VOILA ! There were FIVE LUXURIOUS VANS/MPVs arriving at the backstage entrance. OH SWEET MOTHER OF RAINBOWS AND UNICORNS! Thou shalt lead me to Earth, Wind and Fire!

You know, when I saw them walking out of the backstage one by one and slipping into the cars, I actually freaked out. They were SO GODDAMN CLOSE. But none of them noticed me, till the lead singer got into his seat and was settling down when I bit my cheeks, pinched myself internally and forced my dumb hand to wave and tweaked my muscles to smile.

HE WAVED BACK. And we continued waving till he STEPPED OUT OF THE CAR AND WALKED TOWARDS ME.

HOLY – I DON’T EVEN KNOW WHAT TO SWEAR ON NOW.

I kind of froze and was gurgling when the girl beside me asked for a photo with him. CHEESES. I quickly fuddled with my battery-drained camera, praying to the Goddess of Mercy for its short revival. It did.

“Can I…can I have a photo with you?”

*Laughs* “Of course you can!”

And when he slung one arm across my shoulder, he might as well have taken a photo with a puddle of water.

“Thank you! I love your music!”

“Thank you!”

“I often play your music in college!” Oh am gee. Can I stop being a freak?!

“Really that’s awesome!”

“Yeah! Thank you again!”

Then I spent a minute Teehee-ing to myself; then five minutes squealing through the phone into Triple K’s ear; then another five texting the entire world about it.

Simmy told me not to die because it would be a waste. Too late. I combusted. I am now a pile of ash.

P.S. Why didn’t that HOT trombonist look my way?!

P.P.S. I would love to put up more photos but blogger's not happy with my cam-whoring. Will stuff them on Facebook (: